Alain and Polexia talk about choices and chances, with (mostly unspoken) culture clash LIEK WO

[honest-johns.livejournal.com]

Alain comes down the stairs. He's wearing the old shirt he came to the bar in today, pale blue faded nearly grey, with the usual jeans and boots and weaponry.

He's looking a little pensive, a little distracted, but mostly he is pushing that feeling back, and focusing instead on the barful of people.

Comments

[bandaid-polexia.livejournal.com]

*she nods*

Yeah, thanks. I mean I know it's that way at home but I had a choice to end up most places at home I just landed here and can't leave so it seems different but I guess it's not.

[honest-johns.livejournal.com]

"Ka works and the world moves on," Alain says, with a crooked shrug. "And we do what we may, wherever we find ourselves."

It is like lessoning a child, one raised all her life among what Roland derisively calls grass-eaters. When he thinks of it so, it is easier to be patient. At what he guesses as her age, he had been three or four years a gunslinger -- but she is not, and was not taught so, and if her father taught her nothing of ka and the hard choices it is not all her fault.

[bandaid-polexia.livejournal.com]

Ka?

*it's an honest question*

That makes sense. A lot of sense actually.

[honest-johns.livejournal.com]

A crooked smile. "It means... fate, or destiny. Where you are going, at its root, and the force that carries you there, and sets your path before you. And obstacles, too. Say sorry; I forget that almost no one here seems to know the word."

He doesn't really forget, but he hasn't yet found a word that works as a proper translation.

[bandaid-polexia.livejournal.com]

No problem, there's lotsa stuff here I don't know. Believe me quick learning is a skill I had to have to live back home, so new stuff doesn't really bother me. I've had it shoved in my face for years.


*she tries to not sound too bitter but it can't be helped*

I kinda like learning here though, no one is saying take these lessons or you're grounded, here.

[honest-johns.livejournal.com]

A word for a word; he looks inquiringly at her. "Grounded?"

Beaten, he is assuming, but he's never heard the term before.

[bandaid-polexia.livejournal.com]

Punished, basically. If you are grounded by a parent you get stuff taken away from you, can't leav the house. It's not very fair when you say "I don't wanna practice the piano today" and they send you to your room.

*she shrugs"

But, that's life.

[honest-johns.livejournal.com]

"Ah."

There is a brief memory-flash of his old teacher Cort's knotted fist slamming into his head -- flaring pain and the salty taste of a cut lip, and a rasped flat reprimand. You were slow. Say your atonement, dullard. And No supper. No breakfast. You'll sharpen your reflections with hunger.

This was not the way all children were raised, of course, but boys born to the High Speech were trained to the way of the gun by Cort, and to the softer side of the world by gentle Vannay.

"You say true."

[bandaid-polexia.livejournal.com]

*Polly nods*

I don't know if it did much good I mean I can do stuff now that I couldn't but I am not sure they shoulda forced me. But i'm here and they'renot so I really don't need to dwell.

*she sighs*

[honest-johns.livejournal.com]

Alain... honestly cannot imagine speaking of his parents so. Never during their lives, and certainly not after their deaths. It is a moment before he manages to find words.

"You take the lessons you need from the past. Though often we don't realize the true lessons until long after, I think."

In an absent unconscious gesture he brushes a hand against the butt of a gun -- not threatening, but only a brief touch of his fingers to the ancient sandalwood grip of his father's guns, heirloom of his family and the bloodline of Eld.

[bandaid-polexia.livejournal.com]

*she notices the gun and knows it isn't a threat. She smiles.*

Yeah, you're right.

[honest-johns.livejournal.com]

A small smile, in polite response.

[bandaid-polexia.livejournal.com]

* she nods politely back, she's ran out of words.*

[honest-johns.livejournal.com]

And so the silence stretches. After a moment, he smiles, with a glance at the bar, and says "Say sorry, but I've a friend I've been meaning to talk to, over there."

[bandaid-polexia.livejournal.com]

Okay, well it always nice talking to you, Alain.

*she grins*

[honest-johns.livejournal.com]

He inclines his head.

"Long days and pleasant nights, Polly."

He turns and heads for the bar, towards Eddie and continuity.