ArchivedLogs:Loaded

Loaded
Dramatis Personae Hive, Kyinha	2018-01-22 "{There is a time and a place for fire.}"
Location <HFC> Garden - Hellfire Clubhouse
Though enclosed on four sides by the structure of the clubhouse building, this courtyard does not feel as claustrophobic as one might expect. Viewed from above, an opportunity afforded by the club's many windows and balconies, it is laid out like a chessboard, light and dark squares differentiated by careful choice of groundcover as well as arrow-straight hedges. Elegant topiary chessmen populate the garden, arranged into a puzzle that changes seasonally. Even so, from on the ground, a visitor might well be excused for imagining at first that they are merely traversing a well-designed hedge maze. At night, each square is lit by strips of LED lights cunningly concealed beneath the hedges, though for special events thematically appropriate lanterns will be installed instead. It's early evening, and ironically the overcast is keeping light in the sky later than would be normal for this time of year. Though the rain that has threatened all afternoon has not materialized and though it is not particularly cold by late January standards, the garden all but abandoned, with most members and visitors preferring the warmth of the hearth in any number of pleasant indoor lounging options afforded by the clubhouse. Kyinha is lounging alone on a bench in the E5 square -- which has no chess piece in residence currently, though it is either defended or threatened by a white bishop, a black knight, and a pawn from each court. The man looks a bit sickly, his face thin and his brown skin pale, but the expression on his face is serene where it tips up towards the sky, eyes closed. He's wearing a crisp, ice blue dress shirt, an abstract geometric brocade vest in rich shades of blue, a black bow tie, black Prince Charles jacket, and a black modern kilt with a splendid fall of pleats. There is a snifter of brandy in his left hand that he swirls almost meditatively. He's tired and cold, but just tipsy enough not to mind it too much, and in any case prefers it right now over being inside. Having just ended a somewhat disappointing date, he is now contemplating the rest of this evening. << It could have gone worse, >> he consoles himself, lips curling up just a touch at flitting recollections of disastrous rendezvous past. One of the glass doors framing the courtyard opens -- it leads from outdoor garden to in, a small greenery-rich tearoom that is now shedding its occupants. The first man to leave is broad, gray-haired, grey-suited, quite intently focused on a phone conversation (in rapid French.) The door hasn't quite shut behind him. Nearly swung closed before it is stopped, shoved roughly back open with the push of a shoulder. Hive's own suit is perfectly adequate -- classically cut and well tailored, but it hangs uneasily on his slouched and bony shoulders, inching closer to quitting him entirely into the far more elegant ground with each restless fidget. Currently being fidgeted with: a hand-rolled but as yet unlit cigarette, twirling between his long calloused fingers. His path is more aimless than the man who preceded him, not heading straight out but drifting. Around behind the white bishop; he fetches up by its side to eye Kyinha through a veil of half-lowered lashes. "And here I thought they had people here for that. Date's not up to par, just call for the concierge, he'll find you a better one." Kyinha opens his eyes at the approaching footsteps. Sits up, smiles, lifts his glass toward Hive in a casual salute. "Ah, good evening. It is true, he can secure just about anything." His general admiration for Lucien's competence comes with -- though is not eclipsed by -- a warmer, more personal flush of appreciation. << Only I am not sure /I/ have the energy for a second take tonight. >> "You are a member here, or visiting?" There is no judgement in the inquisitive arch of his eyebrow. "Also, do you need a light?" With the barest nod at the other man's cigarette. "Just about." There's a crooked slant to Hive's smile as he steps out of the shadow of the bishop. Doesn't quite impose himself /entirely/ into Kyinha's space, but near enough, spilling himself down over the back of the bench into a loose jumble of limbs at Kyinha's side. His brows hitch up. He stops toying with his cigarette, tucks it between his lips instead. "A member?" The blossom of amusement in his voice is undisguised. "What do you think this place would want with someone like me?" Kyinha's brows raise even higher, buoyed by his own bemusement. "Well, you /are/ an architect of no small renown. This can make you interesting to the monied elite, at least, though I do not assume that you reciprocate." << Though there's more one can gain by their company than business and a profound loathing for Capitalism. >> He shrugs easily. "True, this does not seem like your ah.../scene/ to me, but people can be very surprising." Reaching into an inner pocket of his jacket, he produces a slim, round-edged metallic lozenge. Flips one of it open to reveal the silvery inner workings of the lighter. Arches just one eyebrow this time. "I am not devoid of fire, even in this sad state." Hive's chuff is faintly bemused, too. His head shakes. "Small renown doesn't buy you a membership here. Neither does an architect's salary." There's still a quiet thread of laughter in his voice. A quieter thread, less audible, that reaches out unfelt to tease at that stray thought, curiously press it just a bit deeper. "But I have business here, from time to time." He leans in toward the slim lighter. "You don't strike me as the kind of person who'd ever be completely without." Kyinha isn't completely /startled/ by Hive's denial, exactly. "Forgive me, I perhaps do not have the best estimation of how much it is an architect makes -- nor how much consideration your renown is given." Beneath the words, his thoughts are more abstract -- networking, feeling out the political influence of club members prominent and otherwise, a dogged determination to wrench the destiny of his people away from the course it was on... He flicks the lighter, and a triangular blue jet of flame leaps up to lick the end of Hive's cigarette, flaring momentarily orange in the fading light. "My renown isn't exactly /un/complicated." Though Hive's smile is a little skewed, here, his words are matter-of-fact. They come briefly augmented by a this-time-sensible mental flutter, carrying brief snatches of wayward thoughts into Kyinha's mind. << -- should think the Club has rules against that kind of -- >> << -- such an invasion of privacy, why do they even let him -- >> << -- how could anyone trust doing business with a fucking teep -- >> and passing somewhere more immediate, << -- can't believe da Costa would risk his reputation associating with /that/ -- >> The voices fade off, Hive's mental touch receding into a once again silent background awareness. He takes a deep drag of his cigarette, plucks it from his lips, turns his head away when he blows out the stream of smoke. "But me, I'm pretty new to all this shit. Two years ago I doubt anyone'd even risk inviting me here for a business meeting. /I/ probably don't have the best estimation of --" His hand waves, a thin wisp of grey drifting up from the cigarette as it moves. "What you want in a place like this. Can't imagine they're all the /best/ pleased to have you either." Kyinha bows his head slightly, the corners of his lips twitching up mirthlessly. "I suppose those reactions are inevitable. People have been inviting me -- /reluctantly/ perhaps -- to business meetings for a long time, and I've hear plenty of the like /without/ reading any minds." In his mind, the memories of overheard whispers in a mix of Portuguese and English surface: << {...would hide it away, if I had a son like /that/} >> << If he weren't /loaded/...>> << ...hope he doesn't burn the place down. >> He shakes his head. "Being a member somewhere is the surest way to guarantee a pleasant outing without harassment -- three seasons out of the year, at least. But also, I am interested to ah, try my hand at politics here. Since that is for the most part the game of the rich, I want to know the players." He swirls his brandy and takes a small sip, savoring the velvety burn. "You perhaps know better than I already just how displeased the others here are about me, but they have not kicked me out /yet./" << {But then, I have yet to burn anything down.} >> Hive relaxes slightly, leaning a little more loosely against the bench. His eyes slip a little further closed as he lifts the cigarette back to his lips. His smile curls more easily. << {Don't tell me you don't some days want to, though.} >> Kyinha tilts his head, studies Hive sidelong with a curious half-smile now. "{Some days,}" he admits aloud, though still in his native Nheengatu. << {Some days, I want to burn /everything/ down.} >> This thought is oddly calm, matter-of-fact, the immense anger behind it simmering, controlled, in a corner of his mind. "{But there is a time and a place for fire. Here, now?}" His shrug is small. "{I play nice with the beautiful people.}" "{There's a time and place for building, too.}" Hive straightens, shoulders rolling lazily. << {And I guess plenty of people here well-positioned to do either.} >> He tugs his suit jacket more properly into place, lifts his chin to Kyinha with an amused hook of a smile. "I should get before I further sully your good name. See you 'round."