04.04.3014: Salty Drake
Summary: Jevon invites Roger over for a night cap.
Date: 17 December 2013
Related: Various Nitrim and Cyrielle logs.
Jevon Roger 

Jevon's Study, The Blackspyre
In scene.
April 4, 3013

There are Hollolases in his house, and Jevon Khournas still doesn't know what to make of that. His wife, the Lady Micaya Khournas, has done most of the entertaining up to this point, and he knows it does her good. Being hospitable is a nice way to ignore the fact that your youngest daughter's bedroom will forever be empty. Jevon has busied himself with his own duties including reviewing recent patrol reports and approving inventory requests from the infirmary's chief of medicine. He has holed himself up in his study too long, and his wife has reminded him that Lord Hollolas is here to visit with him too.

Hence the invitation for a night cap that arrived for Roger a few hours ago. The sun has already set over the glorious fire city of Volkan, and the warmth of the lava flows starve off the cold of the Spring night. Jevon's study is just off the greatroom, and is a hallmark of a High Lord with deep, rich colors and the skull of a full grown drake supports his desk's surface. He is getting some last minute work done while he waits the Arborenin Lord's arrival.

Hollolases? Hollolasi? Holloloi? Fortunately for grammarians everywhere, there's just /one/ Hollolas making his way into the High Lord Khournas' study this evening, though he certainly has enough presence to make up for his presently unaccompanied state. Roger has even come dressed somewhat appropriately for the occasion, which is to say he looks the part of an admiral rather than a common sailor. Likely his footfalls will be heard long before he actually arrives at the door.

Nevertheless, the Lord Hollolas gives a few knocks on the doorway before letting himself in, his lips pulling back in a genuine, if guarded, smile. His voice booms forth in an evidently enthusiastic greeting. "High Lord Khournas," he says, "your hospitality is impressive as ever."

Jevon snorts. "Didn't expect a Hollolas to be ingratiating… I've been avoiding you like a cat on fire, Lord." He at least sets down his tablet, gesturing for one of the glorious armchairs for the man should he desire. "Bourbon or rum?" He asks as he makes his way toward the small wet bar that is kept fully stocked — a task that has probably put a strain on the House with recent events. He pours himself a bourbon while he waits for the man to place his order, and once done, he will fill a second glass.

Glorious indeed, and Roger lowers his aged form into said armchair as he mutters, "Is that even a question? Rum." It seems that even the prospect of the drink is enough to improve his mood to no small degree, and he leans bank and sinks into the upholstery a little more. "You're occupied… the Six know I understand that." Slowing down just a bit, he adds, "Besides, there's plenty to eat, and you know that's enough."

Jevon nods, and carries both glasses to the second arm chair. The rum is handed off to the Hollolas Lord, and the Khourni drops heavily into his own chair. He is quiet as he sips at the warm liquid, and then he shrugs his shoulders. "I actually figured you were here to talk to me about how madly in love my son is with your daughter, Roger." The use of the man's first name at least sets a certain tone to the conversation. He looks over toward the fellow father now. "Hence why I've been avoiding you…"

"Was I that easy to read, Jevon?" It almost sounds odd, the High Lord's given name rolling off the Lord Commodore's tongue, but Roger has never been one for excessive formality, and at any rate he has a few years on the other Head of House. "Your son's been around Beacon quite a great deal of late. Eager to please, so to speak." He takes a deep sip from his glass. "Suppose he's not hard to read, either."

"Tattooed on his fucking forehead," Jevon grunts as he takes another swallow of bourbon. He glances over toward Roger now, the High Lord looking deeply conflicted. "I'm aware of what Nitrim has been up to." There is something in those words, a taste of brimstone. He takes another swallow, feeling the burn, and then he shakes his head. "Nitrim has done this dog and pony show once before, Roger… I arranged a marriage for him to Emund's cousin because he was panting at the end of the leash for her… and then within months, asked me to undo it." He looks at the Hollolas more fully now. "I don't want to engage in that sort of shit show with you."

"Believe me, Jevon, I don't want that any more than you." Swallow. "I spoke with the lad alone the other day. Assures me it's different this time. But then, of /course/ he does." Roger puts his glass down for a moment, leaning forward to meet the Khourni's eyes. His smile is gone, now, and his voice is low and gruff. "He's your boy, Jevon, he's got potential. Says all the right words." A shake of the head. "But I've never put too much stock in words."

"Yeah… he says all the right words," Jevon says, though there is something darker in his tone now. Then he shakes his head. "Roger, the reason I'm so hesitant is that… well… fuck." He takes another swallow. "Nitrim is a damn fool. I received a letter from my cousin Lord Godfrey Khournas… Hand of the King. My son has been attempting to bypass security measures around the Hostile captive… Sarah 113 of 164. He has repeated used his Awakened state around her… once he attempted to engage her in telepathy, and then again he placed a sound-dampening bubble around them." He grimaces as he takes another swallow of bourbon. "I can't in good faith marry him off if he could bring shame to another House… you won't have people looking out for him once he's no longer a Khournas."

What? What? There's a widening of Roger's eyes at Jevon's first comment, and quickly he shakes his head. The Awakened bit is more or less Greek to him, but the concept of bypassing security… "I know he's reckless, Jevon. Any man with eyes can see that. He'd talked to me about the Hostile captive, but to go that far…" He's shaking his head again even as he reaches for the glass of rum, but the little sip he takes does little to calm him. And then there's that other thing the High Lord said, and his eyes widen even more. "No longer a… Jevon, surely you're not saying he'd become a Hollolas." Beat. "He's /your/ son."

"Nitrim is paranoid, seeking a conspiracy everywhere he goes… he has theories without evidence, and he believes them to be gospel and gets upset when you don't believe him." Jevon lapses once more into a turbulent silence. Then he grimaces again. "Micaya is better at this shit… she at least knows how to ease into things like that." Then the High Lord breathes out a heavy sigh. "If we decided to go forth with marriage negotiations… I would request that Nitrim be married into Hollolas." He rubs at his silver beard, brushing his fingers idly down his throat. "It will do him good to no longer bear the weight of this House."

"And that does a /hell/ of a job of convincing me that he's fit for Cyrielle." There's just a little snap in the Lord Hollolas' voice, and even a little of Roger is enough to fill the room and then some. He leans forward to let his sea-green eyes bore into the High Lord's. "Reckless. Paranoid. I could live with one or the other, but both? He's not ready, Jevon, and damned if I'm sure that Cyri is ready either." Slowly he settles back into his chair, adding, "Sure, it would do him good to get out of here, but at what cost??

Jevon rolls his shoulders a bit, and his neck cracks lightly. He breathes out a steady exhale. "I know he's not ready… I don't know much of Cyrielle, but I know my son is not ready. He brought the Hostile two paintings for fuck's sake… one with him standing on its homeworld because he saw it in one of his dreams. Which means, now at least one Hostile knows that our Awakened experience prophetic dreams… even if damned if they even know what their dreams are about. He wants to make friends with it, avenge its brother…" Then the man breathes in deeply, settling his shoulders back in his chair once more. "I don't know what he's playing at, but he is going to get himself executed if he keeps forgetting we've got a war going on."

"Then we're in agreement. Leave the negotiations aside for now. Work out the matter of your son… and my daughter… first, and then we'll see about putting them together." That's enough to settle Roger down at least for a few moments, and he sinks a little deeper into the armchair, reaching out to take another sip from his glass of rum. Sigh. "You know the lad better than I do, Jevon." Obviously. "He wants - he /needs/, or at any rate he's convinced he does - my approval. What do you suggest I do?"

Jevon actually relaxes, and he leans back in his chair once more as he swishes the last of his bourbon in his glass. He nods firmly before he rolls his shoulders. "That is Nitrim's psychosis, Roger… he wants approval. He hungers for it, but I don't know whose approval he really seeks." He takes another swallow now, finishing his glass. "Does he seek your approval to marry Cyrielle?"

"'Course he does. I can't say that's /all/ he wants it for, but I imagine that's a big part." And likewise, it seems Roger's glass is empty. Hmm. "He's at least man enough to ask me directly. No deficit of courage in the lad. It's his recklessness that concerns me." A little pause. "If the issue is that he forgets there's a war, I'd say we ought to remind him."

"Well, throwing him into fucking battles doesn't work," Jevon grunts. He stands, offering to take Roger's glass to refill. "He whines instead about how he never signed up to be anyone's enemy. Well, fucking shame, son… you've got enemies, and you should be treating them as such. None of this pussyfooting around, trying to apologize, thinking that we've done some wrong." He shakes his head as he refills his glass with bourbon. "A Hostile isn't going to take pause and wonder if killing him is a bad thing."

"Can't imagine it does, but that's not what I'm suggesting, Jevon." He'll accept the refill, of course, but the Lord Commodore's mind isn't on the liquor right now. "You know, of course, that the Crown's authorized the Valen to clear the Hostiles out of their territory. It's only a matter of time before we get the same order in the Spine. To that end, I'm pushing to get an idea of what we're dealing with on the Northern Coast." His lips curl in a smile, but there's no worth in it. "Soon, we'll be sending a party to scout out what's left of Cape Amran. Let your boy see the harm the Hostiles did firsthand."

The High Lord returns with the glass for the Hollolas, handing the rum to him. He then settles back into his seat while Roger explains his idea. Jevon blinks, settling back into the armchair as he does. He sits with the idea, looking sidelong toward the door of his study. Then he looks back up toward Roger. He nods. "That may be what he needs. To realize that this is a war for survival… House Amran was not the first in Haven's history to fall, and it won't be the last…"

"Get his head out of the clouds and his feet back on the ground," Roger replies, accepting the refill and taking a deep sip. "Help him understand that there's plenty to deal with in the here and now. We'll take care of the future…" His voice trails off, and his brow knits together for a few moments. "Mmm. Just occurred to me, Jevon. We won't be taking care of the future of Haven. Our sons and daughters will." The next swallow nearly drains his glass again.

"The fuck you say, Roger… I'm going to live forever," Jevon replies with a grunt, but then he rolls his shoulders. "But… I know." He glances down into his glass for a moment, and then he takes another swallow. "We will be dead and gone by the time this war is over… which is why I'm such a hardass on Anabethe… which is why I'm sure you're such a hardass on… Fiona, right?" He shakes his head. "Hell… our grandchildren may be the ones to see this war come to a close."

"Fiona, yes. And Irvette. And Dylan. And Ephraim. And Cyrielle." There's that last sip of rum, and it seems Roger's not interested in more just yet. He sets the glass down. "Funny, isn't it? The first Lord Hollolas, Hiram. Didn't live to see /his/ System War end. I was named for him, you know." A pause. "That's why we do the best we can, then. Not for us. For our grandchildren." Not that the Lord Commodore has any yet, but there's time. "Something greater than ourselves. At least our children are /starting/ to see that."

"Starting to… some of them at least. There are some that are still ignoring what's on our doorstep… they keep stepping over it, pretending it isn't there, and then are shocked when it tries to take shit on their shoes." Or tries to kill them, since Jevon is talking about Hostiles here. "I think the Chantry has it right… they may be human, but they're still fucking Hostiles."

"No better way to say it than that," Roger agrees. Slowly his hands sink into the arms of the chair, and he gets to his feet. Perhaps he considers bowing, perhaps not, but all that happens is a little nod of the head. "I think we've settled what we came here to settle, Jevon. Thank you." Pause. "For your hospitality, of course."

Jevon flashes a bit of a grin up at the Hollolas as he stands, though the High Lord does not linger in his chair long. He reaches out, offering the man his strong, lightly scarred hand. "I will tell my son he is to join you on your expedition to the Cape. I will at least do your daughter a just honor and not see that he is married to another… and perhaps in time, they will both be ready for such a step forward."

"I appreciate it… High Lord Khournas." Roger's grin belies the formality in his voice, and there's just a hint of that legendary grip as he shakes Jevon's hand. "Have a good night." Moments later, he's turning to exit the study, making his way through the doorway…

…and he come to a stop for a second or three, as though to say something else. He almost starts to turn, then shakes his head and walks off.

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