![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
x-legion.livejournal.com posting in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
xp_logsHaving arrived in Derbent, Nathan and Haller get a chance to catch their breath from the multiple flights and reflect on why they're there.
The view from their hotel room was... kind of spectacular, actually. That might even be something of an understatement. Nathan stood on the balcony, just breathing, letting the accumulated tension of no less than three flights - Dagestan wasn't a big tourist spot, after all - drain away as he gazed out at the Caspian Sea. He had never been to Derbent before, despite various trips with Mistra and the Pack to this region. Of course, most of those had been to Chechnya, where the scenery was just as picturesque but a whole lot more prone to getting blown up at random intervals.
"Quite the city," he finally commented, if quietly, as Jim stepped out onto the balcony as well. "When we have some time, I want to take a look at those walls." The legendary Caspian Gates of Derbent were stunning, even if they didn't actually have anything to do with Alexander the Great. They were fifteen hundred years old, according to the research he'd done before he'd left. You had to respect anything that had stuck around in this part of the world for that long. "I'd like to see the citadel, too."
"You have a weird fixation on antiquated . . . things. Which would have sounded more insightful if I hadn't used up all my vocabulary on 'antiquated.'" Jim leaned against the balcony, already fumbling with a cigarette he'd been yearning for since the second connection. Long flights weren't for him, though somehow it seemed he never took any other kind. He clicked open his lighter as his eyes scanned one of the ancient walls that crawled across the abutting mountains. "They are impressive, though," he admitted.
"Is it that much of a surprise? My fixation on the enduring, I mean." His whole life, for so long, had been built on sand that could shift beneath his feet at a moment's notice. That was even setting aside the precognition and too much awareness of how much, or how little, one's actions could echo from the here-and-now into the future. Nathan's eyes slid sideways to Jim, one eyebrow going up in amusement. "I was wondering how long that was going to take. I appreciate your consideration in not lighting up in the taxi."
"Um, yeah." The younger man took a drag and muttered through grey-fogged words, "Aunt Gaby may not know about the smoking."
"'Aunt' Gaby still, hmm?" Nathan observed, turning his attention back to the view. He'd been watching the two of them during the trip, out of curiosity and concern - the latter mostly for Jim, of course. Gabrielle was a formidable woman, and he was already developing a healthy respect for her, but Jim was his friend. "Aren't these trips that are also family reunions wonderful?"
"Or something. I've been thinking of her as my aunt for a couple decades. Also, this particular bad habit comes from the non-native voice in my head. Yeah. There's some awkwardness." Jim twisted the cigarette between his fingers. "It's, um . . . a little hard to reorganize your personal universe."
"Remember who you're talking to," Nathan said, his voice still soft, but dry now, too - and very slightly brittle. "It takes time. At least you have a stable situation to deal with," he said more briskly, pulling himself out of a certain train of thought that could go nowhere but downhill. Happy thoughts. Productive thoughts. "Comparatively, at least."
"Yeah, there's that." This was getting a little too close to unstable ground, or at least a patch he didn't particularly want to shove Nathan over right at this moment. A change of subject would not hurt. Jim scuffed the back of his head. "It's not exactly the priority here, anyway. All things considered, the issue of military reintegration into the society sort of overshadows what I call Aunt Gaby at the next family reunions."
"I have a soft spot for DDR programs," Nathan said quietly. "And for child soldiers in general, obviously. It's not just Mistra - I've seen too many of them in my time." Of all the different issues Elpis addressed, this one hit him in a very personal way. He supposed that was inevitable.
"Yeah," Jim agreed softly. Like Mauritania. He exhaled slowly, breath streaming. "Sometimes I wonder if it's that things repeat, or just never change."
"This in particular? Probably the latter. Children are never not going to be more malleable, for military purposes." Nathan's expression had gone impassive. "And mutant children are never not going to be commodities, in that sense. Unless you know a way to change human nature, this is going to keep happening." He shook his head slightly. "Still," he said more quietly, "this is a good place for a program to help them. Far enough away from Chechnya to get some space, yet close enough culturally that they have a chance of reintegrating fully into society here. The happy medium."
Jim's miscolored eyes went again to the ancient fortifications that ran from the mountains to the sea, over a thousand years old and still standing. There was something ironic that victims of a military draft would be relocated to a place that was a fortress in its own right, but also a certain sense. He couldn't count the number of traumatized minds he'd seen reflecting just this sort of defense. Walls defined safe places, something to take refuge behind -- like David had.
"Permanence and protection," the younger man said, raising his cigarette for another drag. "Yeah. It's a good place for a transition."
The view from their hotel room was... kind of spectacular, actually. That might even be something of an understatement. Nathan stood on the balcony, just breathing, letting the accumulated tension of no less than three flights - Dagestan wasn't a big tourist spot, after all - drain away as he gazed out at the Caspian Sea. He had never been to Derbent before, despite various trips with Mistra and the Pack to this region. Of course, most of those had been to Chechnya, where the scenery was just as picturesque but a whole lot more prone to getting blown up at random intervals.
"Quite the city," he finally commented, if quietly, as Jim stepped out onto the balcony as well. "When we have some time, I want to take a look at those walls." The legendary Caspian Gates of Derbent were stunning, even if they didn't actually have anything to do with Alexander the Great. They were fifteen hundred years old, according to the research he'd done before he'd left. You had to respect anything that had stuck around in this part of the world for that long. "I'd like to see the citadel, too."
"You have a weird fixation on antiquated . . . things. Which would have sounded more insightful if I hadn't used up all my vocabulary on 'antiquated.'" Jim leaned against the balcony, already fumbling with a cigarette he'd been yearning for since the second connection. Long flights weren't for him, though somehow it seemed he never took any other kind. He clicked open his lighter as his eyes scanned one of the ancient walls that crawled across the abutting mountains. "They are impressive, though," he admitted.
"Is it that much of a surprise? My fixation on the enduring, I mean." His whole life, for so long, had been built on sand that could shift beneath his feet at a moment's notice. That was even setting aside the precognition and too much awareness of how much, or how little, one's actions could echo from the here-and-now into the future. Nathan's eyes slid sideways to Jim, one eyebrow going up in amusement. "I was wondering how long that was going to take. I appreciate your consideration in not lighting up in the taxi."
"Um, yeah." The younger man took a drag and muttered through grey-fogged words, "Aunt Gaby may not know about the smoking."
"'Aunt' Gaby still, hmm?" Nathan observed, turning his attention back to the view. He'd been watching the two of them during the trip, out of curiosity and concern - the latter mostly for Jim, of course. Gabrielle was a formidable woman, and he was already developing a healthy respect for her, but Jim was his friend. "Aren't these trips that are also family reunions wonderful?"
"Or something. I've been thinking of her as my aunt for a couple decades. Also, this particular bad habit comes from the non-native voice in my head. Yeah. There's some awkwardness." Jim twisted the cigarette between his fingers. "It's, um . . . a little hard to reorganize your personal universe."
"Remember who you're talking to," Nathan said, his voice still soft, but dry now, too - and very slightly brittle. "It takes time. At least you have a stable situation to deal with," he said more briskly, pulling himself out of a certain train of thought that could go nowhere but downhill. Happy thoughts. Productive thoughts. "Comparatively, at least."
"Yeah, there's that." This was getting a little too close to unstable ground, or at least a patch he didn't particularly want to shove Nathan over right at this moment. A change of subject would not hurt. Jim scuffed the back of his head. "It's not exactly the priority here, anyway. All things considered, the issue of military reintegration into the society sort of overshadows what I call Aunt Gaby at the next family reunions."
"I have a soft spot for DDR programs," Nathan said quietly. "And for child soldiers in general, obviously. It's not just Mistra - I've seen too many of them in my time." Of all the different issues Elpis addressed, this one hit him in a very personal way. He supposed that was inevitable.
"Yeah," Jim agreed softly. Like Mauritania. He exhaled slowly, breath streaming. "Sometimes I wonder if it's that things repeat, or just never change."
"This in particular? Probably the latter. Children are never not going to be more malleable, for military purposes." Nathan's expression had gone impassive. "And mutant children are never not going to be commodities, in that sense. Unless you know a way to change human nature, this is going to keep happening." He shook his head slightly. "Still," he said more quietly, "this is a good place for a program to help them. Far enough away from Chechnya to get some space, yet close enough culturally that they have a chance of reintegrating fully into society here. The happy medium."
Jim's miscolored eyes went again to the ancient fortifications that ran from the mountains to the sea, over a thousand years old and still standing. There was something ironic that victims of a military draft would be relocated to a place that was a fortress in its own right, but also a certain sense. He couldn't count the number of traumatized minds he'd seen reflecting just this sort of defense. Walls defined safe places, something to take refuge behind -- like David had.
"Permanence and protection," the younger man said, raising his cigarette for another drag. "Yeah. It's a good place for a transition."
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}