Cultural Exchange

[Jeryd Redsun]

Inside the mess hall, Jeryd joined the familiar scrum of hungry cadets, jockeying for a premium spot in the lunch queue. It was a strangely sophisticated dance, whereby each participant understood the need to assert physical supremacy over their peers without starting a fight or attracting unwanted attention from their superior officers. So they went through the motions, repeating the same old steps, and, of course, there'd be the occasional challenger attempting to muscle in on Jeryd's turf, but they all learned their place, in time. For six weeks in a row, he had been the undisputed king of the lunch queue, and it was a title his stomach was unwilling to relinquish. So much so that, when he finally laid eyes upon the contents of the serving station, it gave a triumphant growl.

Food was about the only thing that could cure his mood. Until thirty minutes ago, Jeryd, and his fellow cadets, had every reason to be happy. A five day reprieve was upon them, at last, whereby they could leave the Citadel, within reason, and enjoy some much-needed R and R. The promise of freedom, away from all the protocol, and the drills, and the people he'd rather do without, such as Gorm Jolee, Tyrell Catanna, and, well... It wasn't fair, he thought, bitterly, for about the hundredth time. His tray was clapped onto the station, and the droid in front of him was given one simple instruction:

"Give me everything."

In short order, his tray was full to the point of obscenity. On one half, a square of fish pie, complemented by a bread cube, and a turd of vegetable puree; on the other side, a dehydrated groat chop that looked like a hunk of gelatinous chuff, sitting on a bed a yellow dust, and flanked by chunky tuber wedges. The well in the corner of his tray had not been neglected either, for it was full of red powder, ready to become a piping hot soup. Just add water, he reminded himself, in a bid to retain his appetite. He needed to eat, if he was going to make it to the end of the day.

"Cadet Redsun," Lieutenant Morag had said, reading from her datapad. How Jeryd had stiffened in his seat, and allowed his gaze to creep ever-so-hopefully across the room to where Onika was sitting. It had been revealed, that morning, that each cadet was to be paired with another over the course of their downtime. They were encouraged to think of it as a bonding exercise, to develop unit cohesion, and a sense of camaraderie with their peers. It was a solid idea, or so Jeryd had thought, until the lieutenant spoke again, and said a name that cut through him like a vibroblade, "Cadet Rayner."

Kyle. Rayner. Of all the hideous misfortune in the galaxy, he found himself partnered up with the one cadet he could scarcely share a room with. If he was asked to summarise what it was about Cadet Rayner that bothered him so much, Jeryd would struggle to give a concise answer; his dislike was the culmination of so many middling factors - factors that started accumulating from his first day, in this very room, no less. And, sure enough, there he was: Kyle Rayner, sat in the same spot as when they first met, hunkered over his own solitary meal. A need to drive Rayner's face into his tray of whatever-it-was rose up in Jeryd, a futile scramble for retribution, but, then, as he rounded the table, and caught the Nehantite's gaze, he was reminded that there was nothing about their unlikely pairing that appealed to him, either. Better to just get this over with.

"So," he said, depositing himself unceremoniously across the table from Kyle, "How do you want to do this?"

[Halajiin Rabeak]

Freedom. Just the thought of it had caused Hal's heart to skip a beat. After seven months in the Citadel, with only the occasional mission to take him beyond its grey and depressing walls - other than a jaunt out for a burger, one night - the Nehantite was about to go stir crazy. Naturally, escape had been the very first thing upon his mind, jumping about at the forefront and waving its arms and attempting to blast away on a vuvuzela while wearing reflective day-glo glitter clothing for attention, yet reason had quietly nudged it aside, lowering his heartbeat once more. No, escape would come later, with a proper plan and follow-through, and certainly not during his first true freedom. Surely he would be monitored anyhow, so by obeying the rules - for the most part - and playing the role of a good cadet, he could possibly alleviate some of the suspicion which remained upon him.

And then came the twist. He'd have to spend his time with a fellow cadet. Nothing put a damper on thoughts of hitting up night clubs, dance clubs, and all the lewd, lustful acts he wanted to commit than knowing that 90% of the cadet population were minors. Crushing his fork through wall of his fish pie slab, Hal managed a touch of a smile as he considered the bright side - at least he was going to ruin Cadet Redsun's R&R as well! Stuffing his mouth, he glanced up to see the gluttonous git arriving to sit across from him.

To his question, Hal chewed slowly, prolonging the awkward silence before reaching for his glass of blue milk to wash it down with, and wiping his furry upper lip on a napkin before clearing his throat.

"Well, I find that a movie helps break the ice, and then maybe some cuddling before moving on to heavy petting," he replied, a whimsical air to his voice. "After that, well, it all depends on your comfort level with taking it. I mean, I wouldn't presume to know how much experience you've had, and I'm not exactly for beginners, I should warn you."

[Jeryd Redsun]

The movie suggestion struck him as interesting - he hadn't seen a good holo in a while, and it would give them something to talk about - but, of course, when Kyle started to talk about cuddling and heavy petting, the light died in Jeryd's eyes. While the Nehantite waffled, he busied himself with preparing his meals: after the proper application of water, the soup, bread, and groat chop in cheese sauce, they all started to take shape on his tray. He went to town on the fish pie and vegetables, in the meantime, and once Kyle was done talking rubbish, he gave him a nod.

"Funny," he said, in a tone which suggested the exact opposite. So, this was how it was going to be. The annoying bastard - he knew exactly what he meant - and, for all his boasting, he found himself wondering if dorky Kyle Rayner had ever been naked with a woman, before. It was difficult to imagine.

"Now that we have established you are a failed comedian, let's talk about how we're going to go about completing this assignment. We should both take some time to write down a list of questions we can ask, and record the answers." He paused, loaded fork hovering tentatively in the air, waiting for Kyle's response, "Agreed?"

[Halajiin Rabeak]

"Why would we do that?" Hal responded simply, blinking off any further thought of entertaining such a snooze-fest of an idea. "We've got five days off. I've got things I want to do, you've got things you want to do, so let's just do those things, and the other will have to suffer as we alternate. You have no interest in getting to know me, and I already know you're a self-centered, self-important little skid-mark who thinks that by puffing out his chest and saluting every officer as hard as he can, you'll be their favorite and accelerate through the ranks while your Force aptitude is mostly shit and you're so blinded by dogma that you can't think for yourself. There, I got you nailed, now you don't need to say a thing for the next five days, which is good for you because you hate interacting with non-humans anyway."

Readying another bite on his fork, Hal arched an eyebrow before saying, "Or did I miss something? Daddy issues, perhaps? Don't need to state that, those are implied."

[Jeryd Redsun]

"Fuck you."

It was a knee-jerk response that managed to escape no matter how firmly his lips were clamped shut. Jeryd didn't know what he hated more, the litany of accusations Kyle had just hurled his way, or the fact that he had allowed them to get to him. His brow crashed down in a scowl, fixing the presumptuous Nehantite across the table from him. Suddenly, he remembered why he hated him so much.

"You don't know the first thing about me, Rayner." The hint of pink in his cheeks, conjured at the first mention of his father, told a different story. His scowl turned into a sneer, "You'd love for me to be some alien-hating arsehole, wouldn't you? Because it would get you off the hook. But you're wrong, I don't hate you because you're an alien, Rayner. I hate you because you're an intolerable little wankshaft."

He attacked his lunch with renewed vigour, eager to be done with this whole exchange as soon as possible. It was going to be the first assignment he failed. In what galaxy could he and Kyle Rayner co-exist peacefully for more than five seconds?

[Halajiin Rabeak]

Hal's fork found itself set down in perfect alignment with his tray, and his posture straightened so that he could address Jeryd straight-on. The overhead lighting glinted from the hair oil in his perfectly combed headfur, and in that moment the Nehantite gave off the impression of someone in serious authority, backed up by tone of voice.

"I don't know the first thing about you, you say?" he replied, paws folded neatly upon the table. "So I don't know that you're the second son of a prominent Naval officer, and that you didn't want to be here. You dreamed of command within the Imperial Army, to set yourself apart and step out of your father's - and brother's - shadow. But then you tested Force-positive and wound up here, your career dreams dashed. I don't know that yes, you really do resent aliens because you don't know how to relate with them, and you do see humans as the dominant race in the galaxy. I don't know that you have confidence issues which can only be bolstered by assembling a little band of cronies who look up to you, when they're really at your level already. And I certainly don't know that the real reason you don't like me is that I'm better at all this than you are. That I, suspected of being a Jedi, am more respected by the Knights and more trusted than you, a proper Imperial of good breeding, are. But to top it all off, I could never know that you're jealous of how well I pilot the sims, because you'd certainly never have told Neville Hobb that, now would you?"

Taking up his fork again, Hal reached to section off more fish pie. "These ears aren't just for show, you know."

[Jeryd Redsun]

The first salvo was weathered with a quiet simmering patience. Jeryd expected, as he muscled his way through the last of the fish pie, he resembled his father, tranquil, under siege from his mother's dinner table nagging. It was one of the only times she knew he wouldn't walk away, and she utilised it at every opportunity to complain about the long hours he worked and his time away from home - as if having a decorated military career was as common as a being a district cabbie. But, what Jeryd lacked was his father's durasteel constitution. The personal details came thick and fast - from where, Jeryd could only imagine - and their accuracy was unnerving. He wore his sabaac face like a deflector shield, but, beneath the surface, Kyle's words were wrenching open old wounds that he thought had healed long ago.

Then, the fiction rolled in. Layer upon layer of nonsense about him hating aliens, and using people to make himself feel better, and harbouring a toxic jealousy of a fellow cadet. That wasn't him, at all. The renewed accusations acted like a salve for the damage Kyle had previously inflicted, because it revealed that, for all his hatred, none of it was rooted in fact, and that was reassuring - it cast doubt on all of his other observations. Although, related through his words, there was something revealed of his fellow cadet that Jeryd had never before realised: Kyle Rayner was a bully.

Suddenly, it all made sense. The showing off, the isolation, the complete absence of humility. There was a reason the rest of the cadets avoided him - Kyle Rayner thrived on making people feel bad about themselves. And, at once, the fists buried out of sight, beneath the table, became unfurled, and Jeryd found his inner-Weximan Redsun, once more, and went to work on his soup.

"You're a liar," he stated, flatly, "I never told Neb I was jealous of you. I said you were good. If you're going to eavesdrop, at least learn to take a compliment."

Rising from his meal, long enough to make eye contact, Jeryd snorted in disbelief, "You know what? I actually feel sorry for you, Rayner."

[Halajiin Rabeak]

"Why?" the question tumbled out of Hal's half-full mouth as he shrugged. Forcing his mouthful down with a visible gulp, he then sat back once more. "Because you know I'm stuck here, and I can never go home? That if my family ever found out I was not only supporting the Empire, but becoming an Imperial Knight they'd not just disown me, they'd pronounce me dead to them? Or is it because I'm so much older than most of you, and yet I still get treated like a kid most of the time? Maybe it's because I have such better tastebuds than you do, and yet I still have to eat this crap anyway - it's so much worse than you think, trust me. Yeah, I feel sorry for all that, too, but I've learned to deal with it. My choice has been made."

He then snorted a chuckle and shook his head. "And of course I'm a liar. All the Knights are liars. We're living in the Castle of Lies, located at the heart of Lie-World, whose magical empire is based on one massive lie. It's the one truth we all know, deep down. You'd have to be an idiot to not know that, and I do happen to know you're not an idiot. Eager, yes, idiot, no. So, since I do know you're not an idiot, I also know we're going to have to put up with each other for five days, or we both fail, and neither of us wants that kind of blemish on our record."

[Jeryd Redsun]

"At least we agree on something."

It was, admittedly, a rather feeble response in the wake of Kyle's bizarre outpouring. And it was the only thing he felt qualified to acknowledge. As for the rest, he had no idea what to make of it. If it was sincere, Kyle was a self-pitying traitor, if it was a performance, he was a melodramatic ham, and if it was nothing but a mind game, Kyle Rayner was dangerous. How much of what he said was true? How much of what he said he sincerely believed? Did he equate secrecy with lies? Did he dislike deception? In his time with Knight Jibral, Jeryd had come to learn that lies were not only useful, but necessary, in their line of work. Perhaps Rayner was just naive.

And, so, they came full circle. It had not been pleasant, it had not been clean, but there was an understanding between them, at last.

"Five days," he said, his faltering enthusiasm suddenly brightened, "Hey, have you ever played wegsphere?"

[Halajiin Rabeak]

The tines of Hal's fork pressed against the ridge of crust on his next bit of fish pie, feeling it lose its crispness as moisture seeped in. It was a sad metaphor for his waning enthusiasm to spite Jeryd and instead just get things over with. Shrugging his shoulders, he gave a half-hearted smile and replied, "Yeah, on the O-Box, at least."

[Jeryd Redsun]

"That's a 'no,' then," Jeryd was dismissive, but undeterred. He leaned forward on the table, with a glimmer in his eye - few things could spark his imagination like the promise of a good game of wegsphere.

"I captained the team, during my old SAG days. The Manarai Mantasharks." He paused to test the waters of Kyle's enthusiasm, and also to determine, on the slim chance, whether or not he'd actually heard of his old team, before. The lack of engagement was shrugged off, "Great game. Fast, exciting, tough. Not exactly the holochess club, but, if you enjoy competition, and you're not afraid to work up a little sweat..."

He allowed his pitch to trail off, ending instead with a single raised eyebrow, fired as an unspoken challenge across the table. Rayner was nothing, if not competitive.

[Halajiin Rabeak]

Hal listened, nodding politely. He'd never heard of SAG, or the Magical Metasharts, or whatever their team was called, but that didn't surprise him much. After all, it was highly doubtful that Jeryd would know of Ibn Raj High School, or the Sandstorms. The important part was that Jeryd was looking for a way for them to bride their gap, and in doing so had left himself wide open.

The fork was twisted as he took it all in, then set down so that Hal could lean back in his chair. "So, basically what you're saying is that you want some serious agility and power on your side, so you're asking me to join your team? Or are you thinking we should play against each other because you want a real beatdown? Either way, yeah, I'm game."

[Jeryd Redsun]

"Oh, the bants..." Jeryd sucked air through his teeth, and winced, as if he'd just tasted something foul. He considered his fellow cadet with a fresh hint of pity, "You take too long with it, man. Keep it short and simple, much like yourself. Yeah?"

With a wink, Jeryd went back to work on his lunch. Already, he was casting his mental nets wide, considering each of the wegsphere clubs in their immediate vicinity. He made a point of knowing these sorts of things. And, his pride in the glorious game being what it was, he wanted to make sure Kyle's first foray into wegsphere was equal parts impressive and intimidating. And he knew just the place.

"Socco District W.C." He gave a nod, as if that settled the unspoken matter.

"They train daily in the Sunriders' stadium. We could join them, in the morning. You can impress them with your..." he forced out a cough, "Serious agility and power. And, maybe, they will let us play a few games."

[Halajiin Rabeak]

"Sounds good," Hal shrugged. "Though, I hope you know I have no idea who these guys are, or where their stadium is. Should I try to keep things simple for them, too, or just for you?"

Despite the insistence of leading psychiatrists and psychonalysts, Halajiin Rabeak knew that it was entirely possible to inflect change in someone by sheer annoyance, until they became a better person, or at least removed the massive stick from their butt which hadn't been put there for pleasure. How did he know this? Years of practice and prolonged suffering inflicted on one human, a Mr. Abari Loki, who had become his proudest case study. So long as he stayed the course, acted cool, and delivered just the right barbs at the right time, there was hope that he could work miracles on Jeryd Redsun as well, in the cultivation of something completely foreign to him - an interesting personality.

Either that or it was all a fluke and Loki had simply grown up through the process of being a teenager and Hal was a terrible influence, but for the time being Hal wanted to live in the delusion that he could truly change a person's heart.

Well, not literally change their heart. We're not a surgeon. Hal's higher reasoning cleared its throat.