Where:  Balamb Garden Cafeteria
Who:  Issei, Bael and Irvine
Date of Log:  July 3rd, 2000

Wandering back toward one of the tables that appears to be abandoned by the
students who had been occupying that very spot until a moment ago, Irvine
pulls the note open. He doesn't read it right away, getting comfortable first,
tipping the hat forward to hide half his face from the majority of angles one
might look at him.
Unfolding the note finally, he chuckles as he peruses its contents, setting it
down without folding it again. Ah, teenage crushes, they're fun, really. The
hat suddenly tips back as his ears catch another conversation, the one at the
table not too far from where he finally sat down, hearing Bael's comments
about 'Murder for Hire'. No comment from the gunman, but he can't help but
smile cryptically. Maybe agreeing, possibly disagreeing.

Another chuckle sounds from Issei, who shakes his head in responce to the
question, followed by a shrug. "If you want to be. It's just that most people
are. I tend to be a little suprised when someone doesn't fit the mold, you
see. Over these past five years, I've just become used to it, I suppose."
Again, his eyes wander away, though his attention remains focused on Bael..
and as the SeeD speaks, Issei's mirthful expression visably dims, until
finally the light in his eyes and the smile on his lips are both snuffed
completly. For a moment, he just.. stares out a window, looking.. miserable.
But he offers no arguement, and in little time closes his eyes to block out
those negative emotions from his expression, and soon enough his mind. When
his eyes open again, a mask of dispassion has been firmly put in place. There
is a bit of a longer pause of silence as the cadet thinks on what has been
said, and evidently isn't going to be blowing up or getting angry. Nope, this
isn't a button. A sensitive subject, yes, but nothing he's going to blow up
about. Just the oppisite. No, Issei hasn't got 'it' yet. If he has anything to
say about it, he never will, either. He wants out, so very baddly.. but he
won't let himself out, because he knows what he has to /do/ to get out, and as
stated previously.. Issei is a coward in some reguards. "I don't even know why
I'm here." he says with such a lack of conviction or even the emotion which
seems so characteristic of everything he does that it's pretty much a blatent
lie. He knows damn well why he's here. Because he couldn't face up to the
consequences of his own actions, and he couldn't stand to watch the
disappointment in his father's face if he backed out to persue something that
would make /him/ happy. "Lack of anything better to do with my life I
suppose." LIES lies lies! Though take heart - it's not Bael he's trying to lie
to. Though perhaps that makes it worse... He's actually trying to make himself
believe he's not a total yellow-bellied bastard.

"There's no such thing as a lack of direction here, Issei. When you don't find a
path, one is decided for you. Either a return to the world outside or a cold
place -beneath- it, and either way, Garden stops being your concern." On one
hand, Bael doesn't believe that anyone who came to this place for want of a
better idea could withstand long enough to still be here, but on the other,
the actual truth of it is Issei's business. He observes the cadet's passage
through an emotional wringer with bland interest, registering the shift of
emotion and subsequent efforts at rationalization without evidencing sympathy
or contempt. To each their own, after all. "If it helps," he offers, because
every person here is a work in progress and he'd just as soon see as many
successful finished products as possible, " consider yourself here to survive.
Because any lapse like this one in a crisis situation is likely to be the last
concern you ever have." He shrugs as a realization takes hold and comments,
"That's what some people go in for, though. But no one thinks well of the ones
who come here to turn their life into a drawn-out suicide note to the world
before ending themselves in a spectacularly idiotic fashion. If you're going
to botch this, Issei, at least be creative enough not to do that."

Rising from his seat again, Irvine looks slightly perplexed by the conversation,
though he really didn't mean to eavesdrop. Still, something about Bael's
philosophy just disturbs him. He's still a student himself, a kid who has only
been moderately tested in the way the world works. There's still that desire
to cling to some form of optimism, not quite willing to accept the fatalistic
viewpoint that most soldiers eventually have to adopt to survive.
Standing there for a long moment, he barely realizes he's still holding that
silly little note that suddenly doesn't seem so important in the large scheme
of things. He tucks it into his pocket, torn between walking away and
introducing himself, possibly joining the conversation. He doesn't want to be
rude and just walk up admitting he's been listening when he shouldn't be, yet
he's fascinated. Decisions, decisions.
A swift mental kick from Badb forces him forward, as if for a moment she took
over his legs and pushed him toward the other table. Another reminder how
impatient the Guardian Force can be when her Chosen is behaving indecisively.
"Pardon, mind if I join? I couldn't help but overhear part of the
conversation..."

Eh? Some elaborate blaze-of-glory suicide? Issei actually snorts - albeit softly
- at the suggestion, his eyes regain a bit of that humor. "If I wanted to kill
myself I'd atleast have the sense to make it as quick and painless as
possible. And besides," His demeanor briefly changes as he speaks the next
words, as if quoting someone and seeking to make that clear through imitation.
"You can't be reincarnated if you kill yourself." Whoever he was quoting, it
was obviously some soft-spoken woman. Either that, or a guy far more
affeminate then even Issei. o.O; "I'd argue I do have direction." Leaning in a
little, Issei points a finger at Bael and, with a smile, says "I will do
everything in my power to become a SeeD.. So I can get out of work detail."
Yeah, he's good with the jokes when he wants to distract from real serious
conversation. He's just about to crack another, infact, when the voice coming
from nearby disturbs his train of thought. The dark-haired young man looks up
to the cowboy, curious for a moment before offering a friendly enough smile.
"Not at all." His head lifts off his hand so that said hand can make a
offering gesture towards the chair nearest Irvine. "Please, sit." Polite to
the bitter end, Issei stands up and offers a hand to Irvine before the cowboy
has taken a seat. "Cadet Issei Nishikiori. And this," He motions to the
lavender haired one with a tilt of the head. "Is Bael. And you are..?"

"..more than welcome to join in," the SeeD interjects, raising a hand to tap two
fingers to his brow. It's a holdover from an earlier day, the salute issued by
cadet leaders to their squads in most Galbadian basic training camps. He
doesn't expect it to be recognized and offers it without a thought. Unlike
some -other- seething bundles of testosterone-laced aggression, this one has
at least a tenuous grasp of social niceties and goes so far as to slip his
feet from the chair next to Issei, certainly not the one nearest them which
the other cadet has offered Irvine, but a show of manners furthered as he sits
a bit straighter in his seat. He's already been introduced, so he'll watch
Irvine and wait for a name to be given, sparing the interim to take note of
the young man's unusual (by Balambese standards) wardrobe. The SeeD is hardly
one to comment and knows it. Props to Irvine, then, for taking a stand in his
personal appearance. Even if the statement seems to be 'yippie-ki-yi-yay', at
least Cadet Kinneas is saying -something-.

Slightly overwhelmed for a moment, Irvine has to take a moment to absorb the
dual greeting and immediate acceptence of his presence at the table. He smiles
faintly at Issei first, reaching up to tip his hat and properly introduce
himself, instead of shaking hands, "Irvine Kinneas. Nice to meet you, Issei."
A Galbadian last name, for sure, but who's to say, so many students in the
Garden are orphans anyway that real nationality blends into a melting pot.
Bael gets an entirely different reaction the moment he greets the gunman with
the standard Galbadian training camp salute. He more then recognizes it, in
fact, the blood just about drains from his face. But, before Badb can get
another swift kick in, and before he actually sits down, he manages to ask,
"Galbadian? I haven't seen that in years...." Ok, calm down cowboy, it was for
the training camps, _not_ any symbolism used between the Holy Knights. Seems
earlier conversations prove true yet again, just another student with a secret
he doesn't want to share.

O.O; Oh, wow, /that/ wasn't kinda weird and susupicious, Irvie! As it stands,
however, Issei isn't going to prod the cowboy with questions of why he just
went six shades of pale, and instead plops himself back into his seat, folding
his arms on the table infront of him and leaning in against his elbows a
little. "Is it?" he asks, looking to Bael curiously as Irvine points out what
he just did was Galbadian. "I've never seen anyone do that before. Where the
heck did you pick up somethin' like that, Bael?" Kind of an odd thing, don'cha
think?

Bael arrives, albeit hesitantly, at the conclusion that Issei is prone to
overreacting. He typically staves off such assessments until he knows someone
better, but thrice in one day is fairly safe indication of a trend. Irvine is
regarded for a moment and then Bael shows teeth in a near-genuine smile.
"Mmm," he punctuates with a nod. "And the last time I did it, I only used one
finger." The middle one, according to his demonstration. "I spent my early
years in the Excelsior School. Sort of..preparatory encampment, to groom
cadets for Galbadia's Garden. Luck brought me here when I was twelve." Luck
and a record that borders on criminal, but they don't call it murder when it's
one snag in the paperwork removing another. We just won't go there. "I'm given
the impression, Kinneas," He'll probably be using Irvine's first name soon,
because the young man has already left good impressions so far. Mostly he
avoids Issei's last name because as a perfectionist he'd lose sleep over
having mispronounced it. He's just wierd that way. " ..that you and I are of
one mind about Galbadia." He can only conjecture as to where Irvine spent his
formative years, but he'd've recognized a fellow Excelsior alumnus by now. You
can't expect to surrender all trace of pigmentation for any length of time and
not have it be noticed and speculated upon, after all.

Badb may not kick him in the pants this time, but Irvine does a fine job of that
on his own. That's a fine way to play 'innocent' there, gunman, just give
everything away with a single look. The color returns slowly as Bael loosely
explains his own feelings toward Galbadia. Not an Enforcer, not one of the
Holy Knights come here to drag him back kicking and screaming to Galbadia for
trial and execution. Shew. He slowly seats himself finally, taking a moment to
shift his coat around and reach up to tip the hat forward a bit. The wind
seems to like him, twining through his hair to lift it slightly. Funny,
where's the breeze coming from for that anyway?
Considering how carefully to approach the subject, Irvine glances at Issei,
assessing him mentally, filing away what little he gleans from a first
impression. Bael, however, he's already made a few decisions about. So far,
good ones. When he finally answers, it's obviously guarded, he doesn't get
surprised too often, but when he does the hackles stay up for a bit. "I wasn't
in Excelsior, went straight from the herding drives to Garden. Apparently I
had a talent they needed."

What's so hard about pronouncing Nishikiori? Nee-she-key-or-ee! Just like it's
spelled! heh. Hokkanese names really suck, don't they. Then again, 'Ee-say'
isn't that easy to pronounce either. Honestly, if Issei hears one more person
try to pronounce his name 'Issie' or 'Is-say', he'll go berserk. -.- Ahem. But
anyhow.. Issei listens quietly to the two men exchange information about their
opinions and experiences conserning Galbadia, and stays silent as he has
nothing to add. He plucks off a bit of bread from the top of his now cold
burger's bun and pops it into his mouth, watching the two men idly before his
eyes drift curiously up to the clock on the wall.. and then widen. Yeah, Bael
- he has a bit of a tendancy to overreact. This makes four. "Damn!" No, not as
loud as his declaration of Seifer's affiliation, but startling none the less.
"I have to go. I'm very sorry, but I have about half an hour to get changed
and head out for training or my instructor will have my hide." As he says all
this, Issei scrambles up to his feet and gathers up his plate, drink, and any
trash he left behind onto his tray. A smile and hasty bow are both given to
the two men before the cadet swiftly picks up his tray. "It was nice meeting
you Irvine, hope to see you around. Bael, nice talking to you. See you both
later!" And with that, the flighty lil' cadet dashes away to dispose of his
tray, and then high-tail it back to his room as fast as his lil' (well, not to
little. u.u) legs can carry him. Yep. Four. But atleast he's not a wet rag, eh
Bael? heh.

Bael breathes a fitful, light chuckle at Issei's expense and cracks a grin as he
dips his head in reply to the bow. "Take care, Issei," he replies with a taint
of laughter in his voice. He doesn't bother to make the acquaintance of
mundane people, so eccentricities like those of the departing cadet are seen
as redeeming qualities. He sobers a bit when regarding Irvine, nodding in
reply. "Excelsior was an orphanage of sorts. Except they weren't really
interested in placing us in families other than the vastly extended, gleefully
contentious and inevitably stultifying social disaster that is Galbadia's
military." He feels better for some reason, having elaborated upon that. "So,
when did your luck change for the better?" Obviously the man's been 'in' long
enough to at least endure rudimentary training, but surely there's more to the
story than that. Ordinarily Bael wouldn't pry, but this is now time for 'war
stories' in his opinion. It's not often he can relate with anyone's pre-Balamb
experiences.

Watching Issei's 'Flight of the Bumblebee' with a mild, laid back fascination,
Irvine is reminded of the insects he used to watch scurrying about out on the
Galbadian plains when he had nothing better to do. Waving briefly, and
wondering if the quickly departing Cadet actually saw it, he doesn't actually
mouth a good-bye. More then likely Issei is far too caught up in his 'I'm
late, I'm late!' White Rabbit routine to actually hear it anyway. Tucking in
another bit of information in the file his mind keeps on various people,
Irvine's mental tablet scribbles down under Issei's name: Needs to Relax.
Back to Bael the gunman's attention then goes, shrugging his shoulder as he
leans forward, tipping the hat back again as he folds his arms over the
tabletop. "I was an orphan," he offers, not feeling it's a detail that needs
to be hidden. "But, I was adopted too quickly for them to put me in Excelsior.
If I'd known then what I found out later, I would've listened to them too and
not bothered to go to Garden." The last comes out semi-bitterly. No, there's
no love lost for Galbadia's military over here. As an afterthought, he adds,
"I've only been here a few years. I didn't manage to escape till I was nearly
fifteen. They weren't keen on letting me go." He got lucky then, missed the
cutoff date for Balamb's Garden.
   
Bael subjects the gunman's words to a healthy dose of consideration, affecting a
thoughtful frown as he mulls over the convoluted structure of their home
nation's military to sort through a perceived incongruity. For the most part,
he and his classmates could aspire to be officers at best, earning a
commission if circumstances favored them. But it was ingrained into them all
that they were disposable. Desertion though, was frowned upon. Apparently
logic and Galbadian rhetoric don't mix, and people abiding by their common
sense were seen as a threat. Whatever nebulous conclusion he decides to form
about what he's been told so far, Bael doesn't see Irvine in any less of a
favorable light. He made it here, and that says enough to the SeeD.
Still...not keen on letting him go? He's surprised at his own curiosity,
evidenced by a slight widening of his eyes before he finally nods and
comments, "You have my condolences for even having to have tread those halls.
I've seen what comes out of them after their 'great work' has been completed."
It doesn't look a thing like a cowboy or a seven foot tall preening sociopath
(technically Bael -isn't- sociopathic, but his first romantic conquest
labelled him that after their messy breakup. He likes the sound of it). He
dips his head again, not having a hat to gesture with, and then settles
against the back of his chair. "You don't need me to tell you you're lucky,
Irvine, but all the same I think it bears repeating. Fifteen is cutting it a
hair close."

There's that sudden desire to just admit the past to Bael, that much Irvine
can't deny. He beats it down however. No, he won't be standing up anytime soon
with a hand raised 'Hi, My name is Irvine and I'm a Recovering Holy Knight.'
Not anytime soon, anyway. He reaches up with one hand, rubbing at his chin
lightly as he considers what to say next. Partly he feels he's already given
away too much. "I only spent about a year at their Garden anyway. I didn't
know about this Garden, actually. I thought Galbadia had the only one." Ah, a
slight pang for the innocent days on the plains, driving herds rather then
training to kill people.
"What were your experiences there, Bael?" A tilt of the cowboy's head, a shift
in subject, nothing like a reversal of questioning to bring him back from
those feelings of uncertainty and that nagging doubt that he's said too much.
The subconcious often works these little subtlties in when the mind tries to
conciously keep them out.

Bael is more than willing to answer the question, but the slight wilting of his
expression suggests that he's not sure how without making it sound...well..as
bad as it really was. For everyone else, rather. Bael..wears normality like a
second skin these days, but harkening back to his pre-Balamb days involves a
descent into surrealism he'd rather not subject other people to. He cops out,
then. "How do you mean?"

That's a familiar copout to Irvine, who's employed it before when questioned
about his time in Galbadia. An eyebrow lifts as he realizes this, though the
gesture is mostly lost to the brim of his hat. He pauses now, wonder whether
or not he should persue the question now. If Bael's taking the same route he
tries to when being asked a similiar question, there's probably a reason why.
But, there's the risk that the burden of explanation will end up on his
shoulders again.
"How did you get away?" The concept of escape is different for Irvine, he wasn't
trying to escape the military at the time, he was fleeing from the Priesthood
and Order. They're slightly less apt to let their students get away after
putting time, effort, and money into them.

Bael can work with this. He was simply faced with too broad a question before.
Steepling his hands over his belly, he lets the tension of his previous bout
with concern bleed from him with a sigh that deflates his chest. "I was in the
middle of my penultimate term," Bael uses words like that in conversation and
some people have problems with it, but there you go, " when the pre-grad
scouts came to grab up some early recruits for the Garden's next class. There
were vacancies, you see, and our next graduating glass wasn't due to complete
their lesons for another half a year. A list of hopefuls I wasn't supposed to
be on was filled out and rounded up, and we were tested. Fortunately for me,
one of the recruiters was from Balamb, looking for SeeDs." If Irvine wants to
know -why- he was chosen out of all the others, he'll have to ask another
question. "I was brought here when I was twelve."

That's not what Irvine had envisioned originally, but it sounded so much easier
then his bout with attaining freedom, much of it spent looking over his
shoulder, fearing that at any moment one of Galbadia's 'good citizens' would
just spontaeneously know who he was and report him. Thoughtful for a moment,
he doesn't think to ask anything else about it, it seems plausible to him. A
nice, lucky break. "I wish I'd had it that easy. I don't think I ever saw any
recruiters from other places."

Bael can't help but laugh, although it's a soft thing, almost whispered.
Recovering with a slight toss of his head, he directs his gaze past Irvine for
a moment as he reflects. "Yes, it was easy," he concedes. Something in his
tone suggests that the ordeal was far more 'interesting' than he lets on, but
compared to constant pursuit it probably wasn't as stressful. Then again, Bael
lacks any of the qualities that make a man suitable for religious duties, so
he would never be able to walk in Irvine's boots even if they did fit. "Well,
technically they aren't supposed to allow them. Excelsior was a place for
excess baggage. We were all forgettable and expendable, so when a stranger
comes along saying they want to pick out a choice few and remove the burden
they place upon the establishment's alotted resources, no one is going to
complain." So being refuse has its perks.

Irvine glances up suddenly at Bael's laughter, looking at him blankly. He, of
course, has no idea what's so funny, expect that now he suspects there's more
to the story then originally told. But, isn't it that way with everyone?
Instead of prying further, he blinks, trying not to look so much like the kid
he still is. His shoulders shrug, breaking his moment of tension, "I s'pose
not, in the end. Makes sense."
Now... comes the question he's been pondering asking, never having fully
understood the process for picking Holy Knights anyway. He wasn't going to,
too frightened of what the answer might be, or if Bael would just laugh at his
obvious naievte, but Badb has this problem with letting him hide behind his
fears and she's back there, hovering in the recesses of his psyche
threateningly, "What about God? Did he ever pick any of the others around
you?" That's what they'd told him anyway. 'God has chosen you, my son, to
serve His Will.' What did God have to do with it anyway? He never saw anything
that convinced him God ever existed.

Bael does an admirable job of not laughing. Without explanation of what prompted
this question though, he can't help but suffer a drop in his estimation of the
man..at least not until he gives it some thought and supposes that anyone
-here- would have long ago sundered their ties to the faith-bloated thing the
Galbadian nation holds in uncertain reverence. In any event, he's left stunned
by the question until his stony facade creases into a smirk made distant by
the sudden introspective dullness in his eyes. He leans back again, shooting a
glance to the ceiling. "You don't spend more than a month in a place like that
without being made intimately aware of the absence of 'God'." He visualizes
the wildness of the place, the active exercise in Darwinism that was its
social structure. It was a beautiful nightmare and in spite of himself he
can't help but think fondly of it. But his sense of aesthetics has never been
the healthiest. "So..I suppose my answer would have to be no. We had the
threat of 'disappearing' over our heads. That was faith enough to forfend the
need for an icon to worship."

Oh, don't get him wrong, Irvine has no love for 'God'. The look is enough
without the explaination afterwards. He shakes his head, looking away for a
long moment. "I suppose that really sounded stupid didn't it." A smile cracks
on his face, followed by a chuckle. He's laughing at himself. Ok, cowboy, time
to fess up. "I'm sorry, Bael, I tried to maneuver around a subject and failed
horridly. So, I'll be honest with you to make up for it." Yet, he finds
himself pausing again, this isn't something he's shared with anyone before now
and he can't help but be slightly paranoid. Somehow some brat had found out
he'd trained in Galbadia in the Order and started spreading it around, it'd
taken him a month to get that one to die down. He didn't need another one to
crop up because he was careless again.
The cafeteria's died down considerably, however, just a few stragglers left. No
one nearby. It's enough to bolster Irvine's courage. Returning his attention
to Bael, he finally 'fesses up, "I was pulled out of Garden to train in the
Order. They wanted to make me a... Knight." He just can't use the term 'Holy'.
It's far too surreal.

Bael 's eyes widen slightly in bland appreciation of the fact. It sounds quite
impressive, actually, although mention of the Order slides everything into
place. He cracks a smirk then, although a subtle hint of light in his eyes
suggests gratitude for the apology. He doesn't get those very often. "Well, on
one hand, it's something you could take as a compliment.." His voice tapers
into light laughter, tempered by the gravity of the confession. He's not
making light of Irvine's predicament by any means. He observes, with a slight
tilt of his head, "Except I don't think they would let knights wear cowboy
hats." An understanding is conveyed though. With a concern like that to weigh
one down, the secrecy and delicate stepping around the issue is perfectly
understandable...although Bael's logic argues that such a thing should be a
moot point here. His logic can't stand up to the knowledge that the theocracy
Irvine has freed himself from is very persistent in making examples of the
wayward. His initial response to the salute makes perfect sense now, too.
"You're here now. God can't touch you and neither can they." It's a
consolatory effort, offered after a pause for consideration.

Irvine snorts derisively, which reveals just about how 'complimented' he feels
about the 'honor' of being forced into Knighthood. He rests a hand atop the
hat, adjusting it slightly, "No, they have this thing about herders, they're
not allowed." Of course, he knows what they do to anyone attempting to hold
onto 'former' identities, he's got a scar or two resultant. "And even if I'm
relatively safe here, you'll have to pardon my paranoia. I've seen what they
do to the Fallen. It was a classic part of my training." Conditioning is a
better word for it.

"I take it they don't allow a quick death," Bael conjectures aloud. "but rather
allow ample time for pain and reflection upon one's sins, so as to allow for
repentance before the wayward soul finds Heaven?" That's how he'd do it, if it
was ever his job. Not that he believes, but the religious heirarchy as he
knows it is too full of duty and ceremony, and of pondering new ways to scare
the flock, to be burdened by their own spirituality. They leave faith to the
cannon fodder. To people like Bael and Irvine who both seem to have told God
where to stick it. Although the Serpent carries on like a toothless, senile
old woman at times, Jormungandr's near-tangible presence is far preferable to
the sparse visitations of a self-delusional state fostered by fear of
repercussions if anyone learns that one's belief might be lacking. The SeeD
spends a pregnant pause's worth of silence mulling all this over before
cracking a fresh grin. "Your concern is probably justified, even here. You can
rest assured that your secret won't be spread by -me-. Even here, you can't
trust everyone.." Not that he's overly given to trust in the first place, but
it bears repeating anyway.

The gunman closes his eyes at the very accurate description of the torturous
punishments granted to those who 'fall astray' of the Father's Almighty Will.
Of course, his own memory provides a _lot_ more detail too. He would shudder,
but he's at least managed to control that much of his emotion toward it in the
years since his escape. Not that it doesn't occasionally haunt his dreams and
make him wake up screaming, but at least it's not so fresh now. His eyes
finally open once the memory had passed "I take it you're familiar with their
ways anyway. Herders have it fairly good over there, no one shoves it down our
throats but a few times a year." The major holidays anyway, otherwise he and
his foster parents were free to not bother with God.
After the long pause, he smiles faintly, just the merely hint of his lips
curling upward at the corners. "Thank you, Bael. I appreciate it." At least
this time he won't have to spend a good month quashing rumors.

Bael replies with the same salute that brought this discussion into being to
begin with, bobbing his head as he proffers a thin smile. "Think nothing of
it, Irvine. These people have better things to do than worry over that kind of
history. No one needs to know about it." When he pauses to consider, there are
things he really -doesn't- want to disclose about himself either, so he can
grudgingly empathize with the need for secrecy. Not that he wouldn't honor it
even if the concept were foreign to him. He's never needlessly spiteful. If
he's going to do something mean to someone, it has to serve a purpose, usually
their betterment. And gossip isn't his style anyway.

Irvine starts to rise from his seat, returning the salute with the tip of his
hat instead. One glance at the clock reveals he's late for his own training
class, but unlike Issei's scramble for the door, the gunman merely accepts
this as an inevitable fact and gathers himself together to stride off to said
session. They can't do anything worse then what he's already endured anyway.
Whatever doesn't kill you makes you stronger. "Well, it appears I'm slightly
late too, so I better get going."

Ah, to be a Cadet again, with a nicely regimented schedule to tell you where you
need to be. An hour from now Bael will have sloughed off this bout with
nostalgia, but for now the rememberance evokes a grin. He won't miss it after
he's given the matter a good, long think but for now it seems almost
attractive. He observes Irvine's progress and bobs his head once in
acknowledgement. "Take care, Irvine." The way he trails off suggests he was
going to say something else, but doesn't elaborate that he couldn't think of
anything.

Irvine drifts down the nearly empty cafeteria, boots clacking on the tiles in
the silence that pervades the room now. Some strange breeze seems to dote on
him now, flicking through his hair and rippling his coat much more so then is
normal friction of just walking. Badb is pleased with her Chosen and shows it
in her subtle ways occasionally. He disappears through the exit finally, the
footfalls fading into silence.