In Which Mike Is Out Of Place And Brendon Is Cryptic But Instructive
Somehow, Mike's not sure of the exact sequence of events, but he found himself sitting on the rickety balcony that ringed the upper level of the Hangar and overlooked the smoky, pit-like main floor.
Brendon swung down beside him, feet hanging over the air, and offered Mike a bit of his sweetmeat.
Mike shook his head, and Brendon shrugged. "Whatcha doing?"
Mike shrugged. He still felt like such an interloper in this place. He wasn't entirely sure why he was here at all. "Watching," he said, not taking his eyes off the crowds below.
There was a strange dynamic to their movement, and Brendon sniggered as he followed Mike's gaze. "Ahh, looks like the twins are having a bad night, if they're pushing the boundary."
Mike blinked. Brendon might as well as have spoken in a foreign tongue for all that made sense. "I beg your pardon?"
Brendon tore a bite off his treat. "Hasn't anyone explained...?" he made a face at Mike's blank look. "Wow, its a miracle you haven't been rolled yet, fine clothes or not. Here's how it goes." What followed was a terse but instructive lesson in the fierce, sharply delineated and highly hierarchical social order of the Hangar.
Mike knew he would never look at the posturing of the garden party set the same way again. "Where do you fit?"
Brendon winked and leapt to his feet. "I come, I go. I'm special!" With that, he was gone, leaving Mike to ponder the delicate social ballet below.