Rayverr
31-12-2004, 05:58
Time: Six months following the Rayverr/ClemsonTigers War (http://forums2.jolt.co.uk/showthread.php?t=381982)
Place: Occupation Central Command (OCC) building in České, Cvechiokal
Hieronymus Styger is not a leader among men; he merely looks like one. Tall, standing five centimeters short of two meters--demanding a tailored, well-made dark suit--with fair complexion and orderly, straight dark brown hair parted down one side of the solid yet not angular face, he looks around with a quiet awe, between the two Rayverr warriors larger than he who act as his escort throughout this building. All throughout Cvechiokal, the growing symbiosis with these alien tripeds could be seen--human engineers and technical workers working with the yellow cakjonlo, laborers... oddly few laborers, all things considered... straining together and leading teams of the lovably dense grrjonlo, even the reemergence of local, human police serving together with the changjonlo. The Rayverr, somehow, already knew English as if it were their first language and now their tongue, masfie was slowly beginning to spread its tendrils into the local dialect, mostly to describe the addition of the Rayverr into everyday life. A changjon is not truly the same as a warrior or a soldier, admittedly, and the ruddy grrjonlo are not exactly workers in the human sense. Perhaps 'servitor' was more accurate. Nevertheless, the ex-colonials of the Sean Empire were coming together again, united quietly and peacefully under the gentle hand of the Rayverr. Clean, healthy populations were constantly being moved into České, shielded from the irradiated areas by the Šumava Mountains, and people were spreading out too, as the Rayverrs found land safe from the radiation of the ClemsonTiger bombs. Life had not been easy, but there was a quiet, honest... happiness about the current struggle. There is simply something more honest and appealing about living and working to survive, to grow, than how it was before the Rayverr came. Working for what, money? Just so I could buy things I didn't need to appease avarice stoked by a braindead popular culture? That was then... this is now, and now has no time for such foolishness. Not that there isn't a popular culture now... it's simply... better. More honest.
He runs this through his mind as he walks down the broad, arched hallway. The OCC was a completely new building, built by the Rayverr next to České International Airport. He watched them build it from the ground up from the office building he worked in, and he was always struck by how quickly and efficiently it went up. It was certainly a Rayverr stronghold, though; the only writing and labels were the scratch-like brushmarks of masfie. Suddenly, Styger feels a momentary twinge of animal fear. I hope I'm not in trouble. The Rayverr don't like troublemakers. Indeed, they don't. Troublemakers have a tendency of disappearing for a short time, and then either reappearing to be a bit more civil than previous or else not reappearing at all. Hieronymus quickly runs through his mind things that they could possibly be bringing him in for, even the pettiest things, like jaywalking. Is that still even a crime?
The party stops just short of the too-large double doors, which stand at least four, maybe five meters tall and wide. The Warriors' eyes seem to flicker momentarily, and then the doors open outward, revealing themselves to be of thick metal construction with wide steel cylindrical bolts, like a bank lock. Through the door is a large room filled with oversize cushions and other items, and the Reaver to Styger's right steps back momentarily, gesturing for the human to enter in a sweeping motion of one chitinous blue-plated arm, the gravpulse rifle stowed over his shoulder tapping lightly against his metal plates of armor.
Swallowing silently, Styger tries to steel himself before walking in, the other Warrior close behind. The room is revealed to be a massive, circular room with a few relatively small cubicles blocked off, similar massive doors on the cardinal points, the top of the dome dominated by a huge geodesic window and skylight, slightly tinted in order to dim the otherwise painfully bright noonday sun. He doesn't know what registers first, the memory or the evidence, but Hieronymus suddenly realizes that he's in the primary dome of the OCC, the residence of the Daughter. He doesn't notice the door closing silently behind him or the guard posting himself in front of it as the evidence of his realization stands to her full height of three and a half meters, her muscular frame rippling slightly under royal purple-tinted scales and her slightly iridescent garments of green and black. "Thahnk youh fohr meehtihng me, Mihstehr Sstygehr," she quietly booms, voice bass from her size and heavily aspirated from the construction of the Rayverr palate.
The address human freezes stock still, simply awestruck. I knew that lisgahnjonlo were large, but... the images on the TV simply don't do her justice. His stage training takes over as he smiles diplomatically, nodding respectfully. "I only thought it was the most proper thing to do, Your Highness, seeing how polite these fine gentlemen"--he looks over his shoulder at the Warrior--"well, this fine gentleman and his comrade was."
Yellow-Star lets a ululating hiss escape her teeth, edges of her thin-lipped mouth curling up in a sly-looking smile to slightly expose a few molars as Rayverr physiology demands while she opens one yellow-orange eye slightly wider than the other, simulating a human's raised eyebrow. "Indeed. You carry yourself well, Mister Styger." She muses momentarily over his choice of style, smiling internally to herself as she folds her two brawny manipulator hands in front of her. "That is one of the reasons I wished to speak with you. What do you think of us, Mister Styger?"
Hieronymus ponders for a moment and answers truthfully. "I think you're the best thing to happen to Cvechiokal in a long time, Your Highness, as does everyone else I know."
She nods slowly, beginning to pace to the left. "Good, good. Please," she motions towards the cushions with one hand, "sit down, Mister Styger. I understand such things are customary here."
"They are," he replies momentarily as he walks up to sit carefully on the cushion indicated although he'd rather remain standing. He already feels very, very small around the huge creature, and this doesn't help that feeling at all. She does retreat a few paces, however to keep him from having to strain his neck. "Now, think about how when we first arrived. What did you think of us then? I speak of 'you' as you and your human family."
Odd way to talk about countrymen, Styger thinks momentarily as he remembers six months ago, the events clear yet jumbled because it all happened so fast. The emotions he remember feel oddly... alien, almost out of place given what he knew and felt now. "I was scared, admittedly--so was everyone else. We didn't know who you were, and... even though we hated the colonial yoke, you were even more different. Frighteningly... alien."
"As I thought." The Third-Daughter rolls her shoulders to herself. "You are a... marketing executive?"
Hieronymus raises an eyebrow. "Yes, Your Highness. A good one too, if I may say so myself."
"So I have heard. Do you have any experience in politics?"
"Errr... I have worked on several campaigns, yes, Your Highness. I've also kept in contact with friends from multinational sales conferences and learned a bit about them that way. So... yes and no?"
Another ululating hiss. "It is sufficient." The Rayverr Queen squats down on her haunches, her simple robes billowing out slightly as her slitted pupils lock onto the human's eyes. "As you can understand, people tend to believe what they see. They form opinions on sight alone, and in sight, we are alien. This is, you understand, a disadvantage."
Styger nods quietly.
"So," she continues with another sly smile, "what we have is, essentially, a problem of image. How would you like to have a new client?"
Hieronymus blinks slowly. "What... you? The Rayverr? Your Highness."
"Yes. I would like you to represent the vesh pij verr," Yellow-Star replies with a look sly by physiology, "and essentially be our spokesman in affairs here. You know as well as I do that people are more comfortable among their own, and we are not so proud as to not cater to others and ease them closer to us. We believe you are the best for the job. Do you accept?"
The human pauses, slowly being filled by a quick excitement. It's a fascinating idea. It's the biggest job I've ever had. The best too, eh? Styger smiles slyly. "I'll take it, your Highness. It isn't often I get such lucrative offers."
"Excellent, Mister Styger." The Second-Daughter's smile somehow grows broader, exposing more teeth. "Most excellent."
Place: Occupation Central Command (OCC) building in České, Cvechiokal
Hieronymus Styger is not a leader among men; he merely looks like one. Tall, standing five centimeters short of two meters--demanding a tailored, well-made dark suit--with fair complexion and orderly, straight dark brown hair parted down one side of the solid yet not angular face, he looks around with a quiet awe, between the two Rayverr warriors larger than he who act as his escort throughout this building. All throughout Cvechiokal, the growing symbiosis with these alien tripeds could be seen--human engineers and technical workers working with the yellow cakjonlo, laborers... oddly few laborers, all things considered... straining together and leading teams of the lovably dense grrjonlo, even the reemergence of local, human police serving together with the changjonlo. The Rayverr, somehow, already knew English as if it were their first language and now their tongue, masfie was slowly beginning to spread its tendrils into the local dialect, mostly to describe the addition of the Rayverr into everyday life. A changjon is not truly the same as a warrior or a soldier, admittedly, and the ruddy grrjonlo are not exactly workers in the human sense. Perhaps 'servitor' was more accurate. Nevertheless, the ex-colonials of the Sean Empire were coming together again, united quietly and peacefully under the gentle hand of the Rayverr. Clean, healthy populations were constantly being moved into České, shielded from the irradiated areas by the Šumava Mountains, and people were spreading out too, as the Rayverrs found land safe from the radiation of the ClemsonTiger bombs. Life had not been easy, but there was a quiet, honest... happiness about the current struggle. There is simply something more honest and appealing about living and working to survive, to grow, than how it was before the Rayverr came. Working for what, money? Just so I could buy things I didn't need to appease avarice stoked by a braindead popular culture? That was then... this is now, and now has no time for such foolishness. Not that there isn't a popular culture now... it's simply... better. More honest.
He runs this through his mind as he walks down the broad, arched hallway. The OCC was a completely new building, built by the Rayverr next to České International Airport. He watched them build it from the ground up from the office building he worked in, and he was always struck by how quickly and efficiently it went up. It was certainly a Rayverr stronghold, though; the only writing and labels were the scratch-like brushmarks of masfie. Suddenly, Styger feels a momentary twinge of animal fear. I hope I'm not in trouble. The Rayverr don't like troublemakers. Indeed, they don't. Troublemakers have a tendency of disappearing for a short time, and then either reappearing to be a bit more civil than previous or else not reappearing at all. Hieronymus quickly runs through his mind things that they could possibly be bringing him in for, even the pettiest things, like jaywalking. Is that still even a crime?
The party stops just short of the too-large double doors, which stand at least four, maybe five meters tall and wide. The Warriors' eyes seem to flicker momentarily, and then the doors open outward, revealing themselves to be of thick metal construction with wide steel cylindrical bolts, like a bank lock. Through the door is a large room filled with oversize cushions and other items, and the Reaver to Styger's right steps back momentarily, gesturing for the human to enter in a sweeping motion of one chitinous blue-plated arm, the gravpulse rifle stowed over his shoulder tapping lightly against his metal plates of armor.
Swallowing silently, Styger tries to steel himself before walking in, the other Warrior close behind. The room is revealed to be a massive, circular room with a few relatively small cubicles blocked off, similar massive doors on the cardinal points, the top of the dome dominated by a huge geodesic window and skylight, slightly tinted in order to dim the otherwise painfully bright noonday sun. He doesn't know what registers first, the memory or the evidence, but Hieronymus suddenly realizes that he's in the primary dome of the OCC, the residence of the Daughter. He doesn't notice the door closing silently behind him or the guard posting himself in front of it as the evidence of his realization stands to her full height of three and a half meters, her muscular frame rippling slightly under royal purple-tinted scales and her slightly iridescent garments of green and black. "Thahnk youh fohr meehtihng me, Mihstehr Sstygehr," she quietly booms, voice bass from her size and heavily aspirated from the construction of the Rayverr palate.
The address human freezes stock still, simply awestruck. I knew that lisgahnjonlo were large, but... the images on the TV simply don't do her justice. His stage training takes over as he smiles diplomatically, nodding respectfully. "I only thought it was the most proper thing to do, Your Highness, seeing how polite these fine gentlemen"--he looks over his shoulder at the Warrior--"well, this fine gentleman and his comrade was."
Yellow-Star lets a ululating hiss escape her teeth, edges of her thin-lipped mouth curling up in a sly-looking smile to slightly expose a few molars as Rayverr physiology demands while she opens one yellow-orange eye slightly wider than the other, simulating a human's raised eyebrow. "Indeed. You carry yourself well, Mister Styger." She muses momentarily over his choice of style, smiling internally to herself as she folds her two brawny manipulator hands in front of her. "That is one of the reasons I wished to speak with you. What do you think of us, Mister Styger?"
Hieronymus ponders for a moment and answers truthfully. "I think you're the best thing to happen to Cvechiokal in a long time, Your Highness, as does everyone else I know."
She nods slowly, beginning to pace to the left. "Good, good. Please," she motions towards the cushions with one hand, "sit down, Mister Styger. I understand such things are customary here."
"They are," he replies momentarily as he walks up to sit carefully on the cushion indicated although he'd rather remain standing. He already feels very, very small around the huge creature, and this doesn't help that feeling at all. She does retreat a few paces, however to keep him from having to strain his neck. "Now, think about how when we first arrived. What did you think of us then? I speak of 'you' as you and your human family."
Odd way to talk about countrymen, Styger thinks momentarily as he remembers six months ago, the events clear yet jumbled because it all happened so fast. The emotions he remember feel oddly... alien, almost out of place given what he knew and felt now. "I was scared, admittedly--so was everyone else. We didn't know who you were, and... even though we hated the colonial yoke, you were even more different. Frighteningly... alien."
"As I thought." The Third-Daughter rolls her shoulders to herself. "You are a... marketing executive?"
Hieronymus raises an eyebrow. "Yes, Your Highness. A good one too, if I may say so myself."
"So I have heard. Do you have any experience in politics?"
"Errr... I have worked on several campaigns, yes, Your Highness. I've also kept in contact with friends from multinational sales conferences and learned a bit about them that way. So... yes and no?"
Another ululating hiss. "It is sufficient." The Rayverr Queen squats down on her haunches, her simple robes billowing out slightly as her slitted pupils lock onto the human's eyes. "As you can understand, people tend to believe what they see. They form opinions on sight alone, and in sight, we are alien. This is, you understand, a disadvantage."
Styger nods quietly.
"So," she continues with another sly smile, "what we have is, essentially, a problem of image. How would you like to have a new client?"
Hieronymus blinks slowly. "What... you? The Rayverr? Your Highness."
"Yes. I would like you to represent the vesh pij verr," Yellow-Star replies with a look sly by physiology, "and essentially be our spokesman in affairs here. You know as well as I do that people are more comfortable among their own, and we are not so proud as to not cater to others and ease them closer to us. We believe you are the best for the job. Do you accept?"
The human pauses, slowly being filled by a quick excitement. It's a fascinating idea. It's the biggest job I've ever had. The best too, eh? Styger smiles slyly. "I'll take it, your Highness. It isn't often I get such lucrative offers."
"Excellent, Mister Styger." The Second-Daughter's smile somehow grows broader, exposing more teeth. "Most excellent."