NationStates Jolt Archive

"Is everything ready?" Chamberlain for Ceremonials Jera, of Mercantile House Myares, read down the list of tasks he had been set by Grand Vizier Radmiel and Lady Daria. Of course, he himself had not had anything to do with accomplishing them, though he had every intention of taking credit for their successful completion. "Did you take care of cleaning the Chapel of Illumination for the Coming of Age ceremony?"

"Has the Chapel of Illumination been cleaned for the Coming of Age ceremony?" The Roanian responsible for that task kicked his serving felinoid in the shins. "Well?"

"Mreorw!" The felinoid protested, and curled up into a tightly knit ball. "Mreow, yes. Big shiny room was licked clean."

"Not literally, I hope. Chamberlain, I'm happy to report that I have taken care of cleaning The Chapel of Illumination." He bowed.

"Excellent. Have the chefs been engaged with the menu for the evening and are they now at work in the kitchens preparing the myriad feasts of sumptuousness that shall delight Her Majesty and astonish our guests?" No one answered. Many of the Roanians blankly stared at one another. "Look, I don't write the instructions, I just make you carry them out. Who was in charge of alerting the chefs?"

"Rrrr." The sole Salamandr in the room looked up from where it was curled up in front of the fire. "They've been given their orders if that'ssss what you mean."

"Thank you, Rsh-rkra. Has the ballroom been cleaned?" And so it went, Roanians or their servitors affirming the success of their tasks, until the final task. "Now has accomodation been arranged?" No one answered. "Who was responsible for arranging accomodation?" Still, all was silence. Chamberlain Myares swallowed, and gripped his nails into the cushion he was resting on. "You mean, I didn't order anyone to take care of that?"

"It would appear not, Chamberlain."

"If you'll excuse me, I have... an emergency to handle. You're all dismissed."


"We did good work, Daria." Radmiel said, leaning onto the woman's shoulder, his hand sliding around her waist to idle on her hip. "So, how about we take advantage of some private time to get better reacquainted?"

Daria leaned her head against him and smiled up at him. "That would be nice, Radmiel, darling." Her breath came low and hot against his chest, and her hand slipped around him.

"Really?" Radmiel blinked down at her, his eyes widening.

"No." Daria drew a wand from her pocket and pointed it as his forehead. "Get the hell away from me, you creep."

Radmiel blinked again, but dodged before the magic could destroy him. He toppled back onto the ground, staring up at Daria. "When did you get your power back?"

"That's for me to know, and you to find out." Daria flipped her wand back into its holster, a genuine smile flickering across her face. "I think that once we're done with this party some changes are going to be made around here. But for now, I have to go get in costume." She kicked him in the shins. "So do you. Might I suggest a worm?" She vanished in a flash of light.



"Your Majesty?" Orloth Sophrim called into the room. "Are you ready? The guests have begun to arrive and you were expected to be in costume by the time they came here. Have your plans changed?"

"No, I'm just having a bit of trouble. Orloth, can you come in here?" Her sweet voice, though now a bit anxious, grabbed him and pulled him in before he had a chance to think. "Y-your majesty, you called?"

Alessa looked back over her naked shoulder and brushed her hair away, holding her clothes around her. "Can you tie this off?" He drifted to her, his heart beating ever louder as he neared her.

"Why, of course, my lady..." He fumbled with the tie and managed to make a start.

"No. Tighter. Tighter... tighter. Oh, light..." She took a deep breath, and then released it, sighing. "Thank you... light, that aches." The Empress turned and held her hands out. "What do you think?" Orloth stuttered something, to her delight. "I know it's not usual, but I think it'll be fun. Thanks for your help." She kissed him on the cheek and grinned. "Now pass me that wig. Since you're in here, you can help me with the rest of my costume."

OOC: Post your characters arriving, their costumes and whatnot, and then I'll kick it off. This RP is totally open to everyone who meets the following criteria.

A) Not a robot.

B) Not an orc

C) Has a number of tentacles less than, and not including, 2.

D) Is not Morgoth.


Also, as with many other parties that have been held recently, unpleasantness will be prevented. However, the Roanians are infinitely less subtle than the Yvresse or the Menelmacari, and their responses will be proportionally more painful and permanent.

The accompanying military flight was left behind, and the lone Loki continued on towards its destination, proudly displaying its Dominion insignia. The expected protocols were adhered to, and contact was maintained with the escort while their passengers enjoyed their rather comfortable flight.

The Revenge was decadent, in the extreme, but this was something that couldn’t be blamed on Nathicana or Dominion tastes – the fault lay solely in the hands of Xeruyu vonKarma, who had given it to her as a gift.

Not only were the floors in all the appropriate areas covered with either thick and rich or crisp utilitarian burgundy carpeting, but the interior has been made to feel more like the inside of a opulent Devras villa than the ship it is. Entryways and halls were done reminiscent of smooth Roman arches, cream colored walls with faux finish to mask the nature of the craft were trimmed in thin mahogany veneer and polished brass, which made up the fixtures and knobs and such as well.

The chairs, benches, seats are all upholstered in fine burgundy leather, all very much fixed to the floor, some with soft cream-colored accent pillows. Those comfortable one-seat varieties were adjustable for height and have the ability to turn in any direction needed, and remained locked in place there once adjusted - as only made sense aboard ship.

In the suites and other rooms, dependant on the intended use, there were various decorations fixed firmly to the walls or ceilings, in some cases going so far as painted frescoes, replication of past masterworks, faux finishes, and other illlusionary creations developed by designers over the years to achieve various artistic effects. An efficient kitchen/informal eating area with more than ample food storage space was situated towards the back adjacent to the bays - complete with an ice machine and chilled water dispenser for the Dread Lady's convenience.

The operational areas of the ship, those being the flight deck and such carried through the leather theme, but instead were done in matte black and gunmetal grey, all smooth and efficient in style and function. Crew quarters were in keeping with the rest, all spacious and comfortable, more opulently furnished than would ever be expected from any other Dominion military vessel.

Beautifully overdone, accommodating of nearly every foreseeable want or need … it was like a floating luxury hotel.

With big, big guns.

Nathicana had relented, and allowed one of her pilots to fly out on this trip so she could enjoy the company of her guest, and her children. They sat in what equated to a sitting room, in completely adjustable burgundy leather seats, with some light refreshments close at hand.

The Imperatrice was wearing her chosen ensemble, made to imitate as tastefully as possible, a monarch (http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v213/Nathicana/NationStates/Masquerade/butterfly_lulyyang2.jpg) butterfly – mask (http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v213/Nathicana/NationStates/Masquerade/monarchbutterfly1SmallWebview.jpg) and all, though it lay nearby. Her long, dark hair was pulled up in an elaborate mass of curls that fell down along her shoulders and upper back.

Marcus wore a morning suit (http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v213/Nathicana/NationStates/Masquerade/20080716140048838.jpg) in a mix of blacks, silvers, and dark greys, his own mask a detailed wolf’s face. (http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v213/Nathicana/NationStates/Masquerade/Grey-Wolf-Leather-Halloween_3CF89BE.jpg)

His sister, Naiya, wore a beautiful red velvet dress, reminiscent of the renaissance, with a silken white underdress, and black velvet corsette – all tasteful and not too revealing. Over the top was a matching velvet capelette with hood, her own rich auburn hair in similar curls as her mother’s, but swept up to both sides, in a nod to the childhood fairy tale character she portrayed. Her relatively simple gold mask (http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v213/Nathicana/NationStates/Masquerade/cv010c.jpg?t=1232319692) lay in her lap, and she idly toyed with it now and then, tracing a finger along its smooth contours with a smile.

“So Alakantar, is there anything else you think we should be careful of while in Roania? We’ve had so many varying reports, and various responses upon meeting some of them, and with that rather … unpleasant business on Mars that Patroni informed us of … mi dispiace. I am so sorry Arielle could not attend with you. I hope I can provide an acceptable substitution.”

At a previously arranged location in space near Rudan, at a previously arranged time, there is absolutely nothing save for the usual distribution of exceedingly tenuous gas that can be expected in high orbit around a decently-sized planet. Apparently this smallish area is supposed to be a navigational hazard despite being functionally empty a small ship's reactionless drives glow, propelling it's highly oblate spheroid shape towards the planet before the casual observer quite knows what's going on. The panNorm tesseract jump drive has no special effects budget associated with it; one instant it's there, the next instant, it's not, and vice versa. Bump cuts are the order of the day, not transitions. It makes a kind of sense, considering how the ants are always concerned with something that works efficiently rather than anything that looks nice.

The same is exemplified by the diplomatic courier. It is roughly spheroidal, except quite flat and pulled forward on one end, so it resembles to some extent a mix between an arrowhead and a smoothed beach pebble. Unlike the usual panNorm tendency towards hexagonal cells in their structures due to efficiency in stacking, the courier is built as a measured compromise between aerodynamics and efficiency for internal volume. That it looks relatively sleek and aesthetically pleasing in its smooth bare-metal skin aren't even afterthoughts, as no thought was wasted on such considerations.

As previously arranged, it lands in a previously arranged location at a previously arranged time. The panNorm are already punctual to a fault, but part of the negotiation that got them into the party included "not making any trouble" and so they match all established plans with an exactitude that is either commendable or uncomfortably and unhealthily fixated, depending on one's attitude. Keeping to schedule, the newly settled courier drops its gangway and the only appropriate delegate the panNorm could come up with descends: AdminCoordinator 67521, who, as a Blue (http://www.weirdozone.com/projects/nationstates/s14/bluebug.jpg), usually resembles nothing more but a ant with a bulbous braincase, small ridges down the spine of its thorax, and a body of chitinous plates with a glossy sheen to them, normally blue but fading to green near the joints. She would normally be wearing nothing except a web harness that not only serves the function of but somewhat resembles a utility vest, and her body is usually 'decorated' with lines of matte yellow paint in very intricate and roughly mathematical patterns. Her eyes are segmented with a mirror-finish shine to them, and so black they're darkly gold and green along the edges.

She is the only appropriate delegate because she is the only one who understands enough that one goes to a costume ball in costume. Therefore, she does not look like a proper Blue, but instead looks like a giant yellow and black bumblebee. She also understands enough that one does not go to a costume ball to look exactly like something, unless it isn't a costume ball so much as a convention of disguise artists. This is why she had to reject the first costume, which made her look almost exactly like a scaled up bumblebee, with huge hairs and everything (http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/e/e0/BumbleBee-OnPavement.jpg). The Bumblebee Costume Mark II is instead made of velour-like materials with velvet curlicues and patterns on it, and the wings are made of a thin plexiglas with frosted patterns in it. The costume is expertly made, but the patterns don't quite... 'mesh' together as they probably would if it were made by a proper artist. Instead, it looks crafted by excellent master engineers out of very fine but spare material, applied more to enhance verisimilitude than to maintain an artistic balance with visual interest and contrast.

This is why she only understands enough. No panNorm understands art beyond a purely intellectual capacity. It isn't in them.

To say that Alakantar had taken considerable effort in piecing together this costume of his would be an understatement. It had been mostly designed and constructed in what little spare time he managed to have after his daily gubernatorial duties on Mars, and even then, he always made sure to take time out of his day for his fiancé and the wedding plans that they needed to attend to. But despite what others would think and whatever misconceptions they may very well had about his time management, the drow thoroughly enjoyed every minute of this and saw it as a challenging project, one where he could see if he could turn a rather crazy idea into a reality.

The outcome of these many hours of work spaced out over the past several months was interesting, to say the least. A stereotypical tuxedo, solid black in everything except the white dress shirt, had been modified around the sides to accommodate two extra pairs of arms or, in this case, robotic spider legs that were fed through each of the sleeves. On the ends of these clawed appendages and on the hands of the drow himself had been fitted black gloves, most noticeably appearing quite woolly. And toward the opposite end, these mechanical legs had joined together at a relatively flat gearbox and battery pack that were mounted upon a harness that fitted around Alakantar’s torso – evenly distributing the weight of these parts around his body.

The design of this had been kept largely simplistic for comfort’s sake as any more added details would have provided additional unneeded weight to a costume that would most likely not be used for anything more than show. Though for pure amusement than anything else, the drow had managed to make it agile yet careful enough to be able to pick up and hold a glass of water, but he found out that performing such a task was not as easy as he thought.

Controlling the positioning of these robotic legs had required a more electronically advanced system than anything he could buy on the market, namely the technology used within Grummian power armor to drive the hydraulics of it without using anything more than one’s thoughts conveyed through the sensors in the helmet. So with this in mind, he sought out and permanently borrowed a suit from his colony’s armory, disassembling its helmet and computer control systems for what parts he needed.

Aside from the latter, which could be easily tucked away upon the harness that had held everything else, the helmet required more creativity on his part to fashion it into something that could match the rest of his costume. The majority of its surface was covered in the same fuzzy material that comprised his gloves, except containing several light brown stripes running through the black. It also had two shimmering domes at the front of it to mimic a spider’s ocelli – or simple eyes – and a much smaller one on each side of these, along with two other pairs spaced apart elsewhere upon his head. And of course, to complete this whole costume, a pair of wooly chelicerae – or mandibles – extended down from the lower half of the helmet and frequently moved independently, often pressing the two bits together.

Although, none of those aboard the Revenge could catch a glimpse at this moment of how all this appeared as Alakantar had had the helmet seated on the chair next to him, thus causing the legs to, by default, fold up neatly behind his back, giving himself nothing more than the appearance of a nicely dressed drow male. But as one could expect, the hard lumpiness of the metalwork did not make for very comfortable seating so he kept himself a small distance from the back of the chair, resting his elbows on his knees, listening to all that Nathicana had to say.

Alakantar gave a brief but thorough moment of consideration toward her question as he scratched the back of his head, disrupting the neatly combed, long snow-white hair of his. “Really, I’d say that you mainly ought to keep your wits about you. Not that you ought to be terribly worried or anything of that nature…just stay mindful of your surroundings and everything that’s going on, and be aware that this is a society of magic. But overall, I don’t think there will be any problems.”

He then nodded his head to her last statement and answered, “Yeah…I wish that she would have been able to come, but with that mess that happened in the MPA chambers, I think this would be the last place she ought to come, especially when Governor Seraph of all people will probably be here. I was considering not coming, but…eh…she prodded me enough to go and try to enjoy myself for once so…here I am.” A broad smile appeared across his face with a small shrug of his shoulders. “But I am glad that I have you to go along with, Nathicana. It’s actually an honor, to be honest.”

Iyanna smiled at the chance; oh it would indeed amuse her to reveal her asset at last, to make use of her in so public a place. She would be able to at last reveal the sword she had dangling over two of the closest advisors to the Empress, in as public a place as could be done. She was looking forward to them knowing she held this power over them, a power she intended to wield in future events. They would be her puppets before this event was over, and all if it went as planned this would be done without causing a scene. She certainly had no plan to do so, and after long and careful manipulation, her guest at the party had come to agree with her on this.

Ailisyn M. Elenara, too looked forward to going home at last, to seeing the look on the faces of the men who had arranged her capture, her humiliation, and her loss. Her titles stripped from her, her powers blocked, left to the degradation of slavers and their… attentions. Sold as a commodity to scum. She had been fortunate she knew, picked up by one the Kionashi, oh she had been their prisoner, she knew she was still their prisoner, subtle workings now lay over her mind, binding her to the Farseer before her, but still they promised her something back. A slow revenge, slow and drawn out, to hold power over those who had harmed her, who had brought her to this point, the irony pleased her.

Captain Cerelan also looked forward to the coming party, the former Ambassador on his arm, he had his own role to play in the coming events, as the man who had ‘rescued’ Naija he of course had a prominent part in the coming story they would weave together, and someone had to carry a message to the two men, well, they both been male at the time of the original plot, he had heard that some things had changed since then. Not that he complained about such things, he was rather looking forward to giving one of the people involved the message.

He also looked forward to what this would mean, his role within Ellyion's fleet, and within the Outcasts that made it up would be expanded. He would after today be more than a mere ship captain, he would be a commander in his own right, with power over a section of Ellyion's fleet answering only to her, and the Asuridain of course, he would be able to select his own games, his own targets, make his own plots, his star was on the rise.

‘One last time then, the tale we shall tell…’

Winter came swiftly and, on the whole, munificently to the New City – or, as its inhabitants inevitably knew it, Oyadato. The oppressive heat and damp of the summer months, the prickly heat that immersed prostrate forms in sweats too sticky for sleep and held the thousand and one tangs and odours of a mighty city in a redolent haze dispersed only by the brief, kindly respite of thunderstorms, was instead replaced by an altogether cooler and milder existence. Winter was the city’s festive time, especially in its northern regions; nestling snugly against the surrounding peaks like a suckling child, its snow-bound foothills and temporarily stilled torrents were the mecca of those who sought to enjoy the brief and welcome change, before spring returned and presaged the recurring tortures, stoically borne but disliked nonetheless, to come. Even the airhippos seemed to appreciate the change; on the warmer days surrounding the end of the year, the melancholy bellow of their calls rang out steadily, low and raucous, across the city’s rooftops to accompany the soft whoosh of their vast, leathery wings.

Within the mighty tower, tall and white, that rose from the heart of the city, dwelt half of the organs of government. More vitally, and helping to explain the extraordinarily heavily-armed guard units, the Emperor used the white tower as his residence in the capital. The upper floors of the vast structure, which towered far above the smoky city sprawling beneath it, were little other than a tall and very clean citadel, in which it was theoretically possible to live for some months. The lower floors served various government ministries and departments, with each block of floors narrowing, contracting with the numbers of staff within them, until the pagoda-like appearance of the building was abruptly terminated by a single fluted concrete cylinder, thrusting skywards and topped with the imperial sunburst, cast in gold. The whole resembled a sort of giant wedding cake, covered in perfectly white marble that had to be kept that way by a veritable army of men and women, who needed to be screened for security and tested for tolerance to heights.

The pinnacle of the tower, to which the statues that decorated the lesser spires ringing each layer of the “cake” gazed with a mixture of awe, respect and pride, was the personal residence of the Emperor during his time in the city; it served every possible necessity of daily life, and indeed he would admit that he did not dislike spending time there in particular. The problem was the sheer scale of the place; it had something in excess of two hundred storeys, even the smallest of which (such as his own) might contain a dozen rooms; the lower floors, which he could quite easily have spotted from an open window had he had the nerve to look down, each accommodated several hundred rooms. He had once made the error, ate the age of nineteen, of giving his retinue the slip and proceeding to roam the place alone. Only three hours later, and after a brief but interesting visit to the laundry rooms, did he finally manage to relocate the lifts and his security staff, who were in varying levels of chaotic frenzy in an effort to locate him. As it happened, it was only when a call had come over the PA system that he’d realised anyone was missing him.

He smiled at the memory of that afternoon, wandering aimlessly (and indeed utterly lost) through the vast maze of corridors that made up his gigantic home. Periodically he had encountered one of the outer edges of the structure and paused to bathe in the beautifully clean, free sunlight, watching the glinting, distant shapes of spacecraft roaring to and fro and sundering the air with the roar of their engines. Further still the city spread before him, a snaking, tangled web of roads, railways, houses, people. The sheer scale of it was unbelievable. It was that moment above all others than had rammed home into his mind just what a duty he was taking on; from the moment of his succession, he would have in his hand the power to change all those millions of lives beyond measure on a whim. At that moment, as his mind grappled optimistically with the task of comprehending such stupendous power, with all of its attendant responsibilities, pitfalls and uncertainties, Prince Shokiwe Naragan began to feel the loneliness of power. It had become no less lonely now that he was no longer a mere prince, and had ascended to the highest office the Empire had to offer some nine years earlier. It was no longer even the Empire, technically speaking; it was his Empire. His Empire, a personal possession, to be led as he wished on whatever course he chose. The ship of state was his to command; he had to wonder what it would be like, should he so choose, to guide her onto the rocks.

He stared from the thick, double-glazed plate glass windows of his living area, a sparsely-furnished chamber decorated with a mixture of the traditional and the modern. Yet again Oyadato’s vast living quilt spread out under his feet, and yet again he lost his thoughts in it, imagining what lay beyond the room’s polished walls, sumptuously-carved bookcases and bullet-resistant glass. He was so lost in his thoughts that he had quite forgotten about his engagement.

“Your Imperial Majesty?” A voice from behind. He turned, somewhat confused, and sought its source in the soft light of late afternoon, the sun beginning to die against the distant plains to the west.

The voice’s owner bowed deeply as he saw his. “Your Imperial Majesty, we really must hurry.” The man fretted, checking Naragan’s suit carefully. The Emperor obediently stood stock still as his aide did the necessary, making sure the attire was suitable for the day. To Naragan’s mind it was perfectly fine; he had looked in the full-length mirror that hung, ever so slightly crookedly, from the wall and decided he approved. The tailor had done a good job; it was a pretty much perfect specimen of the traditional garb worn by hunters and soldiers alike throughout the early centuries of Oyada’s existence. A thin, olive-green shirt and trousers, beneath which lay a stout pair of ankle-length leather boots whose steel toe-caps protruded ever so slightly proud of the surrounding leader hanging from them. Where on other shirts there would have lain a breast pocket, here there was a tiny rendition, in the ancient language of old, of a poem found during the first excavation of Landfall:

“We who have lived, who are finally here,
Would be one in death, had we not persevered.
This world is the fruit of the sweat of our brow;
So true to your heritage, persevere now.”

By his standards, it wasn’t much of a poem. In fact, by almost any rational standard it wasn’t much of a poem, Naragan reflected as he watched the carpet of night beginning to descend over Oyadato. But it had assumed an almost mythic significance in Oyadan minds; it was the spirit of their people, in four lines carved carefully into a painstakingly-shaped piece of alloy from the skin of one of the colony ships. To wear it over the heart had become a tradition when undertaking an activity demanding doggedness in the face of tribulation, regardless of its dubious academic prowess. The hand that had shakingly, but with determined firmness, scratched those simple characters into the worn, pitted metal plate where they were found centuries later, could never have imagined that they should assume such a status as its bearer huddled around a fire in the hostile jungle, sustained by a hard-won meal and the vital margin of ingenuity and technology that let man make game of his predators.

On his head, Naragan wore the equally common headgear of the trade; a steel helmet, lined with what had once been leather, with a strap extending beneath his chin. Again painted a dull, uninspiring green, it was a necessity to protect one’s head from the sun – and from the local fauna. At its front the sunburst sat prominent. Many were the men who had hunted in such helmets, and taken them to fight terrible wars afterwards; they had become another symbol of the warrior, prized on Oyada for his ability to win the world from those who it had belonged to. Completing the garb was an equally simple olive-green tunic, unmarked save for a repetition, again over the heart of the poem that sat solemnly on his shirt. It was said that saying the poem thrice brought good luck; wearing two renditions, Naragan thought wryly, might mean he only had to say it once if he needed a break.

At long last, the aide felt his work was done. Tugging a last errant crease from the tunic’s shoulders, he stood back and admired the result. At long last, after some lengthy and heartfelt frowning, he nodded and smiled, tiredness only now showing on his face.

“Is it to your satisfaction, your Imperial Majesty?”

“Perfectly. Thank you, Thomason; it’s excellent. Reminds me of my father’s a little, actually.” Naragan turned and glanced at himself in the mirror, turning slightly to catch a variety of angles. A slight smirk crept onto his still-youthful face, unblemished by age or disease. Even his tanned skin was perfectly normal, having had the galaxy’s best anti-spot treatments bombarding any adolescent growth that should have the temerity to sully the Princely countenance. Thomason, a long-standing retained for the Imperial family who had served, as a young man, Naragan’s then-ageing father, took one last look and left to make the final arrangements for the journey to Roania.

Behind him, the Emperor of Oyada, Supreme Ruler of the Oyadan Empire, Sovereign of the Void and Protector of the Light, grinned like a schoolboy as he donned the most important item of his apparel, the hunter’s belt, the uwaseya, woven thickly by the wearer’s family and intended to provide protection against cuts to the stomach. Yet again, over the years superstition had evolved around them, so much so that many of the best belts were made by professional belt-makers, who would work for a given family for a vast commission, and contained more talismans, amulets, fortunate poems and lucky colours and patterns than you could shake a stick at. The belt was thick, and wrapped around the waist of its bearer; Naragan carefully tied it around his own, threading the cords that hung at its edges through the belt-loops on his trousers and knotting each one, and delicately turning the fabric so that its front faced out toward the world.

From the belt hung the last of the accoutrements of the warrior-hunter; a short sword (or long knife, depending on one’s viewpoint), around a foot long and mounted in a leather scabbard, its handle plainly covered with black leather, but inlaid with beautifully looping gold filigree, next to which was suspended a large net bag; it was in this that the first-time, novice hunter would place the largest part he could sever from his first kill’s body; proof that he had truly become a man, and a man of action at that. For the occasion, Naragan thought it appropriate to take something neutral and inoffensive; he had chosen the severed head of an Oyadan tiger, a misnomer that most closely matched the ferocious creatures the first settlers had had to battle when they arrived on Oyada’s isolated continents.

On the principle that he was unlikely to die from either thirst or starvation at a large, unbelievably lavish drinking bout, Naragan had sensibly spurned the traditional food and drink worn by such men on their expeditions; but one thing he would not remove was the pair of ceremonial hunting pistols that hung, gleaming, from his uwaseya. The two weapons were huge, long-barrelled creations that his father, in a moment of pride and excess, had had made by one of Oyada’s best gunsmiths at what could only be terms stupendous expense. In outside appearance, the weapons resembled wheel-lock pistols of the style common on earth in the 17th century. Quite literally every inch of the guns’ surface was covered in gold; the furniture, though in fact made from lightweight alloy, had been given a highly-polished, lacquered gold finish, and into the metal its makers had set a selection of scenes: the impact of the colony ships, the death of the first colonists, the first Oyadan animal to be killed by a human, rather than the reverse; each scene beautifully worked into the thin layer of alloy, every figure painstakingly shaped to perfection, every detail carefully checked to ensure that the perfect golden surface was, in fact, perfect. The barrels’ polished steel was layered with gold, into which yet more exactingly difficult carvings had been made of patterns, animals, and men. Even the weapons’ trigger guards were not plain; instead, it had been carefully curved to accommodate a gloved finger, and into the bottom of the ornately-decorated metal, the makers had carved the simple phrase, “long live the Emperor!”

The two were, so far as Naragan knew, pretty much priceless. Even now he did not know how much his father paid for the two pistols; rumours flew, as rumours are wont, but nothing substantive had ever seen confided to him. He fingered the right-hand pistol delicately for a moment, and then stuffed them both into their respective holsters. They were mostly for show, of course; but beneath the antiquated exterior, high-efficiency batteries stored the power for multiple discharges from the magazine that lay within the grip, the guns’ magnetic accelerator coils making them reasonably potent weapons, as far as handguns went. Not that Naragan intended (or indeed desired, for the gold made them very heavy) to use them; but nonetheless, he liked the feeling of assurance which they provided him. It was an odd sort of assurance, primitive and irrational, but it was assurance nonetheless; and, as he cast his eyes around the Spartan chamber, he realised that he could use a lot more such assurance within its confines. Then, with nothing more than a friendly nod and a slight, forced smile to his pilot, he made his way to the roof and began the long journey that would eventually lead him to Roania. Above, the darkening skies that danced with the last delirious shafts of day, hovering among the flocks of ships that endlessly circled Oyada, the battleship Vindictive, old but ready sister ship of the famed Victorious and Venerable, waited patiently for her precious charge.

Sophie walked down the empty, echoing corridors of the House of Ark. Everything was pristine, everything was sterile, as it had been for the seventeen years of her life. The light fields flashed on ahead of her and flashed off behind her, lighting the way to the hangars. She tried not to feel like she was saying goodbye.

- I am afraid that it is not ideal, SOLOMON was saying inside her head. I should be with you; the House of Ark should be with you.

“I could go to a different ball?” she suggested, half-hoping, half-dreading that SOLOMON would agree. “If you should be with me, then we should go to a ball where they’d let you come.”

The situation has not been ideal for a very long time, SOLOMON replied, And invitations are not often sent to the House of Ark in this century. There are no other balls to attend.

Sophie sighed; the Sentient Organic Logistics, Ordering and Maintenance Organization Network was impossible when it was in this sort of mood. She wondered how much of its bionic circuitry was recursive now, dreaming the House of Ark as it had once been.

Not enough to miss such impertinence, young lady! it snapped. Sophie smiled. That was the SOLOMON from her childhood, constantly chiding her for getting into scrapes, patching grazed knees or cut fingers. As she’d grown it had become more melancholy, and if she didn’t know better she’d have said that the prospect of this ball had made it positively maudlin. Remembering the debutantes and debut balls of the past, perhaps.

Diagnostics report functionality within nominal parameters, SOLOMON replied, in some route response from the very early days of the House. We shall just have to hope that you operate within nominal parameters, Sophia d’Ark.

She stuck her tongue out at it (well, stuck her tongue out, anyway. SOLOMON was everywhere in the House of Ark, as omnidirectional and omnipotent a force as the God in the House chapel’s books. Straight ahead sufficed, when one of SOLOMON’s robots was not about). “Diagnostics report functionality within nominal parameters,” she shot back, but she couldn’t keep her voice from wavering. She hardly felt ready to see the planet outside, let alone a whole other one.

I am sure you shall do perfectly well, SOLOMON said. After all, it added smugly, I raised you.

She nodded, and didn’t reply. Ahead of her the lights outlined the hangar door, which irised open before her. Beyond lay the bright, cavernous hangar bays, with jagged jet-black shapes in neat rows on the hangar floor; Raven Twelve fighters and Crow Three gunships, the last arsenal of the House of Ark. Sophie walked along the ranks of warcraft, trying not to be afraid. She’d never stayed in here for long before; the ships were creepy, blots of unreflective darkness even in the bright hangar lights. The first time she’d been down here she’d been six, and had had nightmares for weeks afterwards.

A clearing opened among the fighters, black daggers giving way to less menacing junk; old ships salvaged by SOLOMON’s avatars, brought here for disassembly. Among them all loomed the shining dorsal crest of the interstellar shuttle, the only FTL-capable ship on the planet. In the system, even. The hull might be freshly machined, polished to mirror-brightness, but the systems inside it were refurbished salvage, pieced together and jury-rigged into a working whole. The planet of Kalasin no longer had the industry to build FTL coils or deep-space drives.

Sophie examined herself in the mirror of the hull. She’d always been tall and gangly (Height is strongly correlated with success in interpersonal relations, SOLOMON had said, and manufactured her a new jumpsuit to fit her ever-growing height) and at fourteen she’d become tall and gangly with breasts as well (Chest size is strongly correlated with success in interpersonal relations, SOLOMON had said, and had manufactured her a bra). At seventeen her reflection looked rather less gangly than she still felt, a tall, slender girl with dark eyes and a serious expression. White skin and whiter hair was the d’Ark hallmark, dating all the way back to Ezekiel d’Ark, founder of the House, and before him to Ezra d’Arcy, the Captain. The blue lines glowing under her skin, regular as ancient silicon circuitry, were the holo-defence system SOLOMON had installed, shields sufficient to keep her safe for a day even outside the House, to stop bullets or lasers or anything else a hypothetical landfallen Mutineer might threaten her with. A finger followed the subtle line up the side of her neck, to the node in the hollow of her jaw; up to the aural node in her ear; over to the visual node at the corner of her eye. Here in the House the system linked her to SOLOMON’s network; in the outside world, it would be nigh useless, a sense cut off.

She frowned at her chest, judging how long it would be until the rest of her fitted it. In the pre-Fall holos stored in the House’s libraries, there were names for girls with big tits. She’d had to look up promiscuous afterwards, and slut (and SOLOMON had refused to remove the unwelcome protuberances at her demand, sparking, at fourteen, the first real row she’d had with it). Still too thin, she judged critically, or too wide, depending on where she measured. Those measurements had better meet in the middle someday soon, or when she reached her citizenship she’d go into SOLOMON with a logic probe and a scalpel, see if she didn’t!

SOLOMON cut off her recriminations by irising the shuttle hatch open in front of her, making her unsatisfactory reflection vanish. The interior was all smooth diamond curves and holographic displays, utilitarian and functional; the House of Ark had been built by engineers, and SOLOMON continued their unartistic aesthetic. Sophie settled herself down in the lone pilot’s couch, and status displays sprang up around her. She felt a moment of panic – surely SOLOMON didn’t expect her to fly this thing! – but the AI chuckled. I can fly it for you until you jump into Roanian space, it said, And the autopilot can handle things from there. In the meantime, perhaps you’d like to enjoy the view?

The displays flashed onto an external view, and she realized that the shuttle had started to move the moment she’d sat down; now the hangar was sliding backwards on either side, the atmospheric stabilizers unfolding from the hull of the ship. Then they were outside and lifting, and she saw the domes of the House, the collapsing walls of the surrounding cityscape, the stunted trees clawing their way out of the rubble. Further up and the gradual failure of the terraforming became evident; forests reduced to fields, fields degenerating into tundra or desert. Kalasin curved beneath them, and Sophie saw the blue pockmarks of old bombardment craters. Remembering the legends of the pre-Fall maps, she put names to craters; Footfall, Fallow Gap, Henriville, Nouvelle Montreal and others, stretching around the arc of the world.

Above the atmosphere, and SOLOMON highlighted the invisible locations of Mutineer asteroid settlements. Perhaps there were still Mutineers out there, scraping algae off the walls of their rocks, but probably not. The House of Ark and the Planetary Coalition had accounted for themselves every bit as well as the Spacer Confederacy, back in the Fall. Perhaps out there was a Mutineer scion, in Freehold or Chiron Fastness or Fort Liberty, accompanied by an AI like SOLOMON, a last inheritor of the Confederacy just as she was the final representative of the House of Ark. But it was fanciful to think so.

You’ve reached jump altitude, SOLOMON said, breaking her out of her reverie. I’m switching you over to the autopilot now.

“I’m scared, SOLOMON,” she said, but there was no reply. A moment later space went flat and grey about her, and a moment after that untwisted to show the black of space again, the stars no longer in their familiar places, an alien world hanging before the shuttle.

Now entering planetary orbit, the autopilot told her. Synchronizing with local traffic control.

“Oh – oh drat!” she cried, suddenly frantic as the planet grew larger ahead. “My costume – where is my costume?”

Item is in locker three, the autopilot said, but it lacked even the intelligence to open it for her. Sophie hauled open the locker door, banging her shin on the swinging hatch. “Ow! Oh drat! Oh! Ooh,” she added, finally seeing what she’d been looking for. SOLOMON had decreed that her costume would be “a surprise” – an illogical insistence, yet more proof of its growing senility, in her opinion. But whatever archived database it had pulled this design out of, it had surely excelled itself. Sophie slipped out of her jumpsuit and into the dress, long and clinging and every bit as black as the light-absorbing armour of the fighters in the House’s hangars. She pulled on gloves of the same material, slid her feet into the shoes (teetering a little before SOLOMON’s interminable bloody lessons on how to walk in heels came back to her) and goggled at her reflection in the mirror field; a pale white face floating above a night-dark silhouette.

She made a face and suddenly felt overdressed, ridiculous, like the time she’d found some ancestor’s stash of makeup and tried to make herself as pretty as the princesses in her holos (she’d been perhaps five at the time, and had cried blotchy mascara-stained tears onto the chassis of SOLOMON’s nanny avatar while it cleaned her face).

“This isn’t going to work at aaall,” she moaned, but there was no going back now; the shuttle was descending through the atmosphere, its flight surfaces unfolded and catching the air. She found the silver half-mask at the bottom of the locker and put it on – and suddenly she no longer looked ridiculous but queenly and mysterious, the white and silver of her face framed by the snow-white fall of her hair. The holoprojectors threaded through the dress switched on, surrounding her in a flurry of falling stars. She laughed and spun about, and the drift of stars trailed after her, glittering faintly.

“I am the Lady Sophia d’Ark, ruler of Kalasin!” she told the mirror-field haughtily. “You will take me to your leader! … ”take me to your leader”? How cheesy can you get?”

The shuttle settled down to the surface without even a bump, but she had to clutch the pilot’s couch for support as her knees wobbled. That was a whole new planet out there, full of people …! Every one of them a stranger, when the only other person she’d known until now had been SOLOMON and its avatars.

“Oh SOLOMON,” she whispered, “I wish you were here!”

Such state visits where by now done almost by Rote by Iyanna, her personal Craft put down, wherever it was directed, filling the local area, banners would unfurl from around the hatch. Displaying the Flag of Yvresse, and Iyanna’s own personal rune. Then a ramp would descend, a hiss of escaping gasses would announce the opening of airlocks, and from out of the ship, Ten Aspect Warriors would stride forwards. Dire Avenger’s usually, bright Plumes spilling out from the tops of helmets. As they settled into two lines facing inwards. Five more figures would then emerge. Walking between the Dire Avengers.

These where the Everguard, bright Halberd versions of Witchblades, carried by each of them they would advance to the end of the line and stand with their Halberds crossed. Once this was done, then would Iyanna descend the ramp herself, the Vaul Armour usually catching the sun to make her almost shine for a moment in reflected light. At her side prowled her Gyrinx, Taldar, taking the attention that was directed at her as her due. Behind her would come any other guests she had brought with her in this case a hooded female, and a Male Eldar, who seemed almost to be the definition of a rogue. An Easy smile came to his lips, and a sureness was about his step, at his side was a sword, that while ornate, was clearly also well used. Behind them came two handmaids, bearing gifts for their hosts.

Even the gifts had become by rote to a point, the first in long established relationships was, well, to be it bluntly a Fruit Basket, with examples of rare fruits wines and other exotic delicacies taken from each world the Craftworld had passed since meeting the people involved, as well as a few random other samples to throw off any attempt to use such plants as a way to estimate their course and heading. The other would be a little more personal. In this case, it was hidden still through in an exquisitely carved wooden box; it would not be opened of course until they where in Alessa’s presence.

When Iyanna had reached the head of the line, standing just behind the Everguard the Everguard would bow low to whoever had met them and announce Iyanna’s presence. In the case of the Roanians they went for a more formal rendition. ‘May we present, the Asuridain Iyanna Arianal of Yvresse. Prince by her own deeds, Custodian of the Vaul Armour, Kionashi, Daughter of Isha. Her guests Captain Cerelen of the Princess Ellyion's Fleet. And one other who wishes to remain anonymous at this time until she can present herself to the Empress in person.’

Once the greeting was done, and whoever met them acknowledged this the Dire Avengers would turn with a snap and march back aboard the ship, the Everguard alone remained, stepping to the side to allow Iyanna and her fellow guests to step forward, power crackling across their weapons.

Major Julian Ezrah Kel-Fang, Baron Highspire, and lately the Chovas Heir, looked at himself in the mirror, scrubbing fatigue from his eyes and finger-combing his hair into a semblance of order -- it was getting a bit long again. The AFESSR didn't enforce a length requirement outside of boot camp, he'd just never worn his hair very long. Certainly not the neck-length that was common amongst his peers.

Suddenly, decisively, he turned away from the mirror and checked his clothing by feel alone. The black shirt he was wearing was tight to his muscular frame, a frame that had become somewhat more defined since his return to active service -- he'd ended up using exercise as a stress release, and there had been a lot of stress going around these days. Black pants, gleaming black leather boots.

Nodding lightly, he lifted his longcoat off the hook upon which it was hanging and shrugged it on, checking the lines, that it hung properly. It was largely unadorned, save for the Chovas goblet on his lapel. Peacemaker was lifted off the table and placed carefully on its sling, hilt coming up over his left shoulder. Everything was, then, in order.

--

There was a certain peculiar majesty to an RSN Assault Shuttle, even when it wore the sparkling white of the Revenian Diplomatic Service. Something about the undeniably aggressive nature of its lines, the exposed weapons hardpoints, and the sleek, utilitarian design -- so unlike that employed by many other civilizations possessed of gravitic technology. Yet, there it was.

Landing was uneventful, a gentle, precise settling. There was no lurch, no unpowered drop. Just gears-on-ground and the meaningless hiss that had accompanied the lowering of the ramp since time immemorial. Julian made his descent alone, not in the dress uniform he was entitled to, but in the formal outfit of an Ascended Nobleman, which he was, in his private life. Longcoat, warblade, and a black cape with a lining of sky blue -- Chovas blue.

There was no introduction, as formally, none would ever be needed. He was Great House Ascended. The Ascended, so far as they worshipped anything, worshipped Kendri-Kalis, the Pancreator, and as legend went, Kendri-Kalis had created the first four Ascended, from whom the Great Houses had descended, and one of those four was Juran Chovas, the Preserver, and it was in that legend, secure in that legend, that Julian Fang walked.

He was every inch the Ascended nobleman, and yet those who knew him, those who truly knew him, would think that perhaps that was a costume, and perhaps it was not -- because at his core, he understood his duty, not matter how often he might like to shuck it, and part of that showed, no matter how much he wished it wouldn't.

Rudan...

The last time he'd been here, he'd ended with up several broken bones and a nasty series of bruises. There would not be a repeat of that incident, and at that thought, Peacemaker pulsed warmth. The Eldensteel Warblades had always possessed a peculiar sort of semi-sentience. Not intelligence, per-se, but certainly an aggressiveness that was always ready at hand, and none who wielded one could ever deny that the blades took pleasure in being wielded skillfully.

Julian Fang had swept Competition Longblade every year of his Academy career.

Office of the Imperial President, Imperial House, Griffin, Commonwealth of Sentient Peoples, FSP

D’ron blinked and reread the intelligence update he had been presented by Cortana that morning. Apparently, this party the Roanians were throwing while Lesley was visiting with the fashion designers had brought out everyone. And their dogs.

“Admiral Farragut,” he ordered into his communications array. A long moment passed, and memo flickered across his screen. The Imperial President went back to work, knowing that his Chief of Naval Operations would be with him as soon as he could.

Ten more minutes passed before the Fleet Admiral became available and his holographic presence flashed into existence. “What can I do for you, Mister President?”

“Have you read today’s IntRep on fleet movements?” Farragut looked at the President like he had grown two heads. After this much time, the man should know better than to ask silly questions like that. “Sorry, of course you have. They’re going to Rudan.” Farragut calmly waited for his commander-in-chief to get to the point. “If no one else seems to trust the Roanians that much, I don’t want Lesley out on the end of stick while someone shoots it off behind her.”

D’ron could see the permutations running through Farragut’s mind. The one that flickers through his eyes most clearly is what the loss of the First Lady could potentially do to the leader of his nation. “I’ll take care of it, Mister President.”

Bridge, S.P.S. Lance of Longinus, Patrol Fleet Task Group 114

“Captain, we’ll be dropping out of Hardy Drive in five seconds.”

Adam Timmings looked up at the CEI hologram. “Understood, Aeron.” He turned his gaze to the main holotank and watched as it shifted from gravity stressed star streaks to a position indicator plot. The holographic lights representing his total command flickered to life, and he smiled pleasantly. “Astro, confirm our position. Commander Nightsong, task group status?”

“We’re currently holding position twenty-nine point five light years from Rudan, Skipper,” the astrogation commander reported.

“Excellent work, as always, Commander.”

The night elf chimed in next. “The River of Blood, the Third Battlecruiser Squadron, and our escorts are all present and accounted for. The Task Group is holding at Condition Red Two, ROE Delta.”

“Very well, Commander. Let’s hurry up and wait. Contact the Cultural Understanding and inform them we’re on station and awaiting their signal. And prepare for a deep gravity well jump. There shouldn’t be enough of us to play with the star or the planets.”

“If it’s all the same to you, Captain,” his executive officer said quietly, “I’d rather not make that jump.”

“Yes,” he replied quietly. “This appears to be a nice, quiet, peaceful part of space.”

Stateroom 1, S.P.S. Cultural Understanding, High Orbit over Rudan

Grimacing with the necessity of her action, First Lady Lesley Smith carefully smeared the nanogel into her hair and then stuck her head back under the hot water, closing her eyes against the steam. In the heat, she could feel the nanos activating, swirling back along each strand of her hair. The bright red was too recognizable if she was supposed to be keeping her identity hidden.

“Do you need assistance, milady?” came the call through the door to the stateroom’s head.

Suppressing a very unladylike snort, Lesley called back, “No, Lieutenant, assuming my outfit is laid out properly.

“It is, ma’am. Citizen Un and Mrs. Hartley are ready to go, and Lieutenant Commander Blackhorse and Lieutenant Usakoski are waiting in the hanger bay for you when you’re ready to depart, if you have any final orders.”

Turning off the shower, Lesley grabbed a towel off the rack. “Please make sure the designers are appropriately settled in the Roanian shuttle.”

“Ma’am, I’d feel much more comfortable if you were going down in the Eagle, or even the pinnance.”

That did prompt a laugh from the First Lady. “You want me to ride down in twenty-five meter heavily armed troop carrying gunship? That’ll go over well. The place is going to be crowded at landing, and you’re not going down armed. If they want me dead, there’s not a lot we can do about it.”

“Actually, milady, we’re being permitted to bring weapons with us now.”

“I assume you’ll bring the standard gear, then?”

“Of course, ma’am.”

Lesley finished drying off and slung the towel over the rack. The ship’s CEI that they were carefully not revealing to the Roanians would take care of straightening it. “Carry on, then. I’ll meet you in the hanger in fifteen minutes, Lois.”

“I’ll be back here in ten, ma’am.” The First Lady rolled her eyes as she opened the door back into the main room.

Hanger Deck, S.P.S. Cultural Understanding, High Orbit over Rudan

Heels, higher than those that normally strode across it, echoed off the decking as the First Lady moved purposely forward, her heavily armed pirate wandering obediently along behind her, silent as a mouse despite her spike heels.

Lesley looked at the Roanian shuttle through the one way holofield that hid the non-standard Huntsman-class assault pinnance and hid her grimace. She would never tell her bodyguard, but she would rather be riding down in the Eagle-class diplomatic shuttle as well. But that would be most unpolitic, not to mention possibly insulting to their current host.

Not that the Federation’s First Lady did not trust her hosts, it was merely that she trusted Federation assets more. Honest.

“Commander Blackhorse, Lieutenant Usakoski, I trust both of you will behave in my absence?” she questioned of the two officers, one in navy black and blue, the other in the solid black of SOCOM.

“Of course, ma’am,” they replied in unison. The effect somewhat lost by her costume, Lesley glared at the two military members until they elaborated. “I’ll be running a combat drill,” the commander of the FTL packet continued.

“Really,” the woman said, made into a statement rather than a question by the flat tone that accompanied the word.

“Yes, ma’am.” What the skipper was failing to tell her, and what the First Lady knew from her minion, was that similar ‘drills’ had been run every time she was on the surface.

“And you, Lieutenant? I assume you’ll be doing something similar.” Again, with the question that was not a question.

The severe blonde dressed in solid black nodded. “Yes, milady. We’ll be running a practice drop onto the surface.”

Cracking a smile, Lesley felt her eyes warm in fond indulgence. The military personnel were absolutely devoted to her husband, and through him, to her, and she knew without a doubt that the Cadre strike team would level the Imperial Palace to get her out if anything went wrong. She also knew, unless she or Lois called them in, or their FTL locator and health beacons stopped transmitting, absolutely nothing would happen. Given who all would be at this party, she was relatively certain nothing would happen.

Or Rudan would be a graveyard by sunrise.

Roanian Shuttle, Descending to Rudan

Inside the passenger compartment of the shuttle, four individuals pondered each other, mostly memorizing costumes in the event of the worst occurring. They would have to know who to find.

Luck had been with them when they arrived at Rudan. The fabric extruder that Thomas Un had brought with him to continue his work while travelling had been put through its paces, even requiring a small software rewrite to be able to produce their costumes for the evening. While the specifications for the standard issue costume Guard Lieutenant Second Class Resnick was wearing were carried in her personal database, it had been left to Un and Hartley to design costumes for the three civilians.

One of the clearly female members of the party was incased in black, so deep it faded right off the visible end of the spectrum, making them seem to brush gently and merge into shadows as they passed. The tight suit outlined harder and more developed muscles than Thomas Un knew either of the unidentified females had, but then, he had designed it that way. Scimitar like claws hung along the inside of her forearms, while blood red nails seemed to cap the ends of black fingers. If one saw them from the corner of their eye, they almost seemed to glisten with a fresh kill. Designed to feel like skin, the black suit covered the entire body from neck to toes, making the demonic being appear to actually be naked. A long, serpentine tail with a wicked spike on the end called out for attention and it slowly waved back and forth, drawing the eyes away from the horror of the face. The sculpted mask was a study in unpleasing aesthetics, carefully forcing the eyes of those who gazed upon it in different directions, unless you looked straight into the blazing eyes of holographic fire. Only matching the claws on the arms and protruding from the heel, the gleaming white fangs down to the chin of the person wearing the costume once more took advantage of the distraction affect to also drip with fresh kill from the corner of the eye. An oddly pleasant scent of sulfur and brimstone accompanied the flash of immaterial wings as the demon moved, almost drifting across the floor. To cap the effect, hair of what might have been solid gold draped to midback, bisected by pointed black ears and curving horns that reached down to frame the face.

The next member of the party was an orc. Not really, but they looked like one. Closer examination would reveal them to be a robot pretending to be an orc. Admittedly, a bioscan would indentify them as human, but tonight was about appearances, not reality. A silvered skinslick set through with diodes of blinking color and a hardshelled mask with gleaming eyes that would not conform to face movements was the underlayer of the costume, while on the outside, false flesh not quite thick enough to block the lights underneath glimmering. With rippling muscles and an unhealthily accurate looking mask over the roboform, the fierce warrior was helped out by a simple sword belted onto its roughly used leather and chainmail clothing. The clearly male orc was aggressive and angry looking, exactly as the stereotype invisioned, with only the clear gleam of computerized intelligence ruining the affect. It was obvious the person in this costume was not a diplomat, and clearly took offense at the Roanians’ elegantly expressed prejudices.

The last unidentifiable member of the party was a snake. Well, a snake-woman, to be exact. It resembled nothing more than a fifteen foot long human sized snake with a female torso at the correct height, including arms. The whole body was covered with scales, from the triangular, serpent’s head complete with a flickering tongue and slit-pupil eyes. The bodysuit that comprised the torso portion was connected to a series of holographic emitters with advanced programming to make it look as if the snake-woman was slithering forward rather than walking. Of course, being merely semi-coherent light, it was highly important that the wearer of the costume refrain from taking steps that are too large.

The last member of the shore party was the only one identifiable at a glance, as Guard Lieutenant Second Class Lois Resnick. Her hair was the same color, and nothing but an eyepatch covered her face. A tricorner hat emblazoned with a skull and crossbones adorned her hair, adjusted to allow the parrot sitting on her shoulder to stand tall. A very sophisticated, non-intelligent program ran the bird’s mouth, allowing it to hold simple conversations, and simple flight program would allow it to take off and circle, bringing its advance sensor suite to bear on the ground it covered, reporting back its findings through the eyepatch. The rest of the clothing was a red and white linen shirt, black breeches and boots, and a brown leather vest. A heavy belt carried a naval saber and two heavy pistols, each designed to look like they belonged in the age of sail. Alternatively, the saber was made of vibrosteel and the pistols were gravpulse, enough weaponry to cause serious harm to any one individual, but hardly enough to be approaching any sort of havoc.

As it was, the four of them rode down in companionable silence, having long since exhausted the topics of conversation.

Sometimes being the CEO and owner of a corporation like The Garbage Men could provide the exact item you needed when you didn't even know what you were looking for. Trevor Desorté had trouble picking a costume, the trouble was more that he didn't have an idea of what he wanted to go as. He pondered going as a trash slime.. but to do it properly would mean basically turning himself into a living holograph and he didn't want that.

His salvation came when he stumbled on some fabric, some genuine natural fibre fabric, and a number of variations thereof. As a total package the fabrics where that of France, 17th Century Earth, and there was a particular story he remembered from that time period.... yes.

The Three Musketeers, three guardians of a child king and a young man who wanted to join them. The young man's name was D'Artagnan a resourceful, young man sklled with the sword, loyal and patriotic, fighting for right against Cardinal Richleau which used the means of his religious office to plot treason against the child king.

Yes, that's what he will go as. D'Artagnan. Now it was just a matter of fashioning the fabrics to form clothes, though that was easy and it didn't take long at all. There was one last thing... and that was arriving at the party.

--- Rudan ---

Trevor's personal vessel operated as a sort of mobile base of operations for Trevor, his PA, security and personal chef were all there and would for the most part stay behind. Alessa was the type not to suffer any "Funny business" but should the worst comes to worse it's good to know that they'res someone there looking out for your personal safety.

Trevor, and a single armed female security officer attended. She came as a companion. As after all his financee was to the best of his knowledge not attending either, she was there as a watcher making sure that nothing happened to him.

Glancing about the room the servant had left him in, Lord George Oliver Daniels, as he was known in this country to all save one, took in the differences between it and the male dominated Kivitch townhome of Lords Damien and Val Stratton. The house of their sister’s husband had subtle elements of her touch all throughout it. Lighter colors, softer accents, all pointing to an inescapable conclusion.

When the servant returned to inform him that Lord Stratton and the Duchess of Louvain, Lady Serena Beaumont, his sister, would be with him in a moment, the liveried man also brought him a glass of water and invited him to be seated. The being known to the Empress of Tartarus as Balion Ainulindalion took the invitation, crossing his ankles as he leaned back into surprisingly plush upholstery.

He had gone to Lord Stratton’s resident to pick him up for their scheduled weekend of exciting fun in the country playing polo, only to be informed that he was not there, and was in fact over at the sister’s residence, as her husband was still on their estate on the far side of the Empire. Having been previously invited to come around whenever he had time, he had headed straight there.

Knowing he could, of course, find out exactly what he wanted without trying, he decided to refrain from asking why Val had not been ready unless the subject arose in conversation. Prying, after all, would hardly be politic. At least, until they were playing polo away from more refined company.

The door swung open moments later and in stepped Lady Serena followed closely by her brother Val, her voice heard before she was seen, as she finished the last of her conversation. As they moved through the door, each met Lord Daniels with a slightly different expression. Serena’s was full of smiles and warmth, while Lord Stratton had that momentary flicker of horror, at suddenly discovering he had forgotten something.

“Lord Daniels,” the lady of the house spoke as she walked towards her unexpected but welcome guest. “This is indeed a very pleasant surprise. Val did not mention that you might be stopping by.” At this she looked at her brother accusingly.

Lord Stratton looked between his sister and his friend – as that as how he viewed Lord Daniels – and gave his sister an awkward smile. “My apologies, Serena, I am afraid it completely slipped my mind.” His words, though spoken to the Duchess, were intended more for his male companion.

Rising as his hostess and her brother entered the room, Daniels smirked slightly, “I might forget to meet myself as well when visiting with the Empress’ most charming cousin. But we were planning to depart for Kivitch within the hour, so I thought I should come find you.” He let the smirk turn into a grin. “Of course, I can always drive us a little faster if you need more time.”

Daniels’ foreign made sports car was apparently reflective when it came to speed recording devices, as Val no doubt recalled from their previous visit to his brother’s estate. Either that, or he had appallingly good luck.

“Val you never said.” Serena glared briefly at her brother before turning a charming smile on Lord Daniels. “I promise I will not keep him much longer, I merely had a little trifle to clear up with him before our trip. Gehenna really does like to spring surprises on people.”

Lord Stratton smiled and lowered himself into one of the chairs, reclining so his back rested. “Indeed she does.” His gaze met Daniels. “Dearest Serena tends to worry a little about trips, especially when they are out of the Empire.”

Serena pointed to the chair that Lord Daniels had just vacated. “Please, make yourself at home.” She moved a little and took one of the empty seats on the couch. “Val makes me sound like such a worrywart. To be honest Lord Daniels, I would not mind so much if it were merely outside the Empire.”

The Empress had not mentioned anything to her lover about sending her two cousins on a trip, so while he was briefly surprised, he easily hid that feeling with more millennia of experience than the two humans would ever know about. “Oh,” he asked as he gracefully folded himself back into the chair without snagging his cape or sword, “what far off place has Her Majesty sent you off to this time?”

“Rudan,” Lord Stratton announced, sounding a little unsure of the word. “It appears that the Empress Alessa of Roanian Star Empire is holding a coming of age ceremony,” he raised an eyebrow. “And Gehenna has decided that we would represent her in her absence.”

The young woman shook her head. “I had never even heard of Rudan before Gehenna mentioned we were going. I am standing there trying to work out which country she is sending us to and she starts talking of space flight.” Her eyes met Lord Daniels’, a hint of concern plain for him to see.

“That must be why I overheard His Grace discussing the preparation of the Advocatus Diaboli with Her Majesty,” he replied, amusement at their obvious concern dancing in the back of his eyes. “I’m sure the two of you will have great fun crammed in a metal can with a hundred twenty sailors for a week before dropping from the sky trailing fire and sonic booms.”

His expression sobered only slightly. “The Roanians do, admittedly, know how to throw a party, even if they’re even more distrustful of outsiders than Tartarians.” Focusing his gaze on Val, Daniels asked, “Do we need to put off our weekend until you return? Preparing to be the first Tartarians to leave the Solar System must be stressful.”

“At the moment, I think I would rather be on the back of a horse, chasing a ball rather than thinking about being the first Tartarians outside the solar system,” Val replied, not feeling the tiniest bit reassured by Lord Daniels’ words. “And I have no doubt the party will be worth the trip.”

Serena looked at her brother for a moment, a flash of an idea filling her eyes, before it was replaced by the look of concern. “Lord Daniels, have you ever been outside the solar system?” She asked as she returned her focus to her other companion. “I mean, Gehenna would not send us somewhere that was unsafe, I know, but...well, it would be good to know that you have been and come back.” Obviously in one piece.

A grin that spread all the way to his eyes covered Ainulindalion’s face. “That would be telling, wouldn’t it, Your Grace?” Laughter danced in his eyes, nearly escaping in his tone. “I have been many places in my life, though my sentiments of Rudan are from very long ago. It might have changed some under this Alessa.” He shrugged calmly and sipped his water. “While your travel arrangements are not particularly swift, you should be fine.”

Lady Serena smiled, a small laugh escaping her lips. “You must think me most cowardly, Lord Daniels.” She looked at her brother, their eyes meeting. “And you must not think poorly of Val, he seemed to be looking forward to the adventure until he spoke to me about it.”

“You are far too kind, Serena,” Val smiled, as he flicked his gaze between his sister and his friend. “Lord Daniels does not need your assistance with making his mind up about my behaviour. He has known me long enough already to have judged my character, however poorly, and I will not hold his decision against him.”

“Neither of you are more than appropriately nervous, considering what you are about to do. Your names will likely be engraved on history for this simple act.” He smiled pleasantly. “And I am sure, Lady Serena, that your nervousness stems as much from excitement as your brother’s.” Black eyes focused teasingly on Val. “And you, milord, are an unrepentant tease, hustler at cards, somewhat reformed rake, and a cuddler of kittens and small children. I should not be the one reassuring your sister.” He grinned at his second true friend.

Val held up his hands in resignation and grinned. “And I have spent the last hour trying to do so, as well as fight off a barrage of costume suggestions.” He grinned at Serena. “All of which have met with a rather resounding and definite no.”

“I have had another thought about that...but I shall hold the thought for another time,” she finished as she caught Val’s expression of horror. “I am sure Lord Daniels wants to be on his way to Kivitch. No matter how fast you take it, it is still a long and boring journey.”

Daniels’ eye lit up at the mention of costumes. “A masquerade? My favorite kind of party.” He seemed to relax even more into the couch, directing his next words to the hostess. “What delightful things were you thinking of making Val dress as?” He smiled. “And driving with me is never boring.” He looked pointedly at Val, smirking and raising an eyebrow.

Serena smiled, her face glowing with excitement as she finally moved onto the more entertaining part of the whole event. “At first, I thought maybe some characters from a myth, story or play. Then I thought about maybe someone from Tartarian history, but everyone does that.” She paused momentarily for breath. “But now I am thinking, fire and ice, with a twist.”

“Fire and ice with a twist?” Val repeated, not at all happy to be back on the costume conversation again. They had barely finished talking about just that when they entered the room to greet Lord Daniels. “I really see no reason to wear anything more than a nice suit with a plain mask.”

The Duchess scowled once more at her brother, a facial expression she had also been using on him previously. “And do you think anyone else will be making that little effort? Gehenna will be alarmed...and more than a little disappointed, if her favourite cousin made the Empire look bad.”

It was Val’s turn to scowl. “I am sure she would not mind in the least.”

“You really want to find out?” Serena asked sweetly.

Watching the interplay brought out the largest grin of the late morning on the foreigner’s face, and he decided to rescue his friend. “Perhaps Val and I will be able to decide on an appropriate costume for him while we’re driving. I’m sure that a compromise can be reached during the two hours it will take to arrive at Kivitch.” Given that it was normally a five hour drive even at a respectable increase over the speed limit, the announced time frame would no doubt attract the attention of Serena’s more motherly instincts. Even as he spoke, his eyes told Val a completely different story – that they would not discuss it at all.

Lady Serena rose to her feet, followed closely by a relieved looking Val. “Well, you enjoy the polo and I will see you when you return.” She touched her brother’s arm briefly and smiled. “Lord Daniels, you drive carefully and not too fast,” she presented him with her hand. “It has been nice seeing you and I hope that we get to do this again soon.”

Rising with Val, Daniels smiled. “I’m always careful, Your Grace.” He bowed over her hand, refraining from brushing it with his lips, but coming close. “Thank you for your gracious hospitality in the event of my untimely interruption. I’m sure we will see each other upon your return, and you will be gushing with excitement and wondering when your cousin will send you to another planet again.” As he straightened, his eyes flicked to Val, asking the silent question, ‘Shall we go?’

“I shall call once I return and we can finalise our plans then,” Val pressed a kiss to Serena’s cheek and smiled as he took a step back. “If Damien contacts you, looking for me, tell him I will contact him. He is bound to want to offer some advice about me looking after you.”

Serena led them to the door, followed by Lord Daniels, with Lord Stratton bringing up the rear. As they left the room and headed towards the front door, the Duchess called after them some things for them to consider on their journey, even though she had already decided on the costumes they would wear.

Clodius stood, one hand gripping the bulkhead, the spartan interior of the drop ship designed for rugged survivability over creature comforts. The hum of the reactor above their heads and the buffeting of the atmosphere both penetrated the crew compartment, the weak microgravity barely sufficient and causing faint nausea to wash over him. A flyer, at least partially he could comprehend moving in three dimensions better than most, but the changes in gravitational pull as the craft’s own field conflicted with the pull of the planet below did not help him in the slightest.

It wasn’t technically a military ship, of course, but rugged survivability was a Freestian design trait that completed the land they came from and the generally pragmatic attitude they had to life. The craft in truth was built to crash, essentially, all the seats faced to the rear, holds and straps dominated the interior and only a few cleaned out storage compartments and a small bathroom block giving scant comfort to the occupants. The ceiling, built originally with Ghoul workers or crew in mind, towered above his head, his six foot frame small against the occupants in mind, but it had the added benefit of not feeling too crowded. All Freestians suffered, however mildly, from a little claustrophobia, for obvious reasons, and even his form now felt a little stifling.

His costume was unoriginal, but it fitted appropriately, a long black cape was worn across his shoulders, hair neatly parted in an old and sinister pattern, his skin pale, his canines brought to the fore. The humanform held a mask in his hands, white, etched with the black outline of some winged creature, long strands coming off to mimic his own fangs. His demonic cousins. The most famous of them anyway.

A cough echoed through the chamber and a figure appeared in the nearest hatchway.

Sempero grinned his perfect teeth, his image even more refined and sharpened than usual, and despite being younger his height allowed him to tower above Clodius with minimal effort. He rose on his ankles, even more elegant, nodding his head and causing a wave to pass through his silvered, shoulder length hair. His own costume was a dark ensemble like Clodius’, though worn with a sharper cut that did much more to show off his physique. He was…pretty. A striking contrast for someone who to put it mildly was a nigh on perfect killing machine. The smile with perfect teeth hid a jaw capable of biting through battleship grade armour, his elegant form strong enough to rip the craft apart literally with his bare hands.

“How do I look?” The question came oddly from Clodius. Sempero halted, the faintest hint of surprise crossing his refined features as he looked at the vampire.

“Old.” Was the curt reply. “And original. Really, you must have devoted at least a whole second to thinking that up.”

Clodius gave a mock twirl. “Yeah well, the canines kind of limit the choice somewhat. What you meant to be, a chauffeur?”

Sempero raised a sharpened eyebrow. Clodius was pretty sure he detected makeup. “I am zee Phantom!” He swept his cape dramatically, taking out a white, porcelain mask that he had hidden. “Of the Opera!” He added unnecessarily as he donned the item, retracting his head and laughing.

Clodius just stared, cocking his head slightly. “Jesus fucking Christ.”

“What?”

“Never mind.” Clodius breathed out slowly, clicking a steel toe against the grating beneath them. The craft slowed as it neared its destination.

“This mask is rather stifling.” the gold and red dragon mask said as it snapped it’s mouth open and shut a few times. The cloak it wore was also a happy red and gold in it’s make very much similar to various carnival costumes seen in Birchester back on Earth.

The ‘Priest’ sitting opposite him chuckled and scratched the short, deep red beard that adorned his chin. “You were the one who chose it, Heruss. Not me.” he then looked at the other person sitting next to him. “Glad you could take some time out to come with me though.”

The woman flicked one leg over the other under the black folds of her dress, her sharp features in a thoughtful expression beneath a similarly dark hood. A mask, a full braula, white as snow, sat in her fingers. "Thats the third time you've said that to me. It's okay, honest." She leaned over and kissed him on the cheek. "Honestly Henry, I am glad to be here." She turned to look at him. "As your guest."

Henry grinned and hung his head down slightly, in mock shame. “Well, I know you have such a busy schedule as the Prime Minister of the Commonwealth. I just feel I should say it a few times as you may feel you’re tagging along.”

A fourth figure entered the comfortable shuttle‘s seating area from one of the two bedrooms on it, a toilet hissing and gurgling as she sat back down. Her long brown hair coming down to her shoulder with a pair of carefully folded white wings behind her back, on her head was a halo which perched at a slightly odd angle. Brilliant blue eyes shone from underneath and a small, slightly mischievous smile crossed her lips. “You two look so cute!” she exclaimed after a moment or two looking at the King of Midlonia and the Prime Minister of the Freestian Commonwealth.. Henry Swadlincote and Sarah Farahind.

Sarah smiled back, locking eyes for the briefest of moments. "Thank you." She paused for a moment. "Your outfit is...quite something." She said delicately, though with affection.

“Mmm. I tried. But it’s so hard to make anything look good with these little wings on my back.” she sighed and looked over her shoulder from the golden thin dress she wore with the outfit.

Heruss’ dragon mask clacked slightly every time he spoke. “Do you want me to keep an eye on Verve, your majesty? I know it‘s a bit risky bringing her here of all places, but..”

“I still stand by my decision, Heruss. Don’t worry about it, it’s why I can handle any… diplomatic fallout if the Roanians discover what she is other than an Angelis.”

The Shuttle being used by the Midlonian party was much more luxurious than, to be honest, and of them sitting here would typically be used to, but as they had decided to make a slightly better than usual impression as it was Roania… it was the luxury craft often used for short trips by the King himself when he had to attend places such as the outer-colony jointly established between the Freestians and Midlonians and the Martian Colonies.

Sarah sighed. "Don't put pressure on the poor girl." She rose, standing tall and with heels now she towered over most of those present, especially Verve. "Just relax, both of you." She turned and took Henry's hand, smiling warmly now. "What is the worse that could happen?"

“They get very cross with me when they discover Verve is part of a secret experiment that used Roanian DNA to make a new race of Angelis to repopulate the Midlonian Kingdoms with Magic users and either turn me into an unpleasant stain on their nice marble floor or a toad?” Henry grinned up at her before he stood up and then leant up further to kiss her cheek. “But I’m sure that won’t happen.”

"Thanks for the exposition dear."

“Oh shush, you love it when I have my flairs for the dramatic!” Henry grinned a little wider now as the shuttle rocked slightly in it’s touch down. “Showtime.” his eyes sparkled and he seemed genuinely alive and happy for the first time in a while. There had been less unrest and stress in the Greater Kingdom generally and this has been good for the still quite young King. His 28th birthday wasn’t too far away now either, which would more than likely mean another party soon after this one.

"If you say so." Sarah shook her head again, laughing. She walked over and parked the King's arm around her own. "Remember, I am here as part of your entourage and I expect to be treated properly all night." She leaned over against his shoulder, resting herself against him and cosying up. Her costume was surprisingly form fitting, a fact that was rather apparent to the young Midlonian ruler when she pressed against him.

“But of course, m’lady, I am sure to ply you with drinks and respect during this.” Henry grinned and leant his head against her for a moment as the ramp opened with a hiss and a light, near silent rumble.

Verve and Heruss had also linked arms and stood behind Henry and Farahind. He shook his head and the mask clacked again. “Why do I always get a feeling of something going wrong?”

“Because you worry too much, Mr scary vampire…” Verve said, before sticking her tongue out in jest at Heruss, who sighed and shook his head again.

Tseaby is not well known. Perhaps better put, no one really knows how Tseaby works, except for those that have a responsibility to know how it works. Daithí Päivi (That's Dai-hee Pee-vee), as the Director of Operations for Tseaby Public Works, is probably the most familiar with the sprawling, but efficient bureaucracy that comprises the government of Tseaby.

He quite welcomed getting away from it.

Daithí, as a medium height humanoid brown bear, tended to look rather imposing around new people, despite being overly friendly. However, with his shortly buzzed blond hair, he came off as menacing all too often for his liking.

Wanting to avoid this, Daithí settled on a more pleasant costume than those of years past. A bluebird (http://www.flickr.com/photos/dbarronoss/458526638/in/set-72157594562937032/)!

He carved his beak out of a solid block of walnut, with the top covered in a layer of pressed black onyx, with dark gray stripes running the length. With no bottom half, he could drink from most glasses, which he decided was more important at a party than accuracy. The slightly tinted glass used for the eyes of the mask let him see through them while hiding his own.

Shiny ramie fabric was used to make the bulk of the costume, with the neck and back dyed bright blue, blended as well as his skills let him, into the orange front. The sleeves had slats of fabric that draped like feathers, with short foam extensions at the end of the hand to give the wings their bent shape. This was also used for the short tail that drooped behind him.

Dulled foot claws, made the same way as the beak, went over his shoes. Resting just above ground level, they would not clack without him purposefully doing so; and as he waited on the ship, he did so. No more than a half hour left, but Daithí had the feeling he should have waited a little longer before putting on the rest of his costume. His anxiousness of being around such a group of people didn't help, either.

The narrow black shape of a C’tani military shuttle fell without seeming to disrupt the atmosphere at all, no coat of superheated plasma under this vehicle as it descended through the Rudan atmosphere. The vehicle was only a little more than a hundred meters long, and one of the smallest in full production to contain a necron inertialess drive system. Inside the large doors that opened as it landed, stood half a dozen necron immortals, hulking metal giants standing as still as statues facing one another. Normally, the C’tan leader would have arrived in a warship, but as the Roanians had so little self confidence in such matters, trying desperately to keep anyone and everyone they could out of their territory, he had favored a more low key arrival. His wife’s more prominent arrival later would no doubt be provide more than enough gray hairs for the more security conscious Roanians without him adding to it, any more than they might just by his very presence, at any rate.

He was accompanied by two inversely-dressed attendants, Eldar women of similar height and poise, dressed in dark and sky blue costumes that were trimmed with gold. To his left walked the disdainful Mieka, a former Dark Eldar pirate queen; she had actually spent most of the last decades as a prisoner of Menelmacar, not the C’tan, but on this occasion, had been – a treat for cooperation – allowed to come with Ranisath and his other companion. Of course, as far as most of the world knew, Mieka was long dead, so it would perhaps interest some observers. On his right was the Yvressi ambassador, dressed in the lighter blue but otherwise identical costume. The pair were actually costumed after the Roanian entertainers’ outfits of around fourteen centuries ago, but it was unlikely even the Roanians would directly pick up on that, as they were aliens, after all.

Ranisath himself, however, looked much more like the locals (http://fireemblemblog.files.wordpress.com/2008/06/reyson.jpg) (as Sirithil would when she arrived) with the difference that the broad wings he had created, in addition to blonde hair and green, glowing eyes, actually were feathered, rather than having a light, hairlike structure as true Roanians’ did. He wore white, gold, and a grey-green, again in a slightly antique pattern, this time looking back to the earlier Roanian Emperors of Rudan. At rest, his wings and clothes shone, not with an internal radiance, but with light that seemed to be reflected from above. The companions he had with him walked close behind him, almost flush against his wings, graceful and light-footed enough to walk here without behind hit by those wings or otherwise getting in the way whenever he turned or moved them.

With them, and behind them, came a completely non-human figure; not a spider, for it had only three legs, and another three limbs that folded up under it. This creature shone with its own inner radiance, through its glassy shell, which was almost featureless save for some spherical pearl-like objects buried in its surface, and shinning ports along the underside. Its species was famous for impact resistant glasswork, and they themselves coated themselves in such materials. They were known as the Fra’al, and they were the longest surviving allies of the C’tan, even though they were highly psychic. Their forebears, millions of years ago, had discovered the ruins of necrontyr structures on the galactic rim, and migrated there to study them, learning how to grow their own vessels from living metal and link their own minds with the material. They had their own crafts and ways, though, and did not appreciate outsiders knowing of them. In this respect, they had much in common with the Roanians. This individual was called, quite blissfully ignorant of the human use of his name, Master Mary. He was the satrap of the Fifth Web World (despite their appearance, the Fra’al did not spin webs, the name derived from the way these ‘worlds’ consisted of high tensile cables linking habitats low in the orbit of cold, dim stars together) a pyrokine and former leader of a crack squad of sometime mercenaries on the rim.

To say the guards of the Imperial Palace Complex were unimpressed with their visitors would be a lie. They were very impressed; after all, it isn't often that all of one's deeply held convictions about the inferiority of other sentient life get drastically confirmed. Still, they were not paid enough or given enough responsibility to do anything other than obey expressed orders by their commanding officers.

As each invited guest passed, one of them ran the Integral Scanner to ensure that no one was carrying a concealed weapon, while Aionos, Scion of Lesser House Akae and Lieutenant of the First And Most Glorious Host greeted each guest with the breezy disinterest that characterized natives of Ailisiara.

For the humanoids, Aionos was mildly effusive, far less openly contemptuous than the Rudanim or Altecarim that made up most Roanian diplomatic staff. "Good evening, Sir, Madame. If you could simply show me your invitations and make against the use of force for the duration of your time in the residence of the Most High, you will be allowed in immediately. You are expected at all times to behave politely and respectfully. Under no circumstances will you be permitted to draw arms in the presence of the Most High, and failure to comply with this most simple of rules will be... regretful. Should you feel that you cannot comply with this, we ask you to turn your weapons over to us and they will be returned to you when you leave for your quarters. You may have the company of one or two guards, at most, and we request that they liaison with the Palace Commandant before they take any actions whatsoever."

The problems began when the delegation from the Federation of Sentient Peoples arrived. More welcoming to foreigners or not, Aionos was unwilling to allow an orc access to the palace, and his expression turned positively apoplectic when he then decided it was a robot attempting to disguise itself as an orc, though he retained his even demeanour even as he sorted through his mind to find a polite way to order the abomination melted into scrapmetal and then dropped into a star. Eventually, of course, the guards manning the biometric reader revealed that it was really a human pretending to be a robot pretending to be an orc, which made Aionos no happier, but he acquiesced and, with a slightly forced 'Have a Good Evening, sir, ma'am," he let the FSP delegation enter.

Unfortunately, his next delegation was the pan'norm. While he had been ordered to expect them, it still came as an unpleasant and unwanted shock to have giant insects passing through his door, especially since the Roanian Diplomatic Manual did not allow for polite diplomacy, by and large, to giant insects. With incredible forbearance Aidonos managed to say, "Welcome to the Imperial Palace. Please, right this way," without biting his tongue clean through, and had the pan-norm ushered in and out of his hair, just in time for the Midlonians to arrive. As allies, King Henry and Sarah Farahind were welcome guests, right up until Verve's appearance caused every guard to reach for their weapons.

"This is... a surprise. I believe that is the word, yes, surprise." Aionos mustered his civility as his nostrils flared and his eyes took on a glow that was by no means friendly. "We did not expect that a renegade would be attending with you, Your Majesty. We would appreciate greater..." Another guard had hurried and was whispering in his ear. "Yes? What?" He turned his eyes upon Verve and sniffed once more, watching her cautiously, then elegantly shrugged, deciding that whatever this was, it was not his problem and certainly not at his paygrade. "My apologies, Miss, Sir, Your Excellency, Your Majesty. Please, go right in. Have a pleasant evening." He hurried the Midlonian delegation in quickly, though distrust remained in his eyes as he watched Verve pass, his nails tapping sharply on the welcome desk. He sniffed again, frowned, and shook his head, closing his eyes. When he opened them, the Freestians were there.

"Uh." Aidonos looked up at the Freestians, then over at the door, then back at the Freestians, and then back at the door. "Uhm." His tongue clicked against his teeth, and then he shrugged his shoulders elegantly, gave them the standard talking to, and then veeeery slowly reached over to unlock the 'large persons' door. It swung open. "Please, go right in." He rubbed his eyes. "What next..."

The arrival of the Ctan, with their 'hideous little monster', as it would be formally described in Aidonos' report at the end of his shift, passed by almost unnoticed. Aidonos' bonhomie was slightly strained by this point, but he managed to bow and welcome Ranisath and his guests. Unwilling to say a word to, about, with or in any connection to the creature, he directed his voice towards Ranisath himself. "I hope you and your guests have a good evening, sir. Her Ladyship is..." A quiet glance at the 'thing', "did... order us to expect you, sir. Please, you and your..." Galstandard failed him for a moment, "enruahni-makmar... your guests, yes, please enter. Have a good evening." And, after they left, he shut the door, ordered his lieutenant to take over for any other guests that might arrive, and went for a lie-down.


The next step would be to pass through the biometric and metal detecting scanning units built into the palace doors, climb up the great stairway (though for those who cannot, owing to their costumes or physical infirmity, climb up the great stairwell an elevator is provided), and pass into the Hall of Welcome, decked out for the occasion in sparkling blue. Above the high table, the Imperial Standard floated in the air, flanked by the the Drakeof Imperial House Dracar and the Firebird of Imperial House Aner. Flanking them were the Star of Greater House Seraph and the Sword-in-Fire of Greater House Darsal; the Cresting Wave of Greater House Ophan and the Bow of Greater House Cheruv. Along the wall flanking those were darkened patches, in the shape of the Golden Sun of Lesser House Hakoen and the Twilight Badge of Anatheme House Dielre.

Imperial High Society itself had already arrived well before the foreigners were welcomed in, and the guests had already congealed into mutually hostile conglomerates, kept from violence only by the unconcealed, and splendidly well-armed, presence of the First Legion. As feared by Alakantar, his self-proclaimed nemesis Calavyr was indeed attending the party, thrilled to be released from his exile on Mars. He was dressed in shining feathers, with a beaked mask on, his costume shimmering with a thousand radiant shades of blue and green. His allies, primarily his clients or those Roanians willing to cope with his abrasive personality in order to get close to Alessa's current heir, were grouped as far from the door as possible, choosing to avoid even the possibility of foreign contamination. However, the entrance of Alakantar would lead to a minor stir as a guard charged with the task entered the group to advise Calavyr of this event.

The other Greater Lords and their clients were similarly clumped together, though closer to one another and the door then each would prefer, forced to such proximity to the distasteful foreigners and their rivals by Calavyr monopolizing the farthest open corner.

Lord Metchier, Elder of House Darsal (and second oldest Roanian in the room, making him the third oldest of the natives in the room) had grabbed the ordinarily coveted prize of the table closest to the Empress'. Surprisingly aged, the thousand year old had chosen to make little or no concession to the Empress' desire for a costume party, simply wearing a thin mask which now hung on his stool as he gently snoozed. His 5 children, his two heirs and three scions, and their spouses, sat with him, while his grandchildren were at present still in waiting, though their bored expressions indicated that they might be more likely to join general festivities then the other members of their party. Such of Metchier's clients who had felt it worth coming had long left their elderly patron's table to circulate amongst the groups at the front, occasionally reporting back to their somnolent lord and his children.

Lady Asure of the 'man-hating' Greater House Ophan had been forced through her sheer hatred of Calavyr Seraph to stand close to the door, though what could be seen of her beneath her ornately jeweled mask showed she had little more taste for the company of foreigners. Her two heirs seemed to have more interest, though, especially regarding the males who entered, though they seemed more inclined at the moment to discuss the charms of the men between each other in High Roanian then to make any move towards the door. Asure's 4 scions (all her sons, of course) had either quietly tried to escape to another Greater House's group or were sitting quietly cowed by their mother, who would occasionally reach out and hit one on a slight pretext with the back of her hand. Only one or two of Asure's clients, both from the Houses Mercantile, had chosen to attend, and they had long ago parted with their patron to discuss regulations and future business, though occasionally messengers would return.

Greater House Cheruv was attending with the weakest force, though Duke Nicomediel and his heirs were legally required to come. Though the Duke, who had great land-interests on Mars and had in fact ordered his favorite heir, Ecanus, to manage them (neither Ecanus or his selkie wife were in attendance, having asked for and received permission from the Empress' court to remain on Mars to maintain governance there, as Ecanus was Calavyr's deputy), was at least not particularly ill-disposed to foreigners, he was not close enough to the door to greet any as they entered, though his informants amongst the guards were keeping careful watch for anyone from Mars who might have news of his son. He and his heir were dressed in what he had been assured was the finest Martian costume, though the Sunset environmental suit had been opened and he had replaced the helmet with a silk mask. Roanians do not, by and large, sweat profusely, but if they did, Nicomediel would be. Very few of his clients had come as his clients, though those of his dependents who had chosen to spend the fortune on tickets for themselves did circulate between their groups and Nicomediel's table, trying to keep the passive Ailiasim informed.

Far more hostile (to each other, and much less so to foreigners) were the governmental Roanians. Daria Kara was dressed, with little success, as a warlock, her robe waging a valiant and ultimately futile struggle to attempt to hold down her chest, and her belt cinched tight around her hips in an equally pathetic attempt to disguise them. Despite the failure of her costume, her eyes glimmered with undisguised triumph as she occasionally stroked a finger along the wand that waited at her side. Her primarily male following was occasionally directed to bring her a drink, when she deigned to notice them, though her primary interest was the front door. A few representatives from the Ophanim table drifted back and forth, though as the Greater Houses weren't quite sure what to make of the resurgence of a woman they had all written off very few others came to call. Indeed, until Daria regained a formal seat at the cabinet she was unlikely to be taken seriously at all, though Malham Fell (dressed as a butterfly), at least, was keeping his channels open by paying equally as much attention to Daria as he did to Radmiel, much to the impotent rage of the Grand Vizier and the discomfort of Lady Fell.

Radmiel had seated himself at the high table early and was holding what could only be called a 'court'. Dressed in Midlonian fashion (or what had been Midlonian fashion 50 years ago, when according to rumors he had found himself there quite by accident) and with a neverending flow of tea coming to his table, he greeted every foreign guest by lifting his champagne flute, while his sycophants circulated the room, navigating the Houses with ease and returning to the Grand Vizier with whatever information he required. A few delegates from the Mercantile and Lesser Houses found their way to his table, though the mutual contempt that existed between the arriviste Radmiel and the Greater Houses meant that the other 'courts' only rarely sent him a messenger and he never sent one in return. He divided his own time between talking sweet nothings to his female guests, gazing with mingled lust and bitter hatred at Daria, and glancing nervously at Calavyr, who was closest of all the other important figures in the room to him. The other cabinet ministers were keeping themselves to themselves, though close enough to Radmiel to attend to their master's wishes.

Rounding out the governing parties were the Imperial Governors, all of whom mingled with high society with a desperation born solely from exile from that same high society. Enduring the mockery of their comrades with the stoicism of those who know the worst for their career that can happened, has happened, they were all dressed in fashion similar to those of their worlds and accompanied by 'dignitaries' from the subject governments. Thus, Governor Illinura Noraen, of no particular House Allegiance, was accompanied by the largest and oldest Salamandri that the Palace had ever seen, High Chief K'chrk of the Sept of the Red Talon, 1000 years and 4 meters of bone, muscle spikes and teeth, and was dressed as a human farmer upon Rk would dress, in a reasonably close, though high quality silk, facsimile of a rainsuit. As the Freestians entered the room, K'chrk's nostrils flared, causing the Roanians around him to very gently edge away.

Governor Raphael Katan-Ophar, nephew of Nicomediel, was lacking in a guest, as his own dignitary, PrideLord Nmmr of the Blue Wing Pride of Felinoids, was curled up quietly under Nicomediel's feet and happily sleeping. As Meror was almost completely settled by Roanians, and the felinoids had happily allowed themselves to be co-opted by their masters, Meror was well on its way to obtaining Homeworld status, meaning Raphael was the happiest of all the governors and also the most welcome, circulating amongst his kinsmen, Daria's admirers and the Lords and Ladies of the Lesser Houses with equal aplomb. Naturally, of course, he had chosen to wear silk cat-ears and whiskers for the occasion, and looked as though he had stepped out of a very high-end production of Cats.

Last and least of those Governors whose charges frequented the halls of power was the unfortunate Khar Myares, scion of Lesser House D'arta. Dressed in Desertkin robes, he completely lacked the spirit or willpower to move from the bar, where his dignitaries, Sullah bin Amur, High Chief of the Beduni Tribes and Miriam bat Elija of the Habieri were propping him up as he drank himself back into unconsciousness.

And, finally, amongst those who were merely circulating the room and tasting the waters was the Archchancellor Kouran the Gold, Archmage, Magister, Librarian and generally boring individual. The crowds parted like the red sea before Moses at his approach, and those unfortunate enough to meet his gaze, dressed disarmingly as he was as a lollipop, soon regretted it as he latched upon them, poured verbosity upon their heads, and then left them 5 minutes later as drained as any vampire would. Tagging along with him was a small delegation of his teachers, and the representative of the Archivists, who felt that anyone as powerful as Kouran must have something valuable to say in every word, though the archivist chosen for the task was looking longingly to where Khar was sitting.

Along the west wall, a long row of foods waited. Primarily very sweet, almost honeyed, meats and fish of course, but with a small selection of pastas and salads. Less sugary meats were even less in evidence owing to the Roanian preference for sweetness, however a foreign chef had been taken from one of the embassies to provide a small selection of meat.

An array of sweet liqueurs, shining translucently at the bar, waited for the guests, and out of the reach of Khar, who would otherwise be drinking them all now. For foreigners who liked their alcohol less than saccharine, a few bottles of Dominion and Menelmacari wine had been dug up from the cellars, some of them potentially predating human ftl travel. Their quality, of course, would be luck of the draw. A few more recent drinks, primarily beers or cheap wines, had been sourced from Mars, though a number of high quality elven beverages had also arrived. Coffee was nonexistent, while tea and tealike products were in abundance, though Radmiel had commandeered the Midlonian leaves for himself, as was his general wont. A small selection of the galaxy's soft drinks were present, though Alessa had taken one whiff of the purchased PBC and ordered it destroyed.

OOC: Circulate for a little while, Alessa will be down soon. I'll also have to post details of the shuttlepad and what we'd do with Gehenna's ship, but I'll edit those into this post later.

The hideous little monster spoke silently as they passed the guard; its voice well into the ultrasound range beyond human hearing, as the C’tan gamely made the metal detector do what was technically called ‘freak out’ or ‘light up like a Christmas tree.’ He did that sort of thing from time to time, not because he had to, he could quite happily fool such an instrumentality, but because he didn’t really like people to be sure that he could. “I believe he called you ‘these nonpeople who belong to you’” Ranisath replied, again speaking its own ultrasonic language, and the hideous little monster shook in place, as if in fury or laughter, and then followed up the stairs, having some difficulty. Master Mary was walking in a particularly odd way, as, normally, he would swing around bouncing from foot to foot like a kind of horizontal caffeinated triskelion. However, he had a distinct impression that this would look undignified to humanoid eyes, so instead he moved with one leg ‘forward’ (and thus two arms forward, too).

As the group entered the room, Ranisath turned to bow to the heirs the Greater House Ophan, with a knowing smile (he of course, understood High Roanian perfectly well, or seemed to). As he did so, of course, he folded his wings up high into the air to avoid embarrassingly smacking them into his attendants. He straightened up and turned, his two companions keeping close to his sides. Master Mary, on the other hand, paused, slowly turning around in place, as if examining the room in wonder, as all barbarian aliens should. Indeed, he was, to an extent, doing just that, he had rarely seen so many individuals in one place at the same time. The Fra’al worked differently.

The main group and its ‘hideous little monster’ split up, the main group heading over towards Radmiel, and the shining glass tripod slowly making its way in a straight line towards the individual it recognized (with the aid of a special mnemonic technique to tell humanoids apart) as Arch-Chancellor Kouran.

By the time she reached the Imperial Palace Sophie’s head was spinning. Everything was so big, so open! They had trees out in the open air and everything, and you could breathe the air right out of the sky! And there were people everywhere.

The old holos showed that Kalasin had been like this once (though more austere and utilitarian, even at the height of planetary civilization). But she had never imagined something like this.

“Good evening, sir, how do you do?” she replied to the man at the door, and was pleased that her voice did not waver at all. “Here is my invitation.”

The greeter glanced at it, and continued without pausing; “You are expected at all times to behave politely and respectfully” – Does he think I won’t? Am I doing something wrong? – “Under no circumstances will you be permitted to draw arms in the presence of the Most High” – Does he really think I would? Oh no – does he think it likely I’ll need to? – “You may have the company of one or two guards, at most” – Guards? Oh no, I don’t have any guards, they said that SOLOMON couldn’t come!

Eventually she realised that the man’s patter was routine, that his manner was somewhere between boredom and disdain (and what kind of guests do they have, if this is routine?). “I assure you that I shall comply with all local laws and regulations,” she choked out (and realized a moment later that she didn’t know this planet’s laws and regulations – what if she was doing something wrong, all unwitting? What if their laws included something horrible?). She swept past him with all the wounded pride she could muster.

Her implants marked the scanners built into the Palace doors as surely as the scanners must be marking her implants. Lifting her skirts so as not to trip over her hems (which would make entirely the wrong sort of impression) Sophie made her way up the stairs and into the grand Hall of Welcome.

“Oh my,” she whispered. This was the rest of Roania magnified a hundred times; more colour, more gold, more people … and they were all looking at her. No, don’t fall over, don’t collapse, don’t vomit, just find a quiet corner and wait for it to stop. But there were no quiet corners, the walls seemingly colonised by ornately-dressed groups of Roanians.

In desperation Sophie turned to the nearest figure and said “Isn’t it splendid? I love the decoration!”

Great, she thought, Now I sound like a total hick.

“What was that about?” Sempero said curiously as he and Clodius wandered past the Roanian greeting them and the rather unobtrusive scanners. Lacking any weapons it wasn’t a particular concern, and indeed made the vampires feel somewhat secure, ‘safe’ environments being perfect for security when you yourself are a nigh on perfect predator. They entered the lavish hall with little aplomb, impressed by the Roanian pageantry and gluttony even as their heavy footsteps caused nearby natives to look around them.

A whiff of reptilian hatred passed over them, and they turned to stare at the large Salamandri who was glaring at them. The two Freestian vampires exchanged glances with each other, then turned to smile awkwardly at the large reptile. He didn’t ‘smile’ back, and the two Freestians just assumed it was a race specific thing.

They stopped at the nearest free table, lifting their masks, Clodius looking around again at the assembled guests and making a list of names that needed speaking to. Sempero meanwhile smiled at the nearest Roanian girls, flicking his head slightly so his silvered hair caught the light.

“You gonna be okay this evening?” Clodius asked.

“Not sure, gotta make friends, influence people, you know, my usual.”

Clodius shook his head. “No offence, try not to offend too many people here. Remember whose party this is.“ Sempero blinked, then latched onto what Clodius was saying with a grin. “Besides, I thought you were giving your immune system a break from all those ‘argh my pee burns’ moments you seem to have.”

Sempero glared pure evil at Clodius, who just smiled casually back. There was serious intent behind both gestures though.

“Just be careful.” Clodius offered at last. He turned back to looking the Salamandri. “I’m going to find out what that guy is on.”

Sempero meanwhile grabbed a glass and scanned the talent, eyes watching the form of the arriving guests, making notes and rather unflattering scores. He espied the natives especially, doing the initial body language flirting to lay some groundwork, and then stopped.

He moved swiftly and gracefully, far more so than someone his size should be able to as he rounded tables with ease, sliding through the gaps of gossiping Roanians and their entourages, some looking indignant, others curious as to what the foreigner wanted. Distrust was evident, and the sly snobbery their initial glances conveyed did little to endear them to Sempero, although he had the dual advantages of being pretty enough to be forgiven and big enough to make sure no one overconfidently raised the issue.

The Freestian reached his target, a woman who, to be honest, looked like she hadn’t had much time to choose her costume, or was deliberately choosing to dress down, but nonetheless she looked exceedingly beautiful, and her manner seemed a draw on its own, making Sempero curious and promising a challenge. Her hangers on seemed annoyed by his presence, but what did he care.

“Lady Daria, I presume?” He asked, cocking his magnificent head with a confident smile, hiding his canines for the moment behind the veneer of his half mask. “A pleasure to finally meet you. Lord Sempero Dryiad," he proffered, "of the Freethinker Commonwealth."

Trevor briefly smiled and a short head nod towards the man at the checkpoint before presenting his Invitation. "I do hope this accessory for my costume is acceptable." Trevor spoke drawing attention to a sword with an ornate hilt that spread out in a type of fan to aid in protecting the hand from an opponents sword and little more.

The sword dangled in it's scabbard, indeed a real sword was almost compulsory, the costume wouldn't work with a fencing foil nor any other imitation of the weapon. His whole costume was based around the concept to historical accuracy, showing what can be done when one treasures what most people think of as simply a waste of space.

It wasn't as if he was covertly carrying the weapon it was plain for all to see, his movements were confident, almost purposeful. Making any appropriate assurances and if they wouldn't allow it, then making a mere token of umbrage. He would surrender it if required.

There was no point in making any attempts for the Roanian's to loosen their perception of other societies. The Roanians were known far and wide as the largest snobs to ever grace this universe with their mere presence. Trevor however was planing on using this to gain a few choice contracts with some of the Major houses. After all... Why should a Roanian take out the trash when they can get a foreigner to do it for them.

As he approached he spied his target engaged in conversation, and the Freestian Vampires, the 2 of them. He almost smiled as one of them was obviously making moves on Daria. "Child" he thought to himself, for a Vampire who live basically until killed, Sempero was acting rather childish. In either case Sempero nor his unfortunate target were none of Trevor's concern for the moment. Lord Metchier of the Darsal, though as one might expect with an elderly man he was currently sleeping.

Time was now for some personal reconnaisence, get a feel of the family around the heirs and the scions. For now it was just watch observe and float around like a leaf on the breeze. Be almost careless, undirected yet still ever heading towards the ground and it's choosen resting place.

Generally, social activities such as 'mingling,' 'milling about,' and 'casually networking' are learned actions that vary from culture to culture and society to society. This is especially apparent when one involves an individual whose culture does not support these sorts of things, and extremely apparent when there happens to be a member of an entire species whose basic psychology tends to deny such a wasteful activity. Almost comical, really, when said species resembles a practically universally common and highly social insect... which is why the AdminCoordinator decided not to bring any Soldier Reds. It was hard enough for her, easily the broadest-minded panNorm, to learn how to flitter about and socialize as wastefully as endoskeletals do; Soldier Reds tended to get extremely bored because the discussion has very little to do with their field of expertise and would generally wander off to start extremely large and complex but generally unimportant bar fights.

No other panNorm could be convinced to dress up as something as it wasn't, then go to a 'party' where its duty consisted of wandering around talking about the weather and the table settings and how so very nice everything was. It was hard enough to convince two Engineer Reds that a costume needed to be fabricated; it was even harder to convince them that it wasn't supposed to be lifelike. Even now, the AdminCoordinator knows intellectually that her costume is 'wrong'--not that she could tell anyone how it is--but short of actually contracting the job out to some endoskeletal 'artist' there was no possible way to make it 'right.' Oh, the panNorm have the money--as dealing with outsiders is the only reason they really have any money--but it seems that all the people who are considered 'good artists' always make art that no one except art columnists like and all the people who are considered 'bad artists' make art that everyone except art columnists like, except when the situation is reversed. All she knows is that she can't figure it out, and if she can't figure it out, then no sane panNorm in any of the Coordinated Hives can. Wasteful endoskeletals and their irrational considerations of form.

At any rate, this is why a realistically proportioned bumblebee made up of fine, masterly crafted but amateurishly arranged materials scuttles in a most insectoid way to Sophie, who immediately proves herself to be almost equally out of place (albeit in an entirely different way). The bumblebee bows by using the two hips in its thorax to pivot its body down, then back up, as its black-clothed manipulator hands clasp together politely. In the bee's glossy black mandibles is a steel box with a grille on the outward-facing side; out of this box pipes a clearly synthesized but rather pleasant feminine voice intoned with a polite, educated, and friendly sort of charm.

"It is indeed most splendid." ('Splendid' apparently means, to the endoskeletals, extremely wasteful of material and volume. It's apparently a way to assert superiority, based on the evolutionary advantage of being able to conspicuously consume without harming one's chances of success... somewhat like altruism.) "I take it this is also your first visit to Roania?" The bee extends one open satin-gloved manipulator hand at the end of a long, thin arm covered in black lycra. "I am AdminCoordinator 67521, of the Blue Mother of Us All, representing the Coordinated panNorm Hives, and I am pleased to meet you."

Julian seemed almost distracted as he passed his invitation over to the admissions checkers -- it would be wrong to call them guards. No right-minded guard would be so pathetic in countenance. One couldn't even call them Bouncers without wronging Bouncers. Concurrently, one most refer to them as 'admissions checkers.' Perhaps 'ticket takers.' Perhaps.

There were no surprises in the restrictions, though Peacemaker pulsed warmth at his side in protest -- the blades were sensitive to any limitation on the ancestral prerogative of the bearers, and as Julian's comparatively recent elevation had changed him, so too had it changed the blade. If 36 inches of Eldensteel could become snobbish, the Warblade Peacemaker had done so.

Beyond the quite obvious sword, Julian was uncharacteristically unarmed, but, then, he was in civilian dress, thus not required by law to wear a sidearm at the vast majority of times. Once inside, he set his slouch hat firmly in place with a slight grin to accompany the action. Not going in costume? Hardly. Just missing the pearl-handled .45s and the hideous countenance, but some things were unavoidable.

One wondered if anyone would get the joke. One doubted. One found one's doubt agreed with, confirmed by a short pulsing of heat at one's waist, to the rhythm of a chuckle. Some said the Warblades weren't really that intelligent. Julian disagreed -- in his experience, unintelligent beings were incapable of laughter.

Which said interesting things about the Roanians, when you got right down to it. But that was another matter entirely, and with a smile on his lips, Julian allowed himself to merge seamlessly into the crowd, picking bits of conversation as he swept through, for once using his talent instead of being driven to distraction by the cacophony of voices that would be the normal result of an occasion such as this.

Daithí took off his mask as he reached the checkpoint. He raised an eyebrow as the person greeting everyone left in frustration.

Huh, they seemed like a nice group.

He pulled the invitation out of the inside pocket of his left wing, and handed it to the guard as he was briefed.

“Thank you.”

He put away his invitation and started towards the stairs. He let out a whistle at their enormity as he slipped his mask back on.

At the top, he scanned the room as he entered, looking for anyone that might be lingering by themselves. However, his gaze was interrupted by Radmiel greeting him as he neared the table.

“Good day! I am...” he bowed, one wing outstretched, “Sialia sialis.” He returned upright. “Scourge of insects. How does it go for you, on this fine, fine day?”

The rattling and shaking faded away as the atmosphere did, leaving the oddly shaped craft floating in the closest point to the planet that could be considered outer space. “Prepare to shut down thrusters and switch to main drive,” came the order from the man whose presence filled the entire ship.

Captain Emil Sanderson had been one of five hand selected men to lead Tartarus into space. As the son of the second son of a baron’s uncle, he had enough family pull to be admitted into the Imperial Naval Academy at age nineteen when there was an open slot. He had finished the Academy with honors, but that was when he stalled. With a degree in mechanical engineering, his entire future was open to him, and he had entered the Naval Pilot School. He had again excelled, but after a few years of being a pilot, he dropped and switched to submarine warfare, apparently looking for something as different as possible from his then unsatisfying profession. Some years later, after being promoted to Commander and commanding the aging lead ship of the Triggerfish-class hunter-killer submarines for a single tour, he had switched to surface warfare. While setting his career back a notch, he had eventually risen to command the state of the art HIMS Earl of Englemere, a guided missile battlecruiser assigned to the NDA division of the Imperial Navy.

While unable to settle on a career that made him happy, that drew him clearly to the attention of the Lords of the Admiralty, who selected given the twenty-seven year veteran a choice – the third Emperor Erebus-class battleship to come off the ways, promotion to flag rank and command of a carrier battlegroup, or the newest branch of the Navy. A man who had never found his place in the world below had gone for a chance for something new.

“Ready, Captain,” came the reply from the helm.

“Initiate main drive at ten percent,” the commanding officer of the HIMS Advocatus Diaboli ordered calmly.

Val and Serena could feel the slight lurch as the more powerful drive came online, and then a final surge as the follow-up order shut down the mighty plasma thrusters that had lifted the space ship from its berth in the port that belonged to the Empress’ Own Naval Squadron. “Helm, main drive to fifty, then break orbit to a safe distance for translation to hyperdrive.”

“Aye aye, sir.”

Despite Lord Daniels’ reassurances, Lady Serena felt herself relaxing as the shuddering faded to a background hum, relieving some of her worry. The removal of her source of distraction, though, did allow her to concentrate on the people that filled the bridge around her, and with the violence of the noise in the background faded away, hear their conversations.

Nearby, a young enlisted person was leaning over to an older man and whispering, apparently thinking he would not be overheard, “That’s the roughest liftoff we’ve ever had, sir.”

The older man replied at the same volume. “Told you a woman on board would be bad luck, Jenkins.”

The woman in question cocked her head at her brother, arching an eyebrow, and he smiled before mouthing the words ‘Chief Petty Officer’ to her. Scowling, Serena unfastened her safety harness and stood, not even bothering to smooth her skirts down. Taking a step forward, she smoothed her expression to a glare, and, voice flaying like a whip, asked, “Are you attempting to be insulting, Chief Petty Officer Meluch, or are you just terminally stupid?”

Silence rippled outward at the sound of the clear soprano voice cutting over the quiet beeps and rough tenors that usually filled the space. No one moved and no sound was made, as if even the computers were afraid to report their status, before the chief snapped out of his chair and to attention. “No, m’lady.”

Allowing her aristocratic upbringing to let its traditional sneer creep into her voice, the Empress’ cousin smiled darkly. “No, you were not attempting to be insulting, or no, you are not stupid?”

The senior enlisted man’s eyes flickered down from their focal point just over her head to meet her eyes for the barest moment and his face paled at the remorseless fury that met his gaze. “I was not attempting to be insulting, m’lady.”

An elegantly curved eyebrow arched and a hint of pleasure flickered in the smile. “So you are stupid, then.” Without breaking her gaze, she raised her voice slightly to speak to the whole bridge and addressed the vessel’s commander. “Captain Sanderson, I am sure you have responsibilities elsewhere for stupid enlisted men, do you not?”

“Yes, Your Highness. Petty Officer Meluch, report to the bosun for your new duty assignment. I am sure there is a head on this ship that needs cleaning again.” Disappointment in his man filled the captain’s tone, and that, more than anything, brought the reality home to the spacer. No one wanted to disappoint the Old Man.

“Aye aye, sir.”

“Dismissed, Petty Officer.” The last was unnecessary, as the orders were to leave the bridge, but merely added insult to injury. “I apologize for his behaviour, Your Highness,” the captain continued as the man skittered out of the armored compartment that made up the command deck.

“Unnecessary, Captain. The fault was not yours.”

The captain inclined his head in acknowledgement, just enough to hide his very brief smile. “If you could return to your seat, Your Highness? The transition to hyperdrive can be a bit bumpy.”

* * * * * * * * * *

Some eight days later, and roughly eighteen hours before the party was set to begin, the HIMS Advocatus Diaboli slid to a near halt in orbit around Rudan. Worked out by proxies on Mars, the issues of landing had already been taken care of and arranged for.

The ship abruptly rolled on its long axis to oriented itself correctly to the surface, and then a single flare of the main drive directed it downwards, edging into the atmosphere. Particles of Rudan’s air charged and then ignited as they scraped along the hull, energy shrugged aside by advanced composite ceramics. A tail of fire slowly extended behind the dropping ship, growing longer as the atmosphere became thicker and the flames took on a life of their own, curiously licking around the sides of the vessel and leaving it blackened for the moment.

Those on the ground would all too soon witness the fiery streak cutting across the sky, a giant flaming finger pointed straight into the ocean, no doubt a strange sight in the much more advanced Imperial City. Air dragged the ship slower and slower, its approach lane cleared of all traffic, and after the spectacular line of fire came the crashing boom that hyper-industrialized societies no doubt took as a matter of course (thus saving windows from shattering). The sonic salute prefaced an ominous rumbling of burning air as the ship moved closer and closer to the surface. Suddenly, white fire pierced the cocoon of yellowish-red and the line stopped in the sky, fading away but for that point of near impossible brightness.

The newborn sun grew larger and perhaps even brighter as the ship dropped closer to the surface, landing almost vertically until it was over its designated landing zone, just off the coast. Finally low enough to be observed from the ground, the ship resembled nothing more than a squat cylinder with two outriggers. Heavy doors and hatchways were visible along its sides, and below its eighty-two meter length flared twenty jets of plasma. Steam began to rise from the surface of the water as the Tartarian ship approached, and then a terrible scream rent the air as the plasma kissed the surface, instantly vaporizing tons of salinated water and sending it shooting skyward in a thick cloud.

A hoarse bellow sounded as the water rushed in to fill the hole in its depths, a hole suddenly filled by a mass of metal and ceramics. The salt water scoured the char from the otherwise gleaming hull in a mere moment, the hiss of water still steaming away from the superheated skin of the craft making itself heard above all else.

Long moments pass where nothing happened but the creaks of cooling metal and the hissing of boiling water, and the rippling waves faded away back into the regular motion of the makeshift landing pool. Finally, the hatches begin to crack open, followed by a larger cargo door, out of which pops a crane. Suspended freely at the end of this crane was a small launch, which was smoothly lowered into the water. Crude though the technology may be compared to the advances of other visiting nations, the Tartarian naval personnel were clearly very proficient in its use. People could be seen debarking the transport and boarding the craft, protected between the main hull and the outrigger, before it begun its short and swift journey to the shore, to meet the escorts into the city that were promised.

* * * * *

The arrival of the ship at solid ground brought about very low collective sigh from the Tartarian party goers. As the doors opened, Lord Val Stratton, the current second in line to the throne of Tartarus and his sister, Lady Serena Beaumont, Duchess of Lauvain made their way onto land, their watery landing already a distant memory, as both thought only of the evening ahead.

Lady Serena wore a black ballgown that simmered a fiery orange red as the light hit it. Interspersed around the bell of the shirt were slits from the floor to her waist of a more pronounced fire effect. The bodice was tight fitting, the same material as the skirt, with cascading sleeves in the same colour as the splits. Her hair was hidden beneath a fiery wig, that descended down her back, almost like an erupting volcano. Her mask was also of the same black material of her dress, highlighted with orangey red flecks. No one could mistake the idea of fire.

Her brother was her total opposite, dressed almost in a suit, the edges not smooth but jagged like icicles. The colour contrasting with Serena’s, white and blue just like the image of ice. His hair was also covered with a wig, his looking like it had been touched by Jack Frost, while his mask was snow white, with subtle snowflakes embroidered across its surface. Making his blue eyes appear even darker than normal. His skin also had a very subtle whiteness about it.

Presenting his arm to Lady Serena, Val turned and faced her as he felt her touch. “Feeling better now?” Val asked, a smile spreading across his lips as he moved into diplomacy mode.

“Much better,” Serena replied, her eyes sparkling with enjoyment. “Lord Daniels was correct, the journey was more pleasant than I expected, although I willingly admit that I am pleased to have my feet on solid ground.” She turned her face forward, to look at their destination. “Now we just have to survive the party.”

Val nodded his head, before he too joined his companion in a glance at their surrounding, trying to take in as much as possible. He knew that the Empress would want to hear all about their experiences. “I have no doubt we will survive the party, it is the food I am worried about.”

The two siblings laughed lightly with each other, as they made their way towards the party.

He grabbed his hat as he ascended the carpeted, softly-lit stairs to the landing gantry, steadying it against the sudden gusting of the irate wind at such a height. He had never handled heights well; his body tensed slightly, the short, closely-trimmed black hair that ran from the neat cut on his head down the back of his neck, tensed and erect as the cold and the unexpected power of the wind unbalanced him, mentally if not yet physically.

The pilot moved a little closer than the respectful three paces he had always been taught to keep between himself and the Supreme Ruler. “Everything all right, your Majesty?” he asked, sotto voce, extending a jumpsuited arm slightly as a concerned frown’s beginnings manifested themselves. Naragan steadied himself on the banister, resting his weight on his left arm while he made quite certain he felt all right.

“Yes, thank you,” he said, courteous but terse. The Emperor was supposed never to show weakness; he was the figurehead of the nation, the leader of the people. Weakness led to uncertainty, uncertainty to fear; weakness was something to dread, and to avoid with all the power one had to command. Such was the legend of Oyada; the legend of ten centuries. “Not lightly should men disturb the thread of legend, for legend binds the nation.” That, too, had been drilled into him at his father’s knee; or, more accurately, at his tutors’, at his finishers’, at the knees of almost everyone except his parents, too preoccupied with the grand duties of government to give time to the mundane duties of parenthood. Yet once more the solitude of his uncontrolled, imposed exile weighed down in his mind, as he climbed the final steps of the staircase and emerged into the glowing, fiery orange of sunset. The helmeted pilot clomped up the remaining steps behind him, a lithe, jumpsuited form presenting a stark contrast to the array of weapons, implements and paraphernalia dangling from his thin frame, and saluted hurriedly as he jogged towards the vessel that would take them to their waiting ship. Naragan returned the salute, jealousy and admiration mingling at the other man’s ability to seem completely unaffected by the altitude they were at, or indeed by the fact that a Special Police Unit gunship was actually flying beneath them, hissing past many storeys beneath their feet.

Naragan’s ears tuned into the muted whisper of its thrusters even above the cloud of sound the city surrounding them produced. He glanced backwards, but already its sleek, lightless shape was flitting away into the twilit haze hanging above Oyadato’s streets in search of its prey, a swift, shadowed shark, perfection in steel. His eyes followed the fast-dying glow of the craft’s jets as it plunged towards the distant concrete, until they too were lost in the lengthening shadows consuming the city beneath. The light dwindled and guttered, finally ceasing altogether to exist among the murk, as surely as would the life of whoever it pursued. His dark eyes stared, focussing on the nothing where those two grim, intense lights had been a moment before; on the people, his people, who lay beneath those lights and that all-conquering gloom. Behind him, a soft tread sounded over the gentle thunder of the gusty winds.

“Your Majesty, the pinnace will be here soon,” the pilot offered haltingly. “Are… are you quite well?” Naragan smiled a little, knowing, without seeing, the confusion on the older man’s face.

“Yes,” he answered, still looking out over the fading metropolis. “Yes, quite all right. Thank you.” The half-truth became whole in the tiny, yet quite insuperable distance between the two strangers, and both let their thoughts melt into silence, unbroken despite the noisy arrival of Vindictive’s pinnace, brightwork burnished to within an inch of its life, atop the steadfast pinnacle.

*****

Nobody had spoken much on the brief, noisy, and mostly extremely jarring journey to the ship. The Emperor was silent, and therefore everyone else kept their speech to the minimum necessary, which as it turned out was very little; the pilot was a mere formality, since the ship’s petty officer in charge of the pinnace’s controls evidently knew his stuff (and indeed seemed more than a trifle offended by the presence of the hapless pilot, having evidently concluded that the latter’s presence was an unsubtle attempt to impugn his abilities), and apart from the usual formalities and salutes, there was nothing, really, to say. Naragan didn’t mind; his mood, as he looked down upon the receding world he called home, had reached a depth of introspection that would have made an angst-ridden fifteen-year-old seem positively balanced, and conversation would not have been his strong suit. In a sullen, petulant sort of way, he had considered simply ordering the ship to turn around and drop him right back whence he had come, to be left in peace with his mind and its tangled strands of thought and the laborious task of sorting them out and consigning the useless, damaging ones to the back burner. He was fortunate that nobody aboard the tiny, seventeen-metre-long vessel had any means of seeing his thoughts; had they been able to do so, the cardinal sin of weakness would have been printed all over them, as clear and bright as a neon sign.

The silence continued as the little pinnace cruised gradually into the dry-dock of Vindictive’s temporary home, an ugly, irregular ring station hovering above the capital and known simply as Capital Station. The ship gradually accelerated, sluggish in the artificial gravity of the station, crabbing slowly, over Vindictive’s weather deck, crowded with personnel in dress uniforms; Naragan had a series of brief glimpses of the decks below as the pinnace rolled; here a set of boxes, there a heat venting pipe, surrounded by a thin string of white-clad bodies, standing to statuesque attention in the musty air of the dock. Wordlessly the Navy pilot swung the little ship through 180 degrees and rolled smoothly to starboard, simultaneously applying full reverse thrust to check their motion, before commencing a rapid descent towards the deck; whether he intended to show off his skills before the Supreme Ruler, Naragan had no idea, but he was thoroughly glad when the brief but stomach-turning ride had come to its abrupt end, though not before he had nearly shouted a completely superfluous warning as the large, lattice-encased cylinder of the ship’s teleporter array slipped by his window at a not inconsiderable speed, followed hotly by the towering “pagoda” that dominated her superstructure.

A quick flick of the wrist (or, more accurately, a carefree flick of the wheel) brought the small ship to an even keel, giving the occupants a brief respite before it plummeted to the deck. Naragan took a fleeting look at his travelling companions and noted, with wry amusement, that a couple of the men looked greener than the trees he had only just left behind. The coxswain frowned mightily at the younger man at the wheel, but held his tongue; he evidently had more decency in him than to humiliate a young and proud seaman in front of the Supreme Ruler. Well, either decency or sense; Naragan was not known for tolerating such behaviour, and the last person to have attempted to get himself ahead by such means had found himself recipient of a soft-spoken, but quite definite, reprimand. Not a good idea, when the man reprimanding can kill your career, your family, your friends and you with a single stroke of a pen.

“Not to your satisfaction, coxswain,” Naragan asked politely, fixing the latter with a smile of calculated and precise neutrality beneath cold and weary eyes. The boatswain inhaled sharply, slight discomfiture showing on his chiselled features.

“Seemed a little rough to me, your Majesty.” The coxswain paused, looking thoughtfully to the unresponsive steel deck. “Still, these ships don’t really allow you much room for manoeuvring one of these things around. Not exactly designed for convenience.”

Naragan nodded solemnly, a sly smile creeping to his face. “Indeed not. Carry on, coxswain.”

“Y’Majesty.”

*****

It was all much of a muchness, really. Once you’d been received once, you’d seen it all; the ranks of sailors, standing at erect, rigid attention on every walkway and deck, crowding the turrets and perched on the bridge wings, fixed faces staring impassively at nothing (and allowing themselves the occasional glimpse in his direction) from every deck of the soaring pagoda tower. But Naragan was still impressed by it nevertheless; the sight of that arrayed manpower, clustering around the mighty engine of war which their deeds made more than an inert construct of metal, sent a thrill of pride running through him, suppressing for the present the gnawing emptiness that had so tormented him during the journey.

The dock was a silent place; despite its breathable atmosphere, no wind had ever breathed in its hermetically sealed confines. The flags proudly borne by the various staffs on her superstructure hung limply from their cords, somewhat diminishing the feeling of ceremony about the whole business. The ship’s bandmaster, however, was determined not to notice the fact, and glowered mightily at any of his ensemble who so much as sniffed out of turn, even if the Captain couldn’t help suppressing an inward humour at the way nature, as per usual, conspired to defeat the overt pageantry of the business. He took a swift look at his watch as the pinnace was gripped firmly by the magnetic clamps on his ship’s spotlessly clean deck, and leaned in to his First Officer.

“A little late,” he murmured. “I doubt the big fella’s going to like that.”

“Mmm.” The First Officer, a Lieutenant Commander, ran a sticky tongue around his parched mouth. “D’you think he’ll…?” But the Captain shook his head, slowly, almost invisibly, even under the harsh glow of the dock’s vast lights.

“No. He’s not that sort of man, from what I’ve heard. Serious, but not…” And with that, the Captain’s speech faltered and ground to a protesting halt, as the strangely-attired figure climbed, awkwardly and with hanging weaponry catching, from the confines of the pinnace. For a moment, nobody spoke. The absolute quiet of the dock, pierced only by the gentle susurrations of the ship’s engines, closed down around them, as everyone tried to make sense of what was going on.

Eventually, it was the ship’s Master-at-Arms who broke the silence. On the principle that he had been told the Emperor was coming, and that the pinnace he was looking at sixteen feet away had been sent down to the planet for that purpose alone, and that the man he was looking at might well be the Supreme Ruler himself, even if the dress was a little unusual, he gave a mighty scream to the ship’s guard detail. A dozen men stood to attention and held their rifles straight before their noses, each gazing at the metal of the barrel with studied attentiveness as he waited for Naragan to pass. The band, reinvigorated and given new focus, readied their instruments while the buglers above their heads gamely piped out “Emperor arriving”. It struck Naragan that, if he chose, he could simply remain here and stop the whole process; a brief grin flashed up from within at the mental image, but he gamely decided to preserve them from such a fat and step forward. And forward he went, pacing slowly along the landing gantry, taking the salute from the Captain, his senior officers, the Master-at-Arms, the bandmaster, and just about everyone else who could fit onto an available space. Behind him, the strains of the navy anthem echoed into the empty cavern of the dock, the ship’s choir joining with the band to produce a sound that had travelled down generation after generation, from Oyada of old to the new world that had given them a new life. Naragan kept his face sober, but he sang, quietly, nonetheless, his deep, low voice mingling with the others’, reverberating around the vast emptiness of the dock, bouncing from its metal walls, ringing in fullest pride in their ears.

“If I go to sea, I will die upon the waves;
If I go to the hills, I will die in the grasses.
But if I die for you, my sacred, bounteous homeland,
Then I will mourn not my death!”

“Your Imperial Majesty?” the Captain, who was now walking with him towards the airlock, asked, curiosity overriding his natural caution around superiors. He winced inwardly as the words came out, and desperately sought to withdraw them as his voice rose by half an octave. “I mean, I was just curious, your Majesty.” He stopped and gave a sharp bow, both of which rather startled Naragan and forced him to stop so swiftly that he very nearly overbalanced with the weight of kit suspended from his body. God, I can’t wait to get this stuff off for a bit… oh, what does he want? With a heavy sigh, the young man turned to face his suddenly fearful interlocutor.

“Not at all, Captain. To answer your question, I learned the Navy anthem at the knee of one of my tutors. Her husband was a sailor, and so were her two sons; she would sing it with me every time they went to sea.” He paused, squinting at the wall and searching his memory. “Only her husband came back from the wars; but every time the ships departed, she would still sing with me.” The small party remained silent for a moment, and moved on. Behind them, the band and guard dispersed, leaving only the faintest echo to ring around the lonely Emperor’s mind. Then I will not mourn my death!. And it’s sweet and beautiful to die for your country, too, doubtless!

*****

Having finally put paid to all the ceremonies – the Captain’s table for lunch, a quick wander around the ship (taking in one of the main turrets, which had a defective circuit breaker and thus no lighting; the galleys, which were unstaffed and stank of stale grease and slop; and the engine rooms, whose oppressive heat and fog of steam Naragan would swear had nearly made him sweat to death), and the usual formal queries (“is there anything you want, your Majesty? No? Really? Well, don’t hesitate to ask for anything. We’ll get it, even if it means starting a war. No, really.”), Naragan had finally settled into his cabin; actually, it was the Admiral’s cabin, but since the ship had no Admiral aboard it was now his, and thoroughly agreeable it was at that. As he unpacked the trunk which had been sent forward by his staff, he felt the ship begin to vibrate slightly beneath his feet. He was off.

Up on the upper bridge, the Captain was uncommonly tense as he watched over the Officer of the Watch’s handling of the ship. A single command would transfer control to his local station, near the summit of the colossal steel tower, but so far the Watch Officer was taking the situation well. He said as much to the First Officer, once more beside him, who nodded silently, brushing his Lieutenant Commander’s stripes with his fingers absent-mindedly.

“Well, there’s not much that can go wrong after we’re out of here, anyway, sir.” The Captain snorted.

“Not for us, maybe. But I know a costume when I see one; our Most Noble Leader’s off to a party, and in his profession, parties are about as much fun as bowel surgery without the anaesthetic.” He pulled an oversized lump off the buttered roll he was eating and popped it into his immaculately-toothed mouth, bearing a grin so white it could dazzle at a hundred yards, chewing furiously. “Least, that’s what my brother says,” he added, spraying half-chewed bread onto the window as the outer doors of the dock’s airlock slid past the bridge.

Vindictive was free. Back in her element, back in space. The great ship slowly pointed her angled stem towards the distant Milky Way, letting its radiance strike the proud sunburst emblazoned in gold on her prow. For a moment her jump drive remained unready, and she hovered, seeming to hesitate at the momentousness of her duty. To carry the Emperor, alone, to a distant and alien world. It was a job to dream of, and to have nightmares over. On the bridge, the Captain tapped his fingers on the control desk.

“Go on,” he murmured, willing the ship’s drive to charge as it crept up the last few per cent. “Go on, old girl.”

Vindictive did. With a blinding green flash and an entirely inaudible thunderclap, the battleship’s form wavered out of existence and vanished into the infinities of time and space.

*****

The arrival at Rudan was, unsurprisingly, much like the embarkation on Oyada in reverse. Having been stuck within the big ship’s confines (which, though admirably furnished, were still far from comfortable) for the past two days, he endured the various discomforts, irritations and general annoyances invariably associated with Roanian space with good-natured silence, flicking through a Hesche comic as the Roanians made a song and dance of admitting Vindictive (whose crew were, on the whole, distinctly unused to this and therefore not as relaxed, or indifferent as he) to Rudan. But, with the requisite forms filled, papers filed, identities checked and cavity searches flatly refused, it was at last time. With his bodyguard of two large, well-armed, even-tempered Naval Infantrymen, Naragan was ready. And, his mood lifted out of all recognition from that of the previous day, he was almost looking forward to the party. All right, he told himself, so you look like a lunatic and you’re around a load of people who’ve never heard of you, hosted by a race of arrogant, self-absorbed xenophobes with a huge superiority complex; but, on the positive side, nobody expects a speech. That alone was enough to lift his spirits, coupled with the jaunty music that had been blasting around Vindictive’s hull all morning, at a volume sufficient to dislodge bolts, break glass and pierce eardrums. Moreover, he was no longer on board a moving object – or at least, his senses were sufficiently fooled to think he wasn’t – and therefore he could stop staggering about the place. Only once had he staggered so, and it had been an object lesson in why one should avoid consuming excessive volumes of spirits. And the morning after…

Well, Naragan had determined, there would be no such nonsense here. He would simply go in, show his bits and pieces to anyone who was curious, mingle a little, and come out. And probably not even that; he wasn’t much of a party animal, and had carefully tucked a copy of Broken on the Rock: The Final Action of the Second Belt Wars into an inside pocket. He felt sure he would need it later, when the guests from a dozen interlinked, and probably interbred, nations had settled into their usual chattering, bitching, deal-making and deal-breaking. Once more, he would probably be alone. But at least I’ll have something to occupy my mind; that much cannot be said for most royalty, he reflected, cheering himself with the thought. It would certainly explain an awful lot about his hosts.

Leaving the two Naval Infantrymen to assume whatever positions they might desire, he carefully took a seat at a table some distance away from Radmiel, whose name he did not know but whose expression of mixed contempt, fear and indifference spoke volumes. Naragan had known his sort too often; convinced of his own superiority, arrogant and domineering with those weaker than himself, cunning and cowardly against those stronger, driven solely by the will to power. Devious, manipulative, sneering and snatching, they would stop at nothing for their own gain. A special bitterness, bilious and deep, rose slightly in his gut. Such people had done for many good men, including his own family. But, if necessary, he would have to converse with the Roanian; and so, swallowing the distaste welling in him, he continue to look around the room for someone he recognised, someone in his position, or indeed just someone interesting, carefully nibbling at some strange and unknown alien… thing, which looked like a prawn, smelt like a cabbage, and tasted like boiled asbestos. Or so he supposed.

Hair-raising indeed was the Menelmacari arrival, every bit as much so as Ranisath would have predicted. It was something of a pastime in the MIDF to 'tweak' the Roanians, in an entirely good-natured manner of course; as much as it routinely set people to scurrying, it was well-understood, at least among those in authority to actually make decisions, to have no malice behind it. There was a litany of amusing tales that had piled up over the years of such encounters, a mere subset of the even larger litany of tales of almost-certainly-overdramatic Menelmacari entrances to nations and events all over known space. It certainly seemed to amuse Alessa, who was generally fond of Elentári Sirithil, not to mention the Menelmacari officers, who were often rather bemused by Roanian paranoia, and it likely served to keep any complacent Roanian officers on their toes as well.

Today was no different, as the crimson bloom of a tesseract tore open at the literal precise low-altitude limit of safe jumps, nearly within the atmosphere itself; underneath even the low Rudan orbit layer of satellites. From this emerged three hundred seventy-five meters of Menelmacari destroyer, specifically the MIS Gilthoniel, accompanied by a tight escort of Thoron aerospace fighters. The Gilthoniel had made a low and fast approach like this to Rudan before, in fact, when the Lady Sirithil had personally seen to the resolution of a rather unfortunate matter involving the Roanian Church of the Light. A brief transmission notifying the Roanians of the arrival of the Elentári's personal transport was sent, and the ship began her descent into the atmosphere, arrowing directly towards the Imperial Palace in such a way to overfly as populated an area as possible before passing low over the hall itself and landing in whatever area had been set aside for the ships belonging to the various guests.

As possibly inflammatory as the arrival was, Sirithil's costume would blend in impressively, for she was dressed, like her husband, as one of the hosts. She wore, under her clothes, a harness that, in concept and basic design, was not entirely unlike that cobbled together by Alakantar for his costume, though Sirithil's sported an impressive pair of shimmering feathered wings. Using an interface not unlike those used by Thoron pilots, the wings responded to Sirithil's thoughts as if they were part of her own body, and the whole affair was gravitically-assisted to keep it nearly weightless.

Her long sun-golden hair was done in a suitably ostentatious local style; her eyes were recolored to a vibrant blue-green from their usual crimson, and she wore what might well be a subtle message to Alessa - the robes of a Roanian sorceress, entirely in the purest, most shining white, and there was a subtle reflectiveness about both the fabric and the impossibly, blindingly intricate (and equally white) embroidery in the form of arcane runes that lined nearly every square inch of the garment. She eschewed any weapon, for she really didn't need one, and left behind her sword and staff in favor of the local implement of choice for a mage, an ornate mithril wand, hooked to a ring at her belt, about twenty inches long, etched with more runes, and lined with gems.

Now that she had officially announced her presence, and her status as the Asuridain of Yvresse, Iyanna turned back to her ship to prepare for the party. For many reasons it just would not have been… right to have announced herself as a daughter of Isha while wearing her costume, that of Isha herself, or at least her Avatar. When she returned from the ship through she was dressed. Long flowing almost sheer clothing covered her body, obscuring some parts. The costume through was not designed to provide titillation, far from it, Isha was the Mother of the Eldar, and so her costume reflected that in other places. Yet Isha was also a nature goddess, and so in many ways she was… overdressed for such entities usually. Usually after all they would be naked, or near too, yet here she was dressed. On her back she wore a pair of wings, shaped like that of a Moth, on them could be seen an eye and other runes. (As a side feature these where versions of the Swooping Hawks wings, and so would enable her brief moments of flight, not that she intended to use them, but she saw no reason to skimp on the costume)

About her neck of course could be seen her Spirit Stone, and from her left eye, three tiny gems of an almost identical shape, like miniaturised versions of the stone could be seen in a row as if tears tracing down her face. Isha’s tears were the original name for a Spirit Stone after all.

Her two guests where dressed far simpler. The Corsair came dressed in a costume that seemed based roughly around the uniform of the Menelmacari First fleet. Carefully designed to mirror that of it’s Warlord without aping him too much. No attempt at complete accuracy was made, rather it was meant to give the impression of the man’s identity rather than anything else. Iyanna did not see any reason to go that far in his costume after all.

Lastly the unnamed guest, she was dressed as a Harlequin, her costume matching that of the Dancing warriors almost perfectly, the difference only in her mask. This danced like the masks of the warlords between faces, but it held only preset images. Iyanna had been ironic in this choice, for the Preset images where near perfect replicas of the Roanian Martian governors and Ambassadors, and it’s current, including the face of the woman under the mask from time to time. From time to time, she was dressed therefore as herself.

Sophie certainly wasn't expecting to meet a bumblebee at this party, but then she hardly knew what to expect. And it was a very polite bumblebee. Whoever had put together its costume had been a master tailor but an indifferent artist, as far as she could tell; but while the House of Ark had an excellent gallery it was, like the rest of Kalasin, quite dead; static, and thus uninteresting. Art was something SOLOMON did not quite grasp, and so it was (possibly? - probably?) something Sophie was deficient in.

There couldn't possibly be a human inside that suit, however well it was tailored, so she decided that this must be an alien, and that this probably counted as first contact, at least for her (do not say "take me to your leader"!). It didn't look either as monstrous or as tentacled as the aliens in SOLOMON's holos, but then maybe the slavering fang-filled maw was hidden by the costume. In any case it did not seem in any hurry to eat, enslave, or impregnate her, so it was probably friendly.

"Charmed, I'm sure," she replied, shaking it's hand in her own. "I'm Sophie - that is, uh, I am Lady Sophia d'Ark, of the House of Ark, representing the planet Kalasin. It is an honor to meet you. And, uh, yes, it's my first visit to Roania."

Think, Sophie, think - there must be something you can say to it ....

"So, um. Where do you come from?"

Something more intelligent than that.

The AdminCoordinator's four-fingered 'hand' (with two thumbs, even!) feels hard and bony even through the velvet gloves, resulting in a sensation similar to shaking hands with a particularly thick-boned anatomy-class skeleton. There is none of the familiar 'give' associated with skin and flesh wrapped around bone, and yet the AdminCoordinator's grip could hardly be called painful... no, she has a practiced firmness and a delicate touch, so it is merely unusual. Her costumed head, which looks something like a materially-simplified form of this--

http://farm2.static.flickr.com/1110/1160596488_daa5ca55a6.jpg?v=0 (http://flickr.com/photos/71365638@N00/1160596488)

--except not on a leaf and said head measuring maybe thirty centimeters across, nods politely. Its eyes are black plastic shapes with a sunglass character to them; the antennae, also velvet-covered, are fully mobile and wave in noticeable but intricately complex patterns as she speaks. "This is my first visit as well, Lady Sophia d'Ark." She, or more accurately, the synthesizer cube she speaks through pronounces the name exactly as it was said to her. Designations are important, after all, especially to endoskeletals. "Apparently the local culture is not prone to seeing exoskeletals like myself in a positive light," her voice gaining just a touch of wry humor with that phrase, "but as we are extremely good friends with the Menelmacari, who have a long history with Roania... let us simply say that arrangements have been made so I can attend this function without violating some of the more discriminatory local ordinances. Technically my costume is a diplomatic bag and I am therefore appropriate diplomatic material. My costume is even clearly marked, as regulation demands." She holds one of her manipulators open; the words "DIPLOMATIC BAG OF THE COORDINATED PANNORM HIVES" appear in fine white ink letters across the 'palm' of her glove. "I must admit that the apparently standard endoskeletal dependence on systems where acceptable conduct is codified--while I understand the need for such--strikes me as illogical quite often."

The question is somewhat hackneyed, and, despite common misconception to the contrary, the spacedy ants do actually understand and have a sense of (to a point) humor. Hence the polite, well-meaning chuckle that pipes out of the synthesizer cube does not sound (and indeed is not) feigned in the least, although there is a very soft buzz associated with it as the AdminCoordinator's real maxillae vibrate behind the cube. "We have expanded somewhat since settling in the Sol system, but our primary habitats remain Alpha Hive in orbit around the second planet of that system, and Beta Hive in the southern hemisphere of that same planet. Secondary and tertiary hives are scattered in other star systems in a roughly spherical volume of space centered around Sol. I, particularly, come from Alpha Hive."

The bee's antennae swing in slow, increasing spirals. "If I may postulate, your title of 'Lady' suggests that your form of governance may have some feudal aspects, even if they are historic leftovers. Is this true, or am I making too much of a translation or calque when considering your planet's structures and institutions for maintaining social order?"

The Dominion party was well watched-after by their familiar personal guards, Massetti and Pascali. And though the men had aged as well along the way, the years had but hardened them, and honed their reflexes – while not dulling their sense of humor.

The two accompanied the party while not technically ‘hovering’, looking like characters out of The Matrix in their black leather longcoats, tall boots, dark glasses, and solid black ensembles, though theirs included basic body armor. They cleared their weapons with their hosts, with assurances they were painfully aware of the consequences of acting without clearance or approval.

Massetti would accompany Nathicana, as he usually did, and Pascali would stick with the siblings, who had determined to stay with one another throughout the evening – as much to guarantee they had someone to converse with, as to keep each other from any serious faux pas or inadvertent troublemaking.

Each party member was of course equipped with a discreet earpiece and mic linked to a very closed section of Spook for communications and coordination – another standard – and now wearing their masks. They made their entrance with Alakantar with pleasant smiles, and an air of pleasant nonchalance. Should the eyes of any enquiring yet silent faces make contact, appropriate smiles and nods of recognition were made, their language remaining by and large in the more common vein out of consideration for their fourth party member, and to avoid seeming rude.

“They seem to have truly gone to quite the lengths for this occasion,” Nathi noted, scanning the crowd with a thoughtful expression, and the slightest hint of a mischievous smile. Her hand rested lightly on her companion’s arm, and she gave a gentle squeeze of support as Calavyr’s table came into view. “I believe the proper thing to do would be to enjoy our host’s efforts to the utmost of our ability – whether they are determined to or not.”

“Some of them seem to have forgotten this is a party,” Naiya said softly, giving some of the more obviously hostile hosts sidelong, knowing glances. “I believe we would be safer walking uninvited into a dispute between La Cosa Nostra Famiglias.”

Marcus smiled, and gently patted his sister’s hand as he escorts her in, standing tall and perhaps a bit protective, yet with his usual confident, easygoing demeanor. “Surely they can’t be all that bad,” he murmured. “Political posturing and jockeying, more or less. Even the Dominion has to deal with that sort of unpleasantness now and then.”

“Perhaps, but they at least are less inclined towards … outright unpleasantness,” Naiya replied, her eyes narrowing as they sweep over several in particular. “Say what you will, many of these are not nice people, even by my standards.”

“Ah, mi sorella – you’re being far too serious. Who cares about their petty politics? We mind our own business, enjoy ourselves, go home and leave them to it. ‘Tis a diplomatic overture, our presence. They needn’t like it, so long as we don’t embarrass ourselves, or outright insult our hosts. And as I don’t see either one of us pulling any of our youthful pranks here, I believe we’re safe enough.”

“You had best not be pondering any such things,” Nathi input with a wry grin. “Any leap and roar antics, and I’ll have both your hides.”

Naiya nodded and smiled over at her mother, her own mischievous expression frighteningly similar. “I’m rather attached to my hide, mama – no fear. Perhaps some refreshment, Marcus? I think splitting our party up slightly would both help cover more ground, and show we’re not planning on cowering in a corner at all tonight.”

“Alakantar, Mother,” Marcus said with a respectful nod before escorting Naiya further into the crowd. “I hope you can enjoy yourselves as well!”

Nathicana watched them go, brow furrowing briefly. “I’m not at all sure the Roanians are ready for those two …”

Elizabeth Crawford, former Markgravine of Both focused on the dreary ceiling above her. The mold had formed some interesting shapes before someone had come along with bleach and killed it off, leaving the brown mottled stains on the ceiling that seemed to either be Christ Risen...or a day in Newmarket.

Victory…from the jaws of another defeat…

Victory…not because we were better…faster…stronger…harder…

Victory because…because we couldn’t shoot strait anymore…

Victory because we used some WWI surplus ammo and turned a ruin into more of one…

Victory…more like finding out you beat the cancer after cutting off all your limbs…

My god I can’t celebrate now...I can not face them...they sacrified so much for me...I didn't bring them victory...just death...and pain...and loss
Shock…and grief…she sniffed back a tear and leaned back into the warm, bubbly water.

She was disturbed by a growling voice entering from the small door into her bedroom. Your Grace, the celibration is going on without you.
“I can’t celebrate this victory Karlord…You know that…too many have died…we didn’t win really…”
<We won…just by luck…> the deep mellow, inhuman voice replied.
“And how is that to make me feel….victory without…without…any meaning…”

A scrubby went flying against the ceiling...making Christ Santa...or it was now raining sheep in New Market...

<Who knows…your Grace…perhaps it will look better outside these caverns…perhaps at a party…>
“Oh and what party is that…I can’t look at those men and women who have…” She seemed to start to break down now, scrunching into a ball in the tub.
<It seems that there is a celebration in Roania>
“What Karlord…long believed dead royal family pops back up…”

<A costume party…>

A long, slender dress in green and silver appeared in the doorway. It had a pair of white angel wings attached and a gold belt with a scabbard and sword appeared.

“Where did you find that old thing?”
<In one of the trunks in a store room…It is yours…>

“Yes…but we need a mask…”

This appeared in a similarly painted mask made of out of some odd bits of cardboard and fabric. Apparently the cape had become six inches shorter to provide matching material.

“Karlord…for my second in command your acting like my boyfriend…”

“Pah…just an uncle Terran…”

Later in Roanian Airspace…and late of course
The XF-21 looked like a black flying Twinkie with wings. Which it sort of was…the engineers had apparently been eating them when they designed the bugger.

Of course this one was looking like it had achieved the point where it was no longer ‘fresh’. (Which was impossible for a twinkie.) Streaks of white covered the fusuilage…there were some odd patches here and there. And there seemed to be a stream of something, blue, floating from one of the engine nacelles. Not exactly something to inspire anyone into thinking your ‘quality’ of the universe had arrived.

The two figures that exited the craft were a contrast. An avenging angel in green with a prop flaming sword (no edge…a few flikers of flame from self lighting propane). She had her blond hair back into a single pony tail, although it was a bit short really. Physically the body could do some damage with any long blunt object, but the sword really wasn't a threat. The green eyes, that matched the dress seemed to be elsewhere when they approached the guards and the welcoming comittee. The oddly accented voice, Alconain through and through, was almost devoid of emotion. The traditional small head bow seemed to be perfunctory...as though the mind were somewhere other than here and now.

The other figure which escorted her was at least two feet taller at eight feet. He seemed to be dressed as Death, or some party version of Death, with a big yellow smiley face for a mask under the cowl of the long black robe covered with odd red and gilt symbols. The figure had a party hat…the cheap kind you get at middle class birthday parties or at some drunk new year’s day shindig, plopped on top. 'Death goes to a party' seemed to be the theme. There was no outstretched hands just some deep voice that gave a non-descript pleasant reply to the welcome.

(Assuming you let these two in the front door ;))

Sophie stifles a giggle with a gloved hand over her mouth. "You're a diplomatic bag? But that's" -- not terrible, I mustn't offend the hosts and they do seem rather stuffy -- "Rather silly, yes. Oh - you're from Sol? So am I - the Kalasini, I mean - originally, at least. From Earth."

She pauses to parse the AdminCoordinator's sentence; it gives SOLOMON a run for its money in verbosity. Fortunately the history of the House of Ark has featured highly in her education, so she can give it a knowledgeable answer.

"I think people started calling Ezekiel d'Ark a "Lord" when he founded the House of Ark, because he was a major landholder and Captain d'Arcy was his grandfather so he had a lot of, um, political capital with the settlers. And the House was led by the senior descendant since then, so the Lordship was hereditary. It wasn't - isn't - really "feudal", though.

"The rest of the planet - well, the Planetary Coalition never really cooperated, even during the war, so the House of Ark ended up in charge. And after the war the House was the only one left - so I guess I'm Secretary-Elect of the Coalition, too, or would be, if it had any other members."

"I am not a diplomatic bag," the 'bee' replies in a huffy, annoyed tone... then pauses... then continues in a humorous voice that suggests a wink as what passes for her face is not made of moving parts that can convey expression, although her antennae do waggle up and down. "I am inside a diplomatic bag. That is a subtle but very important distinction."

She listens politely to the explanation of titles and history, nodding to indicate that she is listening (as she can arguably maintain eye contact with everything in the 180-degree arc in front of her). "I suppose, considering the history you just described, that it would be accurate to call it a form of de jure monarchy, then? Is it fully autocratic, or is it limited by some sort of democratic structure? Forgive my questions, as I have no intent to appear as if I am conducting an interrogation"--the humor in her synthesized voice pops up again--"but we are inherently curious and honestly find the amount of artificial systems required to maintain order in other species fascinating. I must admit that we do have something of an unfair advantage in that regard, but it could be argued that after at least ten million years of internecine warfare we have, to some extent, earned it."

Sophie giggled at the joke -- at least, I think that was a joke.

"Well, back before the war the citizens could petition the Lord over grievances, and he was obliged to render a fair judgement - there was a jury to make sure it was fair and everything - but mostly things got sorted out between House members. It wasn't good for the House if a Lord started acting too autocratic. And these days"

-- the pause might be visible, as she considered. The state of Kalasin wasn't a secret as such - anybody with a copy of the Encyclopedia Galactica could read the facts of the war - but it was kind of embarrassing to admit that you were the only living person in your entire world. It did not occur to her to lie, however - living with a nigh-omniscient AI, she'd never cultivated that skill.

-- "These days, SOLOMON runs everything. Mostly he asks me first, but mostly I say yes, because, well, I'm seventeen and he's ... um ... two hundred and seventy seven. No, seventy eight.

"... Ten million years of war? However could you keep fighting for so long? Wouldn't you run out of, um, stuff to fight with? ... I'm sorry if that's a bad question to ask!"

Indeed it was a joke, and the AdminCoordinator is something rather akin to pleased as punch that it worked... not that anyone not carefully trained in the subtleties of panNorm body language could tell, even if she weren't wearing a bee suit. As for the Encyclopedia Galactica, maybe Alpha has a copy or a subscription or whatever, but one of the disadvantages to being thousands of trillions of kilometers away from home is that the rest of the hive is not immediately contactable and so she can't ask someone to look it up for her (or simply use the Overmind to pluck facts from the gestalt of so many spacedy ants knowing and thinking things in close proximity).

Therefore, she hears 'SOLOMON' as "Solomon," and recognizes it as a name with a Semitic root. Still, the statement that Solomon runs everything conflicts with the statement that the House d'Ark ended up in charge... but endoskeletals have been known to be confused in their use of language, so this is not particularly important. Then there's Solomon's age... unusual, but some species have very long lifespans. She decides not to pry for the time being, partially out of delicacy and partially because Sophie just asked about the Succession Wars.

"There is no need to apologize, Lady Sophia d'Ark; it is our history. To say it was ten million years of unlimited war would be to overstate," the AdminCoordinator says with a clinical neutrality towards the facts; she still sounds friendly, but she doesn't sound particularly enthusiastic--or unenthusiastic--about talking about this subject. It happened, these are facts. "The fact that our various co-species required each other to survive, and that our theatre of operations happened to be our own intergalactic slower-than-light colony ship, meant that a great deal of control needed to be maintained over the conflict. Atomic weapons were occasionally used in a limited nature, but their usage always ceased before Alpha Hive was irreparably damaged. Chemical and biological weapons were never used as the cyclical nature of Alpha Hive's life support systems would have resulted in the entire ship becoming tainted and reduce its habitability lifetime by several orders of magnitude if not rendering it completely uninhabitable. The reason why we never ran out of weapons--or anything else, for that matter--is because we were, and are, very good at recycling.

"Our war began because the True Norm, our genetic predecessors and the species that launched and originally crewed Alpha, tried to fight genetic drift with extreme prejudice and failed utterly. Our war continued because its goal, the eradication of other panNorm species, would have resulted in the extinction of the panNorm, which was an effective block on our actions due to factors of our basic psychology that can be difficult to explain to aliens (although I can attempt to do so if you are curious). Our war was brought to a close by outsiders because while our war was millions of years old and it was ideological, it was never personal. In endoskeletal blood feuds, grudges are established and antipathy maintained long beyond the point where progress and negotiation render the original stated reasons for the conflict meaningless or establish logically acceptable compromises. In our blood feud, there was an unattainable goal to be met and when we were made to see that the war had already been lost as the True Norm--which we all thought ourselves to be--were already extinct and had been for thousands of generations, then there was no longer any reason to fight and the Succession Wars ended."

Not a lie; a simplification. It was that clear-cut; there was no reason for the blood of the past to need the blood of the present to be spilled. It also wasn't that clear-cut; we are still us and they are still them, and complete integration is actually nearly impossible because the various panNorm species have evolved into different niches that do not necessarily physically coexist easily. Now any internal panNorm conflicts--and they do exist--are small, quiet affairs below what would be called brush-wars elsewhere, fought with non-lethal weapons over resources. Even these have decreased in intensity over time as trust built up amongst the panNorm; the only reason they still exist is that they serve a useful purpose and help to naturally maintain sociopolitical balances between the Hives.

The eternal conflict is, for now and into the foreseeable future, both more and less than sport: more, because it is 'real' war fought with 'real'--if less-than-lethal--weapons over real-without-quotation-marks resources; less because there are no rivalries, no ongoing antipathies. One Hive's Overmind 'believes' (and it is a very dangerous thing to personify or anthropomorphize the Overmind) its Hive needs a resource; another Hive's Overmind 'believes' the same, and as these Overminds are in conflict, the Hives fight gently with gloved hands and half-speed blows. In the process, sufficient members of each Overmind come in contact to create a linkage between the two Overminds, making a bigger Overmind, which is what really determines the outcome of the fight (or so at least is the current consensus amongst Scientist Blues).

So why do the panNorm still fight? In short, the WarCoordinator considers that the training received in this combat is valuable. The SciCoordinator suggests that the conflicts could be prevented by building 'Overmind relays' which would transmit the gestalts of each local Hive to all of the other Hives, thus preventing the need for conflict to perform what is essentially a server handshake and reconciliation update. The EngCoordinator points out that this is possible, but that the sheer mass of bandwidth required to transmit the collective subconscious of trillions of individuals makes this an inordinately expensive project in terms of building materials and, particularly, energy. The MiniCoordinator, working with the EngCoordinator, puts forward an estimate of maintenance requirements for the Overtransmitters that would be shocking, if panNorm were prone to being shocked by facts. Because more fine maintenance means more Minis means more food, the EcoCoordinator reports just how much extra life support (and yes, planetary Hives are considered just as closed as and work in essentially the same way as Alpha Hive) resources that would need. Before the EngCoordinator gets called back in on a recursive cycle, the SciCoordinator drops her objection, as logic clearly dictates efficiency, and the AdminCoordinator, after facilitating this discussion, makes sure all are in acceptable agreement before 'making the final decision,' which is nothing more than tapping the gavel at the end of the session.

To paraphrase a great writer: the panNorm still fight because it works.

Julian hid a scowl behind a scowl, which was to say that he hid genuine displeasure behind feigned displeasure, which was either one of the cleverest things he had ever done or so unbelievably stupid that he was shortly destined to spontaneous combust in a glorious manner, the thought of which was not entirely disconcerting. Single-handedly increase the revenue of the dry-cleaning industry twofold? Worse things have resulted from a solitary death.

Of course, this was all idle amusement. Ascended did not spontaneously combust except under the most extreme conditions, and even then it was only occasionally fatal. Which was itself an oddity, but, then, even dead Ascended had an irritating tendency to hang around after their official time of death and make nuisances of themselves for their relatives...

Calmly walking along, there was little point in actively projecting anything else -- just calmness and the aforementioned mild annoyance, as if he was just that little bit regretful that he'd let himself be talked into showing up at an international event of this nature -- or at any event, whatsoever. Despite his station, he'd never cared much for mass socialization, because his talent made it actively painful for him.

As it was, he had been subjected to the equivalent of a mid-level migraine since he'd made his entrance, and it wasn't getting any better. In fact, the pressure-spike was getting slightly more painful as time wore on, and he was almost certain that he was seeing colored blotches, which was altogether irritating for him. He was the sort of person who quite disliked being ill or in any way prevented from performing at peak, and without the constant adrenaline rush of active combat, large numbers of people had the potential to pound him down into babbling, frothing incoherency, given enough time.

But. He'd learned to cope, and he had been assured that there were certain things that were worth the pain, though he remained moderately skeptical about the entire thing. Still, if one couldn't trust Kethvae Chovas, one had best scrap the universe and start over, because something had gone terribly, terribly wrong.

And that was what he had to live up to.

Index fingers of his right hand danced upon Peacemaker's pommel, rat-ta-tat-ta-ta-ta-tat. Sudden decisiveness, or, rather, becoming suddenly fed up with the damnable migraine, he drew his sunglasses case from the interior pocket into which he had stowed said case and calmly unfolded the platinum-framed semi-reflective sunglasses within. Though they were certainly effective bling, the actual functionality was in the burst-function psi-blockers located in the stems.

Though, of course, they couldn't block his talent entirely. That was probably impossible, or at least impossible within the constraints of available technology, but they could dampen it sufficiently that he was no longer suffering so much from unwanted feedback.

If he had to look a little odd on occasion, well, he could deal with that. Better to look a little goofy than to end up curled up in a ball on the floor gibbering in High Ascended. And one simply had to laugh at that image, though neither loudly nor obviously. Rather, manifest as more of a self-indungent sneer, quickly wiped away lest any of the locals mistake it for a sign of kinship, which it most certainly was not.

And that was that.

It's a lot to take in, but at least the AdminCoordinator isn't asking more about Kalasin. Intergalactic slower-than-light colony ship is a rather weighty starting point, and it goes on from there ... Sophie considers the "bee's" words. From what she recalls of Earthly history, nations generally refrained from the sort of nuclear exchanges which would damage the biosphere; like the panNorm, they had only one ecosystem. In the Fall, the Spacer Confederacy and the Planetary Coalition had been trying to destroy each others' ecosystems, and the war had been fought with FTL missiles and relativistic warheads. It had lasted less than a month before both sides were destroyed - save for the shielded fastness of the House of Ark, which lingered on ...

"It's, uh, good that you didn't destroy yourselves, then," she says. It's not a good response, but then the AdminCoordinator's explanation - given in that somewhat clinical tone - defies an easy answer. And thus I sound like an airhead. "I guess humans would prefer total victory at any odds, instead of warring for so long. But then we never did blow up the Earth, so maybe not ..."

While Trevor scouted out Lord Metchier and the other from House Darsal, The guard was dressed up appropriately to be a guard and yet in this setting it might be the perfect disguise.

She glided her way through the area making sure to keep an eye on Trevor, Trevor was on of those guys that seemingly had a death wish, in that he shunned any real security detail at all, though sometimes the CSO did have the final say.

Now especially seeing the Roanian Party was so welll secured and that the nations involved were 'friendly' towards the company and 'largely' civilised, all but a certain individual who was no threat to Trevor. He managed to get away with only one guard.

She seemed invisible and things were getting incredibly dull until she overheard the conversation... that someone was having with a bee (OOC: Kalasin & S-14) "Destroying the Earth would be MAD." she commented siddling up towards the two of them, apparently distracted by something.

The AdminCoordinator nods--or at least bobs her head in a decent approximation of a human nod--at Sophie's statement. "We certainly consider it a good thing, although we may be somewhat biased." Her tone returns to the friendly good-humored voice. "From our study of human culture and psychology, 'total victory' at the cost of annihilation is possible, but the likelihood appears to vary from culture to culture and time to time... for example, our friend's pun here," she says, four-stepping back to include the security officer in the conversation's circle. "At least, it fits the parameters of a pun.

"Greetings," the AdminCoordinator says as she offers a satin-gloved manipulator hand, "I am AdminCoordinator 67521 of the Blue Mother of Us All, representing the Coordinated panNorm Hives; and this is Lady Sophia d'Ark, representing the planet of Kalasin. How are you this evening?"

Imperial City ATC was not the happiest place in the world for a Roanian on the make. Tainted by too-close contact with generally rude and inconsiderate foreigners, very few of whom knew the appropriate way to offer an 'expediting fee', most employees were simply time-fillers. Days like this were a nightmare for them.

"HIMS Advocatus Diaboli, you are cleared for coastal port A-B and we will have a train waiting for you..." Chief Shuttle Coordinator Mariel Dakray swapped communications to the landing authority with a silent prayer to the light that the bizarre vehicle would make it down safely. Down the line of terminals, other agents were forced to deal with the havoc Alessa's party was causing with shipping."Merchant Coster-Ship LeshunFarga, Register to Merchant House Malgyarve, please abort your course. All Imperial City shuttlepads within co-ordinates 1,1 A41-4891 have been registered to guests of the Empress. Abort and await assignment for shuttlepad access on Ailar."

"Ceyn, CesyrHakra. We know you arranged for this in advance, but you have had plenty of warning. You will have to wait for an alternative landing route."

Suddenly, there was a burst of expletives down the line. "Makmar voolsa! Makmar voolsamar! Mnyavoolsar! The audio lines up and down suddenly filled with similar insults and complaints. "RuahnyMenelma Vesyr enailyu! Losryhun symhun."

The supervisor hit the ground running and shoved the person assigned to the Menelmacari ship out of the way. "I will decide what you are paid enough to do, makruan." Mariel patched himself through to the Menelmacari vessel in a videoscreen. "This is Imperial City ATC. Forgive my assistant, he is not used to your ways. You have been assigned shuttlepad B-519A. Please land as quickly as possible."


Meanwhile, back at the palace...

Daria looked up at Sempero, and her lip curled unappreciatively. "Well, well... well." She sniffed, though somewhere inside part of her did, indeed, find him exceptionally attractive. "I'm afraid I'm not in the mood of taking the Empress' leavings. And I doubt the Empress is in the mood for taking the leavings of countless other women right now." Her voice lowered to an almost menacing tone, laughable though it was from a woman who seemed to be designed almost entirely for carnality. "I advise you to keep a safe distance from her, Sempero. And please, don't insult the intelligence of either of us by asking me how I know who you are. Why don't you try those tittering girls by the door? They seem more your speed." She shrugged elegantly, and her too-tight man's robe finally gave up the ghost, the tie not just popping open, but snapping and falling to the ground.

Her cheeks coloured even as the Roanian males around her suddenly found important business on her person. She wrapped her arms around herself to hold her robe closed and tried to stalk away with as much dignity as she could muster. "One of you slackjawed fools get me a guard to clear my exit from here so I can change into real clothing!"

Over at the high table, Radmiel sliced his finger across his neck, and suddenly the males who had been tailing Daria found other things to be doing. The Grand Vizier leaned over to a close assistant. "Our friend over there seems to have done us all quite a favour, wouldn't you agree?" This got a sycophantic laugh, which stopped when Radmiel glared. "Have him watched. I don't need more trouble with that woman. Maybe find him some cooperative and friendly baroness for him to screw." The assistant vanished. "Now, I have to go and say hello to the Starlord."

The path cleared around him as the Grand Vizier grumbled to his feet. Under his breath he muttered, "How do foreigners wear these things?" He asked those around him, referring to his suit. "Barbarians." His voice rose as he approached Ranisath. "LezAihun Chyu Lyuhun, LeslasriMephtyr Ranisath. You do us much honor." He found the two ladies travelling with the StarLord to be far more interesting, though. "And who are your companions?" Radmiel snapped his hand to his heart and clicked his heels together. "LezAihun Chyu Lyuhun. Ty, Leshun mar eseh." Almost as an afterthought, he translated. "Faith and Duty. Your Beauty is a Blessing." Even more as an afterthought, he turned his attention back to the male he was nominally welcoming, finally registering the details of Ranisath's costume.

Radmiel's constant smile grew slightly fixed. "Have you and your dear wife suffered a loss recently, Starlord?" He inquired solicitously. "You know you have our sympathies, yet while we appreciate you keeping our customs in mind, the Empress will understand if you and the Empress Sirithil..." Radmiel checked around, as if wondering where the Elentari was, "choose to skip the celebrations." Then Radmiel's face grew a bit slack. "Uh... speaking of the celebrations... I need to... there's... Her Majesty needs me..." The Grand Vizier began to back away, sweat visibly beading on his face.

"StarLord Ranisath! Without a doubt, this is a most felicitous occasion. I have received so much information about you that I feel most obligated to introduce myself to you." Sweeping along the party towards them was the ArchChancellor. "And are those jyhari? I have not observed them in many, many centuries." Kouran raised his hand to his chest and extended it down. "Maklorise." Almost alone amongst the males in the room, Kouran's glance at the elves accompanying Ranisath was completely clinical. "Your kazar should be tied closer to your moser, and you are not revealing enough of the underside of your mammary glands. The bow around your waist must be moved a hand higher.” Then the ArchChancellor’s attention wandered again, down to the horrible little monster that Radmiel had been politely, yet deliberately, ignoring the existence of. “Fascinating. I have heard rumours of the Fraal, yet it is truly amazing to observe one.” Kouran raised his staff with the intention of prodding Mary with it.

Radmiel sharply growled under his breath, and Kouran lowered the staff. Another growl, and Kouran was walking away with a promise to speak to Ranisath later. The Grand Vizier turned back to the Ctan, and held his hands down, palms out. “My apologies, Starlord.”

Radmiel was not the only Roanian finding cause to growl, of course. As the Dread Lady’s group split up, Calavyr rose to his feet, his toughest minions surrounding him. “Get him.” The Martian Viceroy hissed under his breath, pointing at Alakantar. “Take him out of the sight of the guards. And beat him half to death.” Calavyr gently stroked his hand along his leg, feeling his concealed gun. “I’ll take care of the rest.”

The thugs peeled away from their master, working along the crowd towards the drow. “Out of the way, girl.” One of them shoved a petite serving girl to the side, knocking her off her feet as she was happily bringing a tray of drinks around the room. Distracted as he laughed at her muttered curse, he didn’t dodge when Septlord Sar did the same thing to him, knocking him halfway across the room as the Salamandr turned to face Clodius. “You are of my kin,” The reptile said with a sneer (though, in fairness, it’s hard to tell when a Salamandr is not sneering), “Yet you hide yourself behind that soft pink flesh. I have no words for those who betray themselves.” Sar swept his tail out, and the spike nearly buried itself in the eye of Calavyr’s unfortunate thug, who whimpered to himself. “As well, the taint of your kind was all over the flesh of my enemy when he returned to my world.”

Calavyr’s other minion was more fortunate, as he at least reached Alakantar. “Okay, you. You’re coming with me.” He reached out to take Alakantar by the shoulder, when he found himself suddenly tugged to the ground by a male with a very heavy gauntlet. “Good evening, Alakantar of House Aleanrahel.” A tallish Roanian male with a serious expression on his face said. “My name is Nicomediel, and I am the Patrician of Greater House Cheruv. I believe we have several mutual enemies, and that you and your lady Arielle will be greatly served by you taking a few moments away from your charming company.” He nodded to Nathicana with practiced politeness. “Faith and Duty, Queen Nathicana. I must borrow your friend here.” The Sunseti ecosuit fit awkwardly on Alak’s shoulder, but Nicomediel nevertheless steered Alakantar deliberately towards his own table.

Calavyr wasn't paying much attention, however, his notice being caught by Alakantar's young female companion, Naiya. With his friendliest smile on his face, he approached the young woman with a glass of wine and held it out for her. "You, my dear, are a breath of fresh air. None of these people know how to have fun, and you plainly do." He said with a perfect smile, a flash of white teeth, and the gleam of musculature, while his own bodyguards flanked him and kept a very narrow glare on Pascali.

At the same time, Asure's two daughters flanked Marcus, appearing as if from nowhere, their soft, perfect white bodies almost, but not quite, touching him. "Hey, there." The one on the right, whose eyes were golden leaned in and whispered into his ear, "I'm Alera of House Ophan."

"And I'm Eisa." The one on the left, whose eyes were soft green, whispered into the ear on her side. "And we know who you are."

"You're one of earth's most eligible bachelors."

"You've been voted Most Likely to Be a Stud by InterCosmos 2 years running."

"You're Marcus Treznor." They did lean in closer to him, so that each arm had a perfect breast resting on it for a moment. Then the two of them both whispered into his ears at once, "And we're twins..." They left it hanging.

Meanwhile, back at the guardstation

Aionos stumbled his way back to the gate just in time to see the living representation of the Death of Humans at his door, being welcomed in with a cheerful smile by the sergeant he had left on duty. The Lieutenant quietly returned to his bed, took his ice bag, and went back to bed.

The party from Gehenna Tartarus were welcomed in quickly, while the sergeant bowed to Sirithil. He examined her costume, and raised his eyebrows, something a Roanian will very rarely do, then bowed low. "LesAihun chyu Lyuhun, Elenara. We did not receive word of your loss. Please, forgive my aide doubly. I welcome you to the Empire of the Twin Lamps, on behalf of the LesAivsyra." He personally escorted the Elentari into the party room, and indicated the location of Ranisath, then returned to his post.

"She must have come straight from a cremation. I hope she won't ruin the Empress' party with moping." Was his sole report to Lieutenant Aionos, who simply curled deeper under his blanket.

Julian directed a glance towards the refreshments table, such as it were, located a likely glass of scotch, raised his right hand, cupped slightly, and sort-of tilted his head to the side, very slightly. The glass, seemingly of its own accord, lifted up into the air and moved at considerable speed to fill his waiting hand, dodging around bystanders with remarkable accuracy -- and not spilling a drop of alcohol.

Not, perhaps, the most useful of tricks, but fun, yes, and there was a definite dearth of fun this evening, for him. So many conflicting thought-patterns, some of such strength that they were beginning to punch through the blockers. Depressingly, alcohol would have absolutely no effect whatsoever on him -- he just happened to like the taste. Which more than justified his little trick. Well, that and ancestral prerogative. One must always remember the prerogative.

What Alakantar had soon discovered in donning this strangely contrived helmet was that it clearly had a set of characteristics that one could deem undesirable, depending on one’s point of view. For one thing, it had lacked an open face entirely so that none could catch a glimpse of what the drow actually looked like or even if his attention was upon them. But this was mainly because it was a combat helmet after all, and such an opening would have proven to be nothing more than an unnecessary weak point in the armoring. So in light of this, Grummian engineers had woven a complex set of sensor arrays along its outer plating that provided real-time imagery to the user and could be manipulated into displaying the infrared qualities of the environment, electromagnetic fields, and other scanning equipment.

However, while this could prove to be quite impersonal to those he had conversations with, it did grant a fairly useful ability to survey his surroundings without moving his head. Such a feature became all the more apparent to him when passing by Calavyr’s table upon his initial arrival to this event. He merely kept his attention focused forward without showing the inhospitable viceroy any recognition, which possibly could have sparked an unneeded confrontation, and simply nodded in agreement with the Imperatrice’s remarks concerning those in attendance. As one could reasonably expect, few comments came from him while he was in the general vicinity of that man; anything that could be said would express his displeasure about it, and those sorts of things would perhaps be best left unsaid for the sake of everyone else’s enjoyment.

Although after he and the other members of his party had moved beyond such an unpleasant area, his demeanor had quickly eased and soon his attention was being divided up between scanning over all the recent arrivals, trying to see who might be particularly interesting to speak with later, and listening to Nathicana’s children. He was still a little quiet though, but that was more because he was rather enjoying the banter going back and forth, and did not want to disrupt any of it just yet.

“Then maybe it’ll make for some interesting stories later…hmmm?” Alakantar smirked a bit at the Imperatrice’s last comment when their little party had split into two. “I wouldn’t worry too much though. I’m sure they…and the Roanians…will be just fi…”

He had barely a chance to finish his statement when, out of the edge of his range of view, he caught a glimpse of Calavyr’s thug heading straight for him, and managed to spin himself around in time to face the man when the demand was issued. His fists clenched together in preparation for any sort of force that might come along with this, and the claws of his robotic arms unclamped just in case they were needed.

“No, I think not,” he managed to say, but from what one could immediately notice, it had lacked the force he wished it to contain, primarily because the helmet was basically soundproof and relied on the sensors once more for sound reception and a synthesizer for projection – which admittedly made his voice seem rather tinny and robotic.

Thankfully though, he did not have to defend himself in any such way for the moment, as the rapid – and quite surprising – intervention of Nicomediel dealt with the problem easier and far quicker than if he had done so himself. But while he was glad that someone had came to his aid, he was still rather cautious about the presence of this unknown person and took a step back slightly, his arms crossing over one another on his chest.

“A pleasure to make your acquaintance, and thank you for your assistance,” he answered the man, retaining the professional demeanor he desired for this occasion, before listening to what all the Roanian had to say. “Actually, I’d be delighted to speak with you for a bit. I’m certain we have quite a few things to discuss, after all. But in all honesty, I would prefer the Dread Lady to accompany us, at the very least. It would be rather rude to do otherwise…unless you feel differently?” He turned briefly toward Nathicana with that question.

The moment he asked, his synthesizer temporarily disabled itself for several seconds, granting him the ability to speak discretely through the microphone that he had installed here without anyone else hearing him, but those who he wished to listen. “From what I’m aware of, there’s always tension between the great houses and this doesn’t seem to be any different. I’m sure I’d be fine really. Calavyr’s dislike of me seems to have piqued their interest, so I might as well hear them out…perhaps I might be able to snag something useful out of this,” he spoke to her. “You don’t have to come if you wish not to get involved, but I wanted to just throw that out there. Otherwise, I can keep you up to date on what goes on through this.”

Clodius blinked at the giant before him.

“Really, we are not that close, my friend.” He said, slowly and deliberately, every word weighted with grimly set neutrality. Neither kind nor angry, his voice very matter of fact in a rather impromptu impression of a Midlonian wildlife documentary presenter. “But I do appreciate the sentiment. You will forgive my surprise at your...anger. I do not remember personally even encountering a member of your race.”

He leaned past the Salamandri for a moment. He observed the goon spread across the floor beneath the skimming spikes of the creature’s tale. He stepped over the scene, looking back briefly as he helped lift up the knocked over waitress with a hand beneath her, picking her up and setting her on her feet with aplomb, letting her restore her dignity as the Freestian edge his shoulders back and gave mildly threatening ‘turn the other way’ glares to the on looking crowd. He was big enough that most seemed to get the hint.

He turned back to the Salamandri. “I must admit to be, slightly concerned at your hostility attitude towards my form, my good sir, and...hang on, I’ll stop being rude,” He brought himself up to his full six foot height, not particularly impressive against the bulk of the sneering reptile but enough to make his silent point clear. No fear, but his body none the less prepared for combat on a subconscious level.

Freestian vampires were not true poikilotherms, their huge metabolisms alone allowing them some semblance of heat generation and to a more limited extent, control over these functions. Still, adrenaline flooded his system as very enzymic and hormonal reactions fired up and released across his body, slowly prepping every cold muscle and sense into cat like alertness. The drake equivalent of fight or flight, but on a scale adapted to the horrific hell on earth where they originated, the coiling mass of flesh and bone was a spring ready to be released.

But to anyone else it wouldn’t be observed. Of course, those who could see beyond the spectrum of visible light would see his heat signature glowing brighter, and those uniquely adept at reading body language would even catch a hint of it beneath the seemingly smiling and benign exterior.

“Allow me to introduce myself, Clodius Maxilimus, Patriarch of my Clann and leader of my people.” He looked straight into the eyes of the chief. “And before one more word of accusation, might I ask why you, mighty and noble chief, prostrate yourself here before these people, their servant, their...” he leaned in close, “slave?” He leaned back, smiling. “I hide for convenience, but I never lose sight of what I am, chief, can you honestly say the same thing?”

***********************

Sempero blinked. The reply had been somewhat surprising, of course, and though he hid his initial shock behind a cocky smile that slowly became more sarcastic as the Roanian woman’s tone became harsher, it was obvious that he had been slightly wrong footed. Now he was used to brush-offs’ now and then, from a wide variety of women (and, being who he was, the occasional man), and it wasn’t the most vicious attack on his ego he’d ever had to fight off either. What was unsettling was the Roanians’ assertion to ignore Alessa herself, and he had to wonder at first why he had been so stupid as to assume he could waltz straight back here as if nothing had happened.

It would have been a telling introspective moment for the vampire, a rare moment of maturity for a creature who unabashedly tried to enjoy life in the most hedonistic way.

However, this was quickly halted as the Roanian’s clothes fell off.

Well, not fully off, but still, it was very flattering, and Sempero had his second battle in as many minutes to retain his self control. He grinned, letting himself be a little bit of a bastard and revel in the woman’s misfortune. “Well, I see I am not wanted here. To be honest, I think I pretty much got what I was aiming for.” He looked her over, doing his best to look unimpressed. ”Have a good evening, Lady Daria, I pray you rejoin us soon.”

He watched, smirking as she departed and he turned, flexing as his costume twisted around him, making absolutely sure what graceful force lived in the muscle beneath the fabric. Be mighty, be strong, and make sure everyone knows it.

Nonetheless, he found himself in a quandary, too soon to hunt again lest he looked desperate, but already conversations were forming. He wouldn’t quite let Daria go that easily, he thought, trying to avoid the first creepy stalker thoughts that he suddenly realised surrounded that idea, but his pride remained intact for now and opportunities arose anew. But if not Roanian...

He glanced over the crowd again, pondering different prey, elves, humans, more Roanians. A brief scuffle flashed, but over as it began. The imperatrice, untouchable, but looking good for her age, her poor kids being molested by the locals, the Starlord, his escorts...
“Hmmm.” The faces were unfamiliar, of course, elven, attractive, lithe, his taste was good and they seemed open.

He picked a glass from a passing waitress, sipping on the contents, smirking slightly at an inappropriate thought. He wandered over on a gentle stride, confident, powerful, noticeable. He drew a wide circle around Ranisath himself, throwing him a friendly glance but leaving him to his conversation, and introduced himself to his entourage.

“Sempero, Warlord of the Navarrok Guard,” he gave a smart bow, showing off every muscle he used for the manoeuvre, all the while keeping his eyes on the nearest lady elf, who was dressed in a somewhat revealing but tasteful dress, the darker costumed of the two companions, but seemed strangely aloof. He wasn’t as aware of the difference between eldar and elves to serve him here, mind, despite being...intimate with a few of either Of course, he had had enough whinging Twilight readers begging him to bite them that he understood the subtle differences in appearance mattered. Still, a confident swagger, a tilt in posture to seem as lithe and arrogant as possible, and a sweep of his silvered hair as he cocked his head to smile at the captive Eldar queen.

She smiled and almost chuckled abit, it was odd to ask how you were without asking for your name first but, yes she could see the introductions had occurred and would be assumed to respond in kind. It was different but easily deal with. The only problem is that they both gave their "job descriptions" which would require her to do the same... and that would cause a problem. She was covert security and she couldn't just tell them.

"Yes, thank you for noticing it... the pun I mean. I'm Nerrida and I'm not really representing anyone apart from myself, and finally. I'm fine thank you for asking."

Though to be honest it seemed she was looking off into space, not fully where she was if it were... day dreaming.

She really was using her training to be keenly aware of her target, in this cae Trevor Desorté who had yet to make any real move on Lord Metchier's house. The Heirs would be the best people to talk to but which one would take over the Lord's role. There would be trouble around the corner and hopefully TGM would be there to help pick up the pieces afterwards.

"Milords, I would to speak to you, both of you. My name is Trevor Desorté, CEO and owner of The Garbage Men, I'm sure you've heard of us. I wanted to speak to you in regards to an opportunity both for House Darsal and for The Garbage Men."

Trevor was always respectful and polite as it had been seemed to be drilled into him. His body language was such that he was in prescence of superiors While the words also had that sort of slant to them in their tone.

“Think we should go and keep His Worshipfulness company?” asked one of the Naval Infantrymen, turning over his cumbersome boarding gun with two gnarled, hairy hands and examining the smooth metal of the barrels absent-mindedly.

His companion, tall and thick-set, frowned, his bushy black eyebrows almost meeting in the centre of his forehead, but shook his head dismissively. “Nah, he seems all right without us. Besides, with these things we could probably off half the room in a volley. No need to get jumpy.”

The subordinate nodded. “Aye sir,” he said simply, the sibilant “S” whistling between a large gap in his upper teeth. “Suppose we can occupy some time by… keeping an eye on the guests.” He turned to his superior and grinned gap-toothed. “That ‘un in particular seems to be one to watch,” he continued, gesturing slightly with the six clustered muzzles to Daria’s huffily retreating form. He was only too aware of the potency of the bromine supposedly slipped into their tea; he was equally aware that it seemed not to be having much effect on his potency, which fact was probably going to become awkward as the night wore on. Especially if Daria kept wearing such form-leaving attire.

For his part, the Emperor was watching the proceedings with something resembling laughter stirring in his mind. It wasn’t quite funny enough to grant the joy of real laughter to him, for the participants were all far too serious, and far too obviously engaged in a game of one-upmanship that he guessed had been going on for, at the very least, as long as his family had been Imperial, rather than merely another clutch of settlers eking out a shaky life on their new planet. Instead of being entirely comical, it was a strange mixture of laughable and pitiable; people whose wealth and power, whose access to that which they wanted was, like his, unbounded, were behaving in a manner infinitely more petty and spiteful than even the worst children he’d ever met. Of course, Naragan’s life had not exactly been a normal one; he had met comparatively few children whose parents didn’t at least own their own home, and he had, undoubtedly, been spared many of the worst sites his domain had to offer. But nonetheless, the point stood firm in his mind, even though he was well aware of the limits of his own experience. Yet again the words of a tutor came back to him: “wise men are those who know seek knowledge, but know themselves ignorant; foolish men are those who seek recognition, and think themselves knowledgeable.”

He felt, out of the blue and without explanation, the strange urge to sketch; since he wasn’t much of an artist, it was bizarre that such a desire should overtake him at any time, let alone a time like this. Hastily he searched the brilliantly-lit, but still essentially generic, space around him for some suitable material, and eventually his eyes found themselves glancing at the blank eng pages of Broken on the Rock. It was a terrible thing to do to a book, and he knew it. It pained every nerve in his mind to do it. But he had little else to do, and he just had to depict what he was seeing. Somewhere deep in the darkest, yet-untouched recesses of his mind, there lay a vision of a distant future in which his child would glance at his father’s queer sketches, in the back of the tattered old book, and wonder. Naragan was not immune to vanity; like all men, he wanted his slice of posterity. His virtue was merely that of restraint. He could live without a grand statue of his slim, slightly bent-nosed form in ever town square, but still. A few sketches for when he was gone, so that others might know the mind of their former ruler? It was hardly excessive.

Extracting a smooth, deep green fountain pen from his top pocket, he began slowly to sketch on the unmarked end piece of the book, every faltering, amateurish stroke giving it his own tiny touch of perception that would stretch out across the ages, so long as the paper was there for someone to see, and utterly ruin its market value. From the immaculately-formed nib of the pen there flowed tiny, finely-formed traces of black ink, gradually resolving themselves into images which were… recognisable, if by nobody’s standards very good. He drew the impressive costumes of the Grummians, the Tartarians and the Ctan, all flowing cloth and magnificently detailed masks, tinged with exquisitely ingenious use of robotics; he carefully shaded as best he could, giving the observers yet unborn, and probably never to be, at least some idea of what he was seeing. With more confidence, as his first efforts began to seem far better than he’d ever expected, he turned to the bitter farce surrounding Daria, depicting her in a series of frames as she went from superior indignation, through embarrassed shock, to huffy humiliation as she stalked haughtily from the chamber. Turning across the room slightly, he chanced again upon a view of Radmiel, the slippery puppeteer carefully orchestrating matters from afar, whose hands were seldom seen, but always moving, and never for anyone’s good save his own. (Naragan wouldn’t admit it, but his perception of Radmiel was not particularly objective. The drawing – which depicted him as several shades darker and more threateningly odious than he actually was – was mere “artistic licence”.) And beyond the throng, surrounding the distant Kouran, were his aides; miserable souls with hanging, tired faces and distant, unfocussed pupils, following the old creature around and forced, bitterly, to hang on his every word with the attentiveness demanded of subservient persons by those whose egos outstripped their self-awareness. Taking a quick break to examine the result thus far, Naragan felt moderately pleased with his work. He shook the fountain pen a few times, deftly took a snack from a passing caterer’s high-held plate, and began drawing again.

He was just beginning to work on a likeness of the ever-scowling Calavyr – all sullen, hateful menace, with just a hint at insecurity and paranoia, topped off by a superiority complex, like most Roanians, of breathtaking size with the minimum possible justification – when he noticed the latter’s gestures, accompanied by what he assumed to be a soft-spoken but hard-worded order. The two heavies accompanying him immediately began moving, heading towards a point not a million miles from his own, yet on widely-separated paths. Naragan hesitated for a few moments; they weren’t dressed in the uniform of the guards, but on the other hand, they were Roanians. However, since none of the other guards seemed at all interested in the masked strange which the two – beg pardon, one – heavies were approaching, it occurred to Naragan that something unsavoury might just be going on. Without a word, he gently set the drawings aside and got to his feet, striding over towards the obvious scene of imminent collision with one hand uncertainly hovering above the sheathed blade hanging from his uwaseya, only to find that, by the time he got there, matters had been defused. As Nicomediel took Alakantar aside somewhat, he carefully joined the remaining guests of the party, his hand withdrawing from the leathered handle and instead extending smoothly in the ancient gesture of friendship.

“Good day everyone,” he intoned, slightly nervously, in his best statesmanlike baritone. Unfortunately, it was rather spoiled by the fact he found a frog lurking somewhere near his vocal cords and had to dissolve into a quick bout of hacking. “Sorry. Good day, everyone. I, er… I’m just curious as to what was happening before; those gentlemen did not seem exactly friendly.” He bowed slightly to the assembled dignitaries, as was the custom, and smiled – a genuine smile, at that. “I am Emperor Shokiwe Naragan of Oyada.” His smile became a little bashful. “We are not well-known among the spacefaring peoples, though some of us, including I think certain of the guests here, have doubtless met us before.”

Nathicana tensed visibly as the thugs made their approach, Mas taking up a more protective stance that was held in check by a slight hand signal from the woman. The trail of chaos left in their wake was … impressive, and the Dread Lady’s eyebrows arched, her chin coming up in that imperious manner so familiar to those who knew her, even as she drew herself up to her full yet unimpressive height, blue eyes flashing. She very much approved of Clodius’ assistance where he could, and was certain she’d made his acquaintance before at one of the many diplomatic functions she’d attended – Menelmacari, perhaps? From the Freestians, she believed.

In any case, any words from her concerning the situation were cut short by Nicomediel’s timely intervention, though the look she shot Calavyr spoke volumes, filled with the promise of extreme unpleasantness should the opportunity ever arise.

After peering at Alakantar as if weighing and measuring possibilities, she nodded in greeting to the Roanian lord, smiling pleasantly. “But of course, Patrician Nicomediel. I hope to make your further acquaintance perhaps later, when the occasion allows.”

To Alakantar, she smiled reassuringly, and nodded slightly to let him know she understood and would of course offer any support she could. “Should you need anything at all, we are all just a word away. I hope this business benefits you as greatly as this gentleman believes.”

He’s a smart man, and she knew he would grasp the subtle insinuations of her comments correctly.

The arrival of the Oyadan Emperor was a pleasant transition, as Alakantar moved away, and Nathicana extended her hand as well in return greeting, offering the stranger one of her charming smiles.

“Nathicana D’Aquisto of the Dominion,” she said warmly. “It is a pleasure, though I am afraid I am unfamiliar. Perhaps you can remedy this unfortunate lacking?”

---- ----- ----- ----- -----

Naiya gives Calavyr a slow, appraising look, accepting the glass with a knowing sort of smile as she suppresses a shiver at the aura, for lack of a better explanation, that was emanating from this man about whom she had already heard ample unpleasantness.

Pascali for his part, offers the bodyguards a confident, impudent smile that combined with his posture, and readiness under a false guise of casual relaxation scream ‘please, try something, bitches’.

“Grazie,”, Naiya says softly, unblinking. “I suppose what they say is true – La speranza è l'ultima a morire.”

And then her voice takes on a … different, more powerful and convincing tone and intensity, though the pleasantly soft volume of her words, clearly meant for his ears only, never changes. She draws slightly nearer, still unblinking, meeting his stare with perhaps a hint of challenge.

“Let us not be coy, Calavyr. I know who you are, I know what you are, and I know what you most likely want.” She trails a fingertip along the rim of her wine glass, and whets her upper lip lightly with the tip of her tongue.

“I promise you – I do know how to have fun, the likes of which you might only dream of. But for all your fine looks, and fame, and power, you disgust me. Considering this, and the shameful manner in which you have treated those I consider friends, I would sooner bed one of those ravening orcs still wandering around on Mars than have you lay a hand on me. And if you were to do such a thing? Let me assure you, I would feed you your coglioni.”

She draws back then, her smile guaranteeing the promise she had just made.

“Perhaps a tactful withdrawal might be in order, so as to avoid any unpleasant international incidents on such a happy and important occasion. I am certain the Empress, may she lead a long and fulfilling life, would be quite put out were someone to spoil her party. I know I would be.”

---- ----- ----- ----- -----

Marcus, while immediately concerned at the appearance of the slick son of a bitch, soon has his hands full, literally, and ends up trying to keep an eye on the situation while not offending the rather forward ladies. Of course once they start talking, its clear enough some of what they say has him slightly flustered.

“Naiya, I—oh, my pleasure, ladies. Mar—“ his brows arch up more than a little at their description and phrasing, not to mention the fact that they seem to know him more intimately than he would prefer, considering their actions.

“Well, you ah, have me at a disadvantage there, not being familiar with …” Did they say ‘stud’? And ‘eligible’? Il dio mios. “Twins, you say? My, my … that is a coincidence. Alera, Eisa – a pleasure, truly. Are you ah, here with anyone besides your ah, family?” His tone is almost hopeful at this point as his eyes flicker over to his sister, who seems, as he had guessed she would, to have things well in hand.

It was realized that very little needed to be spoken aloud to convey his understanding of what all the Dread Lady had implied, so Alakantar merely bowed his head graciously toward her. “Thank you,” he replied as kindly as he could, his helmet returning to its familiar way of producing his voice. “I shall return in just a bit.”

So now, he turned his attention away from her, placing it entirely upon the Roanian noble who had been waiting there all this while. He nodded his head, as an indication that he was ready, and proceeded to walk steadily toward the direction he was being led by Nicomediel.

As one, the C’tani group react to the walking lollipop, for a moment humouring him with smiles – Mieka’s more like a devouring hound’s tooth-baring – while being a little bemused at the comment about mammary glands. Master Mary reached out, grabbing the staff that was jabbed towards him, bouncing up and down once in what was his best impression of a bow, as his three-fingered manipulator hand closed around the end. “Pleased to meet you!” he said, loudly, in poorly enunciated High Roanian, apparently part of an auto-translator that didn’t quite understand the grammar of the language. “You are Kouran, Arch-chancer, correct?” the monster said.


Meanwhile, with a courteous but noncommittal nod to the walking lollipop, Ranisath carefully extended a wing to reposition himself to make it clear that he wasn’t interested in an extended conversation with Kouran, at the minute at least. He returned the tongue twister of a formal greeting, in, of course, superior-to-inferior mode, but with a not-unkind tone. “Oh, it’s not as if I’m in mourning, it’s the best part of a week since anyone’s died in Menelmacar or my own nation,” it’d be rather longer if it weren’t for the planet full of monsters he was counting in that statement. “It is not the season for death,” he added cryptically, going on to explain that he was in fact dressed as the Roanian Emperor Mariel I; as was his wife (dressed as Mariel's wife).

“Anyway!” he said, stepping lightly over to Radmiel, causing Mieka to step away from his side, to the other side of Radmiel, wrapping her arm around the Roanian’s lightly, with an almost imperceptible smile or twitch. “I would very much like to go and see the Empress, if you’re going that way,” he said, probably making Radmiel rather annoyed in an entirely different way.


As Sempero introduced himself, Mieka said something in her own language, sibilant and exotic sounding, which the other companion translated; noticably, she didn’t require a translation from english, which suggested that she understood the language perfectly well. “She says she knows who you are,” Nais said, “and wants to know what you want…”

The AdminCoordinator quietly wonders why Nerrida is daydreaming but leaves her to it; while it's somewhat impolite, "politeness" is not something that concerns the Spacedy Ants too much other than a tool used to discuss things with other parties. They themselves are relatively difficult to offend.

Other things happen here and there, but the 'bee' does nothing but note them for later. "So, Lady Sophia d'Ark, what is the planet of Kalasin's goal from attending this event, if I may ask?"

Nicomedial clicked his tongue in his mouth at the Imperatrice's words, but bowed anyway, continuing to drag Alakantar along with him. "It will be a pleasure and an honour, My Lady. It is always a benefit to speak to a woman of taste, breeding and beauty." That was his last word for five minutes, as he drew Alakantar back to his table. "Please, take a seat. And do take off that repulsive helmet." He paused. "Oh, ah, you can't. I suppose I should be wearing mine, too." He gestured to the environmental suit's helmet that was currently being used as a pillow by the snoozing felinoid. "But, as you can see, our other guest is using it. Now... introductions... we all know you, but you might not know us. This is my nephew, Raphael. And my eldest son, Nesar."

"Is this the male?" A disdainful voice broke in. "He doesn't seem like much." Raphael Katan-Ophar, governor of Nmmr, inspected Alakantar closely while taking an impressively large bite out of a breadroll. "Why does that voolsa Calavyr have such an objection to your continued existence, hm?" He jabbed his finger towards Alakantar.

"Who cares?" Nesar broke in, a long, slow and appraising look being given of the drow. "Calavyr hates him, and that is enough reason for me to support him. LezAihun Chyu Lyuhun, LaeyRuahnelvar."

"My other son, Ecanus, sends you his best wishes as well. You might know him as Calavyr's 'deputy'." Nicomediel's lip straightened into an a grim expression. "We have all been wronged by that... individual, and the Empress is unwilling to take action or allow us to take action. I do not know or care if the things he accuses you of are true or lies like so much else of what he says. My family honour is at stake, and you will help me destroy him." House Cheruv's own armsmen had appeared around the table, as the Patrician placed his hands together and leaned towards Alakantar. "Give me your aid, and not only will we begin rendering our enemy powerless to harm anyone again, but I will grant you anything within my power. Anything within my Empress' power."


Calavyr, meanwhile, was listening to Naiya's ever-increasing storm of vitriol with a mood between fury and contempt. His fists clenched the blue silk gloves, the fabric rippling along his wrist. He had not understood many of the words in Naiya's sentence, but he had understood the meaning behind them clearly enough. He spun his cape around him to retreat. "You believe you are clever, do you, child? You believe yourself powerful as you know a trick or two. Yes, I feel what you are trying, whore, but you do not know who you try it upon."

The Roanian male clenched his fist once more. "I am Seravysyrn, and if my bastard bitch of a cousin had not placed that ridiculous enchantment, I would have your skull for my collection." He rose his hand as if he intended to strike her, then thought better of it. As he turned to go, a pretty blonde serving girl came by and accidentally stepped on his cape while turning to offer someone else a drink of wine. Calavyr kept on going for a few moments, and then he found himself flat on the ground, having fallen with a loud crack. His surviving minion hurried to his aide and escorted the cursing Calavyr away. The serving girl quietly took Naiya's goblet and replaced it with one from her serving tray, a sparkle, perhaps a wink, flickering across one turquoise eye before she hurried off.

"That's the way to handle that repulsive... man, young lady." A woman's voice said behind Naiya. "Your mother's trained you well." While all Roanian women were beautiful (at least, they all claimed to be) this one truly was. Or had been at one point. Lady Asure was long past the point where she needed to get by on her beauty, and had comfortably embraced middle age. She smiled at Naiya's watchful bodyguard, a bit pointedly, as if trying to imply using all of her considerable charms and wisdom, that his presence anywhere near Nathicana's children was meaningless. "You remind me of my own daughters when they were your age. Well... not exactly your age, but I'm sure you understand me. You must be Naiya." She held out a bejeweled hand for Naiya to shake or kiss, as it pleased her. "I am Asure Ophar."

Behind their mother, the two twins continued their charm offensive, speaking over Marcus' head while at the same time directing every word to him. "This party is so boring, Alera." Eisa said to her twin. "I wish we had come with escorts."

"So do I, Eisa!" Alera replied, squeezing her breast against Marcus' side, her soft perfume wafting across his nose. Or was it her twins? The two of them were almost blurring together, seeming to carry on their own train of thought (and make a solid attempt at seduction) as one instead of two. "I don't know how Lessy can stand it!"

"Why don't we go someplace more interesting?" Eisa offered, her hip gently rotating against Marcus, her hair occasionally brushing against his head. "Lessy won't mind if we're back when the real party starts!" She brushed her hand on her costume. "I want to get out of this costume, really. It's a bit hot, and it squeezes my chest way too much. Don't you agree?" She held her hands up to her breasts, and her sister did the same.

"I know!" Alera replied, doing the same. "And look at poor Marcus here. He's sweating!" She paused, as if struck by a brilliant idea. "Eisa, I know! Why don't the three of us go find someplace else to be? It's a big palace, and I'm sure mommy will be happy to write us a pass past the guards!"

"That's a great idea, Alera!" Eisa looked down at Marcus. "Don't you think so?"

It became apparent at this time that the Scotch he had imbibed had not, in fact, been Scotch. Or, at least, had not been entirely Scotch. The primary clue to this was the twelve foot flamingo presently accompanying him on his circuit about the room. His name was Gregor. Julian was unsure as to how he knew this, but he did.

Gregor turned his head...beak...towards Julian, and smiled, and exactly how a flamingo could smile defied understanding, but the sense of the smile came through, or rather, the nature, the intent, of the smile came through unhindered. Unhindered. What a great word. What a fabulous word. What a positively remarkable word.

Julian thought a moment, and Gregor shrank the few feet necessary for true companionability, and also burst into corporeality. Julian was quite aware that he was hallucinating, simply denied the fact of his hallucination's unreality, and thus made the unreal real through will, and through talent. Thus, nine foot tall pink flamingo, mostly neck, pacing beside the quiet Revenian was entirely real, for the time being. Proudly displaying a nametag: "Hello! My name is: Gregor."

Finding an appropriate spot, a felicitous spot, he paused, with Gregor in tow, and, moving his fingers, generated a diagram out of spontaneously generated light, as he had once done laying in an uncomfortable bed in the transient officer's quarters on Nexus. Though, instead of faces, this time he generated a map. Gregor lifted a wing, indicating several points upon the map, and Julian considered them intently...and the three identical purple-robed magi, menacing beaversticks in hand, nodded in concert.

This was...Conflux.

"So, Lady Sophia d'Ark, what is the planet of Kalasin's goal from attending this event, if I may ask?"

Lady Sophia d'Ark, Heir to the House of Ark, Secretary-Elect Presumptive to the Planetary Coalition, de facto ruler of the planet Kalasin (and so on, and so forth), blushes an impressive shade of crimson.

"Um, well, you see ... when a heiress of the House turns seventeen it's traditional to, uh, "introduce" her to society, in a way. At a ball. It started because centuries and centuries ago it was, uh" (and here her blush grows even more impressive, if that were possible) "To announce their eligibility for marriage ... but anyway today there wasn't really anyone to hold a ball for, since it's just us you see, and then the invitation came from the Roanians and SOLOMON said I should go, even though the Roanians wouldn't let him come because they have this thing about AIs, and so I ... came. I didn't expect it to be like this!"

It all comes out in a hurried rush. And then, overwhelmed by the novelty and the strangeness and the pressure of it all, Sophie bursts into tears.

"Ah, a debutante... You shouldn't be embarrassed many societies have such rites of passage."

Nerrida rested one of her hands on Sophia's closest shoulder. She saw Trevor 'move in for the kill' as such but she couldn't see what was going on over there as Trevor's back. the moving and shuffling made the continued surrepticious surveillance a problem. She decided to wait a bit to see if it would lighten up.

And so she kept consoling the young lady. She was very emotionally fragile and she wondered if she had the constitution(if she was a guy she would of said something else) to be a leader of a nation. Though she was only a young girl she had alot of personal developement to do.

"Just a formality... You have nothing to worry about."

The Klatchian party entered the party slowly. Elizabeth wasn't too sure she wanted to be at a party at all right now.

However, the Karlord had won the argument and so now she was here. Dressed up like an angel and completely unarmed in a room full of Ronians and other international guests.

The tall Karlord turned and asked in Varakian <Do you wish a beverage of terran ethanol?>.

Elizabeth blinked up at the Karlord. Varakian had some one hundred or so words for alcohol, depending on what fish you were eating, who you were talking too, and how inebriated you were.

"Get me a scotch...strait"

The Var shook his head and turned towards the bar, almost appearing to float across the surface, and leaving Elizabeth to look about. There was a group from the Dominion including the Dread Lady herself. There was apparently a species that looked like an over-sized bee.

Elizabeth had always been the tomboy of the family, which was really something considering her sister hadn't been all that feminine either. But Victoria had at least gone to parties like this. Elizabeth had spent far more time on the battlefeild than a ballroom (She had lived in the Klatch for goodness sakes).

Elizabeth likely looked to the guards about the place like she was one of their number. The Crawfords had always been a bit more militaristic of the military families and Elizabeth, with a graceful figure but obviously muscular looked like she would be a member of a protection detail rather than one of those protected.

She stopped in the center of the room and pondered a few groups of guests at a time. Finally curiosity got the better of her and she moved towards the 'bee'. After all it was the first time she had ever seen the species before.

A moment later she overheard one of the others mention 'debutante' and paused. Seldom did one ascribe 'debutante's' to the typical world rulers that one found in such a place. It was typically found within the Peerage rather than amongst the rulers. Of course history was full of young princesses married off before age five or so. She paused to consider the group before interrupting any further.

The Karlord meanwhile walked over to the bar and ordered a scotch...<A good terran brand if you will.>

Naiya was slightly confused at the accusations of ‘power’ that Calavyr threw at her, along with the weak insults, but she made no sign aside from a slight unruffled smile that she kept in place as he ranted. She didn’t even blink when he readied his hand, though Pascali tensed behind her.

In a clear voice that carried easily in the room, at least to those relatively nearby, she says, “Just because I refused your advances, you needn’t throw yourself on the ground in despair, mi’lord.” And in a quieter voice, accompanied with a genuine warm smile, “Bene grazie, signorina,” to the serving girl, one brow twitching up slightly in confusion as to the quick – and timely – intervention. Possibly undercover security posing as staff? All the better to make sure Calavyr’s words concerning the Empress made it back to her ears. And if not through them, she herself would make a point of it.

It all happened too quickly for any other response, and she’d slipped into her native tongue in her gratitude, and before she could pursue the matter further, Asure had made her approach.

Pascali ran a quick check with the Spook operator to try and get what limited information he could on the new arrival, while Naiya took the offered hand and gave it an appropriately firm yet ladylike shake.

“It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Lady Asure. Thank you for your kind words, and my apologies all the same for having caused such an unfortunate scene. Dare I say, he is no gentleman. Still, the less words wasted on him the better. To what do I owe the honor?”

----- ----- -----

It was becoming clear that Marcus was in over his head.

Pascali, for his part, quietly kept his eye on both his charges as best he could while he waited for further intel, though he couldn’t help but think that the woman was by far the more serious threat, if one actually existed. Having a beautiful girl on either arm, both clearly intent on providing ample entertainment for the evening if allowed? Oh, the horror, he thought to himself with a wry smile.

Granted, he would step in if asked, or if things got out of hand, but he had been given clear instructions to let the twins fend for themselves as much as possible in this rather interesting event, so long as they were not in immediate danger. And so …

It wasn’t as though Marcus had never been in the presence of beautiful girls before. He hailed from the Dominion, after all, and in the opinion of the natives at least, this was where some of the most beautiful women – human at least – existed. Its just that Dominion women tended to exercise more … subtlety, for the most part. Ample teasings, granted. Even forwardness by some. But this, was …

“Go? I ah, ladies … I apologize, truly, for your lack of escorts tonight, but I um … well you see, my sister there,” he manages, shaking his head slightly to clear it somewhat. “I promised our mother I’d accompany her, you see. And splitting up, well – its against … protocol, that’s it.” Did she just—oh my.

He clears his throat uncomfortably, drawing his eyes back with a bit of embarrassment from their rather ample breasts that they are so thoughtfully bringing to his attention – grateful in the extreme for the added protection, if discomfort, of the light body armor he wore at his father’s insistence. He would be broadcasting the effect the twins were having on him for all the gathered host to see if not, and he quite frankly did not think his ego would survive that embarrassment.

Gently extricating one arm as best he could, he drew out a silk handkerchief and dabbed slightly at the portions of his face showing through his mask, feeling more the sheep than the wolf his costume portrayed. “Ladies, my deepest condolences, but I really,” he swallows and clears his throat. “Really ought to remain here. Perhaps some ah … refreshments?” He finishes lamely, looking about desperately for any staff who might be carrying some wine, or water, or anything that might fill their hands with something other than well, him.

Despite the impressions that one might have gathered from Alakantar’s stubborn unwillingness to abide by the demands of those thugs, he provided little to no resistance to Nicomediel’s persistence in directing him toward a seat at that table. It was neither due to any intimidation on the Roanian patrician’s part nor the presence of the armsmen guarding the surrounding area, but instead because the drow had this innate sense of curiosity about him, wanting to see where this would all lead. Though he had few expectations of accomplishing anything for the moment because no one ever seemed to be all that willing to deal with the problem of Calavyr, but he thought that in spite of that issue, it would not hurt to see what these people had in mind.

So now seated amongst the highest members of Greater House Cheruv, he considered it best to adhere to a more passive demeanor, one where he primarily listened to what those around him had to say and remained on an entirely professional basis with them, giving them respectful nods as each were introduced by the elder Roanian. But that attitude was almost disrupted entirely by Nesar’s dark elf comment directed towards him, one that he could not help but chuckle at ever so slightly. It seemed to be a growing tendency for Roanians to refer to him as either dark elf or drow, instead of his proper name – the first instance being when he first met his present fiancé, Arielle. It would be thought that he would take offense to it, but to him, it did not get a rise out of him in the slightest. There were simply worse things he could be called and this certainly paled in comparison to them.

Though, the chuckle never lasted more than a second or two but sounding nothing other than grinding metal due to the nature of the synthesizer – at least until Nicomediel proceeded to carry on the conversation toward the matter at hand, to which Alakantar settled back in his chair and considered each of the man’s words very carefully.

“I see…” Alakantar seemed to mutter rather flatly in response to what Nicomediel had put forth, sliding forward in his seat and adopting a steepled stance with his hands upon the table. “It would seem that both our houses have been greatly harmed by this man and that both stand to benefit from his removal of power. It would only be natural for us to combine our resources and our strengths in solving this problem, as you certainly believe. But, despite my desire to see this situation resolved, I am rather reluctant to provide a backing for what you have in mind, until I at least have an understanding of your plans. To do otherwise would be quite reckless for me, my house, and possibly the standing of the Corporation.”

As the spacedy ant listens patiently, the speaker quickly breaks down into a disgusting pile of heaving meat over properly solid bones and lachrymal fluid spilling out in a display with questionable evolutionary value, even if the species evolved planetside where fresh water was plentiful.

Two velvet-covered antennae slowly tap together as the bee clasps her hands together.

She can't possibly actually display the completely natural revulsion she feels without leading to a scene--knowing full well that human pupae in distress are considered a delicate subject and responding to them in an even remotely negative way is considered generally anathema in society--and therefore she does not, even if her own signs of revulsion would be completely unreadable to those around her. With this in consideration, what does she do? Her knowledge of common decorum and propriety is encyclopedic, but there isn't much in the way of protocol for dealing with this. She has some understanding of human psychology, but as much from her own experience as in what she has studied, but the true experts that would give her a sufficient knowledge base to establish an emergency protocol are quite a long ways away and out of contact.

When Nerrida moves to console poor Sophie, the AdminCoordinator thinks something very alien. The closest human idiomatic analog would be What a stroke of luck! but the panNorm do not believe in luck and have no concept of fortune. A more literal translation of what she thinks would more follow the form How unexpectedly beneficial it is that the decision tree of social causality would happen to align itself in a fashion amenable to the interests of survival and success. Already having her distaste for endoskeletals quietly buried for the time being--and taking comfort in the irrational thought that the materials of her costume will provide some distance between herself and a flopping mass of external organs--she steps forward and mimics Nerrida's attentions along Sophie's other side, velvet-covered bony manipulator on one shoulder.

That may not be the most soothing sensation, but the AdminCoordinator's synthesized voice is everything one could ask for in a considerate, thoughtful, robot nanny sort of way. "Ah, yes. I understand the discomfort." (Most endoskeletals are not sufficiently evolved for the individual to perceive, comprehend, and emotionally handle the needs of the hive when it comes to individual action. Hence, this action must be imposed; hence, the sensation of "pressure" upon the individual that the individual must resist.) "Many societies operate this way." This is true. "It is unfair, I know,"--this is a lie, a bald-faced violation of veracity, but it's not like a giant talking ant who was hatched to lie when necessary has a tell--"but it is my understanding that this custom is not widely held in our current company, so perhaps worrying about political proposals for"--no, neither 'mating' nor 'coitus' are the appropriate word in this conversation--"marriage is not the best use of your faculties."

Being on the subject anyway, the AdminCoordinator (much less all of the panNorm) knows nothing of carnality. Only the Mothers of Us All bred, and while apparently the True Norm at one point had male drones as part of their process for continuing the species and maintaining continuity of heredity-driven information, the male of the species was rendered redundant long before Alpha and its sister ships were launched. The Mothers of Us All, at one time 'political' leaders during the Succession Wars, were now just vital resources that constantly laid eggs, apparently a very dull but extremely important task. To the panNorm in general, and the AdminCoordinator in particular, the actual physical process of mating is considered an inefficient (and physically disgusting, but not immoral) action that, in species that have not fully optimized themselves for survival, takes up far too much time and is made far too complex with emotional and social attachments to the concept. Mating is what animals do, because it is the only way for them to survive. Species over a given technological level do not need to do it, and therefore, why do it? Simply because it is pleasurable? Oh, but only in the right circumstances, and under the correct conditions, and within the bounds of morality and the good taste of those involved... wasteful. Simply wasteful.

That being said, the AdminCoordinator is friends with the Imperatrice of the Dominion, who used to be quite the vixen a scant few years back, and therefore she has had to (intellectually) learn something about it and what it does to the human psyche. Additionally, she knows from the Imperatrice's own pupae that humans generally interact best with other humans of their gender and same general age. Again, what a stroke of luck is not an appropriate translation of what's going on in the spacedy ant's head as she shifts her free manipulator to Sophie's back. "Do you see the young woman with the red dress, reddish-brown hair, and gold mask? She is about your age, and the daughter of one of my allies. I will admit," she says as her synthesized voice takes on a slightly wry yet good-humored tone again, "that she is probably a better resource than me. Do not worry; she is a kind person and will not mind helping."

That may be a stretch, but apparently the ruling family of the Dominion like the space ants and hopefully that got filtered down the line. PanNorm do not operate on hope, but they do have an expectation of a positive outcome when the general balance of known variables and factors seems to come out in their favor, and so it is with this vague analog of hope that the AdminCoordinator carefully guides Sophie over to the Dominioner. On the way there, she notes via the scent of basic human emotional pheromones that Naiya's calm has been somewhat ruffled (and quietly attaches it to a conversation that she saw through her compound eyes) but, lacking an alternate plan, carries on.

"Excuse me, Principessa d'Imperiale Naiya Stephania D'Aquisto," the panNorm calls out politely to get Nathi's daughter's attention, dropping her voice as she closes to be more private and thus considerate of the Kalasite's feelings, "but we have a slight matter that is outside of my area of expertise. Please excuse me." The AdminCoordinator 'bows'--actually, more like tilts on her two sets of hips--with exaggerated politeness towards the Roanians before explaining quickly--and more-or-less privately--to Naiya. "Naiya Stephania D'Aquisto, Principessa d'Imperiale of the Dominion, this is Lady Sophia d'Ark of the planet of Kalasin. It appears that she's been dispatched here as a sort of marriage eligibility ritual, and this, combined with the necessity of representing her planet, is causing some amount of distress. Would you mind assisting her?"

Normally, this last part would be conveyed with a concerned look... but even if she weren't wearing a full-head mask, the AdminCoordinator does not have the most mobile of faces, and therefore obviously cannot convey 'looks.'

"Th-thank you." Sophie sniffs back further tears, straightens up, and removes her mask to surreptitiously dry her eyes (though not without worrying that the technophobic Roanians might take offense of some kind at the faint lines of subdermal circuitry ending at the corners of her eyes. But then the Roanians seem to take offense at all sorts of things). "That's very kind of you." Oh, SOLOMON is going to be so upset with me. "I-I'm sorry, I know I shouldn't be such a mess ..."

In the holos, this sort of event is where Cinderella loses her slipper or Chantelle loses her virginity or any of a myriad of other heroines do something socially embarrassing, so Sophie is in good company. In the next scene they usually do something to recover lost ground, but she doesn't feel much like a holo heroine right now (and hadn't SOLOMON constantly stressed that they were fictions?).

"I'm sorry," she repeats. Get yourself together, Sophie, what will the Roanians think? What must the AdminCoordinator think? It must think I'm a total hick. Come on, you've trained for this!

"I am very grateful for your assistance," she tells Nerrida and the AdminCoordinator. Polite, I must be polite. "I am very pleased to meet you, Your Royal Highness, Your Ladyship" - this latter to Lady Asure, so obviously a Roanian of rank (but then, they all seem to be) - "It is an honour."

It doesn't come out very well, admittedly.

Standing in the doorway, the Federation party found it difficult to hide their laughter as the doorman fussed over Un’s choice of costume. But they were all experience adults - a diplomat and former national leader, a highly professional soldier, and two people who had lived in a world that had its own rules more complex than any society of nobles for more than a hundred years – and so had no problems in the end. Somehow, though, Un managed to make the robotic eyes glare at the poor man while he tapped his foot with feigned impatience.

Once they were finally past, Un allowed his gruesome features to stretch into a grin, which did manage to prompt a laugh from his daughter and the first lady.

Lois sighed as once against they went into an unknown room full of unknown people in what was worse, an unknown place. Since no one had said anything negative about it, she reached up and lightly stroked a single finger down the back of the parrot’s head once they were inside the hall. With a gentle push, it took off from her shoulder and began its circling path.

As some of the first non-native arrivals, she watched her charge stalk across the floor, managing to avoid scratching it with the claws protruding from her heels somehow. Calmly following her, Lois watched with one eye as the reports from the parrot began to flow in. Access points, disguised and not, threat levels placed on the guards, clear lines of fire and potential cover sites were all catalogued so that they could be found again blind. The shortest routes to the exits were all clearly displayed as well, tracking with every movement the First Lady made.

As the three representatives got down to the first order of business at a party – sampling the drinks and food, Lois turned to watch people enter the party. She began with a little side bet to herself which of the new guests each of her charges would speak with first. A slight smirk crossed her face as she turned back to watch the problems the costumes were causing for her party. Lesley was having trouble bending her arms up to her mouth, the bladed claws that curved back down her forearms requiring a delicate twist of the wrist to avoid stabbing herself. Nina was having a great deal of difficulty dealing with the snout that comprised her snake head, eventually resorting to flicking her false forked tongue out in a very snake-like manner to wrap it around the food and tug it inside the mask where she could get to it normally. Un was having the least amount of trouble, his overly complex and slightly insulting costume having the most human features of all.

Finally, Lois spotted someone useful come in, and wondered if she could convince Colonel Sharpe to change her utterly ridiculous, standard issue costume into something more becoming a bodyguard. Like that black suit. Counting on the temporary safety of her charges at the buffet tables and relying on the sensor feed from the parrot, she drifted closer to the keeping an eye on his mistress, rather than the one that pursued the younger twins. She paused her approach, watching the potential confrontation unfold and her hand drifted ever so much closer to her pistol, and then continued forward when it was clear nothing untoward would occur at the moment.

The way she moved would give her away, probably setting off alerts in every bodyguard sense the man had. And probably his mistress as well, assuming she retained that much of her training. Palming a contact lens case out of her pocket, she smiled and offered it to him discretely in her gloved hand. “For you and your partner.”

A few months previous, some joker of a reporter from Kirkenes - or was it Liberty City? - had mailed out a questionnaire to leaders of every state in or with relations to the East Pacific. As fate would have it, one of these questionnaires had landed on the desk of Rachel Penteleimon, Lady Primary of Kandarin's House Honist and Foreign Minister of the bizarre, increadinly contradictory construct that was the Kandarin Federation. Some of the questions were personal, some were political, but one question in particular stood out: "Describe your nation's recent history in three words." Rachel had pondered it, filled in all of the other questions first, and finally sent it back with the space filled in thusly:

"Not as planned."

It'd be too much to say that everything had gone to hell in the massive explosion that had claimed the life of Lord Vire Khaz - nee Khazardi - over the skies of Xiopothos a few years previous. No, merely a great many things had gone to hell. The fallout had left too many people to count dead, with a bitter underground war still simmering. Khaz's successor had put a lid on the immediate problem, but not done away with it. The only bright spot was that Kandarin had a new dominion, and only the most imperially-minded would have considered that a bright spot. The home front, such as it was, wasn't much better. Khaz had been the anchor that had held Rachel's delicate mastery of Kandarinese politics together, and with him gone, the strands had flown to the wind. Anyone and everyone had to be renegotiated with, and some had clearly been looking for an excuse to go their own way for some time. The pieces were still falling into shape, but that shape wasn't very pretty. At least nobody had actually started shooting yet, save for Lord Sadi's little brushfire the previous month. Still, Lady Rachel had arrived at the Imperial palace in more or less one piece. While a sleek Navy courier was parked in the designated landing area, she came to the party alone and entirely unescorted.

Choosing a costume had been hard. When one wears duplicates of the exact same outfit every day for a hundred years, it limits the fashion-minded side of the imagination. Eventually, Rachel had settled on something looted from the trophy room that she didn't tell people she had. It was, simply put, the attire of a necromancer. Intricately woven pieces of blackened bone, drawn from hundreds of different species (all of them sapient) meshed together to form an improbable but entirely functional suit of body armor. It was about as form-fitting as a wetsuit, but thick enough not to truly be indecent. In a move entirely out of the ordinary for her, Rachel had sat for hours while stylists had ordered her long black hair into intricate braids that twisted and flowed in a pattern that was not quite orderly and not quite chaotic. To complement the look, she had brought along a staff of the same blackened bone, at the end of which burned a constant green glow of not-quite-fire, and attached a skull-shaped bindi of silver and sapphire between her coal-black eyes.

She had considered running a holographic projector to create the wispy appearance of a horde of undead about her, but then considered that it would be badly received. In the end, she had left the projector turned off. Such was protocol.

Sempero didn’t seem initially taken aback, almost seeming to accept the initial callous response as par for the course with pointies. He dropped the smile into a toothy smirk, adjusting his posture so he sat firmer on the ground, almost wanting to dig his toes into the marble. He raised his glass to lips as the translation unfolded.

“Your name, and to be forward, why someone so distinctive and distinguished does not seem happy to be here.” He said this to Mieka almost as an order, as if the question needed answering for something greater than politeness. He looked across at her, similar heights, letting his black lids blink for the briefest of moments as he watched her.

He let his other senses work too, his hearing trying to ascertain more than just the words but the tone behind them, though the fickleness and complexity of Eldar language would belie little to an inexperienced ear. The arrogance nonetheless was permeable, and he would have had to have been deaf and dumb to miss it. He pondered, briefly, if this was a good idea. He weighed an option in his mind before speaking again.

He meant to say ‘”I would like to know you better”, in the Eldar tongue, a phonetically perfect reiteration of the words taught to him by an Eldar companion on his brief visit to Tor Yvresse but lacking the knowledge of their full and intricate meaning. He had questioned the veracity of her translation, of course, but the myriad subtleties of tone and form would be lost on him even if he studied the language fully. Still, it might get the attention of the Eldar before him, or make her laugh and give her something to feel superior about, and either angle was workable at this point in time.
What did he have to lose, after all?

Nicomediel's smile grew and widened into a flash of sharp teeth. "Of course. My plan is simple. You will challenge Calavyr for the worm he really is in front of the Empress tonight. From there, everything should continue as desired." The Roanian flipped his hair back over his shoulder and looked at Alakantar, and then over at Calavyr. "He will challenge you to a duel. My informants assure me you could beat him." His fingers met on the table. "Then, you will kill him. I am prepared to offer assistance in this cause if required."Behind him, Nicomediel's son and nephew frowned and shook their heads, but did not breach protocol by speaking without the permission of their Patrician.


Across the room, Septlord Sar's fangs flashed in the light as soon as the serving girl had fled, her cheeks reddened with embarrassed tears, to take her unwitting 'revenge' on Calavyr. The creature crossed its arms over its barrel chest, looking down on Clodius through utterly alien eyes as the long jaw tilted towards him. "Brave. Foolisssh. In equal meassshure." The Salamandr's fangs slashed along one another with a keening sound. "I am K'chrk Sar of the Ssssept of the Red Talon, true lord of those who hunt with fangssh or clawssh. My possshition hasssh been in my ssssept for a thousssssssssand cyclesssh of the great sssstar becaussshe we know what is necessssaaary to ssssacrifice. And for that, we remain freee to be ourssselvess. Can you ssssay the sssame?" And a mighty clawed set of fists lifted itself.

"Ssssarakha skr skchca!" The beautiful woman in the tight green suit who had been hanging around the outskirts of this meeting dove between them, holding her hands out.

Sar stopped, lowered its claws, and growled. "Your accent is abominable, governor." The salamandr settled back onto its haunches, bringing it slightly closer to Clodius while still far distant from the Roanian woman.

Illinura swept her long hair back over her gently moistened brow, droplets of sweat sliding from her head and neck and onto her plasticsuit covered chest. "May I have a word with you, sir?" She said, her hands on her hips, an intimidating expression on her face as she looked up at Clodius. She at least seemed unable to recognize him as anything than what he appeared (which was about a foot taller than her), yet her expression showed that long experience with the salamandri meant height no longer impressed her. She pulled her fan out and waved it, blowing her hair back and then slapping it shut on her open palm. "Now?"

Lord Metchier rolled over in his sleep and fell onto the table in front of him with a quiet snork. His two heirs looked at him, and then at one another, and then at the human who had dared to address them. "It speaks." One of them said to the other.

"Indeed it does." The other replied with a hiss.

"Does it speak to us?"

"It must. There's only the walking corpse and us here."

"Having one here. What is Alessa thinking?" The two heirs sighed and focused glaring eyes on the CEO. "Speak, please. We will grant you that much in honour of our lady."

The two twins giggled in unison, softly moving their bodies ever closer to him. Now they both acted as one once more, Alure's left breast brushing against Marcus' right side, squeezing close against it until it was almost flat, her hips almost gyrating counter-clockwise against his, her arm quietly slipping around his. Her twin mirrored her acts, right breast crushing against left side, hip moving clockwise against his, arm moving around the other one. "Are you thirsty?" Eisa whispered in his ear.

"Because we are too." Alure did the same, and a difference between the two appeared. Eisa's perfume smelled of the tropics, of women in small bikinis and mai tais and sex on the beach. Alure's was a sharp breath of winter air, the kind that drives young couples into log cabins with big, warm bearskin rugs in front of roaring flames.

Eisa leaned in and for the first time, one of them placed their lips upon him in an almost kiss, though she withdrew at the last moment. "How about we all go get a drink?"

Their mother, meanwhile, had turned with accustomed grace to smile at the teary-eyed young woman. "Oh, this won't do at all!" Lady Asure reached into her purse to produce a tissue. She reached across to dab Sophie's eyes with motherly tenderness. "There, there. It can be a big day, your first trip away. But we aren't as bad as all that, I promise."

Asure's eyes traced to her daughters, and then rolled in their sockets. 'They're going to make him useless at this rate. I'm surprised he's lasted this long.' But then her attention drifted to the ant down below her sight, and her expression grew slightly colder. "I appreciate your helping this young lady... sir... ma'am?" She struggled to find the appropriate word.

Ranisath

Radmiel bowed low to Ranisath, an unreadable expression on his face. "I understand your meaning, then." He said, unusually grave. "Truly, your lands are blessed as a place where none die." As he rose to his feet, he smiled up at the eldar hanging on to his arm. "Though should all your women be as beautiful as this, I can truly believe it. Shall we return to the high table, my dear?" Radmiel asked Mieka with a grin.

"Your Eminence..." A servant came rushing up to him and slipped under Ranisath's arm to whisper something into the Grand Vizier's ear.

Radmiel's expression went from through all the colours of the rainbow before settling on a mottled purple. "You can't find her? What do you mean, you can't find her?" Another whispered exchange. "What about the guard? He's what? In the linen closet? Did he... no, of course not." The Grand Vizier slowly, regretfully detached himself from Mieka's arm just as Semperor arrived. "I regret that an emergency has arisen which requires my immediate attention, Starlord, Ladies. I will return as soon as I may." He bowed away and then scurried off into the palace proper, a detachment of guards fanning out behind him. At the door he ran into Daria, and another hurried exchange took place.

Everyone

Daria sighed and smoothed down her soft, cream-colored new robes. She smoothed them down as she walked to the podium, her hanger-ons eagerly watching every sway of her backside as she quietly sashayed up the stairs. There was a moment of thought, and then her silken voice washed over the auditorium. "I'd like to welcome you all here on behalf of Her Most Divinely Illumined and Angelic Supreme Majesty, our beloved Empress Alessa Tyra Annirere-Drakara-Elystrea. Her Majesty will be joining us soon," There was a muffled sentence that could almost have been, 'I hope', "and I'm sure she'd like to see that we're all having a good time at her party. The buffet table will be opened soon, but if you'd like a drink or an appetizer, please don't hesitate to ask one of our many helpful servants." Daria's lip curled. "Thank you for coming, once more." She began to bow, but transferred the motive force into a curtsy.

And suddenly, the single serving girl from before vanished into a crowd of serving girls and pages, all of them coming back and forth, many of them mildly confused by the fact that numerous guests already had drinks in their hands, but dismissing it as zealousness on the parts of the preparers. A page appeared before the guests from the Federation of Sentient Peoples and bowed. "Welcome to the Divine Imperium, honoured visitors. May I arrange an introduction for you to anyone?"

The visitors from Alcona and Hubris received much the same visitor, as did the woman from Kandarin, with slightly less aplomb in both cases. Though the Klatchians did receive their scotch at last.

Julian sighed for a moment, waved his hand almost dismissively, "Alright, we've had our moment of fun. Forget the act."

Gregor the flamingo seemed to sigh almost regretfully, then the various field emitters that had disguised the personage of Traegan Stark within that of Gregor the Flamingo, a somewhat obscure children's character from the Star Supremacy, ceased their functioning.

Traegan was about an inch taller than Julian, though less muscular. He wore his hair longer, and his cape was the brilliant white of the Revenian Diplomatic Service. He certainly looked the part of the dandy, but beneath that cultured exterior was one of the more...effective Administrators assigned to the RDS' Crisis Response Teams.

Julian nodded, "Right, so that's done...but." He turned to the triplets, "Who the hell are these?"

Traegan considered the three purple-robed, stick-wielding...things. "I haven't the faintest clue."

There was something about masquerade balls that made Lord Val Stratton rate them low. It was probably the thought that he was surrounded by a host of people he would normally recognise, whereas currently, he could probably guess the identity of a few but he could not be one hundred percent sure. And of course, acting as the Empress’ representative meant that making a faux pas would not sit well. If the ball was being held in the Empire he would have been a little more relaxed, but here, where he knew few personally, he remained a little more tense than normal.

He let his gaze wander around those present, trying silently to put some names to the guests around him, each dressed in some ornate or strange outfit. He felt relatively sedate in his choice of costume, or more correctly, his sister’s choice. He suddenly felt a little guilty at knocking some of her more adventurous ideas on the head. Still, he was here on behalf of Gehenna, not to let his hair down and make a fool of himself.

His attention was taken by the woman who suddenly appeared and was making an announcement. He gave her a fleeting look, before continuing his task of sweeping his gaze around the room. He was sure there were more people present he knew than he had managed to identify. Still, that was supposed to the fun of the masquerade ball, pretending to be someone else, at least until the time come to reveal who was behind the mask.

Beside him, Lady Serena was casting a more critical eye over those present. Unlike her brother, she had spent the last couple of years away from the diplomatic way of life, having married and then disappeared into her husband’s estate while she started a family. Her days had been filled meeting with female friends and catching up on all the gossip, and there was always plenty, most of it not overly flattering to those being spoken of.

She remained silent while the woman spoke, then turned to her brother, smiling. “I think we should take up the offer and see to some refreshments.” Her eyes flicked around the room until she brought her gaze to meet Val’s. “I do not know about you, but after spending what felt like forever getting here, we really should try the local delicacies.”

Val offered his sister his arm. “What does not kill us will make us stronger. Or so they say.”

The two moved further into the room.

"No need to apologize," the AdminCoordinator electronically coos to the poor little rich girl, "you are under a great deal of stress. We all understand the sentiment." Left unsaid is the fact that the spacedy ant only 'understands' this in a purely intellectual fashion, in the same way that people understand that the Concert of Europe redefined European politics in the post-Napoleonic era or that dying of radiation poisoning after the bombs fell on Hiroshima must have been really, really awful.

Stepping to the side a bit so she can just leave one hand on Sophia's shoulder while still giving herself enough room to feel like she has some distance from the lachyrimating pustule she just had to cozy up to, the AdminCoordinator nods shortly with a respectful nod towards Lady Asure. She could curtsy but, as she represents the Coordinated Hives and is perhaps the closest thing they have to a national leader, the suggestion of deference and subservience that such a gesture would offer, while it would probably flatter the Roanian (or at least support her world-view), would not accurately communicate neither the actual nor the intended social relationship between her and the Lady. "'Ma'am,'" she says in a friendly if matter-of-fact synthesized tone, "I, like my entire genus, am genetically female." Her tones brightens to become more conversational as she continues. "As for aiding Lady Sophia d'Ark, it is only the right thing to do, Matriarch Asure of Greater House Ophar. I am AdminCoordinator 67521 of the Blue Mother of Us All, representing the Coordinated panNorm Hives."

The voice accurately suggests a smile, even as the wording is based on a careful slant of the phrase 'right thing to do.' Helping the Lady is not a moral question, it is the appropriate political action within the host nation's protocols and civil culture to achieve the desired ends. Perhaps there's a reason why the ants and the rest of the NDA get along so well, even if they stretch that alliance's insistence on being non-democratic to the limit. Functional anarchies are simultaneously the most and least democratic of systems. "I am glad to see that I have delivered her to those who are best suited to take care of her," she continues, nodding to Naiya and Asure, "as I will fully admit and--since it is indicative of the realities of the situation, accept--that perhaps the good Lady Sophia d'Ark would not gain the greatest succor from a giant bug." The translator cube chuckles good-naturedly even as the ant's maxillae buzz very softly against it; in case the chuckle isn't enough, the AdminCoordinator gently pats Sophia on the shoulder to assure her that it was just mildly self-deprecating humor.

Having one hand free, and the social hour now having officially started, the 'bee' carefully waves down one of the servers. "May I please have a glass of non-alcoholic fruit juice--whatever the local specialty is--with a straw? Thank you." She's just as respectful to the local serving class as she is to the nobility.

It is said that during times of high stress, the human mind often reacts in unexpected ways. Such was the case with Marcus as he struggled to maintain some measure of composure against increasingly impossible odds.

In spite of the situation, what he could hear most clearly seemed to be the genderless, automated voice of the flight simulator he had trained on repeating TERRAIN! PULL UP! TERRAIN! PULL UP! – though his imagination leant the tone a sense of urgency he’d previously shrugged off.

Part of him realized that on some level he was being manipulated, which frustrated him to no end. It wasn’t as though he’d never been tempted or teased before, nor never been kissed or had a plethora of what one might call ‘pleasant experiences’ with the fairer sex. These two just seemed to take things over the top with the subtlety of a tac-nuke in a tennis match.

Granted, the inspirational, if undignified thoughts the two women were inspiring set his heart racing and put his whole being into virtual overdrive, there was another voice of warning that cut through the haze of pheromones and unspoken promises – one that went, unsurprisingly, hand in hand with the flight sim theme he seemed to have going.

"Some day, kid, some pretty young thing is going to mess with your head and try to get in your pants with no subtlety whatsoever. If this ever happens, find the first polite excuse and evacuate the area. The only reason you should not run is because it would be unseemly."

"Are you saying women are evil?"

"Of course not. Not even 'women of loose morals.' I'm just saying those are the ones much more likely to get you in a world of shit."

Ah, Zio Timo – always one to cut right to the heart of the matter with as little bullshit as possible. And given the respect he’d grown up with having for the man, and his advice and opinions, it was no surprise his was the persona currently taking the part of Superego whilst Id tried to run away with the entire operation.

”Codice osceno. Estrazione pronto,” he said, quickly and hurriedly, activating his Spook transmitter.

”Capisco. Naiya, per favore, aiutami,” came the immediate response from Pascali, who had been watching the unfolding dramas with both siblings with interest, followed by a brief acknowledgement by Naiya just as she began answering to her own situation.

“AdminCoordinator, a pleasure” she begins with a slight curtsey and a pleasant closed-lipped smile. “Anything to be of assistance, of course.”

She watched carefully as Asure assisted as well, her usual weighing and measuring always seeming to go on when she observed new people, or novel situations. As the tissue was offered and applied, she tried to speak in soft, soothing tones to assist.

“Lady Sophia, I am so sorry to meet you when you are in such distress. No worries, dear lady – I’m certain everything will work out just fine. I still get nervous at these things, and mother has been taking us to them since we were children. You see? Grazie Lady Asure, you are very kind.” There was something wrong there, but she couldn’t quite put her finger on it. Not yet at any rate. Other concerns were at the forefront, and those were what she focused further on.

The AdminCoordinator takes care of the proper introductions, and Naiya is thus relieved of that responsibility, just in time to see Pascali approach Marcus looking as suitably gruff and with as much a sense of authority and urgency as the experienced bodyguard can muster.

“My apologies ladies, but I am afraid I must beg your indulgence in stealing your companion away for a moment – there are some matters that need attending to. Perhaps he can join you later?” This of course accompanied by leaning in – which likely inconvenienced one or both of the Ophar women’s efforts – and quickly whispering something in their native language, to which Marcus nods, and begins the process of trying to extract himself from their insistent grips.

“Alas, the demands of protocol,” Marcus says, putting on one of his more charming apologetic smiles. “I’m certain you ladies understand – heir to the throne and all that, expectations. And they say leaders are free. Slaves to their titles, I say! Begging your pardon, both – perhaps that drink, or a dance later?”

Finally managing to work his way out of what seemed to be a dozen or more, rather than four hands, he relaxes somewhat, makes a practiced, flourished bow, and accompanies Pascali over the relatively short distance to where his sister is speaking with a small crowd of assorted persons.

“Marcus, my dear brother – what perfect timing. If I may introduce you to AdminCoordinator 67521 of the Blue Mother of Us All, representing our honorable allies, the Coordinated panNorm Hives, Lady Asure Ophar of the Roanian House Ophar – whose lovely daughters I believe you have already met,” she added, still smiling quite pleasantly, knowing he would appreciate, and retaliate for the dig later, as usual. “And last but not least, the Lady Sophia d’Ark of the planet Kalasin, who is here on a debut of sorts, this all being rather new and unfamiliar to her.”

Marcus bows to each as they are introduced, going so far as to take Sophia’s hand, if she allows, and gently kiss the air just above the back of her hand with an easygoing sort of smile meant to put her at ease, if possible. ‘A pleasure, Ladies all. AdminCoordinator, it is wonderful to see you here – and if I may compliment you on your costume? Brilliant. Lady Asure, an honor, truly. My apologies that I had to temporarily take leave of your lovely daughters, but I simply had to greet our ally, and thank her for attending. I’m sure you understand.’

“Lady Sophia, I hope that you will be able to enjoy yourself tonight. I know it can be difficult when you’re unfamiliar with the setting, and people, but there’s nothing to worry about here. Just relax, be yourself…”

As the AdminCoordinator made a request for refreshments, he echoed the sentiment.

“And have something to calm your nerves and refresh yourself, of course. An excellent suggestion. Juice for myself as well, if you please. Ladies, your preferences?’

It was perhaps laid on a bit thick, and might even come across as mildly practiced, for it was, but then the poor boy had been rather ruffled recently, and was desperately trying to gather his wits after what seemed at the moment to be a very narrow escape – and not fully out of the fire, at that.

Meanwhile, Massetti took note of the rather strong-looking pirate woman making her careful way over. The way she moved, the fact that she’d come in with a group of people who had advanced tech and complex costumes yet was recognizable unlike all but one of the others, all suggested a commonality of purpose in being there tonight.

And suggested further that her armaments were not merely for decoration. He shifted his stance slightly, making certain she would have to bypass him before approaching Nathicana – who also gave the woman an appraising look in her usual habit of looking around to maintain situational awareness – but her stopping, and offering, made the move rather moot.

The older man smiled wryly and rolled his shoulders in a somewhat assumed stretch as he palmed the item and pocketed it. “And what might these little goodies be? Mama always did say not to take gifts from strangers – especially the ‘buckle your swash’ sort.”

Of course the last bit is accompanied by a wink, trying to let her know he was mostly joking, though his eyes were impossible to read – or track – through the dark glasses he wore.

Elizabeth stood quietly at the edge of the group but took notice of the young man apparently being wrangled back to more appropriate company.

The Karlord almost floated over to the group to hand the Overlord her drink. <The service here is quite tardy> He bowed and then looked down at the nearby group. <Why is there a large Nar-ta present?>

"That is apparently the AdminCordinator of...I have no clue..."

<Then I shall endeavor to find out...>

Elizabeth just shook her head and turned to walk over to a table. Really things were getting out of hand when Var just wandered off to interupt into conversations willy nilly.

This left the Karlord unattended as he approached the AdminCordinator "A thousand pardons of my intrusion, but I have never met your kind, nor do I seem to know anyone who could make a proper introduction. I am Karlord Na'teck of House Zerc'ta Senior Elector of the Klatchian Federation, and I must admit that I have never had the pleasure of meeting your race before..."

In reality the Karlord was superb. Most of his fellow Var tended to end inquries such as this as I have not yet found out how you taste...so this shall be fun for me at least

The Karlord did not hold out his hand. That may have been wise considering that a clawed hand poking out from Death was rather distrubing, even if Death was wearing a big yellow smily face mask.

Nerrida hovered around, however she wasn't quitee comfortable the point of a covert guard was one to blend in and act as a guest, while being ready tostep in should the need arise. And with it being increasing difficult to get a visual on Trevor there was only one option move.

The natural thing would be to join with the Bee and Sophia with Naiya, and so that's what she did, leaning into the conversation an introducing herself just after the request for Juice.

"I'm Nerrida, it is a real pleasure to meet you." extending her hand to be shaken. a driendly warm smile on her face.

Though she wasn't really looking at Naiya, she was looking over her shoulder at Trevor trying to discuss business with some Roanians.

"My name isn't important, what is, is that I represent an organisation that deals with waste, garbage or refuse of all sorts. We are an inter-galactic operation known as The Garbage Men and we're looking for new opportunities.. in this case here in Roania with the House of Darsal. I'd like to enter into negotiations for a contract."

Trevor despite being the CEO was whatever was needed to be. He didn't quite look in their eyes but looked slightly down in an effort to present the image that he knew his place in Roania. and in truth he did, his place was to look as if acknowledged he wasn't worthy. That would fit right in with the Roanians view of themselves as being far superior than any other race and be the most likely to get a deal.

The spacedy ant feels rather pleased with herself as Naiya steps up to the challenge. Diverting her attention momentarily from Sophia--although not removing the comforting (if bony) manipulator hand, as continued support means continued 'good press' as it were--the AdminCoordinator notes Marcus' presence with a polite nod and a swaying of her antennae that seem something like a gentle wave. The Imperatrice's pupae would have seen that before, and recognize it. In the process, however, the ant's sensitive antennae pick up the scent of human arousal pheromones emanating from the poor male pupa. Registering this information and collating it with data from her eidetic memory, she quickly realizes the cause. Distasteful. Of course she doesn't bring attention to it, half because he's an ally and half because it's disgusting. That, and politeness must beget politeness, especially considering her species-stretching costume. "Thank you, Imperiale Principe Marcus Devon Treznor."

Then she's approached by someone wearing a costume that she analyzes to be a comic deconstruction of the personification of death preferred by 'Western' human cultures. Endoskeletals have this strange tendency to anthropomorphize things in order to make them more understandable. In any case, it's not exactly important. "Greetings, Karlord Na'teck of House Zerc'ta of the Klatchian Federation. I am AdminCoordinator 67521 of the Blue Mother of Us All, representing the Coordinated panNorm Hives. Apologies are unnecessary; we are always pleased to meet new people. If I may introduce you, these are:"--she indicates the Roanian with her free hand--"Matriarch Asure of Greater House Ophar,"--the young man--"Imperiale Principe Marcus Devon Treznor of the Empire of Treznor,"--the young lady with the gold mask--"Principessa d'Imperiale Naiya Stephania D'Aquisto of the Dominion,"--the slightly red-eyed cyborg--"Lady Sophia d'Ark of the planet of Kalasin, and..."--the AdminCoordinator pauses slightly, manipulator extended towards the odd woman out. "Nerrida. My apologies if I have just been impolite, Nerrida, but you did not previously specify any representation or title."

The AdminCoordinator shrugs gently by raising her shoulders and bobbing her head down.

"Everyone, this is Karlord Na'teck of House Zerc'ta Senior Elector of the Klatchian Federation."

“Lady Sophia, I hope that you will be able to enjoy yourself tonight. I know it can be difficult when you’re unfamiliar with the setting, and people, but there’s nothing to worry about here. Just relax, be yourself…”

Sophie blushes a brilliant crimson as Marcus takes her hand, and ducks her head in a rather futile attempt to hide it. Naiya's brother is kinda cute, and he's as gentlemanly as some knight out of an old Earth tale, but drat it all, why did he have to meet her right now, so soon after breaking down so embarrassingly?

Right, Sophie thinks. I am the Lady d'Ark, and I've been trained for this. I'm not some wilting flower.

"Thank you, milord," she replies, "You are very kind. I fear the situation rather overcame me, but I" - think you're rather dashing - no, don't say that! - "I am quite recovered now - thank you, Lady Ophar, milady Naiya. Yes, quite recovered."

She smooths her gloves against her dress - it's that or wring her hands, which would belie her statement.

"Juice for me also, please," she tells the servant. "- A pleasure, I'm sure, Karlord Na'teck."

The Admin Controller was persistant, she had to give it that but now it was show time. She smiled slightly

"I've never liked titles, they don't say anything about the person with it, just their position in society, and the only person I'm representing is myself. I wouldn't expect all of your people to be identical in every way. I know mine aren't. Taking anyway as a representative of more then themselves in most part is a waste of time as no one embodies every one of their compatriots. Please just plain Nerrida."

Kill.

What had seemed to be such a simple, four-lettered word now rattled about within Alakantar’s mind, snapping him away from the blissful, ignorant curiosity that had held him for the past several minutes and plunging his thoughts into a jumbled mess of what-ifs, maybe, and should-I’s. Nothing even resembling this plan had entered into his stream of consciousness before, much less been put before him in this manner for the notion had always been foreign to him. Never before had he had the need to put an end to another’s life. And even if there was the slightest possibility of such an action being proper, he had instead preferred a more diplomatic resolution to it or failing that, to simply allow that person to have only a minimal effect upon his life.

Although, it had gradually become apparent that this time around the situation resembled little of those he had experienced in the past and would not respond to his usual techniques. No matter how much he wanted to believe otherwise, no matter how much it pained him, deep within the dark recesses of his thoughts, he knew that more drastic measures would have to be taken, actions far beyond what he had believed in. But despite these persisting thoughts, his actions did not deviate from the norm as he continued to maintain his distance from the Roanian noble and tried to contain the effects that the man’s actions had on his life.

But containment had not been the answer that he so desperately sought and instead either had a miniscule effect or simply made the lives of Alakantar and his fiancé worse. The constant presence of guards at and around the capital complex on Mars invaded any privacy that the two had and was a constant reminded that the slightest misstep would lead to them being killed or imprisoned and tortured. This persistent fear compounded itself with every precaution that was taken in response to the presence of new threats from the man, and with every new piece of information that came to the drow’s ears. Another accusation of murder, another of rape. One could believe that these were mere rumors, brought on by people who despised the man, but they never seemed to end. It was far too many to be just contrived by the feelings of a few. Those rumors even made things worse for Alakantar, even more so for Arielle, as the latter started staying under the protection of the Chairman and Chairwoman at any time the governor travelled abroad, just as was done for this party, because the risk of something happening was too great.

Even though his thoughts struggled constantly with these troubles, the drow managed to keep any indication that this was occurring from everyone, even his fiancé. He wanted to prevent others from being so deeply involved in this matter and mainly because he did not want Arielle to worry about it as much as he had. He knew that she could not take the constant stresses of it that well and feared that it would begin to effect her health, both mental and physical. So whenever he was around others, he attempted to maintain that same cheerful demeanor no matter the circumstances.

But here, especially after hearing Nicomediel’s words that had stirred up so many emotions within him, he could keep that expression no longer. If anyone could have seen beyond that helmet, they would have found his face conveying not the slightest of feeling, his eyes staring forward blankly, and a painful sigh coming from his lips.

“Excuse me for a minute,” came a mutter from the speaker as the drow rose from his seat and departed from the table without another sound.

Little consideration was taken for the destination of Alakantar’s steps; he cared not where he was going for it simply wasn’t particularly important to him. All he wanted to do was step away from that conversation to give himself time to ponder the plan placed before him. But he found himself unable to think clearly, his thoughts still scattered about with no direction in sight. So in some attempt to focus it all together, he thought it might be a good idea to have a word with the Dread Lady, concerning his situation. If anything, it might lend some structure to his thoughts when he tried to explain it to her.

“Nathicana…” he spoke directly into the microphone, his voice varying in intensity and tone from the tension he felt in his chest. “It seems that the plan that Nicomediel has, involves basically bringing to light everything Calavyr has done and thus provoking him into dueling against me…the end result being that I’d probably have to kill him…”

Both Naiya and Marcus shook Nerrida’s hand in turn, offering their greetings. “Representing oneself can often be more of a challenge than representing a group,” Naiya said, curiosity piqued, with Marcus soon after responding with “A pleasure to meet you, Nerrida. I hope you're enjoying yourself here tonight.”

The twins smile warmly at Sophia as she offers her thanks and assurance that she’s going to be fine. “Of course, good Lady,” Marcus adds. “If you need anything at all here tonight, do not hesitate to ask.”

And then came the flurry of introductions and reintroductions from the ever-precise AdminCoordinator, and the new arrival of the Klatchian representative. Both thanked their ally for her introductions, then also made their greetings in turn, each extending a hand to Na’teck one after another.

“An honor, Senior Elector Na’teck,” Marcus offers with his handshake. “If memory serves, it has been some time since we had open contact with the Klatchian Federation.”

“Not since mother’s coronation, I think?” Naiya says, offering Na’teck a pleasant smile as takes her turn. “It is a pleasure.”

--- --- ---

Nathicana, meanwhile, had tried to hide her smile as she heard the exchange over Spook involving her children, glancing over now and then to see how things were progressing, letting things take their course. She had done her best to teach them what they needed to know, and had let them stand on their own as much as was reasonable in these sorts of situations, whilst keeping a watchful eye on them. She had not been terribly disappointed yet.

The message from Alakantar came as a bit of a surprise, however. And she pondered thoughtfully for a moment before quietly excusing herself and taking a couple discreet steps away from the group she’d been talking with.

In quiet tones, she made a fairly rapid yet careful answer.

“First, I would consider where this plan is coming from. You have to decide for yourself if you trust these people or not, and understand clearly why it is they are willing to assist in this, and what they get out of it.

Second, consider the consequences of such actions, for yourself, for your family, for your nation, for our alliance, and the reputations of all of the above – how would such an even affect them, and how would you, and further-reaching, the rest, be seen by others here, and elsewhere when the news of it reached them?

Thirdly, is the payoff worth the risk you are taking? Are you certain of what you will get out of it all, and is it really what you want in the end?

Lastly, is it the best option, and is it the right time if you are determined on this course of action – that being ultimately, elimination? While I have no doubts as to your prowess, I would be very careful initiating an action on foreign turf, so to speak – him having what might be referred to as the ‘home court advantage’, in spite of possible support from others.

My preferred methods, were I to pursue a necessary removal, would be quick, quiet, and out of sight. However, there is much to be said for a public demonstration, if the situation calls for it – one has a harder time disputing or calling foul, if you take my meaning.”

She paused then, sighing softly. “This sort of thing is never pretty, necessity aside. And I would never presume to tell you which course to take – you know best your own business and capabilities. All I can offer is to consider carefully before you commit yourself, but once you do, commit yourself fully, and follow through to success. Should assistance be required, you have it. Best of luck, my friend.”

Outwardly, the only signs that the others had heard the conversation was a slight repositioning of Pascalli and Massetti, the better to observe the parties in question whilst still keeping a watchful eye over their charges.

Clodius turned to look at the newcomer, his movements fast but oddly jerky, like his body was powered by short, sharp hydraulic motions. His thoughts had been dominated by the insult, wondering at the source of the animosity behind it as he prepared for a worst case scenario. He hadn’t, he had to admit, been looking straight away for a fight, but simple predatory behaviour patterns alone would not allow him to walk away from the reptilian’s challenge.

Honour came into it too, but then again evolution had dictated simple issues of that nature would be overridden by logic. The marches of home would not let such stupidity remain in the species gene pool.

He obeyed without a word, throwing one last glance back at the Salamandri, stepping to keep the distance between them. “A pleasure.” He said simply, letting the syllables role out a slow warning. He moved over till the Roanian stopped him.

“Yes?” He said bluntly. “If you can forgive me my rudeness, ma’am, what just happened there?”

Lois chuckled politely, even if she did find the jest funny, and was very glad as Nathicana moved away slightly that she was not wearing her armor. The armor would have rendered what was clearly supposed to be a private conversation not so private. Of course, it would have done the same thing with a dozen other conversations at the same time. And turning down the gain would have rendered the voice of the man she was talking to all but mute. It was not perfect, after all.

Just better.

Even still, she turned down the sensitivity of her ears further still out of politeness. The First Lady had non-verbal communications if she needed assistance, and she knew better than to call out loud for help. Or she was supposed to anyway.

“Well, perhaps we shouldn’t remain strangers,” she responded with a smile. “Guard Lieutenant Second Class Lois Resnick.” She left her arm extended for a moment as the parrot, summoned by silent command, alighted on it. “And this is Polly.” Her smile widened. “A Personal On-Location tactical sensor drone, designed to sniff out security threats.” A gentle shake of her wrist set the bird-shaped robot in motion again. “You’re either Massetti or Pascalli, at a guess.” Facial recognition software is all well and good, but only if you have the right faces loaded in. There was only so much room, and personal bodyguards of more-or-less trustworthy national leaders do not tend to make it. She shrugged and directed half her attention to the feed that was updating now that the bird was airborne again. “The contacts will let you get the feed from Polly if you subvocalize the phrase ‘Polly wants a cracker’.”

She really is attractive, in her hard way, when she smiles. “Consider it a professional courtesy, since neither of us have the coverage we’re looking for here.” Her smile brightens nearly into a smirk. “Or you can consider it a personal favor, if you prefer.”

Who says bodyguards can’t have fun?

Meanwhile, over at the buffet table, the three main members of the party were finishing up the drinks they had been having difficulty with when the page came up to them. Being senior, Lesley fielded the question, speaking through her vocoder, rendering slightly uncomfortable subsonics into her voice, to fit into her persona. “If you could introduce me to someone who likes to dance, it would be most appreciated.” The orc-robot echoed this desire, while the yuan-ti shook her head before slithering away down the table.

Two elemental persons who looked uncomfortable further down the tables, who were looking around in a clear posture of slight unease with the situation, became the target of the slithering woman, walking softly enough the sound of her small bootsteps was hidden in the general noise. The serpentine face twisted in a near parody of a smile. “You look tasty, humansssss.”

"Gee, it's awfully stuffy in this box..."

Ctan and Siri and Freethinkers

As Radmiel left Ranisath's side, a serving girl took his place with the starlord her head bowed, to deliver a glass of elfwine and advise him that the Lady Daria wanted to see him when he had a moment, but there was nothing too urgent about it. Daria, for her part, had settled down on a chair and was looking at the crowd with a vaguely amused expression. Right now, she was watching the Governor of Rk. At the same time, Kouran was slowly drifting back towards Ranisath and Sempero.

Illinura fanned herself once more. "I did my job, which is keeping an elderly male safe from young bucks who seek to push him into fights." She said, distrustfully. "The Red Rock Sept and their Chief are valuable allies of Her Majesty, and I doubt she'd appreciate a brutal melee on her ballroom floor." The woman raised an eyebrow and kept a watchful eye on Clo. "Are you so desperate for something to do with your hands that you're bullying a 25 hundred year old?" Illinura plainly had missed the opening exchanges between the two.

DLN, S-14, Alcona-Hubris, Northrop-Grumman

Lady Asure's eyes lit up at the AdminCoordinator's words. "An entire genus of all females?" The Roanian could scarcely believe her ears. "How heavenly!" All her hatred for arthropods drained away as she leaned in close to try to match eyes with the ant. "How was such a marvel attained?" However, before she had the chance to pursue this before, she was interrupted by a variety of introductions. "A pleasure to meet you," She said, with varying sincerity as she was formally introduced to all her neighbours.

Marcus got an unusual expression from her, as if she was surprised to see him. Which, of course, she was. "A pleasure, indeed. I do hope you enjoyed your time with my daughters?" Asure glanced at the twins, who were deep in conversation and occasionally glancing over at Nathicana's son. "Asure's my little History Professor and Eisa's her mother's favorite mathematician. They make their mother so proud." She gave her daughters a little wave, and the two waved back, keeping an eye on Marcus.

The serving girl from before had returned with the admincoordinator's drink, but seemed oddly nervous to approach so close to the group. She sneaked in and handed over the drink, but was grabbed by Asure. "Young lady, I'd like you to go and get me a slice of bunnicken, from the lower wingbone, and a goblet of the Empress' Martian Red 84. A very good year," She told her neighbours, then returned to the girl, who was looking around in awe at the guests, especially Marcus (though a bit shyly). "Can you manage that?"

"I... I think so." The young lady in question shuffled her feet, not daring to admit that she hadn't quite caught it all. "A slice of bunnicken from the breast and a goblet of Martian Red... 48?"

Asure rolled her eyes, but remembered her present company well enough to . "From the wing! From the wing, and Martian Red 84! Who is your House?"

"M-m-my mother was a scion of House Elystear." The girl was dead quiet now, almost drowned out even by her own trembling.

"Well..." Asure decided to extend a small amount of generosity. "No one can be blamed for their family, girl." The serving girl stiffened slightly at that, but Asure bulled on. "Come on, chin up. Dry your eyes. You're a Servant of Her Majesty, as are we all. Just... meet me in my palace quarters after the ball to review proper procedures."

"A-as you say, Matriarch. I'll... go and get your wing and wine." She almost took off running, but slowed long enough to ask, "Does... would anyone else like anything?"

Bazalonia, Nathi and co

The two heirs were interrupted in their mockery of the Garbage Man by the old man sitting between them slowly waking up. "Wahey! Who's this then?" He shouted loud enough to be heard by the Dominion party around Sophie. Both Asure and the serving girl almost jumped, as did every Roanian in a fifty meter radius. Even Nicomediel looked up from his discussion. "Where am I? Who are you people?"

"It's us, Grandfather, it's us. And you're at the Empress' coming of age party. Please don't make a scene." Serahyle hissed.

"The Emperor's coming of age party? How is Aleazaner!" The expression on every Roanians' face froze, except for the serving girl, who looked down at her feet. No avenging lightning bolt broke from the heavens, though, and everyone relaxed after a moment. Metchier suddenly pointed at Julian. "By the Light, there's a giant pink bird following that man around!" And then he suddenly fell asleep again.

Serahyle and Kousenel looked at one another, and then up at Trevor. "We're very interested in what you have to say." They said in unison, looking down at the snoozing elderly man.

Revenia and Free Sentient People
Across the room, the page led Lesley to the Revenians, on the grounds that Lesley terrified him and the Revenians were bizarre and unusual, and thus the two of them deserved one another. As the page left, he was muttering to himself that he could have sworn there had been only one person on the Revenian guest list, and now there were two.

Meanwhile, the Orc-Robot had made it through the doorpost, but was now being watched by a variety of very interested people dressed in the 'costumes' of full power armor, with the imperial crest on their sleeves, and weapons openly displayed. Whatever they might have been, they were certainly not happy, though Aionos' report had been sent to security quickly enough to ensure no weapons were being primed to fire.

Tseaby

Radmiel, meanwhile, had come to a sudden conclusion and done an about face, returning to the bear he had met earlier. "Hey, how you doing. Siala Sialis, right? Yeah. Radmiel..." A loud clatter of dishes speeding out of the kitchen overshadowed him giving his last name. "Obviously, not at your service, but Grand Vizier Radmiel," someone, somewhere, laughed uproariously at a joke, "all the same." The Grand Vizier held his hand out. "I was wondering. You aren't all that busy right now, are you?"

The AdminCoordinator would take exception (scientific exception, mind, not emotional exception) to Nerrida's statements regarding the panNorm, but can and does admit that she speaks truth regarding the endoskeletal condition. "Then 'Nerrida' it is, Nerrida." Her synthesized voice retains a politely jovial tone, taking it in good humor. "That is an understandable way of looking at things." Turning to the Lady Asure to respond, she is also interrupted by the arrival of the requested drinks, which she accepts with a polite bow and "Thank you." The servitor classes and castes of endoskeletals are fundamentally different from the average panNorm, acting out of selfish response to external stimuli rather than naturally fitting into the harmonious whole, and so politeness to all, no matter their station, is vital (based as it is on an equality of individual potential, rather than an equality of suitability for one's station as it is back in the Hives). Asure is then perhaps a touch too harsh to the servitor, but just as the servitor classes imperfect, so are the served classes; these inefficiencies must be taken in stride. At any rate, the 'bee' takes the opportunity to raise her translator box just a tad in her mandibles, clearing enough room for her to slip the straw of her drink underneath her maxillae and into her mouth, where she can then suck silently upon it. PanNorm eating or drinking freely is generally not a comfortable experience for endoskeletals; hence, the panNorm have developed certain work-arounds to allow them to partake in meals without causing offense whilst endoskeletals are nearby.

The fruit juice is excellent, and the AdminCoordinator silently notes to ask about it when appropriate. Contrary to popular belief, the panNorm actually do care about taste; while their nutrigruel has the consistency of grits and the appearance of mud, it does actually have a complex and likable fruit salad flavor. That its protein content mostly derives from legumes and expired panNorm recycled back into the life support system is irrelevant.

Finally, the spacedy ant gets her chance to respond appropriately to Lady Asure's question. "We are still combing Alpha's most ancient records for the answer to that question, but it appears that the True Norm developed a means for genetic material to be recombined artificially via biomechanical processes. As this is the only effective purpose for males... from the viewpoint of heredity and genetics, mind," she says apologetically to Marcus, "the male of the species was then considered obsolete and resources were no longer devoted to their maintenance or continuation. As far as our rediscovered recorded history shows, the Mothers of Us All have relied on Alpha's machinery to fulfill this role; apparently, once our species began to diverge of their own accord, Alpha also ensured that the divergence followed evolutionary paths of success in our given environments through self-developed routines. Now that we have rediscovered the principles of this technology, we are once again the masters of our own evolution, but we realize that continuous incremental change is advantageous to genetic stability."

At the sound of the voice, Val and Serena turned in unison and discovered they were face to face with a giant slithering creature. Of course, they had no idea who was in the costume, but they were sure the person was friendly, after all, it was smiling, or at least they guessed that was the intent of the facial change.

“You have the option of hot or cold,” Lord Stratton replied, indicating first his sister than himself as he spoke. “Alternatively, there are always the Roanian delicacies if you would prefer something already prepared. I am sure they taste much better.” Not that he was speaking from experience, as neither he nor Serena had tried any.

His sister let her gaze move over the newcomer’s costume, taking in as much detail as possible, before meeting its gaze. “We were about to sample some ourselves,” she finally remarked. “If you would care to join us.”

Normally, both would have introduced themselves properly, exchanging names – if they were not already known – but the idea of a masquerade ball meant the fun was in discovering who was who at the time of revealing, or at least, that had always been the idea back in Tartarus.

For this...fun little shindig...Julian had been outfitted with an RDS datalink, in the form of a particularly miniscule earbud, in his case, since he did not have the extensive implants that so many of his peers (in all senses) possessed. That earbud was presently whispering in his ear not un-frantically.

Lesley Smith, First Lady of the Federation of Sentient Peoples, former head of government of...

Julian worked his jaw for a moment and the earbud cut off. He wasn't a complete illiterate when it came to international politics, and he didn't even have to guess whether or not Traegan needed the prompting -- there was little enough chance of that...and more to the point, costumes couldn't block his talent, and Traegan...well, Traegan Stark was Traegan Stark.

Perhaps he was still growing out of his roguish stage, and, indeed, wandering into this particular party shrouded in a full-fade cloak (though, if anyone bothered to check, his invitation had been tucked neatly into Julian's, and everything was in order...) certainly seemed to indicate that he had not yet grown out of it, but he was only completely serious about a few things, his job was generally one of them, and knowing people was part of that job.

But, there were parts to be played...

"Stark...how...can this be?"

Traegan frowned, turned his head ever so slightly to bring Julian into his line of sight, and arched one eyebrow, "I am uncertain. This is supremely illogical."

Thus it was that Lesley's first glimpse of the two close-up would include a matched set of idiot grins.

Mieka raised an eyebrow curiously, and the other Eldar merely buried her face in her hand with an exasperated look, and began translating the reply. “She says that you need not know her name, and if you’re going to use that kind of language, then you would need to be quite prepared to back it up,” Nais looked at Sempero sternly. “And if you are wise, you will not take her up on that. What makes her smile isn’t the kind of thing that the likes of you will want to be involved in…”

“You know, they say to beware strangers bearing gifts,” Mas replies with a smile, giving the parrot a quick scan while its there. “Its good to meet you, Signora Resnick. Angelus Massetti, at your service. And my partner is indeed Javier Pascali. The courtesy is much appreciated, though you’ll understand if I have to clear it with home first. Lack of coverage is always a problem, but with these people …” He trails off and shrugs slightly, taking turns looking her in the eye, and continuing to make his scans of the room and his wards.

“The ‘personal favor’, now – what could an old rowdy like myself have possibly done to gain the favor of such a lovely lady?” Massetti wriggles his brows slightly, then makes a quick query in his native language via Spook concerning the contacts.

--- --- ---

“A…ah, charming pair, Lady Asure,” Marcus replied to her question, politely coughing soon after as he tried to cover his nervousness at the line of conversation. “I’m certain they are a indeed credit to their fine family, yes.”

The exchange concerning the serving girl got mixed responses, though both siblings looked uncomfortable. Naiya arched one brow slightly, her chin coming up in that imperious manner so familiar in her mother, though lacking the immediate fire that generally followed. She cleared her throat quietly, and looked away as if embarrassed – not for herself, but for Lady Asure for essentially abusing her station at the girl’s obvious distress and expense. She of course, remained composed, and aloof, though with a careful eye on her brother.

Marcus looked affronted, but at a look from his sister, closed his mouth on what he was about to say, remembering their lessons and currently, their status as guests. It was with a bit more effort he smoothed his frown as the woman berated the girl, though a touch of alarm flared at the mention of ‘meeting after’.

Neither wanted to burden the girl any further, and they both gently declined, each offering the poor dear an encouraging smile and their thanks for her asking. Anything further would, in their culture, be considered … rude.

The old man’s outburst elicited curious glances by all five of the Dominion folk, but as no further outbursts or problems were forthcoming, their attention quickly returned to their tasks at hand.

Marcus offers a close-lipped smile and gentle nod to the AdminCoordinator to reassure that no offense is taken in the least, being well-versed in basic decorum and knowledge of their allies. They were after all, not only a very effective group, but a fascinating one as well. He’d often lamented privately that he was tasked with his current responsibilities and wasn’t free to further explore their culture as his leisure – among a plethora of others he would have liked to learn more about, granted.

“I think you’ll find, Lady Asure, that with the panNorm, there is little they cannot accomplish if they set their minds to it. Truly a resourceful species,” he added after the AdminCoordinator had finished, with a respectful tilt of his head.

They both did nothing but fidget and complain during the entire flight, as eight-year-olds were wont to do.

Through the entire flight.

It wasn't an entirely unpleasant flight, however. The Raptoria Rex was designed with the comfort of it's passengers in mind, and the squat, somewhat boxy shuttle with it's trio of scythe-like wings at the rear made good time after it jumped into orbit. In truth, Aeselle Colthique didn't quite know where they were as the little shuttle juddered from the transition into an atmosphere. As the Ambassador to the Western Reaches, it was her duty to liaise with pretty much every society that had managed to crawl it's way up into the heavens, and frankly the paperwork kept her from really ever actually doing anything that might be interpreted as 'fun.' There was always some trade agreement to sign, propose, or ratify with the higher-ups back home, amongst a dozen other things. She had been pleading for the help of another thirty or so ambassadors, but nothing had happened after nearly a decade. Often she thought her superiors had sent her out here to drive her mad, though she often surprised them by actually being good at her job... in spite of the snail's pace of progress.

When she wasn't shackled to her desk, she spent much of the rest of the time with her children. Scarlett and Ellenith were eight now, and growing quickly. Despite being the senior druchii ambassador and thus quite far from home, there were some of her people's traditions that she was keen to pass on to her daughters. As teh girls had just passed their eighth birthday only two months priory, tradition dictated that Aeselle would stary bringing the girls along to events and important occasions, so that they could begin their learning. The three had gladly spent several days in deep conversation before finally coming up with costumes for this particular event; an identical pair of little three-foot tall penguins. It had taken doing, but she had made it happen for the girls, who now had to learn to be on their best behaviour for mom.

For her part, Aeselle enjoyed the chance to dress up, as it had been years since the last time. She had fashioned a costume like the ancient druchii sorceresses of old. A long skirt clung to her hips, cut all the way up on both sides right up the metalic belt, from which were hung plenty of small baubles and hooks. Her top was rather unconventional, as it consisted of a 'V' made of a thin, flexible metal who's curved ends supported her brassiere. On her shoulders she wore large, triangular cloth pauldrons, from which fluttered a dark cloak of feathers. Finally, around her head she wore a brass circlet, from which rose three tall prongs, like a trident, on her brow. Her glossy, black, mid-shoulder length hair mostly spilled freely behind her, which hid the actual circlet part of her headdress nicely.

A soft thud finally marked their landing, and the odd trio departed their boxy little ship. Aeselle held each girl's hand as they walked, Scarlett, with her unheard-off in a druchii blonde hair and blue eyes on the right, and Ellenith the very mirror of her mother with black hair and crimson eyes, on the left.

"Now remember... I know you haven't seem many foreigners and, well... aliens, but be good and try not to stare..."

"Yes mum!" they answered in perfect unison, their little smiling faces sticking out from under their costume's beak, and they shuffled their way into the back of the hall somewhere...

(Since that's probably a terrible descripion of what she's wearing, This (http://smg.photobucket.com/albums/v228/NSIndy/Random%20Junk/?action=view&current=druchiisorc.jpg) is probably much more succinct.)

Nathicana

Lois knew, loosely, that the Dominion had some form of personal long range tie-in to their intelligence service, but those sorts of details, like what it was called, were immaterial to her. And, while basic Earth languages, particularly those of Romantic origin, were always loaded in her language module, she did not bother to translate. Whether or not Massetti was asking what he said he was asking was supremely immaterial to her.

As for the man’s examination of the parrot, it looked like a stereotypical parrot – mostly bright red with yellow, green, and blue highlights. Perhaps even to the point of absurdly stereotypical. But there was nothing to indicate that it was not a real parrot. If you watched closely enough, it even appeared to be breathing. Which it was – sampling the air for potential toxins. Tending to be heavier than air, poison gases are regularly added to rooms from the ceiling, after all. But that was immaterial as well.

The game was afoot, after all, as they say. “Well,” the Guard officer replied saucily, “can’t a girl just build up favors for later?” She grinned. The stress was playful and teasing, but very obviously there. “Besides, I like your outfit. Pirates are so last year, but the Colonel insisted.”

Meanwhile, her covered eye very carefully tracked Lesley’s exact relative position to the bodyguard as the page led the Lady across the room. While Revenians might not be Lois’ first choice of people for the First Lady to talk to, given their strangeness, they were allies, and almost universally armed heavily and competent with weapons if things went to hell. Probably not any better options present, since she had seen no Britmattians.

Surely those two could keep her alive for the thirty, maybe forty-five, seconds it would take to get to the Imperial President’s wife if things went south.

Gehenna

Nina Hartley let her cold reptilian gaze run slowly over first Val and then Serena, her tongue flickering out to taste the air around them. Admittedly, unlike an actual snake’s tongue, the costume tongue did absolutely nothing for her but draw things inside the mask’s snout where she could actually get them to her mouth.

This was the last time she let her father design a masquerade ball costume for her. Or anyone, for that matter. The old man was too damn creative, even without Anson to help him with programming. Though Nina had a feeling he had somehow gotten the cooperation of the Cultural Understanding’s CEI with that. On the other hand, maybe releasing a line of high quality Halloween costumes when they returned home might be a good idea. The money, at this point, was unimportant to either her or her father, but the business parts – sales, marketing, planning – those could be fun.

“I’m told it’ssss not polite to eat people on firssst meeting,” she said, valiantly holding back her laughter. Playing a snake was so much fun. “Let’sss try ssome of the provided food.”

Then her gaze sharpened, and even with the fake reptilian eyes, Val and Serena could no doubt pick up on it. “My god, isss that real cloth?” Heedless of the propriety of such an action, she stuck out her hand and lightly brushed it across Serena’s gown. Unfortunately for Nina, her nano-fabric scale covered hand was reduced in sensitivity enough that there was little texture to what she touched.

Revenia

Lesley’s first impression of the two grinning idiots is as expected – she has to force down laughter. But then, she has to do that a lot at diplomatic functions, and even moreso around Revenians. Revenians are, perhaps, one of the funniest groups of people she has ever encountered, at least, in that situational irony kind of way.

As for how she recognized them? Well, as allies, the facial recognition parameters built into one of her many implants was well up to date on them, and she was fairly certain she had met this Stark in passing once before, somewhere. Diplomats tended to get around, after all. And besides, after the stunt with the flamingo, which the First Lady had missed, facing the wrong direction at the time, they were making little to no effort to disguise their identities.

“Thank you,” she rumbled in her demonic voice to the page, effectively dismissing him, before turning those fiery eyes onto the two jokesters before her. Fairly tall for a woman without her claw-heeled boots, the two were still taller than her in them, as Revenians seemed to be fairly tall on the whole.

“Baron Highspire, Administrator Stark, how delightful.” The demonic face stretched into a smile, and Lesley had to bite back a wince as some bleed over from Julian’s psi-blockers hit her empathic talents. It felt like a physical presence of white-noise to her, and she was forced to dial up her own implant to compensate. The tiny field and chemical combination spread like cool water through her mind and she nearly sighed in relief. “Which of our delightful companions for the evening do you find so amusing?”

The question was innocent enough. She did not suspect her own apparent involvement in their entertainment, and there were plenty of other amusing personalities to go around.

Anyone else?

Sadly ignored by the page, Thomas Un continued to stand where he had been left, a little shocked, then finally shrugged to himself. Apparently, his costume as a robot wearing an orc had been more shocking to the host sensibilities than he had first believed. A soldier once, long ago, he had not completely failed to notice the slightly increased attention security was paying to him, and thought that they must have better things to do than watch a 90-year old human who had not received the lifelen treatments in his youth.

He sampled another glass of the delightful drink, whatever it was, and then helped himself to some of the finger foods from a nearby server. He reminded himself not to do that again, at the lad’s terrified expression.

No matter. He had plenty of experience. He was sure he could find someone to talk to on his own, in good time.

But for now, more drink.

Julian smiled, much less foolishly than prior, and nodded in that way that Revenians sometimes would, when acknowledging a point that someone else had made some time ago.

"Please, m'lady, there are something on the order of twelve Barons Highspire on Morgathi; call me Julian."

Traegan, aware of the truth of the statement -- and Julian's uncharacteristic delivery of what was almost a stock phrase for him, more normally: 'There are something on the order of twelve Baronies of Highspire on Morgathi, and mine is among the least impressive; call me Julian,' took an instant to reformulate what he had been about to say.

"Lacking the title necessary to begin being cavalier about its inclusion, I can only offer the use of my first name unqualified. Traegan, if you please. And for our humor, it is not directed at any particular persons save ourselves. Recognition of the parochial nature of our society, I suppose. This sort of grandiose affair is quite beyond us."

Julian chuckled, nodding, "I would like to think that we were simply too frugal to justify the expense, or that we prefer more meaningful, intimate affairs, but, personally, I suspect it has something to do with our resistance to most intoxicants."

Traegan snorted, "Cultural Sanity, Julian."

Julian narrowed his eyes, "Saying what about the outliers?"

Traegan's right hand lifted upwards, "Touché, sir."

Lady Serena watched the snake’s hand, wondering at first what she had in mind. She almost let out a sigh of relief when she mentioned the material of her dress. “Oh, yes, it is. It is supposed to look like smouldering coal or something. At least that is how it was described by the designer.” She finally finished, happy to be discussing something other than the Roanian food.

Her attention focused on the material of the reptile standing before her. “Talking about material, what is this? It is very intriguing.” She followed Nina’s example and ran her fingers over the woman’s arm. “It looks and feels...real.” She turned to her brother. “Have you ever seen anything like this before?”

Val, remaining the gentlemen, did not reach out and touch the woman before him, instead he just ran his eye over the material. “It is very impressive. Full marks to the designer both for style and detail.”

Laughing at her brother’s unease, Serena took up the conversation again. “It is truly amazing.” The younger sibling suddenly hoped they had not wrongly assumed that the being in front of them was in fact wearing a costume and was not really some naked non-human.

Nerrida smiled at the Pan norm and the others that had assembled in one reasonably large group. "Thank you, and you're right. It can be difficult only representing yourself but it also gives a certain amount of freedom that one bound to represent a large group such as a national or corporate entity cannot afford. Speaking of which... Lady Asure, It's supreme idiocy to gain the ire of someone you are entrusting you're food to. Excuse me."

She did take a certain degree umbrage at the way the Lady treated the serving girl and decided that now she had an excuse might take some time away from this socialising so she could have a drink, nothing alcoholic - fruit juice sounded good. She'd make her own way and get some. Using the consumption of the drink as a cover for continuing her duty in keeping an eye on the CEO.

Nerrida had seen the first signs of stirring of the Old man and she wasn't suprised when he made a scene, while Trevor as always kept 'in character', calm and in control while giving the appearance of the heirs being in control.

Though the comment about the Emperor's coming of age party, being Alessa's father and a rather... interesting figure in Roanian political history, did make him inwardly joke only those who knew him well, should of been able to detect it.

Trevor got the sense from them that there was something that wasn't being said by the heirs, but now was not the time details. Trevor smiled at the Heir an with a nod of the head he spoke "Glad to hear it, unless you would like to discuss details of services that would be required now, I can arrange an assessment team to be available soon after the party."

Gehenna

“Sssorry,” the snake woman began, “it hasss been a while sssince have I sssseen anyone work in real fabricssss. Leather, fur, and of coursse, ssshimmersssilk are the only thingsss one sseess real any more in the Federation. Everything else hasss been replaced by nano-material fabricsss, like thisss.” Nina wriggled her fingers to show what she meant.

“Nano-fabricsss can sssimulate mosst any material except ssshimmersssilk. My father came up with thisss outfit.” While the reptilian eyes in the mask were incapable of doing so, the two people the fashion designer was speaking to would get a definite sense of her rolling her eyes. “Sssometimesss, he goesss overboard. Perssonally, I think the limitationsss posed by real fabricsss are a occasionally a challenge, not a hindrance. That isss why I am ssso impressssed with your dresssss.”

Revenia

Lesley smiled, stretching the grotesque vision that was her mask in unheard of ways, as she listened to the two relatively senior representatives banter back and forth like children, though she forcefully suppressed her maternal instinct to treat them as such. It was the view of the Federation’s best anthropologists and its intelligence service that the Revenians were not truly parochial, merely isolated.

While perhaps that was a good thing in an ally to serve as a strategic reserve, it was less useful in a diplomatic setting, as the abrupt failure of the Axis had shown in startling clarity.

“Well, then, Traegan, Julian, call me Lesley.” She leaned forward conspiratorially. “Though not in front of other people. You wouldn’t want to give away a lady’s costume, now would you?” Again the disturbing grin.

“So, if alcohol doesn’t do it for you gentlemen, what does?”

Alakantar’s wanderings had led him through one of the more sparsely populated sections of the ballroom, where several tables had been set up for all the guests. But nary a soul lingered around there as they were still quite happily socializing with each other and had little reason to break up their conversations to be seated at this time. So the drow, sensing this opportunity to avoid everyone else and to have some time to consider his own thoughts, simply chose one that was entirely empty and slumped down into a chair with a heavy sigh.

However, he was soon greeted by the subdued sound of the Dread Lady’s voice being transmitted through his earpiece in response to the earlier statements that had been made. He listened intently to every word that she spoke and carefully jotted down the key points upon a small notepad he retrieved from his jacket pocket. But partially due to the anxiety he felt within him, the simple number two pencil alternated wildly between jagged strokes and smooth lines across the paper, becoming mostly illegible to anyone but him.

“Thank you for the advice and all the help you’ve given, Nathicana. It’s greatly appreciated,” Alakantar graciously replied to her once she had finished speaking. “I think I’m going to take some time alone here and carefully consider everything you’ve said before I make any decision. After all, it’s probably best not to rush into these sorts of things haphazardly…” He then paused briefly. “…I’ll keep you advised on what I plan on doing, if anything.”

Nothing more was said by the drow; nothing more needed to be said, so Alakantar turned his thoughts away from the conversation and downward onto what had been written. It seemed that these words were exactly what he needed in this time of quiet contemplation, and he was certainly glad that Nathicana had provided them. He knew that she would be the best person to go to concerning this situation since he considered her to be far wiser than he ever had been and was undoubtedly more experienced. Her advice was surely something he could not take for granted.

With that very thought in mind, he set about considering each one of her points, starting with the very first, of course. ‘Consider where its comes from’, he thought to himself. Well…Nicomediel blames Calavyr for the suicide of his daughter, so it seems rather obvious there that he wants vengeance for it. But his problem is compounded by the fact that he can’t go and have the man done away with because of the Empress forbidding it. So that’s where I’m supposedly coming in at since I’m an outsider and not quite bound by those same rules. I can’t exactly fault him for wanting this and going though any means to have it. I can’t say that I wouldn’t do the same thing in his situation. The fact that I’m even considering it places me one step closer to thinking in that way.

But this leads me into whether or not I trust the man and everything that he has said. There’s a slight possibility that he is either lying or, at the very least, his emotions have clouded his judgment. Though it would appear that the death of his daughter is public knowledge, and I would not put it past Calavyr to be responsible for such a thing. So many possibilities exist for such a thing…she could have possibly been taken advantage of or even worse he could have simply raped her for all I know and the same could’ve driven her to kill herself…alternatively, he could have done something to her and he would have been either imprisoned or executed had she made it public, so he might have made it look to be a suicide…but I’m now rambling into all sorts of possible situations…anyway…

I honestly don’t consider this to be some elaborate lie put together in order to get me to kill Calavyr, for Nicomediel has placed far too much faith in one person to remove him. Plus, there is always the substantial amount of risk involved on his part. I’m an unknown person to many here and one where others might not have the desire to place high amounts of trust in because of that. I could very well turn around and sell him out to the authorities and to Calavyr. I’m sure he understands that as well I do. But, understandably, people are not always logical and do have a tendency to do illogical things so that must always be kept in mind no matter the situation.

Though, despite the possibility of that happening, I believe that the outcome ought to be the same no matter what the reasoning. Nicomediel would lose his primary opponent within the Roanian house system, allowing the man to increase his power perhaps, but that may not be for the worst when considering the house’s tradition of ruling over the Divine Imperium’s colony worlds and comprising a considerable majority of its diplomatic staff. One does not attain that status by being inept. Also, Seraph would lose its leader, probably sending the entire house into chaos over who succeeds the man. But that could also bring forth someone who is far better to lead it, someone who would not be as difficult to work with or as harmful to others. This would also change around the order of succession for the throne, admittedly, but while it really isn’t my place to use this as part of my decision – after all, I have no desires to actively meddle in the internal governmental affairs of others – I have to say that it might also be for the better if he was gone.

But that in itself does not entirely matter so much as my own reasons for following through with it. I honestly don’t want to be looking over my shoulder for the rest of my life and worrying about Arielle every little minute when I’m not there. He’s done so much to screw up our lives and even beyond the constant harassment of her, he’s been behind all these attempts to kill her or to imprison her. I fear that if he doesn’t succeed now that, if we have any children in our future, they might also become targets, either as a way to get to her or to simply punish us both. If I follow through with this plan, then this threat would be removed for Arielle, for myself, for Nicomediel, and for countless others who have fallen prey to this man’s vile desires. Perhaps the world would be a better place for it.

His eyes trailed down the notepad toward the third point, and realizing that he had answered it partially, he decided that he might as well go ahead with that one so long as he was still on this train of thought. The risk… He mulled that over in his head several more times. …the only real risk that I could see coming from this would unfortunately be my own death. I can’t say that it looks all that appealing to me really. I’m not exactly the type of person who has a death wish or likes being in situations where that might be the case. But…I don’t think that I can avoid it for much longer. Hell, I’m constantly facing death from this man all too often. If that is my fate, I’d rather have it end fighting than be stabbed in the back in some dark alleyway, but I’m not going to run in there and prepare to die either. That is too damned foolish. If anything, I’d need to prepare for the worst and hope for the best…

The pencil then scribbled over the first and third points that Nathicana had made, obscuring them under a thick layer of graphite. Two had been considered and decided upon, only two more remained.

‘Consider the consequences’…well…I cannot say with any significant degree of certainty what would happen with everyone if I were to follow through with this. There’s the things that could very well happen on the Roanian side of matter, plus, there’s a possibility that the Hakoens would become even more fervent in their desire to seize Arielle or simply kill her for being a disgrace to her family. But that wouldn’t be as terrible as one would think because, if that were the case, the more this consumes their thoughts, the more of a chance there is for a mistake to be made to their detriment. Though, on the other hand, after losing someone so valuable to their cause, perhaps they will be demotivated enough to stop all of this from continuing….

But there’s something else to consider too alongside of this: how any of this would affect Arielle. I mean, she’s been through a hell of a lot in the time we’ve been together, and I could make a decision off of that that it would create little to no additional stress for her. Then again, I don’t know if she’d begin to blame herself again for me having to go to these extremes for her. But, on the other side of matters, I’m beginning to honestly think that no matter what happens today, in the end, it’s going to come down with the death of someone. It’s bound to happen; it’s the only way this is all going to stop. And I don’t think it’s going to make much of a difference if it happens now or later.

Another audible sigh accompanied the tap of his pencil against the table as he tried to turn his spiraling thoughts back onto the remainder of what all he had to consider. He understood that he had to attempt to keep his emotions toned down enough so that he would not base his decision entirely upon them. That was not to say that he would disregard them entirely, but that he did not want to do anything foolish because of them.

Let’s see…eh…elsewhere, particularly with the Corporation and the NDA, I don’t really foresee this creating a conflict between us and the Roanians as several members already maintain rather frigid relations with the Divine Imperium and vice versa. And from the Roanian side of matters, if I recall correctly, I believe such a duel would be accounted for under their laws, and mind you, they hold those in high regard.
Plus, if anything, perhaps it would smooth over relations between us and them in some ways, because House Cheruv represents a sizeable portion of their diplomatic corps and gubernatorial positions. Outside of the alliance is where I’m not all that certain about because I don’t know how much of an affect it would have on them really. That would depend mostly on what sort of relations they have with House Seraph and how they feel about the participation of high ranking members of government within these duels.

Though, I would hope that they would seek out all the necessary information to consider their stance toward it and decide whether or not this would have an impact on any relations, but beyond that, I cannot control what everyone else would think and I cannot simply please everyone. Everything I do is under scrutiny by others, and if I consider that every single time I tried to do anything, nothing would ever get done. Yes, I ought to take others into consideration when I make a decision, and I should ask the people I trust for advice, but there comes a point where one has to do what they believe is necessary given the situation…

Over the past several minutes a significant degree of anxiety and stress had risen up within him, causing his body to pulse with tremendous heat inside this stuffy tuxedo. So he decided that enough was enough, and pivoted the helmet off its shoulder-mounted, removing the barely ventilated piece of armor with a sigh of relief as the coolness of the surrounding room stuck his face. He placed it carefully upon the table and proceeded to free his long, snow-white hair from inside the collar of his jacket, where he had kept it earlier so that it would not get caught in either the helmet or the mechanics of his spider arms. Now, finally free of that constricting thing, he buried his head in his hands and considered the very last point.

Basically, what that comes down to is whether or not I want to do this and is it the right time…essentially, what is my final decision? He paused briefly yet again. Overall, I’ve come to the conclusion that, concerning the consequences, there are simply too many variables that could change things for the better or for worse. I think that there is a high probability for the outcome to turn out for the best, but again, I can’t be certain of that. If anything, this would not have that much of an impact beyond my family, which is certainly what everyone else hopes for.

Now, concerning the payoff from going through with this, I see it being largely positive at the very most – Arielle and I can finally live our lives in peace without having to constantly worry about all this, having to worry about harm or death everywhere we go outside the four walls of our home, or even in them – and having absolutely no effect at the very least – the Hakoens may just continue to pursue us as they’ve always done, just more directly.

However, what I am finding is that this all flows toward a single concept: I have an opportunity to end the suffering of my family and that of countless others who have been harmed by this man. Which would be right: do I take matters into my own hands, end the life of another to benefit the well-being of others, and in doing so, commit an act that I’ve tried so desperately hard to avoid for my entire life; an act that I’ve always feared would turn me from this path I’m supposed to be on…or…do I not follow through with this plan, return back to my home and wait for him to make the next move so I could have some sort of moral justification for defense, which could possibly allow him to harm others in the meantime?

Alakantar’s hands lowered from his face and he stared forward, shaking his head at all his thoughts regretfully upon reaching the conclusion that he so desperately sought for all this while. All he could do now was to tell Nicomediel what his final decision would be in this matter. Then, placing the pen and notepad back into his jacket pocket, he rose from the table, his helmet in one hand, and made his way back across the ballroom floor to where the Patrician of House Cheruv was still seated, waiting for him. On his way, he made sure to advise Nathicana of what he had decided upon, but did nothing more.

Despite any emotions that were still lingering around within his mind, he had shown none of them when he approached the man, his face simply appearing deadened to all that was around him. This was not the time for such things, he knew, and from this point forward, there was really no turning back so any regrets he had would have to be put to rest here and now.

“I will accept your plan as stated,” he finally replied rather flatly.

Grabbing a glass of something that had a chance of being alcoholic from a server, Daithí nodded to the person that had interjected earlier and had just excused himself. As interesting as a discussion the bluebird's diet and habitat was to the man, Daithí only studied a few basic facts for the party, and did not share his curiosity.

As he took a sip, Radmiel turned back to talk to him again.

“Ah, no. Not at the moment. Just having a, ah, refreshing beverage.”

Damn. Cider.

“Something amiss?”

Sentient Peoples

"Put your guns up, you blockheads." Daria languorously waved her way past the guards, deliberately ignoring a long, low whistle as she passed. "You must be... Thomas Un, correct? I have heard much of you from our Empress." The woman smoothed the sides of her newly chosen green dress and then looked up at him, pouting her lips for a moment. "Your costume is not quite what I expected, yet the doorguard tells me that this is you."

She slowly curtsied, her dress straining as she did to contain her curves (though managing it far better than did her previous costume. "I was wondering... if... we might discuss business?" The woman looked down at her curves and then up at him, anger momentarily suffusing her features. "They tell me you are the best in the galaxy, that no request is beyond your means. I wish you to make me appear to be a man, in body, if not in face. I will pay any price." She grabbed his hands in her delicate ones. "Please, Master Un."

DLN, Ants, etc

The serving girl nodded at Marcus and Naiya, still trembling, and fled for her life as Asure turned her attention back to the guests. "Oh, you have to be forceful with some of these people, you know. It helps concentrate their minds." The older woman waved to someone, and suddenly Marcus' tormentors the twins were walking over to join the conversation.

Eisa blew the young man a delicate kiss, while her sister smiled at Naiya in a friendly fashion. "Mother, we're bored." Eisa said, resting her hand on Marcus with the barest of physical contact. "Why hasn't Lessy started the dancing?"

Asure's expression soured. "Light alone knows, dear." The light chamber music in the background filtered into the conversation for a moment, and then the Matriarch rolled her shoulders in a shrug. "That girl's head isn't screwed on straight. She should have been here 20 minutes ago. At any rate, I agree with you, Lady Nathicana. They certainly seem a very... enterprising race."


Garbage Men

"Stay or go, man." Kousenel said with a toss of his head. "It matters not to us." The Roanian held out his glass of wine. "To business, though. We feel that you have much to offer us."

Tseaby

Radmiel chose his words carefully. "You've been... left unbusy for a little while, right? Have you seen or heard anyone in any way... suspicious?" The Grand Vizier looked around the room and leaned forward to hear the bear's response.

New Naggeroth

A serving girl wandered over to the woman and curtsied, then smiled uncertainly at the two children. "Would you and your..." Words did, temporarily, fail her. Roanian children were rarely seen and almost never heard of at events like these. "Children, like anything?"

Northrop-Grumman

Nicomediel beamed and took Alakantar's hands. "You have made the right decision, young man." The Roanian studied Alakantar for a moment, and then decided to be genial. "Don't worry, your first kill is always the hardest."

Aeselle gave the serving girl a warm smile, while both of her little penguin-children looked up with bright grins, clearly excited to meet new people! "Ah, yes... a couple of glasses of water would be lovely..." she leaned in close, and whispered, "If you, uhm... could find some plastic cups, instead of glass, for the girls I'd really appreciate it.." With that, she leads the girls farther into the hall, thinking that she might have recognized a person or two here...

“I think your father did a wonderfully with your costume,” Serena enthused, still unable to get over the fact that the skin was not real. “He has a good eye for detail, and although I can see that the costume is a little restrictive,” she indicated Nina’s hands. “I am sure you must have made quite an impression entering. Do you not thing, Val?”

The until then quiet Lord Stratton found himself back in the conversation of costumes, unfortunately not one of his favourite topics, considering the number of times he had listened to his sister’s ideas for their own. “I know that I would have been a little weary of you,” he said with a genuine smile. “And if I may, I hope that you can pass on my admiration to your father for his design.”

“Oh, most definitely. I would like to add mine to that too.” Serena broke in, stealing back the conversation from her brother and then changing the topic totally. “Is this your first time here? In Rudan, I mean.” She graced Nina with another smile. “I was very excited about coming and a little...apprehensive. New things tend to do that, do they not?”

“So they say…” Alakantar stated quite bluntly to the man, shaking his hand with a firm grasp. He did not speak of it further though, for he had little intention of lingering on such thoughts any longer than what was necessary. This was not something he desired to discuss at the moment as he had concerns that the topic would spur yet another string of emotions within him or possibly cause him to begin to question the decision that he had made. And that was certainly not what he needed at this point.

But now sensing a lull in the conversation and still feeling fairly warm – removing his helmet only seemed to relieve part of that problem as there was still a moderate amount of weight upon his torso from the robotic arms – he managed to catch a serving girl passing by and simply ordered a glass of ice water, nothing strong really as he just wanted to relieve his thirst and not have the effects of an alcoholic drink flowing through him in the slightest. Then after she took the order and proceeded to walk away, Alakantar turned back toward Nicomediel.

“So, is there anything else I would personally need for this plan?” the drow asked. “And when do we intend on beginning it, if you don’t mind? I'd rather have a general idea of what and when, to be honest.”

"Certainly not."

Traegan smiled pleasantly, he had a very practiced smile, about as one would expect from the man who was, probably, the RDS' second best diplomat. There was nothing oily or snide about that smile, and that was perhaps one of the reasons he was the RDS' second best diplomat -- there was that inescapable degree of genuineness to him and to his statements that was, on several levels, priceless.

"That is a difficult thing to answer, my lady. We certainly have our hobbies -- I ski, Julian is a pretty fair Jeweler..."

Julian directed his eyes upward for a moment, but otherwise kept a straight face.

Traegan shook his head momentarily, but otherwise showed no reaction, "But I suspect that wasn't exactly what you meant. We still drink alcohol, but we do not do so to get drunk. Recreational drug use in general is fairly rare, though not unheard of. There are some things that will still...do it for us...but they are fairly rare and often unpleasant."

Julian turned away for a moment, as if he was suddenly distracted by something off in the distance, or perhaps he had to sneeze, there were many possibilities, though the true one was not terrifically obvious. Traegan's last statement hit close to home, and perhaps he wasn't as over the whole thing as he probably ought to be...but it was only a few seconds until the emotion passed and he turned back around...

Daithí arched an eyebrow at the question, then looked pensive for a moment.

“Well,” he said quietly as he shifted his weight, “ I thought I saw someone get led away, but I didn't quite catch what had happened. Also, there was one server who seemed to be particularly keen on making sure people could see her. I believe she was making her way towards a rear exit as she moved about.”

There was a server who seemed to be a bit more showy than the others, but he really had no clue where she went. As Radmiel did not appear to be part of the security detail, Daithí wasn't quite sure what he was after, but was intrigued that he had taken an interest in what he had seen.

The monarch-dress was speaking to him, with a pleasant and slightly accented female voice, Naragan realised with a slight start. Holding his tongue a moment, the young potentate took in the simple beauty of Nathicana's carefully-shaped dress, his mind briefly wondering whose skillful hand had cut and sewn the material. Not wishing to seem unseemly - he was fairly sure that it was not the done thing to 'admire' a lady for too long, or too closely, even in this situation, surrounded by those whose office often seemed to elevate them beyond the plebian concerns of law or morality - he returned the smile, still with the slight, quiet nervousness of one to whom such things as this are neither natural, nor eased by extensive experience.

"Well," he began, shrugging a little and sending the hanging accountrements rattling merrily, "there's not really very much to tell. We dwell somewhat outside the Milky Way galaxy, and have been expanding into our own near abroad for some time. This," he continued, gesturing down his costumed body, "is the traditional attire of the hunter-warriors." Naragan drew a deep breath, his smile becoming a little thin, as he pushed the unusually lifelike, well-mounted head in its net bag forward a little. "Oyada did not welcome new arrivals. The hunters, and the soldiers, became the most revered men of society because they could keep us all safe from... well, that." The bag bounced slightly on his thigh, as though in a gesture of solidarity, as its long-dead occupant's fangs set the cords that suspended it twanging inaudibly, its glassy eyes staring, impassively, at the functional ostentatiousness around it, and sat squarely in the assembed guests' line of sight.

Roania

To say that Thomas Un was surprised when he was hurriedly approached by the black haired woman with purple streaks would have been an understatement. Her obvious physical attributes marked her as Roanian, as well as her manner of dress, despite the costuming. He was even more shocked when she ordered the guards to stand down, and even more surprised, given his observations of Roanian culture in the last few weeks, that they listened to a woman.

It was about then that he figured out who she was, as she began to ramble. Fortunately, parsing her words was not at all difficult if he slowed them down in his head. When she grabbed his orc-disguised robot hands, though, he began to realize just how desperate she must be. His costume had kept most of the Roanians steering well clear of him since his arrival. In fact, prior to that moment, the only ones not giving him wide berth were the not so subtly hiding guards regarding him with an almost gleeful anticipation of the order to shoot.

“Well, milady,” he began, pondering what exactly to say, “I’m flattered beyond belief at that description, but if I had been the best in the galaxy, I no doubt would have won the competition to design Her Majesty’s wardrobe.” Enough of that, Thomas, he told himself. Help the customer.

“I’m not sure why you would wish to cover up such stunning features. In fact, to fully appreciate them, they should probably be revealed regularly.” He shrugged indolently, but much of the motion was disguised by his costume as his lips curled into a slightly suggestive smirk. After a moment of running the glowing robotic eyes over her, he managed to wipe it away. “But you say you’re willing to do anything, and I’m always up for a challenge…” His voice faded away, and then came back, completely business-like. “What time works best for you tomorrow? My daughter can make the initial measurements and holographs, if you would be more comfortable with that, since you wish to appear less feminine.” His mouth quirks slightly, amused. “Though if that was the case, this was not your best choice of costume.”

His cold, inhuman, glowing eyes run over her admiringly once more.

Gehenna

Nina shrugged, the glimmering scales amplifying that movement with a flicker of the ambient light. “I have been to Marsss and Venusss before. A planet isss a planet, when all isss ssaid and done. The novelty ssoon wearsss off.” The snake face stretched back into a smile. “Though Rudan isss certainly nicer than thossse two placesss.” Her tongue flickered out again. “The reception here isss much nicer asss well.”

Having noticed the man’s discomfort at the subject of fabrics and costumes, Nina Hartley, fashion designer, brutally brought the conversation back around to it. “So, fire and ice… Is there a subtle message there, or just the contrast?”

Revenia

The description of occasional drug use fit with what she knew of the Star Supremacy, but Lesley was shocked by the information that alcohol had little to no affect on their systems. Admittedly, they were not the first species to be numbered among the Federation’s allies (or residents, for that matter) that that was true of. It hardly seemed to fit with the slightly carefree attitude that had come across in the few interactions she had had with them in the past. A society that put so much stock in individualist combat styles that then could not get drunk and brag about it later?

It hardly seemed to fit, and Lesley was about to inquire as to what Traegan meant when something stopped her. While the implant toned down the sensitivity of her empathic senses, the experienced diplomat in her managed to pick up on the physical clues to Julian’s discomfort. Deciding to bring him out his near funk, she directed the next question to him. “I’ve always admired the styles foreign cultures bring to jewelry. In the Federation it tends towards the basic and straightforward. I don’t know that I’ve seen much Revenian jewelry, though. Actually, none that I know of. That seems like it might be the type of luxury item that would be exported to the Federation.”

Northrop-Grumman, Oyada

Nathicana didn’t respond – she didn’t need to. The gentleman was more than equipped to make the decision he needed to, and she trusted his judgment. After all, she hadn’t really told him anything he didn’t already know, but sometimes it was good to hear it out loud. She stepped back to her current conversational companions just in time to hear the Oyadan lord answer.

She certainly didn’t mind being looked at – she never had – and she nodded thoughtfully, still smiling pleasantly as he spoke, examining his ‘costume’ with interest, and showing nothing but curiosity about the bag’s gruesome contents.

“I’m impressed,” she said thoughtfully. “It strikes me that there are friends and allies of ours that you might find common grounds with – the Sakkrans perhaps, the Kzinti of Scolopendra – impressive warriors. And for hunting, there is rather challenging prey to be found on Titan – I remember well from a safari there – and even moreso, or so I understand, with the Freethinkers. Even the Keepers from the Shogunate, come to think of it – if the same ideals and spirit of sport, warrior might, and challenge still apply?”

Alakantar’s later confirmation elicited a quiet smile from her, all the same.

Good man.

Sentient Peoples

As predicted, home had no problems with Mas trying out some new tech from a nation who had never shown any ill intent, was a good trade partner, and from whom the likelihood of putting together a scheme just for the sake of possibly compromising him for whatever purpose was slim to nil. Not that they weren’t capable – everyone was deemed capable of nefarious doings – there just seemed to be, at this juncture, no potential payoff for such obvious effort.

So she wants to play, eh? Everything else seemed well in hand, though he was trying hard not to laugh at Marcus’ predicament. He subtly tracked Alakantar’s wandering path with his eyes, knowing Pascalli and Nathicana would be taking note as well for whenever things went down. But for now …

“Ah, la mia dolce, now there’s the rub. ‘Later’ leaves so much to the imagination. My thanks on the clothing – it isn’t much different from our usual, to be honest. Its comfortable, allows for easy movement, ample protection and concealment. Black may be cliché, but it works,” he says with a slight shrug and roguish smile. “As for the pirate look – last year or not, you make it look good.”

“Now ah, anything I should know about your gift, here – or is it pop and go?”

Asure, S-14,

The twins were even more embarrassed by Asure’s casual dismissal, and Nerrida’s exit, though they rather agreed with her assessment.

“I rather find you get less sincere results with fear than honest communication,” Marcus says stiffly, only to be once more accosted by Asure’s determined daughters.

Ai, santemariamadredeldio, not again …

Naiya repressed a giggle at her brother’s distress, and nodded politely to the pair, while Marcus twitched at the light touch from Eisa.

“Well to be fair,” Marcus offers, clearing his throat, "It is her party, no? Surely there is a reason for her delay, and I’m certain there’s no reason at all to offer the good Empress any unkindness on account.”

This constant sniping was wearing on him. There was ample maneuvering and sniping at home amongst the titled class, with their constant jockeying for ‘position’ and status. He didn’t like it there, and he certainly didn’t like it here, where he’d hoped in spite of it all to simply enjoy an evening of foreign food and dance an with luck, no heavy politics.

“Marcus,” Naiya says quietly, a slight warning in her tone. She didn’t like the vibes she was getting from the trio, and while it was amusing on some levels to have her brother being prospected like a side of beef, there was something else to their intentions that she couldn’t quite put her finger on, but didn’t make her entirely comfortable. Surely an opportunity to tactfully extricate themselves without leaving the AdminCoordinator alone with Asure would present itself – she was less and less inclined to force that on anyone, let alone someone pleasant.

The AdminCoordinator does not believe in things as vague as 'vibes.' She believes in objective reality, science, and physical evidence. That Nathi's male pupa is generally considered attractive by human (and other endoskeletal) females is a scientifically established matter based on observation and analysis. That most endoskeletals, due to their evolution, retain subtle pheromonal cues and markers is also an established scientific fact. What are apparently Roanian pupae are currently engaging in rather unsubtle courtship rituals of not-really-veiled-at-all suggestion with Marcus; and they are being partially effective, as the male pupa is emitting elevated levels of both arousal and frustration hormones--his body is picking up the hint but he is emotionally annoyed at it. This seems reasonable, given Marcus' known affinities and tendencies. Oddly enough, however, the Roanian females are not emitting pheromones any differently than anyone else nearby (using Lady Asure as a control group)... unexpected from endoskeletal courting ritual.

As she wafts her sensitive antennae back and forth, the AdminCoordinator collates this data and develops two hypotheses, one of which must be null: either all the Roanians are courting or similarly aroused, or they are not. The first is much less likely as it assumes everyone is harboring some sort of secret and currently thought-of desire for someone else and showing this desire simultaneously. As all previous research indicates that the Roanians do not court, mate, or procreate in cycles, such a discovery now would contradict all previous data. Hence, it is more likely that there is no actual attraction for Marcus being shown.

If this is indeed the case, then there is a plot afoot. The AdminCoordinator isn't stupid, nor is she naive; while the panNorm don't have sexual intrigue, they understand that it exists for other species and that understanding it is vital to successfully relating to those species. The Dread Lady has used it to her advantage more than once, after all, even if it was just being attractive enough to make male opposite numbers not think as clearly as they should. Marcus wields no direct political power, though, so what purpose is there to a supposed plot? Blackmail, perhaps, or something more sinister? Could it have anything to do with Lady Asure's interest in the panNorm phylum lacking males? At any rate, the act of mating is a highly unguarded experience that is supremely simple to turn into a political act through ulterior motives. With this in mind, then, the plot could be anything from a simple prank to some attempt to get an emotional foothold on the royal family of the Dominion, but in any case, it is highly unlikely to be positive for the allies of the panNorm.

And one thing that is axiomatic in panNorm thought is that which is not positive for the allies of the panNorm is not positive for the panNorm.

Another is that what is not positive for the panNorm should be opposed with a sufficient, proportional response based on the severity of the potential impact on the panNorm's survival and success.

Luckily, the AdminCoordinator is not a Soldier Red and thus has a somewhat more subtle arsenal to deal with the milder threats to the Hives. "Thank you for the compliment, Imperiale Principe Marcus Treznor," she says, gently returning the nod, "and as for the dancing... I may be about to suggest something mildly inappropriate," she continues in her synthesized voice, pausing to take a sip of juice to create a pause for emphasis, "but is it absolutely necessary for us to wait to dance? I do believe that a philosopher once said that 'while we have legs, let us dance?'"

Naiya and Marcus may just recognize a momentary dip in one of the bee's antennae over one of her eyes as the panNorm emulation of a wink.

Nerrida was torn between observing her boss and the intrigues of what was happening with Asure and the AdminController. And it was then she noticed something.

"Damnit, he doesn't have a glass." she scolded herself aloud but at a volume that was barely even a whisper. She had noticed that the Roanians he was talking to had a glass of wine but HE didn't. And toasting to a deal was not all that heard of, especially when dealing people that 1. Were like Roanians and 2. already had a glass in their hands.

She got the attention of another serving girl and ordered Trevor a red wine.

Meanwhile Trevor was at a bit of a loss, he didn't have a wine glass,how could he properly respond to their toast without one. So for now he merely smiled and gave a slight nod as not noticed a glass of Red wine coming right towards him (with a serving girl attached to it in one way or another) The glass was presented to him.

"Ah, lovely. Thank you. Perfect timing." he left the toast dangling for a second as he swirled and smelled the scent that the wine gave off before returning to the toast. "To business, may we do so for many years to come."

He raised his glass to the same height to a position that formed roughly an equalateral triangle. The servany girl whispered that it was ordered for him by a strange woman, over by the table. She turned to point her out, but Nerrida had gone somewhere else. She had found another rather prime observation point in a corner by a pillar.

She was smiling, as if laughing at something, which she was... at Marcus. There was no way she would let anything like what was happening to him to Trevor. It was just asking for trouble.

Drifting around the room, penguins in tow, Aeselle sought some recognition with the other dignitaries. Finally, after no small amount of searching, she overheard a voice she'd recognized, even if the well-made costume did conceal her identity. She approached slowly, though directly, and gave her and the man accompanying her, and brief cursty.

"Greetings, Dread Lady..." she said, her voice soft and smooth with an ever so slight emphasis on the ess sounds. "It's a pleasure to see you again, after so many years!"

Her smile was indeed sincere; it had been almost two years since she had spent a summer in the Dominion, most of it spent setting up the tiny Naggorothi consulate, though there was also a bit of vacationing too. She'd met the Dread Lady then at a small dinner, and it was an experience that had stuck with her.

She then turned slightly to face Nathi's companion next, the man dressed in some officer's uniform she wasn't familiar with, "Please pardon my interruption, sir. My name is Aeselle Colthique, of the Naggorothi, and it is a pleasure to meet you," Delicately, she held out her hand to him, curious to see if he would shake it, or kiss it.

Patient, the two girls standing together behind their mother waited for their cue for introductions. Sipping on their water, they exchanged little whispers as they glanced around, little eyes bright.

"Elly... is that a giant bug mom's talking to?"

"No Scarlett... that Lady Nathicana... mom met her before. It's just a butterfly costume. But that blue one we passed, that's a real bug, I think..."

This conversation proved short lived, however, as they were quite distracted with their sweets, quite eagerly munching them as quickly and quietly as possible, trying not to draw their mother's ire; while they'd taken a few cookies each initially, they had also liberally lined their pockets with plenty of wrapped goodies for later...

Sentient Peoples

Daria's smile flashed away for a moment, replaced by a fiery scowl. Just for a second, though, and then she was once more in the position of a supplicant, with appropriate expression attached. "The Empress is but a child and does not recognize or appreciate true skill in anything, let alone the work of a master craftsman." Daria's voice was undercut with deep bitterness. "Owing to that, tomorrow is quite free." She draped her cloak back around her shoulders and finally deigned to notice his compliment. "Yes, of course you would say that. You have no idea it is how difficult to be taken seriously when you're a beautiful woman, do you? Especially not by that cretin of a grand vizier..." Her expression grew thunderous for a moment, and she fingered the short wooden staff at her side. This moment passed too, though.

"I do not have the Empress' ... fear of her own body, Master Un. Nor do I have her title, or Lady Asure's... reputation. Reducing my... assets, as you say, might be the only way I have of gaining the respect that I deserve." There was a pause, and then she smiled. "Help me, Master Craftsman Un, and I will get you what you desire."

The Dominion, Ants, Northrop-Grumman

Nesar Cheruv had vanished during the conversation with Alakantar, but now he appeared at Naiya's side. "May I refill your glass?" He asked, ignoring her response and leaning forward to do it. As his head neared hers, he whispered in a very low voice, "Your... brother is in great danger, but confronting them openly will do you and him no good, while escaping their designs could grow even more difficult if he continues to evade them. If you wish to ensure his safety for this evening, do as I say." There was a moment, and then his lips screwed up, and he added, "Please."

The twins, completely ignorant of the ant or their new enemy, were slowly pushing into Marcus' body, perfume wafting across his nose, their soft bodies crushing into his. "That sounds good..." Asure began, then realized the suggestion had come from a giant bug.

Eisa, more confident, pushed on. "Marcus, would you like to dance with us?" She said, smiling warmly at him. "I know a dance that three people can do..."

Behind them, Nicomediel frowned at the question, plainly unused to treating anyone, least of all a foreigner, as a partner in his planning. He leaned forward, and placed his hands on the table. "I would estimate approximately four and a half hours from now, Alessa will begin seeing guests. I shall arrange to have you meet her last, so there will be time for her to observe the duel. I expect you to kill him, or I expect him to arrange a position within which he will be killed. You will be in no danger whatsoever, I assure you. On my word as a nobleman." Nicomediel nodded towards Nathicana. "Go, my friend. Dance with your lady, and put such worries from your mind for the time being."

The guards, deprived of their orcoid prey from earlier, had meanwhile shifted their attention to the AdminCoordinator, their weapons weighed easily in their hands. Their distaste for this duty, this event, and their guests was almost palpable. Asure, for her part, was also studying the ant with a mixture of distrust and contempt. "Yes... perhaps we should have done waiting for that..." she considered her neighbors and amended her wording. "I mean, surely the Empress would prefer for us all to be enjoying ourselves on her birthday party, rather than simply wait here for her until we depart this vale." Then she frowned and swept forward, her hand grabbing Nesar Cheruv's shoulder and dragging him from Naiya. "What are you doing here, Nesar?" She growled.

"Ah... Matriarch." Nesar smoothly answered, his eyes not leaving Naiya. "I was merely asking this charming young lady to join me in a dance before you interrupted." He tugged his shoulder loose and smiled sweetly at the more senior noble.

"Hmph." Asure scowled, dearly wanting to say more, but in control of herself enough to remember her mysterious goals.

Tseaby

Radmiel's expression grew rapidly from calm, to irate, to frustrated, and then, in a bizarre and soul-shaking occurence, terrified. "Oh dear. You've done the right thing. The empire thanks you, my dear... fur... ... thing..." He took off for the closest knot of guards, running as fast as he could, and almost slammed into them. A moment passed, and then the guards split up, the same terrified expression on their own faces.

Behind the bear, a bleary Roanian looked up at him and frowned. "Are you a product of the alcohol, or are you real?"

New Naggeroth

"Sure thing, ma'am." The serving girl went and returned with the plastic glasses, after a moment of searching, as well as Aeselle's own drink. "Are you looking for anyone, ma'am?"

Another servant, meanwhile, had appeared with a tray of sweets in his hands and leaned down by the penguins. "May we offer you anything, miladies? Compliments of the Empress." The tray was stuffed to the brim with sugary biscuits and candies from across the known galaxy.


Garbageman

Both twins offered their own toasts. Then, Kousenel leaned in. "On another point... how much for your woman's night?" He indicated where Nerrida had been.

Ctan, Free

Having bored everyone else in the room, Kouran and his entourage were once more sweeping in the direction of the Ctan's party, a vast gulf parting across the floor before him. Whatever inscrutable forces guided Kouran's path, they were now operating to bring him back to where he had first begun.


Everyone

Guards began to appear and disappear, seeming somewhat disconcerted, but refusing all requests to explain their actions. Occasionally, they peered into the faces of the guests, under the tables, and outside the doors. In the center of the room, Radmiel paced back and forth, most of his cabinet gathered to his side in quiet conference. One of them pointed at the emperor of Oyada and his severed head, but Radmiel shook his own quickly.

Oyada, DLN

Nevertheless, a felinoid was sent off to politely speak to the two of them. "My lord, my lady? Mmmr... the honorable Lord..." The catperson stared at the decapitated skull and opened and closed its mouth, before deciding to just let it hang open. "Uncle Nmmmar?" He said in shock, blinking his beady yellow eyes in fear. "But... when I left the house, you were fine!" The catperson stared at Naragan, plainly on the verge of falling down in fear and worshiping him, his mission forgotten.

Revenia, whoever is surrounding Revenia

Two heavily armed guards, with a small phalanx of them behind them, approached the Revenian group. "You have been acting very suspiciously, my lords." The guard said with a scowl. "We are having a certain issue here, and you have been marked as potentially responsible. Would you care to explain why only one person was marked on your invitation list, and now there are two?"

Even as they spoke, a minor functionary with the guards protecting him was rapidly thumbing through the list. Fortunately, someone more senior had taken the place of the guard. "Lord Julian, please forgive these men." Malham Fell, the man ultimately responsible for all foreign guests in the empire, said as he stepped forward. "We have had a... rather sudden shock, and we'd like you to make our job easier by explaining... your friend's... presence. Not that any of your friends aren't welcome, of course." Malham said, hastily. The Revenians, and their leaders especially, were known for strange and unusual powers.

That did not go quite as planned, and the Roanians are escalating their play. The AdminCoordinator quickly runs through her knowledge of these sorts of events and their protocols, customs, and expectations... and strikes upon something. It's disgusting, but it might just work. Her voice takes on a more diplomatic, negotiating tone as she refuses to think about what she's setting herself up to do and enters the breach once more. "While I am certain such a dance is fascinating, I do believe single partners are much more customary in this setting. While I do not wish to interfere too much, it suddenly occurs to me that I have not danced since forever ago and so I would be truly honored if I could request the first dance from the Imperiale Principe, since apparently there is no complaint with sharing...?"

Lacking the ability to make traditional eye contact, she turns her head directly towards Marcus, extending a velvet-gloved manipulator hand in a good simulation of demureness.

Julian smiled widely, his hands rather conspicuously located far away from Peacemaker's hilt, though the warblade pulsed warmth at his side and a distant, cold part of his mind was calculating the ideal path he would take through the guards, and the strokes he would to fell them as quickly as he could before he was, in turn, struck down -- as would be inevitable.

"It is not my fault, sir, that your ticket-takers have difficulty counting higher than one. Two invitations were presented -- and if only I, at the time, was readily visible to the naked eye, well, the full-fade cloak that my associate wore upon entry wouldn't have fooled even the most rudimentary sensors, nor was it meant to. We had no intentions whatsoever of making it less than perfectly obvious, beyond simple visual foolery, that there were two of us arriving, each of us bearing our own invitations. Mine in my own right, Traegan as the chosen delegate of the Star Supremacy of Revenia. "

His smile grew in magnitude moderately, and slightly more sinister in character.

"Traegan Stark, you know? Never put much stock into the mystique myself, but, then, I don't have to. The stories exist to protect the innocent, and you, my lord, are by every definition an innocent. Don't play games with a Stark of Northfell - you won't win, and they play for keeps."

Traegan glanced at Julian with some concern -- there was a time to bring up the mystique -- the carefully constructed network of legends that were spread about the Ascended -- and he, he, wasn't entirely certain that this was the most opportune moment to invoke those legends...then again, this was Julian.

And Julian was smiling.

Julian reached up and removed his glasses, folding them, and placing them in a pocket of his jacket -- the psi-blockers disengaged as he did so, freeing his talent from their constraint, and as they did so, that peculiar Chovas presence became heavily felt -- the ability most often attributed to the Chovas in the legends was the ability to will an opponent into calmness, and those legends held more than merely an element of truth.

And in that instant it was clear that the legends about the Chovas Lords who quieted riots with glances, who could walk into the middle of a pitched battle and reduce it to cordial discourse through their mere presence were completely and utterly true. It was as if all of a sudden the very air had become semi-solid, like one was submerged in gelatin or something similar. Though, of course, the effect was quite localized. Julian let the effect carry for a few moments, then cut it off utterly, his point having been made.

"But, seeing as you seem to believe that my associate and I are somehow involved in your little conundrum, what say you tell me what it is, and then we can see about more thoroughly clearing our names? Hmm?"

Julian punctuated his suggestion with a surge of power, rising to a fevered pitch then stepping off rapidly, and Traegan stepped forward in concern, his hand rising to his forehead out of unconcious reaction to the spike of pain he felt -- he possessed no unusual talents of his own, beyond what meagre inheritance he had from his Stark blood -- he was, if one was truly dedicated to tracking down exact links, a distant cousin to the current Heir, Dysaryn Stark -- but while his Stark blood prevented him from being casually susceptible to Julian's talent, he was sensitive enough to catch the edges of the thing, and it troubled him. Traegan liked Julian, because Julian was a truly decent person, and this sort of activity was quite out of the norm for the person that Julian normally presented as his public image. Which meant that something had Julian keyed up enough to abandon his 'normality' (though Traegan personally suspected that Julian's normal persona was far less a pretense than his more action-oriented 'soldier act') enough to use his talent like this.

Something had twigged his friend, and that worried Traegan. Worried him enough to step up beside Julian and draw his friend's attention with a flurry of hand movements -- which were responded to in kind. All RDS Crisis Response Team personnel were trained in the Revenian Battle Sign Language, and Traegan would have known it anyway because of who he was -- even the least members of House Stark still had responsibilities, and learning to communicate with other members of the House was one of those responsibilities, and that meant learning, among many other things, Stark Guard Battle Sign -- upon which Revenian Battle Sign was based. The jist of the return was that, no, Julian didn't have a specific reason for his actions, or, more correctly, that he didn't have a reason that he could put into words well enough to satisfy his requirements for doing such a thing, because while 'I had a hunch' was a perfectly viable justification for a thing, it carried with it a connotation of being unable to explain said hunch, so why bother trying? Traegan signed back, a rapid two-stroke statement, automatic and formalized, then stepped back to stand slightly behind Julian and to his left -- formally giving Julian 'lead' in whatever would follow, allowing Julian to act his hunch, but also placing any blame for what might happen firmly upon the Chovas Heir's shoulders.

Julian spared a glance to the guard who had originally spoken, "At the least, it is necessary to know exactly what one is being accused of so that one can properly deny it. It is certainly necessary to note that, concordant to the Valsin Protocols, as established by Symar Valsin of the Watch in cooperation with Leandra Rache of the Guardian Temple, involving an officer of a subscribant entity, in this case the Fleet Marine Corps of the Star Navy of the Star Supremacy of Revenia, myself being an officer of said entity, with a given situation, makes that officer to some degree responsible for the resolution of that situation. That responsibility is multiplied by the legal obligations of a guest to his host. Speak, Master Fell, for my sake -- I have no wish to make this matter more complicated, but I am legally required to resolve this matter, or at least my involvement in it. You are doing your job, Master Fell , help me do mine."

Nathicana smiled warmly at the new arrival, and gracefully returned the curtsy with a dip and swish of her colorful skirts.

“Its good to see you again, Aeselle – I hope life has been treating you well. If I might introduce you to Emperor Shokiwe Naragan of Oyada?” she said, so as to complete the introduction circuit.

The two girls were adorable, and Nathi lifted her mask to smile at them and wave with her fingertips. In some ways, she missed her own two being smaller, still able to curl up on one’s lap and cuddle, still full of curiosity and excitement at every new thing that came their way.

Which caused her to glance in the direction of said children to see how they were managing. Pascalli signaled that all was in hand, or at least that he felt he could handle anything that came up. Marcus looked uncomfortable, which always was a concern, Naiya’s expression at the moment was unreadable – and that alarmed her even more. She quickly signaled back to Pascalli for confirmation, and he nodded curtly.

Well, they do have to learn to handle themselves. We’ve taught them well, they have good heads on their shoulder. The AdminCoordinator and Pascalli are both there …

Letting go was never an easy process for any parent. For one who had penchant for being in control of everything at every given moment, it was a real challenge for Nathicana. Putting her faith in her children to the forefront, and her concerns firmly on the back burner, she nodded back to Pascalli, and turned her attention back to her current conversational companions.

She had absolutely no idea what to make of the felinoid or its response. Nothing at all like the Kzinti she was familiar with, she tried very hard not to crack a smile or snicker at the rather humorous mistaken identity.

--- --- ---

Both siblings picked up on the AdminCoordinator’s subtle hint, and were about to initiate something when Naiya was approached.

If his words alarmed her, she didn’t show it. In fact, her face became an unreadable mask of outward calm, though her eyes seemed to pick up the light of the room more strongly.

They’ll be picking their pretty little teeth off of the floor if they so much as…

Asure’s words, and subsequent actions interrupted any response she might have given to the stranger who suddenly seemed to have their best interest at heart – which was suspicious in and of itself, so far as she could figure. Of course, the matriarch’s reaction somewhat cemented Naiya’s instinctual dislike for her, and her spawn rather firmly in her mind.

Marcus was getting more than annoyed at being treated like a party favor, and having his senses manipulated, as he was now certain they were, having been able to escape their clutches momentarily and clear his pheromone-addled brain long enough to confirm suspicions. That, and the continued slights Asure offered her Empress didn’t impress him at all – veiled or not, it was just rude. And not knowing the Empress, he was a bit affronted on principle. He could make his own decisions on whether or not the woman actually deserved the disdain of her subjects once he’d had the chance to meet and observe, but until then – well, in some places one was supposed to provide evidence before assuming guilt. It seemed the more decent thing to do.

He had no idea who this other gentleman was, but wasn’t keen on him getting so close to his sister, especially after the Calavyr incident earlier. Both locked eyes when Asure and Nesar ‘got into it’ so to speak, and subtle hand signals quickly flew thereafter.

The fact that more guards seemed to be circulating also did not bode well, and none of the Dominioners missed it. The heads up was given over Spook, and quietly confirmed, relayed instantly to home and the team awaiting them onboard, and their level of alertness was trebled.

The AdminCoordinator’s suggestion comes as a complete shock to Marcus, knowing full well how the panNorm felt about physical contact with endoskeletals, or anything even approximately approaching human intimacy, which dancing certainly was.

This placed the young man in a decidedly awkward position, all things considered. To accept knowing what he knew, would be insulting, and would place a valuable ally in an uncomfortable position. He was man enough to take care of himself without inconveniencing others, and plans had already been laid in place prior to arrival in case of irritating situations presenting themselves, and recently discussed and agreed on by the siblings. He only hoped he wouldn’t seem a complete cad by trying to gracefully refuse.

With the gentlest and least intrusive of touches, he gently laid his hand under the AdminCoordinator’s velveted manipulator, and bowed deeply after once again extricating himself with great effort from the entanglement of the twin terrors.

“Honorable AdminCoordinator, I would of course love to honor your gracious request, but I deeply regret that I had promised the first few dances of the evening to my sister – being her escort here tonight and all, and not wishing such a beautiful young lady to be left either alone, or in the company of strangers. It seemed the best way to give us time to see and be seen, to make introductions, and then perhaps ease into more social interactions with our hosts and such. I hope I offer no offense in requesting we postpone a dance until my obligations are fulfilled? It would mean much to me if you could find it in your capacity to forgive my at least temporary denial?”

Naiya took her cue at her mention, and stepped forward to join her brother, looping her arm through his as he subtly offered it during his speech, both their attentions firmly on her, and body language making it clear that his time would be spent rather away from the Roanian ladies for the next while.

“My apologies, AdminCoordinator. You know how shy I can be at these gatherings, so I made poor Marcus promise not to hare off somewhere without me, at least until I felt more comfortable,” she said, also making a polite curtsey.

Hopefully this would suffice in settling Nesar’s concerns, and if not, he seemed the sort who would try again to make his point clear at some later point. In the meantime, perhaps they would have enough privacy to discuss, and to ask Pascalli for some confirmation, and additional clarification and information from the AdminCoordinator concerning what it was she had seemed to pick up from the situation that spurred her to such action.

Another quick flash of fingers confirmed that intention with their bodyguard, and all was understood.

The AdminCoordinator bows low in her puffy bumblebee costume and, even if she can't show it, is tremendously relieved. "This is perfectly understandable and, of course, blood family comes first. No offense could possibly be taken from such a prearrangement, especially given how it was made with the best of intentions." Her smoothly synthesized voice smiles so much it could be singing. "Please, the both of you," she retracts her hand, folding it easily in front of her with its mate, "go and enjoy yourselves." The word 'go' may have a very subtle hint of command to it.

“Indeed. If you would excuse us, ladies all, gentlemen?” Marcus says, needing no further prompting to vacate the area post haste – which he does, Naiya and he linked arm in arm. He offers a bow to those assembled, nods to Pascalli, who moved to follow, pausing only for a moment to bow to the AdminCoordinator.

“I would be honored if you would share your impressions when free?” he says quietly, clearly meaning only her to hear, before righting himself. “A pleasure,” he says in a normal tone, then continues after the siblings.

He was ‘the help’, and very much doubted the Roanians would be interested in conversing, or even acknowledging him, considering the earlier incident, so he didn’t much worry about offending on account.

Am I real?

He was annoyed at Radmiel, but an opportunity for entertainment had presented itself, and he would certainly use it.

“I am a facade; fake, but masking what is real. Perhaps the question you should be asking,” Daithí continued, as whimsically as he could, shifting to the Roanian's other side, “is whether or not you are real. Are you awake in the here and now, or is your perceived consciousness a product of this alcohol?”

He leaned towards the face of the drunken man, stressing the end of the sentence by holding up an empty glass that had yet to have been cleared. In his palm, it looked as if it was sitting upon the wing, no hand distinctly visible. Then, with sleight of hand, the glass disappeared as he rolled up the outer wing feathers around it. It was deposited into his other hand, and with a distraction from his first wing, he quietly but swiftly placed the glass behind him on the bar top.

“Perhaps it may be better for you to take a nap,” Daithí said as he slowly slipped behind the man, a wing trailing, “and sort it out when you're more sure of your senses.” With that, he snapped his wing down and did his best to disappear from the Roanian's sight, before reappearing on the bar seat next to the side where he wasn't looking.

To the nearest bartender, “Whiskey. Small, thanks.”

Sempero breathed out slowly, his grin remaining in place but his eyes taking on a darker demeanour, his head moving quickly to look at Nais as the ‘likes of you’ comment. “With respect, I don’t believe there is anything or anyone who can claim to be able to...compare with me. At least in the traditional sense...” His eyes moved over to the god that had accompanied the two Eldar. He looked back at Mieka, leaning in closer, his voice dropping to a whisper, not threatening but surprisingly deep and slow, as if explaining something basic to someone who should know better.

“I am neither one of these shaved apes nor any of their anorexic twinkle toed cousins. I’m a refined, perfected destroyer, and...” his eyes shifted to Nais with a snap, his hair fanning out slightly. “And there is nothing that is the likes of me.”

Sempero turned back to Mieka, stepping back, raising to his full height again. “I am interested in you, because unlike everyone else here you actually seem... to have as much disdain for everyone else as I have?” It wasn’t actually the truth, though the lack of either snobbery or flattery and the dark gaze of the Eldar were more enticing than most. She seemed, a challenge, something worth trying for.

He smiled inwardly. His exterior smile, now delicately showing fangs, never left.

And Ro....

“No, I guess I obviously haven’t got anything better to do.” He looked at the Roanian sharply. “And as you said, it would be a brawl, so I know you know who I am or at least where I am from.” He drops his stern gaze for a moment. Compared to Sempero he is a lot grimmer looking, whereas his companion did everything to hide his scars and perfect his appearance; Clodius wore the jagged lines with pride.

“Clodius Maxilimus, Lord of Navarrok” He says simply, bowing slightly. “And who might you be? As I would guess you knew my good reptilian friend over there you might be able to tell me why he’s choosing to pick fights he cannot win?”

Trevor looked over towards where the heirs were directing his attention to. Had they spotted Nerrida, it seemed they did, but she wasn't there. He didn't see her nor anyone special that they could be talking about. And then there was the image of The Garbage Men to consider. He didn't particularily want to say anything that would imply that this was a common occurance or anything, and for the most part wanted her cover kept.

"Sorry, but who are you talking about? and even if they where under my... employ, I couldn't not accept any money. I have the image and reputation of the organisation to look after."
His words were meant to balance the fine line of appearing to reject the proposal, while still leaving the door open to interpretation. Especially since the extension of 'hospitality' was a tradition in many parts to celebrate a new business relationship.

Nerrida kept apparently sulking gaining glimpses of Trevor's face every so often from behind the twin heirs as to not draw attention to herself again from them. However the activities of the guards were rather worrying. They were looking for someone. Either someone very important was not where they were meant to be, or that intel had suggested that someone who wasn't invited had entered.

Either case usually meant trouble, she'd have to keep a close eye on Trevor which unfortunately meant going out and mixing again with people. She decided to return to the group with AdminController at least she didn't have to introduce herself.

After she had completed the introductions, having given the Oyadan emperor the same respectful bow she had given Nathi, she gestured for her girls to join her. Both of them eagerly stood in front of her as she knelt down to embrace them around the shoulders.

"If it pleases you both, may I introduce my daughters. This..." indicating the twin on her left, who appeared to be her mother in miniature, crimson eyes sparking brightly as she blushed at all the attention, even as Nathi waved to put them at ease, "...is Ellenith, and this..." she nudged the twin on the right, who's crystal blue eyes looked around quickly as she smiled quite broadly, "...is Scarlett."

They each bowed formally, clearly having practiced this ahead of time. "Pleasure to meet you, highnesses," they said in unison, to both the heads of state, again clearly well practiced. Aese seemed quite pleased with the girls as she stood upright again, keeping her hands on their shoulders, holding them gently.

Before her mother could start the conversation, however, it was little Scarlett who proudly stuck out her arm, the flipper portion flipped back like a folding glove to let her use her hands. Unfolding her fingers, she revealed the three candies in bright, gold foil.

"The nice serving lady gave me some yummy chewy toffee, but I don't think I can eat any more... would your highnesses like some? Mom "

Put such worries from my mind? Easier said than done, to be honest, especially now that these thoughts will have the chance to linger for the next several hours at the slightest hint of a lull in any conversation…but…then again, that waiting is crucial to the plan and that’s not something I really want to deviate from. So it looks like I’ll have to either keep my mind occupied or just tough it out, he thought to himself, almost wanting to shake his head in disbelief at how lightly this was being taken by the man, but resisting every urge to do so.

After quietly listening to Nicomediel finish, Alakantar responded politely and attempted to force away all the apprehension concerning the lengthy wait. “Very well then. That will be the plan as it stands,” he nodded. “I shall return to you when that time comes...enjoy the rest of the party.”

Now departing from the table, the drow managed to meet the serving girl returning with the drink that he had requested, and with a bow of his head and a gracious thank you, he accepted the water and began to take slow sips. The beverage’s chill cooled him off rather well and made him feel a bit more comfortable at the moment as he meandered throughout the ballroom, taking the long, “scenic” way back toward Nathicana, content with glancing around at who all was in attendance on this day.

Nathicana smiled warmly at the trio during the introductions, nodding as each name was given. “I’m very pleased to meet you both,” she said. “And so very polite, as well as adorable! Aeselle, you have brought up two very charming little girls.”

She put a hand to her lips to reflexively temper her grin as Scarlett offered her the candy – it was simply too cute, these two little darlings in their little penguin costumes, all wide-eyed and excited, and now wanting to share.

“That is just so sweet of you,” she replied, bending down to try to get more on the child’s level, delicately accepting one piece of the candy. “Thank you very much, Scarlett. Then turning to Ellenith, she offered to share in turn, since she seemed a touch more shy than her sister. “Come to think of it, I've been pretty spoiled tonight with treats as well. Did you get enough toffee, dear? I wouldn’t want you to be left out.”

The Garbage Men

The Darsal scowled, but did not press the matter further. His cousin, however, grinned at his rival's discomfiture. "You are very wise for a human." The two of them glared at one another, and then suddenly Metchier woke up once more.

The ancient figure blinked blearily at the man in front of him. "Who are you and why are you sitting here, human?" Metchier demanded, his voice like the whispers of a tomb.

Revenia

Malham Fell's mouth turned downwards when openly confronted by the Revenians, though his attitude was a far improvement over that either of his superiors would show. His accompanying secretary, however, was not willing to allow the Enlightening Minister to All Vassal Lands Within and All Others Without the Borders to be forced to answer a straight question. "Regretfully," the aide replied, "the Enlightening Minister is unable at present to give a clear answer as to the issue in which you have expressed a serious interest, while of course fully understanding that you have the right to inquire and, indeed, act upon such information as would be forthcoming if the Enlightening Minister agreed to respond to such inquiries in the fullness of time."

Malham growled under his breath, but bowed his head, and then followed through with the bow, no easy feat in his costume. "Alas, at present we cannot do more than say that the Enlightening and Glorifying Ministers of the Most High had reason to believe that perhaps the honorable inquirers might have been engaged in activities that potentially might have interfered with the presence and, indeed, the absence of said individual, while not in anyway endorsing such beliefs and indeed engaging this most humble Enlightening Minister purely to ensure that the honorable guests can be safely excluded from the suspicion of such interference."

Tseaby

Governor Kar suffered for his job. Or, to put it another way, his liver suffered for his job. The drunken sot blearily blinked at where Daithi had been sitting, and then almost fell forward, off his chair, when he heard the same voice from behind him. "By the Light, are you a demon? Come to chastise me for my ill-manners?" Kar reached out to touch Daithi, then drew his hand back. "They teach us that demons are falsehoods, yet I can see you..."

The Bartender, a felinoid (of course), tapped one of his fingers against the side of his head to indicate that Kar wasn't all there, while pouring the whiskey. "Mrrr, Governor, haven't you had enough? You're talking to air." Then, placed the whiskey right in front of the 'invisible' Daithi. "The whiskey you ordered, governor."

"Don't you tell me when I've had enough, you ridiculous furball! I'll decide when I've had enough and when I'm talking to air! Are you mocking me? Don't you know who I am?" Kar demanded, while the other people sitting at the bar snickered. Kar was not a particularly popular or important individual in the empire's upper workings, and the Roanians and their felinoid servants loved nothing better than to tweak someone who can't effectively fight back. "That thing is as clear as the nose on your face!"

The felinoid wrinkled its nose instinctively, and then shrugged. "Whatever mrrrster says, Governor."

Freethinkers

Illinura glared distrustfully between the two. "I am Illinura. Glorifying Governor of Rk. And I don't care what you do on your own world, Septlord." She snapped to a hissed comment of the elderly Salamanr. "When you are within the Sacred Precincts of the Most High's Eternal and Celestial Residence, you will behave. Go and see to your wounded pride with your females amongst the guards here." The Salamanr growled, but walked off with another lash of its long tail. The Roanians who had been watching the coming conflict with interest all returned to their private conversations. "So. You are the illustrious Sir Clodius?" Illinura looked him up and down, her expression oddly set. "I must say, I expected someone... more handsome, to be straightforward." The Roanians do not generally approve of scars. "To hear the Empress speak of it, you were one of the most attractive males she has met, an equal perhaps to the rumoured Hesche himself. Perhaps you do have your charms, under those... marks." Illinura herself was, of course, beautiful, as Roanians are, though unlike Alessa, whose softness seemed generally only to cover a deeper softness, the Governor was a flint knife covered in the thinnest of fabrics.

Sentient Peoples, S-14, Dread Lady Nathicana

While Daria was chatting politely with Thomas Un, Radmiel crept up behind her. After a moment or two, he quietly whispered, "Daria." The young woman ignored her ostensible 'boss', while behind her he grew ever more furious, until his temper flared and his hair literally began to smoke as his firemagic began to flare. "Daria!"

"Why, Most Enlightened and Glorious Supervising Minister Appointed by the Most High to Attend to The Direction of Her Government Radmiel!" Daria said in mock surprise and stepped to the side. "I don't suppose you've met Thomas Un? Master Un, this is..."

"There's no time for that." Radmiel snapped. "I need your help, Daria." His good manners briefly resurfaced, though. "Charmed to meet you, Master Un. May I borrow your charming companion for a moment?"

"I know you need my help, Grand Vizier." Daria teased. "But I'm afraid that I'm off duty at present, remember, and that's hardly the way to ask for a fellow minister's help."

Radmiel bit his lip hard enough to draw blood. "Illustrious Minister Who Serves the Empress At Her Own Discretion, I beg your aid." He paused, while Daria stood there waiting. "I'm not knocking heads to you, Daria."

"Oh, you're no fun, Radmiel. Excuse me, Master Un." Daria sashayed off with Radmiel, then turned around and smiled at the elderly gentleman. "This won't take more than a minute. Our dear Grand Vizier never does." Next to her, Radmiel's expression grew ever more fiery.

Soon, the two of them were engaged in animated discussion which ended with Daria laughing as loud as her melodious voice allowed, and then she took off into the crowd, Radmiel and the guards hurrying at her heels.

Their target was a scene about to develop into a genuine conflict between Asure and her until-recently-unwitting prey. When Marcus and Naiya had left the larger group, Asure and her twin daughters had pursued at a stately pace, the mass of their armsmen slowly coalescing to intercept Marcus'. Nesar Cheruv seemed more relieved at not having to explain dancing with Naiya to his wife than annoyed at her leaving, but House Ophar pursuing did not quite fit into his plans, nor did he expect them to move to their next level of aggression so quickly.

"Sir." Nesar's voice echoed close to Pascali's ear. "Don't ask how I'm doing this, we don't have time. I'm sure you know, but Lady Asure and her daughters are not friends of your son. They seek his... essence to pervert in their genelabs, or perhaps to even raise as a child. I don't know why they've chosen him, nor do I care, but they have, and I fear that with the guards distracted they might try something forceful. I don't know how fast you can move, but I suggest you move quickly." And, indeed, Nesar was walking quickly along the floor after the Ophanim, though his desire not to draw their attention to his lone self meant he was not moving fast enough to interfere.

Pascali needed hear no more than ‘are not friends’ before he was moving faster, muttering quickly via Spook to the rest of their party, relating the details from Nesar as he continued along. With a curt ‘grazie’ he moved more quickly, coordinating his approach with the others.

Massetti grimaced and apologized quickly to Lois. “Duty calls, hope to see you soon,” he said, even as he moved as quickly as he could, coming in from another angle towards the group.

Nathicana straightened up with some measure of alarm, and apologized quietly to Aeselle and the girls, handing the woman the candy in case. “There’s something I have to take care of immediately – please excuse me.” And with that, she was off like a flash, moving faster than any woman had a right to, without outright bowling everyone over in her path.

Indeed, Asure, her twins flanking her, had managed to arrive in Marcus' path. "You know, it is a shame that you were born a male." The Lady Ophar said, her friendliness fading like the light on a stormy day. "Perhaps in my labs we shall fix that, yet for the time being know that your ability to resist my daughters would be worthy of admiration if you were a woman, Marcus. However, I must insist that you accompany us for a few brief minutes. Alone."

Having had the heads up over Spook, Marcus and Naiya were already tensing when Asure and her band approached them, Naiya’s eyes once again seeming to catch the light in a way that almost seemed to make them glow slightly.

The AdminCoordinator's antennae perk up at the threat and, were she human, onlookers might claim something snapped. She reached out with one velvet-gloved manipulator arm, grips Marcus none-too-gently by his free shoulder, and pulls him--and his sister he's connected by the arms to--sharply away from Asure before stepping sideways into their place, sending Nathi’s children sprawling behind her. Marcus pulls his sister in close to catch her as they went down somewhat unceremoniously, though soon getting to their feet and each taking a defensive stance that looked terribly out of place at a formal gathering such as this – the both of them glaring ominously at Asure and her daughters. Bodily inserting her two and a half meter long insectoid frame between her allies and an obvious threat, she 'spits' out her translator cube by a mixture of opening mandibles and flicking maxillae. As the steel box clatters away, her black-painted mandibles snap shut with the sharp /klok/ sound of two bony and decently sharp plates clacking together.

The Roanians around Marcus and Naiya had suddenly made themselves scarce, and the guards were nowhere around, instead urgently searching the distant corners of the room for whatever they were missing. This meant that no one except another Great House would interfere, and with Calavyr was still in hiding and Metchier's heirs otherwise engaged, that left... "Hold it, Asure." Nesar said, gasping. He had run the past few meters, not knowing if the Dominion's Guards were pursuing or not, and he was more than a little out of shape. "Or not." House Ophan's guards shoved him aside as they began to advance upon the twins.

Pascali got there first, immediately going after the nearest guard, and immediately twisting his arm up behind his back. Soon after, Nathicana arrived, grabbing the two nearest and roughly clunking their heads together, then letting the now limp bodies drop. Massetti wasn’t far behind, putting his target in a stranglehold.

Of course, then things got really interesting.

"Hey! What do you think you're doing?" The serving girl from earlier elbowed her way in between Asure and her daughters, and Nathicana's children. "I don't think you should do this. The Empress will be very annoyed."

"Oh, Darkness Take the Empress!" Asure snapped. "Out of my way, insect!" She shoved the servant aside while her daughters rolled their eyes uncomfortably and began to edge away from their mother.

"Treason, Asure?" Radmiel asked, he and his escorting guards arriving at a leisurely pace. "I expected that from a Seraph, but from an Ophan? Shocked, I am. Truly shocked." The Grand Vizier backed up his words with force, the palace guards available folding out from behind him.

Now, the arrival of the palace guards changed things a bit, but the Dominion party held their ground without advancing, for the moment, unsure of how this would pan out. The AdminCoordinator didn’t move, still staring Asure down with her compound eyes.

"I can't say I blame them, though." Daria murmured from next to him. "He is rather attractive..." Daria looked Marcus up and down, and blew him a kiss.

"Stay out of this. He'll be returned to his family, all the better for his experience." Asure scowled at Marcus, but didn't move. "As for you, abomination, hands off. He's ours."

Marcus scowled right back, Daria’s gesture completely lost on him, even more incensed at Asure for her further brutality of an innocent girl.

"Yours? Asure, your head isn't yours." Daria crossed the floor and helped the shaken serving girl to her feet, then removed the woman's hat and dusted off her strawberry-blonde hair. "Ladies, Gentlemen, Radmiel. May I present The Most High and Eternal Empress, Mistress of all the Realms within the Reach of the Imperial Diadem and Keeper of the Twin Lamps, Alessa Annirere?" Alessa smiled a bit embarassed, and reached up to her eyes, withdrawing her contact lenses and blinking once or twice, then looked up. Her eyes were definitely not those of a mere woman as they were revealed to be two shining pools of the most radiant blue. Daria coughed. "And the rest, Your Majesty."

Alessa sighed, and snapped her fingers. In a heartbeat, the servant's outfit, the binding that held back her chest, and the mark of servitude all vanished, replaced by a blue and gold robe that showed every sign of being of the finest Dominion manufacture, cut close to those curves she wanted to show off but minimising those that were possibly over the top. She brought her hand to the side and a long, white staff appeared in her grasp that she swung up to rest against her shoulder. "Hi." She said, quietly watching everyone. Or, at least, it could be assumed she was watching everyone. The solid glow of her eyes made it very hard to tell. "I would ask if you're all having fun at my birthday party, but..." She definitely smiled at Marcus, but her attitude in general seemed very... angry.

Whatever else she was going to say, however, was interrupted by Asure letting out a loud shriek of horror and falling forward, banging her head on the ground hard enough there was almost a splitting sound, followed in short order by her heirs and guards. "Please, Most High, forgive me! I had no idea you were who you were, or..."

Alessa's voice grew sharp and ever more dangerous, and the pools of blue in those eyes threatened to flare forth. "Your behaviour towards me at this celebration would be unacceptable against an enemy, let alone a servant, and certainly against me. And whatever this conclave might be for, I do not believe you have this..." the voice softened slightly as she examined Marcus, "young man's..." And then it grew as furious as the unbound ocean, "Best interest at heart." A blue fire outlined along her free hand. "Shall I cut this cancer out from my empire, Grand Vizier?"

Radmiel would have eagerly agreed, but Daria intervened. "Perhaps you should simply ask the most wronged individual what he would have done to these gentleladies." Daria quietly crossed in between the cowering Asure and the empress.

Alessa smiled. "Good idea!" And suddenly, like a current changing its course, the Empress' mood shifted and she curtsied to Marcus. "I regret that I did not greet you earlier, and that my... 'esteemed' servant Matron Asure of Lesser House," Asure wailed, "Ophar attempted to use you as a mere breeding stud and then tried to compel you. Her fate is in your hands, Master Marcus."

Alessa smiled and her staff stood still as she held her hands out, then curtsied once more. The dress poolled underneath her, and the blue glows of her eyes dimmed that the pupils within could almost be made out through the sheer power that flowed through this young, almost fragile woman. While she was almost certainly the most mercurial of the many powers of the galaxy, there was something about her that almost radiated calmness when she was at rest, despite whatever turmoil raged beneath her surface. And, of course, she was beautiful. Astoundingly beautiful, even by the standards of the Roanians, and grown more beautiful in the ten years since she had visited Sol before. "Once more, I apologise." She whispered in a voice like the softest of waves breaking against a beach. "And while I know that nothing might pay for what my..." Her beautiful nose wrinkled, as if the thought of taking responsibility for something rankled with her, "distraction almost, and did, allow to happen, after you place your judgement upon these, I offer you what I rarely offer any. You may ask for one boon, and if my powers may grant it, Marcus Treznor, then I shall."

Sophie boggled a little at the Roanian Matriarch's treatment of her servant. It would never occur to her to treat one of SOLOMON's avatars like that, and even in the old holos nobody would be so needlessly cruel (unless, of course, they were a villain). It simply didn't make sense - why would Asure act so, with so many other Roanians about to remark upon her poor behaviour?

But maybe this is normal, on Roania? Sophie, for fear of saying something wrong, said nothing. And as the Dominion twins said nothing either, it seemed that that was the proper thing to do.

But then the enigmatically untitled Nerrida did upbraid Lady Asure, before leaving the group ... so perhaps it was permissible to reprimand Roanians, if one hadn't a title? But no, then the serving-girl would surely have stood up for herself.

Asure's daughters were even stranger. Surely that's not proper! she thought with alarm, and hurriedly reattached her mask to hide the red flush of her cheeks. The holos never showed anyone acting like that! (Sophie was suddenly, and rather horribly, reminded that there were holos in SOLOMON's archives still barred to her at seventeen).

The Admin-Coordinator offered to dance with Marcus - Should I have offered to dance with him? Could I? Dare I? - but too late, one of the Roanian twins draping all over him proposed it first ... and Marcus turned her down to dance with his sister instead. His sister! Is he perhaps ... un fidèle d'Apollo? Or perhaps she's just shy, like she said.

The Dominioners departed, leaving Sophie busily trying to fade into the background, lest she attract some unwanted attention from Lady Asure and her daughters. But the Ophanim House women were steadily pursuing Marcus and Naiya - What can they be up to? - leaving her alone with the AdminCoordinator once again.

Suddenly everything was happening at once - Lady Asure made the most outré threat, the AdminCoordinator interposed herself between the Ophanim and Marcus, armed guards were pushing past (only to be suddenly and efficiently disabled by other guests!), and now the poor serving-girl was telling off the Matriarch ...

Oh. The serving-girl was actually the Roanian Empress, in disguise like the Qianlong Emperor of ancient China. Oh dear.

Sophie tried very hard to look invisible.

OOC: This long post is brought to you by Trying To Rapidly Catch Up Incorporated.

Julian's face was a study in passivity -- right up until he shrugged, executing an elaborate gesture with his left hand, "Fine. Simply, and finally: I don't have a clue what you're talking about, I haven't kidnapped anybody for at least a good three weeks, and that was on another planet entirely, anyway. I'll even forgo coercing further information out of you lot, which is probably being derelict in my duties, but I suppose that I'll survive."

He paused, considering something in the distance for a moment, "That complete, I'm sure you have better things to be doing. I'm quite certain that I do."

He said no more -- leaving certain things unsaid, and perhaps for the best. He'd thought he would have more patience with Roanian arrogance, but something...did not agree with his preconceptions. Perhaps it was his newfound status -- he was Chovas, now, Great House Ascended, every bit as bloody noble as Traegan Stark -- and more than that, he was the Chovas Heir. That put him at a level equal with Dysaryn Stark on the big scale of nobility.

Meant a whole lot of nothing, but it was what it was.

Julian turned his back to the Roanians, fully, a clear dismissal, and something that the old Julian would have never done...but the old Julian had been near to bursting with insecurity and angst -- things which the present Julian simply didn't have time for. A relatively insignificant mercenary captain could afford that sort of thing, an RFM Battalion CO couldn't. Especially one with every expectation of making Colonel in a relatively short period of time.

At which point he had a number of choices to make, because Colonel was a perfectly respectable rank at which to retire, and he wasn't really general officer material.

And then he was yanked from his ruminations, Traegan's hand on his shoulder, a pointed glance.

"Something you should see, Julian."

Julian raised an eyebrow, "Ah?"

Traegan nodded, "With Me."

Which meant more than one would think, though Julian understood it quite well enough -- Traegan's innate talents weren't nearly as strong as Julian's, but they were there -- and Traegan was a Stark, meaning that he was a clear. A seer. Julian slid into Traegan's mind, effortlessly, because the other man had left him an opening -- without that opening, it would have been nearly impossible. He was Ascended, and trained -- difficult as hell.

As it was, Julian was able to, essentially, see with Traegan's eyes -- though, in this case, he wasn't using his physical eyes. Rather an aspect of his talent, focusing in on the ruckus occurring not too terribly far away -- but...but...



Julian frowned, watching the image on what appeared to be a late-model commercial image display, and...dang. Dang, dang, and dang again.

Traegan stepped up beside him, dressed not in Administrator's white, but in a t-shirt and baggy shorts, as he often wore when he was off duty.

"So, that's her?"

Julian nodded, curtly.

Traegan smiled, "How did you meet, again? Doing something idiotically heroic, wasn't it?"

Julian forced his face blank, rather difficult considering it was a mental projection of his inner self, "There was an explosion, and yes, I did something stupidly heroic. Almost got myself shot in the process, was expecting to get myself shot in the process, which might explain why I proceeded to make such a hash of things. Clumsy as a teenager, Traeg."

Traegan snorted, "That's your natural state, Julian, or don't you remember...well, yes, you do remember. Perfect recall, and you know what I'm thinking about before I do, in here...don't get your hopes up, buddy. News of your newfound nobility isn't likely to spread particularly quickly -- and besides, as you yourself constantly remind everyone, it doesn't really mean anything, anyway. She's an empress, or can't you tell?"

Julian nodded, "Oh, you've a point, Traeg. You've an annoyingly sharp point."

Traegan chewed his lip a moment, "Why don't you just...do your voodoo or whatever, find out for sure?"

Julian shrugged, "Not anything I want to try -- digging out a piece of information is rather noticeable -- and painful. For both parties. Not something I'd do to anybody I liked, you know?"

Traegan nodded, "So?"

Julian let his image fade, even as he spoke his last three words: "Wait and see."


And that was that. Alone, and again in his own mind, Julian glanced across the room, seeing with his own eyes what he had seen with Traegan's Sight much 'closer' up...and finding distance to make the view no less painful. It wasn't even the beauty -- she was beautiful, but that wasn't exactly uncommon. There were plenty of beautiful girls his own species about, who'd jump at the chance to be even casually connected to the Chovas Heir...but he'd never felt this Pancreator-forsaken nervous on an Ascended girl's account, and the way his emotions sent his logic all loopy and frayed was distinctly unpleasant for an individual as in love with control as pretty much any RFM officer had to be to survive...easier to charge a machine-gun nest than to take a step down the path that would clear up this confusion. Did she, didn't she -- did he, didn't he.

And then there was that small, nagging voice in the back of his head telling him he that wasn't really in love, he wasn't wired like that, it was obviously enemy action attempting to coerce him into giving an advantage to the Roanian state, but that small nagging voice was easily identifiable as spouting complete bullshit -- anyone who'd seen Adrian and Kaerah Stark together for more than a few minutes knew that Ascended were capable of love -- and probably was itself the result of enemy action of some sort, even though that was theoretically impossible. To his knowledge, the only individual who could get past his mental barriers was his father, and that might explain quite a bit.

Kethvae Chovas certainly didn't believe in love, after all, the man had killed Julian's mother, though Kethvae had thought that she'd sold Julian for drugs...but, the point was, his father had killed his mother on principle, and that was the sort of person that Kethvae was -- a man of principle and reason, not emotion.

But Julian wasn't his father. He felt more in common with Traegan than he did his father, mentally, and it was more than just an age thing -- it was philosophy. Adrian Stark had killed Julian's Great Uncle and a good hundred of his closest followers for raping Kaerah Maern. Blackmarlin Rache had purged an entire planet for killing his paramour, and been exiled for it...but it was still love. Kethvae killed the mother of his son because she'd become a slave to several really nasty drugs, selling her body for her fixes. Because she'd failed to live up to his principles, and the Ascended cleaned up their own messes -- right?

Julian sighed, dropping his head into his hands for a moment.

"Pardon me, Lord Metchier." Trevor bowed respectfully to the head of the Roanian House "I am Trevor Desorté, I am representative of The Garbage Men, and I've been discussing with your heirs matters of business. These matters have been concluded. So with your approval I will take my leave."

The events over with Elessa, Asure and Marcus had caught Trevor's notice but he waited for the Lord to respond and give him the all clear before looking whether he would involve himself.

Nerrida didn't have a real weapon but had been trained in physical combat, she was almost looming forward moving without even seeming to towards the Ophar Guards.. However as soon as the Empress made herself known she seemed to slink back and merge into the crowd again. Taking her sight off Trevor for about a minute she re-orientated herself amung the crowd and took up watching again.

The talk of her son belonging to any skank foreign bitch incensed Nathicana to the point of murderous rage, though she wisely kept it in check, for now. Her outer response was a tightening of her delicate jaw and a glare at Asure that would have killed were it backed with any psionic abilities whatsoever.

Marcus of course, was already mad as hell, one of his eyes twitching with the effort of not physically lashing out at these insane women, and oddly, his sister had subtly taken a more protective position slightly in front of him, neither dropping their defensive stances, looking more than ready for a fight if the situation called for it.

Mas and Pascali, as well as Nathicana were all in the process of moving towards the twins when Alessa was revealed.

Which of course, changed everything.

They were able to finish moving to where they wanted to be – the entire group of Dominioners all standing together as a united force, the adults making a wall between the twins and anyone else behind, with Nathicana murmuring a heartfelt thanks to the AdminCoordinator, who had been in front of them protectively from nearly the beginning of the whole debacle.

Alessa was a complete mystery to the group – acting like a simple child one moment, then Her Imperial Majesty the next, back to a bubbly teenager and so forth.

Marcus stammered his thanks in surprise, though his stance remained tense, as did the rest of the group.

“I ah … my sincere thanks, your Imperial Majesty. Please, do not apologize for the greeting. I should apologize for having not taken more direct action earlier when you were treated so distastefully – knowing your status or not, it was inexcusable.”

He was more than a little flustered at all the attention, negative and otherwise, and though his father had trained him extensively – as had his mother – on methods of rule and asserting authority, it bothered him to be put on the spot while he was already so angry at his aggressor that thinking clearly was difficult.

Life isn’t easy – duty must be done even when things are difficult, his mother had often told him.

With a slight nod to himself, he straightened up, straightened his attire, removed his mask and bowed deeply to the Ronian Empress.

“My humble appreciation, Imperial Majesty, for your graciousness. As for Asure,” he paused, looking down at the woman with a mix of disdain and anger. “I would have these labs of hers raided, and the content therein destroyed, so that no one else who she has wronged can be further damaged by her actions. In addition, I would suggest that she serve in the position of a simple palace servant for a year and a day – particularly, if it could be managed, waiting hand and foot on the men of the court. And if, at the end of her sentence, she is judged by yourself, or your ministers, to have served well, then be restored to her previous position – hopefully having learned her lesson. And if not …”

Here he trailed off meaningfully, making a vague gesture with his hand.

“If not, I suppose her further punishment would be up to you, no?”

Nathicana nodded thoughtfully at her son’s response – though in truth, she would rather have been granted an hour or three with the woman, to fully impress upon her the stupidity of daring to mess with her family. It was a smart move, and though it left a potential enemy behind, the likelihood of him being put in a position again to be assaulted by this woman or her daughters was admittedly slim.

Naiya said nothing, though she too smoothed her dress, and adopted a more formal pose, though it was clear she was still tense. She gave the impression of a waiting cat, watching potential prey, her eyes unblinking, still taking on that almost-glow from the lights.

She didn’t like the vibes she was picking up at all. It was a hostile place, this room, all around. Asure and her daughters had had her itching all over from the moment they’d come into contact. Too many webs, too many potential traps, and far too much spite and anger – not the least of which emanating from her mother.

The girl quietly clenched and released her fists, focusing on keeping her breathing steady and taming the odd feeling of burning that seemed to be racing through her. Adrenaline, she told herself. Too much, too fast. Perhaps some water once things settled.

The AdminCoordinator doesn't move from her spot as center guard, her long and thin feet firmly planted as she holds herself very still, each joint tensed with muscles invisible under hard plates. Even though Asure is now on the ground in a full-on kowtow, she has not been yet fully neutralized as a threat and, until she is, the AdminCoordinator is resolved to stay on guard. In fact, the only movement the 'bumblebee' makes is a slight nodding bob of her head at Nathi's thanks, which unfortunately means everyone still has a giant bug to talk around.

She doesn't say anything, but that's primarily because her translator cube is not within arm's reach and it's not yet time to stand down.

Alessa pondered the party from the Dominion for a few minutes, her eyes staying on Marcus for no reason other than that he's the most interesting individual in the group to her. This long period of silence caused Asure to relax. "Foolish man." Asure said, laughing. "She wouldn't dare do that to me."

"Oh. Sorry, are you still here?" Alessa said after a moment. "I thought you were smart enough to know when to go and change into servant's clothing. Silly me!" There was a blinding flash of power, and suddenly Asure was standing up, her clothes replaced with an outfit in palace livery.

"You can't do this to me!" Asure shouted, only to suddenly have a gag appear in her mouth.

"Can, will, did." The empress waved her hand dismissively. "Take her away and find her a place in the handmaiden facility for the next year and a day, please." The guards did as ordered. "Now, which of you should be in charge of your house while your mother is otherwise occupied..." The two twins shrank together, but Alessa didn't actually care. "Radmiel, you handle this."

"With pleasure, your majesty." Radmiel bowed low, and took the two twins, stood them up, and shoved them into the hands of waiting guards. "Take them to the guest cells." The Grand Vizier instructed, delivering a solid pat to Alera's backside and eliciting a loud gasp of disapproval.

"Anything else?" Alessa asked the group, her attitude still youthful, but her attention and interest slipping rapidly. "No? Okay." She yawned prettily. "Radmiel, you take care of everything else. I want to go and get into my proper costume." And with that, she vanished in a flash of light.

Daria rolled her eyes, curtsied to the Dominion group, and left, returning to Thomas Un. "My apologies, Master Un. My esteemed lord, Radmiel, needed my help urgently. All the more reason in my mind for you to help me take his place, no?"

Radmiel, meanwhile, tugged at his costume's edges and frowned, then held his hand out to Nathicana. "My Lady Imperatrice, I apologise most effusively for this unfortunate accident and take full responsibility, as if I had not drawn the guards off duty to... well, never mind that. If there is anything I may do to render things better..." His eyes dimmed and he focussed on Naiya for a moment, frowned, and then shook his head, as if trying to clear it, then spoke slightly more urgently. "But speak it, and I will bring it about. And please, do not think too harshly of my Mistress. She is young, and foolish, and at times appears to have a peanut for a brain."

Nesar, meanwhile, was delighted and showed it, smiling wider than a Roanian might ordinarily have any call to. "Thank you very much for your assistance," His voice said in the ears of the Dominion and in the antennae of the AdminCoordinator. He bowed low, however, and oddly enough did so to Naiya and not to Nathicana. "I regret, Most Ensorcelling One, that my own attempt at interference might have led to this unfortunate turn of events, and I am glad that neither you or your brother were harmed." He smiled in his handsome fashion. "Regrettably, I shall not be able to dance with you, as my wife would disapprove, but if there is anything I might do to make you feel more comfortable, please, you have but to ask."

Marcus let out a slow breath as Asure and her daughters were otherwise removed, running a hand through his thick hair to smooth it and relax a bit.

Nathicana nodded politely, extending her hand in return to Radmiel, forcing her visage to relax into a more pleasant expression.

“No need to apologize, Lord Radmiel. It has been an eventful evening, and I am certain Her Imperial Majesty has been much preoccupied with a number of things. Youth has the advantage of energy and exuberance, and we shouldn’t judge too quickly when such things as parties and celebrations bring those characteristics to the forefront, no? I’m certain all will be fine with me and mine, now that the problem has been properly addressed. Perhaps something to drink?” She suggested lightly, gesturing to any passing servant who might have a tray available.

Naiya stiffened somewhat at Nesar’s words, though she nodded slightly in return. “My thanks, Lord Nesar, for your intervention and words of warning to our guards. As my mother said, I’m certain we will have no further need of assistance.”

All quite pleasant enough, though she continued to watch him with a penetrating gaze, her expression once more relaxing into a smooth mask of thoughtful observation. If she had questions as to his suggested title, she made no sign, nor did her mother, though one brow went up curiously at his choice of address and bowing.

Both guardsmen relaxed somewhat, but kept themselves close to the party, scanning the immediate area continually for any further threats – Mas taking the opportunity to put in the contact he’d been offered earlier, so as to get a better overall view of the larger area.

“Perhaps its just as well I didn’t mention any boons,” Marcus noted quietly to his mother. “I’m not sure I’m quite prepared for what she might have come up with, given how she …” And here, he wriggles his fingers, then makes a ‘poof’ gesture.

Nathicana nodded, and replied softly. “Lets just see if we can get through the rest of this evening without further incident. I’m hoping your ‘gift’ won’t be taken amiss at this point.”

The AdminCoordinator again simply nods--or does her best to emulate the human gesture--when Nesar gets to thanking people. Now that the threats to her allies have been completely neutralized, the AdminCoordinator simply relaxes, although the only indication of it is a subtle shift in her posture. Raising one manipulator finger in a polite 'one moment' gesture, she skitters off momentarily to pick up her translator cube. Fishing a small spray bottle and a cloth from somewhere in the front thorax of her costume, she squirts the translator cube and, as the distinct smell of isopropyl alcohol spreads around her, buffs the steel box into an even higher shine. One hand puts her cleaning instruments back into her cunningly concealed pocket (it wasn't supposed to show, hence, it was hidden with scientific exactness) while the other mounts the translator cube back between her mandibles. "That was unexpected," she says simply as she returns to her allies and friends, "but at least it can be said that it ended well. Is everyone all right?" While her synthesized voice sounds as friendly as it always does, there is a very subtle hint of command, or at least authority, hidden behind it this once.

Elly was pretty shy, so she just smiled and blushed as she took the candy from Nathi. She did say thank you, of course, and her mother gently ran her fingers through her daughter's hair as she smiled down at her.

They took Nathi's sudden departure in stride, bowing to both her as she left, and the Emperor, taking the chance to take their own leave. They wandered the hall a bit more, not really recognizing anyone, and then took seats at an empty table.

"Well girls, having fun? Enjoying the sights?" Aeselle asked the children as they shared a large chair.

"Yep! Lady Nafficana was really nice!" Scarlett exclaimed, smiling brightly. Elly agreed, then asked who this party was for again - she explained that she'd forgotten.

"The Empress of Roania. I've never actually met her... just a few diplomats from the country. Enough to get an invitation, anyways!"

Naragan chuckled a little at the suggestion. "They still apply, yes, but only in the same fashion as many other ancient ways - as gestures and symbols, no more. Though my father was always quite insistent that I should 'follow in the old ways', hence this." He glanced, somewhat pityingly, down at the head, which gazed gormlessly outwards, unmoved.

It was, really, singualrly bad luck that the Felinoids were about. Naragan knew nothing of them, and had, until the moment this Felinoid approached, never seen even so much as a snapshot of one. To be confronted, therefore, with this creature first elicited from him a shocked and ever-so-slightly too loud exclamation of alarm, quickly overcome by deep and acute embarrassment as the creature's stooping form stared at his boots, its own shock creating far more concern in his mind than his own.

"I, er..." he looked desperately around the group, thinking with uncommon speed of a way around the problem. "I apologise to, sir," he began cornily, wincing mentally as the words ground their way between his lips and into the Felinoid's mind, "but I can assure you that this did not come from any of your own kind. Nonetheless," he finished with a short, sharp bow, "I can only apologise for any discomfort or distress I may have caused you." His mind had, mercifully, managed to find and recite the usual official codswallop that could be tailored to every situation, simply using the old <insert name here> approach.

Yet the thing that disturbed him most, oddly enough, was the Felinoid's servility. Not even fury, or disgust, or sadness; its first reaction, upon encountering what it thought to be the severed skull of one of its own relatives, was to worship the perpetrator. He sighed a little, gripping the creature's arm, and murmured an old quote, half-buried in successive years of junk. "O calm, dishonourable, vile submission!"

Kalasin

"You're really staring, milady." A voice said from behind Sophie. "May I refill your glass?" He held up a carafe of wine and his own glass, then smiled slightly. "I take it you don't see much in the way of... that," he indicated where the Empress had been standing, "wherever you come from. At least, I hope you don't." He looked like he was about to offer his hand for her to shake, but he remembered his hands were full. "Aha. I'm Kayel of House Elystear, and the fine young woman who just bent her absolute power to breaking point was my cousin. I don't believe I recognise your accent, but it is definitely an interesting one."

Kayel's primary resemblance to Alessa was in the lines of his face, though naturally his was more angular, and the sharpened point of his ears. "I saw that you had been abandoned by your party," He said in a teasing manner, "and thought I would come and keep you company." Even as he said that, the doors opened and Calavyr returned to the party, holding an icepack to his head. Kayel's lips curled slightly. "It's not safe for a pretty girl to be alone, you see, with certain parties on the loose."

Revenia

Malham Fell was noticeably distressed by Alessa's behaviour, and he also fell forward, his face in his hands. "Oh, Light Help Me. However shall I write the necessary thousand-and-ten apologies..." The Foreign Minister rose to his feet and sighed. "I apologise for our earlier offer of a hint that you were perhaps suspected of illicit activities, while not in any way confirming these as policy. Shall I arrange a meeting for you with the Empress?" And Malham Fell's aide extended his hand, in a plain way asking for some monetary compensation. "I believe she would like to meet you, though there is ordinarily a processing fee..."

Dread Lady Nathicana, S-14

Radmiel puffed himself up to his full height, and stuck his chest out, plainly glad to once more have the situation in hand. "Of course, of course. I'm very glad nothing too serious happened, and I thank you for not making too big a point of it. Servants!" He clapped his hands, and a number of servants, each with wine glasses, appeared. Radmiel took one and handed it to Nathicana, then took another one. "For you, bella signora, in the hope that this will not damage our excellent relations."

He took another one, handed it off to Marcus, and bowed. "For you, honorable young man, in honor of your bravery, valor and resistance against insurmountable odds." Radmiel's eyes twinkled as he said it, though seriousness did underlay his words.

Another glass went to the ant... or, at least, by the ant. Radmiel didn't quite know what to say, so contented himself with an embarassed little grunt and a "Yes, well..." Similarly, as Radmiel didn't feel particularly obliged to Mas and Pascal, he directed a servant to provide them both with a glass of wine.

And then he turned to Naiya and smiled. "And for you, for your loyalty to your brother, your own bravery, and your own beauty, which might equal that of our own Empress when you reach your full maturity." He took a glass of wine and held it out, but Nesar was there, and took Radmiel's arm in his grasp.

"Grand Vizier," Nesar hissed, "I think Lady Naiya is a bit overexcited. Some wine might have an unfortunate reaction in her state."

Radmiel paused, and then looked at Nesar, and then at Naiya. "Yes. I... see. We don't want that." Radmiel replaced the glass of wine, selected a glass of water from a different tray, and handed it to Naiya. "Lady Naiya, would you like me to get you a chair or something?"

New Naggoroth

"Are these your children?" A pleasant voice asked. Another man, middle-aged and actually sporting a beard, approached the small family unit and smiled at Aeselle. "Twins are truly a blessing from the Light." He sat across from her. "Mind if I join you for a little while? Few of my fellows seem to welcome my company, sadly, while you would have little reason to reject me based on my name."

He held his hand out. "I'm Casir Drakharn, of once-Greater House Drak. Your twins remind me of the children of my late brother. When they were younger, at least." His eyes went distant for a moment, but he returned to the here-and-now quickly enough. "I beg your indulgence for my lapse, yet I must ask, why have you brought your children to this event?" Casir looked around the room. "Almost all of these fine lords and ladies have offspring, yet none of them would dream of taking their children to this event."

Oyada

The whimpering felinoid reached out and batted at the skull with a paw, and then frowned. "Oh." The creature looked vaguely unsettled at the presence of a creature that so closely resembled its relative, but seemed content to take Naragan's word for it for the time being.

"Pridelord! There you are." Raphael Ophan-Kotar hurried over to the felinoid. "Are you bothering this man?" Nmmmr purred his response, but Raphael shook his head and turned to Naragan. "I'm sorry, he was sent over to ascertain your wellbeing and we lost track of eachother."

The Garbage Men

Metchier gave a wracking cough and waved his hand dismissively. "Do so, child of man." The ancient Roanian creaked. "Just because we sell you our food doesn't mean we need to put up with the sight of you."

Kousenel and Serahyle rolled their eyes behind their grandfather's back, but shrugged apologetically to the CEO.

"Lord Drakhan? A pleasure to meet you. My name is Aeselle Colthique," she smiled, rising to give him a polite bow, "Please, you are welcome to sit with us. Indeed, I'm hardly familiar with anyone here, and don't intend to be so rude as to reject some conversation,"

She smiles still as she took her seat again, the twins watch her with bright smiles, "These are my daughters, Ellenith and Scarlett," she paused to introduces them, each of them giving a little bow too.

"As to why they are here... it's simply Naggorothi tradition, milord, and has been for well over ten thousand years. The custom dictates that highborn children attend their parents at court from the age of eight, observing and learning at a young age, so that they might already be experienced in their roles in society by the time they come of age. It is an ancient tradition, true, and not really followed to the letter by many, anymore..." she bowed her head a bit, chuckling softly, "But, so far from home, a little tradition is comforting. Surely your own people have some sorts of traditions and standards with regards to raising the children of the nobility?"

Julian looked up at Fell, then, his face carefully blank while he thought, though intently. Normally, normally, he'd do something distinctly unpleasant to the Foreign Minister simply for requesting a bribe. Principle, as it were. If Fell had been Revenian...unpleasant, indeed. But, this wasn't Revenia, and so...

He produced a small glossy black case from an interior pocket of his coat, popping it open, he counted out a number of wafer-thin Commercial Transaction Chits -- issued and backed by the Revenian government for the purpose of large-denomination transactions, each of the filmy chits that Julian removed from the case was worth a thousand firebirds, equivalent to four thousand units of universal standard currency. He removed...a significant number of them, roughly two dozen...and, also, a mint, which he popped into his mouth after closing and returning the case to his jacket. Then he took Fell's hand in his own, shaking firmly...and leaving the chits in Fell's hand on the release.

"And, Mr. Fell, that binds."

He smiled, then, widely, though there wasn't anything particularly comforting about the way he did it. Julian didn't know if Malham Fell was aware of the severity of a binding contract in Revenian customs and by Revenian Law, nor did he particularly care. If Fell was lying, then Julian would probably end up dead. That thought did not particularly bother him -- he didn't particularly want to die, but it was an inescapable possibility, and if one lived in fear of it...well, one didn't do very much. So.

"When you're ready, Mr. Fell."

"Oh!" Sophie jumps, startled. "I'm very sorry - I do apologise - I beg your pardon - I didn't see you there! Yes, you may refill my glass." I really shouldn't, SOLOMON wouldn't approve, she thinks, but it's too late, she's already said it. The wine swirls into the dregs of her fruit juice, and she sips cautiously, nose wrinkling slightly at the unfamiliar taste. So this is alcohol. Now when does the madness start?

"Charmed, I'm sure," she replied to Kayel. "I am Lady Sophia d'Ark, of the House of Ark, representing the planet Kalasin." Already the line seems rehearsed. "Oh, I don't have a "party" of my own - it's just me - but I was talking to the AdminCoordinator - Six-Seven-Five-Two ... One? I think? She was very kind. It's very nice of you to keep me company, although ... they wouldn't dare, surely? It is a diplomatic function ..."

Behind her mask, Sophie's eyes widen in concern. The Roanians do seem to be some kind of feudal absolutism, they might have all sorts of backwards customs ... but they'd better not try anything! She felt suddenly more grateful for SOLOMON's lessons in self-defense, and for her shield-projection implants, than she had in the past.

If there was anything that could be said about Alakantar, it was that he lacked the tendency that his parents had for getting themselves into the middle of all sorts of conflicts. He managed to avoid most problems of that nature by either taking on a more diplomatic attitude toward a hostile person or by simply trying to steer clear of the situation altogether. This is not to say that he was a coward by any means; he just did not find a real need to resort to violence right off, seeing that a more tactful mindset would be more beneficial to all involved.

However, even though he had heard through Spook of the commotion building up on the other side of the ballroom, he did not immediately discount the possibility of intervening on the behalf of the Dread Lady’s children. But he understood that no matter what he did, he would arrive there well after the rest of his party would and decided that instead of running blindly into the fray, he would perform a little reconnaissance beforehand. So he donned his helmet once more and took to a position more toward the center of the room, a place where he could get a good glimpse of just what was going on. There, zooming in with his sensor array and repeatedly flipping between normal view and that of infrared, he managed to watch the scene unfold between Nathicana and her bodyguards and those of House Ophar and could not help but smile at how easily the latter were dispatched.

The sudden yet unusual appearance of the Roanian Empress along with all the palace guards did relieve some of his concerns that Lady Azure would attempt anything further so Alakantar decided that it would be best to not become involved in the matter. With Nathicana being as augmented as she was, combined with Massetti’s and Pascalli’s experience in their positions as the Dread Lady’s personal bodyguards, and the presence of the AdminCoordinator, he doubted that much use could come from him at the moment and figured that he might get in the way, if he were to intervene. After all, it seemed rather needless to create worries or even problems for those protecting him. But still, he would keep his eyes open and his ears attentive in the event that someone really needed his help.

With his mental focus more upon what was going on with his fellow party members, he turned his head from observing them for the time being, but oddly enough still allowing his helmet’s combat system to linger upon them for just a second longer. But that decision would become an unwise one for as soon as he began to step away, a loud thwump accompanied a shocked stumbling backward of his body as it met some stationary object. His sensors then turned forward and found that apparently the drow had not looked where he was going and managed to crash into someone else.

He balanced himself briefly on one foot, trying to keep himself from falling over backward with the glass of water in hand, then settled himself down on both feet as he brought his body forward again. “My apologies, Archchancellor Kouran. I’m afraid I was too occupied with other matters and didn’t see you there,” Alakantar replied sincerely. “Are you alright?”

Mieka gave the slightest imitation of a smirk and after a glance toward Ranisath, stepped forward, toward Sempero, with a malicious grin in her acquiescence as she did so. Her dark eyes idly flitted around the room, as if looking for somewhere suitably secluded.

Meanwhile, Ranisath and the Eldar warlock also went their separate ways; Jill’nais giving a nod toward Aeselle and her children, with whom she was familiar, before walking away to talk with the other Yvressi. Ranisath gave a glance over toward the departing… incident… with the Roanian monogenders. That had been mildly amusing – he had of course, been quite aware of who the servant girl was, for his impressions of people were much more formed by the electromagnetic appearance of their minds and bodies, than their physical looks: but he’d no intention of letting that on, for after all, if Alessa wanted to have fun playing The Prince and the Pauper, then it was hardly something he needed to interfere with – it was indeed, a very good idea, given her limited perception of the world, and bespoke a greater maturity – even in such frivolity.

Master Mary, meanwhile, had been stoically enduring the babble of the Archchancellor. It didn’t actually bother him – Kouran was quite boring, but the alien had yet to really realise that, he was in some ways a social creature, but in others intensely private. Nonetheless, he did find it appealing to be able to talk to someone else, and so, when Alakantar arrived he bobbed in place in something that looked not unlike an arachnid curtsey. Black pearl-like eyes shimmering lightly with an irridecent fluid not dissimilar to crude oil, that made up the dark veins that shot through parts of his shining being, “Greetings!” he said, “You are Al-kant’r Alanr’e’l, yes?” he asked, inloading the biography his race had on this member of the ‘Human Who’s Who?’

“Again, my thanks – and my apologies for your having been inconvenienced like that,” Nathicana said to the AdminCoordinator. “Just once though, it would be nice to have one of these things go off without some sort of incident or disruption. I do not expect any further incidents. If someone is foolish enough to try, protocol be damned, they will regret it.”

The last was said with bleak finality.

Each accepted the drink offered with a quiet thanks, though brows went up slightly at the treatment of their ally – and a juice was just as quietly requested on her behalf from one of the servants. Mas and Pascali both turned down a drink for themselves, being on duty and all, and continued to keep a watchful eye without being in the way of their wards.

Naiya blinked in surprise at the compliment, and subsequent comments immediately after. Did she really look that flustered? She too removed her mask carefully and gently held a hand to her face as she accepted the water. “I ah … yes, thank you,” she managed, pausing to take a slow sip of the cool water. “I would appreciate that.”

“Are you alright, Naiya?” Marcus asked, concerned. Nathi walked over and put a hand on her daughter’s shoulder, looking at her questioningly.

“No, no. I’m fine, really. Just feeling a bit breathless after all the excitement is all. Nerves,” she replied dismissively, while shooting Nesar a curious look as she pondered his comment to her again.

“Just nerves.”

Trevor bowed once again to the Lord and then to their heirs, he gave a bit of a smile to the heirs in acknowledgement of the shrug as he bowed to them before stepping backwards and leaving. Lord Metchier was a grumpy old man set in his ways, business had been done and so it wasn't worth trying to challenge the Lord's perception of humanity, or of Trevor. It wasn't worth the effort and might of ended up un-doing all the work Trevor had done.

So for now Trevor left the Lord to wallow in his own self-importance as he wandered around the party, he must admit the way Alessa reacted to Asure was quite impressive, though a bit too showy for his tastes.

He wandered past un-molested, taking note of what was happening even Calavyr returning back with injuries. Though there did seem a rather young woman who did seem over her head, though the Empress' cousin was there keeping her company. Perhaps he should join them? he wondered and soon decided that he should.

Still with the red wine in hand he came up and introduced himself to Kayel and Sophia.

Sempero looked back with a smile, though it was surprisingly cold all things considered. He didn’t expect it to be this easy, and as such was unexpectedly weary. He followed her lead, cautiously, wordless, but never took his eyes off her. Not that he would not have done anyway mind....

Clodius meanwhile muttered something inaudible and then gave a raised eyebrow as the Governor stated how aware she was and how she came by the knowledge. Not being driven by Sempero’s titanic sized libido, he took the compliment gracefully. “My marks, my lady, I value more than anything else. They prove who I am, what I have done, and what I can do should I be required.” He stated it simply, only at the end looking directly at her.

“I appreciate the Empress’ sentiment, really, but I’m more concerned in what our reptilian friend was talking about. He seemed adamant I or at least one of my kind was here before, do you know what he was talking about?”

Daithí picked up the drink and drank half of it, then placed it back in its place.

“Well, I must say, it's been been a pleasure to haunt your mind, but I really must get going.”

With a bow, “Good night to you,” then standing straight, “And be careful, or you might see me again soon.”

He walked away, slowly blending into the crowd.

"It is certainly not necessary for you to apologize for something completely out of your control, Imperatrice Nathicana D'Aquisto," the AdminCoordinator replies to Nathi in a soft, friendly tone. "An unexpected situation has been acceptably resolved and I doubt that our hosts will allow such conditions to recur."

The Blue then steps away from the circle of Dominioners taking care of Naiya. While it may appear that she's being cold to Naiya's condition and her family's concern for her, the AdminCoordinator is simply leaving the task of taking care of that situation to those best suited for it. She has no mothering instinct, rather all; to her people are merely means to the end of the continued survival and success of the panNorm. The Dominioners, being allies of the Hives, are extensions of that survival and success; they are now intrinsically linked and mutually supporting. However, the Dominion is not as stable as the Coordinated Hives; the Dominion has a series of less-than-expendable individuals whose wellbeing unreasonably influences the health of their entire society. This makes these people schwerpunkts that must be protected in proportion to their importance to the Prime Directive. The royal family of the Dominion is, barring an unlikely smooth transition, vital to the survival and success of the Dominion in its current state; the Dominion is allied to the panNorm, tying its survival to the Hives; and thus, by extension, the royal family of the Dominion are important to the survival of the species. It's quite simple.

All threats to the continued survival of the panNorm are abominations and will not be suffered to continue. They're vital lynchpins to the current panNorm survival strategy, AdminCoordinator 67521 is just a title and a number. It only made sense that she use her expendable strength to protect the best chances of the Hives' survival.

With that threat closed, all that remains is the emotional health of the Dominioners; all previous observational data indicate that they are a mentally hardy bunch and can aid themselves far better than the AdminCoordinator ever could. After all, Nathi was within earshot when the Blue calmly commented what happens to excess pre- and post-natal resources in the Hives and--the 'bumblebee' reasons to herself as she produces a straw of machined metal from her pouch and dips it in a glass of juice newly acquired from a Roanian server--it's quite possible that the Imperatrice would prefer to not have such a mindset anywhere near her children for the short term.

Instead, therefore, she politely raises her glass to whatever toasts are being made and follows through with quiet sips from behind her translator cube. Once that duty is completed, she excuses herself with her quintessential textbook politeness and scuttles back over to Sophie. "My apologies, Lady Sophia d'Ark, but duty called me elsewhere, as you saw. Please forgive me if I have been rude in the performance of such." She bows respectfully to the young cyborg, then turns slightly to Alessa's cousin. "Good evening," the ant continues as she extends one gloved manipulator hand, her synthesized voice as chirpy as it can get whilst still being impeccably polite, "I am AdminCoordinator 67521 of the Blue Mother of Us All, representing the Coordinated panNorm Hives. A pleasure to meet you."

S-14, The Garbage Men, Kalasin

If Kayel was displeased by the appearance of a human male and an ant when he thought the most he would have to deal with would be an attractive young human female, he certainly hid it well. "Pleased to meet you, Master Trevor. I am Kayel, of House Elystear. Faith and Duty to you and your kin." He took Trevor's hand and gave it a solid, if a bit clumsy shake. "I hope my three-times-great uncle didn't give you too much trouble."

"Pleased to meet you, AdminCoordinator..." Kayel took the ant's manipulator and shook it before his mind caught up with him, then slowly released it and dropped his hand back down by his side. There was a slight twitch, as if he ached desperately to wipe his hand clean on his pants, but he managed to suppress it, though his pointed ears twitched. "I am Kayel, of House Elystear... Faith and Duty to you and... your... hive? Your nest?" His long ears twitched, and he rallied. "I saw your action over there with House Ophar. That was very well done."

His attention reshifted back to Sophie, however, as she was by far the most pleasant entity in this little group. "I'm afraid that there really is no telling what Patrician Seraph will and will not do." Kayel's voice was a bit bitter. "But I doubt he'd try anything on you with company such as this around." His eyes flickered to the ant. "Still and all, this is meant to be a happy occasion, celebrating my cousin and Empress' birthday, not the... occasion to think of her heir." His bitterness became almost overpowering, but he suppressed that too, and instead held up his glass. "I don't believe Grand Vizier Radmiel thanked you appropriately, AdminCoordinator. And I am certain, because I know my cousin, that the thought of thanking anyone didn't cross her mind." He gave them all a wry smile. "Allow me, therefore, to thank you on behalf of the lesser nobility for what you have done." He held up his glass. "Cheers." And drank it.

New Naggoroth

Casir laughed. "Look around you, Mistress Colthique." The man reached into his pocket and produced a pair of candy bars, sliding them across to the twins in a practiced gesture. "As I said, almost all of these fine lords and ladies have children. And yet, they've left them at home to be watched by nurses or tutors. The girl children of court are traditionally not allowed to attend formal events until they..." He remembered the youths in attendance and redirected his words, "until they've reached a certain level of development, and the boys, not until they are confirmed by their fathers as eligible to marry." The Lord Drakharn sighed and shook his head. "It is a very adult event, though my step-niece's behaviour might make it seem otherwise. It truly is a shame, as I think having children around livens places up."

"Why, Casir!" Calavyr sat down at the table without even a word to Aeselle. "Are you monopolising this beautiful woman and her charming... girl children?"

Casir growled under his breath. "They're not for you, Calavyr. Get you gone, or Prince of the Realm or not, I will beat you until you howl like a whipped cur." His fist balled, but for the sake of his audience he restrained his temper.

"Oh, but you'll frighten our guests." Calavyr smiled at Aeselle. "I do hope that this... wreck hasn't bored you? Perhaps you should leave your children with him and come find some real entertainment with me."

Dread Lady Nathicana

"Very well," Radmiel bowed. "It has been a pleasure to finally meet you in person, Imperatrice, and your lovely children. But I'm afraid that I have other guests to meet and important matters to attend to. If you need anything, please inform a servant and I or my men will attend to your concerns." With a tip of his hat, the Grand Vizier was gone.

Nesar politely ignored Naiya's stare, and held up an object that looked like a pocketwatch. A small holographic display popped out, and he flipped his fingers through the commands. "Rank hath its privileges, I'm afraid. And one of them is that I won't be carrying furniture myself." He said by way of explanation.

A pair of servants did come, lugging a very heavy and well-cushioned loungechair. Nesar frowned and looked at his holographic display, then at Nathi and her family, and shrugged helplessly. "I'm afraid I might have mis-stated our requirements. But I'm sure Alessa won't mind." He waved them to place the chair by Naiya, and then casually dismissed them. "If the two of you wished to rejoin the festivities, Imperatrice, Prince Marcus, I can wait by the princess until she feels better."

The Freethinkers

The Governor sighed and shook her head. "That's just the thing. He doesn't have a full command of our language, let alone yours. I couldn't tell you what he meant." There was more to it than that, and it all came out after she had a sip of wine. "...for whatever reason, Rk does not seem to rest easily under our administration, and there are rebels against our chosen leader." She reached up and pinched her nose. "Approximately 6 cycles ago, we had finally captured their leader and sent him off to... I don't know where. 3 cycles ago, he returned. And one of his statements was that he had seen Midlonians use your kind as toys, selling them off into slavery despite earlier being aligned as..."

She laughed. "Why am I talking about this? It's all seditious nonsense meant to promote the superiority of the reptilian race and how brutal and unfair mammals are. I've already dropped leaflets detailing just how impossible such an event is." This was a deliberate evasion of the question, however, because in truth she had no idea how or where her subject king had met Freestian Vampires in the past, and did not particularly want to consider the possibility of it being the case.

Northrop-Grumman, The Ctan

Kouran didn't actually move when the mechanical drider bumped into him, though his entourage had made many prayers for that. Instead, the ArchChancellor broke off in midbloviate about the economy of small fringeworlds in the 1500s, and turned to face the newcomer. "A Drider. Pseudo-Arachnae Nocturnae. Very rare these aeons. Your left mandible clasp is off."

"Alakantar of House Aleanrahel. I have met only one other drow, you know. Very long time ago. Woman. There are pictures in the archive, you know. I believe I have a copy of your House Shield somewhere." Kouran didn't offer to shake hands, instead throwing a wall of words. "Your charming lady is well, perhaps? Interesting family, the Hakoens. I knew her great grandfather. Horrible business with that spell on her, really, but my hands were tied." He turned back to Mary. "About spells, is it true that your people..."

Revenia

Malham Fell directed Julian to hand his weapon over to Traegan, and then indicated for the Revenian to follow. The guards at the ball stepped aside when Malham came by, though ordinarily they would prevent anyone from entering the palace proper. "Where's the empress?"

One of the patrolling guards, after a long, hard, hostile glare at Julian, pointed up the hall. Fell bowed and led Julian on, to a door flanked by two very large and very unfriendly salamanri. Fell looked at the door, and then at the guards. "This is Julian Stark. I believe he has an appointment?" One of the guards hissed something. "Oh, of course." Fell deliberately turned around to look for something, but as soon as his eyes were off Julian, one of the salamanri lashed out with his tail, opened the door, and threw the Revenian into the room.

Perhaps fortunately, while the empress was pulling on her shirt, she was facing away from the door and the most he could see was the straps of her bra, white lines against her pale skin. "I'm getting ready!" She shouted when she heard the door open, followed by a muffled imprecation against humorless ministers who couldn't read a memo on their desk if their lives depended on it. As the shirt fell into place around her waist, she snatched up a scrunchie and tied it around her long hair, for the first time in her life wearing it up as a ponytail. She turned to face the door, and stared, her eyes flashing in shock. "...What are you doing in here?!" She covered her chest, feeling undressed in the men's shirt she was wearing, and backed away. The door behind him slammed shut and locked itself.

Alakantar was taken aback by this onslaught of verbiage, finding himself unprepared for such a barrage brought on by a man who could seemingly ramble on and on with barely any recognition of those around him, aside from using them as waypoints on his monologue’s path. But thankfully, the drow could keep most of his expressions concealed behind a thick plate of armor, mostly for the sake of others and Kouran, because he expected that if the helmet wasn’t in place, it would not have changed things in the slightest.

The single visible expression of his surprise was that he fell silent for the duration of whatever sentences had been thrown toward him, after attempting to get a word in edgewise from the beginning but later simply giving up on it and letting the man ramble. In any case, there were a few things that were mentioned that sparked some interest, namely the comments about the other drow woman, the Hakoens being an interesting family, and most importantly, the spell that had been inflicted upon his fiancé. It was understood that there was more to Arielle’s familial situation than he was made aware of and suspected that Kouran was a wealth of knowledge in a great many things , and perhaps might be in this case. After all, the drow was familiar with the friendship that this man and the Vice Chairman held and did catch some snippets of information here and there when the encyclopedic-sized letters were passed back and forth between the two.

I wonder if it’s possible… he pondered to himself, waiting for Kouran to finish directing a majority of his words toward the drow and hoping that he might be able to steer the Roanian toward a topic that he was personally interested in.

“Hmm….that’s rather interesting, I must say,” Alakantar stated bluntly and directly to the man, deciding not to mince words. “I wasn’t aware of how many others had known about the spell. What’s your take on it if you don’t mind me asking?”

But despite his almost constant attention placed upon the Archchancellor, he had not at all forgotten about the presence of Master Mary beside him and took this opportunity, right after asking Kouran that question, to properly greet this rather strange-appearing being.

“Ah, yes, you’re precisely right,” he answered, bowing his head toward the creature politely. “But I can’t say that I’ve come here as prepared as you are…partly from technological constraints and, well, there’s quite a bit of folks out there that the Corporation isn’t familiar with…but I digress…I don’t believe I’ve caught your name.”

Julian

"Fang. Julian Fa-----"

He never got to finish the correction, as such. Instead, he was quite forcibly hurled through a door, and while he was reflexively upon the way to recovery as he landed, the image he was greeted with caused him to re-evaluate his action, and so Alessa's accusatory question was partially answered with his skidding to a stop in a pile of his own limbs, so to speak.

It didn't take him very long to pick himself up off the ground, of course -- there were limits as to how far one could push the credibility of his clumsiness. Still, he held his forehead with one hand, planted the other against a wall, and simply breathed for a few moments, his eyes disengaged from anything real.

Then, and only then, did he allow his eyes to focus in on Alessa -- and his reaction was absolutely perfect. His cheeks heated and paled at the same time, and his eyes widened slightly. He took a step back, rotated in place, swore softly enough that it still counted as 'beneath his breath' while being just loud enough to be heard. Then he spun back around to face Alessa -- doing all of this in the span of a few seconds. Dynamic? Hardly. He was executing, now.

His first, immediate, course of action was to double-toggle his comm bead, generating a two-pop sequence that would prevent Traegan from coming after him. The next step was to invoke his talent, the core of his talent, sending out waves of comforting, of irresistible calm.

"Perhaps I have made a mistake, yes, perhaps...but I will not question my motivations for allowing that mistake to be made again -- merciful pancreator, we are a stubborn people, but enough bludgeoning can make simple things clear. You trusted me once, Alessa, I can only pray that some of that remains...I don't crisp well, it's been tried."

He smiled, then, seized by a peculiar sort of madness,

"You have my most sincere apologies for this intrusion, it was not my intention, I seem to have been mistaken in my assumptions as to the present operating conditions...none-the-less, you need never fear me. I would die before I allowed harm to come to you. You know that."

And he did something that he hadn't done before -- he used his talent to offer her a window into his mind, to see what made him tick, to view his motivations, and, perhaps, to view her as he saw her. It was a desperation move, certainly, because it required a disproportionate amount of his attention, an he would be hard-pressed to defend himself from a child with a stick while channeling as he was...but the action seemed right, in a heady, drug-like way...

Traegan

Traegan glanced down at Julian's sheathed warblade, frowned, then clicked it into place on his belt. It was an unfamiliar weight to him, subtly different from his own warblade, and quite different from the melee weapon that had defined his station for several decades now -- the Administrator's Tri-staff.

He turned to Leslie, shrugging lightly, an exasperated sort of grin on his face.

"Well, now that we've some degree of calmness returned, my lady, I believe you mentioned an interest in Revenian jewelry? Unfortunately, my colleague would have been the ideal person to discuss that matter with. He likes to keep most of his business ventures quiet, but between the two of us, Julian is a quite skilled jeweler, and his firm, Cloudsilver Fang, is perhaps the most prestigious of the Niall Island jewelry houses."

His hand moved to wrist, flicking the catch on the bracelet he wore. He wasn't generally the type to indulge heavily in jewelry, but the bracelet was of sentimental value. Small pieces of jewelry to commemorate events were often given to those for whom said events were most significant, and this bracelet in particular was a memory piece from his sister's wedding. It was also a good example of Revenian jewelcraft, simplistic in nature, being little more than a band of woven silver-alloy wires. To a Revenian, it was symbolic, each criss-cross of wires, each intricate twist, could be read to tell a story -- in this specific case, that of Alicia Stark's marriage to Alexander Maern.

Traegan offered the bracelet to Leslie for examination.

"That is, of course, not intended as a specifically decorative piece, but one could get something of an idea, none-the-less."

The moment passed. Naragan’s face quickly began to relax, his mind giving it permission to stand down from the sudden alert to which he had been aroused, as the… thing slowly rose to a sort of pathetic semi-stoop, still apparently somewhat cowed by the presence of the hunter; indeed, perhaps, by the mere presence of another species. His continued recovery from the surprising tension of a moment before, fortunately, gave him a brief moment to think. With it, he began to study the Felinoid more closely, his smile of obvious friendship transforming into something of a smirk as he reflected, with the fatuous complacency of his age and office, on the yawning gulf of evolution that separated the animal he had so fearfully dispatched years before and the craven, mewling thing in front of him, gazing pitifully at him as though he were some sort of god. Perhaps the Roanians, historically not known for their sensitivity to other races, had finally found a species worthy of their contempt. It was a cruel and inane thought, he would later realise; but right now, as he looked over the skittish Felinoid from within his booted, belted, beweaponed costume, he felt every inch the mighty hunter, bestriding the world and all within it; no matter, to him, that the sensation of power was as fleeting as the mist.

Adopting a slightly superior drawl subconsciously, Naragan flicked his vision from the grovelling, but seemingly satisfied, Felinoid to his new interlocutor as the latter approached. He was not, unlike most of the potentates around him, familiar with most of the Roanian hierarchy (which served ever so slightly to dent his newly-found excess of self-satisfaction), and was thus forced to smile politely, while attempting to trawl through the limited material he had managed to absorb from the two-thousand-page folder, which the Intelligence Ministry had kindly dropped on his cabin table, on the Roanian diplomatic and governmental corps. Unsurprisingly, he drew a complete, total and comprehensive blank. After the first thirty pages dealing with Alessa, he had decided that Broken on the Rock constituted an infinitely more agreeable read, and thus his knowledge of Roania’s extensive bureaucracy ceased with the words, “it is customary to be prepared for what might be termed ‘moderate chaos’”. They were quite appropriate, but not very helpful; his ego deflated a little more, with a sad metaphorical wheeze, as he ran out of steam and introduced himself to the new arrival.

“No, no, we’re quite all right.” Naragan kept searching his mind with the optimism of a schoolboy who knows he’s done nowhere near enough work to pass the examination, but is convinced that he will find the answer buried in his mind if he just chews the pen enough, and finally decided to be as dignified as he could, even if it was while admitting that he was not on the same level of knowledge as the foreign delegates around him. Yet more gas hissing from his ruptured bubble, he bowed slightly. “I’m afraid he reacted, rather understandably, with a little concern to my baggage.” Guffawing slightly, he withdrew his arm from the Pridelord’s and instead proffered it to both. “Emperor Shokiwe Naragan of Oyada, gentlemen.”

His thoughts paused and his mind cringed, while the smile remained fixed in place like a particularly sticky clump of Weetabix. He was addressing a cat-person and an avowedly xenophobic alien. All right, so the alien was a portly, none-too-tall, and evidently (by any standards) rather civil alien, but as the last of his surplus ego drained away he had become aware that he knew… very little about protocol around here, and he could therefore just have made, in layman’s terms, a bit of a cock-up.

Oh bugger.

Watching the Roanian twitch actually brings some small degree of pleasure to the AdminCoordinator. It's not schadenfreude, it's the love that misery feels for company. "Thank you, Kayel of House Elystear; I was doing what my Hive required of me." Information requested, provided in context. As the Roanian continues, the Spacedy Ant watches quietly and accumulates data on Roanian gestures and subconscious body language, which does not deviate all too far from the endoskeletal statistical mean. A good bit of revulsion, mixed with a touch of fear; the former covered up and the latter expressed by respect. This is acceptable.

"You honor me with your thanks. Should all duty be so well regarded." She bows shortly on her twin set of hips, then meets the toast with raised glass and sipped straw.

She considers the diplomatic potential for openly forgiving the Roanian for his revulsion, as it is quite mutual--she's merely better practiced and has a more commanding drive to repress--but comes to the conclusion that it would be considered impolite in this venue and, as forward intelligence on Roanian psychology tends to indicate that they are quite vain, would be misunderstood. The bumblebee therefore remains silent but keeps a respectful distance, keeping a little closer towards Sophie.

Did everyone in Roania keep candy in their pockets? Both girls certainly seemed to think so, and thanked their guest politely as they took their latest treats. Aeselle grumbled to herself, making a mental note to be sure they brushed their teeth before bed.

"Ah milord, I think a key difference is our culture. Druchii are, how do you say it... a very passionate people. We tend to be very quick to act and make decisions, judgements, and the like" she tried her best to explain, though it was quite difficult to articulate. "And once one has come of age, they are responsible for their actions at court. Their parents cannot protect them, no matter their status. It is most important that they understand the consequences of insulting the wrong lord or offending the wrong matron through word or deed, and this can only be learned through first-hand experience," she bowed her head and sighed, "Of course, this is less important these days... but tradition is tradition."

She finished her explanation just in time to have Calavyr sit down and rather rudely interrupt the elder noble without so much as an introduction. Back home, Aeselle recalled that this kind of disrespect to an elder noble and his guest, regardless of status, would likely earn the offender the very real threat of a blade in the belly. But she hid her surprise well, and smiled. She did have an audience, after all, and she had to set a good example.

"Boring me? No, quite the opposite milord. Lord Drakhan has provided quite stimulating conversation. Perhaps you would do me a favour, sir, and sit with the girls for a moment?" Both twins smiled brightly and nodded eagerly when she glanced down at them, "I'm sure they're quite eager to meet such a distinguished gentlemen, and have many questions about your lovely realm," Again, more eager smiles and nods, "Lord Drakhan was about to join me for a dance, and we won't take long..."

“Of course,” Nathicana said simply at Radmiel’s explanation and exit, thinking no more of it. She knew very well the demands of playing host, and organizing a gathering, after all. She was certain Calabrese, were he here, would relate as well.

Brows arched at the oversized chair that was brought out – all had been expecting a simple light chair just to sit down, not this …

“Oh my …”

It would be discourteous to refuse after so much effort had been expended, and so Naiya tried to smile graciously, and ask the servants if they would be so kind as to take it over against the wall in an out-of-the-way place where she, and the chair, wouldn’t be a bother.

“My ah, thanks Nesar,” she managed, doing her best to hide her discomfort at having such a fuss made over her, gingerly settling into the overlarge chair. “Marcus, Mother, really – I will be fine. If Pascali perhaps could just linger a bit, I’m certain I’ll be feeling quite alright soon, then I can rejoin you. Please, don’t let me keep you from socializing. If I need you, I’ll call.”

Nathicana looked over her daughter critically, weighing and measuring, and was met with a steady look in return. The reappearance of Calavyr had not gone unnoticed, and this unpleasant fact had been relayed to the entire party by the observant Mas – something neither Marcus nor she was terribly thrilled about. Pascali, not needing to be asked twice, took up a protective position within easy enough reach of Naiya without unduly hovering, actively scanning the area.

“I’ll be fine,” Naiya said firmly. “Please, no more fussing. Marcus, weren’t you going to ask that lovely girl for a dance? We did have to leave rather rudely …”

“If you’re certain you’ll be fine,” he replied dubiously. “Just call.”

After another encouraging nod from his sister, he began threading his way through the crowd, more observantly and tense than before, back towards Sophia and the group growing around her. After another moment’s contemplation, Nathi moved off in that direction with Mas in tow, but not before giving her daughter a warm hug around the shoulders, and a gentle kiss atop her head.

Once she had finally been left alone, her eyes immediately sought out Nesar, fixing him again with that curious stare.

“I do not believe you have been entirely truthful with me, sir. You’ve been very solicitous for someone who doesn’t know us at all, and has no real reason to be. Just what is it you want – and what did you mean by all that … enchanting business?”

"Not at all, AdminCoordinator. It's very kind of you to be concerned for me. And you too, mister Kayel. Although your Empress seems to have things under control, as far as preventing violence goes, I think?

"To the AdminCoordinator, then," she finishes, and sips at her wine. It doesn't taste all that bad, really, and surely this one glass won't violate SOLOMON's prohibition on alcohol.

"So what is it you do, mister Kayel? When you're not being the Empress' cousin, I mean? ... oh, I do hope I haven't offended you - should that be lord Kayel?"

The Ctan, Northrop-Grumman

Not appearing at all to be disturbed by the interruption, Kouran beamed at Alakantar as if he were one of his proteges. "The spell on the Hakoen Girl? Not a particularly complex piece of metaphysical metaengineering of the physical form, even if I vocalise this opinion myself. Certainly, if I felt it had been a worthy exercise I could have engaged a far more potent enchantment. Yet my proverbial extremities were tied. Alas, that I thought young Hakoen to be his father's son." Kouran's eyes flashed and he gave a very small smile. "Nevertheless, young man, I advise you that should your clan ever be in a position to request from myself or even my mistress a spell of potent nature such as that, you consider your request very carefully, as while I do keep my word, it is my right to interpret the spell I cast according to my own judgement."

The ArchChancellor frowned at a passing thought, and smiled. "Besides, everything has worked out for her, has it not? That is the true concern."

Dread Lady Nathicana

Nesar beamed as Naiya and her family as they displayed their affection for one another, and then settled back on the arm of Naiya's chair. "Perhaps I felt like being generous, most charming one. Would you believe that?" He supplied as an initial answer, laying a curious emphasis on the word 'charm', watching her reaction carefully, then laughing and shaking his head. "No, of course not. We are not a generous people." Nesar allowed, flashing shining white teeth in a smile.

"Would you believe I was interested in you?" He hazarded, his eyes on hers, twinkling even as he refilled his glass from a passing servant and sipped, considering another answer. "No, I don't believe so. Perhaps my father asked me to help the party of Alakantar out, in order to ensure his continued loyalty to the plan. Or perhaps my brother is well-disposed towards your mother and asked me to keep an eye out for you and your brother on this venture. Have you met my brother, by chance? I believe you would like him."

"Or, perhaps, Naiya..." His voice dropped low as he used her first name for the first time, "I was using you and your brother to break my enemies the Opharim for the insults they've heaped upon my family and my person in the past, and I'm not as nice as I appear. After all, someone must have told those ignorant women about your brother and his prime choice of genes. House Ophar rarely is interested in human breeding tools, hm...?" The Cheruv left it hanging, and then laughed, dispelling his sinister voice with a wave of his hand. "No, nothing so 'evil' as that, Most Enspelling One. I merely wish to improve my 'credit rating', so to speak, so your mother might support my request to be named ambassador to the Dominion." So open was his smile that it was difficult to tell how honest he was being, but his change of subject indicated he was done explaining his reasons. "Have you tried these? I don't know if they're available in the Dominion, but we're starting to sell them on Mars." He picked up a breaded roll, and bit into it, laughing when reddish juice squirted onto his chest. "Ah, perhaps these aren't ladylike enough for you." He wiped the meat from his face and made a serious effort to clean off his robe.


Kalasin, S-14, Garbage Men, incoming DLN

"Huh? Oh." Kayel's hand was continuing to twitch, but still suppressed. "Mister?" He tried to place the word, and then smiled at Sophie. "Oh... that's alright. I suppose you could call me Mister Elystear, if you wanted to." He laughed and rubbed one of his long ears, then shook his head. "My father is Patron of House Elystear, so I suppose you could also call me Sir Kayel if you wanted to do that, too." He struck out, though, and gave his most charming smile yet, his green eyes matching hers look for look. "But I hate to stand on formality, Sophie. Why don't you call me Kayel?"

His expression changed when Marcus and his mother became visible on the horizon, but he rallied, his family charm carrying him through even through the appearance of someone he viewed as a vastly superior rival. "The hero of the hour!" Kayel toasted Marcus. "Though I must confess to feeling a little jealousy." Kayel actually was very jealous, but doing his best to hide it. "Introductions all around, though I'm afraid almost everyone here knows who you and your beautiful mother are. I'm Kayel, of House Elystear. I know you've met the AdminCoordinator, but have you met Trevor? He tells me he's a CEO. And this is Lady Sophie, of House d'Ark, planetary representative of Kalasin."

Oyada

Raphael frowned at the strange little man addressing him and the Pridelord, but took Naragan's hand in a professional fashion, gave it a solid clasp, then released. "I am Governor Raphael of the Imperial Province of Nemmmmar. This is Pridelord Nmmmmr," The Roanian managed the purr sufficiently to distinguish between the planetary name and the felinoid. "It is a pleasure to meet you, Majesty." The governor bowed, his hand over his heart. The felinoid flung himself on the ground and kowtowed, banging his head against the floor. Raphael seemed to treat this as normal, ignoring it. "That's an interesting trophy."

New Naggoroth

Casir frowned, but led Aeselle onto the dance floor anyway, holding her loosely and conservatively, rather than in the fashion that perhaps Kayel or Nesar or a man interested in courting her would. Still, despite the looseness of his grip, he danced well. "That was smart." He said, grudgingly, though still keeping an eye on the children. "Your children are going to turn a lot of heads when they grow older." The middle-aged official smiled as he said it. "When they reach the 'level of development' expected of people attending these things, they'll put Lady Asure's daughters to shame, I expect."

Calavyr scowled, but tried to keep a smile on his face. "So... you're... little girls. How is that working out?"

Revenia

Alessa's nostrils flared when he spoke, but she said nothing, instead grabbing a jacket from the chair it was draped over and turning away from him to pull it on, selfconscious of the way her chest bounced despite the bra and not in the mood to be an object of prurience, especially to a man who had somehow managed his way into the room she was changing in. "You think that I'm scared of you?" She asks, not looking at him even as she fixes the jacket and fumbles with the zipper. "You think the reason I'm angry is because I'm scared? Do you know who I am?" She grumbles, waves her fingers, and the zipper closes up. "I'm not scared of anyone alive. Or dead, for that matter. And precious few inbetween. And certainly not you. Scared." She balled her hands into fists. "I'm angry, Julian Fang, because your first reaction is to try to cast a spell on me."

Still not looking at him, she walks to the mirror and adjusts her hair, then grabs her makeup and begins to furiously do her face up, toning down feminine features while still leaving the basic truth of womanhood intact. "There. I'm angry, Julian Fang, because I need to tell you I'm angry." She whispers to herself, turning her head from side to side. It was a clever costume idea, she had to admit. No one would guess she was a girl... who was dressed up as a girl pretending to be a boy. "What to do about you..." She took a deep breath, held it, and then tightened the jacket, holding her breasts flatter against her chest. "Done."

After a moment, she spun on her heel and faced Julian, her hands on her wide hips, cocking her body in a way that would be attractive in her usual clothing but seemed somewhat comical in the pants and shirt. "Trust? I trust people not to come barging into my room when I'm getting dressed, sir. I don't know how you got in here, but when I find out, I promise that people will pay. You, Julian Fang, are lucky I don't believe you saw anything you shouldn't have." Her attention flickered away. "Hm... too much lipstick." She admired herself in the mirror, then dabbed her lips with a tissue, pressing her lips together in a very thin smile. "Oh well. Where was I? No, wait. Never mind. I don't have time for this." She swept past him, the door flying open as she approached it. "...to vanish, not leave a note, not call, not try to contact me... to let yourself be dissuaded by that bullyboy I used to employ as a Grand Vizier... yes, I know. I've known all along."

"Julian, dear, don't delude either of us. You don't love me." She paused for a moment, the light framing her body in the door as she looked back at Julian. "I will not be loved as an ideal, any more than I will be loved as an Empress." Alessa smiled at him sadly. "I can't be your rock, dear, sweet, Julian. I'm barely strong enough to be my own." She sighed, and looked at her hands. "Thank you for coming for my birthday, Lord Fang." And with that, she left.

Trevor briefly smiled with the shake, it was fake, but then again so was the Roanian's reactions to both him and the ant dressed up as a Bumble Bee. The fakeness of the smile wasn't totally transparent nor opaque but somewhere in the middle.

Trevor smiled to himself at the awkwardness of the young girl, she obviously had a lot to learn but experience was the best teacher he knew so he let it go. Perhaps though being a lone with a robot was not the best way for her to grow and become a true diplomatic figure.

However he was not the one to be a judge of this matter, and any involvement would just provide unnecessarily hurt feelings and rthat harmed his corporations reputation.

"To Imperiale Principe Marcus Treznor," the insectoid says as she raises her glass with a single up-down nod, antennae slowly wandering this way and that as they tend to do.

Aeselle blushed at the compliment of her daughters, rather surprised by Casir's prediction. "Ah, lord Drakhan, you are too kind. I.." she stammered a bit, looking into his eyes, and finding something reassuring there. "I have high hopes for the girls; They shall be spending years abroad, in schools across the systems out here," she now pressed a bit closer, wanting their conversation to be private "I have made inquiries about having them study here sometime in the next few decades. I know we have just met, milord... but it would please me greatly if you could look out for them while they're here."

She let that sink in as the dance continued, though she did keep glancing over his shoulder to the twins sitting with a man that had left her feeling a slight bit uneasy...

---

Ellenith and Scarlett were bother rather wired by that point. Far too much candy. But, at least they both remembered that they had to behave themselves. So the blond of the pair mostly ignored Calavyr in favour of looking around and seeing all the people in their funny costumes, while Elly decided to prove how grown up she was.

"Yes milord, we are pretty young," she said, her voice quick and quite accented by her native druhir, which was quite sibilant and harsh for an elven language. She did slow right away, though, to appear more refined. "And we have not had the chance to attend a lavish event like this before..." she reinforced the statement with an encompassing wave of her flipper, "So it is quite a lot to take in. But we're both having a great time, aren't we Scarlett?"

"Oooh... That one's a floaty ball-thing! I bet it shoots lasers!"

"Yes, a wonderful time. Has your evening been enjoyable, milord?" she looked up at him, her smile bright and sincere, despite his obvious contempt...

This is a special post, on request for New Naggoroth

Casir blushed himself in sympathy with her, though primarily at the proximity of Aeselle. It had been a while since so beautiful a woman had chosen his company, after all. "I would be honoured to play host to your children when they choose to visit, Miss Colthique." The Roanian bowed his head in agreement. "My estate has far more space than I know what to do with." Casir looked across at Ellenith and Scarlett. "They're running circles around that man."

Calavyr glared at Ellenith, but knew better than to try to strike her with Alessa's antiviolence spell up. "It has been... less unpleasant than I thought it would be." Calavyr allowed, ignoring Scarlett's babble. "I hope you barbarous children appreciate the experience."

Casir sighed where he was watching from. "Apart from the sheer pleasure of your company, Miss Colthique, I am rather relieved you are here with me, and not with him. He is not... a nice man."

Julian tilted his head to the side, foot frozen in mid-step...for about half a second, which was about half a second longer than he should have been knocked off-balance, but, then, he'd been riding a peculiar sort of high, a stupid sort of high, and that was that. Spinning about as she walked past him, he threw his parting statement at her. He didn't yell, didn't need to -- even if his voice hadn't been trained for battlefield command, he wouldn't have needed to yell there. It would have carried to someone on another planet -- the intention, if not the exact words -- and the intention was the basis of the words...

"No, Alessa, I guess I don't know who you are. You'd be surprised at how much I don't know, how much I had to guess. You might have a better idea how much I guessed wrong, but maybe not there, either. I told you that I had things to resolve -- I didn't think you'd expect a daily drethr'kling report. Happy Birthday, Alessa -- may you never have done to you what you have done to me."

--

Julian found his way back to Traegan, hands balled into fists, and took his Peacemaker back, dropping it into place. He hadn't given chance for any inconvenient encounters, and if they'd come, he hadn't noticed. Once Peacemaker's comforting weight was again at his side, his hand came to rest on the pommel and the fat sapphire-like gem set in said pommel came alive with a white fire...and he shook his head, exhaling.

Traegan took one look at Julian and made an odd sort of gesture, "Step into my office, my friend..."


Traegan settled into a large armchair, putting his feet up -- his mental playground now took the image of the parlor of his Nexus house. He crossed his fingers together and regarded Julian thoughtfully.

"Talk."

Julian didn't sit, couldn't sit, was having a hard enough time keeping his hands unballed, "I'd rather not, Traeg."

Traegan shook his head, "Talk before you break something expensive and I have to pay for it. I suspect that Roanian noblemen have a fairly high retail value. Speak UP, Julian -- you've tried the 'bottle it up' thing before, and it didn't work then. What in Kendri-Kalis' name makes you think that it will work now?"

Snarl. "Two people being unreasonable together makes for one exceptionally large mess. I need this like I need a malignant tumor on my eyeball. She blames me, I said some stupid shit....hell, I said some stupid shit even when it was just me blaming me. Dres'nikr Av'ja krga! Let it all burn!"

Traegan rose hastily, crossing to where Julian was standing and taking him by both shoulders -- he looked his friend in the eyes and spoke slowly.

"Do Not Go There. You're very close to a line that, once crossed, cannot be stepped back over -- and you're doing it for a damned stupid reason. Don't get Wandery on me or I'll smack you until your eyes displace your toes. Let me think."

And he did for a few moments...

"So, she's mad you never called? Merciful Pancreator, you'd think this was Primary. I don't suppose you bothered to explain what you were doing? Or that Administrator Kurzay would have probably shot you had you tried to initiate contact? No, you wouldn't. Obviously, you need to talk to her. However, even if I could magically facilitate that, you on the brink of full-out a full-on 'Fuck the Universe' breakdown isn't going to help your case. You need to calm down and think, Julian."

Julian nodded...and relaxed, drawing in and letting out a deep breath -- much of the manic energy faded from him, and even outside of Traegan's mindscape, he appeared significantly more normal.

"Now what?"

Traegan shrugged, "Not sure, need to think about it. In the meantime, we need to do something.

Julian nodded, stepping back and adjusting his jacket.

"Merciful Pancreator, just once I would like to go through a full day without ending up in an altered state of mind..."

Traegan chuckled, "You do seem rather prone to it..."

Datta. Dayadhvam. Damyata.
Shantih shantih shantih

"Ah, well I'm glad you're enjoying, milord," Elly said smoothly, grinning broadly as she very clearly enjoyed herself, "Perhaps sir would actually be a gentleman and provide a lady with a drink? A sweeter white wine would be lovely. Mother usually waters it with unsweetened grape juice at about three parts juice to one of wine. I'm sure milord could find a servant who could find something suitable..."

Scarlett had quite clearly grown bored of the conversation, not really caring about how her sister was doing with matching wits with a many, many times her senior. The floating black orb thing appeared to be approximating conversation with someone near the entrance, and thinking that must make it friendly, she decided to hop off her chair, and waddle on over to see if it would talk to her. 'It might be more interesting then this guy...' she thought.

Aeselle saw Scarlett wandering off just a moment after she'd bolted off. "Excuse me, milord... Seems one of the girls couldn't stand lord Calavyr's conversation for very long..." she let him go, turning and trying to politely push through the crowd to chase the errant twin down.

"Very well, Kayel." Truth be told Sophie feels a little unsettled by his presumption, but at least he is being friendly. There are, according to first-hand observation, much less pleasant Roanians.

"The AdminCoordinator introduced us earlier," she tells Kayel. "A pleasure to see you again, milord Marcus." This time she manages to suppress her blush - the Principe Imperiale may not have Kayel's elfin fashion-plate good looks, but he has a handsomeness of his own, and has the gallantry and a certain je ne sais quoi to go with it. And I'm not the only one who thinks so, she thinks to herself, At least judging by those vulgar Ophan sisters. Thinking of that, she manages to half scandalize herself, and now she does blush. Why did SOLOMON never talk about this sort of thing?

What?!

This lone word, an expression of such utter disbelief and anger, rattled around within Alakantar’s mind, brought forth by the Archchancellor’s confession. He found difficulty in bringing himself into accepting this, as everything that he had heard from Arielle concerning the spell inflicted upon her would have been nothing more than a lie, a fabricated world created by her parents to keep her ignorant of how much they had wronged her. He could not understand why these parents would bring this upon their only child, corrupting her with this magic to suit their own needs, filling her mind with false tales, and then discarding her like trash when she did not follow their ways.

But despite his personal feelings toward this situation, his hardship in wrapping his mind around this concerned his fiancé more than anything else. He knew that she would need to be told as he vowed that he would never keep any secrets from her and, more importantly, she deserved to know what truly happened in her childhood years. Though, he feared what such a revealing would do to her mind as he could not fathom shedding this new light upon his youth, finding previously unimportant things to be more than what he thought and discovering that everything you knew was entirely fake.

However, for the moment, he focused upon calming his already tense body, which was starting to shake some from the anger that had been building up within him as his thoughts continued to wander. He could not afford to create a scene in the middle of this ballroom, but was certainly thankful for the helmet that concealed his facial expressions. At the very least, he would not have anyone harassing him about it for the time being if they did not see what he was feeling.

Now, he tried to talk, asking more questions partially trying to understand what else had gone on those many years ago, and finding that the more he moved his hands and mouth, the more he was in control of any possible outbursts.

“Yes, that may very well be important in the grand scheme of things, but there are details here that few were made aware of until now,” he answered the Roanian, his voice still concealed by the synthesizer. “Mainly, why did you decide to place the spell upon her? And what I’d really like to know is if they had given you any reasons why they wanted this done?”

Marcus was already flustered from the recent events, and continued to glance over at his sister now and then, even as he made his way across the floor, his brow furrowed in concern. Kayel’s toast therefore, took him more than a little by surprise, and he shook his head, making gentle protestation gestures with his hands.

“No, no. No hero here. Simply a misunderstanding, with any and all ‘heroics’ undertaken by our guards, and my mother, not to mention, the good AdminCoordinator here, who was the first to leap to our protection, with no regard for her own safety – all gracious assurances of our hosts asie. If anyone deserves to be toasted, it is she,” and here, he raised his glass with a respectful nod to their ally.

“To the Most Honorable AdminCoordinator 67521 of the Blue Mother of Us All – a most excellent representative of the panNorm Hives, whom we have the privilege of being allied to. May the Hive ever prosper.”

His mother joined them in time for the toast, to which she added an emphatic ‘Salut’, after which he addressed the rest of the group.

“Lord Kayel, my thanks for the renewed introductions, and your kind words. My Lady Sophie, please accept my apologies for having made so hasty and unexpected an exit. There were extenuating circumstances, as you can see, but I apologize all the same if I have offered offense.”

To Trevor, he offered his hand in greeting. “A pleasure. Might we be familiar with the corporation you represent?”

Nathicana moved quietly over to stand next to the AdminCoordinator, allowing her son to hopefully continue to grow through his experiences, as he needed to, listening to the conversation.

--- --- ---

The only sign Naiya gave of her increasing anger at being toyed with by Nesar was a slight flaring of her nostrils at one point, and the intensity of her gaze increasing as she watched him without blinking, ignoring his offer of a pastry out of hand.

“You play a dangerous game, Nesar. There are few in positions of power who care to be treated like a plaything – and I am not one of them. You had best hope, for your own sake, that the story most close to the truth has something to do with either following orders, kindness for its own sake, or a simple, and understandable wish to somehow pad your own current situation politically or otherwise. I don’t claim to understand your insinuations – I am no elf, I am possessed of no particular magics, nor do I care to be. I think perhaps it is time you found some other source of amusement. I tire of Roanian machinations.”

All is said in a steady, low voice, meant only for him to hear, no further emotion evident on her face than she’d already allowed, though it was clear she was controlling her breathing, keeping it steady with some measure of concentration as if she were trying to quietly keep her temper.

Dread Lady Nathicana

"Insinuations, my lady?" Nesar raised his eyebrow, seeming surprised, but putting aside pretence for the time being. "I was referring to your beauty, not any sorcerous abilities that you obviously, as you say, do not have." He frowned at something, but shook his head. "If you truly wish for my absence, then I shall leave, of course. Though I would prefer to escort you to your mother and brother first." In truth, he seems oddly uncomfortable speaking so openly, far preferring to hide behind his mask of lies and half-truths than face the unadulterated light. "I understand that you have suffered a fair amount of shock, so I do not hold your harsh words against you." He said after a moment, though he's clearly wounded. "It was far from my intention to cause offence, and I would sooner commit blasphemy than treat you without respect."

His self-assertion returns after a moment. "If you feel rested, I shall escort you back to your mother and brother immediately." His eyes twinkle a tad mischieviously. "Or, perhaps, if you truly feel rested and trust me, I would be honored to have your first dance this evening." He says it, knowing it's a vain hope, yet still he says it. Plainly, much of this is a game to him, and yet there is a curious underlying honesty and decency.

Dread Lady Nathicana, S-14, Kalasin, Garbagemen

Kayel wondered if he had perhaps been too forward with Sophie, especially when he saw the way she was looking at Marcus. Nevertheless, he tried to retain his bonhomie. "How very modest, Prince Marcus." He allowed. "So, what did you think of my cousin? It's so rare to hear a truly neutral thought about her. And of course, she's my cousin, so I don't see what all the fuss is about." Kayel laughed gently, though he was obviously a bit put off by the increasing gathering crowd, and had been far more comfortable even when it was just the ant.

Northrop-Grumman

Kouran hummed absentmindedly. For a moment, it seemed as if he was ignoring Alakantar entirely. "Del the Curious's Gender Transference. A peculiarly manageable charm when cast upon a masculine individual owing to the innate femininity all mammalian entities appear to demonstrate in the womb. Very difficult indeed to cast upon a female child, for much the same reason. First devised..." He continued in that way for a few long minutes. "I would not ordinarily invoke such an enchantment upon a child, of course."

"However, the old Lord Hakoen had shown me a kindness once by assisting me in my work, during the matter of the..." And what follows is another long diversion upon the story of the bright blue bird of happiness and the secret it contained, a story that might have been interesting had someone else been telling it... "and immediately following on from his intervention, I agreed to provide his family with the use of my talents in any way required."

"Alas, his child, a most dissolute wastrel at the time, did not know how to preserve as well as he knew how to spend, and so it became that the only way in which to revive the glories of once Great House Hakoen was to provide a child to swear into a marriage alliance with the daughter of another house." Kouran began to talk about the dynastic politics, and how after Kor's sister's death her husband, the Patrician of Seraph, had become stingy with the purse strings, which divulged into an almost 10 minute discussion about imperial monetary policy during the later reign of Cassander the Usurper, after which he said, "So, Kor contacted me and explained that he needed his daughter transformed, and he would call forth my debt to his family."

New Naggoroth

The fleeing Scarlett should probably have paid more attention to where she was going, as she suddenly waddled right into the stomach of the incoming Empress. "Ah!" Alessa laughed, her bad mood suddenly disrupted by the appearance of an adorable little girl in a penguin outfit. "Who do you belong to?" Having caught sight of the approaching Aeselle, though, Alessa smiled. This could be fun.

"Is this your child?" she asked the ambassador in an affectation of a man's voice, as deep as she could make her high and beautiful voice become. "I might return her to you, my lady, if you would do me the honor of a dance." Alessa laughs after a moment and smiles in a friendly fashion, standing in a parody of a man's straight pose, which becomes almost laughable as her chest shakes, even contained by spell and cloth as it is. "I'm Alessa." She said with a smile that hinted that it would be inappropriate to try to call her 'my lady' at this juncture. "And who are the two of you?"

Meanwhile, Casir had returned to the original table. "That's enough, you incompetent lout." Before Calavyr had a chance to say anything, Casir had picked Elly up in very strong hands and placed her on the floor. "Come, child. This man is not good company for you." He winked down at her. "While your mother and sister are busy, why don't we go and get you that drink you asked for?"

"How dare you?" Calavyr rose to his full intimidating height. "Old man, do you know who I am? I should have the both of you..."

"Ahem." Alessa said, from a point five meters directly behind him, a corridor having opened up between them as the Roanians in their path seperated from one another. "Calavyr. How nice to see you. I've heard a great deal about your exploits, and I'm very glad to see you chose to come from Mars for my party." She smiled sweetly, but her eyes flared with a hidden fire. "Leave them alone. Harm not the child. Touch not the child. You will await my pleasure at a later time this evening." She rose a warning finger when he opened his mouth, and he slinked off like a whipped cur. Alessa's attitude shifted dramatically. "Hi, Uncle Casir!"

"Hello, Lady Alessa." Casir said, politely. "May I introduce you to Miss Aeselle Colthique and her twin daughters, Ellenith and Scarlette? Miss Colthique, Scarlette, Ellenith may I present," the old man's eyes twinkled, "'Lord' Alessan, of Imperial House Aner?"

The Hideous Little Monster watched and listened. It didn’t quite have a concept of ‘spell’ itself – its species could do things, but they were universal to the breed, and quite limited compared to this – so it wasn’t entirely sure what was involved. Nonetheless, it was interesting to study mammals in the natural environment, and so it listened, its translator systems monitoring the increased rate of autonomic response in the one with a greater number of limbs, while the one with six limbs seemed completely indifferent.

It knew that gender was important to humanoid mammals. It even knew that many had strange family groupings.

It was however, completely lost at the idea that one would change one’s offspring like that for gain. Mildly repulsed, it shuffled a few steps away from Kouran. If this individual was so deranged, what else might it do?

Were she human, her most honest and analogous reaction to all this praise would be to shrug noncommittally as she did nothing any less instinctual than breathing; instead, her antennae just draw lopsided figure eights in the air as she bobs her head once up and down in the closest to a respectful nod that an insectoid with an inhumanly rigid head and neck can get. "Thank you. It is an honor to aid such friends and allies." Saying it was simply a duty could be offensive, and this is, to some extent, a more accurate translation of how she feels, if one replaces the phrase 'an honor' with 'fulfilling.' It is part of her job, and she does it well. In any case, her peaceful artificial voice matches her ego-less sincerity. "May the Hive ever prosper."

Now that is something the panNorm can drink to.

The Midlonian party had, for the most part sat down at their tables during the party so far and kept largely to themselves. Not being intergalactic bigwigs as they were inevitably surrounded by made the King a little apprehensive at going into the fray itself and instead he continued to nurse a couple of drinks for the period of time and talk, intermittently to Sarah.

Heruss, was being a little grumpy. He was several hundred years old and so it was well within his rights, especially now in his semi-retired state, he had already removed the “stupid and unwieldy“ dragon mask and sorted his hair out so he looked slightly less unkempt.

Instead Heruss merely kept an eye on Verve, who quite simply had spent most of her time knocking back drink after drink and not seeming to be that adversely effected. She had exchanged a few coy glances with some Roanians, and seemed genuinely confused by some of the death-stares she received from some of the members of the party. After each incident she merely pouted her lips slightly before sighing and shrugging her shoulders and promptly knocking back another drink.

Henry thumbed his glass idly and sighed. It hadn’t quite been how he’d expected. He’d seen some of the visiting dignitaries from other states that were part of the Concordat Framework, Roania not obviously included, but as they were engaged it’d be rude of him to go interrupt, or join in on a conversation. It was of course with great irony that they’d both dressed up in such a way, as a naughty nun and priest, only to wind up having to act so purely with nobody to really approach or talk to for the time being.

With nobody forthcoming to them, it was, he decided at last to go onto the attack. He finished off his drink and turned to Sarah. “Shall we see who we shall socialize with?” He said quietly to her before taking up her hand and kissing it briefly.

Heruss, still quite bored had allowed his gaze to fall upon a figure he recognized, but didn’t register initially due to the different get up he was wearing, he almost barked with laughter before shaking his head and put his costume head back on. He snuck his way through the crowd until he stood next to the figure, his arms crossed behind his back and his legs relaxed and apart like he was at ease. And so he simply waited to see how long the Vampire would notice… well, the Vampire.

Verve, suddenly noting the dissapearance of her bodyguard, and the King and the Commonwelth Prime Minister suddenly sighed and looked a little sad. She was innocent and naïve to matters of the realm and pseudo-diplomatic functions like this, and so simply slipped into the crowd to find someone to talk to, to learn new things and live a little. It was her first party after all.

Even though his hand was the one that placed the spell upon her, I cannot condemn Kouran for what he had done; he was indebted to the Hakoens and had offered his skills without question to fulfill that debt. I would normally think that he was foolish to commit himself in that manner because that opened himself up to others trying to abuse his powers.

But I suspect that without his help, Kor would have tried to persuade others to use that spell, and they probably would have to its full extent, forcing Arielle to suffer further from it all. Kouran, at least, had just about given her a choice in the matter by manipulating it so that she could be what she wanted through either one of two fairly simple actions. While my first impression would be that he was wrong in doing this, I think that considering all things, he did what was right at the time…and that everything had worked out for her in the long run…she could be what she wanted…

However, in spite of his rather controlled, methodical pondering of the matter and his earlier attempts at continuing the conversation so that he could keep his mind from wandering down that road of anger, he found the tension within him to not have been relieved in the slightest and had actually gotten worse the more he stood around here. He could feel his blood boiling at how much he felt his fiancé had been wronged, and the heat being generated from his rapidly pounding heart, and the pulsing of the arteries in his neck, started to make him sweat and become all the more irritated with everything. There was simply too much on his mind, too much anger building up within him from this evening, but he could not dismiss it with the wave of the hand like others could. He had to do something to release all of this, but what?

“Thank you, Archchancellor for your time, your attention, and your insights into all of this. You’ve been a great help to both myself and my family,” the drow replied, starting to back away from this small crowd and bowing his head to both Master Mary and Kouran. “And apologies for the abruptness of my leaving. I have a few personal matters to attend to at the moment, but I will return afterwards, and certainly I’d like to speak with you two again.”

This movement away from these newfound acquaintances accompanied the setting down of his water glass upon the nearest empty table, as he did not want such a fragile item along with him right now. And with that out of the way and all the necessary pleasantries done with, he set his direction toward the nearest door out of the ballroom, with a certain directness and speed in his step to discourage people from interrupting him from where he was going. But while doing so, he again saw there to be little need any more in keeping this heavy helmet upon his head and carefully unscrewed it from its base around his neck when he found a break in the crowd. After all, he would not want to crash into yet another person in his temporary moment of blindness.

But now any questions regarding the drow’s mood could be put to rest, because the uncovering of his head revealed his burning crimson eyes, illuminated brightly in the anger that he felt. For others, that moment of understanding was fleeting, lasting only until he left the doors of the ballroom, disappearing out into the hallway beyond them.

Soon, a restroom, entirely silent and devoid of any guests, greeted his arrival, but his presence there was not for the reasons that many would have suspected. He took only a single step inside, allowing the swinging door behind him to slam shut, his hand grasping tightly around the edge of the helmet but still shaking. It seemed that his anger had not dissipated at all during his walking, and continued to persist throughout him, placing him in such a shaken state.

“Argh!”

Several joints pivoted in their sockets, their actions being formed by the contracting and relaxing of these stressed muscles, as the drow’s toned arm curled in behind him. Then his frame slid forward a foot, when every ounce of strength in his body, launched that arm forward, releasing the helmet from its grasp with great speed. A loud crash resonated in the small room as the helmet struck the wall, then the noise boomed again once the armor struck the floor and began to roll.

“Goddamn!”

Reaching downward to the floor, he caught the helmet within his grasp, and with the same rage that comprised the first of his throws, chucked the weight at that same wall again. The sound emanating not unlike the prior one.

“Bastards!”

And once more, he lifted the helmet up from the ground and proceeded with his third, final, but yet weaker throw at the far wall, with little care about those who might have heard him in these past several seconds. But this time around he did not bother with retrieving this piece of his costume and stepped toward a sink near him, resting his head against the cool mirror behind it. His chest heaved from the exertion he brought upon himself, his breathing was labored and his heart raced.

“Yes…go to this party and you’ll have fun, I was told…” he muttered out loud, finding some enjoyment in the chill of what his head was resting against. “Sure…I'm having lots of fun now...”

Aeselle was frowning quite as she plowed through the crowd so she could take Scarlett in her arms, who seemed quite happy to be around anyone other then Calavyr. "Hello sir!" she said brightly to Alessa as she was scooped up, fooled easily enough by her attire. "My name is Scarlett. That's my mom," she pointed to Aeselle, who was about ten feet away, "What's your name milord?"

Arriving just in time to bow gratefully and take her daughter from the stranger, who seemed vaguely familiar, she explained that the girl was clearly excited, and all the candy their gracious hosts were giving them wasn't helping. She also explained that her other daughter was sitting at a nearby table, and that she would gladly dance with her once she'd checked on her.

A triumphant grin graced that other daughter's lips as she watched Casir and Calavyr spar verbally, though she wasn't so sure why she should be pleased to have insulted the younger man. It ended soon enough with the reappearance of her mother and yet another interesting, regal-looking stranger. She hopped to her feet and leaned against her mother's leg as Casir introduced then, all giving a polite bow to the new arrival. Hearing 'his' name and title, Aeselle clued into who was standing before them, and she smirked slightly at the thought of her going stealthily amongst her people in such an outfit.

"Now girls..." Aeselle turned and knelt, giving them each a hug, talking to them on their level, "You stay with Lord Drakhan for a little while, okay? If you're good, you can have a little wine, but just a little with some juice. But no more candy, okay Scarlett honey? We're having dinner later, and you know the rules about eating early."

She gave each a kiss on the cheek as she made sure none of their hair stuck out, and then rose and offered 'Lord Alessan' her hand, "Well, milord..." she smirked, putting some emphasis on the word to let her know she knew, but was quite fine with playing along and letting Alessa remain in character, "If you would lead the way?"

Naiya’s eyes narrowed slightly as she looked Nesar over carefully. She felt instinctively he wasn’t being completely honest, but she couldn’t put her finger on exactly which part of all of it that fell under dishonesty. He seemed to be a man of many layers, perhaps not even knowing himself one moment to the next which was real and which was a lie, given the webs he appeared to weave about himself.

Perhaps she was being overly sensitive given the situation. It was just that this place had her on edge, and she wasn’t sure exactly why. There was the immediate danger Alakantar had told them about, which wasn’t directed at them, but rather him. But she could feel the animosity that ran in an undercurrent amongst so many of these foreign peoples, sense the plotting that surely was going on behind the occasional smiles. Granted, back home, there was much the same amongst many, but this felt somehow different. Older. Which of course made sense considering the longevity of the Roanians.

Physically, she wasn’t terribly worried. Mas and Pascalli were dependable. Her mother was more than capable. She and Marcus had been trained in self defense, and were quite competent and generally possessed of a clear head, enough to do what was needed, and follow whatever instructions were given for defense and evacuation.

It was the other things, the things she couldn’t see or control that bothered her, and always had. Which perhaps explained in part why she jumped to the conclusion she had at Nesar’s words. There were those who claimed she might have some aptitude or talent for learning the magical arts. There were those rare occasions when she’d been exposed to things like the Keeper’s light dragon at the beach as a child where she’d shown an instinctive ability to grasp the concept and control it with ease. And there was the question of her parentage – something that lingered like a dark cloud on the horizon.

There were some expectations, given that. There were unspoken questions that sometimes lingered in the eyes of those who knew. There was the thoughtful way her mother looked at her sometimes when she’d been particularly insightful. There was the fear and loathing that emanated from the man who should have been her adopted father, were the situation otherwise. Too many questions, too many possibilities. And thus far, no clear signs that she was aware of.

What she did know is that she did not want these strangers poking and prodding and asking things she had no intention of discussing, and Nesar’s teasing had done nothing to put her at ease concerning that, in spite of his later apologies and explanations.

“I thought you said your wife would not approve,” she finally said, making no move to accept as yet. “Or perhaps that was more subterfuge?”

--- --- ---

“I admit, I’ve hardly had a chance to ponder it, Lord Kayel. She came and went so suddenly, after all.” Marcus paused for a moment, looking thoughtful. “An Empress of many moods, she seems. Though she seemed gracious and fair-minded, to be sure. And one cannot deny her ethereal beauty, if I may be so bold.”

Here he nodded his head and smiled at Sophie, though his words were directed at Kayel. “We are fortunate to find ourselves in the midst of such fair ladies, wouldn’t you say?”

Nathicana chuckled softly to herself. Ah, Marcus – just have to recover from all that with trying to lay on the charm. Very much his father’s son in some ways. In others, not so much – and for that, she was grateful. Seeing that things were well in hand, she signaled to Mas that he should keep close to Marcus, and that she was going to wander about a bit on her own. Had it been a truly dangerous situation all in all, she wouldn’t have brought the children to begin with, and truth be told, she was more than capable of taking care of herself. Her guards didn’t have to like it. Still, responses from the local forces had already proven to be suitably responsive, so it seemed of little risk, all in all.

“Again, a pleasure,” she offered to the group as a whole. “Perhaps I will have the opportunity to talk with some of you later? If you would excuse me, I left Aeselle in a bit of a rush.” And with a nod and a smile, she made her way over to where the lady’s little girls were waiting with Casir.

“My, it has been a bit of an adventure tonight, hasn’t it?” she said to the girls, smiling warmly. “And who might this kind gentleman be?”

She had taken note of Calavyr on her way over, and a curt heads up had been given to the group as a whole to keep their eyes open for the cur. He seemed the only real potential threat at the moment, and warranted watching.

Bastard.

Left alone, Master Mary briefly debated following Alakantar, but decided his sudden exit was motivated by some urgency and he was probably not available. So, to forestall another anecdote, he reached into a chamber; a part of his glass-like outer-raiment sliding back, on his upper side, revealing more clearly a number of objects. The shells of his species were not quite natural, they were in some way clothes, albeit in the way a hermit crab’s shell is clothing. “A gift for you,” he said, holding up a slim, ornamented sliver of crystal, like a shining blue icicle, with a black stone set into the base of it, “it contains an inf’mational construct algorithm that is a combin’ of our own organizational procedures and that of an extinct society. Through soul-reflec’on, it enhances one’s sorting and organizational ability. It is not very useful, but it is our tradition that one esteems those most highly whom one gives the least useful items.” There was a philosophical-reasoning behind that; ‘the most capable need the least tools,’ was essentially their equivalent of a famous proverb.
___ ___ ___

Meanwhile, across the room, Ranisath appeared, slipping deftly to stand beside her without really letting her see his approach, next to Daria, “Lady Daria,” he said, “Good evening; I believe that you wished to speak with me?” he said, smiling a little, taking her hand – offered to be kissed – and shaking it instead.

Scarlett beamed up at Nathi as she stood on Casir's left, holding onto the leg of his pants, "This is lord Casir, milady," she said, introducing the handsome Roanian noble very quickly, her voice betraying the hyperness she kept barely in check.

"He was very nice to us and came to sit with us then danced with mommy and then came back and scared off that other git and and...." she paused, finally remember to breath, "...then we were talking about coming to visit sometime then you came to join us, lady Nathi!" she said, huffing a bit as she looked rather proud about relating her entire evening in less then ten seconds. Elly shook her head, not at all surprised.

"Now I'm thirsty lady Nathi... can we get a drink?"

New Naggoroth

Alessa smiled and took Aeselle gently by the hand, giggling as they positioned themselves in eachother's arms for a dance. The empress lead, or tried to, at least, though her lack of expertise showed occasionally. Not that the small crowd of males watching from the corners of their eyes noticed or cared as they watched the two beautiful women dance together, arms around each other.

"You're very pretty," Alessa says with an embarassed glance upwards, past the swell of Aeselle's bust to the taller woman's eyes. Her own chest continues to round out the tuxedo far more than its original designers intended, and occasionally their chests gently run together, causing at least one watching Roanian male to drop his glass. "I'm kinda jealous." She confided.

New Naggoroth, Dread Lady Nathicana

Casir seemed slightly in shock from Scarlett's... exuberance, but retained his good mood. He relaxed as Calavyr vanished into the crowd, and released his grip on Ellenith's shoulder, bowing courteously from the waist. "It is a pleasure to meet you, Lady Nathicana. I was just escorting these two charming young ladies to get a drink and something solid to eat." In contrast to Ellenith, who he seemed mildly inclined perhaps to trust, Casir picked Scarlett up and very carefully held her, taking Ellenith by the hand. "If you wanted to come with us, I'm sure your recent troubles could use something solid, rather than the cheap wine our illustrious Grand Vizier favours."

He led them to the bar, where Kar, the unfortunate victim of Daithi's manipulation, was curled up sleeping. Casir scowled. "Hardly appropriate company for ladies of your calibre. Forgive my friend here." In truth, he barely knew the man, but it was the appropriate and gentlemanly thing for him to say, so he said it. "Bartender. These two young ladies will have some watered wine... appropriate for their age. The Lady Nathicana and myself shall each have a goblet of your finest Dominion wine." As the order was prepared, he smiled at Nathicana. "You are also similarly blessed by the light with twins, then? Your son is certainly handsome, and your daughter..." He paused, and laughed. "Well, it isn't easy to get Nesar's attention and hold it."

Dread Lady Nathicana

"I'm afraid, my lady Naiya, that that was what I might call 'bending the truth.'" Nesar said, cheerfully maintaining his hand for her to hold. "If I was married, my wife would probably be one of those two lovely ladies draping themselves over your brother at their mother's command." For once, he showed something other than genial good nature, his smile dripping into a scowl before resuming its accustomed place. "Such a fate would hardly be acceptable, but it was the one that, alas, awaited me... until, that is, you have revealed them for the... women of ill repute, shall we say, that they are."

"Neither of them would approve of me speaking to you, of course..." He smiled. "So, you see? My 'wife' would not approve." An eloquent shrug, and then his attention refocussed. "Of course, you are far more attractive than both of them combined, in both mind and body."

Dread Lady Nathicana, Kalasin

"Indeed, we are quite fortunate." Kayel replied, tipping his hat to Sophie and smiling at her. "Speaking of fortune, my lady. I was wondering if I might have the fortune of your next dance?" While he was not looking at Marcus, his eye did flicker at the human for a moment.

The Ctan

Daria smiled, very pleased with her hand being shaken. "Why, Emperor Ranisath. What a pleasant surprise. Have you met Master Un? He's quite the excellent fashion designer." Her smile was plastered slightly, remembering a previous meeting with the Ctan, and not quite so fondly as he might. "But it's good that you're here, while I'm thinking seriously about this. Emperor, you might have noticed that our current Grand Vizier is, perhaps, not... so skilled as our beloved empress deserves?"

The Ctan

Kouran didn't actually notice when Alakantar left, instead interested by the speech of the little fra'al. The ArchChancellor took the gift and studied it, then slipped it into his belt, next to a couple of other wands of far less interesting manufacture. "An excellent philosophy, and one that reminds me of the meticulous thought processes of the people of Penar Pon." The Roanian, however, for once went silent, and then poked the fra'al's hard shell. "You seem a knowledgeable individual. Would you say that you are of the scholarly persuasion?"

Midlonia

Nesar, Kayel, Casir and Alessa all being distracted, there was no one available with the nerve really to prevent what was about to happen. Radmiel was the closest official, but he was watching the dance and not paying much attention. Thus, as Verve vanished into the crowd, Calavyr ran into her. "Hello, my lady." He held his hand out for her, and smiled. "You seem to have picked up a slightly negative following, but they're just jealous of you."

The lord held out a glass of sparkling white wine out to Verve in his other hand. "I wouldn't worry, though. I'm Patrician Calavyr, and I'll protect you from these angry eyes."

Lord Stratton, who had had his interest piqued as Nina began to give details of her space travel, was about to enquire further when the topic returned back to something he was less interested in. If it had been his sister who had brought the topic back, he would have considered her actions deliberate, but as it was their new acquaintance, he gave her the benefit of the doubt, though there was a little suspicion in the back of his mind.

In contrast, Lady Beaumont was much more interested in fashion than she was in planets, so she picked up the conversation. “It is a bit of both really. Most people would tell you that my brother,” she indicated Val, as she spoke, “and myself are total opposites, but I do not think he would be pleased to be described as icy.”

Beside her, she could her Val exhale a breath, showing that he did not consider himself that way, though she knew he would not call himself fiery either. It was true that out of the three siblings, Val was the calmest of them, but he was certainly not cold in any way. Serena knew that her older brother was both the coldest and most fiery, but even he was not as fiery as their cousin.

“Mostly it was for the effect that could be played out on the material,” she went on to explain. “There is something so alive about elements that can be made to look quite stunning on material.”

Val, who had remained silent to this point due to trying one of the food items from the table, finally cleared his mouth. “I believe if our costumes were made from the same material as yours, the effect would have been even more stunning.”

Roania

“Oh.” Verve said before smiling brightly and put her soft hand into Calvyr’s she took the glass softly and daintily with the other as her nose crinkled slightly as she took a small sip of the wine. Swallowing quietly. “Thank you. I’m Verve, an Angelis. Who might a charmer like you be?

Casir & New Naggoroth

“And its good to make your acquaintance as well,” Nathicana replied, still smiling. “I would be happy to join you, of course. Such a gentleman, yes?” The last of course, asked to the girls as they reached the bar, and Casir continued to be charming.

“I’m glad you little ladies are enjoying yourselves as well – you know you are always welcome in the Dominion, as does your dear mother. You know, its spring there now, and the flowers are just coming into bloom in the mountains. I don’t believe you’ve been that far north, have you? There’s a beautiful lake and villas you could stay at, with boats and all sorts of things to do.”

Precocious little darlings, the two of them. And Scarlett taking the lead, with Ellenith seeming more reserved. Not unlike another two children when younger, she reflected, taking her back to the question being asked by Casir.

“Indeed, I am, - and thank you, for both the wine, and the kind words. We’ve always thought them to be rather charming, but then, we might be considered naturally biased,” she responded with a polite inclination of her head, glancing over at each of her children in turn, lingering a bit longer on Naiya before looking back to Casir questioningly.

“You wouldn’t think she was in any … unsavory position, would you Lord Casir? Having already dealt with some of the same earlier, I would hate to have to intervene again, this time on her behalf. My children are quite adept at taking care of themselves, but as a mother, I do have my concerns.”

Nesar

Naiya paused, studying the foreign man carefully before gingerly extending her hand and allowing him to help her to her feet, and lead where he would – so long as the destination was the dance floor.

“You’re very kind, Nesar,” she replied to his compliments, “Though I think even an orc could be considered ‘attractive’ compared to them, so …” Here she trailed off an shrugged noncommittally.

“From what I’ve seen, you are a man of many words, but few clear communications. So what, might I ask, is it you seem to want from me and mine? A dance does not last long, and I would hate for any marginally honest talk be lost amongst over-flowery flattery – don’t you agree?”

Kayel/AdminCoordinator/Sophie/Trevor

Well damn, so much for making her feel at ease and taking my time here – beaten to the punch. Naiya has often said I need to quit stalling and get to the point. Maybe the next dance.

Besides, Trevor had yet to answer, and it would be rude to leave before that in any case.

(From Earlier: To Trevor, he offered his hand in greeting. “A pleasure. Might we be familiar with the corporation you represent?”)

"Perhaps later then, Lady Sophie," he offers, bowing gently and offering her a pleasant smile. "In the meantime, perhaps my poor company can suffice for the rest." This of course addressed to the AdminCoordinator, and Trevor.

((OOC: Sorry, 1. I mustn't of seen it and 2 I was away for the last 2 days.))

Trevor seemed to be deep in thought until he snapped out of it to reply,
"Oh, Sorry, I was just thinking about something else, I was in my own little world for a moment." he lightly chuckled at himself before raising his own hand and shook Marcus' hand. "Most Probably, we do have operations on Mars so I would expect the Dominion to know quite a bit. I'm from The Garbage Men. Trevor Desorté at your service." he gave a slight bow of the head with a warm smile.

He was testing Marcus, the Dominion would know that he was the CEO and owner, it's just a matter of if that information flew through to the Monarchical and Authoritarian leader and her family line.

Marcus returns the bow of course, then pauses to think for a moment. “Then it truly is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, sir. As CEO and Owner, your hands must be very full. Perhaps, if I’m not overstepping my bounds, I could speak to you off the record about an idea that has been kicking around our Trade Ministry?”

He lowers his voice a bit, though doesn’t seem to be overly secretive about it, simply conversational. “It seems we are involved on Mars with a rather large undertaking that is in the works that would require a reliable organization that happens to fit yours perfectly, being as unique as it is. I myself do not have the authority to make arrangements, but I know our Ministry would be thrilled to hear what the head man himself might think of such a venture.”

“A resort. Large one. Nothing quite as like anywhere on Mars. Garbage collection and recycling where appropriate, waste removal, custodial, and given your abilities with dealing in any toxicity problems, and organic waste processing, any problem areas that might at this time remain would be in need of cleanup, and after, all the landscaping needs would have to be addressed …”

The young man pauses meaningfully, one brow arching up and smiling in a slightly conspiratorial fashion. “I could certainly put you directly in contact with those who could make the arrangements. We haven’t had the opportunity to make formal contact as yet, as plans and discussions are still in the works, but even so, your corporation has come up a number of times as a prime candidate uniquely suitable to the rather large task at hand.”

Trevor thought for a moment over the proposal "I have to admit it does seem right up our alley. Alright," he spoke with authority as he reached into a pocket and pulled out a business card.. "We're in. Here's the contact details for our Chief of Promotions Officer, Edwin Yates and our Chief Marketing Officer Robert Jones... They'll look after the details. While we can look at the big picture."

"Oh - ah - well - certainly, milord." If I can figure out how to do it with one foot in my mouth, at least. You're supposed to be trained in rhetoric, Sophie. "Fortune favours the bold, as they say." She smiles at Kayel, and extends her hand for him to take.

Quite enjoying the dance, Aeselle had no problem holding the empress closer, smirking wickedly as she glanced around at the various onlookers. She was quite comfortable with herself, and had no qualms about slow dancing with another woman. Especially if that someone is the host who's birthday is being celebrated. And that she looks quite stunning in her tux.

"You are very kind, your majesty," she whispered to Alessa, leaning in nice and close, "But there's no reason to be jealous! You're very beautiful yourself..." she gave Alessa a genuine smile, pressing herself to her partner as they dance, likely by now making that male who'd dropped his glass earlier get a spontaneous nosebleed. "Besides..." she leaned nice close enough to whisper in the Roanian empresses ear, "...I wish I had half the chest you're smothering so cruelly!"


---

"Yes, he's a perfec' gentleman," Elly answered Nathi, smiling up at her and sipping on the plastic goblet she'd been handed. Clearly her mother's earlier request had reached the bar. She explained to Nathi that she'd only been to the capital, who's name she couldn't remember, and that they'd gone on a tour but she was pretty little then and doesn't really recall much of that either.

Scarlett pipes in too, adding that she'd love to come and visit again, so long as they all got to go and that they'd go skiing. She really wanted to go skiing, and see some snow, and make a snowman...

Elly cut her off before long, though, letting the two grown-ups speak...

Revenia, Sentient Peoples

Malhelm Fell had wandered back over to watch Julian's return, and smiled at Lesley, though giving a gentle tap of his forehead to indicate his opinion that the Revenians were all crazy. Just that, though, and then he was off again before Julian decided to take his aggression out on him, though it was obvious he wouldn't mind, and would in fact prefer, if Lesley had a chance to speak to him.

"E-e-e-xcuse me, b-b-b-but are you A-a-ascended?" A quiet, little voice said from behind Julian and Traegan, and a mousey brownhaired girl looked up at them. An inch or two taller than Alessa, she managed to pull off the impossible of seeming almost smaller. Unlike the glorified and self-glorifying social butterflies around them, this woman was dressed in practical brown and a severely cut china dress that did no more than her posture to hide her curves. "I... I... I'm... Kyrie. I work for the G-G-Galactic Archives, and I w-w-was told that there were ascended here. We s-s-s-seem to be having some difficulty in making sense of your histories..." She swallowed, looking up at Traegan and especially Julian. She hadn't expected them to be so large, or all that handsome, from her studies.

New Naggoroth

Alessa giggled again, and looked down at her proud chest, and then up at Aeselle's own. She whispered back in Aeselle's ear, "You'll love the dress I have on after I'm done with this tuxedo, then." She smiled as they turned in the circle. "Please, though, Aeselle... call me Alessa? Please?" It was a sad little smile, but very friendly. "Everyone always calls me Your Majesty, and I'd much rather you call me by my name, and I can call you by your name."

She giggled onoce more as they passed the same guy again, trying to cover his nose up with a tissue, and looked up at Aeselle. "You know, I think if we're giving them a show, we should at least kiss." She says teasingly, and winks. One of her hands slides momentarily to the side of Aeselle's chest, just before the beginning of the breast, and remains there. "Yours are very nice too, you know..."

Dread Lady Nathicana, New Naggoroth

Casir juggled Scarlett for a moment, then placed her on a stool with a sternly worded order to stay put, followed by a gentle tousle of her hair. "Do try to remain still, children. After all, we wouldn't want you to run off again and end up in the hands of someone less polite than Lady Alessa, would we?" He also lifted Ellenith up to a stool and smiled at her. "Thank you both for your kind words, I try to be a gentleman."

He smiled at Nathicana and looked over at Nesar, his expression becoming slightly fixed. "I can guarantee she's in no physical danger... or emotional danger. Mental trauma from his constant obfuscation... that's harder to deny." Casir was watching Aeselle over Nathi's shoulder, now, and seemed almost jealous of his niece, but he smiled politely at the Imperatrice once more. "I hear the Dominion is very beautiful, though I'm certain not as much as its ruler."

Dread Lady Nathicana

Nesar gladly led Naiya to the dance floor, and quickly set his own hands on the chastest positions on her body possible while still being able to dance. "Naiya, my lady, do you not trust me?" He says, a wounded little expression on his face as they begin to dance. "Perhaps all I want is just this dance." His expression changes to his regular smile. "Or perhaps I believe a kiss is an appropriate reward for my aid?"

He winks, making it seem less serious than it sounds. He knows he's on thin ice at present, and loves it, loves the gamble and he definitely loves Naiya's company. "And, of course, you must consider that I do not believe it appropriate that your brother, no matter how pleasant he is, and I believe he is a very good man, should monopolise your company, and if I dance with you now, you might be more open to circulating later. We aren't all like that stereotype you see, just like not all from the Dominion are."

Kalasin

Kayel beamed in delight and took Sophie's hand, leading her out on the dancefloor. He seemed a bit nervous as he positioned his hands on her soft young body, trying his hardest not to cause offence. "Thank you, Lady Sophie." He said as she did the same with him,and they began to dance. "So, tell me about Kalasin? Is it as pretty as its representative?" He asked, and then kicked himself mentally. What type of thing was that to ask?

Midlonia

Calavyr laughed. "Myself? I am Patrician Calavyr, as I said, leader of Great House Seraph and heir to the Imperial Throne." He jutted his thumb behind her to the dancing Alessa and Aeselle. "That's my cousin over there, the current empress." His lip curled. "Making a fool of herself as usual, I see."

"Now, Verve. You're looking a bit tired... Have you had a big night?" ANd indeed she should be, because the wine he'd given her had been spiked with a narcotic designed to make Verve extra-suggestible. There was something very unusual about this woman, though, and Calavyr intended to find out what it was before he had his way with her.

"Alessa... that sounds just fine, my la... Alessa," she giggled, hugging the empress close. "Oh, shall we tease our audience some more? Well, I think I know just the thing..." she turned her back to Casir, and leaned forward to plant a firm kiss on Alessa's lips, while giving her rear a subtle squeeze. She doesn't hold either for very long though, laughing along with Alessa as they continued to dance.

"Mmmm... is that cherry lip balm?"

---

Boredom is, without a doubt, the greatest enemy of an eight year old. Especially a pair who had consumed as much sugar as these two. The inseperable twins politely sipped on their drinks, watching the crowd, trying to see mom... but instead Scarlett spotted Calvyr on the far side of the hall. He seemed to be talking with someone. A lady? She looked really sleepy and kind of tippy...

"What's he doing?" she whispers to her sister, pointing out the pair. If it hadn't been for their earlier run-in with Calvyr, neither would have thought anything about it, but the man had come off as rather creepy. Casir had warned them about him, and so they were naturally suspicious.

"Dunno..." Elly said, though she squinted to try to see better.

"Let's go find out!" she put her drink down on the bar, and took her sister's hand. Giving Elly just enough time to put her own cup down, she tugged her off the stool and the two of them did their best to slip away, not wanting Casir and Nathi to follow them...

"Scarlett!" her twin hissed as they ducked around people's legs, "We have to be careful. He won't be happy to see us at all..."

"We'll just keep an eye on him! I don't think mister Casir will mind..."

Julian peered down at the small Roanian -- Kyrie -- right...certain things were not lost on certain people and it took a very slight bit of effort to prevent an inexplicable choke. Well, perhaps not inexplicable...but inexcusable in present company. Traegan would disapprove strongly before laughing about it later. Always one for public propriety, was Traegan...

A fleeting moment was spent considering Malham Fell's retreating body and judging the growing distance, considering if, were he to pick up the small Roanian before him and get a good start, he could take Fell down with a good throw...but that was just wishful thinking, and silly to boot. Which didn't mean that Fell hadn't earned a prominent position on Julian's list of people it would be worthwhile and advisable to inflict suffering upon.

Still, a cursory once-over labeled the girl -- she could be twice as old as he was and still be a girl in his eyes, Svrkr'lath-kr'deyn Roanians -- as more-or-less harmless, insofar as he cared to tell. Roanians, he had learned, were fiendishly difficult to read properly, which went a ways to explain how he'd made such a fool of himself in that particular arena. Ninety percent bipedal rats -- bit of anger, there? Perhaps.

"Yes, yes, you've found us. Quit stuttering before you bite your tongue. However can I be of service?"

Nesar

Naiya chuckles softly as they dance, offering Nesar a rather wry smile. “We have a saying, you see – there are only two kinds of paranoia: absolute, and insufficient. Trust can be a dangerous thing to give, especially when one knows so little of the one asking it. Even more so when one is asking for it, don’t you think? For now, I shall trust you about as far as I can throw you. You’ll have to guess just how far that is unless you try for that kiss you just mentioned.”

Her own expression had shifted a bit to one of more mischief, though her tone remained light and neutral throughout.

“Stereotypes are just that, and anyone who relies on them is a fool. Case by case, no? If I were to judge you all by those … women, I would do your race a grave disservice indeed – and a bigger fool than my brother for not having asked that nice young lady for a dance before your countryman did, no? Carpe diem as they say.”

New Naggoroth/Casir

“Of course, dears. There are some beautiful places in the wintertime, especially in the mountains. Skiing, sledding, ice skating – I’m certain your mother could make the arrangements,” Nathi reassured the girls, laughing lightly at just how adorable they were, remembering her own children when they were younger – fond memories, those.

“You, Lord Casir, are far too kind,” she said to the Roanian gentleman. Anything I have to offer pales beside that of your own Empress. I’m just a simple woman, after all, with the good fortune of ruling over a beautiful nation indeed. Thank you for your reassurances concerning Nesar – I’m certain Naiya can handle any intrigues, and will let us know if anything more serious comes up, no doubt.”

“So tell me, what is your position here? I realize there are many Houses represented tonight, but I’m afraid I know less than I’d like about who fits in where in your politics – realizing that a full answer would likely take longer than we have tonight,” she ended, lifting her brows and smiling, suggesting that she knew very well how murky politics could get when so many were involved.

Another glance showed that the little girls had again made an escape, and she sent out the alert over Spook for the group to keep their eyes open for them. "Ah, Casir? We seem to have some truants ..."

Revenia

Kyrie did bite her tongue, but only for a moment, and she drew back before she drew blood. "Well. Yes. You see, the problem is... there isn't any. Not a drop. In all the Archives. We have books on races that don't exist, but... you're here, and I can see you, and... I mean," she blushed crimson, "I'm sure I could touch you. But we don't have any of your histories. Do you see how this is trouble?" She was aware of the very, very deep anger emanating off of Julian, and took a deep breath, her breasts moving interestingly under the china dress, and turned to Traegan to finish, though her eyes wandered back to Julian. "Err... sir?"

Dread Lady Nathicana

Nesar laughed. "Ah, Bella Donna, you disappoint me so. I suppose it was too much to hope for, a kiss, yet there was no harm in asking." The Roanian male spun Naiya around gently, and watched Kayel and Sophie for a moment. "I believe I have the best of the bargain, though she is pretty enough. Far too unsure for my taste, though. Still, perhaps Sir Kayel will try to ask you to dance next." And then he indicated the empress and Aeselle.

Where Naiya's grin was mischievious, Nesar's was that of the died-in-the-wool trickster. "Or perhaps, Most Enchanting One, my Empress shall get to you first."

New Naggoroth, Dread Lady Nathicana

"Me?" Casir placed his glass on the table and seemed to stare off into space for twenty seconds. "I... don't have a position, my lady. My brother has been labelled a usurper, my nephew and niece led our empire into civil war, and my adopted niece, the new empress, while she has done her best to protect me... seems far too amenable to public pressure from certain parties who hold me responsible for all of that." The Roanian sighed and shook his head, but he didn't sound angry, more resigned. "By rights, I am the Patrician of Great House Drakharn, yet you might as well refer to me as Sir Casir, if you believe I am deserving of any title." It wasn't an answer, perhaps, but it was the best he was capable of giving. He realised that after a moment and smiled slightly. "Forgive an old warhorse his reminiscing, please, My Lady. If you're truly curious about politics, I could ask the Grand Vizier or Nesar or that Daria woman to brief you."

His expression grew sharp as soon as Nathi brought his attention to the absence of the twins. "What?" He snapped, not at her, but more at himself, and suddenly he was all action, flying into activity. "Scarlett, Ellenith, your mother told you to stay put." It was an empty call, and he knew it, but again, the right thing to do. "Lady Nathicana, I cannot ask you to hunt for them, as this is my responsibility. Please, wait here, and forgive my running off." He took off into the crowd, looking for the twins, following them along their path towards Calavyr and Verve, though distracted by the missing children to notice the actions of the Patrician of Seraph.

New Naggoroth

Alessa's eyes closed at Aeselle's kiss and her chest swelled up against the other woman. She was only aware of the squeeze in passing, as she was aware of her own hand sliding across the breast it was waiting by and back to Aeselle's side, a movement and blurred thought. "Oh." She said, not quite expecting to be taken up on the suggestion. She had never before been kissed by a woman, and while not as sexually pleasing as when a man had kissed her, nevertheless there was something deeply pleasing about it.

Around them, the watching males almost let out an audible sigh. Alessa didn't notice, though, far too concerned with trying to regain her own concentration. "Y-yeah. What's that on yours? I don't recognise it."

Sophie tried to concentrate on her footing. One, two ... this is no different than practice, back in the House ballroom. I can do this. ... but Kayel was not a repurposed butlerbot chassis, and his hands on her waist were warm. To be so close to another living, breathing being (I can smell him, she realized, a faint scent of some exotic aftershave) was unfamiliar and disconcerting. But not, altogether, unwelcome ... [i]Don't think about that. Three, four ...

"It - I - they say beauty is in the eye of the beholder, Kayel," she managed to reply. She knew she was pretty, of course - beauty is strongly correlated with success in interpersonal relationships, SOLOMON said in her memory - but nobody had ever actually said such a thing to her before. "I don't know. It's not as nice as Rudan."

And a one ...

Julian, suddenly, laughed, "Ah, yes, well. Simple enough, there -- the Ascended haven't been a viable race for somewhere between fifty and a hundred thousand years. Even when we were, we weren't particularly big on sharing information about ourselves. Plenty of stories, legends, rumors...but very little actual fact. Between you and me, that's because we don't know all that much about ourselves, either."

His right hand rested lightly on Peacemaker's pommel, stroking the large sapphire-like swordstone with an easy, practice motion -- it was a well-worn tick, to say the least. His other hand moved ever-so imperceptibly, but ever so steadily. An observant individual would notice that Traegan's hand was making slight motions of its own...

Most people would notice Traegan roll his eyes, and Julian's little smile...

Ranisath was a little disappointed, not because he had particularly high hopes for Roanian unity, but because he had been hoping for an interesting topic of discussion. “I’m afraid I have not,” he said, in regard to Master Un, “And, as regards the empress, I would say that she is quite capable of operating with him in the post, and, should she require any changes in the arrangement of her servants, deciding on these herself,” he said.
___

The fra’al contemplated, for a moment, considering the many tasks it did.

He had, at times, commanded vessels; in the past year, he had taken a pair of battlecruisers almost half way across the galaxy, commanding them in the destruction of the Wreckers of Trakor, and visiting a secret foundry where an experimental weapon (Currently in the working name ZM979) was being assembled. This was destined for the Dawn Paragons. This was a combination of several obscure types of knowledge, in an effort to replicate an even more obscure weapon.

On other occasions, his tasks had included developing quiet trade relations. The Fra’al appreciated their secrecy greatly, but nonetheless, had a strong interest in outsiders, especially those of a certain type.

And here, of course.

“Not espec’ly,” came the reply, “I am a protector-governor.”

"Of course, we have a interest in many things. For this reason, we respect such things," he said, passing another item to the library representative forced to spend time with Kouran, this one looked like a crystal vial, shot through with bands of darkness, "a gift for you..."

Nesar

“Learn to live with disappointment,” Naiya quipped, completing the spin with a flourish of her own. “Again with the compliments. Were I unsure before, I am certain now you want something.” The latter was offered with a soft laugh. This was, after all, supposed to be a party, so as long as she kept on her toes, there was little harm in enjoying it. She still wasn’t sure about this one, and there were things that nagged at her about the entire thing, but she was confident enough that she was in no immediate danger still, and thus, continued.

“That would be acceptable so long as he remained a gentleman about it,” she replied in regards to Kayel. As for Aeselle and the Empress …

Naiya arched a brow in a manner that made her look even more like her mother, her chin lifting slightly in that imperious way Nathicana had as well.

“Well,” she said carefully, “There is dancing, and then there is dancing, and while that may be well and fine for some, I’m afraid anyone who asked for the latter,” here she subtly inclined her head towards the pair of ladies and their antics, “will be sadly disappointed.”

If her tone were a bit arch as she said it, well so be it. There was a time and place, and she, while not being much of a prude, felt this was neither.

Casir … then Calavyr & Verve

Nathicana couldn’t help but think that Alessa was wasting a very good opportunity in not taking on Casir as at the very least a close advisor, just from the impressions she was getting from him. Far more courteous and diplomatic than several she had met thus far, he would seem ideal as a representative to other nations for example, and seemed to care for the Empress – which could be a rare enough thing even in the best of situations, she knew.

Of course before she could ask more, the girls had dashed off, and he had made his apologies and gone after them. Her eyes narrowed as she too saw the path they were taking, and with a very determined expression rushed to cut in from a slightly different angle, of course cheating having her augments to take advantage of. She tried not to push it too obviously, but confident Casir could handle the girls, was determined not to let some other lady fall prey to the slimy bastard of house Seraph.

She slipped her arm deftly around one of Calavyr’s, her expression changing instantly to a brilliant smile. “Why, Patrician Calavyr! I have been waiting all night to speak with you.”

To Verve, she nodded politely, just as deftly lifting the glass from her hand and depositing it on the tray of a passing servant, only to replace it with something else. “My apologies, dear Lady. I hate to take this gentleman away from you, but I simply must insist. Shame on you, Calavyr, for offering the lady such a substandard drink. This wine is much more pleasant to the palette. If you would, my dear, but if I could prevail upon you further to perhaps join my son as a temporary replacement, having stolen away your company?”

Here she spoke two words quickly across Spook, and Marcus perked up from just across the way, and waved invitingly to Verve, further gesturing in a clear question if she would like to join him in a dance, perhaps?

“I shan’t keep the Patrician long, I promise. Would you mind terribly?”

The way she gripped Calavyr’s arm should have relayed quite clearly that she had no intention of him saying no. To him, she offered the last little shot in her arsenal for the moment.

“Surely you wouldn’t deny a lady her request for a dance, honored Patrician?”

Trevor/AdminCoordinator/and sort of, Lois

“Most excellent,” Marcus replied, accepting the card and tucking it away inside his jacket pocket. “I’ll be certain to get our Ministry on it as soon as we return home. I look forward to a profitable partnership, Signore Desorté, thank you.”

Of course the scene evolving on the dance floor would have to catch his eye, and he swallowed hard, especially on finally recognizing the participants.

“Oh my …”

No, bad. NOT right. Downright … well, indecent. But hot. Indecently hot, and thus, not right. Not here, in front of God and everyone, for the love of …

Granted, he’d seen such displays before, but usually in secondary school with girls trying to get the attention – which they never failed to receive – from other boys. But why would the Empress, as radiant as she was, need more attention? And Aeselle? She had children there! But then, druchii proclivities … elven … what have you. Precedent, one supposed, but still.

Clearing his throat, he got the message from his mother, smiled and waved to the lovely young lady currently engaged with … oh lord, not him. He hid his distaste well, and decided that a wordless invite to dance might be appropriate, hoping the lady would join them and perhaps accept.

To the AdminCoordinator, he murmured under his breath. “How good to be a panNorm and not have the sorts of predations and scenes in the Hive that go on in what passes for ‘polite’ society here. My apologies for your having to witness such … displays.”

Mas, for his part, was regretting having had to run off and leave Lois – who had been rather pleasant company – for what amounted to more careful babysitting, all on the account of those damned women. Bah, things had been going just fine until then.

Alas … And he sighed, switching to try and view the area with the new toy the lady guardsman had given him, perhaps to sneak a peek from an aerial view?

Nathi

Verve blinked and merely nodded and smiled, the suggestible narcotic meaning she followed Nathicana’s instructions without too much thought and made her way over to the seat next to Marcus.

“Uh, hello.” she said shyly, her smaller wings twitching slightly behind her, her halo on at a slight angle with her hair now cascading down one side of her face as she made herself comfortable, pulling the creases in an absent minded way out of her shortish, golden dress.

“I’m Verve. I don‘t really hold any fancy titles or anything…” she said as she brushed the hair out of her face to be able to look across to Marcus with her soft, golden eyes and she smiled a little. “But I really like this party.” she took a small sip of the new glass of wine she had received, then put it down.

“So, uhm. Shall we dance?” she said looking to the glass briefly before back up to Marcus.

“My dear lady, if I may present Trevor Desorté, CEO and Owner of The Garbage Men – a fine corporation if I do say so, and AdminCoordinator 67521 of the Blue Mother of Us All, of the Coordinated panNorm Hives? And although introductions have been hastily made, if I might excuse myself to honor the request of this very lovely lady,” Marcus says, finishing with a bow to Verve, after which he holds out his hand, then offers his arm to escort her to the dance floor.

“We’re at a party, Verve – titles don’t have to get in the way here. Marcus Treznor, at your service. Shall we?”

Time always has this certain tendency to pass quickly when one is not paying all that much attention to it, even more so when there’s an apparent lack of visible timepieces in the general vicinity. Such had been the case for Alakantar because, for what had been intended as a brief respite from the party in order to blow off some steam had turned into an extended stay, of which he was not made aware. This was mostly due to lingering within this clockless restroom and the fact that he had neglected to wear his watch for this occasion. But even if this was simply not the case, he had not even bothered in attempting to find out and instead spent the last several minutes of his time in the utter silence of this room resting upon the counter between the sinks. His back was relaxed against the wall, and his eyes were completely shut as his mind drifted in and out of various soothing thoughts, intended to calm his stressed mind.

But before the soothing calmness brought upon a sleep, a sudden realization sprung into his thoughts, and he mumbled aloud to himself, “You know…best case: someone has figured I’ve fallen in or the buffet hasn’t agreed with me….worst case: someone has figured that I’ve been kidnapped by Calavyr….I’d better get back into the swing of things. I wouldn’t want Nathicana, Pascalli, or Massetti to be worried about where I’ve ran off to.”

A swinging motion of his legs started just prior to his pushing away from the wall behind him, causing him to slide from the counter and onto his feet. He then turned toward the mirror and began inspecting his appearance, which admittedly was rather disheveled. His hair managed to gain a knot from removing the helmet so much and his face had gotten dirty – or at least felt that way – from the sweat brought on by the heat of his tuxedo. As for the rest of him, his clothing merely needed to be straightened out here and there, nothing terribly difficult.

However, seeing as he had no comb available to rid his hair of that knot, he simply had to make do with the tools available to him. He cursed his neglecting to bring along the more essential things needed for this trip, but realized that there was no use worrying about it now, was there?

“Alright…I managed to keep cool and levelheaded whenever I was around anyone else, even through the attempted arrest by Calavyr and finding out all that information from the Archchancellor,” he mumbled to himself, yanking at the painful knot with an odd combination of a pen and pencil, clenched in his fists to form a two-toothed comb. “If there’s anything I need to keep in mind, it’s that I need to remain that way, but also to work on maybe some more constructive and less overt outlets when being…pissed off. The last thing I need to do is keep running in here all the time when I want to throw something…”

After this consideration and moment of constructive criticism had been given to his previous actions and when he had finally pulled that knot out, he shoved the writing instruments back into his jacket pocket and proceeded to run a stream of cool water from the faucet. He dabbed some soap upon his hands and scrubbed together before rubbing his face. Then, he proceeded to wash his face with the running water, making sure to get all the soap off of him.

“Ahhh…” he sighed in relief, finding the sensation of the cool water against his skin and the cleanliness from the soap to be rather refreshing to him as he dried his face. “Now, some final things…”

Shrugging slightly to ensure his jacket was resting comfortably upon his shoulders was the very first thing that Alakantar had done, followed by a simple adjustment of his bowtie and making certain that his white dress shirt had been completely tucked in. Finally, a glance down to his pant legs, along with a rapid twist of his wrists to be certain that his sleeves were not turned the wrong way, completed the task of making himself appear presentable so that he could step back into the party.

A glance back into the mirror made him smile. “Much better.”

Ending with that, he reached down to where his helmet had lain all this time and picked it back up again, carefully inspecting it for any damaged caused by his anger. Nothing more than a few worn pieces of the felt could be seen, except for a corner of the material that seemed to be jutting up from the impact. But that was easily fixable with a few dabs from his tiny bottle of quick-drying glue that he had managed to bring along with him for any repairs he needed to make for this costume. Once he had completed that task, he found no real need to wait around for the glue to dry and felt more than enough ready to reenter the social scene again. So the drow quickly departed from the bathroom he had spent far too much time in and proceeded back, helmet in hand, into the ballroom where everyone else was still mingling and happily chatting along.

There, he milled about just within the main doorway, his crimson eyes scanning about the room to see where the more familiar guests had moved around to in his absence. He first caught sight of Master Mary and the Archchancellor still chattering away amongst themselves, but thought it might be best to stay away from there for the time being, mainly so that he could avoid the questions about where he’d been and to not bring up the subject of his fiancé any time soon.

From there his eyes flitted about across the ocean of people, quickly landing upon the wide gap surrounding the dancing duo of Alessa and Aeselle. But unlike so many others, he had few thoughts or reactions in regards to how they were acting and simply shook his head in disappointment. As had been the case with Marcus, he’d come across these sorts of things in college, whether it be at some party or even pictures that floated around the hands of so many in the dorms. But he always regarded them as constantly craving attention and doing whatever they could to achieve that, including this, and found that it had the opposite reaction from him, often inspiring disappointment, lessening his respect for the person and really just casting a shadow on them. While he certainly was the kind of person who enjoyed himself from time to time, he really did not see that this was the appropriate time for that sort of thing, but those thoughts did not last long in his mind as he moved his focus onto more important things.

Unfortunately, those things had brought a hint of concern to his face when he found Nathicana speaking to Governor Seraph with her arm around his. He had unfortunately and unknowingly missed everything that had happened with Verve, even Marcus coming by to request a dance with her, so he had no idea of what she was doing over there. But the one thing that he did know was that she was more than able to handle herself in these situations so if anything went wrong, which he doubt it would, she and her bodyguards could deal with it swiftly. Still, he intended on keeping a close eye on the situation without looking all that obvious to either of them and wandered about the room aimlessly.

Verve smiled and took his arm looking to him and, effectively checking him out. “We shall” She walked with him to the dance floor, continuing to get some death glares from some roanians, and curious glances from others. “Well, Marcus Treznor. I am.. Uhm. Verve. I don’t really have a last name either, but I’m an Angelis. So uh maybe, you could call me Verve Angelis?”

(repeated below in full)

Marcus took the lead easily, treating the young lady with care and flatly ignoring any looks sent their way with a casual air of dismissal. “Well then, it is a pleasure to meet you, Verve Angelis. Mind if I ask where you’re from? Dominion myself , Earthside Sol system, on the offhand chance you’re extrasolar, given the name. Is Angelis your race, then?”

It turned out he was rather good at dancing – his father’s altered genes in particular aiding in such physical diversions – and happened to enjoy it, even with all the lessons he’d had growing up.


Verve smiled as he took the lead. “Well, I’m from the Greater Kingdom of Midlonia, Earth too.” She span with him effortlessly, seemingly gaining a natural grace on the floor with him. “I am, I’m a revived species. Really long, very boring history.” She wrinkled her nose slightly and grinned a little.

"I doubt its as boring as you claim," Marcus replied, smiling genuinely. "Revived through science, then? I'm afraid I'm not brushed up on just how advanced the Midlonians have become. I know we've been comfortable trade partners for some time, but our alliances have never operated closely for various reasons. In any case, stating your race has been revived sounds like a good thing. You're not the only one, I hope?"

“There’s quite a few of us now. I’m the first to get out of Earth though.” she briefly gave off a fuller smile. “It’s so weird. Our kind was wiped out five hundred and… hrm.” She paused for a moment, never breaking step but her expression changed to one of brief consideration. “Let’s see, it’s 575 A.U, err After Unification…” She twirled with him in another movement of the dance and the music, her ability to be able to concentrate on the dance plus her recalling of history she’d only just learnt herself was something of a mental feat. “My kind was the last to fall to the Midlonians proper, and we were simply.” She twirled away from him before coming back. “All killed. We lived in floating cities, so they just made them fall. There was a few Angeliss left and a city found not too long ago, but not enough to create a whole new generation, and so they started making us with some gen- hrm. They used some fancy laboratory. I wouldn’t know the details, but they want us back after killing us so I’m happy.”

Marcus seemed mildly shocked at the thought of wholesale genocide, as well as her ability to treat it all so clinically.

"What a terrible thing to have gone through," he said regretfully, holding her gently close for a momentary dip, then setting her back aright with a slight flourish. "It is good to see they are at least trying to make amends, but ... beg pardon if I misspeak, but that's simply barbaric."

“That’s all everyone was before the unification.” she dipped in close again, liking it. “Barbaric. Even my people so magical and technological did little but prey on others, the Midlonians, or Mid lowlanders apparently didn’t want to kill the older ones, but they wouldn’t stop and join the rest of the kingdom like the others had, being stubborn and too proud to submit to wingless ones. I’m glad they’ve changed their minds though.” She grinned and looked him in the eyes as they twirled again. “It feels good to be alive.”

"I'm always amazed at the diversity creation offers us," he summed up, smiling back at her as he drew her back in after the twirl. "I'm rather glad they changed their minds too, all things considered. I think the universe would be an emptier place without you - and yours, of course."

“Thank you, Marcus.” Verve said with a smile. “King Henry’s idea really, to bring us all back. He said something silly like ‘making the set complete again’ apparently.” she giggled a soft rolling, yet quiet laugh. “He’s around here somewhere with the Prime Minister of the Commonwelth. Quite an odd couple.”

"He's a good king, then?" Marcus asked conversationally as they danced their way gracefully through the other couples. "And odd how, if you don't mind my asking?" He lowered his voice slightly at the end of the next spin for a quiet compliment.

"You dance divinely, by the way."

“He’s a good King, and thank you, helps when you’re part divine.” she grinned a little cheekily. “They’re odd because they’ve been with each other for quite a while, she’s a Ghoul and he’s human. Apparently he saved Sarah’s life during his mandatory military service.” she raised her eyebrows a little.

“The first King Harry had spent his time in the Freestian outback, so sent his son out there too. Really dangerous, apparently.” She span with him again, going with the flow of the music as well as Marcus’ movements.

“The unit he was with is like, lent to the Midlonians, but the training went badly wrong and they were the only survivors in one unit. They got lost in the outback for months, when they came out of it, well. Evidently very lonely out there and only each other for comfort.” she made a slight shrug of her shoulders but not enough to interrupt the dance itself.

"I'm afraid my mother has ah, forbidden me and my sister to explore that particular place. I've heard absolute horror stories," Marcus replied, obviously impressed.
"No wonder they're close - something like that is not gotten over quickly, if ever. I wouldn't wish that on anyone." He paused, dipped once more gently, then smiled perhaps a bit impishly.
"Well, few," he admitted, wriggling his brows.

Verve laughed again. “Well, I suppose one day it might be within your power to wish that upon someone, no?” She glanced to the side briefly before leaning close to whisper into Marcus‘ ear. “Getting into the outback is fairly safe if you know the routes apparently. It’s when you start playing into the interior with only a guide problems start.”

"Why my dear lady, are you trying to tempt me?" Marcus asks, clearly pretending the shocked expression. "First with power, then with adventure? Whatever would my mother say?"

“I’m afraid I don’t know your mother, so I couldn’t say. But I am sure after a lot of screaming and shouting she’d either have me banished, or ground you I’m sure.” she laughed at his expression.

"She is a ... formidable woman," he replied, chuckling softly, then sending her out for a gentle spin, bringing her back in again gracefully. "I'm certain if she were screaming and shouting over something like that, they'd hear it all the way out here from there."

“But surely she’d understand the supposed character building it’d give you.” Verve said with a slight laugh herself. “Everyone who comes out of there comes out stronger, according to Henry.”

"Perhaps, perhaps, but then there's father, and I'm not sure he'd risk his lineage over something as 'trivial' as an outback vacation," he said, his smile coming out a bit crooked, not unlike his father at that. "That's been the one real problem with having responsibilities - the limitations that sometimes come with it. But enough of that, tell me more about yourself, lady Verve?"

Revenia

Kyrie fumed privately at these two men, and almost stamped her feet. At times like these, she wished she had more understanding of men, but working for Kouran and then in the Galactic Archives had rather limited her intimate contact with males. She had noticed that men, especially larger and seemingly more virile ones, were attracted to the chests of women, especially those with pronounced mammary glands (despite the inconvenience of them, oddly), yet these two didn't seem to notice herse at all. Was her approach wrong? . "Yes, well... legends and stories are good, when nothing else can be found. Are either of you busy? We could go someplace private and I could transcribe it, and I promise the Archives would be grateful, and I'm authorised to offer my own reward." She smiled once more.

Dread Lady Nathicana

Nesar laughed as they entered the final moments of their own dance, but kept silent, instead delighting in the thrill and sound around him. He danced astonishingly well, though of course he was the type of person who would dance well. Once more, he spun her away and back to him, and once more, he caught her, this time dipping her low to the ground. "Dancing, and then dancing. An interesting turn of phrase, Naiya." He said, as they slowed. "It is my certain hope that the Lady-Empress is not inclined in such a way, though I must admit this does surprise me..." There was no way of knowing if that was true or not, as he didn't sound all that surprised. "Still, at least it remains vertical and not horizontal. I am sure the Lady-Empress will be the perfect," he smiled and indicated Alessa's costume with a tilt of his head, "gentleman with you, my lady."

Their dance ended just as Nathicana was bringing Calavyr onto the dance floor, and Nesar's smile grew so wide it threatened to lop off the top of his head. "There's something you don't see every day, Naiya. A fisherman caught by his own catch." He would not be as happy had he learned Calavyr had been caught trying the same thing all over again on a newly innocent target. "Ah, well. It appears our time together does draw to an end. This isn't a marathon, after all, and I would no more monopolise you than allow your brother to." He released her side, but kept his hand on hers even as he walked away, and then grinned. "By the way... the answer to your question is 'a kiss'." He released her hand and bowed at the waist. "But I know better than to ask for one that's already been refused. Have a good evening, Naiya."

Dread Lady Nathicana, Midlonia, New Naggoroth

Casir sighed in relief as he dropped his hands firmly on Scarlett and Ellenith's shoulders. "Where do you two think you're running away?" He picked the two of them up and shook his head. "No more candy for either of you, young ladies." He leaned in and whispered in both ears, "Good work, though, leading us to that scoundrel. Maybe I'll get the Empress to give you an extra big slice of cake."

Calavyr, however, was not all that pleased to be interrupted in the midst of his work on Verve. "Unhand me, you... Oh, it's you." He scowled when Nathicana's grip on his arm tightened, and went along with her. "Yes, I have wanted... to... speak to you as well, Lady Nathicana." As they were dragged onto the dance floor, his scowl grew all the worse when he saw Alessa, and then he looked down at Nathicana. If looks could kill... "Do you want something?"

Midlonia

"Ah!" Radmiel said, snapping out of his Aeselle/Alessa-makeout-session-induced fugue when he saw someone he recognised from his transcript of the evening's guests and their costumes. "Father Henry the Second and Sister...Sarah Farahind, I believe?" He bowed in the Midlonian style of the reign of Harry's father. "I am our Empress' Grand Vizier, Radmiel..." He was interrupted by the sound of a hyperactive 8 year old running by screaming, but paid it no heed. "My empress would greet you herself, but..." He winked at Henry and looked behind him, "She's busy at present. On her behalf, I welcome you to the Empire."

Ctan

The assistant didn't speak, instead taking the proferred gift and storing it in his message bag, his eyes growing ever more haggard and dull. Next to him, Kouran nodded. "An interesting title, to be sure," followed by almost 15 minutes of prattle about the origins of both words on Earth, concluding with, "and of course, a true scholar would be welcomed into the Galactic Archives."

Daria, for her part, frowned at Ranisath, but rapidly smoothed it over into a polite smile. "Of course." She responded, and took a deep breath, fluttering her eyelashes at Ranisath and bringing all her considerable sex appeal to bear. "But I think we both know that Radmiel is an overpromoted functionary, while Alessa deserves to hear the views of a real intellectual... and a fellow woman..." That was almost too much, as her eyes crossed and she almost staggered at maintaining her appeal at the sheer revulsion that flowed through her form.

Kalasin

"You're very kind to say so," Kayel said, his own dance-steps not much more careful than Sophie's. Unlike many of the men around him, he was interested primarily in the girl in his arms. One of the two 'stars' was his cousin, after all. "But Kalasin itself is a beautiful name." His hands on her waist slipped almost to her hips for a minute when he did almost stumble, but he recovered and restored them to their proper position, a quick red blush coming and going on his cheek.

Nesar

Naiya did enjoy the dance, though she let her expressions speak for her as Nesar implied this and that, arching one brow up whilst smiling wryly.

At seeing her mother with Calavyr she actually laughed softly. “Something tells me she is going to enjoy that dance much more than he will. Thank you for the dance, and the conversation, however curious it was at times, Nesar.” She returned his bow with a graceful curtsey of her own, then on impulse, blew him a little kiss, smiling mischievously, then waving with the tips of her fingers as she backed away a few steps, then melted into the crowd.

Calavyr

Nathicana’s smile remained a mask of pleasantry in spite of the words that began spilling from her lips as they began to dance.

“Oh, if only I could have what I want, Calavyr, I would have you strung up by your dangly bits over a pit of rabid hyenas, for starters. But then, even Imperial leaders do not always get what they want. For now, I am going to talk, and you are going to listen.”

Her tone, and her grip, made it clear he would very much regret any deviation from that plan.

“First, you made the mistake of daring to attempt to lay hands on my daughter, then, to insult her. For that alone, you should already be dead – and do not dare to flaunt your title, position, or longevity in my face. I have dealt with far worse than you and lived, and nothing you could possibly threaten could frighten me in the least.”

Her voice took on an even more sinister edge as they continued, though she smiled pleasantly throughout it all, to all outward views, somehow managing to enjoy her time with the rather reviled Patrician.

“I have defied Morgoth himself, and yet here I am now, dancing with you, as despicable as I find that. And not only that, but you continue your disgusting predations – and don’t you dare to deny it, insulting your Empress with your words, your actions, your very existence .. . so help me, one more misstep on your part, and if she doesn’t have your head by the end of the week, I will. And do not make the mistake of thinking that to be an idle threat.”

She spun gracefully, then came in close, gripping him tightly as she closed in almost as if to kiss him, her breath hot and sweet.

“My reach, you may find, is very long, and I have favors in the most surprising of places. Consider yourself warned, Calavyr. And given how you’ve been shamed in public already tonight, keep this little discussion to yourself – for your own sake.” She glanced around the room meaningfully. “Even on a foreign planet, I find myself surrounded by more friends than you have. Spare yourself further embarrassment, and go find a quiet corner to wait out the rest of the evening, hmm?”

She reached up and patted his cheek – with more force than was truly warranted, but not visually a slap.

“My thanks for the dance – pray we do not need to repeat it.”

Trevor smiled and nodded towards Marcus as a response to his comment. Using Signor was a rather interesting touch one that properly said nothing more than a simple and standard title but it assumed a level of knowledge and competence which showed a greater amount of respect than would normally accompany such a title, in fact the title of Signor is almost nothing compared to the many dignitaries here, including Marcus' own mother.

Then there was a new visitor Verve, she seemed lacking in confidence yet managed to 'drag' Marcus off for a dance. That was how it all started with him and his fiance, a dance at a diplomatic function.

He looked over at the AdminController and couldn't help but notice the irony in it's costume.An Ant dressed as a bee it seemed like a horrible mismatch when you heard it but the AdminController pulled it off very well.

"I don't believe we've had our proper greetings yet, AdminController." Trevor bowed towards the 'bug' and straightened up again.

"Oh," Aeselle grinned, and smiled at Alessa as their dance continued. "It's hyacil, a root herb native to Ghrond... tastes a lot like cinnamon, and acts as a bit of a stimulant."

She gave Alessa a wink, and then let the empress go as the dance ended. Lastly, she gave her partner a bow. "My thanks, Alessa. If you need me later, just come and find me. I'm sure there are plenty of others clamoring for your attention, so don't let me keep you!"

--

Scarlett and Elly both smirked at each other as Casir hefted them up, just in time to see their mother depart from the dance floor and head their way. They were quite fine without having any more candy... both of them thought cake would be much better. And helping that drowsy-looking girl. That had felt good too.

"Was he doing something bad after all?" Scarlett asked, "He looked kinda creepy... so I wanted to take a look..."

Aeselle joined them a minute later, and took Ellenith from Casir, "Aww, looks like you three are getting along well. I hope they aren't being too much trouble for you, milord?"

Sophie stiffened as Kayel's hands brushed her hips, but managed to recover in time not to throw off the dance. It was clearly an accident, judging by his embarrassment. Best not to mention it.

"Oh! Ah ... when the first survey ship went through, Kalasinha van Dalsen died falling off the Great Escarpment, so they named it Kalasinha's World after him. When Ezra d'Arcy and the Montreal got there, they shortened the name to Kalasin."

In the midst of his travels around the dance floor, while keeping an eye upon everything that interested him in the area but not at all wishing to become mired in such a mess, Alakantar managed to run into Nesar Cheruv departing his dance with Nathicana’s daughter, but thankfully that run in was not literal like it had been before. Nevertheless, the drow figured this might be a worthwhile opportunity to speak with someone who was on their own, as he had no desires to break into the conversations being thrown about by the various groups that had formed.

Coming up from behind and stepping beside the man as he walked, Alakantar began to speak to the man. “Nesar Cheruv, isn’t it?” he asked politely, using the rhetorical question as more of a greeting than much else. “I couldn't help but notice, but from what I’ve seen around here lately, it appears you’ve put yourself into an interesting position of a problem solver during this little event, eh? I'm actually pretty surprised at that really. Few really want to get themselves involved in other people's messes.”

It's actually kind of curious how a giant bug can fade into the background. While no one demands her time, the AdminCoordinator simply relaxes on her back legs a little more and watches the endoskeletals play with a scientific detachment. Her emotional reactions to their pointless touching and archaic arousal-games are purely irrelevant; here is an opportunity to observe directly how it influences social interactions. The SciCoordinator would find it more interesting, and the AdminCoordinator will of course have to make a full report of her findings to her, but for her own regard she can find some sort of subtle fulfillment in watching the worms waltz. How curious that a phylum so amorphous chooses to entertain itself in such a structured fashion... well, that is simply being unfair. What is more fair is that a phylum so generally irrational would entertain itself in a structured fashion essentially based on mathematical patterns and sympathetic recognition of subtle similarities. The violin's waveform and capabilities are decent approximations of the human voice's, albeit from a much simpler instrument. Structured dances are no more than mathematical spatial patterns, with the occasional bit of applied dynamics and momentum.

She can find it interesting, even fascinating, from behind her cold compound eyes with the golden shine along their edges. The Blues had worked with computers since before Dryopithecus first walked the African Rift Valley, and the True Norm from whence they came started building their generation ships before Asia Minor and the plains of Western Europe had emerged from the sea. Millions and millions of years to make a carefully structured, highly logical, carefully--but not overly so--specialized creature, and yet still, somewhere underneath, remains the screaming animal from probably hundreds of millions years ago. Never so screaming as the pack-hunter-by-necessity primates, but screaming nonetheless. And that screaming animal thinks it's all disgusting, and its irrational opinion colors the thoughts of the AdminCoordinator, who rationalizes her disgust as a function of the inefficiencies she views even as she realizes that she is rationalizing (and, as such, her theories and opinions on the matter are flawed and therefore irrelevant).

The 'cute' pupae in their (irrational) penguin costumes: disgusting. Nevertheless, their interactions offer important data in how young pupae are treated in this culture, and how strong cultural mores and standards must be to keep them safe even when in the company of those who clearly dislike their presence. Aeselle and Alessa, dabbling in mild homosexuality, and the titillation it causes in the crowd... disgusting. No biological function is served by such acts or desires, unless it has something to do with a reorientation of mental and physical resources normally devoted to procreation in order to provide some sort of evolutionary advantage... or maybe it is just a very common error that appears in nearly ten percent of all mammals that hearkens back to the day when the most complex organism on their planet may have been a hermaphroditic nematode. Still, the effects make it plainly obvious that such shows could be a useful and perfectly logical tool under the correct circumstances. Even the Dominioner pupae she had just risked life and limb to protect... disgusting. Important. Members of the Hive by affiliation, even if they hadn't quite figured it out yet.

The AdminCoordinator buzzes her maxillae softly to herself. So this is tolerance. Trevor's attempt to break the ice calls her out of her observation, which, thanks to her alien body language, she seems to shift perfectly naturally out of with a short bow on her two sets of hips. "I believe Principe Imperiale Marcus Treznor introduced us in passing, but certainly nothing overly official." Her voice is a smile as she extends a velvet-encased manipulator as duty commands. "AdminCoordinator 67521. It is my pleasure to meet you, Trevor Desorté, CEO and Owner of The Garbage Men."

She mimes the act of glancing around the room, bobbing and tilting her head left and right unnecessarily--purely an affectation to aid communication. Most everyone else was dancing. "Please forgive me if I am too forward in hypothesizing, but you are not interested in taking part in the current entertainments?" The 'bumblebee' indicates the milling dancers moving like scraps of colored paper blowing in the wind with a practiced nonchalant motion of her four-fingered 'hand.'

New Naggoroth

Alessa nodded, a bit dazed, and wandered off into the crowd. She was smiling at Aeselle, and seemed a bit perplexed, but she was definitely going to try to meet Aeselle again. For now, though, Casir was there, her two twins trapped under his arms. "Your daughters have just done a very good deed, Aeselle." He said, sounding pleased and proud. "Or, at least, prevented a bad one." He coughed when he realised his indiscretion, and meant, "I'm sorry, Miss Colthique. I do hope my niece didn't give you that much trouble?" He smiled pleasantly, though it would be noticeable he felt far more comfortable calling her by name.

Kalasin

Kayel smiled at her, nodding. "I wish I could give you some story about Rudan, Sophie, but... I don't live here, and I don't think anyone remembers the reason Rudan is named the way it is." He laughed, embarassed. "I live on the Paradise World of Ailisara, which means...well... 'Light Blessed Beauty World'. It's very pretty, I suppose... beaches and stuff, but a bit dull." He laughed again. "Much like me, I guess."

Northrop-Grumman

"You are one to talk, Sieur Aleanrahel." Nesar said after a moment watching Alakantar. "Didn't you intervene rather decively in a conflict between Arielle of House Hakoen and her parents?" His smile was smaller and tighter than with Naiya. "Perhaps you have felt the reward was worth it. For myself, helping Lady Naiya was made more than worth the trouble by the pleasure of dancing with her." His eye twitched. Was it a wink? Or meant to appear to be a wink?

Dread Lady Nathicana

Calavyr had inflated himself to shout, but the more Nathicana spoke, the smaller he shrunk. At the end, he was reduced to quiet spluttering, and when she released him, he strode off snarling, storming into the hall Alakantar had just left.

Meanwhile, Alessa walked over to Nathicana, her cheeks still slightly flushed from her new experience with Aeselle. "Hello, Lady Nathicana! I hope you're having a good time?" She asked, smiling radiantly. She hadn't noticed Calavyr's expression walking off, or at least didn't seem to.

"Good evening, Empress Alessa, and yes, I have been, thank you," Nathi replied, smiling. "Thank you again for earlier - your intervention was very much appreciated."

"Huh?" Alessa responded, blinking at Nathicana solemnly, and then smiling a bit. "Oh, that." She said, dismissively. "That's..." She took a deep, and very impressive, breath that caused those few males still watching after the end of her dance with Aeselle to either stare or hurry away, "my fault to begin with." She muttered under her breath. "It's not been quite the night I've planned ,but I'm glad you're having fun."

"You can't be everywhere at once," Nathicana offered. "Don't be too hard on yourself. Are you doing alright?" Not to plan could be good or bad, so ... best to ask.

"Oh..." Alessa sighed, and shook her head. "I..." She swallowed and nodded her head slowly. "I... I think so, yes."

Brows went up curiously, and Nathicana tilted her head slightly. "Is everything ok, Alessa? Is there something you need help with?"

"...A... a... a man somehow got into my room while I was changing." Alessa whispered, scandalised, a red blush covering her cheeks, her arms instinctively crossing over her breasts defensively. "A man I thought I knew. And then he goes and acts all weird... and then he gets all serious about things... on top of all that... stuff that happened with Marc... with your son."

"My advisers all hate each other, my heir is busy leading everyone out, and the priest leading the ceremony wants me to appear t-t-topless!" The last is almost shouted, and she covers her lips and, looking even more humiliated and embarassed, she stared at her feet. All the stress that had lifted off her shoulders when she was dancing with Aeselle had suddenly come crashing back down.

Nathi gently laid a hand on the young Empress's shoulder, hoping not to offend. "I'm very sorry - that must have been terribly upsetting." She paused, listening to the rest, shaking her head gently. Poor girl seemed overwhelmed, and no wonder.

"Would you like to sit down perhaps, have something to drink maybe, and talk? Please, not another thought about the situation with Marcus - that was dealt with. It seems you have many more important things to deal with here, and perhaps you'd prefer to discuss it with less of an audience?"

She looked up at Nathicana, cheeks bright red. "I... I think I'd like that. I... I mean... if... if you don't mind... I..."

"Not a problem. I know how stressful these events can be, even if you have all the help in the world. Don't think anything of it, Alessa," she said, trying to be comforting, daring to go to a more informal first-name basis for the same reason. "Lets get you that drink, then we can find someplace quiet to talk a bit."


Alessa sat on the soft chair in the room she had changed in, gripping a glass of apple juice tightly. The jacket had been forsaken and was hanging on the arm of the chair. She looked at Nathi pleadingly.

"Really, Alessa. It will be fine. Take it one problem at a time, and lets see if we can find some solutions for you, yes? Sometimes it just feels a bit much when it comes at you all at once, after all. It happens," Nathi said kindly, taking another seat near her.

Alessa nodded, smiling at Nathi a bit nervously and unsurely. "Not to you, though. Everyone respects you and no one looks at you like a piece of meat and you're so pretty and, and, and, and..." The words seem to come out of some deep well within, and she doesn't seem able to check them, even though she runs out of things to say quite quickly.

Nathicana laughed right out loud at all of that, though not at all mocking Alessa. "Oh my God," she said, between chuckles. "Is that what you think? My dear lady, allow me to disillusion you for a moment." Gathering her composure, Nathi continued. "I have on occasion behaved outrageously, and have indeed been considered just a 'nice piece of ass', pardon the crudeness, but its appropriate. Granted, I've earned some respect in some circles, but I guarantee you there are those who utterly revile me and would sooner see my head on a stake than have it remain attached."

"You're very kind in your compliments, but Alessa, you have to know your beauty is an ethereal sort that we mere mortals cannot hope to achieve - even among your race, you are exceptional. And I have made mistakes, and found myself in positions that I wouldn't wish on ... well, very few," she had to admit, unknowingly echoing her son's earlier quip, though she was entirely serious. "I've nearly lost it all on more than one occasion," she finished, much more seriously. "No one is perfect, and trust me when I say, what you see on the outside of any one of us is probably light years from the truth."

Alessa shivered and stared at Nathi. "S-s-so... you, too...?" She mumbles, her eyes dimming, her fingers locking into eachother. "You mean you... but... I..." She shivered once more, and did start to cry. "I thought you would be able to tell me there was a way out..."

"Of course there is," Nathicana said firmly, though she offered the younger-looking woman a smile. "So long as this is what you want, that is. Ruling is a heavy responsibility - some might even say a burden. But it is one you can own, and can make work and create something good out of, if you put your mind to it."

"But everyone wants different things! How can I get anything done when... when the only thing anyone can agree on is all the... all the men want me?" She blushed, and then suddenly her mood changed and she kicked her heels against the chair. "And they don't even want me. They just want the hot little empress."

"Right then," Nathicana replied after a moment's thought. "Forget about what all of them want for a moment, and lets talk about what you want. Of course men will want you for your power and position - that doesn't change whether you're a man or a woman with a title, money, influence, or what have you. Nevermind that for a moment. What do you want, Alessa?"

"What... what do I want?". It's not something she's really considered. There are a lot of things she wants people to stop doing. Nothing... she can really think of for herself, except maybe, "respect? Maybe..." she blushed, and her mood switches back. "Love."

The older woman's face softened at that. "Well," she began gently, "Respect is something that is usually earned - though in our positions, it is often granted simply by virtue of being who and what we are - more the position than the person, more often than not, so long as there is a precident for it. Love now ... love can be more difficult to find, but not, by any means, impossible. It tends to be something that requires care and cultivation - it isn't usually just given. Perhaps we should focus on the first for now - its a bit easier to address."

She nodded and watched the older woman. Her anger had wiped away as quickly as it came, leaving her once more just sad. "They all laugh at me. And Calavyr hates me." She mumbles. "And Radmiel and Daria are always yelling that I need to do something... and they never agree with eachother."

"You are the Empress, yes?" Nathi asked, mildly challenging. "To put it bluntly, Calavyr is a complete swine that you would do well to have quietly done away with - and the sooner the better. He serves no purpose but his own twisted agenda, and does nothing for you whatsoever. Radmiel and Daria - what are their positions, and who in hell are they to yell at you anyway? Advisors are there to advise - not to tell us what we have to do."

"I... I... I am the empress. But... they know so much more about things than me..." Alessa twisted her hair nervously, embarassed at her weakness and frailty. "I... I don't know." She closed her eyes. "I don't know anything."

"Then its high time you learned, isn't it?" Nathicana said more gently. "Now, while I meant what I said about not telling us what to do, the other side of that coin is having advisors we can rely on to give us the best advice, whether we agree with it or not. Do Radmiel and Daria fit that description, or are they in it for themselves?"

"I... I think they're in it to stop each other from getting it." Alessa mumbled, wryly. "Or they used to be. Now Radmiel seems mostly in it to..." she blushed again, "screw Daria, and Daria's in it to screw Radmiel over. But they've been with me forever... and I can't think of anyone else..."

"There's no need to do everything at once, Alessa. But it is something you will need to put some serious thought into. How is your relationship with Casir? He seems to care for you, at least from what I could gather - and does not seem to be your usual grasping politician. If nothing else, whether anyone else knows or not, he might be able to offer some solid advice in that direction."

Alessa sighed. "He... he... Everyone hates him. They say that he helped kill my father or something. Which means I love him even more than I would normally." She blushed, kicking her heels against the seat cushion and taking a drink, looking at Nathi. "But Radmiel and Daria both tell me everyone thinks he's responsible for the big war, and...I don't know. I like him." She sighed. "I think he thinks I'm stupid and irrational, too."

"Again, no one has to know you're asking him for advice if it would hurt you politically. What's important is if you feel you can trust him to give you as honest an opinion as he can. It doesn't matter what the rest of them think - not in this. Perhaps if you just ask him to come visit with you sometime? You could let him know what you need, and see if he can, or will assist? I doubt he thinks you're stupid. oI think your counselors are simply trying to make it seem that way,"

Nathicana said, then pondered that last for a moment. "Which, you know, is something you can use to your advantage now and then. People who underestimate you leave themselves open to all sorts of trouble."


Alessa whispered, "But you think I'm stupid too, don't you? And weak?" It was quite and painful. "I don't know any of this! I never wanted this... and now everyone tells me they all have expectations and... and I just want to do the right thing." She buried her face in her hands.

Nathicana dared again to lay a gentle hand on the young Empress's shoulder. "Alessa, I think you've been surrounded by those who've told you you can't handle things, and done their best not to let you learn and grow, and have somehow managed to get you to believe it. It comes to this - are you willing to rule, or not? That's the first thing you have to answer, for yourself - not anyone else."

"I... I..." She trembled. "I guess I have to be." She mumbles. "If I want anyone ever to respect me. Since from what you say, even you can't get men to stop... treating you like...like meat!" She was actually aware of the hypocrisy of this complaint after her show with Aeselle, but it didn't seem hypocritical in her mind.

"Well now, I can get them to stop, but I can't control what they think. Frankly, it doesn't matter. You only have to do this if you believe it is the right thing for you to do. Is it?"

She took a deep breath. "I... I'll try." She mumbled. "Does it ever get easier?"

Nathicana smiled, and shrugged slightly. "Some days, yes. Some days, its hard. But you see, you've already taken the most important step - ownership. Once you've made the conscious choice that it is what you will do, it is no longer 'forced' on you. It is what you have chosen to take on. Does that make sense?"

Alessa nodded, and smiled. "Thank you. That does make a lot of sense..."

"You're quite welcome." Nathicana smiled back genuinely. "Now that you've decided to own it, it no longer owns you. And while you have a responsibility to your people and your nation - they do not own you either. Does that help?"

She nodded, and rubs her eyes. "I think I've been very silly." She whispers. "I'm sorry I pulled you away from the party."

"Please, don't apologize. And don't feel silly either. I'm not sure what all you've been through, Alessa, but it seems to have been a lot. Let it help strengthen you, not hobble you, whatever it is. Start with those basics, find those you feel you can trust, and begin from there to build up your rulership as you would have it be, and you'll do just fine."

Nathicana smiled gently then, hoping something in there somewhere had helped. "And remember - you are the one who leads, regardless of what anyone else says, and you will eventually need to remind them of that. If you've gotten people you can rely on behind you, the rest will fall into place soon enough. You don't have to do it alone. Just set your course, and stick to it."

She nodded. "One other thing." She giggled, a bit lightheaded now that the depression lifted. "Would... a... a bra or something be an appropriate alternative to going topless?"

Nathicana pondered that for a moment, trying to think on what passed for modesty and such amongst the Roanians, and drawing a blank. "Well, what would make you most comfortable? You are the Empress, no? I would go with what you feel is right, for yourself. If I recall, this is a rather historic event, yes?"

She nodded, and covered her chest again. "It is, and they insist that all my ancestors went topless, but... they were all men! Or... almost all of them, and I think she went topless, too." She blushed and looked at her feet. "I don't... I just don't want all those guys staring at me." She mumbled. "I'm sorry, it's something I should sort out for myself." She muttered. "I was just... wondering if you had advice."

"What is expected of men doesn't have to be expected of women. If you are not comfortable with it, then wear something to cover yourself. You are the Empress, you can set the precident. What some woman, however successful, did eons ago shouldn't affect what you do now," Nathicana said, trying to put the poor girl at ease. "My advice is to wear something on top if it would make you feel more comfortable. There's no shame in it, and it is your ceremony after all. It doesn't matter what 'they' all say."

Alessa nodded, and smiled happily. "Thank you, Miss Nathicana." She stood up, and then, suddenly, she leaned forward and hugged the other woman. Equally suddenly, she let go, embarassed. "I... we should get back to the party."

It's actually kind of curious how a giant bug can fade into the background. While no one demands her time, the AdminCoordinator simply relaxes on her back legs a little more and watches the endoskeletals play with a scientific detachment. Her emotional reactions to their pointless touching and archaic arousal-games are purely irrelevant; here is an opportunity to observe directly how it influences social interactions. The SciCoordinator would find it more interesting, and the AdminCoordinator will of course have to make a full report of her findings to her, but for her own regard she can find some sort of subtle fulfillment in watching the worms waltz. How curious that a phylum so amorphous chooses to entertain itself in such a structured fashion... well, that is simply being unfair. What is more fair is that a phylum so generally irrational would entertain itself in a structured fashion essentially based on mathematical patterns and sympathetic recognition of subtle similarities. The violin's waveform and capabilities are decent approximations of the human voice's, albeit from a much simpler instrument. Structured dances are no more than mathematical spatial patterns, with the occasional bit of applied dynamics and momentum.

She can find it interesting, even fascinating, from behind her cold compound eyes with the golden shine along their edges. The Blues had worked with computers since before Dryopithecus first walked the African Rift Valley, and the True Norm from whence they came started building their generation ships before Asia Minor and the plains of Western Europe had emerged from the sea. Millions and millions of years to make a carefully structured, highly logical, carefully--but not overly so--specialized creature, and yet still, somewhere underneath, remains the screaming animal from probably hundreds of millions years ago. Never so screaming as the pack-hunter-by-necessity primates, but screaming nonetheless. And that screaming animal thinks it's all disgusting, and its irrational opinion colors the thoughts of the AdminCoordinator, who rationalizes her disgust as a function of the inefficiencies she views even as she realizes that she is rationalizing (and, as such, her theories and opinions on the matter are flawed and therefore irrelevant).

The 'cute' pupae in their (irrational) penguin costumes: disgusting. Nevertheless, their interactions offer important data in how young pupae are treated in this culture, and how strong cultural mores and standards must be to keep them safe even when in the company of those who clearly dislike their presence. Aeselle and Alessa, dabbling in mild homosexuality, and the titillation it causes in the crowd... disgusting. No biological function is served by such acts or desires, unless it has something to do with a reorientation of mental and physical resources normally devoted to procreation in order to provide some sort of evolutionary advantage... or maybe it is just a very common error that appears in nearly ten percent of all mammals that hearkens back to the day when the most complex organism on their planet may have been a hermaphroditic nematode. Still, the effects make it plainly obvious that such shows could be a useful and perfectly logical tool under the correct circumstances. Even the Dominioner pupae she had just risked life and limb to protect... disgusting. Important. Members of the Hive by affiliation, even if they hadn't quite figured it out yet.

The AdminCoordinator buzzes her maxillae softly to herself. So this is tolerance. Trevor's attempt to break the ice calls her out of her observation, which, thanks to her alien body language, she seems to shift perfectly naturally out of with a short bow on her two sets of hips. "I believe Principe Imperiale Marcus Treznor introduced us in passing, but certainly nothing overly official." Her voice is a smile as she extends a velvet-encased manipulator as duty commands. "AdminCoordinator 67521. It is my pleasure to meet you, Trevor Desorté, CEO and Owner of The Garbage Men."

She mimes the act of glancing around the room, bobbing and tilting her head left and right unnecessarily--purely an affectation to aid communication. Most everyone else was dancing. "Please forgive me if I am too forward in hypothesizing, but you are not interested in taking part in the current entertainments?" The 'bumblebee' indicates the milling dancers moving like scraps of colored paper blowing in the wind with a practiced nonchalant motion of her four-fingered 'hand.'

Trevor accepted the manipulator and shook it as an Edwardian gentleman, he smiled "I certainly am interested, but I'm afraid It's my turn to be a bit forward... but do you really want to dance, or is this from a sense of duty?"

Trevor did enjoy dancing, in many forms. Knowing enough that ants have composite eyes the whole 'show' of surveying the seen seemed to point to a high level of perception maintenance, especially seeing a recent dramatic increase in 'dancing' couples it was a good conclusion to reach that the ant was merely attempting to confirm to apparent norms in this social context.

Alakantar chuckled aloud with amusement at the response provided by the man, and was rather delighted that Nesar could turn the tables back upon him when others would have simply admitted what they had done.

“Ahhh, yes…I suppose you’re right,” the drow smirked, stroking his chin thoughtfully before continuing on. “Well…from what I’ve figured out over the years – despite how few those actually are – is that there are three sorts of people in the world. There are those who would take a situation like that and try to avoid any and all ways of dealing with it….the non-confrontational sort…and the possible rewards for these people are irrelevant to them. On the other end of the spectrum are those who find themselves trying to solve all the universe’s problems, whether for their own good – whatever that might be – or for some noble cause they have set out upon. There aren’t really all that many of those, probably because of the difficult task it is, but I personally know of at least two people who’ve tried that sort of thing, one has been fairly successful while the other, not so much...”

Around this time, he figured that once again he was getting long winded, which typically happened whenever some thought or another popped into his head. These were bound to happen from time to time for him, so the best he could do was try to shorten it to some degree, which he did.

“And finally, the humongous gap in between these two extremes is where most everyone lies, which is where I believe you and I are. We each have our own reasons. For me, I feel that involving myself into these situations is the right thing to do morally, and of course, I have my own personal reasons, which in the case of Arielle, you can already guess. And as for you…well, I can’t really be all that certain, perhaps…”

Aeselle laughed softly, musically, at Casir's comment. "Trouble? No, not at all. I think we caused more trouble ourselves then anything,"

She paused, and took his free hand in hers. "And yes, please call me Aeselle, milord. But only if you allow me to call you Casir."

The girls, of course, were mostly oblivious to what was going on. Both were all smiles after Casir's praise. Neither were entirely sure why they liked him so much, but they did. Perhaps it was that he represented something of a father figure, something they'd never had. Either way, Scarlett didn't squirm overly much as he firmly held her hand...

“Would you care to sit down?” Ranisath asked, as Daria seemed to get locked in some kind of loop of self-loathing and attempted flirtation, gesturing toward the nearest seat, not wishing to say anything about Radmiel (who was troublesome in his way, too). “I will of course keep my own counsel on what counsel the empress should have. While I could be persuaded to make proposals on your behalf in some matters, I have not been especially disappointed in Radmiel’s performance. I suggest that you confine such requests you might make to such boons as you may be given without impinging the status of others.”
___

Master Mary tilted forwards a little, “For such a thing, no doubt scholars can be found in plenty,” he said, it was unclear whether he was looking at Kouran or the long suffering librarian. “The gift I gave you, produces, from any clear, drinkable fluid, a particularly effective restorative for paper and similar materials. We have found it quite useful in restoring some texts.”

“Bless you Grand Vizier, Radmiel, bless you.” Henry said with a slightly mocking cross making movement of his hand. “What an honour it is to meet the man who once accounted for 40% of the entire Midlonian tea exports to the Twin Sun Empire.”

He looked across to Alessa and Arelle just as they began to break up their close dancing. “Hrm. I wasn’t aware the Empress was quite into forms of the same sex.” he said delicately before plucking a drink off of a nearby servant and knocking back most of it, softly linking his arm again with Sarah’s as he stood.

“So Grand Vizier. How goes general life?”

Trevor accepted the manipulator and shook it as an Edwardian gentleman, he smiled "I certainly am interested, but I'm afraid It's my turn to be a bit forward... but do you really want to dance, or is this from a sense of duty?"

Trevor

The steel box between the AdminCoordinator's mandibles chuckles softly as the 'bee' turns her head from side to side in a good enough mimicry of the gesture meaning 'no' in most human cultures. "Not particularly, no. I understand it is customary and it is my purpose to set aside our cultural tendencies when it would better suit our needs at functions such as this, but I doubt there will be any negative repercussions from my abstention and very little to gain by my participation and therefore I see no particular need for me to keep up appearances." Her voice, the only thing about her that can actually convey emotions in a readily identifiable way, speaks with a quiet, wry humor. Good-natured, but slightly cynical. "I apologize if I was not clear; I was merely wondering if you had no interest in joining the others, not attempting to recruit you as a partner in a roundabout fashion."

The spacedy ant dressed as a bumbly bee attempts a shrug; it consists of arching up her thorax a little more and spreading her arms slightly while lowering her head (with a slight tilt) to match; the point at the very least gets across. "Such activities simply are not our preferred pastime is all and it seemed possible that you could feel the same. There does not appear to be a dearth of potential partners, after all, if you were so inclined."

Naiya

Naiya pondered her recent conversation thoughtfully as she slowly made her way through the room, heading nowhere in particular.

A … curious man, Nesar. She still wasn’t certain just what his game was, but at least physically, he seemed harmless enough.

Complicated man, that.

Her mother had somehow managed to get the empress off to a quiet corner somewhere, which she noted with some curiosity. Always meddling – though she knew the term ‘meddle’ would offend her mother’s sensibilities, but there you have it – meddling is what she did, well-meaning or not. Just ask Zio Timo about that, bless his realistic-to-the-point-of-pain little heart. From the impressions she got sometimes, she found it almost hard to believe he spoke to Nathicana at all. Perhaps it was more of that sense of duty he was so keen on. Maybe he was just a masochist. Who knew. In any case, she and Marcus loved him, and the cubs, and Aunty Shorty very much, and were immensely glad to have had them in their lives, however they had gotten there.

Nothing is simple.

Pascalli was subtly trailing her, as expected, and when she gave him a little smile he returned it an nodded briefly. Mas had disappeared along with her mother, no surprise there. Alakantar had been over talking with the people he needed to talk with, then she’d lost track of him in all the things going on, but she was certain he was fine, or he’d have said something.

What a mess he had to deal with, though it seemed in her mind, he was proceeding along the proper course. Mad dogs needed to be put down for the safety of others, simple as that. And that sort of man … well, she had absolutely no sympathy for predators and the sort. Whatever he got, it was likely less than he deserved. Much less. Again, complicated though. Which was why she was pleased to see at least one of their party simply enjoying himself, as he should be, with the only complications being keeping track of his steps.

Marcus was dancing with a beautiful woman, with wings? Interesting. She’d ask him about it all later when they had time to visit on the way home. At least he was smiling now, and she could tell by his posture he was much more relaxed and enjoying himself, which made her smile quietly in turn.

She avoided thinking of the complexities that existed there, not so much between the two of them – at least not intentionally – but all the issues that were introduced on account of others. They’d been the best of friends growing up in spite of it all. Perhaps even because of some of it. Regardless, their honest – and healthy – love for one another was probably the least complicated thing in her life, and she cherished it.

Admittedly, why we’ve gotten so protective of one another here tonight. Damned handsey Roanians, I swear to God. At least its true, you can’t judge all by one. Or even a few. Ugh.

So, taking a fresh glass of simple water in hand when the opportunity presented itself, she continued to wander through the crowd, noting with interest those few she recognized, enjoying the colors, the costumes, and the foreign atmosphere, lost for a moment in thought, but not at all lonely or distressed.

Nathicana

Nathi returned the hug gently, and smiled at Alessa encouragingly. “Yes, we probably should. You’re more than welcome, Alessa – good luck with the rest of the night.”

She let the other woman go on ahead, watching her curiously. So flighty, so young in mind. She truly didn’t seem ready for the responsibility being thrust on her, but then, life doesn’t always wait for when you’re ready. She wasn’t even sure if any of what she’d said would help, or do more damage in the end – which bothered her a little. She’d meant well, after all.

Lightly biting her lower lip out of habit, her brows furrowed slightly.

Well … I don’t think it could worsen things by much, just from the little she told me, and the comments others have made. She really does need to earn some respect from these bastards, or they’ll have her off the throne and in the grave before she has a chance to figure it all out, the way they act. Unless they’re just as flighty as she, in which case I’ve no idea how they get anything to work around here. Who knows.

Ah well, time would tell. As she passed Mas, he checked in briefly has he’d been doing with Pascalli – all was well on all ends, it seemed.

“Marcus is dancing with what seems to be a nice young lady, Naiya has finished her dance with Nesar, and is enjoying the scenery,” he reported briefly to Nathicana, falling in behind her after she nodded in satisfaction, and rejoined the crowd.

To Naragan’s considerable relief, he appeared not to have caused any offence to his hosts. It would have been distinctly undiplomatic to precipitate an incident based upon a badly-chosen word, delivered in a moment; indeed, it might seem faintly ridiculous to suggest that it could happen. But stranger and more inane things had happened (and, he had no doubt, would happen again), and the Roanians were not, on the whole, people he trusted not to take offence. As a matter of fact, his aides, advisors and staff had suggested to him that they generally considered taking offence at the very existence of foreigners, let alone any errors they might make, to be one of life’s greater pleasures; “shortly behind conquering defenceless planets and choking their inhabitants to death in red tape”, as one of the diplomatic staff had put it acerbically during the briefing he had received prior to his arrival.

The relief flowed through him, allowing just a little bit of the smugness that had pervaded him only moments before to make a brief rally and attempt to capture the centre of his mind once more; but the forces of circumspection were waiting, and dealt them a devastating blow, despite the sharp, wince-inducing crack of the Felinoid’s head hitting the deck. Circumspection reminded him, pointedly, that he had just managed to use a term which applied to neither of his hosts as a greeting, before working himself up into a brief but intense worry over what had turned out to be nothing; and, suitably chastened, his ego subsided, to leave his mind pondering, smarting slightly from the stinging remark he had delivered to himself.

The part of it not engaged in quiet introspection, however, managed to field the Roanian’s question with a slightly proud grin, while simultaneously casting his eyes about the room for other company. It wasn’t that Raphael seemed boring, as such; Naragan had barely met the Roanian, and he did at least know enough about Roanians to know that judging them by initial appearances, as with most truly intelligent species, was often a serious error of judgement. Raphael was living proof; Roanians were universally thought of by Oyadans who spoke of them as bureaucratic, odious, arrogant and cursed (or perhaps blessed, to their minds) with an all-embracing superiority complex that had barely been punctured in the entire of their existence, despite their diminutive stature and long history of conquering worlds inhabited solely by the spacefaring equivalent of pygmies armed with dry grass. Yet Raphael seemed to be, in fact, really quite civil.

Of course, Naragan reflected, letting his eye stray away from Raphael and around the room, that could be a bluff, intended to give the false initial impression of civility which will later be utterly disproven by the characteristic callousness and obnoxiousness of his race. He mulled that proposition over, and then promptly offered himself a third possibility to choose from: or perhaps, in fact, he’s sufficiently well-versed in dealing with men to know that they can respond better to persuasion and quid pro quo than to the preferred Roanian approach, normally defined by a combination of threats, insults and force, and delivered by tongues utterly convinced of the veracity of their outpourings. Could it be that he is merely suppressing his innate pompousness in order better to further his aims – or someone else’s? The thoughts rattled through the unoccupied part of his mind at frenetic, exciting speed. And to boot, those were pretty much the words running through his head. It was, perhaps, no surprise that Naragan had been re-reading Broken on the Rock. The author’s original subtitle – “or, the Defeat of the Enemy Fleet at the Great Action off the Diamond Rock, which forever removed his final hope of conquering the unbowed Oyadan Empire and banished him whence he had come”, to be inscribed in gilt letters on every frontispiece – had eventually (after a two-month wrangle with his long-suffering publishers) become the slightly less florid “The battle that saved Oyada. And even that had taken the promise of a 5% increase in royalties.

In the meantime, his eye had ceased travelling the room, taking in the milling guests, and picking out the ever-sullen Revenians, and the woman so timidly addressing them from among the curiously separated mass; likewise, his eye caught the movement around another figure, invisible among the sea of heads but evidently of sufficient importance to part them in a thoroughly Moses-like fashion. He turned back to Raphael and adopted a studied look of quiet pride.

“Yes, it is rather a good trophy. Oyadan tigers are rarer, nowadays, than they once were; but of course, since the Homeworld is so large and the population in relative equilibrium, there are plenty of places for them still to hide.” He fiddled with the head’s fur. “Those who hunted them earned great adulation among our people after the landfall,” he continued, reeling off the same spiel again. “And my father was determined that I should earn that adulation also. Old habits die hard, I suppose,” he said, perhaps wistfully. Or perhaps something else; even he barely knew.

Nobody truly believes they're dull, do they? I mean, everybody has something ... he can't be fishing for compliments, can he? Think, Sophie ... what would SOLOMON do?

SOLOMON, undoubtedly, would be blunt. "You are understating your capabilities for interpersonal advantage". That won't do at all.

"Surely -" You're not so dull as all that? No ... do you want to give him the praise he's after, Sophie? Well ... he is kinda cute ...

"I -" Am sure your world (and yourself) can't be so boring? But that's nothing to base anything on, is it? Think like SOLOMON - what objective value does he have? He's Roanian, I have to stay on their good side and some of them do seem rather haughty ... and it doesn't actually hurt ... except that it might inflate his ego, and that would be bad.

"I am having fun, Kayel. You're one of the first people I've met - outside the House of Ark, at least -" I mustn't let him know how hollow the House is now - "So you're not dull in the slightest to me." Oh dear, that might be a fib. Or at least a falsehood. A polite mistruth. A little white lie.

"Oh, I couldn't leave you alone, that would be impolite... and also wouldn't give me the opportunity to talk business with you." There was a slight humorous tone to his voice as he spoke but otherwise he played it straight.
"I understand that the hive recycles a lot of materials for re-use within the hive."

The AdminCoordinator raises one antenna in a parody of a raised eyebrow. "That we do. Maintaining a net balance in biomatter and materials is the most efficient method of maintaining habitability for extended periods of time, whether the habitat is on the surface of a planet or spaceborne. All biospheres are essentially closed systems... barring insolation, thermal energy addition, or some other external energy source, of course."

Traegan frowned, his hands flashing, and there was a look of some concern on his face. The conservation was along the lines of: "Don't do this, Julian -- state secrets, and you're pissed off. Just...leave it."

To which Julian nodded.

Then, picking out someone across the room -- Oyadan, by the look, he recalled the type from a prior deployment, he accepted the pamphlet "What you need to know about Revenia so you could visit their without getting shot for being a defective" from Traegan, handed it to Kyrie, then gave her a very strong mental suggestion followed by a gentle physical push that should have her hurrying across the room.

Some few moments later, Traegan laughed, "Thank god you didn't throw her."

Julian shrugged, "It was tempting as hell."

Trevor nodded as the AdminCooridnator spoke, "Then I assume that the exo-skeleton is also processed this way? what about non-biological source, especially broken, disused items and wastes from any manufacturing processes?"

The concept of consuming the dead didn't seem to phase Trevor that much, at least it wasn't like some others that ate their own kind, and it was processed.

"The exoskeleton and then some," the spacedy ant replies dryly, "if it's all going to be recycled, there's not much point in separating things out when the processes involved do not require it. Yes, we recycle biological as well as artificial resources. We would not have been able to maintain Alpha for millions of years otherwise." She starts to wonder, inside her unreadable chitinous head, where this is all leading. Given Trevor's background, and previous mention of business, this is either going to end in an offer to assist in waste management services or a request for coordination and possible technology transfer in the same... or he could just be professionally curious. The actuality remains to be seen.

Northrop-Grumman

Nesar's expression remained passive as he continued to watch Alakantar. "Quite so, quite so." He said, perhaps cautiously, perhaps not. "I am given to understand that Arielle is a very... interesting woman. My brother has reported such." Nesar didn't smile, or wink, or do anything, leaving it unclear how much he knew and how much he was hoping Alakantar would reveal. "It is a shame she didn't come here, though. I would have liked to meet her."

Kalasin

He smiled, seemingly quite pleased with her response, and inclined his head. "I'm glad you're having fun." He admits, a bit embarassed. "This is my first dance outside of my school's practice hall, and the girls there said..." He stopped himself, aware that he was beginning to ramble, and smiled, though a bit disappointed as their dance came to an end. "I'd like to dance with you some more, but I think Prince Marcus would prefer if he had the opportunity, Lady Sophie."

Despite himself, the memory of his hands and their brief moment on her hips lingered in his mind, and he wavered a bit, but decided that while he had enjoyed himself immensely, it hadn't really worked out all that well. So it was a bit slowly that he walked her back to the group to await Marcus and Verve's return.

Oyada

"Oh, but..." Before Kyrie could say anything, she was rushing, pamphlet in hand, at the Oyadan emperor, who she did vaguely recognise as someone else she wanted to speak to. There wasn't much time to warn him, though, and she didn't, instead closing her eyes. "Look out, sir! I'm going to crash!" And then she... just bumped into him with about as much force as a lightly thrown bag of flour would. "Oh. Lucky you were there to stop me, then." She said, opening her eyes to look up his chest at him from where she had landed, snugly into his arms. "Hi, I'm Kyrie. And you are?" She stood up and dusted herself off, then carefully smoothed out the creases on her dress and tugged it straigh.

Raphael would have had something to say, but at the sound of an incoming shouting woman the Pridelord had hissed and fled, and the governor, with a hasty, "Nice to meet you!" Had been forced to take off running once more.

New Naggoroth

Casir actually blushed for perhaps the first time in twenty years. "I think I'd like that, Aeselle." He said, and looked down at Scarlett and over at Ellenith. "I'd suggest we finish the dance we started ourselves, but I'm more than content to simply sit back at our table and talk." He lifted Scarlett up easily and smiled at her as her head came within reach of his. "I suppose one more piece of chocolate for you won't be too much trouble if we watch you carefully, young lady. And you too, Ellenith. You both earned it."

The Ctan

Daria did take a seat, producing a comb out of thin air and furiously attacking her long, dark hair, smoothing out its already perfect smoothness, more as a nervous gesture than anything else. After a moment, she nodded at Ranisath. "Of course, my lord." She whispered, still a little shaken. "Was there anything else?" She smiled at him, a mixture of bitterness and sweetness.


The librarian mumbled his thanks, before Kouran turned on him suddenly. "A most interesting gift. However does it work? I presume a most curious form of compounded mineral salts immersed in liquid, precluding the possibility of magic, which I am given to understand your race is incapable of? What do you think?"

The Librarian opened his mouth to say something, anything, and then Kouran ran right over his words. "Of course, it could also be a mixture of a cleaner fluid and an integral particle wipe... or perhaps you do perform spells and the archives are faulty." The librarian bristled at that.


Midlonia

"Life? Life in general continues fine. Plenty of beautiful women, though none so... striking as Lady Farahind here." Radmiel lifted his glass to Sarah and smiled in a friendly fashion to her, though she was not his usual type. Far too tall, for one thing. "I was hoping to convince Daria to agree to meet you with me, but she, alas, still believe sshe can do without my company. Oh, and I believe you have your figures wrong. It's 15% of our tea imports, Your Majesty." In fact, the King was absolutely correct, but Radmiel had no interest in letting anyone hear that. "Still, it's a bit busy. The young girl can't live without me, you know. Busy, busy busy."

He shook his head in a parody of weariness, and then his voice lowered to a steel trap. "By the way, Your Majesty... you have an... interesting travel companion." Radmiel glanced at Verve, his eyes narrow. "Perhaps you would like to introduce me to her?"

“Yeah, she most certainly is,” the drow remarked, a thin smile emerging upon his lips as his thoughts drifted back toward her and was reminded of how much he wished she would have been able to attend the party.

It was then that his voice downturned slightly, taking on a more saddened tone. “But I’m starting to find it disappointing that all many folks know about her is either based upon what they’ve heard or seen of that damned spell that’s on her or the ongoing conflict between us, her parents, and Governor Seraph. I don’t think she deserves the recognition for all that; it doesn’t seem like someone one would want to be reminded of every time they meet someone.

“Though, I would hope that once everything passes, people will see her more for who she really is than all that other crap.” He sighed deeply, shaking his head. “She’s always been a remarkable woman since the day I’ve met her, one who I believe I can fully trust like no other. She’s been at my side throughout all that’s been thrown our way and has been an invaluable advisor with all my gubernatorial duties. I wouldn’t want to trade her for anything, and I feel that I’m very fortunate to be with her and eventually to have her as my wife.”

Together a thumb and his index finger gently rubbed his eyes as he sighed wearily once more, realizing that again he seemed to have monopolized the conversation with Nesar. But this was something that he had truly felt and due to everything going on today it had seemed to flowed forth from him, despite who he was talking to. “Sorry…I don’t suppose you had wanted to hear all that,” he replied after a brief pause and did so yet again. “I wish she would have been able to come, but these sorts of things happen. But, I will tell you that if you’re ever around in our neck of the woods, either Earth or Mars, you’re more than welcome to stop by, visit, and meet if you wish.”

"Earned it, have they?" Aeselle said softly, lifting Elly up and holding her in the crook of her arm, even as the girl clung to her shoulder, "So, tell me, Casir," the name rolling off her tongue in a slightly deeper, suggestive tone that brought a hint of a smile to her lips, "What heroic deeds have they done to deserve even more chocolate, aside from making you chase them around the hall?"

Both girls decided to let Casir tell the story, however brief, and so kept quiet... despite big, toothy smiles as he related their (as they, especially Scarlett, saw it) heroics to their mother!

“We would not use the term spells,” the Fra’al said, “but perhaps you would,” he added, raising one of his crystalline hands and having it flicker with a strange fire, which incandesed and shaped itself for a moment. “We are much like the Eldar,” could it be that there was an emotional response there? “However, neither item uses such crafts, that one works by taking in traces of the mater’l placed within it, into the substrate matr’l and converted into sub-chemic’l bonds that engage with traces of pigmentation materials…”


Ranisath smiled a little, “If you want me to recommend you for greater office, well, my interests in such matters are your mistresses’ – the more you seem fully and wholly devoted to her service, the more likely I am do such things – the same with Radmiel. However, is there nothing you yourself would wish me to do for you?”

Sempero blinked at Alessa’s arrival, taking care to stay well back as he followed the Eldar. The trial and humiliation of the Empress he didn’t quite catch in its entirety, but the mood of the room gave an obvious enough hint.

The Freestian had seen Julian return as well. The expression wasn’t good, but his mind didn’t quite connect the pieces. And Alessa herself...

Everything his mind was dwelling on changed in that moment. He looked up at Mieka, suddenly intensely disliking the sneering smirk, far beyond an annoyance. He suddenly felt incredibly...sad, an odd feeling, for him, cold and empty, and something was clutching at him. He had tried to bury something deep in his psyche, but it wouldn’t let go.

He looked back over at Alessa again, sad, but suddenly comforted by others now.

Sempero bit his lip, took another glass from somewhere, and followed Mieka. His expression had changed though, from a confident grin to a terrifying veneer of determination.

This had better be worth it.

*

“Slavery?” Okay, it had to be nothing. Unless she meant a ghoul, but then again why would he care for such a story. And it indeed sounded like a story, given what ghouls could do to most humans. “I’ll look it up later.” He didn’t press the issue, selfishly ignorant once any threat to his name or species passed, apparently, but then his species always did have an issue with empathy with others.

He watched Calavyr closely as he swung in on Verve. Instinct flipped a mile away, the hormonal surge in his body renewing. And then the Dominion cavalry swung in to save the day. Goddamn he had to speak with that woman sometime. Life was full of surprises.

“Hey. You’re not dead yet.” Speak of the devil. He smiled, his fangs plainly visible as he espied the Midlonians’ costume. “Trying to tempt me Heruss, didn’t know you were into scarred types?” He winked, and clasped the Midlonian like an old friend. Tackling the ancient and unspeakable evils of the world together did that for people. “Glad to see ya. Where’s Chris?”

He remembered his manners suddenly.

“Ah, Colonel Heruss, allow me to introduce Governor Illinura, Illunura, Heruss, a good friend of mine for the last coupla hundred years or so.”

*

Sarah had, like Clodius, watched Verve with hideous unease, feeling oddly protective of the girl despite her lack of traditional connection to her. She liked her, simply put, and ghouls were naturally protective of people they liked in the same manner they viciously despised creatures they hated, a mental single minded from her more...exotic ancestry. She held onto Henry tightly, being as much comfort as she could, his guest so she let him speak first.

“A pleasure to meet you,” she said simply to Radmiel. She tensed slightly at his...disdain but she was used to it by now. She stood back slightly, doing her best to look as feminine as possible, though with heels especially she edged well past Henry in height. She removed the habit and let her hair fall back to compliment the effect.

Heruss smiled under the mask before removing it. “Something like that old friend.” he then bowed slightly. “A pleasure to meet you.” he said with a bow and one pointed fang showing as part of his cultural greeting. He turned back to Claudius briefly.

“I am afraid Chris is presently looking after the Dark Angel Corps. There’s been a couple of societal changes. I’ve gotten my old title back of Kinge, and the Dark Angels has been permitted to come out of the coffin and expand somewhat so to speak. Helping to defeat the ultimate evil between our states and possibly the world tends to make things go in your favour.” he chuckled slightly. “Apologies for not informing you sooner but with the old title back you tend to get sidetracked by various matters. How are things with you, old friend?”

*

Henry chuckled and tugged at his collar as Radmiel corrected him. “My apologies, evidently I have heard misquoted figures.”

He smiled at Sarah as she let her hair down. “Radiant as always” he said with a chuckle before he motioned for her to move back to stand next to him so he could link arms with her. “You shouldn’t be quite so worried about that you know,” he murmured quietly in her ear. “Even at a diplomatic thing like this. Especially when the Grand Vizier of all people is paying you compliments.”

Trevor nodded again while the AdminCoordinator talked, he was thinking about something long and hard.

"Then perhaps you could arrange a personal tour of the facilities for me, to not only satiate professional curiosity but also provide a solid basis for further talks. We've got a number of options available which will need evaluation according to the current situation."

Indeed there was many options but you couldn't just go into these things blind, especially with a race like this. He had to provide strong evidence that any proposal would be mutually beneficial and he couldn't do that without seeing their operations first hand.

The Freethinkers, Ctan

Alessa's eyes followed Sempero as he left, and then she sighed. It was not the right thing to do, if half of what she had heard was true, but it was probably the only thing she could do. She drew herself to her full, though rather unimpressive, height and whistled for a servant, then turned to go to the High Table and watch her party for a few moments.

"Lord Sempero," the servant said, moving to stand in front of Mieka and Semp, swallowing a little as he looked up at the two of them, "My Lady Alessa craves your indulgence, but she would like to see you at the High Table." He glanced at Mieka, and managed a scowl. "Alone, if possible, though your... friend... is more than welcome if she insists."

The Ctan, Sentient Peoples

Daria scowled. "I remember the last time you offered to help me with something." She shifted uncomfortably, her cheeks coloring. "What would the price be for any such assistance at this juncture?" She looked to Un for a moment, hoping he wouldn't pick up on her embarrassment and use it to make another comment on her body.

The Ctan

"Fascinating!"

The archivist, however, could take no more of this, and held up his hand. "Master Mary, the ArchChancellor is a very busy man, and I am sure that you have other people you wish to meet." In his eyes flared the flames of the truly desperate, and he was plainly scrabbling to hold on to what precious sanity he had left. "Perhaps this conversation could be carried on at a later date?"

Northrop-Grumman

Nesar's smile tightened slightly, and he shrugged. "So, perhaps she is not, as our esteemed Martian Governor suggests, guilty of high treason, petty treason, crimes against nature, blasphemy, shooting buffalo from a second story window, grand theft of materials sacred and profane, and piracy on the low seas, conduct unbecoming a noble, public performance of a musical instrument without a permit, and insult to her betters." The male rattled off the list with commendable speed. "Though I would doubt that you are guilty of grand theft spaceship, abduction, rape, perjury, interference with an arrest, insults to the dignity of an official of Her Majesty's government, the breach of regulations involving the transport and securing of noxious chemicals, milking a cow that belongs to another individual and... simony."

Midlonia, Freethinkers

"A vision of loveliness." Was Radmiel's only response to Sarah, his eyes tracing Verve for reasons almost certainly only tangentially connected to her beauty. "Your Majesty, I would greatly appreciate being introduced to that other beauty currently entertaining the Prince of the Dominion." His smile had a rather larger flash of white than was usual. "Could you please make such an arrangement? She seems... very interesting."

New Naggoroth

"They have successfully prevented our dear rude friend Calavyr from..." Casir shifted Scarlett, and sat on a chair, resting the young girl in his lap and smiling at Aeselle, "Well, doing something not nice to a young lady." He gently bounced Scarlett on his lap for a moment, and smiled. "You're doing very well to still be awake, young lady. It's getting late for you and your sister, isn't it?"

He looked over at Ellenith. "Would the two of you like to stay here, or would you like to go and take a nap in one of the guest rooms? If it's okay with your mother, I mean."

The AdminCoordinator twirls her antennae in slow circles as she replies with equal care. "Recycling facilities are locally strategic locations because they serve as the completion point of the ecological cycle, as I'm certain you understand. I can arrange with the EcoCoordinator and the EngCoordinator for a technical tour but before any such tours can occur the WarCoordinator will clear it she will have to be certain that there is no security risk to the Hive--I am certain you understand--and will of course be curious as to what you intend to do with what you may learn. What is your long-term strategy in regards to this?"

It’s amazing just how quickly one’s comparatively quiet day can be changed. For some people, the change is wrought by terrible disasters; wars, terrorism, volcanic eruptions, flash flooding, and being forced to listen to Candle in the Wind have all been known to transform an otherwise pleasant, if routine, time into a hellish ordeal of privation and bleeding eardrums. For others, it’s something smaller but nonetheless unexpected. Meeting an old friend, witnessing an accident (or being part of one), a sudden family crisis, or becoming violently ill with salmonella; all of these, though perhaps less world-shattering, can have much the same galvanising effect on a day, or at the very least lead to one spending inordinate amounts of time in a small room without any prior warning.

In Naragan’s case, however, his evening was disrupted, at the drop of a hat, by the sudden flight of the governor to whom he had been chatting, rather pleasantly, only a moment before, in pursuit of the Felinoid pridelord. Feeling suddenly rather left out, he stared dumbstruck at their retreating forms for a moment while his brain caught up with the abrupt turn of events. He was, in fact, just gathering himself for a dry and slightly irritable remark, addressed to himself and anyone else within earshot of the low grumble it was sure to be delivered in, when a rather shrill cry managed to grab his attention. It did not, sadly, manage to grab his attention quickly enough to stop the Roanian woman from cannoning into him at a fair rate of knots; despite her lightness, she still managed to send him staggering slightly as he reacted, instinctively, by throwing his arms out around her and preventing her, at least, from falling, even while his body seemed set on a quick, involuntary lie down.

As the newcomer, evidently named Kyrie (which Naragan could have sworn blind was a type of prayer) managed to right herself and detach herself from his gently supporting arms – which was, he had to admit, slightly disappointing, even if only on a base, instinctive level; the same level that propels men to perform truly impressive acts of stupidity when under the influence of alcohol before women all over the universe – he took her in, briefly. Average height, unusually for a Roanian; comparatively plainly dressed, which was unusual around here full stop; and evidently not really at home in her present surroundings, which was not only unusual but really quite appealing. To add to that, there was no avoiding the fact that, even for a member of a species of winged carnivores with a penchant for causing suffering to anyone who wasn’t them, she wasn’t really that unattractive at all. Naragan admonished himself for the thought, but nonetheless, it was true. Perhaps I’m just glad to see someone else who doesn’t look as if they belong in the palace of Versailles, or some ancient comedy about wealthy socialites in that big city on Earth. What was it, New Hull? At any rate, he thought it best not to simply gawk at her, so he gave her the usual smile-and-bow routine.

“Emperor Shokiwe Naragan of Oyada, as it happens,” he replied, a trifle lost after the swift commotion of the preceding moments. “Sorry about that; I didn’t really expect to be collided with,” he explained, for she had doubtless noticed the grimace that had passed over him as he awkwardly unbent his spine from the table it had suddenly become rather too closely acquainted with. “Are you all right, or is there anything I can do for you?”

Alakantar had succeeded at maintaining a placid demeanor throughout the reading of the charges against him, doing nothing more than crossing his arms over his chest and raising an eyebrow in mild interest. But, inwardly, he was quite amused at the absurdity of half of this list – all these trumped up crimes seemed to suggest that the governor was reaching for anything and everything to throw at the two – and narrowly avoided bursting out laughing at it all.

“Well then…” he responded as soon as Nesar had finished speaking, stepping forward to within inches of the man’s face. His eyes stared coldly upon him, and the words that were brought forth took on a more serious and threatening tone. “Perhaps the dear governor is correct in these accusations and we are nothing more than a nefarious duo determined to wreck havoc upon the cosmos with our cacophonic exhibitions, draining your precious bovines of their nutrition, and consuming limburger cheese within tightly-packed elevators.”

An insane cackle accompanied the end of that statement, but as rapidly as it appeared, it vanished into nothing more than a mere whisper. “Of course, your knowledge of our sickening criminality is now complete, but I wish to remind you that there are consequences of turning such a treacherous person such as myself in to the authorities…for one quiet morning, you are strolling down a desolate sidewalk, not another person in within your field of vision, your thoughts entirely consumed by your next scheme, when suddenly you find yourself crushed by a nine hundred pound water buffalo from above.”

Sempero stopped in his tracks as the servant intercepted his path. His words were sharp and to the point. The Freestian barely had to nod his assent before following. He stopped after a step, turning to his companion, the worded warning not to bring her along finally reaching his not-so-subtly inclined brain.

“Wait here.” He said this sternly to Mieka, an order no less. He took grim satisfaction in how she would react.

The short trip gave him little time to repose. He guessed accurately Alessa would have seen him milling around. No excuses though, be straight and honest, he told himself. Simple thought processes, straight and narrow in focus. One goal overall though. Don’t disappoint.

Clodius, meanwhile, was in a happier situation. “Glad to see you moving up in the world. You was going on world’s oldest field officer for a time there. My congratulations to Christian too. Glad to see you two still going at it...I mean, getting it...I mean I’m glad to see you two are lasting. Pass on my warmest.” He smiled, genuinely warm, fangs and all.

Sarah smiled awkwardly back at Radmiel, either annoying or cute depending upon one’s own viewpoint. “Thank you.” She said, to both, and it was meant. She turned to look (slightly down) at Henry. “She’s your charge my King. Care to do the honours?” She nodded towards Verve.

Verve slowed with the end of the dance with Marcus. “My, that would be a question that could only be answered over a few drinks, wouldn’t you agree? I’d like to ask the same, Marcus.” She smiled, licking her dried lips briefly.

----------

“Smooth as ever, Claudius.” Heruss said with a quirked smile. “Yes, I was actually. Another few years and I’m sure I could’ve gotten into a few record books, but alas it’s not to be.” he grinned before shaking his head. “Christian is fine, thank you all the same.”

------------

Henry nodded to Sarah before pursing his lips. “Though it does seem that Verve is already rather well occupied with a young gentleman, so perhaps later.”

He squeezed Sarah’s arm reassuringly, for both of them really.

“I am surprised at all the fuss the court seems to be giving in looks to poor young Verve though. I suppose it must have something to do with her race. She’s an Angeliss. Apparently similar to the Roanians as the guards seemed to react quite a bit when she arrived. The Poor girl is already an orphan and in my care as it is, seems a bit of a shame for her to have glaring looks of jealousy on her first diplomatic party.”

"Long Term? Frankly there is probably little to be gained long term for the corporation about from any good will and a friendly if not casual association with those of your hive. Perhaps it will lead to gaining contact to a new market through you or perhaps not." Trevor paused it was now time for his diplomatic finesse to shine through.

"As for the issues with the tour very understandable, I will abide by any conditions deemed appropriate, The Garbage Men relies on it's image, we are service company - we couldn't survive as we are if we didn't take privacy seriously. I'd even be willing to conduct negotiations personally so as to limit the amount of people who might have access, and therefore higher security. So I would indeed appreciate if you could see what you can do for me in this regard."

Trevor gave a small bow of deference to the ant in a bumblebee costume, it seemed clear that he recognised that the AdminCoordinator had 'all the cards' as it were but subtle manipulation was by no means unavailable to Trevor.

The fact that Elly was yawning at the mere mention of a nap made up Aeselle's mind for her. Yes, it was very late for the two... and they'd need to be awake later for the actual ceremony.

"An excellent idea, Casir... do you have one in mind?"

Aese hefted her sleepy daughter, while Scarlett, firmly in Casir's grasp, complained that she wasn't tired... clearly the sugar rush hadn't quite worn off yet. But, as mother looked into daughter's eyes, she could tell that it would soon.

"Don't worry girls, we'll come get you before Lady Alessa's ceremony, alright?"

Finally, Scarlett yawned, and both of them quietly nodded, each clinging tight to their carrier as they set off in search of a guestroom...

“Well, of course, Verve,” Marcus said, offering her his arm to lead her to some refreshments off the dance floor. “My thanks for the dance – and for the company.”

He seemed much more relaxed than earlier, slipping back into his more easy-going confident self, his smile genuine and unforced.

“What’s your pleasure, m’lady?” he queried, flagging over one of the drink-laden servants, then thanking them on their arrival.

Mieka’s reaction was quite simple. She went directly back to her original escort. If she was to be denied her fun – well, that was that – it was to her, a trivial investment of time, after all. She wasn’t particularly insulted – arrogance was to be expected of such mon-keigh. She exorcised the minor annoyance by snatching the Felinoid’s neck it passed her, her hand firmly grabbing the pridelord by the back of the neck to arrest his flight.

The things Mieka knew were quite extensive. For instance, she knew that ordinary housecats (and similar species) had a freeze-paralysis reaction to pressure at the back of the neck. This was so the mother could carry the young by the scruff of the neck. Many male cats also used it to keep the females immobile for mating. She looked curiously to see if Felinoids had the same reaction - though even if they didn't, her grip was probably strong enough to hold Nmmr anyway. “This is yours?” she said, glancing at the Roanian chasing it, hefting the Felinoid into the air with terrible ease – lifting the Pridelord at arm’s length as though he weighed no more than a glass of wine.



“The price, my dear Daria, is your cooperation with Radmiel, well; to be more specific, your competition with him. I would be upset to see either of you perish,” his stress on the word ‘upset’ was unusually vehement, “So long as both of you compete on a reasonable basis, then it suits my interests, and I will be happy with both of you…”


Master Mary bobbed in agreement, “Perhaps we should both allow him to return to his duties, then?”

How does one charm a bug?

If it has an effect, there's no change in the faux-bumblebee's body language or in the polite but still carefully friendly tone of her synthesized voice. While the latter, being artificially produced by a steel box, might not be trustworthy, it has been the only thing about her that has shifted in any sort of recognizable way with her mood, and it seems to flow naturally enough. "I see. I will discuss this with the other OverCoordinators and will notify you of the result, although I must warn you that I may not be able to overrule the WarCoordinator's objections if I cannot convince her there is a long-term benefit on our part. She is not exactly the most diplomatic person," the voice says with wry good-natured humor, sharing a well-known but harmless opinion about an otherwise well-respected coworker, "which is part of the reason that she could not attend this function."

Another part of the reason is that it held no interest for the defense of the Hive; another is that it would be irrational to risk multiple OverCoordinators in a trip to a nation that publicly does not like 'icky' things (even if OverCoordinators are expendable, they're still assets).

Nevertheless, corporations do not do things just to be nice (and, for the most part, neither do the Spacedy Ants). The AdminCoordinator doesn't quite buy the 'we just want to be friends' angle--industrial espionage or inspiration is much more likely--but she certainly does not hold this against him. It's his functon. "Is there anything else I can help you with? I certainly don't wish to ruin your evening by speaking of nothing but business during what should be a time for celebration and recreation."

"Of course, the WarCoordinator has their job to do and it does seem vital to the interests to the life of the Hive that the recycling facilities are kept safe. My Chief Security Officer is the same way, I think it comes down to the fact that beings with the responsibilities of the WarCoordinator and CSO are by requirement, beings of action. Where us, we are by requirement beings of discussion. Communication is the medium of our battle and words are our weapons, to draw on a war analogy. If the WarController vetos the tour then at least it was heard and considered which is all that I can ask."

Trevor was well aware of the delicate nature of resource reclaimation facilities and the role that they played in the Hive, so he was prepared for a negative response from the WarController even though he would be disappointed if it was.

"Actually, Yes, there is one thing I was curious about sort of related to the recycling facilities. Your species have been around in this form for a very long time, In the millions of years as I understand. Even at very high efficiency where it's practically 100% recovery, just even the tiniest of a percentage of waste can build up, especially with the quantity of recycling that would be undertaken over these millions of years. How has the Hive dealt with these left overs?"

"Most of it would be floating in intergalactic space at the moment," the AdminCoordinator replies matter-of-factly, "with smaller proportions in interstellar space within this galaxy and the dwarf galaxy commonly called the 'Greater Magellanic Cloud.' There is no reason in carrying around garbage that cannot be reprocessed," she says almost apologetically, "especially when your colony ship is still limited to fusion reaction drive efficiencies. Despite our recycling efficiency it still required the cannibalization of five out of six colony ships and an attendant fleet of ships that were not much more than large spheres of life-support expendables to successfully make our journey."

Freethinkers

The servant bowed and led Sempero to the High Table, where Alessa was sitting, gently tapping a glass with the end of her spoon. She looked up as Sempero approached, and rose to her feet, smiling. "I'm sorry I'm not dressed appropriately to greet you, Lord Sempero." She murmured, looking down at her tuxedo. "But I saw you leaving the room, and I thought I should grab you before you left."

Sempero grimaced slightly, aware that it was perhaps not the best way to have been spotted. "I hope we know each other not to need titles, Empress. I will say however that you beauty shines through in any outfit. Its..." He paused, bitting his lip with sharp teeth. "It is good to see you again. My congratulations on the occasion."

She curtsied, or tried to, and then laughed, holding her hand to her mouth as she did. "It's good... to see you too, Sempero." She whispered, watching him through the shining sapphires of her eyes. "Thank you for coming to see me." Alessa took a deep breath and"I won't ask who or how many." She told him after a minute, not bothering to append an explanation. "I know the answers, after all. I know a great deal that would probably surprise you." She whispered. "Were they pretty?" There's certainly not the anger that Daria hinted would be there, more a sort of resigned curiousity. "Did they love you?"

"I would have come sooner but it seems, you've been..." He searched for an opportune word but only lamely came out with '..busy.' as she spoke again. His heart stopped as she continued. "A few." He stated. "And none, none that I cared for and none I could care less is they loved me back. Pretty to a drunk beast's eyes, nothing more." He didn't even dare deny it.

I love you." She told him, after a moment, sitting back down, watching him carefully. Or, at least, she appeared to. The brilliance of her eyes made it hard to tell, but there was certainly a sense of her attention focussed on him.

"Yeah." How was he supposed to answer that? He broke off eye contact, any trace of his confidence moments before disappearing as his head turned away. "I don't know why. I'm sorry Less'." He said simply.

Softly, she whispered, "Or maybe I did. I don't know anymore." She stood up once again, and touched his cheek. "Kiss me." She whispered, a flicker of an order entering into it.

The vampire turned back, his eyes almost distant, simply relfecting the ire or passion directed at him. He turned to her, leaned up and softly did so. What am I doing? his concious mind cried. He pulled away on the mental command, almost looking shocked as he seemed to choke on something. A being who could tear a tank to shreds in his bare hands was suddenly as helpless as a deer in spotlights.

She sighed as he broke the kiss, and looked down. "I wish that could go on forever. But no granting my own wishes, they tell me..." She looked at her hands, and then at his face. "...There are no excuses to be made, Sempero. I know it's wrong for me to be hurt, but you did hurt me." She sighed and looked to the side. "...I don't know what I'm doing, Sempero. Everything is strange and terrifying... but I know that I love you." She looked up at him, waiting for a response.

Sempero looked back at her. There was no smitten lust or wonder in his eyes, something else seemed to dominate his expression. "You have every right to be disappointed in me. I failed you, Alessa, its only natural, and right for you to hate me right now." He stopped, breathing in a long and heavy breathe. His silver hair seemed almost to lose its luster as he did so. "How can you still care for me? I'm an idiot."

"If I knew why I loved you, Semp, I'd be a lot smarter than I really am." She touched his arm, but she was disappointed. Alessa took a deep breath, and looked up at him, her eyes half-closed. "And I wish you loved me."

"I didn't say I didn't. I just..." He wasn't good at this. Just go from the heart. "I do not like seeing you hurt. And if you care for me, no mater how incredible that is for me its just going to cause you more pain. I don't like hurting you. I...love you too much for that." He tried to smile at her, weakly. "You do not deserve that." Oh god damn why was he stupid enough to take a stab at that pointy.

Her smile almost lit the room. And she leaned up on her tiptoes and kissed him, her soft lips melting against his. She fell against him, seeming uninclined to move, but slowly she drew apart from his body, her arms falling back along her sides. "I wouldn't ask you to do anything." She whispered. "I would... I would ask you to stay with me, but... I don't understand anything. A relationship would... would not... no matter how much I desire one... would not work at present." She looked up at him, her heart trembling in her chest. "Even... even with you."

"I'm gonna sound like the lyrics to a boyband song when I say it but..." He stopped again, taking heart perhaps that she did seem happy now. He placed a finger on his feeling, what he wanted to say. "Less', I am here for you. In whatever capcity you need me, I will be honoured to fufil it. Lessy'.. " He went quiet. "You are amazing. I know what you are and what you'll become will be unbelievable. If you want me to merely to watch, I understand, but I will be there, when you shine I will bask in your glory and when you falter I will be there to pick you up." He smiled again, warmer, stronger, embracing her more fully. "I'm yours."

She giggled, and then shook her head. "Damn it, I want to be serious." She slapped him gently, and then sighed, leaning forward against him, her head resting on his chest for a moment. Her eyes closed at the feeling of his arms around her, and she trembled, tears slowly beginning to well up. "I want... I want you to wait." She murmured. "I just... I don't know how long."

This is it. This is what matters right? Just for once do the goddamn right thing. "I said whatever you need me to do. Willingly, without hesitation. Its as simple as that."

She touched his cheek, looking at his face, her eyes seeming to search him. "I think you mean that." She whispered, her hand trembling.

If you let her down I will not let you forgive yourself. Forget everything, forget every beastial impulse, every primeval drive. She is your primary concern now, your primary drive. This is the one chance you have to prove you deserve her forgiveness, her adoration. Do not falter.. He embraced her, taking her delicate hand in his own strong fingers. "I hope so. I don't have a great track record to be honest. but for yor you..."He bought her head close to his, kissing her forehead protectively. God help whoever hurt her. He said it as much to himself as anyone else.

"Will you wait for me, then?" Her eyes shined almost as bright as her smile.

"Yes." There is not even the slightest hesitation.

She seemed almost troubled, and then smiled slightly. "I shouldn't, but... would you be willing to wait, starting tomorrow morning?" She touched his cheek, a faint blush covering hers.

He placed an arm around her. "I think...I could honour your request, your majesty. It would be a pleasure." He burst out laughing. "I did get you a normal present, mind."

Alessa Annirere nestled against him for a moment, and then smiled. "Not now, though!" She ordered, shaking her head. "I have a party to attend. But it... it..." She slowly leaned up and kissed him again. "But you'll keep." She murmured. "Go and have some fun with the dark eldar, if you want, Lord Sempero. But you have an appointment with me tonight which I think you should keep."

Sempero nodded. "Of course, my Empress." He kissed back, rather briefly but it seemed appropriate. "I'd rather, stay in sight. I would say I'd trust some of the guests here as far as I could throw them, but then thats pretty damn far so...I want to be here for you. I have a lot to make up for." He turned to head off"See you later. Happy Birthday Less'."

Alessa_Annirere nodded and sat down, a smile lighting her face.

Oyada

"Emperor..." Her eyes widened, and she stood up and dusted herself down, shaking her dress to make sure it fit on straightly once more. "Emperor Naragan! It's a good thing I stumbled into your arms! I'd really like to get to know you better," She exclaimed, smiling in a way that would perhaps be winsome if she didn't sound so depressingly earnest about it. "Is it large or small? Are you married?"

New Naggoroth

Getting to a guest room was, in fact, very easy. Casir simply led the witch and the penguins past a rather confused door-guard to a room off the front door. He coughed when he opened it, and smiled at the girls apologetically. "I'm afraid my niece doesn't get many visitors who stay here, and she tends to assign rooms rather perfunctorily. So, this is my room, which at least has been slightly aired out.

He picked up Scarlett and Ellenith and gently helped them onto the large bed after they entered. After a moment's thought, he went and filled two glasses of water for both of them. "Get some rest and feel free to make a mess of the covers. Just don't break anything, and don't go wandering off into the palace itself on your own, okay?" He smiled at the twins, to show he trusted them not to do either, though he wasn't entirely sure about Scarlett. "Ellenith? If you and your sister wake up, press this button and a servant will come to take you back to your mother. Scarlett..." He looked at the sugarhigh little girl and tried to think of something for her to do. "You can turn the light off when you leave, okay?" Then he remembered himself and looked at Aeselle. "If it's okay with your mother, I mean."

Northrop-Grumman

Whatever Nesar was expecting, this was plainly not it. His eyes flashed with fear, amusement, curiosity, and then anger. "Master Aleanrahel." Nesar hissed, with a glance to where Calavyr was nursing his rage. "It's good that you can maintain your sense of humor, but this is a matter of absolute seriousness for you and your dear fiancee, not to mention myself and my father and My Lady Empress. If you cannot understand this, then I am afraid we have a situation."

He lowered his voice even further, to the edge of hearing, a stark sincerity undercutting every word as his hand grabbed Alakantar with surprising strength and pulled him closer. "It might seem amusing to you, but several of these crimes carry the death penalty, and if Calavyr hadn't successfully made the empress consider him a laughing stock we would be having a very different conversation, under very different circumstances. Especially, may I remind you, that most of the more serious charges are true, at least, on the part of your fiancee." He paused. "No, my father doesn't know, and I don't think it would change things if it did, and if you pull this off, my dear imperial cousin won't know either. I warn you, though, that if I am forced to cut you loose... well, I suppose I'm warning you not to let it come to that, my good sir." Nesar slapped Alakantar on the shoulder, his good mood reappearing as rapidly as it vanished. "Now, my dear sir, I believe my father instructed you to go and dance with a lady, and I believe my former dance partner is, alas, unaccompanied at present. Perhaps a dance will take your mind off of things?"

The Ctan

Daria fumed inwardly, though in truth she had no idea why she was fighting Radmiel any more. It just seemed like something as immutable as the changing of the seasons or gravity. "I would almost prefer for you to have suggested my body." She hissed. "To agree to let that... that... person live..." She shuddered at the thought.

"Oh, hello. Yes, he's mine, I suppose, my lady." Raphael said, reaching up to cover his mouth as he yawned and blinked blearily up at Meika. "He's Pridelord Nammr of the Felinoids, and I am Governor Raphael of Nmmmr. And who might you be?"

The archivist nodded desperately, but he was too late anyway. Kouran had spotted something else to attract his attention and had wandered off in that direction, pontificating at the unfortunate object of his approach. As he left, the archivist seemed almost to sag in relief. "Oh, blessings be to the Light..."

Nathicana

She hooked his arm within his and leant into him slightly as they moved across the floor slightly, away from the dancing itself. “Hrmm. I think a nice wine would be lovely, Marcus.” Verve said with another bright smile as the drink was offered to her and she took it, taking a brief sip before they sat and she settled down next to him.

“Well, me. Hmm.” She paused, as if weighing up what to say. “I like dancing, long walks and studying history and other cultures. I’m also getting quite good at fencing now. I’m trying to convince Henry to give me a place of my own instead of being cooped up in the Castilian with his advisors and his ministers meeting all the time, maybe somewhere like his estate at the Field of Dreams.” she took another sip. “Don’t know my real parents before you ask, just Henry who’s my guardian.”

The half-crazed outburst from the drow, being nothing more than an elaborate act put on to ridicule the inanity of some of these charges brought against him, faded away from his face when Nesar responded in anger. His intention had not one to entirely forget the more serious – and accurate for that matter – ones placed against he and his fiancé, but instead was to make light of the more nonsensical ones. However, it seemed that this had been misunderstood and his act only served to make matters worse for him, so his expression changed to one of the utmost seriousness and sought to clarify matters.

“My apologies for all this…perhaps this wasn’t the best time for such a thing.” he responded, his face close to that of the Roanian’s when he was drawn near. “I understand everything you’re saying and all that you’re concerned about, but I think I ought to explain things before you get the wrong impression…

“These charges have been a constant weight upon us since we have begun to live together and have even persisted to lay heavy on my mind all throughout this event, despite a wish for otherwise, but when I found an opportunity to maybe make it a little less burdensome for only a mere moment, I seized upon it. However, I had little intention of making light of the serious charges, and instead chose to poke fun at the frivolous ones as they made a mockery of any logical judicial system in existence. They are nothing more than the whims of a man determined to make our lives a living hell, and I feel that the charges themselves almost matter little in the grand scheme of things as our deaths would be justified by the fact that we are traitors or whatever else he can pin to us. If he hadn’t the need for your legal system or the concern that others would interfere, he would’ve killed us sooner without worrying about this.

“But aside from all this, I wish to assure you both by words, and by the actions I will carry out, that you and your father’s faith in me to carry out this plan was not misplaced. I have never once taken light of what I need to do, nor do I intend to at any point in the future, for there is a lot at stake this day, and I will not bring dishonor to either of our houses.”

His previously dreadfully serious tone changed in response to the final suggestion and overall change of the conversation, this time taking a more of a lightened sound. A slight smile had appeared and his hand dropped into his pocket casually.

“Yeah, you’re probably right about that. I believe I need to at least try to enjoy the company of everyone else here and get to know some folks. Plus, as you’ve said, I need to try to take my mind off all of this,” Alakantar answered him with an agreeing nod. “In any case, it was a pleasure to speak with you for this little while and I hope the remainder of the party goes well for you.”

The drow respectfully bowed his head as he bid Nesar farewell for now and turned away toward the other side of the ballroom, gradually walking throughout the crowds of people in search of the one who he had came here with. He was uncertain whether she was still around Calavyr, and that was something he really did not want to see yet again no matter the situation. But, he was relieved when he soon discovered that Nathicana was returning from speaking with Alessa, from entirely different direction than that man, and quickly approached her.

“It’s certainly felt like a long time since I’ve last seen you, Nathicana,” Alakantar chuckled, walking alongside her now. “After all, it looks like you’ve been keeping yourself busy with everything tonight and, well, seems I have, too.”

“But all this while I haven’t quite had the opportunity to dance any, I’ve gotta admit.” He then placed the helmet upon a nearby table, freeing up his hands, and held his arm out toward the dance floor. “Would you care to?”

Naragan had only just finished reeling physically, and now he was reeling mentally instead. As Kyrie’s verbal torrent swept over him, he pulled desperately towards the surface of his consciousness, gasping for air; but before long the tide ebbed, and he found himself stretched out on the damp, muddy shore of his ability to think, crabs pinching at his ears. Thus metaphorically redeemed, he finally managed to engage his brain and respond in what was, all things considered, by far the most gentlemanly and coherent manner anyone had any right to expect in response to such a pair of questions.

“Er, well, it’s a pleasure,” he replied nervously as thirteen different thoughts tried to crowd through the small doorway labelled “mouth” in his head. “Yes, er… a pleasure. Um.” The door had jammed. Bugger. Mick, fetch the plunger! He gaped at Kyrie in confusion for several seconds, attempting to work out what she had actually meant, but it was to no avail; with the door still filled with struggling thoughts, he was forced to resort to honesty, always a dangerous game to play.

Still gazing at her with an expression of mixed bewilderment and surprise, he rubbed the bridge of his thin nose with equally thin fingers and breathed. “What exactly do you want to know about, again?” he asked, hoping that, just for once tonight, something would go in a sane and sensible manner, and wondering how anyone could insert so many seemingly unintended innuendos into one sentence.

Aeselle knelt at the bedside, softly humming to her daughters as she brushed both of their hair with her fingers. Listening to Casir really made her smile. She'd raised the girls on her own, and she could see that both of them were quite positively responding to the man's very presence.

"Hmm? Yes, Casir... that's quite alright. You girls just rest for a little bit, okay?"

Both nodded, the sugar clearly having run it's course, and now both girls were crashing. Scarlett in particular could barely keep her eyes open.

Aeselle gave them each a kiss on the forehead, then took Casir's arm and left them to nap. She made sure the door was secure, then leaned against the taller man as they walked back towards the party.

"Mm, I'm really in your debt, Casir..." she says his name again with a fair bit of relish, "I really don't know what I'd have done if you hadn't been so kind to a foreigner you'd only just met."

She stopped, took his hands, and turned him to face her. "Thank you. Thank you for everything. The girls... well, I think they really like you. And..." she blushed a bit, bowing her head slightly, "I must admit I'm starting to rather like you as well. Perhaps... perhaps we need not go back to being strangers after this night is over?"

“Well,” Ranisath said, “why are you enemies? Is it really worth risking your life for? Otherwise, wouldn’t it be in your benefit to reduce the wattage of your feud a little? Competition is good for the soul,” he says, “but there are limits…”

Mieka smiles, stroking the flaccid felinoid’s belly a little, “I am one of Lady Sirithil’s household,” she said, “my name is Mieka,” she added, holding out a hand with a languid, cat-like grace, obviously expecting it to be kissed. “What a nice coat he has, are they all like that?”

Master Mary looked at the Archivist for a minute. “Do you require a seat?” he asked. For a moment, it might seem like the rather stool-like creature was offering its services as such, before it pointed to a chair nearby.

Trevor nodded with the 'bug' he had to say that he expected it. "I have to admit, it was a long shot. Having all that time you would have done something to make it a non-issue."

"Oh, and if there is anything that your WarCoordinator would like to know, please get them in contact with our CSO, Chief Security Officer, Edgar Tressler."

He was hoping for an opportunity to say something but it didn't seem right, inserting it now would just be an artificial construct which wouldn't sir right with him, nor probably the ant which was by far the most Important.

"Indeed I shall--somehow I feel they will be kindred spirits, of a sort." The AdminCoordinator takes the opportunity to tease her cousin whilst she is very, very far away indeed and her translator cube chuckles. Still, the human was giving off very faint stress pheromones--no doubt, as he's probably feeling disappointed, although he's hiding it extremely well. It never hurts to make friends, though. "Do you have a chief information officer I can direct the SciCoordinator and EngCoordinator to? Perhaps in prelude to a tour we can open a discussion about comparative technologies and techniques to see if we can learn anything from each other. While we undoubtedly have more experience," she says with a chuckle, antennae jittering slightly, "we are not known as the most creative of species. It is quite possible you'll have come up with something we have not, and vice versa.

"With a likelihood of mutual profit established, the WarCoordinator can be more easily convinced that we are not simply giving away something which has aided our success. She does not fully grasp the use of establishing a sensation of unfulfilled reciprocity in negotiations."

This last is said with a verbal wink, and the ant's black-sheathed left antennae lowers, stays low for a moment, then raises back to attention.

Trevor chuckles along with AdminController, this was actually exactly what he wanted.

"Yes, of Course, Lander Reagon is our CIO, perhaps we could organise a conference call between the EngCoordinator, SciCoordinator and CIO and COO, Chief Operations Officer, Brian Zeta. I have a feeling that we all are more and less kindred spirits, we each have our own ways of dealing with problems that arise. The WarCoordinator and the CSO both would deal with a problem using defensive or agressive military patterns as appropriate, the CIO and SciCordinator with deal with problems by researching finding and collating information on the subject before acting and the EngCoordinator and COO would find practical solutions some sort of procedure or piece of equipment to deal with it." There was brief pause... before he started speaking again.

"And then there's us, using words for our problems to manipulate them to turn into opportunities, I'd say we're much similar than we look."

The AdminCoordinator nods in the head-shoulders movement of her insectoid body that best approximates a human nod, antennae spreading slightly. At least in purpose. She isn't about to spread the similarities beyond where they break down, even within... but there are advantages to manipulating known psychological differences. Another similarity, she knows, but some things simply need not be said. It had all worked out quite well, she thought.

Verve

Marcus prudently chose a simple juice rather than wine, not wanting to cloud his judgment in the least, all things considered.

“You know, other cultures have always been something I’ve had an interest in as well. We’ve traveled much more than your average family I suppose, and have gotten to meet a lot of different people, seen some of their culture, or been taught it over the course of learning what we need – or so mother and father have said. You say you’re good at fencing? Awesome. The gun range and all such are fine and well, but there’s something about the finesse required for good fencing that puts it above the rest.”

He cocked his head thoughtfully, and nodded as she mentioned her lack of parental relationships, recalling what she said of how her race was being brought back.

“That’s a shame, really,” he said, offering her an apologetic smile. “But at least you’ve been surrounded by good people who seem to care about you, who’ve seen to your needs. I can relate to the ‘own place’ thing, but honestly, there’s enough space at the villa that it usually isn’t a problem. I can always hang out in the guest house if I really need some quiet, and its usually just me and Naiya and mama anyways, unless dad is around – and Gianni, and Dom, and Melina.” He paused, brow furrowing. “Or Mas, or Pascalli, or one of the others … hrm. I guess we really do end up having a lot of people around, but its always been that way, so it never really bothered me much.”

It was clear he was more relaxed, even in his speech, though again, as often happened when talking to others, he was weighing and measuring his lifestyle and things he often took for granted against those of the person he was conversing with – a thoughtful sort of kid that way.

“I hope you’re able to get him to let you have a place. You don’t happen to like horses, do you?”

--- --- ---

Alakantar

“Oh, you seem to have been doing just fine without me, and I’ve done nothing but what was needed,” Nathi replied with a wry little smile. “And yes, I would be honored to.”

She accepted his arm and let him lead the way onto the dance floor, just as confident as you please, conveying nothing but a content, relaxed demeanor.

Never let them see you sweat, neh?

Once they’d gotten settled and could speak more freely, she couldn’t help but comment. “This is one hell of a party, no? I thought sure I was going to have to do something decidedly unladylike and crack some heads harder than I already had. Jesu dolce but they have some people who could use a good therapeutic hour getting the sense – and some manners – knocked into them.”

New Naggoroth

Casir blushed as well as he held her hands, looking down at her. "I think I must admit that I feel the same about you and your daughters." The man laughed a little, embarrassed by her words. "Yet I only did what any gentleman should do for a lady in need." He smiled and squeezed her hand. "I would greatly enjoy spending more time with you. And the twins, as well. Perhaps, if you have some time, you could visit me?" He struck for home. "Maybe... after this event?"

The Garbage Men

Nesar, having disposed of Alakantar to his satisfaction, went walking around the room with no visible goal. On one of these jaunts, he washed against the wall next to Nerrida, kicking a foot up against the pillar near her and watching her. "Interesting, is he?" He nodded to Trevor and the ant. "I don't know why he's letting a girl like you alone to talk to a girl like that." Even as his eyes subtly inspected Nerrida's charms, though, he also was keeping an eye on almost every other girl in the room, though the woman he was speaking to kept the lion's share of it.

Oyada

Kyrie blinked adorably up at him, and smiled. "What do you mean? I just asked you about you and your empire and how big it is, and you went a very funny color. I work for the Galactic Archives, and I wanted to talk about Oyada! Maybe we could go someplace private and get acquainted? Or we could do it right here." Once again, that earnest smile, the innocent, naive expression on her angelic face. "I'd really like to learn all about you and Oyada, and we can be very generous."

Ctan

Daria blinked at Ranisath, as if he had suddenly grown a third arm. "Because he raped me, of course." She replied, as if it was the simplest thing in the world. "Really, you come up with the most absurd things. Besides, he's an intolerable oaf, a thief, a liar and a fool." She rose to her feet and flashed her fan in front of herself for a moment. "If you two gentlemen will excuse me, I must attend to my Empress to prepare her for her ceremony. Master Un, you know how to contact me."

The Felinoid remained limp, hanging aimlessly from Mieka's hand, the eyes somewhat glazed as it remained in neck-hold induced stasis. Raphael leaned in and kissed Mieka's hand. "I must say, I have never noticed the fineness or otherwise of their fur, but the pridelord is a rather special felinoid."

The archivist sank into the chair and buried his face in his hands, giving a hard, dry sob. Words seemed beyond him, but his skin was slowly regaining some color.

Midlonia

Radmiel sniffed, rather peremptorily, at Harry and Sarah's presumption that Verve having her little 'tryst' with Marcus was more important than his desire to speak with her. Nevertheless, he did his best to retain his good attitude towards this. "Have either of you yet been introduced to the Empress personally? I'm sure she'd be delighted to meet you... and the Lady Verve."

Anyone who wants her and gets to her first

Alessa, for her part, had left after Sempero and her had their conversation, and was returning now, for the first time this evening dressed appropriately. In fact, she was also entering the room appropriately for the first time that evening, as the great double doors above the stairs leading back into the palace flew open. Rank upon rank of Salamanri walked down the stairs, dressed in the shining gold and silver armor of the praetorian guard.

Somewhere, voices began to rise in a wordless song, a chorus of unsurpassed beauty and glory. And then, the empress began to walk down the stairs, dressed in a glorious dress that matched off to her beauty almost perfectly. The matchless third work of Thomas Un, that probably would never have seen the light of day had it not been for this party, she seemed likely at any minute to fall out of it, yet remained blissfully within it. The square cutout at her navel revealed her waist, toned, yet impeccably feminine. The gleaming chainmail across her chest and hips shown in the light that appeared to rise from the floor and stairs as she walked down.

Only the closest would notice the faint blush on her cheeks, just as only the closest would notice the transparent reinforced material holding up the top. The Roanians had spent months timing every moment of her descent down the stairs, forcing her to practice over and over again in order to get it perfect. And it worked out, as she placed one heeled foot on the bottom of the stairs, and the singing cut out immediately. The guards turned to face her and slowly knelt before her. Alessa stood there for a moment, feeling the pressure of all the eyes on her, and then she quietly lifted a hand, and the guards rose before her, sliding back against the wall behind her as she slowly waited, her eyes nervously flickering around the place. A single guard went from her side to Marcus and Verve, and whispered, "Her Majesty would greatly appreciate you asking her to dance at some point this evening, Lord Marcus. When it's convenient." And he was gone again.

Alessa, meanwhile, was slowly sweeping towards King Henry and Sarah Farahind, more because it was directly ahead of her than out of any real interest. Behind her, the Roanians began to whisper, and not all of the whispering was friendly. Many of the women seemed displeased, while a number of the men, very glad to see her, nevertheless seemed to feel that perhaps they should be standing next to her.

Radmiel, feeling the walls beginning to close in around him for some reason, tugged at his collar and smiled at Henry and Sarah. "Well, Your Majesty, it would appear that perhaps I will just introduce the two of you?"

Aeselle could only bit her lip softly as she impulsively pulled Casir in close for a tight hug, "Yes, my lord, Casir... I would like that very much. It's been awhile since I've had any company for any length of time besides the girls and my computer..."

Finally able to stop blushing, she stood on her tip-toes, and gave him a kiss on the cheek. Smiling as seductively as she could, she gave him a little tug, "Now... shall we dance the rest of the night away, my dear?"

Mieka finally let go of Nmmr, depositing him on the floor, and smiling a little at Raphael, “I see. Yes, the others seem much scruffier…” she added, giving Nmmr a gentle pet. “Would you mind terribly indulging my curiosity on a personal matter of interest?” she asked, not really hinting as to what that might be, as she deftly began to escort Raphael back the way he had come in heedless flight from


Master Mary was at a loss to explain this behavior. The sobbing he realized was an indicator of emotional distress in humans, but while he could see that Kouran was prone to wildly irrelevant utterances that no sane individual was enjoy, this seemed a bit much. “How long were you with him?” he asked, wondering if this was some grief at parting, “Would you like me to call the ArchChancellor back?”


Ranisath rose with Daria, effortlessly keeping pace with her a moment, “Really?” he asked, “I didn’t know Radmiel was interested in men. Clearly he must have been, if that is the reason for your feud,” he said, his voice now speaking in another language entirely, that somehow Daria could nonetheless understand, as though he wished to spare her any embarrassment.

Then, they moved seeming almost to cross the floor as if by some strange Kefitzat Haderech or other mystical teleportation. The experience was mildly disconcerting, as the distance between Daria and Alessa shrunk to a few long paces – just enough distance to prevent the Salamandri noticing the act and getting over-protective. “As I too would like to speak with your mistress,” Ranisath said, this time in High Roanian again, “I hope you don’t mind if I shorten your trip…” he said, before stepping up to Alessa, and bowing. She was after all, the host on this occasion, and it wouldn’t do to set a bad example for Daria, so he did bow, if not very deeply – there was, as so often, a niggling etiquette of these things. “Good Evening Lady Alessa,” he said, sweeping her hand toward him with the softest of touches and kissing the back of her hand, before straightening up, his shining white wings spreading just a little, “I trust you’re well and that you are enjoying this magnificent party,” he added. “In my opinion, you should reward your Chamberlain for Ceremonials and his staff, later, they do appear to have excelled.”

“Well, I guess you could say that it comes with the territory, especially when dealing with size. The larger these parties are, the more the undesirable sort are attracted to them, but – to not be that much of a downer on all this – at the other end of the spectrum, some of the most pleasant folks around are found at them,” came his response with a smile.

“Beyond all that…unpleasantness…at the start, I think I’ve been fairly lucky with everyone I’ve met thus far. There really hasn’t been anyone that I’ve wanted to knock some sense into yet, thankfully, which is probably for the best really. I’ve got enough to worry about for the moment.” He shrugs a bit. “But anyway, Archchancellor Kouran and the Cheruvs seemed be fairly well-mannered people that I’ve had no real issues with and it would seem that they’ve been helpful to us here and there…interpret that in whatever way you wish…but eh, there’s some good people here despite the rather unlikeable, but they aren’t the ones making such a big scene of things.”

Another shrug accompanied that last statement of his as he continued to dance with the Dread Lady, still enjoying the dance but his mind being primarily occupied by what they were talking about. But beyond all this, the one thing that was clear was that he was fairly comfortable and relaxed and was enjoying himself for once. And his dancing, although somewhat awkward at first since he was quite rusty at this, gradually improved over time. It had first started out simplistic, with nothing more than a hand upon her waist, his another hand locked upon hers out to their sides and a simple rocking back and forth, but as the dancing lessons of old started to return to him, he became more ambitious with it and allowing a greater degree of movement from the traditional style.

She laughed quietly. “See? Same boat as me.” she smiled. “And yes, I do like horses. I’m trying to learn how to Harness race at the moment. But the stables at the Castellan aren’t that good and it’s mostly old chariots and things. Only one decent harness. It’s largely why I want to move out to go to the proper stables and tracks at the Field of Dreams. Dedicated fencing area also so I don’t have to keep setting up and taking down the stuff like I do in the dining hall. It’s not a very… ostentatious palace, certainly not by any means but it’s practical for what Henry uses it for.” She shrugged. “Are you into Horses too, Marcus?”

-----------------------

"You know I don't think we've ever been formally or properly introduced to the Lady Empress before." Henry said with a slight smile. "Perhaps if Verve isn't too busy she can come with us, but she does seem to have her eye on young Marcus." he chuckled.

AdminCoordinator

"Then our business for now, is complete." Trevor gave a brief closed mouth smile to break it up before continuing "It has been a rather interesting pleasure, rarely do I get to meet non-humanoid sentient beings. The call of the Dancefloor, however is too strong, and I must at least for now part company. I'm sure we shall see each other at another time." Trevor bowed to the AdminController in her insectoid suit. It indeed was unusual but, then again as a CEO of an organisation like The Garbage Men you get to see alot of weird stuff. Trevor took a few steps backwards, and did so without knocking into anyone, he was seemingly aware of the space around him without having to see it, before finally turning around making his way for the Dancefloor looking for a partner on the way.

OOC: Can someone volunteer themselves?

Nesar

"Oh..." Nerrida responded with a blush and quickly moved to look away before seemingly realising she was found out and started acting self concious."You noticed did you?!" She looked down at the ground and yet still watching Trevor with her preipheral vision. After a few moments she raised her head, and smiled uncomfortably at her interruption "I'm Nerrida."

Returning Kyrie’s blink with his own – far less adorable, and far more stunned – version, Naragan looked down at her, unable quite to understand exactly how she had managed to survive this long and maintain such innocence. Perhaps not unnaturally, he began to smell a rat; nobody, not even the most cosseted of courtiers, could possibly be some sheltered from the world. His look fixed on Kyrie’s face, taking a new and more circumspect aspect, as he debated whether or not to keep up the conversation. It would be the work of a moment simply to reply with the usual gracious platitudes, each word chosen to convey goodwill, and sufficiently barbed in its delivery to ensure that there was no doubt of the speaker’s real desire.

And yet she did seem genuinely… innocent. It was a word seldom meant, or at least, seldom meant well; to be innocent was to have somehow managed to be so unobservant that one failed to notice all the things that usually destroyed innocence: sex, violence, drugs, and the relentless, grinding pointlessness of existence. Nobody was truly “innocent” anymore; and yet Kyrie was proof positive that, despite the unrelenting pressure and presence of all the things that were meant to divide adulthood, with all its responsibility and maturity, from childhood, it was still possible to be innocent. Not foolish, not somehow backward, not in denial; just… innocent. And, as Kyrie explained her work, and what it was she sought, he began to glimpse, perhaps, the glimmer of the truth; and, to his surprise, he found himself subject to pity and envy. The innocence of childhood was something he would have dearly loved to retake, or never to have lost; but with the loss of innocence came the gain of maturity, of real self-respect, and of independence. The more he thought about it, the more Naragan realised that Kyrie was extraordinary; he felt the colour rise a little in his cheeks again, as he resolved that he must do his best to preserve her, unsullied by the ravages of the world, while still giving up all he could about his country to her eager mind. Which was going to be tricky; how could he give freely and frankly of one’s knowledge, when within that knowledge was the seed of her charming ingenuousness’ destruction?

Assuming it wasn’t all a front, of course. But that possibility, though still guarding his rear, was, for the moment, set aside. Naragan felt, perhaps a touch foolishly, that he could trust his own intelligence to spot a threat or a trap before it sprang shut around him. If Kyrie was an agent of the nefarious, he would be able to outwit her. This was, perhaps, a rather stupid calculation; fortunately for him, however, Kyrie was as she seemed. This was, in itself, so rare that he really should have put her in a museum there and then.

He sighed, but this was a sigh of, well, surprise really, and looked around the ballroom. All around were preening, prancing, posing creatures, determined to “make an impression”, circulating in the ostentatious vulgarity of the ballroom; carefully conspiring, breathing words like Arabian perfumes, concerned almost solely with their own gratification and the furthering of their position. He was, he reflected sadly, one of them. Emperor Shokiwe Naragan. Seldom ahd the title seemed any more hollow than now, standing in the empty clutter of bodies and tables and gold, mountains of the stuff, looking down at Kyrie’s short, slightly confused face, framed by an arch of jet-black hair, as it smiled up at him with the irresistible naiveté of a child. Or perhaps, the rearguard thought darkly, a seductress; she was, after all, a far from unattractive woman (or whatever it was one called a Roanian female), and although her attire was plain (and brown, which ensured that she reminded Naragan irresistibly of a bipedal shrew) compared to the riot of colour, sound and unaccountably complex costume around her, she had selected it well if she wanted to subtly, but pointedly, show her figure.

At length, he finally spoke. “I’m sure you can be very generous, but there’s really no need.” Idiot! What happened to preservation, eh? I’d be happy to oblige, although somewhere more private might be a little more..” He failed to finish the sentence, cut off by the blare of trumpets and voices, evidently accompanying the arrival of yet another guest to the party – whose function he had forgotten entirely – who apparently was far more important than the rest of the “rabble”. The constant interruptions were beginning to grate. “Oh by the gods, is it quite necessary to announce yourself that much?" he snapped, more to himself than to Kyrie or anyone else.

Verve

The swelling of music caught the young Dominion man’s attention, and of course, eyes were drawn towards the Empress making her entrance.

Sante Maria madre del dio …

He held his breath for a moment without thinking, worried more than a little that she was going to fall out of the clothes seemingly held up by magic, and then to boot, the quiet request made by the Roanian caught Marcus by surprise. He blinked, looking after the guardsman as he left, then looked back to the retreating Empress, wondering how on earth to manage that without looking overly presumptuous, nor offending his present company.

“Well ah … you know, I’ve never done any harness racing or the like. Its all been riding, really. We’ve horses at the villa, and a decent amount of land to ride around in there – and an incredible view. I’ve grown up with them, and from what mother says, she’s had horses of one sort or another there for years. I’ve a Friesian at home – Obsidian, and Naiya has an Andalusian she named Shaitan. He’s a beauty, and such a smooth gait …” Marcus trailed off a bit sheepishly, then shrugged.

“Sorry, I’ve always loved being around the horses. As for palaces and the like, we’ve never had anything like that. It’s a very nice villa, but mother doesn’t believe in being overly ostentatious. Says it’s a waste of resources and what not. Time and place for pomp and circumstance, and home isn’t the place. Granted, we do have some things at the villa for some training of sorts, but for the most part, there’s the academies and gyms and places for fencing, and archery, and martial arts.”

“So what’s this Field of Dreams like? It seems you’d really enjoy living there. Stables, tracks, ample room for things and all, space to stretch I’d imagine?”

Perhaps in a bit … I swear, out of the pan into the fire?

Alakantar

Nathicana nodded in agreement to much of what Alakantar was saying, noting that even here there were good, bad, and … other.

“I hope they prove true. And if they don’t, well …” She left the thought hanging, knowing he’d understand well enough that he had backup as needed. And perhaps, understand that she might take matters further as she thought the situation required, quietly, subtly, when the time was right if his co-conspirators proved false.

“Nesar is an interesting sort, to be sure. I’m not quite certain what to make of him, or what he wants. Still, I think we’ve got things under control enough for now. The only thing we need to worry about is your problem. And as we’re aware and prepared, I’m certain that will be fine as well. Hopefully I’ve already planted some suggestions that will assist when the time comes, but mentioned nothing that might lead back to you in any way. Alessa has a lot to learn, I’ll grant you, but I think, or at least hope, that she’ll grow. So long as she can rid herself of some leeches and stumbling blocks … but that’s up to her.”

As they danced, she continued to scan the room, and when Alessa arrived and descended the stairs, things of course stopped and she gave the Empress the attention she deserved, even if her brows arched up slightly at the dress. More power to her if she could pull it off – such days were long past for Nathicana, though she herself had never been quite so daring.

“She certainly knows how to make an entrance, no?” she asked the drow. “And thank you again for the dance. Perhaps the next time you find yourself here, your dear lady will be the one enjoying your company, without fear of reprisals.”

Naiya

There were a number of people she was curious about, though most seemed deep in conversation, or otherwise occupied – that or she was unsure how to approach. Besides which, the evening had been rather full as it was, and she was still mildly disturbed at the attention she and her brother had garnered during their time there.

As Alessa made her entrance, she rose to her feet and made a silent toast to the Empress, in spite of being more than a little curious about her dress. That was the … fourth change in outfits so far in the evening? But then she remembered, the contest – there were doubtless many designers she was trying to please by showcasing their many talents, and thus, she was handling the situation appropriately.

The many demands of a leader, she mused thoughtfully. Her mother had tried to teach her at every opportunity, and Naiya had done her best to learn, but as the years went on, it became more and more clear that there was always something more to grasp.

Being born to a life of ‘privilege’ had its price – at least in the case of leadership. And that price was responsibility. What was interesting to see is how others viewed that responsibility, and either embraced it, took advantage of it, or made a mockery of it.

In the case of some of those attending here, which category they fell into remained to be seen.

Gehenna

Nina smiled at the man, who was so valiantly trying to keep himself in the conversation that clearly held no interest for him. “Perhaps,” she allowed. “But nanofabrics would make it almost too easy to duplicate the effect. I sometimes wonder if, with the introduction of these smart fabrics, we have lost a little of our own skill in designing clothing.”

She suddenly realized that she was speaking in her own voice, having forgotten to use the extended s-sound that typified a snake in people’s mind. “I hope you don’t mind too much that I’ve broken character a little. My real tongue was getting tired.” Her head tilted in what would be a most un-snakelike way when observed from the outside. “I have to admit,” she continued, changing topic to a neutral subject, “that the main reason for coming places like this, for me, at least, is to get the food.”

And, good to her word, she demonstrated by picking up a finger sandwich of some sort – at least, that is what the designer thought it was – and scarffing it down with her snake-tongue.

* * * * *

Uncomfortable.

That’s how Lois Resnick’s feelings about this whole party could be summed up. One single word.

It was clear to her now, as it had not been before, that there was Something Going On, even more so than there tended to be at these type of parties. And, as far as she could tell, it involved about seven different factions of the host nation that were all trying to off one another for the number two spot, not even really able to pretend to make nice for the boss.

Speaking of whom… No, she should not judge. But it seemed highly likely that no one had ever properly raised the girl, never taught her to think, to understand the responsibility of power. And then, some idiot apparently just handed over absolute power to a teenage girl without bothering to teach her how to use it.

No wonder the bodyguard was uncomfortable. ”Can we leave yet, milady?”

”No, Lois. Stop asking.”

“But…”

“I said no.” That was settled then, a mere second of silent, untraceable conversation in their heads. Un had apparently made some sort of plans to meet with some woman on the planet tomorrow, and Commander Blackhorse had been informed and had promised to have a shuttle ready whenever it was needed. Lesley had found, much to Lois’ disapproval, a couple of men to dance with, and had done so, with all her usual grace and style, despite the monstrous costume she was wearing. Un was busily sampling the food as it was brought out, and Lois had a sneaking suspicion he had some sort of hollow part in his costume, as he never stopped eating except when speaking to someone.

As it was, Nina was still speaking with the people she had found down by the other end of the table, and Lois wished her good luck, as she seemed to be one of the very few not affected by the odd… something in the atmosphere tonight.

Lois looked back at Lesley and Un, talking quietly by the food table, as once more Un ate something that looked like cheese of some unknown sort. Sighing softly at the First Lady’s intransigence, she let her tactical display come up, and on the off chance Mas or Paz was using their contact at that exact moment, had the cameras draw in a tight focus on a random person’s derriere for about five seconds before letting it revert to the regular display.

As she did so, she unfortunately failed to realize that the incident with the Dread Lady’s children had interrupted her explanation of function, and that the two bodyguards might not realize she was in complete control of what signal they got.

But, she kept a very close eye on the two bodyguards to see if there was any visible reaction to her little prank.