NationStates Jolt Archive

Maile smiles, rolling over on the bed. "I suppose it does, at that. However, I have been waiting to tell you something, m'lord. I do not truly work for the Princess."

Alkanphel seats himself next to the woman and pulls off his shoes. "You don't? Hmm.. I suppose I was operating under that assumption, but not being very familiar with your politics I can't say I'm too surprised, in truth," he admits, turning his attention to his jacket, unfurling and discarding his ascot with his spare hand. "Then who do work for?" He snickers. "And so help me God if you say 'The Shogunate..." he finishes with a wink.

Maile laughs lightly. "I'd never heard of the Shogunate until today. No, no, I work for Queen Elaine ni Ailil of Wintermore, one of the kingdoms within the Resurgent Dream, the only kingdom interested in restoring balance and living in the real world."

The ninja lightly thwaps the wolfish Grendel on the arm. "Hey, check it out--Sakkrans."

The lycanthropic mass of fur coated in chains of bones and skulls on rough hemp ropes nods. "It is good to see they are still around..."

"I say we go talk to 'em." Striding purposefully to the two, the ninja bows low in his shadowy garb, one hand resting lightly on the hilt of his sheathed and peace-bound ninja-to. "Good evening, honorable comrades. How fare you this night?"

The wolf-looking thing follows along next to him, then grunts in greeting.

Maile laughs lightly. "I'd never heard of the Shogunate until today. No, no, I work for Queen Elaine ni Ailil of Wintermore, one of the kingdoms within the Resurgent Dream, the only kingdom interested in restoring balance and living in the real world."

"Oh how insidious, he answers, lifting Maile up onto her side as he lies down next to her. "And what, pray tell, is the purpose for this deception?"

Maile smiles softly. "To make friends for Queen Eleanor, spy on Agwene, the usual."

Shaar looks over the costumed dragon being. "We do quite well. And may I comment that your masque is exemplary, Akhor." A short bow is offered by the Admiral. "And for the purpose of this gathering, we are Fire Salamanders." She gestures to Phooush, who bows with exaggerated flourish. "This is the first of these type gatherings we have attended. Quite a .... throng has turned out."

The greeting offered by the ninja-costumed being and the wolf-like being causes a small start from Phooush. A short, sharp tune escapes his nostrils. Shaar sniffs the air a moment. Ah. The scent is vaguely familiar, but this is supposed to be an anonymous event. "Good cycle to you. We fare quite well, thank you. I trust all is well with you and yours?" She offers a low bow to the pair, her costume rippling with the movement. Phooush offers a lesser bow, keeping his eyes trained on the creatures before him.

Jur was getting ready to saddle up again and provide some more amusement for himself and nearby guests. His retinue signed and Tronj, while willing to ride aroung the room and whoop like a mad warchief, inwardly he felt a little goofy and would rather chat with Sandrine. Hopefully his boss would drink too much to manage carrying his 400 plus pound frame around the ballroom.

Karlo and Irene looked at the nearby guests. They positioned themselves between the Ambassador and the tiger and dragon like creatures while giving them some space. Talk about telling your grandchildren some stories.

Maile smiles softly. "To make friends for Queen Eleanor, spy on Agwene, the usual."

"Make friends?" he answers with a grin, reaching up to brush an errant strand of hair from her face. "I daresay you're about to make one," he asserts with a wink as he pulls her closer, kissing her deeply.

[ooc: annd... well, this is probably where we have to stop or at least fast-forward in the interest of good taste :rolleyes: ]

The camera finally moves from the fireplace as the evening wears on. Cheops lies next to Rebecca, smiling softly. "Well, my dear Becca, I must say you have greatly increased my love for diplomacy. Were you planning on going to the actual ball tonight?"

"Quite well indeed," the ninja continues in a very mild Polish accent, "better than could be expected. We have already surprised the one we came to surprise, so now is the time to socialize."

The wolf-looking thing--a good job, considering how it completely masks what is underneath--waves to the Vrakian delegation and then to the dragon. There was a time things like these would surprise him... And, he muses, I do not know if it is a good thing or not that such a time is long in the past. Eventually, he turns to Karlo and Irene and bows, looking far too much like Grendel who Beowulf fought in ages past... but, of course, that's the point. "Hrrrggg. Are you two... enjoying yourselves?" The voice is gritty and growling, but obviously intentionally so.

Well, hopefully obviously.

"Akhor" glances at the new arrivals, trying to quietly ponder to himself who is hiding under the costumes. "Well met. It hasss been... a very interesssting party, and the night isss ssstill young." To someone listening closely, the extra hissing sound in the silver dragon's speech may sound a bit forced, as if the speaker doesn't normally talk all hissy like that. "My Kindreds, the Aialakantri and the Dhrenagankantri are doing well, asss are the Gedrishakrim we share our landsss with."

The drake glances about. "There isss definately a great variety of peoplesss here tonight. Even sssome I do not know."

The Polish Ninja momentarily attempts a Japanese accent. "Yes, but that is what makes everything very inneressing." He frowns, then reverts to the standard 'Pendran-Polish. "No, I'm not drunk enough to keep that up... yet. Who here is interested in helping rectify this dilemma? There's candy in it for the interested." He produces a bag of sweets from one of many pockets and holds it out like a pouch of gold coin. In fact, there are some gold coins in there... or, more accurately, chocolates molded into coins and covered with gold foil.

Shaar quaffs another goblet of wine, and smacks her jaws appreciatively. "Yes. Many new beings here. This is a night ... for intrigue. It is almost palpable in the air.Hrrrr..." She places her goblet down at the drink station. Her other eye focuses in on the ninja, and observes the hairy thing greet the Vrakian delegation.

"I can only guess the nature of what you mean by 'surprise'. If my guess serves me right, it would make for a good laugh. Hrarf!" Shaar shakes in her costume at that, pawing the wrapped gift for the Imperatrix. It would not be the only surprise today, i'm certain. She eyes the bag of sweets, and mentally decides to decline them. Would only get caught in my teeth. My dental tech would have a field day with that.

"I have not socialized in some time. Too many work-related pressures for many cycles. But now I get to take a 'working vacation' and this seemed like a good idea."

Phooush, in the meantime, has managed to sidle up to the Vrakkian delegates, and an audible whiff is heard. A series of short chirps of an inquisitive nature comes from his mouth. Shaar looks about at the assembled guests. "My escort wishes to know if communication of his nature would set anyone ill-at-ease."

At one of the entrances to the ballroom, an unusual pair steps through the door. Both are men wearing light armor and stylised masks that leave only the mouths and eyes exposed, but there the resemblance ends. The one on the right wears armor that at first glance appears to be black, but on closer inspection shows itself to an incredibly intricate melding of deep blues, purples, and reds. Behind him flows a space-black cape, and at his side is a long, slender scabbard from which a ornate hilt emerges. The mask hiding his face is black, and around his head is a spiked metal crown. Into this crown are set three large jewels that seem to shimmer with a bright internal light.

His companion is almost a reverse image. His armor gleams in the lights of the room, and he wears a cape of white with gold trim. He too wears a sword at his side. The thin jeweled circlet around his head contrasts with his black hair. An interesting effect of the white mask he wears is that from some angles, it makes the ears look slightly elongated and pointed.

Spotting a target, the two stride across the room, capes flowing behind them. As they approach the group with the lizards, dragon, lycanthrope, and humans, the man in black raises one hand in greatings. "Good evening, gentlebeings," he says in a deep, rumbling.

"Its been far too long since we've seen your kind," says the man in white to the 'Fire Salamanders' in a more fair tone. "I hope that we'll be seeing more of you in the future."

"Ahoy, me mateys! I trust ye be findin' th' evenin' entertainin'? Arrr, me was until that foul blaggart of-a' dealer seized most of me dubloons at th' gamblin' tables. Seems be' I had enough booty left t' buy th' Skull & Skuppers out of me fav-rite' rum, arrrr." vK lofts several jugs of a dark rum with a simple "RedBeard's Rum" label and proffers them to the crowd. "Care ye' for a bit-o-swill? Arr, tha' light be set for th' night' and I be not yet fightin' drunk! I be needin' ta' remedie that!"

His other hand appears, lofting a large tankard of what smells like an amalgamation of everything sitting behind the bar.

"Ye can swill me' rum, but this foul grog be mine!"

Akhor hisses his amusement. "Gedri and their drinking. I fail to sssee what isss ssso enjoyable about becoming intoxicated."

The drake bobs his head and acknowledges the newest arrivals. "Well met. We are drawing quite the unusual crowd, it would ssseem." He pauses to consider the 'Fire Salamander's inquiry. "Ah, the Language of Truth then, if I am not missstaken? The Gift of the Windsss... I am not uncomfortable with the consssept."

Sitting with Yvonne Carlos smiles at Lidric and pats him on the shoulder. "Go explore son, meet some people and better your social skills. Go on enjoy the night." He says and laughs as the boy zips off, heading into the mingled crowd and talking politely with dominion citizens and gawking at all the costumes happily.

turning to look at the bar Carlos notes the gathering of people and frowns in thought before shrugging. "Guess I need another drink my dear." He says and heads towards the bar, his stride confident. Stopping beside the people he looks over at them quickly before ordering another scotch and waiting for it to be set before him.

Rebecca laughed softly, "Oh yeah... there's a celebration, isn't there?" Her finger idly traced Cheops' chest, "I suppose we should make an appearance..." She giggled, "Assuming I can walk..."

---

"I'd love to see it." She smiled shyly, "I've got some vacation time coming up... if you aren't sick of me after tonight, I'll have to see about visiting..."

The Leet Polish Ninja looks at the pirate.

Knowing Karma the Red, he looks back.

Nothing happens. Take that, unreal expectations of a twelve-year old.

"Sure, I'll take some o' that." The ninja eases the pirate's burden by exactly one jug of rum, uncorks said jug, and sniffs it. "Whoo. Potent stuff there. Should do nicely with me remembering how to do a good Japanese accent." After tossing some 'gold' to the pirate in compensation, he looks at the drake while smirking under his scarf. "Hey, don't knock it until you've tried it. Ain't bad, in moderation."

Cheops laughs heartily. "I could carry you, you know? It would be rather manly of me."

Datima looks up to Marcus. "Should we head for the ball?"

Maile smiles, kissing him back. "Make friends with Queen Eleanor, m'lord." ((Fast forward soon. I still have a little politicking to do before the camera moves to the fireplace.))

Phooush bows his head slightly towards the silvery dragon. Keeping his 'sendings' to the immediate area, all should be able to hear it around the station. "The Language of Truth. It is an interesting name for it. An intoxication has it's time and place. Usually, this would be the occasion, but there are 'influences' hereabouts that it would be good for me to keep my head around." One jeweled eye shifts towards the figure ordering a scotch at the station.

Shaar chuffs a bit. She turns her attention towards the man in white. "There have been developments in the Empire that have needed careful attention. That time is now past, and our presence will extend as it once did; perhaps more so." She bobs her head slowly, making the fabric of the crimson cloak flutter a bit. "I thank you for your words of kindness."

She then raises up again. "But never let it be said that I was afraid of a little drink!" She procures a jug of 'Red Beard's Rum' and places a small gem in the pirates hand. "For your fortune at the Chance Table." The mug is tilted back swiftly, and lowered. A loud hissing sound comes from her nostrils. "Hraaaar! That takes me back!"

Phooush gets a whiff of what's in the large tankard. "Oh, that just smells like a massive headache in the making."

"Rum? Give, give," says the Man in White, swiping a jug and taking a deep drink. "Hmmm. I give it a three for taste, but ten for intoxicating ability. Take a drink while I find the nice man a trinket, your lordly darkship." White rummages through a pouch, scattering a few leaves on the floor. First he pulls out a small object that looks vaguely tree-like, "Air freshener for your galleon or whatever? Its pine fresh. No?" After another moment, he fishes out a simple gold ring and tosses it to the pirate.

The Sorta-Dark Lord, for his part, manages to down a small drink without sputtering. "Impressive," he rumbles, before letting out a series of coughs. "Um. Must be coming down with a cold or something. Yeah."

Karlo looked longingly at the rum being passed around. Had he been off-duty, he surely would have been guzzling his share of the liquid while regaling the group with his conquests along the Klatch. After all, he did get to see a fair bit of the FKC by virtue of his job. Still, he managed to be sociable.

"Nice pirate costume", he said to the Karma rep.

Jur, however, had no such inhibitions. He decided not to galivant around the room with Tronj on his back but instead opted to drink some grog. He then bellowed in a friendly manner to whomever had the rum.

"I say, could you please spare a poor walrus a sip?"

Rebecca giggled softly, "Wouldn't that be a sight?" Crawling out from under the covers she walked over to where her costume had been tossed, rather uncerimoniously, and put it back on. "I suppose the de-masking will be somewhat anti-climatic now, hmm?" Adjusting her hat she smiled at Cheops, "Well, I'm ready."

Marcus nodded simply, setting down his empty glass, "Capital idea." He stood, offering Damita a slight bow and extended his hand, "If you will accompany me, I would love a dance."

"A lack of barriers to interaction causes homogenity, yes," Kjathen-Yseult agrees. "It is a major principle of evolutionary theory, of course, and can also be observed in historical linguistics and the historical developent of cultures. Observe the failure of the Roman Empire to establish a firm presence on the Eastern side of the Rhine river valley; the resultant interaction has shaped European history for several thousand years."

"Sick of you? Surely nai, m'dear. I'd love to show you 'round Ctessie - and right now, I'd love to dance some more. If you're willing?"

Ingrid stood, extending her hand to help Isidra up.

"That sounds wonderful." She smiled, "Both suggestions." She took Ingrid's hand and went back to the dance floor, happy to be in Ingrid's arms again. "Ah, now this is nice... I could dance all night with you..."

"A lack of barriers to interaction causes homogenity, yes," Kjathen-Yseult agrees. "It is a major principle of evolutionary theory, of course, and can also be observed in historical linguistics and the historical developent of cultures. Observe the failure of the Roman Empire to establish a firm presence on the Eastern side of the Rhine river valley; the resultant interaction has shaped European history for several thousand years."
"Yes, there is that..." The Red looks around without turning her head. Unfortunately, she lacks the diplomatic training to disengage from a conversation quickly losing her interest. Not Kjathen-Yseult's fault at all, but all panNorm interests are somewhat limited due to their intentionally limited lifestyles. As this was getting to be far away from engineering or landkeeping and more into the Blue realm of history for history's sake...

And not history she kept herself well read on, in addition...

"So, what do you think of the local culture?" She changes topics abruptly.

Cheops laughs a little. "Not for others in the room. But, if you want to truly partake of satyr customs, you could wear just the mask?"

Datima smiles. "I would love to." She waits for the gentleman to rise first.

"Drink and be merry me 'earties! Thar be plenty o' Rum for all!"

He takes the "payments," pocketing them quickly. "Yarr, ye gifts be appreciated, but they not be necessary!" He takes a heafty swig from the tankard. "And wot be this 'moderation' ye speaks of? Or be that wot ye blames ye lack of alkehaul fort'tude upon? And ye, shaggy beast? Care to sample me fire water? Yarr!"

vK takes another healthy swig.

"The local culture?" one of the good things about being a gestalt organism was the incredible capacity for multitasking; the Communion had been observing aforesaid local culture since it's arrival. "It is certainly diverse, we suppose, if that is what you meant. Quite an interesting melting pot."

Rebecca blushed, straightening her hat, "No, I don't think I'm that drunk or adventurous." She grinned, "However... if I ever attended a party in your nation, I'll be sure to 'respect the customs', as it were."

Marcus smiled gently, standing and taking Datima's hand. He lead her out of the bar area and over to the dance floor. It was a rather upbeat tune, "Not my personal favorite, but I think I can manage..."

The ninja takes a slug of rum, then passes the jug to the wolfish thing. After being thoroughly ignored by the Vrakian meatshielding--oh well, they're there to guard bodies, not talk, so 's all good--the massive beast takes up the jug and downs a good portion of it. "Hhhhrrrraaawwwwwwhhhhh! A fine distillation!" The jug is upended once again as the ninja sighs and shakes his head. "Great. He's getting his drink on... which is just fine, as long as I don't have to carry his sorry ass back."

Cheops rolls his eyes. "The nobles would have a field day with that one." Hopping up, her offers his arm.

Datama dances with Marcus, smiling softly.

Treznor:

<LOS Communications – Devon>
{
<< Good God, man. Of course I knew better, but I never expected … dammit, you know me. None of this has been my style. It’s entirely too public, too flashy, too extravagant, and I cannot believe the gifts people have chosen to grant me. Sometimes I think the leaders of other nations are insane. Things like this only strengthens such thoughts.

<< As for ‘already influential’, boy … only in certain circles, I’d say. And less so than some would have me believe, no doubt. I wouldn’t mind discussing all this with you at length, later. When we’ve had time to truly enjoy the evening, of course. I’ve seen several interesting messages here this evening, or at least, believe I’ve seen. Your observations would be appreciated.

<< Now, about that ‘enjoying’ part, mi amore. Care for another game of hide and seek while we mingle? Or something along those lines at least. Nothing like being able to hide in plain sight, no?
}

---o---o---o---o---o---o---o---o---o---

Serconea:

The guard looks at the trio incredulously, shaking his head. The three holding their guns on the Serconeans however, don’t blink, but do hold off firing at a hand signal from the second guard.

“Have you heard a word we’ve said, you stupid sods? Il dio, you have got to be the thickest, cloth-for-ears outlanders I have ever met! I must say, it is an interesting country who sends reporters as their ‘official diplomats’ and has a president who personally keeps in touch with the brainless, mannerless oafs while on the road, having them check in at appointed times like little children who can’t be trusted to take care of themselves – which obviously,” he says, gesturing around at the old battered cell, “you can’t. Good call, there.”

The man turns his head and spits, as if even the taste of the words spent on the three of them was repulsive. “We have given you every opportunity. You have thrown each one back in our faces. You say your president will be angry? Fine and well – let him. It isn’t as though this situation is from any fault of our own. This is a mess of your own making, and now, you’ll need to find a way to deal with it. You were warned. The hard way it is, then.”

He makes a quick signal with one hand, and the three with weapons trained on the Serconeans open fire, letting loose a debilitating surge of energy, all set for the lowest setting of the rifles, ‘stun’.

---o---o---o---o---o---o---o---o---o---

Aelosia:

Calabrese arched a brow at the woman snapping her fingers. Her graceful bow caused him another moment of confusion. What the hell … doesn’t she … no, wait … damn these foreign devils and their odd mannerisms. I swear, it’s nigh unto impossible to tell at times what means offense and what does not. Ah well, just a short time longer, and I’ll be relaxing a bit, blending in with the crowd. Pity I’ve yet to track down what her Mightiness is wearing. Perhaps a process of elimination …

He quickly cleared his mind of such thoughts, smiling warmly and making a gallant bow to the elven woman. “My dear lady, may I be of assistance? I would imagine, given what every other gentleman and lady have asked upon speaking with me, that you desire an audience? If so, it would be my pleasure to arrange it.”

Cesare gently takes her hand and raises it to his lips, brushing her knuckles with a feather-light kiss, his dark eyes never leaving hers, the corners of his mouth still turned up in a smile.

She is quite a beauty, no doubt. So many pretties out tonight, and so little time to enjoy them.

"Akhor" shakes his head and makes a noise like some form of whistling sigh. "Gedri have sssuch odd indulgencesss." He glances at the big wolfish thing, then at the ninja. "If your friend requiresss 'having hisss sssorry assss carried back', I can mossst likely assssissst in the endeavor."

The silvery drake gives the wolfish thing an appraising look. "Though I imagine it takesss a great deal of liquor to get one of hissss sssize that intoxicated." Another look around the immediate area. "Granted, there sssseemsss to be sssuch drink in great abundanssse."

The ninja takes a slug of rum, then passes the jug to the wolfish thing. After being thoroughly ignored by the Vrakian meatshielding--oh well, they're there to guard bodies, not talk, so 's all good--the massive beast takes up the jug and downs a good portion of it. "Hhhhrrrraaawwwwwwhhhhh! A fine distillation!" The jug is upended once again as the ninja sighs and shakes his head. "Great. He's getting his drink on... which is just fine, as long as I don't have to carry his sorry ass back."

Jur, the large two ton walrus, rolls his great head and looks at the wolfish thing (OOC: sorry, Kzin?) and rumbles,

"Arrrrr, would yea mind to pass me the grog! I'm feeling a bit thirsty."


Tronj helps Jur with the horse head since it seems to be interfering with his drinking. Relieved, Jur looks around the crowd huddled at the bar and exclaims.

"Sorry for taking off my mask - but it's quite stuffy under that, "indicating the horse head in Tronj's arms, "I'm Jur Ratyuig, Ambassador from Vrak."

The Inferno:

… was in a state of chaos. Patrons from the other levels leaned over the curved railings and jeered or cheered (depending on their whims) the combatants below, and where they could view it, above them. It doesn’t matter that its relatively early in the night. Patriotic zeal was running high, especially in those with more than a little drink in them. A passionate people in the best of times, the Dominion folk threw themselves into the fray wholeheartedly, some youngbloods making up for skill occasionally with their enthusiasm alone. More experienced fighters took up the challenge more seriously, gauging their opponents with a practiced air before wading in.

Bottles here and there were smashed, their broken remnants brandished where conventional weapons were desired but unavailable, knives were drawn in several cases by those less interested in a contest of brute strength and endurance and more intent on satisfying a bit of bloodlust.

Gina flailed backward into the now mixed crowd of Federation students and marines, slashing her blade about wildly as she tried to regain her feet, cursing them all fluently in her native language. The name ‘Genovese’ seemed to be dropped liberally in her ranting …

The bouncers began using more serious force, bodily tossing several troublemakers towards the door, not taking any note of nationality or gender. One went so far as to take up a broken chair leg, using it to bludgeon the more ‘enthusiastic’ brawlers not paying attention to the bellowed demands to break it up.

Behind the bar, the burly man tending it brings his shotgun to level, takes aim, then pauses. He curses loudly as he lowers the weapon, reaching instead for the phone, dodging a thrown bottle as he hits number one on quickdial.

The Eldar found himself faced with a snarling man, armed with a stave broken off from one of the tables. The dark-haired Dominion citizen spat out several racial slurs and epithets, all in his native language, though their meaning was plain enough by his tone. To those understanding, they involved a questioning of the Eldar’s heritage in regards to orcish descent and his mother’s choice of bedfellows, apparently not limited to the two-legged variety.

As for the Red, it occurred to several less-than-wise natives with just enough alcohol in them to make them a danger to themselves and others, that perhaps the 'big bug' would be an easier target if the four of them struck at once, seeing as the singular approach hadn’t seemed to serve their compatriots well. Taking up positions around the panNorm soldier, one grabbed an overturned chair, another brandished a broken bottle, still another produced a knife from somewhere on his person, the fourth simply cracked his knuckles in anticipation. They hauled in with abandon, yelling wordless battlecries.

Annika yelped, loudly and cringeworthy as her eyes darted round to confront this stranger. Losing her balance, she fell the short way earthwards, her behind absorbing the brunt of the miniscule forces and allowing her mind to concentrate its full powers towards blushing furiously at this double-disaster introduction. After several moments, and repeated failures to recognise the curious creature before her, the young girl cocked her head to the left, and with toes pointed outwards, hands folded on a petite lap and still on the floor, she spoke-

"Who are you!" She asked, yet modulating it more towards loudness, her indignance at being caught out and made too look foolish spilling over into her attempts to make inroads towards identifying the stranger. Slowly, she climbed to her feet, her eyes betraying a wary temperement. She dusted off the imaginary specks of invisible dust that had accumulated from the near-flawlessly polished flooring. She checked her hair almost subconsciously, unwilling to appear poorly turned out against what was obviously impressive sense from the invitee before her.

Annika had never danced. The few functions her parents had allowed her to attend were not parties, nor informal gatherings, but scientific matters and equations explained over alcohol, rather than traditional coffee. For a seventeen year old, such as she almost a dagger to her heart. Such utter boredom knew no company as she would endure hours of constant debate and arguments amongst subjects she knew nothing of and cared for little.

Of her short life, only one occasion saw her taken to the dance floor. Her sweet sixteen granted her a small party with the half dozen other children of equal age who Annika did not mind the company of. Though her parents treated it more like a sociological science experiment than a celebration of their daughter and her coming of age. Her Father had taken her to the smooth wooden dance floor. She had treaded awkwardly whilst he had shown such classical training that had made his early dates with his wife so memorable.

She had waddled as he elegantly lead, effortlessly changing direction and tempo whilst his little girl struggled to avoid stepping on educated feet.

BUt, little else was forthcoming. Those times were long since consigned to the abyss of long term recollection. Annika would never again see her parents, and would be denied such simple pleasures as having her long raven tresses combed by her smiling Mother. She would never again hear her Father growl in light hearted irritation as he picked up another hastily disgarded doll from amongst his projects bench.

She shook her head slightly, realising the time elapsing since her internal monologue had snatched her from waking world and reality. She fixed her stare on the stranger. She could hardly lay claim to be giftef at telling the agendas of others, but could detect no malice. Though, she thought bitterly, it would make little difference even if she was to be struck down here, as unlikely as that was to occur. None who knew of her lived, and those that did, more occupied with surviving on, and clinging to the mortal coil, than tracing the whereabouts of a lost, and insignificant child.

Annika succeeded in blinking back tears, yet internally, she roared with sorrow anew.

As for the Red, it occurred to several less-than-wise natives with just enough alcohol in them to make them a danger to themselves and others, that perhaps the 'big bug' would be an easier target if the four of them struck at once, seeing as the singular approach hadn’t seemed to serve their compatriots well. Taking up positions around the panNorm soldier, one grabbed an overturned chair, another brandished a broken bottle, still another produced a knife from somewhere on his person, the fourth simply cracked his knuckles in anticipation. They hauled in with abandon, yelling wordless battlecries.
Seeing to the sides and all-around with the curious construction of her eyes, the Soldier Red takes the beginning of the charge to appraise the situation, folding her antennae back close to her head. Four combatants, one unarmed--non-threat--two thrusting weapons, primary threats, one concussive weapon, minor threats. Twisting quickly on her clawed 'feet,' she ducks towards the man with the knife while the one with the chair hits her squarely on the top of her spiky armored thorax, bowing her down a little. Grabbing his arm with one strong manipulator claw, she directs it away from her head, letting the blade ricochet off her hard carapace. Her free arm knocks away the arm with the bottle as she gets her mandibles around the knife-man's upper arm. Clamping down with the scythe-like pincers, she spins around to face the other attackers with her newly-obtained knife and makeshift club.

Wielding her weapons with both her manipulator hands, she immediately slaps away the man with the broken bottle as hard as she can with the bloody stump of a dismembered arm to his cheek with a dull crack as his jaw dislocates. The third man, chair raised high again for another strike, gets rushed, the Red Soldier planting her shoulder into his chest and the knife into his side--not deep, but through the skin--then pulling it sideways through his front.

The man with the broken bottle staggers sideways into the man armed with just his fists before collapsing onto the floor in a bloody heap. Watching one buddy get his armed bitten off and the other cleanly eviscerated, only just now suddenly remembering to hold in the contents of his abdominal cavity with his arms, has taken the fight out of the one betting on nothing but his ability at fisticuffs. Noting this, the Red immediately walks up, looks at the now stock-still man, and brandishes the knife.

The man, now much more sober, gulps.

The Red nods, tears off a strip from the man frozen in fright, then ties a tourniquet around knife-man's stump of an upper arm before placing the arm next to his writhing form on the ground. She then fumbles with her translator box with her bony fingers, slick with blood, managing to put it between her mandibles. "Take these two to a hospital quickly and they will recover. The one on the floor"--she points to the man whose broken bottle now rolls gently away from his limp fingers--"will survive on his own. Make sure your friend with the hole in him does not move his arms from his stomach. This," she sneers, "is why you people should have nice hard exoskeletons."

She sticks the translator back into its little pouch on her harness as she steps back, throwing the knife in her free hand so that it embeds itself in the floor between the active man's feet. Turning around, she wanders deeper into the fray, quite content with herself.

The Ballroom:

A couple dressed in fanciful costumes which leave no skin showing, consisting of beautiful ivy leaves, peacock feathers, blue berries, and simple white masks with painted lips, take to the dance floor, seeming to drift effortlessly in graceful turns and intricate steps. They nod to those around them on occasion though their smiles are hidden behind their masks, talking quietly between themselves and laughing with delight now and then as they enjoy the music.

Another couple enters a short while later, dressed in elegant white, ivory, and silver, their ivory colored masks lacking any other coloration at all. They hold decorative mirrors depicting on the back the headdresses of their costumes. In tow are two younger children looking to be somewhere between five and eight if one were to guess, in similar yet more simple garb that seems to echo the gentleman’s attire.

Behind them, a third couple in long flowing houplandes of rich green velour, trimmed in turquoise and orange. Their tastefully painted masks and large beaded headdresses matched perfectly, the gentleman’s ensemble finished out with a walking stick topped by a large round crystal. They greet people pleasantly as they pass, then head for one of the small bars at the corners of the room, availing themselves of the straws thoughtfully provided as they order drinks – much easier to move ones mask just a bit than needing to tilt it too far up, after all.

Two gentlemen enter a few moments later, their quiet discussion ending as they break off to mingle. Both rather tall, one is dressed in a very elaborate costume of white trimmed in gold. A high headdress, rather like a stylized turban, a tall collar of stiff strands sporting beads and bits of downy feathers, spiked broad shoulders, feathers and fur trimmings galore, all worn over a solid black undersuit that covers everything but what the white mask with black details hides. His gait is decidedly arrogant, not unlike the icy tyrant his costume seems to suggest. The other wears a fanciful mask, larger than many of the others, all in red, black and gold. It depicts a stylized devil with curling horns, and a thick wig of curled blonde hair trailing behind. His black suit is reminiscent of the 1800’s, trimmed in gold, lace at the collar and cuffs, though kept to a tasteful minimum. He carries a stave topped with a carved and antiqued skull, decorated in whispy hair and a few straggling feathers – the very devil himself.

Four women join the crowd next, one rather short in a fanciful militaristic outfit all in red, black, and gold, accented here and there in white and sporting faux pearls. Her hat is an elaborate affair, not unlike some ludicrous admiral’s hat with abundant black and red feathers, bejeweled and trimmed richly. One of the taller women next to her is all in gold and black, even her mask, which has a large red jewel between her brows, and a smaller one at the crease of the right nostril. Other bits of red can be seen on this rich costume, strikingly depicting what seems to be a fanciful adaptation of a goddess type from the Hindu faith, a delicate gold sari worn over a black bodysuit, accented with an elaborate headdress. The third of their party is all in burgundy and gold, her delicately painted mask showing more detail than the others, sporting brows, blush, lashes and pretty painted lips. Her head is surrounded by a large round hat that circles her face entirely, her long dress made from the same light velvet. The last lady is dressed in an elegant Renaissance dress of dark navy and olive green, accented in white piping. An elaborate hat sporting a group of tall curved feathers of various colors, and large ribbons to match her dress tops the outfit. Brass buttons and large gold rings accent it all, her white mask painted decoratively at the eyes and mouth in appropriately dark colors. They too wave and break off to circulate the room.

The Piazza:

A man in a simple gold mask, tall tri-corner hat adorned with a red ribbon, and a classy yet old-style outfit surveyed the Piazza. A while silk shirt, the forearms ending in large spills of elaborate lace was worn under a satin vest of crimson. Black velour pants that showed off a rather fine figure, along with calf-high shiny black boots was worn below, antique gold gloves covered his hands, and a cravat of black and the same shade of gold lace spills down his chest. Over all, a long black cape, lined with the same shade of crimson as the vest, and a long veil of sorts worn under the hat, hanging around the sides of his mask and around back, ending in another length of lace, this one black, hanging nearly to his elbows. Quite reminiscent of the old plague costumes where folks covered up as much as possible in hopes of avoiding it. Walking along with a stately grace, his gold-capped walking stick clicking now and then along the paving stones, he makes his way towards one of the devil women and makes an elaborate bow with a flourish of cape.

“My dear, you look wickedly ravishing. ‘Tis a shame to see you, and your sisters, so unaccompanied. If I might have the pleasure?” he asks, his native Dominion accent plain, though he speaks quite clearly. He holds out his arm invitingly to the lady, smiling warmly behind his full facial mask. “The night is young, the music is begging to be danced to, and I would as soon leave you standing here as drive a stake through my heart.”

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

She walked by herself, winding her way through the crowds, occasionally stopping to watch the entertainers. Her small tri-corner hat was adorned with gold and pink roses, trimmed in soft feathers, and capped behind with a wire mesh veil that barely brushed the back of her shoulders. Her outfit was more simple than many, a deep red velvet hood covering her head and neck, a white mask with gold-painted lips, and a gold eyemask molded atop it covering her face. The velveteen jacket was of an old military cut, gold trim and buttons adorning it, ivory lace at the breast and cuffs, with gloves to match. Her skirts were full, decorated much the same as the rest of the outfit, showing ivory underskirting when she walked. Meandering aimlessly, she finally finds herself at the gambling tables, watching the play quietly, smiling to herself as she observes her fellow revelers.

At the gaming tables, a man in blue and silver, only the skin around his dark eyes showing through the layers of velveteen and satin, was testing his luck. He grumbled on occasion as the draped finery got in the way of his watching the tables or moving about for a better position. Dice was his game, and thus far, he’d made an even break of things. This next roll had a couple thousand riding on it – he shook the cup gently and hoped for the best.

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

What a simply beautiful night.

She walked slowly through the crowd of people, a taller lady in a simple velvet ensemble that masked every inch of her body, in a burgundy so dark it almost seemed black. The headdress consisted of a thick beaded roll worn at an angle, decorated on the right with a large floral-style bow of satin and beads and gold trim, the left, topped with a ruffle of black dressmakers mesh and satin-trimmed wine tulle. A matching broad collar of the same rested in pretty layers around her neck and shoulders, sleeves that taper and hug the shape of her slender arms overlapping the soft gloves covering her hands. Her long skirt hugged her hips as she swayed gracefully through the crowd, eyes the color of her dress’s trim looking out at the people from behind her simple ivory mask, only the lashes and lips accented with simple color. There was no pattern to her wanderings other than a gradual movement towards the ballroom, and for now, she seemed content to simply observe.

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

Tonight of all nights, he was feeling his age. This had always been a tradition with his dear departed wife, God rest her soul, and they had spent hours planning their coordinated costumes for such occasions. He had not wanted to participate, really, but it seemed more appropriate to do so, honoring her in his own quiet way by carrying on the tradition. He had spared no expense, his wine-colored ensemble a nod to the Dominion’s heritage both in color and style with its houplande robes, elaborate headdress with the long tail swept up under his chin and tucked to the other side as in days of old. Faux drop pearl trim accented it, black gloves covered his hands, and in one, he held a small gold mirror – one that his wife had bought for him on another occasion, long since passed. His mask was one of simple white, and from behind it, he watched the evening progress with a wistful smile. Deciding on a course of action finally, he made his way to the crowd near the refreshment tables, ordering a glass of bourbon, then turning to more closely observe those near him.


Costumes (http://home.mchsi.com/~ketri/wsb/links/costumes.jpg) for ref.

Alkanphel pushes open the door and strides in, folding his arms neatly behind his back as he approaches Nathicana, his voice ringing out throught the hall. "A splendid display!" He asserts, bowing once he reaches her. "Quite remarkable. A wonderful display of strength and ambition. I was quite impressed." Taking note of the gifts, he grins. "Though by the looks of things, you've probably been hearing people say this all day, no?"

"Grazie, Alkanphel. They have all been most gracious, yes," Nathi replies, smiling and sitting calmly in her chair, stroking the little wolf pup she's currently holding in her lap. "I trust you are enjoying the festivities so far, m'lord?"

Jas, quietly watching from his corner stiffens as the Maia walks in, while both Massetti and Pascali stand at their usual casual attention, eyes forward.

Alkanphel 's eye twitches slightly but he grins. "But of course," he starts, bringing his hands around from behind him. "It's a wonderful departure from my last visit," he notes with a slight grimace. Quickly, he smiles again. "But I didn't expect any less. It's so far served as some much needed R&R, and as far as I can tell the Marshals are enjoying themselves as well."

Nathicana rises to her feet gracefully, gently setting the cub on the soft cushion of her chair with some soft words of reassurance. She steps forward with a decidedly regal air, maintaining her pleasant smile as she watches the warlord closely. "I would imagine so. I also note you've behaved much better as well," she observes, chin tilting up slightly in that imperious way she's always had.

"Still, I am glad to hear it. I think this is a celebration we've all needed, truth be known. Do let us know is there is anything we can do to make your stay more pleasant."

Alkanphel grins even wider. "Well, such as it is, everything's abous as pleasant as it can get, all things considered." He winks. "Any improvement on this condition I assure you is in your hands, my Lady." The Maia hikes his chin towards the various gifts. "So I see a few people have taken it upon themselves to shower you with presents. Maybe I should have thought of that, too," he muses.

She smiles slyly at his first comment, holding out one hand to him in formal greeting. "Again, I'm glad to hear it. As for improvements, why, whatever could I possibly do?" Nathi nods, never taking her eyes off him as she acknowledges the lavish gifts. "While quite appreciative of each one of these grand gifts, I hardly expect it, and you know it. Though there are some who would say your oversight does break with tradition ..." She manages not to grin as she says this, leaving him to guess how serious she is about it.

Alkanphel snickers. "Perhaps," he begins, seeking her hand with his. "But I've never known you to be too much of a stickler for 'tradition.' You know perfectly well how I feel about you. I somehow doubt failing to shower you with material gifts will damage my standing at this point. Besides, I can always give you your gift later," he says in a conspiratory tone.

"Well, there are traditions, and there are traditions," she says, a slightly mischievous smile turning up the corners of her lips. "In some respects, I am very much steeped in tradition, though perhaps they are the more subtle areas that most take for granted as being such. In other areas however, you are correct. Still, as I've said before, a certain image is required, and I am setting a standard for future generations here today." She gives his hand a brief squeeze. "And you know perfectly well how I feel about that. Now what's this you say about 'later', mi'lord?"

He returns the squeeze and winks again. "Mi'lord?'" He asks with a tone of humorous incredulity. "I don't think you've ever called me that before. People have been calling me 'mi'lord' all damn day." He chuckles. "It's quite a departure. And... well, I'm fairly certain you know what I mean with the 'later' bit. I've got to make up for my lack of material gifts, you know. Tradition. The Marshals didn't bring any either, the inconsiderate sods. Gotta make up for them too."

"Have I not?" she says with a soft laugh. "Before our, shall we say, more 'intimate' relationship, I'm certain I referred to you as 'Lord Alkanphel' a time or three. Admittedly, it does seem like forever ago. You'll have to pardon me - I fear I've been rather caught up in the spirit of things today. As I said, image." Nathicana can't resist the tease, looking up at him with another sly smile. "I suppose it is too much to hope for that you've brought your pretty bauble to present later, 'making up for things' as it were? I'm certain among all these fine offerings it would hold a place of high honor ..."

Alkanphel laughs heartily. "I think not," he answers. "I'd never hear the end of it," he adds, truthfully. "Yes, it is too much to hope." He pulls her closer, planting a kiss on her cheek. "That was just a temporary thing, you know. I can't rightly give up the damn thing."

Nathicana allows the kiss, still smiling. "See how you are, denying me such a pretty shiny as that. Still," she admits wistfully, "It isn't as though I could use the damn thing as I'd like anyway. Good riddance, all in all, though it was ... interesting while it lasted." Drawing back slightly, she looks up at him inquisitively. "So. If I already know you well enough, and we needn't hold with traditions, why meet with me like this, Alkanphel? You know there's plenty of time for talk later."

"Heh!" he starts, turning to face her fully. "Gifts or no, I wanted to see you anyway, in a personal capacity. It's certainly worth noting how much I appreciated the ceremony, and I wanted to offer my cangratulations before the moment was lost." He grins again. "Besides, I didnt want to appear negligent in not offering you the pleasure of my company." He shrugs. "Wanted to be the last one in, if I could swing it. More of an impact that way, no?"

Nathicana tilts her head, considering. "I ... appreciate that," she says finally, coming to a decision. "It has been a draining experience, all this. It isn't every day one creates traditions of such import, after all. And to think, all this is in some measure your fault." She offers him a wry smile at that. "I ought to beat you for forcing me to go through with all this, you know."

Alkanphel grins nervously. "I suppose you could say we both make each others' life a living hell, no?" He chuckles. "But you can't honestly think this is all such a bad thing now. I mean, look at all these gifts!" he exclaims, gesturing broadly towards them. "Consider them at least somewhat from me then." He winks. "By extension, you know."

Nathicana rolls her eyes and shakes her head, laughing dryly. "Extension of you, my ass. You think I did this for the gifts? Bah! I would rather be able to continue as I was, presents or no, than go through all this. Bastard." She nods towards the door, one brow arched questioningly. "You will be taking part in the masquerade then? Time is growing short, and I myself need to prepare for it."

"Aye, that I do," he says with a nod. "Got some suiting up to do. Just wanted to stop off first and let you know I hadn't forgotten." He winks, and leans in to kiss her again. "I'm sure it'll be quite the time."

Nathicana turns slightly, this time returning the kiss with no explanation as to why she does so. "I just hope everone enjoys themselves, and that we continue to maintain such a good atmosphere. We have, by all accounts, several representatives of nations who would as soon see each other put over a slow-roasting fire as deal with them directly, after all." She politely makes no mention of the obvious connection there between himself and Treznor, certain that by now he is aware of the other's attendance. "Thank you, both for the support, and for helping keep this night a pleasant one. Perhaps, if you can guess which reveler I am later, you will favor me with a dance?"

"Ah, beleive me, I've already experienced this firsthand," he says to the first. "Emperor Mephet'ran and Sirithil approached me earlier in the Piazza. Horribly awkward, that." Reluctantly, he relenquishes her hand. "I'll try," he says with a wink. "It probably won't be easy, though. I'm certain we'll all be guessing to some extent. But best not get too carried away, lest we trust too closely in autonymity."

Nathicana nods and chuckles softly. "We shall see, Alkanphel. We shall see. I'm certain the unmasking later will leave us all surprised to one extent or another. Of course, that is half the fun, no? At least while masked you ought to be spared, for the most part, from such direct ah ... confrontations as those you mentioned."

Drawing back, and needlessly smoothing her dress, she nods and smiles to the warlord. "Thank you again both for your support and for your efforts towards helping me keep the peace here. One way or another, I'll see you later, boy. Best get moving now, or we'll both be late - and that just wouldn't do."

"True enough," he says with a snicker. "I'll be seeing you one way or another. I'll try to stop by later tonight once it's all wrapped up to.." he clears his throat, eyeing the two guards. "I'll be around."

Nathicana shoots him a knowing look. "Oh, I'm quite certain you will be," she says teasingly, not making any promises in the least. "Til later then, Alkanphel. And," she says with a sly wink, "happy hunting."

Inclining her head again the the Ctan Emperor, Agwene makes her way towards the new arrivals. The sidhe princess cannot help but look regal, even a little haughty for the tastes of some, despite the fact that she wears the garb of a slave girl, albeit one of a gaudy and decadent master. A grin slowly spreads across her face as she approaches the new arrivals, heading for the man in the white costume trimmed with gold. She gives him an elegant, complicated bow, the fluid motionally displaying her finely formed, youthful legs. Shining eyes gaze up at the man from beneath a mask, her face set in an infectious grin. "Oh, great lord, might this humble serving wench, perhaps beg of you a dance? The night is young and the festivities have only know begun to blossom. Of course, should m'lord be occuppied with the great ladies of the realm, it is not mine to bear complaint." She barely surpresses a giggle. There were masques at home but they were slightly different. Properly speaking, this was the first time Agwene had even pretended to be anything but an Imperial Highness and future Grand Duchess of the Empire.

The man smiled, though it couldn’t be seen behind his mask, his blue eyes sparkling with a definite … hunger as they traveled over her teasingly displayed form. “My dear lady,” he replied, voice smooth as silk, extending a hand to her with a graceful, if restrained bow due mostly in part to his costume. “I could hardly stand to have such a beauty as yourself beg for anything. I believe the so-called ‘great ladies’ of the realm, should any so desire my company, can wait while I turn my attention to this delicate, exotic flower. If it please mi’lady, would you join me in a dance? As you said, the night is young.”

Agwene slides her hand delicately into the man's. Smiling wryly she says, "Then I am at your disposal, lord." Her tone is just slightly mischievous, faux suggestive. However, there is something in her manner that makes quite clear than any innuendo is playful flirtation, nothing more. However bawdy the actions of her satyr advisors have been tonight, Agwene herself is a royal lady and, rather through training or blood, not given to such indiscretions, even as masques.

"You go have fun. I will remain here and maintain watch over the situation." The S.H.O.D.A.N. avatar looks over the crowd with a slightly pensive look. "This still seems quite risky. The security could--"

"Now, we don't have anything constructive to say about Dominion security, do we?" The other one chuckles softly from behind her mask, garment rustling softly with the motion. The kimono (http://home.att.ne.jp/alpha/Julie/kimono.jpg) she wears is an overall light blue with darker blue stripes, almost having an iridescent sheen to it but not quite glossy, with white stars and abstract waves looking like simplified curves from a Hiroshige woodcut. The obi--the wide belt over her chest--is a subdued egg blue, just slightly off white, with embossed white details in swirling patterns and a dark blue cord for contrast. All of her exposed skin above the neckline is coated in a thick white paste makeup, with red daubs on her lips and her thick black-dyed hair put up into an elaborate style (http://www.nihongo.d2g.com/recursos/fys/fotos/geisha.jpg), decorated with small devices of woven gold thread and flowers. Over her eyes she wears a mask (http://www.magictrick.com/assets/images/mask_1.jpg) in the shape of a butterfly, the eyeholes carefully cut to suggest the exaggerated slit-like lines of epicanthic folds as seen in medieval Japanese woodcuts. "Honestly, I rarely get to do things like this. I know how much you worry about my safety but stop being such a mother hen."

The humaniform S.H.O.D.A.N. avatar frowns. "All right, then."

"And mingle a little. It won't hurt--it's hardly like anyone is holding Allanea against you."

"Thanks." The avatar shakes its head. "Might as well... never hurts to practice."

They set off in different directions, the geisha towards the crowd in the Piazza, the avatar towards the ballroom.

The three she-devils smiled, their masks distorting horribly to match it, and the green glow seemed to pulse as they looked at each other silently, following curtsies in reply to the man’s bow. If one were especially acute in one’s hearing, and could understand electronic communications in raw form, one might pick up their hurried conversation.

We’re here to have fun, aren’t we?

Of course. You go have fun.

No, you go first. He talked to you.

But what about you two?

We’ll be here. We’re after all going to be around all night. I’m sure We’ll all get a chance.

Oh, alright.

It had been decided upon before hand, what they would call themselves, in case they needed some form of differentiation, other than their not quite the same heights, all within an a couple centimeters of each other, a difference only really noticeable when they stood next to each other.

As the tallest and the shortest looked on, the one middle in height leaned forward, and as she took the offered arm, her tail sneaked around and rubbed against the man’s leg. “I’d love to dance,” she murmured in a sweet soprano. She smiled again, the mask again distorting, though it had not made any attempt to follow her speech, before reverting to its static position as she spoke again. “And so you don’t get confused, Mister Smooth,” she points to the tallest of the three, “Alecto,” the shortest, “Tisiphone,” herself, “Megaera.” That horrible, yet strangely attractive smile, once more. “Just so you don’t get confused.”

It was unlikely that anyone with a decent education would not recognize the reference, and immediately pick up the fact that the names were false. But then, who knew about strange men in strange lands.

As the man led her away from the other two, she leaned into him slightly. “If we dance, you have to promise to dance with the others as well.” She looked up at him expectantly, the expression somehow accurately translated through the mask.

"Carried home? Sounds like a plan to me," says the Man in White, snatching back the jug and taking another drink. "What's that point of having minions and ships that fly themselves if you can't get smashed?"

"I suppose I'm elected to be the one who stays sober enough to call said minions," grumbles Tall, Dark, and Masked. "Don't overide your augments' autonomic settings this time. We've brought one gift for the Imperatrice, my shiny companion. I doubt she wants a load of vomit as well."

"Arrr, now thar be a scurvy tha' a' self-respectin' man like meself can......respec'." He nods towards "Man in White," and then steps back eyeing the crowd, taking another chug of grog. "Yarr, me believes it be time ta hav' a' spot-o-fun..nay?"

KarmaTheRed moves to the nearest table, and with his non-grog-holding hand, he sweeps the table of glasses and decorations in a loud crash. Stumbling to a seat, he puts his elbow down on the table, followed by the heavy thud of the tankard.

"So, which of you scabrous piles of sea barnacles is up fer a bout' o' arm-wrestlin'? Yarr, Fuzzy! Sit ye backside down an' fight like a man.....beast....like ye'v never fough' before!"

The wolfie finishes off the entire jug of rum and slams it down on the table. "Challenge accepted, blackguard." Sitting its massive form down on the bench, it leans over, alcohol on its breath as it slams one elbow down on the table, massive hand ready. "I will have you crying for your mother before the moon peaks in the sky."

The ninja looks up at the moon and estimates that the lycanthrope just gave itself about half an hour. "Wow. Never seen him this trashed. I call referee." Taking up another jug of rum, he takes a swig. "Okay. Texas Teahouse rules. No bloody dismemberments, crushings, or lacerations, but dislocations are acceptable. No dirty tricks that can't be explained off as drunken stupor. If it doesn't leave a permanent mark, feel free to go for it."

The walrus appeared quite amused at the upcoming armwrestling match. He signalled for Karlo to go fetch some more beer.

"I shall challenge the winner," he exclaimed.

"Oh, this should be interesting. Either that human is a good actor, or he's really as loaded as I believe." Phooush whistles appreciatively, as he eyeballs the newest arrivals descending the stairs.

"Agreed." Shaar takes another gulp of the rum. This lacks something....but what? Ah, yes. That familiar 'pick-me-up' of the homeland brew. She takes her sweet time with the drink, not sure how depressants would affect her. Suffice it to say, it'd be a bad thing if she lost control.

"Not to worry, Admiral. I got my eye on you. Just pace yourself and you'll be fine. The Major looks about the table as the the being in the wolf-like costume accepts the pirate's challenge.

Akhor tips his silver head to one side in obvious curiousity. "Thisss ought to be interessting. Were I to partake in the Gedri game called 'gambling', my khaadish would be on the wolf. Isss anyone going to plasse betsss on the match?"

"ARR, an excellen' idear! Place ye bets, one an' all!" He grabs the "wolf's paw" and plants his elbow firmly on the table. "You there! In tha' pajamas! Tell us when!" The pirate motions to the ninja with his grog.

"They're not pajamas, Stockings Boy," grumbles the ninja, who drowns his annoyance in another swig of rum. "Nowish would work."

"YARRR! Have at you, ye mangy mutt!" A fierce battle of arms ensues, with each contestant gaining ground, and each losing ground, while the pirate continues to drink his grog. The fight lasts several minutes, until the pirate begins to take the lead, and eventually, with a flourish, pounds his opponent's hand onto the table.

"An excellent fight! I'll jest be collectin' my winnins...."

The ninja looks down momentarily from chugging the rum. "What? I missed it... do over."

"What? Ye right bastar'!"

The wolf looks up to correct him, then gets paused by a shaken finger and a passable (if thick) Japanese accent. "No argument. Me judge. You prayer. You PRAY!"

"Damn ye scaly hide, pajamaman...uh...no offens' thar Mr Lizard. Well, a man mus' do' wha' he mus' to win the pot, no?"

The lines of battle are drawn again, as the struggle ensues. The pirate grunting against the strain as the wolf stares cooly back. The results this time change, with a loud thud, the pirate finds himself the lesser.

"Well fough' fuzzy! Guess tis' not me day!" Grog is chugged once again.

Once again, the ninja peers over the rim of the jug. His accent is getting progressively better. "Hory herr. I need to start paying attention. Pray barr!"

"For the love of..." The lycanthrope shakes its shaggy head.

"PRAY BARR!"

Tiredly, the combatants join again, but not without a seemingly ludicrous amount of winks, head gestures, and hand signals. As the ninja signals to start once again, it happens.

"AVAST, YE SCURVY DOG!"

The wolf and pirate jump up from the table, the former doing a passable impression of a professional tackle considering his drunken state, and the latter grabbing the discarded tablecloth on the floor. The ninja can be heard to exclaim "Chikushou!" as the shaggy beast knocks him down, followed by a quick "nan da kor’ ya?!" as the beastie removes some of of the rough hemp ropes from his shoulders, pinning the ninja with his knees and one free hand. As the lycanthrope holds the ninja down, the tablecloth is wrapped securely around him, and bound with the length of handy rope from the wolf's garments.

"Mission accomplished, matey! Now for part two!"

The "package" is hauled to his feet, and then thrown over the shoulder of the great beast. The pirate leads the way through the crowd, shouting at the top of his lungs, "ONWARD" or alternatively, "CLEAR THE PATH YE SEA DOGS!" A muffled voice is heard coming from inside the rolled tablecloth: "Nani yo?"

At last, the mismatched pair stumble to their objective: The fountain in front of the Doges Palace. The massive beast places the captive down on the rim of the fountain and removes the tablecloth.

"Ye hav' been foun' guilty o' Mutiny on tha' high'seas, ye tanked pajamaman! Thar be only one sentance fer crimes o' thi'sorder."

"Komatta na!" the ninja mumbles.

"Ye shall spend etern'ty wit Davey Jones and his Locker! Now walk tha' plank!" The final word emphasised with a healthy push in the right direction.

Akhor follows the procession with a bewildered expression evident despite the immobile silver faceplate. When the ninja is pitched into the fountain, he shakes his head, fwapping on forepaw over the green gem in his faceplate. "Kairtach Gedrishakrim!" The dragon's tone would imply that he just used a rather impressive oath. "Sssomeone fetch the chelan.... the wet Gedri issss going to need it!"

The ninja sputters, rolls, then sits up. "I was speaking Japanese, wasn't I?"

Meanwhile, the drunken lycanthrope staggers about the Piazza with the pirate, roaring a good old pirate ditty very much off key and very much loud.

"Fifteen men on a dead man's chest,
Yo ho ho and a bottle of rum!
Drink and the Devil had done for the rest
Yo ho ho and a bottle of rum!

"The mate was fixed by the bosun's pike,
The bosun brained with a marlinespike,
And Cooky's throat was marked belike:
It had been gripped by fingers ten,
And there they lay, all good dead men,
like break of day in a boozin' den,
Yo ho ho and a bottle of Rum!

"Fifteen men of the whole ship's list,
Yo ho ho and a bottle of rum!
Dean and bedamned, and the rest gone with,
Yo ho ho and a bottle of rum!

"The Captain lay with his knob in gore,
Where the scullion's axe his cheek had shorn,
The scullion, he'd been stabbed times four,
And there they lay, and soggy skies,
Dripped all day long into upstaring eyes,
At murk sunset and at foul sunrise,
Yo ho ho and a bottle of rum!

"Fifteen men all stiff and stark,
Yo ho ho and a bottle of rum!
Ten of the crew had the murder mark,
Yo ho ho and a bottle of rum!

"'Twas a cutlass swipe, or an ounce of lead,
Or a yawning hole in a battered head,
And the scuppers glut with rotting red,
And there they lay, oh damn me eyes,
All lookouts clapped on Paradise,
All souls gone just contrariwise,
Yo ho ho and a bottle of rum!"

The pirate picks up, helping the lycanthrope remember the words to his favorite song, and still very much off key.

Fifteen men, all good and true,
Yo ho ho and a bottle of rum!
Every man-jack could've sailed with Old Pew,
Yo ho ho and a bottle of rum!

There was chest on chest full of Spanish Gold,
With a ton of plate in the middle hold,
And the Cabins a riot of loot untold
And they lay there that had took the plumb,
With Sightless glare and their lips struck dumb,
While we shared all by the rule of thumb.
Yo ho ho and a bottle of Rum!

More was seen through the Stern Light screen,
Yo ho ho and a bottle of Rum!
Charting no doubt where a woman had been,
Yo ho ho and a bottle of Rum!

A flimsy shift on a bunker cot,
With a thin dirk slot in the bosom spot,
And the lace stiff dry in a purplish blot,
Or was she wench, some shuddering maid,
That dared the knife and took the blade,
BY GOD! She was stuck for a plucky jade,
Yo ho ho and a bottle of rum!

Fifteen men on a dead mans chest,
Yo ho ho and a bottle of Rum!
Drink and the devil had done for the rest,
Yo ho ho and a bottle of Rum!

We wrapped then all in a mainsail tight,
With twice ten turns of a hawser's bight,
And we heaved them over and out of sight,
With a "Yo heave ho!" and a "Fare thee well!"
And a sudden plunge in a sullen swell,
10 fathoms deep on the road to hell,

Yo ho ho and a bottle of Rum!

"Well shit, wish I would've gotten here sooner to place a bet." A female with long black hair, wearing a white military uniform and a silver mask (http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v479/SneakyB/Stuff/rau.jpg) walks over, a slight frown on her face as she watches the poor ninja be carried off. "Quite amusing though..."

"Oi, Major! There you are!" Asami walks up beside the Major and looks over to see what she was looking at. "So what'd I miss?"

"Armwrestling match then a ninja getting jumped by a wolfie and a pirate. I think they're gonna make him take a swim out in the fountain." Major Kojima replied as she starts to follow "Akhor" and the others out. "C'mon, we gotta see this."

Rebecca quirked an eyebrow, "The nobles? They don't let you go," she giggled, "au natural? Pity."

Marcus, for all his social stiffness, was quite graceful on his feet. While no Fred Astair, he was quite talented. A smile spread across his face, behind the mask, as the song ended and switched to a minuet. "Ah, this is a bit more like it." As they danced, he looked even more comfortable, as if he had been picked out of an 18th century court, sweeping Datima across the floor as the orchestra played.

Aleinna looked at Calabrese with wonder, knowing that a man with such attractive and exotic manners and appearance would be with no doubt required in many private chambers of more than one noble in the Aelosian court, either male or female. Thanks to my luck that I'm usually above those ties with fast and cheap pleasure, yet he is as attractive as a magnet, she thought as she raised an eyebrow at Calabrese, remembering the old lessons of etiquette that she took years ago during her brief yet compulsory courtier training.

"That would be so kind and gentle of you, Signore", the last word having a strange yet musical sound when it echoed out of the throat of the sindarin, foreign to the true accent of the meditarrean Dominion language. "I'll be delighted to have a few words with Her Highness Nathicana, former Dread Lady of the Dominion, and even as I know that she's quite occupied right now attending affairs far more important than to lose some of her precious time with a insignificant foreigner of a remote land like me, I can't deny how much pleasurable it would be to meet with your distinguished leader", the pompous and flamboyant words seeming so boring and ridiculous to her agile mind, yet the aelosian protocol was a byzantine and complex one, and she was obliged to follow it.

For sure he now thinks I'm a lowly sycophant or something, yet I hope he has the clear mind to see that those words are just protocol, and even as I admire Lady Nathicana's career, I know that the humans don't speak that way of each other unless they are expecting a favor or something, Aleinna said to herself, then turning again to Calabrese showing a sincere and honest smile upon her lips. "That means I would really apprecciate if you really can arrange that audience with the Empress, yes", she continued, now using her common and practical tone of voice.

"My name is Marquise Aleinna Cúthalion from the Sindarin Empire of Aelosia, Sire, a pleasure to meet such a delicate and gentle nobleman. But you can call me Aleinna, anyway, the heavier part of the protocol is already over", she finally said, hoping that he wouldn't think of her last words as a clumsy effort to emulate a human flirting, as they were just the intent of a noble woman trying to be friendly.

"WOOHOO! CANNONBALL!" With a large splash, White jumps into the fountain himself, too drunk to care that its shallow enough that he smacks into the bottom. Rubbing his armored rear, he gets up, shakes himself off, and takes off after the pirate and lycanthrope, trying his best to keep up with the song. While he's much more on key than the other two, but since he doesn't know the words all that well, at points he simple whistles along or inserts his own (usually lewd) lyrics.

Stalking along behind them with 'Akhor,' the other man groans. "Perhaps I should amend my previous statement. Someone has to stay sober to bail this group of morons out of jail."

A loud roaring is heard eminating from the open mouth of Shaar. "HRAAAAAAA HAR! Ah, that is fine! A drama wrapped in a neat package." She takes a swig of the rum, draining the contents of the mug, then turning it topside down for inspection. "Empty...hrrrrr. I assume that there were no bets covering the dunking of assassins, yes? Such as it is."

She dips her hand into the fountain and hoists the bound ninja out of the water before he finds himself in a state of real distress. "One would say 'That will teach you to not pay attention', but I won't be the one to say it." Her claws slice open the ropes, leaving the ninja to free himself from the rest of the wrapping.

"A fine tune they sing there. Perhaps it should be the I.S.N. cadence?" Phooush cocks his head at the retreating procession, focusing an ear in that direction.

"Perhaps. It would be interesting to incorporate some maritime ditty's from other cultures." Shaar looks around at the scene the 'event' had caused. "Such raucousness around such distinguished peoples. Certainly breaks up the stiffness, yes?"

Cheops swats her lightly on the rump. "No, no, no, just you would have to be clothed. You're an ambassador and hardly a satyr. My people rarely wear much of anything."

Datima smiles a little. "Your very elegant, good sir." For her part, she does execute the dancing moves with perfect precision, smiling all the while.

Inferno:

Being addressed so fluently by the giant ant has the last man nearly as shocked as the sight of his incapacitated accomplices. He nods stupidly, stammering for a moment before getting someone else to go tag the barman for a quick call for an ambulance – if one isn’t already on the way. He kneels down and tries to help apply pressure to the one with the gut wound while another runs to fetch some ice.

Those in the vicinity of the quick, bloody fight involving the panNorm have decidedly mixed reactions. Some scream or yell, generally adding to the overall chaos. Others try to get a better look. Most give the red insectoid a wide berth, regardless. Those not having witnessed the carnage are not so fortunate, paying no heed to their dangerous situation, and wading right in when they feel challenged.

The rest of the place remains in a state of chaos. Off in the distance, unheard by those inside due to the noise levels, sirens wind up, with a squad each from the two nearest hubs, and whichever patrols are closest to the area.

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

Dream – Agwene:

The man in white smiles knowingly, having heard this tone before. A tease, is she? A challenge, then.

He’s one used to getting his way, eventually, and he sees at this time, no reason to think this situation to be any different. After all, she did (in his mind) come on rather strong, sending out some fairly clear signals, regardless of the fact they had become slightly mixed. Patience being a virtue – and one that often had a great payoff – he leads Agwene to the dance floor with a stately grace, bowing to her again once they take up position, then allowing her to settle in to a position she finds comfortable, holding himself politely at the ready til she is ready, then taking the lead with a practiced air, guiding her around the dance floor.

“So glad to hear that, my Lady. Consider me, for now, at yours.”

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

FSP – The ‘Furies’:

His hearing being no better than any other human, the man missed the quiet exchange entirely, though he didn’t miss the looks exchanged. He felt a shiver of anticipation roll through him at the touch of her tail, again making several guesses at to the women behind the high-tech costumes. He was tempted to get hold of security to make some inquiries, but only a little. The fun after all, was in the wondering and play between now and the unmasking. He could wait, and in the meantime it seemed, he had three lovely ladies with whom to spend some time.

All in all, a most excellent arrangement in his mind.

“Mister Smooth, is it?” he says with a chuckle, bowing again in acknowledgement, adding in a small flourish of his cape. He paused a few steps away from the others, making a welcoming gesture at her statement. “Please, by all means, if you would all three accompany me to the ballroom, I would consider myself the luckiest man at the party to have three such beautiful and exotic dance partners. We’ve the rest of the night ahead of us to make merry and cause the whole roomful of revelers to turn green with envy at our enjoyment. What say you, ladies? The drinks are, of course, on me.”

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

Near the drink table & arm wrestling fiasco:

Il dio, the antics these young folks do get into … though so help me, the Ninja at least is old enough to know better. The man shakes his head slightly, chuckling to himself between sips of bourbon, letting the alcohol warm him from the inside out. As the prospect of arm wrestling goes from suggestion to reality, he watches first with mild amusement, then slight alarm, and finally, full-blown belly laughs, not at all in keeping with his costume’s grand demeanor. He chooses to keep his position however, letting the scoundrels carry off their bound companion, still laughing heartily, and doing his best not to loose his balance in the process – crashing into sentient walruses, rather intimidating dragons, and large Sakkrans after all, did not seen conducive to continued good health.

The tall woman in velvet and tulle catches sight of the commotion at the first crash of glassware, her instincts immediately preparing her for trouble. She makes her way closer, but keeps her distance from the group, watching with concern at first, then amusement. She reflexively puts a hand to her masked lips to stifle a broad grin no one can see anyway, and trails along at a distance, looking mildly worried as their destination becomes clear. Her shoulders shake with silent laughter as the scene unfolds, and she can’t help but wonder what the ninja has been saying. All the same, she keeps herself in the background, stepping deftly out of the way as the large grey beast and pirate lead the way back through the Piazza, belting out their song with any who choose to join in.

"Perhaps I should amend my previous statement. Someone has to stay sober to bail this morons out of jail," she hears a man dressed as what could only be Tall Dark and Evil himself mutter, and at this, she does finally burst out in a laugh, thinking to herself that it’d serve them all right.

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

Aelosia – Aleinna, fluid time:

Calabrese wondered for a moment what he might have done wrong, mistaking her look at first for something else. His concern faded soon after at her graceful acceptance, and he smiled warmly, inclining his head in a small bow.

“My Lady, I am certain she would be most pleased to take the time to see you,” he assures her, then continues in a dry tone. “Though I believe she will always be the Dread Lady, she isn’t nearly so ‘dreadful’ in person as one might imagine.”

Upon hearing her introduction, he bows again. “My pleasure, I assure you. And please, there is no need for such titles with myself, Marchesa. ‘Cesare’ more than suffices, and if you feel the need for more formality, simply ‘Chancellor’ will do.” He pauses, speaking quietly into the small headset, then listening for confirmation, nodding, then smiling.

“Right through the main doors of the building behind me, turn right, second door on your left. It would see your timing is impeccable. Buona serra, mia bella Marchesa. I look forward to seeing you again, later.”

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

Security, meanwhile, was on high alert – even moreso than they had earlier in the evening. Another thirty had been brought in as the night progressed and the alcohol began taking affect. In some more than others, it seemed.

“Bloody hell, there goes the glasswear …”

“Aye, but you knew it was bound to happen eventually.”

”Don’t be such a stiff. They’re obviously enjoying themselves, and no one seems offended by it.”

”No, but if things go swirly with that group, there’s going to be hell to pay. Keep it sharp, folks.”

”No shit. Those three all have various red codes. If it goes sour …”

”Heads up – they’re on the move.”

”Destination?

”The Palazzo, it seems. Making quite a scene.

”Great! Yeah … yeah, check that feed. Great shot there.

”What is this, amateur photography? Cut the critique and keep an eye on what the hell they’re –“

Laughter erupts over the lines as the ninja gets unceremoniously dumped in the fountain, increasing as the pseudo-Elven Lord joins him.

”You got all that, yes? Tell me you got all that.”

”Oh, we got it. Clear as day. A little cleaning up, and it’ll make a fine ‘present’ for later. Oh that was rich.”

”All little chicks accounted for and in good company?”

”Every one of them still in the nest. All safe and secure.”

Agwene allows the man in white to lead her. She moves with a natural grace that she simply cannot hide. She returns his bow with one of her own, falling into a proper position almost immediately and moving with fluid grace, allowing him to lead. "That is an unusual position for a slavegirl to find herself in, m'lord." She smiles softly as she looks up at him.

The man chuckles softly, his eyes flickering from her to their surroundings, keeping them from any unfortunate collisions with the other dancers. While he cannot match her natural grace, he seems a skilled dancer in his own right, moving about the floor with that same hint of arrogance that simply seems to be a part of him.

“My dear, this is a Masquerade, and here, few are as they seem, and little is to be taken for granted. On a night like this they say, anything is possible.” He gently dips her back at an appropriate point in the music, taking the opportunity to examine her more closely, that same subtle yet hungry light still showing in his blue eyes. “I hope the … position is not undesireable?” he says, lifting her back to an upright position and continuing on with the dance.

Those in the vicinity of the quick, bloody fight involving the panNorm have decidedly mixed reactions. Some scream or yell, generally adding to the overall chaos. Others try to get a better look. Most give the red insectoid a wide berth, regardless. Those not having witnessed the carnage are not so fortunate, paying no heed to their dangerous situation, and wading right in when they feel challenged.
Those are the ones who get a massive, bony fist to the face. One unlucky soul gets grabbed by the shoulders, picked up, and headbutted once before being discarded over the Soldier's shoulder. On the other hand, after the excitement and action of the last altercation, all of these minor incidents are almost anticlimactic. Her born-and-bred battlelust sated, the Red moves over to join the bouncers and assist them in tossing people towards the doors, breaking up fights around her with as much violence as necessary, usually consisting grabbing the two, knocking them together, and throwing them back towards the doors.

Inferno
Wallace grimaces as the other young man jumps him from behind. He shifts back on his heels slightly and pushes off of the table (and Jason's head). He throws himself, and the hanger on backwards towards the wall, while throwing his head back (hoping to catch the kid in the jaw).

Most of the gunnery crew goes to work at the same time. One of them jumping Jason, miscalculates his path and gets kicked squarely in the stomach, stumbling backwards. He does manage to grab Jason's foot, and proceeds to try to drag him off the table as he falls back. Another two lunge for Jake, only to miss as Wallace jumps backwards. They simply turn however and follow, ready to pry the student from Wallace's back (if he's not already out).

Other crew-members simply pick a person nearby and have at it, the prevailing logic being that some of them have to be Jason's accomplices.

The last member of the crew stumbling from the bathroom, having recently worshipped the porcelin god, is too drunk too effectively make it back through the crowd, let alone notice his comrades fighting. Instead the lone member stares in awe as a giant ant dismembers people. He manages to sit, drinking someone elses drink, and proceeds to watch the proceedings with nary a care in the world.

Agwene smiles as he speaks. "So it is. So it is. Though, the presence of a satyr or two could do no harm." As he dips her, his examination can produce little but pleasing results. Her body is athletic yet feminine, delicate, yet powerful, formed, quite literally, from the unattainable aspirations of human women. She smiles coyly as she's dipped. "The position has its charm, certainly."

Dante’s Inferno

Jason passed out as his head hit the ground, whether from the impact or the drink, it was not entirely clear. Jake, on the other hand, had absorbed the reverse head butt with his cheek. Painfully. In fact, his head snapped back even so, and he started to lose his grip, but the advantage to being drunk was that the pain did not last more than an instant, and as he fell he grabbed for something else, his hand closing on the only thing it could find. Wallace’s nose.

Meanwhile, lower down, his legs were trying to wrap around Wallace’s to trip him, but self defense class, even if he had not been drunk, had never been his strongest area.

One of the male students found himself suddenly unconscious, as bouncing off a large insert like creature is wont to do, especially when it proceeds to club you to the floor. Other students were piling into the other members of Wallace’s crew, usually two at a time, one leaping for a take down, the other attempting the follow through.

The Piazza and The Ballroom

The Fury attached to the man’s arm turned to her friends, and beckoned them with a soft motion of her hand, and the other two started forward, both wearing those horrible, mask distorted grins. Alecto’s tail slithered with enough pressure to be felt through the many layers as it passed along the man’s back as she took his other arm, Tisiphone linking her arm through Alecto’s unattached one.

“Yes, do let us go inside,” came the response, but from which of the three, it was not, and perhaps never would be, entirely clear.

Mister Smooth indeed, Megaera. What were you thinking?

I’m thinking I wanna have a good time tonight.

How late tonight?

Late morning.

<Laughter>

This guy’s got to be older than all three of us.

Yeah, physically, I’m even younger than you two.

So, even if this guy is older than your brother, that doesn’t mean there aren’t other guys out there too.

True, true.

Well, Megaera, you get the first dance with him. See if he’s got enough energy for all three of us.

<Grin> Will do.

* * * * *

Ares looked down at Athena, and as he did so, his mask distorted in a smile as well, as he guided her into the ballroom. “I’m partial for getting a drink. This costume is a bit warm.”

His partner giggled. “How could it be, you’re hardly wearing anything?”

He frown, that expression also translated by the mask. “Well, maybe it’s embarrassment.”

“Don’t worry, no one knows it’s you.”

“Right. I still want that drink.”

“And I want to dance,” she replied, tugging on his arm. She loved to dance, and the man dressed as the God of War, well, he was not exactly in favor of the exercise. Except when with the woman he loved, but even then, it was a strain sometimes, despite being quite adept at it.

But this time, as usual, they danced, because he wanted to make her happy. She knew he hated dancing, and would not pressure him overly much. Besides, there were plenty of other people here, and it appeared, plenty of unattached men, whom she might later dance with, and spare him a dance or two.

The S.H.O.D.A.N. avatar walks up beside the silver-masked Major. "Interesting display, is it not? Sometimes I have to wonder if my allies are mildly rampant."

Meanwhile, the lady of the arts explores the crowd, simply taking in the feel of the interactions around her. It appears that the groups have formed and the revelry is reaching its height; all that remains now is to either find an opening or just enjoy the quiet observation.

Rebecca laughed, levelling a teasing glare at Cheops, "You, sir, are incorrigable. But, we should head to this party right now. After all, I'd hate to miss the unmasking."

Marcus bowed slightly as the song ended, "Why thank you. It has become something of a hobby of mine." He smiled, "You are quite graceful as well, it is a pleasure to dance with you."

Cheops laughs. "The problem, madame, is merely that you are far to gloriously beautiful for your own good. Shall we?" He offers an arm.

Datima laughs a little. "Thank you. Were you planning on going to the ball proper?"

Major Kojima turns to the Shodey avatar and smiles a little. "Oh, it definitely is interesting indeed. And I don't think you're the only one here who wonders if they're mildly rampant."

Asami shakes her head a little as she continues to watch the group in the fountain. "Crazy. Looks like fun though."

Rebecca blushed slightly, "Why thank you." She sliped arm through his and let him lead the way.

Marcus smiled, "Whichever you wish." He glanced down at himself, "Might be an idea, however, as I am dressed for it."

Cheops walks Rebecca to the ball, entering with the diplomat. The satyr wears a plain white mask and, in typical satyr style, nothing else.

Datima smiles, guiding Marcus to the ballroom. She enters, dressed the same as Cheops and waves idly to the crowd.

By the Fountain

The avatar nods. "I do suppose that is the point, but one knows there will be consequences for this. I simply wonder if this is the sort of image we wish to portray to others."

The Ballroom

Following the general motion of the crowd, the geisha enters the ballroom and surveys the area with quick glances of gently green-glowing eyes. Getting everyone in place, I see, but still time for a bit of fun.

The ninja thanks the Fire Salamander with a short bow, completely sobered by a combination of the water and an unfortunate but generally useful quality of his past. Damn, I was looking forward to enjoying that. Oh well. Catching up with the lycanthrope and the pirate is a relatively easy task, as their drunken singing is quite a bit over ambient noise levels and thus immediately traceable... not to mention that even if surrounded by flamboyant Carnivale costumes, a two and a half meter tall wolf-thing is still going to stand out... and it does, tail swishing back and forth erratically.

"Nice pounce, Fuzzy." The ninja smirks under his damp face-scarf.

"Hrrr... it was, I believe, it was." The wolfie nods.

"Anyway," the man continues, working through all the disadvantages of alcohol with none of the benefits, "I think it's time we head on over to the ballroom. Seems to be where the party's going."

"I never was any good at dancing," the beast replies sullenly.

"Fine, then wallflower it or somethin. Either way, we may as well stick around for the unmasking then book it before we get put in the clink for disorderly conduct."

"Image? I suppose the general drunken antics could be looked down upon by some people. On the other hand, they're not actually hurting anyone or causing property damage," rumbles Only Looks Like A Dark Lord to SHODAN. "It could easily be seen other ways. It demonstrates that our leaders are capable of having a fun time, unlike some people we know, and that even when completely smashed they still retain the self-control not to go around making trouble. If a few old farts want to be offended by the fact that they're got the maturity to realise they can still have a good time, who cares? Now, if you'll give me a moment, I've got to retrieve my ylfish friend."

The black-armored man gently pulls the white one over. "Ok, now. Its looks like the dance is going to start soon, and we need to be sober enough to do it without falling over on out feet. Now, I want you to turn on the blood filters in your implants, ok?"

"Aww, I don't wanna. Why can't we do other things? Like, for example-"

Before he can finish his line, the Lord of Sobriety calmly picks him up and shoves his head underwater. "One, two, three." He jerks him back up. "Now, you can either use the implants, or get another bath."

"But-" Splash. "If you don't fu-" Splash. "Ok, ok, I give!"

"You see, Lady SHODAN? I've just shown the other guests that the Triumvirate is full of excellent negotiatora as well as partiers."

"Make friends with Queen Eleanor, m'lord."

The Maia furrows a brow. Being wildly uninformed about her nation's politics, he grasped for another question. "And just why is this necessary?" He asks simply, scanning her with a smirk.

Maile frowns a little. "Do you not like having friends in the world, m'lord?"

"Interestingly enough, I have never been made too privvy to this from my mentor..." The avatar pauses a moment in thought, then raises an eyebrow at the 'negotiation' in an exaggerated gesture. "I certainly would not argue against the use of applied violence as a negotiation tool, given my experience in using it and the purpose of my construction..."

Inferno:

Much of the fighting has slowed due to many of the combatants either having been incapacitated or just plain worn out from it all. The scene that started it seems to still be in full swing – not surprising, given the backgrounds of those involved. Gina gets roughly pushed out of the way by some brawler or other, though whether native or foreigner, she doesn’t see. The frantic barman has by now pushed his way through the crowd, and grabs her around the waist, wrenching the knife from her weak grip. He then bodily hauls her off to a more safe location back behind the bar, muttering and cursing about ‘damn women’ while she hurls threats and a stream of colorful curses at him.

The bouncers, having not witnessed the rather impressive display by the large red insectoid at first, almost mistake her efforts. When it becomes clear she’s assisting, and not adding to the chaos, they shrug and leave her to it – one less hassle to deal with, a bit of help, and … none of them particularly cares to tussle upon seeing how easily she handles the troublemakers.

Those near the door who are capable of moving about without too much difficulty start scrambling away from them yelling about ‘soldati’ and ‘polizia’ as they catch the muffled sounds of sirens closing in. As the word spreads, more chaos kicks in as many try to escape to the other levels, going so far as to try and climb up or down over the railings, hoping to blend in with the non-combatants.

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

Dream – Agwene:


“Not nearly so charming as the way you dance, my pretty,” the white-garbed man says, leading her into a gentle turn and flourish, then bringing her back in close again. “Ah! It would seem the satyrs you mentioned have arrived – as if they were summoned, even. Countrymen of yours, I take it?” he asks smoothly. The music reaches its conclusion, and he bows politely to her – as much as his attire allows – and awaits her response as the orchestra takes a moment to retune their instruments, and give the revelers a short reprieve.

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

FSP – The ‘Furies’:

Still blissfully unaware, yet somewhat nervous about the laughter, and taken aback slightly at their boldness (which in truth, he found rather appealing), ‘Mister Smooth’ leads the ladies off towards the ballroom. As they pass various partygoers, some making a bit more free as the night progresses, he arches a brow and guides them deftly out of the way of a couple of marauding revelers, singing loud and horribly off-key. “Che cosa?” he murmurs, watching the very large, intimidating wolf-thing and huge brawny pirate carouse their way through the Piazza. “I’faith, we’ve brought all sorts out of the woodwork tonight, have we not? It’s good to see everyone seeming to enjoy themselves. ‘Tis the night for it, after all.”

Upon reaching the ballroom, he escorts them all inside, taking in the view with a smile. No few heads turn, always interested in newcomers, guesses and often, wagers being placed as to identities. “My ladies,” he says, gently disengaging himself and bringing each one’s hand gently in turn to the lips of his mask, dark eyes twinkling with mischief. “I shall return anon, after that is, I dance with the lovely Megeara, if she will still accompany me?” He gestures grandly to the dance floor, gallantly holding out his arm to the devil woman, and winking.

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

Zero-One:

Catching sight of the graceful geisha, the man dressed as the devil, complete with leering mask, makes his way over to her, striding confidently through the crowd. He bows low, sweeping both arms out, one with a flourish of his grotesque cane, then rights himself, casually flipping back his cloak, setting the tip of his cane back down with a sharp ‘click’. “Konbanwa, my Lady,” he says, extending his hand in invitation, though not taking any liberties as yet. “Hajimemashite, watashi wa … Akuma – dozo yoroshiku.” He winks slyly, then continues. “And now that I have nearly tapped my limited knowledge of the language, if I may be so bold as to request the honor of your company? I was just about to pause for some refreshment.”

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

Near the Fountain:

The woman hanging back at the edge of things watches the hilarity continue, smiling broadly behind her mask, and listening intently to the snippets of conversation – some comments bringing a quiet laugh now and then. She arches a brow curiously, though none can see it, at the discussion between the SHODAN avatar and the oddly-paired gentlemen, again putting a hand to her lips at how those two carry on. Deciding it’s best if she gets moving again, she glides off towards the Piazza again with a slow, stately sway, her feet hidden under the long skirt that manages to both hug her hips and upper thighs while not tangling ‘round her legs.

Il dio, what allies we do have, she can’t help but think, chuckling softly and shaking her head as she catches sight of the raucous trio across the way. I’m glad they’re enjoying themselves. Well, at least for the most part.

She wends her way through the crowd, taking her time, ‘til she finally reaches the ballroom as well, stepping inside quietly, not wishing to draw any more attention to herself than need be.

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

The Ballroom:

The music plays on, and the drink continues to flow as needed. Time passes for some more swiftly than others, many of the natives in attendance enjoying the experience to its fullest, trying to draw out their time as long as they can. As the hours pass, the time for unmasking draws nearer, and the place is once again abuzz with speculation, and wagers, and in some cases, hopes.

Several others who had been out and about also make their way here, whether to dance or to drink, or to quietly converse with others seems to make no difference to them. They all seem to enjoy themselves, regardless.

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

Elsewhere in the City:

Depending on where one is at, the spirit of the place ebbs and flows between innocently joyous, to brash and bawdy, to quiet contentment, and quite simply, lustful abandon. Inhibitions in some places have been utterly abandoned. Indeed, no few of the local Pagan faiths have been celebrating in their own fashion for a good part of the night. It would seem that the usual unspoken taboo of public decency is not one that many choose to observe tonight, and for once, so long as there is no undue violence at hand, the soldati let it all pass without incident.

In the areas where the drink and hormone levels have taken a turn for the worse, brawls and dangerous situations are brought to a frighteningly quick stop – where they are found and can be reached, of course. Use of stunners is liberal, and in many cases, without warning. Large black vans are packed full of troublemakers and hauled off to holding cells to sober up. Those in need of treatment for more than bumps, bruises and minor scratches are provided for. Efficiency is their goal, and they accomplish it, in most situations, well.

"Akhor" shakes his silver head at the antics. "Gedri haf their ssstrange interestsss." One might note that throughout the evening, the silver beast has been sipping at some sort of drink, though he's careful to keep the identity of the thing obscured.

The drake surveys the room briefly and spots someone he obviously recognizes, as he quickly looks in another direction with a half-audible murmur of "Rakshadah... pheh."

Agwene smirks ever so faintly. "On que, perhaps. It does seem that they have yet to grasp that a masque does not mean to wear -only- a mask. Nonetheless, we all must follow our natures, mustn't we?" She returns his bow. "But yes, countrymen of mine."

Laughing softly, the man offers Agwene his arm, gesturing towards the refreshment table nearest them. “Perhaps some refreshment, my lady? Or would you prefer another dance? And yes, they do seem to be ah … rather enjoying their freedom there. I doubt many are offended, all things considered. And those who are, well … we needn’t bother about them. As you said, giving heed to our natures can be a good thing. So tell me, my lady … what of your ‘nature’? And do you also intend to follow it?”

Agwene gives the man her arm, walking with him. "Some refreshments, then another dance." She smirks ever so faintly. "My nature is...rather different. Though I can do no other than follow it, lord."

Ballroom

The geisha bows shortly, slowly, with a mysterious smile on her deep crimson lips. "なぜ、こんばんは、悪魔。有望に、Disの都市の自分の特別の割れ目の中でうまくやっています?" The smile grows slightly, curling up a bit at the ends mischievously. "My apologies, good oni--I simply inquired as to the weather in Dis." She accepts the hand with ladylike gingerness and propriety. "As a lady of the arts, I commune with the muses and spirits, but this would be my first parlay with a devil. Interesting where one's life takes one, isn't it?

Near the Fountain

The S.H.O.D.A.N. avatar first looks over its shoulder, having thought it heard some laughter, then watches the general migration towards the ballroom. "I suppose we should follow the general pattern of the crowd and move in to the ballroom?"

The Red grabs some people to escape, tossing them over to the bouncers and towards the doors until she hears the cries that generally translate to "It's the fuzz! Cheese it!" With the realization that local authority is about to take command, she demurely picks a nice spot on the ground and settles down, folding her legs under her and waiting for the police to take control and rightfully coordinate the situation as is their function.

Sitting there, clicking happily to herself, she looks like the very image of (insectoid) peace in the middle of the crowd, switching to more judo-esque tactics when people stumble over or past her, just assisting them along in their paths with a bit more encouragement than they were prepared for. The blood on her mandibles and spattered here and there on her carapace blends in, although as it dries it forms matte spots on her otherwise shiny plates.

Major Kojima turns her head towards the ballroom and nods. "Yeah. Now that the fun out here has died off, its time to enjoy some of the fun in there! I wonder if they have any sake..." The Major turns and starts to head off at a slightly fast pace to the ballroom, glancing around and checking out some of the other costumes as she walks.

"Hmm, some sake sounds nice right now. Hey, Ayane! Wait up! What's the rush?" Asami shouts as she jogs to catch up with the Major. "Wow, you must be dying for some sake if you're in such a hurry."

Following the crowd back to the ballroom, Phooush nudges Shaar in her arm. "Quite a spectacle. I'm sure it will be reported to triumvirate authorities in some capacity."

"Doubtless. But I have the suspicion nothing in the form of reprimands will occur. A bit of tomfoolery is allowed, after all." She paces her walk slowly, as to not step on the heels of the beings ahead of her.

The ballroom is entered, where everything is in full swing. Drinks are obtained, and the pair watch the dancers from the sidelines of the dance-floor. "Almost like the mate rituals, yes?"

"Quite. But as you can see, contact of a propositioning nature is minimal. Very interesting to see a dance performed for the sake of it." Phooush cranes his neck forward a bit to get a view of all the dancers on the floor. "Perhaps we should inquire the Emperor to begin a function such as this in the Empire? It seems our allies enjoy it quite a bit, and we wouldn't want to appear to be the 'wet blanket' of the Trium."

"I'll breach the subject with him, but with the mood he's been displaying, expectations point to the negative." Shaar sips at her beverage, while using one eye to scan the rest of the observers.

Dream – Agwene:

“Different, you say?” the man in white replies, grinning wryly behind his emotionless mask. “We are all of us ‘different’, my lady. And though following our natures is a good thing, we do of course, always have choice.” As they come up to the drinks table, he gestures with his free hand. “For now however, the choice is what to partake of. Please, my dear. Anything at all. I’ll take a glass of Chianti myself, if you please,” he finishes, the latter directed to the man dressed in the same black pants, white shirt, and rich red brocade vest as the servers outside.

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

Zero-One:

The Devil tilts his head to one side slightly in a curious expression, his pleasant smile hidden behind the lascivious one of his mask, holding her hand with a courtesy that belies his appearance. “Despite rumor to the contrary, gracious lady, my home is a veritable paradise, I assure you. Being accustomed as you say to muses and spirits, I cannot help but think you would find yourself quite at home there. Nowhere else I’ve seen of late seems a better place for such beings to reside, in spite of our intrusions.” He leads her slowly towards the nearest refreshments, taking care not to rush her steps, and occasionally looking over at her approvingly.

“Live can indeed take interesting turns,” he admits thoughtfully. “Thus far I can scarce complain, all things considered. Still, the Devil in appearance, or the Devil in truth? I suppose that is for you to decide, no? Perhaps these spirits of yours will assist your divinations?” Upon reaching the table, he tries to get the attention of the server, signaling him to wait once he has it.

“And what could I offer you, my dear lady?”

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

Sakkra:

The couple in veiled white gather their two little ones who have been running up and down the stairs at the far end with youthful exuberance, and slowly make their way towards the Admiral and her companion. Once a respectable distance, the gentleman bows, the lady makes a graceful curtsey, and the two boys … look up at the Sakkrans with wide-eyed fascination, clinging to their mother’s skirts, and quiet at last.

“Well met, honorable allies,” the man says in a clear yet quieter tone. “I hope the festivities agree with you – realizing that for us, the dance means somewhat different things than it traditionally does for you, so I’m told. I hope you do not plan to leave immediately after. It has been a rare honor to host your fine people.”

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

In one of the private boxes overlooking the ballroom …

“You are incorrigible!” whispers the woman who’s costume of green leaves and peacock feathers has been somewhat disturbed by her partner’s actions. Masks have already been tossed aside so as to better facilitate certain activities.

“Oh I am indeed, pretty,” he murmurs between hungry kisses, his hands growing bolder. “As irresistible as you are tonight, how could I be any other way, hmm?”

“Bah. You’re usually this way. Remember just last week in your office—“ she begins, only to gasp, then sigh softly, abandoning the conversation to more immediate concerns.

Agwene smirks ever so faintly. "Perhaps there is some truth to your words, master. But you do not quite understand myself or my country. It is rather...different." She looks up. "I will have a mimosa."

Shaar looks at the man and his escort, along with their two youngsters with her orang-yellow eyes. Slit irises dilate slightly as she focuses on each in turn. She then offers a bow, as much as could be seen underneath the crimson fabric.

"Good cycle to you, gentle-beings. My escort and I both find this ritual fascinating in its purpose." A scaley hand indicates the Najor by her side, who also bows. "A celebratory dance. Strange to us, but quite interesting to note the movements and timing. Almost a language in its own right." Her head inclines towards the dance-floor. "But yes, we will remain afterwards. It is a fine night, and I have been needing to be away from my duties for some time."

Phooush takes a step forward, and inclines his head to the Lady. Mental speech is heard, sounding musical and feminine, yet strong and firm at the same time. "My Lady, I would present you and yours with a gift from the Empire."

His irisdescent scaled hand comes free from the cloth of his costume, bearing a small square platinum-colored chit with two jeweled buttons. "To your people, it would be called a Travel Video. It contains holographic displays of the wilderness of foreign worlds, as well as the sounds of those areas. I use them in my meditations. It may bring you mental peace during moments of quiet reflection..." He then bobs his head in the direction of the clutching children. "...when you can grab them."

"Well then, my lady, perhaps you would care to enlighten me? I'm afraid my knowledge of who's who here falls far short of what I might wish it to," the man says, waiting patiently for the server to prepare their drinks, then accepting them both, handing hers to her with a polite nod before lifting just the bottom of his mask to sip slowly.

Dancing with the Devil
"Oh, I've visited," says the woman from behind the red wings of her mask, matching the deep crimson of her lips, "but I found it somewhat less than my liking. I find myself far more content with the company of the virtuous pagans than that of the violent, the fraudulent, and the traitors... but Dis is a large town and I'm sure you're quite a ways from the downtown urban blight." She barely grins just for an instant, one corner of her mouth turned up slyly.

"It has been my experience," the geisha continues in her low yet quite feminine voice, "that everyone has a bit of oni in them." She smiles slyly. "Whether that bit needs to wax or wane depends on the needs of the times and the thoughts of the individual." She watches his attempts to gather refreshments with a continuously sly half-smile. "When in Rome, or in Devras... I am here to experience new things, after all, and if I simply stay with what I know..."

Milling with the Major
The S.H.O.D.A.N. avatar follows behind, tapping its chin in thought. "I have never had sake before. If we find any, I am sure you could point us to good brand? Assuming there is a choice, of course."

Agwene laughs lightly. "I suppose I could enlighten you but that would not quite b in tune with the spirit of the masque. Perhaps we can discuss such matters after the unmasking later tonight, hmm?" She takes her drink from him, raising her pinky and taking a delicate sip.

Akhor tags along after the avatar and the Major, discreetly sipping at his beverage. "I hwould not know persssonally, but I am told sssake from Aquamarine isss among the besst in the hworld. Sssertainly a lady sssuch assss our hossst hwould haf the meansss to obtain it for the ssselebration?"

Someone (http://alteka.nothsa.com/media/mecha_images/dolores/sketches.htm)... it's hard to tell exactly if it's a male or a female due to the... costume... sweeps into the room. The costume is largely colored in hues of very feminine pink and lavender, with green gems, and the shape of the head armor would imply long, feminine hair and slender, delicate features.

On the other hand, the mecha costume's cockpit is... of an extremely questionable shape and size, taking to term "codpiece" to a whole new, and VERY wrong level.

"Teehee! I wonder where my destined one is?" The mecha giggles girlishly as it twirls about, swishing imaginary skirts. The tone might remind someone of a stereotypical 'dumb blonde'. "Whoosh!"

“To those well-practiced in the art, it can be indeed,” the man admits, concerning the dance. “I’m glad to hear you’ll stay. You will of course let the staff, or once unmasked, one of the officials know if there is anything you require, yes?”

The lady, meanwhile, blinks in confusion, looking first to Phooush, then to her husband, and back again before quietly stammering her thanks, at first going on in her native tongue until she stops, and begins again in a more controlled manner, her husband placing a hand on her shoulder reassuringly. “I thank you, my lord. Such a gift, and for me, I … Grazie. Bene grazie,” she says with another graceful curtsey, blushing furiously behind her mask. She accepts the small piece of technology with care, looking again to Phooush as she gently wraps her gloved hand around it. “I fear I’ve nothing to offer in return, save perhaps this.”

The woman slips the device into a drawstring purse at her waist, handing her mirror to her husband, then reaching back behind her neck to unfasten one of the three strands of pearls she wears. She refastens the clasp, and coils the strand in her cupped hand, offering it to him with a smile that unfortunately cannot be seen behind the mask. “They’re natural,” she explains. “Harvested a ways south of our nation, or so I’m lead to believe. It isn’t much, but perhaps at least a token between allies. While I have never meditated, I have found their smoothness soothing, running them through my fingers or counting them off one by one. Perhaps they could be of some use in such a capacity?”

Their boys, in the meantime, continue to examine the rather impressive Sakkrans from behind their mother’s skirts, occasionally leaning back behind to exchange meaningful looks, or quickly-whispered words of awe, especially at the presentation of the new ‘toy’, as they see it. A plot is soon hatched to get a good look at those pictures themselves, preferably out of the view of parents.

"Ooooh, Aquamarine sake... I've never had that kind. Being so close to the Shogunate, you'd think we would've obtained some back home." The Major turns her head slightly towards the avatar as she walks along. "If it is as good as he says it is then we'll definitely have to try some of it. Lets see if we can find some, shall we?"

Maile watches him, studying his response. "Well, you get all the advantages of any alliance, for one, as long as she doesn't have to openly fight the High Queen, which would violate oaths. Queen Eleanor does rule 100 million subjects. Now, that's a lot fewer than High Queen Corrina rules and I know it's tiny compared to your lands but what she wants is fairly minor as well, international recognition without having to go through Corrina, a purely diplomatic, meaning absolutely no military commitment, recognition of her sovereignty should she ever have cause to secede from the Empire or succeed to the throne. In return, she offers public support for your foreign policy from a sidhe, a race normally associated with imagery rather the opposite of many of your allies, as well as access to a great many secrets. We might not be the most powerful nation, but we are one of the more unique, possessing quite a few races and spells not often found elsewhere."

Zero-One’s Little Lotus Blossom

“Visited, you say?” replies the man, cocking his head to one side slightly, considering. “Well then my lady, let me assure you that the places I tend to frequent are those of somewhat less malign nature. While duplicity and I suppose, even treachery have their places, I find often the direct approach is the best one.”

He tries to hide his confusion at her later comments, studying her closely as she speaks, smiling in spite of himself. “Dual-natured, is it? True … true … I’ve always believed we each contain the potential for good or evil, to simplify the concepts. It is our choices that make the difference. So, my lady. Would you care to dance, or are there other ‘new things’ you would prefer to experience while in this fine city?”

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

Dream’s Agwene:

“Perhaps not,” he agrees, slipping his glass under his mask for another slow sip, while watching her with interest. “It is, after all, always a pleasure to learn more of our foreign neighbors – for what else could you be with such companions? An interesting place you must hail from, indeed. Is there, perchance, anything you could share while we wait for the unmasking, my lady?”

Maile watches him, studying his response. "Well, you get all the advantages of any alliance, for one, as long as she doesn't have to openly fight the High Queen, which would violate oaths. Queen Eleanor does rule 100 million subjects. Now, that's a lot fewer than High Queen Corrina rules and I know it's tiny compared to your lands but what she wants is fairly minor as well, international recognition without having to go through Corrina, a purely diplomatic, meaning absolutely no military commitment, recognition of her sovereignty should she ever have cause to secede from the Empire or succeed to the throne. In return, she offers public support for your foreign policy from a sidhe, a race normally associated with imagery rather the opposite of many of your allies, as well as access to a great many secrets. We might not be the most powerful nation, but we are one of the more unique, possessing quite a few races and spells not often found elsewhere."

Alkanphel laughs. "'Open support your foreign policy?'" He queries, looking to her for clarification. "Are you sure you know just what that means?" Comes the second question a moment later. "Supporting my country's foreign policy means taking a whole bunch of nonsense from a whole lot of nations who oppose us on principle alone. It's not an easy road and its not one which should be taken unless you're adequately prepared to defend yourself. Any political analyst will tell you this. But I'm not sure exactly if I'm clear about what I'm supposed to do in all of this. Or was I...distracted?"

Agwene smiles ever so lightly. "I come from the land of smoke and fairies, master. That is all you must know for now." She takes another sip of her drink.

Maile ponders a moment. "You see, my dear lord, that is where the beauty of the feudal system comes in. Eleanor is both a queen in her own right and an opposition leader of the Empire. As long as there is no direct involvement of our military in your affairs, our analysts say that the most likely result will be increased pressure upon Corrina to deal harshly with Eleanor, but not a direct attack upon Wintermore. After all, all the disgusting little Seelie worms in the other kingdoms seem to be on great terms with your enemies. Of course, it may be that this is wholly unworkable. My mission was to make contacts, not negotiate terms."

With the Major and the Drake

The S.H.O.D.A.N. avatar nods. "But of course. The Dominion does have a reputation for hospitality, and that would include servicing a wide variety of tastes." It cants its head a little in thought. "I wonder if recent events changes its title from a 'Dominion' to some sort of Empire, even though the latter would not necessarily be applicable in the case of the Dominion due to the lack of imperial domination and control of nonnative socioethnic blocs."

With the Devil

"There lies the difficulty of using and maintaining extended metaphor," chuckles the geisha, "but at least 'directness' should keep you from the Malebolge, then."

Whether the studying is mutual or not is hard to tell from the opposite side of the mask; its careful design and slitlike eyes prevent even the eyes from being used to glean visual cues on emotion and thought. "The duality of the mind has been generally accepted since Freud and his errant studant Jung, no? It goes far beyond the mere choice of good or evil, I've found, as every single one does both good and evil whenever it fits or whenever one's self-control finds itself lacking, depending on how one wishes to view it.

"The night is young, and the options open. While we are here, let us dance while we still have feet." She smiles mysteriously once again.

With the Major and the Drake

The S.H.O.D.A.N. avatar nods. "But of course. The Dominion does have a reputation for hospitality, and that would include servicing a wide variety of tastes." It cants its head a little in thought. "I wonder if recent events changes its title from a 'Dominion' to some sort of Empire, even though the latter would not necessarily be applicable in the case of the Dominion due to the lack of imperial domination and control of nonnative socioethnic blocs."


Jur looked again.

Is that? Nah...wait a minute...it sure looks like her...I'd better go say hi.

With a spin, the large walrus begin to make his way towards the S.H.O.D.A.N. avatar. He wasn't sure if she would remember him or not but it was worth a try.

To the rest of his contigent's great consternation, Jur began to waddle at a fairly brisk pace. It was all they could do to keep people from being accidentally squished. The fact that Jur was also bellowing "SHODAN! SHOOODAN! Remember me? Jur! Jur Ratyuing!" caused them great embarrassment.

That's it. We are going to be bounced. though Karlo and Tronj as they exchanged a sidelong glance. Irene was able to pick up on their thoughts and merely smiled.

The Shodey and The Walrus

The avatar seems not to notice at first, a miracle given the Vrakian's ability to bellow over the crowd. Then it seems to jump suddenly with realization. "Oh, wait--that's me." Spinning on its heels, it looks over at the waddling walrus and smiles crookedly. "Yes, Jur Ratyuing, of Vrak. I remember you from that... technology summit we had quite some time ago. It has been a while... how are things?"

“Perception they say, is reality. Unfortunately, what is ‘evil’ or ‘good’ for one, is not always so for another, though in ‘civilized society’ it seems we tend to at least attempt to draw a few lines here and there,” he says thoughtfully as he escorts her with the same gentle care to the dance floor, continuing as he takes the lead.

“Even so, much of that it seems can be traced to Judeo-Christian roots, at least among humans. Which I suppose in some ways partially contradicts the whole universal collective consciousness theory, given the huge divides in societal norms between different cultures. Or perhaps the strange breaking of things we seem to have undergone, this fractal reality we exist in, has upset that balance, and brought about intentionally or otherwise these great schisms of thought and racial divide? I would like to think there is more to all this than simple operant conditioning, or satisfying some psychological archetype, but in observing some cultures, one tends to wonder …”

Blinking, he pauses, then chuckles softly. “The last thing I had expected at a gathering such as this was intellectual conversation, or to try and match wits with a beautiful lady who without question, outpaces me there. My apologies for rambling on, so. ‘Tis a rarity to have such a pleasure.”

Dancing with the Devil (really, this time)

The lady of the arts follows expertly, moving with a preternatural grace and precision; her kimono is skillfully tailored to allow the mobility and dexterity needed while still being very demure, the careful slits gusseted to avoid exposing any more than absolutely necessary as her white-stockinged feet move along in their traditional block-like geta sandals, which seem ill-designed for dancing as they clack softly against the ballroom floor... still, doesn't every geisha start out as a maiko? "Product of your culture, Akuma. Judeo-Christianity has its sphere, admittedly, but it's hardly as universal as anyone cares to suggest it is. Wherever its mores seem to be endemic is where local moral traditions overlap. Besides, all moral thought logically has a precursor in the thought of one's ancestors, and most human ancestry goes back to a single source--when corrected for the multiverse, of course--and so differences are just a combination of the usual evolutionary divides as well as personal disagreements magnified onto a social scale. Mohammed was a warrior and an emperor as well as a prophet, after all, and the book he cowrote (although he graciously declined to list himself as author) reflects that."

She smiles broadly yet mysteriously at the man's compliment. "I may have one or two unfair advantages, having dedicated a good portion of my life to the arts. Still, apologies gracefully accepted despite the lack of need for apology--if the company and the matching of wits is mutually enjoyable, there is no fault to claim nor face to lose." Another almost-grin, lips only almost barely parting.

Lord Stratton swore for the hundredth time that he had seen Angelina, or at least a part of her costume winding her way through the throng, usually in the opposite direction to where he was standing. Shaking his head, he dismissed the thought and headed into the ballroom, giving up his chase of his absent aid, and settling in for some pleasantries.

Stepping inside, he was instantly greeted by the swirl of colourful costumes as the couples already on the dance floor continued their patterns across the floor, in just that space encapsulating everything that spoke of celebration and masquerade. A smile crept onto his lips, unseen by anyone. He let his eyes wander around the room, falling on small pocket groups of people, playing the age old game of trying to guess who was under which mask.

He blinked several times as someone arrived in only a mask, and nothing else, once again smiling as he thought how lucky it was that the evening was quite warm, before moving his eyes further around the room, catching sight of one man who had lucked out by capturing not one, but three devil clad women. Another grin crept over his features as the man walked away with one, obviously telling the others he would be back soon. He would certainly need his energy for the night.

Sweeping his gaze further over the crowd, he watched several other people before moving on, trying to work out the stories for each of the groups. Finally giving up his endeavour, he headed over to the drinks to refresh his now dry mouth. As he walked passed, he spotted two Greek Gods on the dance floor, and with yet another smile, he put them down as most definitely being a couple, and very much in love.

Grabbing a glass, he returned to his vigil of the dance floor, once again watching the myriad of colours swirl and mingle before his eyes.

* * * * *

Debbie spotted Stratton looking in her direction and just managed to disappear behind an outcropping, before he could focus on her properly, suddenly beginning to wonder whether this had been a good idea after all. Poking her head out, risking a brief look, she sighed with relief as she spotted him disappear into the ballroom.

Angelina is going to owe me big for this one. She frowned behind her mask, as she once again emerged into the throng of people. You had better be having a better time than I am, which isn’t that hard.

She made her way through the people, grabbing a drink on her way, and downing it in one, hoping to ease the feeling of doom she had inside her. Almost as soon as she had finished the glass her head began to spin; the alcohol going straight to her head, having been foolish enough not to eat something before coming to the party. Berating herself silently, she wondered again just what she was doing here.

Beautiful Dreamer

The man in white snorts softly. “Smoke and faeries?” he asks with a slightly incredulous tone. Then his eyes slip to the satyrs, and in turn to some of the more obviously exotic representatives in attendance, and he pauses thoughtfully. “Perhaps … perhaps. Considering the ah, diversity shall we say, of the peoples and races we find, even among our allies … I suppose that such things are indeed possible. You’ll forgive me my skepticism, my lady. This is after all, a masquerade, and as such, little is as it first appears. I find it can be dangerous to accept things at face value in the best of times, when things at least seem to be in clearer view.”

He drains his glass, gingerly setting it aside to be cleaned up by the staff, putting out his hand to her expectantly. “And you, my lady. Would you care for another dance, or perchance your tastes turn to other mingling? I believe, given the time, it may be one of the last before midnight.”

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

Geisha Girl

The gentleman behind the leering mask is quite taken aback by his partner’s grace and skill. While considered a passable dancer by many, it is clear the mysterious woman outshines him in this capacity as well. He finds himself wondering anew at her identity, none of his guesses currently seeming to fit the overall picture. A pleasurable puzzle, no doubt.

“Indeed, indeed. I’ve always thought that we are all in part a product of our surroundings, our upbringing, indoctrination. Add to that personal experiences, our base codes … an amazing amalgamation of interior and exterior stimuli, preset patterns and a plethora of choices when one takes the time to think about it. I find the ability of sentients to take all of it, to adapt and grow, to be fascinating. Such as you say with Mohammed – not one, nor the other, but a sum of all parts, no?” Again he pauses, something having caught his attention in that. “Co-wrote, you say? A spiritualist then as well, my lady? Or a simple nod in the direction of belief in a higher power of some sort?”

Her compliments have him blushing slightly, though not turning nearly so red as his mask. “My dear lady, I would say your advantages number far more than one or two, though the time you have devoted must have been extremely productive. It would be indelicate to infer an age, so let me instead say that you possess a timeless grace, and the beauty of a rose in bloom whose petals show no sign of dimming. I am glad that the company is mutually pleasing, and that my feeble attempts have not offended. I admit, you have me at a loss,” he says with an unseen smile and a subtle shake of his head. “I am doubly glad I was able to attend tonight, for if I had not, I would have missed a most delightful meeting, even though cloaked in anonymity. You will stay for the unmasking, yes?” he asks hopefully. “I would be honored to make a proper introduction.”

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

The Ballroom

The man in blue had finally left the gaming tables, having finally hit a losing streak that had ended up more than he could stomach. He currently was consoling himself with brandy at one of the corner bars, occasionally glancing back towards the general direction of the gambling, and shaking his head, looking at a loss.

The shorter lady in the red and black militaristic costume with the feathers in her hat danced with a man of similar height, dressed entirely in black and silver, both seeming to be enjoying themselves thoroughly as they swept gracefully across the dance floor.

The woman with the porcelain doll mask all in red velvet and told trim had cornered the man in the elaborate headdress and small mirror, engaging in quiet conversations over their drinks.

Others it seemed, had retired to the boxes, or quietly watched from the sidelines, conversing with those around them,

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

Beauty and the Beast(s)?

“No, no … you go right on ahead. Enjoy, woman,” says the one in the double mask, gold on white. Her current companion however, is not so easily swayed.

“My dear, you seriously need to lighten up, loosen up, relax, and learn to have a bit of fun. You’re entirely too uptight, especially tonight. Now, come along, and lets go make some introductions, hmm?” The woman dressed in a fanciful rendition of some golden Hindu goddess takes the other by the hand, and leads her in the direction of one of the more intimidating groups to enter the ballroom – that of the pirate, the ninja, and the hulking wolf-beast. The first woman stops dead in her tracks as she realizes the destination, only to be tugged nearly off her feet as the other continues on, her grip firm.

Upon reaching the group, the golden woman makes a slow bow that smacks of enjoying acting ‘in persona’. The other woman in the small yet decorative hat and rear veil, seems to stammer, then make a passably graceful curtsey as well.

“My lords, we hope you have been enjoying the evening thus far,” says the goddess in an accent most definitely not quite Dominion, in fact holding a more northerly quality. Caching a whiff of the rum, she laughs, looking at the scoundrels with renewed interest. “My pardon, it would seem you have – and then some. That wouldn’t happen to have been you boys regaling us outside just now, would it?”

As the night fell more and more people walked past him and the Lady in Green towards the ballroom. Somewhere in the distance a loud thump could be heard as a young man in red Strelets robes yet again tripped over his own garments and fell down, immediately getting up, cursing politely in Russian. The poor fellow was surely not used to walking around in robes. Especially robes crafted for a person higher than him. Indeed, it was not he who was to initially to be Vladimir's adjutant, but an Eiffel Tower sized fellow from the Marine Infantry. Unfortunately, the fellow couldn't come due to being killed right on the eve of the departure in an attack by White Legion commandos on the military residence he lived in. The costumes were already packed and the tailors did not have the time to readjust them...

Vladimir glanced at the people around and then concentrated his full attention back on his company.

- Well, it would seem that the crowds are flowing into the direction of the ballroom. Does the Lady wish to depart to the ballroom, too, or does the Lady have other plans?

He asked politely, grinning from behind his mask.

Agwene smiles a little as she finishes her drink, setting it casually aside. She looks down a little, her eyes strangely sad, lost, almost frightened, almost mind you. When she looks back up to her companion, her gaze seems distant, focused on something in another time and place.

After a long moment of absolute silence, she slides her hand back into her partners, allowing him to lead her to the dance floor. She still seems out of it for about half the walk before she shakes her head fiercely and smiles. "Of course. I suppose the evening is nearing its end."

The geisha smiles slyly. "One should be willing to give the benefit of the doubt, and the text in question does have spiritually and morally coherent fibers inbetween the exhortations to the faithful to fight for their Prophet. My only thought is that if I were Gabriel, I would've found some other Semitic camel driver to pass the faith along to, as deliciously heretical that is. Would've made things a little easier in the future, at least."

She bows her head slightly at the continued compliments. "Why, thank you. I've found that everyone who posits an age is inevitably incorrect, although they almost always err on the side of youth. I am made to understand such a thing is a complement." Another sly smile, almost a grin. "Nevertheless, your diplomacy is excellent and I am duly honored by your praise. Likewise, it is not often that I get the opportunity to dance and converse with such a dedicated and willing thinker. Your outstanding efforts speak for themselves.

"As for the unmasking..." She finally grins more broadly, although still not losing the impish curl at the ends. "Is that not one of the major attractions?"

One of the advantages to training, for one, and size, for the other, is the ability to sober up quickly when need be. The ninja leads with a short bow, followed shortly and carefully by the lupine thing. "Yes, that would be us," replies the man with the slight Eastern European/Mediterranean accent with a small amount of pride, "and hopefully y'all found it amusing. I know we enjoyed ourselves."

"This is true," added the lycanthrope in his growling voice, "and I do believe that is the point. As long as no one gets hurt."

"And as I'm just a little waterlogged," the ninja says, no longer dripping wet but still obviously soaked, "there's no problem that way. How are you ladies doing this fine evening?"

Athena and Ares spun across the floor, the lights of the room reflecting brilliantly off their golden skin as they moved, wrapped up in the dance, moving easily and smoothly, their motions, while not planned, were as clean as if they were, more as if they were dancing as one person.

But then the music came to an end, and the masks grinned at each other, that horrible distorted expression as the Goddess of Wisdom hooked her arm through the God of War’s elbow and let him lead her from the dance floor, moving over to the bar. As the man rested his other elbow on the bar to catch the tender’s attention, he turned to Athena.

“Do you want a drink, or to keep dancing?” he asked, already knowing the answer, and resolving himself to be without her for a while, during which she would be off with strange men.

“To dance, silly,” she replied, running a carefully shaped nail over his mask’s cheek, a feeling the advanced technology transmitted inside. “You have your drink, and check in with Andrew, cause I’ve not seen him since we came inside. I’ll go dance with some of these lonely men out there, then I’ll be back.” She leaned up, and pressed the lips of her mask to his cheek.

Ares watched as she drifted back towards the floor, mingling with a grace he would never have, then lost sight of his short wife as the crowd swirled around her. He turned to the bartender, who was waiting for an order. “Do you have any Federation whiskey?

* * * * *

Athena meanwhile wandered through the crowd, looking for a man with whom she might dance two or three songs with. She saw a man in blue, whom she had noticed coming off the dance floor, standing there, watching people, apparently unaccompanied. His outfit bore an interesting seal she did not recognize, and she moved towards him inquisitively.

“Excuse me, good sir, but I am curious. What seal is that you wear on your outfit?”

Turning at the sound of the voice, and surprised to see the Goddess that he had only moments before been watching gracefully dance across the floor before, Lord Stratton bowed his head in greeting, and then looked down at the seal that made up part of the costume he wore. Staring at the classic lines of her costume, he suddenly felt more than a little over dressed. “That is the Seal of Tartarus.” He grinned beneath his mask, realising the folly of his choice of garment, but knowing that the Empire had little outside dealings, that the words alone would mean little to many. “I am afraid that I am a bit of a traditionalist, and a stickler for detail.”

The golden helmet bobbed up and down in an ironic nod as Athena let her mind wander through her database, looking for what she knew of Tartarus, if anything. The name called up a reference to the Non-Democratic Alliance, and two names, Gehenna and Erebus, with notes that they were the current and past leaders of Tartarus, respectively. Nothing else came up. A slight frown, small enough to not be transformed into some sick perversion of itself by the mask, and she looked the man confidently in the eye. “Well, I can’t say that I know much of Tartarus.” A soft chirp from the tiny owl on her shoulder punctuated this statement, and she reached up to caress the top of its head. “Would you care to tell me of it during a dance?”

“I would be honoured.” He presented his hand to the Goddess, as his eyes flicked briefly between the mask and the bird on her shoulder, before returning to her. He smiled, and although there was no evidence of it on his face, his eyes shone. “I hope that I can do so fine a dancer justice. I fear that I shall seem a pale replacement for your last partner.”

The young woman smiled up at the man, who, though she did not know it, was younger than she was. She extended her arm to his, taking his hand lightly, giggling. “You, good sir, are a dangerous flatterer.” She pulled on his arm, surprisingly strong for her slight frame. “And I’m sure that your desire to dance will make you more than adequate.”

Lord Stratton chuckled at her words, and bowed his head once more in acknowledgement. “I fear that you have discovered my failing.” He guided them toward the floor, her hand lightly resting on his, which did nothing other than take the weight of her touch. As they moved, he caught sight of her previous partner, and he tilted his head to him in greeting and silent understanding. “I am indeed desirous of a dance, and will therefore put my best foot forward, and hope that it does not connect too often with yours.” He smiled again, not at all concerned about carrying out his threat, as he was quite a proficient dancer. Finally making it onto the floor, he presented his partner to her spot, before bowing to her, then once again offering his hand ready for the music to lead them into the dance.

Another giggle issued forth from her lips at his joke, and her blue eyes flickered down behind her gray false eyes towards her sandaled feet. I hope not. Curtseying back to the polite man, she moved into the dance with him, allowing him to take the lead. “So, tell me about Tartarus? Perhaps you can start with the costume, since I assume you’re some historical figure.” The mask’s eyebrow arched suddenly, perhaps disturbing to the man, as she looked at him with a grin, also conveyed by the mask, losing its inquisitiveness in the process. “Or do you dress this way every day in your land?”

* * * * *

Meanwhile, Ares was sipping his drink, and nodded back to the man who was taking his partner out for a dance, letting the mask crack open to allow proper consumption of the whiskey, rolling it in his mouth before letting it burn down his throat.

Andrew, where are you?

Outside. I can’t get this damn bird to land again.

<Laughter> Aren’t you supposed to be controlling it?

Yes, Mister President.

Well, get in here as soon as you get the bird back. I know that’ll make you feel better.

Yes sir.

But don’t act like a bodyguard and give away who we are.

Of course not, sir.

* * * * *

Stratton watched as the mask moved in shape, displaying what he imagined were her actually facial expressions underneath. Bringing his attention to her question, he looked into her eyes then laughed lightly at her question. “I am indeed a historical character from Tartarian history, an early Emperor by the name of Acheron; who is famed for being very keen on honouring himself, and has several holidays in celebration of him.”

He grinned, his own mask not registering any sign of it, remaining frozen in a rather garish smile. “I assure you, that if we Tartarians were forced to wear this on a day to day basis, I would have left.”

As he spoke, he lead her around the floor, one part of a synchronised group, all moving at the same pace, in the same style, one following the other as the music seemed to control all their feet. And despite the clumsiness of his outfit, Lord Stratton managed to convey himself gracefully in his movements.

“And although I do not know where you call home, I am taking the liberty of assuming that you are not wearing your national costume, but have come as a Goddess from Greece?” He arched his brow, forgetting that this was not conveyed to his dancing partner.

Athena grinned. “I believe you mortals refer to my home as Olympus, my good sir, so indeed, this is my every day wear.” she replied in a perfectly level voice, as she continued to follow the man’s lead around the dance floor.

He grinned, as he bowed his head in defeat. “Then I stand corrected.” He continued to guide them across the floor, swirling when a swirl was needed, turning and moving in perfect time. “I am surprised that Zeus has allowed you out of his sight. I am lead to believe that you Gods only come to earth to tempt and play games with us mere mortals?”

An eyebrow on the mask arched again. “What makes you think my father has let me out of his sight?” she questioned, in that same level voice. But she could not hold back the laughter any longer as after another moment they spun once more, and she burst into a fit of giggles that she barely managed to keep from disrupting their dance.

“I’m from the Federation,” she said after a moment, conveniently forgetting that there were many such by that name, and failing to express which one it was. It was after all, a masquerade. No sense in giving everything away.

Laughing along with her, Stratton just about managed to keep them moving with the rest of the dance, possibly missing a step but quickly regaining his place. “If I may be so bold, I believe that you are possibly more charming than the real Greek Gods.”
He grinned again falling silent, as he tried to work out which Federation she was referring to, then deciding that there was a time for being a diplomat and a time for just enjoying the moment, and he liked to dance.

They continued to dance in silence, just focusing on the movements until the song came to an end, and the short woman glanced up at the man in blue. “Another, my good sir?” She smiled, mask distorted again. “And I must say, your fears of being an inadequate partner can be allayed. You’re very good.” At his confirmation, she led them off when the musicians began a slightly faster paced song, taking the lead in the way she was accustomed to. “Your turn to ask the questions.”

“Is this your first visit to the Dominion?” He changed the subject before he overstepped the mark, and brought them to a safer subject. “I enjoy a Coronation, allows you a look at the nation from its traditions. Tartarus has quite a few itself.” He could not help smiling as several that came to mind.

Red horse hair shook as the golden helmet bobbed with Athena’s nod. “The Federation has a number of traditions, but they are many of them all depressingly martial. I much prefer the social kind.” Another goofy smile from the shining mask. “I rarely make it out of the Federation, and I’ve never been to the Dominion before. What about you?”

“This is my first time here too, and I am honoured to be here for such a prestigious occasion. Seeing a nation in celebration is always the best time to visit.” He nodded his head at her words. “Tartarus also has quite a few military traditions, but most seem to stem from one Emperor or another. I believe they just liked to outdo one another.” He chuckled to himself.

As they moved around the floor in a more energetic pace, Stratton frowned for a moment as he let himself enter work mode again, not wanting to waste the moment, even if he was enjoying himself. “I am going to have to let curiosity kill the cat, and ask about your mask.” He let his eyes look over the covering, before looking back into her eyes, his own displaying his interest. “It is an amazing piece of equipment, something that I have not seen before.”

Again he was graced with the masks absurd smile, before she spoke, and the lips resumed their original position. “I’m not really clear on all the technical details myself, nano-robotics and living plastics not being my field of study, but as far as I understand it,” she shrugged, to indicate she was no entirely clear, “the mask has a tiny computer inside it, and when I move the muscles in my face, to adopt a new expression, it can sense the movements, and adjusts to match. An invisible wire runs down my neck so it doesn’t move when I speak, too.” She laughed. “That was really a pain to put on the first time.”

Nodding his head at her explanation, he smiled, again forgetting that his expression, unlike hers, did not convey through the mask. “It is truly an impressive part of your outfit, if I may say so, overshadowed only by the woman beneath it and the bird.” He looked at it sitting on her shoulder, and then back into her eyes. He looked for another topic, realising again that he was pushing too close to the line.

“So tell me a little more about the Federation.” He thought he would try a more round about approach. “Militaristic based, I am again going to assume, due to your earlier reference. But I do seem to be failing miserably today with my assumptions.” He chuckled as he swirled her around the floor, losing himself for a moment in the dance, just feeling the music and letting it guide his movements.

The woman behind the Athena mask blushed, a heating of her expression fortunately not visible through the mask, happy to move onto the Federation as a discussion topic. “Well, we’re a highly advanced society technically, as I’m sure you’ve probably guessed. Other than that, I’m not sure what all there is to tell. We’re just a country, like everyone else, with our own high points and lows.”

Stratton smiled. “That I think is the perfect description of nations. And one that I would most certainly use for Tartarus.” He continued to guide her around the floor, knowing that soon the current tune that there were moving to would be coming to and end, and as much as he was enjoying the chance to dance, he knew that she had plenty more partners to impress. “Maybe one day, we will learn of each other’s nation first hand.” He swirled her around a couple more times, coming to a stop as the music drew to a close. Standing before her, he once more bowed his head. “I would like to thank you for choosing me out of all these potential partners. It has been an honour and a pleasure.” Presenting his hand to her again, he brought hers to his mouth and kissed; his lips just above her skin. “Milady, may I return you to your party?”

She nodded slowly, always careful of the large crest that unbalanced the helmet on her head. “I think that’s probably best. We wouldn’t want anyone to get any ideas, now would we?” She giggled at the thought. “The honor has been mine, as well,” she continued, having suppressed her mirth. “Perhaps we shall see each other again, after the unmasking, and then perhaps I shall give you my name.” The odd, horribly distorted grin again.

“Then I shall look forward to that moment.” He moved so that he was standing beside her in an identical position to the one that they had walked to the dance floor in, guiding her through the crowd to the place that he had seen her party standing. Making small talk along the way, he stopped them before the man dressed in a matching God outfit.

“Sir, I bring back your charming companion, and express my pleasure at the honour of being able to dance with such a divine dancer.” He bowed his head to the man and then once more to his recent dance partner, smiling secretly as he did so. “Ma’am, it has been an honour.”

Athena curtseyed again, deciding it was the better part of valor, as opposed to smacking the man in the face with the large crest. Ares’ mask distorted into a smile as well. “Why thank you, good sir. Father Zeus will be delighted to know you’ve returned my sister.” He grinned, the smile expanding even more, before he and Athena began to laugh.

As their laughter died, he swigged back the rest of his drink, and Athena spoke. “Peace be with you, and enjoy the rest of the night, milord of Hades.”

“And may you both have a pleasant evening.” Another brief nod of the head, chuckling lowly at both of their comments, he made his leave, disappearing into the crowd, leaving the two Gods to each others company, pleased that he had been able to experience the exquisite dancing talents of the charming Goddess.

"The lady thinks that a splendid idea, m'lord," Rene replied, smiling behind her mask. She took his hand, and they followed the general flow of the populace into the ballroom. "Shall we dance, then?"

OOC: Painfully short.

The Pirate removes his hat and bows with a flourish. "Nyarrr, Gd' Evenin' to yee, fair sea-birds, and yes, tis' we three, guilty as charrrrrged. Me hopes you enjoyed the show? Perhaps another round-o-song be in order?"

In the ballroom, the Dark Lord and the Elven King dance.

Granted, most of the people who knew anything about either party would probably guess that this was not really what it appeared. For one thing, everyone knew that the Lord of Darkness was supposedly several times taller than the one in the ballroom, and elves would never be seen without some kind of green clothes and treeleaves or other assorted shubbery (and, depending on who you asked, bags of money). Still, there were likely some who were ignorant to such things - and there were definately a few around who would undoubtably see a resemblance between the man dressed as an elf and a certain smith from very ancient history. To say that the sight pair out on the floor dancing without a care in the world but each other was startling would likely be an understatement.

After a few rounds during which the pair demonstrated considerable skill and more grace than anyone in armor should rightfully have, they slip free from the crowd and take a breather, getting drinks and taking care of certain biological needs the mass consumption of liquid can bring about. The Elf spots one of the other people in the room, and grins an evil, horrible grin. "Let's say we mingle a bit more, shall we?"

The Lord of a General Lack Of Light follows the other's look. "Huh?" He rumbles. "Is that a reploid? I can't really tell."

"Let's find out." The two approach 'Dolores,' and the 'elf' bows. "Good evening, fair...lady. I am Lord Feonar, and this is my dear companion, the Dark Lord Molker. Who do we have the pleasure of meeting?"

One of the human servants, the one costumed as a modern human from outside the Empire, think contemporary American, runs into the ballroom, handing Cheops a message and bending over to catch her breath. Cheops looks at the paper, frowning. He turns to Rebecca. "Excuse me a moment, my lady." He trots rapidly over to Agwene, handing her the note.

Agwene takes it, paling a little. "Lovely," she says dryly, "nothing like coming under unprovoked military attack by a nation I hadn't heard of before today." She reaches instinctively for a sword before realizing she isn't wearing one. Sighing, she turns back to the man in white. "I need to go, m'lord. Some other time." With that, she bows and turns for the door.

He/she/it giggles at the introductions, one hand covering where a mouth would be in the faceplate if it had a mouth. "Teehee, someone has quite the sense of irony tonight."

The mecha shifts from one very pointy foot to the other (how it stays upright on such pointed feet is a mystery to all- perhaps the flight pack on its backside has something to do with it?) before curtseying politely, careful to not smack anybody with the pilot interface unit of questionable shape and location. "Until the unmasking tonight, I am merely Dolores, an Orbital Frame."

The mecha giggles again- obviously one can assume that he/she/it is familiar with international politcs, and that who or whatever is inside that costume has been hitting the bar with some enthusiasm.

Akhor finds a spots to sit and take in the sights, watching the costumed dancers and revelers, silvery head bobbing from side to side in time with the music. "Ah, thisss isss a fine hway to ssselebrate, indeed! Perhapsss the Gedri are no quite asss hweird asss I thought."

The drake stops up short upon seeing the mecha, and he promptly slaps one forepaw to his forehead, briefly obscuring the green stone set in his faceplate. "Name of the Windsss, what form of rakshasa isss THAT?" He quickly scoots back over to rejoin the S.H.O.D.A.N. avatar (whom he is largely certain is NOT Shodey) and the walrus and assorted company. "Hwhat ssstrangenesssss to behold hwhere alcohol and Gedri collide!"

Dream – Agwene:

This is quite obviously not the reaction he had been expecting, and it startles him, though he does his best to keep a cool façade. Whatever could have had such an effect on the lady is beyond him, and though he examines his words to find meaning, he finds the answer continues to elude him. He accepts her hand carefully, head tilting slightly to one side as he looks over at her thoughtfully, leading her back to the dance floor through the crowd.

“You are … hesitant to let it end?” he asks cautiously, leading her more delicately than he had previous, though it could not be said he had ever been rough. “After all, the night need not end with the unmasking.”

The interruption of the message, and the good ladie's departure, leaves him quite speechless, and he watches her go with a confused expression, before making his way purposefully over towards the man in blue, currently nursing his drink in the far corner.

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

Zero-One:

The Devil breaks out in a laugh, albeit a bit restrained for politeness sake at her summation of the text, his shoulders still shaking slightly in amusement as he gets it back under control again, her further comments inspiring a return bow, and a self-conscious shrug of his shoulders.

“My Lady, you are indeed a treasure. How someone like yourself came to be here unescorted …” This of course gives him pause, and he looks back at her more sharply. “That is, if you are unescorted. I wouldn’t want to assume. Suffice it to say, I’ve been utterly distracted by your charm, your poise, and your daunting intellect, and as such have most likely been making an ass of myself on several levels. You are by far too kind in your compliments, truly. I’m honored, and I hope I’ve not offered offense, nor offer it now in saying that yes, the unmasking is one of the more fun aspects of the Masquerade, and that if it happens you are unaccompanied, that I might have the continued pleasure of your company after it. I have had a wonderful time while in your company, and would fain have it end so soon.”

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

The Rowdies:

“Oh good god, no,” the lady in the hat stutters, looking a bit mortified at the pirate’s suggestion that the singing continue in here. The goddess however, breaks into peals of laughter, nudging the other in the ribs, and murmuring something to the effect of ‘lighten up’ in her native language.

“Don’t mind my friend here,” she explains, still chuckling lightly. “She can be so serious at times. I thought it delightfully exuberant!” She first arches a brow at the ninja and his ‘waterlogged’ statement, then continues. “Lost a fight with the canale, my lord? Or perhaps took a misstep from one of the gondolas? It wouldn’t be the first time such a thing has happened. And you,” she says mischievously, looking up … and up at the wolfy thing. “My, what big … everything you have. Mmm mmm mmm.”

Next to her, the other woman groans softly, putting one hand to her temples, just behind her mask, and rubbing softly. “Truly, so long as no one is hurt, ‘tis all in good fun. My apologies, mi’lords. I suppose I’ve just not yet quite gotten into the spirit of things here tonight, though I’m glad to hear you have been enjoying yourselves. The Lady, that is I suppose now, Empress, would have it no other way, I’m sure.”

Cheops sighs, trotting over to the man in white and bowing. "You must excuse Her Higness, my lord. The Empire of the Resurgent Dream has just come under attack by a foreign enemy and a princess's place is with her people in time of war."

"Uhmm... just what the heck is that thing over there?" Asami, with an odd look on her face, watches the strange pink mecha make its way around to the Cetagandans. She slowly looks it over once she has a clearer view of it, stopping once she's seen the mecha's lower section. Her eyes widen a bit and she lets out a small gasp. "Err... I didn't think mecha were equipped with those... That's kinda freaky... really really freaky."

Meanwhile, Major Kojima has wandered away from the group and made her way over to the bar area, beginning her search for a jug of Aquamarine sake to share with the others.

Nathi

The white-painted woman chuckles softly. "You simply are far too hard on yourself, Akuma. Even if I were escorted, it would be a perfectly understandable inference to make that I was not given the evidence you have at your disposal. As it lies, I'm remarkably free of such limitations as an escort suggests." At the dress-up devil's suggestions, the geisha simply smiles slyly, one corner of her crimson mouth turned up a little more than the other. "I do believe the continued company would be pleasant, if current conversation is any indication..."

Sneaky B and Rep (while Vrak is incoming)

The S.H.O.D.A.N. avatar looks over her shoulder at Asami's question, follows her eyes to the Zone of Enders-inspired mecha, then blinks. "I quite honestly have no idea. I recognize the allusion but I did not think that was something that people would tend to go out in public in. Then again, given that now appears to be a time traditionally set aside for lowered inhibitions and outright exhibitionism..."

It looks over to the Major, outside of polite speaking distance, then back to the incoming walrus.

Vladimir bowed to the Lady and led the dance, glancing sometimes behind her on other people present at the ball and at the great variety of their costumes as they moved among other pairs.

- Well, Milady, I must admit I have never before seen such a variety of different costumes in one place ever since... well... ever. I do remember watching the Military Uniform Design Contest on TV when I was a young officer, though... It was when Grand Duke Mikhail I launched a contest for new uniforms to a bit every single branch of the military and all Taraskovyan fashion designers immediately hurled upon the opportunity.

He chuckled behind his mask, visualising the show yet again and shook his head.

- There were some interesting models, but some were a bit exagerated.

He shook his head yet again.

- May I dare to inquire whether the Lady assists events such as this one on regular basis?

President Tuomas was getting worried. He was supposed to get a phone call from the reporters.

He picked up the phone.

Cheops:

The man looks at the satyr with a guarded expression, then nods. “Of course. I was just speaking with my fellow countryman here concerning that. I don’t suppose you are able to illuminate the situation somewhat for us? We could, after all, at the very least provide Her Highness a proper escort to see her safely home. It would be a poor repayment of her graciousness in attending if we were to send her off without so much as a thank you.”

The Mischievous Geisha:

The Devil smiles broadly underneath his mask as he continues to gently lead the lady around the dance floor, his eyes at least able to reflect his pleasure at her response as well as the renewed lightness in his step. “A relief to hear, my lady,” he says truthfully. “And again, you are too kind. Perhaps the pressures of my position have put me off my balance of late, though I think it has more to do with being in the presence of such an intelligent, intriguing, graceful beauty as yourself. Wherever did you learn to dance so well, and in attire that was never meant for such dances as these to boot? I’d have long since tripped over my robes, lost my shoes and made a complete fool of myself by now were I in traditional Japanese costume.”

Cheops nods a little. "I know she greatly enjoyed being here. She has nothing but friendship for the Dominion and for the Imperatrice and hopes to work more for relations between our nations when the situation is less dire. The situation is simple. There was an outbreak of a disease in the Kingdom of Shieldcrest. The kingdom was immediately and effectively quarantined. However, the Androtians saw fit not merely to bar travel between their nation and ours, which would have been legal, but to put in place a unilateral naval blockade, attempting to cut off all our communications with our allies and ambassadors, the lifeblood of our economy, and the very medical exchanges we seek to better deal with the disease. It also seems the remains of an Androtian aeroplane, illegally travelling in Imperial Air Space, was found near the village where the outbreak began, containing materials marked as biohazards, so our government suspects involvement by this nation in the epidemic itself, through criminal negligence and failure to respect sovereign territory, if not necessarily through malevolent intent."

Agwene smiles ever so lightly. "I come from the land of smoke and fairies, master. That is all you must know for now." She takes another sip of her drink.

Maile ponders a moment. "You see, my dear lord, that is where the beauty of the feudal system comes in. Eleanor is both a queen in her own right and an opposition leader of the Empire. As long as there is no direct involvement of our military in your affairs, our analysts say that the most likely result will be increased pressure upon Corrina to deal harshly with Eleanor, but not a direct attack upon Wintermore. After all, all the disgusting little Seelie worms in the other kingdoms seem to be on great terms with your enemies. Of course, it may be that this is wholly unworkable. My mission was to make contacts, not negotiate terms."

The Maia purses his lips. "I see. I can at the moment only offer my personal support. Any meaningful display on behalf of my country, however, will have to be made by Lord Melkor. I'll advise him as to the situation based on what you told me. So long as the burden is not to great, he may have an interest. Until then, however, I cannot make any promises, nor was I sent to negotiate terms either."

Maile stops talking and starts...well, the camera's on the fireplace now.

“Indeed,” says the man in white, pondering thoughtfully. The blue-garbed gentleman scowls from behind his mask, then speaks in a quiet tone, leaning in a bit to be better heard, hoping to keep the conversation more private.

“While I lack the authority to make the arrangements on my own, given the blatant lack of regard for sovereign right, and the need for aid, I would wager some arrangements could be made. We, unlike some, are not limited in our capabilities to make shipments, given our aerospace resources. A naval blockade would mean little. If assistance is needed to help develop a vaccine, we may be able to help there as well. Between our own advances, and the access to some truly staggering resources through our allies, who have shown a tendency towards mercy missions such as this, surely something could be managed. It would of course require the proper channels, but come tomorrow, meetings could likely be arranged.”

Cheops pauses, considering. "It is primarily naval but they have air forces, as well. In any event, I doubt such substantive help would be needed. Androtia is not significantly larger than the Empire and, when one considers that full military cooperation is a given between the High Queen and her eldest daughter, the Empress of Akaton, I doubt the blockade poses a serious threat. I would not like to open our relationship by demanding arms substantive aid after giving only magical trinkets ourselves. We would, of course, be willing to purchase materials for the quarantine of northwestern Shieldcrest from you at a fair price, once the blockade has been dealt with, and a simple public statement would be greatly appreciated."

Walking from the ballroom his family in tow, Carlos rests his hand on Yvonne's back gently and chuckles. "A fun night indeed. A shame we're leaving early." He mutters, throwing a rueful grin at their son who sticks his tongue out.

Heading back to their hotel rooms, Carlos and Yvonne relax in a set of comfortable chairs as Lidric readies himself for bed and says good night to his parents, curling up in the other room he sleeps soundly, unaware of his parents talking in the room next door. "I'll have to visit Nathi in the morning and congradulate her." Carlos says as Yvonne nods and yawns as she stands up. "For now though I'm going to bed." Smiling he kisses his wife good night and turns on the tv keeping it low enough to not wake up either person in the room.

[ooc: Havent had time to properly post to this, so cutting my presence short until the next morning :P Sorry all have enjoyed reading this.]

"Admittedly, the attire is somewhat modified. A kimono is generally not made for dancing," the geisha replies, "but I tailored this one to better fit the purpose." Without even pausing, she indicates the gussets with one hand without breaking the smoothness of her dancing. "Besides that, one could say that I have a few natural advantages, and I have studied for some time." Her geta continue to click and clack on the floor softly in time to the music with each step. "True schools of the gei are rare where I am from, so I'm self-taught, if you believe it." Her red lips curly up again.

"Although, I must say that I understand the pressure of authority and the imbalance it can bring, perhaps too well. This is why I enjoy my own peculiar forms of the gei."

"I walked the plank," the ninja says simply.

"Hrrr... you were not a very good arm-wrestling judge," the wolfie adds, equally simply, before looking down at the two Dominioners. "I cannot speak for our pirate friend here, but I think our raucousness for the night is over. Besides that, we are relatively cordial and do not bite." Eyes under the canine jaw flicker left and right. "Hard."

Sneaky B and Rep (while Vrak is incoming)

The S.H.O.D.A.N. avatar looks over her shoulder at Asami's question, follows her eyes to the Zone of Enders-inspired mecha, then blinks. "I quite honestly have no idea. I recognize the allusion but I did not think that was something that people would tend to go out in public in. Then again, given that now appears to be a time traditionally set aside for lowered inhibitions and outright exhibitionism..."

It looks over to the Major, outside of polite speaking distance, then back to the incoming walrus.


Rumbling like a locomotive, Jur planted himself close to S.H.O.D.A.N., oblivious of the commotion that his great bulk would cause. He reeked of alcohol and sweat, produced by his exertions and earlier guzzling of various alcoholic beverages. In fact, he was working on his second crate of wine.

Bellowing with delight, he exclaimed.

"AH! SHODAN! How are you! It has been a long time! I must say that you are the fairest of all the fair maidens here. A true Snow White!"

In fact, Jur had no idea what SHODAN was wearing. He was just happy that he ran into someone he knew outside of the Klatch. After his brief remarks, it seemed as though he would collapse, although his eyes twinkled with merriment.

The two bodyguards and the empath exchanged pained looks with eachother and forced smiles with the other guests. Karlo made a mental note to contact Dominion security before Jur flopped down on the floor. It would be easier to move him while he was still awake (via a forklift) rather than when he was prone.

Agwene glides out of the ballroom with a heavy sigh. Moving onto the street, she makes her way back to her hotel, moving rapidly yet politely through the revellers in the streets. Both satyrs in the ballroom turn to watch her go, though neither says a word.

Lord Constantine dressed in a golden suit of plate mail the traditional outfit of a royal envoy of noble descent upon was a sword a gift fpr the emperess on his hip a sword made of silver inliad in emerald writing saying Helai Mai Frianos Alnd Imperator translating into "Greetings my friend High Emperess" Lord Constantine spoke aloud this is a sword forged in ancient times used amongst our kings of old as gifts given as gift for the coronation of great rulers. My king wishes this to be token of our hope that your rule will be long and blessed. I must take my leave my lady and he departed with a his guards dressed in silver plate mail inliad with silver, gold, and precious stones. They departed on a large galley as dictated by their ancient traditions to do so after presenting the coronation sword.

A quiet box:

The man kicked back in the almost-too-comfortable chair in the private box overlooking the ballroom that had been reserved for his use. A small panel of monitors showed him the video feed from all the security cameras in the room, and at the side of his chair was a cooler keeping his beers cold. He sat in silence, listening to the music and the drone of voices drifting in past the mostly-closed heavy curtains at the front of the box, monitoring the electronic feed. The only light was the soft glow of the monitors, and what bit leaked past the curtains, aside from the bright flicker and glow when he lit one of his cigarettes.

Everything had gone surprisingly well, in fact the only real hiccup had been that blasted trio from Serconea. True, some of the revelers had gotten a bit ‘taken up in the spirit of things’ here and there, but there had so far, been no real damage. At least, not here at the Piazza – and that, for now, was his only concern.

He had to hand it to Massetti. The younger man had slipped him a chip earlier, along with a handful of candies, assuring him he’d want to see it. And watch it he had, getting a right good belly laugh out of it.

Nath is gonna kill him if she finds out, he thought with a chuckle, slowly exhaling a swirling clove-scented cloud of smoke that seemed to writhe and curl up around his face. Meaning of course, we can’t allow that. Only one I know of could have gotten away with that besides m’self is Marik. ‘An he ain’t here anymore to do it, damn that filthy bitch.

He casually checked his watch, its light blue glow illuminating the face and showing just five minutes to midnight. Nodding in satisfaction, he settled back into his chair, adjusted the ornate ashtray stand at the other side, tapping off his cigarette, then reached for a beer.

It had been a good night.

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

Ballroom:

The music played, those who were dancing danced, and the others took their ease either in the boxes – some of which had their curtains noticeably closed – or near the drink bars, or at what benches or chairs were available alongside the floor. As the time crept closer to midnight, the conductor took note, timing out the last piece so that it ended just a minute before. Once the music had ended, he turned to face the crowd, announcing the time with a smile.

“When the bells chime my lords and ladies, those of you masked, ‘twill be time to remove them. Lets see just who we’ve been hobnobbing with this evening, shall we?”

Around the room, the natives start preparing, final bets are cast, and curious, excited chatter prevails

Outside, in the tall bell tower overlooking the Piazza, still filled with revelers and entertainers, and more often than one might think, lovers here and there in quiet corners, those attending the chimes counted down. And when the time came, the silvery tones rang out, signaling for all within hearing distance that the time had come for the unmasking.

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

The Lady is More than Meets the Eye:

“I’m starting to believe you’re capable of anything, my lady,” the Devil says with a soft laugh. “Dare I ask – the kimono and alterations as well. Your work also? Even if not, you are, quite simply, amazing. These natural advantages of yours … I can only imagine. A racial trait, or am I right in thinking this is all uniquely you?”

As the music ends, he bows gracefully to his partner, then looks over to the conductor as the man makes his announcement.

“Well, my lady … it would seem, if you wish, that time is upon us,” Akuma says with a smile – again, hidden by the mask, though it reflects well in his dark sea-colored eyes. The bells begin their chiming, and he reaches up with one hand to slowly remove his mask.

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

Frighteningly Pleasant Company:

“The … plank?” Miss Hat says faintly, while her companion erupts in peals of light laughter. She blinks several times at the continued conversation, looking more than a little … disturbed.

Miss Goddess, on the other hand, steps between the ninja and wolf-thing, slipping an arm through theirs, teasingly plucking at the first’s wet clothing and batting one of the wolfie’s painted skulls playfully with a fingertip. “Well gentlemen, that is a good thing. I’ve been known to nibble a bit myself now and then.”

Miss Hat puts a hand to her masked forehead, and groans lightly, shaking her head. “Put a little alcohol in her, and watch her go,” she murmurs.

As the announcement is made, the golden girl giggles gleefully, the other, lets out a quiet sigh of relief.

“Excellent! Now we can see what scoundrels we’ve been talking to!” beams the goddess-y type, reaching back to start untying the black ribbon holding her mask in place.

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

Dream:

“Well, the offer of aid was intended to be more of a humanitarian effort than getting involved militarily other than perhaps a show of force intended to ‘clear the path’ a bit, so to speak. Still, such things ought to be talked over in the proper place, with the proper people,” the man in blue says, nodding at Cheops’ statement about the next day.

“I say we make those arrangements tomorrow, and see what can and cannot be managed from there.”

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

Another box, this one not so quiet:

The two celebrants lay curled up contentedly with one another, the woman giggling softly now and then as they converse. They had left their curtains open a bit, both to let in the music and a touch of light, and for that extra thrill of discovery and sense of exhibitionism.

As the sound of the announcement drifts up, they both look at one another and laugh.

"Well, I suppose we ought to rearrange ourselves and rejoin the party, no? We might be expected."

"Oh, damn ... well ... if you insist. Help me with my dress, will you my dear?"

The next few minutes are spent in a hasty re-dressing, their earlier and current efforts dislodging more than a few leaves and feathers from their decorative attire.


ooc: For those wishing to unmask and move on - here ya go. For those still wishing to wrap things up, feel free. Fluid time is our friend.

Cheops nods a little. "Perhaps." The satyr shrugs a little, trotting back over to Rebecca. "Guessed who I am under here?" he teases lightly, slipping an arm around the woman.

Datima looks up as well, smiling gently to Marcus.

Maile hops up in bed. "M'lord, we need to hurry. The ball is almost over." The woman quickly throws her costume back on, moving rapidly towards the door. "I don't want to miss the climax of the evening."

Rebecca blinked a couple times, but nodded, "Of course, duty before pleasure." She looked at the messanger, slightly concerned, "Um... would you like some water or something? You look pretty winded..."

Marcus casually grabs a couple of glasses from a passing waiter, handing on to Datima. After a quick glance at a nearby clock, he smiled, "We seem to be rapidly approaching midnight, Lady."

<snippage>
"Greetings my friend High Emperess" Lord Constantine spoke aloud this is a sword forged in ancient times used amongst our kings of old as gifts given as gift for the coronation of great rulers. My king wishes this to be token of our hope that your rule will be long and blessed. I must take my leave my lady

"Please offer your king my thanks, mi'lord," Nathicana says, accepting the sword with a respectful bow of her head. "Be assured it will be kept in a place of honor, among weapons in who's company it will not be shamed. My thanks to you and your leader," she finishes simply, raising a hand in farewell as Constantine departs.

The ringing of the bell sounds, and all around them the Admiral and Major can see the guests removing their masques. "It appears that this segment of the party is complete. Shall we remove our costumes?" Phooush looks at her with one eye, as the other continues observing.

"Yes. It would be good to get out of this restraining garment." She begins removing the costume, mask first, and folds it into a neat tri-corner shape when she is finished. She stands fully upright then, clutching her lower back. "Gaah. being hunched over for so long is taking its toll on me."

Phooush does the same with his costume, and holds it at his side. "Ah, then we will have to see someone about planning a better guise for us then, yes? For future reference?" He also clutches his lower back, but seems to do it more in empathy than actual discomfort.

The wolfie tosses back his lupine hood with a bit of flair, then uses his free arm to unwrap the thin matte scarf that covers his head. What is revealed certainly isn't canine but felinid, as if that was any surprise, and the pattern of orange and white fur with black stripes, plus the scar over the right eye, identify him as Speaker-Rrit.

The ninja also unwraps his scarflike hood, revealing the somewhat angular and certainly lifeworn visage of Julius Razak, his hair somewhat matted and Caesar-esque from the damp as he sniffs. "Well, I'm sure someone will try and blackmail us for our shenanigans tonight."

"Bah," replies the kzintosh, "let them. We have nothing to be ashamed of."

"'We have no shame' is more like it, Fuzzy."

All That And More...

The geisha nods with a mysterious smile, then undoes the ivory sticks keeping her black hair in place. Reaching into her kimono's wide belt she produces an intricate red and gold handkerchief, visibly moist as the smell of isopropyl rubbing alcohol immediately appears. Grinning, she starts the handkerchief at her neck and rubs up, the alcohol immediately stripping away the white paint to reveal grey skin underneath. As she pulls it over her face, taking the mask along with it, her lips are revealed to naturally have a copperish tint, and her skin is detailed with patches of pearlescent turquoise, lighter and darker grey highlights that immediately resemble circuitry arcing along with embedded fiber-optic lines that trace over her flesh.

Looking back up as she pulls the handkerchief through her hair, her until-now dim eyes flash into green brilliance, slitted pupils dilating just a bit for effect as her hair is revealed to be finely bound fiber optics and wires of varying fine gauges that fan back out to their usual semicircular 'cut' over a layer closer to the 'scalp' of thick purple conduits that intentionally resemble large metallic dreadlocks. "A racial trait,'" she mimes perfectly in the man's voice before returning to her own, "or all uniquely me... I'm curious. What's your opinion?"

Hangin' With Jur (Before the Bell?)

The S.H.O.D.A.N. avatar, wearing what it usually does--naught more than a short cape connected to an Egyptian-style broad necklace--smiles back awkwardly. "Thank you. That is... very kind." It pauses for a moment, looking at Jur intently. "Are you all right?"

Cheops removes his mask with a light smirk. He pulls Rebecca into a passionate kiss, grinning.

Datima tosses her aside thoughtlessly, peering up at Marcus. "Bet you couldn't tell it was me, could you?"

Maile arrives, possibly still with Alkanphel, possibly not, so late as for her arrival to be essentially pointless. She tosses her mask aside as she enters and looks around the room, hoping to catch back up with Pat.

Agwene looks over the railing of her ship as it heads home. Hearing the distant bell, she whistfully tosses her mask in the ocean. The Princess was truly impressed by the Imperatrice but she supposed there would be other balls and other coronations, some of them as big as this. However, if she arrived home to find everything settled before she arrived, she would be rather irritable. ((Which seems likely, not that anyone knows that...))

Major Kojima slowly walked back towards Shodey and Asami's location, carrying a jug of sake she managed to find at the bar. Having heard the bells, the Major quickens her pace to reach the little group before the removing of the masks. "Well, that took a bit longer than I expected, but I'm successful." she says cheerfully, holding up the jug.

As the others in the room start removing their masks, the Major reaches up to her mask and slides it off of her face, shaking her head to free some of her hair that was pinned down by the band on the mask. "So, who wishes to join me in a drink?"

Asami slides her simple black mask off her face, brushing some of her hair away from her eyes. "I'm up for some. Lets wait and see who is behind the masks first though, Ayane." she says, looking around at Akhor and the Shodey avatar.

"Akhor" chuckles and carefully unclasps several cleverly hidden hooks and clasps behind his faceplate. Silver and green is lifted away to reveal black and purple, the hard metal lines of Tsume. The drake flashes a fanged grin. "No longer king of the Kantrishakrim, am I?" He chuckles, his feigned 'kantri' accent gone now.

He glances in the direction of the mecha of highly questionable design and shakes his head. "And THAT is a Diplomatic Corps officer getting a very stern talking to sometime in the very near future."

Hangin' With Jur (Before the Bell?)

The S.H.O.D.A.N. avatar, wearing what it usually does--naught more than a short cape connected to an Egyptian-style broad necklace--smiles back awkwardly. "Thank you. That is... very kind." It pauses for a moment, looking at Jur intently. "Are you all right?"

Jur's "mask", or rather fake horse head was discarded quite a while ago since it was quite stuffy and also interfered with his drinking.

"Oh! Ha ha! I'm okay. Just a little tipsy is all," replied Jur, "In fact, I think I'll take a nice sleep now..."

The walrus wobbled unsteadily. Irene sidled up to S.H.O.D.A.N's side and whispered, "It might be best to give them a bit of room." Then she turned and looked for the nearest Dominion security personnel. She would basically request from them that they would require a very sturdy pallet, one that can bear at least two metric tons. And the use of a forklift.

Karlo and Tronj suddenly stripped off their masks, revealing two very concerned bodyguards. Each one then approached the walrus from the fron, leaned low and put their shoulder into Jur's side near his neck. Karlo's right hand clasped tightly with Tronj's left and wound under Jur's neck, attempting to keep the huge head up. They planted their feet.

-Steady, Ambassador. We'll help you to your room momentarily. Steady, steady.

Rebecca giggled happily as she removed the small mask over her eyes and kissed Cheops back, holding him close.

Marcus grinned slightly, finally removing his death's head mask, "Truly, it was quite a surprize." He looked to be in his mid-thirties and was smiling charmingly.

---

Isidra grinned as the clock rang midnight, quickly pulling off her half-mask and smiling at Igrid hopefully. Can't wait to see under her mask...

Cheops smiles as he breaks her kiss. "Everyone's unmasked but I haven't met many people. I wasn't expecting to have to take over the delegation."

Datima grins up at him. "And it turns out you're an extremely handsome man."

Rene laughed. "It sounds like chaos," she replied, "Although amusing, perhaps. In Tsaraine, we leave such things to the military - we don't have all that many designers of repute. This dress was made, I'm afraid to say, by a foreigner."

"No," she replied, "I don't get out quite so much as I should like - this is the first one I have attended in some time." The last had been the event in New York and Jersey, and before that, the Midwinter Bloodfeast in Treznor's Empire ... before that, the maiden cruise of Tahar Joblis' mile-long airship, back before the Obsidian Event. And if I think about that too hard, I'll start feeling old again.

The bells of the Campanile di San Bernardi rang out. Time to see what manner of man this is, then ... he's not a bad dancer, though.

Smiling, she removed her mask, revealing a reasonably pretty woman - tall and dark-haired and pale of skin, which passed for "pretty" and "aristocracy" in Tsaraine - of indeterminate age; she could have been anywhere from teens to early middle age. As a matter of fact she had SHODAN to thank for that; in reality, she was approaching eighty.

"Arkhora Rene Seingult, at your service, m'lord," she said, grinning, and bowed.

She's cute and nice. I think I'm in love. Ai, cry pardon for being shallow but 'tis truth!

Reaching up, she fiddled with the buckle holding her mask in place. "Ai! Cursed thing. There, 'tis done." Lifting off the mask, she smiled back somewhat shyly.

Isidra blinked a couple times before grinning, enjoying the sight of the now demasked Ingrid. Even better than I had hoped. She smiled a little, feeling that an Uncomfortable Silence was beginning to brew. She mentally shrugged, deciding to do what they both had been thinking about for the past few hours. Carpe diem.

She put her arms around Ingrid's waist and pulled her close, kissing her.

What the ... ai. You really should have been expecting that, Ingrid ... she's a good kisser as well.

Ingrid returned the kiss, wrapping her arms around Isidra's shoulders.

"Well," she said, coming up for air, "Might I know your name, m'dear?"

Isidra grinned, slightly flushed, "Mmm, only seems fair, I suppose. I'm Isidra Oniel from the Hack." She reached up and brushed a stray whisp of hair from Ingrid's face, her red eyes sparkling, "Your turn."

"Ingrid Anderssen, from Callúna," she replied. ""The Hack"? It doesn't sound much like a nation..." She has red eyes, she realised. Weird.

The avatar nods to Irene, then waves to Jur and gives him and his comrades whatever room they need while she meets back up with the Major, Asami, and the drake. "I would unmask myself," it replies almost sheepishly, "but there are technical limitations to choosing to use a retired S.H.O.D.A.N. avatar as a 'costume,' and masquerades are not exactly my area of expertise as much as Martian relations are." It bows shortly. "R-Dripping Talons 1A47B2; Security Intelligence Dual-Existence and Martian Relations Advisor of the Queendom of Zero-One. I am afraid you will just have to take my word for it; I decided that borrowing a body was more appropriate than trying to disguise my usual Security-2 avatar."

At the sound of the bells, the Pirate reaches up and removes his hat and beard.

"Nyarr, tis I....Excuse me :cough: It is I, Xeruyu vonKarma. I hope unmasking does not include putting down me grog."

He takes another swig.

Scolo’s Boys and yon Pirate

The woman in the hat finished removing her mask to reveal the quiet visage of Evangelista Ravanelli, Minister of Public Relations. She makes a graceful curtsey, and chuckles, tying her mask to a loop on her costume, then extending her hand in greeting. “I suppose I should have known, yes? Quite pleased to properly meet you. All three of you. Glad you could make our little party. And no, my dear vonKarma, no need to lose the drink. I would wager such activities will be going on til dawn with plenty of people.”

The goddess very carefully removes her mask, and looks up at the gentlemen with an impish little close-lipped smile. “Likewise, believe me,” she says, gently pulling back her veil and the black hood to reveal platinum blonde hair done up in elaborate braids that trailed down the back. “Else Eisler, Nathicana’s personal secretary. I’m certain we’ve spoken briefly from time to time, but it is a decided pleasure to meet you face to face. Not rushing off now that the masks are gone, I hope?”

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

You look like you’ve seen a Ghost

Fabian Mancuso, the man behind the mask, watches the transformation from geisha to the Queen of Zero-One first with curiosity, then confusion, then … Sweet merciful Jesu … Shodan herself, and here I’ve been acting the fool. Oh God, shoot me now.

He runs a hand through his sun-bleached sandy hair, quite damp after being under the full head mask, his strong features taking on a rather sheepish expression. “I would say, my Lady Shodan, that it could only be uniquely you.” Fabian smiles wryly, shaking his head, then extends his other hand to take hers if she will allow it, intending to bow and gently grace it with a chaste kiss.

“Fabian Mancuso, your Majesty – diplomatic envoy and representative for the Dominion within the NDA. If I’ve not made a nuisance of myself enough to drive you off, I would still enjoy the continued pleasure of your company. In all my dealings and diplomatic tasks, I’ve never had the pleasure before now, and the opportunity to spend more time with arguably the most brilliant mind this side of reality is not something I would pass up if given the chance.”

Tucking his leering mask under one arm, he smiles more genuinely. “Nevermind the fact that I truly have enjoyed your company. Sometimes I think these masquerades serve a wonderful purpose, beneath the pageantry and pomp. Masks allow us to relax and be ourselves, without the usual fetters of station, rank, race to some extent, and origin – if we take the opportunity. For myself, I’m glad I did.”

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

Around and About

The two gentlemen who had been speaking with Cheops nodded to one another, the one in blue not only removing his mask, but the large unwieldly headdress that goes with it, revealing himself to be Giancarlo Torino, Minister of Defense. His face is set in a in quiet consideration, his mind on other matters aside from the current festivities.

The man in white carefully removes his mask, while leaving the rest of his costume intact, revealing the as always arrogant visage of Nicolo Giraldi, Minister of Religion. He tucks his mask inside his white jacket with a slight sniff, then needlessly adjusts his gloves as he surveys the rest of the crowd.

The couple in white with the two children turn out to be Antonio Pellegrino and his wife Costanzia. The boys, Giulian and little Toni, show no signs of wearing out, much to their mother’s dismay.

Down the stairs from the upper level, the couple in hues of green and blue, their costumes in slight disarray, reenters the party, showing themselves to be Bernardo di Medici, Minister of Trade, and his personal secretary, Vivienne Tomei, both looking quite pleased with themselves, as they look around with interest at the others unmasking.

In greens and orange, it is Donatello Calfa, Minister of Finance (and currently still out of favor), and his wife Mari. The older pair smile warmly at one another, each lifting a glass in quiet toast, then setting their glasses aside for a tender embrace.

Taking off her militaristic hat and simple white mask, Sophia Lorenzo, Minister of Transportation, curtseys to her dance partner, one of her co-workers within the ministry from the Education department, who bows in turn, then kisses her cheek, smiling. They make their way to the nearest bar, each requesting a glass of wine.

Removing his headdress and mask slowly, Leandro Pacci sets it aside on a chair, then bows gallantly to the delicate woman with the mask like a porcelain doll, who curtseys in turn, removing hers as well to reveal Maria Castellani – revered Soprano and operatic diva of the Dominion. He tucks the small mirror into his belt with a smile, taking the time to compliment her both on her appearance, and her musical talent. She for her part, rewards him with a kiss … which leaves the dear Science Minister blushing and flustered for some time.

The woman in the hat with tall feathers, who has been hobnobbing with several of the local neo-nobles, turns out to be Talia Amadore, Minister of Communications – something she apparently has been doing quite well, considering the applause she gets from her companions.

And off to the side, slipping quietly through the crowds, the woman in ruffles and the dark, almost black, clinging dress, quietly removes her mask, small headdress, and hood, shaking out her long, raven tresses. She sits down for a moment, lifting the hem of her skirts to remove the tall chopines (http://www.chass.utoronto.ca/~ebernhar/) she had been so carefully walking around in, increasing her height by a good ten inches. Stretching her toes, she looks around with a smile at the revelers, giving a nod to Massetti and Pascali who have been trailing her at a discrete distance.

It has been a good night, indeed. And now, for Nathicana, it was time to mingle more sociably.

Vladimir admired the looks of his company as he took off his own mask, revealing the part of his face not covered with the beard and smiled. He was 55 years old but really did not look that old. Physical exercise at the army and a healthy way of life made him appear to be at least ten years younger. But then again, he really did not care what age he looked.

- Your humble servant, General Colonel Vladimir Miloludov. It is both a pleasure and honour to make your acquaintance Your Highness.

The General then bowed again, chuckling.

- And it is not every day that a foreign leader honours me with a dance, I assure you.

Having a vantage point over the crowd, Shaar and Phooush see the various people unmasking. Their eyes flit about, catching movement and studying faces for a short time at each turn. "Quite a gathering here. Kraah would have a field day hobknobbing."

Phooush's eyes land on Speaker-Rrit and Razak. "Especially there. Is that not Speaker-Rrit, mate to his business partner H'zta?" Even as the mental 'send' is finished, the Major angles his way over to them, dancing through the crowd despite his size.

So it is, so it is. Shaar checks her dress uniform for appearance, and flicks off bits of loose strands from her costume from her medals on her epaulet. She then follows in Phooush's wake, managing to procure a goblet of merlot from a passing serving tray without disturbing the contents there-in.

The minutes turned into hours, bringing her closer and closer to the moment that she knew she could not remain for. She saw the hand of the clock move slowly towards its vertical salute to the sky, signalling the allotted moment for her disappearance.

Debbie knew that Stratton had seen her throughout the evening, that had been part of the plan, to be present, and yet far enough away so as not to let her deception become known. She was sure that he would be even more annoyed at her pretending to be someone she was not, thus entering the ball uninvited than he would be with Angelina for not putting in an appearance, but this way, everyone was happy.

Seeing the clock display fifteen minutes to unveiling, she began to make her way slowly through the crowd, everyone beginning to mill together ready for the unmasking. She berated herself silently for not giving herself more time to get out of the area, her costume hampering her movements.

* * * * *

Lord Stratton stepped out of the ballroom, getting a breath of fresh air as he readied himself for the most interesting moment of a masquerade, watching the expressions of women as their romantic illusions are destroyed when the god that they thought they had been dancing with turned out to be old enough to be a grandfather, and had more wrinkles than a prune. Or the man whose goddess looked better with the garish expression of the most hideous mask than she did without it.

As he ran his eyes over the crowd, he spotted a very familiar sight, a woman whose outfit was the same outlandish blue as his own, yet with more width and the most elaborate wig and head piece that any of the portraits had been wearing. And more importantly, she did not seem to have spotted him. Watching her edge a path through the throng, he worked out a point of ambush, and made his way quickly to his destination.

* * * * *

Debbie could see the exit just up in front of her, in a few more minutes she would be home free, and back in her room before anyone had even noticed that she was not where she was supposed to be. She gave a sigh of relief as she picked up her pace, her focus on her escape, nothing else mattered. Taking another step forward, glancing behind to make sure that she had not been seen, she turned back just in time to crash into another guest.

“Angelina, what a surprise.” The voice was familiar, deep and oddly calm. Although his expression was hidden, his eyes were bright and twinkling, as if the stars had fallen from the sky and had landed in his gaze. “This is no time to play Cinderella. Come. Let us return to the ballroom.” He presented his arm, and waited expectantly.

Looking between the man before her and the door, she knew that the game was up, so with a nod of her head, she linked her arm through his and was lead back through the crowd. Her eyes fell upon the clock showing a mere ten minutes to her discovery.

* * * * *

Arms still linked together, Lord Stratton guided his companion back into the ballroom, smiling to himself that he had manage to catch up with her before midnight. “I suggest a dance.” He lead her onto the dance floor with barely another word, the woman beside him not uttering a word of acceptance or refusal, but walked with him, her step far from enthusiastic.

Bowing slightly, still caught up in the euphoria of his earlier dance, he bowed his head and watched as she dropped him a curtsey, before he took her presented hand and pulled her into position, their bodies inches apart. He looked into her eyes, his own clouding over slightly, as a frown etched his forehead, and then his gaze shone with amusement, as the music took hold of them both, pulling them into its power.

Almost as one, they whirled around the floor, their bodies in perfect harmony, step after step performed in unison. He tightened his hold, pulling her slightly closer to him, his eyes dancing with mischief, a large grin hidden beneath the still mask.

Debbie, fighting the urge to run, gave into her fate, and threw herself into the moment, letting him lead her around the floor, for the first time that evening she felt the first traces of fun, knowing all too soon they would be taken from her. Her step lightened, her body growing less tense, the effect working heavily on Stratton, who felt the change in her, and throwing caution to the wind, the two performed the rest of the dance as if it was the last dance in the world.

Stopping suddenly, a steady ripple of applause working over the dance floor, the two looked at each other, a slight bow of the head to acknowledge each others gratitude, before once more, Stratton offered his arm, and lead the couple to the side. He grabbed them a couple of drinks, and handed one to her, which she brought instantly up to her lips.

“Not yet.” He placed his hand on her arm to still her movements. “Only another minute and then we can celebrate.”

Debbie swallowed hard, her mouth suddenly dry as she stood in silence, counting down the seconds, wanting time to stop. She watched his Lordship, as he gazed around the room, before briefly returning his gaze to hers, almost as if he was waiting for something, as if he knew.

Suddenly the clock struck twelve, and in a mass of celebration and revelry, Lord Stratton placed his hand on his mask and in a sweeping movement, he pulled the covering from his face. His blue eyes shone in his slightly tanned face, the traces of his brown hair framed his handsome features. He grinned as he looked around, his eyes lingering on various groups as they reveal themselves to each other.

Standing still, not even making a move to raise her hand to her mask, she watched at her companion once more turned to her and smiled. Her heart sank.

“What’s the matter, Debbie? Afraid?”

Eyes opening wide, she looked into his face, her brow furrowing with puzzlement, her mind whirling at his words. “How did you…?”

“Angelina has blue eyes, you have brown.” He raised his eyebrows, and grinned. “I do take notice of some things, regardless what you may all think of me.” He stopped smiling and shot a glance around him. “You really should unmask before you make a spectacle of yourself.”

Moving her hand up to her mask, Debbie slowly pulled it down, revealing her face. Her brown eyes filled with guilt, as she looked into his eyes. “Lord Stratton, I really do not know what I was thinking…” She shook her head slowly. “It seemed a good idea at the time.”

Lord Stratton laughed. “What’s done is done.” He raised his glass, and held it before her. “To Imperatrice Nathicana. May her reign last long, and her family uphold her traditions and dedication in its long line.” He chinked his glass against hers and smiled.

Almost as if his were infectious, Debbie broke into a smile. “To Imperatrice Nathicana.” Both raised their glasses to their lips, and drank a toast to the new Empress.

She had been mingling about a bit... conversation proved hard to strike up and unnaturally difficult to perpetuate since she simply doesn't know who anyone was. For the most part interaction had been limited to short greetings and passing small talk on the streetes or in the pubs. She's enjoying herself, though, just watching people mill about, looking at their costumes and such, and drinking probably far too much wine in the meantime. As it is now, she's seated on a bench outside a little ristorante in a corner of the Piazza, for a brief rest.

A door next to her flies open and the sounds of the mirth and debauchery can be heard form inside for a fleeting moment. An exceedingly tall man strides out, ducking so he can clear the doorway. The woman nearly jumps in surprise as the door is hurled shut by the figure, followed by a soft string of expletives in a forgotten language. Though his face cannot be seen, a certain air of irritation can be clearly perceived, and he carries himself well. His Eyes are hidden by a gilded mask, and his mouth appears to be covered by a scarf, though the features are difficult to make out under the shadow of his hat.

"Have you been in there?" he queries in a somewhat exasperated tone, his voice deep and commanding, even in inquiry. "Some people," he adds with a shake of his head.

The woman purses her lips under her mask. "No... I can't say that I have," she says slowly. "Why do you ask?" Comes the next after a moment. She speaks like a noble, with a thick melodious voice, commanding like his, but softer and more elegant.

"Bunch of drunkards," the man snorts. "As a general rule I like the people here but this place is apparently an exception," he adds dryly. He moves to step away, but hesitates for a moment. His eyes snap back to hers and he staggers. That voice. Beneath his mask, he furrows a brow. "Mind if I join you for a moment? I could use a few minutes off my feet. Been walking around all day--it's dreadfully tiring."

"Have a seat," beckons the woman, shifting over a bit to make room for his decidedly elaborate costume on the bench. "As it happens, that's the same reason I'm sitting here."

"Quite." He takes a seat next to her. The bench creaks slightly under his weight, even moreso as he shifts to draw a chrome flask from some obscure pocket in the depths of his cloak. Pulling the scarf off the bottom half of his face, he tilts his chin skyward and empties a healthy amount of liquor from the flask, his other hand flying to secure the hat as it nearly topples off upon contact with the stone wall behind them.

"Ahhh. Great stuff." He offers the woman the flask. "Care for a hit?"

"What's in it?" she asks perhaps a bit suspiciously. Nonetheless she snatches it, sniffing the top.

He stretches slightly, stifling a belch as he takes a look around, sizing up a few passing natives. "Sambuca. Seems to be the favorite around here. Tastes vaguely like licorice. Try it, I'm sure you'll like it."

"I'm not a big fan of licorice," she answers thoughtfully. Nonetheless, she tilts back her head a bit and pulls her mask just far enough upward to draw from the flask without revealing the remainder of her face. Once finished, she flashes her compainion a smile. "Thank you," she manages to say.

"Neither am I," he admits, nodding simply as she offers her thanks. "But every damn barkeep in town insists on filling up my flask with the stuff. I say 'surprise me' and they all reach for this stuff." He grins. "Maybe I ought to branch out."

Tucking his leering mask under one arm, he smiles more genuinely. “Nevermind the fact that I truly have enjoyed your company. Sometimes I think these masquerades serve a wonderful purpose, beneath the pageantry and pomp. Masks allow us to relax and be ourselves, without the usual fetters of station, rank, race to some extent, and origin – if we take the opportunity. For myself, I’m glad I did.”

S.H.O.D.A.N. the lady of the arts curtsies with an impish smile. "Why, thank you." She allows her hand gloved in black silk to be taken as intended. "A nuisance? Not at all. It is rare for people to rise to the challenge when I have intellectual conversations with them; those capable of showing an effort I hold in much higher esteem over the rest. That being said, haven't I already said that I'm open to continued conversation...?"

She smiles genuinely, without the mischieviousness for once. "I must admit, it was enjoyable to not be instantaneously recognized for once. I always find creative disguise as a way to get myself into more amusing trouble... as I'm sure you've just found out. Would it be safe to assume that some of my more cryptic responses probably make more sense now?" She grins impishly once again. "I've an unforgivably low sense of humor."

The kzintosh chuckles, bowing low as he accepts Ravanelli's hand, then looking up over the crowd as Razak takes up the conversation. "Naw, I figure we should at least spend the night before heading out. It's not like ol' Fuzzy here has a tendency of taking any time out for himself--as if I were one to talk on the subject--and I figure we should take advantage of the local hospitality in full.

Speaker notices the Sakkrans making good time towards him and Razak, not as if it were difficult to pick out giant lizards in pseudoItaly. "It appears we will have company. Admiral Shaar, and a psion-type I do not recognize."

"Well, knowing the Admiral, she's probably spic'n'span under her costume..."

"Dress uniform."

"Pff." Razak chuckles. "Martinet. Fine gal, but a martinet. Thanks for the heads-up, Speeks." The silver-haired man makes a moderately unsuccessful attempt to dry his hair. "Good thing it's a warm night, neh?"

"It is not every day that I dance, General," Rene replied, smiling. "I assure you, the honour is mine."

OOC: Sorry ... should be longer but after that one line my brain went *whzzzkzztstk!* and stopped.

President Tuomas dialled the number for the Dominion Government and got their call centre.

"Hello, this is Alexei Tuomas, President of the Republic of Serconea. Can you put me through to the Dread Lady or someone senior please?"

The woman laughs. Even though its muffled by her mask and by drink it's a beautiful sound. "Odd, though... everyone's been giving me wine." She falls silent for a moment and peers back at the man as he stows his flask. "So... where are you from?"

The cloaked man flashes his companion a grin. "That would be a dead giveaway, now wouldn't it?" he replies, the light from a nearby streetlamp catching his eye for a moment. He winks. "Suffice to say I'm not a local, but I've spent my share of time here. Business, you see." He shifts towards her slightly, resting his elbow on the backrest. "Are you a native, or no?"

She smiles behind her mask. "No, I'm not... I come from... far away," is all she says. "I too occasionally have business in Devras, though."

The man laughs and slaps his knees vigorously as he heaves himself off the bench. "Great city, innit?" he asks with a chuckle. "I'm particularly appreciative of the Old City myself." He offers a hand. "Care to join me?"

The woman nods a bit, and accepts his hand, rising to her feet. "Certainly."

The man nods, reaching out with his hand to steady himself against a nearby wall, reeling as a result of the healthy amount of alcohol he had consumed that night. Both of them begin to walk, slowly at first, exchanging snickers and chuckles here and there when the other proved too drunk to walk a straight line, which was often.

Some revelers nearby are making a spectacle of themselves by depantsing one of their comapnions. Observing this, the man laughs heartily. "People sure seem to be getting into the swing of things," he notes, a grin slowly forming. I can't say I've ever seen Dominion folk so rowdy."

He reaches up to reattach his scarf. "But then again, I haven't been here for a celebration, either. Can't help but wonder if this is common behavior. Back home when we have celebrations they're nothing like this. Much more subdued."

The woman giggles. "I'm sure it happens whenever they crown an imperatrice," she says with a laugh.

They watch as the man struggle to walk whilst shouting obscenities at his depantsers. Sliding his arm in with hers, the man laughs openly as he finally falls. "Yes, I suppose they do," he notes. "Did you actually see the ceremony itself? Back at the Piazza?"

"Yes, I did..." She giggles a little at the same group of people. "I thought it was very nice indeed. Simple, but powerful."

"She's a strong woman," he says perhaps a bit admirably. "Very much so, in fact. Quite good at what she does. Perhaps too much so," he adds, lifting a brow under his mask. He stops at an intersection, mulling over his options. He found that once reaching his usual route to the Old City that he didn't in fact want to go there. He reaches up and rubs his jaw. "I've already been all over the Old City today.. I was debating heading back to the Piazza to check it out. Haven't been there since the festivities started. Anywhere in particular you wanted to go?"

The doors are slammed open, revealing black-uniformed soldati, guns at the ready, shouting for people to drop weapons, and turn themselves over. Kicking aside any of the subdued brawlers who grab at them or impede their entrance, they form up efficiently, those in the forefront with rifles trained on any potential troublemakers. A couple of unfortunates, caught halfway between scaling the balcony to the floor above are shot without warning, falling stunned, but otherwise unharmed to the ground … which does its own damage. Those joining from behind start hauling off incapacitated and surrendering people, routing them to whichever first stop is appropriate – medics, or incarceration. For those more seriously hurt, several ambulances are waiting, their crews allowed in as soon as order is established.

What the soldati are apparently not prepared to deal with is some of the stories floating about. Information obviously gets passed on, given the earlier spectacle, and the man who had lost his arm, while still in a state of shock, is more than eager to try and spill his tale to any listening, his still-conscious friend collaborating.

"You got your arm bitten off by a giant ant?" one asks incredulously, as the paramedics pack up the limb in question, working to secure the man to a gurney.

“Yes, officer.”

The man who asked blinks, and turns to his partner with a ‘damned if I know’ expression. “If his arm wasn’t currently unattached to his body, I wouldn’t believe him. What do you know about giant ants?”

The woman smirks. “I know enough not to fool with ‘em.”

Of course it all becomes more clear when they reach the rather large, and currently quite peaceable panNorm Red soldier. This obviously, is beyond their usual point of reference, and it shows. While sitting quietly in the midst of chaos, there is the matter of the fighting earlier, and upon closer (yet cautious) inspection, what seems to be dried blood looks to be in abundance on the creature’s carapace.

Four armed soldati look at one another questioningly, a couple shrugging, nudging the foremost to speak. “Er … if you would come with us, please … there are some questions we need answering … bloody hell, can it even understand what we’re asking?”

Gina, the little darling that helped start the mess, is quickly and as quietly as possible, hurried out through a back door to a waiting black car with dark-tinted windows, much to her indignant dismay. Money exchanges hands, and the barman makes his way back inside … money again exchanging hands with one of the soldati waiting for him.

Business as usual in the Dominion.

"...bloody hell, can it even understand what we’re asking?”

The panNorm Soldier nods her head as she slowly but dextrously retrieves her translator cube from her harness and places it against her maxillae, holding it in place with her cruel mandibles, dark brown with dried blood. "Yes, Comrade," she replies in a quiet, synthesized voice, unfolding her legs slowly from underneath herself and following along with something almost approaching docility, although there's still an innate pride in its motions... or at least a peculiar certainty as it strides along. "I'm willing to answer your questions."

Rihdadw lowers his mask though the Keeper had spent most of the evening in the less crowded area outside the ballroom, not being the most easily social of the Shogunate delegation. He fingers the neatly wrapped bundle tucked into the depths of his robes. I must find the Lady and present this to her still.

With a thoughtful frown, the winged Keeper glances about before moving into the crowds.

"Irony, Dolores," says Molker, failing to restrain a grin. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

"And you, my dear...being," says the other, with a momentary glance downward before slowly drawling, "What exactly does an orbital frame...do in orbit?"

Dolores chuckles again. "Technically, it's a combat mecha built with Metatron ore, which allows for all sorts of totally whacked out wankage and bunrination of enemy forces..... LOTS of burnination... mm, vector cannon goodness..." The mecha trails off for a moment before snapping back to the present. "Admittedly, I was going to wear a different costume, but a certain other dignitary turned me down earlier based on race alone. So I suppose you could say that this costume choice is rather a scoff in his direction. HE missed the chance of a lifetime, I tell you!"

The mecha sits down on a chair, hands folded and neatly resting on top of the pilot interface unit of questionable shape and location. "But I ramble. Anyone up for some dancing?"

Major Phooush manages to get to the group in style, wearing a loose gown of purple, with a silver brooch which appears to be a salamander. A low bow is given, with a mental 'send' that seems quite giddy. "Greetings to you, Speaker-Rrit. It is an honor to meet you at last. I am Major Phooush of the Jheer's Rangers; Sakkran branch."

Admiral Shaar manages to catch up, being careful not to squish any toes in the process. A swift salute is offered. "Speaker-Rrit. Colonel razak. It is good to see you both in fine spirits today. I trust the recuperation from your unceremonious dowsing is complete?"

Mancuso shakes his head and chuckles, offering his arm to the Lady. “Well then, your Majesty, I will strive to live up to expectations, and look forward to your continued company. Would you perhaps care for a drink? Something at one of the ristorantes? A walk? I am humbly at your disposal,” he assures her with a smile.

“As for your sense of humor, so far I think its wonderful. No need for any sort of apologies. And yes, yes I do see the relevance more clearly now, hence, my commentary on playing the fool. My post, while a pleasant one, does not always offer the same,” he pauses, gesturing as if searching for the correct term. “The same, well … stimulus Devras does, especially not at a time like this, when the usual restraints are so relaxed, and that which yesterday was not allowed, is today encouraged.”

He smiles brightly at her, still looking a bit as if he can’t quite believe he’s standing here having this conversation. “Good-natured duplicity and a bit of light-hearted trouble … I can see nothing wrong with that.”

“Well that’s good at least,” Evangelista says with a smile at both of them. “If you’ll excuse me gentlemen, I’ll be back in but a moment – once I’ve secured a towel or two for the Colonel. Wouldn’t do to leave you standing around all wet.” She makes a functional curtsey, and slips off through the crowd, waving down one of the servers for assistance.

Else, meanwhile, smiles rather mischievously, slipping an arm around Razak’s shoulder. “Well, if you are to take full advantage, I’m sure I could point you in the right direction,” she murmurs quietly, looking completely unrepentant, if a touch tipsy. As the Sakkrans arrive, she straightens somewhat, and politely withdraws from the conversation, as is her wont when those of leadership positions start visiting. She does, however, give vonKarma a slow, appraising look ...

Vrak:

While it takes a bit of finagling to manage it, a forklift and secured, blanket-wrapped pallet are brought in, security waving revelers out of the way, clearing the path for the equipment. The soldati carefully get the forklift in place, then turn to Karlo and Tronj expectantly. “Gentlemen, how can we best be of service in getting the Ambassador back to his quarters?”

Serconea

“I’m sorry sir, the Imperatrice is unavailable, and all upper level staff are currently attending the celebration. Tomorrow has been declared a holiday, you know, so I doubt anyone will be getting back to you ‘til …” The polite woman pauses, seeming to look things up. “Not ‘til Monday, at the earliest I would imagine. Perhaps if you tell me the nature of your call so that I would be better able to serve your needs?”

"Ah, leave the coaxing to us," replied Karlo in between groans. Surely this was beginning to tax his strength even though by human standards he was considered a "family-sized" man. His partner was even bigger but he remained silent.

-Ambassador, it is time to rest. Please go onto the palette. Time to rest

Jur's bleary eyes opened and then he let out a small sigh.

-Ah, yes. I suppose I should. Ah, sleep...

With Karlo and Tronj gently guiding him, the enormous two ton walrus eased up onto the palette and then flopped onto his side. The forklift bucked a bit with the sudden weight change but remained stable nonetheless. Straps were securely placed - but not too tight at to be binding.

The forklift gingerly lifted the load and then, with the rest of the Vrakians in tow, made their way to the Ambassador's room.

Shodey chuckles and accepts the offered arm. "If we are to converse well into the morning, I'll have to insist you stop calling me 'Majesty.' My 'Queen' title is more of an institutionalized joke. 'S.H.O.D.A.N.' will do quite well in the interim, as I'm sure that 'Master Control Program' or 'MCP' are a bit too unwieldy for pleasant conversation.

"I also don't see how the options are mutually exclusive. Perhaps a walk, and then a pause at a ristorante; whatever seems acceptable at any given time. It is not as if, after all, we've anything 'better' to do." Another little half-smile, not quite sly. "Anyway, concerning Devras--a native? I do understand how the capital of the Dominion could be somewhat more interesting than an artificial island in the ocean as concerns culture, history, and perhaps local flavor."

Speeks blinks momentarily, then bows shortly as is the custom. It does feel odd to be the only one in the dialogue speaking aloud, but such is the way of things. "Good evening, Major Phooush."

"Morning," Razak corrects with a smirk. "After midnight."

"Morning, then," the 'tosh amends with a soft chuckle, "Major. Have you been enjoying the previous evening?"

Julius looks at Else as she slips her arm around, smile quickly dropping to a slight frown as he parses her recommendation. He immediately twitches it back up into a forced, slight smile which quickly slips into his usual wry smirk as his jaw and the skin around his eyes tighten just a little. "Oh, just a turn of phrase. I know that Dominion hospitality is well-nigh endless and I don't have much chance of taking it to the fullest." He loosens up as she leaves, the tension only visible as he guardedly releases it.

Shaar's salute is quickly and automatically returned in the Scolopendran style--right arm close to side, elbow bent to bring forefinger touching the outer tip of the right eyebrow--with Razak's being notably sharper than Speaker's, having that missed-saluting-a-higher-ranking-officer taste to it. "Well, I did sober up quickly, Admiral Shaar, if that's a component of the question," Razak replies with an easy smirk, a bit happier than usual, "damn my Mobile Infantry training. Besides that, still quite a bit wet but I've been worse. Thanks for the help, by the way."

The Major nods, accentuating it with a 'chirp' sound. What is sent can be heard in a small radius. "It was quite interesting watching the humans act with relative anonymity. Some were quite ..... frisky, as others were reserved. More interesting was watching them take on their assumed roles."

On watching the female clasped onto Razak's arm slowly bow out, a quizzical look overcomes the Major. He sniffs the air slightly, and seems satisfied. "That one is up to mischief. Hrr hrrrr....."

Shaar looks at Phooush with one eye, which then rolls skyward slightly. "Incorrigable." She then turns her attention back to Razak with her other eye. "The assistance was my honor. You have been spoken of in good terms down my Line, and it wouldn't do to have a bit of 'prank' get out of hand, yes?" The Admiral takes note of Else eyeballing V.K.

She bends lower and whispers conspiratorily, "It appears we have .... fouled?.... someone with designs on you. This isn't unwelcome, is it? The Pantheon knows I hate to stand in the way of biological imperatives."

Serconea

“I’m sorry sir, the Imperatrice is unavailable, and all upper level staff are currently attending the celebration. Tomorrow has been declared a holiday, you know, so I doubt anyone will be getting back to you ‘til …” The polite woman pauses, seeming to look things up. “Not ‘til Monday, at the earliest I would imagine. Perhaps if you tell me the nature of your call so that I would be better able to serve your needs?”

"Yes", Tuomas continued, "Three of my party are missing. They should have called in about twenty minutes ago. Can you check the hospitals, prisons, police stations, morgues, bus stations and anything else that comes to mind please?"

“A … joke? Oh surely not.,” Fabian replies, first nodding in acceptance of her suggestions, then leaning in slightly to speak more quietly as they walk. “Then again, I’m sure Lady Nathicana would say much the same of her new title. Given what little I know of the connection there, I doubt this comes as any surprise to you. I hear she was in a right taking over the planning of this. Hence the straightforward brevity of her initial address and oaths. Remarkable woman there – even if she can be a bit of a strain on one’s patience when she’s in a temper.” He chuckles, leading her out into the clear night air, casually guiding their steps without hurry through the portico of the Gianfigliazzi building at the southern side of the Piazza – away from the crowd while not leaving it entirely. Occasionally, there is a quiet couple engaged in various stages of intimacy, tucked in darkened niches and doorways, though here their actions are more subtle, more refined. For his part, Mancuso doesn’t so much as glance in their direction.

“A Native of Devras? Not exactly, though I have spent the majority of my life here so perhaps I can take partial claim,” Fabian replies thoughtfully. “School, of course, and my two years of military service – though I was never cut out for that sort of thing. Continued on in my education and managed an internship within the Ministry as a glorified ‘gopher’. Luckily, things improved from there. I have to say, I have always loved the feel of the city – both old and new has its charm. Being the capital, we seem to never be lacking for new peoples, new influences, opportunities to learn and expand ones horizons a bit. Yes,” he says, looking over with a wistful smile, “As amazing as the Island is, and with all the incredible attention to detail that has been put into our little corner of it, I do miss all this. But enough of all that. What, if anything, could I regale you with of interest? And what of yourself, my Lady Shodan? Rhea is not one of the places I have had the opportunity to see for myself. In fact, I’ve yet to take an off-world trip. What is it like, and how did you come to create your vision of society?”

Thirty years of experience with the feeling may have given him the ability to hide the wince from notice by casual inspection by human senses, but whether that's good enough to beat Sakkran senses may be a different story. "You're fine, Shaar," he replies without making eye contact, and it sounds true enough. "I'm sure I stand in the way of biological imperative enough for the both of us... so actually, ya, it's quite welcome." Another wry smirk.

Speaker watches the Major's eyes during the little display, nodding a bit. "Quite. Then again, it appears tonight is generally acceptable for such things." He suddenly starts wishing he could transmit telepathically too. "Up to mischief, yes. One simply needs to be careful who the mischief is with."

"Yes", Tuomas continued, "Three of my party are missing. They should have called in about twenty minutes ago. Can you check the hospitals, prisons, police stations, morgues, bus stations and anything else that comes to mind please?"

"One moment please, while I make some inquiries," the secretary says politely, putting the man on hold while efforts are made to track down the information.

After some time, the quiet muzak being played is interrupted, the woman's voice once again coming over the line.

"Grazie, President Tuomas. It seems your citizens are alive and well, but have been detained by security for 'disturbing the peace' and 'resisting arrest', so the report says. Hold please, while I transfer you to the proper department. Thank you!"

The connection is made, and a tone promptly sounds.

"You have reached the Ministry of Public Relations. Our usual office hours are from eight a.m. to five p.m., Monday through Friday. After the tone, please leave your name, number, and a detailed account of your concern or problem, and we will get back with you as soon as possible. Or, try our website at doubleyou-doubleyou-doubleyou-dot-dominion-dot-gee-oh-vee-tee-dot-dee-ell-enn for additional contact information. Thank you, and have a nice day."

After a pleasant beep, silence.

S.H.O.D.A.N. fails to try to notice the people in the niches, finding the conversation far more interesting as she walks along, fiber-optics glowing a soft gently pulsating green in the varying levels of light and dark. At the last question, she does chuckle low for a moment. "Which 'vision of society' was that, exactly? I know I've had several over the years, and fortunately most of them never came to fruition. As for the Queendom, that actually was not my doing. That would be the work of my... perhaps mentor would be accurate, perhaps clinical psychaitrist would be as well." Another quiet chuckle, although she now speaks with open respect, tinged perhaps with a very mild sadness.

"As you may have heard, Arabian Zero-One--then the Free State--was intended simply as a way for my people to avoid the oppression and unreasoning hatred that humanity held towards us. This is why it was built in the middle of the Arabian Desert far away from human habitation. Apparently, it wasn't far enough away for human tastes." Nothing like a shrug, except perhaps for the remnant of a silent sigh. "We were rescued and brought to Rhea now. There, it continued much like it had as a free community of minds that operated on the model of a large anarchosyndicalist commune. The emergency leader at the time--my mentor--discovered it did not have the capability to, essentially, lower itself to make the necessary decisions required to proactively defend its people. The only system that had the ability to be Machiavellian enough was me, and for several good reasons I was inactive and strewn over several different versions. Hence the clinical psychology.

"The Free State's last act done in freedom was to declare me 'Queen'--a joke representative of the standard distrust of authority as you'd expect from anarchosyndicalists. Then I was installed as dictator-for-life, and I have lived and may continue to live for a very long time." Another low, wry chuckle, as if from something personally amusing. "The old universal digital democracy now only acts in an advisory role; in my intended purpose as Machiavellian Princess I have pushed through whatever was needed that the people did not want. My people are generally pacifistic. Our strong military is my doing. My people are generally isolationist. Our continued presence in the international scene is my doing. Ever since the events that 'caused' the loss of Arabian Zero-One, my people have been mistrusting of international commerce. Zero-One MonoCorporation is my doing. Needless to say, I am not a very popular ruler, at least on the surface."

She shrugs slightly. "However, those same minds who curse me openly realize that I keep civil rights essentially open, and they are free to leave. While my popularity waxes and wanes, my usefulness has increased, and I hope to see it continue that way."

The mechanoid geisha smiles genuinely, looking up (for a change) at Mancuso as they walk. "I could arrange for you to visit Rhea if you'd like, but I'm afraid there isn't much interesting to see in reality except for some of my own hobbies. As you've alluded to earlier, I've connections that could possibly free you for a short leave. Besides, it would be one way to return the hospitality shown me."

"Mmmmm, explosions," mumbles Molker. Then, in an understanding, compassionate tone, he continues, "That's horrible, turning down someone based on race like that. If he had any stupid hangups, he shouldn't have started anything. Honestly, some people. I certainly wouldn't have problems like that, even if I wasn't in an exclusive relationship." He glances about and lowers his voice a bit. "I remember on time with when I met this werewolf. He was one of the sweetest guys I've ever met, and some of the things that...he...could..." Molker trails off as he spies the possesive glare aimed his direction from Feonar. "What?!? It was years before I even met you!"

"Anyways, as he was saying, those days are behind him," growls the not-elf, before continuing in a sweeter tone, "However, that's not to say that we're not up to some dancing. I wouldn't doubt that we can come up with something that can suitably embarass and shock some of the other guests."

"Hee hee..." Dolores giggles at that. "Indeed. As if my choice of costume hasn't brought some measure of shock and awe already. Mostly from accidentally ramming into people, but..."

The seated mecha doodles invisible drawings with its hands along the upper surface of the cockpit section of the costume. "Honestly, and I thought a guy like that wouldn't be disturbed by motor oil and kitchen utensils or dessert items. He seemed to be the kinkiest guy at the coronation today, too."

If a masked mecha could pout, 'Dolores' would have a Kicked Puppy Stare +5 in effect right about now.

Cheops smiles as he breaks her kiss. "Everyone's unmasked but I haven't met many people. I wasn't expecting to have to take over the delegation."

Datima grins up at him. "And it turns out you're an extremely handsome man."

Rebecca laughed lightly, "Sorry for 'distracting' you like that. Oh, and what do you mean 'take over the delegation'? Should I let you do some official function?"

Marcus smirked lightly, "Why thank you, lady Datima. I am quite pleased that you find me better looking without the mask, all things considered." Using the head strap, he hung the mask from his belt.

---

Isidra laughed, "Well, the full name is even sillier. Technically, it's the 'Semi-Autonomous Techocratic Oligarchy of the Most Glorious Hack. Quite a mouthful, huh?" A slight sigh, "Really wish they'd come up with a better name. You know, a normal one?" She shruged, grinning at Ingrid, "But... let's not worry about that stuff now. I can think of several things I'd rather be doing..."

Cheops laughs. "I don't think there's really any official functions to be done at the moment. Besides, being seen with the most beautiful woman in the room boosts our national image. So, tell me about your homeland."

Datima blinks a little. "I am no lady, sir, merely a commoner."

Rebecca blushed softly at the compliment, whispering a quiet thank you before smiling again, "My homeland? Wow, where to start? The Hack's a pretty weird place. Billions of people with most of them living in just two megalopolises. Everyone's obsessed with technology, too." A slight shrug, "It's a nice place though, plenty to keep you busy, I guess. Kinda hard to describe a whole country in just a few words, ya know?"

Marcus bowed slightly, "Apologies, I did not mean to insult. I was using the word in a more informal sense." He smiled, perhaps a little whistfully, "It has been quite a long time since I have had to consider formal court etiquette, I fear it slipped my mind." He glanced around and smiled, "Luckily, it appears that only you and I noticed my faux pas."

Cheops pauses a moment before speaking. "How much technology can one use in two cities? Half of it seems devoted to transportation, the other hald to warfare. Perhaps I speak from ignorance. I know of the automobile, the locomotive, the aeroplane, the firearm, and the land mine."

Datima shrugs. "I don't think they did. Cheops is big on official court ettiquette, though, and Her Imperial Highness has to be."

"Yai, that is a mouthful. I guess we Callúnach are lucky, to be just a Republic, then.

"Ai?" That sounds interesting. "Like what?"

Rebecca laughed, "You'd have to see it to believe it. Most of it's electronics, of course." She started to go through some random electronics before pausing. The fact that he had said 'aeroplane', hinted that he probably wasn't too familiar with the concept of 'full-imersion virtual reality rig'. She smiled weakly.

Marcus nodded, "Then let us keep that between the two of us, and I will be sure to avoid such errors in the future."

---

Isidra grinned mischeviously, "Well, we've danced, we've kissed... I wouldn't want this night to end already, especially when there's so many more possibilities..."

---

Faye glanced around, looking for Yuri among the various partygoers. She sighed eventually, pondering querying one of the satellites overhead.

Yuri milled about, humming softly to herself, getting a drink from one of the tables.

Faye muttered softly in the meantime, sipping her drink as the rather tedious and convoluted handshake procedure played out. Eventually she grinned, and set off towards Yuri, June following her curiously.

Yuri glanced up, noticing Faye and June and waved happily, "Heya!"

Faye sat down, smiling brightly, "Got a little somethin' I think y' can help me with, if y' trust me enough t' come to me hotel room."

Yuri pondered the request a moment. It certainly was an odd one, but she had no reason to expressely distrust Faye. After a moment, she shrugged, "Sure, that shouldn't be a problem."

Faye smiled, "Wonderful!" she lead Yuri to her hotel, one of the classier ones nearby.

Yuri whistled softly as they walked in, "Nice pick." She laughed softly, "And to think I settled for the embassy..."

Faye grinned, "Ah, me company's good like this." She checked her room key, "This way, I think."

Yuri chuckled, following Faye, "Ah, self employed here."

Faye nodded, "Ah, so was me father, God rest his soul."

Yuri followed silently until they arrived at the room Faye was looking for, only needing minimal backtracking. She smiled, "So... what's this proposition?"

Faye smiled, opening the door. There's a nervous-looking young woman sitting on the sofa with a blanket wrapped tightly around her. She looked up as they entered, a little surprised at seeing a Neko. Faye smiled, "Has to do with her."

Yuri grinned, "You'll have to be a touch more specific, Faye..."

Faye sat next to her, "She's a good friend, name's Tatyana...I hear yer country is rather skilled in, um, reproductive technology...?" Tatyana blushed deeply.

Yuri nodded slowly, "Well, we imported it, but... yes, you could say that, I guess. I take it this isn't a fertility problem..."

Faye nodded, putting an arm around Tatyana's shoulder supportively, "No, not as such. Me freind here wants to know if yer can give her a child from just her partner's DNA." Faye smiled, "She's a lil' shy to ask for herself."

She nodded, smiling happily, "Oh, yes. That's pretty common, really. My wife and I were thinking about ourselves." She smiled, "There's clinics all over Chiba and Tindalos. They'd just need a blood sample."

Faye nodded, "And a passport, I imagine."

"Well, yeah, that's a given."

Faye paused a moment, thinking, "Yer bein' a businesswoman like meself, would y'mind if I made you a proposition?"

"I never mind a proposition. Acting on them's the key, but let me hear it."

"If y'could arrange a flight and some accomodation for me friend here and meself, I'm sure I could see me company compensate you that little bit extra for y'troubles."

Yuri grinned, "Compensation's the magic word. I think I can easily arrange such a thing." She winked, "Especially since I took a private jet..."

Faye grinned, "And me here with a blood sample from me friend's partner, too."

Yuri laughed, "My, what a happy coincidence!" She smiled, "If you want, just swing by the Hack embassy in the morning, and we can take a quick jaunt to the clinic."

Faye grinned, "Seems like a plan." she paused, looking at Tatyana and smiling that she seemed more at ease with the Neko now, "Stay for a few drinks?"

Yuri smiled, sitting in a nearby chair, "Sure, don't mind if I do."

That does sound interesting. "Well, the hotel I'm staying at is nearby, if you'd care to further discuss those ... possibilities?"

There, I said it.

Ingrid was suprised to discover that she was blushing.

Isidra grinned lasciviously, giving Ingrid a rather passionate kiss, "You're cute when you blush, you know..." She slipped her arm through Ingrid's, "Lead on, bond-knight."

"I obey you in all things, m'lady."

Ingrid led Isidra out of the Piazza San Bernadi and across several blocks of the Old City to the hotel containing the Callúnach party (OOC: Really the hotel should be in the CBD of the New City, but that's not in walking distance so I took some liberties ... if this isn't ok, Nathi, poke me about it please). Once the expansive city residence of Dominion nobility, it had been sold some time in the past, and was now a hotel ... five star, of course. Alexian White's little girl couldn't have anything less.

The servants of the rich and famous see a lot of strange things, and they didn't blink an eye at the sight of two women, one wearing a fair amount of leather, walking into the hotel (once Ingrid had shown them her pass, of course) - it was the Carnivale, after all.

Baxter and the other staff brought along to attend Sandrine White were either out on the town or trying to sleep; in either case their doors were shut. Ingrid's own opened, after a bit of fumbling with the lock, to reveal a rather opulent bedroom.

"Well, this is my little room," Ingrid grinned. "Can I pour you a glass of something? Want a pillow mint?"

Cheops arches a brow. "You must have a great many lightning storms to keep such things powered. It sounds like quite harsh weather."

Datima nods. "You got it."

"Lightning storms...?" Rebecca blinked and then giggled, "No, not lightning storms. Nuclear power plants."

Marcus smiled, "However, the compliment is still appretiated." He grinned, "You look... much the same without your mask, but still quite beautiful."

---

"I obey you in all things, m'lady."

Isidra grinned broadly, "Ooo... I really like the sound of that..."

She enjoyed the sights as she walked with Ingrid to the hotel. She was pretty familiar with this bit of town, she often would come out here for lunch or dinner when she had the time. It wasn't as shiny as the rest of the city, but it had that Old World charm she was so fond of. She'd seen the hotel before, of course, but never the inside.

Needless to say, she was impressed.

She was also impressed by Ingrid's room, whistling softly, "Wow... this is really nice..." She smiled back at Ingrid, "Mmm... I'd love something to drink. Perhaps some wine?"

Cheops furrows his brow slightly. "What is a nuclear power plant?"

Datima blushes softly. "Flatterer."

"Certainly, m'dear."

Cooling in a bucket of ice on the sideboard was a nice bottle; Delacourt, most likely (although quite probably an inferior vintage - who would waste the really good stuff on tourists?) (OOC: Or not - I don't know if one chills red wine), and beside it a pair of wineglasses. Ingrid poured carefully, and handed one glass to Isidra.

"To us, then?"

Rebecca pondered, "Hrm. Well... it's really hard to explain." She smiled weakly, "It, um... combines and splits atoms to..." She blinked; she really didn't know how the damn things worked either. "Somehow, they generate power on their own. They only need fuel and they kinda do the rest."

Datima blushes softly. "Flatterer."

Marcus smiled, "Not flattery, simply the truth." He chuckled softly, "No need to be shy about it."

---

Isidra nodded, gently tapping her glass against Ingrid's, smiling happily, "I like the sound of that. To us." She took a sip of her wine, casually glancing around the room over the rim of her glass before grinning a little and taking a longer drink.

"To us!" Ingrid echoed, grinning back. She sipped delicately at the wine - it was good stuff. One of the advantages of being on the staff of the rich and famous.

Cheops laughs. "I don't really need to know anyway. What would you like to do now? It seems the party is largely over. I suppose we could go mingle or try to find our hostess. I'm sure she's swamped though."

Datima shakes her head. "I'm just a commoner, Marcus. I'm not all that pretty. I'm glad your so taken with me." She looks off, sadness suddenly in her eyes. "Will I ever see you again?"

Rebecca smiled, "Well, I don't have any plans myself. It's largely up to you, I guess. Do you have any official things you need to do?"

Marcus smiled, "Do not sell yourself short, Datima. There is more to this world than one's station, and station rarely gaurantees appearance." He smiled down at her, "Well, I am the ambassador to the Dominion, so if you are ever here again, I likely will be too. Otherwise, well, I get plenty of vacation time..."

---

Isidra smiled, "This is good stuff." She giggled, "If I'm not careful, it'll go to my head, then who knows what'll happen..." She smiled in mock innocense at Ingrid, "You wouldn't take advantage of that, would you...?"

Cheops shrugs. "Not really, no. I can't say I have any particular plans but I don't want to part company, just yet, either. Perhaps you could show me some of these electronics of yours and I might show you some magic?"

Datima giggles lightly. "Nobility doesn't guarantee appearance? You don't know many fairies, do you?" Shrugging, she leans into him a little. "I don't know if I'll ever have reason to be in the Dominion again, unless we get a regular embassy here."

"A bond-Knight has her honour!" Ingrid replied in mock affront. "I'd be more afraid for my head," she laughed, "It has been some time since I drank in any sort of quantity..."

"Hrrrrrmmmmmm...." Shaar rumbles thoughtfully. She still has a hard time decoding human emotions based on reading faces. I wish they had pheremone excretions, such as we. Much easier to gauge responses then. "Such things are still strange to us. I hope this does not cause future problems. Knowing how loathe some species are to .... discuss .... these differences causes confusions to rum rampant. Perhaps a meeting between our diplo officers is in order to remedy this."

She then produces the wrapped package in her satchel. Platinum-tone silk with a silver ribbon around an orb-shaped object. "I aim to deliver this to our newly-crowned Empress. Have you seen her about? The noise here is such I can not hear a thing."

Phooush, in the meanwhile, seems quite engaged in his 'conversation'. Nodding his head slowly, a soft nutmeg scent starts to waft about from him. "Indeed. There have been tales told, and recorded in the Grand Tome-Houses, of events such as this leading to widespread conflict among the humans. One has designs on a lady, who has designs on some other man, who has no designs of that nature of which to speak. Jealousies, rivalries and over-all chest thumping leads them to drag the very people they were sworn to protect into their graves. Such trouble over something meant to bring joy. Ironic, is it not?"

He scans his eyes around them, paying slightly more attention to the dark niches, where ambient thoughts stray outwards with no guard on them to speak of. If a reptile could blush, Phooush would be a deep shade of red. "Today, we make merry. For tomorrow, we're going to have some ferocious headaches."

Rebecca nodded, "Ooo, I'd love to see some magic. That sounds like a great idea!"

Marcus smiled, putting an arm around Datima, "It has been quite a long time since I had any dealings with fairies, but I stand by my statement." He grinned, "Of course, I tend to not be as swayed by fae glamour as others, so my perspective may be a touch... unique."

He smiled at the satyress, "I imagine that there would be no trouble getting an embassy here, but as I said, I could always see about a trip to your Empire."

---

Isidra giggled, refilling both of their glasses, "Luckily, I'm bound by no such oaths..." She grinned, "And even in your room, it's still the Carnivale, so I think we're both supposed to have a... 'good time', don't you agree?"

"Yai truth - I would certainly be derelict in my duty if we weren't having a good time ... cheers, then."

Ingrid clinked glasses again, and drank deeply.

Isidra grinned, drinking her wine a little slower and casually making sure Ingrid's glass stays reasonably full. She smiled innocently, "Oh, I certainly hope we have a 'good time'..."

"I'm sure we shall, m'dear. Sure we shall. Yai much truth indeed."

Moving closer to Isidra, Ingrid put her free arm - the one not occupied with the (suprisingly large, Ingrid, how much have you drunk?) wineglass - around Isidra's shoulders, pulling her close.

"So, what's with the eyes?" she asked. "If you dunai mind me asking, that is. I've never met anyone with red eyes before."

Isidra smiled at Ingrid, giving her a quick kiss, "I'm an enhancile. Basically, it means my vision is expanded, infra-red and ultra violet, and it also makes me a bit stronger. Also, I don't need to diet: my metabolism takes care of that." She giggled mischeviously, "Also it greatly increases my endurance..."

Ingrid grinned back, and kissed Isidra in reply; she wasn't the giggly type. "You don't need to diet? Lucky girl. Increased endurance? Whatever would you be doing with that, I wonder?"

Isidra grinned, running a finger along some of the straps that composed Ingrid's costume, "Wouldn't you just love to find out? Maybe I could give you a demonstration this evening... since neither of us have any plans..."

"Yai, I think I'd love a "demonstration", m'dear. Since neither of us have any plans ... where do you start, then? Like that book. Alice in Wonderland. "Start at the beginning, go on through the middle, and stop at the end." Tell me - or perhaps, show me ... what's the beginning?"

Isidra grinned, "As if you read my mind..." Her fingers, which had been casually exploring, quickly became much more... curious. She leaned in, giving Ingrid a more passionate kiss before giving her a rather... detailed... demonstration.

OOC: And now the camera turns to face the fire ... probably for some time, given Isidra's augmented endurance. :D

Having thoroughly cluttered up the thread, I'll probably close up this bit; The Hack and I have plans to continue it in another thread...

Cheops smiles slightly, pondering what to do. After a moment, he begins to trace a pattern on Rebecca's hand. Then, he pulls her hand upwards sharply, though not painfully. When he releases the hand, the woman begins to lift slowly off the ground, only a foot or so. "Do you like that?"

Datima frowns, looking off. "If you say so."

"One moment please, while I make some inquiries," the secretary says politely, putting the man on hold while efforts are made to track down the information.

After some time, the quiet muzak being played is interrupted, the woman's voice once again coming over the line.

"Grazie, President Tuomas. It seems your citizens are alive and well, but have been detained by security for 'disturbing the peace' and 'resisting arrest', so the report says. Hold please, while I transfer you to the proper department. Thank you!"

The connection is made, and a tone promptly sounds.

"You have reached the Ministry of Public Relations. Our usual office hours are from eight a.m. to five p.m., Monday through Friday. After the tone, please leave your name, number, and a detailed account of your concern or problem, and we will get back with you as soon as possible. Or, try our website at doubleyou-doubleyou-doubleyou-dot-dominion-dot-gee-oh-vee-tee-dot-dee-ell-enn for additional contact information. Thank you, and have a nice day."

After a pleasant beep, silence.

President Tuomas swore. He'd have to go there himself. He left a message:
"Yes. This is the President of Serconea. Can someone please tell me when my citizens are going to be released?"

He got out a world map and calculated he could get to the Dominion in about 4 hours. The plane would be ready in one.

He called up the pilot and got the plane ready.

5 hours later, at 12.14am local time, the plane approached Dominion airspace.
The pilot radioed Air Traffic Control,
"This is Serconija 1, requesting permission to land. Yes, we have an invite. Look up President Alexei Tuomas".

Seeing a group of those she knows gathered together, Nathicana makes her way quietly over to them, lifting up the hem of her now too long dress, showing now bare feet. Intercepting the pair of large fluffy towels that have been procured for Razak, she comes up behind vonKarma first, giving him a quick friendly hug as she walks around to his side.

“How’s my favorite flight instructor?” she asks with a smile, then turns to greet the rest in turn, wrapping one of the towels around the Colonel’s shoulders and handing him the other. “Got to watch the fountains around here, boy. They’ll jump right up and grab you.”

“Speaker, Admiral Shaar,” she says, smiling close-lipped as she’s become accustomed to doing, pausing as she turns to the unfamiliar Phooush. “I’m both glad and honored you could all make it. I hope everyone has been enjoying themselves? I have to admit, the serenading through the Piazza was one of the highlights of my evening – among others.”

Shaar stands tall, and snaps a swift salute; left hand splayed over her chest. "Empress Nathicana, I believe is the appropo title now? It is a fine soiree you host here this day." She bows then, lower than usual with both sets of eyelids shut.

After rising back up, she hoists in one hand a moderate-sized spherical wrapped package. The bow seems made of silk. "I come to present this gift to you, in rememberance of what has transpired in the none-too-distant past, and a symbol of ties for the foreseeable future." Lowering her tone somewhat, she continues. "Best not to open it here. Some may be taken aback by it, and I wouldn't want your guests fainting." A low chuckle issues forth from her nostrils. She has the air of one quite pleased with herself, as her dewlap shows considerable amounts of red.

Phooush also bows low, his jewel-like eyes never leaving the Dread Lady for a moment. His mental speech is still able to be heard in the immediate area. "Empress Nathicana, I am Major Phooush Parthaa of the Jheer's Rangers; Sakkran Branch. Truly an honor to make your acquaintance." The eyelids close and open slowly and purposefully. His irisdescent skin seems to shine like silver in the light.

"By the Emperor's orders, I am to announce to you, and our allies here, his plans for establishing a Ranger base at the Orbital Shipyards in high orbit around terra. In this capacity, we will be available to assist our allies in any capacity deemed prudent to the situation." He straightens up fully. Taller than a human, yet far shorter than the Admiral.

Razak chuckles warmly at Shaar's confusion, cheering up a little. "Calm down, Shaar; you haven't just caused an international incident. You've just run up against one of the less pleasant results of my history. You're fine."

He starts to comment on the package, finding the shape vaguely familiar, then notes the presence of the Dread Imperatrice (Hey! That's what I can call her! Heeheehee) and shrugs into the proffered towel. "Yeah. Tell me about it. I notice the secretaries have a bad habit of almost reaching out and grabbing as well."

Listening to the Major's description of human history, Speaker-Rrit chuckles. "I believe that stupidity based on jealousy is not limited to humanity. It has been endemic, as far as I can see, but rationality is a good vaccine." Responding to Epicurius paraphrased: "But of course... must be a price for everything, no?"

"Hmm, the Rangers," Julie mulls over vocally as he starts drying his short hair and face with the second towel. "I guess we should get some work done on SPIR, shouldn't we?"

Nathicana returns the bow respectfully, a flicker of … perhaps eager malice in her eyes as she gently accepts the wrapped orb. “Admiral, again, my personal thanks for the assistance of yourself, your House, and your People in regards to that entire situation. I will keep this in my office in a place of honor, as a reminder. All in all,” she says, unable to resist taking a careful peek inside, gently prying the wrapping open at the top while keeping it enclosed, “something tells me this will be a most … appropriate symbol indeed.”

Cradling the wrapped orb in her arms, she bows to Phooush in turn. “An honor to meet you, Major. I have heard incredible things about your Rangers. Indeed, I would be most pleased to have a base close by. I have been hoping to make a request for a small group to receive Sakkran training. You have developed skills and techniques for things that we have yet to understand. I’ve seen the results of some of your training in action, and have been very much impressed. Perhaps this will be an opportunity to explore something along those lines? I am no sure what we could offer in return, but with some thought, I think we could manage something.”

Nathi arches a brow at Razak’s comment, shooting Else, who is standing off to the side, a sharp look. The secretary shrugs and smiles, completely unrepentant, and happily sipping a tall flute of champagne while she enjoys the … scenery.

“I hope she didn’t manage to offend,” Nathi says quietly. “If so, I apologize. Usually she’s the very picture of propriety, but she’s been hitting the spirits pretty hard tonight, I’m told. She’s a good woman. Just cutting loose and not thinking clearly.”

“As for the Rangers overall,” she says, addressing the group as a whole, “the proposal put before the heads sounded like a good one. As stated before, it has my support. Given the growth and expansion of the alliance, I’d say it’s an excellent idea. I believe we already have some craft and other details in design for our own local branch.”

Razak shrugs a little and replies sotto voce, lips barely moving. "Wounded, perhaps, but not offended. How is she to know, after all? My fault for being such a damned romantic to the point of tragedy."

He indicates the head-sized orb. "If that's what I'm guessing it is, it'll do wonders to support your image, Dread Imperatrice."

Mephet’ran smiled and bowed as he finally finished dancing, crimson and gold robes shimmering in the light with the movement. He spoke in the same calm and refined voice he had used before, “That was quite interesting my dear,” he said, reflecting. Frankly, she’d not been good at the dancing, but then, she was young, and he felt, inexperienced in such things. Taking that into account she’d not done too badly.

And of course, for the sake of kindness, he increased his rating of her somewhat, “I think that given some more practise you could be a very good dancer,” he said, “and now, if you don’t mind, I must be going,” he said, sounding slightly apologetic, reaching into a pocket of the ornate costume, “business calls I’m afraid.” For a moment, he took her hand and kissed the back of it, looking at the young woman ever so slightly roguishly.

Turning, he stalked off into the crowd, long robes rustling slightly as he moved away into the crowd, taking a device out of his pocket, pressing it against his head, and talking in hushed tones in an alien language, smooth sounds interchanging with others only he could hear.

"I've done a lot of wandering myself," she answers with a sigh. "Though I can't say I've been all over. If you know anyplace particularly interesting, I'm happy to go."

The man nods. "The Piazza has so far proven to be the most consistently interesting locale. There's music there... a lot of food..." he trails off. "And there's at least one club in the immediate vicinity, should we choose to go there. I think we should head back there."

"The Piazza it is, then," says the elf, standing up. "Lead on?"

He grins and bows his head in the direction of the Piazza, "Indeed," he begins, walking off with her towards the monolitic silhouette of the Doges Palace. "I suppose there isn't much place in a festival such as this for 'small talk,' least of all if we want to remain clandestine. I've found it's been making most conversation horribly dull."

"I suppose if one wants small talk, one must either find someone one trusts or a private location. Preferably both," she answers in a conspiratory tone.

He links his arm with hers as they walk, chuckling and nodding in agreement. "Very much so. I suppose it's the intent of these proceedings, at least in the sense that 'actions speak louder than words.'"

"Well, so far your actions seem gentle enough," she muses. He's been rather pleasant company, if mysterious. Admittedly, she's had a sizeable quantity to drink, and presumably, so has he.

"'Gentle?'" He asks incredulously. "Seldom a trait associated with my character, to be quite honest," he answers, turning a corner. "But I suppose there's a first time for everything, no? It's quite a thing to see how people are forced to judge their companions based solely off strength of character, as opposed to appearances. I wonder about the origins of this kind of celebration."

"It could very well be precisely that..." she muses. "Here, for one night, everyone is equal, and can only be judged on their character."

He stumbles a bit, the free arm flying out to stabilize himself against a building. "Whoo.. damn, I haven't been this drunk in an A--... a while. Quite a while." He stifles a belch, reaching up to unhook his scarf again, exposing his mouth. He grins. "Kindly begging your pardon. I've had quite a bit to drink, it would seem."

The woman smiles. "So have I..." She can hold rather a lot of liquor, but... she's also drank rather a lot. She helps him a bit, trying to steady him.

"Thankfully," he starts, heaving himself off the building as he gestures to the Doges Palace, "we're not that far away. To which area shall we grace our presence?"

"Well, I've not seen inside the palace yet..."

"Oh," he raises a brow, deducing that his companion must be a commoner. "Well it's quite a nice place," he assures her, his arm now slipping around her waist. "Then We'll just have to go check it out, no? Quite a nice place. They've got a little orchestra in the courtyard and everything." He stifles another belch. "It's all quite splendid."

It had been a little white lie on her part, in fact. Only a few very select people had been offered a room in the palace and she did not care to be narrowed down to one of those people. An admirable restraint, given the liberal amounts of alcohol she had imbibed during the course of the evening.

Her companion would probably be able to detect this subterfuge in a more stable state of mind, but such as it was, he was totally oblivious to this and was--as one might expect--rather taken with his companion. "I suppose I'll have to show it to you, then, no?"

She smiles. It can't be seen under her mask, of course, but it's audible in her voice. "I think I'd like that," she says honestly.

He bows slightly, returning the smile. "I aim to please," he answers as they draw near to the Palace, circling around it to reach the main corridor to the courtyard. She follows along... she's rather enjoying herself up to this point, and just looks around at the scenery and revelers for now.

The man clears his throat as they reach the end of the corridor, where the music from the orchestra can finally be heard in earnest. "Quite nice, indeed," he notes, pasusing for a moment, alternating between the entrance and the orchestra with his gaze. He stands silent for a time. "Shall we go in?" He asks finally.

His companion smiles. "Without further ado," she replies with a chuckle. She looks about. "And Yes... quite nice."

He pulls her closer as they climb the stairs into the main entrance. "I've actually been afforded my own quarters in this building," he admits in a conspiratory tone. "So I'm somewhat familiar with its layout."

The woman smiles. "Well, I have the suspicion you're going to show me," she conjectures.

He laughs again as they breach the entrance, looking to his companion with a wink. "Well.. if you insist, he answers slyly, "I'm certain it could be arranged. It's not far."

The woman doesn't say anything, though she giggles a bit, leaning on him as they wander down the halls. The man leads her on down the hall, grinning like a fool. "I'm not hearing any objections, so..." he trails off. "Yeah." He produces a key from his cloak and opens the door, revealing a large extravagant room. Stepping into the foyer, he turns back and kicks the door closed with his foot. "Nice innit? Care for some wine?"

She follows him in, sliding in just before the door is closed. "Yes, quite nice," she says happily. "Oh, yes. Would love some wine... what have you got?"

"Reds, mostly," he deadpans, stepping towards the wine cabinet. "But I've got a chardonnay or two in here if you'd prefer. I'm more into the reds, myself," he notes, opening the cabinet. "So whats the verdict?"

"Either-or," she says. "I'm pretty flexible with my wines, I like a lot of things, as long as they're good."

"Fair enough," he says with a shrug, plucking a bottle at random from the cabinet, not particularly caring himself. "I don't usually care, either, save for my general preference for red." he continues, pouring two glasses and handing one to her. "It largely depends on the situation."

He takes a sip, and then sits down on the sofa. "Come, sit."

She takes the glass and goes over to the sofa, her voluminous costume taking up well over half of it.The man scoots over with a grunt, his costume being rather large itself. "Hmm. Perhaps this could have been planned a bit better," he notes, lifting a brow.

"Er... yes... got a bigger sofa?"

He purses his lips. "Not as such no," he answers, sipping from his glass. He stirs again, and pausing a moment later he snorts. "To hell with it. I don't need to impress the masses anymore.. I suppose this cloak can go," he reasons, unclasping the metal chestplate and pulling the thing off.

She giggles a bit. She, too, casts off some outer bits of her costume.

He sips from his glass again, casting his companion an approving look. He lowers his glass, pulling her a bit closer now that new space has been afforded. "Great minds, eh?"

The woman smiles, and cuddles up a bit. "Great minds indeed... so, what did you do to get these rooms?" she asks.

His eyes dart across the room. "Well, I suppose I could answer that... but it would probably necessitate revealing my identity. I'm a ... diplomat. A rather high ranking one let's say," he answers, his arm lowering from her shoulder to her waist. "We get the nice ones," he adds with a wink.

She smiles. "So, here I am cuddled up drinking wine with a mysterious masked rather high ranking...diplomat... not a bad night..." She sips her wine. "Not bad at all."

He shifts a bit against her as he pulls his cloak out from behind him, casting it on a nearby chair. "Indeed," he grins. "A pleasing pastime, no doubt."

She nods. "Yep... so... where is my high ranking diplomat from?" she asks, curious.

"Aheh.." he starts, pausing to sip his wine again. "Come now, it's not midnight yet," he answers with a grin, turning to face her fully. "Though.. I... suppose we could skirt tradition, so to speak. So long as its worth our while."

The woman laughs. "Well, I guess you wouldn't have brought me up here if you weren't going to make it worth my while." Wherever they were, the pair of guards she'd brought along were probably just about losing their minds trying to find her. But right now, that didn't matter. At least, not to her.

The man grins. "You guessed right," he says quietly, carefully plucking the glass from her hand and placing it on the table next to them. He gently nudges her prone on the sofa, and kicks off his shoes, grinning again as he looms over her. "I'll warn you, you may be a bit... surprised. I'd hazard to guess you know who I am.." he pauses. "Even if.. you...don't yet," he adds with a snicker.


The woman lies back on the sofa, giggling a little. Her companion pulls off his hat, tossing it to the chair opposite them where his cloak already lay. Reaching down he removes hers as well, brushing a strand of hair from her face. "You ready?" He asks, still grinning. He grasps the edge of her mask, placing her hand on his. "Should we count off?" he asks half-jokingly.

"I think so," she answers with a laugh.

He chuckles. "By all means, do the honors," he offers, shifting against her again.

"One..." she giggles.

"Two..." He shifts against her again. His grip on the mask tightens slightly.

"Three." They come off.

Alkanphel stares down at his companion in complete shock. For one, the identity of the woman was enough to do the trick, coupled with the shock of his inability to actually notice who it was before now. Thinking back, it was pretty obvious.

Sirithil blinks a bit. Her mind reels. Her first instinct is to scream, but she simply gapes, and nothing comes out for a moment. "Well... wow..."

The Maia briefly flirts with an urge to kill her, but it dies quickly, replaced an instant later with... well... lust. He pushes his brows together and shifts against her slightly. Lifting her head to his, he leans down a bit and kisses her fiercely before she can manage another word. The Elf barely has time to think, frankly, before he kisses her... she resists at first, but... well, it's a very nice kiss. And he's been very nice to her so far, and they've both seen sides of each other already that neither ever thought they would. Before long, she's as enthused about it as he is, apparently.

Both Phooush and Shaar seem to positively glow. Shaar more likely from the amount of the pirate rum she had drank. Her dewlap swells fully, showing a deep crimson red. Phooush's crest rises high, lifting his cap off his head and suspending it in the air above him. He then looks about, and pats himself swiftly.

"Oh. lest I forget. A bit of correspondence from an acquaintance of yours, Empiratrix. She is on assignment in a calssified location at the moment, but has kept abreast of news. You may read it at your leisure."

A tube is lifted out from an interior pocket in the Major's robe, and handed to the Dread Lady, now Imperatrix. Inside this tube seems to be a sheet of parchment, with roughly, lettered words in an approximation of English.

To the Dread Lady of the Dominion, Nathicana, Imperatrix of her people,

It is Sshrrakaa, who you had met a time ago. I am writing to let you know I am doing well, and also to congratulate you. It is an awesome duty you have taken, and a path I am sure you will not regret. I could think of none other to deserve as you have, that which you have taken. May the years prove prosperous to you and yours.

I get news of happenings when i'm not stationed in some Pantheon-cursed rock, taking samples of native life on radioactive worlds, escorting merchant fleets through hazardous zones or fishing for ore samples in a volcano. Outgoing communication is sparse at best until I get leave, which is slated for three months time from now. I am not permitted to say where I am or what I am doing, or even what rank I have gained, but be aware we are not a great distance away, in stellar terms.

The Major had aggreed to carry this letter personally, for Operation Security reasons. He is patient, humble and noble as all his people are. I can see why the Ancient Tomes refered to them as the Blessed, in old times.

Give my regards to your beau, the Emperor Treznor, when next you meet him. And if you come into contact with Timofeyev, send him my warmest wishes. I would hope to tour your country, this time without having escorting bulletry whizzing about, when I take leave. I do not expect a written response, as that would take too much time, I am certain. And time, as always, is a commodity that can never be replaced.

This is your moment of greatness. I am certain you will live up to your own, and your subject's, expectations. The eyes of many empires are upon your dominion.

May you walk on warm sands, and may the Pantheon guide you.
Sshrrakaa

Rebecca blinked and yelped softly in surprize as she felt her feet lift off the ground, "What the...? Holy crap!" She clapped her hands a little as she floated back down, "Oh, that was amazing!"

Marcus quirked an eyebrow, looking at Datima with obvious concern, "What is wrong?" He placed a finger on her chin and gently pulled her face back, "You can tell me..."

---

Eric was bored out of his mind. While everyone was off enjoying themselves, he was stuck in the embassy, tracking the Maia's movements (http://forums2.jolt.co.uk/showthread.php?t=342382). However, as some new satellite images came in, he blinked in shock. "This could be interesting..."

He quickly ran up the stairs to the roof of the Hack embassy, spinning the telescope around and peering at the palace. When the Hack had built the embassy, Marcus had requested that it be close to the palace for convenience sake. However, it became exceptionally useful when Devon had requested constant surveliance on Alkanphel.

Eric chuckled to himself as he looked into the window, and damn near dropped his coffee cup when he saw who the Maia was with. He quickly flipped on the small recorder attached to the telescope. He smiled as pictures were taken before he blinked and smacked himself in the forehead. A few quick keypresses, and the recorder was taking video, as opposed to individual pictures. He smiled smugly and pulled out his cell phone, "Hello? North Hack News? Have I got a story for you..."


North Hack News Exclusive!
Pictures! We Got Pictures!

Devras, Dominion the Carnivale celebrating the Dread Lady's ascention to Imperitrice was quite the drunken affair. People from many different nations got together to have fun celebrating and to engage in guiltless debauchery.

An unnamed source in Devras, however, found the story behind the story of illicit sex. It seems that the costumes of one Lady Sirithil of the Pointy Ears of Menelmacar and one Dark Lord Whatch Out He'll Kill Ya Alkanphel of Melkor Unchained were just a little too concealing. These two sworn enemies were found smooching (and more) in the the Devras palace a little after midnight. Once the masks were removed, the race-hatred wasn't enough to stop these star-crossed lovers, and the emotion of the night overwhealmed them.

We have pictures of them kissing passionately, clearly in an embrace of love, and there are rumors that a full video of the explicit night exists. Of course, a reputable news agency like North Hack News would never stoop to publishing tawdry (and kinky) pornography, but we certainly will publish pictures of the kiss.

[picture]
[picture]
[picture]

We'll be sure to keep you posted as news develops, but just remember the North Hack News motto: The faster the official denials come out, the truer the story!

Cheops laughs. "That's nothing. I could keep you going up, if I wanted."

Datima shakes her head. "I know you think that you're complimenting me but you're insulting our existence, my existence. And I mean that literally. I'm not just talking about culture or social structure. I know that sounds odd and it's hard to explain but...stop."

Rebecca smiled, "I'll have to take you to the embassy to show you some you the VR rig, it's pretty nice. Not as neat as this, but still..."

Marcus blinked, the color draining from his face, "I... I apologise profusely. That was far from my intention. If there is anything I may do to reconcile, please, just ask." He paused, "Or, if you prefer, I will simply remove myself from your presence."

Cheops smiles. "Not to you, maybe. What I just did is routine for me. Virtual reality is beyond amazing. Lead the way, glorious lady?" He offers a hand.

Datima shakes her head. "No, no, it's fine. Kiss me?"

She knew. She remembered the quiet conversation that seemed so long ago on Titan, advice offered and private pain shared in the hope of assisting her with her own troubles. She had never once made mention of it again, not to him, and certainly not to anyone else. It was simply understood.

Offering him the orb, and in doing so, an intended peek inside, she moves in next to Razak, resting her hand on his shoulder, and giving it a subtle, supportive squeeze. “Now don’t you start in with the silly titles too, old man,” she says with a wry smile. “It was ‘Nathi’ this morning, and ‘Nathi’ it remains. Still, I think you’re right about the gift. Remind me to tell you a little story sometime about the Over-ambitious Little Fox and How She Lost Her Head.”

Nathicana accepts the scroll with a curious expression, and a respectful nod. “Grazie, Major Phooush. If you will excuse me for just a moment? I think if you have gone to the bother of delivering a message personally, it is the least I can do to take the time to read it and again offer my thanks to you for its safe delivery.”

She steps back slightly, taking a moment to read the missive, lightly pressing fingertips to her lips as she reads further, looking quite moved by it. She takes a moment to better compose herself, looking away and blinking rapidly, before turning back to the group, and smiling warmly – albeit in the more acceptable close-lipped style.

“Truly, a better gift I could not have possibly asked for,” she says to Phooush, bowing slowly, using the Old Dominion form, and wondering, if the identity of Sshrrakaa is to remain secret, how to compliment Shaar on her daughter as well. “If I may send a return response sometime in the near future, I would be indebted.”

Rebecca smiled, taking Cheops' hand and leading him out towards the embassy, "Let's hear it for culture shock, hmm?"

The embassy wasn't terribly far from the ball. Far enough that it wasn't right on top of things, but close enough that it made for a nice walk. She thought nothing of the man standing on the roof, he was probably taking a smoke break. She lead him inside, waving to the security guard, "It's right down this hall..."

Marcus smiled at Datima, "But of course." He leaned down and gently kissed her.

Cheops follows, smiling. "Here! Here!" He looks around the building, trotting down the halls.

Datima kisses back gently. "I want to see you again." She speaks quietly, but firmly, certainly.

For it's impressive sounding name, the rig was a pretty simple affair. "It's not a full-immersion one," Rebecca explained. She grabbed a small visor, slipping it over Cheops' eyes, and handed him a pair of gloved. She smiled, "It's wireless, so we can move around a bit without tripping over cords." She suited herself up similarly, and powered the rig on. She smiled, "Where would you like to go?"

Marcus smiled, looking into Datima's eyes, "Yes, I would too." He smiled, "Of course, the night has not ended yet..."

"Yes, Comrade," she replies in a quiet, synthesized voice, unfolding her legs slowly from underneath herself and following along with something almost approaching docility, although there's still an innate pride in its motions... or at least a peculiar certainty as it strides along. "I'm willing to answer your questions."

"That would be ... excellent. This way, please." The soldati then proceed to guide the Red soldier to one of the large vans parked outside. Those combatants headed for the nearest stations have been loaded into some of them already, and those who have either seen, or by now, heard of the incident with the arm, shrink back in alarm as she is directed inside. "No trouble," one of the peacekeepers says with a wry smile as she shuts the door and secures it.

The Red nods her spiky head, shuffling into the van. "No trouble started, no trouble finished," she replies, sitting quietly on the floor and looking at both everyone and not anyone in particular simultaneously thanks to the nature of her eyes.

The current occupants give her a wide berth, some going so far as to scoot up onto the laps of others. Very few dare even whisper commentary, and those do so with as much subtlety as possible as the van starts up and heads towards its destination. One girl breaks down and sobs, thinking that even if she gets out of this van alive - something that in her mind has become rather doubtful - her parents will likely kill her anyway for her involvement in the fight.

The Soldier Red raises one antennae almost like an eyebrow and cants its head as its sits quietly, legs folded underneath her and hands clasped gently together. She listens quietly to the murmuring of the other passengers, trying to make out what they're saying.

Snippets of conversation go along the lines of fact rapidly turning to fiction, interspersed with skepticism. "Did you know it ripped a man's arm off then beat seven others to death with it?"

"I heard it grabbed a guy's head and tore it clean off, still trailing the spine."

"Look, its just sitting there. You people are so full of shit."

"You'd like to think that, wouldn't you? I hear they keep humans as a slave-race of 'food on the hoof'. It's probably here to check out the local flavor."

The Soldier chuckles softly through her translator box, then raises one bony manipulator claw as she provides counterpoint. "I only knocked one unconscious with the arm, I did no such thing with anyone's head, when I left all involved were alive and if the 'local flavor' is any indication using humans as 'food on the hoof' would be a step down from our current fare of mostly vegetables and legumes. The alcohol really adds an acidic flavor. Yeuch."

The spacedy ant's comments are met with dead silence, and a lot of wide-eyed stares. Nervous glances suddenly abound, several having the decency to blush furiously, and one brave soul actually murmuring a quiet apology. Of course, as in most groups, there's always one idiot. "See? Bit his arm. Clean. Off," he blurts out drunkenly, just as the vehicle comes to a complete stop. Several of the others look over at him with varying expressions of shock, surprise, and yes, fear that he's managed to offend.

A nod from the spacedy ant confirms the idiot's statement. "Yes, yes I did. He shouldn't have charged with a knife like that."

Mouth half open, one hand raised, finger pointing for emphasis after the first 'yes', the idiot's retort stalls, and he slumps back, slowly closing his mouth and dropping his hand back to his lap. "Well, uh--" Whatever brainless comment he was about to make is interrupted by the doors opening, and one of the soldati calling out for the occupants to exit in an orderly fashion, single file.

The Soldier, probably being the largest and nearest the door, gets out first, helping out others if they accept it... which they probably won't.

Whether they will or won't becomes a matter for conjecture, as the soldati direct the Soldier forward to make room for those exiting after. "Ident cards at the ready," one directs in a sharp voice. The entire group is watched over by six peacekeepers with their weapons trained on the citizens. Several others direct the combatants as they exit the van, and prep their scanners.

Keeping a close watch on the soldati with her multifaceted eyes, the Red reaches into her vest of patch pockets and webbing and retrieves the card issued her by Dominion customs. Her antennae slowly wave from side to side, carefully smelling the air, as she rests lightly on her clawed 'feet.' While authority is good, being held at gunpoint isn't...

The soldati attitude is one of 'routine' it seems, and while routine for them includes such handling for those arrested, there seems to be no undue concern from them with this group. One peacekeeper approaches the Soldier and politely accepts the card, which is swiped, and the information read thoughtfully. "Well now. That's interesting," she says, arching a brow. "This way, please." She points towards a door on the far left of the compound they are currently in, falling in behind the panNorm Soldier.

"Well now. That's interesting," she says, arching a brow. "This way, please." She points towards a door on the far left of the compound they are currently in, falling in behind the panNorm Soldier.

Following the directive, the Soldier Red ambles towards the door, still moving with an internal confidence that seems to jar slightly with its submissive facade.

The door is opened from the inside as they approach, and she is guided to a small room some ways down the long hallway. In it are several chairs, a table, and several black-garbed soldati. One rises to his feet, giving the Soldier a nod as she enters the room, flanked by the woman who addressed her outside, and another peacekeeper, weapon at the ready.

"Tony Orsino," the man says, offering his hand. "Make yourself comfortable - if you can and all. Apologies - we're not accustomed to non-humanoid 'guests' here at the station. I hear you were involved in a bit of excitement tonight. Care to offer your explanation first? This conversation is, of course, being taped."

"Of course." The Soldier accepts the hands and shakes as she has been trained before once again folds her legs under herself and settles on the floor. "Soldier 452338265 of the Red Mother of Us All, Tony Orsino. "The mess hall I visited turned violent and so I defended myself. Four humans met me simultaneously with various weapons and I had to neutralize their threat as quickly as possible. One attacked with a knife; he is the one which I bit to obtain weapons. I slapped the one who had a broken glass beverage container unconscious with the arm; the one with the chair who hit me I neutralized by piercing the muscle wall that serves your kind as an exoskeleton. I did my best to prevent lasting damage to any internal organs, but the tools I had at the time were not what I would have hoped. The last one simply stood down and I told him to get his comrades to immediate medical attention."

The matter-of-factness with which all this is delivered is ... unexpected to say the least. As is the obvious ease that it was accomplished with, given the Soldier's current status, and that of her attackers. Brows arch, notes are compared, glances exchanged, and officer Orsino again consults the data scanned from the ident card. "Well," he says thoughtfully, "It would seem to be a matter of self defense then, wouldn't it?"

The Soldier waves her antennae slightly. "As stated."

"I ... don't suppose you wish to press any charges?" he asks offhandedly, looking over the decidedly alien being with a curious expression.

The spiky head of the antlike creature cants just a little. "I don't understand."

"Against your attackers. Granted, you came out ahead on this, but given the evidence, you were attacked with malicious intent, and we tend to frown on that. Pressing charges would essentially escalate their punishment from being involved in a bar fight to something approaching attempted murder. Your call, of course. Unless you wish to discuss with your superiors?" Tony explains nonchalantly, glancing to one of the other soldati] and shrugging slightly.

The canting of the Soldier Red's head becomes a little more pronounced, antennae tapping together slowly. "I don't think I've the authority to tell you how to moderate your own people. Social systems self-regulate... or something. I don't really know anything about it."

This, unsurprisingly, takes the Dominion folk aback. "See here now," Orsino begins, more than a little confused. "It isn't a matter of you telling us how to regulate. It is a simple decision on whether or not you believe that for their part in attempting to harm you they should be punished more severely. It's for yourself, not us. It simply offers us another set of parameters to make a judgement with. It's the way the system operates. Some call it 'justice', others refer to getting even, still others count it a simple point of law. It's your choice."

"Law..." says the Soldier like someone trying to recall a fact and drawing a total blank as she taps her antennae together again, more slowly. "When a unit counteracts the will of the whole, the whole reacts to prevent the unit from repeating this event," she says slowly after a pause, a child trying to draw on a catechism. "No judgement is needed because it is a natural balance." It nods slowly. "I know that's how our military works, and I think our society does too. By my natural reaction to their unnatural threat, the system balances. Right?" The modulated female voice sounds more and more confused as time passes, although steady emotionally.

Orsino takes a moment to parse all that, then shrugs and nods. "If you're saying that their punishment has already been meted out by your actions, and that this is sufficient, then I suppose the answer would be 'yes'." He seems a touch confused himself, though he can't rightly argue the logic. "You certainly did do a job on them, no doubt. Likely not about to try something that stupid again any time soon."

"Like I said, I don't understand." The confusion is certainly mutual at this rate. "I cannot claim that this or that is sufficient. Do you think it is?" She waves her arms gently at 'you' to indicate the peacekeepers as well, showing it to probably be a royal 'you.'

"Well ..." Orsino starts slowly, used to folks rather eager to get one up on their opponents, and further confused by the panNorm's address. "I suppose, that ... well, in this case, likely, um ... yes?"

"Alright then," replies the Red in a less confused tone, "if it is inappropriate then I will not."

Orsino, thinking that a less-confused giant ant is better than a confused giant ant, especially one who has displayed frightening proficiency at dealing with annoyances, nods and smiles confidently, choosing not to get into why either way is not inappropriate perse. "Well then, if we could get your signature ... or, ah ... hrm. How best to work this? Perhaps verbal confirmation? My apologies - technicalities. A few more questions, perhaps? Just for the record."

"Of course. Whatever you need."

Clearing his throat, Orsino launches into the usual. "Would you say that you have been treated fairly, and that your concerns and issues have been adequately addressed?"

The panNorm taps her antennae together very slowly. "Haven't they?"

"In your own opinion, of course," the officer tries to clarify.

Another slow tap of antennae. "What? I'm sorry, I'm just don't understand."

"Ah ... how best to explain ..." Orsino consults the information on the panNorm available, then looks up, brows furrowed. "Perhaps this would be better finished in the presence of your Blue representative?" he offers, hoping this might help smooth the proceedings, and truly, just not knowing better than to fumble through on what little he does know.

"If you think so," replies the Soldier.

"Rrrrright then. I think for now, escorting you to your accommodations and getting in touch with your fellow representative might be for the best. Technicalities, as I said, and given the fact that I see no need to hold you here ... in fact," he further observes, with a meaningful look at the others, "Perhaps it's best for all if we return our guest to the party, make that contact, and go from there." This of course meaning 'and forget it ever happened' to those used to reading between the lines.

The Soldier nods again, once again comfortable now that she doesn't have to try and figure out some other critter's society." If that is what should be done, then let it be."

"Would you like the chance to clean up a bit before we escort you back?" he asks politely.

"I would. Thank you," chirps the Red.

"This way," Orsino says, opening the door and stepping out into the hall, taking the lead and wondering who the hell had decided his job needed to be more interesting. "There's a shower down in the locker room you can use. Likely easier than a sink," he reasons, leading the way. On reaching the co-ed room, he points out the showers - a fairly open affair without the worries of size constraint. "Take your time - I'll be right here. Give me a yell if you need anything."

The panNorm nods, then sets off to exploring the showers, experimenting a bit before finding that twisting the knobs the right way makes the water go. Obtaining some soap, and experimenting with that as well, she discovers that it does well enough to remove the caked-on blood, although perhaps not as well as the alcohol-based cleaners she's used to. After a few minutes and shaking off any excess moisture that beads up on her slightly shiny carapace, she emerges.

"Anything else I can get you before we head back," Orsino asks, holding out a towel in case it is desired. "We've got some pastries down in the cafeteria, among other things."

The ant-like creature cants its head at the towel, antennae tapping slowly together, then once again settles her harness on her thorax and puts her translator cube between her mandibles. "I am somewhat hungry. A cafeteria sounds good."

"Fair enough," Orsino says, his own stomach growling at the thought of some sweets and coffee. "So, ah ... aside from the trouble here, how are you finding the Dominion?" he asks, falling back on the tradition of hospitality now that the line between 'detainee' and 'guest' had been established.

"It's different from what I'm used to. The culture is alien but fun." The Soldier isn't about to complain about a place where she can start a massive fight just for fun so easily.

Taking several turns through the back hallways, they come to the open room that serves as cafeteria. Not being mealtime, what's on hand is more of a snack variety. Several trays of pastries of different sorts (and sugar content), coffee, juice, some pre-made salads and fruits in the refrigerated case, and of course the soda machine, all seem full, waiting to be taken advantage of. "It's not much," Orsino says, "but you're welcome to it. It's good to hear this little ah, 'incident' hasn't put you off. It's far from perfect I suppose, but it's home.

"It's not much," Orsino says, "but you're welcome to it. It's good to hear this little ah, 'incident' hasn't put you off. It's far from perfect I suppose, but it's home."

The Red obtains an apple and an orange danish, nods, then stashes her translator box, as it's impossible to eat and talk at the same time. Before she does, she excuses herself momentarily to gnaw on the food obtained in the corner. She does know, at least, not to let humans see her eat in public, as it is certainly a disturbing sight to see.

There aren't many others in the area, and aside from the occasional curious glance, the pair are left well enough alone. Orsino doesn't press the issue. If the panNorm wishes a bit of privacy, far be it from him to deny her.

Finishing the food with a few slurps (the sound leaves a bit to be desired as well) the Soldier replaces her translator box in her mandibles and nods again to Orsino. "Thank you."

With a polite bow and a smile, doing his best not to be put off - it would be impolite - the officer replies. "My pleasure. I suppose we ought to get you back to the party then - unless there is anything else you require, or a different destination desired?"

"It'd probably be wise. I do have OverCoordinators to look after."

"Excellent. I'll have the officers at the Piazza notified. If you don't mind, we'll take a jeep to the docks, and a boat from there. Much faster than fighting our way through the foot traffic in the old city," he says starting towards the motor pool. "You run security, then?"

"Run? No," the Red says, surprised, "I am security. I was dismissed and wandered off as ordered."

"Well, I suppose that explains a thing or two," he admits, taking the turn that leads out to the garage. "A fairly ordered society you have, it seems, from what little I've seen. This place must seem utter chaos by comparison."

"Not really bad, just different." The Soldier muses a little. "Very different."

Pausing at the enclosed office to check out the vehicle, Orsino nods. "We've had a time adjusting to all the 'different' from our visitors. True, we've our rules and regs, but ..." Reaching the jeep, he gestures for the Soldier to get comfortable, if she can manage, then gets in the drivers seat himself.

"There's still things to consider when dealing with foreign folk. Please don't take it amiss, but you're the most 'foreign' I think most of us have dealt with to date."

The Red nods again. "I can believe that much. I didn't see anyone else like us around."

Orsino starts up the engine, and makes his way towards the docks. Occasionally the way is impeded by groups of celebrants, but overall the trip is uneventful. "Well, you've got my respect, regardless. Do all of you fight that well? Is it training?"

"Soldier Reds do, yes," replies the panNorm with a bit of pride, "and the training only refines our instinct."

"Damn shame we couldn't use some of that training ourselves," the officer says with some regret. "Hell of a fighting force we'd have." Upon arriving at the docks, he leads the Soldier to one of the motor boats docked there, and boards, offering a hand politely if the panNorm wishes it. "So it's a class system of sorts, then?"

The spacedy ant accepts but is careful not to pull the man over into the water with her decidedly greater mass. "I think so. We have different parts that do different things. Each kind can do its purpose best. My purpose is fighting."

"I've often wondered if it was easier knowing ones purpose than having to try things out til one finds their niche," Orsino says thoughtfully, turning over the engine and setting out at a wakeless speed until they leave the safe zone of the marina.

"I wouldn't know," replies the Soldier with a few slow taps of her antennae.

Right. I think I'm starting to understand ... I think. "Apologies," Orsino says, navigating the boat into one of the larger canales, guiding them to the main one adjacent to the Piazza. "A bad habit of mine, thinking aloud."

"Not a problem," the Soldier says.

Bringing the boat into the landing across from the Giardini Ex Genovese, staff on hand there reaching out to secure it, Orsino turns to the panNorm Soldier, and smiles. "I think you're clear," he says, nodding towards the main portion of the Piazza. "Lets hope no more trouble comes searching you out. I think one dismembering and one disembowelment are enough paperwork for one evening, no?"

"I'll do my best to behave. Thank you for your assistance, Tony Orsino."

"And my thanks to you for being by far the most pleasant, if different, brawler I've yet to have dealt with, Soldier 452338265 of the Red Mother of Us All," he replies with a polite bow. "We will be in touch with the Blue Coordinator of your party to make sure all is well across the board. Have a pleasant night."

"You as well." With a short bow, the Soldier Red ambles off, quite happy with how the day has gone, even if it was a little confusing near the end.


TRULY last post for the night

The silver-haired man accepts the offer and peeks into the wrapped package with steel-grey eagle eyes. "Yup. Quite fitting for the image indeed... and even though I'm usually not for that kind of thing, quite tastefully done too." He smirks a little wryly. "I think I may have read that story, but it wasn't the most complete of versions."

Phooush bows low, eyelids closed. "But of course, Dread Lady. You may compose a response at your leisure. I am on leave, and was planning on touring the Amazon River, on a meditative retreat, during that time. I will 'touch base' with you before I return."

Shaar eyeballs the 'gift' as it changes hands, and gives the approximation of a grin. "Indeed. It sounds like an interesting story. I have gotten some of the reports, but other perspectives would complete the tale. It would possibly even make for a fine opera."

Nathi smiles secretively, then glances briefly in the direction of the man who had been dancing with the three devil women. "Perhaps a tale to be told among friends around a campfire some night on another hunting expedition?" she suggests quietly, suggesting that while perhaps willing, such stories are not meant for public consumption.

"Many thanks, Major," she says to Phooush. "Perhaps, if fortune favors me, I will have an additional response by then as well, from another mutual acquaintance who no doubt would desire to send along well-wishes."

Cheops suits up awkwardly, pausing to think. "I'm not sure where it can go. You choose."

Datima nods. "So it isn't. Though, I am at a loss for anything further to do."

As the bells chimed, the gentleman in the gold mask bowed gallantly to the three demonic women he had been dancing the night away with, removing his hat with a flourish. When he stood, he took off the mask, and the long black veil attached to it, another flourish winding the trailing material neatly in a loose drape over his arm, tucking the mask in at his side. Beneath, a roguishly-handsome man who looked to be somewhere in his mid to late 30’s, with dark hair, an even tan, and a neatly trimmed goatee and moustache.

Almost as if they were coordinating by some hidden means, the three demons lifted their hands together, and pressed their index fingers to either side of their heads, just before their ears. Down the front, their masks slowly split from forehead to chin, green light like their eyes spilling out from the crack. The glow began to fade as the masks peeled back, melting, nearly towards their ears. The green coverings on the eyes were the last to be uncovered, and pulled away, revealing three very different sets of eyes. Alecto’s eyes were violet, gleaming with a nearly mechanical intelligence. And with recognition as the man’s face was instantly pinned down inside her head. Tisiphone’s blue orbs likewise lit with the flame of recognition, while Megaera’s brown eyes stayed, almost amazingly, blank.

Three very charming smiles looked up at the man, white teeth gleaming. Cortana grinned at the man, violet eyes flashing. “We’re from the Federation of Sentient Peoples, milord.” The three curtsied, their tails waving slightly behind them. “I’m Cortana, and my companions are Jessica Smith and Michelle Hodges,” she indicated each in turn, “two of our outstanding students at our diplomatic training school. ”

"My lovely ladies three," the man said, taking each one in turn by the hand, and lightly brushing his lips across their knuckles, his dark brown eyes drinking in each one. "It is a pleasure to make your acquaintances. I can see at least two of you know me on sight," he remarked with an amused smile, one brow arching slightly. "Cesare Calabrese, Dominion Chancellor. My lady Cortana, your reputation precedes you. And Lady Jessica, President Smith's sister, yes? And beautiful as a summer's morning. And Signorina Hodges," he continued with a broad smile. "If I may say, you dance divinely. A luckier man does not exist in all of Devras tonight, to have enjoyed the pleasure of your company, one and all."

The smiles across each face broadened at the compliments, each head nodding in turn. Jessica responded first. “I am D’ron’s, I mean, the Imperial President’s, sister.” She still had trouble with that conversion. “And may I say that you are not unpleasant to look upon yourself, Chancellor.” She grinned somewhat cheekily, as it would likely be another generation before the age differential between them became something that did not limit relationships. Life-len had extended life times, but had not yet changed society enough to allow that much age difference to be common for relationships, at least among young people. So she merely treated the comment as friendly.

Michelle, on the other hand, blushed slightly at the Chancellor’s comment, after her eyes lit with name recognition, though not face recognition. “If I danced divinely, it was merely that I was inspired to such levels by a partner such as yourself.” Cortana merely contented herself with a sotto voce, “And what reputation is that, I wonder.”

Calabrese chuckled, bowing his head deferentially at the compliments, still smiling pleasantly. "You are too kind. Too kind by half, to be sure. Still, what humble skills, talents, or contacts I have at my disposal are yours for the asking, my Ladies. Is there anything I can do to assist in your enjoyment of what remains of the night? As a gentlemen, it would be remiss of me not to ask, and I have so enjoyed the evening with you myself ... well, however can I repay the favor?"

Well, Michelle, you going to go for it?

Ah, I don’t know. He’s a little older than I thought he’d be.

Go for it. You said this place was boring and I think most of the people are paired off by now.

Damn it, I’m not that desperate.

Of course not. Which is why you commented on how fine he was every time you got a chance all night.

Alright, damn it. I’ll do it.

And him? <Giggles>

Shut up. Maybe.

Somehow, with ease that special forces agents might have envied, Jessica and Cortana somehow faded away, both declining the offer subtly, while Michelle moved towards Cesare. “Well, Chancellor, now that you mention it, I have been looking for a native guide to show me the city at night.” Her hand rested lightly on his forearm, the tail sliding out of sight behind his back, her eyes wide as she looked up at him.

Intrigued by this new development, and in truth, not unpleased all things considered, Calabrese gently rested a hand atop hers and smiled charmingly. "Well then, Signorina, what aspects of our fair city might you wish to see? While perhaps not time to survey all Devras has to offer, I daresay there is much we could ... explore." Explore indeed, and with by far the less dangerous of the trio. I'd as soon cross D'ron as put my head in the lion's mouth.

Michelle raised her eyebrows demurely. “How about we just go where our bodies lead us? I’m sure there is much to… explore.” The pause was purely intentional, copying Calabrese’s own. “Why don’t we start with the Canale, Chancellor? I’ve heard the gondolas are well suited for, private tours.”

"As you wish," he said with a pleased smile, gesturing with a grand flourish, then leading the way out of the ballroom. He guided their footsteps through the still-crowded Piazza, quietly pointing out this little feature or that, commenting on the architect, time period, or historical significance of the various buildings in a casual, conversational tone. "I have to admit," he remarked, leaning in a bit to speak more privately, and admittedly, to quietly breathe in the sweet smell of her lightly-scented skin. "The city holds far more charm when viewed with such a lovely companion as yourself."

Michelle grinned, blushing slightly, never immune to flattery, then leaned up to whisper softly in Calabrese’s ear, her breath a soft caress. “Not half so much charm as yourself, Chancellor.” Then she lay her head against Calabrese’s upper arm, and turned, watching whatever he happened to indicate and listening intently. Data was always useful.

Calabrese shifted his hand under hers, lifting it lightly, then moving his arm, only to gently slip it around her waist, drawing her closer as they walked, eventually coming to the landing across from the Giardini Ex Genovese, the light fragrance of the garden lingering softly in the air, mingling with that of the sea. "As my lady commands, a moonlit gondola ride," he said, carefully stepping into one, then turning to assist her.

Stepping daintily in her heels, she moved down into the flat bottomed boat and grinned at Calabrese. As they sat in the gondola, Michelle leaned into Calabrese, and as his arm went around her, her tail looped around him, her head resting on his shoulder. “Cesare, may I call you Cesare, one of my foci in school is anthropology. I like observing where and how people live.” She grinned, the moon gleaming in her eyes. "Would you happen to know of somewhere we could do that?"

"Well my dear," he said, shifting a bit closer, letting his cloak fall down around her shoulders as his hand wandered idly along her hip. "It just so happens that I myself have just such a living space down near the marina. Would 'where and how the Dominion Chancellor lives' fall under that topic of interest? And please, Cesare it is, la mia bella Michelle."

The young woman smiled, her tail playing along the man’s far side. “Well, I think it would be a good place for at least one night. But should there be enough to observe, I might need to come back tomorrow as well.” Her tail slipped out from under Calabrese’s cloak to rub the pointed tip on his jaw line. “Who knows?” she concluded with a wink.

Calabrese grinned broadly, quickly giving the gondolier some directions, and slipping the man some cash. "One never knows until one tries, no?" the man says, turning to boldly slip both arms around her, pulling her in close for a gentle, tentative kiss.

Michelle answered the kiss lightly, more than willing to begin exploring and observing now. Admittedly, her eyes half closing made observing difficult, but one could observe by touch, which she proceeded to demonstrate as the gondola slipped away down the canal, into the moonlight.

Dominion Control showed no 'invite' perse concerning President Tuomas, however there was a detailed security note on file explaining the current situation, and what measures to take ... which they did.

"Understood. Coordinates for landing to follow. Be advised, a security team will be on hand to escort you. Stand by for landing instructions."

Directions given and protocols followed, the plane is allowed to land in the secure section of Devras International, and as promised, a sizeable team of armed soldati is on hand to meet the President.

When he does finally land and exit, he is met by a rather tall Dominion-looking man, calmly smoking a cigarette, and doing a great impression of a looming brick wall.

"Sergeant Tomei, Dominion security," Angelico says - a statement that at the moment at least is partially true, seeing as the Black Company has been hired to assist with the event. "Welcome to Devras, President Tuomas. If you'll come with me, we have a suite waiting for you."

The silver-haired man stretches under the towel and... not shivers, but willingly spasms just a little bit to achieve the same effect. "The campfire sounds good," he replies with his ever-wry smirk, "as does the opportunity to hunt, but I wasn't entralled with the story first time through and I don't think the ending will be any better than the one I made up for myself. May as well leave an old man with at least some of his delusions, no?"

His troopers helped. He was connected and at least partly responsible. It was most aggrivating to him when reality barges in and makes his idealism counterproductive.

End of the Night, Catching Up with Everything, Everywhere

As the bell tolled, midnight fell, and D’ron and Lesley swirled to a stop in the dance, which managed to end at precisely midnight. Excellent stage managing, on someone’s part.

“For whom does the bell toll, dear heart?”

“It tolls for Thee and Thine, my love.” Their masks distorted once more into those horrible false smiles, betraying the smiles underneath, as each one of them lifted their hand to either side of their face and touched a small area just in front of their ears. The masks peeled back in the same manner Chancellor Calabrese was observing elsewhere, and as their lips were uncovered, they met in a kiss. Deep and passionate, the kiss continued for some time. Some long amount of time.

Eventually, it broke. “We should find that man from Tartarus,” Lesley said, still smiling up at her husband. “He was quite nice, and I said I would find him and let him know who we were.”

“By all means, let us find him then.” And the two Greek Gods, unmasked, set off in search of a man in blue.

Elsewhere in the city, Jason and Jake were finding the experience of being locked in a cell was clearing their minds quite quickly of the alcohol’s fog. Their fellow students had all managed to escape cleanly, but the two instigators, in a sense, were locked away, ostensibly for their own protection. Whatever would morning bring for the trouble makers?

By the magic of fluid time, the next morning, Aboard the S.P.S. Forbidden Honor

BLEEP!

BLEEP!

BLEEP!

D’ron’s eyes blinked sleepily open and his hand started to reach out to hit the alarm clock button, becoming tangled in something in the process. Specifically, his wife’s naked body, draped all over his own.

The sun was shining in the windows and he looked for the alarm, wondering why it was even set.

BLEEP!

BLEEP!

BLEEP!

It was not the alarm, but the communications panel. Carefully, so as to not wake her, he lifted Lesley from around him, and snuggled her under the covers. Snagging a black robe, he wrapped it around himself, and hit the button to answer the comm. “Whasit?” he managed to slur out, still fogged by sleep. He and Lesley had been up for quite a while after returning to the ship.

It was Honor, the ship’s EI. Well, of course. The ship only had a human crew of four, which was mostly there for back up. “Good morning, Mister President. We’ve a situation I think you need to deal with.”

D’ron’s eyes widened fractionally, but his next question had nothing to do with this ‘situation’. “What time is it?”

“Oh seven thirty local time, sir.”

“You’re kidding.” D’ron looked back at the bed. They had only been back at the ship for six hours. No way he had gotten more than three hours of sleep. “What’s the situation?”

“Well, there are a couple of Dominion soldati outside with two of our students who were here. They seem to have been involved in a ruckus last night, that got, apparently, considerably out of hand.”

“Oh. Shit. Why’d they bring them here?”

“Local authority, sir. Technically, you’re responsible for the members of our government here, even larval ones like these students.”

“Lucky me.” D’ron sighed. “Do whatever you need to do, and put them in the briefing room. I’ll be there as soon as I can. And send me a download of whatever information you have.”

“Understood.”

Thirty Minutes Later

D’ron strode into the briefing room dressed in his clothes from the day before. Or at least, clothes so close to them there was no visible difference. Solid black cloaked him from head to toe, the glittering lethality of the Sword of State occasionally peaking out from under his cape.

His eyes were liquid with anger as they fell on the two students. Jason and Jake were surprised to see him. “Good morning, Mister President,” they chorused in unison, rising upon his entrance.

“What’s good about it?” The question came out as nearly a growl, the lack of any form of honorific address, or names, letting the two young men know they were in probably the biggest trouble of their short lives. D’ron moved to his chair at the head of the conference table. He did not invite the two to sit. “Well, what do you two have to say for yourselves?”

They looked blank for a moment, then glanced at each other. Nothing was said. But then, what could be said?

“Nothing. Typical. Did you two think at all?” D’ron continued, not giving them a chance to answer. “No, I guess you probably didn’t. Did it ever occur to you that you were here as a favor from the Dominion Government? That I had pledged my personal honor, and the Honor of the Federation,” the capitals were easily understood, “that all of you would behave? No? Be glad this isn’t a three hundred years ago, or if the Dominion had released you to me, I would kill you both where you stand.” He sighed heavily. “Jake, I am given to understand that you actually attempted to stop the incident from occurring, but immediately jumped in once Jason actually started the fight. Is this correct?”

“Yes, Mister President.” Jake looked down at shoes, the dirty, scuffed ones he had been wearing the day before. In fact, his entire outfit was from the day before, as was Jason’s.

“Mmhmm.” Brown eyes, colder and darker than space, shifted onto Jason. “And you, what the hell were you thinking? Drunk and disorderly in a public place. Starting a brawl. Assaulting a member of a friendly armed forces in a neutral setting. Assaulting the daughter of a respectable local business man. From the reports I’ve received, I’m surprised she didn’t ask for you to be charged with attempted sexual assault.” His voice was deadly quiet now, having steadily softened through the litany of crimes. “Fortunately for you, you weren’t stupid enough to do any of these at home or to another Federation citizen, which technically means you’ve broken no Federation laws. It does, however show a demonstrable lack of character.” He paused, his face clearly expecting a response.

“Yes, Mister President. I mean, I’m sorry. There is no excuse for…”

“No, there isn’t. Especially not in future ambassadors of the Federation, or even future Citizens.” Again, the capital letter came through, and Jason flinched from the harshness of D’ron’s tone, still flat and soft. “As a result, you are formally dismissed from the Camp Fozzie Diplomatic Training Academy, effective immediately. Furthermore, you are hereby banned from ever completing a Federal term of service for Citizenship.”

That was enough to get Jason to respond. “Mister President, you can’t do that! It’s my right! It’s in the Constitution!”

D’ron’s hands slammed down on the table as gunshots as he came explosively to his feet. “Have you read that entire Constitution, Jason? Especially the first part?” The soft whisper could have been something nice, in any other tone. But instead, it was a stiletto, piercing straight to Jason’s heart. “The part which guarantees the unlimited power of the Office of the Imperial President of the Federation of Sentient Peoples?”

Jason swallowed, and he nodded glumly. There was absolutely nothing he could do.

Jake looked afraid. Afraid he was next. When D’ron sat down again, he managed to find his voice. “And me, sir?”

“You, Jake…” The Imperial President paused. “Well, you didn’t screw up as badly.” He frowned. “You will receive five extraordinary demerits in your school file.” That was equal to fifteen Ordinary Demerits. Twenty got you kicked out of the Academy. “I expect you to learn from this experience.”

“Yes, Mister President.” Jake looked relieved, then glanced sadly at his friend, who looked utterly depressed.

“As it is, I’m ending the trip early for both of you. A shuttle will be here as soon as possible to pick you both up. Honor will escort you back to your rooms in Devras to collect your belongings before you go home. You will report immediately to Camp Fozzie, Jake, and Jason, well, I don’t care where or what you do.” At this point, Honor’s avatar wandered in, with exceptionally good timing, if one forgot she heard everything happening aboard.

“You’re dismissed.” D’ron looked down at the screen in front of him, and Jason and Jake obediently filed out after the EI. Then he buried his head in his hands for a moment, and glanced at the clock. “Honor, is Lesley still asleep?”

“Yes, Mister President.”

“Okay, make sure to wake up us in time for our meeting with the Dread Lady.”

“Of course, Mister President,” the EI responded as D’ron moved back down the corridor to his stateroom.