DocTomoe
Well-Known Member
EARLY YE 37 - MATRIARCHY CAPITAL CITY
“You’re sure you’ve got everything, right?”
It was a question spoken by billions of people through history, before just as many journeys, in this case, the question was spoken around the thickness and smoke of a cigar perched between rich hunter-green clad lips, which stood out with emphasis against the porcelain white of the owner’s skin. “You don’t have to pack heavy, I will make sure you’re taken care of.” She spoke for assurance, like a partner, or a parent.
The owner of those lips that spoke and were wrapped about the cigar, was hardly what she seemed. Pale white like a Lorath, silvery hair like a Lorath, even the amber eyes of a Lorath, but beneath the exterior, beneath the simulated scent, beneath even the imitation of taste, pumped hemosynthetic blood that fueled the living machine of war, which was playing her hand before it was time for the other people at the table to cash out their chips with the Lorath Matriarchy. What she had in tow with her for the task ahead was a light set of luggage, and a pair of authentic Lorath Self Defense Force uniforms, aside from the one she wore, freshly acquired from the very government that would issue them in any other case. Her other piece of luggage, which she was speaking to, was her Trojan horse, but in this case, the horse was actually a dragon, a small one, but a dragon none the less.
“Dock master has informed the Matriarchy they’ve put in to leave within the hour, we need to get there in fifteen minutes if we’re going to convince the rabbit and the traitor to let us aboard.”
Her companion was though bitter, was well experienced with the particular location. Her eyes were skimming the Lorath billboards, reading for updates.
While Helen was dressed in LSDF attire, Lalah was in some variant of a pant-suit with sloping relaxed shoulders and flowing shapes, cut to cling to her body. The thing came with an inner-collar above that of the suit, green with golden trim covering her neck as was the Lorath way - matching the pattern over her wrists - equal parts business suit to what on Nepleslia would pass as a military uniform... About 300 years ago. All was love and business and war, right?
"...I look like a caricature of my mother," she clicked her tongue: "The board says twenty so there's delays of some kind. Back at the bar, a lot of customers would complain about this. They've been singled out for scanning before launch so the dock master thinks they probably have contraband. That's actually kind of clever - to pass a test and then know on arrival if your course is direct enough and its in public lanes that you can't arrive with anything. Oh ah.." she glanced back at Helen. "Some of them were smugglers. Alcohol makes everybody want to talk."
"Mmm, to look like one's mother is a blessing, last I checked." Helen mused, as she took bags and travel-companion in tow and made way from the starport bar, to the rather 'out of the way' launch pad, by 'out of the way', it was a launch pad which was located across the street from the actual starport, and instead of it being a launch-pad, it was a gravel topped field with landing guidelines painted on, if anything, it was an afterthought of a designer that wanted to add one more parking spot to milk customers for, at a reduced rate, of course. It was the kind of location that seemed kind of obvious in its own way. "It's like... they're a bunch of scientists playing at fugitive." Little did Helen realize at that moment, she had hit the nail square on the head.
"You'll be doing most of the talking, since you'll be appearing to be the boss." Helen spoke, with a soft chortle in her words. "Think of it like... being able to get out and stretch your legs for a bit."
"Basically, you want me to impersonate my mother..." she said, looking at her reflection in a glass pane. Her fingers were up, elbows out - making subtle corrections to her hair that seemed to boarder on obsessive compulsive, looking herself over from several angles and making a few different expressions like a trained actor. "...Without impersonating my mother...? I think I can do that".
Lalah was now eyeing her watch, mouthing a few words to herself as she adjusted the big empty wheel in hardened metals wrapped about the circular face. Next, the cuffs of her suit and finally the beginnings of a stride Helen hadn't ever seen before.
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There was a cockiness to it, more like a Nepleslian general than any business figure she was familiar with.
Cock sure would be the word abroad but did Lor even have its equivalent?
She marched past security staff, eyes on her watch without even giving them the time of day - sensing them step closer then backing off as she dismissed them like badly behaved dogs with a single hand.
Who was this person?
There was a feeling of curiosity that fluttered in Helen as she strode a little bit behind Lalah, allowing the Lmanel to lead, and for her to follow. A certain allure could be found in the posture of certainty and confidence that the Lmanel, which days prior had been chained to a radiator, exhibited in that moment. Resilience, it was something that Helen could respect, even if it was from someone she had tortured to tears prior, because it was always beautiful to see someone rise above the pain that they had been inflicted with.
"Remind me to buy you a drink once we get to the next port, you've earned it." Helen spoke quietly as they moved out of earshot of the security personnel.
It was not long before the pair would make their approach to what was easily considered a relic by interstellar scientific standards. Beneath the brim of the peaked cap Helen wore, a brow could not help but to raise as she looked at the Zesuaium hull of the Ki-F5 that had been 'procured' by the fugitives that were on her agenda. Maybe... I should just kill them all and take it for myself? I can retire in one of these. It was a fleeting thought, which rapidly took a back seat to her obligation to her better half, which was lightyears away.
As they moved closer, the somewhat-short-for-a-Nepleslian owner of prematurely greyed hair, and poor posture befitting a scientist, moved about the outside of the ship, with a tiny Lmanel at his heels, like some sort of enraged terrier.
"We don't need another stasis pod on board. One for the kitchen, one for the science bay, and one for the medical bay, that's all we need." Miles argued, as he tried his best to finalize the manifest he held in his hand, to make sure everything was packed for their rapidly approaching launch-time. He stopped briefly, before looking to the two approaching figures. "Uniforms, I would imagine they're for you, handle it." He spoke to the shortstack-of-a-scientist, before he made himself scarce within the ship. After all, he was still a wanted man. As he stepped up the loading ramp however, he paused, as a glimmer of recognition flared in his mind as he leaned out from the ship, and eyed the figure in green. She can't be... can she? A stirring from below the belt, like a second inner voice, told him otherwise, letting him know that he was right on the first guess.
"I'm the one going into hiding you idiot; I'm supposed to have as little contact as I can get away with!" she whispered, voice hissing with frayed nerves like a cat backed into a corner.
Sensing something in the air, Lalah - now La'al clicked her tongue in distaste - its forked tongue briefly in the corner of her mouth. She began speaking as Aiesu continued to riff off excuses.
"No, Maon, you really should wear clothes that match your physique. There are definite do's and don'ts friend to wearing a bold stripe shirt. A bold stripe shirt calls for solid color, for discreetly patterned suits and ties... Yes, always tip the stylist fifteen percent... No, not the salon."
She held up a finger toward those facing her, indicating for them to wait as she continued speaking.
"Well, we'll deal with that later, you have to look the part or they'll think you're a clown. Ah. I'll talk when I arrive. Don't bother interrupting, I'm sure you can handle this. Don't screw it up."
A beep sounded the end of her call, an earing they hadn't even noticed with its discreet placement losing its glow.
"Now then!"
Her voice had been deeper - not that of a man but that of an older woman, smooth and syrupy like something Helen would wear but sharper and more to the point.
"I think you deserve an explanation for our earlier encounter; I thought it would be good to develop some life-skills, that some new perspective would be good for me as a person. A chance to... Stretch my legs? You were great, by the way. I assume you're the captain? I commend your taste in antiques! These aren't exactly easy to come by!"
Coming to a crouch, to look out from the loading bay where he was standing, Miles gave a short nod, a little bewildered by just how straight forward the Lmanel in the suit was, it left him with a remaining cognitive dissonance as to her identity, but, there was some deep Nepleslian instinct that put that question to rest, especially when paired with the praise of performance which came from Lalah.
"I don't think your legs were what got stretched in our earlier encounter." Miles quipped, in the finest of Nepleslian bad-taste, but, he said it with no ill will, no malice, it was just as casual as observing the weather. "I must give my thanks for your compliment on my taste of ship, but, I am not the sole captain of her. Its a partnership with the small-fry there... which raises the question, which one of us are you here to see...and if it is me, I do hope that you're here to see me off because I left a deep impression." Miles spoke through a smile, a smile that was sleazy at best. Pride and lust, two things that made a man act like a jackass, and everyone around him in that moment knew it, like he was the focus of a joke he was not let in on.
La'al's smile gradually slanting to one side, almost a chuckle in her throat watching him talk like that - drinking it in with a decidedly smarmy smugness about her - heaping praise that she utterly deserved without an ounce of dependence.
Then her gaze shifted.
"Given your profession atheist, you're expected to be a good judge of character. Cross examination with the boat here says our friend here knows what he's doing," and with that her exchange with Aiesu was over, the l'manel a non-entity to her.
Then the warmth returned, firm and knowing.
"I think suffice to say, I'd like to get to know you - and your wife - a little better. Ah forgive my rudeness; My name is La'al Ioru L'manel, the eldest son of Tioli Mura Ioru L'manel." she waited, letting those words sink in.
"I do apologize for not announcing that sooner; it was my intention that my first meeting with someone such as yourself not be colored by the trappings of the family business. I do have a destination in mind if you're interested, but my timing is very flexible; enough that it doesn't really matter when I arrive too much. I think you'd appreciate my company..." she said stepping closer: pulling a dark leather glove from her fingertips, running it along the hull. "I've always wanted to travel in one of these things. She is real, right?"
"More real than seventy-five-percent of my fiancé." Miles replied, with a grin upon his lips. He had been caught in the flytrap, and did not even realize it, purely because he was too busy basking in his own masculine status. Though, one thing did not quite escape him, the need for the Lmanel to introduce herself fully, with proper title and even gender, it led him to look in the direction of Aiesu as he shot the little Lmanel a message via quantum modem.
"So what's the deal? She some sort of bigshot or something? Don't tell me I dicked royalty. Then I'd be just as bad as Hanako." Miles spoke without a word leaving his lips, as he soon brought his attention to what appeared to be the suit-clad-Lmanel's 'cargo'. "What's with the ape-basher?" Miles asked, nodding his head toward the direction of what appeared to be an Ensign of the Lorath Self Defense Force, and in the finest traditions of the Matriarchy, he just happened to throw in some anti-Helashio racism in his words, just to seem all the more casual about the matter.
Aiesu could be heard coughing behind him.
"...The second richest family on Lor. Well, they were. The first were all in cryo and haven't awoken in decades. Word has it they've been dead for decades, the handiwork of--"
La'al continued, dismissing Aiesu as if she were refuse.
"Let's not entertain rumor. To put our friend here in your vernacular, within the Lorath matriarchy, the royalty dicks you. Foreign matters at this time have a greater importance than those domestic apparently so she's the best I could muster on short notice. That said, her record belays her rank; she's more competent than she lets on. I think we both can certainly appreciate that kind of modesty."
Silence came from the uniform clad woman, aside from a stern expression, a look befitting one of the many black uniform clad soldiers which the Lorath had sent off into the reaches of space to quietly blot out any potential 'foreign matters'. What spoke beyond the expression she wore, was the scent, the scent of blood and adrenaline, it was the scent of a predator. Something hungry, something decisively 'unfriendly'.
"They're all the same to me, to be honest." Miles spoke as he returned his attention to La'al. "Since this is an official Lorath matter, I'm leaving the decision to our resident Lorath, even if she is on the outs. Besides, if it were left to me, I'd bring you onboard just so Sana and I could have a playmate, and I think that is not exactly the best way to be thinking for the moment."
"Well, little one? Which is it?" La'al's voice boomed.
Aiesu could be seen thinking about this very carefully, weighing it up in her head. Then a broad smile spread across her face, tittering between both of her hands.
"O-On one condition!"
"Yes?"
"You have to wear your uniform."
La'al frowned.
"Uniform?"
"Your uniform. The one from the bar. That's my only term."
La'al gave Helen a careful aside, shaking her head some.
"Sure."
"W-What?"
Aiesu wasn't pleased with this response.
"You're actually going to wear it?"
"I had a feeling you'd say something like that: I brought it with me. If you didn't ask, I thought it would be a nice surprise to our mutual host" La'al responded, driving it home that she didn't see Aiesu as anything more than a passenger.
The smaller l'manel watched in horror.
Beneath the brim of the peaked cap, the disguised Helen could not help but to eye La'al with an expression that matched Miles' own, it was a Nepleslian gaze, a distinctive one that spoke of indulgence in the most base and carnal. What truly amused her though, was that bringing the uniform was her idea, since she did find her 'associate' to be appealing in the get-up. What served to entertain Helen further, was the expression on Aiesu's face, an expression that fit a small animal realizing it had been spotted in the open by a predator.
Outside of the dynamic between the three symbols of matriarchy, Miles looked on, oblivious to the way the trio pecked upon one another, he was just happy that he'd have a decently pretty piece of flesh on board to satisfy any wanderings of appetite. Nothing a couple doses of this and that can't make a little extra fun. Miles concluded, even setting aside the matter of La'al being the son of a shipping empire.
"That settles it, get changed, and then welcome aboard. Same goes for your ape-basher too... hey, what's your name?" Miles inquired of the Ensign.
"My name is 'Page'." She replied simply, knowing full well the traditional Lorath practice of withholding the proper given name from off-worlders and outsiders. "Ensign 'Page' Pl'an Lmanel. Special domestic liaison." 'Page' explained, as she hoisted up a sack of belongings. "Where can I stow the luggage?"
"I'll handle that, nobody said anyone is getting onboard without a search first." Miles spoke, as he strode down the loading ramp, reaching out to the baggage, which was readily passed to him. Within the bag, Miles could see at the glance of his cybernetic eye that not a single bit of 'contraband' was within, at least contraband by his standards, as he paid little mind to the container where he eyed an assortment of various vials and bottles of questionable chemical compounds. "I'll stow this with the rest of our belongings. You and the delivery-girl, be ready to depart in ten of your minutes. We've got to be on schedule for our comedy-cop-chase routine."
La'al's eyebrows rose, her smile growing.
Miles' words left a moment of confusion for 'Page', as she wondered just what he meant by a comedy cop chase, that was, until her synthetic mind picked up comm-traffic from the local air-traffic control, indicating that there was a 'security action' scheduled in ten minutes. It fit together, and it made the Neko behind the fake Lorath rather skeptical of the way things were playing out. One hand washes the other, while neither claim to know what they're doing... This must have to do with that treaty that was proposed.
La'al glanced back, nodding to a man at the gate - holding up two fingers. The green lights at the entry port to the landing pad turned red, a deep metal 'thud' as she eyed her watch, taking the duffle-bag with her uniform.
"Do you think they'll air this? Oh, the press would be all over it~ Wealthy beautiful son of the Ioru family caught up with some foreign non-desirables - wearing this no less" she tittered, a sigh of elation charismatic of someone who was a hedonist of proportions most Nepleslians could scarcely dream of.
She took her first steps up the boarding ramp before eyeing her companion at its peak.
"Come along, Page. Let's not keep them waiting."
"Yes ma'am." Came the reply from 'Page', which truly ended up lacing up the shoe that was firmly set on the other foot between them.
Eight and a half minutes later
"Hun, you tied into the ship okay?" Miles asked, as he made his way into the inner portions of the old Ki-F5, where the heart and soul of the ship ticked away at pre-launch preparations. Miles' concern was not the ship, not the passengers, nor their destination even, it was the woman that he spoke to in that moment, the woman who was his motivation to make such a bold show of things. If it were just him, he'd be scampering away in some half-ass FTL shuttle, with her though, there was a job to do, a purpose, and he wanted to be sure that she was ready for the trip, which was really her trip in the end.
Sana clicked her tongue from the seat opposite, humming as the hull trembled some with the heart of the ship warming and waking. Before long the ground was slowly disappearing beneath them and soon, communications requests from control as the ship accelerated.
"All engines look good. Rolling to stabilize ascent. There is Mach one. Mach two."
"Eyes sharp, even though we've been evicted, time to give the landlord last month's rent, in the form of plausible deniability." Miles spoke, as he took to his seat in the cockpit, strapping himself in, as he tied his cybernetics to the machinery of the ship.
"Here's hoping they don't get upset for fly-tipping or walking away with the family jewels. Mach four. Engines transitioning to hypersonic."
"About family jewels, you know that cute Lmanel we brought home that night? Apparently she's rich, and she's onboard now." Miles spoke, while spotting a cluster of signals on sensors. "LSDF planetary patrol on sensors."
"40 seconds to intercept. I think we can slide past them. Patrols don't meet milspec."
"We could, but, we should let them get a few shots in. Just for show."
"Roger that, taking stick of active maneuver control. Now when you say a few, do you mean my few or your few?"
"You know when we say Aiesu is a few feet too short?"
Something rattled the deck. Then again, the hull shifting to compensate from new inertia, rolling back into stabilization. Alarms were going off but eyeing the readout the topological chart of the craft was all in blue with only the faintest flecks of green where they'd been struck.
"That kind of few."
"I like to think in some alternative universe that she hears all these slights we make. Makes me smile before I go to bed at night."
"We could just transmit them to her quantum modem, they can feed into her consciousness almost as a suggestion." Miles chortled at the thought, as he began to actually count how many sensor contacts there were. "Really, Tomoe, damn it you're obnoxious... Counting thirty-seven Finch-Class pods total. Four Cardinal on the edge of sensor range. They'll be our cue to hit acceleration and go."
"You know how I feel about that sort of thing, Miles" she said giving him a stern expression.
She was already reaching for the switches herself.
"Oh, I know." Miles spoke with a sly smile. "I'll keep the mind-fucking strictly with you, dear."
As the Cardinal-Class fighters slipped into firing range, that was when the old Ki-F5 made its exit from Lor airspace, and it continued its flight, onward and outward from the Lor system.
“You’re sure you’ve got everything, right?”
It was a question spoken by billions of people through history, before just as many journeys, in this case, the question was spoken around the thickness and smoke of a cigar perched between rich hunter-green clad lips, which stood out with emphasis against the porcelain white of the owner’s skin. “You don’t have to pack heavy, I will make sure you’re taken care of.” She spoke for assurance, like a partner, or a parent.
The owner of those lips that spoke and were wrapped about the cigar, was hardly what she seemed. Pale white like a Lorath, silvery hair like a Lorath, even the amber eyes of a Lorath, but beneath the exterior, beneath the simulated scent, beneath even the imitation of taste, pumped hemosynthetic blood that fueled the living machine of war, which was playing her hand before it was time for the other people at the table to cash out their chips with the Lorath Matriarchy. What she had in tow with her for the task ahead was a light set of luggage, and a pair of authentic Lorath Self Defense Force uniforms, aside from the one she wore, freshly acquired from the very government that would issue them in any other case. Her other piece of luggage, which she was speaking to, was her Trojan horse, but in this case, the horse was actually a dragon, a small one, but a dragon none the less.
“Dock master has informed the Matriarchy they’ve put in to leave within the hour, we need to get there in fifteen minutes if we’re going to convince the rabbit and the traitor to let us aboard.”
Her companion was though bitter, was well experienced with the particular location. Her eyes were skimming the Lorath billboards, reading for updates.
While Helen was dressed in LSDF attire, Lalah was in some variant of a pant-suit with sloping relaxed shoulders and flowing shapes, cut to cling to her body. The thing came with an inner-collar above that of the suit, green with golden trim covering her neck as was the Lorath way - matching the pattern over her wrists - equal parts business suit to what on Nepleslia would pass as a military uniform... About 300 years ago. All was love and business and war, right?
"...I look like a caricature of my mother," she clicked her tongue: "The board says twenty so there's delays of some kind. Back at the bar, a lot of customers would complain about this. They've been singled out for scanning before launch so the dock master thinks they probably have contraband. That's actually kind of clever - to pass a test and then know on arrival if your course is direct enough and its in public lanes that you can't arrive with anything. Oh ah.." she glanced back at Helen. "Some of them were smugglers. Alcohol makes everybody want to talk."
"Mmm, to look like one's mother is a blessing, last I checked." Helen mused, as she took bags and travel-companion in tow and made way from the starport bar, to the rather 'out of the way' launch pad, by 'out of the way', it was a launch pad which was located across the street from the actual starport, and instead of it being a launch-pad, it was a gravel topped field with landing guidelines painted on, if anything, it was an afterthought of a designer that wanted to add one more parking spot to milk customers for, at a reduced rate, of course. It was the kind of location that seemed kind of obvious in its own way. "It's like... they're a bunch of scientists playing at fugitive." Little did Helen realize at that moment, she had hit the nail square on the head.
"You'll be doing most of the talking, since you'll be appearing to be the boss." Helen spoke, with a soft chortle in her words. "Think of it like... being able to get out and stretch your legs for a bit."
"Basically, you want me to impersonate my mother..." she said, looking at her reflection in a glass pane. Her fingers were up, elbows out - making subtle corrections to her hair that seemed to boarder on obsessive compulsive, looking herself over from several angles and making a few different expressions like a trained actor. "...Without impersonating my mother...? I think I can do that".
Lalah was now eyeing her watch, mouthing a few words to herself as she adjusted the big empty wheel in hardened metals wrapped about the circular face. Next, the cuffs of her suit and finally the beginnings of a stride Helen hadn't ever seen before.
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There was a cockiness to it, more like a Nepleslian general than any business figure she was familiar with.
Cock sure would be the word abroad but did Lor even have its equivalent?
She marched past security staff, eyes on her watch without even giving them the time of day - sensing them step closer then backing off as she dismissed them like badly behaved dogs with a single hand.
Who was this person?
There was a feeling of curiosity that fluttered in Helen as she strode a little bit behind Lalah, allowing the Lmanel to lead, and for her to follow. A certain allure could be found in the posture of certainty and confidence that the Lmanel, which days prior had been chained to a radiator, exhibited in that moment. Resilience, it was something that Helen could respect, even if it was from someone she had tortured to tears prior, because it was always beautiful to see someone rise above the pain that they had been inflicted with.
"Remind me to buy you a drink once we get to the next port, you've earned it." Helen spoke quietly as they moved out of earshot of the security personnel.
It was not long before the pair would make their approach to what was easily considered a relic by interstellar scientific standards. Beneath the brim of the peaked cap Helen wore, a brow could not help but to raise as she looked at the Zesuaium hull of the Ki-F5 that had been 'procured' by the fugitives that were on her agenda. Maybe... I should just kill them all and take it for myself? I can retire in one of these. It was a fleeting thought, which rapidly took a back seat to her obligation to her better half, which was lightyears away.
As they moved closer, the somewhat-short-for-a-Nepleslian owner of prematurely greyed hair, and poor posture befitting a scientist, moved about the outside of the ship, with a tiny Lmanel at his heels, like some sort of enraged terrier.
"We don't need another stasis pod on board. One for the kitchen, one for the science bay, and one for the medical bay, that's all we need." Miles argued, as he tried his best to finalize the manifest he held in his hand, to make sure everything was packed for their rapidly approaching launch-time. He stopped briefly, before looking to the two approaching figures. "Uniforms, I would imagine they're for you, handle it." He spoke to the shortstack-of-a-scientist, before he made himself scarce within the ship. After all, he was still a wanted man. As he stepped up the loading ramp however, he paused, as a glimmer of recognition flared in his mind as he leaned out from the ship, and eyed the figure in green. She can't be... can she? A stirring from below the belt, like a second inner voice, told him otherwise, letting him know that he was right on the first guess.
"I'm the one going into hiding you idiot; I'm supposed to have as little contact as I can get away with!" she whispered, voice hissing with frayed nerves like a cat backed into a corner.
Sensing something in the air, Lalah - now La'al clicked her tongue in distaste - its forked tongue briefly in the corner of her mouth. She began speaking as Aiesu continued to riff off excuses.
"No, Maon, you really should wear clothes that match your physique. There are definite do's and don'ts friend to wearing a bold stripe shirt. A bold stripe shirt calls for solid color, for discreetly patterned suits and ties... Yes, always tip the stylist fifteen percent... No, not the salon."
She held up a finger toward those facing her, indicating for them to wait as she continued speaking.
"Well, we'll deal with that later, you have to look the part or they'll think you're a clown. Ah. I'll talk when I arrive. Don't bother interrupting, I'm sure you can handle this. Don't screw it up."
A beep sounded the end of her call, an earing they hadn't even noticed with its discreet placement losing its glow.
"Now then!"
Her voice had been deeper - not that of a man but that of an older woman, smooth and syrupy like something Helen would wear but sharper and more to the point.
"I think you deserve an explanation for our earlier encounter; I thought it would be good to develop some life-skills, that some new perspective would be good for me as a person. A chance to... Stretch my legs? You were great, by the way. I assume you're the captain? I commend your taste in antiques! These aren't exactly easy to come by!"
Coming to a crouch, to look out from the loading bay where he was standing, Miles gave a short nod, a little bewildered by just how straight forward the Lmanel in the suit was, it left him with a remaining cognitive dissonance as to her identity, but, there was some deep Nepleslian instinct that put that question to rest, especially when paired with the praise of performance which came from Lalah.
"I don't think your legs were what got stretched in our earlier encounter." Miles quipped, in the finest of Nepleslian bad-taste, but, he said it with no ill will, no malice, it was just as casual as observing the weather. "I must give my thanks for your compliment on my taste of ship, but, I am not the sole captain of her. Its a partnership with the small-fry there... which raises the question, which one of us are you here to see...and if it is me, I do hope that you're here to see me off because I left a deep impression." Miles spoke through a smile, a smile that was sleazy at best. Pride and lust, two things that made a man act like a jackass, and everyone around him in that moment knew it, like he was the focus of a joke he was not let in on.
La'al's smile gradually slanting to one side, almost a chuckle in her throat watching him talk like that - drinking it in with a decidedly smarmy smugness about her - heaping praise that she utterly deserved without an ounce of dependence.
Then her gaze shifted.
"Given your profession atheist, you're expected to be a good judge of character. Cross examination with the boat here says our friend here knows what he's doing," and with that her exchange with Aiesu was over, the l'manel a non-entity to her.
Then the warmth returned, firm and knowing.
"I think suffice to say, I'd like to get to know you - and your wife - a little better. Ah forgive my rudeness; My name is La'al Ioru L'manel, the eldest son of Tioli Mura Ioru L'manel." she waited, letting those words sink in.
"I do apologize for not announcing that sooner; it was my intention that my first meeting with someone such as yourself not be colored by the trappings of the family business. I do have a destination in mind if you're interested, but my timing is very flexible; enough that it doesn't really matter when I arrive too much. I think you'd appreciate my company..." she said stepping closer: pulling a dark leather glove from her fingertips, running it along the hull. "I've always wanted to travel in one of these things. She is real, right?"
"More real than seventy-five-percent of my fiancé." Miles replied, with a grin upon his lips. He had been caught in the flytrap, and did not even realize it, purely because he was too busy basking in his own masculine status. Though, one thing did not quite escape him, the need for the Lmanel to introduce herself fully, with proper title and even gender, it led him to look in the direction of Aiesu as he shot the little Lmanel a message via quantum modem.
"So what's the deal? She some sort of bigshot or something? Don't tell me I dicked royalty. Then I'd be just as bad as Hanako." Miles spoke without a word leaving his lips, as he soon brought his attention to what appeared to be the suit-clad-Lmanel's 'cargo'. "What's with the ape-basher?" Miles asked, nodding his head toward the direction of what appeared to be an Ensign of the Lorath Self Defense Force, and in the finest traditions of the Matriarchy, he just happened to throw in some anti-Helashio racism in his words, just to seem all the more casual about the matter.
Aiesu could be heard coughing behind him.
"...The second richest family on Lor. Well, they were. The first were all in cryo and haven't awoken in decades. Word has it they've been dead for decades, the handiwork of--"
La'al continued, dismissing Aiesu as if she were refuse.
"Let's not entertain rumor. To put our friend here in your vernacular, within the Lorath matriarchy, the royalty dicks you. Foreign matters at this time have a greater importance than those domestic apparently so she's the best I could muster on short notice. That said, her record belays her rank; she's more competent than she lets on. I think we both can certainly appreciate that kind of modesty."
Silence came from the uniform clad woman, aside from a stern expression, a look befitting one of the many black uniform clad soldiers which the Lorath had sent off into the reaches of space to quietly blot out any potential 'foreign matters'. What spoke beyond the expression she wore, was the scent, the scent of blood and adrenaline, it was the scent of a predator. Something hungry, something decisively 'unfriendly'.
"They're all the same to me, to be honest." Miles spoke as he returned his attention to La'al. "Since this is an official Lorath matter, I'm leaving the decision to our resident Lorath, even if she is on the outs. Besides, if it were left to me, I'd bring you onboard just so Sana and I could have a playmate, and I think that is not exactly the best way to be thinking for the moment."
"Well, little one? Which is it?" La'al's voice boomed.
Aiesu could be seen thinking about this very carefully, weighing it up in her head. Then a broad smile spread across her face, tittering between both of her hands.
"O-On one condition!"
"Yes?"
"You have to wear your uniform."
La'al frowned.
"Uniform?"
"Your uniform. The one from the bar. That's my only term."
La'al gave Helen a careful aside, shaking her head some.
"Sure."
"W-What?"
Aiesu wasn't pleased with this response.
"You're actually going to wear it?"
"I had a feeling you'd say something like that: I brought it with me. If you didn't ask, I thought it would be a nice surprise to our mutual host" La'al responded, driving it home that she didn't see Aiesu as anything more than a passenger.
The smaller l'manel watched in horror.
Beneath the brim of the peaked cap, the disguised Helen could not help but to eye La'al with an expression that matched Miles' own, it was a Nepleslian gaze, a distinctive one that spoke of indulgence in the most base and carnal. What truly amused her though, was that bringing the uniform was her idea, since she did find her 'associate' to be appealing in the get-up. What served to entertain Helen further, was the expression on Aiesu's face, an expression that fit a small animal realizing it had been spotted in the open by a predator.
Outside of the dynamic between the three symbols of matriarchy, Miles looked on, oblivious to the way the trio pecked upon one another, he was just happy that he'd have a decently pretty piece of flesh on board to satisfy any wanderings of appetite. Nothing a couple doses of this and that can't make a little extra fun. Miles concluded, even setting aside the matter of La'al being the son of a shipping empire.
"That settles it, get changed, and then welcome aboard. Same goes for your ape-basher too... hey, what's your name?" Miles inquired of the Ensign.
"My name is 'Page'." She replied simply, knowing full well the traditional Lorath practice of withholding the proper given name from off-worlders and outsiders. "Ensign 'Page' Pl'an Lmanel. Special domestic liaison." 'Page' explained, as she hoisted up a sack of belongings. "Where can I stow the luggage?"
"I'll handle that, nobody said anyone is getting onboard without a search first." Miles spoke, as he strode down the loading ramp, reaching out to the baggage, which was readily passed to him. Within the bag, Miles could see at the glance of his cybernetic eye that not a single bit of 'contraband' was within, at least contraband by his standards, as he paid little mind to the container where he eyed an assortment of various vials and bottles of questionable chemical compounds. "I'll stow this with the rest of our belongings. You and the delivery-girl, be ready to depart in ten of your minutes. We've got to be on schedule for our comedy-cop-chase routine."
La'al's eyebrows rose, her smile growing.
Miles' words left a moment of confusion for 'Page', as she wondered just what he meant by a comedy cop chase, that was, until her synthetic mind picked up comm-traffic from the local air-traffic control, indicating that there was a 'security action' scheduled in ten minutes. It fit together, and it made the Neko behind the fake Lorath rather skeptical of the way things were playing out. One hand washes the other, while neither claim to know what they're doing... This must have to do with that treaty that was proposed.
La'al glanced back, nodding to a man at the gate - holding up two fingers. The green lights at the entry port to the landing pad turned red, a deep metal 'thud' as she eyed her watch, taking the duffle-bag with her uniform.
"Do you think they'll air this? Oh, the press would be all over it~ Wealthy beautiful son of the Ioru family caught up with some foreign non-desirables - wearing this no less" she tittered, a sigh of elation charismatic of someone who was a hedonist of proportions most Nepleslians could scarcely dream of.
She took her first steps up the boarding ramp before eyeing her companion at its peak.
"Come along, Page. Let's not keep them waiting."
"Yes ma'am." Came the reply from 'Page', which truly ended up lacing up the shoe that was firmly set on the other foot between them.
Eight and a half minutes later
"Hun, you tied into the ship okay?" Miles asked, as he made his way into the inner portions of the old Ki-F5, where the heart and soul of the ship ticked away at pre-launch preparations. Miles' concern was not the ship, not the passengers, nor their destination even, it was the woman that he spoke to in that moment, the woman who was his motivation to make such a bold show of things. If it were just him, he'd be scampering away in some half-ass FTL shuttle, with her though, there was a job to do, a purpose, and he wanted to be sure that she was ready for the trip, which was really her trip in the end.
Sana clicked her tongue from the seat opposite, humming as the hull trembled some with the heart of the ship warming and waking. Before long the ground was slowly disappearing beneath them and soon, communications requests from control as the ship accelerated.
"All engines look good. Rolling to stabilize ascent. There is Mach one. Mach two."
"Eyes sharp, even though we've been evicted, time to give the landlord last month's rent, in the form of plausible deniability." Miles spoke, as he took to his seat in the cockpit, strapping himself in, as he tied his cybernetics to the machinery of the ship.
"Here's hoping they don't get upset for fly-tipping or walking away with the family jewels. Mach four. Engines transitioning to hypersonic."
"About family jewels, you know that cute Lmanel we brought home that night? Apparently she's rich, and she's onboard now." Miles spoke, while spotting a cluster of signals on sensors. "LSDF planetary patrol on sensors."
"40 seconds to intercept. I think we can slide past them. Patrols don't meet milspec."
"We could, but, we should let them get a few shots in. Just for show."
"Roger that, taking stick of active maneuver control. Now when you say a few, do you mean my few or your few?"
"You know when we say Aiesu is a few feet too short?"
Something rattled the deck. Then again, the hull shifting to compensate from new inertia, rolling back into stabilization. Alarms were going off but eyeing the readout the topological chart of the craft was all in blue with only the faintest flecks of green where they'd been struck.
"That kind of few."
"I like to think in some alternative universe that she hears all these slights we make. Makes me smile before I go to bed at night."
"We could just transmit them to her quantum modem, they can feed into her consciousness almost as a suggestion." Miles chortled at the thought, as he began to actually count how many sensor contacts there were. "Really, Tomoe, damn it you're obnoxious... Counting thirty-seven Finch-Class pods total. Four Cardinal on the edge of sensor range. They'll be our cue to hit acceleration and go."
"You know how I feel about that sort of thing, Miles" she said giving him a stern expression.
She was already reaching for the switches herself.
"Oh, I know." Miles spoke with a sly smile. "I'll keep the mind-fucking strictly with you, dear."
As the Cardinal-Class fighters slipped into firing range, that was when the old Ki-F5 made its exit from Lor airspace, and it continued its flight, onward and outward from the Lor system.
