In which a Diplomat is made.

["M. Martinez" <ironqueen@softhome.net>]

The Duke Praxton Atreides summons his daughter, Helen, to give her a
very special, if unusual, birthday present.

This log is from Prax's viewpoint.

_---_

(OOC) Helen lets you set the scene.

(OOC) Praxton says, "I've summoned you from your work, no mention as
to matter. Your tutor has been acting oddly toward you of late, and
you think it may be because of this."

Helen enters the room, and smiles at you shyly. "Father."

The only sound in the Atreidon is a small scratching, as the Duke
scribbles some notes on the margin of a report. He pauses, sticking
the butt end of the stylus in his mouth... a rather unseemly habit,
but an old one. At Helen's salutation, Prax brightens, and drops both
stylus and paper on the table. "Daughter, come in, please," he says,
with a beaming smile.

Helen relaxes, and approaches Praxton, her smile radiant. "You wanted
to speak to me about something?"

Praxton gives a quick half-nod, indicating the chair next to his.
"Indeed I did, darling. Please, seat yourself."

Helen sits carefully, smoothing her skirts briefly, too well trained
to let her nervousness show.

Praxton says, without further preamble, "I wish to speak to you about
your schooling, and your future plans for life on Kaitain."

Helen says, "Yes father?"

Praxton crosses his right leg over his left knee, then links his hands
and rests them on his lap. "It has been brought to my attention", he
says, "that your tutoring in this past year has proceeded at a
remarkable pace. Your teachers tell me you are a extremely bright and
attentive pupil."

Helen blushes, "I... try my best, Father."

"Indeed you do, my darling," the Duke says pleasantly. "And, against
the good and sound advice of your tutors, I've decided that your best
efforts are to be well rewarded."

Helen looks up at you with a smile, "Oh?"

With a rustling of parchment, Prax excavates from his stack of work a
large bound leather attache, long as his forearm, and a small velveted
box.

Praxton thumbs the lock of the case, and ruffles among the few pages
contained within. After a pause, he looks up, meeting his daughter's
eyes. "I want you to know... if this is not to your liking, you are by
no means obligated to accept it. Promise me now you won't accept just
to please your old man."

Helen blushes, and waits patiently... well, you know better. Her eyes
sparkle the same way they did when she was a child. "I promise,
Father."

"So be it", the father replies. "Shall I read to you?"

Helen nods nervously, her eyes watching yours.

Praxton with a brief wink of both eyes, in that particularly disarming
manner of his, Prax turns to the document before him, holding it up
slightly to better read it. He intones, "Be it Known, to Whomsoever
should read or hear these Words, that the bearer and undersigned,
Helen Atreides, Imperial Subject and liege of the Great and Honorable
House of Atreides, hereby does with Our Consent and Permission
represent Ourselves and our House in all Dealings, Business and
Negotiations that do Entail the Duties of Diplomacy...."

Helen gives a soft cry of surprise and delight, tears coming to her
eyes as she looses her diplomatic composure and hugs you tightly!

"As is Common and Accepted Practice in the Imperiu... OOOF!".
Praxton's reading is cut short by an exhalation as his wind is knocked
out.

Helen eases up on the hug, and kisses you softly on the cheek. "Go on,
daddy... Don't let me interrupt you."

Praxton grins broadly as he straightens the rumpled front of his
tunic. "I thought you would be pleased," he says. "But I wasn't quite
sure. This case contains your credentials and your commission. As soon
as you sign both, it'll be all legal and binding. The commision is a
two-year commitment, effective on your seventeenth birthday, two weeks
hence."

Helen laughs delightedly, "I'll sign! I'll sign!"

A soft, heartfelt chuckle from the Duke, as he turns the leatherbound
case over to his daughter, turning it as he does so. "Sign here.. here
and here... and put your seal on that, next to your name."

Praxton slips a pen into Helen's hand, then reaches for the velveted
box, cradling it between his elegant hands.

Helen signs, her signature graceful and flowing. She removes her
signet ring before placing the seal... she has never mastered doing it
with it on, ladies rings seem just too delicate.

Praxton essays a mischievious grin. "You know, darling.. you just
condemned yourself to two years of spinsterhood..."

Helen grins, "If he loves me, he will wait. And if he won't wait...
then it isn't love."

"How practical you are", Prax says pleasantly. "You are your mother's
daughter, no doubt." He clears his throat, his tone slightly more
distant as he explains, "There was never any doubt among your teachers
that you were wise and learned enough for the job. They were simply
nervous that your youth might prove a handicap. I am betting that you
will prove them wrong."

Helen says, "It can actually be an asset... people get distracted by a
pretty... face. Or charmed by it."

Praxton says, "True enough, but that trick rarely works more than
twice. What you may get for free with a bat of your eyelashes will
cost you dear the second time around, believe me."

Helen says, "I'm careful, father."

"That you are," Prax says, nodding, "You are your doting old father's
daughter, no doubt. I got my first comission as a diplomat when I was
25... a very long time ago, it feels. I made so many rookie mistakes I
wonder why the House didn't fall to pieces that first year..."

Helen laughs, "I'm sure you weren't that bad... and I am sure someone
was behind you like Iason is behind me... shaking his head, and ready
to move in when needed."

Praxton raises the case he has been holding to rest atop the table,
then says as he opens it. "I dug this out from the attics... thought
you might like to have it. Your grandfather pinned it on my lapel all
those years ago, and forbade me to wear the Hawk, so that I would be
Diplomat first, and na-Duke second." Within the box is a simple iron
star, with a green gem in its center. The legend on the ribbon pin
reads, 'Honor.'

Helen whispers, "It would be.... an honor and a priviledge to wear
it."

The Duke grins from ear to ear, pushing the case towards Helen. As he
leans back in his chair he says, "I'm afraid it's not the most
feminine of adornments, it's moldy and it needs polishing.. but it's
yours."

Helen takes the case, and gives you another tight hug.

Helen murmurs, "I'll treasure it always."

Praxton blinks a few times, rapidly, holding his daughter far enough
to peck her affectionately on both cheeks. "Make me proud, Helen. Make
us all proud," he murmurs. "And I want you to tear into that Great
Convention Law course. If I hear you got less than a 90, I swear by my
beard...", he threatens, mockingly.

Helen laughs, "You'll turn me over your knee and spank me?" She asks
teasingly.

Praxton emits a short, wicked grunt, "Don't believe for a moment I
wouldn't, young lady." He smiles, looking proud and content. "Run
along now, before your Duke gets all weepy."

Helen smiles at you, "Alright, Father... I love you." She leaves
reluctantly, almost glowing with joy.

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