Dune III - Ulricke - Saturday, August 12, 2000, 9:44 PM
-------------------------------------------------------
You join lower level.
Mintor looks to Ulricke passing, "Ulricke...." He simply says.
For a moment, it's like she ignores Mintor, and then she turns her head. "Oh, hello Na-Duke." she says politely, and then turns her attention back to the fights.
The na-Duke cocks his jaw abit, then speaks. "I want to apologize for last night, I did not mean the words that I said. Its just..." He pauses, to rub his eyes, they are heavy, lined with dark circles, "We are alike you and I. As teenagers at the swordschool we always faught, said things we did not mean. Perhaps it is Kaitain, I do not know, it just has more to offer us than Marcinko. Ten years ago I would have never found myself watching peach blossoms fall, or attending operas. We have all went through changes, my Lady Ulricke, so have I...." He looks to Ulricke now, "And so have you."
Mintor says, "You know very well that I have the upmost highest respect for you. As a soldier, as a noble, and as a friend."
Ulricke looks over. "Really?" she says in a quiet tone. "Despite my gore-loving, violent family?" Her eyebrow flickers upward lightly.
Mintor shakes his head, "You know I did not mean it that way. I have respect for the name Harkonnen, and nothing but adoration for your loving Father."
Ulricke looks at her nails. "Then what prompted your statement last night?" she asks, her voice with a distinct edge.
Mintor says, "I should have worded it differently. Perhaps it is just the stress, perhaps it is just nerves, finally seeing you here. But I should have known you were not into Conservatories and such. I just never have imagined that our ideas would seperate us."
Ulricke looks amused. "Mintor, you really have no idea who I am, you never did. You've built up a rather interesting fantasy version of me in your mind, though." Her expression turns gently pitying. "No. I'm not into conservatories, or watching blossoms fall, or sweet love songs played on a baliset. I'm not some primped daughter of the Landsraad who can barely take a step without assistance." Her tone is not accusatory, nor is it angry, it's simply a statement of fact.
Mintor feels abit insulted, "Did I say you were demure? No I did not. You are certainly not demure." He looks at her with more sympathy, as if the respect is beaming from his eyes, "I know we never knew each other very well, but I have learned to look at people for something greater than their title or their family name. The swordschool did not teach me that, Kaitain did."
Ulricke looks back at the arena. "Glad something can be learned on this rock." she says with mild disdain for the planet. "Are you going to be attending the funeral for our diplomat tomorrow evening?"
Mintor nods, "I was given the invitation, so yes I will."
Ulricke nods. "Excellent. Will you be staying for the orgy?" she flicks her fingers briefly at a slave in the Harkonnen box, who pours the Baron's daughter some wine. Again with her fingers, she indicates that the slave should offer some to Mintor if he wishes.
Mintor waves his hand away, nodding in thanks to the slave. He takes out a flask from his pocket, opening it. The fumes from the bottle sense that it is possibly pundi cognac. "Orgy? I was not aware there would be one.." His face is abit flushed, almost a bright beet red.
Ulricke looks suprised. "Really? Father usually plans the most wonderful fetes, and the best way to honor death is to celebrate life, don't you think?"
Ulricke adds, "It's usually after the funeral services and the banquet of course."
Mintor nods still beet red., "Well I suppose it is best to honor the dead with a wild party...but an orgy...that is very interesting. And of course I would never miss one of your Father's banquets...."
Mintor asks, "Who shall attend?"
Ulricke grins. "I gather that's why your brother was always leaving early."
Mintor smiles, "My brother isn't much on Public displays of affection. Today, everytime he says the word sex it is in a whisper, but that shall be our little secret. But it will be the first time an Atreides attends a Harkonnen Orgy.....I do not have anyone to....accompany me to this auspicious occasion. "
Ulricke looks suprised. "Oh, I'm sure there will be plenty of slaves to entertain you."
Mintor cocks his jaws, very slightly, almost with a smile, "You know how I am about slaves.."
You say, "Then perhaps you shouldn't attend -any- Harkonnen sponsored events. Or enter our embassy."
Mintor says, "No, it is not that. Just showing.....sexual affection for slaves."
Ulricke looks utterly blank. "What does affection have to do with anything?"
Mintor smiles, "Ulricke, you know I am still the womanizer I am today, but each time I took a woman to my bedchamber, I did it out of affection, even if it was minute."
Ulricke shrugs. "Well, we have males and females, if it makes a difference."
Mintor scoffs, "I prefer women. But....I don't know it would make me feel guilty...bashful even. Its so, taboo."
Mintor adds, "To make the wind and rain with a slave woman." Wind and rain, must be a quaint little expression for sex on Caladan.
Ulricke bah's. "Why? Taboos are for the weak, Mintor. You define your world by your power. It's not like you can rape the willing, you know."
Mintor chuckles, "Then perhaps I am weak. Perhaps it is just my upbringing...ontop of that...no pun intended, it just seems to me slaves are never as attractive as they used to be."
Ulricke grins. "You aren't looking at the right slaves, but as you like."
Mintor nods, "But, Ulricke have you ever yerned to ever express love to a nobleman?"
You say, "In what way? I assume you mean other then to my father and brothers."
Mintor smiles, "Yes...courting someone, even though that word may seem very trite."
Ulricke shrugs. "Well, I was engaged once, but the plans fell through. I don't think I'm ready for commitment at the moment."
Mintor shakes his head, "Nor am I. Ever since Valentina was assassinated."
You say, "Were you engaged to Valentina? That's really funny."
Ulricke chuckles.
Mintor looks to Ulricke, as if he is insulted. "Yes I was....." His eyes turn back to the fight.
Ulricke continues, chuckling, "The reason it's so amusing is because I was once affianced to her brother, Cesare."
You say, "You must admit, that's terribly funny in hindsight!"
Mintor looks to the fight, "We could have been siblings, by law." He busts out laughing, "Imagine that."
Ulricke grins a little. "As if that would stop you."
Mintor nods, raising his flask "Well, to lost loves."
Ulricke raises her goblet. "Aye, that."
Mintor sips his cognac, looking at the fight. "What is it with me and bad luck with women..Quite strange."
Ulricke grins. "Perhaps you try too hard."
Mintor nods,, "Perhaps. But I am twenty nine years old, almost thirty. The clock is ticking, especially to find a woman."
Cesare walks in from Entrance Area through the Archway.
Cesare has arrived.
Cesare steps out through a collonaded entryway onto the many-tiered seating level of the arena, the Count's head bent slightly downward in a contemplative, pensive fashion.
Mintor looks to Cesare as he makes his way through the rows, He waves over to him.
Cesare cracks a broad grin as he notices the rather conspicuous flagging down he receives from the Na-Duke Atreides, making his way towards him as bidden.
Cesare joins lower level.
Ulricke is absorbed in the fighting, watching from chaise where she lounges like some Egyptian queen, quaffing deeply from her goblet.
Cesare settles down in a comfortable seat next to his old sparring partner, leaning over to him and inquiring glibly, "How goes the bloodsport?"
Mintor looks to the fight, "I sware to God they have not killed one of those lions yet, Cesare it is horrible." He scoffs, raising his hands at the gladiators.
Ulricke waves the slave over to pour Cesare some wine. "A little slow, actually. They should poison their blades before they go into the arena - and tell them, too. Makes the fights far more interesting." she beams at him, leaning over to kiss his cheek. "And how are you, my dear?" she asks slyly.
Cesare frowns in disappointment, clucking his tongue dismayedly. "Well, at least the beasts are getting a good meal." His ears perk and his eyes glitter as he hears a familiar voice and feels the touch of even more familiar lips, head turning to take in the daughter of Baron Harkonnen. He takes the goblet from her hand and winks. "All the better to see you back on Kaitain where you belong, m'lady."
Ulricke grins. "Ah, yes. What would life be like on this dreary planet without me to liven it up?" she sips her own wine adding, "I was just asking if Mintor was going to stay for the orgy after the memorial services...I think he's waffling." she grins at Mintor from around Cesare.
Cesare looks with wry appraisal at Mintor. "They say the best way to revere the departed is to enjoy yourself ... and how better to do that, hrmm?"
Mintor looks to his maid that accompanied him, an old, pleasant woman in a greyish blue suit, "Athena, could I get the olives, with the pits inside them please.." He looks to the old woman, scooping up olives into a crystal cocktail like bowl handing them to the na-Duke. "I am considering the offer, my Lady." He takes a olive in his mouth and spits the pit into onto the fighting pit.
Cesare snaps for a waitress, seeming all the more satisfied when a particularly buxom one comes his way. The Siridar mutters something in her ear and she bends down to pluck a drink from a nearby tray ... a martini no less. With nonchalant flair, Cesare reaches over to abscond with one of Mintor's olives, plopping it into his drink.
Ulricke beams at Cesare. "I've always said we're of terribly like minds. You're looking well...Father tells me that you still haven't married yet, though - and with all these eager Landsraad ladies waiting..."
Cesare briefly salutes Ulricke and sips from his martini before making reply. "Ulricke, I'm afraid no one has managed to match your place in my heart," he states in good humour, "though a certain princess is now vying quite vigorously for it."
Ulricke grins coyly. "Oh, come now - I've heard you've gone through several ladies...even, as Father tells me, one of those /witches/." she wrinkles her nose. "Assuredly she put one of their spells on you, but nevermind that. Who's the lucky....princess, you said? Hrm, who's currently young and fecund and female in the Royal family?"
Mintor chuckles, "Ah...Princess....Good for you. I myself have not found anyone but someone will come along eventually. There is always Bene Gesserrit Concubines." He almost shudders at that thought. He sips from his flask and spits another pit out.
You paged Cesare with 'What a faker. He's been begging for a BG concubine.'.
Cesare quirks a sly smile. "Now then, you know me too well. I never give into pressure that easily, Ulricke."
Ulricke purses her lips. "I could tickle you to find out..." she smirks, "Or I could spar with you for the information..."
Cesare quirks a brow in delicious amusement. "You could, yes, but where's the fun in that? Far better that I leave you guessing, my dear."
Mintor looks to the two, with a touch of repulsion. He pops an olive into his mouth again, looking to the fights.
Ulricke shrugs. "Or I could just look up the public access information..." she smirks. "But getting it directly from you would be vastly more entertaining. Could I have an olive, Mintor?"
Cesare appends to his statement, "And it takes truly little investigation, I assure you. Only one princess to be had in the Imperium at present. Afraid His Majesty's loins aren't quite as fertile as his leonine mascot."
Ulricke remarks with a smirk, "I've heard his sanity isn't up there too much either."
Mintor nods, "Of course. They are from my private grove in Caladan. Quite good." He hands the cocktail bowl to Ulricke, "The Corrinos have always been cursed with two things, impotence and insanity."
Cesare mutters, "Must be from all the inbreeding."
Mintor chuckles, "Well have you seen the last painting of the Royal Family? They all look alike it is like some damned gothic novelette."
Ulricke grabs an olive, leans back in the chaise, and tilting her mouth upward, slips it in between her lips. She holds onto it, her fingertips in her mouth as she removes the pit, and withdraws her fingers slowly, tossing the pit over the barrier. Then she has the slave bring her a linen napkin with which to dry her fingers. "What about the Emperor's brother? Doesn't...oh -wait-. The Princess Jenaa? Is that who it is?" she looks to Cesare with cheerful anticipation of his answer. She does so love being right.
Cesare sighs slightly and, at Ulricke's query, decides it is more propitious to turn his attention back to the games. "Oh, look. He deserves a standing ovation for that. Takes a real pro to make blood spurt that high."
Ulricke looks over. "Huzzah!" she cheers, clapping. "An excellent strike...ooh - there you are, lost his hand. Silly bastard should have turned instead of feinted."
Mintor looks to the fight, "Oh well, isn't that quaint....Well he is literally painting the city red." He cuckles, "Well that shall take a week with a Suk."
Cesare chuckles morbidly. "Looks like that one fellow won't have to worry about siring children ever again. I had forgotten how efficiently the vitals can be removed with a string of barbed wire.
Mintor looks as the arena releases a Salusan Bull for fun. "Ohhh now we are talking....."
Ulricke leans over and murmurs in Cesare's ear.
You whisper, "I don't suppose a well directed pout would confirm or deny my conclusion?" to Cesare.
Cesare looks over at Ulricke and winks with smugness. "Afraid you'll have to do more than suck a few olives for that, my dear."
Ulricke looks him right in the eye, smiles and responds, "I /have/ managed bigger then that, as you well know." Then she sips her wine demurely and turns to watch the carnage.
Mintor looks to Cesare and Ulricke with a slight taste of distain but then he smiles, popping an olive in his mouth, "Quite an interesting omen to bring a Bull out eh?"
Cesare doesn't miss a beat, taking the olive out of his now empty glass and popping it into his mouth, gently squeezing it with his teeth and causing a jet of juice to spew forth over the railing with practised precision. "Much, /much/ bigger."
Milliano walks in from Entrance Area through the Archway.
Milliano has arrived.
Cesare is seated down near the front, comfortably conversing with the Na-Duke Atreides and the Lady Harkonnen as the trio watch the combat unfolding down on the sand.
Milliano walks down the steps of the seating area. Noting the small crowd at the bottom, he takes a seat above, as not to disturb.
Mintor looks at the Caladanian Bull gutting most of the gladiators in the ring, the arena painted with blood and gore of Lions, slaves, and criminals.
Ulricke mutters darkly, "Wish they were Bajazet down there..."
Milliano joins middle level.
Cesare tsks in mock chiding at Ulricke. "Now now, you know as well as I do that they'd have an unfair advantage in the sand, those desert-dwelling, horse-humping infidels."
Mintor looks to Ulricke, "The people who piss in the wind will always have it come back to them, my Lady."
Milliano crosses his slender legs and sits up, watching with limited interest the Bull fight. He reaches into his coat pocket and retrieves a brass case and fishes out a cigarette.
Ulricke says gaily, "Oh, isn't that the truth. Do snag me another olive, won't you Cesare?"
Cesare just looked at you.
Mintor takes out a cigarette, a white mountain Caladanian tobacco one at that. He pops it into his mouth, lighting it with a platnium lighter. He mutters with the cig hanging out of his mouth, handing the olive bowl to Cesare, "Besides, at times I do love the smell of arabian musk on my pillow in the morning."
Ulricke looks at Mintor. "But I thought you preferred women, not horses." she says, her tone confused.
Cesare nods with thanks to Mintor, tossing the olive with playful ease back at Ulricke, aiming for the opened front of her body suit.
Ulricke arches a brow at Cesare. "You drop it, you get to fish it out again." she warns.
Milliano slips it between his lips and lights it, a wisp of bluish smoke rising into the air. His eyes glance to the arena floor below, a polite glance once to the Noble crowd below him, though his eyes don't remain there for more then a moment.
Mintor laughs, blowing smoke up into the air, some of it falling on Ulricke. He continues looking at the bullfight, the bull finally getting wacked by several more gladiators with clubs. "Come now that is not a way to kill a damn bull! Bahhg!"
Cesare throws, abandoning caution to the wind.
Milliano quirks a brow, wondering as to why they don't hit it on the nose.
Mintor watches as the Bull finally gives out from fatigue, lying a pool of its own brains. "Hmm good things don't last forever do they?" He flicks his cigarette ashes beyond the rail.
Marco walks in from Entrance Area through the Archway.
Marco has arrived.
Milliano hear's footsteps, though he doesn't turn to look. He frowns slightly as the bull falls... "Depressing. Such a noble creature."
Cesare smiles fondly at Mintor. "What we need is a good corrida, eh?"
Marco walks in looking around like he owns the place. Proably so seeing how he is renting it. He looks around trying to figure out what all these people are doing here.
Milliano looks behind him now to Marco.
Mintor nods, "Perhaps". He blows the smoke upward, as if allowing them to flirt openly, without him looking.
Ulricke watches the olive fall, landing rather neatly down her shirtfront, held in place by her..ahem..assets. She sighs martyredly, reaching to lower the zipper of her bodysuit a scant half inch, and says chastizingly, "I warned you, Cesare...you dropped it, you have to get it." She overlooks the arena, where the gladiators are fighting, along with bulls, lions, and all manner of violent entertainment. Oh, she's just one of those people that tends to sit in the lower levels...you know, the noble Houses of the Landsraad?
You say, "And if you can't fetch it, perhaps Mintor can."
Cesare props himself up on one arm and with surgical precision plucks the olive with forefinger and thumb and pops it into his mouth, inquiring teasingly, "Oh ... I'm sorry. You wanted that, didn't you?"
Milliano stands with a professional smile, one hand in his coat pocket, the other flicking his ash. He bows slightly to Marco.
Mintor shakes his head, smiling, the smoke coming out of his mouth like a dragon. He says nothing, but allows himself to be silent looking at the fights.
Marco sees Milliano and to his surprise the Count. Oh, how he and the Director of Public Works shall talk about this, this breech of contract. The man nods back to Milliano as he blows a large amout of spice cigar smoke out of his mouth in an all most metaphor for how angry he is. As he walks closer the smell of a spice refinery can be smelled from the large spice cigar that sticks out of his mouth.
Marco joins middle level.
Milliano sits back down, glancing to Cesare, then Marco, "Is there something wrong?"
Marco slips in to the middle section behinds the goings on.
Ulricke mmms. "If I was a cruel woman, I'd get it back from you right now. But I shall permit myself a non-Harkonnen trait and grant you mercy from the attempt." she looks out and down at the arena, cheering one of the gladiators on."
You say, "Look, Mintor - isn't that one smashing? Want to bet on him winning the next fight?"
Mintor nods, "He didn't do so well with the bull...He is all scratched up....But I am game."
Milliano recrosses his legs, and leans towards Marco for a moment, "The Toreador and the Bull... a paradox in of itself. Consider this, both are hated enemies, yet without the other, each could not exist."
Milliano leans back, and flicks the cigarette neatly.
Mintor looks at the Gladiator getting pulverized by a fat, Adrianopolic looking gladiator. "Good God man! Come on! Dammit the Hell!" He puffs his cigarette, almost throwing the smoke out of his body.
Cesare cannot help but chuckle as the poor gladiator gets a faceful of fat, sweaty armpit as his rotund competitor decides to be particularly cruel. "A fate worse than death, that."
Ulricke winces. "Oh, too late. Already beheaded, and we didn't get to name stakes. Perhaps another duel..."
Mintor shakes his head, "Non violent, sissy pansy."
Marco studies the event, "Like order and choas. Without chaos there would be no need for order, but with our order there would be nothing but chaos. It is a cycle all around us, one thing happen becuase of anoher but with out each other they would not exist. Deciding which one needs the other the most is not the question but whether which one is the good and evil of the something, if that can be decided. One might think order is good and chaos is evil, but how do we not know that order is evil and chaos is good?"
Mintor laughs, "His mother was probably a spice whore who serviced Kaitain taxi drivers orally because they could not afford the high priced whores. He was probably better off dead."
You say, "Mintor, people who aren't accustomed to being crude really shouldn't try."
Mintor says, "I wasn't being crude, serious perhaps. It is the truth."
Cesare blinks at Mintor's comment and decides instead to procure another martini.
Mintor nods, "You would not believe the criminal record histories these days, I have been studying criminology somewhat.
Milliano winces as he overhears the words, looking back to Marco, "An extraordinary existance, really. Good and evil are overused terms. Did not Adam sleap with beasts? I fear our conversation grows depressing. How have you been?"
Marco shakes his head, "I got to stop letting Sabian give me his sapho cigarettes. I think I could start doing advanced quatum physics engineering. I have been fine to day was a good day."
Cesare takes a sip of his martini and frowns at the happenings on the sand. "Oh, come now ... They should train their animals better. Look at that bear ... he's not even putting up a fight."
Milliano narrows his eyes, looking towards the Gladiatorial arena once more. "Sapho cigarettes? Don't doubt your intelligence, the ability to analyze ones self is eithier the first step of genius, or madness."
Mintor nods, taking a puff of his cigarette, then sipping his flask. Some of the smoke emits from the flask like dry ice vapor, "They really should bring out another Bull..."
Ulricke mmms. "Yes, that would be marvelous. You are going to fight a bull in the arena sometime soon, aren't you, Mintor?"
Cesare scowls in aggitation. "I think they're up to the neck in 'bull' as it is. Taking far too long for them to die out there."
Mintor nods, "Perhaps". He blows more smoke into the air.
Marco smiles, "Well, Minister, what if you are a mad genuis?"
Milliano laughs quietly, "Well then, I'd probably be a bit more social. It might be a move up."
Marco laughs, "Well I try for perfection, but when your all ready at the top...well you got no where else to go."
You say, "Cesare, bring me some wine, if you can manage not to spill it on me - or are you hoping I'd make you clean that up, too?"
Milliano shakes his head, "Proud, arn't you. Well, I suppose it's part of the position."
Cesare calls over the buxom servant and specifically obtains a chilled goblet of the finest vintage from House Moritani's prolific vineyards. "Here you are, m'lady. A delicious amber wine pressed in 9923. One of the best vintages available."
Mintor continues watching the fight, his cigarette smoking, and his hazel eyes glowing at the scene of bloodshed.
Ulricke grins. "Adequate consolation." she laughs, and looks down upon the arena. Her eyes widen as she sniffs the wine, and takes an experimental sip. "Oh," she breathes, "Lovely."
Milliano takes a long breath, "I'm unsure if I can watch these battles anymore, my interest wanes. Come, shall we go to the lounge?"
Marco shrugs, "What can I say, if you got it flaunt it. Put it this way, I met a young woman today that I have not seen her or her family for two years. She says that her older sister still talks about me, even in her sleep." He smiles devilishly.
Milliano arches a brow, "Oh? And what title does this latest nymph go by?"
Marco says, "Who the sister or the young lady?"
Milliano says, "Knowing your libido, eithier or."
Marco shrugs, "The sister was still to young to have a title, the young lady well she is our new hosue artist."
Milliano blinks, "New house artist? What's her name?"
Ulricke sips more fully. "Oh, has Father tasted this? It's absolutely body-thrilling, Cesare."
Marco says, "Lady Dartania"
Cesare nods, a proud grin crossing his lips. "I gave him several casks of it several years ago, actually. There are only thirty total left in existence, you know."
Ulricke mmms. "I'll be raiding the wine cellar if he holds a fete to celebrate my return, I assure you."
Milliano nods, "Lady Dartania... interesting. Will she be your current fancy?"
Cesare props himself up on an elbow. "I'm surprised the Baron hasn't already hand-picked the marmosets for the dinner."
Ulricke grins. "What makes you think he hasn't?" she selects and olive and offers to feed it to Cesare from her fingers, letting it hover near his mouth.
Cesare laughs playfully and reaches out with his tongue for the olive. "Always the temptress, Ulricke."
Marco shakes his head, "Oh, no this young lady is barely into woman hood, not even twenty, not even an adult. If anything I think I should protect her from the other old dirty man here. Yes I know it is very noble of me, but what can I say, perfection does has its duties."
You say, "Yes, and you're always the willing target, my dear."
Mintor sits in quiet contemplation, looking out at the fight, still smoking.
Milliano arches a brow, and takes a long hard stare at Marco...
Marco looks to Milliano, "What?"
Ulricke looks up at Marco a moment, expression thoroughly disgusted, . o O (Filthy, arrogant prole.) O o . before turning back to Mintor and Cesare. She selects another olive, offering it to Mintor between two fingers.
Milliano flashes a wry smile, "You lie badly. Leave that skill to those who master it, you'd take her on a moments flash of skin. Now come, indulge your senses, lets get a drink."
Cesare toasts Ulricke appreciatively. "Here's to you, Our Lady of Pain ... and I wouldn't have it any other way."
Mintor looks to Ulricke, plucking the olive from her fingers with his. "Thank you my lady." He spits the pit out onto the arena grounds, along with his cigarette.
Milliano watches Ulricke for a moment...
Ulricke rolls her eyes at Mintor, but smiles, going back to regarding the bout. Occaisionally she calls out to cheer on a virile looking gladiator.
Mintor lights up another cigarette, then sips his flask. It would seem very rude to show affection for Ulricke in public, especially if it is in playful jest.
Marco gives Milliano a look of shock, "Minister, I would never think of such a thing. I for one do have a sense of honor."
<<Milliano thinks: She plays the pair like a musician...>>
Cesare is an instrument only plucked when he wants to be.
Milliano affords the woman an amount of silent respect, before looking back to Marco, "As do I."
Marco says, "What were you saying about a drink?"
Milliano nods, "Yes Marco, a drink."
Milliano says, "Shall we away to the lounge?"
Ulricke leans back against her chaise and stretches like a cat. "So, Cesare, you /are/ staying for the orgy after the memorial, if Father calls for one, yes?"
Ulricke's tone implies she'll be most put out if he doesn't.
Cesare sighs tiredly and rises from his seat, turning and taking one of Ulricke's hand into his own, lifting it to kiss the well-muscled appendage chivalrously. "I am afraid that, though I've enjoyed this evening immensely, I must say my good evenings and return to the embassy ... and I think you know me well enough to need no answer to that, hrmm?"
Marco looks down at the word orgy.
Ulricke lets her hand be kissed. "Do stop by and see me, Cesare. We'll..." she smiles, "..spar."
Milliano pauses for no appearant reason...
Milliano says, "Just a minute, I'd like to see the end of this fight.""
Cesare nods and turns briefly to pat Mintor's shoulder. "Good evening, my friend. You and I will have to share a cup and exchange stories soon, hrmm? Catch up on things."
Mintor nods to Cesare, "Yes old friend we shall have to." He says with a quiet smile.
Marco shakes his head. These kids these days and their orgies. What ever happened to the good old fashion hand holding and walks in the park with your wife's sister?
Cesare rocks slightly on his heels in satisfaction, turning to make his way back up through the stands and nodding nonchalantly at Marco and Milliano. "Good evening, gentlemen. Enjoy the games."
Mintor looks to the fights, unbuttoning his colar on his dress uniform. "Damn the air in here is always so humid."
Milliano watches Cesare go, then smiles to Marco, and walks out of the Arena to the lounge, presumbley.
Ah, the jaded noble youth. Guess no one told Marco it's the aging Baron Harkonnen who tends to host these things - the kiddies just like to attend. Frequently.
You say, "Have you tried some of Cesare's lovely wine?"
Cesare walks to the north and passes through the Archway.
Cesare has left.
Milliano walks to the north and passes through the Archway.
Milliano has left.
Marco walks to the north and passes through the Archway.
Marco has left.
Mintor says, "In the past I have. I am not fond of Grumman vintages. I prefer pundi wines and Caladanian zifandels."
You say, "Well, it was discreet of you not to say so in front of the Count."
Mintor shakes his head, taking abit of cognac, "He knows his wine gives me indigestion."
Ulricke mmms. "I'd look into that. Wouldn't want to have an ulcer, would you?"
Mintor nods, "I have had it looked at, by a Suk, I am allergic to the grapes they have on Grumman."
Mintor says, "Besides, my stomach handles things best when they are raised on virginal Caladan."
You say, "Well, then - you wouldn't have much taste for what comes forth from Giedi Prime."
Mintor raises an eyebrow, "Never been to Giedi Prime."
You say, "It's not your type of planet, dear, but to me it's home."
Mintor says, "...and I am sure it is a lovely home."
Mintor asks, "Have you ever been to Caladan?"
You say, "I'm afraid the Atreides home planet is not on the primary list of elite vacation spots."
Mintor smiles, sighing. "Nothing like a Caladanian spring time. Fishing in Lake Argent, swimming in the Minos River, making love on red sanded beaches. Oh I do miss home."
You just receieved a vote for RPer.
You say, "Don't you hate the way sand gets into you when you have sex on a beach? Drives me insane."
Mintor laughs, "You just have to know how to move.
Ulricke sniffs. "It's more fun on top anyway."
Mintor nods, "As with everything." He takes a swig of cognac.
Ulricke salutes him with her wine glass. "Terribly astute of you." she smiles.
Mintor ahhs after the swift of cognac running through his veins, "I hear Alvsgaard is a good place to have pleasurable times. The cold waters to amazing things to the body, although watch out for the fish."
Ulricke grins. "Nip, do they?"
Mintor smiles, "The do more than 'nip'."
You say, "Oh?"
Mintor says, "Many of them drain the blood from their victims"
You say, "How vampiric! That's not an unusual pasttime for some folk on Giedi Prime."
"So I have heard." The Na-Duke takes a puff on his cigarette, "So I have heard."
You say, "Really...and what else have you heard?"
Mintor says, "I have also heard about the orgies....quite grueling if you ask me. But one must always be open to new experiences."
You say, "They're not grueling if you have suitable stamina."
Mintor chuckes, blowing smoke up in the air, watching it fall on Ulricke like rain. "I have pretty good stamina."
Ulricke waves a hand affably to clear herself from it and says, "We'll find out at the memorial, should Daddy throw a fete."
Boris walks in from Entrance Area through the Archway.
Boris has arrived.
Sen walks in from Entrance Area through the Archway.
Sen has arrived.
Cabal walks in from Entrance Area through the Archway.
Cabal has arrived.
Mintor nods, looking to the Baron, "You must have telepathy."
Sen follows attentively at Boris' left hand, moving with a very quiet clicking.
The baron enters the crowded arena, scanning the crowd with his clear blue eyes. He nods to the occasional face he recognizes, and then he says a quiet word to Sen at his elbow.
Boris mutters to Sen, "She's about somewhere.... sure... not... trouble, eh Sen?"
Cabal enters with the arrogance of a noble and a Harkonnen closely behind his Baron, as he takes in the details of the area with his nebulous eyes.
Ulricke is lounging at the edge of the Harkonnen box, watching the gladitorial games below and talking casually with Mintor Atreides.
Mintor takes a calm swig from his cigarette, "I have been invited after the fights to have some drinks with some friends of mine. Perhaps you would care to join me?"
Sen breaks off from the others and descends the stairs to the Harkonnen box- the first place to look, after all.
Boris makes his way through the crowd towards his customary box, Cabal and his guards not far behind. For a moment, the crowd rises to their feet to cheer a particularly bloody turn, and Boris sees clearly where Ulricke and Mintor are standing.
Cabal remains close behind His Baron, taking up position where Sen was before she proceeded the entourage to the Harkonnen box.
Ulricke starts to reply to Mintor, and then notices, "Father!" she waves a hand in greeting. "You simply must try this wine Cesare gifted me with. He says you have several casks, and if you have, I don't blame you for hiding it one bit. It's magnificient." she offers Sen a salute of greeting, and greets Cabal with a raised toast of the glass.
Sen holds up a hand to signal an all-clear, nodding sharply to Ulricke.
Boris grins broadly as he approaches his daughter. "Uli! Lovely to see you, my jewel. Cesare? Is he about?"
Mintor stands from his seat as the Baron comes closer. He bows abit, "Lord Baron." He says. He offers a nod to Sen and Cabal.
You say, "You missed him by about a quarter of an hour. He's deliciously wicked as usual...oh, Na-Duke Mintor Atreides, this is The Baron my Father, Boris Harkonnen. You've undoubtedly met, but I mustn't be rude."
The Warmaster nods in kind with a slight inclination of his head as a gesture of acknowledgement and respect to Ulricke. A less formal and more perfunctory version is given to Mintor as he silently takes his seat with His Baron and the Swordmaster.
Cabal joins lower level.
Sen rapidly scrutinizes the Atreides and nods sufficiently to be polite in return.
Sen joins lower level.
Mintor smiles, "Quite alright, Lady Ulricke." He looks to the Baron, "My Lord perhaps I should bring a keg of pundi wine to the mourning banquet tomorrow. When warm it is almost like an orgasm in the mouth."
Boris waves off the greeting with Mintor. "Know him? Of course I know the young hawk, eh?" he chuckles as he embraces Ulricke affectionately.
Long distance to Boris: Ulricke snickers. "You know, you're going to have to be more specific then that. Or do you want me to?
Boris pages: I was working up to it, actually:)
Long distance to Boris: Ulricke will remain neutral in my commentary, then. ;>
Cabal just looked at you.
Boris snorts at Mintor's comment as he kisses his daughter warmly, on her lips, a long moment.
Mintor sits back in his chair, taking a long drag from his cigarette, looking out to the fights.
Ulricke returns the embrace,and rather adamantly, too. Then she insists that he sit with her, indicating to a slave to bring some of the lovely Grumman wine. An inquiring look to Cabal silently inquires if he wishes to imbibe as well.
Cabal lifts his head to Ulricke in affirmation of the offer, still preferring to keep a respectable silence in the presence of His Baron. He smirks to himself then as his attention is suddenly and pleasantly pulled away by a particularly brutal blow to a gladiator's head that leaves it exposed from the nose up.
Boris accepts a goblet of wine and seats himself near Ulricke, chortling. "This /is/ splendid wine, Uli, and I do happen to have some stored away for a happy occasion, but with this war and all, well...perhaps we'll have to break it out now that you're here. And the young hawk can come and help us drink it!" He cheers at the brutal head blow, shaking his fist.
Boris joins lower level.
Mintor shakes his head, "I am sorry my Baron, the fruit from Grumman wines does not work well with my pallet or my stomach. Perhaps I shall contemplate on my cognac, but I do thank you for the offer."
Mintor adds, "I found that out with my last dinner with the lovely Valentina, may her soul rest quietly in the afterworld until I get there."
Ulricke mms. "He says he's coming to the memorial service...though I'm not sure if there'll be an orgy after that or not." she perks. "Cesare is coming. It seems he really is going to marry into Corrino. I can't decide if I'm pleased or not." she pouts.
Boris frowns at Mintor's refusal of his offer. He says to Cabal, "You know, Warmaster, that fellow with the longsword, I've seen him fight before. I'll bet you a thousand solaris he takes his opponent."
Long distance to Sen: Ulricke hehs. I would undoubtedly think Sen is well aware that Ulricke's behavior is a front?
From afar, Sen doesn't know Ulricke. But it doesn't really matter, I don't judge.
Mintor waves his cigarette in the sort of 'don't worry about it' way to Ulricke. "Knowing old Cesare its a fling...."
You say, "You don't have flings with Corrino princesses." she snorts. "I bet she's a tight kneed, whisp of a thing, they all are. Women of the Landsraad can be so...so..."
Ulricke snorts coincidentally, rather like Boris does - just feminine.
Mintor chips in, "Demure?"
You say, "Weak."
Mintor says, "I just hope his head doesn't end up on the chopping block. A relationship with a Corrino is a very delicate thing, it is like a house of cards it is very fragile."
Cabal returns in his usual low, gruff voice, "I would be a fool to take that wager, My Lord Baron, but I would be a greater fool not to take it. My Baron has his wager at 1000 Solaris, and a caraffe of Hagalian Mint Wine that I've kept hidden from our Mentat says that the Baron's fellow won't kill his opponent in one blow." He wry grin escapes his lips like something was set loose from his mouth and was burrowing down one side of his face.
Sen's eyes flick here and there about the stands and the box. The arena itself seems almost invisible to her, though not a blind spot, of course. Treachery has come from the arena floor in games past.
Boris laughs with delight. "Weak!" he echoes. "I hope he's not planning to marry that little wispy Jenaa. She's a pretty enough thing, but she's just like her father!"
You say, "It all depends on who's on the throne." she looks over. "Well, Daddy - there aren't any other suitable Corrino ladies, are there? It's not like he can marry Jeon's whore.""
Boris raises his glass in acceptance of Cabal's bet, then says to Ulricke, "You're right, of course, my jewel. Although our Emperor seems hellbent--" he roars as the fury of the melee increases, cheering on his man, then continuing--"hellbent on marrying everything to everyone."
Mintor stands, "Well, I must be out of here, I have plans with friends." He looks to the Baron and Ulricke, "I shall see you at the memorial tomorrow."
Ulricke makes a face. "Don't let him near me then. With my luck, he'll marry me off to some hideous Bajazet to try and make peace." she nearly spits out the last word, and then leans across to peck Mintor on the cheek, if he permits. "We'll see you tomorrow then, my dear."
The young na-Duke flushes beet red with the peck, "Yes....tomorrow." He bows to the Harkonnen Group, giving a final nod to the Baron. "My Lord."
Mintor leaves lower level.
Cabal awaits the arrival of his wine, but seems content enough for the moment to watch the fighting with a certain maniacal Harkonnen appreciation as his face almost seems to light up like a solido tank with each blow delivered in the arena. His keen eyes observe the gladiator with the longsword intently and with an almost malevolent scrutiny.
Mintor walks to the north and passes through the Archway.
Mintor has left.
Ulricke waits until Mintor leaves, the rather vapid look leaving her eyes. "Sweet, but annoyingly sentimental. Maybe I shan't marry at all. It's far more amusing."
Cabal turns a wicked smile to the Baron's daughter at her comment, though it's impossible to be sure if it wasn't some gladiator's dismemberment that elicited his amusement.
Boris watches Mintor depart with a shake of his head. "Such a timid fellow, nothing like his brother." He turns to snarl again at the arena battle as his man is beaten back under a flurry of blows. "Oh, come, come, fellow!" he calls. "I've money on you! Fight properly or I'll send someone down there who'll teach you!"
The Warmaster leans toward His Baron to ask with an almost excited tone, "Will our man Hektor be giving the lessons today, My Lord Baron?"
Boris chuckles. "Hektor's off breeding little Hektors, Warmaster, as he's earned the right to. No, I was thinking our Elf could show him how to handle a sword..."
You say, "Dear Cabal, it's been ages...I've an appointment with Swordmaster Sen to spar, but you're promptly next on my list. Who is....ahh. Hr must be doing well, then.""
Boris says to Ulricke, "And what's this about you not marrying?" he asks, eyebrows beetling in a frown.
Cabal curls his lips into a sinister smile as he replies to the Boris, "A delicious idea, My Lord Baron. After all, she's seen me in action, so to speak, so it would only be fair if she reciprocated the favor." He casts a mischievous sidelong glance to Sen at that before turning to Ulricke, "My Lady, I would be honored to trade steel with you at your earliest convenience."
Ulricke says demurely, "Only if I can find a man comparable to you, Daddy." she lets a finger run down her father's arm, stroking soothingly.
Boris pats his daughters hand, chortling. "You'll look far and wide across the galaxy for that, my jewel."
Sen hears her designation and glances back attentively towards the Baron. "You haven't seen my films, Warmaster?" she asks.
Boris urges Cabal, "Warmaster, if you haven't, you must make time to see them! And Uli, you too. There's one where Sen dismembers three men before they can react. One was busy trying to keep his liver in his body while he tried to push off Sen with his other hand--" he's laughing now. "It was quite amusing. Uli, we'll have a private screening, eh?"
Ulricke looks hopeful. "Could we?" she looks to Sen, observing her now more closely.
Cabal scoffs to Sen, "Shigawire reels don't do justice to live action, Swordmaster. The subtleties and nuances of style and technique are lost on the incompetence of the recorder." He cheers in a near growl as the gladiator with the longsword is hit from behind, but the blow seems far from fatal much to his disappointment. His attention snaps back to His Baron then when he is addressed, but his response is not required having already answered the question so he continues watching the fight.
The little thing doesn't look like someone who would reap heads like flax, but then, that's a trademark of her worksmanship. She glances away humbly.
Boris says admiringly, "I tell you, she's worth every solari I paid for her." He drains his wine and looks about for a refill. "Damn it all, isn't there anything to eat in this box?"
Ulricke in particular, studies Sen's hands...her wrists. Finds herself imagining what sort of style defines Sen's swordplay. Ah, but she'll find out later. "I can have the slaves bring something...what are you in the mood for?"
Cabal realizes he is still without his Grumman wine when Boris mentions food, and he looks for a slave with impatience.
Sen touches the stud at the throat of her skinsuit again, summoning a waiter.
Boris muses, "Fresh marmoset would go well with this wine, eh?" He roars at the fighters, "You fight like Bajazet women! Sen, go down there and make women out of all of them!"
Ulricke looks at Cabal with a coy smile. "Don't be too cross with them today, Cabal. They've had several visitors they weren't expecting, and are a wee tad understaffed." she leans back, crossing one leg over the other. "Surely you understand...."
Sen asks, "If it's my Baron's wish? I wouldn't want to disrupt the games unduly."
Long distance to Sen: Ulricke bets she curves her finger over the hook of her guard, and rests her hilt against her wrist, then.
You say, "Yes, Daddy. I do so wish to see her in action."
Boris says to Sen, "Games? Games? I thought they were some kind of ballet, for all the pretty dancing they do."
Ulricke smiles tolerantly at Boris' declarations, noting the arrival of the slaves who begin promptly serving food and pouring more wine.
The imposing Warmaster claps loudly in approval of the Baron's idea. "Start with that one holding the longsword, Sen, he looks to be the most formidable of the lot." He nearly chuckles at his suggestion before looking to the Baron's daughter then as she speaks, "I have no patience for slaves, My Lady, but perhaps you are right. I shouldn't befoul such a pleasant mood with the likes of them." His Ixian eyes seem to shift a little judging by his eyelids when Ulricke crosses her legs to which he adds, "I understand, My Lady Ulricke, only too well." He looks up at the fight again as another gladiator falls from losing a leg.
Sen nods somberly, scanning the stands and considering how much of her capacity she should demonstrate before the public. But if it's to be done, then it's to be done as a show of force. She leaves the box to have a few words to the nearest arena attendant.
Sen leaves lower level.
Ulricke notices the bowl of olives Mintor had gifted her with, and promptly selects one. Holding onto it with a few fingers, she slips it into her mouth, her fingertips disappearing between her lips for a moment, and then slowly withdraws them to discard the pit. After wiping her fingers on a linen napkin, she demurely selects another one and offers it out. "Would you like an olive, cousin?" she asks Cabal with a smile.
Boris points as Sen makes her way to the arena floor. "Now this will be something to see, eh?" He bites into some finger foods and guzzles wine happily.
Cabal receives his wine only too happily as he watches Sen head down to the arena where things are surely to become...interesting. His attention drifts over to Ulricke again like some pleasant aroma as he returns her smile in kind and answers her question by leaning toward her with his mouth open.
Ulricke promptly places the olive on his tongue, sliding her fingers away slowly while turning to watch the arena. She's nearly breathless with anticipation.
Sen stares at the attendant while they get clearing, and finishes with a curt nod. She walks quietly down the steps and, unceremoniously, vaults lightly over the wall to the arena below, cloak flapping like wings.
Sen walks to the north and passes through the Archway.
Sen has left.
From the Arena Floor, Sen has arrived.
From the Arena Floor, Sen lands on her toes with a sharp clack, dropping into a shallow crouch and whipping something off her back, a sort of weighted staff or hammer, the shaft wrapped in several layers of cabling and jointed hoses.
Cabal announces gleefully while chewing on his olive, "I'm afraid that My Lord Baron is about to lose His wager..."
Boris shrugs. "I'll be happy to pay the solaris to be entertained, eh?" he says merrily. "Uli, that's a lovely outfit, by the way. Suits you well." He turns to cry, "Now let them try to dance when Sen's in the ring, eh?"
From the Arena Floor, The gladiators stop fighting each other as if they were actors and a director had just shouted 'CUT!' when the trumpets herald the Harkonnen Swordmaster's arrival, and a change in theme. They gather and begin circling around Sen as they size her up with various chuckles and taunts...
Ulricke mms. "She's not going to pay any attention to that. She knows better."
From the Arena Floor, Sen holds out the improbably weighty device with her tiny right hand, lowering her crouch into what's nearly a kneel, left leg favored and right stretched out under the staff. Her head is bowed but her eyes glitter under her brows.
Boris nods at Ulricke's words. "You see her as keenly as I'd expect, my jewel."
<<Cabal thinks: Now we will see what is skill, and what is Ixian...>>
You say, "Is it true that she's really an Ixian creation, Daddy?"
"Tleilaxu.." the Baron corrects. "But that staff she's got, that's some Ixian toy she took off some smugglers."
From the Arena Floor, As the circle closes around Sen like some proverbial noose, the peripheral gladiators feint at charging her to distract her while the bravest, or the perhaps the most stupid among them actually does so from behind her...
The Warmaster smiles as he says with noted enthusiasm, "It begins..."
Ulricke leans forward, fascinated. She licks her lips, the gleam in her eye matching her father's as she watches the impending carnage.
Boris actually goes silent in appreciation of the Swordmaster's deadly abilities.
From the Arena Floor, Sen fades from one side to the other, shifting her weight at one end of a fulcrum counterbalanced by the weight of her staff. She must not see the man coming up behind her, because she jabs at the nearest in front of her with the coiled end of the staff. It misses low, the shaft touches the ground, and in a sudden blur the little figure attached to it has sprung back from that point with the flexion of her right arm, outstretched leg whirling at head height, cloak swirling about her as she hurls herself backwards towards her assailant.
From the Arena Floor, the charging gladiator reconsiders his tactics by attempting to halt his charge, but it's too late for that as Sen has already closed the distance with him. The others grunt and growl with violent intentions as they wait their chance to get a piece of House Harkonnen's pride and joy. Another gladiator opposite the one Sen has joined with begins charging her as well, as if to help his doomed comrade.
Cabal absent-mindedly takes a drink from his wine as he watches the carnage unfold with grim anticipation.
Boris nudges Ulricke gently. "Watch this, my jewel." he urges."She's surrounded, and thus never more dangerous. Is that not Harkonnen?"
Cabal remarks snidely, "She's over-confident, My Baron. Mark my words, one of them will make draw her blood, if she even has any."
Ulricke murmurs, "Consumatly, Father." she smiles watching, already anticipating what her bout with Sen will be like, her expectation of the confrontation seeming to titillate her to no end. "A little blood isn't a bad thing, Cabal. Sometimes, one gets cut just to experience the blush, let it cross the lips and tongue, and then the -real- savagery starts."
From the Arena Floor, Sen cracks her gladiator twice across the face, once with each boot, pinwheeling about to land on her toes. Her left hand comes up in an achag blow which crushes his windpipe as the staff swings around in her right, knocking his knees out from under him. She reverses it and spears the tip through the gladiator's prone body. The device seems to crackle and whine in response. With a snap of the head the second gladiator is reflected in Sen's gem-like eyes. The Jagerkapitan twirls the strange staff like a baton, riding the blurred wheel it makes further back towards the arena wall below the Harkonnen box, where she entered. It becomes a monopod propping the androgyne up against that wall, from which she leaps horizontally, pulling the staff along behind her. Her left arm is thrown outwards, a sickle in that hand which cleanly severs the second man's left arm at the elbow before he can skid to a halt or change direction. Her attacks are almost too fast to follow, visible more as subliminals and sweeping colors.
Milliano walks in from Entrance Area through the Archway.
Milliano has arrived.
Cabal nods approvingly to Ulricke, "My Lord Baron, I see the training of the Ginaz Academy was not lost on your daughter."
Milliano walks down the steps, hands clasped behind his back, as he returns to his seat.
You say, "Oh, she's marvelous. Money well spent, Father." she grins up at Cabal and says, "And surely you'd like to spar with me and find out for yourself, Warmaster?"
Milliano joins middle level.
Boris cheers as the man's arm is severed. "Did you see that?" he roars. "Clean off like a blade of grass!"
From the Arena Floor, Sen lands in a dusty grey heap some meters outside the circle, crouching and leaning on her staff. She waits for the gladiators to realize her location and come for her again; she does not attack in her own time, but rather waits for their timing and cues herself to it.
Ulricke bursts into applause, raising her glass in toast.
Milliano attempts to watch the bull-fight, but his eyes constantly wander to Ulricke... her curves, the shine of her hair, the bubbly sound of her laugh... his eyes wash with jealousy, before looking back to the arena.
From the Arena Floor, many of the gladiators still comprising the circle grimace at the fate befalling their comrades, who were only recently their enemies. The gladiator with the severed arm cries out in pain as he clumsily stops himself and turns to face his attacker who is no where to be seen. The rest eventually relocate the Harkonnen Swordmaster, and the group at large breaks into a roaring mob as they all move at Sen. For those who are interested, the one with the longsword seems to be lagging behind a bit as he bides his time and gauges his opponent with more scrutiny than the rest are giving her.
Ulricke leans forward, licking her lips and letting out a shrill Harkonnen war cry to encourage the House's champion.
Boris points out the fighter with the longsword to Cabal. "You see? I knew he had good instincts!"
Milliano watches the woman more, swallowing his pride, shaking his head.
Cabal remains calm, though the excitement welling up within him threatens to bubble up to the surface like molten lava. He nods to his Baron, "Yes, My Lord Baron, he is a veteran of the arena to be sure. We will soon see how well he has learned -his- lessons." His attention is squarely focused on Sen, who's blinding movements are not lost on his eyes, though he is hard pressed to keep his head in pace.
Milliano mutters to himself... "She's so beautiful... of course he cares for her... why shouldn't he. What am I, compared to her..."
Ulricke gets up, her hands on the railing as she leans forward as much as she dares. Taking a deep breath, she practically writhes in pleasure. "You can smell the blood from here! I hope she'll be willing to share techniques with me..." she watches the continued feats of the Swordmaster in blatent admiration.
<Harkonnen> Ulricke says, "Bring him on."
From the Arena Floor, Sen waits, still, in a low dark heap like a toad on the dusty floor, frozen in a hunter's lamplight. When the charging gladiators are no more than four staff-lengths away she springs a clean three meters straight up, left hand flashing from under her cloak. Something whistles, and the second-nearest of the fighters gurgles and shrieks, a sliver of metal protruding strangely from his face like an alien flower. The Elf lands behind the nearest as he turns in alarm at his fellow's horrid wail. A staff point is planted between his feet. A slender black arm lances out between his knees and hooks upwards, catching him by the crotch and flipping him over in a looping arc to slam head-first into the ground on Sen's far side. She springs backwards, breathing visibly now, arms open and staff held out behind her.
Milliano appears to be choking down the knot in his throat, before rising, shaking his head. He quietly goes back up the stairs...
Boris calls over to the Moritani, "Here, fellow, why the long face? The sun is shining, the blood is flowing, and there's plenty of wine, eh? It's not like you just lost a war with the Bajazets, is it?"
Milliano turns, salvaging a smile, "War, sir? No, my Lord Harkonnen, no war has been lost. It's just been... a hard day... of work."
Milliano changes the subject, attempting to seem more positive, though at all times he avoids eye contact with the Baron
From the Arena Floor, the mob of gladiators coelesce around Sen like antibodies attacking a virus, as weapons of various types are held aloft in similar poses and the arena lights flash on them like silvered fish in a lake. Of the thirty men that were left from the earlier fighting to challenge the Harkonnen Swordmaster, several are dead or dying already and not one has managed to even touch her yet. Still, they come with a fierce determination as if their lives depended on beating her, and indeed, it does.
Milliano says, "That fighter is impressive, she has killed all but the lot.""
Boris gestures to some of his slaves to see to the poor pathetic Moritani. They are, after all, allies of his.
At the Baron's command, a slave proffers a goblet of wine and a plate of canapes to Milliano, and another clears a seat for him in the Baron's box.
Milliano quirks a brow, "With that sort of tenacity, I can only assume she belongs to you, my Lord Baron."
Ulricke is quaffing deeply from a goblet of wine, cheering on Sen, shouting encouragement as she leans against the rail, her back to the three men.
Boris says, "Good eye, fellow. What's your name, eh? You're one of Count Cesare's ministers, by the looks of you.""
Milliano laughs gently, "I'm... hoping to aspire to the position, thank you, m'lord Baron."
From the Arena Floor, Sen levers herself off the ground with a flip of her staff, sailing towards her next victim. A hollow, staccato burst of thudding and cracking can be heard as her legs flutter from the knee, boots pounding the man in midair and riding him down into the hard arena floor. She skids across the ground over his head, pulls him up by the hair with her left hand and heaves him forward to be impaled on another gladiator's sword. Now she is in amongst them with kindjal, feet and staff, low thuds, grunts and yelps from her opponents counterpointed by the rapid sharp hiss Sen exhales with each attack.
Milliano offers a military salute, though it lacks anything close to a Harkonnen's style. "My name is Milliano Phillipe II, it is a great honor to meet you."
Boris snaps, "A word of advice, my young friend. My godson Count Cesare wants Ministers who are bold and decisive, are not fearful and timid, eh? Isn't that right, Uli?"
Cabal sits back in his chair offering a casual glance to the visitor as he announces himself, as if he was to engrossed with the battle to be bothered by introductions at the moment.
Ulricke lets out a pleased sound as she watches Sen, turning and pointing. "Look, Daddy - did you see that? Clean, swift - absolutely textbook." her eyes shine with pleasure, and then she looks over. "Oh," she says. "Hello. Mmm. Yes. Cesare isn't very fond of wishy washy people with no spine. Even if he is about to marry one." she snorts and turns back to the combat.
Milliano nods, then looks to Ulricke, with a gracious nod, his eyes hiding his intene jealousy, "My Lady, it is an honor... I believe we have a mutual aquaintance, the Noble Lord Mintor?" His eyes soften a bit, at the man's very name.
From the Arena Floor, the mass of gladiators swells and collapses upon the Elf like a tidal surge, as they drown out her form with battle cries and flashing steel. The longsword carrying gladiator carefully picks his way through the disorganized group as he measures and weighs the right opportunity to make his move...
Boris pages: LOL:)
Ulricke licks her lips slowly in thought. "You know Mintor? He studied at the same time I did under the Ginaz. A very...sweet man, I'm sure he'll grow into things."
Boris rises to his own feet now, roaring Sen's name with his deep basso voice.
Milliano averts his eyes, "Yes, a very... sweet man. You studied with him at Ginaz?"
Ulricke mmhmms. "I'm afraid the art of combat is one of my few but considerable talents." she says in a tone that indicates lots of talent. But before she can comment further, she turns halfway, unable to resist watching Sen leave a pile of bodies in her artistically expressed theater of carnage.
Milliano nods, "Yes, My Lady, though I disagree, you have many talents. You are far too modest."
Boris mutters to you, "I didn't know the Moritani kept such puppy dogs about."
Milliano averts his eyes once more, "Well, m'lord Baron, m'lady, I'll take up no more of your time. It was a pleasure."
Ulricke says gaily, "Why sir, that's quite untrue. I'm not modest in the least sense." And with a sunny smile and a lascivious wink, she turns her back to view the continued fighting.
From the Arena Floor, A gush of blood splashes and sprays across the arena floor, Sen emerging from the group just behind it, followed closely by the upper half of a dark-haired gladiator. Something silver flashes in her right hand, her staff having been relegated to her left. It stops spinning and is revealed to be a gore-streaked saber. Something else silver protrudes from the back of her slashed cloak. The group of gladiators seems confused... two rush her, and one gets the sword diagonally through the chest, from the left side of his neck to under the right elbow. Staring, he falls to the ground in two pieces. Emerald eyes flare as Sen hurls her saber into the second man, catching him through the belly. He stands still as she yanks the knife from between her shoulder blades and throws it through his right eye. She falls back, tearing off her blood-soaked cloak; a little of it hers.
Milliano smiles in return, in his mind now understanding why Mintor enjoys her company so much, perhaps wishing why he couldn't be more like her. He bows respectfully, then returns up the arch-way.
Boris calls, "Good day to you, young Signore Milliano! My regards to the Count Cesare, eh?
Milliano walks to the north and passes through the Archway.
Milliano has left.
From the Arena Floor, the mob thins in red riverlets of blood, marking the passage of the Harkonnen Swordmaster as she sings with her body, a veritable weapon, through the mesmerized group of gladiators. The veterans begin to reveal themselves with caution and careful placed strikes as they steel themselves against the fear overtaking the younger and dead among them. The sounds of metal clanging can be heard as the swirl of weapons bounce off of Sen leaving only scratches on her skinsuit as testimony of successful contact. Once in a while a blade seems to stick rather than bounce, but it is difficult to see in the myriad of violence occurring below. The crowd cheers in a deafening roar for Sen, and the longsword wielding gladiator is no where to be seen at the moment...
The Warmaster chides impatiently in his low, gruff voice as it becomes apparent he's been listening to the conversation transpiring around him which has been intruding on his concentration, "With all due respect to Lady Ulricke, the Minister talks far too much for my liking." He directs his voice to Boris then, "If My Lord Baron would permit a humble critique from His Warmaster?"
The Baron nods, absently, most of his attention on the gory scene below. "Aye, Ferrel, what is it?"
Cabal states evenly, "Either she is being sloppy for My Lord Baron's amusement, or she is need of training. With her speed and arsenal, she should be able to dance around the edge of the group while killing the ones on the peripheral. With her...abilities, and with enough skill, she should be able to kill the lot of them without any of them ever hitting her. Though she is truly a remarkable piece of merchandise My Lord Baron has purchased."
Ulricke smiles in admiration. Oooh, she gets to duel this woman. What exquisite joy. Anticipation lights her face, though she tilts her chin to listen to what Cabal. Her tone is quick, as if she can't bear to hear Sen criticized. "She's playing." she says with certainty. "Being artistic - the Baron wanted a show, and a show is what she delivered."
You say, "It doesn't make her any less dangerous or lethal."
Boris narrows his eyes a moment, then turns to study Sen as if in a new light. "Uli's right, Warmaster. It would hardly be entertaining if she cut them all down in five seconds..." he muses, although he seems to mull over Cabal's critique a long moment.
Ulricke suggests, "You could have her go through the same amount of gladiators in our private arena, and time her. It'd be at a cost of slaves, but it would satisfy your concerns."
From the Arena Floor, Sen snaps out the torn cloak at arm's length and winds it around her injured shoulder, keeping it out of the way of the myriad of obvious and unidentified gear strapped to her torso, thighs, and upper arms. Sen spreads her open hands and gives a surprisingly realistic smile, a broad glistening translucent smile. In a whistling rush she flings herself bodily at the nearest gladiator, catching his face in her hands and snapping his head back between his shoulder blades. She hisses sharply as she grabs the sword arm of the next by the wrist and spins herself back against his body, snug against him. Her legs lock through his and she catches his other wrist in her left hand; like a puppet she rides him, superior strength forcing his hands as he wavers and staggers, trying to free himself of the clinging little thing. His sword sweeps across the chest of one of his comrades, prompting a furious roar from the wounded man, and then an infuriated shriek as it sweeps again, through his neck.
No matter how risky it may be to his own health, his temper flares and gets the better of him as Cabal snaps at the Baron's daughter, "If it's anything you learn at the Ginaz Academy is that you -never- play in combat because it -will- get you killed." He frowns at her to emphasize the point before turning to Boris, "My Lord Baron, that five seconds of perfect carnage and flawless victory would be well-worth the sacrifice of several minutes of such sloppiness." He comments to no one in particular then as he returns his discerning eye to the arena below, "Yes, she is very pretty and very deadly, but she is allowing needless damage to herself, or is she?"
Ulricke turns to regard Cabal thoughtfully, and suddenly her hands go to the rail behind her. Her stomach curls, as she kicks upward, her feet swinging up as if she were on a vault. Those long, leather clad legs are suddenly wrapped around Cabal's neck, locked in a vise like grip. A simple jerk of her body would snap his neck. After a tense second to allow Cabal some realization, the Baron's daughter says in a soft, silky voice, "Cabal, seeing what I learned at Ginaz academy, I'd like to point out to you right now that I could squeeze you between my thighs and make you pop like a bottle of warm champagne. But I won't. And you want to know why?" She starts to slowly, lithely slide her legs down his body and away, to rest back on the ground. "It would be /playing/." And with that she gives him an ecstatic smile and quite deliberately turns back to the combat.
From the Arena Floor, Suddenly, the Jagerkapitan releases her captive's left wrist. As he beats at her with all his strength, she reaches up and grabs his hair, forcing his head down towards her- then pulls his sword arm down and hacks into the back of his neck with it. She kicks the convulsing deadweight away from her, falling away as from a cocoon, tucking and rolling and rising in a single smooth gesture which ends at her staff. Although it was collected by a tall, dark-skinned gladiator after she was stabbed, it's quickly recovered when Sen winds up with her left hand and, darkly comic, drives the first two fingers of her right into his eye socket. Staff recovered, she smashes the blinded gladiator's right knee, spinning away from him and preparing for the onslaught.
Boris can't help himself, he roars with gleeful, mad laughter, head thrown back, mouth wide open, pounding his fist on the rail.
From the Arena Floor, the gladiators seem to be falling slower than they are dying, as Sen moves like charged electricity from opponent to opponent, crackling with lethal accuracy between them and moving on to the next before the last has even hit the ground. A small group of the brazen fighters strike simultaneously at her in an unexpectedly coordinated attack...
Cabal deftly and discreetly replaces the silver dagger in its sheath that he had been holding in his hand underneath Ulricke's body before she climbed back off of him. Mockingly, he turns his head to fully face her now as he asks with all the innocence he can muster as a Harkonnen, "My apologies, My Lady, was there a point you were making a moment ago? I seemed to have missed it in the frey below, or perhaps it was merely misplaced." His features have been become expressionless like a smooth slate of stone, and nearly as cold.
From the Arena Floor, Sen pounds one in the belly with the butt of her staff, winding him and knocking him away, then twisting so that the knife of the second sinks into the fabric wound about her right shoulder, and not into her chest. The third man gags and seems to have frozen in place, as well as grown an unlikely forest of delicate black wires connecting him to the pointed end of the Ixian staff. He gropes blindly at his chest and face, vomits up a gout of blood and bile, and collapses in a wet heap. The shigawire hisses as it snik's back into its cable housings.
Boris shakes his head, unaware of the dagger in Cabal's hand. He claps Cabal's shoulder, still chuckling. "Beauty and death hand in hand, Ferrel. What could be more lovely than that?"
Ulricke looks over her shoulder. "The knife does not impress me, cousine. If you'd like to think that you could have killed me before I snapped your neck, go ahead. Likely we'll never know."
Boris doesn't hear Ulricke's retort over the noise of the crowd, and adds to the noise with a cheer of his own.
From the Arena Floor, the last of the gladiators fall just as quickly as the first, however, one gladiator manages to find his window of opportunity and makes an unerring strike to the Swordmaster's back while she finishes off the small group of his hapless comrades. The longsword doesn't thrust through as it was intended, but the undaunted gladiator steps into his back leg and comes around with a back kick to drive it home. He brandishes a kindjal in the other hand that he must have picked up from one of his fallen comrades.
Ulricke watches, well pleased with Sen's performance thus far.
"Sen! Sen!" By now the crowd is on their feet, cheering wildly. They've never seen anything like it.
Cabal turns his attention back to the fight, not bothering to acknowledge or respond to his cousin's words, probably because he is about to win 1000 Solaris from His Baron and the promise of that brings a smile back to his face.
From the Arena Floor, A dull *chang* rings out as Sen's other saber, still in its scabbard, deflects the thrust. She gives a sidelong leer at the bold fellow, unspooling her torn cloak from her shoulder and snapping it out with a fluttery crack. It winds about his sword arm, and by it she yanks herself towards him, inside his reach. Her right fist streaks up, closing his mouth with an audible clack.
Ulricke purrs. "Just lovely. Father, I simply must go home, it's a big day tomorrow...should I linger for you to collect Sen and go home together?"
From the Arena Floor, the veteran gives in to the pull rather than resisting it as he uses the momentum to bring his kindjal that much quicker into his lithe opponent, the blood streaks from his assumably broken jaw as he lets out a startling growl that would curl the hairs on anyone other than a House Swordmaster.
From the Arena Floor, Sen ducks under the big man's captured arm, the kindjal slashing across her right upper arm and drawing a thin line of blood from the beginning of the stroke where it penetrated her skinsuit. With a wet crunch she jerks the cloak down, snapping his sword arm over her shoulder.
From the Arena Floor, the lone gladiator grimaces in pain, but bites it off as he wraps his own arm around one of Sen's and attempts to lift up on it at the elbow as he simultaneously brings his knee into her stomach. Yet his attempts are ineffectual against her superior strength, and he a certain resigned look comes over him that only Sen can see as he realizes he's about to die.
From afar, Cabal chuckles, "So true!"
Ulricke seems to be considering something, and then absently reaches out to pluck an olive from the bowl. Pushing away from the rail, she walks up to Cabal and murmurs softly to him.
Cabal senses, "Ulricke murmurs softly in your ear, and nibbles as well (if permitted to do so), "Tell you what. I won't tell him that you put a knife to my flesh, and you won't stay mad at me. Perhaps I was too defensive of Sen - I'm sure you could show me...better moves.""
Ulricke offers the Warmaster the olive between her fingers, lips slightly pouted into a smile. Her eyes are widened artlessly as she makes her little peace offering.
From the Arena Floor, Sen nimbly pulls herself up by his shoulder, minimizing the impact of his knee by rising along with it. Another dull crack accompanies a flash of both of her rubbery boots down onto the gladiator's upraised shin. She swings her largely incapacitated victim to the ground, kneeling on his throat, and looks up to the box for a yea or a nay.
Cabal grins despite himself at whatever it was Ulricke whispered to him, and he simply nods in response to her as he takes he olive playfully from her fingers and into his mouth. His eyes widen then as he realizes his wager is up for a vote and he quickly brings his thumb down and looks around almost apprehensively to see what the crowd's reaction will be.
Ulricke grins at Cabal's discomfiture, and further cements her good standing by extending her own thumb, downward.
The crowd rises and cheers in such a loud and riotous manner that the arena guards begin reinforcing their positions out of nervousness. The crowd, in general, lift their thumbs up and vote in favor of sparing the valiant gladiator.
Cabal smiles elusively at Ulricke in approval of her vote, but his mood is quickly spoiled by the crowd in general as they vote to spare his wager. He bellows aloud though no one but perhaps Ulricke can hear him over the deafening roar of the crowd, "Sympathetic fools! I have 1000 Solaris on his head! He lost, let him die!"
Ulricke diplomatically doesn't smile. "What a shame." she says softly. Well, she'll do her best to console the Warmaster...later. "Let us collect the Swordmaster once she's chosen and head home quickly...to beat the rush of the crowd."
Cabal nods to Ulricke with a frown, though if he were smart, he'd be less concerned with the money, but money seems to be the source of all his problems as of late.
As if to add insult to injury to the Harkonnen Warmaster, the crowd begins raining Solaris down on the arena in immense approval of the spectacular fight they witnessed here today, and the heroism and skill of its fighters.
From the Arena Floor, Sen rises, unreels her cloak from the underdog's broken arm, and quietly walks back to collect her staff, shuriken, and saber that she lost grip of or threw away during the battle. She bows deeply but with no visible pride, once to each side of the stands and twice to the box, then turns and walks unceremoniously out.
Seeing that his Baron has already slipped out, Cabal turns to leave in disgust at the outcome of the fight, and offers to escort Lady Ulricke with his arm, "Obviously the spectators weren't Harkonnen. Shall we depart, My Lady?" He asks that with a discreet wink.