Rastanyev Goings-On

["Amit J. Sabnis" <ajsabnis@stanford.edu>]

A merry band of the Earl's men and women right wrongs and set things on a
new (if not right) track.  Enjoy.

-Satrat







Camilla
Today, Camilla wears her waist-length blond hair down. As she walks it
floats around her and waves slightly around her heart-shaped face. She wears
wire-rimmed glasses which cover very bright emerald green eyes. She wears no
make-up on her face and her lips seem to wear a slight smile. Her gown of
choice today if of a very dark royal purple velvet. The bodice is form
fitting and has a scoop neckline which is still made quite modestly. The
sleeves start at the shoulders and go all the way down to her wrists. The
bodice hosts very intricate gold and silver embroidry. The skirts of the
gown start at her waist and fan out around her in a wide circle. She wears
little gold slippers on her feet and a necklace of amethysts and pearls.
Carrying:
gold_ring

Marco
About average height but the body is built solid, and chiseled like a fine
Greek statue alluding to the strength and agility of a skilled boxer and
fencer. The lips are formed into a straight line under glowing blue with in
blue eyes of a heavy melange diet. Close inspection of the Romanesque face
and nose tell the story of grueling boxing matches but overall the face is
handsome. A mustache and connected goatee are black as night. Hair of the
same color is cut short and styled smartly. Each ring finger has a single
platinum banded ruby ring adorning it. A thick, bulky platinum chain hangs
around the neck. The collar of the long sleeved, black silk shirt is left
open to give off a casual mood. Same as the shirt that's tucked into it,
black silk pants hang loosely with a platinum shield belt around the waist.
Platinum tipped boots made of some unknown black leather catch the eyes as
they move in a steady gate. Draped over the shoulders is a black cloak that
is clasped together by a platinum emblem of House Moritani. A black wooden
cane with a platinum handle and tip is carried in the right hand.
Radu
At nearly 7'0" tall, Lord Radu Lykan Ferenczy di Tuncart is an imposing
figure. The man is hulkish and heavily muscled. His feral features belie the
noble blood that courses through him. His full, sable hair, streaked
slightly with strands of silver, is combed back, the length just above the
nape of his thick neck. His face is clean-shaven with sharp and angular
features. His dark blue-within-blue eyes, nestled deep within his heavy
brows, are set apart by a nose more suited for a wolf than a human. His
stare seems to peer into the very souls of those unfortunate enough to be
caught within it.
He wears a white silk shirt, laced up at the wrists, which is surprisingly
loose fitting, thus making him seem even larger. Over this he wears a
doublet made of suede-like material accented with fur, possibly ermine,
sewed vertically into the dark violet material. The shoulders of the garment
are over-exaggerated, extending out away from his body. Large silver
buttons, emblazoned in relief with the crest of House Moritani, fastens the
doublet. His pants, made of the same material as his doublet, are billowy
and pleated, starting out form fitting at the waist and expanding outward
making it near impossible to discern the individual pant legs. It extends
the full length to the floor, completely covering his feet. A large black
belt with silver studs carries a shield device and a large dagger. A long
darker violet cloak drapes his large shoulders, the collar and bottom
trimmed in ermine. The cloak is held in place by a silver chain fastened at
the collar by two large medallions, once again, with the symbol of House
Moritani emblazoned on them.
Satyavrat
Brown eyes encased in a blue sheen gaze thoughtfully at you from a narrow
face framed by coarse black curls whose aberrant wanderings are the sole
features keeping the word 'gaunt' out of your mind. The man's skin, the
color of sun-warmed earth, is clean-shaven but rough where a beard once
rested.
Off duty for the time being, Satyavrat has adopted clothes of a coarser
caliber than his Rastanyev uniform. Above an off-white undershirt, he wears
an auburn jacket clasped tightly at the throat by a dark stud with a small
piece of amber in it. The jacket is of raw silk and falls in rough folds to
slightly above a simple rope belt at his waist. His pants are of a thick
denim weave, cut in a simple blocky fashion that speaks more of a desire to
create a garment than to worry about style or convenience. Simple sandals
with high straps cover his feet.
A bulge in the left side of his jacket reveals the outline of a simple knife
to the observant, a tool designed for the slashing and hacking of obstacles,
foods, and if need be, people. Tiny glints of copper peak out from his curls
every now and then, small jewelry dangling from his ear to match a ring on
his right forefinger.
Carrying:
portfolio(#1200IV)

Fahahd
The face of a hardened warrior, with steely eyes that would strike fear into
the hearts of even the toughest of the Imperial forces....not quite. In
fact, the man's face is disarmingly boyish, making his real age hard to
tell. No scars or lines betray the hand of Time, save one: the lobe of his
left ear is simply gone, as if cut or ripped away.. The green eyes, slightly
slanted and posessed of a peculiarly innocent intensity bordering on
bewilderment, peer out from beneath slender brows, over high
cheekbones...the thin mouth is generally set in a thoughtful expression. The
rest of his features are slightly angular, giving him a gamine, somewhat
feral air. Hair of a deep ash blond is cropped close, giving it the
appearance of a marten's pelt - though glints of silver now spark among the
darker hairs, an odd contrast with the youthfulness of his face.
His form is leanly slender, rather than massively muscled...heightening the
impression that here is one who's left the end of physical childhood not all
that long ago. His shoulders are square though, and his hands strong and
deft. The general sense of his movement is not a catlike strength, but a
sense of barely contained energy, like a tightly wound spring.
He wears a simple shirt in a heathered dark gray of some soft-looking
material. It's tucked into slightly bloused black pants, almost akin to
jodhpurs. These, in turn, are stuffed into glossy black jackboots.
The strangeness in his gaze has apparently ratcheted up another level - the
clouded green of aged jade, it seems that he's almost perpetually staring
off at something visible only to himself. Going blind, perhaps? It's
accentuated by an air of distraction, if the bulk of his attention were on
something remote.
Skorokodikha
A petite woman, attractive in a well-kept, subdued way, certainly no rare
beauty at first sight, but perhaps more than the sum of her parts. Her
modest curves are more charming than thrilling, and overall she gives the
impression of a maiden librarian with a martial air. She also gives the
impression of being able to change her appearance radically if need be- the
indistinct pleasantness of her features suggests a canvas for her to paint
impressions upon.
Her ash blonde hair is worn just past shoulder length, slicked back with a
thin, fragrant wax in a style popular with Garrashu submariners. Her well
defined jaw, delicately chiseled as if by a master craftsman, is perfection.
The sublimely angular line of it forces one to realize that her nose is
rather too small and pointed by comparison, giving her a geometrically vivid
look. Her carefully sapho-stained lips are somewhat thin, far from sensual,
but very expressive, shades of emotion overlapping like watercolors at the
edges of her mouth. Her eyes are the most honest thing about her, fathomless
cerulean grey eyes with the sky-blue tinge of Spice addiction and the
stillness of the deep ocean in them. The fine lines in the deep-set sockets
reveal her age; sixty years at least, preserved by the effects of the Spice.
She carries herself with infinite surety, awareness, and the slightest hint
of a seaman's sway, a rolling gait more suited to a man than a tiny blonde
woman easing into middle age. A reversal of the white and black uniform,
here black fabric with white piping, denotes her as a Submarine rather than
a Surface Admiral. The crisp beauty of the uniform is largely overshadowed
by a lush floor-length whalefur coat, the collar rising to cup the back of
her head in its soft inky folds. It is this formal eccentricity, the ruddy
tone of her lips, and the penetrating, calculating look in her solemn eyes,
which alerts you to the fact that you are dealing with a Mentat.



You pass through the arch and enter the hotel lounge.
Lounge -- Imperial Hotel (Kaitain)
The lounge of the Imperial Hotel serves as a more casual alternative to the
prestigious dining room. Even though simply decorated everything is of the
highest quality. The tables are made of the finest dark hardwoods of the
Imperium. Exquisite paintings are spaced evenly along the walls. Portions of
a cloth tapestry lies behind glass frames behind the bar. The meta-glass
window on the south wall provides a view of the Circle of Stars. Servants
stand ready to answer the needs of patrons.
Players:
Fahahd Marco
Radu Camilla
Exits:
Arch <E> leads to Lobby -- Imperial Hotel (Kaitain)
Corridor <NE> leads to Dining Room -- Imperial Hotel (Kaitain)
Marco returns Fahahd's nod the looks back to the group, "Oh you know,
wishing I would have joined a preist hood. Same old, same old."
Skorokodikha enters from the hotel lobby.
Fahahd turns away from the blue table, and picks his way over to the bar to
settle stiffly in his favored seat. He rubs absentedly at a bruise fading at
the corner of his jaw, while flipping through the drink list.
Camilla raises her brow and sees two of her own walk in. A frown creases her
lips as her gaze sweeps over the Reeve. She looks back at Radu then Marco
and her eyebrow raises, "A Priesthood, your lordship?"
Striding into the bar in his off-duty clothes, simple but rather rich,
Satyavrat enters the bar with a neutral face and, perhaps a bit too loudly,
utters one of the coarser cuss-words to be found falling from the mouths of
the degenerate thugs in the more degenerate bars of the more degenerate
sides of the galaxy. He doesn't seem to register this fact at all, but
instead turns to his companion, the Rastanyev mentat, asking which table she
would prefer.
Skorokodikha reaches up and gently swats the Reeve on the back of the head
as she swaggers in alongside him, looking much as she always does in that
big furry horribly overdressed coat of hers. "Remember your position."
Fahahd doesn't flinch at the sudden expletive, but turns to give the Reeve a
strangely cold, wary stare. And people say the Harkonnen are barbarians.
Marco shrugs and shakes his head, "Women problems."
Radu nods politely to the two individuals that entered. He studies them
momentarily and grins at their interaction, before returning to the
conversation at hand.
Radu grins at Marco's response, "If I had a solaris for everytime you've
said that My Lord..."
Satyavrat's head twists downwards in surprise, then back forward; mentally,
he puzzles over just how the diminutive submarine Admiral managed to reach
the top of his head so quickly. "Forgive me; our former conversation weighs
heavily on my mind," he says blithely. "The atmosphere in this establishment
is conducive towards such things." He gives the bar and all of it's
occupants a quick glance, almost chiding in its connotations. Well, isn't
that just the pot calling the kettle black.
Skorokodikha wasn't even trained as an assassin. Eerie.
Skorokodikha nods somberly. "Sit. Drink."
Fahahd pointedly turns back to the bar, as if simply willing away the
existence of all the nobles. A pox on both their Houses. He mutteres a
request for, and quicly receives, a goblet of that nearly syrupy purple
wine. Apparently drunkness isn't enough, tonight..hallucinations have to be
part of the package deal.
Skorokodikha seats herself beside Camilla without fanfare.
You take a seat at the blue table.
Camilla seems to be shrinking farther and farther in her seat. One can not
tell if it is because Fahahd is here or the Reeve. She seems to shrink even
farther when the mentat sits beside her. Her hands begin to furiously clasp
and unclasp in her lap. And for the first time in months she looks ready for
flight.
Satyavrat follows the Metresa without comment, still slightly bewildered,
although apparently lacking in any sort of regret for his former utterance.
"Camilla," he says friendlily and with a nod. "Won't you introduce us to
your friends?"
Skorokodikha catches Fahahd's eye on her and gives him a small, knowing
smile.
Marco looks to Radu with a grin, "You would be a rich man." He looks to the
other two people that have joined the table with a raised eyebrow and gives
them a both a nod. A quick hand signal can be seen sent into one of the
shadows where only God knows what wait.
The Harkonnen continues to look stiffly irritated, as he sips from the
goblet. He's working on it a bit too fast, perhaps in a hurry to remove
himself from his present company.
Camilla blanches several shades paler than she already is. "Of course, lord
Reeve." In a barely audible voice she says, "May I introduce you to Lord
Ferenczy, and Siridar-Lord Marco." Her hands move up onto the table they are
visibly shaking uncontrollably. "My lords, Lady Admiral Skorokodikha
Nadyezhda Varsonof'ia Radomysl, and Lord Reeve Satyavrat
Devhapti-Rastanyev."
Skorokodikha offers the others at table a small, bemused salute, as if to
apologize for her absurdly long name.
Radu nods, his eyes fixed on them, "An honor, My Lord and My Lady."
Satyavrat inclines his head politely to Radu, playing off of Skorokodikha's
characteristically clipped manner. "Similarly, Lord Ferenczy. What brings
you, gentlemen, to the Imperial Lounge?"
Marco nods to them both, "A pleasure to meet you both." The Count takes a
sip of his spice beer and lights up another cigar, "A time to rewind, and
you?"
Satyavrat spares the Metresa a brief glance before answering. "The company
fascinates me, Lord Siridar."
Camilla secretly hopes that she becomes invisible. Occasionally she shifts
in her seat. Her gaze seems to be constantly on her empty tea glasss or
fleetingly on Radu. If one watches really closely they can see her peek at
Fahahd every now and then.
Skorokodikha glances meaningfully towards Camilla.
Fahahd seems most intent on nearly submerging himself in his wine goblet. At
least he's not an obnoxious drunk.
Radu sits silently, taking in the subtle nuances and gestures of the
Rastanyev party. He notes Camilla's anxiousness and offers a warm smile.
Camilla says softly, "Lord Reeve, due to my extensive study of Botany, Lord
Ferenczy has asked me to accompany him to Arrakis to redesign a garden
there."
Satyavrat blinks back surprise and smiles back. "Arrakis...m'Lady, that is
quite a dangerous planet, even for a Noble. But, if such is your intent...I
don't see why the Earl would disapprove. Perhaps you could then carry out
further studies in the farmlands of Garrashu, or should your desire for
danger continue, the botanical test stations on Ecaz."
Fahahd rolls his eyes. His prudishness the Earl will let his 'whore' cousin
go scampering off to Arrakis with a strange man not of her own House. Yeah,
right.
Almost as an afterthought, Satyavrat muses, "I've always wondered what
Arrakis was like myself. Perhaps I should make my own trip." He turns to
Marco inquiringly. "Is the Countess amiable to visitors on the sands of the
Jewel in the Moritani crown?"
Camilla blushes for no apparent reason, as she looks at Radu. She awaits his
lordships reply.
Skorokodikha's lips twitch. "Dry, I would imagine." She doesn't like dry.
Radu seems intrigued by the Rastanyev's interest in traveling. It seems that
most of noble blood are content to lounge in their respective estates
surrounded by their lavish display of wealth. Perhaps there is more to this
simply dressed noble than meets the eye...
Marco lets a deep blue cloud of smoke rise up into the air from his mouth,
"Like I told, Lady Camilla. Arrakis is a dangerous place. Not the best place
for a pleasure cruise but I do not object. However, the Earl Rastanyev and
Coutness Moritani must give there permission." He nods to the submariner,
"Driest place in the Universe. It make Beta Teguese look like a paradise."
Radu smirks at the Submarine-Admiral's response; a most fitting response for
someone who's life has revolved around an ocean.
Fahahd certainly doesn't seem to like dry, either, considering the rate at
which he finishes off the last of the wine, even the bitter lees. It takes
him an inordinately long time to fish out the credits with which to pay, and
even longer giving them a near-sighted peer to make sure it's the right
amount...the kind of look a chimp would give when confronted with a
transistor. He does finally work out his tab and carefully count it out on
to the bar...only to be confronted with a trickily tilting floor when he
tries to rise. Hrm. Better sit back down and let this 'earthquake' pass.
Satyavrat's lips twitch upwards into a light smile. "Many a planet is
dangerous, of course. Some of them I've had the pleasure of visiting. Others
I have no intention of." He turns to Skorokodikha, saying with a grin,
"Alvsgaard for one. Oceans it may have, but gray and stormy ones. And the
things lurking in their depths make Garrashu needle-sharks look like
obedient puppies."
Skorokodikha is no ordinary sailor after all. Garrashu submariners spend the
majority of their lives not just skimming about in the open air, but deep
within the sea, sunk down into her very heart.
Skorokodikha admits, "I've never been beneath Alvsgaard."
Marco sighs, "Then thank yourself lucky. A horrid place for business. No
ever seems to smile there."
Radu lips curl into a devious smile, "With the exception of me, of course. I
particularly enjoy it."
Satyavrat smiles winsomely. "I'd rather have an Alvst frowning at me while
giving me my due than a smiling Moritani bedding my wife." An arched eyebrow
takes away some of the sting of the jibe, but it's effect is nonetheless
felt.
Camilla seems to just sit quietly. Her nerves strung to the limit this
evening. At least her need for flight has passed. She again figgets in her
seat. Inwardly she wonders if she will make it through this evening without
being flogged, or passing out from the mere thought of it. Her eyes glance
at Radu as he speaks, then drifts over to Lord Reeve as he makes his jibe.
Fahahd eyes the floor distrustfully, as if waiting for it to rear up and
throw him off balanceout of sheerest malice.
Radu laughs at Satyavrat's statement, apparently amused by the noble's
brashness. "Well said, My Lord. Are you, perhaps, speaking from
experience?", his mouth contorted in a maniacal grin as he returns the jibe.
Skorokodikha chuckles mildly at her Reeve's expense. Or more likely at
Camilla's, for she gives her a conspiratorial wink.
Marco smirks at the exchange of the two men. He takes another sip of his
beer listening on with a amused look, "Ah, you know us Moritani to well it
seems."
Satyavrat responds with a coarse laugh, closely matching his clothing moreso
than his previous demeanor. "Never a husband have I been," he says, using
the archaic sentence structure seen mostly in the less important fiefs of
Houses Major. Oddly poetic in it's own right, but certainly a far cry from
proper Galach. "But the Moritani...indeed, I do know them well. There's many
a bawdy tune which follows their exploits."
Camilla gives the mentat a wavering smile then goes back to watching her
empty glass. It seems the evening has taken quite a toll as she stands. "My
lords....Admiral, it is getting late." She glances briefly at Fahahd, then
eyes Radu.
Fahahd glances quickly back at Camilla, though his stare has already gone a
bit glassy. Even the liquor on Giedi is vicious.
"Of course," replies the Mentat-Admiral. "Shall I escort you home, Lady?"
Marco looks to Radu at Satyavrat's words with a evil grin, "Nothing about me
I hope." He then stands as the lady leaves the table, "It was good to see
you again, Lady Camilla. Be well."
Fahahd's gaze slides to Skorkodikha....and he colors deeply, for no readily
apparent t reason. His expression is eminently readable, though - the "What
*was* I thinking?" look.
Satyavrat turns to Camilla, both respect and concern visible in his gaze for
perhaps the first time in several days. "May I offer escort as well, Lady
Rastanyev?"
Skorokodikha's deep blue eyes twinkle merrily back at Fahahd.
Satyavrat's eyes slip lightly on to the mentat and the guard, but only in
his standard flick-flick across any given room.
<<Satyavrat thinks: Clever mentat.>>
It's apprently enough for the Harkonnen, merrily tipping floor or not. He
heads for the door, with a fair approximation of his usual swining soldier's
stride.
Radu looks over at Camilla and smiles, "Seems My Lady has no need of my
escort tonight. Perhaps another night." He bows his head, "Good evening,
Lady Rastanyev." He glances at the other two and curtly bows his head, "And
it was a pleasure meeting both of you. Perhaps another time. Good evening My
Lord and Lady Admiral."
Skorokodikha is paid to be.
Camilla looks down at her hands, then over at Radu. With a calm steady voice
she looks at the mentat and Reeve. "Yes, that would be nice." It comes out
in a monotone, as if she has given up completely for the day, and like an
errant child will follow. Her eyes do catch the strange exchance between her
once intended and the mentat and a flicker of hurt is there. "Thank you and
good evening my lords."
Satyavrat rises and bows politely to Radu and Marco, extending his arm for
the Lady Camilla to grasp. "Shall we?" he murmurs quietly.
Skorokodikha salutes the Moritani in a pleasantly casual gesture. "Then we
take our leave."
Fahahd passes through the arch leading into the hotel lobby.
Camilla passes through the arch leading into the hotel lobby.
Marco looks around some. Not sure who is leaving or who is staying. He nods
slowly to everyone just incase. Finally he gives himself a shrug and sips
his beer.
You pass through the arch and enter the hotel lobby.
(several rooms later...)
Rastanyev Staffcar
The soft leather seat can sit three comfortably and molds perfectly to the
form of the occupants. Tinted meta-glass windows help keep out the glare of
the sun and lights coming off the many buildings of the Imperial City.
(For help see 'vhelp')
Players:
Camilla
Skorokodikha has arrived.
Camilla sits quietly loking out the window.
Satyavrat, sitting comfortably next to Camilla, leans forward onto his
hands, elbows on knees, rather than leaning against his window.
Skorokodikha rides shotgun. She glances in the rearview for any smitten
suitors chasing Camilla, but there are none.
"When would you like to visit Arrakis, m'Lady?" Satyavrat says presently,
breaking an awkward silence.
Camilla starts and looks over at the Reeve. "As soon as everything is
approved. I would think that it would be a very short visit. For I inly need
to sketch out the gardens." She then looks back at the window...Maybe
thinking of Fahahd...Maybe thing of something else.
"I'm sure some specimens from the drier regions of Ecaz could prosper
there," Satyavrat notes, though even his enthusiasm is beginning to flag.
Camilla says to the window, "How I would like to see a sandworm, though."
Satyavrat's eyes widen in alarm. "M'Lady! Not many have seen the likes of
those beasts and lived to tell the tale."
Skorokodikha glances up into the rear view mirror. "I wouldn't suggest it."
Camilla turns and gives the Reeve a dry look. "Like you really care? Like
you both care about me or my safety." Her hands ball into fists in her lap.
"I am sure my cousin will be glad to get the little whore out of the way."
Skorokodikha replies simply, "At the least, we have to be able to say we
made the effort."
Satyavrat's frame twists slightly as he leans oddly against the side of the
car, sending his left leg sprawling towards Camilla's. He looks oddly
relaxed despite the cramped position he's put himself into. He ignores
Skorokodikha's remark, heading instead for a more traditional approach.
"Camilla. You are Family to Mikhail...and now to me as well. Do you honestly
think we'd behave so callously?"
Skorokodikha is obviously not a diplomat.
Camilla narrows her eyes, "Lord Reeve, yes...Yes I do." The long evening has
seemed to be unravelling in the staffcar. "If you cared so much you could
have at least stood up for my honor. You know as well as my cousin that I am
no whore. So I made a bad choice in the Leutnant. That is my business." She
seems to want to say so much...the words are getting tangled before they can
even come out. "And...And...You are not the ones with a flogging sitting
over your heads."
Satyavrat arches an eyebrow demurely. His personality seems oddly maternal
all of a sudden. Or perhaps, more accurately, like that of an older sister.
"How can you have been born in Mikhail's family and not understood his rash
nature? He'll beat himself with a stick before he allows one near you. I
will stake my own life upon it."
Camilla sighs and looks at Satyavrat as if all life has been drained. "But
what if he is serious?" SHe looks at the back of Skorokodikha's head. "I am
afraid to even talk to a lord, for fear that it might not please Mikhail."
She leans back and closes her eyes, "I really loved him, but no one seems to
care." Her hand moves up to massage her temple. "Maybe I can die on Arrakis,
then I will no longer have to fear making our name look bad. Or maybe
shaming Mikhail. How can I shame him if I am stuck on Arrakis?"
"Floggings are not so terrible," replies the Admiral. "I'd had my share of
them as a young Submariner."
Satyavrat frowns deeply as the Metresa speaks, then firmly adds, "And I've
had an occasional one myself. That does not, however, mean that everyone
should. And it certainly doesn't mean that you're going to endure one.
You're a Noble Born, Camilla Sopta Rastanyev. Mikhail just wants you to
start acting like one."
The driver doesn't say anything, but he's been whipped too. Heck, who
hasn't?
Camilla shrugs, "Yes, yes." She then looks at the Admiral with pure malice.
"I saw the looks you gave him, Admiral. How dare you. I hope that you will
be flogged beside me." The venom that spills forth is very unlike Cam, and
it sounds foreign even to herself. She shrinks back into the seat,
"Satyavrat, do you think Mik would approve of Lord Ferenczy?"
Skorokodikha restrains a chuckle. "I was under no orders not to consort with
the poor boy."
Satyavrat snaps out of his position and leans forward into the space between
the driver's and passenger seats. "Metresa; please keep your place. Mouth:
shut. Now." He says this as politely as he can manage through the rather
terse commands before slipping back into his place. "The Lord Ferenczy is of
admirable background; I do not see why he would object. But perhaps you
should alert the Earl of a possible courtship before pursuing one
whole-heartidly? I could brooch the matter if you'd like." Turning to the
driver's reflection in the rear-view mirror, he arches an eyebrow sternly.
The man seems somewhat more focused on the road in front of him than
previously.
The driver nods.
There is a sense of acceleration as the staffcar picks up speed.
Skorokodikha explains simply, "The lady asked how I dared."
"Replies are to be crafted as meets the moment, Metresa, not merely as meets
the question," is Satyavrat's somewhat calmer answer.
Skorokodikha's eyes twinkle again in the rear view.
Satyavrat's lips twitch into a light smile despite himself.
Camilla nods slowly, "Yes, I would like that." Her heated gaze continues to
try and stare a hole into the back of the Admiral's head. "Well, now you can
have him all to yourself. Due to the circumstances we will no longer be
seeing each other." Her voice is clipped and a bit sassy. "Well, I guess you
can't have him completely to yourself." After getting in her two cents worth
she looks at Satyavrat with complete and total defeat. "Satyavrat, what is
wrong with me? Why can't I have a normal relationship with a man?" Emerald
eyes look up into the front seat and dare the woman to speak.
Skorokodikha has clearly been stared at by fiercer foes during her naval
career, because she doesn't seem perturbed in the slightest. She glances out
the window thoughtfully.
Skorokodikha doesn't reply, of course. She asked Satyavrat that time.
Satyavrat thinks for a moment before responding. "Perhaps, my lady, it is
due lack of experience. You had lived a sheltered life on Garrashu, even by
Rastanyev standards, had you not? When you first arrived on Kaitain, you
were much more interested in the Embassy library than in meeting the Lords
and Ladies of His Majesty's planet." He smiles warmly for a moment, adding,
"It has always been my observation that it is far too easy to swing from one
extreme to another."
Camilla shrugs, "I guess that is so." Her gaze now floats out the window.
"Well, a trip to Arrakis sounds like a great opportunity to get my head on
straight. Don't you agree?"
Satyavrat smiles, perhaps a bit weakly. "If m'Lady is intent on such
a...forceful straightening, then yes, I suppose it is. And if you are truly
interested in learning more of the Lord Ferenczy, then this is an opportune
moment. But I beg of you; excerise caution and discretion."
Camilla sighs, "Yes..yes.." She looks up at the Admiral with a crooked
smile, "Maybe you should try him out too, Lady Admiral, and see if I am
wasting my time." Her lips then turn to a frown. "Satyavrat, Maybe you could
come to chaperone?"
"I've better things to do with my time, Camilla," is Satyavrat's sharp
rejoinder. My my, seems the diplomat can get a bit snappy if prodded.
Camilla sighs, "I just thought that would cause you and Mikhail less worry
is all. I know you very busy. But you seemed to like the idea of traveling
to Arrakis when we were speaking to the Siridar Lord."
Satyavrat shakes his head lightly to clear his obvious frustration at the
situation at large. "I...perhaps. Arrakis seems a bit too dangerous for
me...perhaps the Metresa would be interested in accompanying me? For
safety's sake?"
Skorokodikha retains opinion on Camilla's new beau.
Skorokodikha ponders. "Arrakis? If I'm not needed here."
Camilla smiles at Satyavrat, "I do hope the Countess says yes. And Mikhail,
of course."
Satyavrat nods, smiling lightly. "As do I, m'Lady," is his somber reply.
Presently, the limosine finally draws to a halt; attendants at the Embassy
open the doors and lead the travelers back into the Embassy, halting all
discussion for now.
Camilla has left.

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