Enjoy!
Garden of Bitterblooms -- Harkonnen Embassy (Kaitain)
The roughly circular outline of the vast embassy garden is hidden beyond a wild tangle of flowers and plants. A stone path snakes from the outer walls of the embassy grounds, past a chain of lilyponds and hedges, up to the doors of the embassy itself. Other footpaths stray deeper into the garden, amid the white bitterblooms of Giedi Prime that lend the garden its name. One trail leads the way to a gently sloping hill topped by a folly of Giedi marble columns. Moss-covered stone steps reach up the hill in a zig-zag pattern, bordered at every turn by marble statues and plascrete urns overflowing with inkvine and translucent roses. An artful fountain, fashioned to resemble a natural brook spilling over smooth stones, is set into the side of the hill.
A dense profusion of flora from many worlds creates intimate arbors and bowers where vines and tree boughs are twined together and harbor small grassy areas or benches. Elacca trees shade the lilyponds where miniature alligators swim. A stand of Caladanian dogwoods shelter the bloom of fragrant black lotus. Topiary hedges form living partitions throughout the garden. A bridle path for horseback riding follows the curve of the surrounding wall, provided with a variety of terrains ranging from smooth, grassy field to steep, rocky slopes. The main building of the embassy is visible through the foliage from almost everywhere in the garden: a squat, ponderous structure built of white plascrete, with black ribbed buttresses supporting the weight of the whole structure.
Players:
Malia
Exits:
Fanmetal Gate <NE> leads to Traffic Loop -- Harkonnen Embassy (Kaitain)
Burnished Doors <S> leads to Giedi Hall -- Harkonnen Embassy (Kaitain)
Within the Garden, along one of the main paths from the gates to the Embassy, Malia sits on a bench, her back to the path. A rather young boy, perhaps a year or so in age, crawls on the grass in front of her, and she smiles slightly. To those that had known her before, this is rather similar to scenes which had taken place at the Palace, except for her clothing...
Led in by the standard burly guards manning the Fanmetal Gates is the Alvstad High Admiral...and a pony. Dappled gray and quietly tame, the horse follows the Admiral at a distance of about a foot, led forward by a tether attached to her saddle. The old man looks rather odd next to the young mare; although he leads her well enough, he makes no move to her occasional friendly butts or nuzzles at all, and there is a clear unfamiliarity between the two...perhaps between Pers and horses altogether.
He pauses in the garden while the guards confer with each other on what to do; finally, one approaches the slave on the lawn and informs her to attend upon the guest.
Malia blinks, her head lifting slightly as she looks at the guard, offering a gentle nod as she stands slowly. Bending, she carefully lifts the boy from the lawn, and with a wink and a gentle kiss to his forehead, she passes him off to the guard, who looks somewhat uncomfortable. But not nearly as uncomfortable (or is that frightened?) as the slave looks as she turns and slowly approaches the guest. "My Lord." she murmurs gently in greeting.
"Mistress Ceile," the Admiral responds curtly, though not rudely. He apparently has noticed enough to drop the 'Lady,' but that is all he has been able to distinguish thus far. "I bring the mare promised last evening, for the Young Mistress Harkonnen." He nods briefly towards the mare at his side, as if it required some sort of acknowledgement. The horse exhales. "Am I to understand that you have been appointed her Governess as of last night, and can accept the gift on her behalf?"
"I...I am no longer called Ceile, my Lord." Malia murmurs gently in correction, her head bowed and her hair hiding the majority of her face from view. "My Baron has not spoken to me of a changed position, I...I care for my own s...the Baron's son, but not his granddaughter, my Lord." She shifts slightly, the tips of her fingers on her right hand beginning to pick at the hem of her dress. "I...as for the gift, my Lord, p...perhaps I can fetch someone more appropriate for you to speak with..."
Pers nods. "Do so." He hesitates in thought for a moment, then adds, "And I should like inquire as to what you are called, Mistress, to avoid future incident. Your position in the Baron's hire would also be of use." He at least understands that she is to be ordered around, from the tone of things.
Malia takes a quick moment to glance towards where what might be assumed to be her son, or the Baron's son, sits in the guard's arms. "I...am not in the baron's employ, my Lord." she whispers, her head ducking down another level as she takes a small step back. "I...if you would wait a moment."
Pers looks on curiously. "As you will," he accedes.
Malia ducks her head slightly before she turns, and fairly scurries off into the house. If she isn't in the Baron's employ, what -is- she doing here? Her hatred of the Harkonnen way of life was clear to all before the last Emperor's death...what could possibly bring her to be here, and in the state she's in? Minutes pass before she reappears, leading what appears to be a stable-hand of some sort.
Without a word, the young lad bows to Pers, and moves to take the reigns from his hands. He doesn't pull, of course, merely takes hold of the rope and waits.
Pers releases the pony over without a word, nodding crisply to the stable-hand. "My thanks, Mistress. You have yet to give me a means by which to address you, however," he notes with an arched eyebrow.
"Malia, my Lord." comes the instant reply as the stablehand moves off with the pony. "I...I am known simply as Malia." she murmurs, her hands lifting and knotting themselves in front of her at waist height for a moment.
Pers inclines his head slightly. "Malia, then," he responds. "A middle name? Or merely a whim?"
Malia shrugs gently, not entirely certain how to respond to that. "I...do not know, my Lord. The...I was renamed during my...reeducation." She swallows, having answered the question as best she can.
Pers does not press the matter, between a lack of interest, a lack of desire to press the woman, and an unwillingness to encur the Baron's wrath. Speaking of which..."I see. Is the Siridar-Baron available at this hour for a brief tete-a-tete?"
"I do not know, my Lord. Slaves are not often told...I know only when the Baron summons me." Malia answers quietly, glancing back towards the Embassy.
Pers blinks. Why on earth would a slave need to be 'educated'? Curious..."Does the training from your re-education not include the ability to use a communicator, Malia?" he asks frankly.
When a slave is made from a Lady stripped of her title and sold unwillingly, an 'education' is not surprising. Flinching, her eyes closing, Malia nods. "O..of course, my Lord." she responds instantly, her voice reflexively soothing, as if trying to calm the beginnings of any beast that might raise it's head. "I...but slaves are not given communicator's. If you would c...care to wait in the Salon, my Lord...perhaps partake of some...entertainment, I could see if the Baron is available?"
Pers nods smoothly, apparently fully appeased. "Your offer is welcome, Malia, but I shall remain in the courtyard whilst the inquiry is made. Your assistance *is* appreciated," he adds firmly.
Malia walks to the south and passes through the Burnished Doors.
Boris walks in from Giedi Hall through the Burnished Doors.
Malia walks in from Giedi Hall through the Burnished Doors.
Pers stands in the courtyard, hands clasped behind his back, eyes still focused on where the slave-girl Malia was but a few moments prior. There are hoof-prints in the ground next to him.
Boris bustles into the garden, Malia in tow, some guards trailing discreetly behind. As he sees Pers, he grins, rubbing his hands and chuckling. "My lord, my lord! It's good to see you again, eh?"
Pers turns at the Baron's entrance and executes a sharp, formal bow. "Lord Baron," he says in a slightly relaxed tone of voice. "The sentiment is reciprocated; it has been a while since last we spoke, and much has changed. How fares the Harkonnen?" His lips are in a straight line, but his expression is pleasant enough.
Boris says, "Well indeed, my lord, well indeed. All the lesser houses envy us, of course."
"And some of the greater ones, assuredly," Pers replies smoothly. Changing the topic without a thought, he comments, "I hope the Baron's grand-daughter finds the pony to her liking."
Boris nods, chortling. "You are too kind, my friend! She only asked me yestereve for such a thing. And I, of course, can deny her nothing. You have my thanks, and I am sure you will have hers." He shakes his head. "Quite a marvel, is Andrei's daughter. D'you know, she stood up to Sardaukar without a flinch! Snapped her fingers under their nose and they marched out in terror."
Standing as she is behind the Baron, and out of sight, Malia can't help but reflexively roll her eyes at that exageration. But then again, he's prone to that sort of 'truth'. Stiffling a sigh, she sinks slowly to sit on the bench just behind her, her hands folding in her lap.
Pers's lips actually twitch into a semblance of a smile at this. "News of the incident had reached me, Lord Baron," he acknowledges with a nod. "It must have been quite a healthy experience for the Emperor's bodymen. The Sardaukar become arrogant despite repeated reminders of their place."
Boris scoffs, "They're so bloody tedious. They may as well be wind up machines. No drinks, no vices, no family or friends. And they're all interchangeable!" He says more conspiriatorially, "And I understand they're not real men anyway, eh?" He makes a scisssors with his two fingers, chuckling.
Pers's icy smile remains in place as he nods firmly. "I would not be surprised, Baron. The men of the Noble Alvstad Navy never require so many self-important indulgences as do the Sardaukar."
Malia bends slowly as the conversation continues, her finger and thumb extending to delicately take hold of a single blade of grass, right near its base. Tugging gently, she pulls the green blade from the ground and straightens. Holding it between her finger and thumb, she uses her other hand to gently stroke it before she sighs quietly, under her breath really, and then proceeds to twirl it.
Boris nods, more seriously. "From what I hear, my lord, the Noble Alvst Navy does well enough, eh?"
Boris leads Pers to a stone bench nearby and seats himself, gesturing for the Admiral to join him.
Pers takes a seat as he speaks.
Boris gestures Malia over, indicating a knot in his neck he'd like her to work out.
You say, "The Navy prospers, as it always has," Pers counters, "despite any care or word from its *former* Viscount." Blatant, that. "At present, however, it serves merely as an organization counter that of the Senate. Whereas they give confidence, the Noble Navy has provided an organization from which stability can flow." His gray-green eyes look meaningfully into your own. "It is stability that the House most desires. The designs of the Alvsgaardi Nobleman shall be weighed out in due course, and the heir to Jans's rule determined.""
Malia catches movement out of the corner of her eye, not having been watching, really, but she stands, allowing the blade of grass to flutter from her fingers to the ground as she stands slowly and makes her way towards where the pair sit. Silently moving to position herself behind the hulk that is the Baron, and her hands reach out, and begin to kneed the muscle that's long since been coated with fat.
Boris nods. "Jans' rule troubled me, I must admit. He seemed to pursue no clear agenda, but he certainly had eyes for my daughter, eh?" He strokes his beard, meeting the Admiral's gaze levelly. " It would please me to seee stability on Alvsgaard once more, like it enjoyed in former times under old Nils. You may rest assured, such stability would have my full support!" He flexes his shoulder to loosen it under Malia's touch.
Malia manages to keep from shuddering as the Baron's flesh ripples under her palms, and to keep her expression neutral. She's improved in that department, at least, since her sale.
Pers inclines his head and dips it back in an odd bobbing nod. "Your assurance is much appreciated, Lord Baron. Both the Lord Helmsgillar, who descends from quite an influential family on Thantos Quartus, and myself estimate that internal matters on our homeworld shall be settled ere the end of the fiscal period, without significant drops in gross profit. External politics, however, are a bit more uncertain at this point; as they always are. Dealing with those not from one's own home is ever difficult, is it not so?"
Boris studies the older man, perhaps sizing up his skills as a politician with new respect. "That depends, my lord on winning their hearts and minds. There is an old saying about that on Giedi Prime."
Pers arches a straw-golden eyebrow. "I would be fascinated to hear of it, Lord Baron," he responds.
Boris shows large white teeth in a smile. "When you've got them by the balls, their hearts and minds will follow!" He eyes the Admiral. "My friend, Jans never understood what made the Imperium what it is today. Favors and friendships. Like the kind our Houses have always enjoyed. Alvstad has always possessed immense resources. Harkonnen is the fist of the Landsraad. What a combination!"
Malia pushes her fingers into Boris' shoulders before releasing the pressure, her nimble fingers massaging the layers of fat almost roughly so that the movement can make it's way through to the muscle and actually be of some help.
Boris seems soothed by Malia's massage, tapping her hand in encouragement. "Excellent, Malia, splendid." Has he actually gotten gentler to her since her acquisition?
"One to be distinctly admired...and feared," is Pers's quick response. "The folk-wisdom of Giedi Prime is both incisive and blunt, as are her masters. It is heartening to know that friendships do not decay solely by the faults of one parcipitant, Lord Baron. Under Jans's direction, the diplomatic corps of House Alvstad were reduced to nothing more than deceitful solicitors without a purpose. It shall be some time before it will be possible to grab these men 'by the balls.'"
Malia swallows, grimacing gently as Boris pats her hands. Gentle or not, he's still not exactly 'her type'. Then again, chances are anyone who owns her won't be her type. All the same, however, she dutifully continues the massage, her fingers move to work on the Baron's neck.
Boris chuckles, "Let me and mine get among them for a day, my lord, and you would see changes--" he pauses, holding up a hand as if to apoligize. "Your House is full of promise now! There is no limit to what a strong man can achieve!"
Pers says, "My Lord's faith is quite reassuring. However, as indicated...precisely who the 'strong man' in charge of House Alvstad's future is yet to be decided." In a seeming switch of conversation topic, he asks, "I understand the Lord Helmsgillar has asked to speak with the Lord Baron?"
Boris smirks. "The Lord Helmsgillar and I are old friends, eh? A most capable fellow. If you have him in your corner, you have an asset worth more than all the spice in your stockpiles.
"Such is my hope," Pers answers. "A man of impeccable upbringing and lineage and remarkable abilities. He is also...'partial'...towards my Lord Baron's House in particular amongst our peers in the Landsraad. An able man in an able position," he concludes.
Boris says, "Partial in what way, my friend?"
Pers takes in a brief breath, eyes focusing on the scene in the garden about him for a moment without moving his head. "When Nils ascended to the title of Viscount, Lord Baron, House Alvstad stood allied with three Houses in the Landsraad: Harkonnen, Garamond, and Moritani. Ere he lapsed into his coma, Garamond was destroyed. By the time of Jans's removal from the post, the Houses of m'Lord Baron and the Lady Ophelia no longer shared the same camaraderie they did during the reign of Count Cesare. Our position is, you can understand, tenuous."
Malia turns slightly as she continues to kneed the Baron's shoulders, and as she does, her arms adjust themselves to be comfortable. Unfortunately for her, this causes her elbow to knock not terribly gently against the side/back of Pers' head. Speaking of 'tenuous' positions, the poor slave freezes ,her fingers gently digging into the Baron's neck as her head turns so that she can look, rather wide-eyed, at the place where her elbow rests. She has that 'deer in headlights' look down perfectly.
Pers's eyebrow arches and his head turns that he may observe this 'slave' in action. He waits, soundlessly, for a detailed apology, per Alvstad standards.
Boris says grimly, "These are dangerous times we live in, my friend. We must stick together. Harkonnen supports the strong--eh?" He breaks off in mid sentence to and snaps at Malia. "Be careful, you foolish woman!" To Pers, he says, "I believe her conditioning has done nothing for her intelligence, my lord!"
Pers says, "Quite alright Lord Baron," without moving. "However, an apology is due, is it not? Or has her conditioning erased former knowledge of deference and politeness?" The question is posed in even cadence; clearly not born of rage or ire at all.
Malia ducks her head at the Baron's chastisement, which is by his standard, absolutely nothing. She pulls her hands back, away from the Baron, and takes a half step back.
Boris reaches over and seizes Malia by the hair, and gives her head a good shake. "You heard the admiral! At once!"
With a soft whimper, which is almost instantly cut off, Malia is hauled forward once again by her hair, her eyes shutting tightly as she speaks, her voice soft and her words rapid, "I beg your forgiveness, my Lord, for my clumbsiness. I...it was inexcuseable."
Following some archaic Alvsgaardi ritual's pattern, Pers replies, "Heard and witnessed, Malia of House Harkonnen. The pain born of your transgression is to be forgotten." He turns back to the Baron with his same genial expression, as if truly nothing had happened. Though perhaps the pain of having one's hair wrenched back is more difficult to forget than being knocked in the back by an errant elbow.
Boris releases Malia with a sneer and seats himself again. He continues, "We must cleave together, eh? He pauses, then says, "I can tell you, my lord, that House Harkonnen is signatory to a deal with the Throne that makes us almost indispensable to them. I invite House Alvsgaard---and their future leader, of course, whoever he may be--to join in our good fortune."
Malia stumbles backwards after she's released, a hand lifting to press gently through her hair to her scalp which is, quite probably, very painful at the moment. Her eyes remain shut, which makes it impossible to tell from her expression if she's teared up at all, and she somehow manages to remain silent.
Pers's eyes refocus on the Baron, carefully considering the details being layed out before him, every sense that much more acutely tuned. "Indeed," he muses. "As the present Regent, I would be fascinated to hear the details of such an agreement...although the thought of any contractual binding to the Padishah Throne is understandably suspect." Mmmm, good old fashioned Alvstad ideals.
Boris nods. "The Throne has demanded exclusive supplies of the Ixian rifles. And they will pay excellent rates for them! We've already handed over the first shipments." He says in self-congratulatory tones, "They had no choice but to accede, eh?" He's grinning ear to ear.
Ahhh, weapons. A Warmaster's best friend. "The Ixian rifles...fascinating," he positively purrs, gray-green eyes flashing. "I understand the late Viscount entertained the notion of purchasing them from you, did he not?" he asks curiosly, that momentary odd sheen in his gaze fading down.
Malia drops her hand away from the back of her head, remaining just out of arms reach as she cracks her eyes open and stares at the grass between her feet.
Boris says, "I believe he did mention an interest, but of course only the Emperor will have them now. But this will put us in a position like no other House. A military assault on the Sardaukar are suicide--but the money from the weapon can finance any amount of mischief, eh?"
Pers's right hand drifts up to rub absently against his weather-worn cheek thoughtfully. "Perhaps...but. Is the Emperor's explicit bans of any such weapons in any hands in the Imperium still in place?" A curious question. Surely he's not afraid of Lord Cromwell knocking on his door.
Boris says, "He'll make an announcement on it when he holds court next, my friend. But think of the opportunity before us!"
Pers's gaze returns to the hear and now and his hand still against his own face. "Quite an opportunity, to be sure. But...one to be discussed in depth. And privately," he adds, nodding to the spectacularly open environment in which they discuss. "Perhaps we could meet at a later date...whilst I consider any *other* business I may have to place before the Lion Throne?"
Trundling in through the fanmetal portal is the Warmaster; quiet and grave as most always - little for the mountain to bear in the way of expression in these recent days. So much...transition. Enter quietly, wander among the path, look large and ponderously frightening. This seems to be the to-do list of the Harkonnen golem.
Boris glances about, puzzled. They discuss things like this all the time here..."Of course, my lord. You and your Lord Helmsgillar will be my guests for dinner later this week?"
Pers smiles in a manner that turns him from a weapons-crazy Warmaster and Regent into a gentlemanly old grandfather. "We would be honoured to accept the Baron's invitation," he accedes. "Perhaps the Young Mistress could demonstrate her riding ability at that time."
Malia continues to hover in the background. If she was a silent shadow before, she might as well be a ghost now. She appears to want to simply sink into the ground, which to her mind is probably a very good possibility, if it could happen.
Boris rises, clapping Pers' shoulder and grinning broadly. "She's already had lessons on Giedi. She's a natural, eh?" He says, "Sadly, I must attend to some appointments, my friend. Malia here will tend to you, in any way you desire. Isn't that right, Malia? Tell him how happy you'd be."
Pers turns to hear Malia's words, deciding it would be a poor time to interrupt.
Trundle, trundle. Rhedek pauses as he enters the clearing where the Baronial presence and the rest hover. With a deep bow creasing the belly of his uniform the Warmaster makes his presence known in such a way as to not interrupt the conversation - a skill he's managed to cultivate to something of an art.
Swallowing, Malia's head nods after a momentary hesitation. "I would be pleased, my Lord Baron." she answers more because she has no other choice about what to say.
Boris says, "Excellent, excellent! And Lord Admiral, this is our new Warmaster, General Maas-Stroheim, eh? We'll speak again soon, eh."
Boris heads off towards the Embassy without a look back.
Pers bows his head briefly. "Your dedication to duty is noted, Malia," he says, "However, I, too, am called away by prior appointments. Until additional staff may be brought in from Alvsgaard, my duties remain quite significant." He rises simply from his seat next to the Baron and offers a sharp bow. "The Warmaster and I have been acquainted, Lord Baron; and I look forward to our next appointment."
Breathing a soft sigh of relief, Malia merely nods. Off the hook again!
Pers turns to Rhedek with an amiable enough expression on his face after the Baron has left. "Warmaster, I apologize if it appears that I slight you; I assure you, an appointment between us shall be arranged at the earliest possible convenience. You should know that I am, in fact, acquainted with your previous work for your Baron, and appreciate it's completeness. I look forward to future conversation on military matters."
Boris walks to the south and passes through the Burnished Doors.
"As you will, then," the towering man rumbles, "Lord Admiral. I look foreward to speaking with you again."
Pers nods sharply and even offers a slight bow. Malia is given a parting glance and a slight inclination of the head, and then Pers is back through the fanmetal gates and on the streets of the Imperial City.