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Post by Keretheriel on Aug 2, 2015 23:12:29 GMT -5
Keretheriel's expression did not warm as Dorya spoke, but she made no move to interrupt her. In fact, the Siren was listening especially carefully not only to what her Aide was saying, but what was left unsaid. Certainly, Dorya seemed to be finally leveling with the vixen and it was precisely what she wanted. What was being revealed was infinitely more intriguing than the clumsy game Keretheriel attempted to lead Alpha's agent into playing. This was not a woman who played games, but not because she had no tolerance for it. Keretheriel suspected the woman's worldview was constructed in such a way that nuance was not a thing that was wholly appreciated.
Keretheriel didn't mind becoming a very thorough educator in that regard if that was indeed the case. . .
As Dorya approached the Siren shifted to face her more directly, pale eyes dropping to her mouth when she made her position clear.
Keretheriel scarcely allowed her to complete her thought before both of her hands snaked up into Dorya's hair, fingers sinking into the dark strands of her braid and gripping the base of the other woman's skull firmly to tilt her face upward. Dark, blood-colored lips brushed against the corner of Dorya's mouth and the edge of her teeth grazed against the line of her jaw if she didn't move to separate herself.
"I do not enjoy your lack of preference, my love. I want you to want things for yourself for no other reason than that you want them."
The words were breathed across dark-toned skin but the Siren made no other movement to restrict or direct.
Dorya was shaping up to be the ultimate pragmatist, which didn't disappoint Keretheriel in the least. What it did mean was that the Siren would consistently test the other woman's patience for what she would ultimately see as 'trivial' or otherwise frivolous desires. Perhaps Dorya would understand the value in what Keretheriel would demand of her when the Siren was able to achieve exactly what she said she would.
It didn't matter, in the long run. Until Alpha recalled Dorya, the agent was hers. Kereth would see that time well-spent.
"I have no desire for a doll, Lovely. Do not give me reason to suspect there is nothing more to you than empty goals. As it stands," Keretheriel paused to allow the tip of her tongue to trace the outer edge of the other woman's ear, "I can empathize with your desire for power. We shall begin there."
Keretheriel separated herself then, releasing Dorya from her grasp― her touch so suddenly gone it was if she'd never been that close in the first place. One hand gestured dismissively toward Dorya's clothing.
"Dress, if you wish."
She'd pause there and remain silent until Dorya finished replacing her clothing if that was what she chose to do. When she was fully dressed again, Keretheriel would return her gaze to the other woman's darker eyes, her expression far more serious and even than what Dorya would have come to expect from her.
"I am Keretheriel Den S'laesenar, and I am from the City of Risis. If my understanding of the time we are in is correct, I have been alive for more than a thousand years― approximately five hundred years of that spent dormant and isolated from the passage of time."
Without the drama that would normally accompany such a statement― mainly because she expected that Dorya wouldn't blink at the information but rather merely absorb it― Keretheriel continued matter-of-factly.
"Vascxious Sigma is far more advanced than anything I have seen in my lifetime, and I don't believe that information is new to you." The Siren eyed her with a light smile. "Do not mistake my lack of understanding for weakness, Doh-ree-ah. It is not the technology I need to understand to claim a seat on the Council― it is the current members of the Council."
The Siren made a light gesture back toward the table. It was time to really begin the conversation.
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Post by Tahliya Carystian on Aug 3, 2015 12:24:15 GMT -5
Dorya could make sense of the Siren’s behavior – Keretheriel’s propensity for establishing dominance and control, or superiority, came in many forms, most of them suggestive. When the woman grabbed onto the Variance, she didn’t try and buck away – it was another show of Kereth’s superior power and position, and therefore the Operative just played along until she was done, letting her establish her physical hold and make with her suggestively threatening gestures – Dorya was an impassive listener throughout, though she didn’t move her hands from Kereth’s hips during the whole exchange, stubbornly using her own self-initiated contact to dig at the Siren slightly.
What Dorya couldn’t make sense of were Keretheriel’s words – or, at least, the ideas supposedly carried within them. Her whole sentence seemed to be saying nothing, or at least something that meant nothing: how could someone want something without a reason behind it? Dorya wanted things, of course – freedom, power, possible revenge on her creator – but all those wants were reactionary, either to her current position or past slights or damages against her. The Operative couldn’t recall ever wanting something without a well-scripted justification for it. Was this how humans thought? Did they really think their wants manifested from absolutely nowhere, or were somehow indicative of themselves as a person? Kereth might think her wants were spontaneous, but they came from her development through past experience, and were mostly reactionary as well – just because she didn’t bother to trace the reason didn’t make the reason for the want nonexistent. Dorya could understand how it might be difficult to trace the reasons for some wants, since many were developed as reactions before the formative years of human cognition, and that was where she and Keretheriel differed greatly: the Siren had plenty of past, formative experience to develop her so-called spontaneous wants, while the Operative was ‘born’ fully aware less than three years prior.
Dorya resisted the urge to give Kereth a perplexed look, and instead kept silent, choosing to just meet the woman’s stare evenly until she was released and told she could get dressed again. Dorya did, in expedient fashion, though she left her coat draped over the back of the chair, leaving her clothed primarily in her dark bodysuit – she would put the coat back on when the two were ready to leave the loft.
It was when Dorya turned back to Kereth and met the woman’s eyes again that the Siren’s serious gaze and tone were noted, as well as her name and age. As expected, neither piece of info seemed particularly surprising to Dorya, though she did smirk lightly when the woman was done speaking and gestured for them to sit, which Dorya did, carefully folding one leg over the other as she got comfortable in her seat.
“Humans always have so many names. I wish I could respond in kind, but I don’t even really have one name to give you in trade that is actually mine.”
Keretheriel’s name, its sound, and the location from which she originated were all filed away in Dorya’s mind – she made a note to check the archives later in the evening and see what she could dig up about the woman’s history that might be helpful in her current job, but otherwise she breezed right past Kereth’s origins and got to what she wanted to know: important information about the other Council members.
“There are five other Counselors currently: Ishmaél Mirr, of Eighth District, who is also covering Districts One and Seven due to vacancies; Floraelia Devinian of Second District, whose apartment you are intimately familiar with; Aeorex Khestralicht of Third District, CEO of the Ouroboros Corporation; Callixta Trêguere of Fifth District; and Søren Kiirkegré of Sixth District. Where shall we begin?”
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Sparrow
Uninitiated
Posts: 5
Title: Current Alias: Hugo Davin
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Post by Sparrow on Aug 3, 2015 17:10:09 GMT -5
The Balcony's main floor was what one would expect for the time of day, and provided only minimal amounts of variables that couldn't be adequately accounted for. The location was secure, due in no part to his own efforts, but largely—if not solely—because of the city's very nature. The thin man, if he were the sort to lose himself in thought, might have considered the contrast between past and present, and what it meant to feel secure in a public space. Fortunately, he was not. Diligently alert to a level that bordered on paranoia, the independent contractor was, in those professional and personal circles that knew anything about him, rigid in his attention to detail and insistence that at any one moment, things could go very much awry. In all fairness, given that his terms of employment were in large part entirely related to security concerns in the public and private sectors, his mindset was validated. More importantly, it made him very, very good at what he did.
Despite all of this, any passerby would be particularly unlikely to give the man a second glance. Yes, his crisp, well-groomed, and especially clean appearance were nearly outshone by the persistence of his practiced, calmly rigid posture likely beaten into him by years of training in some official capacity. Yes, the tailoring of his suit, black, with black undershirt and tie, was of a level that provided an especially professional appearance without the cost of any limited mobility, and further suggested that he belonged here, or even on the establishment's balcony. Despite all of this, however, there was something wholly dismissive about the perception of the man. His skin was pale, but not chalky. His hair was black, short, and combed to one side in the average, professional dress fashion. The features of his face were sharp, but not especially jarring, and the shape of his eyes thin, but far from exotic. The sum of his parts seemed intricately designed, but rather than elaborate, he seemed tailored to the mundane; easy to overlook.
Seated at a table on the public floor as mentioned, he had situated himself in the corner of a section bordered off from its surroundings by some of the establishment's flora, and was otherwise only loosely inhabited besides himself. The choice was, of course, very intentional. While this meeting with his contact was to take place in public, going through the channels of either reserving a spot on the balcony or using his connections and clearance to do so put too much identification and emphasis on his being there; to be only casually discreet was a more efficient utilization of his efforts than to be elaborately so. Hands resting on the table and interwoven before him, his brown-eyed gaze would shift only occasionally, and never sharply. While it may have been in question if he were actually leaning in full against the back of his chair, given his posture, he seemed otherwise relaxed and patient, even if the cold glass of water before him remained full at was in the beginnings of dripping with condensation.
While his posture was quite still—relaxed was never quite the word for him—there was a definite pause as his attention shifted to the restaraunt's main door, to its newest entry. While none of his muscles tensed, nor was there a break in his heart's or breath's rhythm, his full attention rested for one instant on the female. The former Council Member, Esarhaddon? While ultimately giving the woman little more than a second's glance, perhaps passing for the appreciation of form, his visual attention directed itself downward as, calmly, he reached within the interior of his jacket, fetching his slim, personal communikay from its interior pocket. Thin fingers went to work at typing out a series of letters to an unknown contact and, just as swiftly, just as calmly, the object was replaced in his jacket once more. He wasn't here for any other reason than to meet with his contact, Investigator Merenska, and the offical capacity of any governmental association as the assumed Hugo Davin, private contractor and security consultant, related primarily to the training of Peacekeepers, and no more. Matters concerning exiled members of the state were above his head, but far from above his notice, and primarily, the notice of his closest associates.
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Post by Keretheriel on Aug 3, 2015 22:12:56 GMT -5
Dorya's response provoked the sharpness to return to Keretheriel's expression albeit in only a brief flash: those distinct features tightened before being forced to relax as the Siren regarded the other woman through narrowed eyes. Keretheriel wouldn't be moving on until it was addressed.
"Doh-ree-ah is not your name, then?"
Keretheriel didn't make any effort to hide her confusion. Dorya spoke of 'humans' as if she were not one. Certainly, she'd displayed a preternatural ability to shift her mannerisms and the woman was intensely strong but thus far Keretheriel had chalked these things up to very good training and perhaps one of Alpha's gifts. If she didn't consider herself to be human, what could she be? The woman couldn't have been a Kethiran or of the Ethos. Possibly a Necromancer but certainly not an Akrathi. Even if a sort of hybrid were possible with one of those races the Siren was dead sure there would be no hiding certain racial markers. That left Mithrian― the very idea would have sparked laughter if Keretheriel weren't so genuinely curious― considering the Altered, a heritage she claimed herself, were certainly human and the Unmade were Not-Quite Mithrian abominations forever tied to a Mithrian master once they failed that so-elusive process of Ascension. No, Dorya's dark skin and eyes did not fit the archetypal descriptions of all Mithrians: white or silver hair, jewel-colored eyes, glowing skin. In fact, the more Keretheriel thought about it, the less it made sense that Dorya wasn't indeed just an extraordinarily strong human and the thought left her with very few explanations that covered her observations.
The Siren was conflicted about simply asking. She might have been out of the game for half a millennia but she was still fairly certain that asking about someone else's origin in this context could be considered very rude. On the other hand, Keretheriel had been given Dorya as an Aide. Perhaps the information would be relevant and useful. . .
"You do not consider yourself human?
She asked the question very lightly, prepared to retreat from the subject matter if it proved to be a sensitive spot― though such a response would be filed away for later use.
At some point Keretheriel wouldn't be able to focus on anything else and would return to her original question.
"If Doh-ree-ah is not your name then why do you use it? Would you not. . ." Keretheriel stopped there, realizing the next word she'd intended to use was 'prefer.' Of course she didn't prefer, she'd made that quite clear. Before the other woman really had a chance to make any reply the Siren continued, her accent clipped and somewhat harsher. "Before any formal announcement is made for candidacy or otherwise you will choose a name for yourself. Until you have chosen you will not introduce yourself publicly at my side: I will not have anyone call you by a name that is not yours."
In a somewhat softer tone Keretheriel spoke again.
"You must have a name to give that is yours. 'No-name' is not a name of power in the circles you look to move in. Do you understand this?"
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Post by Tahliya Carystian on Aug 4, 2015 9:43:27 GMT -5
Dorya almost couldn’t help smirking at Kereth as the woman got stuck on her aside as though it were an impassable boulder on the road of their conversation. The Operative had been fairly sure her off-hand comment would have caught the Siren’s attention, but Dorya had also been fairly sure that her charge would have filed the information away for later, only to come back to it a different time. That Kereth decided to address it wasn’t a surprise, but that she addressed it so immediately was a slight deviance from how Dorya had thought the conversation would go, and that meant that Dorya had to react accordingly. Luckily, she already knew how she wanted the conversation to proceed.
“Dorya is a name given to me on an earlier assignment. The dignitary I was acting under gave me the name of some relation of hers that was significant, and I have used it since. Prior to that, I went only by my given designation, which was Variance.”
Dorya intentionally left the reason for her not having a name to begin with out: Kereth could speculate further as to her origins for the time being, since the Operative seemed to have no intention of addressing them further, nor did she respond to the question about humanity: in a place like Vascxious Sigma, there was always a bit of mystery as to what, not just who, those around you were.
“Names in Vascxious Sigma are always fluid, and frequently changing. To Alpha, at least, historical significance or the ability to be recognized is less important than the ability to disguise one’s true nature. In that respect, Dorya suited well enough for continued use.”
The truth was, almost none of the Counselors used their true names, except Floraelia, though her surname of Devinian was undoubtedly as false as Alpha’s chosen name, Virianus. Keretheriel’s focus on her own, its significance, and the significance of Dorya not possessing a true name to call hers showed just how different the woman’s mentality was than the one that enshrouded the city she was in. Keretheriel truly didn’t fit; at least, not yet. Dorya was interested to see if the woman’s difference would be maintained as she spent time in the city, or if it would change and fall in line with those around her in order to survive in the dark, harsh environment of the Tower. In a world of lies, Kereth was seeking to, at least with Dorya, hold on to her truth. The Operative couldn’t be totally sure, but she felt that the difference was important enough to preserve, and so, while she didn’t answer the Siren’s more probing question, Dorya also didn’t hesitate to fall in line with what Kereth asked of her.
“I understand what you mean, though I think you may soon realize that the notion you are ascribing to holds little weight inside the Tower. Dorya is fine enough, though I particularly like the name ‘Tahliya.’ I read it in a historical record once; it could be my name.”
Dorya’s expression didn’t change throughout the conversation, though her lips curled upwards just a touch as she spoke the name. The story she had read had been a legend more than a historical record, about a woman from another world who was trapped in this one and had to carve out a place for herself. The story had always been of particular interest to Dorya, as much as the Operative could ‘feel’ any kind of identification with a notion such as feeling like an outsider. The end of the story, unfortunately, was a grim one.
Dorya tapped one finger lightly on the table, mimicking an absent gesture she had seen Alpha use in his office before as she kept eye contact with the woman opposite her.
“If that’s acceptable, shall we move on? If you want me to pick two more names to go with it, I’m afraid we might be here for a while.”
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Bel Merenska
Initiated
Posts: 11
Title: Peacekeeper Investigator - Third Precinct
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Post by Bel Merenska on Aug 4, 2015 10:48:40 GMT -5
Bel took note of the way that the 100th Balcony’s host was looking at her as walked smoothly by, not stopping to check in or confirm any kind of reservation with the restaurant. It wasn’t a matter of taste that caused the look – Merenska was used to the employees of these upper-crust places looking down their noses at her not-fancy-enough manner of dress and the graphite smudges that ended up on her hands and, sometimes, her forehead after a long day’s work sketching out her ideas or, more commonly, fingerprinting. Bel had never fit in at ‘elite establishments,’ and that had never bothered her much: she had always been more at home on the streets.
Tonight, though, the impeccably-groomed host was giving Bel serious side eye because he obviously identified her for what she was: a Peacekeeper. Bel wasn’t in uniform, of course: Investigators didn’t really have a dress code, because they tended to like to blend into crowds so that they could better ask questions and gather evidence, and that meant that Bel’s wardrobe of a weathered, dark-brown flight jacket, black shirt, grey combat-stitch pants, and black combat boots, while not in keeping with the suit-tie-and-dress aesthetic of the establishment, didn’t specifically mark her as law enforcement. Except, of course, for the big Peacekeeper patch she had stitched on her left jacket sleeve a couple of years back, the silver badge clearly attached to her belt, and the obviously bulge of a Protectorate on the left side of her lower back. Bel had never made an attempt to hide her affiliations: she was proud of her job, and damn good at it too: she would have made Commander of her precinct years ago, had it not been for the damn politics of the situation.
The host, Bel knew, was nervous of law enforcement because Peacekeepers who were on-duty entering an establishment like this tended to mean they were there to make an arrest for something. Arrests caused a scene, and disturbed the other patrons, hurting the restaurant’s atmosphere, and therefore, its bottom line, which the host’s managers were sure to frown upon. He’d put in a call to the rest of the staff and let them know who had just walked in, but Bel didn’t care: part of the reason this ‘secret’ meeting was in such a public place was to provide cover for the real intention, and she had the meeting logged into Precinct records as a training consult – it was totally on the books.
Merenska stopped in between a couple of plants and scoped the main floor, where she knew Davin would be. Briefly, she shot a look over to the balcony, sighing under her breath: Tëruan had gotten a spot for them out there on their anniversary last year, and then Bel’s caseload exploded and she had to work over the night. They had fought about it, with Tëruan being resentful of her job coming before him, and Bel being damn pissed that he used the reservation to go anyway, by himself, and get drunk and run up a huge bill. The Investigator quickly potted Davin, though, nondescript though he was, and made a quick procession across the floor, weaving past planters and bustling servers to reach the table. Bel didn’t bother to take off her jacket – she just slid the chair out and plopped herself down opposite Hugo without saying hello, and immediately reached for the drink menu.
“I’m lucky as hell that I made it here on time: there’s a disturbance of some kind in Third that I almost got called to. Bates picked it up for me, though; are you ordering anything?”
Bel scanned briefly over the drink menu while she waited for Davin to ignore her and get straight to the point, though he undoubtedly wouldn’t start in on actual business until after the waiter stopped by to take her drink order, which, given the prestige of the establishment, was a damn quick process. When the female waiter stopped by, Bel didn’t hesitate, and ordered an expensive mixed cocktail and, fake-sweetly smiling across the table at Hugo, ordering a duplicate for Davin also.
“And bring the dessert menu when you get a chance, miss. I hear that chocolate reduction cake is worth every overblown cheque it costs.”
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Sparrow
Uninitiated
Posts: 5
Title: Current Alias: Hugo Davin
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Post by Sparrow on Aug 4, 2015 12:10:16 GMT -5
That he had so astutely noticed the presence of the apparent former Council Member now seemed like a ghost of a thought. He was more than careful; he was casual and, specifically, practiced at never once again glancing directly in the dark-haired woman's direction with any intent beyond his initial observation, no matter how aware of her he may be. No, he wasn't the one to deal with her presence, but her presence hear had the possibility for implications that could be otherwise disrupting for the true reason for his being here. Shortly put, if there were going to be a scene, he wanted neither to be any part of it, nor anywhere near it.
His casual observation of the woman was, fortunately, soon further disguised by his attention visibly, if slowly, directing itself to yet another entry, one that earned a more definite and prolonged gaze. The Investigator stood out within the establishment, and while he had hoped that she might have tailored her taste at least slighty toward the more professional end of the spectrum, he had anticipated that it wasn't outside of her character. Though she may have grabbed the staff's attention and put them on some degree of alert—something he didn't particularly desire—that she was blatant in her official capacity served its purpose. Their meeting, while publicly unworthy of a great deal of attention, wasn't meant to be invisible, only casually discreet.
Hands folded neatly on the table before him with thin fingers lightly interwoven, he didn't stand to greet his current associate, nor did he even put forth the effort of so much as a nod, but simply watched her approach and, as she sat, looked at her plainly.
“No.”
His voice was dry and leaned toward soft-spoken, but distinctly clear. Glancing in the direction of the waiter but never quite looking directly at her gave him a dismissive air, but only by representing that, potentially, he was eager to discuss their business. Her ordering of a second drink for him, and the following request of a dessert menu specifically for yet another expensive item certainly wouldn't be put on her tab earned her a moment's silence and stare of thin, dull eyes. No, he was not amused, but seemed entirely removed from being at all perturbed.
“And how is work at the precinct?”
Still lightly within earshot of the departing waiter, Sparrow's professional presentation didn't lapse in so much that he was at all as casual and, apparently, relaxed as the Investigator, but there was the possibility that he was genuinely interested. He wasn't. While it was far from his intention to remind the woman of the struggles in her position that they had discussed for the sake of upsetting her, it was wholly his directive to remind her why she was here; it was as much for herself as it was for the interests he represented. Silent again, he would let her deliberate this in the interim of awaiting their drinks and any future, elaborate orders she might so insistently feel the need to place.
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Bel Merenska
Initiated
Posts: 11
Title: Peacekeeper Investigator - Third Precinct
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Post by Bel Merenska on Aug 5, 2015 11:41:36 GMT -5
Bel’s expression darkened at Hugo’s question, and the Investigator leaned back in her chair at an angle that pushed her hips forward and spread her legs under the table in an ‘improper’ position of comfort, with her left arm bent and resting on the back of her chair, holding the glass of water that had already been set on the table for her. Bel’s green eyes stared into the nondescript gaze of her dinner partner as she responded to his query, sipping her water during pauses.
“Wonderfully, Davin. Honestly, I couldn’t be happier. That’s why I’m here talking to you, isn’t it? Because I’m so thrilled with my career. Don’t look now, but they are about to start putting me on the recruitment posters.”
Somehow, Merenska managed to keep her tone deadpan, but anyone who could overhear her would undoubtedly catch the sarcastic implication to her speech. The question had been designed to evoke that reaction, and Bel was well aware of it: aware enough to play into the narrative, at least. She watched Davin’s lack-of-reactions with a trained eye, and made a point to put just enough of a growl into her vocal tone when she spoke next that her words became more cutting.
“Don’t try and work me over, Hugo, I don’t like playing games. We both know why I’m here, and though I’m definitely looking forward to dining on your cheque, I’d appreciate it if you didn’t act like I’m one of your patsies that you can jerk around and manipulate.”
The investigator punctuated the last word of her little speech by leaning forward and setting her water glass back down on the table, her right hand taking up residence, palm-down, on the tabletop in-time with her release of the glass. Merenska tapped the index finger of her right hand idly on the table, causing one of the four gunmetal-colored rings she wore to click loudly against the furniture wood.
“So, unless you are going to be drinking-“ Bel paused as the waitress set down the two drinks she had ordered, one in front of Davin and the other on her side of the table, along with the dessert menu, and then quickly assured Bel she would be back to take the dessert order before walking away. Merenska waited for her to get just out of earshot before continuing. “I’d appreciate it if you’d get to the point and give me what I’m here to collect.”
Bel kept tapping her right index ring in an arrhythmic pattern, but snagged her drink with her left hand and seemed, very perceptibly, to relax as she took a sip, savoring the sugary and acrid notes of the mixed drink before using the glass to gesture at its twin across the table.
“You should try it: it’d be a shame to let all that nice liquor go to waste.”
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Sparrow
Uninitiated
Posts: 5
Title: Current Alias: Hugo Davin
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Post by Sparrow on Aug 5, 2015 12:29:43 GMT -5
Davin, as it were, watched the Investigator's reaction play out on her features. Before she'd spoken a word, he knew that she'd understood the point, though he could imagine that she wouldn't be so reserved in her response that she wouldn't protest against the slight jab that was, really, the entire reason for their being here. To her sarcasm, the man simply listened, neither giving her the benefit of an offended expression nor sympathetic nod. Instead, he was motionless, his expression unresponsive; he understood her need to lash out against his insistence, but she'd be waiting a long time for any sort of leveled response. Finally, after she'd given her own insistence that they get to the point, his chin dipped slightly in a subtle nod, but expressionless eyes never left her own.
“That's fair.”
Whether it was or not, and whether he had any investment or reservation in her happiness about their deal, it didn't show. He was, however, a professional, and while their skillsets, approach, and especially etiquette, may have differed, so was she. He was as aware of that as he was that they both had needs to be met by their continued cooperation, and so wouldn't go so far as to sabotage the deal by appearing, perhaps to her, that he was 'looking down his nose' at her. Again only barely glancing in the direction of the waitress when she'd arrived and departed, he reached forward to take the drink ordered for him, and calmly place it to the side, next to both his untouched silverware and now heavily perspiring glass of water. Given that the Investigator seemed more relaxed after taking her drink, he continued by calmly reaching within the interior of his jacket, fetching an unmarked, white envelope. Placing it on the table and sliding it slightly towards the woman, his hands were prompt to return to their interwoven position, resting on the table's edge before him.
“Open it. Inside you'll find a technical readout of the lastest adjustment to the specifications of an optional Peacekeeper sidearm available for distribution, pending contractual negotiation.”
The Investigator might have remarked that she was moer than capable of reading for herself, but, if she did as instructed, the neatly folded packet inside the envelope would drop a smaller note from between its sheets. On it was a name and an address. Before she could respond to the information, he continued.
“I'll insist that you look over the information carefully, and when the time comes that said information becomes pertenant, that you deal with it personally.” He paused as a waitor passed by their table. “An alternate offer was made by my client's competitors but, with your assistance, I'm confident that it will...self-terminate, by tomorrow night.”
Falling silent, the thin man waited, as expressionless and unobtrusive as he'd been since the start of their meeting. It was, it seemed, well-timed, given that not a second afterward, the returning waitress was within earshot and, following that, by the table's side for the dessert order. Given the dismissive and otherwise silent air that he'd displayed to the poor woman so far, she largely ignored him in favor of the Investigator.
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Post by Keretheriel on Aug 5, 2015 21:18:58 GMT -5
Keretheriel finally took her own cue and moved to reclaim her seat at the table though pale eyes remain locked on the other woman. The vixen would not be repeating her Aide's given designation though the title was marked to memory. 'Variance' was an interesting moniker and Keretheriel wasn't one to ignore it out of spite for it not being a true name.
"It could be your name? I do like it, but it's not my approval you need: what is most important is that it is what you want to call yourself."
The Siren paused.
"Tahl-ee-hah. . ." The name dripped from her tongue like syrup, and her head tilted just the slightest― as if she might be tasting the syllables for herself.
"You will choose a surname as well, but it is not necessary for now."
Now they could move on.
To be certain, it did not go unnoticed that Tahliya had no answered her question, but Keretheriel simply chalked up the non-reaction to mean more or less that she either was not ready to have that conversation or else would not allow her to broach the subject at all. Rather than prod at what could be a sore spot the Siren was perfectly content to move along. After all, she wouldn't be offering up a completed dossier any time soon either.
"You named all of the Counselors and their Districts. Shall we begin with the first name? I'm most interested in the known proclivities of each, as well as how they view each other and their Districts, if you have that information."
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Post by Tahliya Carystian on Aug 6, 2015 19:59:09 GMT -5
Tahliya took a moment to settle herself more comfortably in her seat as Keretheriel finally did the same, and listened, seemingly impassively, as the Siren tried out her new name. As Kereth was sounding it out, the Operative it now belonged to was as well within her own mind: it sounded very different than ‘Dorya’ had, and it invoked a different feeling when the Variance heard it spoken so carefully by the woman opposite her. Suddenly, Tahliya understood why Kereth had been suddenly so adamant on her picking a name that truly belonged to her, rather than given by another: it was an opportunity for Tahliya to reinvent herself, somewhat, and be that which she wished to be, rather than simply what others asked of her. The revelation was startling, and it caused Tahliya to have a long, careful moment of silence as she tried to reflect on exactly what the concept amounted to – she knew it would take some time to fully grasp, but for now, the Operative made an internal decision to endeavor to be a tad more reactionary in the future: if Kereth was right about the name, she might be right about the concept of inherent wants as well, and the best way to discover that which was inherent was to work not to suppress base reactions . . . at least, when it was safe enough to do so.
To Kereth, it might have seemed that Tahliya was only taking a quick moment to gather her thoughts before she responded to the Siren’s query: quickly enough, Tahliya moved back to the matter at hand, and quickly going back over the order of names she had given her charge, she began, as requested, with the first one mentioned.
“Ishmaél Mirr – he is elected to cover Eighth District, but is currently responsible for three districts: his own, First District, and the Districts you are slated to take over, Seventh. Ishmaél is fiercely loyal to the Magistrate, and is also entirely inhuman: the reason he is trusted with so much responsibility is because he is the only one capable of handling it, considering he has no need for basic biological sustenance or mental respite.”
Tahliya smirked as she thought of the shape-changing Counselor and his strange way of interacting. Ishmaél had always struck the Operative as a placeholder, an executor of the will of his master, Virianus, but the Vagrant Spirit wasn’t so simple that he could be labeled an errand boy. More simply, he seemed to be just prone to agreeing with Alpha’s logic, a trait that no doubt evoked the ire of several of his Council fellows.
“Ishmaél is extremely cold and intelligent. He understands, and to some extent can predict, the emotional reactions of others, but he doesn’t seem to experience any himself. He responds to a logical argument more than anything else.”
Tahliya fixed Kereth in a sort of deadpanned stare, watching the Siren’s reaction extremely carefully.
“Ishmaél’s public persona is that of an ordinary worker who rose to the Council by pushing for manufacturing reforms and standing up for the people – it’s Alpha’s sense of irony that created a perfectly down-to-earth persona to give to an otherworldly personality.”
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Post by Keretheriel on Aug 7, 2015 9:21:00 GMT -5
Keretheriel nodded slowly when Tahliya seemed to compose her thoughts before launching into a fairly informative spiel on Eighth District's Counselor. Both brows furrowed lightly, but whatever it was that incited such a reaction wasn't remarked on. The Siren mulled over each revelation fairly quickly, making sure to commit it all to memory so that she could use each piece when it became relevant. It wasn’t simply the information about Ishmaél Mirr that was interesting, but also what it revealed about Virianus himself. Tahliya was bound to him in some way even if the Siren couldn't work out precisely to what extent, and now it seemed at least one of his Counselors shared a similar degree of loyalty. What was it precisely that compelled these people― or perhaps 'entities' was a better word― to hold Alpha in such high regard? Clearly the water was far more murky now as far as Tahliya's allegiance and there was serious question as to how independently she could act.
"Alpha has a sense of humor then."
Keretheriel offered a light smirk in her Aide's direction before dipping her chin to signal her understanding of the broad strokes used to outline Mirr.
"How long has he been carrying the weight of three Districts? Even a creature that does not require true rest would be worn down after an extended assignment."
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Post by Nebuchadnezzar on Aug 9, 2015 4:52:26 GMT -5
The King hadn’t exactly asked if she could smoke but it appeared she’d decided the establishment allowed it— for now. Should they ask her to do away with it, she’d oblige and until then, the slim black rod pulled from a velveted case in her clutch and lit by the tip of her finger hung between her lips. The first pull was always the finest. Heavy with the sweet spices mixed in with the expensive (to the point of pretension) tobacco.
Before Nebu had lit up she had scanned the balcony and found little of interest. But, by the time the thick, white cloud of smoke left her stained lips she’d found contact with the stranger. Brief and fleeting— but no expression, not even those of the micro variety could escape a King’s eye.
...But there wasn’t much to snag on. It had been brief, probably something lascivious. Not quite long enough to process for any familiarity. Thus, she naturally ignored it and went back to scanning the room’s inhabitants. The only reason for her to seek the table with the well groomed man, again, was to look the waitress over who had stopped by the table— a pair now. He’d been joined by a woman. And, as expected, the waitress made a shortcut to her table just after taking down their orders.
“Sidecar. And with the aged Cognac, please.” She’d purr; narrowing her eyes to denote relaxation and propping her cheek on the back of her hand. The smile she offered the waitress was clearly meant for the sort of person she wanted to make feel like a congressman before working them— had it really been that long, too long; since she’d left the Obsidian Tower?
Surprisingly, she was offered a warm smile in return. Warm enough to inspire the King to show teeth with her amusement. Though, inwardly, she reminded herself that it was likely more cultured to reel it in while she was currently a stranger in a strange land.
Now, she turned in the plush seat and crossed her legs while taking a second pull from the spiced cigarillo. Ambient hearing was turned off on a lark; her preternatural hearing enhanced to the point she was able to isolate conversations per table— skipping across them like a toad across lily pads.
Most of it was uninteresting. Financial skullduggery. Someone who had only just remembered their name. The weather, an extramarital affair. A secret moving of funds from one account to the other and at one point even whispers of far away empires she was familiar with.
Of course, Konstantine had to ruin the moment by pinging her. Immediately her right eye turned black and with a slight twitch of her skull she’d engage internal communication with her sibling and might appear to have lost her mind as well as half her sight.
“Yes? Honey, little darling— give me a moment. I’m public. Indeed for once.” And to better keep the onlookers at ease, she would pull a slim, deep gray object from the clutch and held it to her cheek. Some time during retrieving it her eyes had returned to their clear, glacial hue.
“Go on,” she’d purr. A moment later she truly seemed to have her attention claimed. “Did he now? Will the backbone of Lu’Rae fall with his loins?” And obviously in a much quieter tone.
Just before her drink could be deposited on the table, Nebuchadnezzar caught it delicately from the woman’s grip. Her hand slid across the skin— human, on some form of calming medication. Exactly twenty seven years of age and developing bladder cancer— a lot to learn from only a moment.
“Thank you….” was all she’d drawl; never one to intervene as it usually brought back a bitter reaction of anger and disbelief. Most shot the messenger.
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Post by Tahliya Carystian on Aug 19, 2015 21:05:28 GMT -5
Tahliya nodded in affirmation to Kereth’s observations and spared a smile for the remark on Alpha’s sense of humor, but the Operative didn’t deviate from the topic at hand, preferring to keep on-task for as long as possible.
“That’s accurate: Ishmaél seemed to have no issue filling in when he was only responsible for First and Eighth districts: the two are heavily related, with Eighth holding the vast majority of Vascxious Sigma’s manufacturing operations and First providing the bulk of the housing for those who work in production. However, the long vacancy in Seventh has caused issues, and Alpha had to ask Ishmaél to step in and try and deal with the problems, and since then, he has been showing some degree of wear.”
Tahliya hadn’t seen much of the vagrant Counselor of late, but she had heard through various sources that the shipping problems in Seventh have gotten marginally better, but they were still causing so many issues that production was being backed up into Eighth District, which meant businesses had to slow down what they were making, which led to worker furlough and layoffs. Alpha didn’t like his city to have any real constant degree of discontent showing: therefore, the situation in Seventh was definitely top-of-mind for the Magistrate. Thus, Kereth’s sudden appointment.
“Convince Ishmaél that you can competently handle Seventh, and he’ll give you support: otherworldly or not, I doubt he wants to be running three districts any more than you or I would. Additionally, Ishmaél commands a lot of respect on the Council, especially with the Second and Third District Counselors, from what I understand.”
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Post by Keretheriel on Aug 23, 2015 10:24:16 GMT -5
The Siren tried to listen to Tahliya's response more carefully, not wanting to think about the implications of Alpha's sense of humor. There was already some sense of irony to her presence in Vascxious Sigma and her predicament in general that Keretheriel couldn't quite articulate, but the sudden flash of understanding― no matter how quickly she pushed it aside― brought her blood to an easy simmer. She'd been slower on the uptake before, but it finally, truly dawned on her that her position was remarkably precarious― and not for the reasons she initially suspected. The observation on Tahliya's obedience and now Mirr's apparent loyalty caught in her throat. She still appeared entirely engaged, but her thoughts raced.
Alpha had her brought to the Tower and offered her a position of power in his City, the only spoken condition being that he couldn't hand it to her: she was required to meet every member of the Council in order to sell herself as an ideal candidate. All she could see when Virianus spoke was the thrill of playing a game with him. Now that she was mired in the details she realized what he'd done. It was smoothly crafted, but not so expertly woven that she'd be congratulating him on his genius just yet. Besides it was more a testament to her impulsive nature than his skill at manipulation that had her so easily sinking teeth into his bait. Since her nature wouldn't be changing any time soon it was imperative that she keep her bites small, easy to tear away and get clear― if she hadn't already become irrevocably tangled in his net. Well, Keretheriel smirked, she'd cut herself out of very restrictive bonds before. This would be no different.
The Siren could admire the beauty of what Alpha had done. He'd understood her aversion to being chained down and instead of forcing her to her knees and demanding fealty he looked to his Councilors to make their contracts with her in her search for power. Alpha didn't have to lift a finger: the Council would bind her to Vascxious Sigma far more effectively in that way.
Keretheriel dropped her gaze to the untouched glasses, forcing herself to consciously recall the last thing Tahliya said.
"It doesn't surprise me that Alpha's daughter would have rapport with one of Alpha's loyal supporters. How does Khestralicht fit into that alliance?" The Siren's stare had become piercing again as her full focus returned to the Aide that was proving herself to be immensely valuable, should all of her facts stand up.
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