Post by Kalique Abrasax on Mar 13, 2015 17:09:48 GMT -5
Kalique's sim entourage was already waiting for her at the airlock, standing at the gangway into her own yacht in jewel-toned gowns that glittered incongruously brightly against Balem's preferred black and gold. She was beginning to get a headache, though she attributed that as much to the weight of her hair as to what she had just endured.
The sims bowed after her as she passed. As soon as she was safely indoors and the ship was ready to depart, a few of them came bearing a small circular drape for her to step into. Others arrived with hair decorations, and another with a simpler, lighter gown of pale pink gauze, with long trailing sleeves like butterfly wings. They set about taking down her hair and assisting her into the new dress.
"I would like to speak to J'son, please," she announced, touching the jewel behind her right ear.
"Yes, my lady," said a disembodied voice, light as a child's. "Now contacting Prince J'son, Star-Lord of Spartax, future Emperor of the Spartoi."
At the side of the room, one of the sims who had accompanied Kalique on the expedition and the subsequent discussion with Emperor Karfan pressed a button hidden on her wrist and watched attentively.
It took a moment for the FTL to come through. The opulent interior of the ship was suddenly replaced by the image of a dark, sulfurous landscape pocked with small craters of something uncomfortably green and luminous. A few humanoid shapes in heavy protective suits and domed masks were probing into the green liquid; one of them wandered into view and turned off the light filter on his mask to reveal a handsome, rugged-looking face that had already developed a few creases about the eyes despite his youth. He frowned, and blinked in confusion.
"...Aunt Kalique?"
"Yes, it's me," she said. "You needn't bother with 'aunt', though. You seem uncomfortable with it."
"It's not that," he replied, shaking his head as though to clear it. "I just forget that you people don't age."
Kalique lifted her arms for the dress to be brought over her body behind the screen.
"Oh- oh, dear, that's right. How funny- I regenerated so soon after the last I saw you, and at least twice since. My, it has been a long time, hasn't it?"
"I was a boy," J'son said distantly.
"You know," Kalique said, studying his face, "you're probably old enough for your first recut yourself. I can assist you with that, if you'd like-"
"No."
J'son held up a hand.
"No recuts, no nectar. That's not the Spartoi way."
"Is that also the Spartoi way?" she asked lightly, nodding toward his surroundings.
J'son's frown deepened.
"An emperor ought to understand the lives of even the most menial of his subjects," he said gravely. "This mining operation is part of my preparation for the throne."
"Heavens!" Kalique said sympathetically. "I suppose they'll have you scrubbing toilets next."
"You say that as though it's a bad thing," J'son retorted. "What puts a prince above scrubbing toilets?"
"You're not just a Spartoi, J'son. You're an Abrasax-"
"A quarter Abrasax."
Kalique shrugged as the screen was pulled away.
"That's quite a bit more than most people can say," she pointed out, but there was no malice in her voice. "But- well, I did come to inquire of the Star-Lord of the Spartoi, not a secondary of the House of Abrasax."
She sat herself on a small chaise so that one of the sims could descend upon her hair and rearrange it into something less elaborate.
"Would your intelligence happen to have anything on a Kree accuser called Ronan?"
"What are you doing with Kree accusers?" J'son asked in return.
"Ronan caused one of my holdings to be evacuated," Kalique said primly.
"From where I'm standing," said J'son, "this sounds like an uncommonly heroic Kree."
Kalique laughed off the implied slight.
"Oh, heavens no. He's some sort of terrorist. His own government wants nothing to do with him."
"That doesn't explain your interest, Aunt Kalique."
She leaned back and allowed the sim to weave a wreath of lilies into her hair.
"Your Uncle Balem thinks he has to play defender and get revenge on this Ronan. I for one would prefer to keep my distance, but desperate times call for desperate measures and I see little choice but gathering as much intelligence as we can and beating Balem about the head with it until he sees reason. Metaphorically, of course."
J'son considered this.
"So you... want to prevent the chance of escalation."
"You sound surprised."
"You're an Abrasax."
"So are you."
"By blood, maybe."
"And temperament, clearly," Kalique said dryly.
"I don't- I'm not having this argument right now," J'son muttered. "I have my own throne to worry about, I can't afford to get involved in this-"
Kalique's face went grave as the sim stepped away to bring her a mirror.
"J'son," she said. "Please."
When the sim arrived with the mirror, she gently pushed it aside to maintain eye contact with the man on the screen.
"...I'll patch you through," J'son sighed, "on the condition that this transfer goes unspoken-of-"
"Naturally," Kalique said, smiling again. "Thank you, J'son-"
"-along with your insistence on dredging me down in your filth."
Kalique's eyelashes fluttered a little, but her smile barely faltered.
"I don't want another damned thing to do with your dirty little business after this. The only reason I'm helping you now is because the Kree are even lower than you are, and if it means keeping your little squabble from spreading to the people who matter, I'm all in favor."
"As long as we're in agreement," Kalique said coolly.
"I'll dispatch the bureau on Spartax, then. Goodbye, Kalique."
"Thank you, J'son."
The FTL switched off abruptly, leaving Kalique worrying her lower lip for a moment. The hairdressing sim pushed the mirror toward her again a little insistently, and she startled a bit while thanking her and taking an approving look at her reflection.
The sim against the wall turned a different gemstone on her bracelet in time for the intelligence packet to begin streaming in from Spartax, and turned it again when it had finished.
The sims bowed after her as she passed. As soon as she was safely indoors and the ship was ready to depart, a few of them came bearing a small circular drape for her to step into. Others arrived with hair decorations, and another with a simpler, lighter gown of pale pink gauze, with long trailing sleeves like butterfly wings. They set about taking down her hair and assisting her into the new dress.
"I would like to speak to J'son, please," she announced, touching the jewel behind her right ear.
"Yes, my lady," said a disembodied voice, light as a child's. "Now contacting Prince J'son, Star-Lord of Spartax, future Emperor of the Spartoi."
At the side of the room, one of the sims who had accompanied Kalique on the expedition and the subsequent discussion with Emperor Karfan pressed a button hidden on her wrist and watched attentively.
It took a moment for the FTL to come through. The opulent interior of the ship was suddenly replaced by the image of a dark, sulfurous landscape pocked with small craters of something uncomfortably green and luminous. A few humanoid shapes in heavy protective suits and domed masks were probing into the green liquid; one of them wandered into view and turned off the light filter on his mask to reveal a handsome, rugged-looking face that had already developed a few creases about the eyes despite his youth. He frowned, and blinked in confusion.
"...Aunt Kalique?"
"Yes, it's me," she said. "You needn't bother with 'aunt', though. You seem uncomfortable with it."
"It's not that," he replied, shaking his head as though to clear it. "I just forget that you people don't age."
Kalique lifted her arms for the dress to be brought over her body behind the screen.
"Oh- oh, dear, that's right. How funny- I regenerated so soon after the last I saw you, and at least twice since. My, it has been a long time, hasn't it?"
"I was a boy," J'son said distantly.
"You know," Kalique said, studying his face, "you're probably old enough for your first recut yourself. I can assist you with that, if you'd like-"
"No."
J'son held up a hand.
"No recuts, no nectar. That's not the Spartoi way."
"Is that also the Spartoi way?" she asked lightly, nodding toward his surroundings.
J'son's frown deepened.
"An emperor ought to understand the lives of even the most menial of his subjects," he said gravely. "This mining operation is part of my preparation for the throne."
"Heavens!" Kalique said sympathetically. "I suppose they'll have you scrubbing toilets next."
"You say that as though it's a bad thing," J'son retorted. "What puts a prince above scrubbing toilets?"
"You're not just a Spartoi, J'son. You're an Abrasax-"
"A quarter Abrasax."
Kalique shrugged as the screen was pulled away.
"That's quite a bit more than most people can say," she pointed out, but there was no malice in her voice. "But- well, I did come to inquire of the Star-Lord of the Spartoi, not a secondary of the House of Abrasax."
She sat herself on a small chaise so that one of the sims could descend upon her hair and rearrange it into something less elaborate.
"Would your intelligence happen to have anything on a Kree accuser called Ronan?"
"What are you doing with Kree accusers?" J'son asked in return.
"Ronan caused one of my holdings to be evacuated," Kalique said primly.
"From where I'm standing," said J'son, "this sounds like an uncommonly heroic Kree."
Kalique laughed off the implied slight.
"Oh, heavens no. He's some sort of terrorist. His own government wants nothing to do with him."
"That doesn't explain your interest, Aunt Kalique."
She leaned back and allowed the sim to weave a wreath of lilies into her hair.
"Your Uncle Balem thinks he has to play defender and get revenge on this Ronan. I for one would prefer to keep my distance, but desperate times call for desperate measures and I see little choice but gathering as much intelligence as we can and beating Balem about the head with it until he sees reason. Metaphorically, of course."
J'son considered this.
"So you... want to prevent the chance of escalation."
"You sound surprised."
"You're an Abrasax."
"So are you."
"By blood, maybe."
"And temperament, clearly," Kalique said dryly.
"I don't- I'm not having this argument right now," J'son muttered. "I have my own throne to worry about, I can't afford to get involved in this-"
Kalique's face went grave as the sim stepped away to bring her a mirror.
"J'son," she said. "Please."
When the sim arrived with the mirror, she gently pushed it aside to maintain eye contact with the man on the screen.
"...I'll patch you through," J'son sighed, "on the condition that this transfer goes unspoken-of-"
"Naturally," Kalique said, smiling again. "Thank you, J'son-"
"-along with your insistence on dredging me down in your filth."
Kalique's eyelashes fluttered a little, but her smile barely faltered.
"I don't want another damned thing to do with your dirty little business after this. The only reason I'm helping you now is because the Kree are even lower than you are, and if it means keeping your little squabble from spreading to the people who matter, I'm all in favor."
"As long as we're in agreement," Kalique said coolly.
"I'll dispatch the bureau on Spartax, then. Goodbye, Kalique."
"Thank you, J'son."
The FTL switched off abruptly, leaving Kalique worrying her lower lip for a moment. The hairdressing sim pushed the mirror toward her again a little insistently, and she startled a bit while thanking her and taking an approving look at her reflection.
The sim against the wall turned a different gemstone on her bracelet in time for the intelligence packet to begin streaming in from Spartax, and turned it again when it had finished.