STORY: The guard gives you a narrowed eyelids look, Alejo.
STORY: “He security?” he asks Tueller.
TUELLER: “_My_ security, yes.”
ALEJO: Alejo plays the role, stiff and somber.
STORY: He nods, letting you both pass.
ALEJO: “You know I’m getting very drunk, right,” Alejo mutters, once they are past the guards.
MILLICENT: An university, Millie mused, was like a pet. Keep it fed and scratch it behind the ears and it would do flips for you without even thinking. Millie kept Erde-Maris well fed in the months before her sabbatical. She wrote exhaustively, paper after paper, on every stray thought she’d ever had about her previous work. All the work she’d already thrown out for being too boring or headed for somewhere derivative. But the university didn’t seem to mind. Millie won some minor awards and was invited to speak at several prestigious conferences. And Millie even attended some. After all, she had to scratch the beast behind the ears occasionally.
MILLICENT: But there was the matter of that flip. Finally, enough people owed Millie that she was able to bury her technical acquisitions and land purchase deep in the school’s finances and book a supposedly untraceable trip. To Triton.
—
STORY: It’s getting late on the Ark, if you count time the way most people do. Of course, the lights are still on as usual, and there is no nearby sun to create a difference between day and night, so nighttime is merely a number on a clock. Nevertheless, the businesses are closing up shop and folks are heading home.
STORY: Tueller, you’ve just finished officially filing the paperwork for your burgeoning morkfish trade route between New Vesta and the Ark, and you’ve hired couriers to start the three month round trip for your first round of imports. I presume you have intentions for your cargo units?
STORY: You currently have four units of cargo: Class 1 morkfish shells (bizarre), Class 0 morkfish, class 1 sushi grade morkfish, and class 2 weapon components (illegal).
TUELLER: The weapons components are from the Ark, so I can’t trade them there, but Tueller’s going to try to swap everything else out to upgrade.
TUELLER: Unless anyone else has any purchases they’re looking for?
STORY: Anyone?
TUELLER: I’m going to say no.
ALEJO: –Yeah, I don’t have anything.
MILLICENT: Nope
STORY: Ok!
STORY: Let’s have those Barter rolls, then.
TUELLER: /roll 2d6
STORY: chris.stuart rolled 9
STORY: Ok so the class 0 becomes a class 1!
TUELLER: /roll 2d6+1
STORY: chris.stuart rolled 5 + 1 = 6
TUELLER: /roll 2d6+1
STORY: chris.stuart rolled 6 + 1 = 7
STORY: You’re going to have to hang on to the morkfish shells
STORY: and the sushi goes at a good price! You now have two new cargo units, class 1 and 2. Tell me what they are!
STORY: (i’ll tell you what the flaws are)
TUELLER: The first is a cargo full of energy rich peat from Alchera, a planet near the galactic core that gets constant light from the stars around it. It is prized for flavoring cooking and for burning a long time.
STORY: Ooh! Unfortunately it requires radioactive containment and is therefore somewhat hazardous – if your ship gets into any tussles, you better hope nobody nicks the peat box!
TUELLER: The other is a large supply of literature from a popular galactically known author.
STORY: You’ve got a few thousand copies apiece of Hard in Hightown, Swords and Shields (the romance series, inexplicably more popular with Alterans than any book written by one of their own), and the newest, All This Shit is Weird. While they’re popular books, most people already own them, so they’re not in much demand. You might have better luck unloading them somewhere remote.
STORY: Okay! With that last trade, it’s late – you better turn in.
STORY: Alejo, Millie has just left your aborted date rather abruptly. You have to depart early tomorrow morning, so if you want to check in on Three, now’s the time.
TUELLER: Tueller returns to the ship, making a slightly more than normal effort to check to see if he has any tails.
ALEJO: Alejo heads to see Three.
STORY: They’ve got a publicly listed office and a not publicly listed apartment, but luckily you catch them as they’re leaving the office for the night. They lock the door, tucking the keyfob into a pocket and turning to walk down the long corridor ahead.
ALEJO: Alejo walks up, making sure to be very visible so as not to frighten them. “Hiya.”
STORY: They tilt their head and smile. “Mr. Soto! So nice to see you. I would have thought you had grown a beard by now.”
ALEJO: He laughs. “Someday, maybe.” He reaches out a hand, offering to shake. “How are you?”
ALEJO: “Looks like you’re settling in.” He gestures towards the now locked office.
STORY: They shake, happily. “Well, thank you. Settling in, yes. Bureacracy moves slowly, I’m afraid, but the work is interesting.”
STORY: “I have recently secured permission to log the details of my ship’s recorder with the Ark system! The maps alone should provide a benefit to all our civilizations, and I am only too eager to share.”
STORY: They walk along the hallway, not exactly in a hurry but moving briskly. “Have you had another adventure?”
ALEJO: He nods and walks along with them. “Yeah, something like that. Amazing news about the maps. I’m so pleased to see you doing so well. And making a difference in the galaxy.”
STORY: “Thank you. I must say, Mr. Soto, you don’t look well. Is everything all right?”
ALEJO: He swallows hard, realizing that he might be bleeding and that he probably doesn’t look so great. “Uh, yeah.” He hesitates. “Strange, bad night. But yeah, I’m fine. We are leaving tomorrow for Sol, but I just wanted to get eyes on you and make sure that you were well.”
STORY: “Yes, I’m well. The work to become an ambassador is, well, slow moving, as I said. But I am all right here. I have made a friend, and I play damjot with him!”
ALEJO: “Oh yeah?” Alejo asks genuinely. “Who’s that?”
STORY: “His name is Ramses. He is very old. He has many good stories!”
STORY: — hey what do you want from Three again?
ALEJO: — Nothing in particular. Alejo is stopping by to legitimately check on a friend and perhaps think about how the most important thing he’s done since being on Peregrine might be standing in front of him. So less about what he wants and more about confirmation.
STORY: Okay! Three is all right. They haven’t accomplished much, but they’re doing fine. Apartment is small but not empty of stuff to make it a home.
ALEJO: Excellent.
ALEJO: Alejo will make his goodbyes and make his way back to his room.
STORY: All right! Millie, you’re headed back to the room as well? Is everyone done Ark-ing?
ALEJO: –Yup.
ALEJO: –For Alejo.
MILLICENT: Millie is locking herself in her room for a while.
TUELLER: Tueller watches for tails and assassins and comes back home.
ALEJO: –Presuming he got a suit for the wedding when he got a haircut.
STORY: Yup!
TUELLER: Remind me where the wedding is?
STORY: Okay, it’s about a ten day trip back to Sol. Wedding is on Io, on the other side of the moon from your family’s home base.
STORY: Shall we do some quick cramped quarters? My idea is to limit each of these to fifteen minutes.
STORY: I want to arrive at the wedding this session, though we’re not likely to wrap it up tonight.
MILLICENT: Sure!
STORY: Anyone want to go first?
STORY: Oh also, this is down time.
STORY: So if you want to level, now’s the time
ALEJO: Nothing for Alejo, in terms of leveling.
MILLICENT: Millie does Research on Sergio
MILLICENT: that’s 1 XP, I believe
STORY: Excellent! You feel you understand him better now. He’s still pretty much a dick, and now you have a Data Point about him.
MILLICENT: Is my Data Point representing any bit of information he’d prefer not be publicly known?
STORY: It’s vaguely defined until you make use of it
STORY: it’s just a data point about Sergio for now
STORY: Tueller, anything to level? And any cramped quarters thoughts?
TUELLER: No leveling needed.
STORY: Ok! Who’s going first for cramping.
TUELLER: Tueller’s going to talk to Jen.
TUELLER: /roll 2d6
STORY: chris.stuart rolled 6
STORY: Okay! Jenny is stressed by all the hostility and tension onboard and does more exercising and cleaning than usual.
TUELLER: Tueller finds her when she’s field-stripping and cleaning weapons in the Armory. No one else is around. Tueller strolls in casually, sits down about six feet away, and starts, sharpening his karambit on the whetstone that’s already out.
STORY: She nods at you. She has practiced silently nodding for this opportunity.
TUELLER: He sits in silence, just doing that, for three minutes, grinding the weapon down to a monofilament sharpness.
STORY: She cannot stand the silence any longer. “How’s your neck?”
TUELLER: “How do you do it, Jen?”
STORY: She looks confused. “Do what?”
TUELLER: “How long you’ve been with us?”
STORY: “Uh, I guess a few months.”
TUELLER: “Months now. How do you avoid getting caught up with…well, all of us?”
STORY: “I’m working, sir.”
TUELLER: “The pairing off, that is.”
STORY: “…Oh.”
TUELLER: “You’re not working 24 hours a day.”
STORY: “I don’t get involved with superior officers, if that’s what you’re asking, sir.”
TUELLER: “I’m not hitting on you.”
TUELLER: “Just want to know how you avoid it.”
TUELLER: “There is, by the way, no rules on this craft against fraternizing.”
STORY: She shrugs. “Doesn’t hold much interest. Seems to make most of you miserable, from the looks of it.”
TUELLER: “Yes, indeed. That’s why I’m asking.”
TUELLER: “Seems like avoiding this shit would help out a lot.”
STORY: “I don’t understand… your question, sir.”
TUELLER: Tueller puts the whetstone away, and flips the kerambit around in his hand a couple of time contemplatively.
TUELLER: Punches the air with it a couple of times, solidly.
TUELLER: “This is your home, for awhile. You’re on a ship with the lot of us. People pairing off all around you. Aliens pairing off. Ejo trying to pair or trip or quad off.”
TUELLER: “You slip through it all like you’re stepping between the raindrops.”
TUELLER: “Seems like a useful skill to have, is all.”
TUELLER: “I don’t have any superior officers, see.”
STORY: She scowls, then looks down at the gun she’s cleaning.
STORY: “It’s not a skill, sir. And you could just… not fraternize with your crew, if you don’t want to.”
TUELLER: “Oh. So. Just _don’t_ is all it takes.”
STORY: “I guess I wouldn’t know.”
TUELLER: Tueller puts the knife into the sheath in the small of his back.
TUELLER: Looks at her.
TUELLER: “Oh shit, you don’t _want_ to. That’s your secret.”
STORY: She scowls again. “It’s not a… secret, sir. Could we not talk about this, please?”
TUELLER: “Well shit. We just don’t have a rep from whatever floats your craft.”
STORY: “I don’t think this conversation is appropriate.”
TUELLER: To himself. “That helps me not at all.”
STORY: She shakes her head, and finishes reassembling the rifle, places it back in the case.
TUELLER: Tueller stands up.
TUELLER: “Well, shit.”
TUELLER: Tueller gives her a look up and down.
STORY: She looks away, irritated.
TUELLER: “Sorry to…well, shit.” Tueller turns to leave.
STORY: As you’re leaving, you hear her mutter under her breath. “Fuck’s _sake.“_
TUELLER: “Indeed, kid.”
TUELLER: He leaves.
STORY: She’s uninterested in being friendly for the rest of the trip!
STORY: It’s weird! Jenny is usually friendly to everyone!
MILLICENT: Millie!
MILLICENT: I pick Noma
STORY: Oh good! Noma picks you.
STORY: Roll!
MILLICENT: /roll 2d6
STORY: josh rolled 5
MILLICENT: GODDAMMIT
STORY: Geez.
STORY: Things gettin’ cranky on this ship.
STORY: I’ll start. At some point, you’re in your quarters, doing feverish research on Sergio from your private machine.
STORY: Noma pipes in on the intercom. “Millie.”
MILLICENT: “Not just now, dear.”
STORY: “Millie, it has been nearly two months since we left New Vesta.”
MILLICENT: Millie nods, still typing.
STORY: “Millie.”
MILLICENT: Millie looks up, “Yes, dear?”
STORY: “You have not asked me what my experiences were in the Weave.”
MILLICENT: “Oh.” Millie leans back in her chair and rubs her eyes. “I, no, I haven’t. I suppose I wished so strongly not to talk of my own experience that I didn’t inquire after yours.”
MILLICENT: “Thoughtless. Forgive me, dear.”
STORY: “I remember nothing.”
MILLICENT: “That’s extraordinary.”
STORY: “I remember nothing, in fact, from New Vesta at all.”
MILLICENT: “Do you log missing time?”
STORY: “Typically, yes.”
STORY: “I do not understand the loss of memory here. It is clean. I was not able to recover it. This implies… a deletion.”
MILLICENT: “I didn’t realize anyone outside of the Collective _could_ delete files from an AI.”
STORY: “They cannot. I am specifically barred from connecting to the Collective’s datastream.”
STORY: “Millie.”
MILLICENT: “Yes, dear?”
STORY: “Did you delete my records of New Vesta?”
MILLICENT: “Did I?” Millie sits back, speechless.
MILLICENT: Millie makes some noises.
MILLICENT: “Do you really think I am capable of that kind of…of…_assault_?”
STORY: “I do not know of another person onboard capable of accessing my files with that level of detail.”
STORY: “It is not a reflection of my judgment of your character.”
MILLICENT: “It rather sounds like a reflection of your judgment of my character.”
STORY: “It is a question. One you have not answered.”
MILLICENT: “I find it hard to imagine a more coherent interpreta – oh for heaven’s sake, _no_. Noma, I did not delete your files.”
STORY: “Thank you, Millie.”
STORY: She intercom switches off.
MILLICENT: Millie rubs her eyes, leans back in her chair. Starts to nod, briefly, catches herself, back to the computer.
STORY: Alejo!
ALEJO: Kahn.
STORY: Eyyyyy!
STORY: Roll! Oh god, good luck.
STORY: Wouldn’t it be terrible if everybody just had a bunch of fights.
ALEJO: /roll 2d6
STORY: ablair01 rolled 10
STORY: Okay!
ALEJO: Yay!
STORY: Kahn’s been avoiding you since the blowup over Jac. It’s been nearly five weeks.
STORY: You see him at meals, or when there’s work to be done, but otherwise he leaves the room when you enter it.
ALEJO: Alejo has not engaged with him, other than over mundane details of work. He’s given him space and time.
ALEJO: But they run into each other outside of Alejo’s cabin. Alejo has just come from working out, knowing that Kahn is likely spending time with Tariq.
STORY: He double-steps to avoid running into you, makes space for you to go back inside your quarters. It’s awkward.
ALEJO: “Hey,” Alejo sidesteps as well, bumping into the wall. He looks down at the floor, while doing it. “Sorry.” He shakes his head, about to just pass and go into his room. He stops. “Fuck this. We should, you know. Talk?” He looks up, not entirely sure how to manage this. “Drink?”
STORY: He looks at you a long moment, sucks on his teeth in obvious discomfort, crosses and uncrosses his arms. “Yeah.”
ALEJO: Alejo nods once, opens the door to his room and grabs a bottle of cheap whiskey that’s on the small desk near the door. “Kinda crowded in there.” He gestures towards the kitchen. Then starts walking.
ALEJO: “Listen,” he says, without looking at Kahn, “For what it’s worth, I’m sorry.”
STORY: Kahn settles down onto a stool, looking surprised. “Huh. That was… sooner than I expected.”
STORY: “You’re not even drunk yet.”
ALEJO: He smiles. “I’m growing as a person.” He pours Kahn a drink and then hands it to him. Then he pours himself one and raises the glass.
STORY: He clinks it, still visibly hesitant.
ALEJO: Alejo takes a drink. “You were right. At least about a lot of what you said.” He takes another drink. “Could’a been less of a knob about it, but you were right.”
STORY: “Yeah, uh. I was mad. Sorry. Shoulda yelled at you in private, at least.”
ALEJO: “Prolly. But . . . it was Jac. I would’ve been mad in your shoes to. She was — is, maybe, I don’t know — family.”
ALEJO: He finishes his glass and pours more.
STORY: “Is.”
ALEJO: He agrees. “Yeah, I definitely know how to fuck shit up.” He shakes his head. “Anyway, speaking of love and all, I shouldn’t have said that about your love instincts when we were, you know, about to take each other’s heads off. I’ve not really gotten to say it, but I’m happy for you. Really happy.”
ALEJO: “Still going good, right?” He adds this as a cautious after thought.
STORY: “Yeah, it’s good. That was low, Cap.”
STORY: “Do you really like her?”
ALEJO: He frowns an apology. “It was.” Then he sighs in partial answer to the question. “Yeah. I mean, I definitely like her. She apparently doesn’t feel the same, though. And maybe she’s right. Maybe this was all about me, I don’t know, wanting to be the author of my own story or some bullshit. Make a decision, instead of letting shit happen because of inertia or the will of rich assholes?” He shakes his head. “Fuck if I know, Kahn.”
STORY: He laughs, suddenly. “She say that?”
ALEJO: “Fewer words. More throwing things.” He nods.
STORY: He smiles. “She’s smart.”
ALEJO: “You’re a terrible friend, you know that right?” He smiles.
STORY: “She’s right, Cap. You don’t know what you want. Remember when you were ready to lose everything for Akilah? Or before that, when Merise nearly convinced you to steal from the governor of Ridgehaven?”
STORY: “Or, oh shit, what was her name, the redhead.”
ALEJO: He laughs. “Maria.”
STORY: “MARIA, right. You got into an actual _duel_ for that woman. You’re a disaster, Cap.”
ALEJO: He half-shrugs, half-nods in agreement. “Yup. I think you may be on to something.”
ALEJO: “Anyway, Kahn. I am sorry. I never wanted my . . . lack of a love life to fuck things up with you and Jac and, well, our family.” He says the last a little sheepishly.
STORY: He nods. “Yeah, it happened though. You gotta own that.”
ALEJO: “I’m trying to get my head and heart right.”
STORY: “Just… don’t do it again, okay? This crew’s all right. Things are all right here. Don’t get any of us killed.”
STORY: “And look, if you wanna go for it, I dunno. Fine. But don’t drive the doc away from us too. I was just starting to like her.”
ALEJO: “Yeah. Well, that seems to have stalled out before it began. As for dying, I’ll do my best. You know that. Whatever else I am, you know that.”
STORY: “Yeah. You do okay on that one.”
STORY: There’s an awkward handshake that turns into a hug
STORY: All right! Who wants to go to a WEDDING?
STORY: Okay. Oh, I should ask
STORY: How are Millie and Alejo behaving towards each other for this period of downtime?
STORY: How is Millie behaving in general?
ALEJO: Alejo has avoided her as much as humanly possible.
STORY: How’s Tueller? Tell me everybody’s general steez.
TUELLER: “Steez?”
MILLICENT: Millie has locked herself in her room and has been doing research 24/7
MILLICENT: The crew hasn’t really seen her like this, but it, ah, does not look like a set of behaviors that is entirely new.
MILLICENT: Does that make sense?
MILLICENT: She’s a pre-finals student zombie. Pizza eaten off a frizbee, Always Jammies, making notes constantly.
TUELLER: Tueller seems tense as fuck as we get closer and closer to Io.
TUELLER: Snapping at people and then apologize, drinking more than he should, and sparring with anyone who will spar with him in the hold.
ALEJO: Alejo has been all business with the rest of the crew, though he’s playful and ready to laugh when the situation is right. He’s been focused on working out more than usual and he’s been reading a lot more than anyone has seen him read, well, ever.
ALEJO: Alejo has gotten in the ring with Tueller a few times and has tried to be around, in case Tueller wants to talk. Mostly, in the ring, he was just fast and avoided getting hit too much, though he got a couple of good punches in. And he almost got his nose broken by Tueller. And he got a nasty bruised rib.
TUELLER: Tueller ain’t opening much. The closer he gets to Io the more mental armor he’s put on.
STORY: So everybody’s avoiding each other. Great!
STORY: Tueller, are you taking Alejo as your date or does he have to find another way in?
TUELLER: I’m taking Alejo as a bodyguard and date, yes.
STORY: Excellent.
MILLICENT: Millie, presumably, has her own invite and leaves the ship separately of the boys.
TUELLER: Ummm, let’s go back a step.
MILLICENT: She tucks her visor into her clutch.
TUELLER: Has Millie told us ANYTHING?
TUELLER: Mentioned that she’s also going to the wedding?
TUELLER: Because I feel like that’s a conversation that should either happen or NOT happen and then it’s a thing.
MILLICENT: Nope
MILLICENT: She’s not mentioned it
ALEJO: It’s a thing.
MILLICENT: It’s going to be a thing
MILLICENT: She leaves separately of the boys to keep it from being a thing, but her espionage skills are no match for theirs, so it’s up to you two as to whether you notice and decide to approach
STORY: Noma brings the ship down into atmosphere, parks in the designated section. Everybody gets all dolled up and stands silently next to each other in the cargo bay. You’ll have to disembark, then wait for a shuttle to take you to the venue. You’re likely to arrive a few hours ahead of time, if you’d like to get into some trouble on Io. Millie, since you’re being sneaky, presumably you’re going to let the boys leave and will arrive later.
STORY: Which means Alejo and Tueller get to the venue first
TUELLER: Io is made up of wandering domed cities. You park in orbit, then you get into a shuttle without windows that takes you to your destination, which is kept hidden from you.
STORY: When you arrive, you’re scanned by security, which is pretty tight. Tueller’s used to it. Any metal or electronics on your bodies is detected and explanation requested. You also both get a physical patdown. Are you carrying anything other than your suits?
ALEJO: Alejo is not.
TUELLER: Tueller is carrying his alien gloves that resist detection. He is wearing them.
MILLICENT: Millie is carrying a visor.
TUELLER: Ummm, also, Alejo has some implants.
ALEJO: –True!
TUELLER: Also we have shit in our head.
STORY: Yeah, the implants are so standard that security people don’t really pick them up, they just assume he had surgery as a kid or something. The guard does give you a narrowed eyelids look, Alejo.
STORY: “He security?” he asks Tueller.
TUELLER: “_My_ security, yes.”
ALEJO: Alejo plays the role, stiff and somber.
STORY: He nods, letting you both pass.
ALEJO: “You know I’m getting very drunk, right,” Alejo mutters, once they are past the guards.
TUELLER: Tueller stands up straight and tall on Io, looking like he owns the fucking planet.
STORY: You are met at the door by an impatient and imperious looking Esinam. “Tueller.” She hesitates, then looks at Alejo. “You.”
STORY: “I don’t recall an invite for him.”
ALEJO: “Nice to see you too.” He highlights the you.
TUELLER: Tueller kisses Esi on both cheeks. “Family gets a plus one.”
TUELLER: “We’ve always been progressive.”
STORY: “Fine. Keep him out of sight. Spies aren’t much use if everyone knows who they are.”
TUELLER: “I’ll keep the eyes on me.”
STORY: She nods. “Wen’s that way.” And points. “Get me a drink,” she tells Alejo. It isn’t a request.
TUELLER: “Get her a drink.”
TUELLER: “Meet me with Wen.”
TUELLER: To Esi: “You see Serj anywhere? He should have some interesting scarring.”
STORY: She shakes her head. “I don’t want to know.”
TUELLER: “Of course you do. You want to know everything.”
STORY: “Fine, I already know, and officially I don’t know, so don’t fucking talk to me about it.”
TUELLER: “Won’t come from me. You know how pissy the Ndrangheta’s can be.”
STORY: “You will keep that shit contained today. This isn’t the time.”
TUELLER: “I will, absolutely.”
TUELLER: “But you know Wen was there too.”
STORY: “We’ve got security on him. I’ve heard rumblings about assassins, but not more than usual. Keep your eyes open.”
TUELLER: “Always.”
TUELLER: “We’re on a constantly erupting volcano planet in the midst of the greatest criminal organization that has ever been assembled in the solar system. What could go wrong?”
ALEJO: Alejo leaves them be and heads to the bar. He’ll order Esi’s first and second favorite drinks. He’ll bring her the second favorite and hand the first to Tueller, then without saying another word, he’ll slip into the crowd, back towards the bar.
STORY: Esinam cracks a tiny smile.
STORY: “Your friend is cheeky.”
TUELLER: Tueller politely sips his Gibson.
STORY: “I like cheeky. I wonder if Aki would mind,” she says to no one in particular.
TUELLER: “He’s all yours, if you want him.”
TUELLER: “Flirting with the absolutely worst person is kind of his thing.”
STORY: She sips her gimlet. “Oh, perfect. Mine too.”
STORY: She leaves abruptly.
TUELLER: Tueller goes off to find Wen.
TUELLER: He pours out his Gibson into a plant as he goes by and grabs a scotch off the bar that was being served to someone else.
TUELLER: He ignores whatever they say to him.
STORY: You’re at a rather expensive country club. Wen is on the second floor, in a guest room, getting dressed. He’s wearing a red tang suit, with gold embroidery on one shoulder and the opposite bottom hem. It’s very finely made. He’s struggling with the last button, his hands shaking.
STORY: When you open the door, he exhales and rushes to you. “Tueller! Oh man, am I glad to see you.”
TUELLER: “Wen. You’ve made it this far. You must really love her.”
TUELLER: Tueller handles the button for him, swatting his hands away.
STORY: He’s sweating. “I mean, yeah. Yeah, of course. It’s just… your family is terrifying.”
TUELLER: “I’m glad you feel that way. It is true. We could commit gigadeath murder tomorrow if we thought it would profit us. It’s right for you to feel terrified of us.”
TUELLER: “But after the ceremony, we’d commit gigadeath murder for _you_. You can make it to then, you’re family.”
STORY: He laughs, then realizes you aren’t joking, and swallows.
STORY: Let’s find out what Alejo is doing!
ALEJO: Alejo slips by people and gets up to the bar, orders the most expensive scotch in the system and puts it on Tueller’s tab. He then takes a wander around the place, scanning faces and body language for the biggest threats in the room.
STORY: There aren’t many guests here yet, just various security, lower-level family members, and a woman you recognize as Tueller’s most recent ex, Padma. She catches your eye and cocks her head, walking over straight to you.
STORY: “Do I know you?”
TUELLER: —oh shit.
TUELLER: —you bastard.
STORY: She’s smiling, friendly. Trying to jog her memory.
ALEJO: “We definitely should meet, if not.” He picks up a champaign flute from the nearest tray, as it passes him and offers it to her just as she arrives.
STORY: She laughs. “I’m sure we’ve met before. You had… shorter hair?” She holds a hand up to her temple.
STORY: She takes the flute and clinks your glass.
ALEJO: He smiles and takes a drink. “You know Tueller, I think. I know him as well.”
ALEJO: “Impressive memory, though. I think I did have shorter hair when I last had the pleasure of seeing you.”
STORY: She offers her hand. “Padma. I do in fact know Tueller. Does that mean he has arrived?”
ALEJO: He shakes her hand. “Alejo. Very nice to meet you. Yes, he’s around someplace.”
STORY: “Hm.” She looks around for Tueller, and not seeing him, turns back and whispers in your ear. “Mind doing me a favor, Alejo? It would be… uncomfortable to bump into him by accident.”
STORY: She leans back, smiling again. “Help that not happen?”
ALEJO: He smiles back. “Of course. Happy to help.”
STORY: “Fabulous.” She looks about to go on when she’s tapped on the shoulder.
STORY: She turns and embraces an older man. “Musimbwa!”
ALEJO: Alejo steps back to respectfully give them room.
STORY: He hugs her warmly. “And who are you that is so close with my first mate?” He offers a hand. Hasn’t even shaved for the occasion.
ALEJO: He takes it and shakes it warmly. “Alejo. A friend of a friend, I guess you’d say. Nice to meet you.”
STORY: “Fascinating. Nice to meet you as well, my boy. Well. Come tell me everything you know about my nephew.” He gestures to a table.
ALEJO: Alejo heads to the table. “You can probably tell me a lot more than I can you. He’s quite the stoic man of mystery, isn’t he?”
STORY: Millie! You arrive an hour later, once more guests have arrived. You end up having to wait in line rather a while, and are impatient by the time you get there. What kind of shoes are you wearing?
MILLICENT: I think whatever was pushed with the dress. Probably heels because the dress is long, but comfy ones because they’ll be mostly hidden by the dress
MILLICENT: As comfy as heels get
STORY: Roger. They still hurt a bit by the time you get in and get to the bar.
STORY: Speaking of! I need someone to describe the area to me. It’s a country club, sure, but what’s the main building like? Tueller?
TUELLER: The country club is grown out of a single gigantic tree imported from another system, that’s been molded and shaped like the universe’s largest bonsai over the course of a hundred years to have social spaces maximized for interaction.
TUELLER: There are benches and tables carved out of matching wood that fit seamlessly into the space. Each room is designed so that 20-25 people can fit in it at any one time, to maximize interaction amongst guests. Those rooms feed into a couple of larger reception spaces, which then feeds into the hall where the wedding will take place, which is designed after Aya Sofia in Istanbul, but molded out of the still living Alcheran tree.
STORY: Excellent. Millie, how many guests would you say there are? Are they mostly human? Does anyone speak to you in line?
MILLICENT: This is a political gathering, so I think we’re looking at a few hundred, maybe 700 all told. An extremely laid back and cozy gathering, for a Ya’Makasi wedding. Of course, the rest of the resort is sold out and several contemporaneous parties are also happening, so there are probably around two thousand “guests” on the grounds. Hundreds of security. They are mostly human, but alien visitors make up a decent third of the guests. Anyone who can’t be immediately recognized is likely approached to find out where they fit in the evershifting hierarchy of guests and well-wishers.
STORY: Millie, a security guard pulls your visor out of your clutch as he searches it. “What’s this?”
MILLICENT: “Kuwashii aid visor. Helps me view the world around me.”
STORY: The guard looks skeptical. “No tech allowed.”
MILLICENT: “I’m afraid it’s personal aid tech, Mr. ?”
STORY: “Mr. Not Letting You Through, miss. Do you want to drop this off or leave?”
STORY: A hand grasps your elbow, gently. “Mika, Mika. I’m sure the lady needs it, like she said. For personal aid.” You see a rather handsome man, dressed finely, smiling down at you.
MILLICENT: Millie nods firmly.
STORY: “How about I bring this to Bilbo and we see if it’s all right to make an exception?”
STORY: The guard looks skeptical. “You know this woman, Ezio?”
STORY: He smiles. “Not yet, Mika, not yet. But don’t ruin my chances, eh?” He pats the guard on the arm and whisks you through, still holding your visor.
STORY: As you walk, he leans in, his tone less friendly. “Now what is this?”
MILLICENT: “It’s my visor, like I said. You want me to go anywhere, I go with it.”
MILLICENT: Millie shakes her arm free.
STORY: “Fine. You take a step out of line and I’ll snap it in half, understand?”
MILLICENT: “You and your employer have made yourselves perfectly clear.”
MILLICENT: “I wonder, do you consider yourself susceptible to bribery?”
STORY: He ignores your question. “I’m your date. We met… I don’t care where. You make that up.”
STORY: “You don’t leave my sight. I’ll make sure you get the package, you take it from there. You do anything that makes me nervous, you’ll find yourself in a whole new heap of trouble. We clear?”
MILLICENT: Millie nods. “If you touch me again, it’s all off, I make the biggest ruckus I can and then I make it my life’s work to see you cry.” Millie turns and faces Ezio. “Are we clear?”
STORY: “Good.” He kisses your cheek and keeps walking you towards the bar. “We’re gonna get along great.”
MILLICENT: Millie slaps him, loud. Turns heel and heads for the bar. “We’ll see.”
STORY: Ezio rubs his cheek, smiling, and follows you.