Discovery Gaming Community

Full Version: Wolves of Versailles - [Closed]
You're currently viewing a stripped down version of our content. View the full version with proper formatting.


The Ile-de-France System
Aboard Versailles Station
Time Stamp Unavailable



As the airlock door of the Judgement opened, Joseph slowly stepped down the gang-way until he reached the proper flooring of the station. The Prince wore a dark royal blue blazer, a matching vest underneath and a contrasting white dress shirt underneath the vest itself, a matching dark blue tie brought it all together, dark blue slacks and extremely well shined pair of dress shoes. The only thing that stood out was the purple fleur-de-lys of his house pinned to his lapel, and it would only stand out if someone was immediately in front of him.

He drew in a deep breath as he looked around the busy station - a former vacationing spot for him and his family, and now it seemed to be a center of commerce for the Confederation that had usurped his father. He was simultaneously proud, and disappointed. Proud to see that the station still held the life that he once knew, and disappointed that individuals of a corporation that backed the house his people fought against now laid claim to this once beautiful station. He was slightly surprised at the lack of Confederal security aboard the station itself, though he assumed that Interspace was paying a decent chunk of credits to ensure that their own security forces were the ones who were present aboard the station, which made him relax a little bit. After his recent declaration it was probably not wise to step foot within practical inches of a war tribunal, and his ultimate death. But on the other hand... he was practically immune, as the man who he was meeting here today controlled a vast wealth - most likely equal to his families, and anyone who controls a vast fortune like that can easily make sure a man as wanted as the Crown Prince, immune to any sort of imprisonment, after all... what good is money if it can't buy ones freedom?

His royal guard, despite some loud protesting, remained aboard the Judgement. Joseph wanted to meet this man by himself, and as such, he slid his hands into his pockets and began making his way towards the destination. A penthouse suite that used to belong to the Prince himself, no doubt turned into a business office of a rich corporate jock. He didn't bother doing any research on the man he was about to meet, because it intrigued him and he wanted to personally go into this meeting relatively blind, and after the blunder with the Outcasts, he decided to take this approach directly, rather than sending his own double to do it - again, something that was loudly protested by his royal guard.

For all he knew, he was walking into a deadly trap, or a budding relationship that would help restore him to his throne, and he certainly wanted to present himself as trusting, especially to someone who may have well funded the entire war effort to stop his house from completely destroying Bretonia. But why would this Preston man want to talk to him now, after all of these years? He kept his smile as more than a few people stopped and looked at him. No doubt minor nobles.

"Is that?"
"Oui... it is..."
"I thought he was dead."
"Didn't you hear the news about the rebels on Exeter?"

The whispers were music to his ears, though in true deFrance fashion, he ignored them as he continued his stroll. No one was going to touch him, No one was going to stop him. This was his Kingdom.


Preston paced about the suite waiting for the characteristic drone of Amanda’s intercom ring to signal his guest’s arrival. While the choice of meeting location was not entirely surprising, it told him much about the Prince’s character given Versaille’s current possessors. Of course, this was not to say Preston had a favorable attitude himself.

His temporary accommodations were sparse compared to the likely luxurious furnishings the room once held. A simple mahogany desk loomed in the center of the room, likely a former reception room, with Amanda’s arrangements outside the door leading to a poorly-traveled, almost shunned hallway, which he preferred. Windows flanked the room from either side until reaching a broad double-door leading to the remainder of the penthouse, which had been abandoned by the station’s occupants for some time. Preston had little interest in exploring further, but his brief foray into its ill-maintained depths assured him he was likely to be left alone.

In front of the desk were four leather chairs surrounding a conspicuously lavish round carpet depicting the various astronomical objects plotted throughout the system with New Paris at its core. A broad gold circle encompassed the planet with equally broad paths leading from it in each cardinal direction, a highly suggestive design that encouraged one to walk around the capital instead of on it. One of the chairs had a tall, curved back carved with the Crown’s sigil carved onto it with simple velvet accents. While Preston originally considered it a bit uncouth, he was not inclined to unearth other options from deeper in the penthouse’s catacombs. It was impossible to know what may be inspiring or insulting to a man brazen enough to announce himself to the world as the Price had done. The various wall spaces between the larger window sections likely held tapestries given the faded silk wallpaper in suspiciously rectangular patterns. Preston wondered to himself what stories the Royal Family may have chosen to memorialize.

The Judgment loomed outside, but he did not expect an immediate audience. The purple docking lights were lit, Florian’s typical method of letting Preston know its passengers had departed, and his nervousness was palpable when he reported on the Prince’s entourage several hours earlier. A simple man, but a loyal one. Preston stood at the nearest window to the desk, cupping an old book behind his back. Its spine crinkled as he flexed his fingers in thought, the cover well-worn and cracked with age. His right index finger rifled against its pages, their gilded edges brushing smoothly against his nail.
Amanda’s voice echoed in the reception room, likely magnified by its lack of furnishing.

“Laurie, a visitor.”

Preston smiled to himself without turning from the window. Amanda was the only one brave enough to call him Laurie in public. Over the years, he had come to admire it.

“Of course, Amanda, see him in. And refreshments if you don’t mind.”