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"Mère, we'll be translating into Galileo shortly. Sensors remain clear." Marie-Madeline Cartier, eldest daughter of Yolande Cartier, keyed her in-helmet microphone, piping her sing-song voice directly to the matriarch's quarters. Within, the svelte, well-cared-for figure pondered near-innumerable options for her meeting. Shutting her eyes, Yolande simply ran her hand along the multitudes of hanging gowns, dresses, and suits, eventually tightening her grip and pulling one free at random. With the lights inside kept to a bare minimum, the interior was illuminated primarily by the flashes of jumphole travel. The deckplates groaned slightly as the Taureau traversed lightyears in seconds, before coming to rest once more within the dark, dank confines of the Galileo system.

"Merci, ma fille." Compared to her boisterous daughter, Yolande herself was nearly inaudible. She'd always been one of the most approachable Corsican family heads, more than willing to negotiate with the Maquis in one moment, and Ile-de-France Shipping the next, always treating those who would garner her favor to a kind, motherly tone. That behavior had served her well for many, many years, from the depths of Marseilles to the confines of Clairvaux, and she silently hoped it would garner the favor of this "Josie" as well.

"Josie..." she mused, a smile playing at her lips. "Very cute." Rolling the fabric over in her hands, her smile grew larger. The exact same dress she'd worn on the night the King fled, the night Gallia was turned upside-down, the night she simply strolled from her prison and returned to the stars. Midnight-black, hiding everything she'd prefer to reveal later, and at the same time, placing everything a young man would love to see on display. Slithering her way into the gown, a matching pair of stiletto heels were slipped into, clacking against the deckplates. The engines groaned as Marie spurred them to action once more, pushing the frigate towards the foreboding, inky blackness of the Raiden.

The slightest shift in gravity tugged the mature woman to one side of the ship, then the other as the Taureau straightened out once more. Regaining her footing, Yolande took the shift in stride, coming to rest in front of a large painting of the Marseilles skyline, the once-sunken cities towering over the surface of the endless oceans. "Révèle-toi." The words dripped from her lips like honey, as though she was speaking to her closest lover. In response, the painting shimmered slightly, before disappearing altogether, revealing the thick, heavy door to a safe concealed behind. The locks disengaged with a cla-clunk, and the door swung open, rows upon rows of silver cylinders held neatly in wooden racks. The majority were adorned with an orange, enameled ring, and stamped with a Maltese cross, with the remainder left bare save for the bandana-bedecked symbol of the Corse. Slim, well-manicured fingertips brushed a pair of cylinders, these significantly longer and thinner, approximating the shape of Kusarian hairpins. Withdrawing the pair, Yolande shook her hair back over her shoulders, before pinning her silky locks into a rough bun with the gleaming rods.

The armored frigate plunged into the inky depths of the Raiden in earnest, flashes of lightning casting long, eerie shadows across the cabin. The Taureau was no slouch, to be certain: it had ferried thousands of renowned Gallic Marines into the hulls of Bretonian capital ships, where rifles and bayonets took a grisly toll upon their sailors. Compared to the rough-cut silhouette in the distance, outlined against the black by a particularly vicious dark matter storm, Yolande's conveyance was nearly dwarfed.

"I'm picking up another vessel on sensors, Mère. I believe we have arrived."

Silent as a ghost, Yolande had made her way to the command deck, her dress swishing behind her, partially exposing the trim legs the woman tried so hard to maintain. Resting a hand on Marie's shoulder, her daughter glanced up, before returning her gaze to the scanning display.

"I believe you're right, chère. On your best behavior."

Brief flashes of ionized lightning could be seen crackling from within the cloud, which appeared stagnant on the outside, rolling and churning within, shifting with the added presence of the Taureau. However, oddly, the storm seemed to calm the closer to the coordinates the ship would travel. The signature of the vessel that appeared was indeed that which belonged to a Scylla. The "Innocent Slaughter", was revealed through an explosion of fiery orange as lightning crashed down upon it's shields, sending streaks of color throughout the silent grey. the large vessel drifted forward, the clouds clinging to its front before rolling over its sides as the lumbering beast moved forward toward the Tareau. A purposefully imposing design to be sure, it came to a stop directly in front of the gallic vessel, then all was still.

In the moments preceding a feed being opened, as the visuals were still blurry, trying desperately to paint an image. A voice emerged, similar to that of the man she had spoken to over the comm link. Though the faulty link gave it a much less refined tone, screeching slightly which sounded much more like a growl on her end.

"You came without escort. I'm surprised."

The image finally stabilized along with the harmonics, the storm wasn't doing them any favors in that regard. The image revealed a man seemingly in his early thirties, with a deep red cybernetic hidden beneath thick and wild deep brown locks of hair that fell down over the left side of his shaven face, brought behind his shoulders into a loose braid, leaving bangs in his face. Surprisingly well kept for a pirate, it would seem he'd dressed for the occasion, black suit with burgundy patterning depicting roses and their thorny stems in woven patterns. And what seemed to be a silken undershirt, same coloring as the roses. His scarred right hand rested neatly in front of him on a railing, his left tucked into the pocket of his dress pants.

"How was your trip?"

The gravity generators aboard the Taureau worked overtime to keep the ship stable as Marie angled the nose of the craft just off-center from the Scylla. Despite her skill, she preferred never to be backed into a corner, and always desired a way out, just in case. Deft fingers danced over consoles, narrowing the communications frequency until the half-animated image of Rogue mastermind finally rendered itself visible. Reaching for the communications panel, the younger woman quickly depressed a toggle labelled faire taire, before locking eyes with her mother once more.

"We should've brought Vivienne and a flight of Jaguars, we're-" The statement was cut short, interrupted by a disapproving glare and a few muttered words from Yolande.

"I was clear, Marie. Best behavior. Restore the transmission, rapidement." Returning her gaze to the viewscreen, Yolande offered a gentle smile, followed by a regal curtsy. Much was at stake in this meeting, far more than simple credits, and the well-experienced matriarch would not see it spoiled by the mouthing-off of a scared young woman. The mute toggle was switched off, and Yolande began her long-practiced diplomatic dance.

"An escort was hardly necessary, monsieur. I prefer to tread lightly, whenever possible. Cause no trouble, and no trouble will arrive at your doorstep." Contrary to the rough, gruff, static-filled transmission emanating from the Scylla, Yolande's own communications beam was far more focused, no doubt a result of extensive modifications to her ship. As her home away from home, her office, and her chariot, it wouldn't serve to be out of communication with her daughters and soldiers because of simple things such as range or interference. As such, her own visage was rendered in near-perfect detail to her future partner.

"As for the trip, thankfully uneventful. A boring day is a safe day." Yolande began to take in the view of the well-dressed Rogue, looking as resplendent as possible for someone in his position. She was certainly impressed, most she had spoken to considered the Rogues to be uncouth barbarians, suitable only for menial legwork the Maltese were too aloof to be bothered with. "The rumors I've heard of your men did not paint them as such a group of... messieurs distingués. To see those words rendered untrue is vindicating, to say the least." Resting a hand over her breast, Yolande offered another gleaming-white smile, light playing from the silver pins run through her hair.

"Mon ami, if it pleases you, may I come in?"

As the feed cut and the Taureau angled to the side, the man's gaze was very clearly drawn to it almost immediately, he didn't need to say anything. His eyes cast back upon the feed on his end, staring into the nothingness as he awaited its return, another imposing design emerged from the dark from underneath the Scylla, angular with a tight array of fins towards its tri engines, and two massive tubes running along either side of its underbelly. It moved directly in the path of the Taureau, though its weapons array didn't scan as active, it hovered in place before the vessel. Seeming to be a wordless gesture.

Another flash of lightning revealed several dark spots of varying shapes in the area around them, red lights and tall figures. Some thin, some longer like the vessel in front, and some both, Sirian designs were rather blunt, but they got the point across. Signatures scattered all over the scanner as their vessels came online, seemingly they had been waiting in the dark to avoid sensor readings. An indication that he had come very prepared, though what exactly for, wasn't an indication given.

His gaze deepened as it stared through the screen, an unamused look on his face as he stared forward in complete and total silence, the only movement from him was slight movements of the hand on the rail. They had both seen the display unfold, an analytical gaze had appeared as he studied the Gallic woman on the other hand. This was either a game to him, or an assertion of power dynamics. Or maybe it was neither, he wasn't spouting off, no ultimatums, he wasn't giving a reply, an unnerving silence fell over the communication uplink as he watched and waited, for what, who knows.

Inquisitive eyes tracked the bombers and snubcraft moving to surround Yolande's ship. Were the Scylla the only vessel in her path, perhaps her daughter could have forced past, leveraging the thick slabs of heavily-reinforced armor and superior maneuverability of the Taureau to flee further into the field and into Colorado. She was no friend of the local Navy and Police, not yet, but it was likely this Rogue was even less so. Now, though, flight was no longer on the menu. The only way out was through. Yolande's smile never once wavered as she gently patted Marie's shoulder, half as reassurance, and half in the measure of I told you so. A subtle gesture, but not so subtle as to be imperceptible. The matriarch had specifically requested Vivienne and her flight of Jaguar Noirs remain at Monaco, and been forced to harshly chastise the child in the Taus, after catching the squadron trailing her Taureau at a distance.

Her daughter seemed fit to burst into tears, having rarely experienced such a lopsided situation. Marie was no débutante to the world of combat, quite the opposite, but she'd never encountered an event such as this. The criminal underbelly of Gallia would never dare put on such a display of force, not with her family, nor any other Corsican. As though expecting the cloud of snubcraft to fire at any moment, the young woman nearly leapt from her skin as her mother spoke once more.

"Quite an impressive fleet, Josie. I'm sure the fédéraliste have quickly learned to fear it." The remainder of her comment, but I do not, was left unsaid. The Roi of old often flaunted their military might in order to force the woman into submission, and it had not once succeeded. In Gallia, Yolande's services were far too valuable to lose over simple posturing. She was playing a dangerous game, however: an unfamiliar woman, in an unfamiliar land, negotiating with a group of unfamiliar brigands and scoundrels who would lose nothing by snuffing her out. All that kept her alive, and had kept her alive through the years, was that smile, and the promise of something better.

The area around them remained electrified by the stand off, not just because of the storm. His head cocked ever so slowly to the side as the prestigious gallic woman kept a cool head even despite the looming threat quite literally surrounding her. He knew when someone was putting on a face to deny their fears, this wasn't one of those times. His right hand slipped from the railing as his red eye cast away from the camera to speak a name. The Scylla began backing away, turning its massive side to the Taureau, as a symbol was revealed on the side of the large frontal wedge. Two lines of fanged jaws, surrounding the central mark that the communication had displayed.

"Drop the shields, clear the bay."

The shield that was previously unseen to the naked eye cracked, the front of the dome split, fading into fiery hexagonal patterns that rippled from the front all the way to the back as the vessel's shield de-activated as per the command. The bulky bomber that stood in the Taureu's path swerved and made its way back to the Scylla's underbelly to re-enter the hangar. The many vessels either re-joining the cruiser or fading off into the dark storm to whatever business they had to attend. He had considered they may simply leave now, though he imagined the woman hadn't come this far to tuck tail and run at such a minor inconvenience. His gaze returned to the camera briefly to utter words to Yolande directly, before he was seen walking off from the feed, the feed itself fizzled out shortly after.

"I'll see you inside shortly."

The communications channel was overtaken by static, a grating hiss filling the bridge of her Taureau before Yolande switched the system off. Turning to face her still-pale daughter, the loving smile she had worn previously slipped into a displeased scowl. Her sweet voice soon turned to a sour hiss as she addressed the much-younger woman.

"I will not allow a petulant child to destroy what I've worked for, Marie. You will remain on the ship, complètement silencieux, until I say otherwise." Turning, stiletto heels clacked against the deck, sounding much more vicious than previous. "Perhaps, someday, you will learn enough to assume my position. I suspect that day will not come for a long while. Nettoyez-vous." With a swish of her dress, Yolande departed the bridge for the cargo hold.

"B-bien sûr, maman..." Marie squeaked out her pathetic reply, long after Yolande had departed earshot. With trembling hands, she spurred the Taureau forward, before bucking the ship to the side, opposite the direction of the Scylla, and began to extend the docking collar. It was a maneuver she'd completed hundreds of times, but with the raw adrenaline coursing through her, the task took longer than usual. Many years had passed since the prodigal daughter had truly suffered the wrath of her mother, and it was an experience she would prefer not to repeat. On rainy days, the scars still ached.

Yolande's regal stroll morphed to a purposeful trot as she descended to the expansive hold of the vessel. Much of the interior was occupied by reinforcing braces and auxiliary shield generators, installed on the off-chance diplomacy failed. They had long since gone unused, her oratory skills honed to a degree that permitted negotiations among both ne'er-do-wells and upstanding citizens, without an ensuing firefight. Still, they inspired a degree of self-assurance, and much of her business hinged solely on projecting a confident air. As she entered the hold, the heavy bootfalls of a companion soon joined her own delicate stride. Without even a glance, Yolande began to address the new arrival.

"Marie is going to be the death of me, Arnaud." Gone was the angry tone she had taken with her daughter, her voice returning to its neutral state. Approaching a climate controlled crate, she beckoned for her partner to unseal it. As he did so, the bulky ex-Royal Police guardsman cocked his head at the older woman, a grin tugging at the corners of his mouth.

"I very much doubt that, madame. I suspect you'll be dying of nothing but natural causes, at home on Marseilles, many years from now." Fishing a small, wooden box emblazoned with a blind Moor from the crate, Yolande held out a hand, relieving her friend of it, before tucking the box under one arm. Turning away, Arnaud quickly resealed the container, before offering a deep, reverent bow to his employer. "I would wish you the best of luck, if I knew you believed in it."

"You know my thoughts on the subject, Arnaud." Yolande spoke quietly, approaching the entrance to the docking tunnel. A single yellow light shone above it, indicating that the connection was establishing the appropriate interior pressure. Moments later, it turned to a vibrant green, illuminating the cargo bay. Taking a step forward, the airlock door cycled, then opened with a hiss, revealing an empty tunnel directly to the Rogue vessel. Adjusting her posture just slightly, Yolande began to stroll across, leaving Arnaud alone in the bay once more.

"I do. Je provoque ma propre chance."

The hull on the other side creaked and groaned, as if a boarding in this manner had not taken place in a long time, perhaps ever. As Yolande made her way down the tunnel, the other side opened up as well, the doors emitted an uncomfortable screech as they slid open, giving evidence to suggest they had indeed not opened in quite a long time. There was no one on the other side, at least not within eyeshot of the door. Footsteps could be heard echoing from afar. Once the threshold had been cleared, Yolande would find herself at the port wall of the Scylla's hangar, upon a platform that stood above the vessels parked in a line below. All parked in their respective varying places with crates around and pilots tinkering away at their vessels. The southern wall held two pairs of massive doors into a room that was seemingly the launch and entry pad, sealing and re-opening opposite each other as unique and varied vessels of the same design, yet drastically different came and went. While the interior was certainly chaotic, and had no real uniformity to its operation, it was all well kept, and void of anything other than the grime one would expect from a pirate hangar.

From her left side, a side door into a dark and narrow hallway with a plethora of exposed wiring with dim overhead lights all the way down with a metal catwalk serving as the hallway's floor, came the well dressed and neatly prepared man, he had come alone to meet her, much different than what she had just been faced with outside. His crimson eye peered over her form first, noting height, posture and stance, though for Yolande it would likely look as if he was analyzing feature. His eyes lifted to the box briefly before back to her eyes. His lips parted slightly, revealing pristine teeth behind the veil as he began to speak, the tone much different in person, away from faulty comm links. The voice was lower, much, much smoother, as if ice, with a darker tone, that gave it a cold, yet refined resonance.

"It would seem Gallia brought me a gift in the form of guest. Welcome."

Yolande winced slightly at the shrill squeal of the opposing airlock. For the first time since departing Gallia, a jolt of fear shot up her spine: fear not of her opposition, nor of the political fallout should her negotiations be discovered by the remainder of the Corsican families, but of the poorly-maintained atmospheric seals failing, leaving the woman at the mercy of the vacuum of space. Taking half a moment to recover, she stepped onto the Scylla proper, drinking in the interior within seconds. The only similarity between her vessel and that of the Rogues was the lighting. At once, the scent of oil, fuel, sweat, and unwashed bodies accosted a nose accustomed to hideously-expensive perfumes and constantly-recycled, highly-filtrated air. Suppressing the desire to clap a hand over her mouth and nose, the footfalls of a new arrival reached her ears. Turning to face Hemlocke for the first time, Yolande pushed the leering gaze of the surrounding Rogues out of her mind, focusing entirely on the approaching man. He certainly did not carry himself like a half-brained thug, and that eerie red eye distracted the diplomat for just a moment. She had no reason to fear this being, and yet there was something profoundly wrong with him, something that tickled her mind in all the wrong places.

"It would seem Gallia brought me a gift in the form of guest. Welcome."

Brave face. A smile, and a brave face, that's the ticket. With only the slightest hesitation, Yolande began to more closely approach the new arrival, an eerie silence descending over the hangar bay. Whether that silence actually existed, or was simply a product of concentration, Yolande certainly couldn't tell. Tucking the box more tightly under one arm, the matriarch forced herself to relax slightly, releasing the tension she'd been holding in her shoulders.

"And it would seem Liberty has provided a gift of her own. A pleasure to finally meet you, Josie." Holding out a hand, the glow from that cybernetic eye washed over her, tinging her fair skin a gentle pink. "I understand this is a more traditional method of greeting someone in your House. Perhaps we'll attempt the Gallic method of saying au revoir when I depart." Speaking provided an outlet for her slowly-rising levels of stress, and Yolande soon found herself slipping back into her calm, diplomatic persona, awaiting the response of the predator just before her. She quietly hoped that response didn't involve the violent removal of her hand from her arm.

The crimson eye cast over the extended arm, before a concerning movement of the head to the side to glance off toward the ships idly, as if disinterested. Unlike the others on board, he was surprisingly clean, yet there was no identifiable scent, lacking cologne or perfume of any kind, his lip slightly lifted to bare a look of displeasure before his head tilted, returning to stare at Yolande for a time as she spoke her words of "traditions". she'd studied the place she had come to, and yet to the man before her, normality, tradition, pleasantries, all meant very little. An uncomfortable silence followed for a few moments in time as he put her under a lens, dissecting her tone, posture, word choice and general behavior.

His left hand out stretched after the intense gaze he had given, instead of shaking it, with great care, and a surprisingly delicate touch despite the many scars that coated his hand, he lifted it toward his face as his head lowered to meet it midway. Offering a gentle kiss as if they had met within Gallia, a move that would likely help to kill any remaining tension for Yolande, who was so far away from home and very clearly on edge. His eyes opened shortly after, his head slowly raised as he let the hand back into its previous position to look at her face and study it, the two were at about the same height, her heels doing much to bring her up to his level. His lips parted again with the a slight side-shift of his face.

"You'll find I'm not very fond of our traditions."

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