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+--- Thread: Just an extraordinary visa interview (/showthread.php?tid=169467)
RE: Just an extraordinary visa interview - Sombs - 08-30-2019
This was an absolute eye candy. The glazing, the ice cream. It was definitely worth dealing with all these strong scents of cheese, fish, garlic and butter of the previous meals, just to look at this masterfully prepared tarte tatin. Ezrael had no idea how this was called, and since nobody else said it, in the funny way the name was pronounced - like a very french gatling gun - he dodged the opportunity to giggle about the gallic language's quirks. The fruits were soaked with slightly buttery caramel and their own juices and the ice cream was slowly melting. Waiting for the amiral to do the first move, he followed suit. Maybe he should try to do one himself when there is another big off-time on the ship.
"Admittedly," he began after swallowing the first bite, mostly eyeing the ice cream sliding closer to the bottom-up cake, "When I came here, I was expecting the worst, despite what Sombra told me about you. Simply because of the different levels of power. My crew is probably on edge right now, since this meeting took longer than expected. They are just waiting for something to happen, to react. Any wrong move and my ship would have left the area within a minute."
He scooped up some ice cream. "... if they stick to the protocols I wrote, that is." And it went into his mouth. Chewing, swallowing and then taking a sip of the Armagnac. "When we left the Core, I needed a few months until I realized I had to rewrite all the protocols and guidelines. After all, we are fully on our own. No fleet, no bases, not even snubs or bombers. The Core, and I believe most other factions and house militaries, have multiple groups of assets they can rely on. But the Apahanta is alone. Makes you wonder how your crew has to react in certain cases. What if the Captain dies. What if there is a hostile take-over? What if the ship got hacked? What if, what if, what if. What if the Captain got kidnapped."
Leaning back, he eyed Isabelle again. "The question is, when is the crew allowed to give up? When are they to leave the ship? Are we going to rescue our crew members in very dangerous situations at the risk of even more crew members and the ship? My guess is that your military has already established guidelines long ago. I wonder if you had to bother with these questions. I assume yes. If not on that level, then on another level. The war, and how many gallic soldier lives are worth continuing it. When to stop, what to do if this and that happens..."
Shaking the glass a little bit to create little Armagnac waves, he chuckled and smirked at her. "Luckily I've been treated well here, amiral. All the tension and worries for nothing, as I sit here, enjoy a very exquisite lunch with the so far most charming gallic amiral I've met." Raising the glass, the Curacaoan nodded at her. "Cheers!"
"Admittedly," he began after swallowing the first bite, mostly eyeing the ice cream sliding closer to the bottom-up cake, "When I came here, I was expecting the worst, despite what Sombra told me about you. Simply because of the different levels of power. My crew is probably on edge right now, since this meeting took longer than expected. They are just waiting for something to happen, to react. Any wrong move and my ship would have left the area within a minute."
He scooped up some ice cream. "... if they stick to the protocols I wrote, that is." And it went into his mouth. Chewing, swallowing and then taking a sip of the Armagnac. "When we left the Core, I needed a few months until I realized I had to rewrite all the protocols and guidelines. After all, we are fully on our own. No fleet, no bases, not even snubs or bombers. The Core, and I believe most other factions and house militaries, have multiple groups of assets they can rely on. But the Apahanta is alone. Makes you wonder how your crew has to react in certain cases. What if the Captain dies. What if there is a hostile take-over? What if the ship got hacked? What if, what if, what if. What if the Captain got kidnapped."
Leaning back, he eyed Isabelle again. "The question is, when is the crew allowed to give up? When are they to leave the ship? Are we going to rescue our crew members in very dangerous situations at the risk of even more crew members and the ship? My guess is that your military has already established guidelines long ago. I wonder if you had to bother with these questions. I assume yes. If not on that level, then on another level. The war, and how many gallic soldier lives are worth continuing it. When to stop, what to do if this and that happens..."
Shaking the glass a little bit to create little Armagnac waves, he chuckled and smirked at her. "Luckily I've been treated well here, amiral. All the tension and worries for nothing, as I sit here, enjoy a very exquisite lunch with the so far most charming gallic amiral I've met." Raising the glass, the Curacaoan nodded at her. "Cheers!"
RE: Just an extraordinary visa interview - Lanakov - 09-18-2019
The most charming Gallic amiral. Unbidden, the image of contre-amiral de Justéton sprung to her mind. Not any image, too ; the last time she saw him. She was bleeding out on the floor of a conference room back in Paris, and he was being dragged away by security, gun still smoking, his impenetrable facade of calmness barely flushed. She had rarely felt so alone in her admittedly lonely existence. She shook her head slightly to dispel the memory, and forced a smile onto her lips to honour Vertiga's clear attempt to please her. His words concerning the Apahanta's loneliness had struck a chord.
"Cheers" she replied, raising her own glass at him. The motion made her wound hurt. When DOES it end ?... "When does it end, is what you're asking. Military analysts and doctrine specialists have been losing their hair over that question, you know. I'll give you what they came up with, very long ago ; it's been present in every one of our military manuals throughout the generations and is among the first things you learn. Let's see... It's something like this : "surrender is not authorised until all means of combat have run out". Something to that effect, and probably more dramatic than that. In short : it ends when it cannot go on. Sounds simple, does it not ? I would go on : it ends, when it has no more cause to go on. It's like a fire, if you would. You need the spark, you need the fuel, you need an oxidant. Run out of either, the fuel dies down..." She scooped up just enough ice cream and the precise amount of pie needed to achieve a 50/50 ratio in her spoon, and brought the carefully assembled result into her mouth. This took about two seconds, and not a drop was lost.
"You're right in that these are ancient questions, and the solutions, though ancient themselves, are constantly reevaluated and undergo subtle modifications as needed. All is written, all is prepared, the sacro-saint procedure removes us from the need to think about existential notions like knowing when to stop fighting. In theory, that is... In practice, and you're probably among those who know it best, there exists what we call the cas non conforme, or non-compliant case. This is when something happens outside of established procedure, or when said procedure fails to solve a problem. That's when we have to rely on intuition, observation, analysis, and initiative. You've probably seen the massive battleship parked right outside this station when you parked. This was designed according to a doctrine stipulating that Gallic flagships were supposed to be able to take on any threat AND act as surface bombardment platforms. This last part lead to a great many issues in regards to practicability and effectiveness. Hence the Triumph destroyer, cobbled together in mere months by our design bureaux. The designers didn't even try to disguise its purpose. Just to give you an example out of many others..." She paused.
"I imagine your life is one giant succession of non-compliant cases, and from what you told me, I feel you'll spend that life fixing them as they come. And one will probably end up killing you. However, you're still alive ; I can't begin to imagine the extend of your adaptational skills... Again, and this is not a job offer, but you'd make an excellent intelligence operative." She paused again, pulling the same spoon ritual as before.
"What do you reckon your people would do just now if you were never to walk out of this station ?"
"Cheers" she replied, raising her own glass at him. The motion made her wound hurt. When DOES it end ?... "When does it end, is what you're asking. Military analysts and doctrine specialists have been losing their hair over that question, you know. I'll give you what they came up with, very long ago ; it's been present in every one of our military manuals throughout the generations and is among the first things you learn. Let's see... It's something like this : "surrender is not authorised until all means of combat have run out". Something to that effect, and probably more dramatic than that. In short : it ends when it cannot go on. Sounds simple, does it not ? I would go on : it ends, when it has no more cause to go on. It's like a fire, if you would. You need the spark, you need the fuel, you need an oxidant. Run out of either, the fuel dies down..." She scooped up just enough ice cream and the precise amount of pie needed to achieve a 50/50 ratio in her spoon, and brought the carefully assembled result into her mouth. This took about two seconds, and not a drop was lost.
"You're right in that these are ancient questions, and the solutions, though ancient themselves, are constantly reevaluated and undergo subtle modifications as needed. All is written, all is prepared, the sacro-saint procedure removes us from the need to think about existential notions like knowing when to stop fighting. In theory, that is... In practice, and you're probably among those who know it best, there exists what we call the cas non conforme, or non-compliant case. This is when something happens outside of established procedure, or when said procedure fails to solve a problem. That's when we have to rely on intuition, observation, analysis, and initiative. You've probably seen the massive battleship parked right outside this station when you parked. This was designed according to a doctrine stipulating that Gallic flagships were supposed to be able to take on any threat AND act as surface bombardment platforms. This last part lead to a great many issues in regards to practicability and effectiveness. Hence the Triumph destroyer, cobbled together in mere months by our design bureaux. The designers didn't even try to disguise its purpose. Just to give you an example out of many others..." She paused.
"I imagine your life is one giant succession of non-compliant cases, and from what you told me, I feel you'll spend that life fixing them as they come. And one will probably end up killing you. However, you're still alive ; I can't begin to imagine the extend of your adaptational skills... Again, and this is not a job offer, but you'd make an excellent intelligence operative." She paused again, pulling the same spoon ritual as before.
"What do you reckon your people would do just now if you were never to walk out of this station ?"
RE: Just an extraordinary visa interview - Sombs - 09-21-2019
Mirroring her eating habits as usual, he ended up smirking the moment she talked about adaption skills. Even more when she asked this exact question. Leaning back, Ezrael put the spoon aside for the moment. There wasn't much left on the plate anyway.
So what would they do? "That mostly depends on how much they consider me as essential, really," the Curacaoan began, adjusting his leather jacket slightly with a hand. "As I mentioned earlier, there are protocols, and if they stick to those protocols, they just leave, gather information, intel and work on a plan. That plan could be about how to rescue me, or it could be about how to deal as much damage as possible to you to make you understand that a lonely battleship can still be a great threat to deal with. They could capture a gallic VIP, ambush supply lines, launch Hit & Run manouvers where you wouldn't expect it. Things you can imagine yourself, amiral. The point of it being to make clear that there is much less benefit in causing trouble."
For a moment, he had to wonder about her asking about this. Maybe she was actually considering any of this. Maybe she was not. Was he in danger? What if the food was poisoned and she tried to blackmail him for the antidote? Luckily these thoughts were locked up behind his charming countenance. "On the other hand, the question is what you think you would gain from going down that road."
It was a question he wanted her to answer.
So what would they do? "That mostly depends on how much they consider me as essential, really," the Curacaoan began, adjusting his leather jacket slightly with a hand. "As I mentioned earlier, there are protocols, and if they stick to those protocols, they just leave, gather information, intel and work on a plan. That plan could be about how to rescue me, or it could be about how to deal as much damage as possible to you to make you understand that a lonely battleship can still be a great threat to deal with. They could capture a gallic VIP, ambush supply lines, launch Hit & Run manouvers where you wouldn't expect it. Things you can imagine yourself, amiral. The point of it being to make clear that there is much less benefit in causing trouble."
For a moment, he had to wonder about her asking about this. Maybe she was actually considering any of this. Maybe she was not. Was he in danger? What if the food was poisoned and she tried to blackmail him for the antidote? Luckily these thoughts were locked up behind his charming countenance. "On the other hand, the question is what you think you would gain from going down that road."
It was a question he wanted her to answer.
RE: Just an extraordinary visa interview - Lanakov - 09-25-2019
Chanteloup displayed an enigmatic smile. Vertiga had clearly taken her words as a threat, which, for once, was not her intention... But in retrospect, she could easily understand the reaction. They weren't two old friends just chatting it up after an exquisite, prolonged meal. She had been curious about her crew's existence once bereft of their charismatic leader, but his reply told her a great deal of information, and brought her back to reality.
Of this, she said nothing, content to remain fixated on her co-diner, this ambiguous smile printed on her features as she let the seconds pass.
"Humour me, if you would", she finally consented to reply. "If I had meant to seize you upon your arrival here... Do you reckon you'd be sitting comfortably at my table at this very second ?" She barked her customary, vigorous laughter, an indication the meal had healed her up quite well. Coffees were brought up by a maître d'hôtel who clearly had no intention of lingering any longer than was necessary. The room filled with the strong, vivid smell of freshly brewed coffee that powered her through any ordeal. "Make no mistake, you're a pleasant enough companion and significantly more learned and eloquent than the vast majority of the Sirians I've had to endure thus far. I suppose I could have my fearsome maître d'hôtel here arrest you on the spot (the poor man was just laying down the coffee cups and made every attempt to ignore what was being said about him), but then I'd need to feed you regularly and contend with these shadowy Order scoundrels, not to mention your very pissed-off crew. And there is a finite amount of hours in a day, to my eternal regret."
She took a sip of her steaming hot coffee, and lit up a cigarette. She just now realised she hadn't smoked for what seemed like ages. And also, how long it had been since Vertiga stepped aboard Cordes. There was a universe currently moving out there, and she felt a sense of urgency creep up within her. Or rather, return to her after a remarkable absence. She had to get back to that universe at some point.
"Don't worry. You've passed the test. I'll walk you back to your ship once we're done with our coffees to demonstrate that no ambushes await you on the way. I'm a woman of my word. Got any questions or idle thoughts ? It may be a while before we meet again." Her staccato, to-the-point manner of speaking had returned.
Of this, she said nothing, content to remain fixated on her co-diner, this ambiguous smile printed on her features as she let the seconds pass.
"Humour me, if you would", she finally consented to reply. "If I had meant to seize you upon your arrival here... Do you reckon you'd be sitting comfortably at my table at this very second ?" She barked her customary, vigorous laughter, an indication the meal had healed her up quite well. Coffees were brought up by a maître d'hôtel who clearly had no intention of lingering any longer than was necessary. The room filled with the strong, vivid smell of freshly brewed coffee that powered her through any ordeal. "Make no mistake, you're a pleasant enough companion and significantly more learned and eloquent than the vast majority of the Sirians I've had to endure thus far. I suppose I could have my fearsome maître d'hôtel here arrest you on the spot (the poor man was just laying down the coffee cups and made every attempt to ignore what was being said about him), but then I'd need to feed you regularly and contend with these shadowy Order scoundrels, not to mention your very pissed-off crew. And there is a finite amount of hours in a day, to my eternal regret."
She took a sip of her steaming hot coffee, and lit up a cigarette. She just now realised she hadn't smoked for what seemed like ages. And also, how long it had been since Vertiga stepped aboard Cordes. There was a universe currently moving out there, and she felt a sense of urgency creep up within her. Or rather, return to her after a remarkable absence. She had to get back to that universe at some point.
"Don't worry. You've passed the test. I'll walk you back to your ship once we're done with our coffees to demonstrate that no ambushes await you on the way. I'm a woman of my word. Got any questions or idle thoughts ? It may be a while before we meet again." Her staccato, to-the-point manner of speaking had returned.
RE: Just an extraordinary visa interview - Sombs - 10-03-2019
It was sobering. For a moment, Ezrael thought about how much of this was just part of her test. On the other hand, he was pretty sure there were multiple moments where she was not acting as the gallic amiral but as a woman who liked the kind of attention he gave her. It had to. After everything she had gone through.
The coffee was hot. It was slightly awkward to know that the only thing between them and the end of this meeting was the fact that the coffee was almost too hot to drink right away. Instead he watched her lighting up her cigarette. Judging by the amount of what she usually smoked, he had to wonder whether her clothes were smelling after it. Her bureau certainly did, while this canteen just happened to have had plenty of other sources of scents and smells, some more pleasant than the others, at least to him.
He would definitely need to take something for his stomach. Not only was it a lot to... stomach, but also a lot of food he usually didn't eat. And the coffee surely would make him want to pee rather soon. Her probably aswell. Did she have her own toilet here on Cordes? Probably. He had his own bathroom on the Apahanta, too. Well, if he wasn't sharing his quarters with Noel and Sombra, that is.
Chanteloup would notice an empty stare in his eyes as he smirked at her, wondering about all these questions before he realized how much adrift his thoughts were. The smoke of her cigarette was rising to the ceiling, disappearing in the air. And soon they would disappear from each other, probably for a long time. Maybe Isabelle would disappear forever after this. Possibly dying in battle. Possibly.
Prolonged silence. She had asked him for any remaining questions, but he only answered with thoughtful silence.
"Nothing as of yet. I'll think of something, just to make sure you'll need to mark another date for a meeting with me." He smirked in his typical way. "That means falling in battle is inacceptable. If you do, you and me, we'll have a problem."
Having forgotten about how hot the coffee was, he took a sip, and as it burned his tongue and mouth, he kept up the faccade to play it off. His eyes still got slightly watery.
Epic, he thought of himself.
The coffee was hot. It was slightly awkward to know that the only thing between them and the end of this meeting was the fact that the coffee was almost too hot to drink right away. Instead he watched her lighting up her cigarette. Judging by the amount of what she usually smoked, he had to wonder whether her clothes were smelling after it. Her bureau certainly did, while this canteen just happened to have had plenty of other sources of scents and smells, some more pleasant than the others, at least to him.
He would definitely need to take something for his stomach. Not only was it a lot to... stomach, but also a lot of food he usually didn't eat. And the coffee surely would make him want to pee rather soon. Her probably aswell. Did she have her own toilet here on Cordes? Probably. He had his own bathroom on the Apahanta, too. Well, if he wasn't sharing his quarters with Noel and Sombra, that is.
Chanteloup would notice an empty stare in his eyes as he smirked at her, wondering about all these questions before he realized how much adrift his thoughts were. The smoke of her cigarette was rising to the ceiling, disappearing in the air. And soon they would disappear from each other, probably for a long time. Maybe Isabelle would disappear forever after this. Possibly dying in battle. Possibly.
Prolonged silence. She had asked him for any remaining questions, but he only answered with thoughtful silence.
"Nothing as of yet. I'll think of something, just to make sure you'll need to mark another date for a meeting with me." He smirked in his typical way. "That means falling in battle is inacceptable. If you do, you and me, we'll have a problem."
Having forgotten about how hot the coffee was, he took a sip, and as it burned his tongue and mouth, he kept up the faccade to play it off. His eyes still got slightly watery.
Epic, he thought of himself.
RE: Just an extraordinary visa interview - Lanakov - 12-09-2019
Such a character.
Both of them walked down the corridors leading back to the Charming Rover, devising playfully as they did so. Not exactly looking like a couple, or even close friends... But the grim austerity of their first walk through these halls was all but gone. The virtues of Gallic gastronomy in action and nothing else, Chanteloup thought aside, attempting to convince herself. As she entertained her host, she reflected on the world that awaited her out there, the battles left to fight... And the fight left in her. Not much. Enough ?
A strange melancholy suddenly washed over her. Forlorn, distant thoughts, instinctive fears and desires. She needed to be alone. But she also craved pleasant company. And there happened to be a gallant, if a little concupiscent adventurer walking next to her. Walking... Walking up to an airlock. The airlock. To his ship. Guarded by her men.
She brushed those shapeless thoughts aside in an instant. All formal, she extended her hand to Vertiga.
"This will be where we part ways, monsieur Vertiga. Congratulations on your visa. I would have enjoyed giving you a tour of the area, but there is a galactic-scale conflict I must return to. And besides, your lovely companion is probably cackling with excitement at the thought of showing you around herself, if I remember her character correctly. So then : until we meet again, wherever that will be." Hand still extended, she gazed into Vertiga's mesmerising eyes, searching, seeing much but still puzzled by this suave enigma of a man.
Then, it hit her, out of nowhere. Their paths would cross again.
Both of them walked down the corridors leading back to the Charming Rover, devising playfully as they did so. Not exactly looking like a couple, or even close friends... But the grim austerity of their first walk through these halls was all but gone. The virtues of Gallic gastronomy in action and nothing else, Chanteloup thought aside, attempting to convince herself. As she entertained her host, she reflected on the world that awaited her out there, the battles left to fight... And the fight left in her. Not much. Enough ?
A strange melancholy suddenly washed over her. Forlorn, distant thoughts, instinctive fears and desires. She needed to be alone. But she also craved pleasant company. And there happened to be a gallant, if a little concupiscent adventurer walking next to her. Walking... Walking up to an airlock. The airlock. To his ship. Guarded by her men.
She brushed those shapeless thoughts aside in an instant. All formal, she extended her hand to Vertiga.
"This will be where we part ways, monsieur Vertiga. Congratulations on your visa. I would have enjoyed giving you a tour of the area, but there is a galactic-scale conflict I must return to. And besides, your lovely companion is probably cackling with excitement at the thought of showing you around herself, if I remember her character correctly. So then : until we meet again, wherever that will be." Hand still extended, she gazed into Vertiga's mesmerising eyes, searching, seeing much but still puzzled by this suave enigma of a man.
Then, it hit her, out of nowhere. Their paths would cross again.
RE: Just an extraordinary visa interview - Sombs - 12-24-2019
Avril 6th, 742 - Tunisie système
Welcome. Meeting. Interrogation. Meal. All in all, it was a short meeting. Longer than he had expected it to last for. Luckily shorter than getting captured, imprisoned and tortured. There were always excuses for torture. But that didn't happen, at least not this time. None of the worst-case-scenarios had occured. The Apahanta was still cloaked, waiting for the return of the Captain.
But this felt different. Maybe it was because his belly was stuffed with horribly consequential food. Maybe it was something else. Maybe just her. Right now, he felt Isabelle Montlaville de Chanteloup was less intimidating, yet still commanding respect. Respect and admiration. As she held out her hand for the goodbye, he looked at her thin arm, her hand. He took it, his eyes meeting hers. "On my ship, hopefully. So you will get to enjoy some curacaoan cuisine as well."
A firm handshake, a final glance accompanied by his charming smirk. Then it was time to depart. The Curacaoan climbed up the ladder to the cockpit of the Charming Rover. A few moments later, she tiny bretonian scout left the hangar and headed for the rendezvous coordinates with the cloaked mothership.
Back then, Ezrael had no idea how the war would end. But one thing was certain: No matter how it would end, he would keep his promise.
But this felt different. Maybe it was because his belly was stuffed with horribly consequential food. Maybe it was something else. Maybe just her. Right now, he felt Isabelle Montlaville de Chanteloup was less intimidating, yet still commanding respect. Respect and admiration. As she held out her hand for the goodbye, he looked at her thin arm, her hand. He took it, his eyes meeting hers. "On my ship, hopefully. So you will get to enjoy some curacaoan cuisine as well."
A firm handshake, a final glance accompanied by his charming smirk. Then it was time to depart. The Curacaoan climbed up the ladder to the cockpit of the Charming Rover. A few moments later, she tiny bretonian scout left the hangar and headed for the rendezvous coordinates with the cloaked mothership.
Back then, Ezrael had no idea how the war would end. But one thing was certain: No matter how it would end, he would keep his promise.
Farewell, Amiral.