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Just an extraordinary visa interview - Sombs - 04-06-2019
Avril 6th, 742 - Tunisie système
Not too far away from Cordes Outpost, the cloaked Apahanta faced an overwhelming gallic force stationed at the base. A gallic battleship, escorted by multiple battlecruisers, destroyers, gunboats and plenty of snubcraft actively patrolling the area around Cordes. Taking in the sight, Ezrael tried to keep his heartbeat normal. Coming here was a big risk, not only for him but his entire crew and his ship. The moment the Apahanta would uncloak, or get uncloaked, they were trapped. The jump drive would require thirty seconds for the emergency jump. The idea was to remain distant enough to not allow anything to disrupt the Apahanta in a worst case scenario.
Standing infront of the large window of the observation deck, Ezrael exhaled. Noel was right next to him. The young boy had adapted a certain behavior from Ezrael - like him, he was chewing on his cheeks when nervous. "Those are many ships."
"Yeah," Ezrael merely sounded, looking specifically at the Valor. He had seen those beasts ripping Dunkirks apart in New London multiple times. A single hit of the Warwolf on the unshielded Mako could cause hull breaches on multiple decks. An image Ezrael didn't want to have in his mind.
"If anything goes wrong, we're fucked," The young Rheinlander said, having a similar picture in his mind.
"Yeah."
"You're sure you want to do this?" the boy asked him, then turning towards the Curacaoan to look up at him. Noel was more than a head shorter than Ezrael, and around ten years younger. It didn't particularly calm him down to see his mentor, idol and best friend having doubts himself.
"Yeah."
Noel poked his side with a finger. "You're not really boosting my confidence like that."
"Yeah." Noel frowned at him, and Ezrael turned his head to face the skinny man next to him, smirking. "I mean, we will clearly submit to their superiority for the time being, Noel. The battlegroup they have there was either already stationed here to guard the entrance to Gallia or because they were expecting a warship to arrive at Cordes, which is reasonable of them to do. After all, we're independent. Rogue. Militaries don't like that, and given we're having weapons of mass destructions, they have all reason to. The Apahanta isn't a luxury liner, after all, but a warship."
Both looked back at the ships around Cordes. And both began to chew on their cheeks again. "We've never given them a reason to oppose us. Because of that I don't expect them to fool us or ambush the Apahanta. Gallia has, so far, kept their word when people dealt with them, and I respect that. I just hope they respect us to a certain degree as well," the athletic Curacaoan explained, placing a hand on Noel's shoulder, wanting to gesture some confidence.
"And you go there on your own? No security robots, no away team?" Noel asked him, looking at Ezrael's leather-covered hand. Then he scanned Ezrael's body with his eyes. No holster for a gun, no armor. Just his Apahanta suit and his black leather jacket over it. "Is that your diplomatic outfit? No cape? No gun?"
"I never really finished the design for something more honorific for diplomatic meetings, so yeah, that'll need to suffice. Was sufficing for Bretonia, Enma and Auxesia as well. Or do you think something is wrong with that?"
"Ouh, no, not really," Noel gave him back, giving him an awkward smile. "Maybe the admiral likes the daring adventurer more than the honorable diplomatic brownnoser."
"According to Sombs, the amiral knows every single inch about my body already. She has a file on me and the Apahanta, you know, and possibly a collection of all scenes that ever ended up on the neural net, I'm actually hoping she is, beyond the facade of a military leader, a gallic woman through and through."
Noel gave him a questioning glance. "What's that supposed to mean?"
Patting Noel's shoulder twice, Ezrael exhaled before he continued. "Gallic women are said to be elegant, pragmatic, aesthetic and hedonistic where hedonism is appropiate. They don't eat a meal, they enjoy a meal. They are playful, enjoying admiration like any other person, but within tasteful limits. Seducing a gallic woman requires a perfect balance between dominance and submission."
"Ez, you do remember this is a diplomatic meeting, right? Not a single bar," Noel reminded him, frowning at his Captain.
Ezrael however booped Noel's nose, which made him blink out of surprise. Something he did frequently with Maren as well. "Of course I am there to represent the Apahanta, to convince her that we pose no threat to Gallia while hinting that tricking us would be a fatal mistake. A bit Vitamine D however to make her comfortable with me in her backyard should help, though."
"You mean Vitamine B," Noel said in an attempt to correct his suddenly rather sovereign captain.
"Then it would be Bick. Makes no sense, Noel."
The young boy needed a second to get the joke. Then he smirked up at Ezrael. "Just... be careful, alright?"
Ezrael's physical response said more than needed. The tall curacaoan hugged the small rheinlandian boy and kept him embraced for half a minute. Noel placed his temple against Ezrael's chest, exhaling while looking over at the gallic battlegroup. Only now he realzed Ezrael had tried a different parfume today. It was less fruity and more musky. Quite intriguing, he found.
"You can let go now, Noel," Ezrael sounded quietly, only to have Noel realize it was only himself continuing the hug right now. Blushing, he let go of Ezrael and moved a step back. "Don't worry. Everything will be alright, and even in the case of something going wrong, Sherry has her orders. You and the ship and crew won't get harmed, and they have no benefit in harming me either."
"Okay." In the end, Noel had no other choice than to trust Ezrael's words. Nodding in agreement, he watched Ezrael making a move to head for the hangar bay. Then, however, Ezrael returned to Noel to hug him once more, and to his surprise, peck him on his head.
"Make sure the ship is still running when I come back, Noel. And don't eat too many sweets in my absense, I'll check your medical values later," Ezrael sounded, brushing over the boys cheek before leaving.
Remaining where he was, Noel looked out of the window again, wanting to wait here until he saw the Hussar, the Charming Rover, launch and head for Cordes. "Good luck, Captain..."
A few minutes later, the cloak of the Apahanta faded for a moment as the bretonian light fighter left the hangar. The local patrols were informed, and while the cloaked Mako moved to reposition itself somewhere else in the area, the Charming Rover headed straight for Cordes. Ezrael was anticipating the meeting with Amiral Isabelle Montlaville de Chanteloup...
Standing infront of the large window of the observation deck, Ezrael exhaled. Noel was right next to him. The young boy had adapted a certain behavior from Ezrael - like him, he was chewing on his cheeks when nervous. "Those are many ships."
"Yeah," Ezrael merely sounded, looking specifically at the Valor. He had seen those beasts ripping Dunkirks apart in New London multiple times. A single hit of the Warwolf on the unshielded Mako could cause hull breaches on multiple decks. An image Ezrael didn't want to have in his mind.
"If anything goes wrong, we're fucked," The young Rheinlander said, having a similar picture in his mind.
"Yeah."
"You're sure you want to do this?" the boy asked him, then turning towards the Curacaoan to look up at him. Noel was more than a head shorter than Ezrael, and around ten years younger. It didn't particularly calm him down to see his mentor, idol and best friend having doubts himself.
"Yeah."
Noel poked his side with a finger. "You're not really boosting my confidence like that."
"Yeah." Noel frowned at him, and Ezrael turned his head to face the skinny man next to him, smirking. "I mean, we will clearly submit to their superiority for the time being, Noel. The battlegroup they have there was either already stationed here to guard the entrance to Gallia or because they were expecting a warship to arrive at Cordes, which is reasonable of them to do. After all, we're independent. Rogue. Militaries don't like that, and given we're having weapons of mass destructions, they have all reason to. The Apahanta isn't a luxury liner, after all, but a warship."
Both looked back at the ships around Cordes. And both began to chew on their cheeks again. "We've never given them a reason to oppose us. Because of that I don't expect them to fool us or ambush the Apahanta. Gallia has, so far, kept their word when people dealt with them, and I respect that. I just hope they respect us to a certain degree as well," the athletic Curacaoan explained, placing a hand on Noel's shoulder, wanting to gesture some confidence.
"And you go there on your own? No security robots, no away team?" Noel asked him, looking at Ezrael's leather-covered hand. Then he scanned Ezrael's body with his eyes. No holster for a gun, no armor. Just his Apahanta suit and his black leather jacket over it. "Is that your diplomatic outfit? No cape? No gun?"
"I never really finished the design for something more honorific for diplomatic meetings, so yeah, that'll need to suffice. Was sufficing for Bretonia, Enma and Auxesia as well. Or do you think something is wrong with that?"
"Ouh, no, not really," Noel gave him back, giving him an awkward smile. "Maybe the admiral likes the daring adventurer more than the honorable diplomatic brownnoser."
"According to Sombs, the amiral knows every single inch about my body already. She has a file on me and the Apahanta, you know, and possibly a collection of all scenes that ever ended up on the neural net, I'm actually hoping she is, beyond the facade of a military leader, a gallic woman through and through."
Noel gave him a questioning glance. "What's that supposed to mean?"
Patting Noel's shoulder twice, Ezrael exhaled before he continued. "Gallic women are said to be elegant, pragmatic, aesthetic and hedonistic where hedonism is appropiate. They don't eat a meal, they enjoy a meal. They are playful, enjoying admiration like any other person, but within tasteful limits. Seducing a gallic woman requires a perfect balance between dominance and submission."
"Ez, you do remember this is a diplomatic meeting, right? Not a single bar," Noel reminded him, frowning at his Captain.
Ezrael however booped Noel's nose, which made him blink out of surprise. Something he did frequently with Maren as well. "Of course I am there to represent the Apahanta, to convince her that we pose no threat to Gallia while hinting that tricking us would be a fatal mistake. A bit Vitamine D however to make her comfortable with me in her backyard should help, though."
"You mean Vitamine B," Noel said in an attempt to correct his suddenly rather sovereign captain.
"Then it would be Bick. Makes no sense, Noel."
The young boy needed a second to get the joke. Then he smirked up at Ezrael. "Just... be careful, alright?"
Ezrael's physical response said more than needed. The tall curacaoan hugged the small rheinlandian boy and kept him embraced for half a minute. Noel placed his temple against Ezrael's chest, exhaling while looking over at the gallic battlegroup. Only now he realzed Ezrael had tried a different parfume today. It was less fruity and more musky. Quite intriguing, he found.
"You can let go now, Noel," Ezrael sounded quietly, only to have Noel realize it was only himself continuing the hug right now. Blushing, he let go of Ezrael and moved a step back. "Don't worry. Everything will be alright, and even in the case of something going wrong, Sherry has her orders. You and the ship and crew won't get harmed, and they have no benefit in harming me either."
"Okay." In the end, Noel had no other choice than to trust Ezrael's words. Nodding in agreement, he watched Ezrael making a move to head for the hangar bay. Then, however, Ezrael returned to Noel to hug him once more, and to his surprise, peck him on his head.
"Make sure the ship is still running when I come back, Noel. And don't eat too many sweets in my absense, I'll check your medical values later," Ezrael sounded, brushing over the boys cheek before leaving.
Remaining where he was, Noel looked out of the window again, wanting to wait here until he saw the Hussar, the Charming Rover, launch and head for Cordes. "Good luck, Captain..."
A few minutes later, the cloak of the Apahanta faded for a moment as the bretonian light fighter left the hangar. The local patrols were informed, and while the cloaked Mako moved to reposition itself somewhere else in the area, the Charming Rover headed straight for Cordes. Ezrael was anticipating the meeting with Amiral Isabelle Montlaville de Chanteloup...
RE: Just an extraordinary visa interview - Lanakov - 04-09-2019
"Amiral... He's here."
The space traffic control room of Cordes outpost was packed full, and yet the silence within was nothing short of monastic.
"Have our sensors picked up on his mothership ?" said an inquisitive voice that could not abide any doubt.
"Briefly, amiral. It's gone dark again, but with our sensors already in place, we've managed to get at least some -"
"Excellent. Pass absolutely everything you have on it to military intelligence. And you, get him on board this station." Anyone who had met her could tell the volume of her voice was weaker, but the tone remained just as sharp.
"Oui, amiral" said the first voice.
"Bien pris, amiral" said another voice at the same instant.
Tap, tap, tap.
A luxurious, varnished mahogany walking cane gave the tempo, as the hunched silhouette of Isabelle Montlaville de Chanteloup made her way to the airlock. She was flanked by four colossal fusiliers in dress uniforms. Cordes' tight corridors meant that they had to walk in single file. Chanteloup felt surrounded and weak. She didn't enjoy that, especially as she made every effort to keep pace with her gigantic guardians. She knew they were doing their best not to put any distance between her and them, whether out of courtesy or security concerns. She liked neither possibility. She liked very little, these days.
The livid ceiling lights passed, one by one, as if they were scrutinising the group. It was like being mocked by a hundred pale, identical stars. How far does this putain de corridor go ?
Tap, tap, tap.
The worst part had to be the silence. Her safekeepers were certainly exceptional at their jobs, by the look of it (she'd know ; she had handpicked them, she thought with some pride) but they were very insistent on remaining silent. They probably knew of her reputation in regards to idle chitchat and elected to take it into account. She liked that the least. At this moment, she longed for someone to talk to. Anyone.
"We're here, amiral. He should be around at any moment" said one of the colossi.
Any moment passed. Then the hatch hissed, unlocked, and opened. As it did, Chanteloup leaned on her cane, standing upright for the first time in days. The stance radiated pride and superiority, and instantly felt natural despite the pain. It was like meeting an old friend.
She brought her chin up, entering the full Gallic admiral stance. Doing so exposed her features to the merciless, pallid ceiling light. She was visibly strained, paler than death, and the dark circles under her eyes showed she came close to that not long ago. She had lost none of her characteristic intensity, however, and her gaze enveloped him the second he made his appearance.
"Monsieur Vertiga", she said.
RE: Just an extraordinary visa interview - Sombs - 04-09-2019
The Charming Rover had landed in Cordes' hangar bay, the one with a big red 4 on it. The hangar doors shut slowly, followed by the hall getting pressurized again and filled with breathable air. A comm channel with the flight deck control was open, receive-only, so the officers could inform the Curacaoan when to leave his ship. Using the time try and calm his heartbeat, Ezrael lay rather loosely in the piloting chair, laid back while looking through the cockpit windows. They couldn't look into the cockpit with bare eyes, as the window was black from the outside. Cordes was merely an outpost and thus didn't have the overwhelmingness in terms of aesthetics, size and CORE GALLIC VALUES as installations in Gallia had - according to what Sombra had told him, and showed him from her journeys outside of Sirius.
Taking some deep breaths, Ezrael tried to collect his mind. Any mistake, a fauxpas, a freudian slip, one single wrong word, gesture or look was enough for this situation to end up catastrophical. His crew, his ship and his life was at risk. A sovereign introduction and appearance were required to neither disappoint the Amiral, nor to appear weak or unworthy infront of her. Thinking back, he wondered how a person like, for example, Jack Daniels from the Core would deal with this in his stead.
Time had come. Emerging from his piloting seat, Ezrael took a final deep breath, looked at his reflection in the window and did as the flight deck officers instructed him.
The instructions were easy. Leave the ship, allow the security to check body and clothing for any items - this time not commenting on the professional touches in rather private areas - and follow the security to the airlocks to leave the hangar. Little did Ezrael know, he wouldn't have a silent walk to the control tower to the Amiral's office to ultimately meet her host in person: She was waiting for him already behind the airlocks.
As said airlocks slowly opened, the Amiral would find two of her flight deck security grunts sandwiching the otherwise normal-sized Curacaoan, dwarfing him by a head and, volume-wise, another curacaoan. Vertiga was slim and athletic like a surfer, but next to the two men escorting him, he looked like a stick, with long straight black hair and a, by contrast, rather pale, yet healthy skin color. Green eyes as opposed to the filter-altered transmission avatars he frequently used on the neural net. The, from her perspective, left eye area was marked by a scar. His lips formed a smirk, hinting a certain anticipation he had for this meeting, despite all the risks.
His uniform was mostly black, skin-tight, with blue highlights, the material looked like a mix of elastic rubber and shiny leather, one of the typical fabrics used for flightsuits in space. Covering everything from below the chin, including hands and feet in boots, it didn't have any pockets, which was why he wore a black leather jacket over it. Where other people arrived in noble dresses and highly decorated gala uniforms, he arrived as if he was about to enter a club. The pockets of his jacket were empty except for the inner left pocket, which, as the security officers had found out, contained a PDA. Nothing else. No guns, no wallet, no chewing gum, no pen.
"Monsieur Vertiga", the Amiral greeted him, and Ezrael almost opened his mouth in surprise, not having expected her to be here already. It caught him off-guard. The moment he had his eyes on her, he forced himself to keep them on her and not look away, around or at the uniformed piles of muscles around them. With the focus on her, his heart was beating faster again. That was Amiral Isabelle Montlaville de Chanteloup standing infront of him, pride and superiority in her stance commanding respect at once.
The first seconds had passed and Ezrael hadn't managed to find an appropiate way to return the greetings. He was merely staring at her, his charming smirk on his lips trying, probably mostly successfully as far as he can tell by the stability of his facial muscles despite the tension, to cover his surprise-induced temporary insecurity. Nothing respectful came to his mind. In that case, be yourself, Ezrael, he thought.
"Amiral," he said in his best gallic tongue adaption, with a short break afterwards, throwing short glances at the men left and right from her,
"I'm certain we'd both look more impressive to each other if your security personnel was two heads shorter in size."
Taking some deep breaths, Ezrael tried to collect his mind. Any mistake, a fauxpas, a freudian slip, one single wrong word, gesture or look was enough for this situation to end up catastrophical. His crew, his ship and his life was at risk. A sovereign introduction and appearance were required to neither disappoint the Amiral, nor to appear weak or unworthy infront of her. Thinking back, he wondered how a person like, for example, Jack Daniels from the Core would deal with this in his stead.
Time had come. Emerging from his piloting seat, Ezrael took a final deep breath, looked at his reflection in the window and did as the flight deck officers instructed him.
The instructions were easy. Leave the ship, allow the security to check body and clothing for any items - this time not commenting on the professional touches in rather private areas - and follow the security to the airlocks to leave the hangar. Little did Ezrael know, he wouldn't have a silent walk to the control tower to the Amiral's office to ultimately meet her host in person: She was waiting for him already behind the airlocks.
As said airlocks slowly opened, the Amiral would find two of her flight deck security grunts sandwiching the otherwise normal-sized Curacaoan, dwarfing him by a head and, volume-wise, another curacaoan. Vertiga was slim and athletic like a surfer, but next to the two men escorting him, he looked like a stick, with long straight black hair and a, by contrast, rather pale, yet healthy skin color. Green eyes as opposed to the filter-altered transmission avatars he frequently used on the neural net. The, from her perspective, left eye area was marked by a scar. His lips formed a smirk, hinting a certain anticipation he had for this meeting, despite all the risks.
His uniform was mostly black, skin-tight, with blue highlights, the material looked like a mix of elastic rubber and shiny leather, one of the typical fabrics used for flightsuits in space. Covering everything from below the chin, including hands and feet in boots, it didn't have any pockets, which was why he wore a black leather jacket over it. Where other people arrived in noble dresses and highly decorated gala uniforms, he arrived as if he was about to enter a club. The pockets of his jacket were empty except for the inner left pocket, which, as the security officers had found out, contained a PDA. Nothing else. No guns, no wallet, no chewing gum, no pen.
"Monsieur Vertiga", the Amiral greeted him, and Ezrael almost opened his mouth in surprise, not having expected her to be here already. It caught him off-guard. The moment he had his eyes on her, he forced himself to keep them on her and not look away, around or at the uniformed piles of muscles around them. With the focus on her, his heart was beating faster again. That was Amiral Isabelle Montlaville de Chanteloup standing infront of him, pride and superiority in her stance commanding respect at once.
The first seconds had passed and Ezrael hadn't managed to find an appropiate way to return the greetings. He was merely staring at her, his charming smirk on his lips trying, probably mostly successfully as far as he can tell by the stability of his facial muscles despite the tension, to cover his surprise-induced temporary insecurity. Nothing respectful came to his mind. In that case, be yourself, Ezrael, he thought.
"Amiral," he said in his best gallic tongue adaption, with a short break afterwards, throwing short glances at the men left and right from her,
"I'm certain we'd both look more impressive to each other if your security personnel was two heads shorter in size."
RE: Just an extraordinary visa interview - Lanakov - 04-20-2019
Chanteloup snorted. She wasn't expecting a line like that. She should have, "knowing" Vertiga like she did... But how can one, even her, predict the unpredictable ?
The snort became a laugh, and that became a cough. She cleared her throat curtly, with some embarrassment. Despicable weakness.
Of course, he was clad in the same sporty outfit as Sombra Hookier had on during her visit. The Vertiga crowd liked to shop from the same outlets, Chanteloup thought. And she thought of a few other things regarding that outfit and the lines it displayed on Vertiga, as well. And moved on, surprised at herself.
"Welcome aboard Cordes Outpost, monsieur Vertiga", she said once she recovered from her cough.
"Don't worry about my admittedly imposing retinue ; they're not here because of you. Even I have to follow orders. Come with me, and we'll talk."
As she gestured for Vertiga to follow her, she nodded at her guards. They straightened up and walked away, saying nothing more. Soon, it was just the stateless idealist in a neon warship and the ruthless admiral with a walking cane. The tapping resumed in silence as Chanteloup lead Vertiga to that same conference room (Cordes didn't have that many amenities). This time, they met no one ; the working day was well under way, and every sailor was at his or her post at this time. To her surprise, Chanteloup felt no issue with this highly unusual intimacy. There would be a few minutes of walking at this snail pace before they got to the conference room, she thought, and Vertiga would probably need some prompting to start talking. She decided to entertain him.
"You're a hard man to find, monsieur Vertiga. And those around you are desperate to keep it that way. Do you have any idea why ?" she asked, as they walked side by side.
RE: Just an extraordinary visa interview - Sombs - 04-20-2019
The way she simply walked with him through the corridors somehow commanded respect, and Ezrael had decided to remain quiet until she would signal him to talk again. Good for him, as had otherwise might have tried to correct her statement from a hard man to find to a hard to find man. Remaining silent, he just smirked slightly when she said it.
"People have the tendency to drag other people into their conflicts, especially if you have something really big they crave for." Excellent wording, he thought, patting his shoulder in mind. "We can't fly around in house space, and the outer systems are stuffed with pirates, aliens and terrorists that would like to get their hands on a warship without fleet support. So we hide, using whatever means necessary to not draw too much attention."
He gifted her with a smirk. "And yet I get to hear about your people having an entire file on me and my activities. Not that I am surprised about it, given the fauxpas I had with Saint-Yves regarding the Vault, and whatever the Core must have told you about me, and my ship. What surprised me however was the fact that you knew about Miss Hookier working for me every now and then, and that you would confront her about it. Even bigger was my surprise about you letting her go just like that, without her giving you any valuable information about me. Makes me wonder what you wanted from her in first place ?"
Ezrael still smirked at her in a sovereign way, remaining silent as he wondered what she was going to tell him about that.
"People have the tendency to drag other people into their conflicts, especially if you have something really big they crave for." Excellent wording, he thought, patting his shoulder in mind. "We can't fly around in house space, and the outer systems are stuffed with pirates, aliens and terrorists that would like to get their hands on a warship without fleet support. So we hide, using whatever means necessary to not draw too much attention."
He gifted her with a smirk. "And yet I get to hear about your people having an entire file on me and my activities. Not that I am surprised about it, given the fauxpas I had with Saint-Yves regarding the Vault, and whatever the Core must have told you about me, and my ship. What surprised me however was the fact that you knew about Miss Hookier working for me every now and then, and that you would confront her about it. Even bigger was my surprise about you letting her go just like that, without her giving you any valuable information about me. Makes me wonder what you wanted from her in first place ?"
Ezrael still smirked at her in a sovereign way, remaining silent as he wondered what she was going to tell him about that.
RE: Just an extraordinary visa interview - Lanakov - 04-21-2019
They kept walking. They only now reached the administrative areas, passing more elegant and furnished interiors than the previous cold bulkheads.
Chanteloup had to restrain several snorts along the way. Something big, he says. Miss Hookier "working" for him. She found this technique of rhetorical juxtaposition interesting, and thought it was most likely an attempt to destabilise her. Then she reasoned that it was probably just who Vertiga was... Both answers were equally destabilising. That amused her.
"Quite right. As I told miss Hookier, it's not every Curacoan runaway that ends up at the command of a modern warship bristling with state of the art weaponry. Well, for Sirian standards... My interest... That is, Gallic interest in you was always peripheral, monsieur Vertiga. What you call a faux-pas was an interesting opportunity, I think for all parties. Your usefulness was noted, as was your ownership of the aforementioned warship." Chanteloup let a moment pass as they went up a small flight of stairs, a taxing undertaking under her condition. The conference room was mere moments away.
"Gallia has no shortage of enemies, including people with warships. Let's just say you were a peculiar enough fellow with ample means at your disposal and a numerous... Entourage." She chuckled knowingly. "So when part of that entourage came knocking at my door, I seized the chance to ensure that the Vertiga company wasn't an immediate threat to me. She did an admirable job at protecting you... And in so doing, confirmed my initial feeling. Which is why she was let go, and why you're in this station without cuffs on."
They had reached the door, which she opened, and gestured Vertiga inside.
"Come. This won't be long. Coffee's on the table."
RE: Just an extraordinary visa interview - Sombs - 04-21-2019
The description Sombra had given him about the encounter were quite close to what he was confronted with now. The environment, the way she worded her sentences, her very gallic behaviorial patterns. Ezrael reminded himself that subtlety and approaching the actual topic after encircling it were more appreciated than blatant manouvers. In a way, it was just like their way of waging war.
Entering the office, Ezrael moved over to the seat that was obviously meant for him to sit on. He moved next to it, yet waited for Isabelle to come closer first, intending to sit down when she would be able to as well. "Entourage," he repeated, looking around, then at her. "A rather foreign term, Amiral, for my standards. These people, be it Miss Hookier, or my crew, are everything I have. This warship out there is everything I have." He exhaled, frowning slightly at Chanteloup. "Battlegroup Yukon is fighting your battlegroups, first the Carcassonne, now the Betheny, in the orbit of my homeworld. The planet was evacuated, the very few landmasses protected by OSC's shield domes while debris and stray warheads are falling from the sky. I can't go home. So my warship became my home. And what you call my entourage is what I call my family."
He exhaled again and took in some air before continuing. "Sirius is a dystopian place. Every single house is involved in a war right now. Now the borderworlds and independent worlds are warzones as well, the last neutral worlds dragged into chaos. Curacao, Gran Canaria, space stations getting destroyed left and right. The names of the combatants don't matter, Amiral, and I don't care which side wins what war. People don't know where to live anymore, as no space station and no planet are safe. But here am I, having gotten my hands on one of the most modern warships, armed to the teeth, able to cause exactly the same level of damage and pain I am trying to escape from. But none of this matters if I can't protect what the wars haven't taken away from me yet. The people I consider my family. People who joined me because they don't know where to go else. They don't know.
And this is why I am here, Amiral. There are no safe areas left in Sirius. My hopes are that, while I don't expect it to be much different in Gallia, access to Gallia will at least give us some room to breathe. Room where we don't need to be on edge every single minute, afraid that some pirate, terrorist or military comes around the corner to take from us what we so far managed to protect. I often thought about giving away the Apahanta, selling it, settle down somewhere, but in reality, the chain of events that lead us to the point where we are now, has proven that the Apahanta is an absolute necessity for us to survive in a very hostile galaxy."
Ezrael found himself surprised about the sudden waterfall of words. In the end he even felt a bit awkward about it.
Entering the office, Ezrael moved over to the seat that was obviously meant for him to sit on. He moved next to it, yet waited for Isabelle to come closer first, intending to sit down when she would be able to as well. "Entourage," he repeated, looking around, then at her. "A rather foreign term, Amiral, for my standards. These people, be it Miss Hookier, or my crew, are everything I have. This warship out there is everything I have." He exhaled, frowning slightly at Chanteloup. "Battlegroup Yukon is fighting your battlegroups, first the Carcassonne, now the Betheny, in the orbit of my homeworld. The planet was evacuated, the very few landmasses protected by OSC's shield domes while debris and stray warheads are falling from the sky. I can't go home. So my warship became my home. And what you call my entourage is what I call my family."
He exhaled again and took in some air before continuing. "Sirius is a dystopian place. Every single house is involved in a war right now. Now the borderworlds and independent worlds are warzones as well, the last neutral worlds dragged into chaos. Curacao, Gran Canaria, space stations getting destroyed left and right. The names of the combatants don't matter, Amiral, and I don't care which side wins what war. People don't know where to live anymore, as no space station and no planet are safe. But here am I, having gotten my hands on one of the most modern warships, armed to the teeth, able to cause exactly the same level of damage and pain I am trying to escape from. But none of this matters if I can't protect what the wars haven't taken away from me yet. The people I consider my family. People who joined me because they don't know where to go else. They don't know.
And this is why I am here, Amiral. There are no safe areas left in Sirius. My hopes are that, while I don't expect it to be much different in Gallia, access to Gallia will at least give us some room to breathe. Room where we don't need to be on edge every single minute, afraid that some pirate, terrorist or military comes around the corner to take from us what we so far managed to protect. I often thought about giving away the Apahanta, selling it, settle down somewhere, but in reality, the chain of events that lead us to the point where we are now, has proven that the Apahanta is an absolute necessity for us to survive in a very hostile galaxy."
Ezrael found himself surprised about the sudden waterfall of words. In the end he even felt a bit awkward about it.
RE: Just an extraordinary visa interview - Lanakov - 04-22-2019
Chanteloup fell into a contemplative silence. She had not expected such a dramatic tirade from Vertiga. She was prepared for innuendos, lewd jokes, all sorts of winks and brash posturing... But not that. Hidden depths, she thought with some remorse for having judged him so quickly. He looks so tired.
She only then took notice of the silence, and how she had been staring at him, probably with her usual piercing gaze. Or perhaps compassion ?
"Forgive me", she finally said. "It's hard to remember that you exist, from my perspective. By you, I mean the victims. Those who suffered, the collateral damage, in the wrong place at the wrong time. Believe it or not, I do feel a twinge of sympathy for the Bretonians, sometimes. Their biggest fault was largely being between us and the Libertonians. And then stubbornly refusing to give in to our demands even when clearly broken and outmatched... But that's another story. This is war, is my point. I firmly believe that the Gallic cause is truly just ; it is a quest of justice, of righting wrongs and bringing balance. It's not been a surprise that we were so poorly welcomed... Do you know anything quite as terrifying as a truly just man ? Justice, monsieur Vertiga, is a terrible, terrible thing. It cares not for details, supplications or compromises. It is... Just." She paused, and started reaching out in the pockets of her uniform. Her weakened state made that a struggle. Obliviously, she went on.
"I am sorry for what happened to Curacao, I truly am. You've been forced onto the path of a cosmic castaway by forces far beyond you. I can only begin to imagine the powerlessness... And the subsequent anger. Gallia is known to hold grudges, as you can surmise ; as such, we understand the feeling. Which is why I had been required to... Inquire upon your whereabouts following our joint operation." She gave Vertiga what she hoped would be a comforting smile ; it was high time to lighten up the atmosphere.
"As for your request... Well, you're here to persuade me that you won't use your considerable power and resources against me. We've got a few hurdles to tangle with as you well know, and I'll be honest ; everyone among us wants it to end, soon. Gallia needs her peace, especially with the Conseillards growing bolder. I don't believe you would trouble it, especially with what you told me ; sounds like it's a haven you're after, and this, we could offer... In return for a few services, of course. But first things first... Go on, convince me."
As she ended her sentence, she managed to grab hold of a pack of cigarettes. An involuntary muscle twitch caused her to let go of it, and it fell on the floor next to her. "Merde... Augh" she groaned in pain, as her body wouldn't let her bend sufficiently to pick it up.
RE: Just an extraordinary visa interview - Sombs - 04-22-2019
In return for a few services. Of course nothing came for free, that much the Curacaoan was fully aware of. But the sound of it was something he hated, coming from the head of the Marine Royale Gauloise. He looked at the Amiral. If there was anything in common for both of them, then it was the fact that they tried to keep up a facade that was crumbling. Without much thought, Ezrael stood up and moved towards Isabelle, kneeling down to pick up her pack of smokes. Standing up again, he handed it to her, followed by him moving back to his seat. He leaned back, exhaling, his eyes fixated on her, her smokes, her posture.
"If there is one thing I have learnt, Amiral, then it is that the people in leading positions are convinced of what they do is right and just." He stared at the pack of smokes. "You know, Captain Jessebelle Fillian of the Core once caused a war between the Core and the entire Zoner Community. Over a pack of smokes. She was commanding the W.V. Dangerzone. Of course the ship once had a more imposing name, something matched the ancient roman mythological nomenclature. You know the trend, some crews and their captains manage to change the name of their ships to weird references, I in fact did the same as I didn't want to command the W.V. Prometheus because why would you roam around with something named after a tragedy." He gave her an apologetic look, realizing he was drifting away from the topic. "The Dangerzone had a quasi-accepted permanent stationary presence ontop of Freeport 11 in 823 A.S., that would be 739 in your calenders, as the Core wanted to maintain a strong presence at said Freeport, making any hostile reconsider approaching that specific point in Omicron Delta. Then at some point, some nameless Zoners had repeatedly provoked the Core by not adhearing to their laws regarding nomadic materials. So the Core enforced their laws. Their laws are very loose, even. One does not need to break them."
He smirked awkwardly, unfocused staring at the table. "The local Zoners became mad about it, and in the following days, those Zoners provoked the Core further and further. Imagine you are naked and poke a bee hive with your unprotected fingers. Jessebelle was unable to leave her ship and asked, or demanded, a Zoner from Freeport 11 to get her the pack of smokes she had left in the cargo bay of the station. The Zoner was cheeky about it, played dumb, and I believe threw them away. I don't remember the details. Then that Zoner left the station to roam around outside. Then it escalated as the Dangerzone's Light Mortars ripped that ship apart. Not much later, Guildmaster Erik Nodtviet lead a fleet of Makos and other capitals to Freeport 11 to siege it, causing so much damage by pure surprise that even today there are still debris floating around next to Freeport 11. And so the Core declared an unnecessarily bloody war against not just involved Zoners or Freeport 11, but the entire Zoner community. The media called it the Core-Zoner-Conflict, a war over a pack of smokes."
He paused for a moment, biting his cheek in thought. "That conflict convinced caused unrest within the Core. Many people that joined were Zoners before. My Second-in-Command has family on Gran Canaria, or had, since it is now bretonian turf. When we joined the Core, she by enlisting, I by buying myself the command of warship, we wanted to fight the Nomads. Instead Nodtviet wanted us to fight Zoners. Over a pack of smokes. You know how it ended. We took the ship I paid for, faked a scenario that was supposed to convince the crew to abandon the ship. But some of the Core Loyalists remained on the ship, realizing it was a trick. When I took over the ship with a few dozens of people, I made my first kills in melee. Two young loyal soldiers of the Core, that in case of a hostile takeover, would have protected me. They realized I was the enemy, and I had to kill them."
Ezrael sighed, leaning back in his seat again. "Where do we draw the line, Amiral? Fillian was willing to kill over a pack of smokes. I was willing to kill over the warship I paid for. Bretonia continues to fight you, knowing they will all die like that. They know how the war will end and are still fighting. Do they hope for a miracle? Objects, territory, revenge, provocation. Reasons to wage war, to inflict pain. True justice would execute the one who strikes. But there is no justice. So I stopped caring for right and wrong. I don't judge you for your war against Sirius, be it the Maltese, the Crayterians, Bretonians or Libertonians. I don't care for their governments. Neither do I care for your government. What I care for are the people I want to protect. My crew. And my ship, as it is everything I have. You want me to convince you to allow a foreign warship of independent people to roam around freely in your space? I wonder if I can, Amiral. If I was where you are, I would not take the risk. If I was where you are, and you where I am, I would chuckle, knowing that my people would not accept these strangers. Prejudice for what these Sirians are and how stubbornly they refuse to surrender to Gallia. Fear for what they bring into our space, a ship armed to the teeth, possibly able to bombard planets and space stations and blast peaceful gallic traders away. Mistrust because of those people's background. Lead by a manwhore who killed his own men to take control. I know about the contents of your file about me. I've seen the way you looked at me.
But here I am, Amiral, willing to submit to the Gallic Superiority. Tired of conflict and war, tired of fleeing from here to there. I came here, unarmed. I am alone with you in this room, for these few moments in a better position than you. I am strong and healthy. You can't even pick up your smokes from the ground. I could break your neck like I did with the Core Loyalists. Then your marines come here and return the favor. You would be dead, I would be dead, the Apahanta would get hunted by your men, you would get replaced. The war continues. Nothing was accomplished. The only difference is that I am the one who can't get replaced. That would suck for me, to be honest, and Miss Hookier would get a reason to start another stupid war nobody profits from."
It would seem he finished his speech. Fully aware of his stunning charisma, he looked at the clock at the wall. His charming smirk returned. "Another two good reason would be Miss Hookier's christmas cookies and me trying to put things shorter."
RE: Just an extraordinary visa interview - Lanakov - 05-05-2019
Chanteloup picked up the smokes and murmured a shameful, humiliated "thank you". She had caught a passing glance of his nicely sculpted butt as he went back to take a seat, and that took her mind away from her own frailty. She then listened with attention to Vertiga's run-down of the freeport crisis. She shook her head all along, first in bewilderment, then with absolute scorn. She had several acid remarks all lined up about what she had just heard, but then the idealist kept talking, seemingly becoming darker and darker as he went along. Her eyebrows furrowed and her hands closed at the mention of her neck... But the tension vanished at the mention of Hookier's obscene cookies.
She inhaled.
"Spoken precisely like the stateless idealist you're known to be, monsieur Vertiga. I would have a great many things to say about this crisis you've recounted, and none of them good. I will just say that such pettiness and carefree wasting of resources and lives is one of many reasons why Gallia perceives Sirius as a horde of baboons sitting on a sea of gold. I therefore find your comparison to be both unfair and a little too simple. I respect your point of view, mind ; not caring about this... About any of this... She made a sweeping gesture. It does seem like the healthiest approach to life. You've been able to afford it, as has your crew. You speak of drawing a line ; this is where I draw it, monsieur Vertiga. Your extreme cynicism and, shall I say, personal conception of hedonism is something I can understand, and even respect, but cannot afford. These are the luxuries of people who have chosen to strike it out by themselves... And for themselves. You have the lives of your crew in your hands... The fate of several nations and billions of lives depends on the decisions I have to make every day. I didn't ask for this, nor can I simply choose to let it go. And you'd be surprised how often I relish for the chance." She gestured at herself. "I ended up in this state because I disagreed with a colleague of mine. He wanted to burn down London and everyone on it, just to get it over with. To... Make a point. I voiced my disagreement, but when that proved to be insufficient, I had to take steps to remove him... Before he removed me. I took a bullet to the gut in order to make sure this war concludes in as many people's favour as possible... Knowing that this outcome will need more. More time, more battles... And more death. This is the sort of thing I have to deal with... Which is why your freeport story rings a little hollow to me. Though I understand now why you picked that example..."
The intercom sounded. "Amiral..."
She leaned in the microphone and simply replied "Come in".
A young officer in a distinct dress uniform, which marked him as part of Chanteloup's staff, hurried to her side, and whispered something to her. A trained ear would be able to pick up something about "poule" being "prêt".
She nodded, her eyes fixated on Vertiga but her spirit clearly elsewhere. Then she replied "Bien. Alors allez-y."
The officer straightened, muttered a quick "Oui, amiral" and left.
Chanteloup waited until he'd left before addressing Vertiga again. "As I was saying... Yes. Stupid wars. Your freeport war was stupid, killing me would trigger a stupid war... As would you sabotaging my rear. Well, I mean..." She had a rare chuckle. "You're clearly exhausted, Ezrael. I could tell it the minute I saw you. You're a man who has seen too much already, and who I predict will see more before the day is done. I don't think you've come here to infiltrate Gallia and cause damage to Gallic infrastructure. I imagine that, with that bristling warship of yours, you wouldn't have needed my permission anyway... I do think you're hiding something from me. Something that haunts you, something you are, clearly, running away from. But I won't pry into it. I'm going to give my green light for your visa. It'll be a temporary thing at first ; standard procedure. If all goes well and you prove to be a decent enough guest, then we can negotiate more permanent arrangements. I'd even bait you with the possibility of Gallic citizenship, but I don't know that you're one to ever contemplate settling down... Or are you ?"