The hangers to the battleship seemed to be busier than usual, not only was the presence of the military higher, but there was also a large amount of federal agents that we're armed to the teeth posted at certain doors and locations. Direktor Enfield was discussing with a small group of ranking personnel around a supply crate with coffees and some documents placed ontop.
"I don't care, if things start to go out of control, you take your orders from me, not the Admiral... That's what your oath and payment is for." He seemed to be wearing what he usually dresses in, a nicely pressed T-shirt and a pair of rugged jeans. Although his badge and gun belt were still nicely displayed. "Direktor, I doubt even the Bundschuh will never-""You doubt for one second, they'll take that opportunity. We have two diplomats from what is considered an enemy state with diplomatic immunity. The military can't do anything, but that doesn't stop the Bundschuh or any other organization from erupting chaos." He shuffled a few papers around on the crate, they seemed to be map layouts of the station. "Anyway, some secure cases of Cardamine have been bolted down in the quarters of the Amalfi and Council delegates, I don't want them suffocating because we disregarded their dependencies. Also, a protection detail to escort them, camera's in the vents, guards on, above and below levels of the quarters and meeting rooms.""What about you?""I'll be fine." Enfield tapped the holster on his belt. "Anyway, take your posts. I'm going to stay here to speak to the delegates when they arrive." They all nodded before walking off.
The hangers only seemed to be present with the Buro freighter that brought him and the security team there. He decided to kill some time, he didn't really feel like checking the security measures for the fifth time today, so he hoisted himself on top of the crates and sat down with his mug of coffee, stirring it gently as he kept an eye out on anything within the hanger, waiting for the call of any other ships approaching that held the names he wanted to hear.
Dropping below the speed of light, the Kestel exited the Trade Lane that had led it here from Planet New Berlin. The inhabitant didn't notice any of that. He had people to worry about these things. This was their task. After having requested docking access, he was alerted to their arrival by his slaves. He sighed, exiting his quite comfortable quarters that had been painstakingly created to house him for the travel and came face to face with a blonde woman, who bowed her head. She dared not speak, as her voice was flawed with the accent that came with her Gallic heritage. Good. Some slaves didn't learn their place even after the third reminder. Benito did not like repeating himself. With a bow, the woman signalled for him to take the lead and she followed a respectful distance behind — a perfectly rehearsed performance. To think that this girl was supposed to administrate the Council's business on Corsica for a little more than six months now. He suppressed a snort.
The sound of pressure being released as the hatch lowered itself and revealed an entourage of Rheinland Military personnel, all in perfect formation. A visually pleasing performance. He was sure that, if he tried to make them, the soldiers wouldn't budge an inch. It was something he hadn't expected of the normally very strict-appearing Rheinlanders, although he admitted that he was probably the first Maltese envoy in a long while. As he exited the ship with his servant, a man approached him, courtly telling him that he was supposed to follow, and he did.
Enfield was still sitting on top of the crate, casually flipping through a wrist mounted computer, heavy and bulky but he that didn't seem to bother him. He reached around beside him to his mug of coffee and sipped on it gently as its contents were still steaming hot. He rolled the flavor around his mouth. "Mmm..." He seemed to indulge in it for a moment, rocking his crossed legs back and forth and tapping the crate with his heel every so often.
"Ship approaching." The intercom rang over but he seemed to have gone through one ear and our the other. He seemed to continue reading through reports. "Sir? The National Council delegate has arrived... S-Sir?!" His attention seemed to quickly be brought back around. Maybe a little too quickly as he seemed to jolt a little and drip some coffee on his mouth onto his clean T-shirt. "Mphmm~! Oh, Mr Benito!" He quickly placed down the mug and hopped off the top of the crate. Burshing off the spill with his left hand and greeting and hand to Benito with his right. "Crap, I liked this shirt... Sorry, I was indulged in the daily mission reports! I apologize, I must of missed the alert. I'm sure your journey here was in smooth hands?" If it was one thing about him, he didn't seem like The Direktor from his appearance. If it was his clothes that spoke his wealth and status, it wouldn't say much compared to Mr Benito.
There was little in the way of pleasantries in conflict. He had grown accustomed to the rigorous and strict nature of warships, the clarity of the chain of command - even at its most messy - these were facets of life that he had learned well and felt comfortable in. Diplomacy however, was not. Twice through a long and harrowing career of service and struggle had Paulo turned down offers of higher position - the allure of a desk job, commanding hundreds of others to do as he had once done, was never one that he felt. Such a position may have eventually netted him a more political place in the world of Malta's society, but at every turn- be it through tactful and respectful denial, or strategic demotion- he has resisted. Instead he fell for another, more rugged allure in things: the adrenaline of commanding that upon which he stood and lived through a cacophony of vessels and weapons-fire, the terrible coffee found in just about every naval mess-hall throughout the entirety of Sirius, the cramped living spaces - all of it was his domain. A domain in which familiarity had settled, where he felt at home and capable of taking on anything.
Recent years had ingrained in Paulo much of the subtleties of espionage, which came with it some of the intricacies behind politics and diplomacy. The formation of political alliances as a mere supporter and enforcer was one thing - but acting as a direct representative for an entire nation, to another formerly aggressive nation, was quite another. He was told there was seldom a better candidate amongst the Amalfi Union more qualified, more capable of performing the task before him, that his lack of ego, level head, and groundedness - traits antithetical to that of most politicians and diplomats - made him perfect for the job. He wasn't sure he saw it, that he believed it, or even that he could ever believe it.
Yet here he was, sitting opposite a pair of aide-de-camp; one a young girl born on Denver with a digital clipboard in her lap, and the other an aged long-time war-buddy of his with about as much reason to be here as he, a weapon holstered at his side in the event of the worst case scenario. The trio were accompanied by a handful of guards one compartment aft, all bearing freshly-made uniforms, tailored with the new Amalfi Union logo stitched to the shoulder- the starched fabric still bearing the scent of ironing boards.
The Freighter shuddered as its landing-legs made contact and magnetized with the inner hangar of the Strausberg, breaking the elder Varela from his reverie. One of the escort guards moved through the trio's compartment, passing through the aisle that separated Paulo from his aides, and coming to the hatch just fore of their seated position. He had long contemplated this moment; what exactly he was going to do, how he would look to these foreigners, and what he would say upon their arrival. When the time finally came however, there was little time for idle thought- as was his preference. Action, was simply all that mattered. Quick and decisive action to show solidarity between their two peoples. His guards arrayed themselves just starboard of the shuttle - opposite the Rheinlanders, present in full uniform and unflinching. He could see right through their stoicism however; many among their number had never before seen those of the Nazione di Malta before- and had only hearsay to go on as to their composure, their customs, and their place in the world. He could see uncertainty, fear, and even a modicum of hope in their expressions. He could see all of it, not for any skill of his own, but simply from pure experience. He had been in their place before, standing astride his compatriots as one diplomat or another from a foreign place he had never been to or barely heard of, unsure of exactly why their presence was necessary this day, but hoping, somehow, that it meant the possibility of the end of one conflict or another.
Though his advanced age meant disembarking from the shuttle's boarding ramp took some effort and assistance, he nonetheless came before the assembled men and women before and beside him, offering a calm nod and a firm handshake to the official that came before him, welcoming Paulo and his entourage to Rheinland. Most of his guards stayed with the shuttle, while a pair - bearing only small sidearms - followed the group to their quarters, never staying more than a handful of steps away from the younger Varela twin's position in the cramped hallways and compartments of the Strausberg.
[ sci·am·ach ]
/sīˈamək/
A simple, angry man casually working his way through life on a personal quest to acquire copious amounts of street cred.
The Director didn't match his expectations, to say the least. It disappointed him. He would have preferred to never see the Director instead of seeing this hipster-caricature that presented himself to him right now. Some might say that Benito was quick to judge, however, being able to quickly assess another person was something that Benito had practiced a lot during his unnaturally long lifetime. Without letting his disappointment show, he proceeded. "Signor Enfield," Benito intoned, taking the offered hand of the Director after a moment's hesitation with his own, gloved hand. Both Benito and the blonde woman following him were wearing small breathing devices that were telltale signs of their Outcast heritage and have become infamous among pirate bases around Sirius as a surefire way of telling Outcasts apart from the normal folk. "A pleasure to finally meet you."
While Benito wasn't a tall man, his posture was regal and radiated confidence and pride. "I must say, I was impressed by the small presentation in the hangar. These soldiers are the real gems of your collection, aren't they?" His tone left it up to the imagination whether he thought of them as slaves or not. "I take it we will wait for the Directorate's envoy before proceeding?"
His shoulders started to broaden as he stood up and his body stance was almost as sharp as the lining of a suit. "Mr Benito, the pleasure is mine and I extend the same gratitude to you." His hand clasped around his, seemingly quite cold for his skin, but it was possibly dismissed. "Oh they're not my soldiers, they're the military's. We're people of action, not presentation. My men are the ones doing what they're here to do. Such as Special Agent Grober, he'll be your contact to myself, just ask him about anything or to request my presence at any time. I barely sleep anyway." Nodding towards the black-clad dressed man that escorted him to Direktor Enfield, he stood as firmly as any other soldier would at his commanding officer despite their clashing presentional differences. Enfield shook Benito's hand quite reassuringly and only motioned it up and down twice before letting go. His slight yet noticeable smile seemed to be quite tension relieving."Sorry about my current dress, I've incredibly busy that I've only managed to take off the lab coat. And you're absolutely right- Proceedings will take place for the diplomatic discussion tomorrow afternoon once everyone has arrived. We've made arrangements that you'll be sleeping in the vacant officers quarters and any food or services will be available to you. I'll also made sure that Cardamine inhalers are provided in said quarters."
He took a glance behind him, a few individuals seemed to be present with the Maltese delegate. "Oh as notice Mr Benito, for security reasons we can not allow any further personnel within the conference room, including my own or the military's. But we will make arrangements for them to be housed within general sleeping quarters." He knew what they really were and he was good at dismissing it. He'd done enough in his young life to know it wasn't the worst Humanity could offer. "But please, make yourself comfortable, this isn't Baden-Baden, but it is the safest we can offer for your protection." He palmed out his hand towards the quarters hall. "Can you kindly show Mr Benito the way to his room?" The agent only gave a single nod, and sharply turned his attention towards the delegate. "Right away sir. Mr Benito, if you'd kindly follow me..."
The age difference between Benito and Enfield was quite stark. Benito probably more than six times the age of him and it showed in the way they interacted, or so he felt. "This will be a solitary arrangement, then," he stated, not arguing about taking his single companion with him. "Then please, Signor, lead the way," he addressed the man that was supposed to bring them to their temporary quarters. The girl could wait there for all he cared. Giving a small nod to Enfield as they left, they were led out of eyesight of the Director.
He watched as Mr Benito was escorted off site, he called over another passing agent to also escort the girl to her quarters. He'd taken a few steps back to the crate to pick up his coffee again before... "Herr Direktor." He stopped in his path and clenched his fist out of frustration, regretting he'd wasted his time reading reports prior. Slowly turning about to face the agent, he face seemed to keep its cool. "Yes agent...?""Sir, the Amalfi Delegate has arrived." He shut his eyes for a moment to collect his rational thought. "Alright lead me there."
As soon as he Enfield had arrived, he'd already see a much more militaristic faction standing outside the doors of the Amalfi quarters. A Buro guard was standing opposite the doorway, Enfield seemed to acknowledge the presence of that guard by slowly nodding as he walked up to the the Amalfi guards that stood outside. He casually reached over for the intercom button, the Amalfi guards seem confused at first but the standing attention of the Buro guard opposite him seemed to ressure that the badge that dangled around his neck meant authority under his casualness. 'BTZZZZ-' The buzzer was sort of industrial, despite the well furnished officers quarters. "Hello...? Its Direktor Enfield... Sorry to bother you but I'd thought I'd pop down and pass my formalities." His voice was a little fuzzy through the speakers but was still audible from anywhere in the room.
A few moments passed before the status-light above the door flipped from red to green as the door's magnetic locks undid themselves with an audible 'clank.' Marcus Garcia - Paulo's personal escort and longtime friend - stood next to the door, his hand still on the control-pane. He was grinning ear to ear, still trying to recover from a bout of laughter as he bid Enfield entry to the room, while Varela sat on the far side at a table, still regaling his personal assistant with what seemed to be a story of one sort or another just outside of earshot over the noise of the corridor. The pair of them looked up from their recount, Paulo taking a moment before recognizing Enfield as the assistant and Garcia made their way out of the room and down the hall towards the hangar, closing the door behind them. The elder Varela set his coffee mug onto the table, and extended a hand to the Direktor; speaking in a low, gruff tone, still trying to suppress a chuckle.
"Mister Enfield, trust me you're not being a bother. It's good to finally meet you in-person- text doesn't do our line of work justice. These kinds of face-to-face meets are good to have every once in a while."
Paulo adjusted himself in his seat, looking up at the Direktor as he leaned back, fidgeting with a signet ring on his free hand.
"So, what was it that brought you by?"
[ sci·am·ach ]
/sīˈamək/
A simple, angry man casually working his way through life on a personal quest to acquire copious amounts of street cred.
Enfield let the other two exit before he stepped in, in their happy moods he also caught their smiles, smirking and nodding as the passed by in a friendly manner. "Ah! Paulo Varela I presume." Walking up to Varela, his trainers did squeak across the tiled floor as he stopped in front of him. He had one hand in his pocket and the other to greet him. A firm clasp was gripped around Paulo's hand. Again, normal apart from the coldness of the skin. "Oh you know... Just dropped down to say hello before we turn to strict formalities. We're not engaged in diplomacy yet."
A one or two shakes firm shakes of the hand was all that was happened before he let go. "I must say, I'm glad you accepted the offer to come down. Sorry to bring you all the way out here, that was the Admiral's conditions, not mine." He seemed to look around the room, mostly at their luggage and clothes that were displaced around some places, but not saying much after...