Sayuri had forgone her companion’s offer to browse his collection of family heirlooms in search of something to wear, instead opting for her usual attire: combat boots and a full body suit, of the kind popular with pilots across the Sirius sector, sleeveless and in a shade of ochre typical of Blood Dragon uniforms. The ornate arm protection and green trimming the only things that betrayed her status among her peers. Her dark hair was tied back into a long ponytail, drawing attention the scars on her left eye and upper lip. While impeccably dressed, it was clear to any observer that she was a soldier, not a socialite.
“Lets keep moving, we’re already late” she said, motioning for the standard-bearer to follow her into the small reception area.
Unsure what to expect from the many unsavory characters in attendance, and having not been informed of any regulations to the contrary; she had opted to carry a compact Neutron Blaster on her hip. Its visibility was a gesture of politeness, leaving no question on anyone’s mind that she was armed, but also serving as a convenient warning to would-be troublemakers at the festival.
Upon entering the reception, she gave a polite bow to the attendant. “Captain Saitō and Okamura-san of the Blood Dragons,” she announced, “I must apologize for our late arrival.”