Only a couple of minutes have passed since Hester set down her Raven’s Talon on one of Fort Ramsey’s landing pads but she could already feel the atmosphere seep in. A couple more landing pads here and there, people and children lugging around munitions and spare parts to various facilities. She hurried onwards towards the monorail station that took her further into the guts of the massive asteroid. To either side of her she saw the city sprawling out. “It has been a long while…” She mumbled to herself, sighing softly. In the distance she could make out the headquarters of the Alliance, her destination. It’s silhouette standing tall above many of the other buildings in it’s surrounding and slowly approaching as the monorail continued ever onwards.
Moment’s later Hester had shown a functionary the summons she received by Cobra and leaned against one of the walls of the elevator as it ascended to the office, slowly withdrawing into her thoughts. A lot of things had stayed the same and yet years away from the movement, and it seemed to do well. Yet she had not seen a single soul that she knew, at least soon she would meet one of the few friends she still had, if not her sole one. The sound the elevator made to indicate that it had reached the desired floor ripped her out of her thoughts and spurred her to quickly move onwards. And soon a soft knocking would be heard coming from Moretti's door.
The air felt different on these last few floors of the elevator ride, colder somehow. The doors would have opened to an empty waiting room, since there were no other appointments scheduled for this half of the day. And just mere seconds after Hester had knocked the door hissed open, which was odd considering she heard no footsteps of her friend on the other side approaching to open it. Though given the lack of anyone else in the room it seemed likely that the door could be opened remotely by Damien who was sat down comfortably at his work desk.
In stark contrast to his otherwise persistently formal demeanor, he had his legs kicked up and onto his desk. Evidently this was his downtime and he was allowing himself to be comfortable in the presence of his guest. He didn't look any worse for wear either despite the abundance of rumors regarding a failed assassination attempt that nonetheless did nearly kill him. Claiming the initiative soon after her entrance, which was normal given his nature, Damien spoke first. "Welcome back." With a smooth and impeccably fluid gesture of the hand, he politely insisted that Hester sit down in the seat just across from him.
Something about his behavior always was just the slightest bit uncanny, and as the years went by that seemed to remain the same. Even his well mannered invitation to sit somehow felt like it wasn't just a mere suggestion.
Taking in the room as she went to take a seat, Hester could already tell that it was definitely tailored to her old friend, was it the furniture? It probably was. Although, she did feel a little out of place. Wearing her old, slightly oversized and a this point weathered field jacket. A sole patch adorning it’s left sleeve, her own version of the Serpentis insignia. A snake similar and at the same time very unlike a cobra. The Rinkhals, the one she picked as her namesake back in the day. She spoke soft and calmly: “It is good to be back. Feels like a proper homecoming…” After having left behind her old live on Denver, the Alliance had become Hester’s home. More so than she had realised previously.
The last time that Cobra would have seen her, Hester was still very distraught. Struggling to come to terms with the death of her mother and sinking into a spiral of blame. Now? Now, she looked a lot more like the old Hester. Maybe a little less reserved, wearing her emotions a bit more on her sleeve. A genuine smile on her face, unconcerned by her scar."But tell me, how have you been doing? That is you as a person. The main reason for her being there might have been to receive an update on the Alliance but it had been too long since last time the two spoke. At this point she had proped up her arm on the armrest and rested her cheek against her fist.
Good manners took over, and Damien retracted his feet from the table and sat up straight before making proper conversation. It was an expected reaction, but something else about his demeanor didn't match. It wasn't something so easily ascertained like a facial expression or his tone, it seemed entirely like an instinctive reaction - something that would cause Hester an uncanny sense of discomfort. Damien was visibly, tonally, and behaviorally his usual self - but he also wasn't. The mind disliked this dichotomy but could nothing to dispel it - it would have to be endured or ignored through force of will.
"Aside from my brush with death a few years ago I've been well. There's always a lot going on to keep me busy. I suspect you have lots of questions and have heard a lot already?"
His eyes sharpened their gaze, as if either expecting protest or a slew of questions he had already eluded to. It was a silent prompt that told Hester to speak her mind and not mince words. And more importantly, it was an implicit guarantee that Damien would be displeased if she did not.
Sometimes time changes people in other ways, that is what Hester thought about the way that Damien was himself and at the same time not. She might’ve changed in his perspective as well but it was natural, change affects everything. For a short moment she took in his words, mulling over them. ‘That brush with death.’ Ye, she has heard rumours about it on the twilight of the neural net. Somewhat of a recluse she might be but the Alliance and it’s struggle were dear to her and as such she kept taps on it from time to time. A sigh escaped her as she leaned forwards, her face a blend of concern and seriousness. “I have heard a couple of things. The capture of Fontana, the foray against the rats that are the junkers, some smaller scale operations here and there…”
A short pause. “But what was this strange rumour of you having been killed? In some awfully quiet corner of space as well.” Her voice rang through the office, full of concern and slightly raised in tone. Finally releasing the worry she had felt all that time for what was essentially her only friend remaining. It was writ plain on her face, especially her eyes. She might be a bit of a recluse but those that she calls friends mean the world to her and she still had a debt to repay the commander. A life debt.
He'd been waiting for that. "Technically I did die on that table. Just for a few seconds while they struggled to cauterize internal bleeding." But here was where his mood darkened a little, making way for some poorly healed spite.
"It was Ridgenose, well formerly Ridgenose anyway. He's just Locke now - traitors lose their given names. Especially considering I hand out the names." He almost spat the words out. Obviously holding some form of deep seated grudge against the head of the mutiny attempt that nearly took his life. Damien rose to his feet just then as well, with an unexpected briskness. "Worse yet, he took one of my most trusted wingmen with him, and a few other greenhorns that'll likely never claim their birthright." He paced back and forth along the length of the window that flanked his desk.
"And for what? Some freelancer? A technocrat crony who was all but consigned to genocidal aliens that would have wiped out the LFR and everything else? After everything we'd done together, and after everything I did for them - you'd think some trust was deserved for the vision and the mission. But no, far too much to ask for people motivated by whims, fancies, and emotions rather than the cause." His right hand moved swiftly to evoke a gesture of throwing a garbage bag into a bin, although there were neither in this situation and it served to just vent frustration.
With this small rant complete, he looked to Hester - she likely had something to say and this was her opportunity.