In reply to Theodore McFarlane (msg # 85):

     Varca's face clouds up at Theo's snarl--and Varca drops his hand from Theo's arm, down towards where he normally has a pistol holstered on his right thigh...

     But suddenly the angry look on Varca's face changes to a look of puzzled thought.

     "You're...right.  It didn't register, before..." Varca says, looking at Theo, but staring into the distance,

     "The Ship's Lockers weren't partly emptied--like they'd been gone through by a dying crew on a damaged ship, looking for emergency supplies.  Those lockers were empty."

     Varca looks around at his companions standing nearby,

     "Maybe...maybe there was gear in the lockers, when the ship was found, and what was there was used by the Technicians to make repairs after the ship was rediscovered..?" Varca nodded, as if agreeing with himself,

     "Or...okay...maybe, two hundred years ago, after the fight that damaged the ship, another ship evacuated the crew, and they took all the gear in the Ship's Lockers, as well..?  I mean, I would!  Hmm.  I think we're going to have to ask Princess Rao about this, when we see her next, Theo."

     "Hey--thinking about the Princess--" Varca brings his hand back up to give a friendly swat to where he'd been holding Theo's arm a moment before,

     "You're Drinaxi-born, too, Imperial!  Why aren't you trying to become Commander of this Motley Crew?  We pull this off and some-body gets to marry Princess Rao--why not you?  You've got a local Title already, right?  Baron of Agricultural Waste Processing, or Lord of Shoe Polish Disbursement, or something like that?"

     "I'm planning to push the idea for somebody from Drinax to run this operation, really hard to the King.  And if I can't convince him it should be me...I can live with it being you.  As long as you do what I tell you to do."

     Varca flashes a wide smile that he thinks looks friendly on his plain-looking face--but actually closer resembles the look of a predatory animal...just before it tears into a victim.

"Now, don't fight, gentlemen" Ingid says soothingly.

Ingrid smiles. "Men will do anything to marry a princess. I guess old tales don't lie."

"Not interested, she's a devious sneak. At the least. She'd stab her husband in his bed without a thought. At worst." he replies to Ingrid
This message was last edited by the player at 13:06, Mon 04 Nov 2019.

"You've got a twisted perception of reality, Theodore," Rejji comments as he enters the corridor and the conversation.

"Everybody knew it was a Drinaxi ship... 200 years ago. The King's plan only works if no one knows the ship is being operated by Drinaxi flunkies. To that end, he and the Princess wanted to make sure there was nothing on it that screamed DRINAX."

"I don't know why you think the Princess is a devious sneak. Are you saying that every test you've ever taken... assuming you've actually taken any... you had all the answers given to you ahead of time?"

"In any case, political machinations, gossip, rumors and secrets are a way of life here on the Floating Palace. She'd no more have trusted riffraff like us than a wild dog. She had to see how we'd react to a changing situation. Because... I can almost guarantee that none of our plans are going to work out just like we planned."

"Cyrus can have her, I'm marrying Ingrid!" Teddy says with a wink and smile at Ingrid.

Ingrid blushes in regard to Theodore's teasing. "I'm not a princess, but I am less sneaky and I bet I can cook better."
She giggles and adds "But are you tough enough to live on the Sword Worlds?"

"Hmmmmm, maybe! Perhaps we'll find out some day! I know you can cook better, she probably can't." he grins.

"Anything else we need for the locker Varca? We got tools, we're getting vacc suits. Where do we get guns and blades? At least sub machine guns and shotguns and pistols. Wait for Tech-World's lower law level for that probably?"

quote:

"You've got a twisted perception of reality, Theodore," Rejji comments as he enters the corridor and the conversation.

"Everybody knew it was a Drinaxi ship... 200 years ago. The King's plan only works if no one knows the ship is being operated by Drinaxi flunkies. To that end, he and the Princess wanted to make sure there was nothing on it that screamed DRINAX."

"I don't know why you think the Princess is a devious sneak. Are you saying that every test you've ever taken... assuming you've actually taken any... you had all the answers given to you ahead of time?"

"In any case, political machinations, gossip, rumors and secrets are a way of life here on the Floating Palace. She'd no more have trusted riffraff like us than a wild dog. She had to see how we'd react to a changing situation. Because... I can almost guarantee that none of our plans are going to work out just like we planned."

"Doesn't mean I've got to like it Rej."
This message was last edited by the player at 19:57, Thu 07 Nov 2019.

In reply to Theodore McFarlane (msg # 93):

     "Things are just as you should remember, here, Theodore." Varca answers, "We're still a dual society--everything on record reflects things the way they are here, on the Floating Palace.  Here, law enforcement is very rigid--with the exception of a few ceremonial bladed weapons, personal weapon possession is not allowed here on the Palace¹.  But look over there--a small shop that sells sidearms.  Do you remember why that dichotomy is, Theodore?"

     Varca raises a hand and taps himself in the chest, "Us.  Vespexers.  And anyone else who has business down there..."

     Varca shifts his hand to point down at the floor--and towards the planet, far below.

     "It's fracking dangerous down there, y'know!  And the statistics for the environment, down there, are pretty much kept from the public.  The over-all planetary level of law enforcement is non-existent².  Law enforcement within the various Vespexer Clan holdings tends to vary, but usually focus on heavily armed people being really polite³.  And the Royal Outposts try to keep things to a side-arms only policy.⁴"

     "So, yes, Theodore, you can probably find anything but Heavy Weapons for your personal ownership.  I know energy weapons are available, but they aren't common, and they are expensive.  Just remember to never, ever, ever carry any weapon up here--unless it's a ceremonial sword or dagger, and you're wearing it on your way to a ceremony."

     Varca stops and nods at a rather non-descript looking door.

     "And here we are."

     On the door is a small bronze plaque that reads,

     "Zariid Excursionista Outfitters, makers of fine protective wear."


OOC:
1 = Law Level A(10)
2 = Law Level 0
3 = Law Level 3
4 = Law Level 5

I'll leave it up to you whether we buy weapons here or Tech-World then for the ship's locker."

In reply to Theodore McFarlane (msg # 95):

     "Actually, I was thinking of, maybe, stopping at planet Pourne..." Varca pronounces the world name as 'Poor-Neh', "...to fill our Armory.  As a culture, the Pournels are super-paranoid, but not Xenophobic--after all, they're a major stop on the Imperial-Aslan-Florian trade route--they can't shoo-away everyone!  Their technological classification on the Interstellar Scale is only Level A, but, taking their deep-set paranoia into account, they are excellent weaponsmiths."

     Varca smiled a grim smile, "The last time I was there, when I was still with the Star Guard Scouts, the Pournels had built such a dense field of defense satellites around their world, I think even the Pus--uh, I mean the Aslan would think twice, before taking on that world."

     Varca actually snaps his gloved fingers, "Say, that's an idea!  Maybe we can talk the King into letting us try and work a deal where the percentage of the Privateering money we make that we have to give to him, we pay off with Pourne-built defense satellites for Drinax?"

     At that moment, a low bweep-bweep comes from the inside of Varca's helmet, which is hanging at his left hip.  Varca looks down at the sound and quickly grabs up his helmet, then moving to raise it over his head.  However, with the helmet half-way raised, Varca stops, blinks, and looks around at everyone.

     "Oh.  Right." Varca says quietly, likely to himself, then clears his throat,

     "Ahem.  Please excuse me.  That's a timer to remind me that a limited communication window has opened to the planet, below--I have to send a quick message and, well...my comm-unit is built into the helmet...so...I'll just be a moment."

     Stepping to the side of the corridor, beside the entryway to Zariid Excursionistas, Varca places his helmet over his head, and opaque's the faceplate.



OOC:
     "Varca pronounces the world name as 'Poor-Neh'" -- according to Canon sources, a handful of the planets around Drinax are named for 20th Century Science Fiction authors, and over time, those names have been shortened and/or corrupted.  "Pourne" is short for "Pournelle", i.e., Jerry Pournelle.
     Following that logic, I jumped to the conclusion that the natives of "Planet Pourne"--go ahead, tell me you didn't laugh out loud when you read that!  Go ahead, I dare you to tell me that!  That's why I have Varca saying "Poor-Neh", as if saying Pournelle, but stopping before pronouncing the "ell" sound--anyway, that's also why I had the locals calling themselves "Pournels", rather than "Pournese" or "Pournican" or...oh, will you stop laughing!  How juvenile! ^_^

[3c(?): At Zariid's, the Suit Outfitter]

     After just a couple of minutes, Varca removes his helmet...

     "There, done.  That didn't take too long, now, did it?" Varca says, as he again hangs the helmet on his belt, at his left hip.

     "Come on.  This shouldn't take too long." Varca adds, as he approaches the heavy Skrattlewood door--likely centuries old, since the Skrattlewood forests of the planet, below, were centuries dead, and the wood's natural blue color was now age-darkened a deep indigo--they silently swing inward.  A pleasant tone is heard inside.

     The chamber inside is likely 10 meters wide, extending back about 30 meters.  The ceiling--which looks to be paneled in shiny metal tiles (silver?) with a relief pattern--is about 4 meters overhead.  The floor is a parquet of gold and amber wood, which--though obviously lovingly maintained--is still showing signs of it's centuries-old age.  The outer walls of the greater space are covered with wood moldings painted in white with gold trim, highlighting great panels of satin wallpaper in paisleys of saffron yellow, mango orange, and melon green.

     Despite the opulence of the over-all chamber, the interior has been subdivided by tasteful wood panel partitions which rise from the floor to 3 meters up.

     The front of the chamber--which the group has just stepped into--is 10 meters across the front and 5 meters deep.  In the center of the back partition wall, directly opposite the entry, is a 2 meter hallway, curtained off with a tapestry of dep indigo blue, to match the outer door.  A fairly typical retail counter, in black and chrome, runs in front of the hallway.  Though there are couple of other doors in the back partition wall, tastefully--and strategically--placed potted plantings hide them from direct view, while subtle signs point out if they lead to fitting rooms or rest rooms.  From beyong the partition, a subtle industrial 'hum' could be heard.

     Five comfortable sitting areas appear to be randomly scattered around the remaining open area--each a 3 meter Persian-style carpet in reds-and-golds, on top of which is a trio of comfortable yet professional low-backed arm chairs and a matching love seat, all set around deep-indigo Skrattlewood coffee tables with a holodisplay on them.  The furnishings are upholstered in fine microfiber fabrics, with each sitting area done in a different pastel color (Peach, Pale Yellow, Lavender, Mint, and Coral).

     Low, pleasant setar music plays from unseen speakers (OOC: Setar (sic) Persian plucked stringed instrument. Cousin to Hindu Sitar, plucked stringed instrument)

     At the counter, a young(ish) man turns at the sound of the door tone.  Possessing the vaguely Eastern Mediterranean look of so many of the Palace dwellers--clear, swarthy skin tone, clean-shaven, patrician nose, full lips and smoldering brown eyes that draw one in with their promise.  The young man is dressed in a collarless, buttonless flat-black black shirt over high-waisted, wide-legged, tight-cuffed, pegged trousers of candy-apple red silk, over pointed black leather shoes.  A long coat, also of candy-apple red silk, with wide lapels and wide padded shoulders, is worn open to show off a trim torso under the tight black shirt.

     The young man's eyes go wide and a broad smile--of perfect, white teeth--brightens his face.  Flinging his arms wide, he strides forward.

     "Varca Lexand!  You reprobate Vex-Pisser!" the young man calls out, as he throws his arms around Varca in a hug--showing that he's taller than Varca's 1.8 meters, maybe a few millimeters shy of a full 2 meters.

     "You're supposed to be dead.  We paid all that money." the young man says with a laugh, holding Varca out at arms length.

     "In your dreams, Daoud, you Palace Poofk--" Varca growls through a big grin--but stops suddenly, shakes off the grip, and takes a step back, bowing his head slightly towards the young man he'd just called Daoud.

     "I mean--it is nice to see you again, Lord Daoud.  I hope your Father is well, also." Varca says, much more formally.

     "Yeah, the Old Man is fine--what's with the Lackey-speak?  Crotch on the suit too tight?  You need an adjustment?" Daoud says, scrutinizing Varca from head to foot--then looking at everyone else,

     "Okay, you guys came in with him, so--which of you gob-smacked him in the head while his helmet was off?  C'mon!  Who broke him?" Daoud demands.
This message was last edited by the player at 06:18, Sun 10 Nov 2019.

"Heheheheheheheheheheh!" Teddy laughs at Varca and Daoud.

OOC - Beautiful description, wish I could do that!

"Of course, I never carry weapons. Well, almost never. I do have my father's sidearm" Ingrid admits, I little embarrassed.

Ingrid curtsies to Daoud. "I'm Ingrid Gustavdottir Sigar. Pleased to meet you, Lord Daoud. Perhaps I am influencing mister Varca's manners."

[3c(?): At Zariid's, the Suit Outfitter]

     "I'm not broken, you twit!" Varca snarls--then closes his eyes and calms himself,

     "I am just practicing my manners--I'm working on developing my diplomatic side." Varca continues, more calmly.

     "Wa-ha!!  Varca Lexand--Diplomatic?!!" Daoud burst out, laughing, "The same Varca Lexand who--as a Second Tier Explorer with the Star Guard Scouts, during a Kingdom Day Revelry Ball, shouted at Chieftain Galx, 'Move that ass, Lady!  You're blocking the way to the grimp!'  Is that the diplomatic Varca you are making reference to? Ah-hahahahahahaha..."

     Varca had raised is gloved right hand up to cover his face as Daoud had spoken, so his voice was a little muffled when he said,

     "She was just standing there, shoving grimp in her mouth faster than she could chew them..."

     Varca pulled his hand away from his face, and waved it in a dismissive manner,

     "None of that matters, right now, dammit!" Varca growls, glaring at Daoud, "We are here about the suit order I sent--you received it, right?  I sent it over twenty hours ago."

     "Yes, yes, yes, Varca, of course we got it.  Twelve of our Type-Three Space Suits, basic configuration, decorated in the always popular flat black..." Daoud waves his left hand in an up-and-down gesture at Varca--standing there in his flat black Hazard Suit, "A very slimming, if unoriginal, choice.  These won't be too difficult.  As contractors to the Star Guard, we've made this suit type before."

     "Yeah, yeah.  I've brought you five physical parameter files for five of the suits." Varca says, raising up his left forearm and tapping on the computer interface mounted there, "Including one for a Vargr physiotype."

     Daoud raises his eyebrows and gives Varca a surprised look, as he pulls what looks like a round, palm-sized, gold pocket watch on a long golden chain from out of a pocket in his trousers, taps on the face of it, and verifies receipt of the files Varca had just sent him.

     "A suit for a Vargr...?" Daoud says, sounding a little skeptical.

     "Yes, Daoud, one of the suits will need to accommodate Scholar Zhouth's needs--and he is most definitely a Vargr." Varca agreed, "This is not too much of a challenge, I hope...?"

     "Of course not!  Zariid's Excursionista Outfitters prides itself in always providing everything the customer requests.  Always." Daoud responds, puffing himself up with both professional, and personal, pride.

     "And the payment you offered?"

     "One hundred and twenty cartons, each filled with one-hundred kilograms of refurbished and verified operational Tech/F moly-circuitry bundles--twelve metric tons, with a total value of three-hundred thousand Imperial--will be brought up from the planet and delivered to you within the next twenty-four hours.  Arrangements have already been made."
This message was last edited by the player at 07:20, Tue 12 Nov 2019.

Teddy's eyebrows arch at the payment offered!

In reply to Theodore McFarlane (msg # 101):

     "Excellent, my friend!" Daoud says with a wide smile, slapping Varca on the shoulder, "And if it doesn't show up, we'll have you killed and gain license to produce that magnificent Hazard Suit of yours!  You know, to this day, Father still brags that that suit is his master work.  Oh!  I must tell him you are here!"

     Varca just rolls his red eyes at Daoud's chatter.  Varca looks more...mildly irritated...than concerned about the death threat.

     "Please, everyone, come sit--here, at the lavender station." Daoud gestures towards the lavender coloured seating area, "I shall send for some sparkling mineral water limonata, and show you your suits on the holodisplay, while we wait for Father."

     Daoud again takes up his pocket-watch looking computer interface and taps a few buttons, then raises the device closer to his lips.

     "Father, it's Daoud, out in the customer lounge.  We have a guest--Varca Lexand just walked in the door."

     "What!!  Varca is here?  Now?" a small voice can clearly be heard from the device, "I'll get my knives and join you immediately!"

     Daoud lowers the interface and smiles at the group, "Father sounds so happy.  He'll be just a moment."

     "Meanwhile, let me show you your suits...ah!  Here's Thelenthu with the refreshments."

     A small robot rolls around from behind the counter against the back wall--it looks much like a small end-table on wheels--it's flat top having a silver serving tray holding several tall, slim tumblers filled with ice and sparkling water lemonade, as well as two crystal serving dishes with comfits--candy-coated pistachios and candy-coated dried apricot.

     "Please help yourselves.  Now...your suits.."

     Daoud manipulates the controls on his interface device, and the holodisplay in the center of the Skrattlewood coffee table glows to life, and the holographic images of two types of space suit appear abouve it.
     "The suit on the left is our Type-Two Basic Duty Spacesuit--the same suit we provide to the Star Guard Navy, as well as to the Army forces, serving down on the planet.  On the right is our Type-Three Basic Boarding Assault Suit, identical to the ones we provide to the Star Guard Marines.  Note that, despite it's bulkier appearance, the basic Type-Three still comes in at a very light-weight of twelve kilos.  And, as instructed, your suits come only with basic capabilities...*sigh*...no extras, no frills, not even any built-in weapons..."

     "Varca, you are getting boring in your old age, you know that?"

     Varca ignores Daoud's comment, and turns to the group, "If anyone wishes to add either the Tech/13 Electronics Suite, which Zariid's has available..."

     "And which we are quite proud of!  Quite proud!"

     "*Sigh*  Yes, I can attest that it's very good--I have it installed in my Hazard Suit, right now.  Anyway, if you want to add that, or have weapons installed on the forearm mountings--and if you do, I recommend you make them removable!--then speak up now."

     "But know that any modifications you make to the suit being made for you, you will have to pay for on your own!  Modifications are not part of my deal for the dozen suits."

     Varca turns to Daoud, "So, for the suit made to my measurements, add the E-Suite and one removable Snub-type submachine gun, ambidextrous mount.  To the Vargr suit add twin twelve-centimeter, retractable blades to both forearms, as well as the E-Suite.  I'll have the cost for those transferred from Gold I have banked, here on the Palace, by the end of today."

     "Anyone else?  Speak up."

OOC:
Comfits are confectionery treats consisting of dried fruits, nuts, seeds or spices coated with sugar candy, often in the form of a hard shell.  Jordan Almonds, M&Ms, Good & Plenties, and Sugar Plums are all examples of Comfits.

"I'll take the 'E' Suite and a submachine gun as well, let me know how much and I'll pay." Teddy says to Daoud. "I'm Teddy McFarlane, Baron Highcastle is my father."
This message was last edited by the player at 16:10, Tue 12 Nov 2019.

Ingrid smiles at the hospitality and has a little lemonade. She takes a look at the boarding suit, impressed by its technology. "The boarding suit looks very capable but goodness, I shouldn't need anything like that. I think the duty spacesuit should be fine for me."

"No Ingrid, Boarding Suit for you as well."

In reply to Theodore McFarlane (msg # 105):

     "I'm afraid I must agree." Varca adds, "Our...future excursions...will require such levels of protection, I'm afraid.  If your concern is because you feel your skills with such suits is insufficient, don't worry, Ingrid--those of us with sufficient skills will help to teach you what you need to know.  It won't take long."

     "And we'll stick close, to help you along, until you feel comfortable with your suit."

In reply to Varca Lexand (msg # 106):

PM
This message was last edited by the player at 15:53, Sun 17 Nov 2019.

In reply to Theodore McFarlane (msg # 107):

OOC: *SIGH*  Teddy...my request for info about any of your siblings was not asked In Character...if you go back and look real careful, you'll see that the info request line starts with "Private to Theodore McFarlane:"--and you, me, and StarMaster were the only people who could see it.  Now everyone else is wondering "Why did Teddy just blurt out who his sister is, while we are all talking about space suits?"
The reason is this...which I should have dealt with a couple of days ago.  My apologies.



     "Baron Highcastle..." Daoud repeats thoughtfully, then a look of recognition, "McFarlane!  Yes, of course!  You would be the brother of Lady Cassandra McFarlane!  Yes, Lady McFarlane has been a customer of ours, in the past.  Hmmm.  I believe it was eight--no, ten!--years ago, the Lady was being courted..."

     Daoud lowers his voice and wiggles his eyebrows, "More accurately, she was doing the courting--anyway, she was spending a great deal of time in the company of one of the Hawk Warriors...ahhhh...young Baron Zhong Hadimu, it was.  The Lady McFarlane was fond of flying with her young Baron, so she came to us for a wingsuit..."

     Suddenly Daoud squints at Theodore suspiciously,

     "But...Wait!  You are the younger brother of Lady Cassandra McFarlane?  You're supposed to be dead--died ages ago on some hunting expedition down on the planet when you were a teenager..."

     Daoud turns his suspicious glare towards Varca,

     "Varca!  What's going on, here?  Who is this...this...person!...with the thick Imperial accent, claiming to be the son of one of our Nobles?!  What kind of scheme are you trying to pull this time?"

     Varca raises his right hand in a calming gesture,

     "Peace, Daoud!  Don't get your panties in a bunch.  He is a McFarlane, I give you my word.  And he is the Baron's youngest child.  I've known him since we were both teenagers--I was there at the so-called 'hunting expedition'.  Which never actually happened, by the way.  Theodore, here, broke with his family, back then, and ran away to join The Circus..."

     Varca pauses and winks at Theodore,

     "Well...he ran away to the Imperium--same thing.  Theodore?  Do you wish to explain further, or is that enough?  I can tell this gossipy shopkeeper to mind his own business, and make no mention of this...ever..." Varca turns a serious face towards Daoud, "And he will keep his mouth shut..."

     Daoud returns Varca's glare for a few moments, then shrugs and waves his hands in the air, dismissing the annoying Vespexer.

In reply to Varca Lexand (msg # 108):

Happy.

In reply to Theodore McFarlane (msg # 109):

     Varca gives Theodore a nod of acknowledgement, then turns back to Daoud,

     "Now, Daoud, when can we expect deliv..."

     "Varca Lexand!" a voice, and it's tone of disapproval, cracks out across the chamber like the report of a pistol shot,

     Stepping out from behind the counter against the back wall is an elderly gentleman--completely bald and clean-shaven, there appears to be no hair upon his head, save for a pair of bushy white eyebrows.  Though his skin tone is a match to the swarthy tone of Daoud, there is a quality to it--perhaps the apparent tightness of the skin to the skeleton beneath?--that just implies age.  And though his posture is quite straight, he looks almost dangerously thin.

     The gentleman is impeccably dressed in a black silk Nehru-style jacket--a knee-length tailored coat with an unfolded, short stand-up collar--the entire length of the collar along the neck is straight, with straight edges at top of the center front--these edges of the collar stopping a good four centimeters away from each other, over the jackets front center-line.  Five iridescent black buttons hold the jacket closed abouve the waist, while the band-like collar of a metallic-gold material shirt can be seen between the space of the jackets collar.  Straight-legged trousers, also of black silk, and a pair of gold house slippers complete the outfit.

     The furious look on the old man's face is dark, as he walks slowly towards Varca, and makes him look much taller than his apparent one-hundred sixty-five centimeters.

     "That is no way to speak to your Betters!  Know your place, Vespexer!" the old man growls, approaching Varca.

     "Master Zariid!" Varca gasps, wide-eyed, then pulls himself together and bows at the waist, "My deepest apologies, Master!  We were just fracking around..."

     "Language!" Master Zariid snaps, coming to a halt right before Varca.

     "Forgive me, Master!" Varca pleads, bowing even lower--his own head now lowered from it's normal one-hundred eighty centimeters to being just a bit lower than the top of Master Zariid's--Varca's eyes solidly fixed on the floor.

     "First you vex me with the ideas for this, my masterwork protective suit!" Master Zariid laments to the universe, "Then you deny me my right to show off my genius by not licensing me to produce such things of beauty until you have had exclusive use of it for eight years!"

     Master Zariid glares at the top of Varca's head,

     "It has been five years, now!  I may not live long enough to hear the adulation of the masses when my masterwork is finally able to be revealed!  You are a scurrilous risk-taker, so why aren't you dead, yet?  The Universe would be a calmer place with you out of it--and I could sell these magnificent suits!"

     Varca's shoulder can be seen to now be quivering as if he was sobbing--or laughing quietly.

     "The Universe would be a very dull place without me, and you know it!  Besides..." Varca, still holding his bow, tilts his head back and catches Master Zariid's eye, "You're going to outlive the Universe, you Old Fart!"

     Master Zariid bursts into laughter and throws his arms out, as if to take Varca into a hug.

     "Ha-ha!  Varca!  It's is good to see you again, boy!"

     "Master Cassimir!  It has been too long."

     Though he'd thrown out his arms as if to hug Varca, Master Cassimir shows that he knows better than to try and hug a Vespexer (they see the act as an attack) and instead holds out his hands, palms upward.  It hadn't been noticed before, because Master Cassimir had held his hand behind his back, as he stalked over to Varca, but the old man is wearing black leather gloves.

     Varca slaps his own hands down upon the old man's gloved hands, then Varca flips his own hands over, and Cassimir repeats the process.  The whole time Daoud is rolling his eyes towards the ceiling.

     "So, Master Cassimir," Varca says with a grin, "When can we expect delivery on these suits I've ordered?"

     "Well, it is a very large order for my little shop, here, you know." Cassimir says, looking at his hands as he removes the leather gloves from them, then tosses the gloves casually down on the coffee table,

     "Normally we only do such large projects for the Star Guard.  In fact, you even ordered our Type-Three suit--which you know is a suit we produce for the Star Guard.  And you also had to know I would have to get clearance to make them for a non-Star Guard customer."

     "Imagine my surprise..." Cassimir continues, a twinkle in his warm, brown eyes, "When I received an acknowledgement from no less a dignitary than the High Commander of the Star Guards, Lord Wrax, himself, who signed--and I quote--'Just do it'.  You do annoy the most interesting people, my dear Varca."

     Varca actually looks embarrassed, and his left hand twitches towards his helmet, hanging at his left hip.