Scarlet, Cennet, Hadrian and Vormav

The officer’s mess is on deck 4 beneath the conference room, it is a large, sprawling place, divided by panelled walls into various rooms and alcoves and has a low ceiling, warm lighting and plush carpets, except in the restaurant and dance areas, to give an air of cosiness and intimacy. All the furniture in the officer’s mess is antique, but maintained and kept in good repair by the craftsmen in the artisan workshops.

The ‘Captain’s Table’, is a restaurant where officers go if they want something a bit special and don’t mind paying for it, here the floor is polished parquet in geometric patterns.

There are three bars here, the ‘Traders’ bar is the largest and serves as a general facility for the whole place, it features auto dispensers at one end and is mostly staffed by servitors.

The Explorer’s’ bar is situated in the dance area, sonically screened from the rest of the facility, this place has a suspended, hard wood floor and a variety music is played here, mostly classical, waltz and foxtrot are popular, but interspersed with the occasional hymn, just to keep people grounded. On this dance floor and the couches and tables around it, officers can let their hair down a bit, though there is usually a member of the ecclesiarch stationed here to keep an eye on things.

At the far end of the facility is the ‘Conquest' bar. Staffed by people and serving a better quality of liquor, this area is reserved for the senior officers by an unspoken rule.

Most officers who are not on watch have gathered in the mess to watch the ceremony taking place on the planet below and it has been an impressive sceptical. The investiture of a new Rogue Trader is the biggest thing that has ever happened on this place and they have pulled out all the stops. There have been many hours of service in the packed cathedral, speeches, parade through streets crammed with cheering people, more speeches, a presentation, with speeches and a grand reception followed by more speeches, now, they watch as their new, and officially proclaimed Rogue Trader and Lady Captain endures one final speech and climes aboard her gun cutter, she’ll be back in about fifty minuets. In fact, as they watch, the nixie displays above all three bars light up with glowing numbers that match those on a similar but larger display on the bridge, and begins a count down to the Lady Captains arrival.


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It was an event that could not be missed.

It was as simple as that from a perspective of etiquette, propriety, and merely a dangerous curiosity. Certainly, there was immense calculation in the act but it was those three pillars that ultimately drew Cennet Melek Shiraishi from the assured safety of the Navigator's Sanctum and to the sprawling expanse of the Officer's Mess. Her flowing robes of royal blue adorned with innumerable constellations in golden thread meticulously arranged and perfumed whilst the finely wrought staff bearing the sigil of both her office and house helped to steady each laborious step as she navigated the crowd that wished no more of her than she did of them. The subtle gleam of xeno-mesh sleeves beneath her robes implying no small awareness of the risk taken among those not possessed of such rarified genetics and defects as were her heritage. The rapid flashes of the blessed Aquilla to ward her off glimpsed from time to time in the periphery of her vision as she drew close enough for her comfort to the displays to watch, her posture kept pointedly straight despite the growing agony of fatigue. The wasting having robbed her of so much of the youthful vigor that had been but one corner stone of her imperious pride.

Now, she was an all together stranger thing as her features were hidden behind delicately shaped and painted masks, any expanse of flesh hidden in kind beneath neatly fitted black material and only really the flowing of braided and lustrous black hair giving impression of anything organic that might remain. One could almost mistake her for some elaborately designed and engineered servitor if it wasn't for the trappings of the Navis Nobilite. That same pride unable to bear the revolting thing that she had been demeaned to and having driven her from the esteem of her elders. It had driven her then to the Mechanicus and then finally to this Dynasty where she had served for years in the strange multi-house arrangement that had seemed nothing more than madness and a breeding ground for treachery or, worse, a trade war.

There was also the contracts that would need to be revisited, renewed, and new oaths sworn to a new name that would soon be returning to the enormous beast that was the Pious Lament... She was ready for this but the thing that still lingered in her mind was how she might position and share the news of... certain organizational rearrangements that had come to pass. A sticking point of anxiety as her mind worked over first more familiar mathematics before deviating into worrying at that now smooth stone of thought and the tangents of potential future that stemmed outward in infinite directions. One of her own curses of power... A gift of foresight if she so chose to open her eyes and wrest what secrets there were to be had in the non-linear flows of the Empyrean. It was an early and easy lesson to keep such things to herself, though, as few dealt well with prophesying.

Her mouth began to work gently behind the mask as she noted the count down and constructed the gun cutter's approach within her mind's eye. It came easily as she envisioned the span of the galactic horizon, the planet beneath them, the bulk of the Pious Lament and the all too significant and yet insignificant cutter as it rose towards them. Every little detail forming to paint an exacting picture of what should happen but not necessarily what will.
This message was last edited by the player at 16:32, Thu 01 Dec 2022.

Vormav sat back in his booth in the Conquest bar. It wasn't technically reserved for him. But since he was the staff's boss's boss's boss the hosts knew to keep the table clean, the booth empty, and a smoked amasec with a bitter herb garnish topped with the reports for the evening at the table center.

He sat there now, not bothering with the restaurant's reports, since tonight was going to be a whole extra headache anyway. He poured over the staffing changes marking topics to bring up to the new Trader. It was possible, though unlikely that the old captain had put replacements in his will, or other areas had automatic chains of command he wasn't aware of. But it was still all too smooth.

A group of rowdy flight crew junior officers approached his booth. Vormav gave him his signature scar faced harden senior officer stare. They kept coming so he had the lights on his shoulder mounted weapon begin to ignite. That got their attention and they scurried off. It wasn't that people couldn't share the Factotum's table. But if you weren't sure you were supposed to be there then you weren't supposed to be there.

He looked around for any of his nominal peers. Other officers forced out of their typical working seclusion by the demands of their station and the event. The Navigator was here, a rare appearance out and about. He thought he had seen some others on the way in. They would no doubt need to file out a few minutes before their new boss landed to make formal greetings and initial interviews.

Hadrian smiled as he looked around the whole area, taking it all in. He had sat down at the same table as Cennet when arriving, unsure about some of the other officers yet, but looking very friendly and approachable himself. He glanced over at her and smiled. "Quite the event, of course. And before I forget you look quite stunning."

He was dressed up a bit, but for him it was more like formal wear for a Missionary. Robes, staff leaned next to him, 'holy accoutrements', that sort of thing. It certainly wasn't what anyone would call...stylish or fashionable.

He noted the gaze of one of the more senior officers, he thought, and gave a small nod - both as a greeting and potential invitation to join them if desired. He let out a small chuckle. "Should we toast to the new Lady Captain and our new lot in life?" He raised his glass slightly with a questioning look towards the Navigator.

For all the will and focus she might conjure, the body eventually had to fail and her choice to seat herself was no different in that regard. The agony of fatigue burning slowly through the whole of her back and into the back of legs as she found herself with company. Her fixation on calculated flight trajectories, approaches, and potential deviations from this conjured flight plan having drawn her attention inward and left her in that peculiar territory of feeling inattentive and rude. She offered a deliberate nod of her head towards Hadrian then. There was an impression of long suffering dignity and wounded pride in the motion and the compliment paid. A bitter irony stirring in her mind and a familiar sickness in stomach given the pinnacles of her youth and the so called perfection that had been ascribed to her.

"One might think looks alone could kill if the reactions of our peers were factored into the matter." the Navigatrix retorted in a voice that was soft, educated, and almost inviting yet clannish in that way of the Navis Nobilite. They both knew that the realms of her comfort was almost entirely confined to the Navigator's sanctum, the bridge, and the not infrequent consultations and appointments within the Ship's Hospice. The Wasting had not only robbed her of physical strength after all but presented complications in other areas where well functioning muscle was an utmost necessity. Such, as a result, had to be frequently addressed though despite all projections when contrasted against baseline homo sapiens Cennet Melek Shiraishi endured.

"It felt rude to miss it especially when I expect to meet shortly with the newly anointed Lady Captain... though perhaps not before I pursue some small business with the High Factotum. Assuming he doesn't opt to discharge that primed weapon system."

The notion of a toast earned another little expressive tilt of her head as if asking if such would be wise in his professional opinion before reaching out with a single digit. The elegant ceramic encasing it broken only by that same strange black material that hid away so much of her organic form and presenting a perennial complication to care for the fact that it was a military grade ablative. With delicate care then she tapped the edge of the glass producing a delicate chime.

"It's a momentous time for the Lady Captain but my duty remains much the same. Only in death as they say." Cennet concluded with an almost solemn air but undercut by a certain wry humor that couldn't be missed. Her attention drifted back to the monitors then and spared one more meaningful glance towards the High Factotum's table. The decision made for the moment, at least, to do no more than catch her breath before she approached the first challenge of this changing of the Guard.

While not technically an upper officer by rank, being the (newly appointed) head of the choir certainly got her a degree of respect that put her a bit above her rank, giving the other officers at the table a small smile as she sat, before giving the navigator a bit of a wary look. A flick of a finger sending an open bottle of alcohol and a rocks glass at the centre of the table over to her, and poured a drink for her before putting itself back into place, Scarlet reached out and grabbed it for a sip as she listened to the other's conversations.

She nodded at the Navigator's words a bit but still seemed guarded against them, the source of their powers was the same but Scarlet found their manifestation of them entirely alien. After a while of silent sipping, she spoke "I have need to address the Lady Captain myself, our choir is very weak as it is... we would be lucky to catch the notice of an astropath 1 system over if we tried to broadcast as it were"

She does however join in on the toast "Indeed... regardless of the circumstances, it is a time of change, for good or for worse, we stand with the captain!" She raised her glass before taking a drink, sitting back in her chair and relaxing a bit, the first time she had done so in a while, she was far too busy with all the paperwork that came with changing ones station.

The nixie display above the bar is showing 22 minuets before the captain arrives back aboard.

Roscar Vanlen approached the table, the Master of Ordinance is known by all, some just in passing, most as a friend, for he had many of those. In his early sixties, with hair now as white as his void born complexion Roscar has the broad shoulders and narrow waist of a weight lifter, mostly because that what he dose with the majority of his spare time, overcompensating for his space born heritage by diet and body building exercises in a gym adjusted to one and a half G.

”Quite a show that,” the man says, indicating the vid screen that had been showing the investiture but now sowed some local sports event with the sound off, ”our new Captain must be exhausted.”

”May I?” he asks indicating a spare chair.

People seemed to keep clear of the nearby booth where the High Factotem sat
OOC, for the record people of Rank 1, 2 and 3 are considered senior and are welcome at this end of the bar.
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20 minutes and change, good enough for one more round and a chat among the officers. He beckoned over a serving girl, asked her to clean up his table, and to find him with a new drink. He allowed his weapon to slide back to it's rest position as he slid out of the booth and approached the table of his fellow senior staff.

"Mr.Vanlen good to see you. From the looks of it the extra protein rations are paying off! Gains for days, as they say." he scanned the faces of the others at the table, nodding to each in turn. Everyone was so new to their positions, very strange. "Our new Lady Captain, seemed to do very will with the ceremony. I hope I stand up half as well when she questions me on the expenses of the ordeal!" he laughed, managing the logistics of the ceremony had been his sole obsession for what seemed like ages now. Even if the event had left many of the other departments more or less untouched.

The wary glance was met with only an upward tilt of the Navigatrix's head. The irony of such caution and ill regard hardly lost on her when the source of it was a sanctioned psyker but she was of inclination and willful disposition to remain civil even as pride rankled beneath the surface. None of this, of course, showed through the artfully painted mask that one could only presume was a rendition of how she might have once truly appeared... and they would be right in that assumption. Whatever had changed to warrant the curious choices of modification to body and hiding of her features was a matter of no small and grim supposition that only two people at the table had the true answer to.

"Rare breeds make for difficult recruiting, I'm told." Cennet offered with a pleasantly enough mix of pride and dry humour as her attention turned to the Master of Ordiance, her hand and arm rising to gesture towards the spare seat with a deliberateness that implied an almost painful expenditure of energy for such a gesture of invitation. The redundant and many joints of her limbs creaking ever so subtly as the delicate cartilage and ligature took up the slack for tortured and withered musculature.

"Please do, Mr. Vanlen."

Her pride would not allow it but there was a small spark of envy that burned in the depths of her mind for the physicality that Roscar was able to achieve. A state that was long denied to her with the wretched wasting that had so thoroughly afflicted her. Once, she had been a remarkable specimen and, well, now she was a brilliant mind and will trapped in a body the former could not abide. The arrival of the High Factotum soon after was fortuitous in it's own right as he commented upon their latest addition to the table and in kind the ceremony that drew them all together.

"I can't imagine it is any worse than the pomp and ceremony that'd draw four navigator families to the service of the dynasty... Though it all looked rather splendid where my peers and I were concerned." Cennet said as she purposely met eyes with Vormav as he scanned the faces of the table, her head bowing ever so slightly in acknowledgement in kind. There was a strange impression of both rigidity and fluidity to each of her motions that suggested she was pointedly restricting her movement to the range of those around her in addition to more apparent struggles in pure physicality.

"I wouldn't wish to sour the good spirits of the moment but there is a not inconsiderable change that I'll need to discuss with you and the Captain, Mr... Vormav?" the Navigatrix said with the unmistakable lilt of a question as to the preferred form of address given the man's lack of a formal family name on the records and dossiers that had been provided to her.

Hadrian had smirked slightly at the Navigator's observations and wit, but the Choirmaster had been more about business than idle chatter. He could respect that, when the occasion called for it. And he feared there would be many times where things would be more formal and serious then he would like on the ship.

To Scarlet he said, "I have need to meet the Lady Captain, since I haven't yet." He gave a light shrug. "But the equipment and staff are adequate for me."

He gave a head movement that was part nod and part bow as first the Master of Ordinance and then the Factotum approached the table and joined them. "Well met and good health to both of you sirs!" He raised his glass slightly in acknowledgement.

The nixie display above the bar is showing 4 minutes 22 . . . 21 . . . 20 seconds before the captain arrives back aboard.

Roscar salutes Vormav by raising his glass,

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Vormav looked to Cennet not quite sure how to meet the gaze of her emotionless mask. "Just Vormav, Madam Navigator. Not inconsiderable change is the fashion of the season I fear. Is this a matter for the general staff to hear or should we retire to my booth for the next..." He looked the the display did a momentary calculation then took a drink, his drink, from a passing serving tray. "two minutes? My how the time flies."

The Navigatrix inclined her head politely in acknowledgement of the more familiar form of address that was his preference and spared a delicate glance towards the nixie display. It was rather unlike her to so thoroughly lose track of time given how important such was to her predictions, calculations and course charting. Her attention returned in due time to Vormav to address the topic with a wry comment on the nature of time.

"That it most certainly does... and only gets worse with age."

She paused for a moment then before directing the conversation back to the topic of business with a certain skill that seemed all too appropriate for one of her... breeding and education. Her tone never shifting far from those soft, educated notes with the subtle undertones of that clannish and secretive inclination so common to the Navis Nobilite. That she wore a mask and hid so much of herself physically from others only reinforcing that latter detail in the mind.

"As to the matter of business... It's not an easy topic to broker but I've taken on the mantle of Navis Primaris, warp guide to the laymen, for the foreseeable future as my predecessor, Zachariah, has isolated himself from his retinue and the other navigators aboard. I, ah, suspect it's an intensely personal matter of health that has provoked such a response but despite best efforts I've not been able to get any real definitive answer on that front. Negotiation has ever been the strong suite of my sisters." Cennet concluded with a small note of lament in her voice that she could not do more in that regard.

"Regardless, I've taken some of the initiative in the matter and had my own attendants begin the drafting of the requisite documents to smooth the transition until such a time as my predecessor feels fit to reclaim his duties or we determine it best to set in plascrete the current arrangement. Other concerns will have to wait for later and some privacy." the Navigatrix concluded with a polite note as she gently, and perhaps laboriously, folded her hands before her on the table.
This message was last edited by the player at 01:28, Thu 08 Dec 2022.

A small bell chimes somewhere as the Nixie display flicks over to a line of zeros along all it's tubes, then after a moment resets to six hours, four minuets and 11 , , 10 , , 9 , , 8 seconds.
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Vormav listens intently to the Navis Primaris... elect? presumptive? waiting for her to come to the part where his intervention was needed. When she stopped the silence hung awkwardly. "Madam Navigator, if your superior is unwilling to perform his duties. Far be it for me to either stop your from taking up the slack or to order you to perform the role. My clerks can process whatever paper work you submit. But so long as we get from point A to point B I don't think any one with two eyes will complain about who plotted the course. It's not as if the captain could appoint Roscar here as Warpguide."

He sipped his drink in thought. "Interesting isn't it that if any other crewman comported themselves as Master Zachariah has, without dire reason, they would be flogged at best and discharged into the void at worst. Not so for your department, I expect."

Roscar chuckles at Vormav’s comment, ”if it were a serf perhaps, but that’s not how we treat officers around here, no matter what department,” then, after a thoughtful pause, ”still, we have a new boss now, that could all change very quickly.”

The quiet opulence of the officer’s mess is lit with a soft, warm glow, a silent waiter, smartly dressed, collects empty glasses from the table. On the screen one of the sportsman pulls of a manoeuvre that has the crows leaping about in the stands, but the sound is muted and all that can be heard is the comforting hum of the ship at rest. Behind the bar the nixie display continues counting down to some unknown event.
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"You'll have the signed paperwork by First Bell."

The Navigatrix offered with a delicate incline of her head at the High Factotum's understanding of the matter and what could barely pass for a shrug as in regards to his thoughtful musings. No more, really, than a slight rise and fall of her shoulders with all the grace and elegance of a well heeled noblewoman... Even if it was far more likely that there was some wretchedly inhuman thing lurking behind the exquisite mask.

It was a dangerous topic, if she was to be honest on the matter. Punishment was difficult enough when all Navigators aboard shared blood and purpose but to introduce the frankly perverse element of no shared allegiances beyond contractual obligations? It was a powder keg that threatened to spark rivalries and other friction that could lead to no where pleasant or productive. That it had worked for so long was as much an understanding that they all rested on a knife's edge as it was simple luck. After all, it was growing increasingly difficult to keep safe the familial secrets that had kept each of their houses competitive. It took but one moment of suspicion or insult to bring the whole crashing down and a challenge issued.

"Discipline is a delicate matter among the Houses. Especially in situations like this where we're not bound by blood but merely contractual obligation. I sadly can't do anything more without... overstepping some well established boundaries and inviting consequences that I would rather wish to avoid."

The Navigatrix said after no small consideration on the topic. There was more to be said there but it was clear she had no intention of making any stronger point for the sake of propriety but the underlying message was certainly clear... Diversity was not necessarily a strength in the Navigator's sanctum if one wanted a more tightly run operation.

"As Master Roscar has said, however, a new Captain might see fit to run things differently."
This message was last edited by the player at 23:53, Thu 08 Dec 2022.

Hadrian decided that that he wasn't sure he wanted to keep interjecting himself in to a discussion with higher-ranking officers about matters that didn't directly concern him. So he sat quietly, and sipped his drink.

But his thoughts were running kind of wild. He wasn't high enough rank in the ship for some things, but some discipline often fell under a high-ranking Missionary's purview, usually in matters related to heresy and the like. Even so, he wasn't bloodthirsty or a crazed fanatic.

He also wasn't too keen about Navigator politics and behavior. Not his area of expertise. But most of them were dealing with transition and changes in both authority and staff. He looked down at his glass a moment and his head shifted ever so slightly. Then he took another drink.

He looked up, "Pardon me but if I may...Who all will be greeting the Lady Captain when she arrives?" He was indirectly asking who all should attend. He wasn't sure he was required nor desired, but figured he'd ask.

” I think Giger is on flight deck right now, he’ll turn his men out for a salute,” Roscar says conversationally, ”it won’t be that formal but I imagine the her ladyship has had enough of formality by now. And Danny of course, the flight boss.” The Master of Ordinance smiled at the mention of Danny, most people did.
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"I have the suspicion I'll be summoned when my talents and insight are desired. I've already caused enough eddies with this... outing." the Navigatrix replied with a slight glance towards the rest of the Officer's mess. Her eyes picking out more than one glance towards their gathering at the table. The uglier parts of her mind driving her to meet one or two of those stares and deriving a certain satisfaction when suddenly their attention turned elsewhere. Even so small a motion had an impression of great will and effort, though, to the keen eyed among them.

"Still, you can't hide forever."

It was a truth in many ways but her mind had thoughts on some facets of it that she did not care to share in a place where her audience could not be more... thoroughly controlled. She gently raised her hands then to interlock before as she glanced to the nixie display again. A slight laugh escaping her as she spared a polite glance once more to her peers.

"My apologies for interjecting, perhaps, a bit too much of the intricacies of my own duty into the air."

"At least you will likely be 'summoned' before I will. So take comfort in that." He paused and smiled. "Or take discomfort in that, as you see fit, I suppose." He shrugged slightly. "And I, for one, am glad for your company here for this event. You help make things...memorable." He wasn't flirting with her, not really. He was just trying to be personable and keep her spirits up, even though she didn't need his help with that.

Hadrian smiled at those left at the table after a companionable silence. "Well. This has been interesting. I think I am going to take a bit of a walkabout on the ship and explore a little, see what's what." He said it in a way to make it understandable that anyone was welcome to join him but he didn't expect anything.

He stood up and slowly walked out.

There was another titter of that soft, almost tired laughter as she tilted her head towards Hadrian in acknowledgement of his point. The nature of her talents, if nothing else, ensured a certain predictability to the kinds of conversations she expected to have with those not blessed and cursed with such rarified genetics as ran through the houses of the Navis Nobilite. It was difficult, however, to always keep impartial measure of those blessings in contrast to the curses that ever nettled and stung at her pride. Those were thoughts, though, that needn't find voice in present company.

"A measure of foresight is ever the blessing about such summons. The course is already charted and set as far as the nearest translation point. From there, well, that is the surprise I'm waiting for. For now? I may join you in that walk. There's an observation lounge not so far from here that typically offers a pleasant view. For both natural and unnatural eyes."

Cennet offered with a polite nod of her head in farewell to the remainder of the table. The nature of her ailments making the act of rising to her feet a slow and deliberate ideal as her grip tightened gently around the staff that served as symbol of station and office both. A stubborn streak of pride and will gently rebuffing any offers of assistance that might have been given without speaking a word. The familiar agony spreading through the small of her back and legs as withered muscles reminded her again and again of how far she had fallen... and the tomb her body promised to be for her mind and spirit.

Hadrian smiled again. "You are, of course, very welcome to join me. I don't mind company while exploring." He paused and let out a chuckle. "I guess if I did, then I shouldn't be traveling with a Rogue Trader."

He walked a step away from her but parallel to her as they exited. Only away from prying eyes did he discreetly offer an arm if she wished to avail herself of a little support.

"I'm told a particular allure of travelling in such arrangements is exotic company and sights."

The Navigatrix offered back with a familiar twist of self-deprecation in her tone and an almost observational dryness as she set what could generously be described as a stately pace. The familiar agony of locomotion working it's way through the back of her legs and along the length of her spine. Her posture, as before, was kept rigidly and stoically straight with that same subtle undertone of further self-restriction behind every motion. It was best when making such appearances as these to not give away too much of what lurked behind perfumed robes, masterfully crafted masks, and the sundry trappings of wealth and prominence despite the drain her services represented to the coffers of the Dynasty.

It was some time before the peculiar awareness of fearful stares and flashes of the warding Aquila were a distant memory with the pace the wretched withering had inflicted upon her. Hadrian's offer of support dismissed with a gentle gesture of her free hand as the other continued to grip and shift her weight ever so discreetly onto her staff, the feeling of insult crushed beneath a concerted effort of will and better judgement. The weight of each step and the staff both serving as a bracing and pleasant reminder of the duty and desires that underpinned her wounded pride. So long as she was useful, there were things that could be tolerated but the fear of what might come with the next unfortunate betrayal of form still nettled at her every thought and introspection.

"I'm obliged to warn you when faced with the sea of stars, I'm predisposed to nattering about philosophy, mathematics, or the anecdotes of one tutor or another."
This message was last edited by the player at 23:01, Sun 18 Dec 2022.