Author: Lurina

179: Blood of the Covenant (𒐄) - The Flower That Bloomed Nowhere | Royal Road

3:58 PM | The Ninsirsir, Deck 2 | December 31st | 1608 COVENANT

Zhang spoke true: The interior was more inviting. Through the airlock and up the gangway, the entrance chamber looked downright palatial; almost unrecognizable as a ship, let alone a military one. A high stone archway adorned with outwardly-reaching statues of men in billowing, loose dress gave way to an oval space with hand-painted flooring and stately oak walls, red curtains flanking the front desk. It wasn't particularly big, but the decor successfully created the illusion of size. Lamu could tell that someone had spent a long time thinking about how it cohered, both in terms of contouring and cultural reference.

Though it was more than just design sensibility. The Power was at work here too, somehow, augmenting the reality of the space with some sort of glamor. Light contorted in unnatural angles, such that the shadows themselves became a part of the design, and nothing appeared blemished. Using Radiomancy in this way was, when overdone, considered somewhat tacky-- A cheap way to superficially beautify something without putting in the hard work. But here the effect was subtle enough that most people, perhaps even most arcanists, wouldn't pick up on it.

Lamu did not like it. There was no use of arcana she found more disquieting than illusions, even if they didn't go as far as directly muddying the senses. She hated liar's (even if circumstance often conspired to make her a liar), and a lie spoken through the world was the most offensive sort. If someone was willing to pull a small trick, chances were they'd be willing to pull a large one.

But she had to be here, so it couldn't be helped. And besides, events like these - political, exclusive, indulgent - were a liars natural habitat. She was the one out of place, sticking her hand into a beehive and complaining about the abundance of honey.

For what she assumed was some kind of security reason that didn't feel worth further consideration, they were bringing people on board in groups. Three other groups of liars accompanied her and Gudrun: A visibly old man with four servants (including a Saoic maid dressed in a questionable uniform) and a ludicrous amount of cargo, a large family of six, including a boy who couldn't be older than ten (why would you even bring a child to something like this?), and finally the couple with the single servant they'd seen on the way in, now having an inscrutably lively conversation about some bad seafood the woman had been served at a fundraiser she'd attended earlier in the week. All of them were dressed even more finely than Gudrun and Lamu - in the most striking fashions of the era, which presently was fixated on billowing scarves and trousers - but only one of them, the old man, seemed to have their own concierge like Zhang.

Lamu frowned. If this wasn't a privilege extended universally, but only for particular guests, that made it feel almost certain he'd been sent by her hosts. But to what end? Just to relay messages, or something more? She'd need to keep an eye on him.

Despite the fact that they'd already had their identities and attendance confirmed at the dock, pomp demanded she still present her invitation at the front desk. Thus, the three of them queued for a few minutes until the other three parties were sent on their way, Gudrun intermittently commenting in whisper on how expensive some part of the decor looked or how 'loaded' she felt one person or another was, with occasional implications that it would be a matter of triviality for her to steal their Scanted accessories and jewelry, along with an implication that Lamu was lucky she was 'holding back' for the sake of her 'knightly duties'. She did her best to mentally convert this into soothing ocean noises.

Finally, they came to the front. The desk was manned by a skinny Inotian man with a thick brown beard, clad in the same uniform as their concierge, seemingly shared by all the staff. He smiled cordially, but even Lamu could pick up on the flicker of uncertainty of his eyes. It was obvious on close inspection that they did not fit in.

Well, that was fine. Despite what Gudrun had apparently convinced herself of, they weren't here to make friends.

"Good afternoon, misses," he spoke, his voice higher pitched than she'd expected. "May I see your invitations?"

Lamu reached into her bag, producing a silver-sealed writ. "Here's mine," she said.

The man took it, broke the seal, and nodded as he glanced over the document. He looked to Gudrun. "And you?"

"She's my guest," Lamu said, before Gudrun could say anything stupid.

"I see. Very good." He smiled, setting the invitation down. "Well, on behalf of Lord Tar-Isgansar, it's my pleasure to welcome you both aboard the Ninsirsir and to the Laodike Foundation New Years Gala and Fundraiser. May I ask if you're planning to stay for the entire journey, or simply for tonight's festivities?"

Right, she'd heard about this. The event was to last about 40 hours, and was divided into two parts: The New Years Eve party tonight where most of the actually substantial stuff would be happening - speeches, a charity auction, the countdown to midnight led by some celebrity - followed by a more nebulous period of smaller events, private meetings, and general decadent indulgence over the day following. It was during this that her testimony and confession was apparently scheduled to take place - at around noon - though the precise location this was to happen in was thus far unclear.

However, being a bunch of important and influential cockroaches, a sizeable percentage of the guests had more important things to do than spend an entire two days virtually cut off from civilization, no matter how prestigious the company. So while the ship itself did a full circle around the perimeter of the Mimikos, a decent chunk of the guest list would depart back for Konkhulion Citadel on a shuttle at 9 AM on the 1st. The remainder would continue on until around the same time the following day, when Ninsirsir itself would return to dock, having spent a total of two nights aboard the vessel.

So, as much as she felt she'd probably end up envying the departees...

"For the entire journey," she answered.

"Excellent." The man reached towards a pile of leather-bound pamphlets. (Leather-bound pamphlets.). "In that case, please take a copy of our extended program." He took two, and passed them to Lamu and Gudrun respectively. "You've been assigned a double bedroom, single bathroom room on deck two. Does that sound to your satisfaction?"

"Aw," Gudrun moaned. "We don't get two--"

"That's fine," Lamu cut in.

"Wonderful. Here are your keys." He gave Lamu two sets of keys, one of which she passed to Gudrun. "Dinner will begin in the ballroom on deck three at 7:00. You'll be assigned a table upon arrival." He bowed his head, then gestured towards Zhang. "Once again, please enjoy your stay."

"May I escort you to your room?" Zhang asked.

"Yeah," Lamu replied. "Go ahead."

And so they walked, down a similarly-decorated hallway, while Lamu read through the pamphlet idly. She'd actually been sent an advance copy of the program already, so there wasn't a lot of new information on that front beyond what specific acts would be playing on the ship's two stages at different times, and what food would be served at different events and times of day. (She'd actually been surprised by how conservative the entertainment options on offer were - when people talked about luxury cruises, one tended to picture extreme excess like indoor climbing equipment and massive pools, but she supposed that would have been seen as pedestrian for something like this.)

What the pamphlet did provide that she hadn't seen before was a detailed map of the ship, which was smaller than she'd expected. From what she could tell, it had five decks numbered from 0-4 (with deck '0' being extremely small and seeming to exist primarily to host the engine, life support, and defunct weapon systems of the ship, save for some maintenance and storage areas), though only 2-4 were accessible to guests, 0 and 1 remaining largely unrenovated since its days as a warship. Deck 2, where they were currently, was dedicated almost entirely to rooms for guests, which lined the entire periphery save for the entrance area they'd just passed through in a giant U shape. The only exception was the center of the deck, which was used for a combination of crew quarters - significantly smaller, obviously - and service utilities like kitchens and cleaning areas. Several passages gave this area easy access to the guest rooms, and two sets of stairs connected it to the dining areas upstairs.

...actually, as far as Lamu could see, these were the only stairs she could see that connected the different decks at all. It appeared that guests were expected to exclusively make use of elevators interspersed around the floor, presumably to save them from being subject to even a trivial amount of physical exertion.

Deck 3, in contrast, seemed to be the social center of the ship, and the location where the major events of the gala would be taking place. The entire midsection was dominated by the ballroom in the center, with the somewhat-smaller-but-still-sizeable dinner theater and bar areas to its left and right respectively. The pamphlet boasted of an all-day-buffet in the dinner theater along with 24/7 stage acts, and free, professionally-mixed drinks at the bar and a live band in the evenings. And of course six gourmet meals - supper, breakfast, brunch, lunch, supper again, breakfast again - served in the ballroom over the two day period, supposedly prepared by a team of two renowned five-star chefs.

Why the ship needed three large spaces for what amounted to the same function - food and drink - in slightly different social contexts was a mystery to Lamu. It seemed like it would be easier to just have one big room that did all of this and avoid a lot of hassle. But that was neither here nor there.

The rest of the deck was taken up by a mix of much larger guest rooms at the front of the ship (presumably for the most important, the VIPs among VIPs) and a number of private lounges available for guests to reserve for up to 3 hours on request, each with a color-coded name and some kind of unique gimmick. The 'Cyan Lounge', for example, contained an indoor pond and expansive aquarium, while the 'Amber Lounge' had a selection of what the pamphlet described as 'nostalgic scents' available to be pumped through the room via an in-built control panel. The 'Indigo Lounge' was equipped with a fully immersive hybrid logic and projector theater, complete with a physical 3D sound system. The 'Cream Lounge' boasted a wide range of recreational drugs. There were almost 20 of these.

Finally, deck 4 - the glass-enclosed apex of the ship they'd seen from the exterior - was, other than a relatively small spa area, home mostly to a large indoor garden, complete with artificial landscaping. The pamphlet urged the reader to observe the view of the Mimikos from the central gazebo as they passed over the Mmenomic during the morning and afternoon of the 1st, advertising it as the 'experience of a lifetime', a claim Lamu found somewhat suspect. This was also where the shuttle was docked that would ferry the early-departing guests away.

And that, at least as far as the map was concerned, was it. ...however, Lamu couldn't help but notice something odd.

Obviously this map was intended to satisfying guests' curiosity about the entire ship as much as it was for practical purposes; they wouldn't have bothered to include decks 0 and 1 otherwise. For some reason, the entire bridge area - across all floors - seemed to be omitted completely. The map just cut off suddenly as it approached the bow in a way that was obviously untrue to the actual, physical shape of the ship.

What was up with that? Was it another security concern?

"Hey, so," Gudrun, who was looking over her own pamphlet, spoke up as they walked. "Would you... mind if I asked a question about the ship?"

Lamu sighed softly. She was still doing that stupid voice.

"Of course," Zhang answered smoothly. "What would you like to know?"

"Right, so-- It says here that this ship doesn't have any guns."

"That's indeed correct, Miss Skéydtam," he told her, glancing back at her with a pristine white smile. "In its days as the flagship of the Empyrean Navy, the Ninsirsir was equipped with four state-of-the-art refractor cannons, plus a complement of torpedoes and an arcanist-operated gravity incisor," he explained. "But to reduce the weight of the ship and clarify its nature as a civilian vessel, these were removed 40 years ago, when it was retrofitted during its transition from a parade and diplomatic ship to its current role."

"I'm surprised they kept them for that long," Lamu remarked. "They'd have to be so outdated they wouldn't even penetrate the Uana's shields, let alone their armor."

"Ahh, well, I'm no engineer, Miss Harsadaar, just a humble footman. I couldn't speak to such a thing."

"Okay, so, the thing I guess I'm wondering about," Gudrun went on, "is what happens if we're attacked? Li--Rather, aren't we basically defenseless here?" She flopped her hands forward as she spoke the last word. "I'm sure there's something I'm overlooking, but it does seem, with the state of the war..."

"Worried we might be a handsome target for the Uan Fleet, perhaps?" He chuckled.

She flattened her brow. "You're kind of flippant for a servant."

"Forgive me, Miss. It's an entirely understandable concern." They turned a corner, now arriving at the ship's aft. "But I promise you, there's nothing to be worried about. Even setting aside the fact that this ship has international passengers aboard and will be staying far from any contested areas of the Empyrean, we'll also be well-protected in a more material sense."

"How do you mean?"

"We'll be escorted by two manned battlecruisers, the Royal Penitence and the Wilusa, for the entire journey," he explained. "They'll leave the citadel with us and flank our port and starboard respectively for the entire journey, and also each have a small team of veteran battlemagi on board. We also have a sophisticated arcane artificed intelligence on board for coordination in the event of any emergency." He smiled reassuringly. "More than enough to see off any group of dissident pirates, or even a small strike group."

"Those names are familiar," Lamu commented.

"Well, they're storied vessels," Zhang told her conversationally. "The Royal Penitence was the first capital ship manufactured in Rhunbard since the start of the war, and the Wilusa was one of the only three surviving vessels from the Second Battle of Balitat. This commission is considered a high honor, or so I'm told, so we only get the cream of the crop."

"What about a big strike group, though," Gudrun inquired. If there was one arena in which she definitely wasn't easily impressed, it was spectacular violence. "Or a whole fleet."

"We'd see them coming and drop into the atmosphere," Zhang told her. "Don't worry, Miss Skéydtam. There are some of the most important men and women in the Grand Alliance military aboard this ship, including Turtan Galene of Naavos. If even someone of her rank feels confident in our security, you can rest easy."

Gudrun didn't look particularly convinced by this appeal to authority, but shrugged.

A few moments later, they arrived at their door, and Zhang stopped, setting down their bags. "Here we are-- Room #96." He gestured. "And now I'm afraid I must leave you for now. I have another group coming at the dock that I need to escort."

Gudrun looked disappointed. "I thought 'concierge' meant you wor-- that you, uh, served us in particular?"

He chuckled. "Not quite. I have three other parties I'll also be looking after, but you can call for me at any time using the logic bridge in your room. I'll be pleased to answer your questions, provide you with comprehensive room service, move your belongings around the ship, and see to any other reasonable requests you have." He winked.

What the fuck is that supposed to mean?

"Speaking of which," he said, "did you have any final questions before I go?"

"Nothing comes to mind," Lamu said, her eyes narrowed. Gudrun shrugged again, looking eager to take a look inside the room.

"Alright, then-- Oh, one last thing." He reached into a pocket at the side of his chiton. "I was asked to deliver a message for you, Miss Harsadaar, and to ask you find the time to look it over before dinner this evening."

He withdrew a small papyrus envelope, holding it out for her.

"...of course," she said, taking it gingerly. "Thank you."

Support the author by searching for the original publication of this novel.

"I'm at your service," he said, bowing his head. "Now, if you'll excuse me..."

He left, departing down the hallway.

Once he was out of sight, Gudrun exhaled sharply. "Oh my god. Oh fuck," she said. "I don't think I can keep this up, Lamu. This is so hard."

"I don't even understand what you're trying to 'keep up' in the first place," Lamu replied, stepping over to the doorway with her key.

"This vibe, man! This nepo baby energy!" She sighed, her arms flopping.

"You're not even doing anything that different," Lamu observed, bemused. "Just being marginally more polite in a way that sounds stilted."

"That's the whole problem! I don't even know how to express concepts without talking like an asshole!"

"You should just act normally."

"What, just stick out like a sore thumb and hope they'd be charmed by my blue collar appeal?"

Her mind failing to produce any words that she expected would talk Gudrun out of her bizarre social networking plan, Lamu simply opened the door and stepped forward.

She had to admit, even considering the status of the event, the rooms they'd been given were larger than she'd expected for the venue. They consisted of two semi-separate chambers (divided by an incomplete wall without a door that terminated just to the right of the entrance), each about six meters across, as well as a third that did have a door and was wedged somewhat awkwardly in the corner of the second. She assumed this to be the bathroom.

For a stay of two days at most, the rooms struck Lamu as excessively overdecorated, though admittedly this wasn't much of an accomplishment. They had their own dressers, walk-in closets with mirrors, full-size logic engines, sofas, small dining tables with three chairs each, and even little snack bars with cold lockers and drinks cabinets. Plus numerous little decorative frills and functional excesses - a grandfather clock, proudly bearing its Scant on the case door, and little sets of downward staircases at the approach to the windows that allowed for a more immersive view, the glass encompassing one's entire field of vision.

Not that this was particularly helpful right now, while they were still docked. All that could be seen beyond was concrete and part of one of the giant bronze support beams.

And of course, everything had been polished to perfection, albeit - somewhat to her relief -absent the glamor she'd observed outside. The unusual and asymmetrical structure was the only sign that betrayed the room's history as an imperfect conversion from the barracks or weapon station it probably once was, though that was an annoying factor that made the space inherently disorienting to her.

Anyway, obviously Gudrun was thrilled.

"Damn," she said, having instantly been drawn to the snack bar like a fly towards honey-- Literally, since she was currently holding up a bottle of mead. "This is slick! They've got like sixteen different types of wine here! And eight types of whiskey!"

"Don't start drinking yet, please," Lamu said, collapsing on one of the beds. "There'll probably be plenty of that at the dinner and the after-party, and it would be better if you were functional tomorrow."

"Man, I didn't think about it before, but it's kinda sadistic to make you do a thing on the morning after New Years, isn't it?" She popped open the mead and sniffed, before stashing it in the cold locker. "Like, who the hell is gonna sober then? Who the hell is gonna be awake?"

"It's happening at noon, not morning," Lamu corrected her.

"Noon is morning."

Lamu glanced at her. "That's just not correct on a definitional level."

"I can't believe we get this whole place all to ourselves! When you were pitching this shit to me, I figured they'd stick us in some closet with the crew and we'd just have to stay outta the way. Or at least wouldn't get the celebrity treatment." She looked to Lamu. "Hey, which one of us gets to have the bigger room?"

"I don't care," Lamu said, which still managed to feel like an understatement. "You can have it if you want."

"Hmmm, but that one's further away from the bathroom, you know? I'd have to like, creep past to make sure I didn't wake up if I needed to take a piss. Kinda a pain in the ass." She tilted her head one direction. "Then again, I wouldn't wanna be woken up if you're gonna take a piss, especially if we're gonna have to get up early." She tilted her head the other direction. "But I might be drunk or high enough that it doesn't matter?"

"By the way, why did you bring up the ship's defenses earlier?" Lamu asked, half out of genuine curiosity and half to just to stop Gudrun saying the word 'piss' over and over. "Are you actually concerned the cruise is unsafe, or were you just curious."

"Eh." Gudrun angled her hand from side to side. "Bit of both?"

She frowned. "What makes you think so? The war's been going on for more than twenty years, and the back-and-forth is practically formalized at this stage. The media is better at predicting the front lines than the weather."

"I'm not worried about the Triumvirate, I'm worried about the Greyflags or one of the other big rebel groups," Gudrun explained as she walked back over to the door to pick up her bag. "With the fucking stupid amount of ships the Alliance is churning out these days since most of them started getting automated, there's a lotta rumors floating around about those guys snatching 'em up at the edges of the production and deployment process to build a secret fleet. And like, a lot have gone missing. Not a huge number, but even before I moved to Last Respite to start fucking up monsters for a living, it was in the double digits."

"Most of those mass-production ships couldn't even stand up to a single battlemagi. They're just disposable weapons platforms."

"Maybe, but I wouldn't put it past them to have scrounged enough together at this point for a small fleet. It probably wouldn't survive once the navy knew about it - unless they tried to defect to the Emps - but if they waited for the right chance, they could maybe give the First Administrator a good kick in the nuts." She took her bag back over to the snack bar.

"So they'd, what?" Lamu asked. "Knock out the two escort ships and take everyone hostage?"

"I mean, these are the Greyflags, man. They might just kill everybody and call it a win." She began taking bottles of the lesser-replicated vintages from the cabinet and putting them in her bag. "Could be kinda a symbolic victory. Kill a bunch of bigshots right as we're headed into the year of the 400th anniversary. Rally the troops."

"Does that sort of thing even work?" Lamu flopped her head to the side listlessly. "It's not as if killing any amount of people could loosen the Iconists control of the Convention at this point, and the continental militia would just come down on them even harder. Make living on the Mimikos even more impossible."

"Hey, don't ask me," Gudrun said, inspecting the label of a whiskey bottle closely in an apparent attempt to discern whether it was worth taking. "You're the rebellion expert here. The treason-doer."

Lamu considered, for a moment, saying something in response to this. Actually, more accurately, she considered saying everything in response to it. Her real reason for leaking the information that even Nhi had somewhat misunderstood, who she really was, her feelings about her family and her uncle and her mother, wherever she was now, after her attempt at turning Lamu's life into a media circus for money, catharsis, or some third motivation that she couldn't guess but deeply wanted to believe. The whole demented saga as it had begun hundreds of years past, or billions if one ceased to consider her perspective. And most of all, how lonely she felt to be here, going to what could very well be her death.

She didn't, though.

"Anyway!" Gudrun continued. "You can't act like I'm paranoid. You brought me here to begin with 'cause you're worried about getting knifed in the back, didn't you?"

Lamu glanced towards her. "I think the risk is a little more tangible, in my case."

"Well, that's the other half of why I asked!" She grinned. "If things do go to shit, it's good to know what we're dealing with in case I gotta hijack the ship."

"Hijack the ship."

"Yeah!" She said enthusiastically. "I mean, ideally we keep the fight localized and then just hide the bodies, but if it spills out, chances are our only shot to get out of this alive is gonna be taking a bunch of hostages and piloting this thing to some remote colony. And to do that, we'd have to take out everybody on board who could put up a fight." She zipped her bag back up, apparently satisfied with her haul. "I'm workshopping some strategies right now with the map they gave us."

"Strategies," Lamu said neutrally.

"Like choke points and whatever," the other woman clarified.

Lamu sighed softly. "The worst part is that I can't even tell if this is a bit you're doing, and if it isn't, whether I should find this heartwarming or terrifying."

"Hey, I take my work really seriously," Gudrun protested. "You should know by now that I only ever go whole hog. I never go half hog. I don't believe in that shit."

"You're insane," Lamu said, and finally lifted up the envelope that was still in her hand, not moving her head from where it lay against the mattress. "I'm going to read this note they gave me."

She tore open the envelope, pulled out the slip of parchment, and squinted.

There's been a minor complication we need to discuss. After the New Years Eve dinner but before the final countdown, I'd appreciate it if you could find me for a short chat.

I'll be waiting for you at the Obsidian Lounge at 11:00 PM.

Lamu frowned slowly.

"How well can you shoot, when you're drunk?"

A couple of hours passed in which Lamu idly read a book while Gudrun watched a drama and investigated their rooms for anything else to steal. She took a folder of Scanted writing paper intended for important letters and documents, an emergency satchel of eris cells, and a four pack of embroidered handkerchiefs. She did not take any soap, claiming she didn't want to 'live the stereotype'.

At six, the ship began its departure from the citadel. The bronze clamps disengaged, the hull slid forward, and the engine - just visible from Lamu and Gudrun's window - began to radiate a soft golden light. The two battlecruisers, far larger things with organically-grown hulls and wide reflective sails, pulled up on either side, and they pulled away until the distinctive shell-like structure from which they'd departed became nothing more than a speck in the distance.

And then, slowly, things came to life. Beyond their door, Lamu began to hear people traveling to the nearest elevator in great numbers, which she took as a sign that it was about time to get ready for the dinner.

Of course, they didn't have to go to the dinner at all; strictly speaking, before she'd received this latest instruction, there was nothing stopping her from spending the entire trip outside of the planned meeting holed up in her cabin ordering room service and lying around like a slob. But they were here and Gudrun was excited, so it felt wasteful not to eat a bunch of expensive food and get an exclusive look at the kind of things the Alliance's elite said in private.

So they fixed up their clothes (Lamu changed her dress altogether to a more traditional, maroon-tinted one, Gudrun having only partially succeeded in scrubbing out the snot stain acquired on the elevator) and headed out. Down the hall, up the elevator (this one mercifully empty other than themselves at the time of use), down a second identical hall, and finally into the ballroom. It was 7:19 PM, just prior to the dinner beginning formally.

"I still can't believe they're just letting people bring guns to this thing," Gudrun muttered quietly as they approached the doors. "Rich people are fucking crazy, dude."

"They value their personal liberties," Lamu replied, worried that their conversation was being picked up by security. "And consider themselves among friends."

"There's gonna be some big politicians giving speeches up on the stage, right? What if I were to just like, straight-up quickdraw and shoot one of them? I bet I could do it faster than their guards could kill me. Wouldn't that be fucked up? Do you think I'd make the headlines?"

"They probably have conditional reactive shielding every inch of this place," Lamu said, who could practically feel the eris in the air, though for obvious reasons didn't include that part. "You'd be lucky to be able to kill whoever they have sitting across from us."

"I dunno man," Gudrun spoke skeptically as she pushed open the door. "I feel like these kinda people always have a cocky streak. They think they're invincible. They're not gonna bother-- Woah."

'Ballroom' was a term that in the modern day was often used flippantly - Lamu had been to her share that were little more than gentrified gyms - but as artificial as it was, having been stuffed into what was probably a hanger bay 50 years ago, the room they stepped into exceeded the criteria in every regard. White-gold pillars soared from a deep black floor to a high ceiling, where a grand, hand-painted mural depicted the Liberation of Ikkaryon, generally regarded as the most heroic victory of the Grand Liberating Army in the Tricenturial War before Sara of Xattusa turned it into a battle of attrition that dragged it out for decades long. Myriad figures in Mekhian, Ysaran and Viraaki Rebellion colors (the latter distinguished from modern Viraaki colors by the incorporation of the Scales of Justice in the imagery, now associated with Paritism and politically loaded) stood triumphant on the city walls as the Rhunbardi fell into panicked retreat on their horses, primitive airships dotting the sky.

The image circled an oblong window through which one could see the garden on the deck above - the glass flanked by colorful flora - and, ultimately, the black of the void and the Tower of Asphodel beyond. It was an impressive site that, for multiple reasons including but not limited to the fact that she really hated neoclassical art, Lamu stared at for a moment mutely.

After refocusing her attention, she noticed the room was also massive. More than a hundred white-clothed circular tables were positioned at decent remove on the approach to a large, glamorous-looking platinum stage, currently empty save for some uniformed servants setting it up for the night's events. The room was already more than half-full, the sound of ambient conversation coming from all directions.

A servant, one of several seemingly positioned to greet new arrivals, approached them upon entrance. "Good evening, madams!" She said cheerfully, holding up her clipboard. "May I take your names?"

"L--" Lamu blinked, still reorienting her focus. "Lamu Harsadaar," she said.

The woman nodded, looking down at her board. She looked to Gudrun. "And you?"

Gudrun, however, was distracted herself, staring at something in the direction of the stage. An awkward moment passed.

"She's Gudrun of Skéydtam," Lamu conveyed flatly.

"Alright! Very good then," the woman said, giving the same stiff smile of mild confusion she'd seen on the man running the front desk. "Follow me, please. I'll show you to your table."

Lamu followed as instructed, taking Gudrun's hand after the other woman continued to fail to respond. Upon having said hand taken, she leaned in and whispered hoarsely. "Lamu. I'm fucking dying."

"Why are you dying," Lamu stated.

"We just got here, and I've already spotted like four celebrities," she explained. "Over there - with the like, blonde hair, and the circlet - that's Dipa of Djurnak! She runs one of the biggest bio-fashion brands in Palaat! She's on broadcasts all the time!"

"I didn't know you were into body modification."

"I'm not! But you can't not know her if you spend any time on the logic sea!" She gestured at another table, possibly at a thin, grey-haired man Lamu vaguely recognized. "And that's Anna of Cyrax, the actress! And her husband, he's an actor too-- Shit, what's his name, he was in that thing, the drama with all the different royal houses with different superpowers--"

"How the hell did you manage to pick these people out from the crowd in under 5 seconds?" Lamu asked, baffled. The woman was leading them further from the stage to the less-populated rear of the chamber. Bedroom aside, I suppose it made sense they'd get seats befitting their reason for actually being here.

"I've got good eyes, Lam-Lam," Gudrun spoke seriously. "Really good eyes. That's my superpower."

"Either use a nickname for me or don't," Lamu chided her. "Stop being inconsistent." She glanced around hesitantly. "And calm down. You're drawing attention to us."

"Sorry, sorry." Gudrun made an O with her lips and blew out, her face flustered and going red. "It's just-- It's all so fucking wild. Seeing all these people in the flesh who've just been around my whole life feels like I'm in some kind of hyperreality."

"Why are you acting so surprised? You knew where we were going."

"Yeah, but I was expecting it to be a bunch of old assholes who just ran companies and shit!" she exclaimed. "Not like, actual people!" She wiped her brow. "Fuck. I feel like I'm Icarus right now. Too close to the sun, man."

Lamu rolled her eyes.

They approached what she realized was their table - nestled against the wall, almost all the way in the corner - and suddenly it occurred to her that this was a dinner party and not a restaurant, and thus as a group of two they'd be sharing their table with other people they were expected to socialize with rather than getting to eat in private, a realization that came close to instantly souring her on this whole idea when combined with the way Gudrun was acting.

It looked like they'd be sharing their dinner with two men. One was of average height and red haired with pale skin, while the other was a little taller and had black hair, along with features that made him look like perhaps a mix of Ysaran and Saoic. She didn't regard them closely yet, still busy managing Gudrun's ongoing breakdown.

"And here we are!" The servant woman said, clapping her hands together as they arrived. "Drinks will be served in around ten minutes. Try to have your orders ready by then, if possible."

Lamu looked to the woman, confused. "Orders? I thought it was the same food for everyone."

The servant nodded patiently but with a note of condescension. "Broadly, but there are a few serving options to choose from to account for diet and intolerances and the like. You should be able to peruse them on the menu--"

"Actually, we seem to be down a menu here, sadly," the second man commented. He spoke elegantly, with a sardonic undercurrent to his speech. "I think someone might have appropriated ours."

"Ah, but I'm afraid it's not a physical menu, sir," the woman informed him cheerily. "It's all available to be reviewed on our logic pool."

"Mm, is that so? No expense spared."

Lamu sat down, reaching into her bag to search for her logic engine. She felt a little overstimulated with all these sudden shifts in her expectations, her breathing becoming slightly forced.

"If you'll excuse me," the servant said, Lamu seeing her depart out of the corner of her eye.

"Well, welcome to our shared exile, ladies," the man said, after a moment had passed.

"Uh, exile?" Gudrun asked stiffly.

Lamu gripped her logic engine, but as she pulled it up, it slipped from her hand, mercifully falling on her foot instead of clacking at an obscene volume against the hard stone floor. Still, she cursed under her breath, reaching down for her.

"Away from anyone who's anyone at this thing, I mean," the man clarified, with a chuckle. "Out on our little island, as far away from the stage as possible."

"O-Oh, haha, right." She laughed. "Yeah, they sure gave us-- They sure gave us some lousy seats, huh?"

"That's an understatement," the other man said, the one with the red hair. Something in Lamu's mind tickled. "Not... exactly the treatment we got last time."

"Well, we mustn't be dull and bitter about our apparently declining status," the second man said. "So, who do we have the pleasure of dining with tonight? I'm Malko, and this is--"

"Theo," the other man finished. For some reason, he sounded uncertain.

"Gudrun," Gudrun said, in the correct context this time. "And this is Lamu-- Lamu, uh, you okay there?"

"Yeah," she said, rising again with the machine in her hand and dusting it off as she attuned. "Sorry, dropped my logic engine trying to look at this damn menu."

Malko snorted. "It's absurd, isn't it? The gaudiest event of the damn season, and they can't even be bothered to print a physical copy, like we're at a fucking chain tavern. I'll tell you-- Going every year, it's like watching my grandmother die of dementia all over again. The place falling apart, the entertainment getting more and more lackluster, the average attendee looking older and more confused--"

"I'm, er, not sure you ought to be making a comparison like that to someone we just met, Mal," Theo said. "Might come off a little too strong."

Lamu interfaced with the logic engine as Malko held up his hands. "Forgive me. If it's not obvious, I've got a bit of grievance in me tonight." He leaned back, and based on the way his body shifted looked at Gudrun specifically. "This your first time?"

"Uh, yep," she replied. "I'm her plus one."

"Mm, I thought so. You've got that look in your eyes." His head moved from side to side as Lamu finally found the menu, absorbing the information she'd need to avoid beans and red meat. "Well, I'm afraid you're in for a more boring night than you're probably expecting, though I'll be enjoying watching the scales fall from your eyes. That is, unless you like watching the embodiment of a dead ideology ramble incoherently, bad comedy, or both."

"I can be into bad comedy," Gudrun said.

Malko chuckled. "It's not the fun kind, I'm afraid. More the three-centuries-in-the-cold-locker kind." He looked to Lamu. "You find your way onto their silly system alright? I could help you if you're having trouble with their access protocol. To say it's archaic would be an understatement."

"It's fine, thank you. I'm good with this sort of thing." Lamu finished, stashing the logic engine away. "Sorry about that. I'm--"

And then she'd stopped, because she looked up.