Binary Orbit [Neph]

[GoblinFae]

Black, strappy stiletto heels clicked in measured steps up the Stellarium steps to the figure checking guests in with his digital display.

“Name please?” he asked without bothering to look up at the tall form in front of him.
“Pilot Derriere,” she replied, looking him up and down with a smile curl to the corner of her lips.
“Kie-” her name trailed off with a soft gasp as he finally looked up, wide-eyed and flushed. He cleared his throat and fussed with the display in front of him. “Kielen Derriere? Uh right inside and to your um left ma’am. Have a lovely evening!”

Kielen chuckled, winking once with a lightly drawled “thank you, Sweet Thang” before following the directions inside to where other guests were already milling about, many with drinks in hand. The small train of her heavily beaded black dress dragged behind her as she glided across the floor, turning heads and greeting coworkers along the way.

She couldn’t remember the exact name of this particular event although it had been left open to the public that could afford an entry ticket. Upper tier socialites mixed with Pilots rubbing elbows, posturing, and trying their luck at getting a piece of whatever they were after. Kielen couldn’t blame them, when she herself would not mind finding some tall, handsome glass of espresso to take a tumble in and out of the sheets with. The gala itself though was a fundraiser of some sort or another that would be gaining the majority of its charity money by auctioning off “dates” with attractive and available Adstreian Pilots. Each date was meant to be tailormade with the respective auctioned Pilot in mind while still catering to a civilian’s celebrity dream.

Kielen was one of those PR-selected Pilots and had been indifferent about the whole thing in general. In her mind it was a double opportunity to have a bit of fun on Aedolis’s credit and collect on the Three C’s of Life while she was at it. However, without the juicy incentive, she would have skipped the charade in a heartbeat. While years of etiquette and strategic training in her youth meant that she could navigate the scene with the poise and wordless authority of a queen, Kielen still would much rather be rocking and swinging to a pounding beat that threatened to drown her every heartbeat out with each concussive thud.

She caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror above the bar though as she leaned up against the counter and just had to smile at the woman reflected back at her. Green eyes of fire blazed beneath thick, dark lashes against flawless skin. Her hair was piled up messily with careful tendrils of curls spilling out to frame her face and accentuate her bare neck and the plunging neckline of her dress that reached all the way to her waist. While she could not see the back of the dress from this view, she could feel the way the beaded cords draped over her bare back like a reverse necklace. The lights glinted over the beads and sequins of her dress making her feel like star.

A tilt of her head, a faint smile, and a bat of her lashes was all it took for the bartender to ignore the line and hop over to her.

“Hi Sweet Thang, may I have a glass of champagne please?”
“Anything for you dollface,” he smirked with a wink while getting her drink.

She kept her expression relaxed, not once showing how she despised the name. Instead she kept a careful eye on her glass as it was made until it was pressed into her hand along with a napkin with a number on it. Kielen hummed with another bat of her eyes, wiggling her fingers in a bit of a wave to the bartender in thanks. She didn’t get far though, as the moment she turned around she found that the bar wasn’t the only place with a queue. The Pilot made it a total of three steps before men, and a few women, seemed to slink out of the woodwork to greet her.  She took a sip of her glass, her eyes trailing slowly over the forms of each before nodding her head in greeting with a hungry smile.

“Hello, Sweets. Who might you be?”

[nephero]

   There were a few quick, surefire ways to accumulate funding and public adoration at the same time. While it might have been easier to simply quietly force the necessary financial allotment for a renovation and revitalization of some of the lower levels, what people really needed was to see the action in progress.

   They also needed a chance to participate. Hosting a fundraiser meant that Adstreia wouldn’t need to provide the whole measure of the credits it would take to completely redo the buildings in Sector 9C. It also meant that rather than expecting Adstreia to provide a binky every time they screamed, the people of were learning they could, in fact, do much of the binky-getting themselves.

   Which was something that the upper crust rather needed reminding of from time to time. One might make the mistake of thinking they were utterly helpless, without a single hope of bettering anything or anyone, for how quickly the rich tended to languish about if given the chance. Laziness was an epidemic, and General Aaron Stohl was dedicated to its eradication.

   If all it took was agreeing to a blind date with some high bidder to get them to do something about the state of their city, well, so be it. He’d make damn sure he earned his city a very shiny credit in the meantime.

   Not like he didn’t always take special care for his appearance. Even if this didn’t have a considerable public relations stunt attached to it, it still would have taken him several once-overs to verify himself suitable for general viewing. He thought he had spotted a few grey hairs in the mirror, but it had turned out to just be the lighting— saving him another year or so yet the worry about whether he’d need to dye it or lean into the salt-and-pepper look with some dignity.

   Forty was too young, yet, to be showing such wear and tear. But it did give him the considerable urge to reconsider his diet up to that point and figure out his vitamin intake.

   Just vitamins. Not the doctor. He didn’t need a doctor to tell him to eat more spinach. He was a grown man, and he felt fine, all he needed to do was work out a better system for getting his daily meals. He didn’t need to see a doctor.

   Unfortunately, that particular train of thought added several minutes to his prep time— washing the sweat from his brow and fixing his hair again so it didn’t look like an utter maniac had gone through it strand by strand. In the end, when he looked in the mirror, perfection stared back. Uniform pressed. Medals shining. Not a single thread out of place.

   Boot heels clicking commandingly the whole way, he finally made his way from his apartments to the private transport arranged just for this evening. It wouldn’t do to arrive looking like he’d had to walk from the train station— and given his current state of full dress uniform, it would have likely added an obscene amount of time just from the regular foot traffic on the weekend. Nodding by way of greeting to his personal assistant— a severe looking young woman who likely glared her blonde hair into submission to get it back in a bun that tight— they soon arrived in short order to a starscape of camera flashes and glittering gowns.

   The weather had finally begun its transformation into warmer climes in the northern domes, which meant that there was less of a concern for warmth and more a concern for how much of a ratio between dress and crystal they could manage. In comparison to all the bright colors and brighter jewelry, Pilot Adana looked almost bland— even if her uniform, like Aaron’s own, had been pressed and kept to perfection. Still, there was no mistaking the authority of her stance, and as she stood to the side to allow Aaron out, it was with a suitably wide berth granted by the nearby civilians.

   Which was precisely why he’d kept her, if he was being particularly honest. He could have selected any number of perfectionist yes-men. Very few of them could glare space into being, however, and Adana had an utter talent for making sure the only hands that touched him were by permission. Once they got into the gala, it would be easier; there was decorum to follow, after all, and no one with an invitation was willing to risk losing future ones because of poor manners.

   It wouldn’t be long. Just another evening of small portions and high end champagne. A quick survey showed that even his prospective “buyers” weren’t all that bad to look at. There seemed to be a flux of young scions of older money at this particular event, which was to be expected. Never knew where a blind date might go, and there were several Pilots up for auction that evening. Adana estimated that the evening would result in approximately sixty percent of their funding, even if pursestrings were held tight and bids remained low. A conservative guess, she said.

   Which meant that Aaron could relax. Even if he didn’t go around pretending like every person there was his most valuable citizen, they would meet their goal. The building could commence, and nothing would need to be rebudgeted. Adana always close behind, Aaron made his way through the gala, head held high and mouth upturned as he was stopped every few steps. Shook hands, spoke for a time, inquired to health, to businesses, to recent awards, the works. Adana, as always, kept quiet with her tablet, feeding Aaron information as they went and periodically piping up to join the conversation in her usual clipped manner. Which provided Aaron plenty of time to slip away from conversations, another reason why Adana was paid as handsomely as she was.

   Like an oasis in a desert full of waiters bearing champagne flutes, the bar was set up against the far wall, built into the edifice itself as seemed to be the architectural fashion these days. Aaron stepped over, holding out his hand as he slid past several bodies to avoid looking quite like he was barreling for the nearest liquor bottle. Which he would have loved to just reach over and grab, but his firm hold on his control all but recoiled at the thought.

   “Old fashioned, no syrup,” he stated to the bartender, who had looked a bit distracted and smug just two seconds ago before meeting his gaze. Aaron spared a glance to the side to see just what the bartender had been looking at prior to shitting his white slacks, and very nearly went slack-jawed himself at a slim back all but wrapped in dark stars. Well, at least the lad had taste.

   Nodding in way of thanks at being handed his drink, Aaron lingered by the bar and watched for a long moment. He tried to think why the woman seemed familiar— slim shoulders, a great ass, and from how the crowd around her were staring with open adoration, her front had to be just as lovely to look at. Another twinge of familiarity hit him as she turned her head, giving him a brief glance in profile.

   It was absolutely going to drive him nuts, but Adana was busy fielding his social responsibilities at the moment, so he couldn’t even signal her. Well, nothing for it but to pull up his big boy boots and do the work himself. He took another sip, stepped away from the bar, and up to the small group of bodies orbiting their dark star.

   “Hello, Sweets. Who might you be?” she was asking of some poor young lass, who looked set to blush to the tips of her red hair. Aaron felt a mild pang of sympathy for her.

   “That,” he said, evenly, sparing the redhead a rare small smile, “being your opportunity to go all in on your impressive resume—”

   He took a sip of his whiskey to give himself half of a second to remember where he’d seen the girl before. Three years ago, at a similar event, and he remembered how easily she had lit up when he inquired—

   “Captain Michaels. Last we spoke you were responsible for keeping our ambassadors up to date on current satellite linguistics.”

   Now the redhead definitely looked ready to explode, glancing between him and the pretty woman in all black before taking a sip of her own champagne to steel her nerves.

   “Yes, correct. Though now we’re working on integrating a universally understood creole, so there’s less of a culture shock when our satellite citizens do move planetside. Unification through mutual understanding.”

   Which, on any other given day, Aaron would have been happy to continue asking about. Any other given day, he would have enjoyed the ease of providing a suitable wingman service to one of his regular military personnel— especially such a bright one with potential. Any other given day, he’d be slowly moving the chess pieces about that would, at the very least, allow Captain Michaels the night of her life.

   Unfortunately for Captain Michaels, however, joining the circle had given him an unobstructed view of the mystery woman, and the second he caught her eyes, recognition shot through him like a delicious shock.

   He somehow managed to keep his face neutral rather than immediately going slack-jawed, and Aaron gave Kielen a secretive smirk as he took another sip of his drink.

[GoblinFae]

While all of her attention was seemingly focused on the adorable morsel before her, it did not escape her notice that someone had decided to appear at her elbow and slide his broad frame into the circle.

"Fascinating," she drawled, rejoining the conversation with a knowing smile. "It means you have a very talented tongue, Captain Michaels. I'm sure you're quite the charmer to boot. The ambassadors are very lucky to have you close at hand. Tell me though, does the Captain have a first name?"

Kielen paused to sip her drink, eyes very much solely focused on the flustered Pilot before and pointedly ignoring the familiar male at her side. She easily recognised Aaron's voice and while their Sunday evening romp had been quite fun, if he wanted a round two then he would have to work for it just like everyone else. Her actions however meant she completely failed to notice the impressive number of shinies pinned to his uniform as well as last name. Instead she patiently waited in amusement as the stunning, young redhead became darker in the face than her glorious head of hair.

"It's Alice. And you're Kielen, correct? I was fortunate enough to arrive just after you and caught your name as you were checking in."

"Yes, that's right. That was very observant of you. If you keep that kind of behaviour up you'll be making Lieutenant in no time I'm sure." She raised her glass, nodding her head to the shorter woman with a warm smile. "To your bright future, may it shine as brightly as the stars."

Alice beamed and returned by lifting her own glass. "And may you remain as generous as you are beautiful."

Kielen chuckled, dipping her head in her own form of thanks. "You flatter me with your way with words. I could benefit from having someone like you helping with all the bothersome wording of reports. I always seem to struggle with the climax but I don't think I'd have that problem with your help. In fact I'm certain, I wouldn't."

[nephero]

   “Come now, don’t be over modest,” Aaron rumbled in amusement, eyes not leaving Kielen’s profile for a single moment as he swirled his glass to mix the melting ice. Outwardly, the motion seemed entirely nonchalant.

   Inwardly was an entirely different matter. But his personal annoyance at how Kielen was (very pointedly) ignoring him didn’t bear addressing right at that moment. He’d just log it away for later. Use that frustration for something a bit more meaningful. Or at least more enthusiastic.

   “As I recall, Kielen, you have quite the talented tongue in your head yourself. Plenty of pretty words at your disposal, I’m sure your reports are divine.”

   Aaron took another sip of his drink, and finally turned to look at Captain Michaels more fully, subjecting her to the same intensity he’d previously spared for his Sunday playmate. Which seemed to have the desired effect, because Alice was draining her champagne as quickly as she was able, to be under so much sudden attention from both sides.

   “Though I do admit it’s always a treat to see a master artist at work. How does this creole sound?”

   “Oh,” a quick sound to give herself a little more time to think, and the captain raised the hand not holding her glass a bit to draw imaginary lines in the air, following the tone of her words, “We’re beginning with the more common points of communication first before it can be adapted to a broader use, but the colonists seem to take to it rather well and it’s specially designed to be easy to learn. So, ah, ‘ahn bargo indisona’, for instance, translates literally to ‘an embargo in this zone’ which is basically a point where trade is prohibited. Contact with foreign spaces is a huge issue for our satellite colonies, so we figure adapting the things given the most attention will ease the process.”

   “An bargo indissona, is that right?”

   “Oh. A little longer on the first word, shorter on the last—”

   “Ahn, indisona, yes?”

   “That, that would be it, sir, yes.”

   “I think we can drop the formality, seeing as we’ve established everyone on a first name basis. I’d hate to be the stick in the mud.” A quick exchange of his empty glass for a fresh pair of champagne flutes from a passing waiter, one of which he passed on to Alice before sipping his own. “Ahn bargo indisona. Lovely. Though, of course, it sounds much prettier when you say it.”

[GoblinFae]

She hummed faintly into her glass while taking another hearty sip. As the pair focused on each other, she took her time instead to quietly observe. Aaron, she knew quite intimately already, therefore Alice earned the full intensity of her gaze. She looked young, although in this day and age that was hardly a useful indicator. Her enthusiasm and eagerness likewise suggested her as in the beginning rather than the middle of her career. Then there was the shy confidence even as a ranking officer. Kielen had been truthful in her praise; as long as Alice continued on her current path and avoided scandal or foul-play then she would like be promoted in no time. But, there was still a deference to Aaron and Kielen both that spoke of quietly following protocol and uncertainty even in a social event where the rules were far more relaxed. Once a soldier, always a soldier.

Notes of Solartan creole floated in the air bring the young Pilot her own spot of amusement in the moment. There was a clinical stiffness present in the way the soldier spoke that reminded her so much of when her twin was tutored in Ancient Adelan dialects. While still beautiful to listen to, a trained ear could catch the slight clippedness that natural-born speakers lacked. Aaron's attempts in comparison were notably laughable. Someone's tongue was clearly bettered suited to other tasks. His accent was simply atrocious. But, with his attention focused solely on Alice, Kielen then had the opportunity to assess the two of them together and perhaps even determine what it was that Aaron found so attractive about the redhead.

Alice Michaels was an average height woman with a medium build. Her fire-red hair was definitely eye-catching. Enough so in fact that even Kielen had fantasized briefly on how it would look disheveled from a romp of tugging and mussing it. The freckles dotting her cheeks like stars upon a dusky, golden sky were equally striking. Intelligent, pretty, military, and an officer at that; she was certainly a catch. Her only fault in Kielen's mind was that she wasn't male. For that minor issue alone, Kielen was more than happy to concede defeat to Aaron in allowing him the platform to woo his newest interest for the evening.

As the pair continued their chattering, Kielen's attention drifted beyond their circle to the rest of the room. With Aaron and Alice now out of the game, Kielen had reason to seek out a new playmate of her own for the evening. A familiar blonde head of hair piled sky high with gold, glittering barrettes quickly caught her attention though as it made a shark-like beeline towards her party. She immediately drained her glass and placed the flute on a passing waiter's tray.

"If you'll excuse me Sweet Thangs," she interrupted with an apologetic smile and dip of her head. "It was lovely to meet you, Alice," she continued, giving the woman a friendly shoulder squeeze as she maneuvered behind the redhead. Only as she came around captain Michaels's shoulder did she at last spare Aaron a glance.

"A-aron."

An impish wink later and she was ducking into a crowd of jovially laughing men and melted into a sea of faces and fancy dresses. And while Kielen meandered, her blonde tail came up short, confusion clearly knit across her wrinkle-free face at the Pilot's apparent disappearing act.