The Tem Gala Severian Principate Space 43 ABY
The Chiss diplomatic aide, Eel'elzabet'thi, and her assistant, the Pantoran Kis'lui Euvux, sat in an uneasy silence as their private shuttle approached their destination. They landed at the foot of a grand marble staircase, and although Elizabet did not have a flowing train on her gown like some others, she gladly took hold of Kis'lui’s hand when offered to guide her out of the vehicle. Her steps felt clumsy as she climbed the stairs, an uneven clack of her heels as her steps faltered beside her assistant’s steady ascent. On the third step, she had caught the rhythm of heel-toe-heel-toe, though she still wished she hadn’t been forced to wear a new shoe for the occasion.
The Chiss diplomat sighed and leaned into Kis'lui’s space, ignorant of the flash of a camera across the way. Other guests to the Tem Gala posed amid the flicker of the public eye, in gowns whose lengths cascaded down the entrance’s height, in headpieces woven into intricate sculpture upon their necks, extravagance the norm among money such as this. Elizabet’s dress of white and gold and lack of headpiece beyond a simple gilded hairclip camouflaged her to all but the most discerning in its drab comparison.
“I’m not sure the shoes were necessary,” Elizabet muttered. “This dress goes to the floor, and my feet are already a nightmare.”
However, she bore her pain a moment longer as she and Kis'lui were shepherded hastily to the side by waiting staff, to have their moment before the gathered populace. To the Chiss’s credit, she did smile well for the cameras, and the photographers doubted that the Pantoran had a bad angle, so the pair did not make complete fools of themselves for their Tem Gala debut.
Only after they were ushered in through the doors and the wall of flashing lights dimmed did Elizabet turn to Kis'lui again, her breathing stuttering and gloved hands slightly shaking.
“Right, now that my heart is racing… What were we here for, again? Olierre…?” She scanned the main lobby and found a sea of unfamiliar faces consumed with their own conversations. The drone of voices and the occasional shout of directions to guests from exhausted staff gave cover for their discussion. As others bumped past on their way through the main doors, the pair knew they would have to move on soon.
“You did well, not much different than some of the bolder affairs on Csilla really. Just more, mm, flare I suppose,” Kis'lui mused assuringly. He took off his gloves, sparing the diligent seconds as he tucked them neatly away in his complimenting cream suit coat to scan the bustling venue and to quell his own fluttering shadowmoths of nerves. This was by far the highest level mission the pair had tackled together since joining the C.A.D.R.E.S. and in turn the Brotherhood. He doubted not that they could find something useful to return with.
“Olierre Bil'kova,” Kis'lui affirmed after turning his attention back to the Chiss woman. He gestured for them to follow the flow of traffic until they could step aside near some adorned tapestries and sculpted topiaries. “I met him briefly a couple of months ago during one of our excursions with the Severian Principate. He bailed me out of a tense situation without question–nothing scandalous, I assure.”
Liz chuffed and withheld her suspicious look, gesturing for him to continue. “So, why seek him out? Surely you would owe him then, yes?”
“Because he does not seem to be the type of man to hold manipulative favors. He’s noble, and I mean not in class but attitude. A white knight, justice type who works in the Principate’s Social Administration.” Kis'lui leaned closer and lowered his voice. “I reckon whoever we may need to talk to, likely are not high on his favored list.” .
A server paused beside them and offered them both a tall flute of champagne. Taking one, Kis'lui nodded in thanks and took a small sip. His gaze turned to Elizabet, noting the tension in her bare shoulders. “Relax. There are plenty of people to talk to if Olierre proves a bust. Multiple tools available.” As if to emphasize his point, he tapped the golden signet ring on his hand.
Nerves settled and composures steeled, the pair mingled into the pockets of conversation strewn around the gala. They offered compliments to elaborate attires with discussions shifting from the sourcing of fabrics to various galactic trade news. It wasn’t long before a curious voice intersected a lively debate.
“I believe the Naboo actually imported their silk from Karlinus, it did not originate there as opposed to Mister Harlijk’s belief,” the human male that joined the gathered party of five smiled warmly and took a sip of his drink. Despite his seeming knowledge of fabrics, his own attire was a well-tailored yet simple suit that lacked the flare and baroque of other attendees.
“Mister Bil'kova, it is a pleasure to meet you again. It appears you know a thing or two about textiles.” Kis'lui dipped his head briefly. He pivoted slightly to subtly leave the conversation and move them slightly aside as they greetes the newcomer.
“Kis'lui, it seems we have a knack of running into each other. I must confess I mostly know of Karlini silk for its blaster resistance,” Olierre scratched sheepishly at his kempt beard with a chuckle. “Alas, my manners.”
“Right, Olierre Bil'kova, this is Eel'elzabet'thi, my close colleague and a diplomat with the C.A.D.R.E.S.” Kis'lui introduced, uttering the Chiss name with well-practiced ease.
Elizabet offered Olierre a hand to shake, finding his touch firm and warm through her gloves. “Elizabet is my Core Name. A pleasure to meet you Olierre. I hear you and Kis'lui are already acquainted…” She caught a glimpse of a glance toward the Pantoran in question, and Olierre scratched at the back of his neck. “… perhaps we could call on your help again?”
The Human shifted between his feet and stood a bit straighter. “Of course! How might I help you two?”
Elizabet noticed that Olierre’s glances kept shifting to her assistant. Was he more accustomed to dealing with men? The Chiss’s jaw tightened, as she was determined to make a good impression, herself.
“We’re looking into some missing shipments-”
“So I’ve heard, but I certainly have nothing to do with it,” Olierre interrupted.