Nildea smoothed her gown, taking a deep breath, the only soul standing in the grand ballroom for another few minutes. Soon, people from the clan would flood the newly renovated space and the mask would have to come up again. Grumpy, aloof, uninterested. At least she didn’t have to pretend to not be tired. She gave the room one last sweeping look. Everything had been decorated in lights, holly, and other seasonal decorations. The centerpieces at each table were a massive poinsettia flower floating in mineral oil with waterproof lights floating under it. Everything was perfect.
At least she could do this right.
She waved a hand, decorated in golden metal claws to Corga who stood behind her, waiting for her signal. It was a dismissive gesture, but the pair new what it meant. Let the party begin. The tall Chiss woman nodded and made her way to the door, her team of five other hostesses gathering around her. Each one wore a white suit, regardless of their gender. Tonight’s hostess team were all Sephi, a request of Nildea herself. Nildea didn’t want to ruffle any of the feathers of potential Empire royalty peaking their nose in and being bothered that there were other races on the staff. It didn’t happen often, but it did happen.
Corga stood out amongst the rest, her blue skin vibrant, and she was the only one dressed in black. She unlocked the front doors with a swipe of her hand and they slid open effortlessly. Corga smiled widely, opening her arms.
“Welcome to the House of the Lord Protector! We hope you enjoy your time here!”
The sight of Vez Hirundo in a tux was probably enough of a shock to stun a few of the older, more respectable Odanites, and the grace with which she managed walking in heels did not help. However, the six-pack of Daleem Light Lager dangling from one hand and the lit cigarra dangling from a long, cheap plasteel cigarra holder in the other offset this a bit.
“I, uh, I brought some beer,” the Mirialan said, looking around for anybody she wasn’t going to feel terminally self-conscious talking to. “‘For Dally Light and love’ and all that.”
The small Kyataran arrived and hit the ornate door three times with the haft of the black staff she carried at all times. She paused, struck the door twice, paused again and then three more times. It seemed oddly ritualistic but since no one was around to judge her, Miho didn’t really seem to care.
Never explain why you do things the way you do.
Wise words from one of her brothers when she was younger. For him, it had been more than twenty years. For her, it was less than a decade. When she finally managed to make it home, she needed to find Nekura and spend some time with him like they had after he pulled her from the wreckage of Kuroshin.
But, for now, she would wait for the door to open for her admittance.
Doon’s presence was hard to miss. He stepped into the ballroom, looming over Miho as he passed. He had learned better than to ask why she did as she did, not that he bothered pestering her about things in the first place.
Doon’s large frame was dressed well. His suit a mix of sharp formal and martial utilitarian, though the Shistavanen hated wearing any form of medal, especially to internal events. Thankfully, at least, his current suit did well to not clamp down or force up the thick fur of his mane like some previous outfits did.
He neared Nildea and offered her a low and slow nod, his golden eye closing as he greeted her. “Good Evening.” He then glanced around the room, taking it in.
“This has been set up well.” His deep voice rumbled a simple compliment, his eye briefly resting on the beer pack that had been brought in by Vez who stood nearby. Close enough for Doon to rope in with a comment in her direction.
“Planing to share?” His nose twitched.
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“Help yourself, ” Vez said, offering the entire six pack. “I didn’t get dressed up to drink my own booze.”
“Hmm.” He rumbled a contemplative noise and collected the pack in his massive paw. He held it palm open, as if he was inspecting an apple.
“I’ll find a place for it.”He adjusted his grip and lowered his arm, while the other lifted to offer a shake. “I am Doon Sulvir.”
“Vez Hirundo,” she answered, taking the proffered hand. “Terminal padawan.”
Doon’s scarred snout lifted somewhat, a twitch of a smile showing sharp teeth. True to his nickname, his paw was soft to the touch, but quite dwarfed Vez’s hand when he shook it. “Knight Commander.” He added, the juxtaposition of their ‘titles’ apparently humorous to him.
“You are well dressed for a Padawan.” His dry tone was not the easiest to detect humor in.
“Yeah, Turel and I crashed the Queen of Ktath'atn’s annual shindig a few years back and I had to pretend to be respectable. That and it makes my girlfriend blush. How’s knight commanding working out for you?”