Thread: Noblesse Obligé [Ghostwolf and Thaedael]

Victoria was glad that she was able to walk arm-in-arm with Clara, using her as a tactical screen to cover her retreat from the gathering of men who wanted to talk to her. She had grown disinterested in them early, those that had served as officers and other prestigious ranks because of their birthright and not merit alone. They had made bold claims, and spread stories that were fundamentally false, improbable, or with such garnishes upon them that it had insulted her to the very core, especially after having served under and with men who had given their lives in the name of the Emperor. As for the nobles, she knew not of how to deal with them, only having been taught the most basic of etiquette by Ilya Garin on the long journey towards his home planet. Ilya... how he taught her to dance, or even eat properly, spending almost every free moment with her as he taught her the ways of his home planet. She blushed at the thought of him again, before the tug at her arm was once more bringing her to reality. Upon her arm hung the beauty that intimidated her. She grew up on a hiveworld, in the lower spire, where crime was a way of life. She did not know that people could live in such a way. Their clothes, their hairstyle, their make-up, it was all as foreign to her as the xenos were to the nobles. The woman to her side, who held her arm ever so close to her breast, made her realize just how unwomanly she had been throughout the years of service in the Imperial Navy. Clara had held an upright posture, much like herself, however she held it naturally, and with ease, that made her seem all the more graceful. Victoria? It was as stiff as being at attention on a military parade. The way Clara moved caused her dress to sensually move, her hips swaying as she went, a womanly Je ne sais quoi aura about her. One that turned heads from side to side as they parted the crowd, which Victoria attributed to her appearance and personality, and not for the fact that it was Victoria coupled with her that made them look on with envy. She on the other hand, looked martial. The way she moved was stiff, disciplined, lacking in any personality or femininity. She wore a formal military uniform, much like the rest that had returned home on the Aquila landers earlier. A simple black vest, with imperial eagles for buttons. Across her shoulders, rank chevrons, and across her chest honors. Simple white gloves, black slacks, and polished leather shoes. Where as Clara's magnificent breasts were pushed up and together to accent her bust, Victoria's were small, and hidden under a uniform that pressed down upon them, diminishing them so that only the medals across her chest were accented, to which she had many. After much pleasantries in which she nodded, or followed the lead of the girl she chaperoned, which in reality was actually an inverse in roles in all but appearances, they had finally made their way back to where Ilya and Elizabeth last were, only to notice that they had disappeared. Victoria wanted to blame their slow meandering route they had taken, but thought better of it, instead looking to Clara with a smile. The fun in losing things, my Lady, is finding them again. You have an excellent intelligence officer at your literal arm. I specialize in finding people. She brushed a glove hand over Clara's free arm that had hung at her side for most of the early evening, reassuring her. Though I am parched, and could go for a drink first. I am sure he is finally having a good time, finding pieces of himself again. No need to go and distract him from it she said. Her outward smile was supposed to be perfect, pleasurable and charismatic even, however inside she battled with herself. She knew it wasn't the case, and that he was actually losing pieces of himself. He had been more distant, and shutting them all out from his mind ever since that incident. She shook her head. He had ordered her to have fun, and with Clara, fun was indeed to be had. Lead the way my lady. The hallway had opened up onto many more doors and windows, with no clear indication as to where he was headed. It was suffocating, it was drowning him. Their expectations, his own expectations. On the battlefield, there was no time for self doubt, no time for inflection, no time to care. Every free moment since they had left their last engagement, he had time to think. Thinking was his enemy. He wanted to be sick to his stomach, he wanted to rip of his arm. He wanted to stop caring, and enter a state of emotionless oblivion. He found a view from a pair of double french doors, their large glass windows opening upon a balcony which overlooked much of the spire. Fresh air, that's what his body needed. Elizabeth had found him. He had stood against the fine stone edging of the grand balcony, one of many that lined this side of the governor's palace, stretching out as far as the ends of both sides of the palace from either side of him, with others above and below in a tiered manner. He had his shined boots fed through two of the vertical stone slats that kept the railing up, leaning against the railing, and over looking the city he had grown up in, admiring how it had changed, and how calming it was. Elizabeth he said, nodding with his back to her still. Atop the railing were his discarded gloves, the ends of themselves tucked inside one another, and left to hang slightly over the edge. Against the base of the railing where his foot rested, was the breastplate, left discarded and standing upright, it's form glittering in the softer light of the sunset. He didn't know what to say, he didn't have anything to say. The only thing that came to his mind were things unfitting for a lady of her caliber to hear. I beg your pardon for leaving without proper goodbyes. I just needed some space. He finally pulled his leg down from where it stood before turning to face her. The low sitting sun on the horizon illuminated him from behind, changing the way he was lit. Unlike in the grand ballroom where he looked every part the man they all thought him to be he, he looked reflective, full of sorrow, and every bit as vulnerable as a person lost in the world. The front of his uniform was drenched in sweat where the ceremonial breastplate had been, the formal uniform below open by a few buttons at the collar of his neck down to his chest. Defined muscles glistened with sweat beads, a few visible scars across his pectoral muscles. It wasn't the only thing that caught the light of the sun, for the hand of his bionic arm was exposed, and caught the light as he shifted it up to his face, pulling hair up and off his head, the beret having long since been tossed to the side of the balcony. It is a pleasure to meet with one that would speak her mind so freely again. He took her hand once more, before bowing to kiss it.