as written by Ottoman and Krysis
Monika Stier's quarters had been a lesser priority of his in the aftermath of the meeting with the Tradesmen, but Obergruppenführer Maddox had found his more pressing concerns - namely speaking with the captain - neutered thanks to her own duties. Vital as his work was, Weldon knew well the operation of a naval vessel and understood, perhaps better than anyone else on board, the severity of its current task. Taking Monika out of the chain of command, even if only to briefly speak with her, might spell disaster down the line for the vessel and its temporary charge. So, for now, they provided a small distraction.
He'd made his way here alone, the programmed qualifications in his arm granting him access to the room easily enough, idly looking through her quarters with undecided intentions. Only occasionally did he disturb the scene presented, knowing that whatever mark he left on these spartan quarters would become all too evident later thanks to the state their mistress kept them in, mind moving to any number of thoughts as he did. It was one of several advantages of his nature, he'd come to realize, the time he'd had to learn his craft and master his vocation - over the decades he'd spent in the service of the throne, whose occupants were so graciously displayed in the captain's quarters, he'd learned many tricks, large and small, to expose heresy and defeatism. Many times, all one had to do was trap them with their own mouth in an elaborate game of speechcraft, but on other occasions, with especially clever or careful individuals, one had to go further - to take matters into their own hands.
But even now the man debated on if it was worth it to turn his sights on Monika, to potentially destabilize one of the great houses of the Reichsversammlung for his own pleasure. The thought stopped the man in his tracks as his gaze lingered on himself in the bathroom's mirror, emerald eyes darting to the cheekbones he'd inherited from his mother, the Austran face that he wore despite his Azrican complexion, the same features that he shared with his sister.
It would be a fitting trade, wouldn't it? A pompous noblewoman in return for Christine.
Maddox found himself so lost in his hatred, his fists balled at his sides and eyes shut fast that he hardly noticed the door open once more, his gaze alight only after she bothered to speak the most unexpected words. The stream of self-loathing in the other room took Weldon by surprise, as much as a man like him could be, and the Alfar turned in their typical, quiet way to look back to the main quarters, watching Monika launch into herself from the shadows.
Only once she saw him did he move to acknowledge her, glancing to the twins' portrait with a pointed finger before looking back at her. "I don't mean to interrupt, captain." The Azrican murmured, his voice holding its usual, relaxed tone as he took this revelation in stride, all the more uncertain for having been witness to her thought-to-be private outburst.
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Monika was horrified as she realized who her unexpected guest was, and covered her mouth with the hand that had been outstretched to point. Of course she was frantically reviewing what she had said, even knowing it was a bit late to do anything about it. The shoes, forgotten in the other hand, clattered to the floor as that hand went slack. After the moment of shock, she visibly drew herself up and cloaked her misstep in the haughtiness that was her best shield, even as she reached for a tissue to clean her face with.
"If I had known you were here, herr Obergruppenführer, I would have hurried. I was going to take an hour for lunch, if you care to join me." When she turned her back to him again, supposedly to slide her feet back into her shoes, there was a sniffling sound, but other than that, she seemed to be very quickly putting herself back together.
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The Inquisitor took in every aspect of the woman he could when he caught her by surprise there, knowing from experience that this was the real woman under that guise of authority, eyes narrowing as he watched her movements and expressions. The relatively loud crash of the shoes to the floor did nothing to phase him, the Azrik Alfar glancing only to see that her hand had gone slack and that it wasn't an intentional distraction.
Only once she spoke did he break his gaze, turning instead to the Kampfs' portrait, his movement only announced by his boots' heel irons. "I would be delighted to, captain, and it's no trouble. You didn't know." That light sniffle over his shoulder caught his ear as he looked over both of the black-clad Gods of the Supremacy, the ideal that he too strove to emulate.
Self-loathing wasn't a rare thing in the realm of these Austran deities.
"This is a truly lovely painting, lady Stier."
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She gave herself an ironic smile in the mirror, aware that she had not been meant to know of Maddox's presence in her room. Well, not until he was ready for her to know, at least. "It is my favorite. Much better than the print that was there before I moved in."
The next bit of business was to actually request an actual meal for two, instead of the piece of toast she usually had for her mid-day snack. "Do you drink, Mr. Maddox? I'm afraid that is one of my failings. I know nothing about wine, or what to order with a particular meal."
Captain Stier would be glad for the small talk though, as it gave her more time to restore her focus. Monika was almost certain that she would need every edge she could get to escape the inquisitor's notice as unscathed as possible.
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The man simply nodded as he lingered on the painting, giving the woman some degree of privacy as she composed herself, genuinely impressed by the work that went into it, though he wasn't entirely surprised that it found itself in the quarters of nobility. What did surprise the man was that Monika insisted on living in such a stark, spartan space - it didn't illustrate her wealth or position, even simply as captain of the vessel, aside from this painting and the grand vanity that found itself opposite of the portrait.
It warranted thought.
"I do, but don't fret over a bottle of wine, captain. Water will do just fine." It was only lunch, after all, and though when he was in the privacy of his own home he might enjoy a beverage at any time, here it was a bit unseemly to drink in uniform, or so he felt. "I didn't mean to disturb you so suddenly, lady Stier - I meant to have a word with you after the meeting but duty comes first."
He turned at that note to look to her, figuring that he'd given Monika enough time.
"You have my apologies for earlier."
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The lady nodded at his reflection before moving to turn up the lights a bit at the table. "I think I owe you an apology or two as well. The participants in the dance before with that GCUT Commodore were changing so rapidly, I'm afraid I got a bit lost and got a bit rude. I wish I had gotten to discuss the points of attack beforehand."
She sighed then and rubbed the small of her back briefly before settling in one of the hard, straight backed chairs around her simple table. "There is still no telling if he is being honest or not, is there. Not until-- I don't know when that miserable excuse for a foreign representative will be validated. It is very... distressing."
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At her own apology he simply nodded, following her over to the table and taking the seat opposite the noblewoman, a spare glance to his flank all that would indicate his discomfort in these rigid seats. Only after a moment of situating himself did he speak, the light she'd dialed up catching in the jeweled clasp of his neck order. "Indeed. Distressing is an apt word, and unless we want to use less pleasant methods, I'd say there's no way to know for certain until we have an empath in the room with him."
He'd already sent for one of course, though he imagined that if SOP was followed, the Syndicate should have already put in the request. Redundancy had its proper place though, and it was better to be safe than sorry. "If what you suspect is true, lady Stier, then the throne does not wish to risk any unnecessary unpleasantries with this 'commodore'." He leaned forward slightly at the note of the foreigner's rank, pondering to himself how a traders' coalition could effectively assemble any officer corps, the triangular medal at his collar dangling over his tie at that.
It was the Knight's Triad, the metallic mark of his own nobility - a knight, far below Monika's own family - but it was one of the higher classes of the decoration, its oak leaf clasp in-laid with diamonds and backed by two crossed broadswords. Few managed to achieve such a high degree of the coveted Triad, but if one knew just how long Maddox had worked towards it, it was no surprise.
"Hence why we play his game, for now."
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"Mmm. If you can trust an empath and Torvald hasn't been fooled or conditioned to get around such tests. Assuming the empaths can even read these people at all, since the GCUT folk are so different from true Scatterans." Monika rubbed her forehead, deep in worried thought and making sure she was not wrinkling her brow.
"Of course, I sent for one as well, but that is part of the 'first contact' procedures. I want independant confirmation before I let too much ride on the word of a Psyker." The tall blonde gave a faint smile at Maddox then, noticing his medals but not commenting on them. She already knew he was a dangerous man, and the decorations just underlined that feeling.
Her own uniform was devoid of such marks, only the rank in the syndicate in place. Whether she just didn't wear the hardware, or she had not yet been so honored was probably something he already knew.
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The Inquisitor nodded on both accounts, though he only chose to speak on the latter, "Of course, the readings would have to be verified, especially in this case." Psykers on the whole were still not in the good graces of the Supremacy, despite how many were in the Verhör itself, and Maddox had been raised, and trained, to distrust them. The faint smile drew a curious look from the man, his eyes following hers before he realized just what she looked at.
While some might consider him gaudy for his decorations, the Azrican considered them to be a point of pride. Many Alfar found themselves jumping between careers, easily bored thanks to their lengthy lifespans, but he had elected, thus far, to stay true to the Landwächter. It was part of his oath, after all.
He didn't return her smile, keeping his hands folded in his lap as he reviewed his words briefly before speaking, eyes moving once more to the portrait on the wall. "If you will permit my saying so, lady Stier, your passion is lost on the Syndicate."
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"Lost? I must respectfully disagree. The Syndicate is where it is most needed, precisely because such 'passion' is more common in other paths. Besides, I am actually engineering minded. If I had not been borne a Stier, I would be in exactly this same place. Well. Maybe not a captain." She rose from her chair at a chime from her door, moving to collect the tray from the kitchen rather than let the worker into her sanctuary.
"I must admit that seeing my father in action taught me much about leadership. With some practice, I hope to be as good as he is, someday." The noblewoman placed a covered plate at each of their seats, followed by the decanters of oil and vinegar near the middle of the table and flatware rolled in linen napkins beside the dishes. She was not as smooth or practiced in such provisions as the waiter would have been, but to Monika's mind, the privacy was worth the awkwardness.
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"I cannot fault you for pursuing your interests, the Syndicate does have the most to offer the scientifically minded." But what would her fervor get her here, besides the same, standard paycheck? It was a loss in his mind, but it was not one, as he said, he could fault her for. The man pushed the thought from his mind, shaking his head slightly as he allowed the woman to alter the course of conversation.
"Your father is quite renowned in that regard, lady Stier." Infamous was the more apt term but he was a guest, of sorts, and it wouldn't do to use inflammatory language. It was also rare to hear the word good in relation to that man in any sentence, though he attributed that more to his own upbringing than the man's nature. The Stiers were despised by a great many Azricans, whether they were Redwing loyalists or otherwise.
Once the dishes were laid out and the various instruments for the meal distributed, the Azrik doffed his peaked cap and bowed his head in prayer. "Holy father, blessed mother, praise be for this meal and those who share it, granted by your grace and mercy. Amen." The Inquisitor sighed as he finished saying grace, his eyes closed for a moment or two longer until he looked up again, laying his cap down on its crown in a nearby seat.
"You are most kind for inviting me to lunch, captain."
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Monika sat down as he bowed his head, bowing as well. She had opened her mouth to start the prayer herself, but then Maddox took over and she gave another faint smile. He was the superior officer, so he was entitled to take the lead. It was just odd to her, since she had been in charge for so long herself.
"Amen. It is nice to dine with someone once in a while. I fear even my officers avoid my table these days, since I am always dieting." The Stier girl didn't seem to realize that she was already unhealthily thin, and that the salads soon uncovered would do nothing to remedy the scantness of her figure.
Oil and vinegar was all she would put on the leafy greens on her plate, not even a sprinkling of cheese to soften the sliced vegetables.
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The note of dieting gave the Inquisitor some pause, not understanding why the woman would need to, but dismissed that thought soon enough as he turned his attention to his meal. Uncovering the plate after seeing to his utensils and napkin, the Azrik remained as quiet as he was before, though this was not silence chosen, but instilled. He blinked once, then twice, as he looked over his plate and what all graced it.
Though grace was something of a kind word for something so useless to him.
Was this some sort of joke? A cheap return of the favor that he had paid her earlier? Surely she wouldn't be so petty, but she was a noblewoman after all. There was no real telling what depths these people would stoop to. Only after staring at his plate for several moments did the man look back up to the captain of the vessel, his visage silently asking for an explanation.
"Captain." He began, realizing that she might not even recognize what he was after a moment of thought, "I don't know the best way to put it, but I can't eat this."
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Monika looked up from slicing her cucumber into more manageable quarters and blinked at Maddox a couple of times herself before laying her fork and knife down. She frowned in confusion for a moment, murmuring "Allergies--?" in a questioning tone.
Then she shook her head, since it really wasn't her business, "My apologies. Would you care to order something else? I suppose I should have mentioned who was dining with me, instead of just asking for a double portion."
She applied her napkin to make sure no stray drop decorated her lip as she watched her guest uncertainly. Her expression seemed to indicate that she had intended no insult, only ignorance as to the needs of the Obergruppenführer.
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"In a way." He replied to her initial question, soon nodding as he understood soon enough that it was entirely unintentional, and that the distinction he knew and felt as an Alf was not easily observed, especially on such a dour specimen as himself. Unless one looked at his personal records or the infrequency of his meals, they'd have little clue.
After all, the man hardly smiled, if ever.
"I shouldn't have been so curt, forgive me." He murmured, a hand coming up in apology. "I do well to eat just once a day anymore, as it is, I can wait." At that Maddox reached for the glass of water, taking a sip as he pondered just how long he might be staying on, or at least near, this vessel.
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Monika again opened her mouth to answer the Inquisitor, but then her voice was caught in her throat as she put the details together. She slowly closed her mouth again and considered how to proceed. Honesty seemed to be the best course, so she admitted, "I did not know. You hide your state very well. I can delay a meal, since I think it would be rude to eat in front of you."
With that, she put the cover back over her salad and pulled her glass of water closer to join Maddox in enjoying the plain beverage.
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The Inquisitor sighed at that, uncertain how he felt that his nature was regarded as a 'state', but moreso frustrated with himself at having upset the meal over a petty thought. With a nod he spoke, "Feel free to dine, lady Stier, I don't mean to be an inconvenience and it's no slight to me."
With an odd glance to the plate again, Maddox moved to change the subject. "What aspect of engineering drew you to the Syndicate, captain? I don't think I would have ever pegged you for being fascinated with such."
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"I like the way science defines nature, applying rules to chaos. Even if a formula is too complex to be held in my mind, I can see the shape of it, and apply it to real world problems." Monika explained slowly, almost groping for the words as she stared up at the ceiling and frowned at how difficult it was to explain herself.
"It is almost elegant, how the things we can conceive in our minds can be given physical form. It is a kind of magic, if that is not too embarrassing to say. A sort of immortality that any person can grasp, if they were to just work at it." She waved one hand airily, as if sketching something with her fingertips in the air.
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Maddox offered a very light chuckle at that thought - magic, a spell known as industry, to be precise. If there was one thing that the Syndicate was good for, it was that. "I wish more of my people would apply themselves like yours do." He murmured, speaking on the final note she made. "Far too many of us become complacent, at least for my liking." The looming aspect of death kept one motivated, pushed one forward in life - it was true for the Alfar as much as regular Scatterrans, they simply had another century or two to cushion their lives with. The ambition to succeed, to contribute, was typically, and unfortunately, more prevalent in Monika's stock than Weldon's.
Death was what gave life meaning, or so he had been taught.
"No, it's not embarrassing." He offered after taking another sip of water, "It's admirable. How much longer will they have you in the security forces before you're free to pursue your vocation?"
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"I am supposed to be still doing the parts I so enjoy, even now. There just are not enough hours in the day." Monika admitted, then glanced at the time and gave a weary sigh.
"Speaking of hours, mine is almost up. I do hate to hurry you, herr Obergruppenführer, but if you have business with me--" Lady Stier invited reluctantly, wincing internally at what he might have to say to her.
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"Ah, yes." He mused, nodding at that thought, refolding the napkin and freeing it from his lap as he spoke. "Regarding this ship, the Platinum Edge, and its tradesmen." The crew were the part of the ship that still eluded him personally - they matched Scatterrans in height but not in build. Most curious, especially if they came from another galaxy, as was suspected. "No matter what transpires, you are not to order anything that could threaten the integrity of that craft."
Trans-galactic travel had been something on the mind of the imperial family for some while now, and any potential breakthrough - even if it came from a foreign source - was to be considered the highest priority. "Disregard any and all orders, no matter who they come from, that contradict the imperial directive." If she knew what was good for her, being the unspoken addendum that went beyond Maddox's simple hatred for Scatterrans and issued solely from the wrath of Tannhäuser.
"If we have to buy their ship, or buy their drive, then so be it." A small price to pay for access to any number of galaxies. "And, though we haven't exactly done our best so far, we must do everything in our power to stay in their good graces until we know more about them - neither of us want to remembered for starting the Second Collective War, do we?"
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Monika froze at that set of instructions, her gaze unfocused and staring off in a random direction as she held her breath for a moment. Then she exhaled sharply and looked at Maddox again. "That is interesting indeed. I have a selfish hope that I will not be ground up between two masters. I don't suppose there is any assurance of that?"
She nodded at the portrait of the Kampf twins, "They have my first loyalty, as ever, but I am still just a mortal and subject to all the weaknesses there of."
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"The only assurance I can give you, lady Stier," The staff officer dipped his head at her name, his words and gaze otherwise unflinching, "Is that the Syndicate may fire you for insubordination. The throne will put you on the firing line for it." For obstructing the eventual annexation of countless star systems, the potentially limitless expansion of the imperial sphere of influence, there was no other fate.
"If your superiors see it necessary to punish you for your fealty, inform me." The Azrican made the offer rather bluntly. "They will be seen to. But, if your loyalty is where it should be then you have absolutely nothing to fear."
The Inquisitor sighed once more, resisting the urge to reach into his pocket and take out a cigarette, the vice calling to him in the wake of this rather unexpected meeting. "Am I understood, your ladyship?"
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"As expected, though still not reassuring." The young woman answered, giving a sigh and rubbing her face once more. Then she nodded, "Understood, and I do hope I will not need to call on you, sir."
She rose then, finding it a bit awkward to be leaving her quarters with someone else still in them. Captain Stier hesitated, not knowing the proper etiquette. After all, she couldn't exactly ask the man to leave.
After a few seconds of discomfort she merely sighed and resolutely strode forth. Her's was probably the last face that Torvald wanted to see, so she would inquire of her aids to see what the aliens had been up to in the scant hour since they had parted company.