Obsidian Command

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Free Range: Mixer pt 1

Posted on 21 Jul 2022 @ 1:07pm by Commander Calliope Zahn & Lieutenant Theodore Winslow

Mission: M3 - Into the Deep
Location: Freecloud, Stardust City, SS Opportunity
Timeline: TBD (following Free Range: Affiliations)
968 words - 1.9 OF Standard Post Measure

The dress covered just one of her shoulders, left the other uncovered and flowed down into a stylish neckline. It was a snug fit which gave the dress a relaxed, yet graceful look. Paired with the fur-lined cloak that she had the hood up for was perfect. Indigo absolutely loved the style of the dress as it suited her so well.

“You definitely need to let me know who your tailor is and how you got it so well sized. Do not think I have ever had something fit so well.” The woman admitted as she looked around the boat that they were now stood on scoping out the joint. It had been a breeze so far but now was when all the hard work happened.

Calliope had the benefit of being holographically represented and so had just programmed an outfit. She would have liked to think that saved on the tailoring bill but the premium she was paying for extended and exclusive use of the holo receiver unit walking around in the core of her projection made her matter-interactive electron bill quite high. As they came to the top of the gangplank, She straightened her quilted high collar as she got a look along the open party deck and the high profile company mingling there. She'd insisted on herself and Indigo testing out the falsified invitations before the rest of the op. If they had been thrown back on their asses on the dock, it would have been an early sign to call the whole thing off. There was always the possibility the alarm was raised and they had been let on anyway to see if the two women were something more than party crashers.

"Act rich." Calliope murmured as a ferengi in a dense wool dinnercoat approached them. Everything he wore was trimmed in simmering latinum pressed thread, down to the tips on his collar and the lacing eyes of his shoes.

“I am rich.” Indigo whispered as she plastered a smile on her face as she noticed the latinium on the ferengi’s clothing. It was opulent to say the least but glancing past him to all the other guest it seemed the normal level of show for this event. It mostly likely helped when they were all as rich as the other that they had to show off in a way that was not words.

The Orion cast a sidelong glace at Indigo and smirked. She believed her, although the statement prompted more questions than she was going to have the chance to ask right now. Indigo was an enigma you didn’t think to ask about. She could pass right under your nose like anyone else in her world and yet there was so much left unsaid about her life. Calliope would have liked to have seen the background check that Ehestri had pulled on her the first day they had met at The Vault nightclub, but it hadn’t been deemed necessary to open it to her, just to give the all clear to work with the blue haired watchdog representative.

With one long drawn breath Calliope seemed to be accessing something within. She’d observed how people with obscene amounts of money behaved from various life encounters. She’d rarely been on the inside of those circles, save for marrying into one... When she opened her eyes again, her chin tipped a little higher and her eyes were slits peering down her nose, dismissive under the long lashes dusted with a frosty make up that she had chosen for the snow queen edge. The general distaste on her face she borrowed from Lance’s often unimpressed resting look, even if his expression came from an excess of intellect more than his old family money.

“Esteemed feeemale guests!” said the golden trimmed Ferengi, with the characteristic lean and hiss of his kind that no amount of dressy clothing could make-over. Calliope noted the greeter wore a name over his breast pocket. Durgin. “Please follow me.”

In spite of her instinct to call Durgin by name, Calliope didn’t answer him, simply lifting her chin to indicate he should continue. The help should be next to invisible.

The thrum of the private party came in waves before the activity itself came into view. One humanoid in a strange mismatch of high fashion, was leaning over a rail gasping for air between dry heaves. Calliope was uncertain if they were seasick or drunk, or some combination thereof, but she did her best not to let herself show any kind of care or compassion in spite of relating to the difficulty of a sensitive stomach. A titter of laughter punctuated the underlying music.

Indigo followed with enough air of belonging that she almost fooled herself for a second that she did before she watched the woman nearly fall over the side of the ship if not for her partner pulling her back. "Not exactly the class I expected," Indigo said in a calm voice that was filled with distaste and judgement.

Another ferengi, his pin naming him Lop, who looked to be more senior in his stance and attire than the gold trimmed Durgin, appeared through a side door and called over to yet a third ferengi, a server denoted as Brat — unfortunately for him, Calliope couldn’t help but feel— who was happening by with an empty tray. Lop snatched the serving tray from his hands and bopped Brat on the head with it, hissing at him in ferengi. The younger one whipped a service towel out of his belt and jogged off to aid the sick woman, griping. “We aren’t even underway yet. She arrived here drunk. Someday I’ll be maitre d', then make him deal with all of the barfing...”

 

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