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A Dinner of Cruisers (CLOSED)

Where nations come together and discuss matters of varying degrees of importance. [In character]
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The Selkie
Powerbroker
 
Posts: 9422
Founded: Sep 17, 2014
Liberal Democratic Socialists

A Dinner of Cruisers (CLOSED)

Postby The Selkie » Tue Dec 04, 2018 1:42 pm

Hello and welcome to A Dinner of Cruisers!
This is a closed RP between me, the Selkie, and Shackley. You are invited to read along, but as mentioned, this RP is closed.

Have fun reading!


Cineál, Cineál-class Yacht, off Silverport.
Sun Deck.

The sea was calm tonight.
After the Storm Season this year, this was a nice change, but usually around this time of the year, the beginning of Decembre, that was rarely the case. And the wind was not as icy as usually, even allowing for a whopping four degrees Celsius, granted that the sun was just setting - someone might call it cold, but for Nora Cathlong of the Tribe of Cork, who looked over the railing out to port, it was a usual winter... besides, she had a hot chocolate.
A wonderful drink and something she indulged in on cold nights.
The Cineál, SDY's representation and demonstration vessel, would be host to important guests tonight, the delegation from Shackley. The Royal Navy was looking to expand and to acquire vessels, amongst them Guided Missile Cruisers, a contest, which SDY had entered with their Maighdean-class, offering to host a delegation of the Royal Navy for inspection of the Maighdean-class and of other vessels SDY had on offer.
There had been complications, but now, they could finally come to something she always looked forward to: The Business Dinner.
Of course not on the bloody cold Sun Deck, but in the Grand Dining Room, which was not as grand as the name led to believe. Her red-brown eyes sparkled as she thought back to one occasion, where their guests insisted on having drinks in the cold, only to freeze their butts off.
Her long hair was bound back, into a neat braid, emphasizing, that she was in her mid-fifties, but looked a lot younger, swinging across her back. She was well-trained for a woman of her standing, and well endowed, which was emphasized a bit by her Geansai, the Tribal Garnments of the Selkie, in her case in the natural colours of the fur, as she was an Arcane Servant to Gavida, God of Arts and Crafts.
She drank away the last of her drink and left her post, turning to descent upon the Lower Main Deck, where the Grand Dining Room was established. And, for tonight, had been slightly refitted. She passed the Upper Main Deck, nodding to the Captain of the yacht, and then entered the Lower Main Deck, where she was already expected.
"Hi, Mam.", her daughter Gwen greeted her. When looking at her, one immediately knew, that the 29 Springs old woman was Nora's daughter, as they shared many facial features and were of a similar built, except for one major thing: Gwen had shining blue sapphires as eyes, which sparkled as she, clad in Geansai herself (wearing Ladra's Colours), hugged her mother. "Everything ready?"
"Wanted to ask you that, actually.", Nora replied, received a small shrug.
"They finished moving the table in and have set up everything. It looks almost stately!", Gwen said with a grin.
Nora threw a peak into the Grand Dining Room: Dark, wooden floor, a chandelier overhead, which reflected the light across the room via embers, the Solas Style, as this style was called. A large window opposite of the door allowed to look outside, similar to the view she enjoyed a minute ago, across the portside of the vessel, crossing over the promenade, which was empty. Sideboards lined the walls, filled with things one needed in a Grand Dining Room.
Dominated was the room, however, by a large table, which stood in the center, with enough space for ten people, but set for three plus the delegation from Shackley. It was a massive thing of dark wood, which looked heavy.
A little across the hallway, there was the Grand Salon, where they would retreat to after dinner, but all in good time.
As she nodded in approval, she saw someone else approach from the side with a hard, brooding face, his black hair a bit longer then regulations actually allowed, plus dark brown eyes and the dark blue Mess Dress Uniform of an officer of the SDF-Navy - Captain Galen Trodaí of the Tribe of Westmeath, commander of the vessel SDFS Maighdean, the first vessel of the Maighdean-class.
The Mess Dress alone, a dark blue, high-collared and double-breasted jacket, the high collar decorated with silver markings undecipherable for the un-initiated, a broad dark leather belt with the sheathe of a sword (which was safely back in the officer's quarters, this was another person's home and wearing a weapon openly here would be a grave insult), plus dark blue pants ending in high, black boots, was a sight to behold, especially with the dark leather gloves and the billowing cloak (the latter of which was still in the quarters of the Captain as well).
Nora had admitted to her daughter and Vice Admiral Curadh, that, if she would be twenty again, she would have fallen for the looks alone, but she wasn't, so she admired the tall man in the dashing uniform for a moment, then nodded. "Good evening, Captain."
"Mistress Cathlong, Miss Cathlong.", the man almost grumbled with respect in his voice, bowed his head lightly, "Thank you for inviting me."
"Pure self-interest, Captain. There is only one person in the world, who knows the Maighdean-class better then you and she's standing right next to me.", Nora said with a respectful bow of her own, "So thank you for coming."
The man snorted in amusement, then adjusted the seat of his collar.
"Well... when are the other guests arriving?", he asked.
"Any minute now, by helicopter.", Gwen replied and looked to her mother, "Do you or shall I...?"
"I'll go.", Nora said with a smile, "You entertain the Captain."
Gwen nodded with a grin, before she let the Captain lead her into the Grand Dining Room.
Nora smiled and turned towards the aft, where the Helicopter Pad was. "Well, let's get going...", she whispered and began to move towards it, the faint noise of a SDY-Greadtóir 19 Cuaifeach Mark I Shipborne Civilian Helicopter already audible.
It would be an interesting evening, that was for sure!
Last edited by The Selkie on Tue Dec 04, 2018 1:42 pm, edited 1 time in total.
I play PT, MT and a bit FT. I am into character-RPs.
My people are called the Selkie, the nation is usually called the Free Lands in MT-settings. Thanks.

Silverport Dockyards Ltd.: Storefront - Catalogue

User avatar
Shackley
Envoy
 
Posts: 248
Founded: May 30, 2017
Capitalist Paradise

Postby Shackley » Thu Dec 06, 2018 2:03 pm

The Shackleyers had been pleasantly surprised by the hospitality of the whole affair. They were Navy men (with the exception of one) and they were used to rough, tightly-packed cabins. The hotel in which they'd been staying thus far was not uncomfortable but it hadn't prepared them for the lavishness of the day to come.
They sat patiently in the helicopter, some watching the city lights roll beneath them as they cruised closer to the Yacht. By this point each of them was used to air travel (the only way to travel for some) and the party disembarked one-by-one.

Commodore Simon Ritley was the first. A tallish, gruff man of 43, he'd lived through the Great Survival War by being unfortunate enough to have his ship sunk while still in harbour. He wore his dress uniform; a tight blue tunic in contrast with the slack greys and blacks of his trousers and sailing coat. The traditional great Bicorne cap he cradled under his left arm had been decorated lovingly with thin gold piping and bore a small badge with his family's Coat of Arms. Across his broad shoulders were a broader-still set of epaulettes each bearing the gold bars and ring of a Commodore. The white sash across his belt had originally carried his scabbard and holster, but upon hearing of the Selkiean customs he'd thought it best to leave said dress sabre and 9mm Browning aboard the helicopter.
He stepped from the chopper with an air of anticipation and grandeur that only 25 years in the Officer Corps can grant a man.

He was followed closely by Lieutenant-Commander Luke Banks in a more modest example of Shackleyan dress blues. Sleeker and with far less trim it suited the younger man well, giving an impression of honesty and ambition. Banks was the technical adviser to Ritley. Though the ranking officer certainly had more experience and knew Shackleyan Naval doctrine inside and out there were few people who knew the mechanics of the Imperial Fiefdom's weapon platforms as the Lt.-Cdr. did. He was excited to hear more about the Maighdean-class but sincerely hoped he wouldn't end up spoiling the occasion; ever since the academy his grey eyes bore the tired wistfulness of a (mostly) functional alcoholic.
Banks offered an uneasy smile as he half-leapt from the helicopter.

The last to leave was Janet Heathley, civilian contractor and representative of the Kibbs Royal Armaments Company. She wasn't really sure why she was there -KRA hadn't been involved in shipbuilding for almost 20 years- but she had been promised dinner and a short holiday paid for by the taxpayer was hardly something she'd complain about. She wasn't used to dressing up and exited the helicopter in what amounted to the best she could scrape from her suitcase at short notice. As with any bureaucracy the Navy was typically effective at delivering the right information to the right people at completely the wrong time and often missing the most critical piece of the puzzle.
Her hair was shortish; dark, cut just above the shoulder and somewhat messy but clean. In the breeze it brushed against her suit collar and revealed more of her pale slender face. At 5'11" she almost rivalled the height of the Commodore, an effect enhanced further by the heels on her shoes and the length of her stride. If Lieutenant-Commander Banks had been a little more sober he might've noticed the sideways glances she unwittingly gave him.

With the Shackleyan delegation successfully disembarked they stepped forward to meet their hosts.
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Overview | Persons of Interest | Buy from Kibbs Royal Armaments Co. ! | Buy from The Drawbridge Group!
ORBAT: | Royal Shackleyan Air Force | Royal Shackleyan Navy ████████████████████████████████████████████████████████
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User avatar
The Selkie
Powerbroker
 
Posts: 9422
Founded: Sep 17, 2014
Liberal Democratic Socialists

Postby The Selkie » Fri Dec 07, 2018 3:53 am

Shackley wrote:The Shackleyers had been pleasantly surprised by the hospitality of the whole affair. They were Navy men (with the exception of one) and they were used to rough, tightly-packed cabins. The hotel in which they'd been staying thus far was not uncomfortable but it hadn't prepared them for the lavishness of the day to come.
They sat patiently in the helicopter, some watching the city lights roll beneath them as they cruised closer to the Yacht. By this point each of them was used to air travel (the only way to travel for some) and the party disembarked one-by-one.

Commodore Simon Ritley was the first. A tallish, gruff man of 43, he'd lived through the Great Survival War by being unfortunate enough to have his ship sunk while still in harbour. He wore his dress uniform; a tight blue tunic in contrast with the slack greys and blacks of his trousers and sailing coat. The traditional great Bicorne cap he cradled under his left arm had been decorated lovingly with thin gold piping and bore a small badge with his family's Coat of Arms. Across his broad shoulders were a broader-still set of epaulettes each bearing the gold bars and ring of a Commodore. The white sash across his belt had originally carried his scabbard and holster, but upon hearing of the Selkiean customs he'd thought it best to leave said dress sabre and 9mm Browning aboard the helicopter.
He stepped from the chopper with an air of anticipation and grandeur that only 25 years in the Officer Corps can grant a man.

He was followed closely by Lieutenant-Commander Luke Banks in a more modest example of Shackleyan dress blues. Sleeker and with far less trim it suited the younger man well, giving an impression of honesty and ambition. Banks was the technical adviser to Ritley. Though the ranking officer certainly had more experience and knew Shackleyan Naval doctrine inside and out there were few people who knew the mechanics of the Imperial Fiefdom's weapon platforms as the Lt.-Cdr. did. He was excited to hear more about the Maighdean-class but sincerely hoped he wouldn't end up spoiling the occasion; ever since the academy his grey eyes bore the tired wistfulness of a (mostly) functional alcoholic.
Banks offered an uneasy smile as he half-leapt from the helicopter.

The last to leave was Janet Heathley, civilian contractor and representative of the Kibbs Royal Armaments Company. She wasn't really sure why she was there -KRA hadn't been involved in shipbuilding for almost 20 years- but she had been promised dinner and a short holiday paid for by the taxpayer was hardly something she'd complain about. She wasn't used to dressing up and exited the helicopter in what amounted to the best she could scrape from her suitcase at short notice. As with any bureaucracy the Navy was typically effective at delivering the right information to the right people at completely the wrong time and often missing the most critical piece of the puzzle.
Her hair was shortish; dark, cut just above the shoulder and somewhat messy but clean. In the breeze it brushed against her suit collar and revealed more of her pale slender face. At 5'11" she almost rivalled the height of the Commodore, an effect enhanced further by the heels on her shoes and the length of her stride. If Lieutenant-Commander Banks had been a little more sober he might've noticed the sideways glances she unwittingly gave him.

With the Shackleyan delegation successfully disembarked they stepped forward to meet their hosts.


Nora, standing on the helipad at the stern end of the yacht, smiled, her hands folded behind her back despite the harsh wind kicked up by the helicopter as the pilot touched down.
When the guests departed, most of it had already gone, the helicopter would wait for the guest's departure right where it was now.
The first man to leave the vehicle was a tall, unfriendly looking man with broad shoulders in a quite dashing uniform - Commodore Simon Ritley, the leader of the mission. He made a good, professional and dependable impression on Nora, which was always welcome. Better a bit more unfriendly and professional then staring at her tits all night (which had happened before).
The second was another officer, younger, but he seemed uneasy where he was, but also ambitious and honest, which was also not bad. His eyes, however, looked almost tired, but she would have pegged that as being due to him staying up late pouring over some details or the other. If she was correctly informed, he was Lieutenant-Commander Luke Banks.
The last one was a civilian, a bit mousy, as if she had scraped her dress together on short notice, and was stealing the odd glance at the Lieutenant Commander, which was interesting to Nora. She had, however, no clue about who she was.
With a smile on her face, Nora stepped forward, offering a short bow of her head and then her hand to the Commodore.
"Commodore Ritley, how nice it is to meet you!", she said and smiled, it reaching her eyes, which sparkled. "Nora Cathlong, CEO of SDY. Welcome aboard the Cineál. I hope, that the flight was pleasant?"
I play PT, MT and a bit FT. I am into character-RPs.
My people are called the Selkie, the nation is usually called the Free Lands in MT-settings. Thanks.

Silverport Dockyards Ltd.: Storefront - Catalogue

User avatar
Shackley
Envoy
 
Posts: 248
Founded: May 30, 2017
Capitalist Paradise

Postby Shackley » Sat Dec 08, 2018 10:24 am

The officer took a moment to find an appropriate expression. Steely eyes flickered briefly as he settled on a modest smile, his cheeks moving more than his jaw. He wasn't one for overstatement.
"Likewise, Mistress Cathlong, likewise. The flight was most pleasant-" He leant about half an inch closer, widening the smile slightly; "I only wish our Navy Sea Kings were so well-equipped!" He laughed a thin laugh and nodded before re-straightening his tunic.
"You would think that with all the power and money that changes hands in His Majesty's Armed Forces we might be able to afford some of the luxuries as demonstrated here. A fine yacht I must say, Ma'am. If comfort were the equal of firepower I might suggest that this ship could conquer half the world's oceans single-handed!" He changed tack, doing his best to sidestep elegantly to the matter at hand.
Last edited by Shackley on Sat Dec 08, 2018 5:43 pm, edited 1 time in total.
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████████████████████████████████████████████████████████
Overview | Persons of Interest | Buy from Kibbs Royal Armaments Co. ! | Buy from The Drawbridge Group!
ORBAT: | Royal Shackleyan Air Force | Royal Shackleyan Navy ████████████████████████████████████████████████████████
████████████████████████████████████████████████████████


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