A Hunting We Will Go (IC Thread)

[Roania]

Casir Drakharn paced back and forth for a few minutes, watching as his charges filed in. "Ah, good. I trust you all slept well on the trip from Rudan Prime here to the Nelesar system?" The aged (his hair was starting to lighten) Roanian noble smiled with special tenderness at Calvyn and Scarlett. "We'll begin with a brief introduction. I'm sure that over the course of the night, you had the opportunity to meet many of your fellow hunters. Now, I would like to introduce the HuntMaster for this adventure in a few minutes, but first, some background."

"As some of you might know, the world Nelesar was settled less than a century ago, and the western continent was declared to be a hunting preserve. This world is primarily a temperate one, with no evidence of intelligent life prior to settlement." A map of the planet appeared. "Owing to the world's current continental configuration, there are three continents. A southern continent which is primarily glacial in nature and the two northern continents, which are primarily forested except at the far north of both continents, where they develop into mountain ranges that continue under the water." Another image appeared, of a perfect circle set in the middle of group of cycads. "These unusual occurrences are scattered across every continent, but all appear to be perfectly natural, whatsoever the reason might be. They are 200 feet in diameter."

"You might wonder why I am telling you about them. Well, your basecamp will be located in this one, here." The former field marshal slapped his baton against the wall. "Your huntmaster and I have agreed that these circles are perfect for a small encampment, and this one is near a small spring. Perfect for bathing or cleaning up your kills." Casir tapped his fingers together for a moment. "I have a few more things to say, but I think at this point it's fair to let the expert in hunting begin to speak. Oswald, when you're ready?"

[Tanaara]

Fai' took a seat, over in a corner and sat quietly, mostly trying to stifle a series of yawns...and she wanted to stretch more too, but 'it wouldn't be polite'...

Odd that. How if it was a point of etiquette that she'd hear her mothers voice, though her guardian harped on the subject much more constantly. Her mother may have been seven years dead but it rang as true and as clear in her daughter's wandering thoughts as if she were but over her shoulder. She missed her every moment of every day.

Fai'leen Al Rai'sharra hid a sigh and looked up still rather uninterestedly at the just now introduced Huntmaster. Unconsciously she picked restlessly at her clothes, though they were of the finest quality and had been hand tailored to fit her perfectly she still wanted them off. A flash of subtle discomfort, a faint brief wave of ...something, she wasn't exactly sure what lapped over her and then was gone.

And no, she hadn't gotten to know the others, that thought was predicated on the notion that she wanted to get to know the others. She didn't really want to, most of her wanting was to be back home where everything and every one was familiar. Though part of her well knew that was vastly different than the fearless, curious adventurer she'd been before. But the biggest part of her didn't care. She just wanted to be home where she could go on hiding from the thing that had ruined her life.

She and her Guardian had argued -at times with all but physical violence - over this whole 'expedition." Fai' had wanted nothing to with this Roanian Hunt, had no interest in it at all. But she had gotten tired, she hated the arguments and...she just didn't have the energy, the caring to keep the resistance up. And so now she was here, with something about those fake plamy bushes niggling at the back of her brain.

[Oyada]

“Thank you, Patriarch.” A deep, stern voice, ground from pure millstone and tempered liberally with enough plumminess to ensure it a permanent place in a thousand and one period dramas had its owner so desired, filtered through at least an inch of bristling moustache and a bramble patch cunningly disguised as a beard, responded to Casir’s invitation. Its bearer turned to face the assembled cohort of youth, his unimpressed snarl silenced and instead transferred to producing a magnificent scowl, accentuated by the cropped caterpillars of hair that crawled up his cheeks to join the surprisingly good part left on his head. That hair was hidden beneath that indispensable tool of the true hunter, a genuine pith helmet, tilted back at a slightly rakish angle to expose what was, technically, his forelock, although he would never hear it called thus. The lower orders had their forelocks, and the lower orders tugged them before him. Nobody had ever made Oswald von Burkensteiner-Sinievskiy’s six feet two inches be shortened by the tugging of his forelock, that classic sign of deference to one’s betters. He bowed to the bloody Emperor, and that was it; he was the son of nobles, and his sons – the legitimate ones, at any rate – would be nobles too, and taught to behave appropriately. The fact that, even in the relatively stratified society from what he came, that behaviour was out of date by a good few centuries was one to which he was blissfully oblivious; if pressed, his response was merely that there was something damned wrong with the world, then!, and that settled it. From the top of his helmeted head to the bottom of his leather boots, he was a noble in the old mould; and, for the most part, he showed it. His hunting attire of choice, helmet and boots apart, was the khaki tunic and trousers with which his ancient forebears had hunted. None of those damned silly tweeds and socks for him; they merely made one look like a damned queer anyway. From his mouth – or what could be seen of it beneath the white forests of hair – the stem of a thick-walled briar pipe protruded, its bowl puffing gently as he took in his charges. Finally, having given them enough of a sense of his superiority, he set his heavy-set frame upon his heels and whistled softly, sending a tail of blue-grey smoke curling upwards from the pipe.

“Well, well, well. What have we here, eh?” He leaned forward, balancing on the balls of his feet, and managing to fake a smile just as well as he ahd done on every previous occasion when he had led some bunch of clueless halfwits around on a little bit of a plink. He steadfastly refused to call it hunting; as he had complained bitterly, and forcefully, to Casir beforehand, real hunting was not safe, and nor was it fun. Real hunting’s pleasure came from the thrill – the thrill of the hunt, or chase, of the kill, and the giddy, heady excitement of survival. Oswald was a true hunter; he did not hunt for food, or for competition, but for glory, and glory had to be earnt, by hardship and prowess. But if it got the whippersnappers interested, it wasn’t such a bad show; and besides, nobody could argue that these damned aliens paid well. His fee was financing his new yacht.

“What we have here”, he continued, standing upright again and resting a hand casually on the gigantic howdah pistol he had laid on the adjacent table, “my fine masters and mistresses, is a group of hunters in the making! Yes, fine hunters indeed. But let me tell you this: one does not become a great hunter simply by possession of the best rifle, or the finest tracking skills. One can master the arts of gunnery, or camouflage, of tracking; but the great hunter, the true masters of our art, is a man – or woman” he added hastily, in response to Casir’s aggrieved coughing, “who has a stout heart and a good head. And good sense, and senses, within and without, my lads and lasses. Those are what make the great hunters.” He began to pace across the room before them, keeping his movements erect and stiff, almost martial, as he strode left and right, back and forth, in front of them. Always he kept his right hand moving, while his left parked itself resolutely in his tunic pocket, as he lectured:

“The truly great hunter knows his prey. He knows what it can and cannot do, and knows himself. Sun Tzu, don’t you know. Where was I?” he asked himself, looking, puzzled, to the ceiling. “Ah, yes. The great hunter also knows that his knowledge is never complete; he may always be surprised. He must always be alert, just as his prey is alert. The great hunter, my fine youngsters, as well as a keen eye and a firm heart, must be constantly alert!

Even before he had finished enunciating the ‘con’ in constant, his still-moving right hand, changing its movement ever so slightly, had snatched up the pistol from its resting-place on the polished wooden surface and snapped back the hammer of the right-hand barrel; as he turned to begin his pacing anew, he snapped the great weapon upward, levelled it at a rather ugly vase he had spotted in one corner, and squeezed the trigger.

As the smoke cleared and the hammering, deafening concussion of the big pistol’s firing subsided, the youths gradually emerged from their positions cowering behind and beneath chairs Those who had the presence of mind to wonder why what had just happened had done so stared, agape, at their tutor, who beamed back, eyes hard and flinty.

“What did I just tell you ruffians?” he asked, almost pleasantly. Then added, in a voice that shook the fragments of vase and echoed practically as loudly as the gunshot: “CONSTANTLY ALERT!”

“That is what you will all have to be. Yes, even you, my fine young lady!” he shouted, gesturing to the Tanaaran with the stem of his pipe (which had, unnoticed, been plucked from between his teeth by his free hand). He placed the still smoking pistol on the table and stood before it, glaring mightily at them. “Now. You know where we are going; you know why you are all here. I am certain my hosts will have sorted out any arrangements which they consider important to themselves. My concern, as I hope you will understand, is to ensure your safety and that you bag plenty of heads! Like this fine chap here,” he added, producing a net bag in which the head of some long-dead wolf-like beast hung, preserved perfectly by expert taxidermists to retain its expression of outraged dignity. “So. Get your kit, pack your guns, and get to the shuttle. I shall join you there presently.” As the youths shuffled out, some apparently slightly deaf, he added airily, “I’m sure you shall all find this most fulfilling!” And then, to himself: “even if I don’t.” He turned, bowed slightly to Casir, and doffed his helmet. “Good day, sir.”

Before Casir could say anything, specifically anything about that performance with the vase, he was gone, and so was the offending pistol.

[Tanaara]

The damned twit had nearly gotten himself shot...twice, or would have had I been armed. I was supposed to be armed, it was required, by law. Like most all Tanarans, I had grown up with guns, and sport shooting - I had been carrying a weapon since I was twelve and, like all Citizens,taken the formal courses and passed the required liscensing...well Citizens to be, I hadn't done the RCS yet. I'd start that when I got back from this traipsing about.

But some how the Roanians ponces had managed to get a special permit overrised and my Diablo was ...not on my person. I really, really resented that.

The only thing that would have kept me from firing at him the first time, and then again after he displayed the wolf's head, was that I had had some idea of what the nattering ponce had planned to do. He had been making too jolly damned much emphasis on being alert.

But in all honesty if he had wanted my attention he couldn't have done it better. I don't like nose in the air assholes. My family, namely me the last and lonely, could in all probablility bought him and his several times over. My family has been among the powerful of the Phoenix Empire of Tanara since it's founding some seventeen hundred years ago. Just because no one outside the Empire - and thats just the way I like it - knows our estate and position, doesn't mean it isn't there.

Now I was angry.

And I wondered if he'd ever hunted barehanded? Some how I didn't think so.

And my fangs itched.

_{OOC: I am playing as a person from the Phoenix Empire of Tanara, it's just easier signing in as Tanaara. So if you see both nations posting, it's still me.}

[Gehenna Tartarus]

It was bad enough that Tia had been forced to come to Rudan with her father, but being stuck on a hunt with a group of people she did not know and probably would never have known had dear old daddy not decided that it was time she experienced the universe and sent her away on a hunt. It had obviously escaped Lord Henry Fitzsimmons’ notice, but his daughter was not of the country crowd and had no desire to ever become one. Hunting was so passé, whereas partying and shopping was the only thing that the young Tartarian had any interest in.

Despite several battles of will, foot stamping and begging to her mother to aid her, Tia was sat in a room surrounded by strangers – some stranger than others – and was listening to an old man, at least she assumed it was a man and not some freakish alien. There was something familiar about him, or at least he reminded her of her grandfather, which unfortunately did not help matters, as she blamed her current situation on him. After all, her grandfather had made her father the way he was and her father had made her come away on this trip. The only good thing she could say about the whole thing was that her father fitted her out with a whole new wardrobe, but that was because he felt she had nothing suitable to wear.

Just when Tia thought things could not get any worse, the crazy fool pulled a gun on them before shooting. It had taken her by surprise and she did jump out of her seat. She was not a seasoned hunter nor had she any real weapons training. Though she had done some shooting in her childhood, but that was before she realised how boring country life was, especially after spending time in the capital.

Climbing back into her seat, she looked briefly around her at the others seated nearby. They looked a pretty varied group and not as bad as she was expecting. And from the brief time they had had before the meeting, she was sure not all of them would bore her too much. Some of them even looked like they might share similar likes to herself.

Tia remained in her seat, as the first guy had mentioned something about having more to add. She might not have wanted to take part, but she tended to listen. Instructions were important in this kind of venture. She was here, so she would make the best of it. And who knew, she might get some fun out of it. If not, she would find something to amuse her.

[Skeelzania]

Raoul de Serrat deliberatively brushed the dust off the front of his khakis and watched the Oyadan huntsman depart. The old man had certainly put on a show. Looking around the room at the other “hunters,” Raoul was immensely cheered by it. The others didn’t exactly seem typical safari fare, ranging from slick-haired pretty boys (one of them had what looked like angel wings for God’s sake) to a young feral-faced cat of a woman. And that was without mentioning the two who actually were cats. All together it had been shaping up to be an excruciating few weeks surrounded by giggling fremden. Having an experienced big gamesman along, one who presumably knew every animal on the planet worth putting a bullet in, would do wonders in making the whole excursion worthwhile.

Picking his spiked pith helmet up from the floor, Raoul again reflected whether this had been such a good idea. These Roanians had something of a dilettante air about them; what might pass as rugged wilderness for them might be the equivalent of a Solomon beef ranch. The Roro’s had also confiscated his weaponry, some nonsense about them being too “military.” People that considered single shot breechloaders anything but quaintly anachronistic were either unlikely to possess interstellar capabilities (and thus would make the current situation immensely implausible) or were extremely skittish around any sort of real weapon, and presumably animals worthy of being killed by such means.

His first instinct was to grab up his kit and follow Oswald out of the room. But as he saw other’s continuing to sit, he remembered that the old Roro had still wanted to talk. Sighing, Raoul sat down, holding his helmet in his lap and waiting for the Patriarch to finish.

[Midlonia]

Jacques seemed a little perturbed by the Oyadan Nobleman. Truth be told the Angelis felt a little bit out of his depth. He tapped the table in front of him and then looked about at the others who were in attendance to the man’s strange briefing.

He licked his lips and tapped the table some more, and before he knew what he’d done, he’d managed to remove a pencil shaped object from the surface from the table itself. He stiffened slightly and in a panic shoved it straight back into the hole, rubbing it feverishly until it vanished. He breathed a sigh of relief. He still wasn’t very good at some of the magic he apparently possessed as an Angelis.

The Angelis, unbeknownst to many, were in effect a slight mutation from the Roanians, a genetic experiment to address a balance that had been out of kilter in Midlonia for a long time. Roanians occasionally seemed to sniff or stare at Angelis, but beyond that paid little attention. The possibility of them being similar, or long distance cousins had crossed many minds and there was a school of thought out there to put that out as miss-information.

Still, Jacque Girard was a young nobleman’s son, and thus had to be “toughened up” the short blonde hair, and slightly paler skin not being enough of a contentious point that it might not be possible to “toughen up” an Angelis.

He stood up and collected his bag, and slung around him, being careful not to catch his wings, his bow. It was a modern, steel and aluminium bow, but due to his little talent of being able to draw arrows out wood proper, he carried no arrows. Instead he carried numerous blocks of wood in the bag along with his things. His “emergency stash” if it turned out they were headed for barren landscape instead of forested land.

Looking a little nervously at the twitch wolf-girl, Tanaaran thing he hoped he wasn’t going to have to sit next to it, her, on the shuttle down. It seemed like she was ready to snap at any moment.

[Tanaara]

I sighed to myself again as I realised that I was making the others nervous. Thats one of the drawbacks since being regrown. Not to mention the whole host of others, but this one seriously sucked wind. I scrunched my eyes closed and fought it down, nearly weeping in relief as the hypersensitivity vanished. I'm nothing if not good with discipline these days. I guess it's all I've got.

I ventured a tenative smile blond haired guy, he seemed to be some some sort of Celestial. He didn't have the full fluffy wings of a Celestial but he seemed nice enough, if not nervous at heck over me. Sigh...'I'm really not going to eat you!' I muttered under my breath. I was a properly raised Grendel, not a Were, though I'd seen those of both and the memory of the of the virulent kind... The very thought of that inadvertant meeting made me shudder and I quickly turned my thoughts to the other's in the room.

The others didn't look any more impressed with the Great White Hunter than I was, that gave them all bonus points in my book.

[Solont]

Jameson Gesetz, or merely 'James' to his friends, sat bolt upright in his chair as the gunshot report echoed across the room. Jet lag was a terrible thing to deal with, to be sure, but James couldn't even use that as an excuse. The President himself had authorized passage via Gateway; the trip to the Inner Rim had been nigh-instantaneous. The truth was, up until the point where Oswald destroyed the vase, James just couldn't muster up the interest. He was the last arrival to the meeting, and came to find a room full of pretty girls, after all. Like any healthy red-blooded teenaged boy, he'd decided that there were much nicer things to focus on, right at that moment.

As the son of the revered SSF First Fleet commander Kaur Gesetz, the young human had spent most of his life in a rigid military environment, being shuffled from one boarding school or academy to another. He was physically fit, moderately attractive, and just a little rugged; he had the air of a casual athlete about him. And while he knew how to conduct himself with discipline when it was necessary, he was still an adolescent boy, and as such, he had other priorities than yet another boring lecture...

Mmmmm... maybe this hunt's not going to be so bad... he'd mused to himself, looking around the room. His gaze came to rest on the cute, dusky feline-looking girl from the Dominion, sitting near the center of the room. Target acquired. Moving in for the kill... He surreptitiously sauntered up next to the young miss Talia Patroni, and had been about to lean over and whisper an absolutely uproariously funny joke about Oswald's ridiculous facial hair when the gun went off, snapping James out of his delusion of charm and finesse and pulling him back to reality.

“Whoa...” He mumbled, his eyebrows raised. Unlike a few others, he hadn't scrambled for cover (a few months as a civilian in a warzone left him rather immune to loud noises), but Oswald accomplished his goal: The Oyadan Huntmaster most definitely had the Solontian's attention.

Oh man, this guy... Is he crazy or something? Reminds me of that drill instructor at basic firearms certification. The terrifying one... Only I didn't have to spend a few weeks out in the middle of nowhere with him. Oh, man..., James thought to himself, running his fingers through his short-cropped brown hair to scratch the back of his head. He made a mental note to never cross Oswald if he could avoid it.

But still...

As Oswald left the room, James took another look around. The girls, though some obviously unsettled, still seemed like they weren't about to back out of the trip. And even startled, they were no less pretty. Not about to be dissuaded, he sat back into his chair, relaxing his posture as Casir began to speak again, his mind having already wandered back to casual daydreams of nights spent sneaking into the girl's tent.

[Dread Lady Nathicana]

The two Dominion kids had arrived on the same shuttle, though they hadn’t sat down together for the introductory speeches. Same schools, yes. Same circles, not so much

In spite of having access to most everything money could buy, Talia wore a tight black cutoff tee that read ‘Make Me Purr’ in bold letters across her curvaceous chest, and snug faded jeans that rode low on her hips. The ensemble showed what her mother insisted was ‘entirely too much skin’, but it was hot, and she was comfortable. Her long purple hair was tied up high in back, and swept down past her waist in a long tail, with the rest framing her heart-shaped face in choppy layers that went a bit wild in parts, mostly covering her lightly-tufted catlike ears.

Golden eyes took in the scene with a lazy sort of confidence that combined with the fluidity of her movements even more contributed to the impression of a cat calmly examining its options. It was clear she was relaxed. This hunting expedition seemed on the surface to be an excellent opportunity for some adventure, something different, something of a challenge, hopefully. Her mother had been worried, but her father, in true doting fashion, hadn’t been able to resist her large-eyed lip-quivering pleas, and so, she found herself here amongst a interesting mix of people, wondering what was going to happen next.

In contrast, Leonardo appeared slightly brooding in nature, perhaps even a bit standoffish. While he didn’t sneer at any of the others, he did hold himself in a mildly aloof manner as he looked them over one by one. He was here to prove himself, to himself so to speak. Hunts with Papa had always been entertaining, but Leo had wanted to stretch a bit further. And his father, having every confidence in his son, and his son’s abilities, had been quite confident in letting him join the expedition. After all, if the ratcats and that other mongrel could handle it, surely he could. Oh granted, they weren’t a bad sort, any of the three. Not really. But Leonardo had his own ideas about racial purity, and lineages, and various other things that their races simply didn’t fit into nice and neat.

That seemed to hold fairly true for most of those gathered here. Oh, he wasn’t a bigot. Surely not. It was just that in his world, Family was everything. And his Family was Dominion, born and bred. And anyone he was going to eventually choose to be included in that Family would have to be of the same strong stock. It was tradition, after all. And it kept the Family strong. Look what happened when even one of the best got mixed up with foreigners, after all. You got whelps like that damnable Marcus Treznor, thinking he was so damned superior just because his father was Emperor. Thinking he could be insulting of Family traditions and positions in Dominion society. Thinking he had any right to judge.

Granted, Naiya shared mixed parentage as well, but she at least seemed to conform somewhat to societal norms. She understood how things worked. Not the same thing at all, of course.

They sat themselves down amidst the other students, each listening quietly to first Casir, and then the rather … enthusiastic Oswald. Their reactions were predictably different, especially when the gun went off shattering the vase.

Talia couldn’t help but like the man right off the bat. His outrageous accent for one, mannerisms for another, and … those chops. He was like a shrewd yet eccentric old uncle that the family put up with lovingly, yet patiently, and tried not to get over-excited too often. She sensed someone making their way up to her and was just about to turn to see who when Oswald took his shot, causing her to tip over backwards in her seat, booted feet flying up in the air, with an indignant shriek.

Leo was more than a little concerned about Oswald, all things considered. He was like that ‘crazy cousin Ernesto’ that no one wanted to talk about and everyone avoided like the plague. His manner ruffled Leo’s sense of decorum, and indeed, he felt the man was talking down to him personally on some level or other. Well, he would show him who was a hunter, and who could—

The gun was drawn, the shot was off, and Leonardo was hitting the floor with a muffled curse, reaching for a handgun that wasn’t there, damn the Roanians and their rules. He got up, his ears ringing, and brushed himself off, glaring pointedly at the man before taking his seat again.

Talia’s ears were ringing as well, and her eyes were a little wide as she scrambled quickly to her feet, righting her chair, then sitting bristling. If she’d had a tail, it would have been straight up and fluffed out like a bottle brush.

What was clear to both was that this was going to prove to be no ordinary hunting expedition. How things were going to pan out remained to be seen, as they waited tensely for Casir to conclude his introduction.

[Roania]

Casir looked at his vase and sighed. It had belonged to his great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great... well, that wasn't particularly important, and he was used to humans having little regard for the old. What could you expect, for people who perished after less than a day. "Well, quite. I'm sure you all will get along famously." The Roanian whistled, and a few felinoid servants scurried in to clean up the pieces. "Now, in the interests of safety, I'm going to remind you all not to go wandering away from camp after dark. There will be an electric fence put in place to prevent any creatures from breaking in, and Oswald is under strict instructions to turn it on every night."

The Roanian studied his paperwork for a few more seconds. "In addition, in the event of an emergency, every three tents will be issued with a single emergency use transceiver to contact the ship." He looked around the room, focusing on the Skeelzanian and Leonardo almost at random. "I am placing the use of these transceivers under military law. Using one without an actual emergency will be very, very severely reprimanded." Casir's lip curled up in a ghost of a smile. "I think by letting Oswald choose your punishment."

"Now, before you leave for your shuttles, there is one last thing. Under radiant imperial law, it is absolutely forbidden for all non-military personnel to possess weapons of any sort. We have an exemption in place for hunting rifles, as well as..." His eye passed over Calvyn and Scarlett for a moment, "devices of... personal requirement. However, for everyone else, I must ask you to leave your weapons, if you have any, with the guard at the door. Failure to comply is criminal, and you would, I'm sure, hate to start your vacation off by being flogged." Casir's eye wandered over to another door as he heard another gunshot, and he sighed again. "...your huntmaster is introducing himself to our people who are accompanying you on this. Many of them have gone hunting before, or have licenses, but in the interest of fairness they will be treated precisely the same as you are." Casir smiled faintly. "As if I could stop Oswald from doing so." He looked directly at Talia. "I have traveled in the Dominion, and I am aware of the... independence that your people always assert, Miss Patroni. I must remind you now that just because the other young women in the party may be more... conservative than you, does not mean they do not deserve your respect, nor does it mean that you do not deserve theirs." Then he raised his voice. "That goes double for the rest of you, as I have already told my countrymen. While you are on this trip, you are to treat everyone with the respect you yourself would like to be treated. I have the utmost faith you will not disappoint." He turned to leave, his hand resting on his cane, and then he stopped. "Oh, and be nice to the felinoids. Oswald's got them doing all sorts of gruntwork and they'd appreciate you not making their jobs harder. Have fun, everyone."

[Zepplin Manufacturers]

The figure was stretched over the chair like a bad suit because he was in fact wearing a bad suit. Or at least that is what it had looked like till supervision and the MAN walked out of the room. It took but a moment to boot before a ring of holos, listener count and ever present smiley faces covered every inch of fabric and the jacket was bulked out to show up the shoulders to a ridiculous level. As corporate logos danced down his sleeves a grinning smile was held under a pair of silvered glasses that obscured the eyes and a metallic cane lay in one hand an infinity symbol neatly etched into one end that on occasions blinked a deep blue. Kavik Nial was a driven individual, one whoms neon orange Mohawk positively glowed. Occasionally if you look there was a flash of something other than the blinding grin that seemed etched into his muscles but it was fast, snapping in and out as if his face had been slapped.

As he speaks he gestures towards the broken vase .. the voice is ...ecstatic, filled with far too much emotion, bubbling, infectious over the top .. DJ it screams to the soul. Not least because of the embedded sound effects.

"So anyone else feel the fire man spraying us? I can fee the burning off that Oswald guy strong! our guide needs the emo hoses baaad! great rig though!"

A twist of the cane and a fluttering of flimsies filled the air from the bulging jacket, the smell of something newly printed filling the near by air.

"Sorry to biz your pleas but do you pers have time for a little legalwhosit for my casts? we got coverage 5 to live back home! Got sol wide options on top feeds all around and some sweet sponso ops!"

Animated Stars literally flashed in his eyes for a moment.

As he said this if a flimsy was picked up from where they had unerringly folded there forms to fly into the nearest persons laps they would start to show projected income from previous "exposures" on the broadcast.

He turns to Talia and speaks, grinning all the time.

"Gota have hols the man says, stay fresh, stay in the stream, but gota keep the sound you know?"

[Largent]

When the gunshot rang out it appeared that there was only one young man who did not jump to attention. Sage Moonblood Simone was too cool to be surprised--or so he would claim. In addition, he was too cool for safaris. It just so happened that he and the state saw the matter in very different lights. Truthfully, there was no reason for him to complain, but that never stopped him before. While Largent typically operated on a three strike policy for minors, Sage's rock-star father had managed to finagle his son a sixth and final strike. This safari was Sage's last chance to shape up before his eighteenth birthday when he would have to be tried as an adult. However, if asked, Sage would still claim that the judge should have seen the humor in burning a twenty foot marijuana effigy of the local police chief. The police at the scene sure laughed. Granted, the smoke stretched almost a mile.

Sage had chosen a seat in the back of the room. He sat slouched slightly with one foot resting on the back of the chair in front of him. His jeans were too tight and his hooded sweatshirt was too baggy. Beneath the hood protruded a stylish flat-brimmed cap that rested ever so carelessly atop his mop of black, curly hair, which parted only enough to show his face and undersized sunglasses, even though there was certainly no need for them.

While Sage definitely would fit the description of an out-going, fun-loving individual, his half snarl probably was not received well by his fellow hunters. Most of the people in the room appeared to have signed up for this expedition voluntarily. Hardly the type of people Sage usually associated with. However, he didn't resent any of them. In fact, he was more upset about having to live outdoors rather than spend time with outdoorsy people. He simply preferred to keep to himself for now. While he hadn't ruled out finding people whose company he enjoyed, he had come prepared with plenty of...substances that would...be frowned upon, but would...keep him entertained. Such were the perks of wealth and celebrity.

When Oswald finished his presentation, Sage had no immediate or strong reaction or opinions. Sure he was a little crazy, but Sage was used to people like that. Was he too intense? Yes, but Sage could get over that, or perhaps win him over with his notorious charm. Living a comparatively public life had taught him to react to people very well without compromising his personality, a skill which may or may not be of any use on this trip. Other than that, he was actually--secretly-- a little happy for the opportunity to fire a rifle. Although his nonchalant attitude would never divulge excitement, it had been a while since he last fired a weapon and he rather enjoyed the experience.

As Casir gave his little speech about rules Sage sighed a little. Growing up the way he had, he had become fiercely independant and had no interest in rules. Turning to a girl he would come to know as Tia from Ghenna Tartarus, in his first act of sociability, he shook his head a little and muttered, "unbelievable."

[Dread Lady Nathicana]

Casir came on a little strong for both the Dominion youth, though for different reasons.

For Talia, all this talk of floggings and punishments was … curious to say the least. For all the expectations one might have of a family somewhat wrapped up in the new nobility, her relationship with her parents had been built on mutual respect, and a whole lot of love. They, unlike some of their peers, encouraged their adopted daughter’s individuality, so long as she didn’t cross certain lines that they had all sat down together and laid out. In return, she didn’t have much of a problem in obeying when she was asked to do something. In her mind, it was common sense that when an instruction, even order was given on this hunt, there was a damn good reason for it, and hence, no need to argue or make a fuss. In turn, the emphasis on punishment for going against such instructions seemed redundant. Looking around at her compatriots however, she began to understand that perhaps … just perhaps there were reasons for the rather heavy-handed introduction.

Casir’s pointed comments to her, and the other girls in particular left her blinking in confusion, wondering what on Earth she had done to give the impression she intended to cause trouble. Then again … she did look a little different, she supposed, taking in the top of the line fashions, the perfect fits, the manicures and lack of bare midriffs. Were she in any way embarrassed by the way she was dressed, she would at least have had the decency to blush, but as it stood, she wasn’t. Perhaps it had something to do with the felinoids as well – something she was mildly curious about, and as yet, uncertain as to how exactly she felt about them being relegated to veritable slave-like status. Her uncle Vasco would no doubt encourage her to examine the situation carefully before leaping to any conclusions. Perhaps she could catch a word or two with them when things settled down later.

Leonardo on the other hand, lifted his chin slightly and set his jaw at the mention of discipline. He was well accustomed to the importance of following orders. La Cosa Nostra operated on that simple principle among other things. His father was the one whom those orders came down from, and he expected them followed. Of course with his son, he too had a very close relationship, and there was plenty of love and respect involved in it. But growing up in the shadow of his grandfather, and now father, he had come to understand that there were high expectations of the Family, and indeed, of himself that he needed to live up to. Yes, there were sometimes punishments when missteps happened. Yes, there were consequences. But more to point, that was in the Family. His Family. His father. Not some poncey foreigner lording it over like what was happening here.

Oh, he’d keep his nose clean, alright. There was no way he was going to tarnish his Family’s reputation, or disappoint his father, but damned if he was going to let any one of them lay a hand on him, for any reason. He was a Genovese, damn it. And no foreigner was going to tell him how to act, or what to do. If he complied, it was because he chose to, for his reputation, to show them how a true blueblood carried himself, whatever the titles some chose to flash around. Respect? That would have to be earned.

He arched a brow at the walking train wreck that approached Talia, with his flaming orange hair and outrageous abuse of the common language, not to mention loud clothes and all the other commercialized nonsense.

What in God’s name …

For her part, Talia let out a squee like a schoolgirl out of a Japanese anime flick as she recognized the DJ. From her visits to Mars she’d become familiar, and often tuned into his broadcasts for a giggle now and then. Him here, now, on this hunting trip?

“Omigawd, get out! Kavik Nial, live and by five! We are go for transmit, set frequency to mon-aaay!” she said, giggling … then looked a tad sheepish, glancing around at the others who seemed to be stunned into relative silence by the over-emotive Zeppy. Talia stifled another giggle, still grinning impishly all the same. The situation just struck her as entirely too funny, and promised to liven up the trip considerably.

The girls back home were going to have an absolute fit.

[Skeelzania]

"In addition, in the event of an emergency, every three tents will be issued with a single emergency use transceiver to contact the ship." The old Ro glanced about the room, his gaze coincidentally focusing on Raoul in a manner not unlike drill sergeants scowling at their least favorite pukes. The Ro went on. "I am placing the use of these transceivers under military law. Using one without an actual emergency will be very, very severely reprimanded."

Raoul smirked right back at the Roanian Patriarch. Of all the ludicrous examples of young adults gathered here, the Skeelzanian suspected that he had experienced more military discipline than the rest of them combined. Five years in the Student Battalions, rising at dawn, followed by rigorous marching, drill, and instruction. And all the while old FS hands, combat hardened and sometimes resentful of their “soft billing,” right on your ass waiting for you to screw the fuck up. Skeelzanian junkers – from “young gentlemen,” squires – weren’t exactly deployed to the frontline or even received much in the way of combat training, but they quickly learned how a knight of the Sternreich was supposed to behave.

Still grinning, Raoul rose to his feet. Leaning down to grab his kit, he suddenly stopped, his grin opening in an expression of astonishment. With hair a color that couldn’t be natural anywhere in the Multiverse, wearing clothes that alternatively conveyed a massively confused sense of sexuality and corporate urgings to consume, and gabbling in a completely incomprehensible duckspeak, what appeared to be an escaped lunatic thrust himself into the spotlight. One of the girls screamed in terror and then broke into a language almost as incomprehensible as the lunatic’s.

After a moment Raoul realized that the young cat-faced woman was actually beset with excitement, not terror, evidently knowing not only the man’s identity but being completely swept away by it. All Raoul could do was put on his spiked helmet, sling his kit over one shoulder, and slowly back away. “God’s Corpse,” he said to no one in particular, “we’re going to be accompanied by THAT? He’ll scare off every piece of game within a kilometer!”

With any luck, the lunatic would be permanently silenced by Oswald within three days of landfall.

[Gehenna Tartarus]

When Casir once more took to the stage, Tia listened, but it was not long before she wished she had not. If she had thought the old hunter had been bad enough, the Roanian was even worse. And the way he suddenly laid into the girl from the Dominion was pretty uncalled for. Tai would have been more than a little annoyed if he had judged her from meeting other people from Tartarus. What was he saying about respecting others?

Grinding her teeth to stop herself saying something out loud, she was pleased that the young man from Largent sitting beside her had displayed the same reaction. Relaxing her jaw, she smiled as she nodded her head in agreement.

“Unbelievable is an understatement,” she answered, keeping her voice low enough not to attract attention. “I thought we were here for fun. I’m beginning to wonder if my father hasn’t sent me to some kind of prison planet.”

Her thoughts were distracted slightly by the squeal that came from Talia, making the young Tartarian think that some kind of giant bug or something had crawled across the girl’s foot or something. But from a quick look, it appeared she had merely been spoken to by the guy sitting next to her. It was going to be a long trip.

Despite the small interruption, Tia was once more focused on Sage, as she blotted out the excited sounds.

[Ainulindalion]

Even places that do not exist have dangers in them, and a people who similarly do not exist must be protected from those dangers, even in a place such as the conflation of reality that formed the current universe.

Fractal lines echoed out through multiple dimensions, stretching through and from the massive castle that dominated the view over the town that rested comfortable outside of it. The Waith Fuina, residents of Arta Fuina, in the land of Tol Fuina, the Hidden Isle of Ainulindalion, were small in number, and comparatively simplistic to look at. Besides the Fortress of the Protector, none of the buildings ventured over three stories tall in the town of less than fourteen thousand.

And the new wall that had just been completed. Previously, the village-cum-town had been open to the forest that occupied most of the plateau that was the island they lived on, but a mere month before, the Protector has ordered the entire population to work on constructing the wall as quickly as they could. Their Protector, Lord, and Master, though he hardly insisted on such obedience and obsequiousness, commanded instant respect from his People. While the Waith Fuina had little doubt that the Protector could have brought forth the wall from nothingness, as he did with so many other things, they also knew why he had ordered them to construct it. The wall had been built by them instead of him for the same reason it had been built in the first place – the Protector was no longer as often present on the island, and the Protector’s Chosen had been informed, not in confidence, that the Protector could feel a darkness rising, immaterial and malevolent. So naturally, all the People knew.

The Protector has provided his People with the tools to do the job quickly, tools the envy of any master mason in civilizations a thousand times more technically advanced beyond mud plaster and white washed walls and thatched roofs. The tools of the People were sufficient for their needs, and despite the Protector’s occasional providence of something beyond their ken, they felt no lack.

Now, the Protector stood upon the completed wall, above the central, massive gate that could cut off the road that ran straight to the main entrance to his Fortress. His night black hair and eyes were perfectly visible to his assembled People, each and every one, from newborns to the eldest among them, now approaching several millennia in age. But even His hair and eyes looked bright compared to the darkness that was His clothing, fabric one would fear to gaze too long upon for the horror of being drawn within it. His signature sword gleamed from his belt, reflecting the bright sunshine of this monumental day. Two steps to the right and two behind Him stood Megilnikerym Anglindalë, Commander of the Chosen in the absence of the Protector. Fifty Chosen flanked the two of them to either side, the entire force of one hundred standing at attention in their full armor and weapons.

“Very well,” spoke the Protector. “Let us begin.” He raised his hand, and the Chosen flashed in heatless blue flames, relocating themselves equidistant around the perimeter marked out by the wall. The black gloved hand dropped onto Anglindalë’s shoulder, who raised his hands. Purest energy whickered outwards, connecting the commander to the two nearest of the Chosen, who were slowly but surely made into living links in a chain of the Protector’s power. “And,” He continued as the shimmering lines met on the far side of the Fortress, “now.”

The flash was blinding. The sigils carved out so carefully by the Chosen burned with the fire of the noonday sun, and the wall became a cliff, hardened into single stone, bound to the bones of the Earth Herself. The runes faded, but did not vanish, still glimmering with dangerous power, and the Protector spoke again. “Your population has thrived, my people, and your numbers have grown. As I fear I by myself may not be enough to protect you from what is coming, I have decided to expand those who are my Chosen. Over the next week, the Chosen will each one select ten potential apprentices from among you. I will send those out in the World Beyond, and they will be tested, in their adventures, to determine their suitability in expanding the Chosen.” His stern face softened, and then, abruptly, the Protector grinned. “Good luck.”

********

That had been more than six weeks before. Dolenesse was the youngest apprentice selected from the population, having reached the age of manhood while the great wall had been being worked on. He had added nearly one thousand stones to its construction himself. He had been the fifth choice of Araion, a senior, experienced member of the Chosen, selected on the third day of the week.

The reason Dolenesse was unsure of the exact time was that one night he had gone to sleep, and on waking up, had found himself somewhere completely different. A living structure, which, he had learned eventually, was a leviathan wandering its way through space, taking him to his adventure. In addition to a couple of changes of his own clothing, there was an outfit that appeared similar to that which the Chosen wore during their training when they were not in armor. The only equipment he had was a rather wicked looking utility knife, which was his own, and a stack of papers that weighed about ten pounds, which he was instructed by the leviathan to give to the people when they arrived.

Those same people had eventually found someone who spoke a language similar enough to his own that they could communicate, and he had been escorted to a place filled with strange people that shuddered and shook about. Most of the people had seemed quiet, and Dolenesse went to sleep, having had it explained to him that they were going on some sort of adventure elsewhere. Best to sleep until they arrived. Adventures, would, after all, require him to be awake and alert.

He did not, on the other hand, understand a thing that the two people in front of them were going on about. Smart enough to identify the language as one that the Protector and the Chosen spoke, he was unable to comprehend it, though. He did, on the other hand, understand the mechanics. The first guy to talk was apparently a sponsor of some sort, and the older gentleman, who was older than anyone he had ever seen, would be in charge.

Dolenesse’s attention was locked on the man, trying to interpret his words from his actions, paying exacting attention, and so he was not very surprised when the gun went off. The noise startled him, and he felt the rush of primitive terror that flooded his veins, but he forced it away, knowing instinctively that there was no threat. For a boy who had grown up in the basically virgin forests that surrounded the Fortress and its attendant village, threats were more or less easy to identify.

Of his playmates around his own age, Dolenesse was one of the few the Protector had never had to restore to life. He wondered if that would change on this adventure. He had a feeling that if it did, he would lose out on his chance to become a Chosen.

While everyone in the village was equal to each other, everyone knew the Chosen were a little more equal than the others. It colored no interactions with them, but those members of the People of the Protector who had been Chosen were spared many of the activities others undertook to live comfortably.

There was not a young person of the Waith Fuina had not envisioned being a Chosen at some point. To command energies with words and gestures, like the Protector, to wear the armor provided by the Protector, to use the weapons He provided. To bond with a herurokko and a fëadraug. To rise to a position where the Protector confided in you, trusted you with discharging His own responsibility in His absence. To perhaps even receive a second name, like Anglindalë had, indicating the fullness of His trust, responsibility, and honor.

To not fail the Protector.

Dolenesse never wanted to fail the Protector. None of the Waith Fuina did. He bent his attention back to the man who was sponsoring this adventure. He could examine his fellows later.

The host was wandering on in his incomprehensible words after summoning some sort of servants to clean up the disaster to the old piece of pottery caused by the adventure leader. The man spoke for a few minutes, singling out one of the girls up front for some reason, and Dolenesse relaxed, letting his eyes roam about the room as the man left. Despite his humanoid appearance, there had been something off about the man.

There was a tall young man who looked entirely too serious about this, and a number of girls of varying modes of dress, and a couple of other males, he thought. There were some stranger looking people who looked like they might have been related to the servants, rather feline in appearance, but given their seated locations were clearly not.

Then there was… Protector save me The boy was loud. Not just his clothing, but whatever it was he was saying. The one girl next to him was squealing, obviously excited… He pondered what was going on, looking confusedly around the room for clues and finding none.

[Tanaara]

Fai's eyes flew wide then narrowed to pinpoints at the outlandish actions and garb of the orange haired stranger. And the girl next to him squealing like a...well a girly, girl. Childish and too easily impressed with someone who looked and acted like they ought to be in therapy. What in the universe was a he, she, it? anyway...

Fai' shuddered to herself. looking away as she heard another comment..

“we’re going to be accompanied by THAT? He’ll scare off every piece of game within a kilometer!” came quite audibly from one of the others. She wasn't sure of his name she thought it might be Raoul - the elderly Roanian had seemed to single him out a bit with the beacons in tents comments. And floggings? Only if he wanted to end up dead - that'd be justifiable homicide in self defense, right? and no guns? what were these people, perverse? or just suicidal? Her thoughts rambled for a moment.

She stood and grabbed her kit "Just a kilometer? I think it's going to frighten everything on the continent." Looking again at the bright haired monstrosity then back to Raoul "God has a corpse? Really? Which god?" She smiled a little to make sure that he didn't think she was trying to be unsocial. Though she wasn't any too sure at how well she had come off.Gaah, way to much a stranger in a strange land she thought to herself Just have to get thought this, don't have to like it.

[Dread Lady Nathicana]

It seemed either no one else was familiar, or shared her glee at getting to see someone who was at the very least a minor celebrity. The looks she was getting from some were … withering at best, and for some reason, that made the entire situation all the more amusing. If there was one thing she’d learned growing up, it was no one could put on airs like a noble out of their element trying to remind everyone of who and what they really were – as if they’d let anyone forget to begin with. Oh, it was going to be an interesting trip, to be sure.

“Flip-side'n!” With an apologetic grin, she blew a kiss to Nial, grabbed her pack, and with – dare it be said – catlike grace, made a one-handed vault over the chair and out towards the waiting shuttle, tagging Leo on the arm as she dashed past, much to his annoyance.

He shook his head, running a hand casually through his hair before bending to retrieve his own pack and exit in a more distinguished manner.

Leonardo offered curt nods to some of the others as he encountered them to the exit, making a quick study of them, the way they carried themselves, what few words were offered. Granted, they weren’t supposed to be enemies, but it never hurt to remain on top of your surroundings – both the sentient and non-sentient aspects. Given the mix, they’d be dealing with an accident of some sort before the day was out, and damned if he was going to be the one caught in the fallout, after all.

[Skeelzania]

“Skeelz the God of Men, obviously,” Raoul grunted at the moderately tiny girl. “Slain by the Elf Queen at the end of the Spoot Wars. But then I guess you shouldn’t be expected to know that. ” The Skeelzanian turned his back on the orange Mohawk and headed for the exit. His shoulder felt strangely light without the weight of a rifle slung over it. He idly wondered what these Roanians would give as a substitute. Some of the other youths appeared to be armed with bows; Raoul pitied them if they were simply handed them a gun and sent them off into the bush. But maybe the Roros would be more accommodating to such primitives.

It seemed that not everyone was in such a hurry to leave. Raoul spotted two towards the back that hadn’t even gotten up, and in fact seemed to be beginning a conversation. Conversely, the giggling fangirl had dashed off ahead of the rest. One of the other men nodded to Raoul, which he grudgingly returned. Had the look of a punk, that one. With his long legs and polite yet forceful insistence of “Coming through,” Raoul followed the fangirl out to the shuttles.

[Tanaara]

“Slain by the Elf Queen at the end of the Spoot Wars. But then I guess you shouldn’t be expected to know that. ”

That brought a soft chuckle to Fai's lips as she followed the him and the others out. "Oh good one, and no my out empire religious history is sadly lacking. Though I heard that the supposedly sainted Yuri Gagarin said that he found no sign of god upon reaching the 'heavens'. Though the Phoenix Empire isn't into the 'pretty dream of communism', and we Grendels never even concieved of the notion until we met them."

Raoul looked like he had a modicum of military training, given the erectness of his bearing. She hadn't been interest in going military herself, though Grendels were a very ...aggressive species. The results of her near lethal injuries though now made that impossible even if she had been so inclined.

She nodded to the others as they all began to exit, and tried to remember the round of introductions from the previous night. Tia was talking with...Sage and the one that had been sitting near the squeeling girl was Leonardo...she thought...She just wasn't good with names, not in the way humans did them, though she and her family before her had lived among them for nearly two great turnings.

She had no idea of the name of the very very tall youth in the corner, but she caught his confused look and could only give a very gallic shrug she had no idea why the girl was falling all over herself either.

[Scolopendra]

Nominally, something as inherently elitist as an upper-class hunting expedition really wouldn't fit in the category of 'fun things to do' of people raised in the Scolopendran mindset. Oh, it's not that they're perfect egalitarians, far from it--like any culture, there are going to be some families with advantages and privilege and others without--they're just sufficiently idealistic-yet-grounded-in-reality to recognize the natural inequalities in their culture and try to keep them under control. Combine the activity with the notoriously repressive and, in 'Pendran eyes, backwards society of the Roanians and it's practically unthinkable that any would happily show up.

Then again, "Kit" and "Kat" Bondayehr have as friends a particular family that has become practically legendary for their status as enablers and their own parents are perhaps as close to aristocracy as the absurdly meritocratic Federated Segments get. "Maybe it could be fun away from the court," Marcus had said. He and Naiya were somewhat less than impressed with their visit to the Empire of the Twin Lamps but, having been partially raised by the Bondayehrs, they weren't going to judge the entire country based on a few jerks. After all, that'd put the Dominion in a rather tight spot as well, given how they liked to use friends of family to try and get political inroads, and the kits were decidedly tired of it right about now. Oh, so your mom's the ambassador? Well, I always wanted to... So what's it like, your father being a Sky Marshal in the Combined Services? Do you think you could... You're on a first name basis with the Imperatrice? I'd sure like to meet her...

They may have grown up for a good part of their lives in the Dominion, but their parents kept them grounded enough in the milieu of the Segments that such petty wheedling networking bullshit got really tiresome, really fast. The downside to this is that they're curious about other cultures, and to some extent grew up in awe of their parents--particularly their dad's--adventures, so when Marcus and Naiya let them know of this opportunity... well, they cleared it with Mom and since Dad's off in the Rimward Theatre doing his thing like he does six months out of the year what he doesn't know won't keep him awake at night, the poor blighted paranoiac.

To bring all this to a point, this is why there are two lithe--as lithe as tiger/linebacker ratcats get--yet tall kzin sit politely in the back of the room where their well-over 2.5 meter height won't block anyone's view of the teacher. Their mother's shortness must skip generations; they're well on their way to matching M'sha in height. They wear typical Scolopendran battle dress uniforms in field grey and camouflaged with a digitized smoke cloud pattern, the carrying capacity of the BDUs' patch pockets augmented by vests and packframes that follow the Segments' design philosophy of extreme utilitarianism expressed as a function of pocket density. Yes, it's military surplus, but when your dad is career military, it's not entirely surprising. At least the shoulderboards are merely naked straps of fabric; no secondary-school cadet organizations for them. As their father would have grumbled, at least they learned something from his misadventures, although Kat's interest in armor simulations were worrisome.

So they sit and listen politely, although it seem Kat's--well, Technical-Student's, to use her 'real' name--attention is easily distracted by all the interesting people and things around her. The almost comically stereotypical huntmaster goes on and on, and they pay attention, and then a gun comes out and they're on either side of their chairs, ducking low for cover while getting ready to impress the sitting implements into improvised combat duty and the vase gets it. Gingery fight-or-flight smell and threatened back-of-the-throat ticking in the air, they glance at each other with bluish eyes, shrug sheepishly, and sit back down, their chairs so far unmoved. Their father's emergency drills had paid off--the damned paranoiac--but since they'd inherited his wonky fear responses, except acting after the fact rather than before, now they're in the uncomfortable position of having to calm down and convince themselves that the situation is under control with some meditative techniques while their endocrine systems instead try to overreact to fear stimuli.

Ah well. They'd grown up with it, and most of the time they even didn't blame their father for it; it was just a bad roll of the genetic dice. That was Aunt Shodey's fault for not taking any eugenic considerations into account--damn her pretense of ethical standards!

Upon the civil suggestion that the group is dismissed, the kits are on their feet and strapped into their gear in yet another instinctual behavior instilled by being military brats. Despite... no, because of the camouflage they stand out. Pith helmets and safari jackets may be traditional, but the Segments are about utility, not tradition. With that Pavlovian response completed, they are then free to act upon their personalities.

Kit, the male, is what one would call not only a naturally gregarious person but also an infectiously gregarious person. He is the sort of guy that seeks out the wallflowers and tries to engage them on their terms; his success rate of drawing wallflowers into the crowd could be considered somewhat impressive, if one is impressed by such things. Jacques, the Midlonian Angelis, looks a bit like a fish out of water so the 'tosh wanders over politely to address him in his usual jovial way. "So, it looks like we're stuck between unregulated gunplay and..." He waggles his ears and smiles, albeit thinly, because that's the only way his physiology allows. "Well, unregulated gunplay's enough to me. I just hope the old guy doesn't get it into his head that we're any sort of game, heh." He offers a furred and padded hand. "I'm Economics-Student Bondayehr, but since only kzinti are big on the whole no-name-half-name-full-name distinction, most people call me 'Chip.'"

Kat, the female, turns to the closest person, who was also the most unnaturally unresponsive to the existential threat of unsafed firearms being brandished and fired: the guy from Largent. "Hi!" One would not normally expect something the size and shape of a kzinrret--even a rather thin one--to sound bouncy and bubbly. She manages this. Effortlessly. Because she is. "I guess you're cool under fire, huh? I'm Technical-Student Bondayehr, but everyone just calls me 'Sunshine' or 'Suns' or something like that. Where are you from? Got any sort of special training to deal with sudden things, or is that just how you're wired?" Her cheery disposition is only matched by the rate at which she machine-guns questions of unbridled curiosity.

[Solont]

James reached under his chair and grabbed his pack. The tall ‘Skeelzanian’ and the all-too-serious looking girl had struck up a conversation near him, and from the snippets he’d picked up, it sounded like ancient national history.

Booooooooring! He rolled his eyes and started back towards the door, and once again began closing in on the infinitely more interesting Talia Patroni. The graceful Dominioner seemed smitten with one of the other boys, and Jameson’s first thought was Damn, more competition… As he gave Nial a second glance, however, he found himself less put off and more… incredulous. Yes, incredulous was the right word. This man had the most ridiculous get-up that James had ever seen. Flashing neon adverts, wild hair, impossible smile; it was like an impossible visual train wreck! Garish, but impossible to look away. It was definitely a far cry from Jameson’s own attire. The Solontian, by sharp SHARP contrast, was wearing only a plain, featureless black T-shirt, a loose long-sleeved navy blue shirt over that (worn open), and what appeared to be the Solontian equivalent of jeans, colored grey. Next to Nial, the poor human may as well have been a piece of the furniture. And then, Nial opened his mouth, and stunned James once again. Kavik unleashed a veritable barrage of slang and colloquialisms that filtered into the part of James’s brain that parsed audible language and just stopped. Comprehension was dead on arrival. Through the torrential hail of mangled English, James only managed to figure out one thing:

Media personality.

“Ahahaha, no way!” James grinned. A genuine While private radio shock jocks were something of a rarity on Solont (especially in the last five years, but the industry had begun a slow and gradual resurgence), James was familiar enough with body language, vocal tone, and, ahem… advertising, to make at least a rough approximation of Nial’s profession. “I did not know we were having live entertainment on this trip!” James joked, stepping right up to the living billboard and giving him a once over. Truth be told, the young Solontian struggled a little with plain English; understanding a single damn thing that came out of Kavik Nial’s mouth was a complete pipe dream. But then, with his own thick and accent, he supposed he really didn’t have a right to complain.

“<Don’t scare away the game, buddy!>” James grinned, giving Nial a hearty, friendly slap on the shoulder. He’d unthinkingly reverted to speaking in his own native tongue, Solontian Basic. While President Landrick had insisted that he learn English just a few months after the war ended, James still wasn’t exactly up to snuff with the language. Granted, English/Galstandard shared many similarities with the official Solontian tongue, such as a 26-letter alphabet, base-10 counting system, and even the same linguistic syntax, James was still just an ordinary boy. He didn’t have the benefit of cybernetically-assisted whatevers and genetically modified superbrains, like a few members of the SSF Admiralty and Diplomatic Corps, and, unlike them, he’d had to squeeze English lessons in alongside his normal studies. Still, he did have an excellent tutor. The AI Million (or “Millie,” as he’d come to call her) had been kind enough to devote more than a few hours worth of time every night to instruct James on the proper pronunciations and usage of the English language. As such, in two months, he’d become semi-passable with the English language. He still had his difficulties, to be sure, but he felt confident that he could get by in an English-Only environment. And he was rather eager to put his conversational skills to the test with the physically bewitching Talia.

James gave Nial a quick thumbs up and dashed out the door, jogging up behind Talia. “Hey, wait up!” He called out, stepping up alongside the Dominioner. “What’s the big rush?” He asked, flashing her a charming smile and offering his hand to her. “Heya. My name is James. James Gesetz, from Solont. What’s yours?”

[Largent]

After all the commotion caused by the young lady, who had evidently just met a god-among-men, dissipated, Sage offered what appeared to be a labored, yet genuine, chuckle and nod. "Chyea, I hear ya. Well, actually, I'm here in lieu of--nevermind. Name's Sage. I'm from Largent." He extended his had. "So you say your Dad came up with this brilliant scheme as well? I take it your hunting experience is limited."

Suddenly, Sage's attention was forcibly shifted when some type of feline creature, sitting next to him, blurted out a greeting. Swinging his head around, eyebrows briefly arched over his sunglasses in puzzlement, he listened politely. Her personality was surprisingly effervescent to say the least. "A pleasure to meet you, Suns. I'm Sage, and I'm from Largent. As for special training..." Sage curls his lips into a snarl and makes a hand motion resembling someone pumping a shotgun. He accompanies the gesture with sound effects and the words, "Thug life." He then offers a smile just to make sure that she understood that he wasn't serious. "But seriously, no real special training. I know how to shoot pretty well and that's about it."

Remembering that he had abruptly stopped paying attention to the girl on his other side he pushed his chair back a little. The move was rather a feat given his unwillingness to sit up straight or even stand and move it. Instead, he remained slightly slouched and gave the floor a few kicks with his heels. He motioned Suns towards him. "Slide over, we were just discussing how it is exactly that we ended up here." He motioned and looked towards Tia, his still unnamed acquaintance.

[New Naggoroth]

"Dad can really drone on when he wants to, can't he?"

"You bet. He does it more often these days, but that because times are good right..."

Scarlet bit her lip, and gave her step-father a sheepish smile as their eyes met. He didn't need to say anything for her to quite clearly understand that he didn't want to be interrupted, especially not with a room full of foreign kids. So the two dark elves, or druchii as they were preferred to be called, waited patiently for their father to finish up his lecture to the assembled class of hunters. This would be the first time that Casir had left his eldest son, and one of his adopted daughters, alone in a situation where he knew there was going to be some danger. So, to at least put him a little at ease, both Calvyn and Scarlet kept quiet, and paid attention, without letting their minds and eyes wander too much to their fellow companions. They had the ride planetside to chat, after all.

The huntmaster, however, was quite a spectacle, easily on par with the orange-haired fellow, though for different reasons. Neither of the elves were quite expecting such a bombastic man, least of all one who their father allowed to bring a loaded handgun into the classroom. Calvyn almost hit the deck when the shot rang out, like most sensible people, while his older sister flinched and covered her head. Thankfully disguised by the ringing in pretty much everyone's ears, Scarlet muttered a string of profanity in her native tongue, the sibilant sounds quite creative to those not familiar with druhir.

Neither were all that interested in chatting too much with each other, at least in the brief pauses between Casir and the huntmaster. It wasn't until they were all filing for the exit, and towards the waiting shuttle, that Scarlet pulled her brother aside, and started telling him what she had planned for the trip.

"Now, these folks are going to be hunting with rifles, ya know, standard guns and stuff, but we're going to be doing something special. Mom has been keen to have you learn to use a draichinar, since she learned how around your age..." she kept her voice down as the others passed them by. She smiled, and said hello to each in a friendly way, even going so far as to say it in proper italian to the pair from the Dominion. But, since she felt like being dramatic and conspiratorial for her little brother, she whispered anyways. "It's a bit of a surprise, and a little bit of a bending of the rules, but everything will be ready when we get down to the campsite."

"So, we're hunting dangerous animals... and we're not even using guns? But doesn't draichinar pretty much translate as 'death-rain'? What's that supposed to mean?"

Laughing a little as they took up the rear of the exiting file, Scarlet shook her head. "Clever. Don't worry, it'll all be clear once we're dirtside, right dad?"

"Your mother insisted, Calvyn." Casir reached across and tossled his son's hair as he met up with them. "You'll be fine. You're in the best of hands."

"Thanks. I wouldn't have guessed that Scarlet knew anything about something like hunting or the outdoors, since it's dangerous, and she might get something in her hair."

Scarlet gave her brother a look of mock outrage, as she took her turn to muss up his short brown hair, "Yeah, you laugh now little man, just wait 'till I bag a lizard with teeth the size of your head. Then we'll see who knows a thing or two!"

"Both of you, behave yourselves." Casir ordered, doing his best to look stern. "There will be no fighting on the planet." He shook his head. "Don't make me get your sister."

Both of them could barely contain their grins, "Yes dad," said Calvyn, "Yeah, we'll be good!" Scarlet chimed in for good measure, and both of them gave him quick hugs. "We'd better get going, before they leave without us," she added, "Give Elly a hug for me."

Casir looked at them both. "I mean it. You are both to not cause any trouble for Oswald. Or I will have you both grounded for months." He gave them both a return hug, somewhat perfunctorily. "Be careful down there, Scarlet. And take good care of your brother."

"I will dad. See you in a few weeks. Love ya!"