fighting_mad | (no subject)

(no subject)

It would be startling, if anyone were watching. One moment, the empress is leaving the banquet hall in a poorly-hidden bad temper, and the next, a dark-haired aide is suddenly by her side as they step through the archway and continue down the corridor.

Plourr glances over her shoulder, but no one at the table appears to have been looking.

The corridor--walls steely blue, and floors a dark gray shining marble--is simple and empty, but for a guard who turns the corner and bows his head respectfully as he passes. Plourr tips her head in return, and she looks back again as they round the corner. No one appears to be staring or coming after.

Her evil plan is working?

"Welcome to Eiattu."

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"Cool," Ajedrez says quietly, although her normal speaking voice is rather quiet anyway. She doesn't gawk, but her quick eyes do flicker to see who, if anyone, is watching. Habit in a strange place.

No one is watching, for the moment; the corridor is deserted.

The air is cool, filtered, though as they're moving down the hallway, a breath of hotter, humid wind comes. Plourr smiles, faintly, and she crooks a finger at Ajedrez as she steps to the keypad on the wall beside a nondescript door, and she taps it lightly. The door rolls back, and a small balcony lies beyond.

The sky is black with clouds, the rain pouring down in thick sheets, drumming on the balcony and rails. It's pouring down on the lush palace gardens directly below the balcony, and then the capital city beyond that, buildings largely white, low-lying, and grouped in graceful clusters. Beyond the city, far in the distance, the jungles are thick and green on the horizon.

With the door open, the thundering of the pounding rain comes roaring in, as does the muggy heat and the scent of exotic flowers. This is Plourr and Rial's world.

And Ajedrez laughs, utterly delighted. It's beautiful. It's like the Yucatán, only it's...it's different, too.

It's beautiful.

She smiles, leaning in the doorway and letting the odd warm raindrop ricochet off of her face.

"It's nicer outside of monsoon season."

"I live in a semi-desert, your Majesty," she says, a wicked edge to her refined (and unconsciously more refened then Ajedrez's normal, closer to Beatriz Barillo's) voice.

"Rain is precious, precious."

"You say that, but wait til you've been living with it for three and a half months," she says, wryly. "It gets old."

She looks out over her planet, though, and she smiles quietly to herself.

She glances to Ajedrez. "Ready to keep moving?"

"One day, I will show you Mexico." And then she nods, still with that inner glee shining.

"Ready as you are."

"As long as it's dry, I'm in," she says, and she steps away from the door. It hisses closed, leaving them in the climate-controlled palace once again. "That was the capital city you saw. Most of the planet's jungle, with some grasslands." She moves briskly and speaks low, with the ease of someone used to holding quiet conversations while manuevering these corridors.

"It's the dinner hour; we should be able to get through without running into much of anybody."

It takes a little getting used to, but no by much. She just thinks 'Beatriz' instead of 'Ajedrez', and slowly as she walks she shifts back into the cartel princess. Low conversations, walk quietly and calmly.

"It's msotly dry. When I get back, I'll try and pick a sunny day for you." Not to mention that the Barillo compound is gorgeous.

"That would be...good. I do not think I sound like any one in this galaxy." American, with chaser of Mexican.

Plourr grins easily, shaking her head. "No, you don't. We'll just have to av--"

Prophetically enough, as they turn the corner, they nearly run right into a woman. She is short and white-haired and regal, dressed in elegant neutrals, every inch of her fairly screaming refinement. She stops short, as does Plourr, and white eyebrows rise.

Oh hell.

"Your Grace," says Plourr, tensely. "I hadn't realized you'd be joining us in the palace tonight." She is standing in front of Ajedrez, shoulder partially blocking her, and it isn't by accident.

The woman who sometimes calls herself Ajedrez and othertimes Beatriz is, in fact, very good at remaining quiet and unnoticable. She lowers her dark eyes and stands with her hands linked behind her back, every inch a good little aide.

As long as that Aztec beak of a nose doesn't stand out too much.

(and although she is good at being quiet and demure and hang around in the back, there is still an edge of poise. Fight or flight, and a good little soldier always catches the sound of tension)

"Isplourrdacartha," greets the Grand Duchess Synna Pernon coolly, dark eyes sweeping over her daughter-in-law and the aide behind her. "I happened to be in the area and thought that I would stop to speak with my son." She looks Plourr over again, with an obvious pause at her midsection. "You are well?"

"Yes," says the empress, more Isplourrdacartha than Plourr, chin lifted high. "Thank you for inquiring." But her teeth are still gritted.

The aide who is currently very, very thankful that Plourr is tall enough to take most of the attention away from her. Her hands still linked behind her tighten, though, as she works out the woman's identity.

Stupid. Bitch.

"And my granddaughter?" she inquires.

"Dr. Wilen tells me that she is the picture of health," says Isplourrdacartha, gracious but for the subtle mulish set of her mouth. "Was Rial not in the royal quarters?"

"No, he was not. I had hoped that you could tell me where to find him," says the Duchess, with a disapproving air of 'you should know where your husband is at the dinner hour.' Before Isplourrdacartha can answer, though, Synna is raising an eyebrow and peering around her. "And who is this, who does not bow?"

"Ibella Barillo, your Grace," Ajedrez says, inclining her head with all the grace of a duchess herself. When one grows up and has an allowance of a few million, one can act with a certain regality no matter who you are talking to.

The question about bowing is not exactly addressed.

This was not the plan.

"Your Grace, this is Barillo, my newest aide. Barillo, the Grand Duchess Synna Pernon," says Plourr, and while she doesn't shoot Ajedrez a glare or tell her she's a fucking idiot, because Synna Pernon is no slouch and would notice that -- she really wants to.

Her eyebrows rise significantly at the aide's manner, and here is a dangerous thing -- Synna Pernon with her curiosity piqued. "Charmed, I'm sure," says the duchess. "One of Isplourrdacartha's off-world acquaintances, I presume?" There is a subtle trace of disapproval on 'off-world acquaintances.' "That is a most interesting name, Ms. Barillo, and accent."

"Yes," says Plourr, shooting the duchess a bit of a look. Presumably, it is at her tone; in reality, it is because she is hoping that she will back off. And also because of her tone. "She is. Basic isn't her first language. If you'll pardon me, though, your Grace, we were discussing sensitive material. I will dispatch one of my guards to comm around and find Rial for you straightaway. Is that agreeable?"

"I couldn't very well disagree, could I?" she asks, with a thin smile.

"I suppose not," says Plourr, and she flicks a commlink out of nowhere, on her thumb. In short order, one of her guards is on his way to pick up the grand duchess and find the emperor.

"Ekja will be here momentarily." She smiles, and there is more personality in it. "Always good to see you, Aunt Synna."

Her lips compressed (she hates being called Aunt Synna), she inclines her head, primarily to her daughter-in-law, but also to her aide.

"Thank you. Isplourrdacartha."

"Your Grace," Ibella Barillo says, incling her head again as she moves off at Plourr's right-side, although slightly behind the tall Emperesss.

Hands still linked behind her.

And those long hands remain behind her back as she keeps walking, although Plourr does get a sideways glance once they are out of sight.