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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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.

The grand duchess doesn't let them get quite that far, yet.

"Oh, and Isplourr?" she says, knowing the way that the empress's jaw will set at the nickname even before she turns.

"Do take care of yourself. You're looking a little peaky."

Plourr, who is, in fact, the picture of health, and who recognizes well that tone, simply nods and continues walking, Ajedrez just behind her.

Once they're away, though, and Beatriz has shot her the look, Plourr grits, "I could strangle that woman."

"You have my eternal sympathy," and her voice is dry as dry can be.

"Aunt Synna's always been a charmer."

A slight, energetic man in a purple and gray uniform--service blaster holstered at his side--comes jogging down the hall toward them. As he reaches them, he halts to bow deeply.

"Your Majesty," says the guard respectfully.

"Ekja. If you're looking for the grand duchess, she's that way," she says, and she smiles, faint and wry. "Have fun."

With another bow, this one shallower, and a (curious) nod to Ajedrez, the man goes on his way.

This section of the corridor is wide, with portraits (all of blonde and dark-haired men and women, with similar features and forbidding expressions, and wearing the same red seal that Plourr wears at their throats) lining the walls on both sides.

Ahh, the joys of the royal family.

Old money, is what she thinks when she sees them, and for a moment her lips press together.

But a princess is a princess, and the expression fades.

"Rial's mother?"

They're passing years of emperors and empresses with every couple of steps. Plourr doesn't notice it anymore. She tosses a glance at Ajedrez. "What about her?"

"Just clarifying she is."

"Well, if the granddaughter and raging hostility parts didn't tip you off, I don't know what would," she says, but there's no real bite to the sarcasm. "Yes, Rial's mother, and my great aunt. My father was Rial's father's favorite nephew."

Beat.

"That's the part that tends to confuse people."

"I was a little more concerned with trying to not be visible," she points out.