Lummatii
Lothian League
Marian Hegemony
The Periphery
22 December, 3149
Clarissa hadn't been exaggerating when she had talked up the solstice ball. For a periphery world, they certainly took their social scene more seriously than Freyja ever would have guessed. The capital city had been decorated festively, with there being no worries about an ample supply of snow. And yet it was not done in a gaudy way, but rather classically. Walking through the streets, one might even forget for a time that they were on a backwater periphery world hundreds of light years from the cradle of humanity, instead finding themselves in an almost storybook fantasy of a holiday town.
And yet, because it was the periphery, it lacked the ostentatious commercialism of a Tharkad or New Avalon celebration, the closest she could think of to storybook Christmas celebrations in her knowledge of sphere-wide traditions. There was something warm and inviting to it, something that she had found entirely lacking thusfar in her servitude in the periphery.
Freyja had traveled with the Bakkers to the capital, and aside from having to constantly reassure master Peter of his chances at the simulator tournament, she had found herself with no real duties to perform. Quite the opposite, Clarissa had taken her out shopping for a dress and accessories for the ball, and had doted over her like a sister or a daughter. Initially she had thought the idea of attending the ball was a terrible idea, but the more time she spent in the capital, the more she realized that she was going to love it. She had grown up dealing with these sorts of things, and after having her world turned upside down, the chance to capture something familiar, even if it was in secret, had excited her.
"This is a horrible idea," Peter said to her as they walked, arm in arm, into the ballroom. It was lit by countless chandeliers, which had been suitably decorated with tinsel and garland, and the lighting was, she thought, perfect. In all the dances, balls, and galas she had attended in her short life, she had always noticed the lighting. Sometimes it was too dim and there were far too many shadows. More often, it was lit too brightly, and the glare of the light served to illuminate the attendees in all of their flaws. But this room was lit warmly, invitingly, enough to drive away shadows but not so much that you felt you were baking in the cockpit of a BattleMech.
"Relax Peter. You'll have a drink, settle in, and end the night with some fine young lady on your arm waiting to be led to your bed," she said softly with a chuckle. He didn't seem amused. The two of them could not appear more opposite. Peter looked stiff in his tuxedo, as if it had been draped over him. He fidgeted constantly, nervous as if he were watching for an attacker. Freyja, on the other hand, moved as if in her natural habitat. She wore a strapless blue gown which fit her perfectly, and as Clarissa had assured her, blended perfectly with the style of the evening. She looked every bit the young debutante she would be portraying for the evening.
She tried to ease Peter into things, but he clung to her like a cat ready to take flight at the first sign of trouble, and surely enough, as they mingled through the crowd when they first came upon a group of likewise awkward young men, he took the opportunity to take his leave and settle himself in the comfort of other awkward young men. It suited her fine. Within minutes she had worked her way through the room and taken notice of all the important centers of attention, found out the nesting places of each of the assorted groups, and already caught the wandering eye of several of the assembled men.
It had been surprisingly easy to gain acceptance with her story of being an off-world relative of the Bakkers, to the point where she felt carefree and unburdened in a way she had not felt in a long time. Within an hour, everyone knew of the tale of the visiting spheroid, and she had virtually become a part of the setting. She had already carefully deflected the advances of several young men, and some not so young men, as she settled into a gathering of young women.
These were princesses of gossip, each a young lady with a story that they were all too happy to tell, and comment upon the stories of others. They were there to observe and critique, concerned mainly with securing themselves a man for the evening when the ball wrapped up. She had just settled into making small talk with them and pumping them for information, when she noticed several of their gazes shifted suddenly. She turned to see a young man making an entrance, casually deflecting the attention of what appeared to be men of business. She found her gaze lingering on his nearly perfectly chiseled features, long enough that his piercing eyes locked with hers for a moment. Long enough to send a bolt of excitement through her.
"Oh dear, the Count has caught the eye of our friend from offworld," one of the girls words snapped her attention back to the group. She took a sip of her champagne so as to not appear flustered.
"I beg your pardon?" she asked the group as a whole.
A few of the girls exchanged looks, then one spoke up. "That young man you were just admiring, he's Gunnar Logan." Freyja responded with an unknowing look.
"The Gunnar Logan," another of the women offered up. "Count Gunnar Logan. Dear, didn't you read up on the nobility here when you found out you were going to visit?"
"I'm afraid not. There's something special about this Count Logan?" She took another sip of her champagne and tried to judge the looks that the other girls gave each other.
"Something special? I don't know about that. Other than that he's ungodly attractive and totally unattainable?" quipped one of the women. She had barely stopped talking when another spoke up, "Well, unless you want to be one of his one night conquests."
"Oh, so he's something of a playboy?" Freyja asked.
The self appointed leader of the group spoke up. "He's the playboy. He inherited his title at like, twenty, and he just lives the life of a noble mechwarrior party boy. Uses people, uses women, and doesn't give a damn about it."
She listened to a laundry list of stories about the Count and his escapades, but she didn't truly hear it. None of it mattered. Playboy or not, she had one night of freedom and now she had one target. Not that she was going to swoon all over the guy. No, she would get him, and she would get him her way.
She spent the next half hour observing him. The first half she did so subtly. She watched as various people tried to introduce themselves to him, businessmen, nobles, people out for something. Then there were the women who flung themselves at him. Not that she blamed them. Even if he wasnt a noble, he was a good enough specimen of manhood that they would have probably done so anyway. And she watched as he mentally cataloged them for later. Well, maybe she was giving the gossip too much influence, maybe not.
Having learned all she could through observation, she let go the pretense of subtlety. She worked the room again, this time allowing her gaze to linger here and there just long enough to get caught, making sure he knew he was being watched. At one point she stopped and asked herself what she was doing. Sure, she had good genes, she had grown up knowing she was pretty, sometimes she was described as delicate. But the last year had spent it's time pounding home the fact that she was now just a slave, and here she was, contemplating getting lucky with possibly the most eligible man on the planet.
But she cast that aside. She had come out here to forge her own way. Her plan had been derailed, to be sure, but if this wasn't the definition of making the most of your chances, she didn't know what was.
It was one of the universe's great ironies that she had been taught how to work a room and a crowd like this by her Aunt Kat. She had brought up the irony to Kat years ago, but her mentor had brushed it aside. Politics and social events were simply another form of combat, she had said. Treat it like anything else, come up with a plan, always be alert, keep your eyes on your minimap, and strike when the time was right.
She almost bumped into Gunnar Logan, and made just enough of a show of avoiding doing so. "Apologies, my lord, I didn't mean to intrude."
Gunnar flashed a smile and reached out to take her hand. "Think nothing of it, my lady. I don't think we've been introduced, and fate simply decided now was the time to right that wrong. I'm Gunnar Logan, Count Logan if you must, but to tell you the truth, with all the titles and formalities floating around the room, I try not to stand too much on titles. I'm afraid I don't know you, which for me, is quite rare."
She allowed him to take her hand and curtsied ever so slightly as she felt the rush of his touch. "Yes, my lord, I'm told you are quite well acquainted with the ladies hereabouts, so I am rather happy to have presented you with something new. I am Freyja McCallum, I'm here visiting my cousin, Lord Bakker, and was fortunate enough to have my arrival coincide with this incredible ball that you put on here on Lummatii."
The count chuckled slightly at her subtle barb. "Ah, Ned Bakker, yes, I'm afraid I don't know him well, perhaps that is how I missed the news of your arrival. And please, don't let my reputation frighten you, gossip is a terrible thing, but one we have to endure, sadly."
She tipped her head slightly. "Of course, I'd never give weight to gossip. Neither would I be frightened away by it. We MechWarriors are a slight step above that, I dare say."
He raised a brow as the music started and a dance began. She fought back a jolt of excitement as his hand pressed against her back. "You are a MechWarrior as well? I dare say. Where did you train, if you don't find my asking too impertinent a question?"
She had to be careful to spin her tale as close to the truth as she could, without something that might unmask her identity. "The women in my family have been MechWarriors for generations. I was family trained so as to keep the tradition alive."
"I see. Mechwarrior credentials have traditionally gone with the title in my family as well, I had the good fortune to train on Alphard, but avoid service in those dreadful Marian Legions. McCallum isn't a name that rings a bell. I take it from your accent that you are from somewhere in the Republic?"
She smiled softly. "No, simply well taught. My family roots go back to Rasalhague." It was a bit of a lie, but one that she had to chance. Ned Bakker's family was rooted in the old Rasalhague Dominion and Free Rasalhague Republic, and posing as his cousin, she had to maintain that fiction.
"All the same, there is something familiar about you. Did you make news around here?"
She wasn't sure if he was simply fishing, or if there was something she had to worry about. There seemed to be no way that he could have seen her, but it nagged at her. "I'm afraid not. I'm hardly newsworthy. I mostly travel, check in on family affairs, the burdens of nobility, you understand, I'm sure."
"Of course. Though thankfully, my hold is entirely local. No travel needed. I get to pursue my interests without much weighing me down."
She shot him a coy look. "Pursue your interests? Young women no doubt."
He gently rolled his eyes. "Ah, the reputation again. No I was referring to being something of a military historian. I love to study old battles, the Succession Wars, the Clan Wars, the champions of Solaris VII. That sort of thing."
"Ah. I had thought once of travelling to Solaris to try my hand at the games. But of course it's hard to know what they are, what with the blackout and all. No way of knowing if they're still going or not."
He furrowed his brow in thought for a moment. "Solaris is a beast that's hard to kill. I'm sure the games are running in some form or another. The blackout, it has it's downside to be sure, but we feel it much less out here. You must be from a good deal Sphereward."
She didn't know the history of the Bakker family, and thought it best not to guess. She was rescued by the ending of the current song, giving her a chance to take her leave. "It has been a pleasure, my lord. I hope your evening is a pleasant one."
"And yours, Lady McCallum."
They parted and went their separate ways in the room, and Freyja's mind raced. She found her pulse had quickened, and she thoroughly enjoyed her time with Gunnar Logan. Far from the playboy he had been described as, she found him rather intriguing. Perhaps the gossip was wrong. And perhaps you're letting your desires get the better of you, Freyja.
From that point on, the evening seemed to progress at a frenzied pace. She continued to work the room, shooting the occasional glance at the Count, and had more than once caught him looking in her direction. She could tell the evening was beginning to wind down, as couples were beginning to pair up and make good their escape. She ran into Peter making awkward conversation with a girl, and wished him the best of luck. She worked her way closer to Count Logan's party, when one of the servers caught her attention.
"My lady, I was sent to tell you that Count Logan will be taking his leave soon.".
Freyja thanked the man and left him standing there confused. No doubt Count Logan expected her to rush to his side at the news of his leaving. No, he would have to do better than that. She made her way over to a group discussing the rejuvenation of the capital and feigned interest in the conversation. She had just started to worry that she had overplayed her hand, when she noticed the glances of several in the group turn towards her, and she turned in time to see the Count approaching.
"The evening is getting late, Lady McCallum. I'm sure you've had a long day, but would you do me the honor of accompanying me to my suite for a nightcap? Our discussion earlier was caught far too short?" His eyes shone with a sense of intrigue, as he was no doubt not used to being made to ask for what he wanted.
"A splendid idea, Count Logan."
He led her from the ballroom and into the lobby of the large hotel where the event was being held. His entourage followed them, up until they reached the lift. One of the staff inserted a key into the panel, and the doors slid open, allowing them access.
"You have a suite here at the hotel? How convenient." She quipped.
"One of the perks of nobility. No need to ruin the mood with travel on a cold evening like this."
The lift opened and they passed through a doorway into the main room of the suite. It was classically furnished, in a style one would expect to see more in the Federated Suns or the Republic of the Sphere than in the traditionally Roman styled architecture of the Marian Hegemony.
"Allow me to guess.....vodka?"
She cocked her head slightly. "Whiskey, actually. Neat"
He feigned a look of defeat. "Damn. I'm usually better at judging than that."
She walked further into the room. "Good at judging a girl's alcohol, are you?"
"Ah, there you are again, foisting me on my reputation. I'm going to develop a complex."
She took the tumbler of amber liquid that he offered her. "All in good fun, I assure you."
"I enjoyed this evening."
"Not your first solstice ball though, I assume?" she joked.
He gestured for her to sit, and then took a seat himself in a large chair that sat opposite the one he offered her. He sat back in it, ever so slightly relaxed, yet not entirely. Freyja perched in the edge of the chair, careful to keep her gown from interfering. "No, I was referring to the little game we played in there. I'm used to an avalanche of people coming at me, it was refreshing to see someone subtly stalking their prey for a change."
She smiled. "You make me sound like a cat. It was simple social custom."
"Well, not so common around here. A refreshing change of pace, I'd say."
They talked delicately around each other for two more drinks. They discussed local politics, each other's hobbies, and shared a bit about each other's past. Freyja caught herself lost several times in his voice, noticing the movement of his chiseled jaw or the ease with which his hand held the tumbler of whiskey. She knew what he was after. And she knew that she wanted him as well, even if it was for only one night of relief from the nightmare that had become her venture into the periphery. Yet still she played coy.
"Well, I suppose the evening is nearing it's end. It has been a pleasure, Count Logan." She said as she stood, setting her glass on the table.
"Must it end so soon? I was rather enjoying our talk."
"As was I, but I'm afraid it's a fair distance to my lodging, and the hour is growing late. I must be taking my leave of you now." She paused. "Was there something else you wanted?"
He smiled slightly, also nervously biting his lip in a way she guessed he had not done in a long time. "My goal at the beginning of the night was to end the evening with the most beautiful woman at the ball in my bed."
Freyja feigned a look of concern. "And where did she go?"
"She's standing right in front of me about to take her leave. But I find myself more worried if I will ever see her again."
She shook her head slightly. "Is that the line you use on all the girls?"
"I don't generally find myself concerned about seeing the girls again, no. But, of course, you think I'm just a player, and so maybe I'll just throw you for a loop by bidding you good night. Thereby proving you wrong."
She took a step closer to him. "There is only one flaw in this line of thinking of yours."
He paused, genuinely intrigued. "And that is?"
"In all this planning, you've thought only about what you want. You've left me out of the equation. You've assumed that you're the hunter and I'm out to escape, and winning means you score your prize, losing means I slip away. But what if I'm not the prey?"
She could see a fire ignite behind his eyes. "Do tell."
She stepped closer, pressing her body dangerously close to his. "What if my goal was to end my night in the bed of the most powerful man on this planet?"
He drew in a long breath. "Then you win."
She kissed him hungrily, savoring the sensation of his hands running over her body. It took little time at all before they lustfully disrobed each other. At first they virtually attacked each other, the intensity burning bright as all the tension and walls slipped away. But as time passed, their play turned softer, almost romantic as they realized that the moment was not going to slip away.
She couldn't remember the last time she had been with a man. With her life turned upside down, she had pushed all that to the side. So much had been taken away from her, but now, she found herself straddling the most powerful man on the planet, his hands gripping her breasts as the two of them slid against each other in an act older than any of the history or chaos that seemed to rule her life now.
And it would all disappear in the morning. This escape would be fleeting, as life and the cold hand of fate slammed her back down to her station. She let out a laugh as Gunnar reached his climax, and stifled it before his mind woke from the fog of pleasure-induced detachment.
She slid gently off of him and ran her hands over her eyes and through her golden blonde hair before settling down against his chest. "I suppose I should go."
He wrapped an arm around her to keep her close. "Hey, you don't have to go right away. And after that, I would hope you could stay a few days."
She sighed, realizing he had no idea how badly she wanted to, but how impossible it was. "I'm afraid not. Duty calls. I'm on a tight schedule here, between commitments here, and interstellar schedules what they are."
He returned her sigh. "Life would hit me like that. Get my pick of all kinds of women, then when I find one I want, she has to go."
"I'm sorry for the quips about other girls. It was all in fun. I realized pretty early on that you were more than what the rumors made you out to be." She rested her hand on his chest.
"I know you probably think it's just a line, but I do feel like there's something different here. For what that's worth." He seemed resigned.
"I know. I wish it could be something more. More than you'll ever know. But things just don't work out that way sometimes. Let's just forget about all that for now. We've got until the morning."
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