A Reluctant Alliance

Discussion in 'THREAD ARCHIVES' started by Kaisaan, Apr 7, 2013.

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  1. Anahsi stood with her arms crossed as she looked out into the stars, nothing but the thick hyper-glass separating the observation deck she stood on from the cold vacuum of space. The Princess felt cold now, numb and angry as she avoided the eyes of her father who had come to stand at her side. They stayed that way, in silence for several minutes before Anahsi spoke quietly, her breath stirring the red hair that had managed to escape her loose braid.

    "You could still call it off."

    Her father, Vanorn, green haired and bearded, and the King of Saliphia, sighed. It was a deep, long-suffering sigh as he addressed his only daughter with the patience of a father, but the authority of a ruler as well. "We have been over this, Anahsi. You know I cannot do that. Marriage-alliances are still the strongest bond in peace treaties across the universe. We need this peace."

    The Princess' tail lashed in frustration, but she was careful to keep it curled under her dress, resting against the deck. Oh, how she hated dresses. "I shouldn't be here! I should be out there, looking for him!" Perhaps she couldn't argue the alliance, but she could argue against it having to be HER that married! And marrying an enemy at that! Though....technically they were enemies no longer. Still.

    "Ana, we have many WingWarriors searching for your brother across the galaxies. They will find him. You are needed here, for this purpose." Vanorn had turned to face her now, his hand on her shoulders, turning her toward him and Ana glared at the metal floor, refusing to meet his eyes. She knew she was behaving like a child, but it was only just they two on the deck and this was her father. She was allowed to be a brat in his presence when he wasn't being a King.

    "Why couldn't Rakobe be married off?" she muttered and the King smiled slightly, but shook his head, recognizing her pouting for what it was. "You know very well that isn't possible."

    Ana made a face, turning away from her father again, looking back at the uncaring stars. "He's the heir. I'm just the person you call when you need something killed." She didn't begrudge her elder brother his position and she was loyal to him to a fault, loved him dearly, but sometimes...sometimes she felt eclipsed by his shadow.

    "You are the Matawing, the Right-Hand of your brother and you will be his closest confident when he is King just as my brother was to me." Vanorn reasoned, but his daughter was having none of it, shaking her head and her voice bitter.

    "I am expendable. I am to be married to a stranger without any hope of finding happiness."

    When her father looked pained, his own green tail twitching with agitation, and like he might respond, she stepped away and straightened her shoulder, adopting an air of calm that she'd learned since childhood. Her voice was clipped, professional as she dipped her head. "Do not worry, my King. I will do as I am honor-bound. I will not disgrace you." She said nothing more before turning and walking away, leaving her father with a heavy heart, hoping she'd see reason and the sensibility in all this by the time they landed.
  2. [​IMG]

    A man stands before a wall of molten lava dripping from the holes on the top of the war room down to the pool underneath his feet. A thick heat resistant field prevents the glass beneath the tall man's shoes from melting at the intense heat. This room is always hot and so are the emotions of the Oligarchs who reside here and strategize. The large diamond shaped room has a square table in the middle, littered with papers, plans, and small figures symbolizing enemy as well as ally fleets. Some say the Re'kor family line is old fashioned, having to map out space on the square table with charts instead of holograms. But unlike the other Oligarchs, stuck to their crystal screens, the Re'kors have faith in this method for no one can steal their information unless they come into the heart of the city and slip past the mounds of guards. The red and gray are their proud colors, the man watching the orangey black lava, downed in his proud military attire.

    Knowing he is the second son of Yuvo Re'kor, the proud Military oligarch of The Order of Kel'kor, Oran runs his hand through the hair he has left. The right side of his face is burnt, the skin having trouble healing over his month old wound. His men, for he is a Captain, or Rastari-Krovi, of his Order. His amber eyes are anything but unique in his power hungry nation. Aaron Phel'kor, Oran's closest friend, opens up the door, having to do nothing more than cough for Oran to know what must be done. This will be a traditional marriage but not out of love, for a treaty with their resilient enemy. It's strange, Oran knows, that his father would tell him to marry a girl, a Saliphian. Not even knowing her name, Oran does know that he can't deny his father's wishes. He has killed plenty of her people, knowing she will be no problem to take down. A Princess of their people have most likely never held a gun, let alone shot one. Chuckling to himself, the man turns around.

    "Shall we?" He asks Aaron, heir to the Police Force and the Phel'kor family honor, back home in the metallic capital of K.O.R. - 772. All his life, Oran has spent his days training to be like his brother, heir to the Commander section of their oligarchy. His hometown of Eellik was glamorous, tall stone monuments everywhere you stepped, towering over you with thousands of stories scraping the sky. For the Order of Kel'kor has some of the best architects under their belts. But that life of his soon changed, moving to the capital to be bred into a soldier. Not just any soldier but the best soldier. Living in his armor, Oran keeps the unique blue tinted armor of a Captain, polished and presentable. There are duel pistols strapped to his waist along with plenty of grenades and a firesword. To those who aren't native to K.O.R. - 772, it will just look like a handle hanging from his belt.

    Moving through the threshold, Aaron wraps his arm around his partner, giving him a tight squeeze. "Your father is right, you know. This marriage will be for the best. Listen to me Oran. You know I would never lie to you for this marriage has your nations best interests at heart." Oran keeps his eyes to the ground, his helm cradled in his right arm, moving directly to the launchpad. The hanger door opens at the end of one of the snaking corridors throughout the belly of the capitol building, the Military sector.

    "You don't need to remind me." Oran shakes his head, "I'll just never be able to marry De--" At that moment, Aaron slaps his hand over Oran's mouth, the fellow royalty member chuckling as he does so.

    "Don't you even bother in thinking about her, Oran. It will only make this marriage worse. It's hard for you already. Respect your father's wishes and do this for him."

    "How am I to marry a woman and be happy if I have never seen her face? She could be as ugly as your sister." Oran's jest is rejected, Aaron's face turning red with anger.

    "Don't you dare talk about my sister like that! You'll pay for this!" Calming down in the middle of his huff, Aaron sees the smirk run across Oran's face, signaling his light joking manner to the comment. With a low bow of his head, Aaron opens up the hatch for Oran to climb in through to the belly of the steel beast. The angles of the starship are precise and the shape in a unique triangular pattern with a ring circling around the outside. Soon Oran and Aaron are lifting off of the pad, just being the two of them for the rest of the royal party have already departed. Being dawned in his yellow jumpsuit, Aaron's black hair comes down to his shoulders in thick braids, the sign of honor amongst his people. Oran, the whole time, curses out this Princess for being a waste of his time.

    "It'll never work. I'm sure my father has some trick of his sleeve. As soon as I get my chance once this so called treaty is broken, I'll kill her." As dark as it seems, Oran's heart isn't in his words at all. He feels a need to openly spite Matawing for the last wish on his list is to marry one of her kind. "They have tails... TAILS!" He bellows, smacking his armored hand on the dash. "I'm disgusted already." Folding his arms over his chest, Oran pouts like an elementary schooler. "It's really a waste of my talent. Marrying a girl who can't even lift a damn finger for herself. I know what their royalty is like... cowards."
    #2 Vacyr, Apr 7, 2013
    Last edited: May 15, 2013
  3. They land on the planet smoothly, their great domed ship meant for transport only. Their fighter ships look like eggs, but they are fast and sleek in the sky and hardy things against enemy fire. At least two hundred escort the larger ship to the new planet and they zip through the sky above the transport ship, guarding against any attack. This is Krekin68, the planet of peace, neutral ground now for both the humans and the Saliphians. It is a land of desert and mountains, harsh and beautiful, deadly and yet fascinating.

    And Ana hates it already. It looks nothing like her lush green planet of jungles and souring cliffs. It is her new prison. Some might say she was to become the Queen of this place, that it would soon feel like home, but the Princess knew better. She would have told anyone brave enough to voice such things to her to shut up before she gutted them, too. Everyone was wise enough to keep their mouths shut. Even her father said nothing as they finally started down the ramps to the landing plateform.

    Her hazel-gold eyes took in the building of alabaster and gold, glinting in the harsh desert sun. A collaborate effort had seen this planet come to life with civilization and magnificent buildings. There were some among both species who'd volunteered to make this planet livable and they'd done a good job, living together in peace with only minor skirmishes breaking out. Ana knew she should be proud of this accomplishment, but all she could see was a finely crafted prison, a large cell.

    She sighed to herself as she followed her father toward those coming to meet them. Humans. The Royal Party. It was all beginning and Ana felt a sense of dread settle in her stomach. On the outside, though, she held her head high and smoothed her hated dress, ignoring the way her hair blew in the wind. She would not disgrace her people. She would not disgrace her people....and she would keep chanting this in her head for as long as she had to.
  4. Taking no time at all, the small two man spaceship reaches Krekin68, landing on a nearby pad. All the workers at the spaceport shield their eyes and turn their heads away, the foreigners scream, collecting sand in their eyes. Screams from those fools can be heard as the run around in circles, the locals making comments, not even bothering to help them. The hatch on the top of the ship releases, letting out a gasp of air as Aaron and Oran slip from the cabin. Knowing this will be the last time Aaron will be seeing his friend, the two of them embrace and Oran can swear he hears the gulps of Aaron trying to hold in the tears. "There, there, my brother." He brings his short friend closer, patting his shoulder, "I will be able to write to you. We will be able to see one another soon things smooth over. I'm sure this Matawing will be quite easy to win over."

    "Not with those scars she wont." Aaron jokes, running his hand through Oran's hair, always having an attraction to him. The two of them have worked it out, Aaron will have to accept Oran just as Oran accepts Aaron. "Oh I'm kidding. She'll love you once she gets through the crunchy outer layers." Chuckling, Aaron has to force himself to release Oran's arm. "This is goodbye... Oran. Write to me when you can." A firm nod comes over his face, knowing he has other duties to attend to. "I wish I could join you... I want to."

    "I know." Oran says softly, looking at Aaron with a loving glance for this man has saved his life time and time again. Leaning in, Oran kisses his cheek before turning around and walking from the pad. Tears fall down Aaron's face, knowing Oran as a special love for him. Being protective of the man he loves, Aaron waits until Oran is out of sight before zipping off in the triangular spaceship. The tall soldier is intimidating enough that the natives of this world don't bother him, something Oran prides himself by. Other men chide him for the scarring covering the right of his face but he thinks it is just another piece of a puzzle that makes him who he is. Anyone can have amber eyes or brown hair but Oran has the scarring to prove that it's really him.

    He won't be joining his father as the mass of Kel'korians wait by the transport hanger in anticipation for the arrival of the Saliphians. Yuvo, a white haired mass of flesh, offers his welcome to the party. Knowing the planet quite well, he walks, giving them all a bit of history. His wife, Nevv, is at his arm, a slender lady who shines like the sun. Oran takes his amber eyes from her and the strong chin from his father. Being a warrior himself, Yuvo has his own single line of scarring across his lips, escaping the situation within an inch of his life. After many formalities, the party is gathered into the Southern Temple, a large dome shaped room with pews marching up to an ornamented alter. All except Ana are allowed in for she has to change into her wedding dress. If she is already clothed in the proper attire, the sun will shine through the hole in the roof and the large glassless windows on the parallel walls of the sanctuary.

    Oran, standing tall at the alter, waits for a song from both worlds to play before spotting his to be wife to enter the room. He knows there will most likely be a vail on her so he has his helmet on. Once she reaches the alter, he will present his face to her once she shows hers.
  5. Ana studied herself in the full-length mirror, feeling nothing but numb as her eyes scanned her dress. It is a silk, imported and it hugs her body almost like a second-skin, elegant and simple. It's an off-shoulder dress, taking into account the heat of this planet and it's white, signifying her state as a virgin. Her red hair is left unbound but for two braids that start at her temples and tie in the back, holding the small circlet of gold against her forehead, her symbol of royalty.

    The ladies helping her, both human and Saliphian alike, have told her she is beautiful, but she doesn't see it. Yes, her red hair shines and the scales on her arms, shoulders, cheekbones and tail gleam with health. Her skin has been washed to perfection and her dress befits her, but her eyes...they are hard and cold. And angry, though, she tries to hide this as the veil finally goes over her head, a simple thing that reaches her chest and trails down the back over her waist-length hair.

    The Princess is finally led to the dome-shaped temple and she is handed a red ornamental pillow with a ceremonial dagger placed upon it. For her new husband. The word is like vinegar to her and thinking about it, Ana swallowed carefully as the music started playing. She walked down the aisles then, looking straight ahead, knowing she will have to focus much too soon on the man who is to wed her. She kept her head high, though, no matter the thoughts running through her head. She is a Princess of a proud people. She is doing this for them.

    Ana finally stopped as the music did, feeling her heart race, but her hand steady as she held the pillow. Her eyes traveled up as the man to her side started talking, but just as the human cannot see her face, she cannot see his and neither of them will until the vows are exchanged.
  6. Oran takes the time while Ana is getting ready to introduce himself to the Royal Saliphians, exchanging bows and handshakes depending on rank. Question after question comes flying at him. Luckily for both factions, they speak the universal galaxy language as well as their own native roots. Having to keep a smile on his face in order for his voice to show feeling and gusto, Oran eagerly makes his way through the Royal family. Hearing a loud horn, a trumpet sound, rings through the looming place, the stone pillars seeming to shake on their foundation. The signal has arrived for them to start the ceremony. Sweating underneath all his ceremonial armor, Oran tugs at the light chainmail looking fabric underneath the plating encasing his body. The proud man stands tall, moving back to the alter.

    The sunlight aids her beauty as she strides down the isle in slow steps. He can feel the hate inside him rise, knowing his guns are nor permitted during this service. What they haven't touched, however, is his flamesword, his prized possession. Holding his breath, he finds himself swaying just a little from side to side because of the scorching heat. Can't she walk any faster? Comes his internal thoughts, brooding thoughts. Now he is freely able to frown, he frowns the whole time despite her attractive silk dress and collectedness. The two of them don't even breathe a word to one another, he just turns to the man with the book, not even knowing what to call him. All Oran knows is that this balding grunt in front of him will be chaining his fate to hers.

    It seems like hours later, he finally offers a hand to Ana, signaling her to offer the dagger to her new husband. Oran reaches out for the dagger with both his hands, cradling it as if it were a newborn baby before bringing it to his face and lifting it up for inspection. A smile comes to his face, reveling in the thought of killing her with her own dagger. Oran, only knowing combat, doesn't think he will be able to handle anyone else but a soldier. Frowning again, he reaches out to take the cloth of her veil in his armored fingers, his time to see her face at its prime. Luckily he doesn't have to worry about her seeing his facial expression, curling the cloth over her head, trailing his fingers down her cheeks, trying to signal to her that he isn't as aggressive as he looks. Closing his eyes, he lowers his hands to his sides, knowing it's time for her to take off his helm. Is a kiss to come next? Other than her tail, Oran is surprised at her beauty despite the scars he can see.
  7. Ana willed herself not to tremble - whether with fear or anger - as he touched her skin and she barely breathed as he looked at her. She wished she could see his expression, but then shook herself mentally. What did it matter what he thought? She didn't want this. She didn't want any of this and despite how gentle his touch had been, she could smell the anger on him, the reluctance, same as she felt. He didn't want this either.

    Well, at least there was that.

    Taking a deep breath and keeping her face neutral, though, she couldn't make her eyes any less cold, she reached forward with steady arms and slowly, carefully despite herself, took off his helm. Her eyes flickered over his face, studying more than anything as she took in his short hair and the scar on the right side of his face. She'd seen battle wounds before, had inflicted them. His appearance didn't surprise her and if she was honest with herself, he's wasn't bad to look at. It was his amber eyes that caught her attention, though. Yes, many Kel'korian's had amber eyes, it was common, but his...they were volatile like a desert storm and she could almost feel her own gaze sparking with a coldness, and anger to match before she looked away, breaking the strange connection as she looked back at the bald man.

    He looks between them and Ana's tail twitched in annoyance as he seemed to hesitate before nodding. "You may kiss the bride now and seal this alliance."

    Ana looked back at her new husband and slowly, almost without her consent, a red brow arched, clearly challenging.
  8. Even though those amber hues, Oran can see her neutral expression as one of collected coolness. For her eyes give away all her secrets, those hazel-gold eyes reminding him of his own amber ones. He expects her to grimace when seeing his burns and the scarring that is resulting from them but she instead glazes over the folds of tissue and goes right to his eyes. Swallowing down a dry throat, he stands tall, taking his helmet from her fingers, being sure to overlap them. To all those who are watching, he tries and be civil for them, letting a soft smile curve his whole face upwards. He too could swear they connected but he too blinks and stares back at the bald man. Not giving up that easily, Oran seems to rock back and forth on his plated feet, the smile reddening his cheeks for he lucked out with this one. Despite her tail that is.

    Unable to stop sneaking glances at Ana, he finally turns to her once his duty comes to him once more. To seal the deal, the two of them must collide lips. For anyone else having their wedding, this would be the height of the evening, finally being bound in matrimony to the one you love. There is one fatal flaw for Oran does not love nor know this woman at all. Kneeling down before her, he places his helm at his feet before standing up and slipping his arm around her waist. Knowing she will be forced to kiss him, he leans her over one of his thighs, bending down to nuzzle his lips onto hers. No tongue nor any love put into the action, Oran simply presses his lips to hers and nothing more. When their eyes meet, his flare with that fire, telling her to challenge him again. He will fight fire with fire knowing that she, the lesser species, will be burned.

    "Consider our lives forever entwined, my dear." Comes his soothing whisper into her ear upon lifting her up. Glancing to his brothers, they are standing along with the rest of the congregation, clapping for the sealing. Bending down to pick up his helmet, Oran hardly tastes her on his lips as he offers her his right arm, the helm neatly tucked into his left arm. Looking to the isle, Oran leads his wife down, blinking as he realizes he doesn't know her name after all that. Her portion of the service was said in her native tongue and his in his.
  9. Ana almost bit him. She did. The arrogant, pompous-! She couldn't even come up with a proper insult for this 'husband' of hers! The nerve of bending her over his leg like...like they were lovers or something! The Princess gritted her teeth, forcing herself to smile at those that applauded, her entire body trembling with rage. Oh, he wanted a fight, did he? Ana smirked to herself when she knew no one was looking. He'd get a fight and wish he'd picked a different opponent. She was not a wilting flower to be shown around and then discarded. He'd find she was a dragon and she could breath fire hotter than his.

    The Princess let him lead her down the aisle, counting the moments when she could release his arm and get out of this freaking dress! They passed all the Royals and then people out in the hall beyond the temple before they were left alone to change their clothes before meeting back at the reception. As soon as they were out of sight, Ana pulled her hand from him and she took a deep breath, willing herself to be polite, though, she could feel her jaw starting to ache with how tight she'd been clenching it and her tail felt like it could cramp with the effort she was still exerting to not smack him with it.

    "I can make my own way from here, thank you."
  10. "As you will." Bowing his head respectfully, Oran thinks he has taught her a lesson not to challenge him for as soon as her eyes gave that look, he knew what he would do. The man always leans in to kiss the woman - at least that's how his society worked. Letting her grab her arm back, Oran knew that he would have looked calm and collected walking down the isle. His prideful gaze onwards would have pleased his father, not having enough time to glance in either direction. It's customary for his people to look at their loved ones while walking down the isle and no one else. It's what he did, seeing the clenched jaw beneath her smile.

    "But before we part ways. What would you like to be called? I am sure the sweet titles such as 'sweetheart' or 'my dear' do not suit you. I am Oran. Now, m'lady Re'kor, what shall I call you?" Having to repeat himself, he sighs, wanting her just to answer him so that he can get out of these damn clothes. The temples of his face are pooled with sweat, a most unattractive sight, yet he doesn't stink. A sweet nectar of cologne native to her people has been doused over him by her father, wishing it to ease the tension between the two during the later hours of their first nigh together. Thinking of that, Oran blinks, studying her form but immediately rejecting the thought of so much as touching something with a tail. The scales he can deal with for he knows his scar must have not felt too pleasant.

    Once he obtains his answer, he plasters a fake smile to his face once more. "Very well. It shall be just that." Bowing low to the ground, he curves his arm in a circle before standing up straight and walking from the small balcony leading them to other parts of the large structure. Even as he walks away, a few robed ladies giggle as they pass the 'macho soldier' a few of them even turning around to wiggle a few fingers along with a blushed smile at him. Moving past the silk dressed lady, she may be able to hear them whispering to one another on how dashing that man was but what a stern face he had on. For when Oran turns around, all evidence of a smile is wiped from his face, leaving only a line of lip in his path. Being in battle for so long, Oran is surprised he even remembers how to smile and be happy. This marriage, however, will not make him happy.

    An hour passes in Oran's changing room as he alone strips off his armor and dawns a traditional uniform for his people. A crimson cape comes around his shoulders, laying underneath two leather shoulder pads with a rib like pattern on them. The tight cloth of his gray shirt makes it nearly impossible for one to miss his strength. The brown pants have a blue stripe on one leg and a red one on the other, his arms having a green and yellow one. Together he symbolizes all four oligarchs, dawning a gray band across his forehead to wrap around his skull. Looking at himself in the mirror, he can't help but reach up and touch the disturbed flesh. She would hate this... Comes his thoughts, thinking of times long ago.

    Blinking back to reality, Oran decides it's about time he moves to the reception hall where the festivities of the evening will be. His leather boots tap against the tan stone of the floor as he winds this way and that though the halls to the one he knows is right. Opening the door, he holds his breath, hoping to see good things on the other side.
  11. Oran. His name was Oran. And she'd told him hers was Anahsi. He wasn't allowed to call her by the name her friends and family used. He may be her husband in name, but she would never view him as such in her heart, of that she was sure.

    Ana looked after the women giggling like fools and snorted under her breath, ignoring them after that as she started back to the rooms assigned to her. It was only temporary. Tonight she'd be in HIS room. Their room. The thought made her shudder and a pit of cold developed in her stomach. He was not unattractive, but...he was a stranger. A barbaric stranger. Okay, that wasn't really all that fair...he'd been polite and controlled, same as her. It was only that damn kiss that had made her so angry. Just thinking about it made her clench her fists as she entered her room and she took the dress off with jerking motions.

    The Princess looked at the clothing placed on her bed with loathing. Another dress. She growled under her breath and walked past it, searching instead in the bag she'd brought with her. The marriage was over. The alliance made. She'd wear whatever she damn well pleased now!

    After dressing, Ana looked herself over in the mirror with a smirk. Better. She wore blue jeans - she was a fan of the old-world clothing - and a brown belt over a tunic-like shirt that was off-shoulder just like her dress had been. The coloring was a deep green, complimenting her hair and she'd taken her circlet off, discarding it on the bed. She'd gathered her hair in a loose braid down the side and her shoes were simple boots, sturdy, but clean. She knew her father was going to hate it, but really....what did he expect? That she was going to become something she wasn't just because she was married?

    The Princess nodded one last time at her reflection before checking the dagger hidden in her boot and adjusting the belt on her hips. She left then, making her way down halls she didn't know, relying on those lining them to direct her until she reached the reception hall. Ana braced herself before going in, but held her head high when she opened the doors. The first thing to greet her was color. So much color! And the smell of food and sounds of merriment. It almost made her irritated to think of anyone enjoying themselves when her world was crumbling down around her, but she put on a smile as her father approached, the expression growing more genuine as he gave her a look.


    "Father, please don't start. It's bad enough I am here." She said it softly, smiling the entire time before flitting away from him, her tail swinging behind her as she kept her eyes open for Oran....if only to try and avoid him.
  12. Pushing the wooden door open, Oran slips in, scowling for a quick moment before planting another smile on his lips. He thinks the whole facade might just crumble off of his face. Yet, he stands tall, a hand moving to the hilt, knowing what power resides there. His section, the military oligarchs, have a special love for fire. It is alive just as they are and can burn anything in it's path. Being able to harness that sort of power was something his ancestors reveled in. Alchemists spent years that grew into decades trying to mix the right elements together, making a live fire able to be called upon. Magic. For along with activating the flaming sword, Oran would also be able to call upon this great power to protect him. The perks of being an oligarchs son.

    Looking for another dressed up Princess, Oran is persistent to make the situation somehow work for his family. A lot hangs in the balance of their marriage and Oran doesn't want to be the one to mess things up or make a muddle. The thought of loving a scaled beast makes his stomach turn and he noticeably pales. Throughout the night, he seems merry enough, dancing and eating with the two factions, friends and foes alike. Half way through the merriment, all persons are asked to sit down so that everyone can enjoy their meal together. Sitting at the head of the single horizontal table, the other vertical tables being set up in three neat rows stretching down the hallway. Oran watches as Ana goes to sit down, pushing her chair in before taking his own seat to her left.

    With so much as a glance, the thought tickles him to how one of her kind can sit down comfortably with a tail sticking out of their lower back. Grinning a little, Oran takes his glass and is about to take a sip of the cool liquid, a few cubes of ice that are left bouncing around in the glass container. Before he can bring the drink to his lips, her father stands up, a prepared speech in order. Knowing that his father, a few persons down to his left, will be following their lead with his own speech. Taking in a deep breath, Oran had a gut wrenching feeling that he too will be asked to speak. But what on earth will he say? Biting down on his lip, Oran turns his attention to the father, looking completely past Ana.
  13. Ana cringes to herself as her father starts talking, doing her best to ignore the male at her side as she reluctantly focuses on the King. It's better than focusing on Oran. She can almost feel him, the heat of his body and while the instinctual part of her is actually mildly attracted to the strong male, her mind is anything but. She is sure it never will be and she shifts a bit, hating these chairs and the fact that she has to stay in one. Her own world has chairs with the backs cut out near the bottom. It solved the tail problem she was having now. The red thing was curling at the tip near her feet, agitated and she was almost tempted to touch her new husband with it, just to see if he'd jump....but she didn't, behaving.

    The Princess realized her father was nearing the end of his speech and she smiled at him, but the expression froze on her face completely as she caught his words, finally registering them.

    ".....I soon hope to hear the pitter-patter of little feet in these hallways. Ever since losing my youngest son, Jamekon, I have longed to see children in my home again." Her father lifted his glass high, smiling. "May your union be blessed!"

    Ana trembled, her skin pale as she pressed her lips tightly together, wanting nothing more than to run. To run and never look back. She could have handled her father mentioning grandchildren, she knew everyone expected them, but to breathe the name of her brother in the same sentence? She felt she'd be sick and closed her eyes, working to keep composer as Oran's father stood to make his own speech.
  14. Oran, wanting to focus completely on her King, finds his eyes wondering to Ana. They have exchanged formalities, he shall call her by her name, Anahsi, and him by his, Oran. Smiling, Oran can't help but feel that's one step in the right direction even though his insides want to rip her apart. Tail and all! Most of his men would be fascinated by such a agile part of ones body, a tail along with the rest of the limbs. Oran is not one of these men. An extra limb just makes it easier for her to get caught somewhere. Grinning, he can't think of a better time to lob the disgusting thing off. A chill runs up the back of his spine once the mention of her brother, Jamekon, comes to light.

    His heart strangely takes a dive once he sees her face twist and her skin pale. Wanting to comfort him, Oran knows that he really isn't as bad as he makes himself out to be. Blinking, he shakes his head of such thoughts, cursing himself out internally before moving back to hearing her father end his speech. Turning in his chair, Oran's balled up fist on the table comes up to his face, resting his cheek against it as his fathers words bellow through the hall.

    The gray haired man starts out with formalities, thanking all those who are joining them as well as this peace treaty having set new horizons. Looking at his son with one blue eye and the other amber, his father reaches an arm out. Starting on the story of his son, he was a fighter since the day he was born. Plagued with sickness after sickness, the baby boy fought all he could to soon grow into the man you see before you now. Oran can't help but beam, knowing the safety of his head guards her from seeing him so delighted. Yuvo goes on to compliment the new wife, Anahsi and how he has high hopes that this marriage will be a success no matter what barriers may be there at first. Ending his speech, the father wishes the couple the best of life and the sweetest and strongest of children.

    Once his father sits down, Oran turns to the room in front of him. Thankfully no one asked the bride or groom to make a speech since everyone has the mutual understanding that it's an arranged marriage and these two have just met. "Let the feast begin!" Comes a few bellowing voices from the corners of the room, large trays of food being brought out for them to eat. Boar, chicken, duck, salads, vegetables, fruits, .. you name it, they have it. Mid meal, Oran turns to Anahsi and finishes whatever he is eating before asking a simple question, "Are you enjoying your meal?" Eyeing the food on her plate, he tries to remember what he felt about certain items, being able to converse with her over them.
  15. Yuvo's story fascinated her despite herself and Ana found herself fighting back amused smiles as she listened, knowing Oran couldn't see her face even as she couldn't see his. It was nice to know SOMETHING about the man at her side, even if it as just the past and what he was like then. She still had no idea what he's like now and it's irritating. The only consulation she has is that he doesn't know her either. At least they are in the same boat. Annnnnd that thought really didn't make her any happier. Same boat. Ugh.

    Well, Yuvo's speech had done a good job distracting her mind from her brother and Ana keeps the thoughts away again as she focuses on her food. When Oran speaks to her, she looks over at him in clear surprise, unable to hide it and tilts her head a little before answering, as if she's trying to decide whether he has an alternative motive for asking. "I am. Thank you." She started to turn back to her food, but stopped herself, inwardly sighing as she looks over at her father, seeing him laughing easily with Yuvo as if they were old friends. The least she could do was...try. For him. Sort of.

    Her gold-hazel eyes came back to meet Oran's amber ones, finding that they were just as stormy as she remembered, like fire burning as an ember, waiting to spark to life. It was truly mesmerizing and she had to caution herself not to fall in. They were just eyes. It was the man they belonged to that mattered. Though...didn't they say eyes were the window to the soul? His soul was war then. Fire, heat, burning. And yet, her mind chided, did fire not bring comfort, too?

    Ana shook the thought away quickly.

    "I saw you had siblings. How many are you?"
  16. Taking in a deep breath, Oran tries to be civil, deep down not really caring about what she wants or what she likes. It's just a meal after all, it's not like this is life or death. Turning his body back to face her, he straightens up in his chair, a finger idly going to press to his scarring. Those amber hues shut as if he is trying to block out just a moment of pain, his face wincing very slightly. When he opens them once more, he is looking right to Ana, feeling her take in his image. He dares not blink for she just stares, and stares. Finding it rather annoying actually, Oran keeps one hand underneath the table, balling into a tight fist as to not say anything. "I'm glad you like it. You're welcome."

    As she turns back to her food, Oran admires the flaming red hair of hers, not knowing anyone that can have such color bounce in this natural light. Forcing himself not to reach out and touch, a reaction he normally gives himself freedom of, Oran places another juicy chicken piece in his mouth. This man is used to dry bread and schlop rations as a meal, nothing this delicate. For he is, some might think, a Prince, being one of the four heirs to the Military Oligarch. He is second in line for the throne. His eldest brother, Gevzio, is no help at all to this nation. He may have more muscle than Oran does but he has less brains. Thinking that the world runs on brawn is no way to rule a kingdom. In all seriousness, Oran fears his father's death, thinking it's better for his elder brother to die, oh how he knows those thoughts are evil, then have him rule.

    Seeming to be in a trance of thought, the amber eyes of his blink, staring down to the lip of one of the far tables. "What?" He ponders, blinking. Not hearing what she said, he waits for her to repeat herself before continuing. Shifting some food around on his plate, Oran begins. "I am one of three brothers, heirs to the Re'kor Military Oligarch of--" Stopping himself, he sighs, "I am done with formalities." comes his whisper under his breath for he really could care less right now. His life, he knows, is ending right before his eyes and all he can do is laugh and smile, making smalltalk with individuals he could care less about. "I am the second in line, my older brother is Gevzio." Leaning forward, he counts the number of seats down his blue haired brother is. "Blue hair, third from the corner." Going through the last two, he points Quellv out and finally Fredrakio. Turning back to Ana, he slaps another smile to his face, "How about you?"
  17. Ana had seen the wince of pain and for a brief moment, she'd felt a twinge of sympathy, a desire to help. It passed just as swiftly, though, as she once again scented his annoyance. She had to wonder if he knew her species had heightened senses, knew how to glean information from more than just speech and eyes. If she concentrated, she'd be able to hear his heart-beat, every single breath he took, every twitch and shift, every rustle of clothing. It was training and one hundred and fifty years of experience that had taught her not to focus on such things lest she grow crazy. But that didn't mean she couldn't. And his scent, even masked by the cologne of her people, was unique and by now unmistakable. And every emotion came with a scent, every scent could tell Ana something if she cared to know. Lucky for her new husband, she didn't care all that much.

    She was glad he was done with formalities - and she probably wasn't supposed to hear that, but oh well - because she was about done with that as well. One could only smile and act friendly with someone one wanted to strangle for so long.

    Despite herself, though, the Princess was interested in seeing who his family was and she followed his pointing finger to his brothers, memorizing their faces if only for the fact that she would probably be seeing them again. Ana nodded, accepting the information politely and when he turned to her with a smile, it took everything in her not to snort at the sheer fakeness of it. She was sure her eyes probably glittered with amusement at his expense before she looked away, though. Her fingers reached up absentmindedly, undoing the braid in her hair and then starting to braid it again, a type of nervous habit that she knew wouldn't be seen as rude if she did it. In fact, some might even get the wrong impression that she was flirting with the man at her side. Not something Ana wanted to think about, but it worked in her favor.

    "Like you, I am the second-born. My elder brother, Rakobe, is the heir. He couldn't be here today." And how she wished he was. Ana pointed slightly to two young men of around fifteen - or so they looked - with orange hair. "Those are the twins, Helico and Neforn. My youngest brother is Jamekon and he couldn't be here either."

    Ana glanced back at Oran before looking away again, her tail tapping underneath the table. Were they done yet? When could they go? Surely it was their decision...
  18. The only thing that is of concern to Oran is starting a fresh day tomorrow for this night seems to drag on and on. He cheekbones soon hurt from smiling for such a long amount of time, the tissue of his wound hurting from the strain. So he simply stops smiling but keeps a lighthearted expression to his face, those eyes beaming with his usual forced brightness, the true chaos seen to those observant ones underneath the small pane of his facade. Hearing her talk of her brothers, Oran feels obligated to ask questions about them, one of which is how their line of monarchy works. Will her brother, Rakobe, simply take the throne once her father passes or will there be a duel?

    Having to pause, Oran's hand reaches out as he loses himself in explanation to touch hers. It's nothing too complicated, just wanting her to know he can play nice when the publics eyes are on them. Grinning, he can't help but think about the kiss he gave her, removing the tips of his fingers from the back of her palm. "In The Order of Kel'kor, there is a line of succession. My elder brother will be taking the throne but what is unique to the Military branch is that any of the younger brothers can challenge the newly crowned oligarch to a duel. Most refuse, seeing that you will have to kill one of your own kin. But it gives the option to rid the world of those who aren't fit to rule." Pausing, his hand balls up into a slow fist, "It gives the Oligarchs a chance to show their position and power - that is if they win. If they lose, the punishment is and has been for a long time that of execution. Although... when my grandfather died, my father took the throne from his elder brothers, defeating them both in battle but sparing their lives. He shook the cycle - creating what I feel will be a new light upon the Order."

    A large trumpet sounds again, signaling everyone that it is time to head to their designated rooms. Glancing over to Ana, Oran takes in a deep breath. "Shall we, Anahsi?" Oran stands, walking around the beautifully carved wooden chair to pull hers out, giving her enough room to squeeze around the edge. All eyes, he is sure, is on them again. His heart, surprisingly, settled in his chest. He won't sleep with her and he is surprised if they even talk together at all once they aren't surrounded by this congregation of drunken family members. Those amber eyes look over across the sea of bobbing heads and large smiles, not to mention swaying bodies. Oran, for once, is completely sober - not even drinking a sip of his wine tonight out of fear it's poisoned.
  19. Ana had answered his question, explaining that it was her father's decision when Rakobe took the throne. Unless her father died or decided he was too old to keep the throne, her brother would remain a Prince and not a King. In the event of Rakobe's death, Ana would inherit the throne. Nearly two hundred years ago, women hadn't been encouraged to take leadership, but times had changed and she would be Queen if her brother couldn't be King for any reason. As it was, she would forever be a Princess, but also Head Adviser to Rakobe when he became ruler.

    Oran's customs sounded strange to her, but she could logically see the benefit in them and despite her lack of fondness for the man himself, she found his explanations made sense and she knew that if they could get the dislike out of the way, forget they were married, they might actually be able to talk about such things for a good length of time and with intelligence on both their parts. Alas, though, they could not forget their new roles. Of that she was sure as Oran touched her hand and she had to work to not jerk it away. She was glad when he retreated.

    The sound of a trumpet was relieving and Ana stood with a small sigh as her tail was released from confinement. It stretched for a moment before coming back to her side, staying by her right leg docilely, controlled. The Princess smiled at everyone as she and her new husband made a retreat and no one questioned their decision, toasting them and making merry comments as they left the room. She and Oran kept their politeness about as long as there were in the presence of people, but soon - though, not soon enough in Ana's opinion - they were walking through empty halls and it was then the Princess stopped and while she didn't become hostile (technically), she did stop being fake as she stepped back and looked him directly, eyes hard.

    "Lord Oran, are we going to separate rooms or are we required to spend the night in the same room? I think we both know we aren't sharing a bed any time in the near future."

    Or ever.
  20. The suffocating of Oran's throat ceases once the many eyes stop looking at him. He is used to being up on a podium or rock if all else fails, addressing his men. But that's a completely different atmosphere for his men would never be cheering before battle. After a successful battle, oh there would be merriment but before, the silence itself would kill. He knows what he is saying up there though, having hours and hours of reading maps and drawing out battle plans. For he is the leader of his squad, knowing that their life hangs in the balance of him knowing his information and applying it to the battle. Back home on K.O.R.- 772, Oran is a genius, a man who knows how to safely transport nearly a thousand men right through enemy lines in a jailbreak. Yes, Oran has been captured many times but his men all make sure he is the one who is protected.

    Speaking of protection, Oran lowers his supposedly 'loving' arm from around his bride as soon as they're in the clear. "There is no need for the 'lord'." He tells her flatly, not wishing to be formal now that they're alone. Before he could have dealt with it when they had ears and eyes on them, whispering to one another at the table. This great hall seems never-ending as Oran glances to where his room is located. "Sadly, if you want to please your father and my parents, we should be seen happily skipping to our new chambers together. Just so you know," his voice lowers, tugging on her arm to keep them moving as a few of the guests spill into the hallway, "I'm not too keen on this either so let's just deal with it for now. No sharing of the bed, I'll sleep on the damn floor. I won't be seen in the same bed with you either - mark my words."

    Pulling her, if she is resisting or not, down the hall, Oran knows that it's their duty to spend the first night together. The thought makes him sick to his stomach once again, not even looking at her. Opening the door, he allows her to enter first, guiding his arm up to gesture her in. "As long as you give me a pillow and a blanket, I'll sleep anywhere else." The low growl comes from his throat, immediately closing the door behind them once they're safe in the oval shaped room. The dresser, desk, and chairs around a square table are to the right. On the left side is the large king sized bed sprinkled with fresh peddles for the newlyweds. "Do you need to change?" He asks, seeing her traveling cases neatly stacked next to his shiny gray ones. "I'll happily face the bay window." Moving to the stone balcony, Oran pulls the see-through white curtains into one another, moving to rest his arms on the sandstone balcony lip. Looking across the city, he cannot help but feel lost. Completely lost.
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