Vilantia Prime, Lafione Estate
The Lafione mansion was effectively a scale reproduction of the Ministry of Culture; glass and carved stone forming sharp angles with the entire effect being to make the visitor feel insignificant. The walkway from the shuttlepad to the rear patio was sectioned off by low walls and murals that traced the history of the clan for thirty-two generations. The thirty-third was incomplete, and there was an ongoing debate about how it would be completed both within the walls and without.
The thought weighed heavily on Lumisca's mind as she trudged from the shuttlepad to the rear decking where the other three wives were waiting grimly for her report. As the fourthwife, she was responsible for the drudgework - tasks that were generally beneath a Greatlord, but too important to be delegated to a menial.
She settled in a lounge chair, letting her scent communicate the news first as a servant poured the wine. The first vintage of the new A'kifab vineyards had been reviewed and found that it had a new bolder flavor, raising the overall desirability to an exceptional level. Lumisca looked at it for some time, glancing from Firstwife to Second and finally to Third, realizing for perhaps the first time that they each had such similarity that an unfamiliar individual would have believed them all to be sisters each born some years apart. Greatlord Aa'Lafione had a preference.
Firstwife Raloni broke the silence as soon as the servant left. "Well. What is the prognosis?" She was perhaps the only one of the four who had genuine feelings for their husband.
"It is...not good. They are recommending he be moved to a different facility in the foothills. The change of scenery will be healthful."
"Did they say why?"
"The House of Mental Warmth is quite particular about its...clients. In his current location there are others who have come down with a form of illness related to the Terrans - several veteran Lords who were defeated and believe that the War is ongoing, and others who believe that they are Terrans. There are no less than five Freelord Gryzzks currently being treated within the same house, and it is causing him...agitation when they sing." Lumisca paused. "It is oddly harmonious when the three Sergeant Major O'Briens join in."
"And what of the long term?"
"They believe he may return to a more normal state of mind in a few years. Currently it is - he is difficult to watch."
Raloni shook her head. "Aa'Lafione is not one to be brought low so easily, Fourthwife."
By way of response, Lumisca set her tablet down and set it the holo to play. An image of Aa'Lafione sprang up as he paced, wearing a loose comfortable shift as he paced and gestured. The volume was raised a touch to bring his speech forth as he spoke quietly.
"...a son bears the privilege of his father...no, no - burden, the burden of his father, we must make the commons realize the weight we nobles carry for them."
The recording continued, showing him whispering his speech, changing words before noticing Lumisca's presence. "Ah. Fourthwife. How many hours remain? I confess, the idea of having this mercenary company at my command is...exhilarating." He held up a finger imperiously, his scent showing no sign of awareness that the challenge was long done. "For the moment I restrain, but after - after, prepare all of my wives, for I would have all of you know the scent of victory." He stood, considering for a moment. "I believe I shall allow his wives to serve our household. And that, that arrogant sergeant collared..." There was a slight wave. "No, no. I must focus. They must know in the deepest depths that what they have quarrel with is no less than Vilantia itself, and I must represent Mother Vilantia properly."
Aa'Lafione's holographic form paced anew, gesturing as he continued practicing his speech until the faintest of songnotes were heard as one of the Sergeant Major O'Briens began singing. At hearing it, the Greatlord froze, his scent and face locked to an unmasked fear and rage before he shook his head, slowly whispering to himself before his words became shriek of terror. "No...no...inconceivable...no-no-no-nooooooooooooooo!"
The Greatlord then launched himself at the camera operator, knocking them down and showing an odd angle of the Greatlord racing to attack the singer until he was tackled and subdued by several orderlies. The orderlies seemed to have practice in this as they bound him and placed a small mask to his face - whatever was in the mask was fast-acting, and the Greatlord slumped unconscious. The holo winked out, leaving only the chill breeze whispering through the hedges in it's wake.
Lumisca had a slight grimace as she broke the silence. "Apologies, but I felt you must know how unwell our husband is. The orderlies and doctors tell me that this is...a normal day for him. He has not scented the trail past that night. He holds his mind there, seeking a path he cannot walk."
Secondwife Tomial exhaled sharply. "What are we to tell the commons? If this were to be revealed..."
Raloni gestured casually to Thirdwife Mapolie, who answered as if by rote. "Our Greatlord bows to the wisdom of the Ministry of Culture; in order to facilitate this, Aa'Lafione has decided a period of meditative isolation is necessary to fully scent that which is right action. We respect our husband's decision and are prepared to assist him in any way necessary while assuring the continuance of the Clan Way. In this time of contemplation, we ask that you route all queries to your Lords who will deliver proper guidance."
Lumisca seemed doubtful. "Will that work? The...event was witnessed by many, and even the lightest subterfuge may be consequential."
"Of course it will. When have the commons ever doubted us?" Mapolie was calm and confident as she spoke.
"In the past, never. In recent times they have become restless."
There was a soft sigh from Tomial. "I do not understand this Gryzzk. He refuses to be merciful and give us the thirty-fourth Aa'Lafione, refuses to take what is his by right, but commands us all the same."
Mapolie shifted slightly. "Perhaps he tests us, seeking wives who will earn their place properly. We are still bound to the shell that was our husband. If we were to be unbound from what was, it would give him more certainty to his Lordship. From that we could assert ourselves properly." The Thirdwife sipped at her own wine. "The Throne takes actions that would seem to favor the Freelord. If we align our clans to the same purpose, we could gain significant advantage and guide both Throne and Freelord."
Lumisca sipped at her wine and digested the words slowly. "You speak as if you have a suggestion toward the matter."
There was a shrug. "We have no husband save for the body that stands in a Greatlord's place. Were that body with the trees, the matter resolves itself, and we may move forward."
___________
Hurdop Prime, The Wounded Greatlord Pub
Gryzzk quirked an eyebrow at his wife. "Lady Kiole, are you certain?"
The response was a noncommittal shrug. "Certainty is something of a luxury." Kiole looked back to their new companion, awaiting an answer.
The youth swallowed a bit, looking between the two. "Valone, Freelady. And I am not married."
Kiole smiled a bit at Gryzzk. "You see? Now where is your sergeant..."
Gryzzk looked around a bit to see Reilly in what appeared to be animated conversation with Edwards - at the same time, the two weren't exactly being subtle about watching Gryzzk and Kiole's conversation. It was his turn to raise his voice.
"Reilly! Gather your pants and make yourself front-and-center."
To her credit, Reilly didn't object, throwing her pants over her shoulder and sauntering up.
"What's the good news Major?"
Gryzzk extended a hand. "Show me the fur, Sergeant."
Reilly smirked. "Here? Now? This is the part where I remind you we're both taken and we're still in public. But if you insist, I gotta warn you - the carpet does match the drapes..." She lifted her shirt slightly in order to further disrobe.
Gryzzk pinched the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger. "No, Reilly. Lomeia's fur."
Kiole gently swatted the back of Reilly's head as Reilly snickered, reaching to her neck to take a small locket on a chain from under her shirt and open it with a sudden abundance of caution. Within was a small tuft of fur which Kiole sniffed, then Gryzzk. After a few moments the locket was snapped shut and returned to its original place.
The sensation was odd - it felt like somehow the three scents complemented each other well. At least well enough that further steps would need to be taken. Gryzzk bought a fresh chilled ale and walked over to Theran with Reilly trailing behind.
Theran seemed a bit curious, regarding Gryzzk and the slightly taller Terran. "You have something new?"
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"I do, Captain. Valone's scent meshes well with my sworn. Enough that I...have a request. That when your ship makes its way to New Casablanca, you send a message to Freelady Grezzk and Lomeia, that they meet at a place of convenience to you both that you may fully asses the propriety of further explorations." Gryzzk set the ale in front of Theran. "For your trouble."
Theran smirked, shaking his head. "Vilantians. So if it works out, then what?"
"Well, our tradition is that a bargain is stuck between the two clans. When Grezzk and I wed, our Lords each shared crops and again when Gro'zel was born."
"We're a bit lacking in the cropland department." Theran's expression was hidden with a sip of ale.
"As are we. But we could certainly trade our services favorably."
There was a lifted eyebrow. "What use does a mighty mercenary warship have for a cargo fleet?"
"Goods need to travel safely from one place to another, and even a mercenary warship has need of goods. Contracts can be agreed to. Contracts that would be favorable to those who aid the next generation in coming to pass."
"This sounds promising, Freelord." Theran considered for a few moments. "I believe we have an accord."
"Agreed. Health to you and yours, Captain." Gryzzk touched his glass to Theran's before taking a good long swig. Then the two sniffed shoulders and parted, leaving Reilly anxious and curious.
"So Maje...what's up?" There was a pause. "He's...way cuter than Mitira."
"We walk the next steps. Advise Grezzk and Lomeia that we may have found someone worthy of Lomeia's time." Gryzzk grimaced. "I would normally say that this is not traditional, but it seems our tradition is to defy what is traditional. I would recommend you spend some time with him." There was a light amusement in Gryzzk's words. "He would be your husband as well."
Reilly's scent and face changed slightly, apprehension mixing with resolve. "Well, with permission I'd like to take him for a little quiet time."
Gryzzk rolled his eyes. "As if you need my permission."
His reply was a shoulder punch and a quick nuzzle. "Thanks Dad, Mom." Then Reilly slid through the crowd to snatch Valone from Kiole's grasp and drag him to the small dance floor where they both began to move carefully in time with the music.
O'Brien shook her head as she leaned against the bar while Kiole circulated with her juice in hand. "Major, file that under 'crap I'm never gonna get used to'. Trusting your have-and-hold to a smell?"
"Why do you think wearing perfume is a horrible idea on our worlds?" Gryzzk paused for a quick sip. "If it helps, I find this particularly odd."
"Which part?"
Gryzzk waved a hand to indicate the entire bar. "Yes."
"Seems to be working out a little positively though. Looks like Larion's still a dryshite though." She indicated with her mug toward a table where Larion was stiffly telling a trio of female patrons something.
"To be fair to the corporal, he's talking to them. He wouldn't have not too long ago."
The atmosphere seemed...relaxed, somehow. At least for the moment. Kiole had circulated and spoken with several individuals, taking holos, and finally gesturing at her midsection while pointing at Gryzzk for some reason. Finally she came back and settled with Gryzzk.
"So what was that about?"
"They wanted me to drink an ale with them. I told them I could only drink juice, and it was your fault."
"You and I have very different memories of that night, lady warrior."
"I remember it being pleasant. Shall we return to the ship?"
"I think we should. We have been away from our charge for too long, and we still need to attend to some other things."
Kiole's nose twitched. "That's...I smell an odd perfume."
O'Brien snapped her head up a moment later. "Bloody hell."
Then Gryzzk noticed it. Perfume. Sandalwood perfume. Delia.
She swished in with a curious sort of mixture in her scent. There was happiness there, as well as a slim wire of contempt for her surroundings. If there were any other feelings there, Gryzzk missed them in the camouflage of scent.
"Well. I have finished and located many excellent items. When are we leaving?"
Gryzzk took a slow sip of ale. "Well, we should have the ship fully repaired and ready to depart for Terra by this time tomorrow."
Delia's lips pursed in a vague annoyance. "Fine. I don't suppose you've seen my daughter?"
"She is...or was, dancing a few bit ago." Gryzzk glanced over to the dancefloor to find no trace of Reilly. "Although she appears to have disappeared for the moment - Kiole, did you notice where Reilly went?"
"She and Valone went upstairs to the private rooms, I believe they wanted to talk in a more secluded location."
O'Brien snorted. "Talk. I suppose that's one word for it. Godless hormone-driven..." she caught herself. "I mean of course they're only talking."
Gryzzk cleared his throat. "Delia if you intend to stay here, I would recommend visiting the washroom. Some patrons may take offense at your hiding your emotions with perfume. While the company will of course defend your person and honor, we have had a very pleasant evening thus far and I for one would like to see it end pleasantly."
Delia chewed the inside of her cheek for a moment before nodding and heading back to the lavatory with O'Brien pacing behind her.
Kiole's scent tinged with apprehension. "I have a bad feeling about this."
"Quite. Let's make sure we have a path." Gryzzk grabbed his rank from a pocket and tapped it.
"Tucker's Bait Shop, if you're not likin' the angle of the dangle we got a worm for you."
"Chief - you're supposed to be Rosie. Repair status?"
"Ahead of schedule, we can probably get out of here by ship-morning. Thanks for staying out of the way."
"XO, start sending recall warnings. Additionally, do we have a fix on passenger location?"
"Chuck and Gabe are back here. Apparently they tried some of the local food and it's coming out everywhere and it's coming out angry. It's also possible they've got the flu."
"Have the doctor advise if we need to do anything."
"Will do. We're out."
Delia and O'Brien returned with both of them scowling, though for different reasons. On the positive side of the equation, Delia was far more tolerable. On the down side, from the way Delia was cautiously looking at O'Brien it seemed that the sergeant had spoken to Delia while in the lavatory. Having been on the receiving end of a conversation with O'Brien recently with regard to delicate topics, Gryzzk wasn't exactly keen on prying too deeply into the meat of their discussion.
Meanwhile, Reilly had returned with Valone and the two were were laughing like old friends. As the still pantsless Sergeant Reilly gave Valone a final nuzzle before handing him back to Theran Gryzzk couldn't detect the scent of anything overly physical from either of them.
But then again Gryzzk's nose wasn't its normal keen self at the moment.
Valone was promptly given friendly ribbing and more than a few significant glances between the two while the rest of the bridge squad less Larion gathered to their original places, forming a loose protective circle around Gryzzk and Delia. Delia drummed her fingers along the bar for a long moment, her scent indecisive. Finally Delia tapped her credchip on the bar and pointed at her daughter; the bartender nodded and poured the elder Reilly a pint with a Hurdop chill around the mug.
Gryzzk lifted an eyebrow. "Was there further topic of discussion, madam?"
Whatever ill could be said of Delia, the woman seemed familiar with drinking pints, and the first one was drained rapidly. A second was called for, along with a shot of something that smelled of mint. The shot resulted in a wince, and then half of the pint was gone before Delia replied.
"I would like...to speak with my daughter." Her hand wavered before moving to touch Gryzzk's forearm.
For her part, the younger Reilly was wary before she stood and settled with her own beer on the other side of her mother, leaving O'Brien to watch the door while everyone else looked around the bar for potential trouble.
"What would it take for you to come home, Cha...Chastity?"
Reilly's voice was soft. "Could always start by calling me by my name. Never seen you drink beer before. Or do shots."
"It's not normally on the event menu." Delia paused, all but burying her hand in Gryzzk's arm-fur. "As for your name..." she paused for a long moment. "I've been talking to Gro'zel. We've - her mother is...a wonderful mother. I look at your upbringing and it seems as though the only thing I gave you was your name."
"First off Mom, bullshit. If my name was the only thing you gave me I woulda kept it. Second, she's a good mother because being a mother was her job, alright? You notice how on Vilantia everything's passed down from generation to generation? I mean like the Major - his dad was a butler, taking care of folks. Like his grand-dad, and like thirty-plus generations of dads before. Same with Grezzk, a millennium of motherhood distilled into three and a half feet of textbook 'Mom' who married four feet of Butler-Dad. You're comparing yourself to the Old Masters and kicking yourself for it? Fuck off with that already. As half-assed as it was, you were doing what you thought was best and that's how we wound up here. Now stop it, finish your beer and order another one - and while you're at it order your daughter one, then decide if we're gonna close this bar down tonight or what."
"This...tavern. I shouldn't be here." Delia's fingers had taken on a life of their own as she massaged Gryzzk's forearm.
"Again, bullshit. Places like this are where art is born - hell, I saw the thing where you started out in some dive bar in Neo-London. But now you go where art's curated, filtered through all the social niceties until it's got all the emotional content of a toenail clipping. Then you backslap each other and pretend there's meaning there."
Reilly nodded over to a corner. "That dude over there? Recording his memoirs for his wife and kids, telling them all the war stories he can't say to their faces and trying to apologize because their clan made him a soldier but they forgot to make him a civilian when they were done."
There was a nod to a sidebooth where a woman was trying very hard to not obviously stare at the bridge squad. "Lady over there? Drawing the aliens and getting frustrated because we're so damn tall we ruin the perspective. This is where emotional connections are made - not because it's profitable but because it's needful, okay? And speaking of needful..."
Reilly stood up and shouted at Larion, who was coming back to the main area from upstairs with the three women from earlier in tow. "Oi! You shag 'em well or what?!"
Larion froze as he was called out, and each of the trio nuzzled a side of his face before gently swatting his rear and walking out. From the scent there was no doubt as to the reason for his absence. In fairness to Larion, the women were at least outwardly attractive. He moved somewhat gingerly to a spot near O'Brien, who simply shook her head and took a small sip of ale.
O'Brien snorted as Larion settled himself. "Did you at least pause and give thanks to Brigid's swinging hips?"
Larion mumbled something quietly.
"Speak the hell up, lad!"
Larion spoke again, lowly. "They saw Corporal Kiole's interview and wanted to know if I would warm their bed as well as she said Major Gryzzk does hers. They expressed doubt and I, I had to defend the honor of Vilantia."
The bridge squad members in earshot held their mirth in as much as they could as O'Brien gripped her mug, her scent one of high amusement. "Bloody hell, did you at least get their names?"
Larion looked horrified at the realization. "I...I did not." He stammered for a moment. "They said...they said they would contact the ship if there were...results."
Reilly immediately started clapping her hands in a rhythm that Gryzzk recognized from their morning runs while at Homeplate. It was vaguely concerning that the rest of the bridge squad joined in in the second part of the running song almost immediately after Reilly started singing.
"Everybody's doin it right - Hard work-work Hard work, rockin' through the night - Hard work-work Hard work, gettin' my ass laid - Hard work-work Hard work, do it everyday - Hard work-work"
O'Brien shook her head with a ghost of a smile on her face. "Bloody rampant shag-happy muppets."
Reilly seemed amused by everything before settling in. "So what's the plan Mom?"
Delia had been watching the exchange carefully. "I think perhaps one more, Cha...Jenassa. We have to go back to the ship and see after Charles and Gabriel."
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