Homeplate, Terran Foreign Legion HQ

Grezzk moved along the breezeway with the children casually, heading to the office marked Section 7 - 'Education and Training'. Captain Rostin had begun the laborious process of going through applications to fill the ranks with the future members of Charlie, Delta, Echo, and Fox Companies as well as replenishing his own empty files due to various life events. Life here was gaining its own rhythm - that rhythm had become far more relaxed after the Freelord Accord had been as confirmed received and acknowledged by Hurdop and Vilantia. The curious thing was that the Terran government had also received it, and their acceptance of the terms was a single word - "neat."

All of this meant that Grezzk was quite at ease overall. She still received the occasional odd look when she breezed into an area that wasn't quite as familiar with the cultural norms of Vilantia where wives would normally act with the authority of their husbands in his absence. Fortunately in the company area such looks were few and far between, and she was able to locate Lomeia's office with a minimum of fuss.

Lomeia looked up from her tablet that seemed filled with various windows of information. "Lady Grezzk. It feels good to be useful again. Would it be possible to close the door for a moment?"

Grezzk maneuvered the stroller and brought Nhoot in, sliding the door shut. "You have ill news."

"Yes. Mother writes, and the words carry ill scent. Father's mind is far afield, and has been since his last meeting with the Freelord. The House of Mental Warmth tends him, but it seems as though many of the other patients there are...aggravating his condition. Not intentionally, as they are trapped in their own worlds. But the wives are not in concert as to right action - some would have him moved to another location, others would give him a tree to rest eternal."

"What would you have them do?" Grezzk lifted Ghabri from his place to her lap, taking a small blanket out to prepare her son's lunch. "If we take any action to help it is quite possible that it would cause the opposite effect."

There was a nod in reply. "Quite. Does the Freelord have an official position?"

"Well, it hasn't been stated, but I believe that my husband would be quite disappointed in anyone who took actions against his fallen foe. Let your mother know that we can work through her to find a more reasonable accommodation for Aa'Lafione with a nose toward the day they may be joined in friendship rather than battle." Grezzk paused to shift Ghabri to a more comfortable position as he nursed. "I have a message from Jenassa."

Lomeia's scent immediately changed. "Oh?"

"I do - she says that there will be a visitor from Hurdop soon, and that Gryzzk and Kiole believe his scent is clean and good. She also says she didn't break him."

"Curious; she didn't mention anything to me about it?"

"I believe Jenassa has a concern about overstepping in what would be your affairs."

Lomeia smirked. "My wife worries that she oversteps in finding our husband? We are speaking of the same Jenassa from Clan Reilly, correct?"

"You have to admit, Mitira was not nearly as desirable as she thought initially."

"There is that."

"So tend to your business, and we will organize a testing for this new suitor." There was a small smile. "I am told that there is a restaurant opening on New Casablanca that specializes in upscale dining. A reservation would not go amiss, I think."

___________

Terran Foreign Legion Ship Twilight Rose

Gryzzk blinked at the words, and blinked again as his nose informed him that there was some level of familiarity in Captain Waniul's scent. Unfortunately, Rosie decided that Gryzzk's silence meant that she was supposed to speak.

"Unjust bondage? Unjust? What sort of upcountry degen bullshit is that? Listen it's not my lane, and sure as hell not yours. What those three do with a gimp mask, a bag of orange slices, and a riding crop is their goddamn business. If you got a problem with that take it up with the gods. Push the issue and you'll be at the head of the line in ten minutes."

Gryzzk blinked and cleared his throat. "XO?"

"Yes Freelord Major?" Rosie cocked her head attentively.

"Thank you for helping. Please stop helping."

"Fucksakes, was I offside again?"

"Somewhat. Allow me." Gryzzk set his tea in the warmer, stood from his command chair and straightened his tunic. "Captain Waniul, I must disagree with your assessment of Kiole's treatment. I will ask you to utilize your sensor array and compare the various weapons systems within our ship to yours. Also take a moment to inspect the hull - specifically the portion below the company coat of arms. That is this ship's abbreviated record of battle. Each silhouette there represents a ship we have defeated in battle, with eight more pending as a result of action that happened when we arrived in the system. Now, what will allow us to part ways in a manner that does not add your ship to the collection on our hull?"

Waniul looked at her readout and frowned. The scent that came back was muted but still deeply concerned. Gryzzk's counterpart seemed blessed with mathematical acumen as she returned her gaze to Gryzzk. "I would speak with Freelady Kiole. Unjust bondage is doubly unjust when enforced by excessive arms. She deserves a Hurdop husband."

Gryzzk shot Rosie a warning glance before speaking. "Corporal Yomios. Patch Corporal Kiole into the transmission please."

Kiole's form appeared, and Gryzzk's heart did it's usual irregular movement as he caught her scent. For her part, Kiole had half of a shotgun in her hands, an oil smudge marring her fur, and a briefly perplexed expression that turned to sour surprise when she saw Waniul. "Cousin...are you trying to stop my clan from doing their work?"

There was a soft groan from several of the bridge squad as Waniul's face hardened. "Yes I am. Because you are being held. Treated as a bauble for the Vilantians and Terrans. Forced to perform for their amusement."

"Where did you hear this from?"

There was a hesitation. "The Draconis Freespeakers. They claim to know the truth behind this alliance of systems being formed. The Terrans are behind it all, using both of us as fodder for their burgeoning empire." Waniul paused. "They say that Vilantians drink warm ale, they haven't made you drink warm ale, have they?"

"Cousin, in the interest of time I'm going to ask that you tell me about the Draconis Freespeakers later. Take heed of my scent. The Major you presented your demand to is my husband and further played a vital role with respect to the child in my belly that currently waits for the galaxy to be ready for it." Kiole twitched her eyes in an amused pattern.

"Your husband?" Waniul seemed surprised and doubtful.

Kiole made a gesture. "Yes. The one who set his tea to a proper location, straightened his tunic after he stood up and didn't shoot your ship out of the stars as soon as you spouted your ridiculous demands. That is my husband. The Terrans you speak so coldly of gave me this hand which works quite well in many things. Now we can continue in this discussion but if you want to know the truth of things, you will disengage and proceed to New Casablanca, where my wife works with our clan and company to ensure better lives than any of us could achieve alone. Trust your nose - at worst you will see what we work for. You want unity for the worlds, and we are building that. Weigh the words of the Draconis Freespeakers against the reality before you there."

Waniul's face and scent seemed to crumple under the relentless words of Kiole as well as the placid expression of Gryzzk. Finally the image and scent reverted to a somewhat juvenile pout. "Mom always liked you better!"

"Of course she did, she didn't have to raise me. Mother spent years telling me to be more like Cousin Waniul." Kiole shook her head in vague amusement. "Just go, please? We're on a schedule, and my husband regards tardiness as a mortal sin. If we dally here much longer he may choose a more expedient route that goes through the Unification's Fist."

Waniul rapidly re-assessed, casting her lowest set of eyes to the tactical readout. "Ah. I will ah, do as you recommend."

"Good, because our other option would have been boarding your ship and letting you see first hand just how free our Hurdop cousins are."

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The transmission ended, and O'Brien glanced at Gryzzk. "Major, can we bill these oafs already? We're doing way too damn much family therapy for this run to not get paid for it at some point."

Gryzzk settled back into his chair, feeling knots of tension bleed away. "XO, are we licensed to provide psychological assistance?"

"We are not. To be fair, we're usually the reason folks need psychological assistance in the first place."

"Hmm. Bill them at at an hourly rate. Hoban, see if we can make up some time once we exit the Terran jump point."

Hoban nodded, and the stars fled the view in exchange for the reds and blues of R-space.

Once there, the ship's scent almost visibly relaxed, and Gryzzk was able to look over the reports they'd received with a slight frown.

"XO, I do not care for the quality of the Throne's Fortune ships. They do not appear to have had a maintenance schedule or proper upkeep beyond the bare minimum to survive."

"Is that a nice way of saying they suck ass through a boba straw?"

"Quite." Gryzzk glanced at his tablet and thought things over while looking the financial projections over. "Once we emerge, purchase some advertising in relevant areas. Let the free captains know that we're looking for a sound ship. We only need two ships, so we will only take the best two. Perhaps only one, presuming Cousin Waniul is wise. Meanwhile, what do we know of these Draconis Freespeakers?"

Yomios tapped her console. "Not much. They appear to have no single desire. There are postings attributed to them that are rather contrarian in nature."

Rosie snorted. "So they're shit-disturbers."

"The assessment is accurate, XO."

Gryzzk exhaled. "Alright. XO, we may need to investigate further - at worst we can sell our findings to Skunkworks. In the meantime, has Delia submitted her suggestions for this event in Paris?"

"Yes, and they are hideous."

"When Sergeant Reilly wakes up, have her submit alternatives."

"So that you can reject them both?" Rosie seemed amused at the idea.

"Well, I am being advised by several messages from Delia that this is a formal affair. I believe that calls for a very specific sort of clothing. Sergeant Reilly and Corporal Kiole are free to express themselves, however Lieutenant Gro'zel and I are officers and thus required to comport ourselves differently." Gryzzk paused. "I do however have a question."

Rosie quirked her brow slightly. "By all means."

"Orange slices?"

There was a theatrical sigh. "Nobody ever asks about the gimp mask or the riding crop. It's always 'orange slices' like everyone forgets they gotta hydrate after a workout." Rosie shook her head. "So dumb."

The rest of the R-space journey was two days of drills and research as they looked over used ships that they could convert. The most likely candidates were sent to Chief Tucker. Over breakfast three hours before emerging from R-space, he gave his final opinion while plowing through a plate of bacon and eggs.

"So out of the ships currently in the Hurdop yard, we legit need to buy three of them to make anything useful. They all got decent enough weapons platforms, but the one with the best engines has a powerplant barely worth the name. The one with the best powerplant's the kind of ship that'll be with you till the day you die on account of how it's a deathtrap. And the only one with a superstructure that won't come apart under the stress from a strong piss would barely be able to run under its own power for twelve hours."

"I presume you have a plan for what to do with the excesses?"

Tucker leaned back. "Short version, sell it. Most every ship comes back from a job needing a patch or five, and Hurdop ships got some solid hulls. Like I said the superstructures are iffy as hell because they're pretty much death of the concept of improving on a working idea. But the raw materials are something to behold."

Gryzzk nodded. "Very well - Send the necessary requests to Yomios, I'll have her drop it with our report to Command when we come out of R-space.

After breakfast, Gryzzk ran into Delia and Charles. The two seemed to be closer - it was a peripheral scent, but they seemed younger somehow. It was an odd sensation. Delia smiled brightly and gestured grandly as if to call attention to her dark violet dress that she'd selected for today.

"Ah, Major. I was hoping for a moment of your time?"

"Only a few, I'm due on the bridge shortly."

"Ah, of course. Well, Gabriel has decided to disembark at Terra - for, well. He finds the ship enjoyable enough, and he has found a level of inspiration. However with that, I have a question of sorts - would there by any chance be someone aboard who is knowledgeable with respect to art?"

Gryzzk quirked a brow slightly. "Corporal Yomios has analyzed my painting."

Delia's eyes widened as her scent sparkled. "I didn't know you painted, this is a lovely bit of news you must show me."

"Delia, with respect I must emphasize the singular form of the word. I have made one painting, as a gift to Moncilat Orbital Control for a slight. I have minimal talent for painting - I prefer to spend my leisure time with plants." Gryzzk shrugged helplessly. "It is what I know."

There was faint disappointment. "Ah. Well - with your permission, I would like to have Corporal Yomios come with us to Paris."

"You'll have to ask Corporal Yomios - she is currently on duty, but will be off duty once we arrive at Terra."

"Of course." Delia smiled brightly and followed Gryzzk to the bridge with a flagrant disregard for the 'Authorized Individuals Only' signage, looking around and pursing her lips absently ash she looked around. "I...is one of you Corporal Yomios?"

Yomios waved absently from her station. "One moment. Preparing a buoy is not a simple task."

Gryzzk settled in with his tea, shrugging. "Duty comes first, Delia."

Finally Yomios paused, rolling her shoulders and standing fully. Delia blinked. And blinked again.

"I was...not aware that you were part of...well, this."

"I am. It is a penance from grave errors. You have a question, I take it?"

"Well, yes. The major advises that you know art?"

"I am a trained Moncilat communications specialist." Yomios shrugged as if that was all the explanation needed.

"I. I see. Well, this evening we are going to an event in Paris - I should very much like to extend an invitation to you to accompany us as a guest. We have some pieces to review, and your opinion would be desirable." Delia paused. "It is a formal dress occasion, however."

"Invitation accepted and understood. If I may, I have other duties to perform before we emerge." Yomios' voice was casual, however her scent betrayed an absolute joy at the idea of being soaked in Terran art for a night.

Delia seemed far too pleased herself, and left with a happy bounce. O'Brien snorted softly.

"I swear I don't remember the Reilly clan motto being 'Rules are for everyone else'. Must be a weird branch of the tree we have on board."

The day passed through the rotation, with Gro'zel coming to the bridge as soon as they passed through the orbit of Mars. She seemed to be anxious about something, hopping from one foot to the other as Terra slowly came to view.

"Papa...Papa can we go see the horses again?!"

Gryzzk smiled down at Gro'zel. "Not tonight, I'm afraid. We have other duties to attend, which means you will need to wear your special uniform as a Legion officer."

"Are you gonna go too?"

"I will. And will be wearing my special uniform as well." Gryzzk glanced at Yomios as Reilly entered the bridge area. "Formal dress uniforms will not be required for enlisted personnel. You may indulge your personal fashion tastes." Gryzzk paused before adding, "Within reason Sergeant Reilly."

Reilly huffed. "Why you pointing me out?"

"You may direct that question to your pants, presuming you can find them."

There was a scrunching of Reilly's face. "Point made, point taken. But I've got something else I wanted to talk about."

"Go ahead."

"So I got a peek at the socials for this event Mom's taking us to. Annnnd it looks like one of my ex-boyfriends is going to be there as well. She's probably got some plan to get us together again."

"Sergeant you may not shoot him."

"Nah, nothing like that. Just, y'know. He was just...well, Anchiano typical. Thought the sun rose and set on his command, and the three times we spent the night together I spent two of them staring at the ceiling and wondering if eggshell white or beige would be a better color." Reilly smirked slightly. "Besides, ammo costs money. If I was gonna, I'd stab his lactose-intolerant ass with a cheese knife."

"I assume the ending was acrimonious?"

Reilly quirked an eyebrow. "Obviously. He'd gotten a deal to be a broadcast personality on Terra, and decided his working name should be Diamond Shaft. I couldn't help myself, I asked him if he was going into broadcasting or uh, adult-specific entertainment." Reilly amended her last words on the fly out of seeming deference to Gro'zel's presence.

"He didn't like that."

"Not even a little. It was officially over when I started listing off better names like Slab Bulkhead, Fridge Largemeat, Flint Ironstag, Big McLargehuge, Gristle McThornbody..." Reilly smiled impishly. "He threw his quiche in my face, I threw my water in his, and that was that."

"So I should expect..."

"Dunno. He might play it off like we were both young and dumb, he could pretend I don't exist, and he could also try to ruin my night." Reilly shrugged. "Like a night in Paris with crap champagne and Anchiano wannabes isn't already a night shot in the ass."

Gryzzk considered. "Sergeant do you need an hour in your quarters to tell the walls how unjust this is?"

"No sir."

"Excellent, because according to our schedule, we will be in Paris in less than an hour. Dismissed to find yourself something to wear." Gryzzk looked over to the comms station. Corporal Yomios, you are similarly dismissed. XO, you have the ship until I return."

The next hour was a study in apprehension, as both Gryzzk and Gro'zel dressed in their formal uniforms and promptly inspected themselves and each other. Kiole arrived a bit later for uniform inspection and was rather amazing-looking.

The ringing spurs announced the family's arrival to the shuttle bay with each step Gryzzk took, where Reilly was slouched and wearing a dark purple shirt emblazoned with "Delia-inquents" on it, along with shorts that were made out of denim fabric. Very little denim fabric. Over her shoulder was a small bag made of more denim than Reilly wore.

At the other end of the spectrum was Yomios, who had wrapped herself in layers of a gauzy violet shimmer-fabric that seemed almost tailored to cling to her midsection while hanging loose around her shoulders and legs, with the entire affair held together by a shoulder-gem that carried the formal coat of arms for the company, with a tiny clutch-purse in her hand, and layers of printed jewelry festooning her ears. Gryzzk noted with mild amusement that U'wekrupp was nearby and breathing deeply.

Lastly, the elder Reillys were in formalwear that seemed to have a muted sparkle to them, with Charles wearing a suit that seemed exceptionally formal and mostly black, save for the shirt which was a deep purple. Delia on the other hand was eye-blistering. Microsequins along her scarlet dress captured and reflected light in various patterns, while her hair had been loosely curled and subsequently festooned with light-tubes that shimmered through the spectrum. She seemed overall pleased at the group appearance, and simply shook her head at Reilly.

"We'll have to revisit the dictionary to see if yours has misplaced the meaning of formal, Jenassa."

"Think of it as art, Mom. A statement on how the cultural norms of higher society require discomfort because they are so comfortable otherwise."

There was a sigh of gentle exasperation from Delia that Gryzzk felt with no small amount of amusement. "Very well. Paris awaits."

Gryzzk glanced into the shuttle and noted that Hoban and Miroka were flying. He cleared his throat.

"Apologies, but I am required to ask an indelicate question - does anyone need to pee?"

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