How did a minor politican with campaign funds of less than a labourer could earn in a month manage to arrive in orbit? The answer, as it was with most things, was because she hadn't acquired her little craft legitimately. Not even large enough to deserve its own name, Kotys' vehicle was the sort of shuttle normally owned by planetary govenors, used to go between their low-orbit mansions and their domains. Mouldering at the docks, it hadn't taken much convincing for her to get her hands on it and even less to get it repaired, the workmen repaid in the barter of Slaneesh... Or as it was better known, a [b]lot[/b] of chems.

So it was that Kotys ascended towards [i]The Awoken.[/i] In one hand she idly swirled a glass of double-distilled amasec, enjoying the pleasant burn as it slid down her throat, whilst the other twirled a most curious weapon. Although ostensibly looking to be a serrated sort of sword, a press of a button by the hilt would see it structure collapse into a long, thin whip, the length of which could be given a shocking treat to the poor soul unfortunate enough to be on the receiveing end of a blow from it.

She arrived without much ceremony. Her ship docked, its few crewmembers stayed aboard and she stepped off, the sheath for her blade revealing its third function, that being the fact that it was also a rather handy walking cane. So it was with her weapon softly clacking against the floor and her dress softly shimmering in the light that she would enter the meeting place, stifling a whistle as she did so.

She knew when she was amongst fine company... And among brutal company. The display here was rather staggering, from the pleasing sights of the various slaves dotted about, to the disgusting presence of a nurglite... And then the towering figures that dominated the place even more than their host did. Astartes. She massaged her neck slightly, easing down a particularly stubbon lump that had sprung up in her throat. She was in the presence of figures that could leave the room looking like an abbatoir without breaking a sweat.

Strictly speaking, she would pay homage to their benevolent invitor first... But she would rather indulge just a little bit before business sucked up all of her attention. One hand would trail along the back of a figure not quite male and not quite female, who would soon feel the chill of whispered air in their ear. Walking to the front of the room, still shooting the astartes (and to a lesser extent the ogryns) glances, the slaneeshi would offer a poor woman's cursty, standing up from it and tossing her cane from hand to hand.

"Lady Kotys, at your service. Might I say, a pleasure to meet the two of you."