Avatar of Syrenrei

Status

Recent Statuses

9 mos ago
Current Out of town until Thursday and the Wi-Fi is spotty. =(
1 like
1 yr ago
Been under the weather for the past couple days, posts tomorrow!
2 likes
1 yr ago
Unfortunately, there are people everywhere that like to shame others for their tastes with an air of false superiority, even in RP.
5 likes
1 yr ago
You would think, but there are so many people that make wild assumptions, and force you to create rules.
4 likes
1 yr ago
It's going to be one of those days, I can feel it. Hope everyone is having a more pleasant Friday the 13th!

Bio

About Me:
Just turned 40 (sadly), happily married with two sons. I've been role-playing since I was 14 years old, starting with AOL chatrooms and instant messenger (the dark days), before graduating to IRC, Gaia, RPNation, and then this website. When not roleplaying I am a GM of a raiding guild on Stormrage server, listen to Kpop, read books and manhwa, and binge on TV shows/movies when I am stressed (sci fi, fantasy, drama, Korean).

I'd love to get to know other RP folks, especially if you're my age!

What I like/want in RPs:
Romance (necessity, I respect not everyone likes it)
At least 2 paragraphs per post
Sci Fi, (High, Low, Urban) Fantasy, Futuristic, Supernatural, some modern or psuedo-historical
Someone who plays male characters
Plots that allow me not to have to write realistic melee action (but I love to read it!)
Characters 18+
Players 18+
Intrigue/mystery in a story
Cooperative world building

What I don't like:
Players under 18
Children or teenage characters
Western or prehistoric settings
Plots with only action
Almost all furry/anthro pairings
G-rated romance

Message me if you think we'd be good RP partners for each other! Please note I do require romance, though I certainly do NOT want that to be the summation of the story nor do I necessarily want it to be "fluffy." I also adore romances that have with characters with significant flaws and baggage, where there is conflict and disagreement, as there would be in real relationships. Some mundanes/players believe that all love stories develop "organically" in the story- but my real life experience has taught me you can have no chemistry with someone that would be great for you, all the chemistry in the world for someone you never thought you'd like, and romance is not 'organic' and predictable in practice. As a mundane/player we make the decision for romance because, quite frankly, we aren't the characters no matter how alive they might feel. They don't truly exist physically to have chemistry. If you feel differently we will not be a good fit for each other.

Additionally, I require players separate themselves from this characters. This should go without saying, but just because we write a romance together does not mean there are real feelings beneath. I am truly happily married. Please, please, please don't expect any fiction to translate into real life.

Most Recent Posts

On some level Solae understood that Rene, desperately as he might try to reassure her, had no more answers than she had. Closing her eyes she tried to let his well-intentioned gestures soothe the waves of desperation that were rolling over her. The way he stroked her hair and pressed her to his chest unabashedly provided comfort but also distraction as well. Without looking at his torso to remind herself visually it was covered in horrible bruises it was relatively easy to imagine he uninjured. Solae felt that if she only focused on the rise and fall of his abdomen with each inhale and exhale she could have pretended that none of it happened. The marquise could have dreamed that this was an intimate moment between engaged lovers, not between emotionally damaged strangers, that the Imperial Embassy was still a bastion of bureaucracy, that her mother was still waxing poetic about appropriate suitors, that Marlene was proudly displaying her latest purchase, that Lord Armon was still sending her suggestive overtures as if she wasn't aware he craved her title more than her personality. Allowing herself to believe the lie, however brief, would have been catastrophic. Momentarily bliss would have been an escape that could not last; instead Solae had to force herself to cope.

"I'll do it," she half-whispered. Mia didn't realize what she was asserting or Solae was certain she would object. Chances were Rene was likewise confused by the statement and so after a touch of hesitation she sought to clarify. "I'll remove it myself. All I need to do is scan myself and then... well, I'm not a medical professional but there aren't other options. We have an emergency kit to provide topical anesthetic and clean up after the fact." As brave as the highborne noblewoman sounded there was no mistaking this for a perfectly safe procedure. Cutting down into her thigh was unlikely to be lethal but it would not be without at least temporary muscle weakness and limited mobility while she extracted the tiny implant.

"I strongly suggest that you do not attempt to retrieve the CLTI yourself, Lady Solae," Mia chastised but in a tone that sounded more like a dominatrix scolding her subordinate partner than an actually disapproving computerized entity.

"Your objection is noted Mia, but we don't have anyone qualified to diagnosis the common cold, much less take a knife to me. It's a risk I'm willing to take," she countered smoothly, "I'm not discussing an amputation. I could have been hurt worse by the shrapnel at the embassy than what I'm suggesting." Solae was much more worried about Rene's assumed protest because, unlike Mia, he could try to physically prevent her from taking action. No matter how battered he was he had the upper hand in strength, endurance, and almost certainly speed.

"If we can get the CLTI out," she mused aloud as her mind churned forward in a pragmatic fashion, "and get farther from Armistice, I speak Syshi." The Syshin were an intelligent bipedal alien race that had been subjugated by humans (allegedly) centuries ago. Their inability to cross-breed with humanity had relegated them to second-class citizens used for tasks delegated by the empire that even peasants were less than willing to do. People gave them a wide berth in person, avoided their communities like the plague, and would learn every language but their native tongue, but benefited from the fruit of the Syshin's labor nonetheless. Solae had learned Syshi because she wanted to comprehensively speak all the languages that were utilized nearby regardless of cultural emphases of their importance. There had been only two encounters she was required to interact with any Syshin and only one had been in person- that was with a representative of a village on the outskirts of Armistice regarding a crime with a Syshin suspect.

As untouchable as the Syshin were to farmers and elites alike, as downtrodden as their existences were, they respected anyone who took the time to learn Syshi. Even with a well-coordinated rebellion the Syshin were almost certainly not valued by the coup's leaders. Likewise the Syshin would care little about the massacre or politics; they did not have strong allies in the local government, they were not targets for the reaping, and their status would not improve with new 'ownership.' If Solae could communicate with them and offer them anything- even the spoils of Armon's house- they might be willing to hide the couple and locate a ship for them.

"The Syshin! If we can find them I think I could persuade them to...," she started. She had retreated back from his grasp far enough to take his face in both her hands with unthinking excitement. As she realized what her movement looked like she stopped, listening to the rushing blood in her veins and the acceleration of her heartbeat. Impulsively she leaned forward, still holding his cheeks with her palms and the tips of her fingers brushing against his hairline, and kissed him passionately. It had been the heat of the moment action without any forethought. Just as suddenly as the desire had filled her she was acutely aware of what an inappropriate imposition made on him. The marquise had made it difficult- if not impossible- for the soldier to reject her rash actions with delicacy.

"I'll... go take those scans now," she mumbled, not sure if apologizing would dig herself deeper into the proverbial hole she had manifested. As if on cue Mia decided it was the appropriate time to fill the small room with the aroma of tropical flowers, play the music from the evening prior, and dim the lights. Solae stumbled to her feet, fighting for her sense of balance as her senses were overwhelmed by Mia's involvement. The heiress struggled to focus on the CLTI and the pressing need for its removal. This was no time to be trying to take advantage of Rene.
"Don't worry, I'm not pregnant," Solae joked lamely to hide her emotional fatigue, her sorrow, and her overwhelming guilt at the situation she could not help but feel she was twice as responsible for as he was. Had she just died (and it would have been easy to do so) then Rene would have had much better chances of escaping and there would not be worlds of people at risk. The violence of her gag reflex made her lightheaded but soldiered through- the irony of the concept was not lost on her.

"I'm practicing my seduction techniques. What do you think?" she continued to jest. As soon as she had felt the rising bile she had cast of Lord Armon's shirt (which had dwarfed her smaller frame anyway) and supposedly incredibly clean exercise shorts. As she slid down to sit on the hard tile floor he could visually affirm she was only wearing undergarments. Solae might have shrieked about her decency and covered herself in embarrassment but she grew tired just thinking of the effort. Rene had almost certainly seen women with even less. If anything surprised him it was that she wore a designer brand tailored to fit only the genetically enhanced bodies of the elite and priced for the exceedingly wealthy as a result.

After a moment she pulled her long legs up to her chest, burrowing her head between the still heavily damaged knees. They were less raw than yesterday but their temporarily disfigured appearance failed to bring Solae any comfort- it just reminded her of everything she couldn't escape. "Mia, tell him what you told me," she instructed softly.

Mia, oblivious willfully or by design, proceeded to verbatim repeat her end of the exchange. With an inappropriate purr in words, and a dangling accent in others, she recited how Solae's parents were confirmed deceased, how Solae was being offered up as a prize to whomever turned her in, and how they had a CLTI located in her thigh that was being shielded. The marquise was fairly confident that Rene would understand her distress even if he could not fully empathize. The CLTI posed a problem for both of them. If she attempted to leave Lord Armon's estate without removing it the rebellion's search would be short and successful. As much as Solae didn't relish the thought of cutting into her skin it was infinitely better than the alternatives.

"I do have some sedatives in storage that Lord Armon's guests used on occasion to assist in falling asleep and engaging in unconventional acts of copulation," Mia offered. Solae laughed despite herself at the absurdity of it all and being trapped in the house of a narcissistic deviant. It was a good thing that Rene was no longer a noble himself; it was a breach of etiquette to laugh openly at the exposure of another, even deceased.
Unlike Rene Solae had a dreamless sleep. She had initially turned to instinctively curl into Rene's warm, protective form, but after doing so she remained completely immobile. Mia had discreetly monitored the marquise out of the closest thing to worry that artificial intelligence could feel (a programmed priority for the health of guests, which superseded all other directives). Solae did not toss and turn, did not murmur, and did not move her eyes beneath closed lids to indicate that her slumbering mind was envisioning worlds for her to adventure in as a phantom of herself. While her blood pressure had dipped, and both her heartbeat and breathing rhythm were slower than Mia knew to be normal, there was no actual medical distress. Logic dictated this was not worthy of Rene's attention.

When Solae woke it had been a full two hours and almost a quarter past when Rene had departed the bed. Groggy and disoriented she sat up as she ran a hand through her tangled hair. The surroundings did not immediately jog her memory. Rene had selected one of the guest bedrooms, not Lord Armon's master, and the decor was slightly foreign as a result. With the relationship broken several months prior it was even more distantly familiar than if the rebellion had been in the six months preceding. Recollections of the destruction of the Imperial Embassy crept back slowly as she briefly relived the experiences.

"Rene?" she breathed. Solae felt dizzy but not enough to merit lingering even longer in bed. Undoubtedly this languid awakening to reality had been a result of the black hole she had fallen into mentally while she slept. She winced as her feet and knees brushed against silken sheets; she had blissfully forgotten her injuries as she slept. Touching her forehead she felt a sturdy bandage where Rene had sutured a split in her forehead.

"Good morning, Miss Solae. Sir Rene has asked me to reassure you all is well and that he is nearby," she purred.

"What time is it?" Solae inquired further as she slid to the edge of the bed, brushed her feet on the floor, and inhaled sharply as pressure on the healing abrasions protested. It was a margin improved from yesterday but it would take at least another day or two before she could walk without any pain or discomfort.

"It is approximately 7:13:52 AM, Lady Solae," Mia responded. Solae had never seen the point in knowing not just the hour and minutes but the seconds as well. It was not an argument she was going to have with a synthetic existence shortly after crawling out of bed. The fact that her life was still in danger (even more than Rene's) was blossoming and increasing her heart rate dramatically. Yesterday they had allowed themselves a respite but a new day brought new threats. As the individual that was the greater risk she felt to take on a proportional amount of responsibility to determine a solution to their troubles.

"Mia, you are programmed to accept all transmissions, even if the estate is vacant, are you not?" she asked as she rubbed her eyes. Quite some time aago certain lords and ladies had tried to exempt themselves from receiving transmissions of the capital. This had resulted in their ignorance to a rebellion, three natural disasters (two earthquakes and one flood), and a terrorist faction on outlying planets. As a result all home systems created thereafter were required to collect transmissions constantly even if their owners were absent; it gave the Stellar Empire a method to assure their broadcasts were received and reduced the amount of 'proud death' suffered by the elite.

"Yes," Mia replied quickly without her characteristic purr.

"Have there been reports of my parents' deaths on any of the frequencies?" Solae ventured cautiously.

"I regret to inform you that Marquess Alyosha Falia and Marquise Selene Falia have both been reported deceased. In recent broadcasts you are referred to as Marquise Solae Falia accordingly. I assure you that while they are requesting that you immediately surrender or be captured, I have taken measures you ensure your concealment while you remain in the walls this domicile."

"Explain the details of my 'bounty' and what measures you are taking," she demanded as she felt her stomach lurch. The stress, the dull aches of her body (for she did not have Rene's stamina for running), the toll of seeing life drain out of people, the missed meals, and the knowledge of her parent's status made her pull off the shirt and shorts she was wearing. Without quick steps she started towards the bathroom but only made it halfway before Mia began her sultry purr.

"Marquise Solae Falia is to be retained and delivered immediately to the battalion located at in the Justice Center in Armistice. Should Marquise Solae Falia be delivered in good health, the delivering party will receive title, a sum to be disclosed, and will offered the marquise's hand in marriage or, if preferred, her hand in marriage to a male relative of their choosing, who upon consummation of the union will be titled Marquess accordingly." Solae scrambled the last few inches to the toilet before vomiting into its aureate splendor. Never had she been so offended by a pretentious porcelain throne as she was this one; it's shining color seemed to mock her situation caused by similar extreme wealth. She was arguably wretching into a symbol of her fatal flaw.

"I have discovered a Crisis Location Transmission Implant in your thigh," Mia continued apparently undeterred by Solae's unsightly reaction to the prior news. "As of three hours, five minutes, and twenty-one seconds ago, a location in Armistice has been attempting to send a beacon to your CLTI, but I have been shielding such from their attention." CLTIs were used to monitor the upper echelon of nobility not out of fear of bad conduct, but because they could be kidnapped and ransomed for enough currency to let a man live a life of opulence thereafter. To curb the success of this criminal activity many had CLTIs inserted as in various parts of the body (a uniform point in the anatomy made it too easy for said criminals to find and extract them). Solae had forgotten about her own until this very moment. Until a beacon was sent out the CLTI was completely dormant so there had been no chance of discovery yesterday- but she couldn't leave Lord Armon's house without having Rene help her remove it.

"Sir Rene, Lady Solae appears to be in minor medical distress," Mia reported to the soldier factually.
The thunder obviously unnerved her; in fact, she looked and felt more on edge ascending the stairs than when she had been cornered by soldiers. With each boom her pace quickened until she almost collided with Rene in her haste to reach a room- any room- that had sufficient soundproofing to block out the noise. Solae had always found that people had some level of predictability. Whether they were sane or a victim of mental illness, whether they were narcissists or selfless like Rene evidently was, whether she found them admirable or reprehensible in their actions, there was pattern. Generally if you looked long and hard enough you could find some sort of logic to their behavior.

Storms, however, represented a great fear of Solae: a force greater than people that could not and would not be controlled. Meteorologists had become advanced enough to anticipate many storm developments but not all. Even the prime planets of the Empire still had, on occasion, a natural disaster. While they had the means to neutralize the threat, such anomalies posed they existed albeit briefly. On outlier planets such as New Concordia there were no resources to tightly control the whims of the wind and clouds. Nature was a destructive beast that could not be read and analyzed with enough precision to be conquered or controlled like people. Underestimating the wrong storm could lead to serious injury or death- and Solae had had more than enough of that lately.

"Seal the room please, Mia," Solae instructed breathlessly. She had not noticed the dimmed lights, the large bed, or the seductive music yet. Alloy metal slid out of the door frame where it had been previously invisible. There was a soft hiss of air as silicone padding also emerged and pressed itself between the door and the metallic edging. As the layers compressed it formed an air-tight seal that not only completely mitigated all sound from outside the threshold but also gave them an added layer of protection should they be discovered. Relief washed over Solae's features. Gone was the rolling cacophony of fury in the sky. Rationally she knew it still existed but right now, in this moment, she was allowed to pretend it did not. Tension eased out of her shoulders as she took a deep breath.

Solae turned to address Rene about sleeping arrangements and belatedly realized the tune playing softly over speakers. Her face flushed and words died before they managed to move her tongue. This was not a randomized selection chosen by Mia out of ignorance. Not all of Solae's time with Lord Armon had been innocent distant parley and Mia had learned from those experiences. To 'help' her guests she had started some of the favorites that she knew awakened latent desires in Solae most effectively. This caused a massive amount of discomfort in the marquise as Rene had made it clear he was disinterested and, even if he were, he was so horribly covered in bruises she could only suspect it would be incredibly painful. Not that she would impose herself on him. He had left the nobility and joined the Marines. This was a choice she assumed he did not take lightly and was indicative of a presumed desire to keep himself from the courts. A tryst with Solae would inevitably push him back into that realm unless they managed to keep a purely physical relationship.

"Mia, I appreciate the thought but I believe Sir Rene is not interested," she told the artificial intelligence system delicately. Anticipating some sort of remark on bodily functions and chemistry she avoided looking at Rene as she tossed off the covers to one side of the bed and sat down, dangling her feet over the side. "I'm sure it's in your directives to respect such decisions. I'm also certain that your scan of our vital signs indicated we could use some rest for recuperation."

There was a humming sound from Mia before the music was purposefully lowered to silence. Solae rubbed her feat, the abrasions and cuts that covered them causing a dull ache, before she lifted them onto the luxurious mattress. A second later, after pulling up the sheet and duvet to her shoulders, Solae sleepily motioned to Rene to make himself comfortable as he saw fit. "I think you're safe from further Mia commentary from now," she murmured drowsily.
Solae had frozen when Rene rose from his seat and joined her in the kitchen. It was this sort of stunned reaction she had around the other sex that Lord Armon had exploited more than a few times to push through her poorly construed social barrier. Of course her feeble walls had not truly existed around Rene due to the debilitating trauma of watching her co-workers die, falling on a corpse, running from armed forces, and narrowly escaping execution or worse from three soldiers. As he brushed aside her hair she rationally knew that Rene was likely trying to evaluate her wound but her heart still fluttered regardless. Rene had more than one opportunity to make a romantic overture if that was his intention, and moving her hair the way he did was not a gesture that any of the courting gentlemen she encountered had used. Cursing in a foreign language at herself she waited to see his prognosis. The Imperial Marines had more medical training in a month than she'd had in a lifetime.

"Oh you don't have to..," she began but he was already spraying the irritated and inflamed skin. Solae had been blessed with a slightly higher than normal pain tolerance but she felt the promised sting. She closed her eyes both to protect them from any errant drops and so that she wasn't staring at Rene's chest again; their proximity, height difference, and the slight bow of her head so he could work more easily had put the opening of his shirt directly in front of her gaze.

Most assumed soldiers, no matter their division or allegiance, were men with brawn and little wit or intelligence. Solae suspected Rene bucked this stereotype. The soft click and whir of the device as it tugged at numbed flesh and knitted it together was unsettling. That he had waited to pose his question until she could use a distraction to be a good patient spoke more to clever planning than coincidence.

"I find language fascinating, but I wouldn't say I am striving for one particular thing," she said after some thought. It almost certainly wasn't the answer he was looking for and it didn't feel fair to Rene to let that been the totality of her response. "That's what I do, or rather did, at the Imperial Embassy. I translate documents we receive and also what we send to other planets in the sector. Not everyone's quite as fluent as with the common tongue of the Empire as it mandates we are."

"When I was really small, before I started my formal education, I know my nanny used to encourage me and tell me that old adage of 'you can be whatever you want to be.' I don't believe she meant to lie. As far as she knew I was rich, I was going to be a Marquise, and I'd never want for anything. Mother waited until I was a little older until she shut those proverbial doors for me. I couldn't be a mother who stayed home and raised her children, like the nanny raised me, because noble women were above such things. I wouldn't marry on the whims of my heart like other people did because I had my reputation to consider. Growing a garden, fixing some of our malfunctioning machines or computers, studying to be a nurse instead of a doctor, building a masonry wall near the stables, riding a horse bareback... well, you get the gist. There are more things a lady ought not to dream of and seek to do than things she should. Yearning for what you can't have only causes heartache."

Solae wasn't seeking his pity, just his understanding. She was not being willful or malicious in her failure to produce a wonderful goal for her life. Like so many others she was coasting through life, trying to ascertain what opportunities she could seize before they passed her by, and hoping she was not trampled by the merciless passage of time as she did so. As a woman in her twenties she could have rebelled against her parents but she would have risked severe punishment. Only someone of higher position than a Marquise, such as a Duke or the Empress, could or would have intervened on her behalf if her parents retaliated against her. Now that they were both dead she had freedom if she could survive the rebellion. What she would do with it she did not know.

"Lady Solae," Mia started, "a thunderstorm is approaching. The front door is in a state of disrepair and I am unable to mitigate the sound of thunder as you have requested prior. I recommend utilizing an upstairs room as I show all of their doors are operable and the insulation to prevent sound pollution remains intact."
Had Lord Armon, instead of 'Sir' Rene (as Mia preferred to address him), been sitting opposite her and confessed his conscience alone had sprung him into action she would have known him to be lying. The prolonged silence, the contemplation, the meandering as he tried to establish his own motivations spoke to Rene's honesty. Solae wasn't certain what answer she had expected from her query but she was dumbstruck by his reply nonetheless. She did not suppress the surprise that spread across her features. If Rene had a past of aristocracy as she suspected he had to know how profound of a revelation this was for any elite to hear. There were kind souls littered amongst them but their fealty was to the throne, not to each other.

"A less injured person with an easier route to safety," she finally remarked dryly.

Realizing that this might sound like criticism instead of praise, Solae leaned forward and placed her hand on his. Through the small touch he could feel how warm her fingers and palms were- something Solae herself was acutely aware of- but she smiled and hoped he wouldn't be put off by the heat her body was radiating. The raise in her 'core body temperature' had been caused by none other than Rene himself. "Thank you. I don't have any way to make it up to you right now, but I'd like to try in the future. The Empire could use more people like you."

"Lady Solae, the Grundel Biscuits have finished baking," Mia interrupted with a soft purr. Solae's heart nearly leapt out of her chest and her fingers on top of Rene's had jerked when she startled. Without realizing she had been staring at Rene, thinking how wonderfully handsome he was despite his injuries. There was something horribly captivating and enchanting about his demeanor, his morality, his simplicity that drew her in with such force she hardly remembered to breathe. Flustered she broke eye contact, inadvertently glanced at his bare chest behind the unbuttoned shirt, and then jumped out of her chair.

"I should get those," she explained as she tried to compose herself. Solae leaned down, brushing his cheek with a gentle kiss of gratitude, before making her way into the kitchen. The oven had already ejected a silicone-covered baking sheet with the square biscuit slices onto a counter to cool. The marquise had made two sheets out of an abundance of caution about future food sources and placed the second of these into the oven.

"Fair's fair," she called from the adjoining room. "Since I asked you a difficult question, you can ask me any one you like. I promise there are no topics off boundaries," she offered. It was an unconventional approach; anyone with a title was used to demanding things of their 'inferiors' with no reciprocation. In the few times they allowed themselves to be questioned it was never with such an openness as Solae was demonstrating now- but she wasn't in the palace or a royal estate. She was alone with a man who had saved her, wanting nothing and expecting nothing, who was her equal if not 'superior' in their race for survival, whom she felt compelled to be honest with if for no other reason than she liked him.
"It looks bad because it is bad," she countered almost immediately. Seeing that he was not eating (presumably because she was not), Solae picked up her knife and began to habitually cut her ham into delicate lady-sized pieces with great precision. Once she had mused to an etiquette tutor that nobles made excellent surgeons because of the practice and refinement with blades required just to survive a six-course meal. The elder countess was not amused at this observation and had chastised her for comparing the skills. Age seemed to diminish the sense of humor if it was not completely eradicated by proximity to the throne.

She took a singular bite, chewed thoroughly, swallowed, and motioned for him to indulge himself even as she ate slowly. Truthfully the stress was tying her stomach in knots such that she was both famished and nauseous all at once. "I'm sure in the Imperial Marines you must minimize your injuries and power through them, but it puts me in a bad spot if you're worse off than I am and say you're fine," she said with a soft smile.

"I can't be sure- I haven't had a singular course in medical training- but I believe I'll need to stitch my forehead back together," she admitted in reference to the gash. It had stopped oozing blood even after the shower but it was still an open wound. The skin was split from where a foreign object had collided with her forcefully during the initial blast at the Imperial Embassy. Fortunately, despite the unpleasant appearance and swelling, there was no damage to her skull itself. Solae crossed her ankles under the table and was glad that her knees and feet were both concealed from his sight. "If it scars that will reduce my value on the market, so I'm somewhat hoping it does," she added impishly in light allusion to her unwed status and the prominence of arranged marriages for a woman of her status.

Solae pushed a piece of meat around on her plate as she sighed and allowed her mind to wander. "Did you know that every language has a word for the concept of 'luck?' Not every abstract thought translations between cultures, but that is one of the ones that does. I keep wondering why I was so lucky to survive. I know part of it is because I went under my desk after the first round of fire, and that shielded me, but that answer isn't satisfying. All of my friends on New Concordia worked for the Empire and have almost certainly been killed. My parents are unquestionably dead- they would be too large a political threat and liability for a rebellion of this size- and it makes me wonder about my 'luck.'" In the common tongue this was called 'Survivor's Guilt,' which she knew, but reading about it and feeling it so acutely were incredibly different experiences.

"Why did you save me, Rene? You could have walked away," she asked boldly as she raised her eyes to his. In the pale illumination they were more gray than blue, reminiscent of a cloudy see on a sunless day. "If you turned me in now they might be willing to allow you to escape to your home planet, wherever that might be." There was an unspoken understanding that doing so would condemn Solae to a fate worse than death and hand the the coup keys to even further success. Solae made a compelling hostage in more ways than one and, with her genetic code and linguistic abilities at their disposal, they could spread their word farther than just the nearest communication station for the Empire. This greater costs might not mean anything to a common man, however; people tended to be selfish. They thought only of their personal gains and losses and not that of a greater populace.
"You are too kind," Solae replied reflexively. Though his compliment was genuine she had become accustomed to flattery, sincere and not, as a means to gain her favor. Without fail it was accompanied by or chased by a request for an audience with her parents, utilizing her status for their benefit, or entertaining an engagement proposal. As a future Marquise she knew that her chances for a relationship and wedding borne of romantic passion were slim. No matter how prolific nobility thought they were with exacting someone's intentions and motivations, they were far from perfect.

It was only after Rene had left to shower that she realized that his comment had no apparent ulterior motive. If anything the Imperial Marine was helping her rather than the other way around and had not exacted any price for doing so. Idly she considered that he might have joined the military not to avoid a sordid or criminal past (as she had initially assumed) but because he did not have the disposition for ruthless double-speak of the courts. He was kinder, selfless, and more thoughtful than any Lord, Count, Viscount, Marchess, Duke, or other associated title she had met.

"Mia, do you have the recipe for Grundel Biscuits?" she asked the artifical intelligence system after sitting in silence for a moment.

"Yes, of course Lady Solae," it purred as it displayed a list of ingredient as well as instructions in pale golden text in the center of the kitchen. Grundel Biscuits were created during one of the man wars the Empire engaged in to make a civilization submit to their rule and control. Citizens left at home created a foodstuff that did not require refrigeration, lasted as long as most rations, but had more nutrients- so long as you were willing to pay the price for the expensive groceries required to create them. Lord Armon was not a man of moderation and thus Solae found everything she needed even if it meant further interaction with a sultry synthetic being.

Chopped nuts, seeds, dried fruit, grain, and a medley of fruits crushed into a powder were mixed together with a flour grown on a distant planet that created a dense, slightly crunchy bread with unrivaled shelf life so long as it was not damp. Solae kneaded the materials together, formed them into a ball that she then shaped into a block, and sliced the dough into squares before sticking it into the oven. Perhaps it was not a delicacy (even to an enlisted man), but if they were running from rebellion forces for weeks they would need more than could be found foraging.

With an eye towards preparedness Solae hummed and began a list with Mia of essentials to be packed before they left the residence. The linguistic expert did not foresee needing to evacuate before dawn, and if they were lucky not for a couple days, but preparing for the worst case scenario soothed her. Focusing on practical issues, creating a solution, and working her way through a task did not allow her to dwell on what she could not change. Rene was still the brawn of the pair but she could contribute to their survival in different ways.

"Oh, you're back," she remarked with a smile. The faucet turned itself on as it sensed her hands underneath and she rinsed off the sticky residue off her fingers. Flicking them dry she spun and saw Rene standing in the doorway covered with more bruises than she thought possible. Solae's face was clearly showed horror at his injuries, not because they were ghastly to behold, but because she could not imagine how much pain they must be causing her companion. A split second later it registered he had no shirt on and her perfect courtly mask faltered as she flushed at the musculature he was so passively displaying.

"Are you okay?" she heard herself say, though she knew he couldn't be 'okay.' For the same reason she had dodged that exact inquiry earlier she expected he would do the same. He was injured, he was tired, he was famished, and he was devastated not only at the loss of his friends and family on New Concordia but also of the life he had led until yesterday.

"Lady Solae, Sir Rene, are you related?" Mia asked. Solae was so dumbfounded by the question that she had immediately said, "No," without thought about why the strange, sensual voice of the AI was asking.

Immediately the lights in the dining room and kitchen dimmed until they were no brighter than candlelight and classical music began to play softly over Mia's system. A subtle scene of flowers was released into the immediate vicinity, which made Solae (who was startled and half-terrified at the light reduction) relax despite herself. "Mia... Mia, what are you doing?"

"I am programmed to provide the best atmosphere for my guests," Mia breezily replied. "I have been monitoring your vital signs since you entered the manor so I may best alert you of physical distress exceeding what you have already sustained. Just now I sensed a slight rise in both your core temperatures as well as a slight acceleration of the heart rate, indicative of a desire to..."

"All right, all right, thank you Mia," Solae quickly intervened in a tight, high voice. In all her life she did not think she had ever been quite as mortified as she was now.
After ascending the right staircase to the second floor (as to avoid the blood trail that dripped down the left) she had quickly swept through a hall with holes battered into the walls and splintered remains of a destroyed banister strewn about the floor. At least one resident or servant thereof had been battled their assailants. Most of the guest rooms had been untouched simply because they held no real valuables; Lord Armon didn't want his finery 'wasted' on rooms that saw so little use. Vanity urged him to keep his jewels on display where he could more easily admire them and himself.

Lights illuminated as she walked through the beautiful room with hardwood floors and lavish rugs depicting one of many worlds conquered and colonized by the Empire. Solae unzipped her skirt and stepped out of it as it fluttered to the floor. Undergarments were shrugged off and unclipped after she pulled her torn blouse over her head. Rather than depend on Mia she slipped into the large shower and manually adjusted the controls to spray her with the hottest water she could tolerate without scalding. A mesmerizing display of lights accompanied the blast of steam but the heiress was could not find her spirits lifted by the ambience they created.

Solae knew there would not be time to properly mourn or grieve the lives lost. Here in the shower, however, she was protected and alone. With the knowledge that the room had been soundproofed, and Rene was too far away to hear even if it was not, she slid down a slick mosaic wall and sobbed. The marquise wept for Marlene, who was spoiled but did not deserve callous murder, for imperfect parents that she knew had been executed, for innocent staff in the Imperial Embassy and the 'Rat Trap' who had committed no crimes except seeking employment. Every tear was carried away in the cleansing streams.

Until she saw it swirling on the floor of the enclosed chamber Solae had not been aware how much blood had been on her. Some had been her own but most had been from sprays of co-workers, from landing on a corpse, and crawling through the debris of the ruined embassy building. The rinse ran pink, speckled with flakes and crusty globs of crimson, until several minutes had passed. She washed the stain out of her golden platinum strands and scrubbed it off her skin. A few areas burned despite a more gentle touch. Both knees were raw and covered with abrasions, the right slightly more pitted than the left. Walking barefoot over the terrain had left her with cuts, three splinters, blisters, and the side of a toe scraped from a rock that had removed the topmost layer of skin. Considering she had escaped being killed by heavy weaponry these were minor and a small price to pay. The gash near her hairline the left side of her forehead proved to be the worst wound she bore. Solae dared not touch it directly- she had clenched her jaw in pain every time she tried- but she was fairly certain a medical professional would recommend stitching the sides together.

Crying had unloaded only some of the emotions that had accumulated in the last day but she felt lighter than before. The accommodations were opulent but they could not afford her the luxury of time. Dwelling on the anguish the rebellion brought would not help her survive. Solae dissociated from the trauma as she stepped out of the shower and wrapped a towel around herself. She did not let her mind wander back to the the horrific event, instead mentally carefully boxing the memory and shelving it to revisit a later date.

"Mia," she called out as she looked towards the mirror. A faint yellow glow appeared in the center as a visual cue that Mia had been appropriately summoned. "Does Lord Armon have any women's clothing in storage?"

Mia had salvaged the undergarments with startling efficiency but Solae knew the blouse and skirt were a lost cause. Repairs could have been made but a skirt was impractical at best and the silken shirt was not made to endure. Unfortunately Lord Armon had no paramours at present and thus no women's clothing much less anything in her size. Out of desperation she had a men's shirt, clearly too large for her frame, over exercise shorts Mia had affirmed no less than four times were unused and clean.

"If you want to take a shower now I can wait to eat with you," she suggested affably. As ravenous as she was she did not want to be rude to her savior; Solae was incredibly aware of how in Rene's debt she was. Her hair was still a wet curtain of shimmering unnatural aureate coloration that was loose in hopes it would dry quickly. "I had to improvise," she immediately explained, slightly embarrassed at her state of psuedo-dress.
For as unnerved as the small estate made Rene, and it was small compared to what she had seen owned by Dukes, Earls, Counts, Viscounts, and the like, it helped to calm the quell inside Solae. Admittedly it was not as sprawling as the towering structure that her parents had purchased on New Concordia, but it felt the same. Outside these walls everything was foreign, terrifying, and threatening. Inside were the tattered remains of a life she had known all her life and that now condemned her future as surely as it had guaranteed its accomplishments. Her fingers ran along a crack on the edge of the screen thoughtfully. Even Mia, artificial and with her 'brain' locked far below ground, had not escaped the assault unharmed. Technology was innocent of malevolent intentions but no less punished.

Solae had flushed pink from the apples of her cheeks to her hairline, her features a baffled mixture of flattered and fearful. Tempted as she was to retreat physically she was too shocked to move. A tiny exhalation escaped when he clarified 'not together.' Rene was handsome and tragedy had made him twice as heroic, charming, and alluring as he might ordinarily be, but she had been apprehensive that there was a price of intimacy he expected for his daring rescue. Not everyone was selfless and Solae had only her body to give had he demanded it of her.

"Keep watch... of the door, not the shower?" she clarified with a light laugh as she visibly relaxed. She glided over to where he stood, standing on her toes to reach one of the top shelves with cups fashioned of synthetic opaque material, and pulled down two- one for him and one for herself. She poured a full glass of fruit juice as her stomach growled in protest at the suggestion bathing take precedence over eating.

"There's more than one shower and I don't know that I could return the favor of keeping watch," she confessed lightly. The now deceased Marquise Falia would have insisted on dainty, measured sips from a crystalline glass worth no less than one farmer's salary in value when in the presence of a gentleman. Solae was certain that this instruction would be unaltered even if she knew her daughter was quite literally in the midst of a war. With blatant irreverence for societal expectations and proper conduct she drank the entire cup in one continuous gulp.

"After we eat and each shower, it might be safe to sleep here," she said as she thought aloud. "It could be easier to move at night when it's harder for them to find us. After that... I don't know. They'll be waiting for me if I try to go home," she murmured this time to herself as she covered her face in thought. The tip of her left digits brushed past where she had been veritably concussed the day prior in the embassy and she flinched reflexively. Medical attention with be difficult if not impossible to come by. Letting her palms slip down she was reminded of the wounds she had seen on Rene.

"Mia, can you please retrieve Lord Armon's emergency medical kit from storage?" she asked the electronic sentience.

"Yes, Lady Solae," it purred obediently. There was a quiet hum of machinery behind the wall. Many nobility had extra rooms built underneath their mansions not in case of apocalyptic disaster or rebellion (they were too arrogant to admit these possibilities) but for storage that lifeless servants, such as Mia, could deposit and withdraw items from with instruction.
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