[240103.26 Ancient Romulus: 281 kilometers south of the crash site]
The sky had turned white;
The scenic scape stretching before her had begin to fade out,
As if she had reached out the horizon of a flat world,
And was teetering on the edge of nothingness.
Amongst a blanket of snow, the savior trudged on.
She stormed with the shower,
through the town's threshold,
turning away and towards
the towns lonely tavern.
It was a pretty sight--
one that even the inner blind would not miss.
All glinting were the lights--
casting their cool invitations of dull yellow
amongst a violet sodium-vapor sky
of old, wintry ch`Rihan.
The travelers' run itself, of the familiar wood and stone construct, too held its allure. Its warm orange glow, the mirthfully overflowing din, and moving silhouetted patrons in its windows drew the walker willingly into the future.
Not a chantey's cry was lost, nor did conversation skip a beat as the pale, lightly clad woman stepped through the door. Not a head turned to star in suspicion, nor did hands unobtrusively slide under tables' rims for the comforting pummel of a weapon. The crowd, save notice her presence, went on as they were, indifferent.
Aemhig, prepared, all the same was taken aback. Were it her time, such an scene would not ever be seen. Rihannsu trusting each other to be true, loyal, and honor-bound Declared and not obfuscated alien intruders, bent on their race's destruction? Such was the loss, when one's scope widened to comprehend the true depth of the Brothers' warning: the universe was a cold and dark place out to get all. Stepping to the room's back, near the hearth, she sets down her tightly wrapped kaleh and coat, and waits for her target to arrive. Resolve, dedication, discipline: all well rewarded that day.
The moment her prey enters, moments after she sat down, t`Shibae knows. Not by the myriad of paintings in the Imperial grand palace, not by the momentous statues of his grace, for, incredibly, all miss their mark. The man under the heavy cloak is of average look, unimpressive to the eye. His gate is powerful, as he strides to a table of his choosing, but seems almost comical for a man of his height. For his outward appearance, the Lord of Lords-- the weapon's cutting edge, no one would ever guess who he was...
Biting her tongue, and savoring the coppery taste it releases, she stands: letting the ambient light enhance her figure. His gaze follow from her across the room. Sauntering up to his table, she delicately runs a finger over the edge of an opposing chair, and locks looks with his eyes. He nods in gesture to the chair.
The Taverner brings them a share of Rhennish, mopping the table quickly, and more quickly departs. They share a gentile grin between their two steins of vibrant purple liquor. Nonchalantly, she guards her aim from his prying mind; he is amused at her adept mental celerity, and again, they share a warm wordless conversation. When the moment is right, and her belly is ripe, Aemhig slips her partner an image he cant refuse. Placating his potent ego, she rises, and walks back to get her things by the fire. On her return, he rises, and together, they exit the tavern, to save the future...
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