The First Age

Marcus walked into St. Andrew’s Hall and was bathed in reflected light from the chandeliers, from the gold that covered nearly everything- moldings and columns, arches and recesses, carvings and chairs- the floors that had been polished to mirrors, from the lamps mounted on walls. The room projected riches beyond imagination. And yet, it was not the opulence that impressed Marcus.

Here he was, at the very center of power at only 23 years of age. He had worked hard to get here, had earned his way to this pinnacle. Just a month ago he was still living in a small studio apartment provided with his scholarship. The school he went to, the University of Chicago, was a good school, as far as it went. Still far too ivory tower for his tastes. He would have congratulated the Communication/Propaganda Consulates on their success in US colleges if not for the fact that he knew that disease had been harbored at schools long before Ascendancy ever set foot in Russia. But in this grand hall, that disease dared not manifest itself. The people here were fully cognizant of how the real world worked. These people were the power brokers of the world- the members of the Sphere, the Consulate heads, the Marshall of the Army, the General of the Army, military attaches and aides, legislators, billionaire titans of banking and industry. It was a vast collection of men and women who wielded power and influence. And Marcus DuBois stood among them, a Sigma.

The background music floated over the hum of conversation and clinking of glasses and silver as Marcus made his way into the Hall, stopping here and there to greet people and converse. He snagged a glass of water with lemon from one of the servers- he hardly drank and, of all places, here was where he needed to have his wits about the most. He was going to be sitting at the table with Ascendancy himself. Deep down, he was willing to admit to himself, he was nervous. He thought about quashing the feeling, wondering what Malik would do. For the first time in a long while, he was unsure. He would have seized the Force to center and clear himself, but the danger was too much. Perhaps he could find a place to be alone and then do it.

Suddenly, a hush fell over the crowd as the bronze doors opened and Ascendency walked in flanked by guards on either side. Malik’s eyes were glued to the man, feeling great relief for some reason. At last, he thought. At last. This was why he’d come here, this man. But there was a tight smile on his face now, because now….now he knew. And he realized why he felt relief. Deep down, he’d wondered if Ascendancy was manufactured, a puppet, a poseur presented to the world as a symbol. He’d refused to believe it, couldn’t believe it, having read his words….And yet, he knew history, knew that sometimes the truth you believed had been given to you by others. But now he knew. His instinct had been right. Looking at the man, the way he commanded the room, this was no figure head.

But his smile was for far more than just that confirmation. Then it broke into a full on grin, marveling at how things worked out. Not an accident at all. He, Darth Malik, Sith apprentice seeking a master, had been guided by the force. For what he felt, even at this distance, was the tell-tale indication that someone was using a large amount of Force. It had coincided with Ascendancy’s entrance and Malik had dismissed the guards almost immediately. It was Ascendancy. The man radiated power and Malik wanted to go up to him and bask in it, to claim his right as apprentice. Surely, this was willed by the Force. It had been determined from the beginning. All of Marcus’ experiences and sufferings had been merely shaping and honing Malik, building to this very moment, to this meeting.

Malik no longer needed to find somewhere to go and center. Even without feeling the pleasure that came from dominating the Force, he felt calm and at peace. It was simple. This moment had been foreordained. It was destiny.

Malik walked toward the table he would be sharing with Ascendancy.
Edited by Marcus DuBois, Jun 27 2014, 12:00 PM.

The claps of a hundred hands were amplified tenfold to Nikolai's senses. They echoed in the cavernous room like the beating of a million wings. Or more.

The proud smiles and well wishes of his guests carried him to the podium. There was a small platform, only two steps up, laid at the far end of the ballroom. A transparent fiberglass podium waited, dignified and beautiful in its presence. It served only the purpose of bearing the symbol of the Double Crescent on its front. Nikolai had no need of devices to transmit the words of the following speech.

He touched the thumb on his ring and the appropriate words scanned the interior of his eye.

As always, a small wave of nervousness fluttered through his chest. No matter how many speeches he'd delivered, there would always be a moment of hesitation in the back of his mind. Conquering it came more easily after decades of experience, and the victory was all the easier when the power of the universe flowed through him. That majestic force swept away worry, and he grew calmer as the storm raged within.

The words came smoothly.

"Greetings esteemed guests. First of all. I'd like to welcome you to my .. home."
The opening line was one that bowed under minutes of his consideration. To describe the Kremlin, the Grand Palace specifically, as his home conveyed a very significant attitude Nikolai took toward his capitol. In particular it was a complete lie. While the Kremlin technically was the place he resided; he did not consider it his home. He'd never invite such a crowd to dine in the most private of his personal space.

The decision was made and spoken. He moved on. "It is indeed my pleasure to have you favored-guests with me to celebrate our twenty-fifth­ Christmas in the Kremlin."
He ignored the borage of imagery that flashed through his mind. Of spiral hams and wrapping paper, stockings hung from the staircase, and his mother smiling gleefully.

A hint of somber nostalgia touched his voice, "Twenty-five years. Can you believe it? Some of you have been with me from the beginning."
His gaze swept immediately to Valentin Sulteev. The Privilege of the Central Dominance dipped his head in return. "Do you remember, Valentin? How much work we had ahead of us? When I suggested I run for the Presidency?"
The Privilege smiled his dignified, knowing smile and nodded. The people at his table swept awe-filled gazes his way. When Nikolai continued, the pendulum of his tone swung stern. "The previous century had seen our great nation collapse as a world power to a laughing stock: a den of corruption and chaos, and our economy anemic. Sick with parasites."


Nikolai spun ropes of power that splayed like netting over the heads of the ignorant. His voice amplified along with it. "We were sold a dream!"
and soon after faded quieter.

"How is the American Dream these days? Where is that proud and arrogant nation that thought it could tell the world how to live? Dying a slow, pitiful death. She slaps away the hand of peace and in doing so resists the order that we have brought to the world.

"Twenty-five years and I seized our motherland, sick and abused as she was, and nursed her to health. With your help,"
he swept a hand before him, "we shored up her weakness, destroyed those that would steal from her, and brought her security and prosperity.


He smiled a chill smile. "Twenty-five years can take a toll."
He swept a hand up and down the lean line of himself. "What do you think, Viktor?"
He glanced at his deputy-consular. "We were both young once, and now look at us."
He shared in the chuckle that erupted around him. Viktor was aged and gray. Nikolai strong and vibrant as ever.

"The CCD is the peak of human governance. All of you here today are both witnesses and participants in this great project. And I want you to know that I appreciate you. And the work you've done."
He paused to make eye-contact with several such adoring faces.

"The CCD is the envy of the world. Let me ask you: Did we have to conquer? Did we rush in and take country after country and add them to the Custody?"
He barked a wry laugh. "Did they not beg to be let in? Did they not do everything possible to be a part of our greatness?"


His arms spread wide, "We took them in! Gave them order, peace. Prosperity."
He lifted his chin, gazing down at more than one captain of industry in the room. "Prosperity has flowed in, hasn't it?"


He shook his head, "So then! Dominance V. What happened? We offer the world order and peace. So what was this disturbance Dominance V? I know you are wondering, those who don't know. Allow me to assure you of some facts."


He spoke gently as a father to his worried children. "This was not a war. This was not the people of DV rejecting the Custody they wished to join. This was not the people of DV seceding."
His voice slowly rose over the hum of questions that whispered like gossip between tables. His senses picked up more than one specific question. He fixed his gaze on a middle-aged man of asian descent of the banking industry.

"'What was it,' you ask?"
The man, Aki Bojing, blinked in surprise. Nikolai had overheard his whispered question that he would now answer.

"The triumph of ignorance! Of superstition! This was the work of one man, playing on the ignorance of a few misguided people. Young men, drunk on the stories of their fathers and grandfathers, eager to be a part of Jihad. The same old men that were desperate to relive the days when their world view mattered."

"Make no mistake! The temporary chaos that has erupted has been quelled! Order has restored.

"Mister Al-Rahji has already begun the process, and I have instructed the Consulars of Communication and that of Propaganda to begin to implement additional steps in DV."
He shook his head disappointed in the land's behavior, "It's time all of DV enter the mid-21st century."


"Allow me to remind you. The region that is DV has been a cauldron of problems for three-thousand years! Bombings. Endless fighting. Broken ceasefires.

"At any given time, some sort of violence was occurring there.

"And yet, in the short time they have been part in my Custody, how many bombings has their been? How many airplanes crashed? Or buildings brought down?"
He stood straight and proud. "HOW MANY?"


He saw more than one mouth form the word. "That's right. None. Not until now. Are we surprised that a man, still feeding from the ignorance and hate of millenia, would be able to stir up such remaining feelings among the older generations and herald it to the younger? Of course not.

So we will take the youth from them! Not literally."
He raised his hands amid a few bouts of laughter. "The CCD is going to take concerted steps to help the newer generations learn from the foolishness of their fathers and grandfathers. They will see the prosperity that comes from being an adult nation, not a nation of infants throwing a temper tantrum. It is easy to forget the pains of your past after twenty-five years of comfort.


The derision in his tone grew grave. "Unfortunately, we have to acknowledge that some lives were lost. We honor those who gave their lives to save so many. But we also honor those who gave of themselves and survived. One of those men is here tonight."
His gaze swept immediately to a single man seated at his table. The attention of the room followed. "Commander Michael Vellas. His valiant actions in DV saved the lives of thousands. Even in the face of great evil, he refused to cow, and came out from the midst of that storm emerged relatively unscathed. Ladies and Gentlemen, Michael Vellas."
He lifted his hand and the room followed, standing to offer him their applause. Nikolai joined them in a few claps.

"I mentioned the new generations in DV, but we are not just concerned about the newer generations in that region, but also of the world. We have our own youth and the CCD is continuing to invest time and money into giving the youths of our great nation every chance possible. Those opportunities range from extra schooling to scholarships and internships in the highest programs.

But there is one program in particular that bears special mention. Every third year, the CCD Sigma program considers tens-of-thousands of applicants and from the finalist, I hand-select only one. I see several Alum of the program tonight."
He paused to make eye-contact with two individuals. "And you have gone on to do extraordinary things."

"So tonight, I am very pleased to introduce the newest inductee into the Sigma program. Please join me in welcoming, Marcus DuBois."
He allowed Marcus to stand and bow for the room's applause as well. The power raged through Nikolai's soul, and with it, was borne the winds of dry humor. "We'll forgive him his American birth. After all, some Americans do eventually see reason."
The joke was on himself, of course. It was that Nikolai himself was American, as revealed in the interview with Nicholas Trano.

"We are pleased that he is part of our program and that we can be part of his education. We expect great things from him. He will serve our nation well."


He could sense his time was coming to an end. "I will only say a few more things and then I'll let you get to eating and drinking. I know some of you want to continue discussing important issues. Scion,"
he addressed the patriarch of the Marveet empire, "I know that you are still looking to procure companionship for the evening and the night is not getting any younger."
Laughter erupted. No few in the room were aware of Scion's reputation.

"Once again, let's stop and realize what tonight is and represents. We have had a quarter century of unparalleled grown and prosperity. We are the envy of the world. Even the nations that hate us, look to us for everything."
He lifted his gaze as though addressing the universe itself.

"We are the greatest nation to ever have existed- AND WE DID IT IN A QUARTER CENTURY! What do you think we can do in the next twenty-five years?! One-hundred?? FIVE-hundred!"

"The CCD now stands the threshold of a new world. We are blazing the way. I am glad you are on the journey with me. From now and throughout the annals of history, the CCD will stand out among the greats- as one of the greatest. They will speak of the dynasties of Egypt, the Kings of Babylon, and Empire of Rome. AND THEY WILL SPEAK OF THE ASCENDANCY OF THE CCD!"


He felt the eyes of his audience burn through him. His expression remained impassive and dignified as the Arcus Band circling his skull like a crown.

"So raise your glasses, raise them high. Honor the CCD! Honor your Ascendancy.

To the future!!"
He lifted his glass. The room took to their feet, cheering.

His hands lowered to his sides. With a small smile, he touched the ring and the speech faded from his vision.

Eventually Nikolai finished his greetings and moved to the glass podium near the table Michael was seated at. It was an honour and many cast envious glances towards him, but Michael did not feel honoured. The Ascendancy was a practical man, and Michael knew what was to come.

The speech started in humble fashion. A joke, a touch of humanity and familiarity to ease the crowd. He had not much experience in such things, but he could recognise Nikolai's skill.

As the subject turned darker, so did his tone, and Michael again felt the desire to seize the power as Nikolai had on arrival. It was clear the man did not hold nearly as much as he could have and Michael wondered how strong the Ascendancy was. He had not met another who could hold as much as he. Tony had wondered at his strength, but he had learned the false comfort relying on brute force. Tony could do things without effort that Michael could barely do with twice the power.

Michael's brows creased. Why did Nikolai's potential intrigue him? Was it pride?

You long for a challenge, arrogant one.,,

Michael caught himself nodding and hoped it was taken as an agreement to whatever Nikolai was saying. His inner voice told him truths he would otherwise deny. A part of him always longed for the challenge.

"Commander Michael Vellas. His valiant actions in DV saved the lives of thousands. Even in the face of great evil, he refused to cow, and came out from the midst of that storm emerged relatively unscathed. Ladies and Gentlemen, Michael Vellas."


Hearing Nikolai speak his name snapped him out of his inner thoughts. It was as much as he had expected, and Michael obliged Nikolai in turn with a slight bow of the head to the crowd that said 'I recognize the praise, but only did what any good Custody Commander would do in his master's service.'

The lie did not irk him as it may have done. They had come to an understanding and Michael would do his part. Whether Nikolai would honour it similarly was another question, but despite his personal distaste for the man, he believed Nikolai would not betray him. Yet.

Then his attention was drawn to another man. The American Sigma. Michael paid little heed to the programs the Custody initiated but even he knew of the Sigma program. To have an American join it was an oddity, but one of passing consequence. He was far more focused on the proceeding weeks.

As the Ascendancy finished, the crowd signalled their approval and Michael raised his glass along with the rest. His gaze was distant though. as he remembered the streets of Mecca and the horror of the Ijiraq.

Marcus sat at the table and watched as Ascendancy walked to the podium, power incarnate, and began speaking. The man had a way with words, no doubt about that. Having studied the great orators of history, from the written speeches of Caesar and Cicero, to the recordings of Churchill and Clinton, he had made it a point to understand the tools one used, the how and when of them. Though he no longer had any doubt the man was the real deal, he was keen to compare Ascendancy's abilities to the others. And he was impressed. The man's delivery conveyed information on subconscious levels. Marcus smiled on the casual words "my...home"
, the way the pause served to emphasize that this great palace, the home of Czars and a place of power for centuries, was his- as was the empire he controlled.

He used the word 'we' often. "We shored up her weakness, destroyed those that would steal from her, and brought her security and prosperity."
It was him who had spearheaded the work, had imposed the order and discipline that made this great nation. But...he couldn't have done it alone and the audience knew it, since some of them had been involved in that very work. He honors them. And with that honor, continues to cement their loyalty. Praise was a powerful tool, when used properly. His words made them feel part of this, part of the greatness of the nation.

The man was not a fool. These were ambitious people. One could not be in this room without hunger. But Ascendancy's praise would blunt their angling against him, even as it increased their jockeying for position with each other. Though the man would not see it, Malik nodded to him in respect. He was possessed of a great power.

In more ways than one. Malik could feel the power emanating from him at this close distance. Having been in proximity to Andre and then Pyotr when they had seized the Force, Marcus knew the feeling of menace that usually put him in a defensive state of mind. It was the same one he'd known as a child when one of the foster-siblings had loomed over his small frame, made him feel the need to fight back. But this time, this time it was different. Because Ascendancy had the power and Malik wanted it.

Malik had seen the way Ascendancy used a weave very similar to the conduit he'd created for listening and speaking. But this weave amplified his words subtly. It was that touch of fire, energy. Even as he listened, he filed that away. The fire put the air molecules into a higher energy state, so that their vibrations were greater, the sound louder. People would feel that sound beat down on them, emphasizing his point...and then, the man would speak softly, drawing the listener's in. It was pure brilliance.

When Ascendancy introduced Michael Vellas, Malik felt a twinge of suspicion. Clearly, the man was not to be ignored, having performed so valiently in the field. But Malik suspected it was more than military skill that had stood him in such high standing here. One man does not save a battalion that often. A pity he hadn't been looking to notice whether the man reacted to Ascendancy's weaves. This might be a Force user, perhaps the very one the rumors are about. Malik pressed his lips together for a moment. He'd have to do his own test to see.

He was caught up in that thought and so didn't realize that Ascendancy was bringing the subject to himself.

"....Sigma program considers tens-of-thousands of applicants and from the finalist, I hand-select only one."
Marcus sat up, straightened his jacket in preparation. His heart beat faster in anticipation. "Please join me in welcoming, Marcus DuBois."
At that, there were claps and Marcus stood up- a delicious thrill stealing through him- looking out at the audience with a pleasant smile on his face. The sea of people looked back at him, faces he knew dotting the crowd. Of those he didn't- which were most- he saw curiosity and question. Ascendancy made a joke regarding his heritage and the crowd laughed. Wise, to dispel the questions or suspicion by bringing the issue out into the open. More than that, he tied himself to the issue of heritage. It was a gracious thing for him to do and Marcus appreciated it. As he sat down, the survey of the crowd stayed in his mind. That feeling of elation remained as well, the feeling of all eyes on him. He liked that. A lot. Suspicion and curiosity would do for now. One day it would be other things.

Ascendancy was winding down, deftly using humor to lighten the mood- and then abruptly plunging back down into serious territory. Well done, he thought. The light accentuates the darkness; the salt makes the sweet sweeter. Because this was his big buildup, the thing he'd been driving at this whole time. The CCD and the Ascendancy were the future, they would be as eternal as Rome or Egypt. Marcus felt the pride and hope swelling in his own heart, even as he watched the tools that had put them there. Tools worked, after all.

He wholeheartedly lifted his glass in toast to the Ascendancy and the CCD, feeling that unison with the others in the room. There was no question that he was exactly where he was meant to be.

Pyotr felt it - a large menacing presence in the other room. It felt like when Marcus had used Luck, but worse. It was far more menacing and reverbarated in Pyotr's mind as he headed back to the kitchen. As Ascendancy's speech began, the wait staff prepared to serve the first course. Unfortunately, the staff didn't get to hear the complete speech, but Pyotr had noticed the weave that Ascendancy had made to amplify his voice.

Pyotr was amazed at the power and complexity of how Ascendancy used his Luck, but no matter - his purpose tonight was to serve. Pyotr heard the cheers and laughs from the crowd as Ascendancy gave his speech, and reminded himself to watch later as he picked up a bottle of wine and placed it into his apron's pocket. The staff then stepped to the doors to await the end of the speech and begin serving.

The end of the speech was met with wondrous applause. The wait staff moved efficiently. The majority of the waiters would serve the head table the first course and then move on to serve the other tables. After which they would continue to serve their own prospective tables while Pyotr served Ascendancy and his guests.

Pyotr approached the table, heading towards Ascendancy as he felt nerves in his stomach. Pyotr was completely in awe of the man. Even sitting, the man had a regal bearing that was amplified by the fact that Pyotr knew he could use Luck now. Pyotr bowed in respect, placing one hand over his heart, before picking up a plate and approaching to set it down in front of Ascendancy.

To serve Ascendancy was the greatest honor that a waiter in the Kremlin could have, and Pyotr felt it deeply. He was nervous and excited. He stepped back and summoned all the courage and enthusiasm he could. It took every ounce of his courage to meet Ascendancy's gaze and smile as he began his introduction.

"Ascendancy, and honored guests,"
Pyotr spoke loudly enough for everyone at the table to hear while the rest of the waiters served the other guests. "My name is Pyotr Grigory, and I will be your waiter this evening. If I can do anything to make this evening more pleasant and comfortable for you, do not hesitate to signal for me. I will be standing right over there, ready to assist at a moments notice."


Pyotr gestured towards his post while mustering his courage once more. Next would be his pièce de résistance for the evening. He had researched and questioned the kitchen staff to find out Ascendancy's preferences in wines, and Pyotr thought he had found the perfect bottle. He pulled the wine bottle out of his apron and tossed in the air, catching it deftly in his right hand. He then looked toward Ascendancy and bowed once more.

"Ascendancy, in honor of twenty-five years of success and prosperity, I present to you this gift: a fine Merlot from Château Pétrus iin the Bordeaux region of France, Vintage 1996. May you continue to ever find success and prosperity."


Pyotr moved the bottle to his left hand and pulled a corkscrew out of his apron with his right. He summoned his courage and looked at Ascendancy once more.

"May I?"


Edited by Pyotr Grigory, Jun 28 2014, 09:48 PM.

Adoration of the crowd was the goal, but Nikolai could not necessarily say he reveled in it. He was pleased with the success, and he returned to his table with as much satisfaction as he could have wanted.

While the audience eventually retook their seats, he rounded the table to shake hands and share a few words with each individual he would be sharing the meal with.

Michael was not very talkative, and he and Nikolai shared a quiet, knowing look with one another while grasping hands. Nik continued to radiate power, and he found Michael's lack of reaction amusing.

When he came to Marcus, Nikolai took a good amount of time to greet the young man. This was officially the first time they had been introduced, although Nik could say he knew more about this young man than he did of most. From the EoA's selection of finalists, Nikolai hand-selected this promising young man to take on the title of Sigma Apprentice. It was an old-fashioned idea, but Nikolai embraced the concept wholeheartedly.

"It is a pleasure to finally meet you, Marcus."
Nikolai said as they released hands. "How are you settling into the position? I trust you've been well-cared for?"
The inquiry was sincere. After all, Marcus was his guest. His well-being was ultimately Nikolai's responsibility.

After a few brief words, Nikolai took his seat at a beautifully dressed round table. Such was the signal for their server to approach.

Nikolai did not recognize him, but he observed the young man's mannerisms with rapt attention. The name, Pyotr Grigory, Nikolai made sure to assign with his face. The identity was swiftly sealed in the depths of his memory. The attention with which the Ascendancy gave to Pyotr was sincere. It was his job to make every individual in his employment to feel important: from a Sigma to a waiter.

Pyotr drew a bottle of wine with impressive flourish that sparked a polite smile from Nikolai. The man's spirit shone through with such profound passion that he instantly held the Ascendancy's respect. Unlike the dismissal displayed by some of his tablemates, Nikolai could see beyond salary and realize a man's potential. No matter a man's job, from the lowly to the esteemed, when performed with enthusiasm, he would be a great success.

The genuine mood that Pyotr elicited from the Ascendancy dimmed somewhat upon presentation of the Merlot.

Nikolai stared at the label for moments long enough to draw the curiosity of the onlookers. 1996. Château Pétrus from Bordeaux, France. Pyotr faded from the sudden memory, only to be replaced by a Bolognese sommelier. The bright lights of the Kremlin popped suddenly dark, and the ballroom shrank to a tiny Wine Bar. Across from him, the impassive face of Michael Vellas transformed into the distinguished grin of Garret Rahvid.

Pyotr served the very wine that Nikolai drank only once per year. The same wine as what was shared to celebrate the end of the fall term at the Università di Bologna. The same wine he had been sipping when he first learned of an invitation to Rome. To meet the man whose coarse for vengeance put Nikolai on the path to be seated here tonight.

The moment passed, and Nikolai forced himself to delay thinking about the past until quieter moments. There was a distance in his gaze when his eyes met those of Pyotr's. "Thank you, Pyotr."


Nikolai gestured at the table, once more himself. "Please do,"
and offered a crystal globe for Pyotr to fill.

Nikolai would not sip from it, however, until everyone was served, and even then, it was only to barely wet his lips. He rarely drank wine, after all, and even when he did, it was rarely in public company.

After the speech Marcus took his seat among the others. Commander Vellas he noted and introduced himself to. As they clasped hands, Marcus looked the man over. Young. Only a year or two older than himself, but there was a competence there borne of experience. Could this man use the Force? If so, he would be a formidable adversary, given the head start he seemed to enjoy. It was imperative that Malik find out.

At the table were also other important members of the government, as well as the man- Scion Marveet- that Ascendancy had singled out in his speech. Malik was affable with the man even as he privately found him amusing. 'Procure companionship' indeed. Malik cared little for the pleasures of the flesh. At least as no more than a momentary diversion. And of course as a tool. Women seemed to think that when you were intimate with them, especially when it appeared you were...reciprocative in affections, then they were seeing the real you. What was the term? 'Pillow talk?' He laughed inside. It was the perceived honesty again. It always amused him. But to have to pay for the attentions of women? Weaknesses like that could be exploited.

There were others at the table, though Marcus didn't really know who they were yet beyond a few names. The former Secretariat of Foreign affairs to the Mexican President, Gabriel Jose Marie Escrivel. A CCD Supreme Court Judge. There was some sort of businesswoman that Marveet seemed to be shmoozing- though for business or for companionship, Marcus couldn't tell. Could be both. Also, there was a military official of as yet unknown rank, his chest decorated with rows upon rows of medals, who seemed to be trying to chat up Vellas without much success. More than likely, he wanted his personal experiences in Jeddah. Vellas' reactions could indicate that Michael had something to hide. Or that there wasn't much to tell other than what was in the debriefing reports. Malik pursed his lips. He needed to know.

And then that thought left him. Ascendancy came over to the table, making introductions. This close, the Force emanating from him became something almost impossible to ignore. The man held maybe 2/3 of what Marcus could right now. But somehow, Malik knew that it was not his full strength. One did not walk around at full strength for hours on end.

It was interesting that he used his power so freely. Did he not know of other Force users? Did he already know those in the audience who could use the Force? Or did he not care? Honestly, it was hard to tell. All of them were equally possible. It was yet another reason he needed to be sure. Before he even considered revealing himself to Ascendancy, he needed to be able to have some idea of how it would be received. If Ascendancy didn't know- a ludicrous thought, he was sure- then Malik suddenly using the Force could set him off. He well knew that the feel of another man filled with that power took some getting used to.

And then Ascendancy turned his attention to Marcus and seized him with his eyes. Those azure orbs radiated knowledge and wisdom. And they knew him. Malik quashed any fear that tried to worm its way up. This was where he'd sought to be, the culmination of a path he had started on 7 years ago. No, a path the Force had set him on when he was 3 years old. Fear was not going to cause him to choke now that he'd, against impossible odds, made it to the Kremlin, hand picked by Ascendancy himself to be a Sigma. That realization calmed his heart and he was able to respond to Ascendancy's gracious introduction and inquiry.

His smile was genuine. "I am honored, Ascendancy, truly honored."
He nodded his head head briefly. "Everything has been perfect. Already I have begun in the Consulate of Communication-"
he paused, as if wondering whether to let on that he had already begun to piece things together- "and also have had interesting conversations with Dr. Alexandrova of the Consulate of Propaganda. I am looking forward to working there as well."
The man was gracious in his encouragement and appreciation. Malik liked that, noted it.

After all had sat, the wait staff came out, Pyotr taking the lead. For a moment, Malik tensed. The man was clumsy, his first use of "Luck", as he called it, being tied to making a fool of himself. And yet had somehow, against all odds, gotten stationed at the table of Ascendancy himself. More than that, he was showing off, flipping the wine in the air. Malik stifled a snarl. If Pyotr gets himself in trouble or even fired....His ability to use the man would be limited. And yet, Malik couldn't deny that there was something different about Pyotr, a confidence and flourish he'd not seen before. His heart slowed a bit, though he'd be sure to talk to the fool. Malik needed Pyotr.

The conversation around the table centered on small talk, with Ascendancy playing the role of gracious host, leading the conversation in a new direction when there was a lull. Of course, individuals also carried on their own chats. Marcus himself ended up speaking to the CCD Judge on his left. Just friendly talk. Malik wanted to speak to Ascendancy about realities, not inanities. Again the desire to get Ascendancy's attention made him want to seize the Force. But the risk was too great. He glanced at Vellas. If you knew what someone else did not, then you had the advantage.

He decided. Looking around, he saw one of the wait staff- not Pyotr- filling the half-empty water glasses. Marcus signaled and the man came over. He was going to have to be convincing. Holding the bottom of his glass with just one finger, he watched carefully as the mam deftly tipped the water from the canter into his glass. Marcus coughed and the man looked at him for a moment, startled. Wait staff were used to being ignored. At that moment, Malik imperceptibly tipped his glass toward him, spilling the water all over himself.

Everyone looked up, the waiter apologizing profusely and trying to mop up the table in front of Malik. Marcus appeared flustered- it wasn't hard, with water seeping down his crotch- but tried to maintain the expected decorum. The waiter looked deeply ashamed and fearful, but Malik dismissed him from his mind. Inside he was smiling. Perfect.

"Ascendancy, I do have to apologize. With your permission, I will get myself cleaned up?"
After a moment, he got a nod. Marcus got up and made his way to the back. He held back a tight smile.

Pyotr smiled at Ascendancy's response and filled his glass and then did the same for all of the others at the table. Pyotr knew of all the people at the table. One of the advantages of having only one table and having that table set up with a particular set of people is that their names were easier to memorize. Most of the guests accepted the wine with enthusiasm, but Commander Vellas politely declined. Marcus was also at the table and Pyotr handled it with the professionalism he was used to. He had agreed that in public, he would not reveal their friendship.

Having served the table, Pyotr retreated to his post. He allowed his gaze to wander, but kept most of his attention on the table, just in case any of the guests wanted anything. He saw Marcus signal and began to move towards the table, but then noticed another waiter, Anthony, moving as well.

This is my night and he better not ruin it!


Suddenly, Marcus was covered in water. Pyotr should have been embarrassed, but it wasn't his fault. Instead he was angry. It was his table and he had no right to interfere. This whole situation would have been avoided. Even his anger cooled down momentarily; he had been in this situation many times and could sympathize.

Pyotr now had a job to do. He wanted to glare at Anthony, but it wouldn't be professional to embarrass the man further than he already was. It was, however, Pyotr's duty to report the incident to his supervisor.

"Ascendancy, I can only offer my sincerest apologies for this interruption. I will take care of this right away,"
Pyotr's voice remained calm and he turned towards Marcus. "Sir, I apologize for this unfortunate accident. Please come with me and we'll get this taken care of."


Pyotr followed Marcus for a few moments before Marcus spoke, "Thank you, but I can take care of it.
Marcus's voice lowered to whisper, "Go back. Watch for it. Watch Vellas' reaction."


Pyotr headed back as instructed, keeping in mind that he would have to report the incident to his supervisor. Anthony had finished cleaning up and things appeared to be normal at the table once more. Conversation had started back up again. Pyotr, once more at his post, waited for Marcus to do his work.

((Marcus text done with permission))


Edited by Pyotr Grigory, Jun 30 2014, 10:54 AM.

As Marcus walked away from the table, he heard Pyotr commiserating and offer to help. He even started walking with Marcus. Idiot! If you're with me, how are you supposed to watch people? Though it did give him an opportunity to give him some last minute instruction. When they were 2 or 3 tables away, he loudly said "Thank you, but I can take care of it."
Then in a whisper, "Go back. Watch for it. Watch Vellas' reaction."


Pyotr broke away, presumably back to his station. The wet was cold on his pants, but that didn't matter. This was his chance. Now that he had Pyotr's eyes for him, he didn't need to watch for himself. There were around fifteen or twenty tables and he threaded his way to the side of the room where he could make his way to the rest room to dry himself off. He felt a little conspicuous walking, but other people were also milling around- not many, and most of them wait staff- but still some. He really had no choice. His heart beat. He hoped this worked. Pyotr better keep focused.

He walked through one of the dining exits that led to the adjoining hallway, which presumably led to the rest rooms. He'd get cleaned up in a moment. He should do this first, so he could be in the restroom if there was any commotion. Pyotr would see what was needed. He pretended to be lost, not sure which direction to the restroom, just in case anyone in the halls wondered. He could just go back to the entrance and peek his head out and throw his weave. It would only take a second. But something nagged at him. He didn't like it. Now that he had his moment, something held him back. If Ascendancy was watching, he'd see channeling out the very exit Marcus had gone. He decided he'd go to one of the other exits at the end of the hallway.

Walking like he was unsure what direction to take, he walked to the end of the hall and made as if to see if that was the door he wanted. Taking a deep breath, he cracked open the door just enough to see out into the dining room, seized the Force and threw out his Ether flashbang. His heart was pounding as he released the source. It had only been a brief moment and none of those in the hall with him had reacted. He pretended to be confused and said to himself, "That's not it,"
and went to one of the staff that happened to be in the hall and asked for directions.

Once in the restroom, he took the proffered soft towel and dried himself as best he could, all the while watching and waiting with baited breath. Minutes went by. His heart was pounding and he had to calm down. He could use the Force to dry himself- a simple weave of water would draw out the water in his pants, cohesion being what it was- but he was done taking chances tonight. He went through his Jedi mediation techniques and in a few moments felt the tension lesson. Some remained though. He was going to have to go back out there. He took a deep breath. As he walked out the door, he started to sooth himself. You are a Sith Lord. You will not fear. You control your destiny. It helped a little.

Seizing his courage by the throat, he strode out the exit he had entered and made his way back to the table, allowing nothing but a pleasant smile on his face for those who glanced up at him. What was done was done. He'd not appear as if anything had happened. After all, he had merely been in the restroom.

Gabriel Escrivel was a natural conversationalist. His shorter height was obscured by the fact they were all seated, but his laugh was boisterously larger than life. Nikolai could imagine them sharing a cigar and wine in the sticky Mexican air, discussing politics and enterprise. Nothing would ever come to be, but such was the effectiveness of his Mexican guest. Gabriel was the former Secretariat of Foreign Affairs to the previous Mexican presidential administration. When the current president, who was little more than a figurehead, was elected, Gabriel's tenure in government ended. He was then recruited to the CCD, having formed a solid relationship during his time in office.

He was seated two spots from Nikolai. The Ascendancy leaned ever so slightly to engage him in conversation. The circularity of the table was designed to offer unobstructed views of one another. "You've returned recently from Mexico City, is that right, Mister Escrivel?"


The man tipped his wine glass affirmative. His English was impeccable. "Yes, Ascendancy. As a matter of fact I have. Mister Marveet might be inclined to hear that cartel leadership in the country is on the verge of consolidation."


Nik followed the man's line of sight to Scion Marveet, who seated across from them, was immediately intrigued by the conversation. The man was past his middle years, but still solid as a tank. There was more gray than black in the stylish curls that sat on his shoulders, but the effect added to a sense of his hyperawareness. His accent was distinctly Moscovian.

He pushed his wine and bread plate aside and returned the comment with a dismissive wave of the hand. "It has been attempted many times, Mister Escrivel. In '36, a man named Vinícius Lima Correia, a lieutenant who inherited the Michoacán cartel when its leader, 'El toro,' was arrested, attempted to seize control of three other cartels. In light of lacking competition to pit against one another, my international business suffered in the red for eight months until he was shot in the head by one of his girlfriends, who, my sources told me, made a deal with the Presidente himself and was granted asylum in exchange for the assassination."
Straight out of a novella, Scion was laughing at the end of the story. No doubt the last was embellished by rumors, but Nikolai watched without reaction as he proceeded to the next.

"Then, most recently, in '41 an even more shameful attempt to unite the cartels resulted in a short, albeit, fierce war between Tiajuana and the Gulf that ended up slaughtering more Federales than criminals in Mexico City in the middle. I believe that was under your former administration, was it not Mister Escrivel?"
Scion held the man's gaze without flinching. He soon shook his head and cast dismissal, once again, toward Nikolai."There will always be men who try to unite the chaos of Mexico."


Nikolai had to wonder whether Scion included him in that assumption.

Instead of commenting, Nikolai gestured so that their eyes were drawn to him. "Given the appropriate backing, unification is possible. Did you say this new charismatic leader was a foreigner, Gabriel?"
Nikolai glanced toward him, but the man paused, confused. Nikolai was manipulating the conversation. His own sources provided the information that he used like bait to bring heat to the table. Gabriel had not mentioned the subject's nationalisty.

Scion jumped at it. "A foreigner?! That's even more absurd!"
His laugh was a roar, and surprisingly, was mimicked by Escrivel. Perhaps the man hadn't known after all.

"Actually, it is said he is a foreigner. This is true."
Nope. Apparently he did know. Good. Nikolai would have been disappointed, otherwise.

At ease with the coarse of the subject, Nik took a sip from his water. "Foreigners sometimes have insights that nationals do not."
He of course spoke of himself in this regard. The men at the table bowed their heads in acknowledgment. It seemed that more than one eye was drawn to the Arcus Band in that moment.

In true breakage to the momentum of the conversation, they all shot surprised glances at the sudden spillage of liquid and the ensuing disturbance that followed. A waiter had spilled a goblet on their new Sigma's lap that slammed the table's chatter to a halt. Marcus quickly stood to make his exit, and foolishly asked permission to leave the table like he feared his father's lashing if he had not. By then, the others were ignoring him, but the spectacle was drawn on too long, and the subject of conversation was already set adrift. Unfortunately, Nik was left alone to coax the conversation back toward the Mexican bait. He had no doubt in his own success, but it would be costly. Nikolai had other objectives to address than investigating a potential puppet of the west.

In Marcus' abscence, appetizers were served next. Something light and airy that Nikolai could spare to eat between breaths. Scion was deep in conversation with his potential business partner, a dark haired, dark skinned beauty from the tropics. Despite her youth and appearance, she was devilishly sharp in the boardroom.

As he was unwilling to force the hand until it naturally presented itself he spent the next several minutes coaxing the other side of the table toward military matters. An entire new divison of the armed forces was not something that could be snapped into existance overnight, and if Michael were to be ranking officer, there was the minor issue of his lack of formal rank to address. Even should Nikolai create one for him to assume, he would be working under the command of the remaining Custody of Defense supreme officers. One of which whom was present.

The man presently seated next to Michael was Chief of Special Operations of the CCD armed forces. As such he did not hold command over a geographical theater of the world, but rather was the supreme leader over various special operations components across all the military branches: army, navy, and marine. This included responsibility for such teams as Assault Team Vega, the White Knights, the Spets, the EoA's own Zenith Advanced Reliancers (ZARS) and all corresponding intelligence directives. The four-star General of the Army, Kondrat Borodin, was a dignified man of Eastern European descent just past his middle years. He would need be the one to whom Michael reported, excluding the Ascendancy himself. If operation of this special unit they discussed before dinner were to be a military matter, of course. Nikolai's preliminary thoughts designated it as such, for it would be the easiest commission, both financially and legally to install. Although to attest that final concern, Nikolai glanced at the Justice. He was one of seventeen that sat on the Council of Judges of Custody Court. Few in the room would accurately guess the specific reason why the Justice was invited to attend the head table.

While the Justice was engaged in conversation, a bright stroke of power, like lightning, suddenly pulsed overhead. The set to Nik's jaw hardened instanteously, and he instinctively searched for its maker. He swung a look over his shoulder.

Turned slightly in his chair, he surveyed the room. Men and women continued conversation without interruption. The Barrier Preator agents were unmoved, although the nearest one had taken note of Nikolai's apparent unease.

There was nothing to see or sense, but when he turned back, his focus landed immediately upon Michael. Power raged like a storm within Nik yet they shared a look. From the corner of his eye, he saw one of the Barrier's touch his earpiece and depart for the hallway. It had been Alric.

Nikolai was not one to play his hand too conservatively, however. He nodded suggestively at Michael. It was time to see him put his money where his mouth was, as the patriarch for a special operations, now was his chance to prove himself.

Find out what that was. The solidarity of his gaze alone was enough of a command.

Nikolai fell smoothly back into the conversation.