06-01-2018, 04:35 PM
The shock held him only for a moment. A smile came to his lips and eyes and he helped Danika out of the car, kissing her hand in welcome. There was a sense of wonder about her, the way she stared about.
He tried to imagine how she saw everything. The facade of wealth and the company of powerful people did not impress him in the slightest. He knew what power was- real power. And he had been here for a while.
The building was meant to be impressive of course, both from the outside, and then, as they passed through the halls through security, checked their coats, and made their way into the ballroom on the inside. See the power and wealth of the CCD it screamed.
A calculated effect, of course, used by men of power for millenia. Architecture as a way to overawe and subdue. Psyops of the most basic kind. Hitler's chief architect Albert Speer had called his style Ruinenwert- "Ruin value". Buildings designed to decay in aesthetically pleasing ways, leaving behind the impression of the vast weight of an ancient history.
Russian architecture at the Kremlin, instead, went the route of opulence to, at least in his opinion, the point of gaudiness. Not that he said as much.
He made simple small talk as they walked through the room, taking two flutes of champagne from a passing server and giving her one. The Force coarsed through the room and he smiled, though he felt no need to seize it himself. Over near the center he saw the black tendrils of smoke and smiled to himself. Ascendancy. If he had to guess, it was a variation of the weave of masks he'd seen Oakland use. He himself had used something similar the night he killed the butcher.
Malik peaked his head out at the thought, the memory of those many hours with the man warming his heart. The screams. The begging for forgiveness. Judgement.
He looked at Danika and he wasn't sure if the smile was his or Malik's.
He saw the Rods in their uniforms and pointed them out to Danika, explaining who they were. Sanjay saluted him, and a few others also nodded. They knew him. He wore no uniform, just a simple though expensive and tailored tuxedo. The only thing that set his apart from any of the others was the pin on his lapel, the symbol of his consulate, naming him Consul.
He was content with that, though he had to admit the costumes were quite impressive. The designer of those had really gone above and beyond. Yet another brilliant use of facade to elicit a reaction.
He didn't speak too much, just took in the room, go where she looked like she might be interested, looking for faces he knew- acknowledging them- and those he didn't. Alexandrova and Leonid were across the room and they nodded to him. He would go over in a moment. Their hands were as much in this as Ascendancy's.
The rich might be the only ones in attendance, but stories of this night would spread across the empire overnight, growing and becoming more awe-inspiring with each retelling.
He looked forward to the festivities.
He tried to imagine how she saw everything. The facade of wealth and the company of powerful people did not impress him in the slightest. He knew what power was- real power. And he had been here for a while.
The building was meant to be impressive of course, both from the outside, and then, as they passed through the halls through security, checked their coats, and made their way into the ballroom on the inside. See the power and wealth of the CCD it screamed.
A calculated effect, of course, used by men of power for millenia. Architecture as a way to overawe and subdue. Psyops of the most basic kind. Hitler's chief architect Albert Speer had called his style Ruinenwert- "Ruin value". Buildings designed to decay in aesthetically pleasing ways, leaving behind the impression of the vast weight of an ancient history.
Russian architecture at the Kremlin, instead, went the route of opulence to, at least in his opinion, the point of gaudiness. Not that he said as much.
He made simple small talk as they walked through the room, taking two flutes of champagne from a passing server and giving her one. The Force coarsed through the room and he smiled, though he felt no need to seize it himself. Over near the center he saw the black tendrils of smoke and smiled to himself. Ascendancy. If he had to guess, it was a variation of the weave of masks he'd seen Oakland use. He himself had used something similar the night he killed the butcher.
Malik peaked his head out at the thought, the memory of those many hours with the man warming his heart. The screams. The begging for forgiveness. Judgement.
He looked at Danika and he wasn't sure if the smile was his or Malik's.
He saw the Rods in their uniforms and pointed them out to Danika, explaining who they were. Sanjay saluted him, and a few others also nodded. They knew him. He wore no uniform, just a simple though expensive and tailored tuxedo. The only thing that set his apart from any of the others was the pin on his lapel, the symbol of his consulate, naming him Consul.
He was content with that, though he had to admit the costumes were quite impressive. The designer of those had really gone above and beyond. Yet another brilliant use of facade to elicit a reaction.
He didn't speak too much, just took in the room, go where she looked like she might be interested, looking for faces he knew- acknowledging them- and those he didn't. Alexandrova and Leonid were across the room and they nodded to him. He would go over in a moment. Their hands were as much in this as Ascendancy's.
The rich might be the only ones in attendance, but stories of this night would spread across the empire overnight, growing and becoming more awe-inspiring with each retelling.
He looked forward to the festivities.