Beyond - Legends Annals of the Noble House of Trieste: Volume 10 (AU, OC)

Actually, the "candidate" in question was just a job candidate. However, given that I kind of imagine The Rivers as being a bit like the Bakuran version of Selfridge's, I think they would gladly hire a political candidate to work in the store for the publicity!

 

Salis D’aar, Bakura

Silas Madsen arrived for his regularly scheduled tea with Ayn Trieste in a foul temper. It was evident to anyone who’d seen him stalking down the hall on his way there. Junior staffers (even senior staffers) plastered themselves against a wall in advance of his coming, as if he was preceded by waves of foul anger. His mood was more than evident to Ayn’s receptionist through his gruff growl of an inquiry as to whether the Senator was in (he knew she was, but went through the hollow formality all the same in deference to Senate manners). It was patently clear in the firm way he closed the door behind him.

The reason was that this tea was not their usual small talk mixed with political issues of the day and it had one more member than usual.

“Senators,” he said, though with no civility at all.

Sitting on the sofa was Ayn. Standing by the window, calmly sipping from a teacup, was Declan, who was looking through the window and had turned only briefly to acknowledge Madsen’s entry. Right now, the being at the window was Silas’ least favorite being in the capital and on Bakura.

“Senator Madsen,” Ayn said happily, “So lovely of you to come.”

Everyone knew that Ayn’s pleasantries masked the fact that Madsen had been told by the floor leader of their party to meet surreptitiously with Declan so the press wouldn’t get wind of it. To anyone outside the walls of the office, Senator Madsen was having his usual, periodic social visit with Senator Ayn Trieste, a fellow member of the caucus. Declan was, ostensibly, elsewhere in the Senate offices.

“Tea?” Ayn offered.

“Let’s get this over with,” Madsen said, ignoring the offer completely. He turned to face Declan, who had yet to acknowledge his guest’s entry. “The Deputy Prime Minister has ordered this...this insurgency, this whatever it is, to end, now. You’ve made your point, you’ve paralyzed the operations of the Senate, you’ve gotten attention for your little environmentalist crusade and thoroughly embarrassed the rest of us. The leadership is withdrawing the bill from the floor and tabling it for the remainder of the session. You’ve won.” He hated saying those words. “It’s time we get along with the business of governing. We hold the Senate and we hold Marian Square. Further dillydallying is going to earn us the ire of the voters and threaten our ability to hold both branches of government in 280.”

“No,” Declan said, still looking out the window.

Madsen grew red in the face. “This is not a negotiation.”

“Everything is a negotiation,” Declan said, finally turning from the window, his light blue eyes set and determined, “and this was never just about the ranching bill. This was about the way the leadership uses seniority to fortify their own power and keep real change from affecting the Senate. The young members of both parties, especially this party, are no longer going to stand for it.”

“After what you’ve pulled the leadership cannot and will not put you in a position of power. We will have rewarded you for bad behavior. Off the table,” Madsen stated firmly.

“I know, that’s quite impossible,” Declan said, setting his teacup down, “but what I am asking for is a gesture to prove to the rest of the young members, especially in our party, that they have a voice. And frankly, you can’t afford to alienate them any further with the thin majority we have. We need everyone together.”

Everyone in that room knew that was a disingenuous statement if ever there was one. After all, it had been Declan who had driven this wedge on the floor of the Senate, even if there was arguing over the root cause of such actions that could take place. The party had been unified until Declan and Ayn had put these events into motion.

“What do you want?” Madsen asked, without pleasure.

“Something that will help the party as a whole and will get us back on track,” Declan said, “I want a new Assistant Whip. Someone who has ties to all 80 Senators, who didn’t take overt part in this affair. Someone with an impeccable pedigree and the skills to whip the votes.

“Someone like my wife.”

Madsen looked from Declan to Ayn, who was resting her teacup in its saucer. There was the barest hint of a smile on her face, but not enough of one to be sure it was there.

“I have to take this to the Deputy PM,” Silas said.

“We know,” Ayn said, “We also know he’ll take the deal if it will get legislation flowing again.”

“We’ll expect his answer by tomorrow afternoon,” Declan said.

Madsen looked from husband to wife and said, “You better whip those votes--and whip them hard--when you’re told to, young lady, or I’m going to see to it that you’re kicked so far away from the leadership you’ll never even sniff it again.”

“I wouldn’t be a good Assistant Whip if I didn’t,” Ayn said.

Madsen left, neglecting to take even a drop of tea during his visit. He’d stayed long enough to keep up appearances all the same. Once the Senators were alone, Declan walked over to where his pregnant wife was sitting and placed a hand on her shoulder, a silent congratulations over what they had achieved. She groaned, though not from his touch.

“Not a moment too soon--the contractions are getting closer,” Ayn said, exhaling.

“We’d better go,” Declan said. They’d waited long enough as it was, but it had given them the time they’d needed to make their deal with Madsen and the Deputy PM. They had secured one branch of their future. Now it was time to secure the next.

---

Early the next morning, Declan was admitted to his wife’s room at Belden General Hospital. He had been exiled during the birthing, told it would be less stressful without him. He decided not to fight his wife on that point. This was one battle that she would have to wage on her own where he couldn’t help her.

Sitting up in bed was Ayn, disheveled, hair matted, exhausted, but beaming. In her left arm she had an infant with nearly transparent hair, in her right one with the barest wisps of dark crossing its brow.

“Looks like we did okay,” Declan said with a smile.

“Perfectly balanced,” Ayn said, “One girl--” this the one to her left, “--one boy.” That the one one her right. “And I’ll never do this again.”

“Two at once, I think you earned it dear,” Declan said, “Which one has the privilege of a few minutes’ seniority?”

“I’ll never tell,” Ayn said coyly, “but our daughter might take after your mother if early indications of hair color hold.”

“The last thing this family needs is another redhead,” Declan said, stroking his daughter’s head, “but I’ll love her all the same.”

“I think he’s got his father in him,” Ayn said, looking to their son.

“No, he’s a Dormingale boy, I can tell.”

“No such thing, silly. We’re all women on my side of the family. But for the first time since my grandmother was born, Dormingale children will have a father. A fine father.”

“One day we’ll tell them what we did just before we took you to the hospital,” Declan said.

“We took another step on the road to making Bakura a better place,” Ayn said, “a better place for Shenandoah Sabé and Niall Fionn Trieste.”

Declan accepted both his children gently and held them for the first time, their lightness seemingly unsuited to the fact that they were the first of a new generation of the Noble House of Trieste with all the heavy expectations that would come with it. “There you are,” he whispered to his children, “When you are old enough, I will show you Bakura. And you will fly...on the wings of a dream.”

---

P.S. An updated Family tree of the Noble House of Trieste is now available with the latest generation.

 

Anyone want to care to guess what I was doing when I wrote this short blurb? More substantive updates to follow. As soon as I write them. AzureAngel2 CPL_Macja jcgoble3 leiamoody spycoder9 Tim Battershell Vehn

Hi’lo, Bakura

“The best thing about being Commissioner,” Kerry Trieste sighed contentedly, “is middle of the week vacations.”

“And here I thought it would be the pleasure of promoting athletics and an active lifestyle,” Senator Gavin Serling said from the beach chair next to her.

“That too,” Kerry said from behind her shades.

“How many times did you take a vacation as chancellor and, more importantly, how many of them involved fruity drinks?” Serling held up his own to illustrate the point.

“By that criteria, zero,” Kerry replied, “You know better than anyone that if you leave the Senate alone for too long, they get themselves into trouble.”

“We are quite the mischevious bunch,” Serling agreed, “Though given that you had this convenient Bakuran escape where it’s routinely warm--unlike the rest of your wet planet, I might add--I might have fiddled and let Coruscant rot a bit more often in your place.”

The beaches of Hi’lo we indeed tropic, warm, and relaxing. The top tier hotel where the pair were staying embraced all these qualities and seemed designed to facilitate relaxation at every turn for its guests. It was no wonder that the Miners did preseason training on these islands. Kerry and Gavin had taken out a suite together for a few days. There was pretty much always something to do as Bak10 Commissioner. Therefore, Kerry rationalized, it was always a good time to take a vacation rather than it always being a bad time. She’d told them to call her if anything really important happened. Then she’d pointedly left her comlink and datapad at her house in Redwood Creek. If something happened that required her attention, she was probably going to find out about it on BBC Sports quicker than if a staffer called her about it.

“Well, we know why I was chancellor and you weren’t,” Kerry replied cheekily.

“Thank the Force.”

“Isn’t there any place on Eriadu like this?” Kerry asked.

“No. We did the whole, ‘let’s develop every square inch of usable land and pay other worlds to keep their natural spaces pristine so we can visit them’ thing. Standard imitation of Coruscant,” Gavin said, “Those light blue seas, those white sand beaches, those...what are those trees?”

“Palm trees. Only place on Bakura you find them are these islands.”

“I like those trees. They seem like happy trees.”

“Trees don’t have emotions.”

“I bet they can. You’re just not in tune enough with nature to notice,” Gavin insisted.

“Sometimes, my dear,” Kerry said, taking her lover’s hand, “you are just too amusing.”

“How do you think I keep getting elected?” he quipped.

 

Anyone want to care to guess what I was doing when I wrote this short blurb? More substantive updates to follow. As soon as I write them. @AzureAngel2 @CPL_Macja @jcgoble3 @leiamoody @spycoder9 @Tim Battershell @Vehn

I was fighting the flue and adjusting to the stress level at the begin of a kindergarten year, such as three kids that are barely 2 years of age and need nappy changing at least twice a day... ... but I guess you did more fun things and less smelly ones.

Perhaps you had a cup of tea like your characters, hopefully black tea with milk and sugar.

Everyone knew that Ayn’s pleasantries masked the fact that Madsen had been told by the floor leader of their party to meet surreptitiously with Declan so the press wouldn’t get wind of it. To anyone outside the walls of the office, Senator Madsen was having his usual, periodic social visit with Senator Ayn Trieste, a fellow member of the caucus. Declan was, ostensibly, elsewhere in the Senate offices.

“Tea?” Ayn offered.

“We took another step on the road to making Bakura a better place,” Ayn said, “a better place for Shenandoah Sabé and Niall Fionn Trieste.”

Or you were busy making Bakura a better place in your head.

 

If that's a reference to Ayn and Declan's real motivations...they may be deluding themselves a little bit. If that's a reference to me...well, I was somewhere hot, sunny, and beachy when I wrote the vacation post.

 

AzureAngel2 jcgoble3 leiamoody spycoder9 Tim Battershell Vehn and especially CPL_Macja who always likes Lynd family drama.

Gesco City, Bakura

The insistent knock on Rickard’s door could only belong to one being. Mainly because there was really only one person in the city who knew where he lived.

“Rick, it’s time to get back in the proverbial saddle again,” Cillian Lynd said as soon as the door slid open, a giant grin crossing his face.

Rickard admitted his friend to the tiny apartment. It was essentially one room, plus a small refresher and an even smaller closet. Despite its size (it probably could have fit, in its entirety, inside entire closets in the Lynd house), Rickard owned so little that it actually felt rather spacious. There was a twin bed, a small table, one chair...and that was about it. The walls were devoid of all but a couple generic holos, nothing that said anything about where he had come from or even where he had been--save for one holo.

It was a holo of a group of Bakuran Marines in combat gear, somewhere on a Ssi-Ruuk world one imagined. They were smiling, happy. They were young. Perhaps they hadn’t even seen battle. Perhaps this was all still one great adventure for them. The only thing that was really certain was that Rickard Harrow still had all of his face in the holo.

“What do you mean?” Rickard asked in his coarse voice as the door shut behind his best friend. The Marines would never take them. They had been honorably discharged, yes, but one had lost an arm and the other an eye and more. They were not going to be deemed fit for action in any conceivable universe.

“I’ve got a ship, and you,” Cillian said, putting his hands on Rickard’s shoulders, “are going to be my first mate.”

“I’ve--”

“Never flown? Neither had I until a couple months ago. Got my cousin to pay for the ship and flying lessons. Now, I leave most of the paint on the hull when I land and I’ve only lost one landing gear in the last week. Major improvement,” Cillian said. Rickard’s one good eye must have been looking at him oddly, for Cillian clarified, “Just kidding. I’ve passed the pilot’s license examination and I’m cleared for travel. Hyperspace and everything.”

Rickard opened his mouth to speak, but Cillian rolled on in his enthusiasm. “This is just what we need. We’ll be our own bosses--well, I’ll be my own boss and you’ll be my partner-slash-kind-of-employee, but it’ll be like you’re your own boss! I’ve looked into it--the major interstellar shipping companies don’t have the universal coverage that they claim to have. Delays for shipping can be weeks if you’re on an outpost world. We’ve got a real window here to get our foot in the door, do valuable work, and--most importantly--be paid well. And, you know, maybe from time to time we get into a few scrapes, but that’s what will make the work fun! I mean, Falene will never know if we invest some of the early profits into some purely defensive weapons. By the by, already have a job lined up. It’ll be a good first run, get ourselves familiar with the ship--by the way, great name. Went back in the family heritage a bit, Righteous Wench II, my grandmother of course flew the first Righteous Wench in her privateering days against the Sith--and we have a few family tales I’ll have to give you in hyperspace sometime--and before that the Wicked Wench, but I thought righteous sounded better. A bit less offensive to the ladies, though admittedly the wench part isn’t all that positive. Anyways, just wait until you see it. Beautiful, beautiful ship.”

Finally, Rickard could get a word in. “Cillian, I can’t go.”

Cillian knitted his brows in amused confusion. “What do you mean? Of course you can. It’s my ship.”

“I got a job,” Rickard said.

“Really?” Cillian said, “That’s fantastic! But surely it can’t be better than being first mate on a ship.”

“It’s working at The Rivers, in the loading bays. Managing inventory and the like. I start next week.”

“A stockboy?” Cillian guffawed, “Well, that’s simple. Just call them and tell them that you can’t do it. Another opportunity has come up. Trust me, this thing happens all the time. They’ve probably got lots of other candidates they can call.”

“I’m going to stay,” Rickard said. There was a calm finality about it.

“Rickard, this is a nothing job,” Cillian said, “You come back from the war, you bleed for your homeworld, and the best that they can give you is a bloody minimum wage job pushing boxes around? Doing work a frakking droid could do? You shouldn’t take their scraps!”

“It’s a good job. The Rivers pays better than minimum wage, with benefits. They promote from within. It’s not much, but I earned it,” Rickard said, “and I made a promise.”

“I told you, you can tell them you got another job.”

“Not to them. To your sister. She helped get me the job,” Rickard said.

“I see,” Cillian said as that sunk in. He let that sit for a second and looked about the threadbare apartment. “So that’s important, eh?”

“She’s been very kind to me. I’d feel bad about making her work worth nothing. Your whole family has been kind. There’s no reason why you’d take me on your ship as a first mate, but you want to anyways.”

“That’s because the Lynds know a good being when they see one,” Cillian said, “So you’ll be happy in this little job if you stay here?”

“Happy enough,” Rickard said. His voice, which never betrayed much emotion, remained flat. It didn’t help to underscore his emotions.

“Okay then,” Cillian replied, “Then by the time I get back to Bakura next, you better be the damn manager of The Rivers in a fancy office wearing good suits and share some expensive booze with me, because you better work the Sithspit out of this job.” Cillian grabbed Rickard in a strong embrace. “Frak, I thought we were going to do this together, Rick.”

“I’d go anywhere with you, but I just can’t leave,” Rickard said as he put one arm around Lynd. He was not hugged very often. Hugging another person did not always feel natural.

“I know, mate, I know,” Cillian said, “It’s best this way. Can’t deprive Mom of both her sons, can we? You keep going by the house. It’ll be a comfort to her.”

“I promise. You’ll find a good first mate somewhere.”

“Yeah. Maybe I ought to go check some slaver camps. Chewbacca was an Imperial slave when Han Solo stuck up for him.”

“You would, wouldn’t you?” Rickard said, a little bit of amusement creeping into his voice, “Then I’ll be sorry I didn’t fly with the great Cillian Lynd.”

“You quit that job, you get me on the Holonet immediately, you tell me, promise? I’ll come straight back for you,” Cillian said, pulling out of the embrace.

“Promise. Let me know when final departure is. I want to see the ship.”

“Promise,” Cillian said, “I’ll give you a buzz.”

The pair parted and Rickard was once again alone in his tiny, empty apartment. But he had a job. It might even be a good job. He had a future, and it was going to be decided by him, and him alone.

 

The pair parted and Rickard was once again alone in his tiny, empty apartment. But he had a job. It might even be a good job. He had a future, and it was going to be decided by him, and him alone.

Change is in the air...

 

AzureAngel2 CPL_Macja jcgoble3 leiamoody spycoder9 Tim Battershell and very much, for the first part, Vehn

Atalanta University, Atalanta, Bakura

It turned out when left to his own devices, Quentin Eldred was late for everything. He’d known that his parents had kept a firm hand on him and his sister, but he hadn’t realized that was the reason that he was on time for everything from school to dinner. It seemed in the unstructured proving ground of university, he had a lot of life skills to make up. His friends had already figured this out and accepted it (though unbeknownst to Quentin, some of them purposefully told him things started half an hour earlier than they did for the sole purpose of attempting to get him to show up at the scheduled time--it hadn’t worked yet but he had been less egregiously late).

It was no surprise that he was going to be late for class again. Luckily he knew some short cuts through campus (though this knowledge only served for him to cut corners in estimating his time, which didn’t help to alleviate his tardiness) and so he went darting through his fellow Atalanta Titans, nimbly zigzagging his way through crowds and hallways to avoid collisions.

He was nearly to the lecture hall when he crashed into a light auburn-haired human female. The collision sent personal effects flying and scattered across the floor of the building.

“Sorry!” she exclaimed, hastily bending over to collect her things, “Late for class!” Without another word, she was off. It was probably just as well, seeing as Quentin was late himself.

Luckily, he was pretty close and was only one flight of stairs away. Quentin bounded up them, slid across the waxed floor of the hall, and then scrambled in what was luckily the backdoor of the lecture hall. He slipped into the first available chair and scrambled to start copying notes off his neighbor, who he hoped was smart.

Forty five minutes later…

Everyone got up to go with the lecture complete. Luckily, Quentin didn’t have another class immediately after. He figured that would be scheduling suicide. He’d go study in the library until the next one (and, characteristically, lose track of time only to be late for this class too, instead of going straight to the next one where he would have had a shot at perhaps getting there on time).

“Hi! This is yours!” he heard before he’d even gotten out of the lecture hall, accompanied by a datapad being thrust in his face, “I think we swapped them earlier. Either that or my fingerprints changed.”

Quentin found the datapad was being held by his fellow late classmate, the one he had collided with earlier. “I’m pretty sure you have mine. You’re smart to have a biometric lock on your datapad. Most people don’t. Then again, if I’d been able to log in, I could have found out who you are and returned it to you. Good thing we were in the same class! I find Bakuran history so interesting. I’m from Druckenwell. Actually, I transferred from there too. Druckenwell Tech. It was sooooo boring there. Everybody was all into heavy industry and building droids and blasters and durable consumer goods. That’s so bor-ring. I mean, Bakuran industry is a much better blasters-and-butter mix. Advanced medical care plus repulsors that have dual military and civilian use, plus a skilled service industry. Of course, I think it’s clear from what we’ve studied that Bakuran pretensions to grandeur have guided an ill-fated interstellar policy in recent decades that’s tended towards military conflict, exacerbated by the presence of a Coruscant-sanctioned militia that’s obviously necessary for defense--that’s why they call it the Defense Fleet, right?--but the temptation to use it for hegemony building or demonstrations of influence has proved too much. What’s really telling is that unlike other mature democracies where the forces of liberalism often push wars to prove their interstellar policy chops to the electorate, it’s been the Unionists who have taken Bakura to war in G’rho, starting the Civil War, even as recently as the Ssi-Ruuk action. That’s what’s going to be my thesis for the final paper, anyways. By the way, can I just say that having dinosaurs are like the coolest mortal enemies ever? We don’t have any mortal enemies ever on Druckenwell. Well, there’s the Hutts. Kinda. Sorta. Not really since the peace treaty. Don’t get me started on that--I mean peace is good and all but people are still really, really unhappy about giving up Nar Shaddaa--not to mention Naboo leaving for the Republic. They’re totally ignoring the fact that Naboo culturally and politically is way more closer to the Republic than the RTO. I mean, the RTO has done some good things and Naboo really helped guide it, but let’s face it--the Quorro family only took Naboo out of the Republic because they could be bigger ducks in the RTO pond--no limmie references intended. Or that was my thesis in my Naboo history class at Tech. Oh! Maybe we should get out of here--the next class is kind of coming in.” She grabbed Quentin’s arm and pulled him out of class, but didn’t stop talking--something she seemed to do a lot of, Quentin thought. “Do you find Bakuran history dull? I don’t. I mean, the planet gets almost destroyed--tragic--and then within, what, 50 years, not even that, they produce a Supreme Chancellor--a two-term Supreme Chancellor?! That says so much about how far this planet has come. Oh my Maker, have I been talking to much? I do that all the time. Especially when I get excited. History is exciting. Not as exciting as economics. That’s my major. What’s your major?”

Finally, Quentin could get a word in, “I’m undeclared. And sorry, but have we met? Other than that time we ran into each other like an hour ago?”

“No! Did I forget to ask your name? Sometimes I forget to do that.”

“Quentin Eldred.”

“I’m Corrie Ypres, nice to meet you,” she said sticking her hand out.

“Ypres...why is that name familiar?”

“We’re kind of a big deal on Druckenwell…” Corrie admitted, scratching the back of her head awkwardly, “...like we kind of own a lot of stuff there...and ran the planet...and kind of the RTO for a while…”

“Wait--those Ypres? Like the Kaitlyn Vehn Ypres?” Quentin asked as understanding suddenly dawned.

“Yeah...that’s usually the reaction we get…” Corrie said.

---

Gesco City, Bakura

“You look good,” Ginnifer said, “It’s not much different than the first day of school.” She straightened his tie for good measure. “You’ll do fine.”

“I was only a so-so student,” Rickard said.

They were standing outside the staff entrance to the Gesco City downtown location of The Rivers department store. Ginnifer was destined for the top floor with its offices, Rickard would remain on the ground level with the back loading bays.

“You were showing up there whether you want to or not,” Ginnifer said, “You were hired for this job. You were wanted. Never forget that.”

“I won’t,” Rickard promised, though in his usual monotone.

“New beginnings are good,” Ginnifer said, “The best thing to do is just get started. And afterwards we’ll go out and get a drink...unless you’d rather not.” The last part was appended as she remembered that Rickard didn’t like to eat or drink when other people were around as it meant removing his half mask. He still ate in the kitchen at the Lynd household even though he had been assured gently and subtly that he was welcome in the dining room. Ginnifer still, to this day, had never seen him without his mask on. She wondered if Cillian had ever seen that. She was pretty sure that he wasn’t interested in removing it in public, now that she thought about it.

“You can have one for me,” Rickard said, “You’re good at that.”

“Sounds--wait,” Ginnifer said, narrowing her eyes, “Did you just make a joke about me being a drunk?”

“Maybe,” he deadpanned again.

“Rickard Harlow, you never cease to amaze me,” Ginnifer said, “Come on, I can tell this is going to be the best first day of work ever.”

Rickard thought it might be.

 

AzureAngel2 CPL_Macja jcgoble3 leiamoody spycoder9 Tim Battershell Vehn

Evenvale, Bakura

“Why are we keeping your pots?” Henrietta called as she unpacked another box in the kitchen.

“Because we’re keeping your pans,” Antrose replied from another room.

“But my pots are so much better.”

“Mine are so much less used.”

“That’s not to your credit,” Henrietta said getting up and heading towards the source of her boyfriend’s voice, tiring of yelling from the kitchen to the bedroom. She and Antrose had decided, after much deliberation, to move in together for their final year at university. This meant that they had to somehow meld their possessions together into one harmonious set. The fact that they had procrastinated in doing so and were now forced to in the jumble of moving had not turned out to be the ideal way to do it. “That just means you don’t cook. Why do you even have pots?”

“Just in case,” Antrose said, pausing from organizing his side of the closet (a very carefully negotiated amount of real estate), “and also so that should I ever meet anyone who could cook that they’d have the proper tools to do so.”

“We can’t have two sets of pots,” Henrietta insisted.

“Then we can get rid of your old pots.”

“I’ve had them for years! They’re good pots!”

“Mine are newer.”

“But they’re not as good.”

“Remind me why we are arguing about pots?” Antrose asked.

“Because it’s fun?” Henrietta suggested.

Some time ago Henrietta and Antrose had decided, though not by any formal agreement, that harmony was an overrated aspect of relationships. They were only truly good if there was just the right amount of discord in them to make life interesting. Even so, their disagreements were always about minor things and they had also formed a tacit agreement that these disagreements would always be settled or abandoned before they turned acrid. Thus far they had succeeded at that task, but they were still a young couple. They had plenty of time yet for failings.

“Fine, throw my pots out,” Antrose relented.

“I will not. I’m going to donate them. Somebody could use those pots,” Henrietta insisted.

“Oh good, more fun,” Antrose said with a smile.

---

Redwood Creek, Bakura

“Aren’t you wonderful?” Kerry Trieste said to the two beings that she had traveled to her, “You know, some of the best beings in the galaxy are twins. Luke and Leia, your Aunts Siona and Fiona.”

“Thank you for not mentioning the Solo twins,” Ayn said as her mother in-law held Niall and Shenandoah, “We’re trying not to go for them.”

“Oh well Jaina turned out all right. I wouldn’t mind that,” Kerry said.

“I would mind my son turning out to be a misguided, would-be emperor,” Declan said from his place on the couch.

“Plenty of people called me that in my time, so I think he’d turn out all right if he was one, don’t you think Niall?” Kerry said, “You could make a wonderful emperor. I would allow myself to be subjugated by you. Yes I would!”

“And here I thought you’d want that for Shenandoah. Keep the redheaded domination alive,” Declan said.

“No...I don’t think the galaxy could handle you in charge, could it?” Kerry said, turning her eyes to her granddaughter, “You’re going to have to be something else. Maybe an accountant.”

“Please no,” Ayn requested.

“Or a librarian.”

“I thought you’d want to dream big,” Declan said.

“Oh I am. Librarian of the Jedi Temple on Ossus for you, my girl,” Kerry said, “We could make that happen.”

“Wouldn’t she have to be a Jedi for that?”

“Your grandfather was once secretary to the High Council for a time without being a Jedi. I think they’ll allow a non-Force-sensitive to be a librarian if she’s good enough, and you’ll be good at everything, won’t you?” Kerry asked Shenandoah.

“We’re hoping for at least one Senator between them,” Ayn said slyly.

“Perhaps a ministry,” Declan said. It had become a joke between the new father and mother. The rest of Bakura made such a big to-do about the Trieste “dynasty” that in private they embraced it with grand dreams for their children.

“Terrible idea. She’ll be stuck with something like Interior or Agriculture if you don’t have more specific dreams,” Kerry said, “No, we’ll settle for nothing less than State for either of you. You can add your portraits to the wall next to your ancestors there.

“Yes…” Kerry said as she rocked her grandchildren, “We are going to look out for both of you. You won’t have to worry about that.”

---

Bakura Fleet Academy, Bakura

It was pretty dark that night, but Trixie Eldred and two of her fellow freshmen had headlamps on to illuminate their furtive work. It had required scaling a fence (not that hard to do) and dodging security (slightly harder, though not impossible), but they were in the clear now. As covert as they were trying to be, they couldn’t resist chattering amongst themselves quietly.

“Make sure you cover everything,” one of her co-conspirators said.

“Well that’s why we brought all this paint,” the other said.

“Come on guys, we have to do this properly. Paint within the lines,” Trixie said, “This isn’t first grade.”

“Well Arik probably skipped first grade given the way he’s painting.”

“That would be because I’m so darn smart,” Arik said.

“Or because they didn’t want to infect the other kids with your stupidity.”

“You’re stupid.”

“You’re stupid.”

“I’m the stupid one for bringing both of you,” Trixie said, “If I was a Xexto and had four arms I could have carried everything myself.”

The object of their late night operation was to paint the logo at the midfield of the Bakura Fleet Academy stadium light blue in homage to the UB Cape Suzette Blue Birds, the Academy’s main sports rival. The idea of infiltrating the nearby military academy had admittedly been crazy even when they’d first thought it up (in their mild inebriation), but Trixie had gone for it immediately.

“Aren’t we supposed to do crazy Sithspit in university that we shouldn’t?” she had told her friends.

After obtaining the appropriate color paint (they had been very careful to get the precise code for the right amount of blue and white to make the Blue Birds’ signature color before going to the hardware store) and some brushes, they’d sped over to the Academy and tripped under cover of darkness to the stadium. Between the three of them they were making quick work of it.

“This is going to go down as one of the most epic pranks ever in the rivalry,” Arik said.

“I’m pretty sure someone’s done this before,” Trixie said, “Like every year.”

“Yeah, but none of them were my niece.”

The three UBCS students looked up at the sudden flare of a glowlamps in their eyes. Trixie put a hand up to shield her eyes, blinking. Unfortunately, she already knew who was holding one of them.

“Hi there Aunt Fiona…” she said, mustering some level of forced pleasantness that clearly communicated that this was an unlooked for family reunion.

“Every year you guys come over here to do some stupid prank,” the Superintendent of the Bakura Fleet Academy, Admiral Fiona Trieste Westenra, said, “and usually you’re smart enough to at least bring a distraction. I guess you didn’t think that was necessary this year. As if at a military academy we don’t have any security at all.”

“Nice to see you too,” Trixie said, “We were just doing some...uh...public service.”

“Good, because you’re going to do more when you repaint that in the right colors,” the Admiral said.

“Can’t you just throw us in the brig?” Trixie asked, “You do have a brig, right?”

“I do, but I am not going to give a justice of the Supreme Court the opportunity to lecture me about putting her daughter in a military prison without jurisdiction. No, I’m going to enjoy watching you paint. And now that I think of it, we’ve been meaning to do some touch up around the rest of the stadium too. I was going to get some first years with the most demerits to do it, but now I’m thinking that we’re going to have a little show of sportsmanship before the rivalry game.”

“I’m still telling Mom about this,” Trixie said.

“And she’ll say it serves you right. She never got caught pranking UBSD, so this is your own fault. Let’s get started shall we?”

“This would be so much more fun if you hadn’t caught us,” Trixie grumbled.

“That’s what pirates, secessionists, and Ssi-Ruuk have been saying about the Defense Fleet for years, dear,” Fiona said, “Chop chop. This field’s not going to paint itself.”

Trixie just growled in frustration. Right now, university sucked.

 

Redwood Creek, Bakura

“Aren’t you wonderful?” Kerry Trieste said to the two beings that she had traveled to her, “You know, some of the best beings in the galaxy are twins. Luke and Leia, your Aunts Siona and Fiona.”

“Thank you for not mentioning the Solo twins,” Ayn said as her mother in-law held Niall and Shenandoah, “We’re trying not to go for them.”

“Oh well Jaina turned out all right. I wouldn’t mind that,” Kerry said.

“I would mind my son turning out to be a misguided, would-be emperor,” Declan said from his place on the couch.

I do love the humour in your fanfic. Its in the dialogues you write and in the things you describe.

 

Thank you! I certainly try.

 

@AzureAngel2 @CPL_Macja @jcgoble3 @leiamoody @spycoder9 @Tim Battershell @Vehn

Salis D’aar, Bakura

Elfie Trieste burst through the door of her mother’s apartment, which she now kept all by herself with her children gone to university. There was more room there than she needed, but it was located close to the high school at which Nessa taught and there were too many memories here she wanted to hang onto. Some were of her departed husband, but many more of them were of her children. She could suffer a few empty rooms that required cleaning to keep those for a while longer.

“I know what I’m going to do with my life,” Elfie declared.

“Well, that’s good,” Nessa said, “Care to share?”

“I was sitting in my Communications class--Modern Newsmedia of the Last Century--and the professor was going on and on about how the quality of coverage has been declining, even on Bakura, that the BBC is pressured by private news coverage to spice up the news in contrast to its public charge, et cetera,” Elfie said, taking a seat at the table where her mother was balancing her checkbook, “and he was of course tying this to the need for a well-informed electorate.”

“Of course,” Nessa said. She was a high school civics teacher, after all.

“Well, when he said that voter education has dropped off and how there’s a real void of leadership there, something in me said, ‘Yeah, beings need to know about these stuff. Someone has to do the heavy work to help voters understand measures and issues and be well-informed.’ I know you’ve never wanted to take the Noble House credits, that you’ve wanted to do things your way, the way you wanted, and you did. You raised Alec and me the right way. You know that, right?”

“That’s what I’ve hoped for,” Nessa said. She had a feeling that she knew the general thrust of what was coming next, and she was right.

“Maybe, though, it’s not such a bad thing, if one takes money for a good cause. Maybe someone should do something good with it,” Elfie said, “And that’s what got me thinking. There are groups that do issue research, that make sure people know the truth and not the rhetoric. They need researchers and writers and spokespeople. They don’t pay great, but they do good work. That’s the kind of work I want to do. And, unlike other people, I can afford to take it and make a difference...if I get a stipend from Falene.”

“It is good work, and you’d be well suited for it,” Nessa told her daughter, “I’m proud that it’s something you want to do, because it would make a difference. But you have to understand, as nice as your cousin is, she may not be Taoiseach forever. And even if she is, you may still find yourself one day beholden to the Noble House. Even the Noble House doesn’t give credits away. There is a price. It may be nothing more than loyalty, but you need to be ready to pay it if it comes due.”

“Mom, this is our family we’re talking about, not a bank. I don’t think it’s really as bad as that,” Elfie said.

“It probably won’t be, but I’ve always wanted you to go into things with open eyes,” Nessa said, patting her daughter’s hand, “So just know that the freedom you think you’re getting might one day turn out to have conditions to it.”

“I know, Mom, I know.”

“Then it sounds like you have a direction to your studies now.”

“Do I!” And Elfie went on to detail all of her plans for the rest of her time at UB Salis D’aar. All the while, her mother was hoping that she was just being overly cautious. Even when Conn had been alive and he had actively accepted his sister’s credits there had never been anything asked of her or of him for the Noble House.

But when the price had come due, it had not been the Taoiseach who had collected. It had been that woman, that pawn of greater players that had killed her husband. Kerry had repaid that in kind. She had smashed those responsible with ruthlessness and the full force of her position as Supreme Chancellor of the Republic.

Even so, Conn Trieste, Nessa’s husband had been killed because he had been a member of the Noble House, to send a message to their Taoiseach. Nessa and her children would never be separated from the Triestes, but she had worked to keep them as separate as possible. She had protected what remained of her family. And even so, the Noble House’s credits were the key to her daughter’s professional felicity. For Elfie to have a decent living, the kind of existence Nessa wanted for her daughter, she would need the Noble House’s support to do good work. And it was good work--it was work Nessa was proud her daughter wanted to do, to make a difference in society as a whole.

Nessa just hoped that none of them would ever have to pay the price their father did. It seemed unreal that such a thing could happen to them again, but some days Nessa still woke up expecting to find her husband next to her.

Life in this galaxy could be quite removed from reality, it seemed.

---

Salis D’aar, Bakura

​

With the limmie season over, Kerry Trieste was spending as much time as she could with her grandchildren. She had not expected to do so--she was a woman who had almost literally had it all. A successful politician at the highest levels now working a dream job. And after all that, Kerry was drawn back again and again to her grandchildren. Declan and Ayn didn’t mind--they could use nights off amidst the Senate and raising two children. Kerry knew the feeling--she’d done it herself. In fact, Falene had been born just before her first run for Prime Minister.

But Kerry had had help. Her husband, Mihal, had shouldered much of the childrearing. Kerry knew she had not been the best mother. She had decided to be there for an entire planet instead of being there for two children. It was a choice she had made because she trusted her husband, a man who had loved her dearly as she had loved him. But the knowledge that she could have been there more for her children came back to her acutely as she looked down at Niall and Shenandoah in their cribs.

Admittedly, she had not missed the crying, changing, and feeding that came with infants. Even so, she somehow didn’t mind dealing with it now, especially as they had calmed down. They were still awake, but hopefully soon they would go to sleep.

“I’m going to tell you two a story,” Kerry said to her grandchildren in a soft and low voice, “The three of us all have one thing in common. We never knew our grandfathers. Mine died in a time when there were bad beings on this planet. He was a good being. More or less. He had his faults. He had not always been kind. But when things were bad for Bakura, he was at his best. And bad beings...they didn’t like that. My other grandfather, I never knew who he was. He probably died in those bad times too.

“You don’t know your other grandfather either. Even I don’t know who he is. The only being who did died, a long time ago. Your other grandmother, your Grandmother Gaeriel, she was on the BBC. She realized that she had a duty to say things that people didn’t want to hear. And she did. In fact, in her own way, she helped get me elected Prime Minister because people realized that we were doing things we shouldn’t be doing. She didn’t intend for that to happen. She’d never even met me. But I owe her a debt.

“Your Great-Grandfather Fionn, my dad, he was a being who lived. I’m going to tell you lots of stories about him. He was a great man. Some day I’m going to take you to the place they built to honor him, here in Salis D’aar, so that Bakurans remember him. He was all the best things he could be. If he was alive today, he’d think you were both the greatest things he’d ever seen. Probably even tell me that you’re better than me.

“Now, your Grandfather Mihal, my husband, your Dad’s dad, he’s the one who would have thought you were too wonderful for words. He was a sweet man. That was why I loved him. He was constant and good. I knew that a week after I met him. He was the kind of man you could go through hard times with. He was a good father. He could have been anything. He gave up whatever dreams he had so I could be a leader of beings. And yet if you asked him, he wouldn’t have said his life was wasted. He would have said he did what he had been meant to do.

“I’m going to tell you both something that everyone knows and nobody talks about. You’ll not understand it right now, but one day I’ll explain it to you. It’s my fault that he’s not here. Someone wanted to hurt me--in a way that I’m never going to let either of you be hurt--and instead they hurt Grandfather Mihal. I’ve never forgotten that and I’ll never truly forgive myself for it, even though he would have told me I was being silly. Grandfather Mihal always told me when I was being silly because he knew that I get that way a lot. Maybe you’ll be the ones to remind me when I’m being silly now.

“I miss him so much. The knowledge that I’ll never see him again and that nothing is going to change that, at least not in this existence, still hurts sometimes. Not as much as it used to. Your Grandfather Mihal would tell me I’m being silly when I say things like this, but that’s part of why I miss him. And he’d tell me that he’s still here with me, in you two, in your father, in your aunt. And he’d be right.

“But what you two have got going for you both is that I’m still here for you, and so is your Great-Grandmother Sabé. That’s how you got your middle name, Shenandoah. Just like how you got your middle name, Niall,” Kerry said, “There haven’t been kids with two Prime Ministers in their family tree so recently since the days of the Ardens. You two...we’re going to look out for you two. You see, your Great-Grandmother and I...we did great things together. We made Bakura a better place for beings just like you. And we’re going to do one more great thing together: make both of you into wonderful beings so you can do wonderful things. How does that sound?”

By this time, both babies had fallen asleep.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” Kerry said with a smile.

 

AzureAngel2 CPL_Macja jcgoble3 leiamoody spycoder9 Tim Battershell Vehn

Atalanta University, Atalanta, Bakura

“Oh well sure I knew my sister,” Corrie Ypres told Quentin Eldred over a dining hall lunch, “but I didn’t know her, you know what I mean?”

“...not exactly,” Quentin said. The fast-talking Druckenwellian had taken a shine to him, which meant that they got together fairly frequently. He got the impression she hadn’t exactly met a lot of beings on campus, which was odd seeing as there were roughly 30,000 undergraduates at Atalanta.

“Well, she had already graduated university by the time I was born, you know,” Corrie said, “I think by the time I was in grade school she was already running one of our father’s companies. I guess that’s what happens when you remarry later in life. Are you eating that?” Corrie didn’t wait to spear something off of Quentin’s plate. As usual, he didn’t have much time to get in a reply. “I was still in high school when she got exiled from the RTO. I mean, it was a pure technicality...some obscure rule in the charter about her not relinquishing her emergency powers--not that that’s a good thing to do. I mean, Palpatine and all. But still. To save face she had to resign and leave. It’s not like when she was on the Board of Tribunes I ever saw much of her. I guess she was the definition of a ‘distant relative,’ no pun intended, even though she was my sister. Half-sister. You know what I mean.

“I really couldn’t imagine,” Quentin said, finally finding an opportunity to get a word in, “but why are you here? You said your family basically runs Druckenwell. You’d have every advantage there.”

“Yeah, but I’d be a Ypres there,” Corrie said, “Well, then again I’m a Ypres here as well, but what I mean is that I’d have all these expectations. And now that Kaitlyn is gone...well, Dad pinned a lot of hopes on her. I’m kind of glad that I’m not on Druckenwell these days. I saw how he pushed her and pushed her. Don’t get me wrong, I want to do great things, to build something, to be something, but I can’t be somebody else’s something. I’ve got to be my something.”

“And that something is…?”

“Well...I haven’t figured that out yet, but I think it’s here. Bakura is a developed economy, and on the spectrum of regulation, they’re pretty well on the regulated side, but I still think that great things can be accomplished here. That’s why I had to come here,” Corrie said, “Well, that and I kept hearing that you guys know how to party.”

“When you’re on the edge of the known galaxy and you stare into the infinite blackness of space on a daily basis, it tends to make having a drink seem like a good idea,” Quentin admitted.

“See! I knew I was onto something,” Corrie smiled.

---

Senate Offices, Salis D’aar, Bakura

Deputy Whip Ayn Trieste had not yet gotten a larger office as a result of her position. Being a deputy whip was not an actual leadership position in the Bakuran Senate, even though it carried with it more responsibilities. It did, however, mean that she got to keep her committee assignments (which were plum), which she would have had to relinquished had she officially joined the leadership. For the moment, it was a trade she was fine having made.

As deputy whip, Ayn was partially in charge of corralling the votes to advance the legislative agenda of her party, of keeping the one Senator majority intact and allowing them to govern and pass legislation. It was important work, but it was also work that Ayn was good at. She had not been cultivating relationships with her colleagues for no reason. The truth was that Ayn didn’t need that one Senator majority. She understood what her colleagues wanted, especially the Unionists. She knew where she could snipe a Senator or two to support a bill, naturally in exchange for support on some other initiative. It was eopie trading, plain and simple, but Ayn knew how to do it.

It also meant that she knew when bills were coming to the floor for votes and where everything was. That put her in precisely the position she and Declan needed.

“The farm bill,” Declan said, tapping the vidscreen that showed the status of about two dozen bills at once, “We need the farm bill.”

“You don’t need to tell me,” Ayn said, not even bothering to look up from her work. Declan had run on a platform of revising the farm bill. Madsen had kept both of them as far away as he could from the Agriculture Committee. But they still had to pass a farm bill in this session.

“We’re not going to get everything,” Ayn reminded her husband.

“If I can just repeal the large agricultural subsidies and get a tenth of those credits put into the small subsidies, put them to family farms, the Unionists won’t be able to touch me in 280,” Declan said. It was not uncommon for Senators to be thinking about reelection prospects one year out, especially ones in districts that leaned against them like Telaan Valley did with Declan. “Not even Madsen could retaliate for the insurrection.”

“Madsen can’t afford to. If we fall out of the majority, his precious swing block will no longer have any influence. The Unionists will run roughshod over us with their ironclad majority. And if there’s one thing the Unionists have going for them, it’s that they’re an almost solid bloc right now, not a coalition,” Ayn said. This was nothing new for either of them, but sometimes she felt her husband needed to be reminded. “Madsen can’t afford to oust you right now. 280 is too up for grabs. If he makes a move, it’ll be in 284. You just have to beat the Unionists right now.”

“And if I don’t deliver a farm bill, they’re going to have everything they need to do it,” Declan said, “The Valley lives and dies on its agriculture. They don’t see real progress they’re going to look for anyone else who can deliver it.”

“You just need the repeal of the large subsidies?” Ayn asked absentmindedly.

“That’s a big just, dear,” Declan said.

“Leave it to me. You just do what you do. Find a soap box and get on it. I’ll get those subsidies gone,” Ayn said.

“What’s it going to cost us?”

Ayn grabbed a sheet of flimsi, scribbled on it, and then put it in an envelope that she sealed. “When the farm bill passes, we’ll open this up and see if I’m right.”

“And if you’re not?”

“Then we have a serious problem,” Ayn replied, looking up with a mischievous smile.

“And we can’t have that, now can we?” Declan said, leaning across her desk.

“No we can’t,” she said before she kissed him.

 

Excellent political maneuvering.

 

These children of successive Prime Ministers of Bakura who were an excellent legislative tandem (Dormingale running the Senate and Trieste running the executive branch) might have picked up a few tricks from their moms.

 

Obviously!

 

Bakuran politics never cease to amaze. My hat is off to you.

 

The most amazing thing is that it is, in the end when all is said and done, oddly competent and functional.

 

Hold onto your butts AzureAngel2 CPL_Macja jcgoble3 leiamoody spycoder9 Tim Battershell Vehn because we're starting this one fast.

Hapes, Hapes Consortium

A year of trying. Sierra couldn’t believe it. A whole year.

And she still wasn’t pregnant.

Her mother in-law, or rather the Queen Mother In-Law, had said absolutely nothing about it. The ruler of the Consortium had made it clear about a year and a half ago what her heir needed to do. And still, Sierra had failed to do it.

She and Trellam had done everything right. They’d followed whatever advice the royal doctors had to give. They’d observed the proper timing. And still no results.

No one, from the court nobles to the silent but watchful servants, had to say anything to Sierra. She felt the pressure without needing to hear any words. Irsine Chume had come to power after her sister and nieces had died in suspicious circumstances. Her rule was less than five years old and still tenuous. There was nothing that the Hapans respected as much in their leaders as lineage. It communicated solidity and strength. Irsine Chume was too old to produce another child. Trellam was her only son. When she had been only third in line for the throne, the birth of a daughter had not been seen as necessary. Now it was a severe disadvantage to have the future of her line in the hands of her son’s wife. For that wife’s ability to establish her own line only created more problems.

Sierra was the daughter of an admiral of the line, one of the Heroes of Nouvelle Orleans in the Bakuran Civil War, the woman who had fought Coronad Ysenn to defeat over the course of a day of continuous naval warfare, pitting her outsized capital ships against the gnats of a pirate armada that could outmaneuver her. Sierra Westenra Iseult was not a woman who was wired to wait around and let events transpire.

But the only option that Sierra could think of was terrible.

If it was known that the chume’da was consulting a physician, the rumors alone would be crushing. The doctors who had been slipped into the palace had been done so covertly. The range of services that they could provide was limited. A visit to a fertility clinic was out of the question. It would undermine Irsine Chume’s power completely.

And that was why Sierra had made a determination. It was one she had told no one about. She could tell no one about it, for if it ever became known, the damage would be even worse. But Sierra knew what she had to do. She had to do it for Hapes. For her Queen Mother. For her husband.

“You know what I require of you,” Sierra said.

The servant nodded. “I do.”

“Then do your duty for the crown.”

She let the robe fall from her, revealing everything beneath. The servant gulped and began to divest himself of his clothes. It was not without some nervousness that he prepared to be received into the bed of the chume’da. He did not know that later that night she would similarly take her husband to bed. He did not know that before that even happened, he would be “routinely” rotated out of the palace staff. Where he went from there was unimportant, but it would be far away from anyone who could put two and two together should Sierra’s plan work.

And if it didn’t, she’d try again with another expendable man.

---

Watercrest county, Bakura

“Well, do you think it will do?” Siona asked her daughter.

Vesper Lynd stood on the porch of the white and blue “cottage.” Well, it was a cottage by Noble House standards. The one story beach house was the most modest residence in the Noble House of Trieste’s portfolio of homes for family members. “My grandfather built this?” Vesper asked.

“Your grandfather Fionn didn’t build it himself, but he had it built for your grandmother Jane. She picked the land and the colors. He took care of the rest. It was an anniversary gift. By the time it was completed, he already had her next gift: a yacht so she could relive her old days as a pirate,” Siona said.

“So where’s the yacht?” Vesper asked.

“Knowing my mother, she probably hid it somewhere with a hold full of rum for a rainy day,” Siona said.

“Good thing she did. I might get tempted,” Vesper said, running a hand absentmindedly over her abdomen. That was the reason she was here. She wanted to have her child in privacy, without the Rydonni Prime media that had already obsessed over her dating life speculating about everything from the gender to the father. The answers to those questions were nobody’s business but hers. It had been her mother’s idea to let Vesper hide out in a property that almost no one except her own family members remembered existed. Her cousin Falene had been happy to make the property available to Vesper for as long as needed. It had the benefit of being relatively close to Cape Suzette where Vepser had played her college ball. Should she need to get out, there was a place to do it, though she knew she’d have to be careful lest reports of “Vesper sightings” got abroad and the media began fanning out through Watercrest country.

“Thank you,” Vesper said after a minute of silence.

“Think nothing of it. What else would I do for my eldest daughter and the first one to give me even the prospect of a grandchild?” Siona said, kissing her daughter on the cheek, “I’d do anything for you.”

“I mean about not asking,” Vesper said, “about the father.”

“Honey, do you know what my father once told me?” Siona said, “He said, ‘We Triestes are thoroughly respectable beings. We always have been. What everyone always conveniently forgets is that we are also thoroughly disreputable beings as well. We have just as many rogues as politicians—the rogues just keep their heads down.’ If he was here today, he wouldn’t even think of it. He’d think it was wonderful we’re going to have another child in the family. And he might just like the fact that we’re bringing a little disreputableness back into the Noble House.” Siona paused and looked out at the waves. “Besides, I suppose since your cousin Declan married a Dormingale, this was bound to happen sooner or later. Ayn’s the first one in three generations to actually have a husband when giving birth. She must be infecting the rest of us.”

“I’m sorry I won’t bring any in-laws into this equation to blame for things in the future,” Vesper said wryly.

“I think we’ll get by,” Siona said.

“I think we might,” Vesper agreed.

 

Love it. Desperate times in the Hapan royal court can call for desperate measures.

And the comments about being respectable and disreputable made me laugh. Good job.

 

Hapans play for keeps.

The Noble House being reputable and disreputable at the same time is definitely something that you should pay attention to as we move forward.

 

In the end the family keeps together and backs one another up. And that is very important!

 

Absolutely. Hope you enjoyed the binge read!

 

The days fly by so quickly in kindergarten education and I have so many things going on in private life that I was shocked I missed out so many of your updates. When I would have gone to the fitness centre today, I would not have been able to comment...

But a good story like your´s forces the reader to leave at least two sentences with comments. You deserve more than a simple "Like"!

 

You are quite kind, especially with that last comment!