Suprématie

[Exile]

The bright red circle on the commander chair's right arm lit up and swirled in a circular motion. As soon as he could be bothered, the Commander lifted his lazy right hand to touch the motioning display. How dare it intrude on his slumber?

"This had better be good, Marcel." A lazy, hoarse voice uttered. In return, a slightly higher, anxiety filled voice uttered "My lord Commander, there is somebody here to -"

His voice was cut off by the abrupt opening of the large, bone white slide doors that indicated the entrance to the bridge. Two lines of eight marines barged in through, their black boots landing firmly and rapidly against the grey surface that carried them. Each marine took up position near an individual critical system and stood, silently, whilst two secured the slide doors on either side. Their all white uniforms only broken by the singular blue sash across their chest. The commander himself rose in surprise and grave irritation, his mind as clueless to the situation as his body would be to the word "healthy", the signs of a wasteful life upon his waist and chin. His mouth opened to echo the inner frustration, though was rapidly halted by the sight that came through those now opened slide doors.

A woman, simply. Her features betraying her forties to come, joined by a uniform as eager to betray her position. The overall pattern unmistakably of Royal High Command origin. Her boots as black as tar paving way for ivory white standard issue pants that found themselves under a two coloured blouse. A singular blue slice from her left hip to her midriff joined the otherwise fully white scheme. On her blue collar, two golden laurels on either side to indicate her rank. Her golden coloured ceremonial lanyard partially clouded beneath her shoulder length red hair, casually resting on her right shoulder. Her eyes moved across the bridge, calmly, as if to scan across the curious though nervous crew for any signs of imperfection. They probably were doing just that. After a period of several long, silent moments, the commander had finally gathered the remnants of his courage and spoke, hesitantly.

W-wha-who.. Who are you? What are you doing aboard my ship?

In response to these words bravely uttered, the woman flicked her fingers on the right hand and pointed to the ball of courage made Human. The marine stood to her right by the door approached in silence. The assault rifle held in his hands swing round onto his back, fastened by a synthetic belt. A simple pair of handcuffs were conjured into place of the weapon before they, not too delicately, flung around the pair of wrists being forced together. Marine and pig then proceeded towards the slide doors under heavy squealing and protest before vanishing into the descending corridor. The woman moved, finally, at the smell of cleaner air.

A casual stride took her further onto the oval bridge. She neared the chair only to left it ignored in the center, her eyes on another target a few steps further down. She greeted the circular, three dimensional digital map of the sector she found herself in by placing both her hands on the familiar railings. They moved over them in what could best be described as a caress brought fourth from admiration and awe before her eyes then proceeded to dart around the room. The iron features turned from one station to the next, then the next, then the next.

"Chant Du Cygne systems check." She spoke, simply. Her gaze turned to helms, navigation, communication and tactical. In turn, reports of "all green" were given, though her features remained unchanged. Unimpressed. The hesitant speakers awaited in visible nerves for any and all words to follow.

"Lay in a course for Ile de France, then broadcast the following message to all Royal Naval forces. Message begins : Troops and supporters of his majesty, King Charles, the eleventh of his name. I, Grand Marshall LaCroix of his mailed fist, hereby call you to New Paris to be briefed on a our new approach and outlook on all in sight. In twenty four hours time, I will be addressing you personally. Be sure to attend. Message end, and send.

Her eyes closed upon confirmation, not out of fatigue, but expectation. The beast beneath her feet began to move, no, not move. Roar. The alloys beneath roared in fury as they once more carried purpose made physical. She could feel it, almost as if she had never left. After that brief, though personally deep moment of reunion, her eyes opened and turned back on the three dimensional map in front of her.

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