The Meeting

[Enkidu]

Achille gawped at the giant, and the tower gazed laconically back, grinning against Achille’s apprehension.

“…A Gallic Royal Navy Officer – this man?” His mind stiffly stuttered as he edged into the retreat of his seat. “No. Impossible – he’s as bohemian in aesthetic as a Marseille native is stoned.” The Burgundian's brain intoned, eyes locked to his counterpart's chest. "His hair… unkempt to the point of being entirely absent of any iota of kemptness - where is the regulative trims, the sense of ceremony, the elitist pomp befitting those superior vassals of the Master Kingdom? And his attire…" Achille's interior monologue shattered slightly as he realised he was salivating slightly, an act he covered with a sudden pinch of the cheeks. "…They bear more resemblance to that of a nouveau Parisian performance artist than that of a gentleman bearing the look of eagles. Or a a rock star. Or a student. Or a Council operative". The general carpeting of body hair barely aided the effect.


Within the back of Achille's mind, innumerable grey cells struggled to connect this sizeable scarecrow to the great, grey mass of the external super dreadnaught, before failing utterly. With a final, submissive gasp, Nadeau let his head loll upon the headrest.


"A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Mons… Sir, Mr Ceil. do take a cheese and occupy a seat, in whichever order you prefer." Nadeau proffered, proffering the lighter of the two articles.



"…Now ami, you claim to be a scientist… and, despite your jocular sibling's merry (but no doubt untrue) insinuation that you are, in fact, the commander of that warship that has just buzzed the Freeport main, in which field do you work? What is your department of study?"

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THE SYNDIC LEAGUES
(A co-operative of Rheinland's outlawed trade unions, determined to take the underworld for themselves.)

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