The maître d'hôtel disappeared upon Vertiga's cordial dismissal. Chanteloup had expected all sorts of nasty or playful jabs from him towards their designated waiter, but it turned out he had opted for the polite, professional approach. Not really a man-child after all, she noted with some surprise, then realised that someone in his position couldn't just get away with it out of sheer luck.
Either that or he's utterly lost in this world, which I would probably be.
She had a thin smile at his last remark, raised her glass in his direction, and had a sip.
"I feel like you'd be disappointed. We're taught that many Sirian admirals are never found in their office, and instead are directly commanding warships from the front, directly in the mêlée... This isn't the case in Gallia. I never single-handledly neutralised an enemy battlegroup, toppled a legitimate government or brought someone from the dead. I'm a staff officer, with some stints on the deck of warships. All of this (she makes a sweeping gesture) is my job. Someone needs to keep it running, and I was a good enough staff officer to eventually become that someone."
The entrées arrived, delivered by the maître d'hôtel himself. They were served on a rectangle tile of slate ; the rillettes were located in a lovely glass pot, and a colourful salad was next to it, slathered in a pungy vinaigrette. He placed each tile in front of the diners, added a basket of freshly baked bread he carried on his forearm, bowed, and left before Chanteloup could find something to ask of him. She let Vertiga take in the view before resuming her tirade.
"I'm not into heroics, monsieur Vertiga, as you can easily tell. My deeds, such as you call them, are probably not what you expect. Let me explain ; before I was chosen for this position, Gallia had been stuck in Leeds for years. Marginal progression, quite a bit of internal strife, a general lack of efficiency, intolerable meddling from incompetent parties across the board... Then I arrived. And now... Well, you're more aware than most of the current situation. Gallia has moved much further than it ever has. And that's after a year at this post."
She gazed in Vertiga's eyes, with an unreadable expression. Something on the way to a frown, but not exactly.
"My life is a succession of hard choices, monsieur Vertiga. It seems to be all I do, from dawn to dusk, and often beyond. I've gotten good at making hard choices, and my subordinates know this. They know that valour in battle and strength of arms would never be enough to win our war. They know that willpower is the one ingredient desperately needed to our success... And I like to think they have identified willpower as my strong suit."
She looked down at her very alluring slate, and had a slight smirk. She seized the knife and starting applying rillettes to a piece of bread, pensively. "I don't think this appears in our enemy's intelligence files..." She looked up at Vertiga, with sudden intensity. "But I think you know more about our enemy's intelligence services than you let on. A stateless adventurer like yourself, able to go wherever he wants, with advanced technology at his disposal... You're a dream come true for any intelligence operative. I won't ask you to let go of whatever legal bind you may have with our adversary, but what I will ask is your occasional cooperation with my services regarding... Various topics. Nothing that would compromise you in the eyes of Sirius, of course... You are in a unique position, monsieur Vertiga. Don't think I'd believe to be the first person to show interest in the opportunities you offer. This would be the modest service I mentioned earlier, in exchange for a ticket into Gallia. And possibly a new life."
(06-14-2019, 12:25 PM)Sombra Hookier Wrote: If everyone was a bit more like Lanakov, the entire world would be more positive. Including pregnancy tests.
