Romulan Empire Log | Stowaway | EnRiov Shiarrael t'Rehu & Lwanissa Tyrax

Posted on 241511.02 @ 12:13pm by Praetor Arrenhe t'Ahaefvthe

Mission: Reconciliation & Reconstruction [Fleet Plot]
Location: IRW Hhveir Ri'hwathech
Timeline: Current

[IRW Battlequeen]

Materializing in the Battlequeen’s transporter room Shiarrael’s soot covered silhouette was immediately awash in emerald battle lighting. The two Gai’Shian on guard duty slung their disruptor rifle over tight shoulders and saluted her. Shiarrael gave them a passing nod as she walked off the platform and made haste into the adjacent corridor followed by a thin cloud of dust that smoked away from her lithe frame with each step.
In the corridor Raha, late, appeared and followed in step with her Leih “how is the Galae’EnRiov?”
“Dead.” Shiarrael snapped coldly before finding her words too abrasive “he will be in short time at least. You must send word to Romulus- on a secure channel to Senator tr’Verelan and t’Charvanek before the news breaks. It will no doubt cause an uproar within the Senate but they need to appoint a successor to prevent chaos with the upcoming Klingon campaign.”
“You, Rekkhai?”
“Elements willing, no.” Shiarrael could already feel the dread beginning to seep in. For whoever wields the title of Galae’EnRiov tragedy seemed to await. She hoped the Senator had someone else in mind.
“Understood…oh…there is also a stowaway aboard…”
“A stowaway?” Shiarrael frowned “how in the elements were they able to get aboard my ship?”
“During the chaos after the explosion they were apparently pushed into one of the transports by mistake.” Raha said “it was my mistake. I will accept the consequences…”
“To hell with consequences. I don’t blame you. Who is it?” Shiarrael somewhat hoped it was Lamont so she could finally have the pleasure of shooting the ambassador out of an airlock.
“Tyrax…”
Shiarrael abruptly stopped causing her poor security officer to barrel into her creating a thick cloud of soot and dust. “Tyrax?”

[Battlequeen, Flight Deck]

“Daughter of the Twelfth House, Keepers of the Sacred Fires of Vathax, Heir to the Scepter of Khrysaros, senior diplomatic aide to Yulana Enaren, Daughter of the Fourth House,… oh, thank you, dear. Triy, was it?”
“Yes, Madam. Ah, you might wish to-”
“Don’t be silly, dear. This can’t be as bad as that Vulcan concoction they serve down in Kir’Ahl. Scalds your insides, it does. Right before you feel the steam coming out of your ears.” All the same, Lwanissa gave a perfunctory sniff before sipping at the tea the nice young men in black had rustled up somewhere. Poor darlings, stuck with a Betazoid in slightly less than pristine condition, and no idea what to do with her. But there were certainly worse things than being parked out of the way on a Romulan flight deck while harried pointy ears darted to and fro.

Meanwhile, the poor fleet officer standing before her with what Lwanissa recognized as a mightily befuddled expression – not that she could blame the little woman, Four Deities alone knew what the universal translator made of Betazoid titles – turned around to the sound of the large doors opening, and it didn’t take an empath to notice the waves of ‘oh crap’ radiating off everyone in the vicinity.
What the stately Betazoid lady found interesting, was that the focus of said silent shouts of ‘argh’ appeared to be a lithe figure covered in a mighty mess, striding towards the gaggle of Rei’Krannsu and the splash of peach-colored silk in their midst with a determined gait.
“You see? I told you someone would be along to sort this out eventually.” Tea in one hand and gilded fan in the other, Lwanissa Tyrax offered a polite wave towards the soot-caked lady. And then looked just a little befuddled herself, when her great-niece’s radiant violet eyes stared at her out of an unfamiliar face.

“Sort this out?” Shiarrael arrived with full entourage in tow. They fanned out around her in a crescent shaped phalanx as eyes darted between the strange woman and the fraught Rei’Krannsu she was apparently harassing.
Raha appeared amused as she shielded a bevy of snickers behind her palm. For their part the Rei’Krannsu seemed relieved and quickly removed themselves from the situation by quietly moving into the shadows of the flight deck while the attention became focused on the EnRiov and the uninvited guest.
“This is the uh…Tyrax I spoke of.” Raha finally said as her fitful glee towards the harried Rei’Krannsu ebbed. “Some feddy diplomat.” She stepped forward and circled Lwanissa “perhaps a bit…crazy?”
Shiarrael frowned at the woman “you’re not the Tyrax I was looking for.”

“Ah no, dear. Not crazy. Betazoid.” Lwanissa favored the darling Romulan giving off the gleeful aura with a mild smile, shaking the ornate fan at her in a grandmotherly gesture “and it’s Lwanissa Tyrax, Daughter of the Twelfth House, Keepers of the Sacred Fires of Vathax, Heir to the Scepter of Khrysaros. Ah. And obviously the wrong one. Which begs the question which one would be the correct Tyrax, as it were.”
Since her erstwhile courtiers had discreetly melted into the shadows, the regal lady gave the tea another try. Not bad, though it could use a touch of honey. Golly, a veritable glittering demilune of pointy ears in their neat little uniforms for one stranded Betazoid diplomat. Well, of course they were more interested in their fairly bedraggled commander, but it was touching all the same.

And speaking of bedraggled - it was rather difficult to resist the impulse to cluck over the pretty violet eyed woman – partially of course because she seemed so terribly distraught it rasped across a Betazoid’s senses like nettles – but there was also something eerily familiar about her, as if any second she might break into melodious laughter and tug at Lwanissa’s sleeve to show her how fast she could climb a gespar tree. And get stuck.
The mental image of this poor, dusty, yet so dignified Romulan in a tree caused a discreet little cough.

“Yes. Betazoid.” Shiarrael echoed “I could tell from your soulless eyes. Perhaps a curse from your ability to peer into the souls of others.” She could see some of her more ignorant crewmembers chaff when she mentioned that the woman was a telepath. But when one was trained in thought it was not hard to keep things hidden beneath a ‘noisy’ veneer. “The Tyrax I would seek is part Vulcan- perhaps a relative of yours. Sakarra. An old friend.” Melancholy. There were days when she wished herself back aboard the Charon. It was much different now. The past was simply a warm memory.

“Soulless? My dear, the liquid, sensual depths of Betazoid eyes are the subject of quite a few poems across the quadrant.” Lwanissa tsked good-naturedly but she could hardly hold it against the poor thing. Mind-blind races could be so terribly jumpy even around the most gentle empath.
The other thing however … now that was a surprise. For just a split-second, the Betazoid’s overtaxed, pummeled senses (really, need they throw their emotions at innocent bystanders like this?) picked up an unexpected surge of warmth coming from the elegant little woman, come and gone so fast she might have imagined it. If Betazoids were so silly as to mistrust their own senses, which most decidedly they were not.

“Little ‘Kara?” with a deeply thoughtful mien, Lwanissa gave the pretty Romulan a thorough once-over. “You *do* know that ‘part Vulcan’ in the poor darling’s case is calling a fogcat ‘part feline’, yes? Of course she had a little bit of promise when she was younger, but I fear the pointy eared blood will out in the end. Fortunately for the sweet girl she’s at least inherited my brother’s lovely eyes.” The Betazoid lady sighed. “But if you’re looking for her, I’d suggest trying the Vulcan High Command. Something with a Ket and a bar. If you ask nicely, they might even tell you where to stuff it in a polite way. Unless she’s home of course. I could call her, while your sweet Praetor gets her Vulcan migraine taken care of. Which reminds me, she’s not taken up kal’toh or asking for a lirpa yet, I hope?”

There was an exchange of glances between Shiarrael and Raha.
“erie’Riov please see to it that everyone finds their tasks well.” Shiarrael gestured at the crowd of onlookers before turning back to the enigmatic betazoid “it seems you know about our situation.” Her eyes casts a sidelong glance at Raha who had taken the cue and was busy escorting people out of the immediate area giving Shiarrael a small area of privacy “would you like the honor of meeting the Praetor of the Star Empire? It is a privilege few of your…” She smiled as the word ‘ilk’ passed through her head but was translated verbally as “prestige.” “Are ever granted.”

“Oh, my. I’ve stepped in it again, haven’t I?” Lwanissa gave a rueful little smile but took the time to wave a friendly, if mildly distracted goodbye to the flock of pointy ears being shepherded away. “I told Yulana I’m much better suited to charming trade delegations than … ah, well.” The little metal teacup was placed haphazardly on the gleaming wing of a … something, quite pretty, actually, with its air of playful menace; and the Betazoid tapped her ornate fan against her dress thoughtfully.

“Your situation. Yes. I can’t be sure of course, least of all with people throwing their emotions hither and thither like this. Fair makes one dizzy, it does.” Lwanissa waved the fan exasperatedly, as if trying to disperse said barrage of Romulan passions being cheerfully tossed about with no care for any hapless empath in the vicinity. “But as I told your darling men in black, I was quite close to the poor woman when she got tangled up with a dying Vulcan. Not that that in itself isn’t enough to give one a headache the size of Tharazad, mind you.”

For a few moments, the tall, distinguished lady seemed lost in thought, her fathomless black gaze turning inward. Then she decisively tugged on her barely mended dress, and picked up her purse with the air of royalty who has just been informed that alas, the chambermaid has had a nervous breakdown, and all that was available for the state summit were a pair of ghastly blue marabou slippers and a hat. With a pineapple on top.
A well-bred Betazoid and Daughter of the Twelfth House was hardly deterred by such things, and it could always be worse. It could be a Ktarian melon.

“Still, if you’re asking if I might be able to figure out whether the lovely woman is merely suffering from Vulcan whiplash or whether old Sobersides has taken up temporary residence, I am the Betazoid you’re looking for.” Disheveled from a dreadful explosion or no, Lwanissa knew a fellow woman in charge when she saw one and gave the pretty lady a regal nod “And I *would* be honored.”

Shiarrael studied the woman cautiously. She was related to Sakarra- but could she trust the woman? If word got out…elements sake- she didn’t even want to ponder the political implications. The situation was simply maddening to her. “I’ll have someone escort you to the Praetor’s chamber as I have other business to attend to. However, I must warn you that should word of this ever get out…” She looked into those pitiless eyes and projected a vivid thought of the poor Betazoid woman tied to a pike, flayed, and crying in agony as a pack of thrai played tug of war with her entrails- all while maintaining a bright smile. “It won’t be pretty.”

“Tsk” Lwanissa tapped her fan against the little Romulan lady’s shoulder in mild reproach – such a dramatic picture, and delivered with such good cheer, too! – but she took due note of how important this whole thing seemed to the poor dear.
“You said you think of little ‘Kara as a friend, yes? Well imagine the Look she’d give me if I made a mess of things. Getting more and more like T’Leia by the day, the little love, Four Deities have mercy. On me at least, Vulcans have no gods of mercy. Which tells you something, doesn’t it?” Putting on her most reassuring ‘don’t worry auntie Lwanissa got this’ smile, the Betazoid lady rummaged in her purse “ah, I seem to be all out of Rigelian candy, bless their great hearts.” Too bad, the Romulan looked like she could have used a bit of a sugar boost.

“So.” For just a moment, Lwanissa’s smile settled into a most serious expression “politics, eh? Well, lucky for you the Keepers of the Sacred Fires care little for that. Naught, in all fairness. Nor are Betazoids in general known as liars, since it’s really quite pointless among empaths. You want this kept secret, you only had to ask.” She winked, gentle mischief and dignified cheer returning to her liquid black eyes “best not keep the lovely Praetor waiting, though. That migraine won’t get any better.”

[To be continued...]