Tasha did not get a lot of rest on the first night back in Caltrop. Full of meat, Gabriel had extra energy, and then Tasha had to compete with Hakeber for snuggling space against his chest (there was a lot of nose-licking involved). Breakfast helped, and she had a message that a doctor Mr. Invention trusted would be in later to check on her and Yue. But before that were the candidate interviews for the security positions. All that the message revealed where the times though, with no information on the candidates.
Tasha wonders at the lack of information. The obvious reason would be secrecy, a desire to shield names against outside eyes. yet, she's worked with enough older, more experienced persons to consider it might be some sort of test or surprise to assess her character. She makes a mental note of this as she makes her way in to the -- her -- office, stepping through the sliding doors. Gabriel, Shojo, and whomever the two men want to accompany them are either ahead or behind her; she isn't certain which, as she had been very concerned with an unlimited breakfast. Katherine too was offered a chance to attend, though it's optional and meant to be educational.
This means Tasha catches up to Gabriel, with Shojo presumably already arrived. Eclaire lets them into the office hallway, and Mr. Invention greets them at a different door than before. The room they're entering has just two metal chairs, neither occupied. The lighting comes from the edges of the walls, which are not symmetrical, and Shojo is already there looming in one of the corners. This blocks one of the light sources makes his head harder to make out because of the backlighting effect.
Tasha walks up to Shojo, looks up at his ominous visage, then reaches up to tap his beak with a finger before moving on without a word. She also takes up position near the wall, and back. not wanting to be the first person seen when entering the room in order to gauge reactions and see how these potential recruits react to the array of intimidating males before noticing her. "I think that's everyone? I don't know if Katie has decided to attend." She's in her uniform, of course.
"This will do," Mr. Invention says. "I will bring the first candidate, but I will not stay for the interview. I've already conducted my own to narrow down the candidates."
"Very good." Tasha's never really sure what to say once Mr. Invention has handled things; even saying anything feels unnecessary, because she knows he already knows his work is 'very good' or 'well done' or any other such thing. She decides it's ultimately a kind of etiquette dance, something leaders have to do even if it feels a bit silly or condescending. "Then lets see them."
"I'm more of an observer," Grabriel tells the others. "I never had to handle this sort of thing." It's not long before Mr. Invention returns escorting a Silent-One. "This is Mr. Gold," the big wolf says, then leaves and closes the door. Mr. Gold is.. big. Silent-Ones are usually lean, but this one is older and has faded spots. There are places where it looks like he's had scars removed (something the Abbadonian Silent-Ones would never do) and he has a plastic looking patch on his left temple.
Seeing Shojo hasn't taken the lead, Tasha starts off. "Hello Mr. Gold," Tasha says from her place against the wall, nodding in what she hopes is a professional and acknowledging sort of way. "I trust Mr. Invention has already handled the basics, so why don't you tell us about yourself, your experience, and what skills you bring to the table?"
"I have thirty-five Terran years of combat experience on frontier worlds," the Silent-One says. The voice is still electronic, but there's no glove involved. He doesn't even move his fingers. "My specialty is in extraction. Of people or items. I have no family."
"Can you give us a rough overview of the kinds of operations you've been in, of and of the adversaries who have been in your way? Have you ever been asked to extract unusual items such as alien technology?" Tasha hopes these are good questions. Mercenary leader she is not, despite dressing like one on occasion. Much of her staff are family and friends whose skills they applied to her own, she's had much less experience recruiting through the 'standard' methods.
"I've done a lot of work in ruins, sometimes as part of a team or as an escort to a civilian specialist," Mr. Gold says. "I do not ask about the nature of the items I retrieve. Most often I am hired to find a specialist or group that has gone missing in dangerous areas, both wild and urbane."
"Adversaries range from police forces to kidnappers to less savory sorts," he adds. "Mostly hired security forces."
Tasha nods to this, trying to remain neutral and keep her judgments internal. "In these ruins, have you encountered resistance from non-Galactic sources? Technology, inexplicable elements, what I'm looking for is what you might consider unusual and abnormal, primary non-Galactic but especially bizarre Galactic opposition would also be of interest."
"I cannot go into specifics which might incriminate myself," Mr. Gold says. "As for 'non-Galactic' I do not understand what you mean."
"Opposition that you felt to be other than Galactic: Alien defenses, life forms, inexplicable elements that defy easy opposition but you none-the-less had to counter them." Likewise Tasha can't be too specific, but even if he can't answer, she'll have her answer. Everything's an answer, she's found. There's truth even in silence.
"Yes, all of them fall into one or more of those categories," Mr. Gold says. "All defenses are alien-defenses, since I do not infiltrate Silent-Ones facilities. I avoid direct confrontation whenever possible, for liability reasons. The same goes for destroying defensive systems or life-forms."
"But you will destroy them if necessary?" Tasha's ears perk. "And you won't act against Silent-Ones?"
"I do not act against Silent-Ones facilities," Mr. Gold specifies. "Destruction of ancient artifacts or sites is.. sub-optimal. I have great respect for the past, known or unknown. I am very curious about it."
Tasha nods again, doing her best to remain neutral. She takes what the man says as fact, deciding to rely on Mr. Invention's expertise and trust her subordinates. She does, however, decide that Mr. Invention being her subordinate is even more strange than her having her own office, but she supposes she'll just have to get used to it.
Turning to Shojo, Tasha lifts her brows; your turn.
Shojo steps forward and walks towards Mr. Gold. His gait is.. disturbing, when one really considers it. Every move is deliberate and efficient. When he's about a meter from Mr. Gold.. something happens that Tasha didn't quite catch. But Mr. Gold is leaning to one side and giving Shojo a wide-eyed look. Then Shojo is returning to his corner again.
"I have not experienced that before," the Silent-One says. The voice is without inflection, but he looks very surprised.
Tasha decides she can ask later when her own surprise won't undermine things. So instead she turns to Gabriel, giving him the same look.
Gabriel blinks like he's clearing his eyes. He then asks, "Do you have any team leadership experience or experience training others?"
Tasha realizes she should have asked that herself, but chalks it up to her lack of experience and unfortunate habit of having tried to do everything herself.
The cat still takes a moment to switch his attention from Shojo to Gabriel. "I did both in my military days, but not in recent years. But I have never lost a team member, even if that means going against orders. I'm not a soldier anymore, and exercise my own judgment and situational awareness."
"Do you have any favored combat discipline?" Gabriel asks next.
Tasha waits to see if Gabriel has more, deciding the man sounds like he does indeed fit their needs and that she needs more experience at this. Yet. here she is, so she can at least say she's putting the effort in to learn through doing. "Any preferences with working particular people, species, or equipment? Can you pilot land, air, and space vehicles manually if needed?"
"I prefer close up martial combat for the control it affords," Mr. Gold says. "I can use firearms and edged weapons if needed. My personal weapon of choice is a blowgun. I am not a pilot. I can handle ground vehicles, including manually powered ones. I prefer to use equipment I can understand and know to be dependable. As you can hear, I have undergone surgery that allows me to work with any sapient species. I do not have species specific prejudices, but do reserve the right to dislike individuals. That does not get in the way of my professional duties."
"It would be a strange thing to insist you like someone." Tasha nods again, feeling like maybe she's nodding too much, then she turns to Gabriel. "I've heard enough. How about you?"
Gabriel looks like he wants to ask something else, but pauses. Then goes ahead and asks, "How badly have you been injured in order to maintain your ethics?"
"Minor brain damage, temporary blindness and deafness, broken back, shot several times, internal bleeding, broken ribs, broken legs, broken neck, heart transplant, alloplasty for several other organs, drowned. That I can remember," the cheetah rattles off.
"That's all I have to ask," Gabriel says.
This question reminds Tasha she'll have to decide how to explain her new looks. She considers she can say she was severely injured and remade, or perhaps even that she's the second incarnation of an original model, She'll talk to the others, see what they think. "Then we're done here. You may go Mr. Gold."
The not-so-Silent-One nods and casts an odd glance at Shojo before exiting.
Predictably, Tasha twists around and asks Shojo quite directly, "And what was that all about Mr. Statue?"
"Good situational awareness and reflexes," Shojo says.
"It was more than that," Gabriel explains. "Shojo has no tells. It is impossible to predict when he is going to do something. Mr. Gold dodged the punch he never saw coming, and that I didn't even see until after it was over."
"Oookay," goes Tasha, who scratches the side of her nose in mild confusion. "For my part, he seems to have what we need and the curiosity is a plus. It's possible he may be a long-term candidate if he finds our work as alluring as it seems like he will." She then looks at her own fist, deciding 'try to punch new recruits' is probably not a interview method she can get away with, and then adds as she glances up, "I never knew you were so quick. Well," she takes a deep breath, "My vote is yes."
"Mine too, and I'm assuming Shojo was not intending to knocks his head off," Gabriel says.
"Gabriel, did his scent change after he dodged?" Shojo asks.
"Not that I could tell," Gabriel says.
"Then I vote yes as well," Shojo says. "Even when surprised, he does not panic."
"Me neither," Tasha chimes in, in case her elegant and foxish appearance has brought in to question her nose-based ability. "He seems like he's seen so much action even the unexpected is just one more thing to expect, which is very good for our line of work. I'll notify Mr. Invention so he can divert Mr. Gold and begin the process."
Tasha does so using her datapad, sending in the approval and requesting the next hopeful. "I wonder who we'll get next?"
The door opens again and Mr. Invention introduces Mr. Black. Then has to stand aside to let him pass. Mr. Black is a large, pitch-black Naga. He's as wide-across at the shoulders as Gabriel, and has an odd ragged fringe going down either side of his neck.
Tasha waits for Mr. Invention to exit, then tries something new by stepping forward so that she's staring up in to that great, big snake maw. Ever since she got hissed away by the Staff of Hermes she's been wanting a rematch, even if indirectly. Besides that she wants to see how this Naga appreciates being questioned by someone like herself. "Hell Mr. Black," Tasha greets the man, nodding as she had done before. "Would you tell us about yourself, your experience, and your abilities and areas of expertise?"
Tasha can see that Mr. Black has pits between his eyes and nostrils, the sign of a viper. "I am not a rambler," he says in an oddly melodic voice. "I have been told that I lack imagination, ssso could you pleasse be more ssspecific?"
"What kinds of operations do you specialize in?" Tasha tries, going for the one-thing-at-a-time approach.
"Moving thingsss," Mr. Black says after a moment or three of thought. "Equipment, people, boulders, vehicles, ssstructural sssupports, obstacles which may or may not offering active resssistance. Alsso crushing those things."
"So brute force methods. Have you seen combat?" Tasha knows the answer but decides she ought to ask anyway. "Are you or were you any type of soldier?"
"I have interacted with military forcess," Mr. Black answers. "I also led a Tandu ssstrike force briefly. They ate my hood, so I killed them for insubordination. My sssuperiors disagreed with my disciplinary methods. But they notably did not have missssing parts so I chose to leave the ssservice. I have soldier modifications."
Tasha nods slowly to this information. She's never considered killing anyone for insubordination, and now that she considers it, she's not quite sure anyone subordinates in the first place. She has considered things with Lacci, but mostly in that idle way that she'd probably never do outside of fantasy. "Do you often have problems with superiors or other types of leaders?"
"Only those who lead with their tails," the Naga claims. "I am the one in front. I remove obstacles. Not always with brute force. Sssometings shaped explosives are better. And sssometimes hitting thingsss with treesss is more economical. If there are plenty of trees at hand."
Straightforward, is how Tasha would describe the man, and a good reminder for her to not take the lead again. "Explosives, great physical strength, combat experience enough to handle a Tandu strike force alone. Do you have any experience with alien worlds, technology, the inexplicable? I'm speaking of threats from beyond the Galactic powers."
"Would an ancient Confederate colonization ssship count?" Mr. Black asks.
"Yes, that's suitably unusual. Can you give us details about what happened?" Tasha inquires, ears swiveling forward.
"It wasss very squishy in places, but very hard in others," Mr. Black attempts to illustrate. Maybe he was being serious about the lack of imagination. "I think one part ate me. It wass uncomfortable. But eventually it led to my essscape. It was very dark, but that does not bother me."
Tasha nods again, also slowly. She definitely thinks she's nodding too much, but can't think of a better alternative for the moment. Looking to Gabriel, then Shojo, she perks her ears at them in turn; any thoughts or questions?
"How old are you?" Gabriel asks.
Mr. Black pauses again. "Between one hundred and one hundred and fifty Terran yearsss. I do not have my navi with me to do a proper calculation."
"Things may have changed, but I remember that Celestial soldiers were not allowed to keep their modifications," Gabriel asks next.
"They are not," Mr. Black replies, but does not elaborate.
"Will that be a problem?" Tasha asks Mr. Black, brow arching. Not that she's concerned about it being a problem, but she does like to keep her potential enemies on a nice list.
"I do not think ssso at this point," Mr. Black says. There is a note of finality to the statement, despite the rather pleasant voice. Mr. Black removes obstacles, after all.
"Good enough for me." Tasha glances back, "Anything else, you two?"
Shojo has been silent so far. "Subdermal armor, heat regulator, protein synthesis, augmented healing," he says. "Venom?"
"Yesss," Mr. Black says, and opens his mouth wide enough (which is very wide indeed) to unfold his fangs before closing back up again. "I am immune to sssedatives and non-nerve poisons."
Tasha gives Shojo a look, wondering where he got all these amazing powers of deduction and why she didn't get any. That does remind her that she has her own special power and she really ought to be using it, so she steps back and shifts her focus to her third eye.
Aside from his outer blackness, there doesn't seem to be any 'glowing' sort of blackness about the man. "I do have a party trick, however," Mr. Black claims. He then stops moving.. and stops being black. The individual scales change color to match the color of the walls and floor. It isn't the sort of camouflage that would be useful indoors, but in a forest or desert it might make a difference.
"I don't have any further questions," Shojo says.
Tasha blinks away her focus and for a moment wonders if she didn't reset her vision properly, then laughs. "Yes," she agrees, "that's a fun party trick." She considers what a party would be like with Mr. Black around, and decides she'd like to see that. "I'm done too," she adds a second later.
"Thank you for your time, Mr. Black," Gabriel says.
After the large serpent leaves, Gabriel says, "Neither has asked about us or your appearance, Tasha."
"I don't believe they care," Tasha says, turning to face Gabriel and Shojo. "Working with people of questionable intent and resources is probably normal for them, especially the first one. I believe the second simply doesn't care who we are, or more accurately, it doesn't matter to him. I doubt Mr. I. would hand us a malicious master of deception, so I am willing to believe he is as he seems. They both are." She then taps her weird third eye. "The Naga is clear, I didn't scan the first. Are we ready for the third?"
"I think Mr. Black would work well under Mr. Gold's direction, but not in a situation where quick decisions are needed," Shojo says, then nods. "Yes, let us meet the next one."
"He's definitely a 'soldier' and not a leader," Tasha agrees, then she pulls out her datapad to give the Naga a 'yes' before requesting the next applicant.
Mr. Invention introduces Mr. Pink, who is a human. He's also wearing a tailored black suit, has a moustache and is otherwise bald. And not especially pink, but more light brown, although his eyes are very dark. It's easier to tell age in a human, and from Tasha's experience on Abbadon he'd be in his late forties perhaps. But for a Galactic Terran he could be much older. "Hello ma'am, gentlemen," he says in greeting. He stands with a sort of 'casual parade rest' posture. He does seem to take note of Tasha's appearance, but doesn't do much beyond registering recognition that she's different.
"Hello Mr. Pink." Tasha notes the interest and effort towards politeness, sensing the man might have a proclivity towards more social battles. She begins with the usual questions, "Can you please tell us about your areas of expertise and experience?"
"I am a bodyguard by profession," the man notes. "My clients are generally wealthy or the children of politicians or corporate heads. As such, I am experienced at blending into the sort of social events required by such clientele. And keeping them out of trouble. I make sure that nobody approaches them that would not have their best interests in mind."
Tasha looks to the two beside her, but realizes this one is probably aimed squarely at herself. Children of politicians and keeping them out of trouble. She's uncertain whether it's her or her children he's aimed at, however. Possibly both. "Can you describe some of the work you've performed? Examples of usual and unusual situations?"
"Without naming names, most of my clients have been Khattan House executives and their children," Mr. Pink notes. "Young adults who have never been told 'no' in most cases. I do not consider myself a babysitter, however. I make sure their indiscretions remain private. Sometimes that means coming to a financial agreement with witnesses or predatory media types. Sometimes I resort to other means of persuasion. I am not a fixer, but more of a preventer."
"I can see how that would be useful." Especially for herself, and his background also works in favor of her cover. As she becomes more recognized she thinks it's inevitable Galactic media and predatory elements may try to target her and her friends and family. Having someone like this would do much to ease that anxiety. "Have you worked with any Mezzodes?"
"Not directly, but they are commonly part of a client's entourage," Mr. Pink says. "I have worked for Karnors before, and even Confederates. Navigating certain social circles can be fairly dangerous if not done correctly. Image can be critical, and reputations need to be cultivated and preserved as well."
Tasha nods slowly to this. In as much as she understands these things, she agrees with the man's assessment of his duties. "I'm satisfied. How about you two?" She looks back, brows raising and ears perking.
"Have you had to defend clients against.. well, violence or kidnapping attempts?" Gabriel asks.
"Yes, on several occasions," Mr. Pink claims. "I am unmodded, in order to pass any required security levels, and usually go armed for lethal or non-lethal response, but can handle myself in hand-to-hand as needed."
"In your opinion, what are the major risks for an escorted client on Caltrop?" Tasha figures that's a good way to test the man's situational knowledge and his ability to assess an unusual locale.
"Caltrop is not the most civilized of places, and the locals have developed.. well, they can 'smell' money, you could say," Mr. Pink explains. "The reasons such people would come here are usually to obtain an experience they could not have in more controlled surroundings, and some of the areas of the station are a bit rough."
"The greatest danger is a reaction to condescension," the man explains further. "The people here do not like to be talked down to." This makes Tasha think of her first sight of Lacci fighting with a local.
Tasha nods to this. "Plenty of opportunity and means to act upon an unprotected individual." Also useful for her to know, as she may need to do the kidnapping some day. She then nods. "A fellow of ours made this mistake some time ago. Thankfully it is not a common trait we have to deal with." She glances then to the others. "That fellow may also like his protection. Any other questions?"
"This is outside my field of expertise," Shojo admits, but probably sees the value.
Gabriel is more thoughtful. "Have you had to arrange for false leads or distractions in order to get your charges into or out of events or situations?"
Tasha thinks he does; they really don't have anyone like the man, nor anyone with his skills who aren't better placed elsewhere. Risk from conventional, mortal threats is something that has concerned Tasha for some time, including for profit, amusement, or other banal reasons that could easily be overlooked in their battle with the great and mighty. She hasn't traveled so far from home she's forgotten the risk of a knife in the ribs. She listens to Gabriel's question and awaits the answer.
Mr. Pink nods. "I usually make a point of researching the local freelancers for such things. There is a sort of unofficial network for my profession, where we share profiles of both troublesome and useful people."
Tasha looks back to Mr. Pink and nods. "That in itself could be useful." And back to the others. "Anything else?"
"I'm satisfied," Gabriel says.
Shojo just nods.
And so it's back to Mr. Pink. "Thank you Mr. Pink, that will be all." She inclines her head, thinking she'll probably be seeing him soon.
"I have to wonder how Mr. Invention meets these people," Gabriel notes in the interim break. "I suspect he and Mr. Pink have the same tailor."
"He did say people like him tend to share information. It may be that Mr. Invention found where the congregate and share information and insinuated himself. I can certainly see them accepting him easily." Tasha takes a moment to stretch, then ruffles her mane up a moment, feeling like it has settled. "I suppose they're all of a same sort, even worlds apart. Do you want to move on to the next, then? I assume we all agree Mr. Pink's a yes?"
"Yes, let's move on," Gabriel says.
The next candidate arrives in a robotic chair, and looks like someone who has had several generations of children on her knee. "This is Mrs. Teatime," Mr. Invention introduces the rather ancient looking Khattan woman.
Tasha blinks at the older, chair-ridden woman, looking so much like someone who needs protection rather than an elite mercenary. "Hello, Mrs. Teatime," she begins tentatively, strongly suspecting she's underestimating the woman yet finding it hard not to do it anyway. "Would you tell us about yourself, please?"
Another thought then occurs to Tasha and she quickly punches in, "Will need to personally scan each applicant later," as a note to Mr. Invention. He's many things, but she doesn't think he can sense extra-universal beings like she can.
"Aren't you a pretty one," Mrs. Teatime says in a grandmotherly voice. Tasha never knew her grandmother, but is pretty sure this is how they sound. "Oh, there isn't much to me, really. I'm mostly retired aside from my hobbies and keeping in touch with my children and grandchildren and great-grandchildren."
Tasha resists the urge to giggle at the compliment. Mrs. teatime reminds her of a much gentler Old Ma, much gentler. "And your hobbies, ma'am?"
"Oh, a bit of knitting, industrial espionage, cyber security and infiltration, a bit of sabotage here and there, and managing my embedded spy network throughout known space. Have you met my gread-granddaughter Eclaire?"
"I have." Tasha decides she should have known Mr. Invention's front desk person wouldn't be someone normal. Now she feels a bit stupid for inwardly being amused over the possibility the woman didn't know who she is; of course she new. This, she thinks, is the problem with being surrounded by such weight of competency. She's glad she can't blush. "But only briefly. Those sound like very interesting hobbies. You know about us then, do you not?"
"Mr. Ives thinks you could use my help," the little old lady notes. "I couldn't find any information about you."
"That must be very frustrating," Tasha notes, sympathetically. "I feel like I could learn a lot from you, however." She thinks on what to ask, but the woman's skills are well outside her own repertoire, hence her being both educational and hard for Tasha to question. "And he is right, of course. So your specialty is in information, security -- defensive and offensive? -- and spycraft? Are there any other skills you'd like to note?"
"I know how to bake," Mrs. Teatime claims. "And babysit. But mainly I do things to keep my mind active. There is so much I would like to ask you about. It is not often I am in a room with a ghost and two phantoms with a starship that was never built. Even Mr. Ives is impenetrable. I could have so much fun working with you, I think. As for my official skills, I started out as a secretary. Things just took off from there, for a variety of reasons. My extended family is well placed in many Houses and governments. We have our own way of talking to each other to exchange information. Generally, we do this to benefit ourselves. If we sold our services.. well, that might raise suspicion."
"At the risk of causing offense, do you believe working with us and your family needs may cause a conflict of interest?" Tasha perks her ears, but also does her best to look apologetic, ears canting, voice forthright and sorry.
"I think it would benefit my family," Mrs. Teatime states. "So that is not a conflict. You are a blank spot in the data. It is far more dangerous to ignore you than to work with you."
"It may be dangerous to pay attention to us," Tasha retorts, yet still apologetically. Grandmotherly women may be a kind of weakness for her, she realizes. "Are you opposed to violence, the risk of violence? Do you require a peaceful and safe place to work?"
"I make my own peace and safety, dear," Mrs. Teatime claims. "But I am not a rough-and-tumble sort if that is what you mean. Most of what I do can be done in an office or cabin, however. I just need a line of communication."
"I think that answers all of my questions." Tasha steps back then gestures with an open palm up that the other two are free to proceed.
"Do you have any special medical or dietary requirements?" Gabriel asks.
"I do like my tea, but I usually provide that myself," Mrs. Teatime notes. "And I like to nap. Other than that, no allergies or special needs."
"Do you bake cookies?" Shojo asks, oddly.
"Yes, I've even learned to make ones called gingerbread of all things," the old woman claims.
"I too enjoy tea and napping," Tasha adds, then realizes it's not exactly a productive addition; she does not look apologetic this time however.
"Tea is very important, and naps prolong life and ease stress," Mrs. Teatime agrees. "It's good for other things. I've had six husbands and twenty children in my life. Tea and naps."
"And to think people have been questioning my naps lately." Katie did suggest she might be part cat now of all things, which of course is ridiculous. That is, she suddenly realizes, unless she had her cat's fur all over her before she headed out and that confused Charon. But she doesn't have a cat soul, and didn't see a cat, so she's probably safe. She thinks to make a doctor's appointment, then remembers she already has one. Her ears flick. "Any other questions?"
"I have one," Mrs. Teatime says, looking at Tasha. "Are you married yet?"
"I'm very flattered but I'm seeing someones," Tasha replies, laying a hand on her chest, ducking her head, ears back, eyes bashful.
"Ah, then I will not show you pictures of my youngest," Mrs. Teatime promises.
"I don't know, maybe I'll be interested?" Tasha turns very deliberately to Gabriel, ears up; what do you think about that.
"Great-granddaughters as well?" Gabriel asks. "Six husbands is impressive."
"I wonder how many husbands I should have," Tasha considers, finger to her muzzle in the classic thinking pose. She then looks up, "You'd want your youngest to date a Mezzode?"
"Marriage is a skill like any other," Mrs. Teatime claims. "Some of mine are Mezzodes."
"How broad," Tasha observes brows up, impressed. "Well I don't have anything else to ask. Anyone else?"
"I don't think I need to know more," Gabriel says. Shojo just nods.
And so Tasha smiles at Mrs. Teatime. "Thank you ma'am. That will be all."
After the chair and its occupant trundle out, Mr. Invention returns. "The fifth candidate will not be interviewing directly," he notes. "Did the others make good impressions?"
"I like them all, though in different ways. I feel like I'll be spending the most time with the last two, and the first two will be the same for Shojo. I really don't think most people will consider action with Shojo and Mr. Black looking ominous together." Tasha taps head. "I'll need to give them a close look, but so far they're all great."
"It warms my heart to hear that you approve of them so far," Mr. Invention notes. "I tried to find the unfilled niches in the organization. The fifth is out and about, and has actually been keeping watch over you all since you arrived. There's the niche I am most uncertain about."
"And what niche is that?" Tasha inquires, ears going up again.
"The one you may or may not require," Mr. Invention teases. "I'm curious to see if you can detect them, however."
"Oh, a game. Well this should be interesting." Tasha decides that she being able to detect something more or less means one sort of sense, so she turns to her third eye and ssweeps the room, looking around and behind herself.
There's.. nothing invisible in the room that she can sense. How likely is it that Mr. Invention could recruit a demon or similar though. At least, not on short notice, probably. "They are not here," he says when he notices Tasha looking around.
"I feel tricked," Tasha insists. She ruffles up her mane and huffs, then wraps her arms around herself and tilts her head. "I suppose we're to go to them, then."
"Of course," Mr. Invention says. "I will message you and Dr. Sen when it is time to meet for your medical exams."
"That means eating, napping, or shopping. Maybe a walk through the corridors? I don't know, but I want to go around some place and then take a nap someplace else." Gabriel has his arm hooked by Tasha's. "Shall we?"
The area around the hub is a bit more upscale than bazaar and other zones that take up the arms of the station. This is mainly delineated by a lack of shouting and more open space. Shops have actual storefronts, along with the embassies and other services. Being close to the heart of things, the restaurants and cafes are more varied. There's the Surf-n-Turf of course, but also places specializing in Silent-One, Celestial, Confederate and Khattan cuisine. No coffee and donut shops however - being closer to the docks is apparently the best place for that.
"Someone is using pressure field tech," Gabriel tells Tasha. "I can't smell what people are eating." He also looks up to where the 'street' wraps around above.
Tasha follows his gaze, brows arching. "I wonder if I should eat a lot if I'm going to see a doctor later?" She watches people walk at the far extent of her avian-like vision, then looks down and back to Gabriel. "I think we usually eat where I want to eat. Why don't you chose today?" And so she gives a little wag. Gabriel knows by now it's something she has to do, and that her tail movement is more of a conscious effort these days.
"Hmmm," Gabriel ponders. "Celestial food is out.. I'm not killing my own food, and they won't cook it. Confederate is.. honestly I'm disturbed by it. It's hard to tell what you're eating, but you just know it's something with a lot of legs. How about Khattan? I hear it's spicy."
"You know who is also spicey?" Tasha thumbs at herself and grins, then she snatches up Gabriel's right hand and starts heading towards the nearest Khattan restaurant, ready to divert if he'd like some other one, arm swaying as she walks. "I'm not a big fan of Confederate or Celestial food either," she confides as they head off. "I had enough of it ... elsewhere."
"I remember the yiffles," Gabriel notes. The nearest place that doesn't look crowded has fairly mixed clientele, which seems promising. It also has a live hostess (since labor is easier to come by on Caltrop) who is dressed in an interesting way. It's not the same sort of style as Abu Dhabian dancing girls, but there are certainly shared elements, including a gauzey veil and lots of sparkly bits. Her eyes to widen a bit at the sight of Tasha though, and she actually bows as a result. "Greetings, honored guests," she says with a bit of a purr to her accent. "Please be welcome to our humble - yet highly rated - establishment. Will it just be the pair of you?"
Tasha beams at the reception, and not the least of which because it's by a pretty scantily clad woman who is paying attention to her. Tasha looks to Gabriel at the question, however, wondering if he'd like to take a turn at being protective and directional on her behalf today.
"Just the two of us," Gabriel says, and the hostess smiles and leads them to a smaller table in the courtyard. There's some sort of covering over the area that obscures the view above, but it's difficult tell if it's anything physical or not. This allows for some measure of privacy while also providing mood lighting. There are a few larger groups at other tables - it seems like a popular business-lunch sort of place. There are also a few individuals at even smaller tables. Gabriel holds out Tasha's chair for her, despite it probably being a progmat construct.
Tasha, deciding to play up her 'turn for the elegant,' inclines her head and sweeps herself in to the chair, seating as lady-like as she knows how to do. When she thinks the hostess isn't looking, she passes Gabriel a wink.
The chair does conform to Tasha's shape and weight distribution for maximum comfort. As Gabriel takes the seat opposite the table surface becomes a holographic display with life-like representations of the dishes that one came select or pass on with a hand gesture, and the diffuser in the center of the table produces holographic flowers that and gives of a pleasant (and likely calculated to stimulate the appetite) scents. "Is there anything you would like as a drink to start with?" the hostess asks. "We specialize in a mildly alcoholic yoghurt drink called kaluu if you would care to try a sample."
Tasha wonders at the scent for a moment; does it impact her? Everything about her life has become new again in some way; is she effected by flowers or is she not? Was she ever? Do the parts of her that are "obviously not Vartan or Karnor" have their own preferences, special scent preferences, and new dislikes? Does she still like the same foods? She hadn't though much about it before, but is her sense of smell also as strong? Her eyes? Her wings? She considers all this while seeming to stare at the menu, her tail twitching every so often as if subject to a literal shock for the quandary. At length she answers, "I would like to try that, the kaluu. As for what I would like to eat, I would like a bowl of Khoresh e fesenjan and a sausage baget." The soup is flavored with some kind of fruit making it the adventurous choice, while the baguette is her backup.
"I'll have the same," Gabriel says, and probably not just so he can poach off of Tasha's plate if he finds it really good. Once the hostess has bowed and left to fetch the drinks, Gabriel looks around. "It has been awhile since I've been to a restaurant. Have we ever done this together before?"
Tasha blinks to this, having to really think on it. They've eaten together in restaurants before, but it seems to her there was always someone else there. Her earliest intact memory is the restaurant in New Zion where the military personnel focused on Gabriel and more or less ignored her. She's eaten with Hake, but with her friends at the pizza place. Last she was in Caltrop she ate either alone, or with others besides just Gabriel alone. "No," she says after that moment of thought, head tilted and finger tapping the side of her muzzle. "I don't think we ever have. That is very unfortunate of us."
"Well, then this counts as a first date," Gabriel claims. "It's certainly.. romantic?" he suggests, and looks at a 'frumpy' looking Eeee at the next table who has several dishes with tiny servings on them and is going through each one in turn, pausing to write down notes on her datapad. A Celestial is coiled around another table and pouring various drinks down its throat.
"'It's the thought that counts,'" Tasha insists, Gabriel immediately recognizing the Terranisim and therefore her effort in using it. She probably inherited it from Nora, but Nora's memories are no longer the safe guess they used to be. He's seen Tasha pick up behaviors and sayings from the others, everything from the way Mariel taps her fingers together to something as ominous as copying the way Thotep strokes his beard. She could have picked the saying up anywhere now. "Besides! We're here, and that's what matters. The being here, and the us being here."
The hostess returns with a platter of drinks. Many drinks. They're all in small glasses though, but must be variations of the same thing. The liquid looks like milk, but with differently colored swirls in them and a variety of fruits that go with them, as well as shaving of what might be chocolate on top, but also in different colors.
Tasha inspects the drinks with interest, while using it to mask the fact she isn't sure if she's supposed to take one, be given one, or be be given all of them. To further hide her lack of knowledge she makes sure to seem especially interested in the ones she thinks she'll like by looking at them more and sniffing at them to boot. She never imagined food could become complicated, but the higher she goes, the more burden societies seem to place on the act of eating, leaving her to play along or risk much.
"We'll take them all," Gabriel requests. "They're all different flavors?" he then asks.
"Each has a different liqueur mixed in as a syrup," the hostess explains. "All ingredients are safe for consumption by all species. The blue ones are very popular among the Silent-Ones."
Tasha beams a smile at Gabriel, since she knows he knows he's saving her. Being an artificial artificial, and an artificial Khattan no less, she has to be extra careful around actual Khattans. Of course she also knows Khattans are an inherently tricky culture, so she might just seems to be intentionally naive. A 'mezzode' like herself could be far older than she looks, and are typically an expensive investment. Expresive investments mean money, and money doesn't stay long with the foolish. "I can't wait to try them." She gives the hostess a smile, too, then looks to Gabriel. "We can take turns picking one, it'll be like a game."
The drinks and fruit are placed on the table, and the hostess bows again. "If you would like something else to drink, just wave your hand over the diffuser."
"I'm not as learned in the finer points of fancy drinks," Gabriel notes. "I don't remember if the milk is fermented or not even. So.. you pick for me first."
"Thank you ma'am." Tasha wonders what that will do to the woman's internal ledger on her. Is she young? Old? Teasing her? Sometimes, even Tasha wonders if she might be a little Khattan. It vexes her, because she knows she used to be very direct and forthright. She blames the Terrans.
At the request Tasha takes a moment to go for a sniff test until she finds one Gabriel might like. A mature, deep flavor, with a hint of chocolate and cherry and the sting of alcohol. She isn't sure what to make of the yogurt scent, and can't judge it, but she's had chocolate liquor before and Nora's memories reveal what a cherry is, and she thinks the ought to be good. "This one." She picks it up and passes it directly to him.
Gabriel doesn't bother sniffing it, and it might as well be a shot-glass in his hand, it's less than a mouthful for him. But he doesn't just throw it back, and actually tastes it. "Hmm," he goes. "It's.. not as sweet as I expected. Definitely some fruit and.. something else. It's good. Not very strong at all. Lighter than a milkshake. Which is what I used to sneak booze in when I as much younger."
"Age is a funny thing." Tasha winks again, though even she isn't quite sure what she means by it other than 'I don't really know how old I am anymore'. She then looks at the drinks and suggests, "Why don't you chose mine, then? Anything you want to talk about? Places you'd like to go, wardrobe choices you'd like me to make?"
"I don't know if they sell the outfit the hostess is wearing here," Gabriel notes, and selects a drink with a slightly pink swirl to it, along with pink shavings. "This matches your fur, sort of. And looks girrrrrly," he says, with a goofy grin as he hands it over.
"Are you saying this is okay for me?" Tasha inquires as she fluffs up her ruffs with both her hands and crosses her legs, battling her eyelashes and laying her ears back to really emphasizes feminine vulnerability in a Karnor-like frame. She then sticks her tongue out and takes he drink, giving it a sniff and then sipping at it. Unlike Gabriel her muzzle is considerably smaller, and smaller still with the changes. More fox-like than wolf-like. "I think this is cherry." Tasha has never actually eaten a cherry, so she's guessing here. "And we can always ask." About the drink's content, or the outfit, she doesn't specify. "I like it." Again, no clarification.
They get through a few more before the food arrives. It's either made by an actual chef or they time things to make it seem that way. "Would you like anything else to drink with your meal?" the hostess asks with a purr.
"I am enjoying our little game, so nothing else for me." Tasha then looks to Gabriel, knowing he's rather a bit larger than she and small shot glass-like drinks are unlikely to provide him much of a beverage.
"Oh, there's soup!" he says in surprise. "I'm good for drinks right now, thank you."
"Soup with more berries," Tasha agrees. She lets the game slide for the actual meal, thinking each of them would like to eat without having to wait a minute for the selection process to provide them a drink. "I like it," she notes after having gone through several spoon fulls. "It's meaty and-- that is to say, there's a delightful fruit and meat mix that reminds me of some places I've been. It will go well with the more common sausage in bread, a very comfortable meal."
"I've never had soup like this before," Gabriel says. "Fruit and meat, and not super spicy. Have you had something like this before?"
A new guest is seated at a nearby table. A Silent-One this time, wearing what looks like a business suit. He reads his own datapad without expression, and doesn't bother ordering.
"Oh, before we met. Not exactly like this, but it wasn't uncommon to combine the two, especially for Vartan cuisine which favors a lot of both. Also, nuts, and not always shelled because breaking them is part of then fun." Tasha rolls her eyes a little at 'fun,' with Gabriel being able to imagine her trying to muzzle open hard nuts while Vartan all around her amuse themselves at the effort. "Occasionally kababs with fruits and meats were served. I've had chefs that like to use whatever they find." It's all an exaggeration without being a lie; Gabriel knows Tasha didn't have any sort of chef until very recently, so she must be talking about her time on The Rake, her mother's cooking, and meals from her travels on her world of origin. At least, none of it is likely to be a lie. "Sometimes someone would try fruit, vegtables, and meat, but it was never quite as popular."
"The blending of sweet and savory is a balancing act," Gabriel agrees. "Unless you're human. They'll eat anything. Salted, fried potatoes dipped in strawberry ice-cream. Or drenched in gravy. I wonder what they have around here for entertainment or fun. We never had a chance to find out before. Did you ever find anything when you were exploring?"
"Mostly donut shops and vendors. We should consider getting gifts for the people back home. Caltrop is a frontier, and people love souvenirs from far away." She clearly means her friends and family back hope, and especially Mariel, Nora, and Fred. "I know there are game parlors somewhere. There are artists. I think there's some form of live racing. We really should have our people compile a list for us." Tasha must be considering their schedule, knowing they can't remain too long and that Ymir is a relatively short distance away. "Perhaps something we can only find here?" Ymir being another frontier, but natural.
"Perhaps our hostess would know?" Tasha adds, casting a brief glance towards the Silent-One and wondering why he came in if to not eat, but also thinking perhaps he's waiting for a business partner.
The hostess comes around and brings the cheetah a very tall glass of the yoghurt drink. Maybe he's a regular, or ordered ahead of time. She does look towards their table to see how they're enjoying their meal though.
Tasha tilts her head towards their table as she exchange a glances with the waitress. When the woman comes by, she asks, "We'd like to know if there are any entertainments you might recommend here on the station. Something unique or at least limited to a frontier installation like this one."
"Well, are you interested in public or private venues?" the hostess asks with a purr. "And how exotic would like them to be?"
Since it was Gabriel who asked, it's to Gabriel Tasha looks. "Any prrreferences?" She even tries to imitate the hostess's purr, with mixed results, but it does draw attention back to what the feline is wearing.
"Well, are there concerts or other performing arts?" Gabriel asks. "I have been to anything like that for what feels like millennia."
"There is a Khattan dance troupe who perform daily," the hostess says. "There is also live music, if that is something that would pique your interest."
"Anything else?" Tasha inquires of her mate, brows arching. Now she's just teasing him -- or is she. Musicians aren't the only ones who can give a performance on the station. "We could top our Khattan meal with Khattan dance."
"It does come recommended," Gabriel notes to Tasha with a wink.
"The daily performance is at the Sundown Theater, along the this same causeway," the hostess says. She doesn't give directions since.. well, it just goes all the way around so it doesn't matter. "The next performance will be in.." she starts to say, then waggles her wrist, which has a bracelet. This causes a tone to sound from Tasha's comm, presumably with a countdown or something synced to her local chronometer.
Tasha winks back. "Yes it does. We'll do that." She then smiles to the hostess. "Thank you for your assistance." She resolves to leave an extra tip, which doubles to help cement her status on the station. Rumors spread fast in eateries, Tasha knows.
"I hope she doesn't think I'm your John or anything," Gabriel whispers. "I have no idea what mezzodes are actually used for."
"You know I wonder that myself," Tasha whispers back, looking a little wide-eyed. "Maybe we should look in to it on the way over?"
"Hopefully that doesn't get us into any trouble," Gabriel notes. "I also don't know how we pay for our meal. I assume it's just handled automatically somehow."
"We probably should have looked in to that before we came." Tasha then gives a shrug. "If we're in trouble, we should eat it all first then deal with it. That's also a meal experience I've had. We can then play it off as a bit of fun we set up to make our time more exciting, because we saw it in some old Terran show. If we seem eccentric, we must be wealthy. That's what iw as told."
It turns out there is a way to pay, but in involves just passing a credit chip to the hostess, who just palms it for a moment before handing it back with the proper amount deducted. Apparently there isn't tipping in this culture. Which seems counter-intuitive to what Tasha knows of Sinaian Khattans, where throwing coins at people is normal. But it might have been included in the price anyway.
Tasha laughs the mistakes off, trying to play up to Khattan mysteriousness. It's that or the woman really will think she's here with her 'John' and a bit ditsy; either way she's probably safe. Probably.
Once outside, Tasha establishes a secure line back to Dark Horse Enterprises before making an inquiry on the modern role of Mezzodes in Khattan and Galactic society. She then sweeps a hand to pass the information to Gabriel's tablet as well as her's.
Apparently the notion of 'trophy wives' is still a thing, although powerful women can have 'trophy husbands' just as often. But Mezzodes fall into a legal gray area, since they are engineered or one-of-a-kind prototype uplifts which follow very strict limitations (namely that they cannot reproduce). Since they aren't exactly Clients, their legal rights vary by who has jurisdiction at any particular time. But as they are very exotic and expensive, they tend to be more like pets in practice. Or in some cases gifts. They aren't always sapient either, as the term seems to apply to any lifeform 'created for artistic purpose' rather than to fill a biological role. And of course they are used in hospitality roles, when someone very wealthy wants to impress a business partner or their family.
"Well that explains why every merchant lights up when I walk in," Tasha notes, brows up as she reads, tail flicking. "I don't like that my legal rights vary by who happens to be in charge. I'm not even protected by basic Galactic law, more like the power of money and connections. And she must have thought I was with you to entertain a business proposition between you and some powerful owner I must have. That we were there probably means it's a under-the-table sort of deal, or that my being with you is unusual and not as impressive as it could be. Maybe that you're a lesser business client?" As if her life wasn't complicated enough. "Maybe she thinks I represent some Khattan power here. A House presence. That is supposed to be our story."
"More likely a criminal business, and being protected by money usually carries more weight that being protected by law," Gabriel suggests. "Basically, Mezzodes are AIs. And.. probably in a literal sense in some cases."
Tasha continues to read, looking at some examples. "I kind of want one of these now. I bet having one of these bird-reptiles would help morale." The price tag, however, would likely not help crew morale and likely invite a stern talking to by Mr. Invention about frugality. "Well, it's nothing new for me, is it? I've always been an AI, just a very organically conventional one. The part about 'no breeding' is worrying though. That's something that we'll have to face, sooner or later."
"You already have bunnies," Gabriel says. "At least one of which is cute. I suspect our former passenger, Miss Inconspicuous, falls into the same sort of exotic worker as a Mezzode does. She's obviously had some sort of jiggery done for her to be able to have experience juice sucked out of her brain."
"And for that mysterious man. Well, we'll know about that eventually." Tasha then glances at Gabriel. "By the way, it seems my personal assistant has a little secret in that she likes taking her fear out on predators by personally assisting them. She offered to do it to me, but you know my policy about employees. She seemed put off by my refusal though. Not a lot, but as if I wasn't letting her help me. I'm not sure. Do you think I should? It'd be awkward for me, maybe if tell her she can order me around and I'll only do it if she has fun, too?"
"I honestly don't know what her kink is," Gabriel admits. "Uh.. she helped me out a bit while you were regenerating from your injuries. I'm still not sure if it's a power thing like you suggest or just was lonely before Aaron came along. She doesn't seem to give up much about herself."
The wolf also looks confused as he flips through pictures of known Mezzodes.
"Maybe I'll ask. She seems like she's always been in someone else's power, so I'll try letting her be in charge for a while. Maybe as a going-away gift," Tasha suggests before leaning over to see what Gabriel is looking at. The theater is a ways away, and her timer shows they can take their walk at a relaxed pace, so she doesn't rush. "See anything you like? I better not have competition."
"I'm noticing certain omissions," Gabriel notes. "No mention of retro-genetic modifications like what House Khomen tried to pull on the Silent-Ones. And there are other things are missing. These are all exotic, hybrid like creations. Some created specifically to be Katie Kaboom sorts. But nothing clearly mythological. Maybe they're worried about stepping on cultural or religious sensibilities? But.. not even for non-sapient pets?"
Looking to Tasha, Gabriel asks, "How much would you pay for a little shoulder dragon like Charon?"
Tasha blinks at this, and for a moment she tries very hard not to seem all that interested, even looking around. Except, Gabriel knows her too well to be fooled, and she quickly exhales and tosses her hands. "A LOT," she admits. But then she catches on and her brows knit. "You mean there's a lot of people who would, right? But there aren't any? At all?"
"No extinct animals, no dragons, no.. well, I guess the Celestials may get out of joint about dragons as pets, but a rich crime lord would absolutely want a pet dragon. The Silent-Ones probably sell dinosaurs already though. But the Khattans cater to whoever is obscenely rich. So either they do make those and keep it secret, or else there's some other reason they don't do it."
"Like maybe they can't do it," Gabriel then suggests. "That all of the rest are fakes, somehow."
"It is very strange. It might be a Galactic law somewhere. 'Don't make creatures that resemble this or that.'" Tasha raises her brows further. "You think they can't? Becasue I don't see any reason... why ... " She then blinks, snapping her fingers -- a very Human move. "Of course. If the Celestials could easily make dragon Mezzodes, they'd have been able to fix themselves. If you started producing actual dragons it'd be like telling the whole Celestial Empire they failed and that they're a joke to you, that you did what they couldn't. Even if it's possible now, you couldn't do it without insulting their culture as a whole."
"The other possibility is that it's too hard, but that doesn't make any sense," Tasha adds, ears going askew. "You could fake it very well, couldn't you? What is a dragon but a properly shaped reptile?"
"Genetic engineering was incredibly complicated in my day," Gabriel notes. "Creating a viable organism from scratch may just be beyond Galactic science.. or else is buried so deep in the Library that it is prohibitively expensive to buy. The Confederates aren't selling custom lifeforms. Tinkering with existing organisms is commonplace enough, but even that has limits on how far it can go."
"Even you needed Sifran 'magic' and then Persephone to get where you are," Gabriel notes. "Charon couldn't manage it, and he had your original DNA."
"That is true, although he trying to remake the dead while the Celestials are trying to remake the living. or, well, not anymore living." Tasha taps her muzzle, other hand propping her head. "I suppose it must be much harder than it it all seems. It's easy to forget there are many things even Galactic and greater powers have trouble with."
"And there's the Trade Library," Gabriel notes. "I suspect the current Galactics have already been modified to the point where they're running out of diversity. The Celestials hit that wall the fastest, but even in the time of the Expedition there was talk that the Silent-Ones would be next."
"That sounds ominous," Tasha admits. She glances ahead of them to ensure they're on the right track; not far now. "Can't they just ... forcibly mix things up? Genetic scrambling? Having so many colonies and worlds, and such a big population doesn't help at all?"
"Colonization helps, as isolating communities helps create more diversity, so long as there's still enough potential," Gabriel notes. "Look at the modern Karnors, compared to my generation. That's divergence, but Terra has a lot of genepool to draw on. I think the whole patronage and uplift cycle is the same as why people have children. Species eventually stagnate, and need to pass their culture on to a fresh species."
"I suppose so." Tasha looks distant, but figuratively and literally, staring off in to the actual distance as she thinks about this. Gabriel knows she's brushed up against a far larger swath of civilizations and stretches of time than many space fairing civilizations see in the span of the whole existence, not to mention experience with actual death and rebirth, providing her with a unique perspective on these long-running cycles a woman of her apparent age shouldn't possess. He knows it's caused her to grow up fast, and fast in ways that go beyond simple adulthood. Fast like a civilization, staring in to the blackness of its own future, even here at the beginning of it all. "Maaaybe we should save solving this Galactic problem for another day?"
"Yes, because I think this is the.. theater?" They've reached what appears to be a tent-like pavilion. It's certainly the right aesthetic from Tasha's experience, but probably isn't easily placed by Gabriel.
"How nostalgic," Tasha observes, helping Gabriel to place exactly where Tasha has likely seen such a thing -- Sinai. "At least I won't feel as out of place. We'd better get inside before all the best seats are taken. If there are seats."
The inside of the pavilion is both familiar and new. There aren't any central supports like Tasha remembers, which means no partitioned off private areas. Instead of fixed seating areas, there are bowl-like units that could seat about four people (or two medium Nagas) that are moving clockwise around the circular central stage. There extensions off to the sides that might house areas for the performers or food and drink preparation stations. Those are dark, however. The familiar Abu-Dhabi style color abounds, except that it all glows under ultraviolet lighting to make everything (and everyone) take on fluorescent glows.
There's nothing happening on stage just yet, but the seating pods are still filling up. A Khattan hostess wearing belly-dancing garb greets the pair at the entrance and purrs, "Will it just be the two of you joining us? Would you like a private pod or would you mind sharing?"
Since this is one of the few times she gets to have Gabriel all to herself, Tasha looks to him for the answer. Meanwhile she considers her surroundings, thinking it must have been Khattan influence that was the seed for the styles she remembers back home. There is deviation, but the essential style -- the soul -- shine through where-ever she sees it. She's even read that Khattans incorporated Terran traditions in to their aesthetic, though some sources suggest it was the other way around. Considering the Khattans are a space-fairing people without a known home world, she thinks it must be the former unless they do have a home world and it's the sort that would inspire this sort of architecture -- a desert world, perhaps.
"If it's not going to get too crowded, we'd like a private pod if possible," Gabriel says. "I assume there's a cover charge?"
The woman holds up a chip scanner and smiles. "Of course sir," she purrs.
A moment later they're being led to one of the slow-moving pods. Apparently the entire floor moves in a circle.
Tasha rolls her eyes a little at Gabriel's question. Clearly, she thinks, he hasn't been around enough Khattans to have automatically known that answer. Sometimes she wonders why she doens't charge more, herself; she is a fake Khattan after all. "I like your outfit," Tasha remarks as she walks, smiling. She wore something like it once, and she knows Gabriel likes the woman's outfit, too.
The pod is full of pillows of course, rather than seating. It doesn't even have a table. The position means that the patrons are generally going to be looking upward towards the stage. "Would you like anything to drink?" a tiny holographic Khattan man asks, appearing in the center of the pod. He's dressed almost exactly the same of the hostess. Who knew that sort of outfit could be unisex?
"I'll have what the house recommends," Tasha replies, a safe bet. It's a technique she's picked up from her travels. The house will try to impress her, if it cares to, or it may give what it gives everyone; it could try to cheat her or deal honestly, even undercut themselves. Whatever the house choses, she learns something about the house -- and they learn something about her if they chose.
Tasha leans back such that her head rests against Gabriel's lower belly rather than any cushion, hands folded on her belly. She looks comfortable, and like she's considering her hands again, which she occassionally does.
"Do you have beer?" Gabriel asks. Then he rattles off what sounds like a recipe, including specific flavorings and alcohol percentage. "Thank you sit, we will prepare that for you, and a house specialty for the young lady."
"Thank you," Tasha chimes in, then gives a little finger wave without unfolding her hands.
The little figure blinks out. More people begin to arrive, and most of them are Khattans. They aren't dressed fancily, so are probably some of the local merchants. All Khattan venues seem to double as places to discuss business it seems, at least on Caltrop.
Often on Sinai too, Tasha remembers. Not that she did a lot of business in them, she wasn't any sort of business woman until after she left her home world. "Having fun?" Tasha asks Gabriel, looking up.
The big wolf looks awkward as he tries to position himself in the pillows. "I prefer the ones with the low table you had to kneel at."
"They just didn't expect such a big man such as yourself. Do you want me to sit in your lap so you can get more comfortable?" Tasha sits up in anticipation of having to move, looking peculiar in the blacklight.
"Wouldn't that just block my view of the stage?" Gabriel asks innocently. "Just shovel more pillows behind my back."
"Yes sir," Tasha replies, stuffing pillow behind the man until he looks comfortable then sinking back to her previous position, this time on her side with her wings off the edge and tail swaying slowly under its own power.
A glowing disc floats over and comes down to hover in the center of the pod. It has a big glass of dark beer on it, and also a very large, wide glass full of something layered and slushy, with pink and purple being dominant under the UV lights, and a floating mass of odd fruit that glows very brightly. There is a big straw, and something sticking up that looks like a color-changing flower.
"I like it," Tasha says after observing the drink. She kind of wants to put it in her quarters so she can look at it all the time, but that has a multitude of problems not the least of which is that she (or Hake, probably Hake) would drink it. She slides it over to herself and places it in her lap where she can idly sip at it while watching the show.
There's motion in the slush. Something seems to be swimming around in an effort to keep the drink mixed.. or the layers separated. Gabriel has a sip of his beer, and nods. "Just right."
"I didn't know you knew how to make a beer. I have a feeling this is a secret you kept from me until you felt I was more responsible." Tasha takes her own sip, trying to avoid sucking up the moving piece. Her mother would spend days marveling at a drink like this.
It's very sweet, and very alcoholic. Music starts to play, also familiar but with a different beat and sounding more electronic.
Tasha decides she better pace herself or risk doing something they'll both regret later. And so she sips gingerly, making the drink last. As for the music, electronic music always struck her as strange, probably because she didn't grow up around it. Nora wasn't a music buff as far as Tasha can tell, so there's no influence from her to have changed her opinion on the subject.
There's no sense of movement from the stage, but then the UV spots focus there, so that the stationary dancer light up in day-glow colors. There are two men and two women, all wearing the same costume. It's not quiet like belly dancing gear, probably due to the bright, almost liquid colors. They even matching.. skirts? They're made of glowing loops that connect to their belts. When they do start, however, it's clearly some sort of belly dance, just to a very different beat and pace, and probably incorporating elements from other styles as well.
In a very low voice so as not to disrupt the performance or risk insulting the dancers, Tasha asks Gabriel, "Do you think thy know traditional styles? Sam said something to me a while ago and I'm getting an idea."
"Traditional could mean prehistoric," Gabriel notes. "But there a finite number of ways a body can move. What has Sam been suggesting behind my back? I cannot dance like those guys up there."
"Something more in line with his, um, teachings. Dance-related." Tasha then turns to glance at the men and stiffles a laugh. "Oh don't worry about that, feminine and scantily clad men were never my interest."
"So, what kind of scantily clad men are?" Gabriel asks. The dancers are following a sort of circular pattern, orbiting inward and then back outward. At the edge the stage, they throw their arms out, and spawn half-sized versions of themselves. And then those spawn quarter-sized versions, until they're dancing in a sort of holographic, fractal tornado of colors.
Tasha has to admit making small holographic copies of oneself is a neat trick, and could be a useful trick. She notes the idea down in that part of her mind that plots and plans for advantage and contingency. "Big, strong men. The outfit is optional."
"I'm a terrible dancer," Gabriel claims.
"I've never really tried. I'm decent at singing now thanks to the lessons," Tasha notes in turn, then she reaches up and pats Gabriel's hand. "But that's okay, I don't want or need you to dance."
The mini-dancers aren't the only holography at play, since apparently the costumes themselves are projections, since they change as the dancers start a new dance, which requires them to pair off. It's hard to say if it's dancing or some sort of gymnastics routine set to music though.
Tasha watches this with some interest. "I wonder if I can do that? I'm not exactl as heavy as a Vartan or a Karnor. Maybe nimbleness is my forte." Now, she clearly means her forte now. With how much she's changed, Gabriel knows she's been trying to figure out who and what she is all over again, including physically. This is a real concern in the field, but also an identity, hobby, and even magical issue for her.
"I don't think having wings will let you do that," Gabriel notes. "You still have a higher center of gravity than an un-winged person." He drinks his beer, and then notes, "What happens if the projector breaks? Are they actually naked up there? Can you tell if there's any movement that implies too much freedom in places?"
"I feel like that would be rude," Tasha insists, proud of herself for not giving in to the suggestion; it speaks of her refinement. "What if I incorporate my wings? Vartan styles?"
"You could use your wings as your costume," Gabriel suggests. "There must be something under the illusion. Any Eeee could tell right away. Did you know Phins can see inside of you when you're in the water?"
"Of course I did. I spent days with them back on that one world. That was one of the first things they warned me about along side don't go with a bull if he asks you if you want to go swim." Tasha then lowers a wing to look at it. "Maybe I could, but it's easier to use them for balance. They're a lot of my mass and weight distribution."
"But then you'd need a dance outfit," Gabriel says. Then he asks, "Wait, what's the dancing for again? It's not for me?"
"It's for ... " Tasha waggles a hand vaguely, " ... 'religious and spiritual reasons'. The kinf Mr. Yellow and Mr., um, Black appreciate. They might also be interested to our scholarky friend."
"I don't want to imagine him in a belly dancing outfit," Gabriel says. "I don't know what's under those robes he wears."
The holographic duplicates dance around the edges of the seating pod now, mirroring the actions of the dancers.
"You don't want to know," Tasha insists, head giving a little shake. She's seen in to his eyes, after all. "But not him, me. There's primal passion in dancing, but maybe that's been forgotten in the civilized Galactic age."
"Pretty sure dancing is still a profession. And hobby. I learned ballroom dancing in school," the big Karnor notes. "I forget the reason for it now."
"But maybe they've forgotten the fire, and the night," Tasha suggests, arching her brows. "Maybe I could ask one of the troupes to teach me if they keep my profits? If I can make Galactic civilization remember the night, then I'll know I've figured it out."
"Teenagers will always dance," Gabriel says. "But, there's probably a group that goes and dances out under the stars here. Kem would know."
"If I learn to dance this way, I can dance even in public. The passion of the masses would be a very effective force, and we wouldn't even need to hide to use it." Tasha arches her brows again in a 'ah-ha' way. "But we can talk about it later if you want to."
"Wait, are you asking if you can seduce groups of people in public?" Gabriel asks suspiciously. "I thought that was Katie's job?"
"Not exactly that way, something different. I'll work it out and then you can tell me what you think. Seducing people that was is still Katie's job," Tasha corrects.
"You have to be careful about raising passions," Gabriel notes. "How's your drink? It looks very candy-like."
"It's very candy like, but the clear layers are very strong alcohol. Not bitter, but strong; it goes nicely with the sweet." And so Tasha nods. "I'll be careful. That's what practice and training is for, isn't it?"
"I don't think you practice and train to be alcohol resistant," Gabriel notes. "And that's probably the most expensive drink in the place. Warn me if you feel like joining the dances on the stage."
The dancers are now doing something best described as 'butt dancing'.
"I'm not sure what to think of this style," Tasha admits. "I ... don't think I like it?" For her, dancing has been a natural thing. Added glitz and glamor can accentuate, but when they become a replacement for the ebb and flow of life, she loses interest. It's not unlike sex for her in that way. And dancing with a person's butt strikes her as silly. Thankfully, she manages not to giggle. "Oh I will. I assume you'll then encourage me." At least her effort in moderation seems to be paying off.
"Now they're doing traditional," Gabriel claims. But the dance moves into a different style again, which seems more hip and leg centric, along with another costume and music change.
"You can't fault them for variety," Tasha agrees, smiling. Traditional remains her favorite, perhaps because the one thing she's never quite replaced with technology is people, and dancing is a fundamentally organic, sentient art to her. She supposes a machine or someone like Samael could do it if they grasped the soul of it; in Sam's case, he may have quite literally grasped the soul of a dancer and thus at least know it that way.
The big finale is more energetic and gymnastic, with the men holding the women up in something like a ballet move before the stage went dark again and the music stopped. There was applause, but it isn't clear if the other pods were really paying any attention or not.
Tasha claps too, both because she enjoyed it and to not clap might have insulted the dancers, and she has known enough bar and tavern room dancers in her life to know their life can be a hard one. Caltrop is not so unlike Rephidim in that sense. "Did you have fun?" her drink's at about half now, and she doesn't seem drunk.
"Holographic clothes.. that's one way to keep cool I suppose," Gabriel notes, then grins at Tasha. "Yes, it was entertaining and the beer was good. Do you think we've been followed?"
"Why, lets find out." Tasha rolls her head around to give Gabriel a kiss on the side of his muzzle, as she is often wont to do, but it gives her keen eyes a moment to scan the faces near them in the motion.
Things are still oddly colored of course, so it's hard to recognize anyway. There are of course plenty of Khattans, but they're all in groups. There's a group of Eeee, but they also seem more focused on their own discussion (and laughter) than on anything around them.
On a hunch, Tasha rolls to Gabriel's other side, giving her a moment to view other angles she missed, then gets comfortable. In particular she's searching for that Silent-One who dined near them, and the Eeee could be suspicious. She has some many potential enemies and interested parties it's quite hard for her to narrow things down.
There aren't any Silent-Ones in view. Tasha isn't certain if the Silent-Ones enjoy dancing as much as the Savanites did.
"No one I can see," Tasha whispers as she cuddles in. "How about you? Anyone?"
"I'm not much of a people watcher," Gabriel admits. "I don't notice any familiar scents."
"Then we're probably safe. Well," she pats the man's hand, "Do you want to head back? I can have Mr. I. arrange lessons after I talk to the others about it."
"Hopefully your medical exam will go alright with the amount you've drunk so far," Gabriel says. "Back to the Inn?"
"Until I'm poked and prodded in the bad way," Tasha agrees. She rises first, so the man can get up. In the end she managed about two thirds of her drink, but can't bring herself to ask to take it with her, as she suspects that'd undermine the mystery around her.
Gabriel gets up next, and offers his elbow to Tasha.
Tasha accepts the elbow, tail wagging, and allows herself to be lead out. "Next time we should try another new restaurant," she suggests.
"And get a fresh painting of you done too," Gabriel adds.
"Oh yay," Tasha mock-enthuses, then she barks a laugh. "We'll see."