Popular Post Bryce Tagren-Quinn Posted February 25 Popular Post Share Posted February 25 @Doz Finch - what a masterpiece! I love this introduction to your MSNPC. The details, the tone/setting of the scene. Your writing style is exquisite, and I'm here for it. Well done!! Quote ((Niu Hotel's Presidential Suite, Borrel District, Witherington, Indre III)) Bang. The once resplendent door to the Niu Hotel swung open, revealing within its frame the beautiful and laughing figure of Giria Palnin, hand alluringly teasing at invisible pearls on her chest as troops pounded in beside her. As they clomped in holding their rifles hard to their armoured torso’s, the carnage truly began; hideous chaise lounges were upturned, scorched portraits were knocked clean off their nails, vulgar ornaments toppled, rooms invaded, rugs lifted, creating swirls of dust that lingered annoyingly under Palnin’s freshly powdered nose, titillating enough to make it twitch. A graceful, exasperated sigh danced on her pearly lips as she watched her puppets tear the place apart in search of the unsavoury sorts who hilariously believed it was their right to live there, on that rock, on Witherington. And as she pictured them in their squirming and scampering like rats for places to hide, forced indoors by the bludgeoning rain that her people had artificially caused, her lonesome laughter only swelled even more, echoing up into the tall plafonds of the foyer. She sauntered lazily forwards, and her beguilingly hazel eyes focused on a chandelier that dangled above a grand staircase in front of her. It was a meagre attempt at grandeur, but a part of her did secretly relish in its presence, enthralled by its shimmer, by its tinkling champagne-coloured brinicles. That’s exactly what she was, too—shining, glamorous and sublime as a chandelier. As she vainly purred her way up the staircase, in the direction of the Presidential Suite, her slender fingers teased at the coarse surface of her metallic uniform, circling the outline of the chest pins that marked her rank—a rank that she had carefully, meticulously, and cruelly earned. She reached the door to the suite and moved through it, met by the scarred face of her co-Glinn Corbin Terek. A smirk played at the corners of her seductive mouth. Terek: ::sarcastically:: Salmakt, jasi1. Palnin: Salmakt2, Terek. ::she chortled playfully, eyeing up the suite:: How roomy. Terek: You are welcome to clean up the mess and take a seat. ::He indicated with a gesture of his hand toward the Bajoran resistance leader's body in the chair, a chuckle under his breath.:: Would you like a drink? She looked at the body in the chair, and at the splatter on the wall and pursed her lips, mocking sorrow. Palnin: I thought you’d never ask. Give me some of that red vermouth…stiff. She found a throne to sit in and crossed her legs over to accentuate their slinky lines, in a way that only Palnin knew how. After all, few Cardassians worked their heavy uniforms as well as she did. Terek: Unless you've taken a liking to Bajoran cuisine lately, you'll have to wait until the next shipment arrives. But by all means, ::he plonked the bottle of kanar down in front of her,:: enjoy yourself. The invasion has only just begun. Terek strode towards the chair in which the corpse of Bajoran leader of the resistance lay slumped, and with a heartless and cold nudge of his hand, stole his seat, the body thumping onto the ground. Palnin amusedly watched him over the rim of her glass of kanar, now swirling in her right talon. She lifted her left eyebrow with approval. Terek: Now, we calculate our next move. Palnin: About time. Every hour that goes by in this cesspit of a colony, those pestilent little…mules…continue to swan around, flocking together like bevy’s. Resisting. ::she scoffed with a smirk:: whatever we do next, we do it hard. Ham it up. Show them what their insubordination costs. Terek: Response Palnin: Where did you have in mind? ::she sipped her drink:: Terek: Response Palnin: There’s the underground train system—not that I would be seen dead in it, of course. Terek: Response Palnin: And where in Witherington is that, exactly? Terek: Response Palnin: Is it strategically significant? Couldn't we just... ::she shrugged nonchalantly, relaxing back into her chair::... blow it up. Terek: Response Palnin: Look at you. ::she rubbed the inner rim of her glass, then sucked her finger slowly:: using that brain of yours. I'd almost call it attractive. Terek: Response 1 Cardassian: Hello, superior. 2 Cardassian: Hello, Terek. -- Doz Finch, "Gramma" Fixer Skarbek As simmed by, Ensign Doz Finch Engineering Officer USS Gorkon C239809SH3 4 1 Quote Link to comment
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