He had seen this type of thing before. It wasn't a new thing for Veche. His look was clinical; at best as he walked with the crowd.<br/><br/>It wasn't a simple statement of fact, the awe inspiring cruiser was something almost as breathtaking as any sight upon the thirty or so worlds he'd lighted upon in his harsh lifetime. It's just; the luster of such things is dimmed- after serving aboard and being dropped by them to mission zones, for almost half of your age. The massive man's feet, clad in ceremite boots- struck an even, measured, stride. Click, tak, click, tak, click, tak. The sharp strikes causing anyone who had a weaker will to flinch, shy from him. Good. He had no use for these nobles, no want for their parity or pity toward him. At least, those who looked; their eyes either filled with disdain or pity. He returned both with a sneer. It was something he could not fathom; this- event. Why bother? Really. Upon Dusk, his homeworld; such things were flights of fantasy for his kind- those who dwelt in shadows and knelt in silent prayer to old-gods, the Emperor, and the very chaos that was around them. This type of event was a ripe thing for those who worshiped Chaos to interfere, foul xenos to infiltrate, and- of course there were...<br/><br/>"... Nobles.", the low- rumbling growl that emanated from his throat was nearly cat-like in the intensity of it's thrumming accented hum. Yes, he spoke High Gothic; no Guardsman who'd served under an inquisitor as long as he had would pass that chance up. The chance to understand the almost flowery words that expounded superiority, from the 'betters' in their ranks. And right now; he was staring pointedly at a wall. He had, mingled; somewhat. His matted hair and rather obvious lack of pomp made him something to talk about. His clothing was standard gear- his weapons were spot-on and clean; and he looked to be watching everyone. Those eyes of his read an indomitable amount of wary paranoia that, unfortunately, when he was asked a question- it only made the scent of urine waft from one, particularly frightened, noble; and a very angry looking Veche. "Catachan?<b>CATACHAN?!</b>I am<b>not</b>Catachan.", of course; that violent outburst aside? He seemed to be mingling with the servants more than the actual nobles; although- when pressed, the looks of disgust that were on the nobles faces when he told them where he was from- were rather priceless. As, you see, he took a bit of pride in coming from a place even the noble elite would dare turn from in disgust. They, who most often, had heretical items hidden away- secrets darker than an Eldaar's heart, this only made the smile on his face more so- when he was starting to be avoided. He felt better, having no want to even try to pretend he could ever like such people. It sickened him it did, not the party- frankly he liked parties; and the songs were good too, it was the people that made him ill. Although that might have been the three or four glasses of Amasec and the raw meat that tasted kinda funny... Maybe.<br/><br/>But, some of the nobles that still came around; to speak with him- noticed one thing; one, particular, thing about his arms and; indeed; neck and lower face. He was riddled with raised, intricate, scars. Wounds from weapons not withstanding; the puckered marks of bullet fire; the shined flesh of lasgun bolts, he- was covered. The nobles who asked were, interesting people, not the kind he'd normally associate with true- but, genuinely curious people. He, with heavy accent and heavier mood; described exactly why he did so. The explanation itself took the greater part of twenty minutes to go through the basic reasoning, thoughts, and other diatribe that one would expect. Regional situation, tribal situation, it was almost all  gesticulation and words that he could not translate. But, the interest that was shown made him feel; well- wanted around. And that didn't really stop his dour attitude, but; it did allow him to mingle. However, at- seeing Salinas' willingness to lift her shirt; to show an, admittedly; interesting tattoo. He paused in his distaste at what was going on, only to be intruiged. His titanic height; for a human, allowed for him to clear a path of the, in his mind, lesser men and women; along with some less than subtle pushing.<br/><br/>And, it was in Low Gothic that he spoke, as a minor snub; plus- he was getting a little annoyed with sounding so flowery, "Th' next song'll be fairly energetic. Care t'dance?", the accent he held was predatory; although- he had a hand offered and a smile on his face. Which, honestly, wasn't reassuring either; as his canines and ancillary teeth were sharpened to points. Giving him an even more; if one could say it, predatory look.<br/><br/>As for the Rogue Trader  not showing? He'd care about that when she appeared. However, he likely offended everyone around him; so- that might not be a good thing. But; as it was said, he wasn't one for social events.<div class="messageTextEndMarker"> </div>