<div class="floatright">(https://elliquiy.com/elluiki/images/3/31/Male_Asian_Hair.jpg)</div><hr/><strong><span class="bbc_size" style="font-size: 12pt;"><span class="bbc_font" style="font-family: verdana;">Marquis Captain Alaric Whitecliff</span></span></strong>,<em>Human, 199cm, 86kg, green eyes and black hair</em><br/><strong>Current location</strong>: Starport Tarmac<br/><strong>Current event</strong>: Boarding.<br/><strong>Current tags</strong>: Open<br/><hr/><br/>At Kommandant Cavanaugh's blasé attitude toward the various assembled nobility, Alaric's habitually bored and vaguely superior attitude changed<em>very</em>quickly.  Rather than being irritated at not being given his proper due, as might have been expected, he instead returned the Kommandant's salute, though his form was lazy, and listened attentively.<em>A Lyran pilot carrying Federated and Combine nobility.  How odd!</em>he thought to himself, but that was mostly a minor background thought as he started paying more attention.<br/><br/>Meanwhile his manservant Connolly, had been conversing genially with the circle of 'help' who had congregated around the Foss woman's advisor, though he'd refused the offer of alcohol, citing a stomach upset from the planetfall as excuse.  He nevertheless was deeply involved in the conversations there, mostly about cooking tips- "I once trained to be a restaurateur, you see," he said affably... though his ears were open.  He'd long since served the young master, and he knew how the game was played.  He also never stopped paying attention to his master- when Alaric gave a subtle wave to Connolly as Cavanaugh briefed the party, he immediately excused himself ever-so-politely and came to Alaric's side to receive instructions.<br/><br/>Connolly then gathered up Alicia Corleone (who had accepted a drink, but had immediately begun discussing the various exports of Siege Perilous and their affect on the local derivatives market) and began supervising the transfer of Whitecliff's luggage to the trucks tasked for transport, as well as herding Alicia away from the Kharnov- who probably wasn't in any condition to ride in the notoriously bumpy craft.<br/><br/>Isaiah Marks never left Alaric's side, and if Alaric looked as though he'd put on the spit-and-polish, Marks did not. Where Alaric's tailored uniform was ostentatious and Charlotte's suit was a classy standard, Marks wore a simple, clean uniform, well worn but bereft of medals, campaign badges, or indeed any insignia but for his rank and the arms of the Whitecliff dynasty and the Armed Forces of the Federated Suns.  He carried two large bags behind Alaric- one a simple small duffel, probably loaded with spare clothes, and the other a large ballistic-cloth bag suitable for carrying a large firearm.  He didn't like the situation here at all, but there was little he could do about it so he was doing his best to maintain his calm by performing a methodical check of threats in the area... and his eyes stopped on Foss's Valette.  He didn't know her name- yet- but he recognized someone who hid a threat, and she moved more like an agent than a soldier, but she clearly bore watching.  She wasn't all that hard on the eyes either.  He knew she'd noticed him noticing her, so he allowed his eyes to meet hers, flint-grey eyes in an weatherbeaten face, far older... but he knew his job was the same as hers, so she warranted the respect.  He'd still have to watch her though.  She was FedSuns like him, sure, but she wasn't Whitecliff.  She wasn't Emerald Shore.  She might not be an enemy, but that didn't make her an ally.<br/><br/>Alaric nodded as Cavanaugh finished his speech with a probably-practiced dark humour, nodded and said "One question pilot.  Er, Kommandant."  He began boarding the craft and tossed an over-the-shoulder "Can you give us a guided tour during our flight?" to the Lyran pilot considering where to park himself.  He briefly considered sitting next to the countess who'd travelled with them- after all, she seemed familiar to him, though he had trouble recalling from where- but then one of the other passengers on the dropship (Alaric thought he might have something to do with the tanks?) sat with her and began talking to her.  Alaric hesitated.  Interrupting would be rude and pointless.  He couldn't talk to the duchess- ah, shogun, rather, because she was going to the cockpit, and there weren't a great deal of other choices.<br/><br/>Suddenly, Alaric's reverie was interrupted by Mark's, who harrumphed unsubtly, reminding Alaric that he was blocking boarding access.  He flushed slightly, and simply found a place to sit off to one side, near a window.  Marks boarded after him and sat next to him, laying the bags at their feet.<br/>