<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>: the<em>Spring Dream</em><br/><strong>Current event</strong>: Planetfall, disembarkation<br/><strong>Current tags</strong>: Open<br/><hr/>While some of the passengers of the Spring Dream stared at viewing screens or buckled into crashcouches for the descent, the Marquis Captain Alaric Mitsuhama Arkady Whitecliff (of the Emerald Shore Whitecliffs, thank you) looked petulant.  In fact, an ungenerous observer might have even accused him of sulking, though it was unlikely anyone here would be so crass as to say such a thing.<br/><br/>Alaric was tall and lean, often dressed in the military or off-military style that was the fashion in Davion court, and despite being given a respected name from the history of medieval Europe he was clearly descended from the Japanese genotype- though the bright green eyes he'd inherited from his father lent an exotic cast that was at odds with that phenotype.  He was good-looking and knew it, always clean-shaven, hair well-groomed, dressed in the latest fashion of the Davion court- usually military or 'militant inspired.'  Despite his martial attire he always came off as a bit effete, and interaction did not seem to improve that impression in the slightest.  In fact, he typically gave an impression of being a clotheshorse, and there was certainly truth to that.<br/><br/>He'd brought more luggage on board than anyone had a right to in space travel, mostly clothes of various cuts and styles, though there was a single gun bag that stood out from the rest of his equipage.  He'd carried that himself, and had kept it in his room during the voyage, but that was a minor, easily overlooked detail.<br/><br/>He sat in the drop bay, fidgeting in the crash couch he'd come to occupy (we mustn't risk the lineage, after all, he'd thought bitterly as he'd secured himself) as he waited for the ship to finally land so that he, and all of these other people he didn't really care about, could go to a party he didn't care about on a planet he didn't care about for reasons he didn't care about.  He was going to do what was required of himself, when all was said and done, so he'd taken the time to wear his tailored dress uniform, though he wasn't wearing his cloak yet.  His manservant, the everpresent James Connolly- an old, refined gentleman with all of the dignity Alaric seemed to lack who evidently had the unenviable position of manservant to the young marquis- sat next to Alaric with the dress-cloak carefully folded in his lap.  Where Alaric was fidgety and ill-at-ease, Connolly was self-possessed and reserved, his sense of pride helping him to mask the nervousness that always came with atmospheric re-entry.<br/><br/>Next to Connolly sat Alicia Corleone, who was white-knuckling the seat restraints and looked as though she was about to vomit.  Hers was the... dubious honour of being Alaric's tutor in history, advisor in diplomatic matters... and often coach.  She was not, however, particularly brave or hardy, and re-entry did not sit well with her.  She had attended prestigious schools and was respected in her field, but she cursed the day that she had landed this job.  She hoped that it would be temporary though, and she might be assigned to assist Alaric's older brother or sister... or, better yet, be offered a position at one of the few surviving universities in Davion space.<br/><br/>Opposite from James Connolly, Leftenant Sir Isaiah Marks, a knight in the service to the duke Alaric's father, sat chewing gum.  He was perhaps fifty, perhaps sixty, but where Connolly was clearly a bodyservant Marks was a warrior and a man-at-arms, experienced in war an combat, hard and weathered.  Even now his eyes flickered across the bay, watching and waiting, though he knew that all of the best ways to assassinate his charge the idiot would involve privacy, he still took his duties seriously- which he'd most recently demonstrated when he'd insisted that Alaric get in the damn crash couch.<br/><br/>And so, Alaric looked impatient and petulant.  Perhaps he was even sulking. "So, explain this to me," he was saying to Corleone.  "Why are we doing this dog and pony show?"<br/><br/>Marks was clearly annoyed, but he was doing a remarkable job of suppressing his exasperation considering that Alaric had asked this very question already twice since occupying the couch.  While Marks might have been admired for his restraint, though, Connolly might have been sainted, for his expression was just as patient and reserved as it always was.  After all, nobody had really taught his Marquis any better, and Ms. Corleone had not realized Alaric's potential- nor should she have, truth be told.  Matters were what they were, that was all.<br/><br/>While Alicia appeared to be much less sanguine about Alaric's stubborn unwillingness to accept matters, she didn't really mind answering him anyway- it distracted her from the state of her stomach.  "It's all a matter of showing face, of course.  There are representatives from each of the Great Houses here, and so every action is scrutinized and observed.  This is the most significant arrival of force on-world in quite some time, and this JumpShip brought not only us, but a Combine dropship as well.  That means that everyone is watching, and the local leaders of each faction felt a gala in our honour would be appropriate.  To ignore them would be an insult to not only your commanding officer and the head of the AFFS contigent here, but also the DCMS, the LCAF, the FWLM and even the CCAF."<br/><br/>Marks grunted at this point- he was tempted to add that it might be useful to watch the other contingents and try to take their measure in turn, but he didn't really think Alaric would appreciate the advice.  Or take it.  Or care.<br/><br/>Alaric, either ignoring the grunt or assuming that it was merely a statement of agreement with Alicia, frowned.  "And then Father would hear about it."<em>And have another reason to lecture me.</em>He sighed, resolving to at least try to make the best of it, and looked about the cargo bay.  The relatively slow and even pace of the landing meant that most of the crew- and most of the passengers, in fact- had forgone the protection of crash couches and were moving about in relative ease- though tools and loose equipment had been secured.  After all, nobody wanted to take a chance with an airborne torque wrench flying freely throughout the bay.  Nevertheless, some passengers were reviewing planetary data, some were reading, some were watching viewscreens, and some were just watching the passengers like himself.<br/><br/>When the dropship<em>About time!</em>landed, Alaric released himself from the restraints and sprang to his feet with the smooth grace of an athlete, snatching his cloak from Connolly's lap as he stood.  Marks had to hurry to keep up as his charge strode toward the disembarkation ramp, donning his cloak with a smooth, practiced flourish.<br/><br/>If he was going to be required to be here, at least he would look good doing it.