<div class="floatleft">(https://i.imgur.com/0kQTA1Z.png)</div><table class="bbc_table"><tbody><tr><td><strong>Name</strong></td><td>Countess Lieutenant Kathryn Foss</td></tr><tr><td><strong>Date</strong></td><td>May 3025</td></tr><tr><td><strong>Location    </strong></td><td>Siege Perilous: Starport Tarmac</td></tr><tr><td><strong>Tagging</strong></td><td>Open</td></tr><tr><td><strong>Content</strong></td><td>Arrival</td></tr></tbody></table><hr/><br/>Kathryn returned the Kommandant's salute, snapping her gloved hand to under her beret. Her outfit was not exactly a military dress uniform; the material was nicer, and the cut was tailored. The whole thing was a compromise between the military's need for standardization and expendability, and the nobility's political needs for individuality and majesty. It was designed to cultivate an air of not only authority, but superiority.<br/><br/>By contrast, her valette was attired in a black suit and bow tie. It was clearly expensive, but otherwise utterly nondescript. Her entire appearance was carefully engineered to be invisible in a crowded room. The favoured appearance of discreet, classy security since humanity first reached for the stars. And, like most outfits like it, it no doubt concealed an array of subtle communications gear, potent weaponry and other useful items.<br/><br/>Her advisor hung in the back, and was apparently entertaining himself by socializing with his counterparts. The older gentleman carried himself with a supreme yet relaxed confidence. He had somehow managed to acquire lowball glasses and some species of expensive alcohol, and had decided that it was never to early to begin sharing. His own glass seemed to be emptying at a far slower rate than that of his associates though.<br/><br/>Kathyn stood straight, her hands clasped behind her back, flanked by her valette as the Lyran delivered his spiel. When he was done, she nodded curtly and boarded. The craft was unimpressive, almost pitiable. It and its token escort were either another calculated insult, or this planet really was as much of a backwater as she'd heard. The fact that they'd been invited to a 'feast' suggested the latter. Events tended to be named in way that highlighted the key feature. For that to be food of all things suggested chronic supply shortages. Not enough to cause open unrest, but enough that access to food was a mark of social status.<br/><br/>This was gonna suck.<br/><br/>Once aboard, she considered the other passengers. The Drac was likely one of the more patriotic ones; if the archaic dress wasn't a hint enough, the use of a Kuritan title instead of Cameronian title was. Granted, Kathryn had limited knowledge of the Combine's cultural norms, but her understanding was that the usage of Kuritan titles was limited to ceremonial occasions. Her prior interactions with the Combine had been limited to their military forces on the battlefield during the last Succession War, and with their diplomats after it. The Shogun would be her first personal encounter with a Kuritan noble. Perhaps she would learn something new.<br/><br/>Her Federation counterparts had so far failed to make an impression. The clotheshorse in the cape looked vaguely familiar. He was probably even further down the line of succession than she was. Those who were the last in a very long line they couldn't leave tended to cope in one of two ways: by becoming invisible or by becoming<em>very</em>visible. The flourish with the cape suggested he'd walked the latter path. She couldn't place why he looked familiar though. The unresolved question was irritating her and consequently so was the Marquis Captain.<br/>