I've done a<div class="spoiler_container"><div class="spoiler_header" onclick="hideSecond (this);" role="button">draft post.</div><div class="spoiler_body">While some of the passengers of the <em>Spring Dream</em> 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/>He was a handsome man- tall and lean, always dressed in the military or off-military style that was the fashion in Davion court, his long, straight black hair always perfectly groomed, always clean-shaven, strong cheekbones, and bright green eyes (inherited from his father) added an exotic touch to a face clearly descended from the Japanese genotype- he was good-looking and knew it. 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 (<em>we mustn't risk the lineage, after all,</em> 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 <em>he didn't care about.</em>  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/>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.</div></div>I'm still not sure about Whitecliff's gender, because I can't decide between spoiled ponce and spoiled bitch, but for now it's Alaric.<br/><br/>I took the liberty of including some of my submitted NPCs (and giving one a rank), but I can change that if required.  I also took the liberty of naming the dropship- at first it was Midwinter's Night Dream, but then I changed it to Spring Dream.<br/><br/>I feel like the post is also incomplete, but I figure it's not an awful place for posting if I decide to rush it.<br/><br/>