A Daughter's Father

[Dharkharon s'Ilancy]

His relationship with his middle daughter was not half as strained as it was with his eldest - and eventhough he knew that Kyryanu did many of the same things her elder sister did, he did not consider Kyry to be dead to him. He cared for her.

And as such, when he recieved word that she was married once again - and this time with child, he knew that he would have to meet the husband and father. Of course, when he found out who it was that had quite literally stolen his daughter's heart, he couldn't help but wonder what sort of pattern was developing with his children, and who his youngest, Fenra, would choose to eventually spend her life with.

His arrival on Delteon was uneventful enough, though there seemed to be a small bit of a stir as he went through customs. They let him through, however, but the elder s'Ilancy found himself a little wary of the stares many of the officers and staff around the starport seemed to be giving him. Stranger things have happened though, he figured.

Soon after, Dharkharon found himself sitting outside, under the overhang of a small tapcafe and enjoying a midmorning cup of tea.

When he was finished, he would head for the administration buildings, intent to finally meet Khendon Sevon.

[Khendon Sevon]

A series of high windows allowed the gray day’s light to flood into the office. Intricately carved, oaken windowpanes caused natural shapes to float about the room. Long, somber shadows stretched sleepily from the soft, wood colored pillars that lined the sides of the chamber. A large screen cast a varied hue of light in one of these baths of darkness. It silently played a news channel. Facing the display, several meters away, was a long, broken in leather couch. It had seen enough use that it screamed comfort.

Towards the large windows a sturdy oak desk stood. It proudly held contents that the Imperator considered important. A single flat panel monitor sat at one corner, angled towards the smaller counterpart to the tired couch. Various plastic-like papers were scattered about the desk. A bottle of some perfectly aged liquor sat unopened, four small glasses and an ice cooler idly waiting.

Khendon sat, eyes focused on his screen. He had recently gotten a full night’s rest and, as such, lacked his trademark sleepy look. He was cleanly shaved and his hair was neat and kept. A dull buzz broke the silence, a robot’s voice following, “Imperator Sevon, there is a Mr. Dharkharon S’ilancy to see you.”

The imperial cocked an eyebrow and spoke gently, “Send him in.”

[Dharkharon s'Ilancy]

Allowed entry into the Imperator's office, Dharkharon remained rigid as he strode into its' depths, letting his steely eyes take in these new surroundings. They were simple, elegant, and pleasing to the eye, and silently he found himself impressed. He had been impressed when he met Taylor Millard, but true to form, the elder s'Ilancy had hid his thoughts, unwilling to allow them to surface.

But now was the time for him to determine for himself, whether or not he felt this Khendon Sevon deserved Kyryanu.

And of course, there was the matter of one Sean Piett. Just the thought of the man made him grind his teeth. But there would be ample enough time to inquire about Piett later. As it was, Dharkharon now found himself in the presence of the Imperial Federacy's leader, and his daughter's husband.

Suit neatly pressed, he stopped just inside the doors, neglecting to go further in - instead, he gave the Imperator a slight bow.

"Imperator Sevon."

[Khendon Sevon]

The room was still and silent as Khendon poured over his work. The brilliant lighting scheme of the room provided all of the illumination that the Imperator needed to go about his business. He fluidly signed a document and threw it aside.

Suddenly the equilibrium of the room was altered. A new pattern of light interjected in the elegantly designed canvas. Khendon’s relaxed, silver eyes looked up. A genial smile easily came to the imperial’s lips.

“Imperator Sevon,” said the man in the doorway.

Khendon stood, his chair rolling away silently. With an arm across his belly he bowed ever so gently, “Mr. S’ilancy,” he said in a smooth voice, “please, sit.” With a wide sweeping motion he indicated two extremely comfortable looking leathers seats—all the mirror image of the one he had been sitting in—positioned directly in front of his solid desk.