Trance Farani
Jul 23rd, 2017, 04:14:13 PM
Modus Prime
Rifle Worlds, Hapes Cluster
A slow and gentle breath eased its way between Trance's lips. Autumn had come to the Vivendi Mountains, and the always fresh and fruitful air brought with is a crisp coolness that instantly began to revitalise the weary Admiral from within. It failed to dislodge the weight that burdened her shoulders, ever heavier year by year; but it would take more than a single relaxing breath to help her feel once again like the woman she was, rather than merely the uniform she wore.
Her hands splayed across the stone barrier before her, fingertips pressing against the moisture of mountain dew as she gazed out across the vineyards that sprawled across the stepped plateaus carved into the mountainsides, and beyond into the sprawling farmland that quilted a harlequin pattern across the valley floor. For some, the Farani Estate and it's satellite villages were an idyllic paradise, shielded by verdant mountains by the trials and tribulations of the galaxy beyond. Over the last several generations of the Farani family it had become a sanctuary, the chance to settle and farm in peace offered to retiring soldiers and sailors who had earned the Farani officers' respect. To Trance it was simply home: a place where she could shrug the Admiral's jacket with it's overwhelming decorations and adornments from her shoulders, and leave it abandoned across the back of the most convenient chair. The tailored white vest and crisp shirt beneath were only comfortable thanks to a few decades spent growing accustomed, but at least liberation from the rest of her uniform gave Trance Farani the opportunity to breathe.
Her responsibilities would not be forgotten, however. The vaguest shadow of a Battle Dragon - her flagship, the Operandi - loomed through the blue skies in the distance, and the persistent hum like agitated vespas of approaching repulsorlifts echoed gradually louder and louder. Today, her responsibilities as Lady High Admiral of the Royal Hapan Navy conspired to encroach on the sanctity and sanctuary of her home, an unfortunate confluence with her duties as matriarch of House Farani. She loathed situations such as this, where the various worlds she was required to walk in refused to remain in their assigned orbits. Today she was required to play the politician, a vocation that she despised her own aptitude for. Such action was what the Consortium required however, and Admiral Farani refused to be anything but a loyal daughter of Hapes.
She drew in another breath as the approaching repulsorlifts halted their crescendo, the sound still a cloying irritation at the back of her mind. Her thoughts painted the associated views that her eyes had no need to see: on the far side of the villa, a transport shuttle would be slowly descending into the heart of the landing gardens, the two fighters assigned as escort hanging patiently in the air until the shuttle was safely grounded. All would fall silent, and house guards would approach, waiting for the ramp to descend and the passenger to disembark, ready to usher her along the most impressive and intimidating path through vaulted hallways and sunlit galleries that served as a visual artistic record of every Farani soul that had dedicated itself to military service, until finally steering her towards the glass domed ballroom where Lady Farani usually held audience. It was a crude tactic, and one that every visitor no doubt steeled themselves against; but it was a tradition, for the generations of servants and men in waiting just as much as the generations of noblewomen, and Trance did not have the heart to deviate from it. Through memory and remembrance the dead were allowed to live on, and such traditions granted immortality for too many ancestors to count.
A single finger delved beneath the tall collar of her uniform, and gently drew forth a slender golden chain. She didn't look, fashion restricting her movements too much to do so, but the weight of the connected pendant that settled into the palm of her hand was all she needed. She had grown accustomed to it, the metal resting against her chest beneath her clothes; at times she needed the feeling gone, a reminder of the absence in her heart that the man who'd gifted it to her had left. The painful truth of it was that at times she forgot. At times she was so accustomed to the scar of that loss that she could smile, and laugh, and feel as if her world was whole again. It felt like a betrayal, like she had broken their vows, like there was some fault in her heart still beating in her chest rather than being torn out and lost forever like poem and verse had told her it should be. It caused her to doubt and question, to reconsider every time she'd called the giddy euphoria of life with her Harper love. And how dare she? How dare she doubt, how dare she deny? He was gone, and it had been a greater agony than she ever thought possible: but no pain was eternal, and all hurt lessoned with time.
Her fingertips traced across the simple engravings on the two sides of the medallion: one read yours, and the other mine. The necklace had a twin, still affixed to the neck of her lost love, adrift in the Transitory Mists where a ruptured hull had left him. Trance tucked the necklace gently back beneath her uniform. Gone, but not forgotten: that was the new vow that had replaced those of their marriage.
Trance heard the click of the door behind her, despite the best efforts of her man-in-waiting to not disturb her. A tug of a smile graced the corner of her mouth at his consideration, her head turned just enough to let him glimpse it. He rightly interpreted it as an invitation to speak. "Your guest has arrived, my lady."
The Admiral offered a subtle nod. "Thank you, Rhade. I will join her in a moment."
Trance treated herself to one last breath before she turned away from the view, facing her servant a little more directly.
"Please see that my sister is summoned as well."
Rifle Worlds, Hapes Cluster
A slow and gentle breath eased its way between Trance's lips. Autumn had come to the Vivendi Mountains, and the always fresh and fruitful air brought with is a crisp coolness that instantly began to revitalise the weary Admiral from within. It failed to dislodge the weight that burdened her shoulders, ever heavier year by year; but it would take more than a single relaxing breath to help her feel once again like the woman she was, rather than merely the uniform she wore.
Her hands splayed across the stone barrier before her, fingertips pressing against the moisture of mountain dew as she gazed out across the vineyards that sprawled across the stepped plateaus carved into the mountainsides, and beyond into the sprawling farmland that quilted a harlequin pattern across the valley floor. For some, the Farani Estate and it's satellite villages were an idyllic paradise, shielded by verdant mountains by the trials and tribulations of the galaxy beyond. Over the last several generations of the Farani family it had become a sanctuary, the chance to settle and farm in peace offered to retiring soldiers and sailors who had earned the Farani officers' respect. To Trance it was simply home: a place where she could shrug the Admiral's jacket with it's overwhelming decorations and adornments from her shoulders, and leave it abandoned across the back of the most convenient chair. The tailored white vest and crisp shirt beneath were only comfortable thanks to a few decades spent growing accustomed, but at least liberation from the rest of her uniform gave Trance Farani the opportunity to breathe.
Her responsibilities would not be forgotten, however. The vaguest shadow of a Battle Dragon - her flagship, the Operandi - loomed through the blue skies in the distance, and the persistent hum like agitated vespas of approaching repulsorlifts echoed gradually louder and louder. Today, her responsibilities as Lady High Admiral of the Royal Hapan Navy conspired to encroach on the sanctity and sanctuary of her home, an unfortunate confluence with her duties as matriarch of House Farani. She loathed situations such as this, where the various worlds she was required to walk in refused to remain in their assigned orbits. Today she was required to play the politician, a vocation that she despised her own aptitude for. Such action was what the Consortium required however, and Admiral Farani refused to be anything but a loyal daughter of Hapes.
She drew in another breath as the approaching repulsorlifts halted their crescendo, the sound still a cloying irritation at the back of her mind. Her thoughts painted the associated views that her eyes had no need to see: on the far side of the villa, a transport shuttle would be slowly descending into the heart of the landing gardens, the two fighters assigned as escort hanging patiently in the air until the shuttle was safely grounded. All would fall silent, and house guards would approach, waiting for the ramp to descend and the passenger to disembark, ready to usher her along the most impressive and intimidating path through vaulted hallways and sunlit galleries that served as a visual artistic record of every Farani soul that had dedicated itself to military service, until finally steering her towards the glass domed ballroom where Lady Farani usually held audience. It was a crude tactic, and one that every visitor no doubt steeled themselves against; but it was a tradition, for the generations of servants and men in waiting just as much as the generations of noblewomen, and Trance did not have the heart to deviate from it. Through memory and remembrance the dead were allowed to live on, and such traditions granted immortality for too many ancestors to count.
A single finger delved beneath the tall collar of her uniform, and gently drew forth a slender golden chain. She didn't look, fashion restricting her movements too much to do so, but the weight of the connected pendant that settled into the palm of her hand was all she needed. She had grown accustomed to it, the metal resting against her chest beneath her clothes; at times she needed the feeling gone, a reminder of the absence in her heart that the man who'd gifted it to her had left. The painful truth of it was that at times she forgot. At times she was so accustomed to the scar of that loss that she could smile, and laugh, and feel as if her world was whole again. It felt like a betrayal, like she had broken their vows, like there was some fault in her heart still beating in her chest rather than being torn out and lost forever like poem and verse had told her it should be. It caused her to doubt and question, to reconsider every time she'd called the giddy euphoria of life with her Harper love. And how dare she? How dare she doubt, how dare she deny? He was gone, and it had been a greater agony than she ever thought possible: but no pain was eternal, and all hurt lessoned with time.
Her fingertips traced across the simple engravings on the two sides of the medallion: one read yours, and the other mine. The necklace had a twin, still affixed to the neck of her lost love, adrift in the Transitory Mists where a ruptured hull had left him. Trance tucked the necklace gently back beneath her uniform. Gone, but not forgotten: that was the new vow that had replaced those of their marriage.
Trance heard the click of the door behind her, despite the best efforts of her man-in-waiting to not disturb her. A tug of a smile graced the corner of her mouth at his consideration, her head turned just enough to let him glimpse it. He rightly interpreted it as an invitation to speak. "Your guest has arrived, my lady."
The Admiral offered a subtle nod. "Thank you, Rhade. I will join her in a moment."
Trance treated herself to one last breath before she turned away from the view, facing her servant a little more directly.
"Please see that my sister is summoned as well."