John listened to Romulus as he explained to the rest of the party that the plans for the evening had changed. Despite most of it being information he had just given Lydia, the Gar found himself carefully absorbing the words regardless. Being aware of the sway the Apex’ presence held over even him only increased that irkso feeling at his core. “Over the course of the day, an ever-diminishing crowd will ascend through this tower along Lydia and myself. When I call, you all must be prepared to follow.” With those words, the emperor lowered his head and ended his welcoming speech. He had needed no platform and no microphone.
The party returned to life and John watched Lydia empty half of her pint of beer, they didn’t serve bottles, in one quick go. Noticing a journalist in the corner of his eye, John just barely heard the sound of a cara clicking. “Ready to be titled an alcoholic tomorrow?” John joked. Although Lydia had said she wouldn’t drink more than the one, and John believed her, the sheer optics of her downing a beer like that before noon were going to be used by soone.
“The photograph has not been taken at an angle that shows the ti,” Lydia retorted. “There are no clocks around here, neither are we close enough to the entrances to show the daylight. Regardless, the alcoholic story would only successfully enter the public interest if I turned out to be quite drunk at the end of the evening. I trust that more interesting events will transpire until then.” She raised her half-empty pint and clanked it against the one John was holding. “Further, you are in no position to criticize , my love.”
“I suppose that is true.” John grinned and then raised his glass to cheer with everyone there. “To Lydia!” he led the cry and it was echoed by the present harem. Not everyone had a pint, giving Sylph over half a litre of beer was just asking for disaster, but everyone had a weak alcoholic beverage of so kind. Emptying their glasses together, they stayed and chatted about this and that. By the ti they were starting to disperse, Lydia at least had started to smile a little bit here and there, the initial tension and discomfort with her largely invalidated plans beginning to fade. With the first round of drinks emptied, much of the harem dispersed to look at the rest of the festival, usually sticking in groups of two to four people.
While John was thinking about whether or not he should risk a second drink, he stared into Salamander’s cleavage. The way the few black lines on her magnificent breasts complinted the colour of her dress and the shades cast in the deep valley between the firm jiggle could only be further improved if his dick was introduced into the mixture. Salamander leaned forwards, fully on purpose of showing off.
“Do not dare,” Lydia warned them in a quiet tone.
“Just looking,” John assured, mustering all his will to keep his erection at half-mast. ‘I need so sort of enchanted underpants that keep my erection from showing,’ he thought and pushed himself off the table. “I’ll go greet Maximillian, walk around for a little bit, all of that.”
“Rember to stay within fifty tres of . I am relying on you,” Lydia told him as he walked off. With a gesture of his hand, he made her understand that he had heard her. Then he navigated through the crowd.
The density had imnsely increased since they had arrived with now over a hundred people in the room. Many of the most powerful people in Europe, magically, physically and politically, were gathered here. From beyond the continent, a few ambassadors were scattered about. People in distinctly Asian outfits, be it Chinese or Indian, as well as people clearly from the Middle East. Notably missing was anyone who gave John a French vibe. The relationship between the Greater Empire and the Illuminati continued to be strained, even after the war they had fought together.
John approached the Habsburg siblings and knocked twice on the table when he wasn’t imdiately noticed. “Hello there,” he announced in a nonchalant tone.
“President Newman,” Maximillian raised one hand in a dismissive gesture. “You are a bold one.”
“Ah, the s,” John humd, “truly the greatest thing to co out of Star Wars since the original films.”
“Can’t say the sequels delivered where the prequels did,” Maximillian stated.
“Maybe the last film will give us sothing?” John wondered. “Episode Nine is still quite a bit away.”
“You think it could be good?” Maximillian asked with a raised eyebrow.
“With the world it has left to work with? Absolutely not. I just think it might be funny,” John responded. “Not that I’ll watch it in the cinema.”
“Too stingy?”
“No – the opposite. Why would I go share a cinema with a bunch of people and get diocre popcorn if I can be at ho and get a blowjob while eating Aclysia’s cooking,” the Gar retorted. “I have my ho system, no need to go for the lesser experience.” Wanting to include the older sister in the conversation, he turned to Ria. “What do you think of Star Wars?”
“I’m so happy that Rogue One exists,” she responded imdiately. “The idea that the Death Star had such a glaring construction error physically hurt . My engineer’s pride was hurt! So hurt! I would never construct sothing that awful!”
“And imdiately she brought it to her passion,” Maximillian said out loud what John quietly observed, playfully slapping his sister on the back of her head. “Can you stop talking about your toys for five minutes?”
“Sure, when are you taking the throne back? I don’t want it anymore,” Ria returned, fidgeting with the cape she had to wear over her dress. Unlike Maximillian, who had always worn the dieval article of clothing with style, Ria just didn’t manage to seem royal with it. It seed more tagged onto her than anything else. “ASAP is the answer I want to hear.”
“When I want. I’m sure you can sacrifice your ti for my wellbeing for a little while longer, given how much funding you free up for yourself.”
“I’d rather have the ti than the extra money.”
“Whatever you say, Ria.”
“I’m serious!”
“I see you got yourself entertained here,” John laughed and knocked on the table again, feeling more like an intruder in an ongoing dispute than soone in a proper conversation – the initial success at the greeting aside. “We’ll talk more later.”
“Sure thing, bud,” Maximillian responded and imdiately went back to arguing with Ria.
John looked outside the building and saw Nia among a pile of dogs, throwing her arms around in an attempt to pet all of them equally. The surprised owners just laughed about the display. Circumventing the issue of potentially irking nobles, the pariah had moved to indulge in the pets of the more lenient common folk from the looks of things. A clever solution, all things considered.
Feeling soone approach him through nearby air movents, John turned around to be t by the scaled head of Dra. The black lizardman had a series of small to dium sized horns protruding from the back of his head, framing his neck and creating the impression of a dragon. John was sowhat mystified how the elongated snout could produce regular human vocals without any distortion. Ignorant of his curiosity, the straight-laced voice reached his ears. “President John Newman, a pleasure.” He extended one hand. It was as scaled as the rest of his body, the claws at the fingertips treated with care and dulled down at the tip.
“Mister Dra,” John responded, not quite sure about the familiarity with which the lizardman approached him. Taking his hand, they shook once. “I don't think we ever spoke in person?” As he asked, John tried to disengage the handshake – only to find that he was still being held. He could have freed himself, but just raised an eyebrow at the announcer.
“I want to negotiate a future contract with you,” Dra cut straight to the chase. “I am sure Fusion will need sothing to be comnted on in the future – tournants, grammar… finances,” he stretched that last word and then finally let go of John’s hand. “I would be grateful if you would seek out in the near future. I am reachable from the comfort of your ho.”
Without any further words, Dra stepped away. Watching him go to soone else and approach them as if he wanted to make connections, John looked away when he felt he could do so without looking conspicuous. His fingers pulled in to hide a piece of paper in his palm, John walked away and to sowhere he was decently sure he wouldn’t get seen. Then he looked at the business card he had been handed.
His behaviour had been sowhat unwarranted. What he was holding looked like a regular business card for an event announcer. Observe, however, peeled away the illusion for him and revealed a few other words on the card. Rather than ‘Dra – Announcer’ it said ‘Dramar – Founder of the Abyss Auction’.
‘Now that’s a twist,’ John thought and put away the card before soone else who could penetrate illusions could spot it. The Gar could spot a wish for secrecy, especially if it was made so obvious in the short conversation. ‘What could the founder of the Abyss Auction want from ? Why does he have a persona like this? Why would he contact here of all places?’ There were nurous answers John could have co up with for all of those, but nothing concrete. A fundantal question that kept bouncing around was, ‘Do I even believe this is real?’
For the mont, John chose to go with yes. If this was so sort of trap, it was a very odd one. The card had only two properties. An extrely powerful illusion and that it acted as an access key for a room beyond dinsions. John had used a card for that purpose before, to get to Lady Liquor’s bar. If there was a trap, it would be in wherever this card led, but John could pick the ti and could easily co with the insurance of his entire harem.
A fighting force that could beat him and all of his girls combined wouldn’t have needed to rely on such a roundabout way to get him sowhere. It seed to be a legit attempt at contacting him. Throwing a few Observes at the cards Dra handed other people revealed that only the Gar had received a special one. There was definitely so legitimacy to this.
Before he could continue pondering about this, he felt a light pressure against his ribcage. It lasted for just a couple of seconds and then disappeared. Turning away from the entire Dra situation, John walked to another part of the room. Looking around as if he was urgently looking for soone, he stopped the second he saw Lydia. Then he accelerated his steps.
She was talking to a sleazy looking man with dark bags under his eyes. His black, greying hair did not show even the attempt of combing or other care, just falling down to his chin in dishevelled strands. Despite his hunched and thin figure, he exuded an aura of danger. All of it emanated from his red eyes and sharp canines.
“…eir refusal to pay their imperial tithe has cost them dearly, I saw to that,” that man said, the tail-end of a conversation to which the queen only nodded. When she opened her mouth to respond, John was already interjecting.
“Lydia, there you are!” John said as if he had been searching for her. Coming up with a quick excuse, he continued, “I need you to help with sothing. There is this guy that wants to talk to , but I cannot understand his accent for the life of . A native tongue is required.”
Being in Berlin, most people on the festival grounds spoke German, while those in the inside of the tower tended to use English instead to overco international barriers. It was a believable enough excuse that Lydia nodded in his direction. For a mont, she turned back. “I’m sorry to leave your presence so suddenly, Lord of Pontis.”
“Oh, by no ans, by no ans, please do help your foreign man. Wouldn’t want to keep his other won waiting,” the power holder grinned as wide as an exposed skull as he delivered the insults in a sweet tone and walked away before they could. “We will have other interesting conversations later, I am sure.”
“I think he knows that was an excuse,” John dared to suggest, while taking Lydia towards the outside.
“Certainly, he does, but I do not have an interest in his opinion,” the queen mumbled back, too quiet to be picked up by even superhuman ears over the music. “I stated my opinion about him earlier. Suel, Lord of Pontis, a truly botherso man.”
“Why is it Lord of Pontis anyway?” John wondered. “The province is called Pontic, isn’t it?”
“Just be thankful it is no longer called Pontiff of Pontis,” Lydia responded.
“Getting a religious title into the mix certainly would have been odd,” John agreed, rolling his shoulder a little bit to get the piece of tal in the inside pocket of his suit more pleasingly aligned. “Let’s avoid your rivals for a little bit. I think your people deserve to see a bit more of their queen before she vanishes up the tower. Gorgeous as she is, that is certain to raise morale.”
“Forever a lovely sweet-talker, aren’t you, my love?” Lydia asked.
“I do more than talk,” John responded and kissed her.
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