2022-10-21: Royal Hunt

• Cast: Sophia Mayhew Castellan, Artemisia ka Britannia
• Where: A safari camp in the East African Community
• Date: U.C. 0096 10 21
• Summary: Impatient to get new leads on her quarry, Sophia finally swallows her pride and requests help from the Royal Family's premier huntress. In so doing, she also finally reveals the nature of her quest.

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<Pose Tracker> Artemisia ka Britannia has posed.

EAST AFRICAN COMMUNITY
EASTERN PROVINCE - KENYA
BUFFALO SPRINGS NATURAL RESERVE

Sophia's entreaties have born fruit! She is Welcome to visit the safari camp of Artemisia ka Britannia, who is currently on a hunting retreat.

She does this.

A lot.

The camp in question is relatively low key out on the rolling and rather arid plains of this natural reserve, with eight or nine tents -- but the fact that there is, in fact, a pair of Knightmare Frames present makes it easy to find from a distance. They have been here long enough for the animals to become accustomed to them. Indeed, a rare-looking bird is perching on one's arm, where it is set in a kneeling position, cable-linked energy filler maintainence linking to the solar-panel roofing on the tent structure.

However Sophia arrives, she is met by Salliette Ward, a crisp-cut Britannian signals officer with dark skin and a close haircut. She's cheerful. "Welcome to Orion Camp, haha! Please, ma'am, let me know if I can make you comfortable --"

"The princess's quarters are this way!"

From the outside it looks like a large tent with enclosed sides. There wouldn't be much remarkable if it weren't for the two discreet little pennants outside with the heraldry on them. (On left, lion-and-snake; on right, four castle towers and one key.)

There is a guard, but he's set dressing.

<Pose Tracker> Sophia Mayhew Castellan has posed.

The advantage of being the captain of a G-Hound/Britannia Union battleship is that there is basically nowhere you /can't/ go, just places you /shouldn't/. Particularly when that ship is part of a battlegroup concept that has its own escort.

...and particularly when you have your own personal machine. A dot on the horizon disgorges a yet smaller dot, which soon resolves into the flight configuration of a Union Flag. That does not fly directly to the camp, but settles down some distance out, in a clearing that may just exist for the purpose. Sophia's not overly familiar with safari enterprises, but she's done her fair of riflery. Indeed, she's got hers slung across her back when she approaches the camp in her G-Hound uniform, the darker overcoat slung over her shoulder in defiance of the savannah's heat.

Sophia's own face is virtually a mask, full lips drawn into a neutral line as her short red hair, curling at the edges that suggests it turns into wild waves if she lets it get any longer, bobs at her ears. "It's fine," she says to Salliette, eyes casting about the camp. "I appreciate the welcome."

Guided to the quarters, Sophia waits for several moments, taking in the space. Quite a tent, she decides. Her experiences with Royals aren't quite deep enough to tell her what to expect, and that means there's only one thing for it.

She steps in, square-shouldered and confident. "Your Highness," she says, by way of introducing herself. "Sophia Mayhew Castellan. I have come on your generous invitation." Her investment in these formalities is: Zero.

<Pose Tracker> Artemisia ka Britannia has posed.

The tent flap opens.

The interior has a dividing space which probably contains her 'sleeping quarters,' in space that is large enough to bunk six comfortably, but never mind that. Here she is seated at a camp table, contemplating a holographic projection of what is visibly the game reserve. There are tiny speckles that are moving; there is a timestamp.

Sophia gets no reply for a moment.

Artemisia's head lifts. "Hm," she says, her one eye focusing.

Her shoulders straighten up as she rises. "Ah-h," she says, "there you are. I wondered what was keeping you. Come, sit."

Artemisia looks back at the map. "Bagged an antelope this morning," she says, thoughtfully. "You hunt? It was a Hell of a thing. If you've missed your lunch I'll call for the roast." She reaches up then, straightening fully and running fingers through her hair. The simulation of movements of game loops once more -- and then is clicked off.

<Pose Tracker> Sophia Mayhew Castellan has posed.

Sophia helps herself in as directed, eyes casting about with interest. "Quite the operation," she observes, stepping over in uniform boots to the indicated chair and seating herself straight-backed. Her eyes find the map; quite similar to the device she has in her own map room, of course. Probably a very similar one indeed, though she doesn't use it for antelope.

Now she's getting more invested and sounds less like she's saying words given to her by a tutor when she was 8. "Not much live hunting," Sophia admits. "Some." She raises a hand, knocking a knuckle against the ornate stock poking over her shoulder. "More of a markswoman. Clay pigeons and drone targets and the like." And, because you don't generally turn down hospitality from royalty, and also because she's curious: "Oh, lunch would be lovely, actually."

<Pose Tracker> Artemisia ka Britannia has posed.

The immediate area of the tent is almost barren. There is the camp table, there is a server block that is doubtless for personal communications and the standard sort of data needs of the modern royalty. There is a rack for a short bow and several quivers of arrows. A vanity table that may also be a personal dining nook. That's about it.

Then again, you could just go outside and enjoy being in Africa??

"The camp? Coming out this far from the homeland might as well be an invitation," Artemisia says with a sort of abstract amusement. "If someone had wanted to take care of me, they would have no witnesses. If they were truly fortunate, the hyenas would get me - it's a thrilling kind of idea, isn't it?"

She doesn't elaborate. Instead, she lifts her voice slightly. "Get the service," which gets a 'yes, your highness!' from the guard outside. Looking back to Sophia with her single eye, she says, "Ah, so it's... a sporting thing, for you, then. I suppose I understand." She sniffs once.

"The message which I received from you suggested you had the spoor of greater game," Artemisia continues, raising one hand up with fingers half-veiling her mouth. "Do elaborate, Commander."

<Pose Tracker> Sophia Mayhew Castellan has posed.

Sophia's familiar with exposed positions, at least. She nods. "The updates on the Royal Family's posted itineraries are quite thorough, these days. It seems everyone's expecting something ugly soon. After Torrington, it's not hard to guess why. Security is a necessity."

She says it seriously. That's a G-Hound soldier for you.

"This one is not sport," Sophia says, simply, and stands as she produces a chip from her pocket. She slips it into a presentation spot on the projector, found quickly.

What comes up is a series of visuals from Torrington. The object of focus isn't the terrifying Shamblo, nor the rampaging Unicorn, nor the ghastly shade of the Nu Gundam. It's a pink Jagd Doga, engaged in combat at various angles.

"We identified this unit in the melee at Torrington," Sophia explains. "Considering the chaotic nature of the battle it's been difficult to properly account for all deployed units and all organizations they might be attached to, but this one doesn't appear to be from any of the factions involved. Last sighting was retreating on Argo Gulskii's..."

She shrugs, palm up, gloved fingers splayed apart in admission of confusion. "Prison barge? I suppose."

<Pose Tracker> Artemisia ka Britannia has posed.

Artemisia laughs. Or did she say 'ha ha ha!' It's hard to tell, exactly. And then Sophia produces the chip, not on her shoulder, but in her pocket.

It's not sport. Artemisia's mouth thins.

Even so, she made an invitation, and she should watch. She shifts herself forwards, hands coming down to rest on her knees as she watches the video from Torrington. The melee, the fracas, the *terror* and the *death*. She seems to brighten, before -- pause.

There it is.

Artemisia's hand comes up to rest on her cheek, pinky finger pressing on her lower lip for a moment. "All of these towering figures and it's this little pinky who you're taken with...?" She definitely sounds lighter, though, perhaps cheered by the prospect of battle...? Artemisia turns to rest her gaze on Sophia, and she smiles faintly. "What's drawn your eye about this one, might I ask?"

Then there is a dingaling from outside.

"Ah," she says, "here we are. Enter!"

One of the troops comes in, wheeling a cart. It looks custom, given the dark wood on it, and it has some sort of drawered appertunance at the bottom with a range of... sizes, and an enclosed space on the top, walled with metal. It smells, blatantly, of roasting meat. It smells of venison and citrus.

Artemisia gestures in front of her vaguely. One drawer is opened and plates are produced. "If you want greens, we'll put on an order, but I hate to interrupt the experience," Artemisia tells Sophia. The place setting is established in front of her steadily throughout the next minute or so.

<Pose Tracker> Sophia Mayhew Castellan has posed.

Sophia flicks her fingers dismissively again. Even more so, this time. "The Unicorn is of some interest," she admits. "Someone ordered me to destroy it ahead of time and I haven't been able to find out who or why. Certainly the powers it displayed are a concern. But as near as I can tell it is yet another chapter in the long sad story of children in horribly powerful weapons, a saga I've no wish to be a part of. As for the other two..."

...She shrugs. Well, you're not interested in that. I suppose you could say it's fate."

She says it completely seriously.

The food service arrives and she watches patiently at its arrival. Well this is certainly a hunting custom she could get used to, she thinks, and looks back to Artemisia.

What she says next is completely true, if...rounded at the edges. "It reminds me of...an old comrade I thought long gone," she says, a bit distantly, and then her eyes focus in on Artemisia. "Someone I must see again at any cost."

<Pose Tracker> Artemisia ka Britannia has posed.

Artemisia's eyebrow raises at the mention of an order without clear origin. As she does, the valet opens the case and reveals the entire skinned and glistening haunch of the antelope, which has, it seems, been glazed with some sort of rather spicy green sauce and then roasted, presumably over open flames.

He begins to carve. Artemisia receives two thick slices, and he turns towards Sophia to indicate her preference; whatever it may be, the meat is served, steaming, reddish still. Artemisia makes an absent gesture, and coarse salt is sprinkled over her meat.

After providing glasses of water, the valet closes the meat and straightens up in a way that indicates he is also now furniture.

"Children give poor sport," Artemisia says, raising knife and fork. After slicing off a piece of the glistening meat, she continues, in a lower, almost vulgar tone, "Someone you must see again at any cost... and an old comrade? Hm, hm! That's a Zeke suit, isn't it. Titans?"

The meat goes into her mouth, where it is not seen again.

<Pose Tracker> Sophia Mayhew Castellan has posed.

Sophia signals for two, like Artemisia. Partly this is simply to attempt to match the royalty, as one does.

Partly this is because she is hungry.

With her own utensils in hand, she cuts with the precision of someone who coordinates artillery for a living. The notion Artemisia knows what manner of sport children provide is chilling but she pushes through it. For this she'd work for the devil himself. She already does, really.

"We lost her around the time of the Titans. I...hope, but cannot prove, she didn't serve. The Jagd Doga itself was an elite suit in use by..."

She grimaces.

"Char Aznable's Axis Zeon. That's about as far as we've gotten so far from affiliation links."

<Pose Tracker> Artemisia ka Britannia has posed.

"Someone who went from the Titans to the Axis Zeon faction," Artemisia says, slicing off another piece of meat. "I see why you'd have concerns about pursuing them. How close were you to this person?"

"Because it's really a little bit... exciting," she says, "to consider, the prospect of a pursuit like this...!"

Then she takes the next bite of meat, which shuts her up, even if her visible eye all but gleams! Metaphorically. No actual gleaming. After a sip of water, she continues, perhaps nearer to a grounded tone of voice.

Tell me more about what you know. I imagine by now, they've gone far past returning to Neo Russia, if Neo Russia would even accept them. But you may have more, insight, into this... someone."

"There is one other matter," Artemisia adds, but she doesn't clarify, instead taking another bite out of the meat. Which, indeed, tastes a little sweet, quite like venison.

<Pose Tracker> Sophia Mayhew Castellan has posed.

...the question she's not supposed to answer. Sophia takes a long breath.

"That's a question that is both simple and incredibly complicated," Sophia says. Her cutlery stills. "...I suppose Your Highness is not overly interested in the woes of the Castellans," she says.

...She has to muster herself to say it. Perhaps to Artemisia it looks ridiculous. But these are words Sophia's thought she wouldn't get to say for years, and it's visibly difficult to get them out.

"She's my sister," she says, simply. "We lost her when the Titans whisked her away to a Newtype program. I thought she was dead. But, there was something...unmistakable." Legally she doesn't exist. Legally the family never had her. Her parents will disavow any knowledge. But the shot is in front of her and she MUST take it, no matter what devil she sells her soul to. She slices open her meat and eats a chunk. Even saying that was like defiance of the highest order for her. She needs a moment with it.

Eventually, she speaks. "Association with Gulskii does not necessarily associate her with the rest of his compatriots from that Gundam Fight, but it's a possible lead. Otherwise...her stop before Axis was the Augusta labs. I've hunted that angle myself, but perhaps the knowledge of the next stop will open new avenues."

<Pose Tracker> Artemisia ka Britannia has posed.

Artemisia has the manners, when addressing a gentlelady who has approached her in good faith, to not actually snort or laugh about disinterest. She makes a slight tilt of the head as if to vaguely confirm, but there is, at least, the saving grace that she doesn't regard Sophia's words.

The knife cuts into the meat.

And.

Stops.

The single eye of the 11th princess turns upwards.

She takes a breath in through her nose.

There are words about Argo Gulskii and the Gundam Fight. A potential lead. Neo Russia as well as the Augusta labs. These will be remembered; considered later; referred to other members of her staff. They are important, key tracks on a long and winding path towards her quarry.

But they are not the moments you remember. You don't remember blowing your nose, digging a coin out of your pocket, taking a sip of water. You remember the shining moments. You remember the peaks.

https://youtu.be/M5EmbHu08qQ?t=33

"... Your sister?"

Artemisia's lips quirk upwards, as if trying to decide on an expression. There's something not entirely alien to sympathy there, as well as a sort of sparkling glee, the kind of light you would see on the eyes of some true-born alien. It's a lot to have in only one eye, but it's a dim sort of tent.

"You mean to say... that you came to me, Commander... and that the high value asset that you wished to ask me to hunt... was your - was -"

Her breath hitches.

"-- Was --"

She seems to be settling on some kind of smile. "Your precious little sister...??"

Artemisia swallows nothing once. She puts her fork down, then her knife. Her gaze lowers down to the red juices staining the honestly quite nice and durable piece of camp pottery. "Your very own, long-lost sister... stolen away, for her special talents... hah.... ehhhaaahahahahahaha,"

Artemisia leaps to her feet, leaning over the table, suddenly towering as she brings her hands down to clasp Sophia on both shoulders. Looking downwards, she grins with the juices of a kill staining her lip.

"You poor thing!!! To have your darling sister show herself in this manner!! Of course, Commander!" A tight, almost too tight squeeze of both hands. "I'll be GLAD to do so."

"Will you join me?!"