Private Denon in the Distance

[Malcoma Hesse]

Malcoma left the bedroom that Vahleet would now be sharing with Eyana, easing the door almost shut behind her with one hand and glancing down at her other, to her silver and crystal wrist-chron.

It was half past one in the afternoon. She was late. Catching up with Yu had taken longer than the headmistress had expected, but she was glad she had done it. She was just starting to feel at ease as part of the Family again. The telling off at the last Conference she had attended had…opened some old wounds that not even the galaxy’s best surgeon could have stitched up.

But she had managed to over the last few weeks, with the help of Onique’s come-to-Ashla moment.

Hopefully Wynter hadn’t pocketed anything from the foyer yet, or, if he had, it was replaceable.

As she stepped off the landing onto the staircase descending into the foyer, she heard Pranda’s chipper voice: “Okay, I’ll move this bishop to d6.”

A glance over the banister revealed that the omwati had challenged the scoundrel to a game of old fashioned chess. Beside the board on the side table between a sofa and an armchair, there was a small platter of sweets, crackers, and bits of cheese. Before Malcoma could reach the ground floor, Pranda straightened up. “Oh, here she is,” she told Wynter.

“That took longer than expected.” Malcoma approached them and took a mini éclair up from the platter. Normally, she wasn’t one to state the obvious, but she felt like straying close to an apology today. Before she took a bite, she asked, “Darling, do you mind if I borrow the captain?”

"Nope!" Pranda worked one hand under the plate while unfolding herself from the couch. “Have fuuun!” she giggled, standing up and excusing herself towards the kitchen.

Wynter Rackham

 

[Wynter Rackham]

Malcoma Hesse

Wynter was still staring at the chess board and sighed.

"You jus' saved me from an chess ass-whooping o'a century, darling." Finally said with a sigh and a smile upwards, one leg crossing over the other and watching Hesse with some curiosity. He was still a bit miffed about the auction and all that had transpired. Wynter wasn't used to be ordered around and truth to be told Hesse's obsession with slavery was... complicated.

The smuggler wasn't a slaver himself. But he knew that the Galaxy was a filthy place with filthy people in it. You couldn't fix everything, but Wynter took it to its next logical conclusion:

Why fix anything when you could just focus on fixin' chit for yourself?

"How are the guests, they doin' kay?"

He picked up a little treat of his own and took a nibble. It was tasty, just sweet enough to almooost forget the madness of before. At the very least Wynter enjoyed excitement or the entire evening would have been a wash.

 

[Malcoma Hesse]

"You jus' saved me from an chess ass-whooping o'a century, darling."

"Well, we couldn't have that," she said as she slid into the seat that Pranda had vacated.

Then a sigh. Getting three new tenants moved into the Guesthouse in the last few days had been exhausting. No rest for the only-sort-of-wicked.

"They're doing as well as can be expected thanks to your generosity, captain. But—" She leaned over the sofa's cushioned arm to grab the vintage brass knob of the end table's single drawer. Pulling it out revealed a pack of cigarettes and a lighter; she plucked a single stick out of the box, lit it, and leaned back without closing the drawer, just in case Wynter wanted to help himself. "—pleasantries are not necessary." She took a long moment to breathe in, then out, some sweet smoke. "I don't have an answer to your other question quite yet."

Suddenly being thrust into the complex workings of royalty still had Malcoma's head spinning. She suspected that, despite that, Wynter would want to know which way she was planning to play this—and sway her to his preference if they were not originally one and the same.

Wynter Rackham