S.S. Fawkes - CF-142AC
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The Gala - Die With the Lie

Posted on Thursday November 14th, 2019 @ 00:30 hours by Mayterial Droz & Alexandria Farron & Clinton Westbrooke Jr & Mercy & Taben Natal & Lorpax & Kenzia Nemet & Caras Tracyn

Mission: Hot Couture
Location: Museum of Federation Cultural History, Rangalor V
Timeline: MD05 - 20.30 hours


Normally Mayterial would never be exactly on time for the start of a party, she would be the one that would show up so late that it made you wonder just how fashionable she wanted to be. Now that she was supposed to be Vulcan that went out the window, the invite had said 20.30 hours local time, so they got out of their hired ride at 20.30 hours exactly and approached the doormen at the top of the stairs of the museum. The building was created in an ancient Earth style, large columns to both sides held up an overhanging portion of the top floor. The thing that immediately set it apart, though, was that it was very clearly in an immaculate state. There was nothing old about this building. As they started to scale the stairs she took another look at the people in her entourage, Taben, disguised as a Vulcan himself. The both of them would be posing as two dignitaries from a Vulcan art collection institute. They were joined by Lorpax, normally their doctor but in this group posing as a financial advisor to the institute, it was a bit of a cliché, but that usually only helped to sell the ruse. The group was rounded off with Kenzia and Caras, both in a capacity of bodyguard, something not unheard of on planets like this one and it was nice to have some actual muscle with them during this whole ordeal.

"What is it with Humans and their morbid fascination with their destructive history? It is almost as if they miss it." Mayterial spoke in a monotone perfectly fitting her new visual appearance, she looked over to Taben who walked by her side. The sooner they got in character, the better it would be.

Taben nodded stoically in reply to the Captain's comment, saying nothing. He tended to find that when people said nothing--especially Vulcans--other people felt uncomfortable. His plan was to say as little as possible tonight. His plan tonight while undercover was to do just about anything except be himself--except, of course, bottling his darker emotions which he almost always did. It was, perhaps, the only commonality he ever found with the Vulcan people--though, unlike them, he sought to draw on that darkness when he needed it rather than stifle it with logic and a lack of emotion.

Lorpax scurried alongside the forward group in a garish multicoloured suit, that looked as if it could be the Ferrengi idea of a Hawaiian shirt. “I will never understand Hooman’s,” he agreed. “They have a barbaric history, yet they call us Ferrengi savages!”

Caras followed afterwards a few "respectful" feet back from the people he was supposed to be body guarding as he adjusted his jacket. It was about the nicest thing he owned, which meant he only looked about 3 social levels below what everyone else did around him currently. He'd barely had time to get his gear out of his storage and get to the ship, not leaving a lot of time for introductions. It wouldn't be the first time he'd worked with strangers though, probably wouldn't be the last.

Clipped to his waist beneath his jacket was a Bajoran phaser, the holster designed to emit a few false signatures to read as a medical implant if he was scanned. That and the 4 knives he had stashed at various points on his certainly sold the body guard aspect of his cover. His old crew always said, you could never have too many knives. Glancing about, he appraised the surroundings with the smallest of shrugs. "I don't know a lot about art...but I kind of like this..."

Nemet had chosen to dress in black, the dark fabric shot through with a deep red thread. It was an effect that looked impressive for Cardassian eyes but would probably be lost on the rest. She didn't really care: it felt good to wear something close to her former uniform. With knives concealed and a Cardassian phaser on display (for show) she looked the part of someone hired to protect. Plus she gave icy looks to anyone who came too close to her "employers" - something about a Cardassian looking threatening tended to make people back off. She caught Caras' comment and gave a disdainful look, "I have seen far better on Cardassia..." Despite herself she was having a good time.

Taben allowed himself to indulge in curiosity as he looked around the room admiring the various art and artifacts. As a lover of both art and history, it took great effort for him to restrain his facial features. It was one of the skills that he had been forced to learn in his past and it often served him well--though sometimes he felt he fooled even himself. That was never healthy. Now's not the time to get lost in an existential angst attack Taben thought to himself mentally as he turned his gaze back to room, making a mental note of the security arrangements, cameras, and several possible escape routes.

Mayterial looked around the crowd trying to pinpoint their associates that would have joined the working staff in some form or other during this event, "Your expertise was requested on the topic of financial exchanges, not on the intricacies of Federation politics and foreign affairs." She remarked dryly towards the comment made by Lorpax. She always enjoyed crawling into the skins of other people, and her Vulcan alter ego was one of the more thoroughly explored ones, she finally spotted Alexandria and Clinton across the room.

Alexandia and Clint strolled up to the door, civil inspector uniforms acquired and in place. Clint shoved his hands in his pockets as they walked, trying not to look nervous, "You don't think she actually brought explosives, do you?" He asked Alex quietly.

The young navigator shuddered, not quite sure how to respond. She couldn't tell if Clint was being serious, or just trying to lighten up the moment. "It's entirely possible." She replied, making some final adjustments to her outfit as they approached the museum entrance. The jacket she wore was the necessary style and bore the emblems and markings of one of Rangalor's many civil servants. It was the only part of her outfit that was essential for the disguise, but that didn't mean she hadn't put thought into the rest. Against her wishes, she'd visited a local clothier and spent a good amount of her meager pay on attire that was appropriate for an aspiring young urban professional. She liked the cream blouse with its mandarin collar, but it was a bit too tight. She did not like the black suit pencil skirt, mainly for similar reasons. The sheer black Rigelian spider silk pantyhose on her legs had been much too expensive for her taste, but they were very much in demand... or so went the line Alexandria had been sold. The shoes were ridiculous. High heels were a Human fashion item that simply refused to die, and with them on her feet, she felt that tripping up and dying because of them was a very real possibility. But again... young urban professional blah blah blah.

Alexandria felt ridiculous. Because of the clothes, and because she'd removed the dye from her hair, which was now its natural and totally boring shade of brown, stored up in a tidy bun. Yes, according to the Humans on Rangalor she looked like a young and fashionable government employee. But Alexandria didn't feel that way. She felt like a cross between a wannabe sexy librarian and a poorly cast half-Asian mob boss in some C-list holovid, missing only some kind of archaic bladed weapon to swing at the protagonist. Actually she was only a quarter-Asian, but she looked half. It was not a good look for her. But then again, that sentiment was coming from someone who rarely strayed beyond athleisure and anything else made primarily from spandex.

"In character in five..." Alexandria said as she approached the entrance, which was guarded by security checking invitations. She and Clint did not have invitations. They had definitely not been invited. But they were expected.

"You there! Make way. We're here on official business." Alexandria said, fully in character. She was Wing Xiang, Safety and Compliance Inspector. She had a recording lens over one eye, as if to document her inspection, and she appeared to be talking to herself for commentary, noting down possible safety code infractions as she thrust her credentials upon the nearest member of the security team.

The bombastic entrance drew the attention of the security guards at the venue, as well as the surrounding dignitaries that were attending the gala. One of the guards stepped forward, he immediately found his hands filled with a PADD, he was a bit uneasy, "Could you please stop your recording, ma'am, until your credentials are properly sorted out?" He put out a hand in front of her face to block any recording it might be making in that moment. He looked over his shoulder, "Gringur, check this against our records." and handed the PADD over to his associate, "wait here please, ma'am" he motioned the woman and her colleague to step aside.

"You're going to want to put your hand down, sir," Clint said, his tone surprisingly clear and official, getting into character himself. "Part of our inspection is your interaction with government officials," He said, simply. "If you prevent us from recording any part of this investigation - pursuant to Statuary Code Four-nine-seven-A paragraph 9 - you'll be in violation of a major civil code and be subject to fines in excess of two-thousand planetary credits," He said, matter of factly.

Alexandria--or rather, Wing--did not approve being stopped short. Especially not by a stiff-arm to the face. Thankfully she managed to stop short in time to avoid having that hand touch her... a feat that felt not insignificant, given her choice of footwear for the disguise. Who knew where that hand had been, or the last time it had been properly sanitized? She didn't want to know. Alexandria said nothing in response to the outrage, preferring to let the weight of Clint's officious threat sink in before she dare try and add to it. She did however cross her arms over her chest and tap her heel, each loud click against the walkway marking a rising tempo of impatience.

Someone came rushing up behind security, dressed in a tight-fitting dress and clearly, "Are you kidding me? Now?" A loud sigh, she pushed the hand of the security guard down and looked straight at the camera on Alexandria's face, "you tell that prick of a boss of yours that dumping him was the best thing I ever did. Now come, don't disturb my guests."

Mercy sat in the shuttle, feet up, leaning back, watching the feed from Alexandria's eye piece, listening in on the conversations. Several monitors were hooked up, providing info on the facility's security status, security cam footage from various important locations, and of course the party's locations superimposed over a map of the facility. A big bag of chips completed the look, being munched upon one by one as she waited for things to go south. Things inevitably went south. They always did. "This is like a movie." she mused to herself, snickering some. "A bad one."


Mayterial Droz

Taben Natal
First Mate

Alexandria Farron

Clinton Westbrooke, Jr.

Ship's Physician

Kenzia Nemet

Caras Tracyn


S.S. Fawkes


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