Masamori, Hachiman
Oshika Prefecture, Dieron Military District
Draconis Combine
December 24, 3030


A cheerful note echoed in the great, gilded hall as musicians finishing a song stood and bowed, awaiting their audience's applause. The great glass ceiling afforded the dancers an unrestricted view of Hachiman's wonderful wintry night sky, its city wonderously decorated with lights and trees, a perfect backdrop or overtop for a dance.

The performance was not terribly worthy of it, but it was one of the final songs of the night and the crowd of mostly offworlders were new to this type celebration and in doubt as to what was proper in such ceremonies.

And when in doubt a Kuritan is faced with two choices; become violent or extremely polite. Always try politeness first.

So they clapped.

Sharon glanced around at the other people on the dancefloor, at the unsure clapping and neutral faces everyone adopted, and stifled a laugh as she caught some staring at the massive and well-decorated tree in the middle of the floor. It struck her that something as innocent, or even as boring, as a Christmas party would cause so much anxiety in hardened warriors.

At least the decorations look right…Tacky, but fine.

But then, Christianity and its practices were still taboo in most of the Draconis Combine; a federation of over a hundred worlds unified under the ancient japanese culture reborn in the Kurita ruling family. It was a point her partner found necessary to inform her. No, not to inform, but to reassure her; a simple woman by his measurements, that this was the reason for their nervousness, and not her striking presence.

As if, Sharon told herself, again forcing her still wrinkle-free face from showing a hint of a smile. Her raven hair, cut to her shoulders and not shorn tight like most of her profession, swayed to their dance's motion. It was an alluring effect, combined with her green eyes, and Sharon knew it.

Marcus Kurita, Warlord of the Pesht Military District continued speaking. "… but it is just a harmless festival, something that bleeds the pressure off and is far less distressing than those weekly riots the natives here do so enjoy." Sharon could practically hear the sneer in Marcus's voice; the too well chosen words, the slight distaste and the guarded, almost angry manner. It was an illusion of haughtiness that only a student of body-language could pierce, and as a MechWarrior taught to identify and examine an enemy MechWarrior's movements with their machine, Sharon was quite qualified in deciphering gestures and poise.

She had stared away for far too long. "Is something wrong, my dear? Do these settings trouble you too?" Marcus' grip grew slightly tighter.

Just you you condescending, malfing… "Oh… no, my lord Tai-sho," Here goes, "it is just… business, you see." She awaited his almost imperceptive nod to continue. "We have had some materiel shortages, particularly 'Mechs. Even picking from the scraps doesn't seem enough to outfit us all, and we can't even train everyone at the same... time…" Oh buddha, did I just say that to the malfing Warlord?! The man who still has to approve our formation?Who holds an entire battalion in his clammy hands? Bloody, malfing hell.

The smile on Marcus' face took on a tighter edge. "Yes, surplus materiel is hardly the pick of the litter." The Warlord drew Sharon in closer, his breath heavy with sake, "and BattleMechs are rarely considered surplus, my dear."

Stop calling me that, Sharon thought as she slipped into an oft-used apologetic tone. "Yes, of course, forgive me, my lord Tai-sho." Sharon waited for the subject dropped at that, but the Warlord of Pesht continued on. This dress always works...

"Certainly, my dear. But I understand your concerns… Pesht has never been a hotbed of activity. With the Dragon as strong as ever, it may just be the place for old warriors to retire." It was Marcus' turn to pause, waiting for an agreement from the sultry and alleged MechWarrior in his grasps. "I believe my forces might be able to spare a few machines, but the Kanrei's plans may not involve such transfers..."

Sharon knew what she had to do. Time to turn up the hotness that is me. Her voice was much smoother, softer than before. "My lord, Marcus," flashing him a small smile, "I-we would be forever in your debt if a lance of 'Mechs could find their way into the Kuroshio." A slight 'misstep' in the dance and Sharon brushed herself against the Warlord. "But the Kanrei's plans—"

"—Are still in the early stages and will not rely on such small numbers I assure you." The Warlord looked away briefly, to his aide or chaffeur, Sharon couldn't tell, probably as a signal to ready the Warlord's transportation and, Sharon feared, his accomodations for the night. Sweat glistened on her forehead.

Her planned means of escape was nowhere to be seen.

Probably drinking that buddha-forsaken 'punch' with no punch.

Sharon cursed under her breath as Marcus Kurita lead her away from the dancefloor, grinning all the while as his grip tightened around her waist, her silky dress crumpling under his hands.

"Pardon me, excuse me…" The raspy voice was sweeter than the music the alleged musicians were playing to Sharon's ears. "My lord, my lord Tai-sho! The ceremonies are about to begin."

Marcus wheeled around, taking Sharon along for the ride and face-to-face to her Executive Officer, Sho-sa Reza Mohammed.

Holding a glass of punch in his hand.

It only took a moment for Marcus to regain his composure, moments which Reza ignored following proper decorum. "I have been called away. Business. Tell the planetary governor that he may start his ridiculous ceremony without me."

"Forgive me, my lord Tai-sho. But the governor requests Chu-sa Park's presence," You sweet, punch-drinking sonuvabitch, "he understands that the duties of the Pesht District need to be attended to, and would like to thank you for taking the time to visit this world. Chu-sa Park is needed for the ceremony, I'm afraid."

Marcus' face betrayed no emotion, but his right hand slid further down the Sharon's waist and his fingers spread out. His well-dressed aide stepped in, whispered in his left ear, stressing several words and repeating them as both MechWarriors pretended to be elsewhere.

Then the grip was gone. "I will not keep you from this outlandish celebration then, my dear. You can expect," a slight pause as his voice had grown unsteadily louder and started to draw attention, "you can expect that lance as soon I can pry them from some quartermaster's hoard. Good evening."

Sharon bowed as the Warlord walked away, more to hide her grin and the expression of relief on her face than for any true respect. "Merry Christmas, my lord Tai-sho." You self-important, pompous, and horny bastard.



***


"You took your damn, sweet time Reza." Sharon chided as she stared into a freshly poured cup of grape juice. The sickly sweet and sour taste was refreshing, but the purple spot on her dress was aggravating.

"Timing is everything, isn't that one of your phrases, Chu-sa?" The veteran was always formal and yet Sharon felt as if she was somehow a spoiled child being lectured by a forgiving and dotting parent.

I hate it when he does that. "I hate it when you do that."

"I wasn't lying. The governor wants you," a slight pause to draw a steely stare, "Chu-sa, to preside and lead over some kind of song." Playful anger turned into despair.

"A song? Wh-what-why-whuh?" She took a quick gulp of the cool drink. "Oh I see, you're being funny. You're being funny because I'd murder you if you weren't." Sharon whispered fiercely, her good natured grin gone.

"I'm afraid I cannot lie, you know that Chu-sa. When you told me that you needed an excuse, something about the celebration well… the governor enjoys grape fruit punch as well as I…" Reza took a lengthy sip of the purple liquid and savoured the indignant stare of his commanding officer. "I mentioned to him who you were, your uhh… experience in such celebrations and he was quite delighted to hear that you have an excellent singing voice."

Sharon tipped her cup's contents over the punch bowl and scooped up some more to the shocked stares of those around her. "Do you wanna ship back out to the Ghosts, because I can do that—"

"—You can make it my Christmas gift—"

"—Oh you're not going anywhere till I've gotten even, you… " Sharon gripped her cup and took a shot, as if mimicking the drinking of alcohol was a good enough substitute for the real thing. She could see the faint whispers of a smile at the veteran's face. They both knew that members of their command, the 1st Kuroshio, were mingling in the crowd. But only Reza knew how embarassed many of them felt to be at such a party, amongst nobility and wealthy merchants and what some considered 'true' samurai.

They had to feel that their new Commanding Officer wouldn't be as alienating. Reza didn't say as much, part of the point was for the Chu-sa to learn about such matters herself. The 'Unyielding One' they called her, at least they did in polite company, he was warned.

It had taken only days for him to play on his 'veteran' status, to get his CO to start listening to him, but that didn't mean she didn't deserve her nickname. Any of her nicknames.

Looking around the room, Reza saw the Chu-sa identify members of her unit. Her unit. And they were having as worse a time as she was just a few moments ago. Understanding dawned in a purple pool. "What did you tell him I'd sing, exactly?"

Try as he might, the grin on Reza's face exploded onto a genuine smile. "Jingle Bells." Sharon nodded and to her growing horror, Reza continued. "Then Silver Bells, and after that some song about the twelve days of Christmas which is quite strange since there is really at most two Christmas days in the Christian calendar…"

The governor, a small swarthy man, interrupted then and diligently shook Sharon's extended hand, the one still holding the cup of punch that was going to accidentally bathe her XO. Instead, it ended up in the governor's shaky grip. "Oh, I'm so sorry about that, Chu-sa Park, but we're just so excited that someone who's celebrated this in a non-official setting," Combine slang for illegal, "is able to demonstrate the proper, uhh… 'yuletide' spirit, yes?"

Drenched in purple grape juice, Sharon grinned and nodded as the governor fumbled for a towel or a napkin but settled for his own hands to wipe the juice away. Oh great, I've been felt off by both a Warlord and a Planetary Governor tonight. Merry malfing-Christmas…

A few moments later, her clothes dry but her spirit soaked, Sharon stood in front of the musicians, in her silver and purple ensemble, looking as unmilitary as she could muster. It wasn't difficult, her high-heel shoes and her once-ravishing dress had that effect. The band behind her started to play, and a resultant hush and shock swept over the crowd as she started singing.

I'm not that bad!

A roar suddenly overwhelmed the flimsy playing of the band and Sharon felt as if she was bodily pushed to the ground as the lights flickered off and the earth rumbled.

For several seconds all was dark. Moans and even screams echoed through the stunned attendees until a faint, orange light started to illuminate the hall's interior. Above them, a large chunk of what was once a civilian DropShip tipped end over end on its way towards the ground. The fire around it was bright enough to illuminate several city blocks, and its violent crash to the ground destroyed just as much as it illuminated.

The city, the planet, shook. Several times it shook with a deafening roar pierced occassionally by screams or the futile sirens of emergency workers.

Moments passed by in a swirl of roars and consciousness.

Sharon rolled herself to her back, blood streaking from somewhere on her face, and stared at the now cracked glass sky. She watched helplessly as the walls around the hall started crumbling as more and more of the debris slammed into the snowcovered city.

Above, the massive fireball was reduced to fiery wisps. She had one thought before succumbing to the darkness again.

And God bless us, every-malfing-one.