Disclaimer: There's a poem by William Blake called The Tiger that I quote bits of.

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The Dinner

Many long tables were set with a variety of appetizers. Lords and Ladies were already seated, the lowest ranks first. Zemma, on the arm of Jaron, was seated near the head of the table, and nearly last to arrive. Ladies coveted this, knowing all eyes would be upon them, but Zemma felt self-conscious. She had no mask to wear.

Cameras around the grand dining hall captured every entrance, and the populations of all the ships would be watching from their scene-walls; usually just one wall rather than every one.

Zemma hadn't felt the need to giggle inappropriately in weeks but she had to stifle one now. She was very nervous, even on the arm of the reserved and dignified Lord R'Ghnell; he was just another Commander, she was an oddity. She'd said as much before they'd left the suite.

"But, my dear, in that dress you are a stunning oddity."

She punched him in the shoulder and he feigned pain.

"You're getting stronger."

"You're just trying to boost my ego."

"You only need to look in a mirror for that, Child."

She wished he'd quit calling her Min, but he did make her feel good. He'd even agreed with Zemma's thinking that the myth of Riddick would solidify his power in the wake of the destruction of the 'Monger religion.

The lights in the procession hall and dining room were to be dialed down lower than usual and the Furians were all to have their blue lenses up. Jaron had, however, nixed the idea of telling Vaako about his heritage and teaching him to twitch up his lenses. Apparently he had chosen to take his turn at the bridge during the hours of the party.

It wasn't quite dark enough to make the lenses comfortable when the Furians were last arrive in the procession hall and proceeded directly to the dining room. Zemma couldn't wait to see what Jaron had talked Riddick into wearing.

A fanfare of string instruments announced his arrival. Everyone stood and for the first time since she arrived Zemma didn't feel all eyes staring at her. She turned to the foyer…

…And nearly giggled out loud again.

Not that he didn't look regal, and well, sexy as hell, he just also looked completely Riddick. He was wearing black pants and a black sleeveless jacket over a black sleeveless shirt, but that belied its sheer impact. The collar was like the Japanese style collars Jaron favored. The buttons, likewise, were in the same style, in bright gold thread. The black fabric was not matte, but seemed shot through with metallic fibers that caught the low light with subtle brilliance. Even his shoes, not rough brown utility boots, shined.

Zemma wondered where he hid his favorite weapons, but was sure he still carried them. The 'Mongers in the room gaped in bewilderment. This was not how a 'Monger soldier, let alone Lord Marshal, should dress! Where was his ceremonial armor, where were his weapons?

But his eyes glowed in that mythical blue. His stare dared anyone (seemed to pick out everyone in the room and dare them personally) to take issue with their Lord Marshal. Zemma glanced around the room and smiled at the result, then joined the Furian commanders in starting respectful applauds. The room followed suit slowly, but gained in cadence and volume.

Zemma saw Riddick's jaw tighten in what was for him a most outward show of chagrin. He proceeded slowly to the table, nodding in polite acknowledgment to those brave enough to speak to him.

The room grew silent as he took his place at the head of the main table. He stood a moment in the silence and Zemma mentally applauded his self-control. The Lords and Ladies were forced to wait for him. It was subtle, and the timing perfect. Then he sat so swiftly and fluidly that the royals scrambled for their seats, but Zemma and the Furians were unhurried.

Jaron seated Zemma, as a Lady, before himself. She warned herself not to blush and could only hope she was successful. Eating and conversation commenced. Zemma tried not to look at Riddick and found herself looking at her plate more than anything else. Jaron nudged her with his elbow.

"Zemma," he whispered so quietly only her Furian ears would hear. "The Lord Marshal asked me to remind you to have poise," he said in their native tongue.

Zemma stiffened and looked sharply at Riddick. He was turned to one of the other commanders but she could see his eyes flicking her way and the tiniest upturn of the side of his mouth. Jaron had no knowledge of the phrase her father had used with her.

"Zemma?" Jaron had noticed her reaction.

"Jaron, would you kindly dump your soup in our Lord Marshall's lap for me?" She also spoke quietly in Furian.

He laughed. "I've missed something important?"

She smiled and patted his arm. "I'll tell you later."

Dinner proceeded without incident and Zemma felt better as it went along. But she wasn't looking forward to the 'dance' afterwards. Not that she would be required to dance. It was acceptable, and she had danced with her Ferrin when she was younger. But there would be musicians and professional dancers, while most of the nobles simply looked on and socialized.

That is, while Riddick sat on his throne and Ladies contended for his attention.

She was definitely not looking forward to that.