--Administration Building B Lobby--
Plasma sighs. The Captain was, of course, making him wait. Again.
I swear the woman derives some kind of vindictive pleasure from this.
He opens the briefing folder in his hands, paging through the sheets of guild data and intelligence reports.
Schematics, maps, images, profiles, dossiers. A folder full of sighs.
The door to the right of the secretary's desk flies open suddenly. A man stops from the room, jaw set, eyes narrowed.
Plasma looks up at the secretary, eyes pleading for any kind of excuse. However this woman seems cut from the same cloth as the captain.
Secretary
"Captain Verra will see you now."
Plasma swallow, lurches up and takes a few deep gulps of air before striding confidently (one must try) through the door. The room inside is immaculate. Beautiful wood paneling, an antique carved desk with a wide top, and deep navy tapestries covering the walls. Ornate weapons, sabers and pistols, are mounted on the walls, and deep bookcases hold countless volumes, maps, and scrolls. Verra herself stands by one of the large windows, looking out across the council gardens. Very few administrative buildings have a view to the council buildings.
She speaks without turning.
Verra
"Sit Ensign."
Plasma sits. It's a tense minute before she turns. A beautiful, hard face. High cheekbones, brown chin-length hair with a single streak of her signature navy blue on the right side. The only interruption of the perfect symmetry is the scar running from the base of her neck to the temple, narrowly missing the brilliantly blue eye.
She turns derisively to him.
Verra
"It has come to my attention that you've made a few interesting command decisions. One might even call them insubordinate. Now, before you protest, I realize a superior officer was involved. However that is no excuse for dereliction of duty. You were lucky this time. I've put an official reprimand on your record."
She sniffs and walks to the desk, placing both palms on it, leaning forward and subjecting Plasma to the most intense glare he has encountered.
Verra
"Moving on, you managed to make some hard choices, and you seem to have made them correctly Ensign. I've decided to trust you with a slightly heavier assignment. Along with it comes a promotion. A probationary promotion. Screw this up and I'll cut you loose. Welcome to the new pay grade, lieutenant."
Plasma gapes. Verra gazes expectantly at him as he marshals his words.
Plasma
"Thank you captian! I'm sure-"
Verra
"Yes, yes. Now to your assignment. I'm assigning you to the Heiress. Close your mouth Lieutenant: it's my ship, not my bed. Better. Now, we depart for Guild space in two days. Mission parameters are close and quiet. Follow up on your brief however you see fit. Here are the mission details. You are dismissed, Lieutenant."
Plasma struggles to his feet and salutes. Verra returns the gesture dismissively and returns to the window, lost in thought.
--Later Outside the Saloon--
A bit later Plasma arrives outside the saloon, riding high on the new uniform with the Lieutenants insignia.
Closed? Flak.
He stops short as the the Fjordic man leaves.
A baronies man, and an aristocrat at that? Or maybe a pirate? Hmm.
Defeated, he turns back towards the administrative sector.
Might as well finish up that paper work...
