Most Serene Key Republic- Bartholomew Hemingway/Alexander Suttbray
As Bartholomew glanced around the large dining hall, he remained very impressed by its decor and pre-war charm. This was different entirely from the beachfront wood and marble manses of Key patricians that he was used to, and he welcomed the alien feel of it all. Moments earlier, a waiter had come to take their drink orders, and while Bartholomew was happy to indulge himself in a gin and tonic after such a long flight, Alexander declined the offer entirely. Such an insufferable man, lacking entirely in manners and decorum. Even if Alexander had showered them in gifts, Bartholomew still failed to see how the Senate’s Convention Committee had deemed it a good idea to send the eccentric head of House Suttbray to a meeting of this import.
In an effort to distract himself from the question he had been asking himself constantly for the last few days, Bartholomew turned his gaze away and produced his pipe, a beauty of dark Yucatan wood and Deathclaw horn purchased from a big game hunter in southern Mississippi. Lightly packing it with fine tobacco from plantations out north, Bartholomew wondered at the position they were in. From sea to sea, delegates were pouring into this desert paradise to discuss matters of international importance and peace. Twenty years ago, such a thing would be completely unheard of, but war had always acted as the best motivation for change and progress in the world.
Bartholomew’s admiration of the state of today’s world was cut abruptly short, however, when a frail, pure young woman barely out of adolescence made her way towards him, clad in a dark dress and followed by a hulking man stuck to her like a twisted shadow. Bartholomew exhaled a small cloud of tobacco smoke, having suddenly acquired a sour taste in his mouth. His Serenity had set some very clear goals in their dealings with this depraved cult, but that didn’t mean Bartholomew had to like it. He wasn’t sure how much of the news he received back in Key West was true and how much was myth, but he was sure that all of it was distasteful.
Meanwhile, Alexander stared at the woman and her escort with something that could only be described as longing. He had never met her in person, yet he knew her by her aura, her movements, the sly twist at the corner of her mouth- it was glorious. She was like a beacon of warm, comforting blackness in this city of neon, so pure yet so perfectly shattered. Alexander had gazed at the stars independently of young Marie and her ‘father’, but they both knew the same truth, and that held a beauty of its own.
The woman and her escort came and slid a delicate hand into Bartholomew’s grasp who, despite his disdain for the occult, shook it with a practiced grace. “And greetings to you both, I pray your trip treated you well. We’re such a long way from your… abode in Pittsburgh.”
The small, snow white figure then slid past, towards the tall and lanky form of Alexander. He accepted her hand and brought it to his lips for a brief and polite kiss just behind her knuckles. He then widened his smile and spoke in his cultured Southern drawl. “And upon you, fairest Marie. It is a pleasure to finally make your acquaintance.”
He remained standing as she took her seat near him, waiting for her to sit before returning to his own chair at the table. Ug-Qualtoth smiles upon you, he wondered how much of that was formality and how much went beyond just that. Before Alexander could divulge himself in small talk anymore, Bartholomew interjected.
“Ms. Ashur, it certainly is a joy to see you here. If you wouldn’t mind, His Serenity has interest in formalizing relations between your… enlightened people and the greatness of the Most Serene Key Republic. Perhaps we could…” Bartholomew was cut off abruptly by a sudden robotic bleating.
The delegate for New Vegas gave a rather curt introduction to the group assembled before him, cutting short any niceties that had preceded it. He spoke as if those assembled before him were likely to cause a ruckus- something Bartholomew thought was quite unlikely, given all of their stations and their role here. No matter, Bartholomew honored the rather rude request and silenced himself, giving a polite nod to the unsettling youth he had been speaking to by way of apology. He took another puff off of his pipe, awaiting the actual beginning of the meeting.
As Bartholomew glanced around the large dining hall, he remained very impressed by its decor and pre-war charm. This was different entirely from the beachfront wood and marble manses of Key patricians that he was used to, and he welcomed the alien feel of it all. Moments earlier, a waiter had come to take their drink orders, and while Bartholomew was happy to indulge himself in a gin and tonic after such a long flight, Alexander declined the offer entirely. Such an insufferable man, lacking entirely in manners and decorum. Even if Alexander had showered them in gifts, Bartholomew still failed to see how the Senate’s Convention Committee had deemed it a good idea to send the eccentric head of House Suttbray to a meeting of this import.
In an effort to distract himself from the question he had been asking himself constantly for the last few days, Bartholomew turned his gaze away and produced his pipe, a beauty of dark Yucatan wood and Deathclaw horn purchased from a big game hunter in southern Mississippi. Lightly packing it with fine tobacco from plantations out north, Bartholomew wondered at the position they were in. From sea to sea, delegates were pouring into this desert paradise to discuss matters of international importance and peace. Twenty years ago, such a thing would be completely unheard of, but war had always acted as the best motivation for change and progress in the world.
Bartholomew’s admiration of the state of today’s world was cut abruptly short, however, when a frail, pure young woman barely out of adolescence made her way towards him, clad in a dark dress and followed by a hulking man stuck to her like a twisted shadow. Bartholomew exhaled a small cloud of tobacco smoke, having suddenly acquired a sour taste in his mouth. His Serenity had set some very clear goals in their dealings with this depraved cult, but that didn’t mean Bartholomew had to like it. He wasn’t sure how much of the news he received back in Key West was true and how much was myth, but he was sure that all of it was distasteful.
Meanwhile, Alexander stared at the woman and her escort with something that could only be described as longing. He had never met her in person, yet he knew her by her aura, her movements, the sly twist at the corner of her mouth- it was glorious. She was like a beacon of warm, comforting blackness in this city of neon, so pure yet so perfectly shattered. Alexander had gazed at the stars independently of young Marie and her ‘father’, but they both knew the same truth, and that held a beauty of its own.
The woman and her escort came and slid a delicate hand into Bartholomew’s grasp who, despite his disdain for the occult, shook it with a practiced grace. “And greetings to you both, I pray your trip treated you well. We’re such a long way from your… abode in Pittsburgh.”
The small, snow white figure then slid past, towards the tall and lanky form of Alexander. He accepted her hand and brought it to his lips for a brief and polite kiss just behind her knuckles. He then widened his smile and spoke in his cultured Southern drawl. “And upon you, fairest Marie. It is a pleasure to finally make your acquaintance.”
He remained standing as she took her seat near him, waiting for her to sit before returning to his own chair at the table. Ug-Qualtoth smiles upon you, he wondered how much of that was formality and how much went beyond just that. Before Alexander could divulge himself in small talk anymore, Bartholomew interjected.
“Ms. Ashur, it certainly is a joy to see you here. If you wouldn’t mind, His Serenity has interest in formalizing relations between your… enlightened people and the greatness of the Most Serene Key Republic. Perhaps we could…” Bartholomew was cut off abruptly by a sudden robotic bleating.
The delegate for New Vegas gave a rather curt introduction to the group assembled before him, cutting short any niceties that had preceded it. He spoke as if those assembled before him were likely to cause a ruckus- something Bartholomew thought was quite unlikely, given all of their stations and their role here. No matter, Bartholomew honored the rather rude request and silenced himself, giving a polite nod to the unsettling youth he had been speaking to by way of apology. He took another puff off of his pipe, awaiting the actual beginning of the meeting.
