A
40K: Dark
Heresy/Rogue Trader
Based Story
Laid
about a sterile room were ornate teacups and platters decorated with
brilliant colors enough to distract from hairline cracks and minute
chips obtained through age and indifference. The quality could be
considered insulting by the standards she’d grown accustomed to at
the palace, but the rarest of porcelain sets were never cared for
with the devotion these mismatched dishes displayed. Even the
parchment napkins likely nabbed from a near cafeteria were
meticulously folded for her. Realizing her hunger, her hand extended
out to the food to reveal the chains strapped around her wrist.
“I
apologize for your current restraints, but I figured it was a
necessity until I’m confident you won’t escape.”
Startled
by the soft, smooth breath of a voice, she dropped the morsel of food
she had nabbed. Her neck turned about, but only an empty, excessively
organized room answered.
“Don’t
hinder yourself from eating. You are most welcome to whatever you
wish. I was unsure what you would want to eat so grabbed a sampling
of all the cook offered. Granted, the flavor may be lacking, but he
makes due with what’s available on the ship.”
Following
the voice upwards, she found up amongst the ventilation ducts, a man
sat inverted, indifferent to the idea of gravity. However, his long
ashen hair fell beneath him, blown and played with by the air vents’
exhaust. Recognizing his leaden green eyes and gaunt, narrow face,
she grimaced.
“You
again. I thought I saw the last of you when the roof caved in.”
There was coldness to her as she spoke. She raised her head more,
giving a small frown. “Sir Halonoire Saladin, wasn’t it?”
“All
formality ended when my regiment’s ship declared exterminatus on
your master’s palace last night. Please, just call me Halo.”
