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Soft music drifted through the banquet hall, elegant and expensive, like everything else here. Warm light glinted off polished marble and gold trim, all carefully arranged to suggest refinement rather than excess. It fooled no one.
The guests were louder than the orchestra. Laughter rang out too often and too forcefully, each burst meant to be heard. Wealth demanded witnesses.
This gala felt like twelve Dons trapped in one room, all smiling like they were friends, all waiting for the chance to bleed one another dry. Anastasia folded her arms and exhaled.
She scanned the crowd. Glukkons in tailored suits, Oktigi dripped in jewels and finer silk, Vykkers lurked in clusters observing every species in the ballroom. Faces passed her gaze and vanished just as quickly. They were interchangeable. Loud. Self important.
As for the Sarkyn, there were only a handful. Most served as ornamentation, draped over idiots who believed moolah was the same thing as worth. The men flaunted their wealth. The Sarkyn women drained it, patient and practiced, until they could slip their webbed fingers into another fool’s purse.
Anastasia was not one of them.
She was no wide eyed youth angling for security. She was a forty year old widow with the title of Dame, and she had earned every inch of her independence. Power suited her far better than dependence ever had.
She rested her hands on the balcony railing, fingers tracing the shallow carvings. Even the stonework felt smug. Turning away from the noise, she let her steps carry her toward a quiet corner, where the music softened and the conversations blurred into something almost tolerable.
The memory crept in uninvited.
A party much like this one. Lavish. Suffocating. Dons and Dames gathered beneath chandeliers, their laughter too loud, their intentions obvious. Daughters were paraded openly, measured and appraised for their value to prestigious family lines.
She remembered him.
Bright red fins. Gold scaled skin. Emerald eyes that never once felt sincere.
She instantly disliked him. It did not take a Vykker scientist to recognize a two faced fleech. But her father had insisted. Her opinions were irrelevant. She learned quickly how to hold her tongue without choking on it.
Seventeen years after his death, her hatred still burned.
Anastasia shook herself from the thought, she was at a gala for odd sakes. She was supposed to be a representative of Dame Lagunari, since the old kelp got ill at the last minute. At least she was owed a favor from the very prominent Dame. After all, all she had to do was smile, mingle, and endure.
Still, did it have to be this boring?
With a small sigh, she reached for a bowl of assorted nuts. Impulse got the better of her as she flicked one over the balcony railing. The tiny projectile struck a Vykker on the back of the head.
The disgruntled creature shrieked in annoyance, spinning around in search of the culprit. When it found no one, it huffed in frustration and stormed off, abandoning its conversation with a Glukkon. The poor, oblivious Glukkon scrambled after it, desperate to re-engage the discussion.
Anastasia smirked, a quiet chuckle escaping her lips.
Pathetic.
“Nice shot!”
A deep, booming voice startled her. She turned quickly, eyes locking onto a Glukkon standing beside her.
Caught in the act, her expression remained guarded, poised to deny any accusations. But something about this Glukkon made her pause.
This one was not dressed like the rest.
Instead of extravagant silk ties and tailored suits, he wore a high ranking military uniform. Clean. Functional. The number of medals pinned to his chest suggested he mattered.
It was a quiet reminder of how little she actually knew about the Glukkon hierarchy.
She stood in awkward silence, unsure of how to respond.
The Glukkon, however, stepped forward with effortless confidence, a grin on his face as he shifted the pipe in his mouth.
“You’ve got some aim, lady,” he remarked.
“…Thank you?” Anastasia replied, unsure what else to say.
“Ever been to a shooting range?” he asked.
She raised a brow. “I have.”
“So you know how to use a gun.”
She frowned. “That’s a leap. How did you get from me tossing qeanuts to firearms?”
He paused, eye narrowing as if genuinely trying to trace the logic.
“…Honestly? No idea.” he grinned.
Anastasia blinked, then laughed, baring her sharp fangs for all to see. The sound surprised her. Either he was a skilled manipulator, lowering her guard with intent, or she found him too amusing to bother resisting.
“You’re really pretty when you smile.”
His tone was softer this time, almost fascinated.
Her fin-like ears twitched. She paused her heart beats slightly, she was unsure to keep laughing or feel flattered in the moment.
“Bold of you to say,” she muttered, attempting to recover.
“I mean it.” His grin didn’t waver.
She studied him. “Do you say that to every pretty thing you come across?”
“Uh… hmm…” He appeared to think for a moment. “Nope. You’re probably the first one.”
“Oh? I'm sure there are other pretty things to look at”
“No. Uh. I think the pretty thing is standing right in front of me and I’ve gotta say, she’s got a killer aim.” His one eye drops to the ground as his boot kicks up a bit of dust.
“Oh ho ho!” She giggles. “Well, I guess it's not your fault that you're half blind.”
“Nah Lady, I think my eyesight is working.” His voice held an easy confidence.
It had been so long since she’d received a compliment. She knew she was past her youth, yet something so simple still made her feel good.
Anastasia was aware she was treading in dangerous territory. But what harm could there be if they were only just having a friendly conversation.
“Got a name, General?” she asked.
“General Dorothy Dripik,” he straightened himself with pride.
“Anastasia Murkpool,” she replied, offering a smile. “It’s Nice to meet you.”
“Ann-uh-STAY-zee-uh…” Dripik sounded out, letting it roll off his tongue. “That's some name. Uh…” he paused for a bit like he was trying to remember.
“Annie.” he grins, looking at her like he got it right.
Hearing him butcher her name made her hold back her laughter. She calms herself and regains composure.
“Very good, Mr. Dripik.” She wasn’t going to correct him.
“Aye! Mr. Uh… Dripik is my father’s name. You can just call me… uh, Dorothy,” he boasted.
“Of course, Dorothy,” she purred, playfully letting his name roll off her tongue.
Dripik’s back straightened, and the look on his face was like prey caught in headlights, his face had a slight pinkish hue to it.
“Oh my, did I say something wrong?” Anastasia played concerned though her eyes were amused by his reaction.
“NO!” He coughed. “No… I just was having one of those uhh. absent minded. Yeah! Absent minded moments.” He tried to recover.
“My noggin isn't what it used to be, uh you see.”
“Ah, I see,” she giggled. She had never seen a Glukkon get so flustered before, especially one in such a high position.
“I would be worried if I said anything ill toward you.”
“You? Worry… uh, don’t be! It takes a whole lot to get me upset.” He fidgeted, his gaze shifting from the floor to her every now and then.
“If you say so.” She couldn't help but to feel relaxed beside this odd Glukkon General.