The first meeting between Zanzibar and Eva.
Related Scenes: None
Scene Number: 572
The Presidential Palace on Leonis. It was decided that this would be a place to hold a Unification Ball - a sister ball to one held on Virgon, to ensure that there would be no issues between the two groups. Many of the invited guests are those that pontificate on the joining of the colonies, excited for the united front that would come from this, and that the war with the Cylons would be over soon.
However, not everyone here is excited about the concept of the Unification. Standing off to the side, slowly working on getting drunk with his third brandy, Captain Zanzibar Devereaux is standing with a small group of officers, and there comes a laugh from it. "Better dead than red!" he offers in a toast, the words a popular feeling on the Roosters that are in attendance. He's dressed in his class blues, the uniform form fitting, and showing several flight medals that are off-set by the ship's command that he has now.
In a show of force, and perhaps a nod to solidarity where it does not actually exist, the Virgon Royal Navy and those in command of it, have been asked to select not only the best and the brightest from their own native sons and daughter, but also to include 'suitable' candidates from their holdings, including Hibernia. To that end, one Captain Evangeline Thorne has been drafted into special service for the night. And for all her company smile, she moves as one performing a dance, stepping forward when called, slipping away again once eyes are away from her. It would be hard to miss that she's no Leonese...noble or otherwise. Her hair, her skin, her features, and, as she comes up just as the toast is made, her voice, mark her as an outsider, "A bold toast for a bold night."
Red on red. Someone is definitely a brave woman, and it gets Zanzibar's notice. "Depends on if the hangar bay matches the mast head." He's picked up on the accent, immediately, that peppering of Virgon - but Celtan is mixed in there, and he draws up a brow. "A Hibernian?" he asks. "Trophy wife?" Since really, that's all someone from Leonis would expect a Hibernian to be here for, on the arm of some Virgonese officer that has claimed her as his prize.
Evangeline seems to pay no notice to the gathering of men and their drinking. Or rather, she moves through them as though she simply expected them to part before her. A twist of her lips, at the quip about her hangar bay, but no reply. Only a moment, to sidle up to the bar, "A finger of scotch." Order placed, and just in time to take in the question, Evangeline turns back to study the man, taking her time in a single head to toe sweep, "Why? Are you in the market for one...Captain...Devereaux?" The lilt his name acquires is distinct, the Celtan accent giving it a musical quality. A glance, a nod, as the drink is delivered, but she doesn't retrieve it.
Oh. Is that the game? Zanzibar is willing to rise to the challenge, as he collects the finger of scotch from the tray to offer it to her. "Depends on how worthy of a trophy it is has to have." he comments, looking the woman over slowly dressed in red, her pale skin bright in the light, her freckles quite on show. "You seem to have me at a disadvantage however at the moment as you know of me but I do not know of you."
Evangeline, perhaps in a tweak of the nose to her Virgon overlor-- ahem, command, has selected a dress that is the same vivid scarlet red of the Virgon dress uniform, the hem flowing, the sleeveless dress coming up in a high collar with a bow of fabric to the side, the ends of which float down in heavy, draped swatches of fabric to the floor. The glass she accepts with a nod, a simple gesture of thanks. Again, that smile, as she steps away from the bar, once again parting the sea of blue uniforms very like a ship breaking the waves, "Not a very comfortable place for a Leonese to be in, Captain. At a disadvantage." She doesn't wait for Zanzibar to join her, or not, instead, simply moving as though she expected the company.
It takes a moment of thought, that faint scent of her that trails behind her, before Zanzibar decides that this particular Hibernian is on the hunt, and he's just as much of a predator as he moves to fall after her, a hand falling to the small of her back. Not exactly possessive, but the suggestion is there that he's attempting to take charge. "There are many positions a Leonese can be in and still find themselves.. how do you say.. comfortable?" he offers to her. "And it is only a disadvantage if you were to be a threat. Perhaps I could take you on a tour of the gardens, the roses are in bloom this time of year." The irony of her name and destination is not realized, of course.
Like roses, and oakmoss, and something darker and earthier. Evangeline makes no move to disengage the hand that settles at her back, though she does not, in point of fact, make any attempt to touch him in return. The scotch she sips, holding it in one hand, resting the base of the glass in the other, "And what would make you comfortable, Captain?" She tips her chin at the gathering of red and blue, "Certainly not this, if your words are any indication."
"Depends, I still have yet to earn the pleasure of your name and what your purpose is to be here. Though your step does give the suggestion of something military.." Zanzibar points out. And while his hand is allowed free roam on her back, it remains in place on the middle of the small of her back as they walk around and he takes a sip from his brandy. "I appreciate the feel of the cockpit, or the caress of a woman sure of her wants." he responds to her, though his guidance is leading her to the double doors that will take them to the sparsely populated gardens.
"Spoken like a true pilot. Most of whom have only two modes. Flying and..." she does not finish the though, perhaps not needing to. The word she means is easy enough to pick out. "Evangeline Thorne." So that's the name, "Yes, I have spent most of my life around pilots," but then, he did place her in trophy wife territory. "Did you mean that toast, or was that simply something to rally the spirit of the troops?"
"Evangeline." His heavy Leonese accent gives it more of a beauty than even her own native tongue does. "The toast is my feelings on the matter. The lack of love between Virgon and Leonis is well documented, Miss Thorne.." he explains. "And once this war is over, I will return to my defense of Leonis soverignty and not come under the curtain of this so called.. multi-Colonial government. You? Have you surrendered yourself to the Virgonese way?" he asks curiously. "Or are you one that has.. her own modes and motives in all of this." He's prodding as well as the two step into the fragrant garden, a nod to another couple that is passing by as the pair continues to walk.
"Of course it is. I suppose the question," she lifts her glass for another sip, "The question, is whether or not the time is now for reconciliation for a coming together of two very disparate cultures and ideologies." That goes without saying. Virgon wants to control Leonis, again, eventually, Leonis wants to be free, "So it is not only Virgon you object to, but the idea of cooperation with any of the other colonies." Again, that slight twist of her lips, as she steps a hair closer to avoid the couple making their very pointed and very rapid exit, "I am Hibernian." As if that alone should explain everything about her modes and motives.
"There are Hibernians that have given their soul, loyality.." and a definite look over the curves of her dress, "..and body to the Virgon cause." Zanzibar points out. "Leonis will not return willingly to Virgonese rule. And if this alliance is a cause of that, I would rather leave. And you?" he asks, his hand drifting lower, finally, giving her the sign that she is having the effect that she wants upon him as he finishes his brandy. "Have you given yourself in such a way?" Speaking of your double-edged questions.
"A body is easy enough to give away. A soul cannot be bought, no matter how it might appear to someone looking in from the outside." There's an edge, a hint of steel that the thought of Hibernian subjugation brings out in her, but it's soon tempered by her more measured tones. The flint has not, however, left her eyes, "Would you really leave, if such a thing occurred? If Leonis gave itself back to its chains? Would you take the coward's way and abandon your home? Or would you stay and fight for the freedom of your colony?" Evangeline pauses, finding some handy bit of sculpture, something completely unsuited to hold a glass, to hold her glass, turning so that the hand at her back is, well, no longer at her back.
"I could not fight for a government that subjugates itself willingly into oppression." Zanzibar responds, as he feels that slide of his hand onto her hip, and he even turns further, moving so that it's on the flat part of her stomach as he pulls her closer, the press of his chest against her back warm in the cool fall weather. "It is not the coward's way to avoid the chains, it is the way of those that dare to dream of a return of self-rule and control. Our King is not that much of a fool. Is yours?"
"But a government is not its people. It only claims to represent them, as a king claims to represent even those lowest of his subjects, whom he does not know, will never know, and will never care to know. A distinction we know well on Hibernia. If you abandoned Leonis, you would be leaving behind all those who would have looked to you, or men like you for leadership. For guidance in winning back their freedom." As Zanzibar slips behind her, and his eyes can no longer see her face, Evangeline's own expression flickers, shimmering through distaste, self-loathing, longing, resignation, before she schools herself, expression returning to the mildly haughty mask she's worn most of the night. A moment, to allow her back to rest against the man, before she moves to slip out from under his hand, her steps to set her back towards the ball, "I am sick of roses, trimmed of their thorns."
"Who says that they would not follow me, Evangeline?"