2Chapter 3````
{A.N WARNING: MENTIONS OF ALIEN SEX IN LATER END OF CHAPTER} oh and sorry for the shorter chapter!
Citadel council podium – 2177 (C.E)
Tevos, the Asari councilor, perched gracefully on her seat. Her attire was exquisite, and her subtly applied makeup enhanced her elegant appearance. Valern, the Salarian councilor, occupied the adjacent seat. His form-fitting body suit showcased expertly crafted Salarian technology, surpassing that of the other associate races—only rivaled by the Asari, with the Turians a close second. Spartacus the Turian councilor, following time-honored tradition, clad himself in the standard Turian military uniform, embellished with meticulously etched military insignias. This subtle attire was a testament to their dual role as peacekeepers and guardians of the galaxy. (A.N: HEHEHEHEE)
Amidst the anticipation, they maintained their composure, patiently awaiting the arrival of the Quelix delegation. The delay was expected; after all, the Quelix were touring the Citadel—a sprawling marvel of Promethean design commissioned by the council. The grandeur of the Presidium, with its intricate architecture, etched an indelible mark on all who gazed upon it. Spanning over 40 kilometers, the Citadel's imposing length veiled the Prometheans' advanced manufacturing techniques.
The spires that encircled its expanse housed a vibrant tapestry of diverse species, each contributing to the Citadel's rich cultural mosaic.
Valern, his voice soft and graceful, cast a discerning gaze upon his fellow councilors. With measured words, he addressed the room, "They should have concluded their tour by now; their arrival is imminent." Tevos inclined her head in polite acknowledgment, while Spartacus, though silent, visibly eased. His once-tense shoulders relaxed, and the ridges of his mandibles softened—a subtle release of tension that did not go unnoticed.
The console screens blinked, revealing a wealth of information about the enigmatic Quelix. Tevos, with a casual grace, scrolled through the data, her expression shifting from curiosity to unease. The other councilors mirrored her reactions. The Quelix—an insectoid species, reminiscent of the ancient Rachni—stood before them. Their militaristic society hummed with efficiency, and their active military prowess was well-known.
Yet, it was their peculiar perspective on matters beyond warfare that caught Tevos off guard. Fashion, of all things, held a prominent place in their Culture. The Quelix believed that one's appearance was a canvas to be meticulously painted—a reflection of inner worth. To be deemed "ugly" was intolerable; instead, they championed self-expression. Jewels, gold, and opulent attire signified not just wealth but also an individual's essence. Those who adhered to mundane fashion choices were scorned, their lack of self-reflection openly mocked.
As the council absorbed this revelation, Tevos wondered how such a seemingly militant race could harbor such intricate views on beauty and identity. Perhaps, in the vast expanse of the cosmos, even the most hardened warriors sought solace in the shimmering facets of self-expression.
As the elevator doors slid open, revealing the Quelix delegation, three imposing figures stepped forth. The council had anticipated a display of fashion, but what materialized before them was beyond expectation. These beings exuded opulence—their garments adorned with meticulously crafted jewels that dazzled the eye. Their equipment gleamed with a golden hue, and luxurious amenities clung to their attire, an extravagant excess of wealth. In that moment, they resembled nothing less than celestial deities, resplendent and regal.
The councilors' expressions spanned a spectrum of awe, disbelief, and subtle unease. Their eyes widened, pupils dilating like startled creatures caught in the sudden blaze of a supernova. Valern, the epitome of stoicism, betrayed a flicker of astonishment—a rare crack in his composed facade. Tevos, her azure skin shimmering, mirrored the Quelix's opulence with a mix of fascination and trepidation. As for Spartacus, the grizzled war veteran, his mandibles twitched—an involuntary reaction to the sheer excess before him. The council chamber held its breath, suspended between reverence and apprehension, as the Quelix figures stood like celestial beings descended from realms of unimaginable wealth. They could not help but feel envious of the beings in front of them.
...
The Quelix delegation stepped forward, their central figure addressing the council. "The Quelix Dynasty greets this esteemed council in the name of friendship and cooperation," the creature intoned, its voice monotonous, laced with a hint of disdain.
Tevos, ever graceful and purposeful, responded, "Welcome to the galactic community. We hope to forge lasting friendships in the future." As her azure gaze met the Quelix's multifaceted eyes, they huddled together, whispering in their inscrutable language. Tevos paid it no mind and continued, "We, the Asari of the Asari Republics—the pioneers of this grand station—extend our warmest greetings. Allow me to introduce our esteemed council members: To my left stands Valern of the Salarian Union, the second race to grace this magnificent station and the Asari's first contact. And to my right, Spartacus of the Turian Hierarchy—the stalwart military arm of the council, entrusted with maintaining peace across the entirety of Council space. Greets you"
As Tevos turned her attention back to the Quelix delegation, shock rippled through her. Their expressions had shifted from curiosity to fury. Her well-crafted greeting fell on deaf ears as they erupted into shouts.
"What madness is this?" the central Quelix figure bellowed, its claw pointing accusingly at Spartacus. The Turian councilor, initially bewildered by the sudden outburst, felt anger simmering within him. How dare these insignificant pests raise their voices at him?
"Watch your tone, you primitive," Spartacus retorted, his voice deep and cutting. "You parade around in this disgustingly horrendous display of fashion, and yet you call us primitive? Bah!" The Quelix's venomous reply stung, and his crew members joined the fray, hurling their own verbal jabs.
Tevos attempted to restore order. "Gentlemen, please quiet down and engage in a civil discussion, like civilized sapients!" Her plea, delivered in her usual soft-spoken manner, once again went unheard. Perhaps it was time to raise her voice—a skill she hadn't quite mastered.
"ENOUGH!" Her voice rang out, strained but commanding. "Enough of this. You are all to be civil and engage in a serious conversation. Let us continue this first contact without descending into a shouting match, please." she asked, pleading.
...
Silence—utter and profound—settled over the chamber. The Turian councilor bowed, cowed by the force of her words, while the Quelix hesitated, their reluctance palpable. Eventually, they too yielded, offering apologetic bows to Tevos. One of the Quelix, with a disdainful side-eye at the Turian, bowed and muttered, "Sorry, fellow fashionable being."
The being stepped forward, revealing its name: Gredeneer the True. "I hold this position," it continued, "as the one who encountered an associate of this council—the humans." The Quelix's tone remained sharp, unyielding.
"May we discuss matters with…" Gredeneer hesitated, then glanced pointedly at Spartacus, "less undesirables in the room?" The insult hung in the air, but Spartacus clenched his mandibles, suppressing his anger. He would comply with Tevos's plea for civility, even if it meant enduring such slights.
Finally, Valern, who had been quiet until now, spoke up. His monotonous voice matched the Quelix's own. "Turians are not undesirable," he asserted. "They are integral to galactic stability. perhaps we should discuss matters in a more secluded setting"
...
Gredenner seethed with disgust. The abominable display of "fashion" by the Turians—an utter disregard for self-image—was nothing short of abhorrent. The mere thought of it fueled his anger. Even by his lofty standards, the humans' fashion choices surpassed the pitiful spectacle the Turians presented. And dare he say it—the Anoians, too, outshone them in matters of style.
"Pitiful," he thought in disgust, his compound eyes narrowing as he observed the back of the Turian councilor's head. The Quelix delegation trailed behind, following the councilors into a secluded room—a space where matters of trade and culture would be discussed. His gaze shifted, drawn inexorably toward the Asari representatives. Their sense of "fashion" was nothing short of exquisite—beautiful, second to none. A compulsion to praise her tugged at him, but he suppressed it. Now was not the time for pleasantries. Diplomatic matters awaited, and he would navigate them with precision.
...
``Confederation of Anoian peoples – Arch Queen Secret headquarters. ``
The room lay cloaked in darkness, its occupants mere silhouettes encircling a large, ovaloid hover table. Holoprojectors flickered, casting ethereal images of Quelix formations, their movements, and vital data on the front line and defensive wall.
Tension hung thick in the air. "They have made contact with the Citadel," a figure stated, her voice both shallow and veiled.
"What about our contacts in the Terminus?" Another voice chimed in; their urgency palpable. "They should gather intelligence on the Quelix's progress within the council."
"Perhaps we should directly engage the council," someone suggested. "Force the Quelix away from further technological sources."
"No need," another countered. "The Quelix will likely stumble on their own. Their 'fashion' choices will inevitably lead to trouble within council space. I've observed the attire of various species—the Quelix will not tolerate it."
"But what if they discover our presence, become aware of our methods, and discern our motivations? They might inform the STG," concern rippled through the room. "We've struggled to keep STG operatives away from our contacts' affairs. Premature exposure could jeopardize our plans!"
"What if we send our males to assassinate the delegation?" Her voice went unheard
"But if we launch another offensive? Surely, they'll recall their delegation and isolate themselves from the council," someone voiced their concern, the room tense with anticipation.
"No," a figure spoke up, instantly quieting the room. "That would only drive them into the council's embrace. They might not appreciate the council's 'fashion,' but undoubtedly, they'd align with them in a heartbeat to crush us."
"Yes, Your Highness," they bowed, their four arms weaving indiscernible gestures in response.
"Dismissed!" The Queen's voice echoed through the chamber, and the figures flowed out the door like a tide.
She sighed, relief and tension mingling in her breath. But before she could fully relax, her mate entered the room. His military attire had been discarded in favor of more casual clothing, and his antennae emitted an unmistakable wave of lust pheromones.
The Queen's pheromones filled the air in response, a silent plea after more than ten months without laying eggs. The prolonged absence of gestating offspring weighed heavily on her, and it appeared to affect her mate as well. He moved toward her, antennae quivering, drawn by the primal urge to ensure the continuation of their lineage.
...
(Council chambers) -secluded room
Seated in chairs, the four of them shifted eagerly as they entered the room, guided by gracious guides. They sat in silence, awaiting the arrival of the human envoy.
Tevos, her voice soft and graceful as always, broke the quietude. "Gredeneer, was it?" she inquired. "Why don't you share more about your culture? It might shed light on aspects beyond what your contact package revealed." Her words were interrupted by Gredeneer.
"The True," he corrected, his tone civil but carrying an unmistakable undertone of pride. "My name is Gredeneer the True—don't forget the title."
"Apologies," Tevos replied. "Gredeneer the True, would you be willing to provide a more personal explanation of your culture? It could offer insights beyond what the contact package conveyed." Valern, glancing up from his data pad, recognized the opportunity to learn directly from a Quelix, given their intricate cultural expectations.
Gredeneer found it insulting to be asked about their culture upfront, but he pushed aside his irrational feelings. "I wouldn't mind," he replied. "However, I'll need specifics about what you don't understand to assist with your inquiry."
Before Tevos could respond, Valern interrupted, much to Tevos's annoyance. "Could you explain the concept of fashion and the importance of civil duty to the dynasty? Also, what about the significance of titles?"
Gredeneer sighed inwardly. Clearly, they failed to grasp the profound beauty of the goddess—the very essence of self-reflection and acceptance.
"Very well," Gredeneer began. "Let's start with the last point—the importance of titles, as you put it. To the Quelix, titles aren't mere labels; they define our very existence. Each title is bestowed upon us at birth. There are exceptions, of course—like the Imperator, who earned his name through actions, discarding his birth title to embrace the new one. In doing so, you shed your old self, rejecting previous views of life and self. Anything less would be intolerable." His voice swelled with pride, and a chorus of excited crickets emanated from his throat.
"Fashion," Gredeneer began, "is a deeply personal expression for each individual. It serves as a mirror reflecting how we perceive ourselves. Through self-reflection, we gain insight into our own essence, accepting it and presenting it to the world through our clothing choices."
"Without self-reflection," he continued, "there can be no true acceptance. And without acceptance, the garments we wear lose their significance. They become an eyesore—ugly—to those who have invested time in understanding themselves. In the dynasty, such self-diminishment is utterly unthinkable." His voice resonated with conviction, as if echoing the cultural norms that governed their existence.
"Civil duty to the dynasty is an inherent expectation, ingrained in our very existence. Loyalty to both the dynasty and the Imperator is unquestionable. Why? To prevent another unification war—a conflict that witnessed various dynasties within our own ranks rising with nationalist and independence sentiments. Such internal strife was detrimental to the dynasty as a whole."
"I cannot divulge further details," Gredeneer continued, "as they fall under the Imperator's restricted orders. However, what I can share is this: Your duty to the Dynasty reflects your understanding of personal importance. Indeed, one's loyalty to the Imperator is inseparable from recognizing one's own significance." His words carried the weight of tradition and unwavering commitment.
The councilors sat in stunned silence. Tevos, in particular, appeared taken aback, while Valern diligently jotted down notes on his data pad. Spartacus, ever contemplative, tapped his claw against the armrest of his chair, lost in thought.