#cassmako

Euanthe is on the verge of death, Sokrates has betrayed the Apostolisian empire, and after Cassander, there's no heir to the throne. This simply will not do. The Apokine declares that it is time for their child to find a suitable spouse, and that there will be a royal ball open to all eligible citizens of the Golden Branch sector who can afford a transport to Apostolos and an outfit suitable for a royal event.

Mako is nobody. He's iteration 37 of an experiment gone mostly wrong. He's good at fogging, though, so the September institute has decided that he's their best shot at getting access to the inner secrets of the Apostolisian court. And, if it goes wrong? Well, there's more Makos where he came from.

Mako knows how to do this. Well. He did until about thirty seconds ago, when he crashed his Ring of Saturn directly into a finely-dressed Apostolisian and sent their bundle of dried squid-ink pasta and fresh vegetables tumbling to the streets.

"Seriously?" they snap at him. "Can you watch where you're going?"

Mako grins sheepishly and starts scrambling to help pick up the scattered ingredients.

"Sorry, got caught up with getting to my final destination as fast as possible, and I'm also a little lost. Guess I forgot to make sure the path was clear!" He hands over a bundle of formerly fresh basil, which is now decidedly squashed. "Uh, I don't suppose you happen to know where the Embassy is?"

The Apostolisian sighs. "Follow the market path past the next three crossings, and turn left at the fourth one. Keep going until you see the huge ostentatious building on the right, it's impossible to miss."

Mako finishes collecting a handful of what appear to be bright blue tomatoes and gives them back to the stranger. "Listen, I really appreciate it. And...yeah, sorry again, I got a bit carried away." He gives the Apostolisian a once-over, taking note of the well-pressed midnight blue tunic and slacks, the golden-brown skin, and the light dusting of teal scales scattered across their cheeks and over the backs of their hands. Their shoes look expensive, too. Upper class, then, or at least wealthy. Probably gonna be at the ball. "Hey, maybe I'll catch you at the big party this weekend, yeah? I'll save you a dance to make up for it!"

He reaches out a hand to shake the Apostolisian's, and then remembers that shaking hands with someone you haven't been introduced to is considered rude in Apostolisian society. He awkwardly pretends like he's fixing his hair and blushes a little bit, finally feeling the weight of his rapid-fire social failures. Great.

He's too focused on remembering the way he's supposed to be acting to notice the way the Apostolisian blanches at the mention of the party. Embarrassed and ready to make a speedy exit, he fires off one last, "Sorry!" before hopping back on the Ring and surfing away down the street.