Ram and Kay returned to base the same day Elora Laiken moved into temporary quarters. Storm had invited her to come to dinner in the Mess, meet his teammates and celebrate her probationary freedom. He couldn’t wait to show her off. They weren’t going to believe what the lump of flesh had turned out to be. Not to mention what she looked like all cleaned up and put back together. Elora was thrilled about the prospect of expanding the limits of her environment, but nervous about meeting Storm’s closest friends.
Thanks to the guy across the hall, Elora was no longer a secret. You would think that someone would have thought through how to spin her presence at Jefferson Unit. Sometimes the most obvious details fall through cracks. Within fifteen minutes Sol was getting calls asking about the girl in Lan’s place. In turn, Sol called Storm and found out exactly what had transpired, also learning that she would be making an appearance at Mess that very night, a little after eight, in what would no doubt turn into a spectacle unless it was managed first.
Sol decided the most efficient approach would be to meet the situation head on and simply make an announcement in the Mess. So he showed up at 7:45 and demanded attention with a handheld mic. He spent less than five minutes explaining that the unit was hosting a visitor from another dimension, that she had spent the past three months recovering from wounds received as a result of pioneering a scientific exploration heretofore thought impossible, and that she would be staying for a while. He asked everyone to make her feel welcome and ended by saying they would get that opportunity soon because she was expected in the Mess in ten minutes. The knights and staff took it in stride. Truthfully, many of them had borne witness to things that seemed much less believable. As soon as Sol left, they went back to talking and eating as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened.
Elora finally decided on the black, Ferragamo boots, a silk skirt - the only one she had purchased - and the black Armani sweater with the zip front. She zipped the sweater up to just below where the locket fell between her br**sts and left her hair down. When she looked in the mirror she thought the best thing about the way she looked was that she could be mistaken for an ordinary woman, out in the world without supervision or script or bodyguards or paparazzi. It wasn’t all bad. Maybe.
She was standing in the kitchen watching the LED time on the microwave oven when she heard a light knock on the door. No matter how many times Storm told himself that he was an escort and not a date, he couldn’t make himself believe it. He still had his hand in the air when the door opened. She was wearing the same shy smile he had seen on the twelve-year-old Elora Laiken from the internet video.
“Hi,” she said with a little chest-high wave of her right hand.
“Hi. You look wonderful.”
She took in his long sleeve gray tee and the black pants that he seemed to wear so often. They were made of a fabric she wasn’t familiar with. It looked a little like leather, but, even without touching, it was obviously soft, draping over Storm’s tight, masculine curves like silk. “So do you,” she said and he laughed in that unguarded way that made him seem so genuine and comfortable in his skin.
In addition to spreading the news that Elora was across the hall, the carrot-topped guy was also responsible for letting it slip that the apartment had belonged to the recently K.I.A. member of B Team. She knew because, on the way to dinner, she asked Storm who Lan was. Storm seemed fine with the arrangement, but she didn’t know how the other two would react.
The Mess at Jefferson Unit was quite elegant. It was a long rectangular room with an expanse of courtpark windows along one side. Next to the windows and along the opposite wall were rows of tables for four arranged dining car style with one end against the wall. The arm chairs were big enough to seat four large men comfortably, two on either side. Each table had a small, green shaded lamp. The effect was soft, ambient lighting; good for quiet conversation. The tables were set with herringbone white linen, heavy Waterford crystal glasses, and sterling silver. In the middle of the room, between the two long rows of tables for four were round tables that would comfortably seat six with wide aisles on both sides to allow for ease of service. The carpet was an upscale floral design with a dark green background. The walls were painted a soft shade of sage and accented by glossy white chair rail and moldings at floor and ceiling. It was relaxed luxury at its finest.
The Mess offered two meal seatings at dinner. The trainees, educators, and support staff ate at six. The knights, medical, and research staff ate at eight. There were also quick meal options in the bar and to-go meals in the hub diner and grocery.
There was no assigned seating in the Mess but knights usually sat at tables with their own team members. It was just a little like having the evening meal with family.
Even though the room full of people had taken the news that there was an inter-dimensional guest without missing a beat, everyone stopped and stared when Storm entered the room with Elora. She wasn’t an introvert, but she didn’t crave that sort of attention either. So she reverted to what she was trained to do - act like royalty.
Krisp, the maitre d’, appeared out of nowhere, saying: “Right this way.” Of course Storm knew the way to the table usually occupied by B Team, but he thought it was good of Krisp to go out of his way to make Elora feel welcome.
She swept along behind Krisp looking striking and statuesque. Storm was thinking she would have attracted stares even if she wasn’t a paranormal headline. She didn’t make eye contact with any of the occupants, but was able to ascertain that diners came in all manner of dress from shorts and flip-flops to leather jacket and tie.
On seeing their approach, Kay and Ram stood up for introductions as a matter of courtesy. Storm hadn’t given them any details about her background thinking that was personal information; her news to tell should she choose to tell it.
As they approached the table, Elora sized them up, noting Kay’s huge frame, distinctive cheek bones, square jaw, and concluded that she wouldn’t want to fight this man. He immediately put her at ease with a smile and relaxed body language. He was wearing a collared shirt, brown twill pants that she thought were called khaki, and square toe boots that looked comfortably broken in. With a little twinkle in his eye he said, “Wow. You’ve changed a lot since the last time I saw you.”
She raised her chin, giving the impression that she believed she was the same height and smiled. “Have we met then?” she teased back as she offered to shake hands.
She turned to Ram who was wearing faded jeans and an intricately patterned, black, tee shirt with a large AC DC and lightning strike symbol on the front. He took her extended hand in his, but when he said, “Hello,” she jerked her hand back to her side like she’d been burned. Looking confounded and a little embarrassed he asked, “What’s wrong?”
Elora pulled herself up until her presence was nothing less than commanding. Storm was fascinated, having not seen this side of her before. “Your voice is what’s wrong, Mr. Hawking. It sounds very much like one I’ve heard before saying, ‘kill it. Kill it now.’” Her tone was crisp and slightly imperious.
Ram’s face fell when he realized she had both remembered and made the connection. Though feelings of intimidation were completely outside his range of emotion, he was unsettled. He looked at his feet as if trying to form a response and then glanced up to see that everybody in the room had stopped, looking at them like it was a show. His coloring deepened by a shade. “Hey! Find somethin’ else to do for Paddy’s sake!” He shouted a challenge at the crowd in general, then said, “Wankers,” under his breath.
Knowing Rammel Hawking's somewhat unpredictable temperament, curious onlookers decided it was in the best interest of a quiet evening to pursue their own business in terms of dinner and conversation.
Satisfied with that, he turned back to Elora, leveled a steady, blue eyed gaze, and leaned in so that he could speak in a much lowered tone of voice. “Naturally I regret that, my girl. Please,” without taking his eyes from hers he bent his head in a little gesture of contrition, “accept my apology.”
She stared at him for a minute. He was just three inches taller at six feet one which meant that, in her Ferragamo riding boots, a stretch of posture, and a tilt of her chin, they were practically looking eye to eye. She took in the boyish features; flawless skin, full, pouty mouth, and mess of multicolored blond hair. All that came together in a perfection of creation with watercolor eyes that seem to waver between sea blue and midnight sky. She didn’t know if she liked him, but her intuition said he was sincere and there was no arguing with the allure.
She took so long to respond that finally he leaned even closer, captivating her with glittering eyes that made the reflected light dance. He spoke so quietly it was almost a whisper. “Do no’ be mad.”
She was willing to bet that few people had ever been able to resist him when he turned on that adorable, puppy dog plea. As if he could tell the moment she relented, he smiled in a way that seemed far too intimate for a recent introduction.
“If we’re goin’ formal, ‘tis Sir Hawking when we’re on these premises, but I’d like it if you call me Ram.”
He was close enough that she could smell that his breath was sweet, like a baby had just chewed spearmint, but his underlying scent was a heady mixture of musk and wild fern. She took a half step back and dropped her chin slightly. The man was dangerously disarming.
“Okay,” she said simply and the wave of relief that circled the little group, still standing, was palpable.
Ram and Elora sat next to the window across from each other. Storm sat next to Elora with Kay across from him.