The look and ceremony of the thing helped a great deal when making open and official visits. It imprinted the first, and often strongest, impression that people took of you and could make or break an operation. Stromm had long beaten into him the idea that it was a poor Inquisitor that only relied on the expectation of obedience and the power of their rosette. As a result we had planned our arrival in fine detail over the time since entering the system. Weather patterns were tracked, social and local religious calendars consulted. The choice of clothes and manner of arrival all underwent revision and debate as to how they would bring about the desired result.
She'd stepped out of the Stormbird in her finest courtly garb. Bright, exotic fabrics and delicate jewellery all in the latest Terran fashion, hair and makeup immaculate. Her small retinue of handmaidens were themselves in finery just less than that of the highborn ladies present. A small pause for the crowd of nobles to take in the sight and then carefully measured steps to meet them. Oven the space twenty meters she had disarmed them, set at ease after the nights of worrying what might come from the visit. As they greeted her and were introduced in turn it was like a collective sigh of relief was let out. She was one of them, she understood the difficulties faced by those of their station. I took my first step out the ramp just as they began introductions, was two steps down before anyone noticed. There seemed to a flux of mental dissonance amongst them as I set foot on the landing field. Maybe it was the uniform?
An armoured bodyglove with greaves and vambraces, belted tabard and blank faced helm. All black leather and dark iron, marked with iconography the colour of blood. I have my pistol holstered at my waist and powerblade in a boot sheath. I'm holding the straps of the autogun and breacher shield slung my shoulder, walking slowly with a hint of swagger till I stand behind her. There is a silvered skull hanging from my belt.
''My bodyguard,'' she says demurely as eyes move across me. ''You understand I hope? As ladies traveling alone after all...'' They agree of course, quickly. With only the bare edge of desperation to hold onto that interpretation of why I'm there. They've had a chance to look closely now. Seen the impact marks on steel toecaps and the possibility of a stain on one gloved hand that they'd rather not think about. The whole display would unsettle them throughout the visit. Leave them unsure of their footing in the dance of politics and high society. It would take little to maintain the image they had of me, and a bare few would suspect anything more.
Sent from my YOGA Tablet 2-1050F using Tapatalk