Dinner with the Devil
Posted on Tue Jul 21st, 2026 @ 10:55am by Captain Rhenora Kaylen & Lieutenant Commander Bonnie "Bon-Bon" Durnell & Remal Kajun
1,895 words; about a 9 minute read
Mission: Pirates!
"A battlefield reveals what people fear. A dinner table reveals what they desire."
I.S.S. Sunfire – Captain's Quarters
The battle had ended hours ago. Damage reports continued arriving with relentless precision. Repair crews crawled through the wounded carrier like surgeons inside a living patient while the rest of the Imperial fleet assembled beyond the portal.
Captain Remal Kajun had nowhere he urgently needed to be. His quarters were quiet, painfully so. A freshly replicated uniform hung from the wardrobe beside two others that had each suffered their own unique relationship with plasma fire. One jacket bore a scorch mark across the shoulder. Another had lost an entire sleeve somewhere.
For several minutes he studied all of them with the same intensity he usually reserved for tactical projections. Several minutes later he stood before the mirror fastening the final clasp of his jacket. Every line sat perfectly. Every decoration rested exactly where Imperial regulations demanded.
He frowned. Something still looked... wrong. His fingers adjusted the collar. Then the cuffs. Then the collar again. He stepped back. Then forward. Tilted his head. The reflection frowned back at him with identical dissatisfaction. "I look like I'm attending my own court martial."
He sighed quietly before smoothing the front of the jacket one final time. "It will have to do."
The corridors aboard the Sunfire still carried the smell of burnt circuitry and overheated plasma conduits. Repair crews stepped aside as their captain passed, offering crisp salutes before returning to work.
Remal acknowledged each with a measured nod. His thoughts, however, were somewhere else entirely. Marshal Kaylen. He had requested the dinner. She had accepted. Which somehow made the entire affair significantly more intimidating.
As he rounded the next junction, another familiar figure emerged carrying a PADD beneath one arm. Bonnie stopped. She looked him up, then down, then up again.
Silence.
One eyebrow climbed. "...Captain."
Remal continued walking. "Commander."
She fell into step beside him, still studying him with open curiosity. "You've brushed your hair."
"I frequently brush my hair."
"You've polished your boots."
"I frequently polish my boots."
"You've changed uniforms."
"My previous one was on fire."
Bonnie nodded thoughtfully, "Reasonable."
They walked another few paces in comfortable silence. Then she smiled, "Oh."
Remal already disliked that tone.
"I know where you're going." She toyed.
"I imagine you do."
"The walk... the face..." She clasped her hands behind her back, unable to suppress the grin spreading across her face. "You're trying to impress the Marshal."
Remal stopped walking. Very slowly... He looked at her.
"I am attending a formal dinner."
"Mmm-hmm."
"It is customary to dress appropriately."
"Mmm-hmm."
"I represent this ship."
"Mmm-hmm."
"I am not attempting to impress anyone."
Bonnie's smile somehow became even wider. "...Your cologne is different."
Several nearby engineers abruptly discovered extremely important reasons to stare into open junction panels.
Remal closed his eyes for the briefest possible moment. "I dislike you."
"No," Bonnie corrected cheerfully. "You dislike that I'm right."
She stepped around him, walking backward now so she could continue watching his increasingly patient expression unravel. "You'll do fine."
"I have survived orbital bombardments."
"Yep."
"I have negotiated with countless enemies."
"Uh huh."
"I once talked a Naussican into apologizing."
"I've heard the story." Bonnie folded her arms. "And yet tonight..." She gave him one last knowing smile. "...you're nervous."
Remal said nothing.
His silence, to Bonnie, was answer enough. Her grin never disappeared, though it lost a little of its edge. "Enjoy your dinner, Captain."
He regarded her for another heartbeat before inclining his head. "...Thank you, Commander."
As Remal turned to leave, Bonnie called after him almost absentmindedly. "Oh and Captain?"
He paused without looking back.
"If she smiles..." She paused dramatically. "...that's usually a good sign."
Remal frowned. "How would you know that?"
Bonnie smiled to herself. "I pay attention." Then she simply walked away.
Without another word, he continued down the corridor toward the transporter room. Ahead waited the Marshal. Captain Remal Kajun found himself wishing the evening involved phaser fire instead.
On the Marshall's warship, Rhenora sank into a luxurious bath, intent on keeping her quarry waiting whilst she indulged herself. Remal was due any minute, the cook was hard at work, and the scent of rose, lavender and opulence wafted through the open door on the steam. Would he be bold enough to seek her company within her private chamber, or would he wait in the dining room like a good Captain. Her lips curled upwards deliciously at the thought of it.
Remal approached the Marshal's private quarters, led by one of her clearly underpaid security detail. The corridor here differed from the rest of the warship. The bulkheads carried polished black steel instead of bare armor. Soft amber lighting reflected from decorative brass trim. It felt less like a military vessel than the residence of someone who had grown accustomed to absolute authority.
Two Imperial Guards stepped forward as he approached the doors. One raised a hand with a respectful nod. "Captain."
Remal stopped. "I'm expected."
"The Marshal is... occupied."
Remal regarded him for a long moment. "I was invited."
"The Marshal's standing orders are that no one enters her private chamber without..." The sentence never made it to conclusion.
Seconds later, the panel chimed. Access Granted. The doors parted. Remal released the guard's hand, letting it fall heavily onto the deck with a dull slap. Both bodies lay sprawled out in the hallway. Without another glance backward, he stepped inside.
The quarters were... immense. Imperial.
Dark hardwoods contrasted against polished obsidian. Sculptures occupied illuminated alcoves. Rare wines rested inside climate-controlled cabinets. Paintings and trophies lined the walls, each selected to remind every visitor exactly who lived here. The room carried warmth despite its size.
Then he caught the scent. Fresh bread still warm from the oven mingled with roasted herbs and the rich fragrance of uncorked wine. Beneath it all lingered softer notes of lavender and rose, subtle enough to suggest they belonged less to the meal than to the woman herself. The aromas drifted lazily through the vast quarters, impossible to mistake, weaving together into an invitation far more persuasive than any spoken words.
He followed them to the far end of the suite where their stood another door. As he approached, boldly and without hesitation, it parted with a whisper. Remal stopped at the threshold. His eyes lifted. "...Marshal?" He remained where he was, saying nothing further.
"You are indeed bold" The voice echoed on the wafting steam, the open door to the bathroom a temptation and a declaration of intimacy. The cook had a small kitchen at the opposite end of the quarters, and wouldn't dare to even smell the steam if he wanted to live - and he knew it. The previous had dared to comment on her behaviour and had ended up a hull ornament.
He kept his eyes lowered, though he could not see much through the steam. He was still something of a gentleman, respectful. He cleared his throat, "I hope you don't mind, I gave your guards a break and let myself in." There was a slight slump to his posture, which one might see in any other man as bashfulness.
"Then they have failed at their duty and shall be replaced." The reply was simple. She knew that they were most likely dead, but were easily replaceable. "You entered despite my being occupied. If I didn't like you, I'd kill you where you stand." Her voice was low, seductive, and luxurious. She was taunting him, tempting him, daring him.
"I have no doubt," Remal replied evenly. "On both counts." He thought briefly about the two unconscious guards, "If you require replacements, I know a few assassins whose loyalty borders on religious devotion." He reached almost absentmindedly to loosen the collar of his uniform. Suddenly, it seemed far tighter than he had remembered. The room felt warmer than any starship had a right to be. His palms had begun to betray him as well, damp against his suit.
Curious, he had stood before executioners without so much as a change in breathing. He had negotiated with pirates, politicians, and warlords. Yet one woman in a bath had somehow succeeded where none of them had. "I trust," he admitted with the faintest hint of a grin, "that I have not interrupted your evening too severely."
There was a laugh, followed by a giggle "Oh there will be a price to pay for such an indiscretion, but I don't think you'll mind it too much" The sound of water being released was followed by wet fleet on a plush mat "Fetch me the towel" It wasn't given as an order - something slightly different perhaps - there was a hint of a connection. She was inviting him in.
Remal's eyes swept the chamber until they settled upon a thick oversized towel and a finely embroidered robe hanging neatly beside the bath. He crossed the room without a word and lifted the towel just as the gentle sound of water gave way to soft footsteps upon the plush mat. He turned and turned to find her standing there in all of her naked glory.
Instinct overruled curiosity, before his eyes could linger, he unfolded the towel between them and held it out with both hands, offering it to her while deliberately fixing his gaze somewhere just above her shoulder. The warmth creeping into his face betrayed him far more readily than his expression ever would.
Standing here, offering a towel with studied courtesy, proved a far greater test of discipline than any firefight. Some reactions, he reflected with quiet annoyance, remained stubbornly beyond the command of even the strongest will.
Modesty was for cowards - people ashamed of who they were and felt the need to hide it. She took the towel, taking her time to dry the rivulets of water left cascading down her skin with the effect of gravity. The steam extraction system had yet to be turned on, leaving the room filled with steam, a moist warmth that clung to the very pores.
"It appears you are indeed glad to see me," She smirked as she tossed the towel back at him and slung the robe around her shoulders, tying it loosely around her waist. "Come, dinner should be ready, and if the wine isn't poured, then there will be more stains on the carpet."
The towel struck him lightly across the chest before sliding into his waiting hand. A reluctant smile found the corner of his mouth. "Your powers of observation remain... exceptional, Marshal." He folded the towel neatly over one arm before depositing it on the rack and falling into step behind her, the nervous heat that had settled beneath his collar refusing to yield.
She was toying with him. He knew it. More surprisingly, he found he did not mind in the slightest. There were battles won by strength. Others by wit. Tonight, he suspected, neither would be enough. He was beginning to suspect she'd anticipated every move from the moment she had decided to keep him waiting. From the moment he chose to come to her, he had entered another predator's territory. Tonight was not about proving he was stronger. It was about proving he was worthy of hunting at her side.
TBC
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