You'll go. Why not?

“Shit, if I knew all I had to do to get a date with you was save one of your family members from a lifetime of systemic persecution, I'd have done it ages ago.” You say. “Have no fear, Cinderella, you will have a date to the ball.”

“I'm surprised you're being so flippant.” Marion scowls, folding her arms over her bountiful tits. You'd love to get that jumpsuit unzipped so you could be sure they're bigger than Florian's. “Most men I know would kill to be invited to one of the Duchess' balls.”

“I'm not most men, gorgeous.” You smile.

“Right.” Marion groans. “Sometimes I almost forget you're a-”

“-A filthy outsider?” You grin.

“I was going to say a brainless, filthy outsider, but you're close enough.” Marion quips. “But surely you know Duchess Villeneuve?”

“I know a lot of duchesses. After a while, they all sort of blur together.” You tell the Imperial.

“Isadore Villeneuve was God-Empress Katherine's tutor for ten years! She must have taught the Empress nearly everything she knows.”

So you're being invited to a party at some old school marm's mansion. Woot.

“Advanced Genocide? Xenophobia 101?” You say with a wicked smile.

“Joke all you want, but a considerable part of the Empress' skill in governance must come from the Duchess' teachings.”

“Okay, okay.” You say. “But are people gonna be cool with an... outsider like me at this party?”

“Indeed. In fact, I think a few people'll be quite interested in meeting the hero who slew the last Veumazek.” Marion mentions.

“Shit.” You realize, thinking of how you told Marion you'd ended Ttorb's life. “Am I a hero or somethin'?”

“Not the word I would use.” Marion says incisively. “Though I bet there'll be a few people you can bore with tales of your valor.”

This is starting to sound okay! If Marion proves unwilling, you can always use your genocide charm to seduce an Imperial lady or two. Maybe the school marm has a fuckable daughter or two? The thought of a mini-Duchess bouncing on your cock is not entirely unpleasant.

“The ball's at the Duchess' estate on Lune de Villeneuve. Two days from now, at sundown.” Marion explains. “Meet me outside.”

Shit. You had rubbed shoulders with gang leaders, regional warlords and CEOs during your career, but you couldn't recall ever meeting anyone with their own moon.

With a time and place arranged, you bid Marion farewell for now.

You spent the rest of the day travelling to the moon. On the way, you rifle through every closet on the ship, looking for something resembling formal wear. You also rehearse your false story of battle with a fearsome and devious psychic beast. It's a tricky balancing act. It has to be unique, yet memorable enough to retell while drunk. It has to be somewhat believable, but impressive enough to get you pussy.

Just as you're ironing out the finer points of your fiction, you arrive at Lune de Villeneuve. Contrary to your mental image of a moon, one aided by visions of unsightly rocks such as the Junk Moon or Elisé IV, Lune de Villeneuve looked lush and vibrant.

Signs of terraforming were obvious, but the artificial beauty of the world attested to the Empire's tech, and the Villeneuve's coin. A relatively small moon, it was dotted with farms, orchards and villages, one small lakeside city, Saphir, and of course, the Duchess' estate.

Setting down on Saphir, you paid the modest parking fee and rented a room at a nearby hotel. It was expensive, but with your recent run of good luck, you could afford it quite easily. The opulence of your suite turned out to be worth every penny.

It occurred to you, as you looked out at the city, and the blue waters of the lake beyond it, that this was your first time on Imperial land. You weren't sure what to make of it all. It was pretty, sure. Clean, orderly, but there was just something about the throng of alien life from other worlds that you missed.

After resting for a while in your room, you went out, strolling the streets of Saphir. You ate at a bakery, where a pretty redhead girl recommended a pastry filled with the meat of some animal you couldn't quite place. In other circumstances, you might've stuck around, tried to put the moves on the baker. You were in a room full of buns, some even had cream filling. The pick up lines practically wrote themselves. But, you already had the one date tonight.

Instead, you headed out the door and continued walking.

After a half hour or so, you were surprised to come across a brothel. It may not have had massive-breasted women leaning out the windows, encouraging spacers and thieves to come get their pricks sucked, but you could almost instinctively sense what it was.

The thought of seeing the inside of an Imperial brothel intrigued you, but time was running short. You needed to go back to the hotel, prepare and then rent a speeder to make it to the estate on time.

Then again, you could always be fashionably late...