Hawkeye felt extremely self-conscious walking up to Elletra. Part of it was nervousness, sure – it wasn’t a side of him that he displayed very often.

But the part of it was that the uniform fit perfectly. Like he’d never left the service. For tonight, he’d swapped out the service revolver and sabre. Tonight a much heavier magnum rode on his hip, counterbalanced by a huge four-foot longsword. He caught Elletra staring at the fleur-de-lis pattern on the sword’s crossguard, carefully and precisely mirrored in the long barrel of the magnum; shrugged.

“Fight fire with fire,” he said – and then he was all charm, slipping into the role of the Baron and taking her arm for the short trip Dockside. A small taxi barely larger than the ship’s launch was waiting at the end of the pier, the driver putting out a pipe when they approached.

“Sir.”
“We have an appointment at Vespertine’s, and we’d really rather not be late.”
He flipped a silver roundel at the man, who nodded and tipped his cap.
“Yes sir – right away, sir.”