#next part was fucking wild to plan bc i had no idra where to take things

[locria-writes]

untitled pt. 4.1/?

general notes -- dilf? dad i'd like to fathom

last edit -- 07/07/22

The Antevorte Foundation had its beginnings in the aftermath of the First Liberation War, ninety-one years ago.

The First Liberation War had been a bitter ten-year struggle for independence for Concordia, or as it was collectively known as back then, the Lagrange Colonies. The war technically ended as a loss for Concordia, their bid for independence going unrecognized, but in the end, they ended up with a strategic victory, having severely weakened the various supranational organizations and corporations on Earth to the point of collapse, and securing greater autonomy.

Truthfully, it was a miracle the colonies weren’t completely destroyed and subjugated, seeing as Earth had the overwhelming advantage in numbers and technology for the most part of the ten-year war. The first six years consisted mostly of low-level skirmishes in orbit, the occasional terrorist attack, violent crackdowns in colonies that were thought to be too rebellious, and resembled civil unrest more than a war. Fighting intensified in the seventh and eighth years, with more and more of it spilling into the colonies’ territory, which rightfully led people to believe independence was a doomed cause.

In the ninth year, the tides turned in favour of the colonies when Felix Sun unveiled what S-V Industries called Venators – giant bipedal war machines meant for space combat, modelled after the aerospace workers used for asteroid mining and colony building. They were deadly anti-ship weapons, and so even though the colonies lacked the manpower to really win the war, they managed to force an armistice favourable to their cause.

After the war, Concordia began heavily investing and developing Venators until they came to the challenge of overcoming the average human’s abilities. Then came the Mercury Frame, which sought to push the limitations of what was possible, but of course, that meant that the majority of humans could not pilot them. That was when the Antevorte Foundation came to be – the brainchild of the aerospace-focused S-V Industries, the pharmaceutical company TaRx, and the biotech company Aion Sciences. Their purported raison d’être was to find gifted children and help them achieve their full potential, but in reality, they just sought out children who had the talents to become Mercury Frame pilots and groomed them into becoming ace pilots through less-than-ethical medical procedures and strict training. It wasn’t lost on Symphora that majority of these children of more impoverished backgrounds.

While many initially held the Antevorte Foundation in disdain, that attitude quickly changed with the arrival of the Second Liberation War just sixty-five years later, a far bloodier and costly war that finally won Concordia its full independence in ‘38. The pilots trained by the Antevorte Foundation proved incomparable in their achievements, and so the group was lauded for their achievements.

Every year in February and August, the Antevorte Foundation would host exclusive dinner parties (all paid for by one of the three founding companies) to entice an exclusive list of investors (mostly other old and prestigious corporations, or sometimes other old money families), and to give the children a chance to find a sponsor to ensure a comfortable lifestyle. It was a win-win; the Antevorte Foundation got to show off their achievements, the impoverished children would be able to guarantee a comfortable life for themselves and their families, and the wealthy could pat themselves on the back for a charitable act.

“This feels like putting lipstick on a pig.” Elliot mumbled as he stepped out of her washroom, donning the suit Januaria had lovingly designed for him.

“If you’re a pig, then what would everyone else be?” Symphora finished typing the last of her history assignment and closed her laptop.

The blonde had always gone on and on about how Elliot was the perfect model, and she was inclined to agree. He was a bit shorter than most of his peers at 170 cm, but he lacked the lanky awkwardness that most of them had. He had a pleasant face, one that was always open and friendly, with light brown hair and eyes. It would be a rather herculean task to make him look bad, and even then, Januaria had outdone herself with this. Sure, it was a simple cut, but sometimes that was all that was needed to make an already-pretty thing become beautiful.

“How was this so expensive? I thought it’d look crazy from the price.”

“Good materials and good craftsmanship.” She didn’t have the heart to tell him that the 14 000 denarii price was for the suit only, and didn’t include his shoes. “Sit down over there.”

“Where, the vanity?”

“Mhm.”

“Why?”

“Makeup.” There was a beat of silence before Elliot tried to stand up, but she forced him back down to the chair. “Why do you look so scared? Worried I’ll make you ugly?”

“There’s a 50% chance you’re gonna make me look like a clown, purely for your own amusement.”

“Aw, don’t be like that.” Their skin tones were pretty different, so there wasn’t much she could really do. “I’ll just tidy up your brows, make your skin even glowier, and fix your hair, okay?”

“That doesn’t sound as reassuring as you think it does, Syma.”

“Fine, then you make yourself pretty.” Puffing her cheeks petulantly, she carefully threw herself onto her couch, making sure not to mess with the deceptively simple bun that she had styled at the salon earlier, and tossed him the makeup bag. Elliot laughed, catching it easily as he slipped back into the washroom. Taking one of the stray locks that framed her face, she studied the colour – a dark magenta, almost the same shade as burgundy. When Elliot arrived earlier, his eyes nearly bugged out of his head. She wondered if her father would have a similar reaction.

And as though she had summoned him, three sharp knocks came from her door before it opened, and in stepped her father.

Metellus Sun gave off two very distinct impressions. If one were to go by his reputation, they would probably have the image of an austere middle-aged man with more than enough experience to spare, as a decorated war hero of the Second Liberation War, a Vice Marshal in the Concordian Aerospace Fleet, Chairman, President, and CEO of S-V Industries, Director of the Antevorte Foundation, and probably more that she can’t bring herself to remember because they’re practically meaningless to her.

If one were to go off from his appearance alone, it wouldn’t be wrong to assume he worked in the entertainment industry (funny that, he had the philosophy that to succeed in life, one must always be an actor), and it most certainly would be understandable to not think he had a young teenaged daughter. He was still very young, not quite thirty-five yet, and he looked somewhere closer to being in his mid-late twenties, and had the air of an unattached bachelor (which was sort of true, if one disregarded his string of failed relationships).

Her father was an average height, 177 cm, which made Symphora wonder why she was still so short, and how she could steal some tall genes to at least crack 150 cm, and of a slender and lithe build. She resembled her father, apparently, since she couldn’t really see it beyond the fact they were both ghostly pale during winter, and they both had black epicanthic eyes. It was a bit uncomfortable whenever she would hear people at school call him handsome, or good-looking, even more so when she would stumble upon those comments online or while listening to broadcasts (some comments may have left her more than a little traumatized).

“Syma, I thought I told you to tell me when you got back.”

“It went to voicemail.”

“You could still leave a message, or a send a text.” His eyes trailed over to her hair. “Did you get that done today? It looks very nice.”

“Wait, what?” Symphora blinked, touching her hair. “It’s nice? That’s it?”

Her father raised a brow. “Did you want me to say it looks bad?”

“No, but aren’t you mad?”

“Why would I be mad? You’re old enough to make these kinds of choices for yourself.”

“I…never mind.” Huh, she really thought he’d get upset, or at least have a stern word or twelve for her. He was weirdly rigid and traditional at times, but lenient at others. He let her get several ear piercings, but rejected the idea of a navel piercing. He was fine with her dyeing her hair magenta, but had promptly taken her to get her hair cut when she let Januaria talk her into an asymmetrical hairdo last year. He always talked about how important it was for her to have pride in being a Sun with all the power and privilege that came with it, but had drilled things like cooking and cleaning into her for the sake of self-sufficiency.

“By the way, do you have a friend over?”

“Yeah.” She sat up, kicking her legs a bit in the process.

“You shouldn’t have guests over when we’re leaving soon.”

“Oh, he needed a ride to the party.”

“’He’?” Her father’s brows furrowed, and as luck would have it, Elliot walked out of the washroom.

The three of them just kind of stared at each other for a moment, before Elliot’s face lit up, and he bounded over like an overgrown puppy before doing a rather poorly-executed salute. “Vice Marshal Sun….! I…I…it’s an honour to meet you, sir!”

Her father forced a smile, returning the salute politely as he glanced over at her. “I know I said you should have fun at this age, but aren’t you a little young to have boys over in your room alone?”

“He’s just a friend,” she grumbled, more than a little mortified by the implication, but grateful Elliot was too starry-eyed to notice it.

“Just a friend.” He looked at her, then at Elliot, then back to her, rather skeptically, which rather annoyed her. If she were messing around with a guy, she wouldn’t be dumb enough to bring them home, let alone chance any potential meetings with her father.

Thankfully, he didn’t press the matter any further, though she suspected he would give her an earful later whenever they were truly in private again.