Editing Commissar Techpriestess love story (section)

=== Chapter 19 ===
The couples dug into their respective meals, Tiberius feeding himself and his slender mistress as she lounged back, Octavia and Rogal spearing at the salad with their forks, idle chat playing between the four.
“So then, I plug the alternating capacitance unit back in, and the chimera roars to life, and that uppity sergeant nearly jumped through the glacis plate.” Caelistis said with a laugh, swinging her drink happily, the rest of the table laughing with her. Elsa returned to the table once more, her smile brighter than when she had last been,
“Who wants to order dinner first?” she asked cheerfully, her dataslate in hand. Caelistis ruffled her man’s hair affectionately as she read the menu, “I’ll have the seafish fillet, battered, on a bed of raavoli, with a light salad on the side,” The slender priestess said, her voice commanding yet sensuous, a smile playing on her lips as her thermal vision saw the barmaid’s body temperature rise. “My friend here,” she continued, “Will have the shredded grox steak and salad, with an attillian sauce.”
Elsa’s fingers flew across her dataslate, “As you wish, m’lady,” she said, and Caelistis grinned, watching the heat flow to the barmaids cheeks,
“You’re a good girl, Elsa,” she said, continuing her nefarious plan. Rogal and Octavia just looked at each other, rolling their eyes, before the Commissar spoke,
“I’d like the grain fed Aarcturian Grox, a thousand weight if possible, or the biggest you have, still pink on the inside, with the roasted vegetables, and with lots of gravy, if you please?”
Elsa nodded, “And for you, M’lady?”
“Oh, um,” Octavia’s eyes scanned the menu, her fleshbrain sitting up at the idea of a wonderfully decadent meal, helped her search, “May I have…” She trailed off again, her mind running through all the possible combinations that the menu provided, searching for the one with the highest match to her nutritional needs.

“May I have the honey, brown sugar and spiced porklet ribeyes wrapped in graal slices, with the fellbard sauce, on a bed of brown grain, and a small serve of the potato salad, please?” Octavia said in one breath, the rest of the table looking at her with amusement. Elsa nodded, “Of course, M’lady. Do you require anything else, more drinks?”
Caelistis raised a mechadendrite, “I’d like another one of these delightful drinks you brought me earlier. And my handsome little meatbag here would like another triple amasec on ploins.”
“One righteous fury and a one triple amasec on the ploins,”
“There’s a good girl,” The slender priestess said, a coy smile spreading across her face as she ran a mechadendrite around her neck, “Your manners are impeccable,”
Elsa bowed, “Thank you, M’lady,”
“Now run along, we’re getting hungry,”
“Yes, M’lady,”
The barmaid hurried off, her hips and hair swinging as she moved, and Caelistis let out a happy noise, “She makes that uniform look good enough to eat,”
“Indeed, mistress,” Tiberius agreed, before offering his lady another slice of toasted flat bread.
“Really, Tiberius?” Rogal said, chuckling, “Really?”
The vox officer waved an obscene gesture at his friend, “Yes, really. You don’t hear me complaining about how you and Octavia are so nauseatingly adorable together that it could-“
Caelistis cut him off with a glare, “Now Tiberius, that is no way to act towards our friends. Behave yourself,”
“Yes, mistress. Sorry, Mistress,” He said, before he shot another rude gesture at the commissar. Rogal just laughed and kissed Octavia on the head, “Yes Tiberius, behave yourself,” he added, Caelistis laughing with the commissar, before giving her vox officers hair another affectionate ruffle, “You have a point though, they are nauseatingly cute.”
Tiberius smiled triumphantly, “See, I told you so,” he said, and the four laughed.

Octavia snuggling closer to the commissar, her fleshbrain driving her to be as close as she could to the hulking man. Her cognitor pointed out the inefficiencies of this course of action, citing her reduced ability to move, as well as how it was a waste of time as she would need to sit apart from the commissar in order to eat her meal. Her fleshbrain countered with the fact that she had mechadendrites for such things, and that her body was doing this of its own volition, the metaphysical manifestation of her more human side just happened to agree with it. Her cognitor sighed, ceding the point, and found herself strangely drawn to the fact that in the event of a catastrophic disaster, that were she was, cuddled up to Rogal’s huge chest, significantly increased her chances of survival in the majority of cases. Her fleshbrain put an arm around her cognitor, smiling happily. Her body reached out and pulled her huge drink towards her, the little umbrella swinging to the side as the drink left the table. She took the straw into her mouth, sucking quietly, the warm peach flavoured liquid filling her mouth, savouring the taste of as many levels as she could. Her mind wandered to the tidbit of information she had gleaned during the afternoon. The Mechanicum was going to keep its establishment, as the world was being garrisoned. Octavia had hated travelling almost as much as she hated the war, but now a chance to settle down on a nice relatively peaceful planet presented itself. She had run the odds of such a thing happening, and the results were still pending, but the chances of it not happening had just clicked over to the hundreds of millions. Her fleshbrain showed an image of her and Rogal, together, and then her favourite permutations of their children, and she smiled to herself. If the chance came, she would take it.

The four continued to chat as they waited for their meals. Laughter and merriment filled the establishment as other officers and higher ranking Administratum staff filled the bar, making the most of the relative peace. Even now, Rogal mused, in the grimmest and darkest times mankind had ever faced, humanity endured. He looked around, here a pair of grizzled old veterans who had seen far too much shared a drink and still managed to find good times to reminisce about, there an Administratum secretariat and her friends celebrated her engagement. Smiling happily to himself, he pulled Octavia a little closer, giving silent thanks to the Emprah that he was blessed to live in such a time. The skirmish of a few days ago was almost forgotten, having barely affected the base, though the official funeral rights were yet to be performed for the honoured dead. Their bodies would be the first laid to rest in the new base’s cryptarium, their names etched on the wall as martyrs of the Imperium. Caelistis and Octavia’s conversation continued across his massive frame, as Rogal considered how he would be remembered.
Octavia looked up with curiosity, “Has something got your attention?” She asked, before suckling on her straw once more. The huge drink was aptly named; many people who had drank it often wished for the real thing when they woke up the next day. Rogal snapped out of his pondering, smiling back at his petite priestess, “Just, thinking about things,”
Tiberius laughed, “Here we go, he’s going to say something deep and poignant,”
“Then you’ll get all lovestruck,” Caelistis added, “And I and Tiberius will need insulin shots from the sheer saccharine sweetness of you both.”
Rogal chuckled, “I am sorry. Not all of us need to hogtie one another to show our affection” he retorted, and Tiberius gave him a gesture that would get him flogged on a shrine world.

Octavia let out an eep, as her fleshbrain, powered by the steadily growing amount of alcohol in her various systems, filled her mind with images. Her cheeks went pink as her fleshbrain showed her, Rogal’s belt around her wrists, his commissarial sash gagging her, her mechadendrites bound together with electrical tape as was dangling over his shoulder, his arm around her waist, claiming her as his own. Caelistis grinned, noticing her petite friends reaction, as she leaned forward to rest her chin in her hands. “I wouldn’t be quite so sure about that,” The slender techpriestess said, Octavia letting out another eep. Rogal looked down at the petite girl beside him, and she avoided eye contact, suckling on her straw innocently. Or as innocently as she could with bright red cheeks.
Rogal’s lopsided smile grew, as his simple farm boy brain realised what was going on. He patted Octavia’s side reassuringly, “Not that there’s anything wrong in it,” He said quickly, Octavia looking up at him, her emerald eyes smiling. His mind flashed again with the image of Octavia in the guardsman’s uniform, tied now with his commissarial sash about her wrists, her flak armour open, exposing the porcelain skin and gleaming augments underneath. He felt his mind begin to wander once more, but was interrupted by,
“Order’s up, Rogal,” Tiberius said, pre-empting Elsa’s return, her arms laden with their meals, her smile wide on her face.
“Right, for the commissar, one thousand weight Aarcturian Grox steak, rare, with roast vegetables, and gravy” she said, placing the huge plate in front of the equally huge man,
“For the lovely lady of the machine god, the battered seafish fillet, bedded on raavoli, with a light salad,” The meal slid gracefully from Elsa’s arm to the table, freeing her to hand out the cutlery from the pocket in her Apron.

“The shredded grox salad for the Vox Officer,” another clink, as the plate piled with leafy greens and brown shreds met the wooden table top,
“And finally the spiced porklet ribeyes wrapped in graal , with fellbard sauce, on a bed of brown grain, potato salad on the side,” She said, placing Octavia’s meal down in front of the petite priestess of the machine god. She leaned over the table to hand out the napkin wrapped cutlery, pausing in front of Caelistis, giving the slender priestess a wonderful view, smiling at her coyly,
“Will there be anything else, M’lady?”
The Priestess shook her head, “That is all for now. You may go,” she said, watching with amusement as Elsa stood, “But, if we do need anything, I will call,”
“As you wish, M’lady,” Elsa said, her smile returning. She hugged her dataslate to her chest as she bowed, boosting her ample cleavage once more, before she turned, sauntering off once more. As she walked, her swinging hips bumped another table, sending the small table number placard to the floor. Caelistis grinned, the mechadendrite around Tiberius’s leg squeezing with excitement, as the slender barmaid bent at the waist to pick up the fallen item.
“Emprah on earth,” Tiberius whispered,
“I want her,” Caelistis agreed, her augmented eye snapping memnorpicts, “Such shape, such definition,”
“You could bounce a gelt off that,” Tiberius said, before he took a bite from his fork. Rogal had busied himself with his steak, digging in hungrily, as beside him, Octavia continued to blush, her fleshbrain continuing to show her all the different ways Rogal’s commissarial sash could be used. She speared a piece of meat and daintily bit into it, savouring the flavour. She smiled, as she watched Rogal eat, and beside him Caelistis and Tiberius continued to discuss the pretty barmaid.

Life seemed so simple to Octavia in that moment, surrounded by happy people, her lover beside her, the Emprah was on his throne, and all was right in her life. Her cognitor attempted to point out the highly unlikely chance of this all occurring, but her fleshbrain hushed her, putting a metaphorical arm around her, and telling her to just enjoy the moment. She suckled on her drink, the brilliantly golden drink was finally half full, and she was beginning to feel the effects of that much amasec. Her fleshbrain giggled, appraising Rogal in his uniformed glory, as he continued to devour his steak. Such a simple man, she mused, content with the simple things in life. Her cognitor again tried to point out the sheer complexity that went into the husky commissar, but her fleshbrain hushed her once more, filling her mind with his muscled body, his powerful limbs and his… lascannon. She sighed happily, placing her drink down and continuing her meal. 

The night continued, meals were finished, and Octavia sucked the last of her drink from the bottom of her glass. Gingerly, her mechadendrites lowered the huge stein to the table, as their owner let out a small hiccup. Her fleshbrain rolled around happily, its mechadendrites hugging around her metaphysical stomach, as her cognitor tried in vain to vent the excess alcohol from her system. She could feel how warm her cheeks were, and how funny everyone seemed, and how handsome Rogal was. The huge commissar stood, offering her his gloved hand, Caelistis and Tiberius having already left to go corner that barmaid they had been watching all night. The petite priestess giggled, that poor girl had no idea what she was in for. Octavia may have never seen exactly what her friend had done, but she had heard enough stories, cross referenced them, and come to her own conclusions.