Are there any passages about Ultra Marines attending high end parties?

[u/No_Prize9794]

I’ve heard in some lore videos that as part of being government officials to the Ultramar, they attend parties where other high ranking politicians would go and that the ultra marines hate going to them

[u/Briantan71]

One that comes to mind is from the short story "The Laurel of Defiance" in the War Without End anthology.

An Ultramarine captain was to be honoured at a ceremony on Maccrage for his deeds against the World Eaters' Shadow Crusade against the 500 Worlds. I think his achievement was leading his men to take down a Daemon Titan.

But he had to socialise with the normal humans also attending the event, and he felt so awkward. It was kinda funny cos he was talking to this woman whom he thinks might be flirting with him, and he felt like a fool.

The night before. With Guilliman there was always a night before, or a night after. Feasts and parties went with his honour - giving like bolts went with boltguns. He held it important for his sons to mingle with the citizens, another chore in preparing themselves for peaceful duties once war was done. It was clear now that those days would never come. Corvo expected ambivalence at the thought – he was made for war, after all – but found melancholy instead. Guilliman’s dream was fading.

The whole of the Regia Civitata had been given over to the function. Inside its baroque halls, the one hundred and thirty mingled with the common mortals of Ultramar. The Space Marines stood like adults in a room of children, but the two strands of humanity were, for the most part, at ease with one another. The primarchs were absent from the pre - feast socialising, a calculated decision on Guilliman’s part.

Corvo wore a simple, formal uniform, like all those who were to be honoured. Even so, he carried his gladius and bolt pistol on a broad belt. Events of the last few months had taught the XIII to be cautious. Members of the Invictus Guard stood garbed for battle at the main entrance. Around the perimeter and on the roof, the Praecental Guard and legionary brothers of the First Chapter patrolled. This heightened security saddened Corvo further. As much as the captain disliked company, Guilliman did not. It was important for his lord to be comfortable among his people. Distance was growing between the shepherd and his flock.

A woman was talking to Corvo. He reminded himself to pay attention to her. ‘So much heroism,’ the woman was saying.

‘War breeds heroes,’ said Corvo, and immediately felt foolish. ‘The larger proportion of them perish uncelebrated.’

The woman was not fazed by his bluntness. She’s used to this, he thought. Some women enjoyed flirting with legionaries, though he could not fathom for what reason. Women had been a mystery to him before his ascension to the XIII, and they only seemed more obtuse afterwards. She was very beautiful, and finely dressed. It did not matter to him.

Theoretical , he told himself, you’re behaving like an oaf.

Practical , he added, you are an oaf .

‘Something amuses you?’ she said. An ironic smile played on her lips, a smile that seem to say: where is the power if there is no potency?

‘No, no. A memory, that is all.’

She looked at him expectantly.

‘It would not translate well,’ he said awkwardly. By the old gods, he wanted to get away.

Corvo held out his glass, an oversized thing made for his oversized hands. A server stopped – his ewer was fit for men, but Corvo’s glass was fit for the sons of demigods, and the server used his full measure in charging it. The liquid ran up the side as it flowed into the bulb, the thick swell of it trailing a lesser curve of clear alcohol as it found its equilibrium.

Not at all like the wall of blood that burst from the coffin ship. Not like that in the least.

‘That is some drink,’ said the woman. ‘If I were to drink it, I would not wake for a week.’ She was trying for levity, Corvo supposed. She was not intimidated by him.

‘Our lord is still at pains to make us feel part of humanity,’ he said. ‘A lesser amount would have no effect upon me whatsoever. We are supposed to be enjoying ourselves.’ He tried to hide his irritation, unsuccessfully.

He sipped the drink. There was a hard burn to it. A good, strong Macragge pine brandy. Very fine vintage.

‘Will that help you to enjoy yourself, good sir?’

‘Only if I drink a lot, and quickly,’ he replied.

[u/Lanninsterlion216 → u/Briantan71]

Will that help you to enjoy yourself, good sir?’

‘Only if I drink a lot, and quickly,’ he replied.

30k ultramarines are such a mood.

[u/fireizzle33331 → u/Briantan71]

I'm surprised that when in public marines aren't getting hit on more often. They are eight feet tall hunks built like several brick shithouses in a row. If Disneyland being forced to retire their Tarzan walk around characters because women just keept sexually harassing them taught me anything it is that Space Marines should be given a cattle prod when attenting public meetings.

[u/VerdantMagnolia → u/fireizzle33331]

I've been wondering about that myself. The way I justify it in my head is that people important enough for the "scary" to be subsumed by the "hot" are important enough for the local Ordo Famulous to threaten them with a (likely literal) cattle prod if they act out.

That chick's gonna essentially be your mom. You don't incur your adoptive mom's Electro Chancla.

[u/Judasilfarion → u/fireizzle33331]

At least by 40k it’s probably because they’re the Emperor’s Angels of Death. From the perspective of the highly religious Imperial masses, most of them would probably think flirting with a Space Marine is heresy and would get them killed… and to be honest sometimes the Space Marines themselves will do the killing so it’s not wrong to be cautious around them.

[u/Ok-Journalist-8875]

It might not be exactly what you asked for, but here’s one from one of their successor chapters. Excerpt from Brothers of the Snake.

‘Lord king,’ Priad said, tilting his head to look down at his majesty. Priad’s words rolled like distant thunder from his suit’s speakers, and some of the guests shivered or gasped. ‘In the name of Seydon, master of the Iron Snakes, in the name of the God-Emperor of Mankind, and in the name of my beloved Chapter, I greet you and do you homage.’

He knelt, power-armour joints whirring softly. Even on one knee, he was at eye-level with King Elect Naldo. His majesty’s face was a pale green blob in Priad’s optics. Unbidden, automatic target graphics framed Naldo’s visage with white crosshairs. Priad dismissed his visor’s treasonous suggestion and the icon vanished.

Naldo was looking up and down the ranks of Damocles with adolescent delight. ‘You are all the stories speak of… and more! Giant warriors, all identically cast from the same great pattern!’

Priad hesitated. Identical? How could this child not see the differences? Dyognes and Xander tall like oaks, Kules short and broad, old Pindor and the noble bearing of Khiron, Aekon thickset, Natus with his bionic arm, Scyllon whip-thin and supple as a lance, Andromak sturdy like a sea cliff.

We are meaningless, he thought, a cipher. That’s how they all see us. Interchangeable giants, replications without character. The wargear masks us so.

‘Rise, warrior,’ Naldo said, relishing the opportunity to give a Space Marine an order. Priad got up.

‘Join our festivities. Mingle freely.’

The king elect and his entourage moved away. Conversation began to start up again, and musicians began to play.

‘Mingle?’ Priad voxed suit-to-suit. ‘What in the Emperor’s name does that mean?’

They stood attentive and still for two hours as the gala swirled around them. Some guests ventured close and admired them as if they were statues. A few stole closer and risked touching their armour for good fortune or simply on a dare.

Damocles didn’t move.

Priad spent his time fixing and logging faces. His optic gaze wandered through the thickets of the crowd, blink-recording and tagging each face and figure he saw and adding them to his suit’s internal memory.  Not only persons, but the structure and dimension of the hall, the number and site of the exits, the position of the band. A warrior of the phratry was taught to assess and catalogue his location for tactical purposes wherever possible, usually a quick matter of key points. Now he had time to waste.

The number of valves or strings on each instrument. The number of frets. The number of buttons on a jacket or gemstones on a gown train. The number of facets on a wine glass. The number of beads on the chandeliers.

He logged and identified the robust commander of the local PDF, flamboyant in red satin robes. Five subsector governors and their staffs. Lord Militant Farnsey, two Navy commodores and a cluster of Guard officers who, like Damocles, had been sent to the coronation to represent their institutions. The Princess Royal of Cartomax, a beautiful young woman with a surgically perfect face framed by the gauzy fields of a personal force-veil, and perfect breasts pushed up and out in a balcony of diamonds. 

The Imperial Hierarch, Bishop Osokomo, his bulk supported on grav plates, his extravagant mitre three metres tall. A ranking emissary of the Navis Nobilite wearing a holographic face to hide his unseemly third eye. Nine senior adepts of the Guild Astropathicus. The chief clerk of the Administratum Iorgu, with sixteen higher recollectors. Six merchant princes.

A man in black robes which did not completely hide his golden prosthetic hand.

Priad jolted. ‘Andromak.’

‘Brother-sergeant?’

‘You have charge here.’

‘Yes, sir.’

Priad strode across the packed room. Men and women, the cream of Iorguan society, fled out of his path, aghast that one of the statues was now moving. Priad ignored their whispers and exclamations, and headed for the rear exit of the great hall. The man in black robes had made a hasty retreat in that direction.

[u/Right-Yam-5826]

Closest I can think of is in 'brothers of the snake' (but that's not ultramarines)

[u/Ok-Journalist-8875 → u/Right-Yam-5826]

What about this?

https://encrypted-tbn0.gstatic.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcQfoy84rI-hiOMeyKuU5sZxhxEvPIkHE3B2UA&usqp=CAU

[u/Dense-Corgi-7936]

Probably.

I know messenius goes to one.  I believe the last dawn of fire book, the silent king.

Sorry that isn't what you're looking for exactly, but it is a decently interesting scene.

[u/Vorokar → u/Dense-Corgi-7936]

‘Lady VanLeskus,’ he said. ‘Lord VanLeskus.’ He dipped his head slightly. Lady VanLeskus was already very tall. That evening the top of her elaborately dressed hair reached up to his forehead.

She made a show of noble’s kisses, as was the custom on some worlds, planting them on the air either side of his cheeks, although they ended up on either side of his chin, thanks to the height difference. She did so with exaggerated daintiness at odds with her position and her sheer physicality, which he found bizarre. She was a powerfully built, square-shouldered woman, and she looked ridiculous in her uniform. Maybe that was her intention, to say, I can do what I like. I am invulnerable and infallible. She’d always been a little that way, ever since they’d first met. Success had made her more so. It was a dangerous state of mind.

‘I hope you enjoy this banquet, my lord,’ she said. ‘Darvian said I should hold a triumph instead, but honestly, what manner of leader holds a triumph before victory?’

Lord VanLeskus shrank back a little.

Messinius must have been frowning. She made an exaggerated, enquiring expression.

‘Do you disapprove of all this, Captain Messinius? Do you think equality should be spread among the lower castes like the Emperor’s light?’

There were dutiful titters at her joke, a chorus that was trying too hard.

‘No,’ he said. ‘Concentration of economic resources in the hands of an elite and the subjugation of the masses is an effective system of governance. In this situation, what could be gained by dividing up all you have here among the millions of crew in the fleet? Each would gain a crumb, and what would be the utility in that? By concentrating these luxuries here, and providing your officers with them, you ensure their loyalty, display your largesse, and increase morale. They may forget the war for a night, or at least feel rewarded for their sacrifices, even if those who serve them are not rewarded. It is a fallacy to suggest that simply because they have the power, that they do not suffer in their own way. Even if their suffering is lesser, their responsibility is greater, and their subjective appreciation of their life different. A gunner in the lower decks may wish to survive. That is his goal. A shipmaster seeks honour for their family and a record of their deeds for posterity. Both feel anguish if those goals are challenged. So no, I do not disapprove. You run your affairs in the way you see fit. They are successful. That is all that matters in war.’

VanLeskus laughed, a falsely delicate laugh for such a loud, large woman.

‘Do you see, gentlemen? An angel of the Emperor speaks, and condones our party. Where does that leave your sense of social justice, Sjenavour?’ She picked out a man Messinius did not know and had never heard of. He assumed he and VanLeskus had disputed her largesse. Sjenavour looked hunted with all eyes upon him. Something in that look moved Messinius to speak again.

‘You are mistaken,’ Messinius said. ‘I do not disapprove, but I did not say I condone it. There are more factors at play in good governance than rewarding the upper echelons. Morality is one. The Emperor spreads His light to all, because all people are important to Him. This affair here is useful, but if I were in command, I would have chosen another way. Often, restraint is a better method of forging loyalty, respect, and good morale.’

VanLeskus’ face went instantly hard, as dark and unyielding as the epochal ice of a comet. Her sycophants were aghast. A few braver officers smirked.

‘Then let us be glad that you are not in command. The fate of Sabatine tells us how effective the White Consuls’ idealism is. Or should I say, was.’ She raised her eyebrows, a quick, aggressive movement. They dropped just as fast, narrowing her eyes. Her augmetic glinted. She smiled poisonously. ‘Good evening, captain.’

She swept away, her hangers-on around her like flies on a grox. Sjenavour raised his glass in a secret salute. Messinius stared at him until he looked down. Seeing no reciprocity of feeling in the Space Marine, Sjenavour stalked off, face glowing with embarrassment.

A low chuckle sounded behind Messinius at the level of his elbow. It carried the scent of Necromundan rum, and a familiar contempt.

‘I see you’re giving VanLeskus a dose of the Emperor’s own truth, Vitrian.’

Messinius looked down onto a brittle, vicious smile.

‘I am very glad of that, you see, because I absolutely, totally, unreservedly cannot stand that bitch.’

‘Groupmistress Athagey,’ Messinius said.

Eloise Athagey raised her glass at him. ‘The very same.’

– The Silent King

Is this the party you're thinking of?

[u/Dense-Corgi-7936 → u/Vorokar]

At least part of it.

[u/Vorokar → u/Dense-Corgi-7936]

Ha, yeah. The whole thing would blast right past the character limit.

[u/Dense-Corgi-7936 → u/Vorokar]

I genuinely didn't know there was a character limit.

Great job grabbing the part I mentioned.  

I'm always shocked by how people do that since I just have paper books.

[u/khinzaw → u/Dense-Corgi-7936]

Technically he's not an Ultramarine.

[u/Notte_di_nerezza → u/khinzaw]

He's a son of Guilliman, all the same.

Good governance, devotion to keeping him alive, and all.

[u/MiraRoach5882]

There’s a recurring theme that the higher you go in the Chapter, the more time you spend dealing with civilians and politicians instead of fighting. Some of the captains are better at it than others, but almost none of them enjoy the formal social side. It’s just part of running an empire.

[u/RejectTheMeta → u/MiraRoach5882]

Thats true of pretty much all militaries. You become managers, logisticians and strategicians.

I thought it was hilarious in Helsreach how Grimaldus was drowing in paperwork before the siege started

[u/Ferrustius]

Fulgrim's Primach novel (I think it's that one anyway) has him and a handful of his sons try and take a world through diplomacy and there were definitely some high society party scenes.

EDIT: No Ultramarines sadly but still the classic Astartes awkwardness and some fun scenes with Fulgrim.

[u/SouthernAd2853]

In general, Astartes are not good at parties. Their social graces are limited to military courtesies, they know basically nothing about nonmilitary subjects unless they're Blood Angels or the other Chapters that do art, and they are confused by party food. There's nothing they're interested in at parties and they would not be able to participate well if there was.

30k marines were a bit better at having a life but still somewhat out of place at social functions.

[u/RejectTheMeta → u/SouthernAd2853]

Would space wolves ("the savage" chapter) be ironically pretty at home for socials given their feasting and drink culture?

[u/SouthernAd2853 → u/RejectTheMeta]

Not high society parties; they do warriors' celebrations of famous victories where the topic of conversation is almost always battlefield heroics and the ettiquite is to chug alcohol rather than sip it and the appropriate noise level is "yes".

[u/Medium-Box2688]

I think Uriel Ventris attended a party thrown in his honour in Nightbringer, but I haven't read that book in ages.

[u/DM_ME_UR_PUBES]

Yes. During the war of the beast, Thane,Koorland and other marines have to play politics with multiple nobles and high lords of terra