A long finger swathed in dark jewels runs lightly across a row of gold limned sheaves, one row among a vast library that disappears in the distance. The finger belongs to a tall, austere figure, deep brown hair swept back neatly along the nape of his neck, swathed in fabric so dark a purple that could be mistaken for midnight black, the hem just brushing the glittering stone of the floor. The figure moves among the rows, dissatisfied yet undeterred. He halts at a woman's voice from behind.
"Back again?" The hand pauses, the head turns, and Balem Abrasax glances coldly over his shoulder. His dark eyes, dulled by the weight of his true years, flicker, almost guilty at being discovered, but he is Balem, First Prime Heir of the House of Abrasax, and he is never guilty, especially when he is. He almost shrugs as he turns away from the neat rows of sheaves. "What do you expect to find?" The woman steps closer, long dark hair cascading over her shoulders. Though her emerald green gown is richly embroidered with golden leaves, she wears it as if it were but an uncomfortable costume, for it appears as unkempt and disheveled as the woman herself. Her features are those of Jupiter Jones, pert nose, large brown eyes, yet this face is etched with the lines of a perpetual frown that no cellular replacement can erase.
"Answers."
"And what is the question?" She asks mildly, but with an undercurrent of venom, a promise that she will defend her territory should anyone stray to deep.
"What happened? What happened to you? You, who ruled the universe, what drove you to this dark edge?"
"The whole universe? Maybe half." A smile ghosts her lips, then vanishes. He motions abruptly to the sheaves behind him.
"You gene locked them against me."
"These are my secrets to keep."
"No, you always have some confident hiding in the wings. Who this time? Another tersis, destined to die? Still whoring yourself..." The sound of the back handed slap echoes between them. Seraphi Abrasax' eyes glitter dangerously. Only half her fury is born of Balem's insult, while a deeper anger smolders beneath. Balem's hand almost reaches his stinging cheek, but he stiffens his back and forces his errant hand to alight again at his side.
"You dare much, to come here in the flesh," Seraphi hisses.
"You could have me killed." He speaks with a flat, civil tone even as his feet move into a fighting stance.
"Yes, I could. Isn't that what we do?" His eyes flicker at her haunted tone. She takes a small step back, then launches a flurry of rapid kicks at Balem's knees, his stomach, his groin. Balem paries, then lunges forward with his own attack. His cloak floats behind him, and he swirls to block Seraphi's view.
"You've been lax with your training," she crows, dancing away his advances with her own dodges and blows. He makes one solid contact on her shoulder, and with a wicked grin she rolls the shoulder back, then flies into a back hand spring, the green gown flowing like water across Balem's face. She stands, breath coming hard and fast.
"And you've let yourself grow old again." He lunges again, and this time her parry drives his fist deep into the rows of sheaves. They fall, shattering like crystalline sparks.
"Your legacy is being destroyed," Balem yells with a rueful, gasping laugh. He runs a hand along the shelf, flinging more sheaves onto the stone floor. Seraphi's stunned look lasts mere seconds before she alights with something akin to glee.
"Years," she growls, and turns upon the sheaves herself, sending rows scattering and flying with a series of swift kicks. "Pointless," and she aims another kick, "empty," and again, "worthless" and again "years!" She surveys the glittering disaster of gold and glass. Her chest heaves. "My legacy is monstrous." She turns to Balem, including him in that legacy. His lips and eyes thin with disdain.
"I am what you made me."
Seraphi nods slightly even as her shoulders slump. She turns away, and with a stone cold voice replies. "Be gone, before I have you escorted out."
"Stop!" All motion stops. Another woman steps as if through a magic curtain into the room. Her dark hair is pulled up into a knot framed with a silver and gold cage. An intricate web of tiny pink pearls drip down her neck and across her shoulders. Her own gown is a Spring green fading to a deep indigo hem. Kalique Abrasax hugs her arms to herself while she surveys the frozen ledger. "I never knew such enmity had grown between them. Why are you viewing this? What can you possibly hope to gain?" She turns to the youthful man who leans with studied nonchalance near one of the marbled pillars. His deep blue tunic shimmers like fish scales to his knees, where the rich folds meet with his knee high, matte black boots.
"I find all information to be useful." Titus Abrasax' lips thin with a hint of a smile. "Don't you agree?"
Kalique taps her finger against her lower lip in thought. "You're lying." Her eyes flit to the image of Seraphi. "Mother always did say the best hiding place for lies was in plain sight." She affects a small shiver, then turns away. "I don't like remembering them like this."
"No, I prefer remembering Balem like this." He taps the node behind his ear, and the scene about them changes to a city ravaged by flames. Balem holds a stray bit of pipe against the woman's throat, only this is Jupiter Jones, Seraphi's recurrence, their mother, and never their mother.
"What is this?" Kalique's eyes widen at the fiery devastation as the city collapses all around them.
"Balem was so sure of his triumph and the return of his prized Earth that he had activated his personal log. And, well, it just kept recording." The smile crossing Titus face is as hard as his eyes.
"Stop. Stop!" she yells. the moment freezes, Jupiter's thumb deep within a wound upon Balem's thigh. "End log." The view fades, and it is only the two of them, each in their own world. Kalique on a stone balcony against a broad blue sky, Titus imprisoned within his delightfully appointed skiff. They face each other across the distance, together and worlds apart.
"And why have you come to grace me with your presence, dearest sister?"
"I have been approached regarding a certain matter which concerns us."
"Us? Are you not head of house Abrasax?"
"Currently." He raises his eyebrows as if there is a great deal missing from that statement, but Kalique offers nothing more.
"Anything to do with lessening my incarceration? Pleading my case before the courts?" Though his tone is glib, his visage remains stern. Kalik lifts her chin.
"I wouldn't do anything if even I could."
"Then what?"
"Jupiter." Titus almost betrays a hint of real interest.
"Mother dear is back in the picture?"
"Now you call her Mother? After manipulating her into marriage just to murder her." Her eyes harden, that he would dare harm their mother, whom she had so desired to win back in the form of Jupiter Jones. Some piece of her, the set of her shoulders, the clenching of her fists, hints of her continued hope, but the cant of her head, the stiffness in her spine tell another tale.
"I have my own interests to consider."
"Well, then, consider this. An interested party wants to meet."
"And what did this interested party want?"
"To offer assistance. And, a truce."