"Here." Before a pair of high, hammered into shape doors, the lady in gray motions Jupiter aside. From an obscure crate, she lifts a length of gleaming cloth. "Your Majesty," she holds out the gown across both arms, and speaks those words with a disrespecting tilt of her head.
"What's this for?" Jupiter eyes the lavender and blue slithering folds with suspicion. She had recently acquired the wisdom that silks and sequins were tied with bows of hidden danger and packaged inside mazes of disaster.
"My Lord would not have you appear in so drab a costume, especially that which carries the scent of Aegis." Jupiter ignores the slight that she was a poser in a costume, though she often felt that way the past months, or the hint that she smelled bad, though she wouldn't have minded a hot shower and change out of the blast dust covered clothes.
"I'm fine in this." The woman holds the dress closer, staring with her great green eyes, the pupils large and liquid black. Jupiter frowns at the vast length of fabric, then dares to return that pointed stare. What would Seraphi do, she muses, replaying what she had come to know of that woman from the myriad of sheaves Titus has secreted to her. Which Seraphi? A Queen of the Universe? Or the disheveled, regret filled woman who couldn't die? Not that much of a toss up, Jupiter decides, evaluating her audience. Queen it is. That Seraphi, she would wear the gown, own the gown, and take charge of every nuance of the situation. Jupiter grasps the length of silk and pulls it with a commanding swish into her own arms. "Goons? Gone." The woman huffs, but motions the heavies back with a flick of her wrist. Jupiter slides the gown over her head, and so encased in a flowing fabric sleeve, she wriggles her own black shirt off and before slipping her arms through the delicate collar of thin straps. Beneath the folds, however, she keeps her leather trousers, and her gravity boots, hidden by the fact the dress was easily a size too large, just in case. She twists around to view the lay of the dress. Where once she might have gauged the quality of the cut or the effect of the drape, now she assessed how much the purple silk would constrict her movements, how the frothy periwinkle train would twist around her legs should she need to fly.
"Hey," she pulls sharply away when the other woman takes the length of Jupiter's hair in her hand, but she only clasps the thick lock tighter, shaking out the worst of the gray dust, then winding it between her fingers into a haphazard pile on Jupiter's head, balanced into place with a length of gold beads and invisible pins. Jupiter cannot see herself, but is quite sure she has been dressed as a mockery, a travesty of the wealth of an entitled. She raises her chin higher while a hovering chariot glides to pause beside her.
"That used to be me." Jupiter jumps when the woman hisses in her hear, nodding to the sim resting like a ship's figurehead, nestled among a rusty ironwork of lacy flowers and leafy tendrils. "Then My Lord found me, found me worth more. I wonder what he sees in you?" With her raised palm, she motions Jupiter to ascend the chariot. Jupiter steps up, and the chariot lists dangerously sideways, before she hops up into the center, where it wobbles before settling. The gray clad woman takes up her place along side, fingers caressing the protruding edge of her gun, for effect. As the flanking guards swing open the doors, she pushes back the hood of her cloak, revealing her own hair to be a mix of silvery gray and lustrous black, and the splice brand upon her neck. Jupiter nods to herself, as if she shouldn't be so surprised.
As the procession hitches forward, she realizes the depth of her own assumptions. Lining the twilight avenues was a dizzying array of splices of every size, shade, face and form. Jupiter forces herself to remain looking resolutely forward, yet her ears listen for any sound of fighting, for the rush of wings, for the menacing growl that could only mean Caine had arrived. She knew he was searching. He would find her.
The bleak streets, twilight gray from a diffuse light that hinted at the great depths beneath layer upon layer of city pressing from above, hung low with a criss-crossing lattice of heavy black cables, goes on and on, while hundreds of jeering, scowling faces tear away at Jupiter. At last the lurid procession slows, and halts before what must once have been a majestic gate, now buried by time and dust.
She'd fought beside Caine. She had fought without him. This time, she would be fighting alone.
Grappling with deepening self doubt, the strength which steeled Jupiter's heart and set her eyes ablaze was forged from the cold steel that was her backbone, and she whispers.
"Balem."