Titus Abrasax reclines upon one of his many cushioned chaise, draped in a comfortable swath of loose, midnight folds and pants of well fitted black leather. Though his body bears an attitude of intense ennui, his lips are turned in a more thoughtful, insightful frown. He offers his sister a lazy gaze upward, where she paces.
"Tell you what?" he inquires with deceptive mildness.
"Everything," Kalique demands, stopping to face him. Though she wears a silk of richest peach, shot through with citrine glass, and her hair is expertly curled and perfumed, yet she resembles little more than a tired, beleaguered woman, as did her mother, so many ledgers ago. "I demand it. You know more. You always do."
"No, I don't think so."
"I don't know why I bother," she says as she turns away, equally for the dramatic effect as her desire to ignore his presence. But she cannot ignore this favored younger brother, although, there are times, she has wondered if she could kill him. If she had to. It was something every entitled had to keep in mind. "You always do bait your traps with words."
"Are you saying I have a gilded tongue?"
"I'm saying you're a unrepentant liar." Titus shrugs and tips himself upright before standing briskly to face Kalique. He speaks with a gentle menace.
"Mother always lay her lies out in plain sight. If you knew where where to look. If you were willing." Something behind his tone caught Kalique's attention, and she glances at him with a considering eye. As usual, she recognizes he has told her everything, and still nothing.
"Do you seek to take my place? Undermining me is a perfect way to insure that." She shakes her head, dark curls rolling like gentle waves. "Now is not the time to revel in family squabbling. We must portray a solid front on this issue."
"Which issue should I pluck from our garden of issues? We always tend so many, nurture them so assiduously." Kalique lifts her chin with pique at his flippant words. He waits, forcing her to put a name to her purpose. Kalique struggles a moment over which image her mind conjures when she thinks of her mother, of her recurrence, before she nearly spits out a single word.
"Jupiter."
"Ah, that. Your lines of communication are surely better than mine, given my current state. I should be asking you. Your conference? With her great and ancient Empress Morkenin?"
"I can't read her, and I certainly can't trust her. But I believe we can use her as an ally."
"New friends?"
"For as long as it suites us."
"Good, maybe I should invite them to dinner."