It's the first Synod after the formation of Krakoa, and Luther feels extremely self-conscious.
Josh's project had culminated in the spring and meant they were finally able to break away, like a peninsula shearing off from the main continent, tumbling into the ocean and to freedom. News has come trickling slowly out of the Tower since then — delicate political maneuvers, the wary truce, a marriage announced, a new High Chancellor and his new wife in Parliament, someone the Hargreeves had once worked with — all the way until today, their first time returning as official representatives.
Which means they have to show up. Bright, brittle smiles at one of the endless late-night parties, somehow trying to look perfectly unruffled, proving that Krakoa has been doing absolutely fine since leaving, doing fantastically, thanks, and you?
So Luther can feel that prickling between his shoulderblades as others look at him, and for perhaps the first time in his entire life, he wishes he weren't so tall, that he didn't stand out so conspicuously in a crowd. It turns out that leaving the Tower was surprisingly easy — but coming back for this diplomatic conference and the social engagements in the White City, seeing the familiar faces of former colleagues and their mistrustful scowls, well, that's worse.
(He hates to disappoint people.)
He's sipping his drink and watching the crowd when he feels a ripple in the air; a faint disturbance that he can't put his finger on (darkness? it tastes of darkness), but which makes him glance to the side. To yet another stern, familiar face. He tries to flash her his most winning smile; it probably doesn't work.
"Good evening, Palpatine," Luther says. A beat, then: "Or is it Palpatine-Stark now?"
space & the empress → 4 years ago.
Josh's project had culminated in the spring and meant they were finally able to break away, like a peninsula shearing off from the main continent, tumbling into the ocean and to freedom. News has come trickling slowly out of the Tower since then — delicate political maneuvers, the wary truce, a marriage announced, a new High Chancellor and his new wife in Parliament, someone the Hargreeves had once worked with — all the way until today, their first time returning as official representatives.
Which means they have to show up. Bright, brittle smiles at one of the endless late-night parties, somehow trying to look perfectly unruffled, proving that Krakoa has been doing absolutely fine since leaving, doing fantastically, thanks, and you?
So Luther can feel that prickling between his shoulderblades as others look at him, and for perhaps the first time in his entire life, he wishes he weren't so tall, that he didn't stand out so conspicuously in a crowd. It turns out that leaving the Tower was surprisingly easy — but coming back for this diplomatic conference and the social engagements in the White City, seeing the familiar faces of former colleagues and their mistrustful scowls, well, that's worse.
(He hates to disappoint people.)
He's sipping his drink and watching the crowd when he feels a ripple in the air; a faint disturbance that he can't put his finger on (darkness? it tastes of darkness), but which makes him glance to the side. To yet another stern, familiar face. He tries to flash her his most winning smile; it probably doesn't work.
"Good evening, Palpatine," Luther says. A beat, then: "Or is it Palpatine-Stark now?"