{Hazy sunshine over the hill

[deadlycurves]

WHO: Hargreeves + YOU

WHERE: Krakoa; various

WHEN: Varies, specified by thread

WHAT: Varies, specified by thread

WARNINGS: Warnings will be updated where necessary

Comments

[reydacted]

Predictably, she is not won over by his smile.

"Still just Palpatine," she replies rather coolly. "I don't intend to resign from my post, so I thought I'd keep it."

Even the smallest reminder of the name had once made her stomach churn, but she had carved out a place in this faction with it. It felt like reclaiming it, even if few knew the baggage that her legacy carried. Palpatine would not be a name to fear here, but one that conveyed security and safety.

She had been making serious strides at that as a young but tenacious member of Parliament, and even though a faction had broken off here and there, it's not as if any could really rival the White Tower. Kylo's departure had stung but at least she was able to reconcile it her own way.

Krakoa though... she had thought these were her allies. Friends even. If there had been problems with the White Tower, she could have worked to change them. But instead they had lied to her face, manipulated her, and betrayed her. And the rest of Parliament had just let them go.

"It was a small ceremony. Although you probably would have been too busy to attend, wouldn't you?" The jab still feels odd. Sort of forced even if it's coming from a place of genuine hurt. She had picked up more of these subtler high-society aggressions, but parts of her still want to lash out like a scavenger.

[obediences]

Honestly, Luther doesn't play the game well at all compared to the rest of his family. Most of them have mastered barbed sarcasm and veiled (or often not-so-veiled) insults: Diego, Allison, and Five wield their words like knives, and Allison in particular is a mastermind at it, at politics and manipulation and smiling through a two-faced compliment.

Luther, on the other hand, is a blunt weapon, a cudgel. He tends to say what's on his mind, and can't hide his true thoughts that well.

"Yeah, it's been pretty busy. And I'm not even on the council." He answers without cattiness or an attempt at a buried dig: it's just the bare and unvarnished truth. He shifts awkwardly, takes another swig of his drink, then looks surprised to realise that it's already empty. Goddamnit. He wants that cover of alcohol loosening him up; discomfort is already prickling in his fingers, tight-knotted in his muscles. He's having trouble looking at her.

"I would've thought it would be, I don't know, a huge affair. Pomp and circumstance and ceremony."