Asterius gets ready in silence.
The little star angels buzz around his head as Pluma carefully helps him dress. There is an unspoken thing hanging above them, an understanding of what must happen today. Cadeyrn is here this morning, and he looks so out of place in the white and pastel blue dressing room, a dark shadow leaning against the wall with his arms crossed.
Whenever Asterius glances at him Cadeyrn is busy looking at the twinkling lights hanging from the ceiling or staring down at the box of glittering jewelry next to him. But Asterius can feel the demon’s eyes follow him, pinning him in place in the center of the room, as Pluma flutters about, literally. Once more caught in the in-between state of his True and Vessel form. Six little white wings fluttering at his back, golden lion’s tail swishing about, and feathers on the tips of his ears, twitching every time Pluma changes his mind about a piece of the outfit. Pluma holds up the 14th robe so far, a dark purple robe with a sea pattern, Asterius didn’t even know he owned such a robe.
“Pluma,” Asterius says softly, gently reaching out a hand to stop the fretting seraphim, “it’s alright, just choose whatever you want.”
Pluma bites his lip, feathered ears fluttering as his tail swishes anxiously behind him, “but master-,”
“Here,” and both of them startle as Cadeyrn appears at Asterius’s elbow, offering a bundle of fabric, “wear this one.”
Asterius gently takes the offered robe, he doesn’t even know when Cadeyrn moved, or when he picked out a robe from the closet. His heart flutters at the idea of the demon choosing an outfit for him, but he forces down the giddy thoughts, the demon was just doing it to save time, most likely he just grabbed the first one he saw and handed it over. Still, even if it is a bad choice Asterius will wear it, if only because Cadeyrn did choose it.
The fabric unravels in his hands and Asterius’s breath catches, sending a startled look to the demon who despite choosing this robe is glaring at the fabric with disdain.
“Cadeyrn?” Asterius asks uncertainly, not sure how to feel, confused by the sudden sting of betrayal curling sharp and jagged in his chest. Cadeyrn didn’t do anything for him to feel that way, but...
The demon doesn’t look at him, jaw set tight as he mutters, “If you want to be a tyrant you need to dress the part right?”
That… does make sense, Asterius begrudgingly agrees, but still-
[System agrees this is the best choice with the highest probability of success] it chimes in but its screen is the normal dark evergreen color it gets when the floating code is unhappy, [System doesn’t think Host NEEDS to wear it however if Host doesn’t-]
‘It’s fine System,’ he thinks, stealing his resolve, ‘we can’t afford any more mistakes.’
And Asterius returns his gaze to the golden fabric under his fingers. It’s one of the robes Sanctus had “gifted” him during one of their visits. It’s gaudy in its golden design, with complex beadwork and far too many sashes to ever be practical. Its shape is defined and bright, edges sharp enough to cut if one wasn’t careful, adorned with beautiful metal almost armor-like pieces that are purely decoration and offer no real protection to any harm. If he was to explain the style in a few words it would be… something he expects a royal consort to wear to a declaration of war, a pretty show of powerless wealth and false strength, which… would be a rather accurate compassion to his current situation, just a pawn in Sanctus game of power and greed.
“Thank you,” Asterius forces himself to say, and though he wants nothing more than to burn the robe, it is a good choice. Dressing like the Royal Sun would help convince others that was the role he wanted, and it would most likely ease any ruffled feather Sanctus still held.
Pluma helps him put it on, looking even more pained than Asterius feels, scowling at the golden fabric as if it had personally murdered his family. Asterius has never actually worn this robe, but it’s shocking how well tailored it is to his form, he doubts anyone else would be able to wear it. And that thought settles uneasily over him, so he quickly banishes it, instead watching Pluma grumble and huff his way through putting the robe on correctly.
As the golden robe settles over Asterius’s form, the tassels and sashes feel like chains as they layer over him. The decorative armor pieces clicking together like a second skin, forcing his back to be taller. But best he get used to it now, Asterius knows once he begins this ruse as a false God Emperor, Sanctus will have him continue to dress in such a manner to “play his part”.
Out of spite Pluma braids even more silver into his hair, making it even more elaborate than the day of the Royal Sun’s death. If his outfit wasn’t sending a message before it certainly is now.
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“Wait.”
Asterius pauses in the doorway, turning back to face Cadeyrn with a careful tilt of his head, the ornaments in his long silver hair chime and clink together as the demon approaches. Wordlessly the demon reaches up and Asterius as always lets him touch. Carefully the demon pulls free the sliver butterfly earring Pluma had picked out and replaces it with a heavy familiar star. The same one he wore on the day of Shadowed Sun, the one that matches-
Asterius’s gaze fixes on the outfit Cadeyrn has chosen, for once the demon isn’t wearing his usual working clothes, but instead the black and red suit he brings out for formal occasions. Though he’s changed the look, trading out his suit jacket, leaving his arms bare to show off the glittering tattoos of their contract on his tan skin. Instead of the coat, a half cape of deep red is slung over his shoulder, held in place with a glittering iridescent star broach, placed right over the demon’s heart. The broach that matches the star hanging from Asterius’s pointed ear.
He knows Cadeyrn isn’t really one for words, and lines had been drawn this morning, (they had been drawn and redrawn over the past 20 years) but Asterius knows Cadeyrn enough, knows his fresh flowers that rest at Asterius’s bedside and the warm meals he cooks every day. Cadeyrn isn’t one for words but his actions speak so much louder than his voice ever could.
And Asterius would need to be a fool to not see what this silent action means, “I’m here with you. We will do this together.”
Asterius’s breath stutters for a moment as he lets the stupidly pleased feelings wash over him, taking a moment to enjoy the warm bubbling feeling in his chest, before he slowly forces it back down, smiling at the demon brightly, “Thank you.”
Cadeyrn glances away, backing up and out of Asterius’s space, turning around on his heel to march out the door, most likely to wait downstairs now that the getting ready was done. But Asterius can see how the demon relaxes a bit, shoulders untensing.
“Pluma,” Asterius calls, and in a second, golden curls are at his elbow, curious little hands clinging to his arm as the seraphim stares up at him with a beaming grin.
“Yes, master?”
Asterius can’t help his own smile, even if it is tinged with a looming sense of bittersweetness. “I’m sorry that this will be your first real debut into the Heavenly Realm.”
Pluma shakes his head, feather tipped ears twitching, “It’s okay master! If you’re going to be the next God Emperor, then you need an equally impressive seraphim to help you!”
The laugh that bubbles out of Asterius is a shock, but it feels good to laugh after so much tension. He smiles down at his angel, pulling him closer, to fix his wild curls. Asterius knows Cadeyrn and Pluma aren’t related in any way, but they both somehow have the same kind of curls, stubborn beautiful hair that bends to no one’s will.
“Master!” Pluma complains, with a whining voice but he behaves and doesn’t move away.
Asterius fusses for a few more moments, until the little angel is semi-presentable, “there now we can-,”
Pluma shakes his head roughly, setting free the few strands of golden hair Asterius was able to tuck away.
Asterius raises an eyebrow as Pluma comes to a stop, expression sheepish as he seems to realize what he just did, “sorry master,” he apologizes softly.
“Well, no helping it now, but please don’t shake this loose,” and Asterius reaches into the towering jewelry box to pull out a glittering star-shaped clip. Pluma’s eyes light up as he glances between the hairpin and the earring Asterius is wearing. It had been an impulsive request about 15 years ago. A matching star for Pluma to wear if he ever needed to be in a social event. It was more so for Asterius’ own assurance, knowing that no one would bother him too much with a sign of the FateWeaver on his person.
Pluma excitedly bounces where he stands, but tries his best to be still as Asterius affixes the hairpin, pulling a few of the golden curls out of Pluma’s shining blue eyes.
“There,” Asterius says, leaning back up and patting his seraphim on the shoulder, herding the angel out of the dressing room, “now we are ready.”
“Thank you, master!” Pluma says, smile so wide Asterius is almost worried he’ll hurt his cheeks.
The hairpin stands out nicely against Pluma’s golden hair, it matches the little white suit the angel is wearing as well. Asterius had never checked to see if Pluma had formal clothes, he was hoping that he would never need to bring Pluma anywhere. Thankfully the original Asterius had planned for that possibility, and here Pluma stands with his cute cream-white suit. The inner lining of his tailcoat is a blue pattern of stars, and all of his jacket buttons are made with the same crystal as Asterius’s own jewelry. If Asterius wasn’t already convinced the original god of fate loved his angels, then this specialized tailored suit would prove it.
“Feathers you aren’t distracting our master again with your prattling are you?”
Pluma’s feathers fluff up at the insult, and the little angel dashes out of the room already yelling, “Master was giving me a present! You’re not special anymore demon!”
There’s a pause, then Asterius can hear a dismissive huff, clearly from Cadeyrn, “Doesn’t matter. Master gave me mine first, clearly, he likes ME better.”
“You take that back lair!”
[Yeah!] the System agrees, bright pastel green, and circling around Asterius like an excited bird, [Host loves me the most!]
‘In your dreams System,’ Asterius thinks, quickly hurrying down the stairs before the angel and demon come to play roughhousing again and mess out the outfits they spent hours getting right.
[Meanie Host!] the System protests, turning its screen away so Asterius has to read the next words backward, [Host is System’s favorite….]
Suddenly feeling a tiny bit bad at the dis, Asterius sighs. This was definitely not how he planned spending this morning, but he will admit it is nice, one last indulgence in freedom before they put on the show of the century.
“Alright all of you,” Asterius appeases, pulling apart the glaring Pluma and smug Cadeyrn, “you are all my favorite,” he states in a deadpan tone that has all three (including the green system window) turning to him with raised eyebrows of disbelief. “Now come on,” he urges shepherding them towards the door, “we have a coup to stage.”