– S C O R P I O N –

The luxury fusion craft could not have flown slower. That is what it felt like.

Every nerve in my body was a live wire. So close to what we had planned every inch of. The night it would all happen. The night it would also all end. We would not just walk away with Makayla back in the Underworld. I felt the constant perfectly balanced weight of the vanta glass daggers strapped low across my back under the folds of my fitted suit.

I looked at the stranger seated across me in the plush seats. He watched me with more calculation than a politician ever would. And the most hilarious part about it all... he wore cushioned places in his suit to befit the role of the tub of lard that was the foreign secretary off-continent. Apparently he had pissed himself the night Proximo captured him.

Proximo adjusted the tight shirt collar against his hexagonal tie.

"What a waste of air this lump was." He uttered in a more high, less threatening version of his voice.

I lost control and laughed loudly at him within the confines. He made to strike me with an obsidian walking cane. A bloody walking cane. For Proximo. Walking assistance– I doubled over again and he let out another unthreatening sigh.

"You look like you lost your virginity in a library." He shot back.

Tears had begun running down my face and the holo skin flickered. This sobered me and I drew back to compose my tight suit and pencil skirt. A skirt. Gods the things I do for Makayla Xavier were now officially one too many... At least the suit hid my tattoos.

"You look like you ate the library." I snorted leaning into the seat.

"Perhaps I will spend the evening grazing the horderves then?" He snapped, casting his double chin to the window. Another giggle left me. Swiftly followed by a firm kick.

"Please reveal yourself to Makayla before the night is over."

"I will reveal myself to the damn Emperor if you do not compose yourself, Margret Kelsey."

"She really must have lost hers in a library with that name." I muttered.

Proximo cleared his throat–or many throats. "5 minutes. Is your vanguard active."

"Indeed." I said cooly in a higher pitch than my own voice. I flicked the invisible armour for good measure and it rippled dark black. "Remind me to send Xafra an extended line of credit. He's gold to us."

"Yes, Margret." He smirked, waggling his cane at me.

"We're so going to blow this shit high..." I muttered. "Did you even do your homework on him?"

Proximo tried to look offended in that skin but it just ended up constipated. I fought the urge to cry with everything I had. Before I could ruin both our skins the driver came through.

"We're dropping now, Scorpion."

"Margret." I snapped. But the high pitch made me sound more like a late aged book warden than ever and Proximo lost the ability to breath again. I took the longest breath I could as the fusion craft touch ground.

"Show time." I told my second. His expression was already that of a seasoned social climber and nothing of the Underworld. I wore a bright grin per my new persona that made me want to shoot my own forehead full of plasma and stepped into the bright lights of the Emperor's gleaming floodlit walkway to the main lobby.

* * * * *

The walk to the lobby was a mess of media drones and security.

Imperials were crawling every square inch and keeping back swathes of onlooking Merridian's as they struggled to glimpse the next pair that exited the fusion craft. I heard the rapid clicks of shutters and video feeds from the drones above like a hive of angry bees.

A well dressed lobby man was already at our sides with an offer of an arm to assist me up the barely high stairs to the grand glass lobby. Biting hard on my tongue I gave the young man a gracious smile and rested my hand on his elbow as I made to make my steps pathetically slow.

Gods. If stairs were ever an arduous task in my existence I'd have Proximo put me out of my misery. The rich had the luxury of reaching these decrepit ages while the fit died young outside 10. My face betrayed nothing but enthusiasm to be led into my enemy's home.

I heard the clack of Proximo's walking cane behind and turned to see him dap a handkerchief across his sweat-less brow. Apparently Marcus Roseburg had a habit of this. I dutifully turned back to my colleague and gave him a warm expression that made me want to laugh or drag out my own eyes.

"Come, Marcus. The lifts are just this way. Aren't they Dear boy?" I asked the assistant at my arm, my eyes no doubt creasing at the edges. Burn me.

"Yes, Miss Kelsey. I can call assistance for Mr Roseburg if needed." He told me politely, no hint of the humour I'd have worn dripping.

"No–" Proximo dragged in a breath–something he hadn't done even at the edge of my own blade–"–as we say in Nabirus–" another pant, "–onward and upward to fortitude." More like onward and outward. I thought looking at that convincing waistline that was spilling out like puff pastry around his waistcoat.

Fortunately the vanguard underneath it all had a coolant system. Otherwise my Second really would have sweat under all that cushion.

We made the lifts in record timing. Record slow timing.

The doors closed and I slipped my hands together at the front of my skirt.

"I am in need of a stiff drink boy, see you find me one." Proximo, uttered in a demanding tone that made me catch his eye.

"Yes of course, Sir. Right away Sir." He told him promptly as he cast a look to the rapidly inclining numbers of floors. The lift could really move I had to give it to his Imperial ass.

The doors chimed and the room sprawled in stone arches and tall vines climbing in well kept colour up pillars to the edges of the cavernous room. I thought it was to be an exclusive event but in Merridian that accounted for a lot of bodies... Waiters moved swiftly and seamless between the colours of the upper classes. Champange, light foods, frills, top hats, side hats–feather hats–I lost interest and cast Proximo a look.

"Chop to it boy, my throat is parched." Proximo gravelled out as he clenched his cane.

"Right away, Sir!" Our escort promptly dissolved down the grand stone steps to the nearest flute tray.

"You have your list?" I murmured side on, still watching the room like a hawk at the top of the stairs. My eyes really looking for one and one alone.

Proximo tapped his thicker, balding head. "All here. Quite the number of silver spooned nightmares to greet. You have yours?"

"Yes, Marcus..." I drawled. "I will begin the niceties as soon as we hit the bottom step. "I imagine this will be quite the night."

"Indeed." He murmured, "Comm if anything, Margret."

I managed a glare with these weathered brown eyes and Proximo gave me a generous smile as if just telling me how grand I looked. Then I noticed the assistant reappear and Proximo snatched a drink and started lecturing the boy as he assisted him down the stairs.

"Is that Margret Kelsey?" A high pitch thrilled behind me. My mask was back in place instantly and I turned slowly to behold the international relations manager, Camilla. Red haired and bright green silk. "Oh, it is! Margret, how have you been darling?"

"Oh, Camilla. Dearest, it has been an age has it not?" I retorted, mirroring her body language and placing false pecks on each cheek before drawing away. If I had to do that every time... The idea of the Emperor finding me tonight before I wanted him to was now such a pleasant thought.

The woman droned on as she assisted me down the steps and into the thralls of social interaction. Right into the fire. My quick study of names and faces that Margret Kelsey, seemed entirely redundant now since my over enthused escort felt the need to say, "–you remember so and so yes? From the gallery commission? You know such and such from the races?" As if Margret was an established geriatric. Hey, it worked for me.

After the tenth introduction to another unbearable human being I prepared my pleasantly surprised expression but was interrupted. The room had seemed to fall very quiet all at once. The classical music even dropped in volume as heads turned as one to the top of the stairs.

I turned with them.

My heart fell through the floor. Because there–at the top of those grand marble stairs–was a sight far grander than anything among this sea of colour and riches. There–in all her glory. Golden hair cascading down one side. Stood a woman in a long, bright crimson dress. The colour of my cloak itself.

Makayla Xavier.