Chapter Text
"Oh, no way! No frickin' way! This has to be Beka's idea of a joke." Harper stands in front of a mirror, holding a chain mail vest out at arm's length. He squints dubiously at the way it glitters silver-blue in the lighting. They expect him to wear this? The damned black leather pants are bad enough. Why can't he just wear his usual cargo pants? He has a black pair of those. Harper flings back the heavy yellow curtain shielding his dressing room and stalks out into the aisle, stomping across the thick white carpet to the group ensconced in the waiting area. "Tell me that this is a joke."
"What is it now, Harper?" Tyr crosses his arms over his chest and sighs loudly . He turns his head to look at the human, and his long hair brushes against pale yellow wallpaper. A dark maroon vest hugs his chest and black leather pants mold his lower body.
"Don't pretend you don't know what I'm talking about." Harper snarls.
"I don't." Tyr raises his eyebrow as he pushes away from the wall. He circles Harper, slowly looking the human up and down. Well, well, well, the human had been concealing a lot under those baggy pants. All that and a nice ass too. The human might well garner a certain amount of attention and invitations. "What is the problem?"
Harper turns his head to watch suspiciously as the Neitzschean moves around him. He can't quite define the look on Tyr's face. "Are you smirking at me?"
"Why do you have to be so obstructive?" Tyr gestures toward Dylan and Beka. "The rest of us are already fitted with proper attire for attending a Nietzschean wedding and ready to go."
"This? You expect me to wear this?" Harper holds the vest up against his white tee shirt and glowers at them over the garment. It's a sad day when his pants are even tighter than Tyr's. "In what universe does a shiny mesh vest qualify as formal wear? What ever happened to tuxes?"
"I happen to wear a similar garment." Tyr narrows his eyes. "It is a perfectly functional and attractive covering."
"I think you look lovely, Harper. It really brings out your eyes." Beka sniggers. She lounges back in her yellow chair, sipping the complementary wine. Yellow and white striped boxes nudge her black boots. "You might want to wear something flesh colored under it -- unless, of course, you just want everyone to be staring at your nipples."
"Ewww! Leave my nipples out of this." Harper draws himself up to his full height and clutches the vest protectively to his chest. Now he's not gonna be able to get the idea out of his head. Not only is he gonna have waddle around the party in pants that are twelve sizes too small, but he's gonna be wondering if anyone is staring at his nipples too.
"Chain mail's gonna pinch a bit too." Beka remarks.
Harper turns his glares on Tyr. Pinching? No one had mentioned pinching. "Pinch? It's gonna pinch me! And you wear this?"
"I find it stimulating." Tyr shrugs.
"I'm not touching that one." Harper shudders. He eyes Beka's slashed black shirt and snug black pants. He'd bet anything that while he is being fobbed off with a damn see through vest that Beka has something that suits her in those boxes. "Boss, tell me you're wearing something pink and frilly."
Beka grins at him. "Nope."
"I knew it. I knew it." Harper clenches his hand around the delicate links of the vest as he levels an accusing stare at her. "Black. You're wearing black, aren't you?"
She takes another slow sip over her wine, studying him over the rim. "Wrong again, Sparky. I'm wearing a dress and it's navy."
"Dylan," Harper looks in appeal at the Captain who is sitting in the chair next to Beka, "Tell me that you are wearing something like this and I won't say another word."
"I doubt that." Dylan raises his eyebrows. "I'm wearing my High Guard dress uniform, Harper. Military uniforms are perfectly correct for any Nietzschean ceremony."
"Then what are you doing here?" Harper asks plaintively as he fingers the vest's tiny links.
Dylan drinks the last of his wine. "I came down here to have a few minor adjustments made."
"If it makes you feel better, Harper, those black leather pants go great with the vest." Beka's crystal blue eyes sparkle with mischief. "Very striking."
Harper yanks the hem of his tee shirt lower and grouses, "These pants are all but painted on."
"Nietzscheans dress to display their assets, Little Man." Tyr chuckles softly. A human in an outfit designed for display. How outraged Harper would be if the human knew. Or if Harper had any idea of exactly how many mixed messages he is signaling by Nietzschean standards. Or how many of the shop's customers are even now discreetly admiring the view on display. Harper's attempts to conceal his surprisingly impressive assets are only drawing more attention to exactly the same areas that the human is attempting to hide. Yes. It's going to be most amusing to watch the reactions that Harper will provoke at the ceremony. Not to mention the fact that the human will have nothing to hide behind.
"Well, these are so tight I can barely breathe." Harper huffs. His tee shirt just isn't providing enough coverage. He dangles the vest in front of his groin as he catches Tyr's eyes lingering on him. "What are you looking at?"
"Nothing. Just admiring the view." Tyr's lips quirk into a smile.
"View?" Harper huffs. "Sheesh. They leave nothing to the imagination."
"Quite right." Tyr looks Harper up and down with a speculative gaze.
"Only the Divine knows what would happen if I attempted to do anything radical, like sitting." Harper turns sharply as the tailor walks up behind him.
"I assure you, young sir. The pants and vest fit perfectly." The man tilts his head as he looks at Harper. "You won't find better at such short notice. With the Archduke's wedding preparations and all the last minute alterations, there won't be a tailor on the planet who has time to create an appropriate outfit. You are so -- compact there will be few ready-made outfits in your size. It's only your good fortune that the man who ordered this for his son had to leave unexpectedly."
"Unbelievable." Harper shakes his head. Nietzscheans. If he didn't have plans for this wedding, the idea of parading around in this stuff would be more that enough to motivate him to develop a sudden illness that prevented him from attending. Harper sighs and looks down at the vest. "Oh all right. But I wanna go on record as being completely opposed to the whole chain mail thing."He turns and trudges off to the dressing room with a resigned air.
Dylan sets his empty wine glass on the sidetable as he glances at Tyr. "Tyr?"
Tyr watches with mild interest as Harper stalks back toward the dressing rooms. The human really did have a very nice ass. A quick glance around the store tells him that he isn't the only one tracking the human's path. "Captain, you have a question?"
"Aren't black and silver the Jaguar colors?"
"Yes."
"Won't wearing them at a Jaguar wedding have certain implications?" Dylan frowns. Hadn't Andromeda mentioned something about it not being proper etiquette to wear Pride colors to a wedding? That only the bride and groom wore those colors?
Tyr shoves his long braids back over his shoulder as he looks at Dylan. "What's your point?"
"Well, Harper will be wearing that outfit." Dylan stands up. His frown deepens. After all the trouble of persuading Elsbett to truly marry the Archduke instead of killing Charlemagne and the cream of the Jaguar court, he doesn't want anything to upset the smooth running of this ceremony.
Tyr raises his eyebrow. "And?"
"And I don't want to risk an incident."
"I don't think there will be a problem, Dylan. There might be some hint of challenge if a Nietzschean appeared at the ceremony in those colors. For a human?" Tyr smirks. As if anyone will mistake a human for a challenger. Anyway, it takes more that just wearing Pride colors at a wedding to qualify as a challenger. Harper is hardly likely to attack the bride, or save Charlemagne from some threat to life and limb. The human will have to achieve one or the other to be taken for a challenger to Elsbett's role as Consort. What are the chances? "Highly unlikely."
"Well, if you're sure." Dylan shrugs. He turns and gathers up the garment bag holding his uniform.
XXXXXXXXXX
"That's quite the romantic story that your promised bride is spinning." Cassandra paces slowly up and down. Her sandals tap softly on the deep blue tiles lining the floor. She pauses to admire the mural depicting the depths of the ocean. It wraps around the walls of the room containing the Archduke's private swimming pool, leaving her feeling as if she is walking on the bottom of the ocean. "Let me see, how does it go? Fighting her way to your side across the universe. Defeating the Drago-Kazov's attempt to foil your union. All just to claim her appointed mate. Touching."
"Oh? You believe her then?" Charlemagne pauses at the end of his lap, griping the tile at the edge of his pool. He blinks water from his lashes as he looks at the Jaguar Matriarch. Her slim shoulders are stiff beneath her white leathers. A cap of dark curls cropped short reveal the elegant shape of her skull.
Cassandra turns to face him. Large gold earring glint in her ears. "Do you?"
"No."
"There are rumors." Cassandra walks over to the side of pool and looks down at her Archduke as he drifts languidly in the water. His expression reveals only mild interest in her words.
Charlemagne shrugs. "There are always rumors. So tiresome. What is it this time?"
"It is being said that she seems most fond of that kludge Captain who escorted her here. That they even went off alone together on an excursion."
"That is part of her tale, yes. It troubles me that she is willing to attempt undercut my standing at her own expense. I've made every effort to grant her ample opportunities to further disgrace herself with the Captain. I was quite looking forward to bursting in on them and playing outraged groom. How tedious of her to deny me the opportunity." Charlemagne meet his Matriarch's gaze. "You did check her -- status, did you not?"
Cassandra nods. "She is not pregnant."
"Too bad. It would have been an excellent excuse for sending her packing and demanding compensation for the insult." Charlemagne levers himself out of the water and sits on the edge of the pool. He slicks his wet hair back. "I suppose I will have to accept her. We must keep the Sabra thinking that we are weak until the moment is opportune. And our little treaty has the added value of getting the Drago-Kazov annoyed with the Sabra. My dear bride's antics have certainly enhanced that aspect of inter-Pride relations. It will all be to our benefit in the end."
"I hate to think of you having to waste your time on her. Perhaps there might be an unfortunate accident?"
"Tempting." Charlemage smiles up at Cassandra. "But it's much too soon for an accident at the moment, but later, ah, yes -- later after everyone has had a chance to settle down. If she lasts that long, considering how hard she is working to completely alienate my other wives."
"Alienating Circe and the others will only make her time here difficult." Cassandra muses. "Should I speak with them?"
Charlemagne laughs. "No need. Circe and I had a long talk this morning. She quite understands the situation. Leave her be."
"As you wish."
"Have you noticed that the Sabra guests who are arriving are inferior even for the Sabra?"
"Yes. I had noticed that." Cassandra toys with one of her earrings. "More insults."
"Perhaps. Being Beta is only a distant dream for them. And one can't help, but observe that the First Alpha of Sabra will not be attending."
"What!"
"I received got official word this morning. It seems that the Sabra First has some mysterious pressing business that will prevent him and his family from attending." Charlemagne leans forward, trailing a pale hand in the warm water.
"A sign of dissent among the Sabra? Perhaps a change in Alphas is in the works?" Cassandra frowns thoughtfully.
Charlemagne laughs softly. "Aren't you the optimist? I would love to think it was something so delicious, but my spies have no evidence indicating that the First's hold on the Sabra is any less strong."
"One must wonder if your bride intends something...special for your wedding."
"I do not like the implications of Elsbett's continuing flirtation with the kludge, and her hints of having cuckholded me with the good Captain. If I thought that he had any interest in eloping with her, I would encourage it. But, no, all of Hunt's passion is reserved for his Commonwealth. Then there are the Sabra wedding guests," Charlemagne frowns. "It leaves me wondering about the Sabra's intentions, and what Elsbett really plans to do at my court. Aside from the usual -- spying, sabotage, and a few discreet murders. Speaking of sabotage, did you secure the proper herbs?"
"Yes." Cassandra nods. "I'll add them to your chalice before the Coupling ceremony."
"How long will the effect last? I want more children, just not with Elsbett."
"The herbs are effective for twenty four hours. After that, there is an increasing risk of getting her pregnant," Cassandra cautions.
"Excellent." Charlemagne slips back into the pool. "I have no intention of touching her after the official coupling."