Despite running dangerously late, Athenus, Lord Exultant of the Emperor’s Children, applied his foundation with a medicae’s patience.
The foundation couldn’t be any white. His complexion demanded the glittering ivory of desiccated Drukhari bones, and in no small concentration.
No expense was spared. For tonight was the Canticle City Cotillion, the social axis upon which a lord of the Emperor’s Children’s calendar spun. A once in a warped century celebration of legion perfection, hosted by Lord-Commander Eidolon himself. This time, the event had a theme—blood.
Athenus smiled into his vanity’s mirror and, using marksmanship honed over millennia of war, applied his eyeliner.
The newly crowned Lord Hekator of the Petalled Path was always the first to comment on his…tenure with the legion. Despite Hekator’s compulsion to dress like a painted strumpet, and Athenus being immune to time’s ravages, the words stung.
Tonight Athenus would reply in kind. The sacrifice of one hundred and twenty-four Mechanicus Adepts to the Arkifane ensured Hekator’s precious ‘glamour servitor’ would suspiciously malfunction when called.
Athenus laughed. The fashions of the Emperor’s Children change upon a whim, as do those who are en vogue.
Athenus pulled the rollers from his new hair. He was always frustratingly impressed with the fabulous bobs the Sororitas sported. So, after taking several hundred of their heads, he had plenty of material to create a wig that was refined and becoming.
It was long, silk-white, and fell in cascading curls. An homage to his Primarch; no greater tribute to the Legion’s perfection.
Athenus stood, admiring his sweeping gown of black lace, purple, and gold.
A hunched servitor clanked over with an array of small square pallets, each with a shade of red pigment.
Athenus chose the darkest red. The only red that properly complemented his violet eyes. A distillation of vitae from a full squad of Blood Angels. Authentic Blood Angels. The blood of these new Primaris was as cheap as Hekator’s taste.
He pouted into his mirror, applied the pigment to his lips, and flecked it across his hands. Blood was the theme after all, and a theme should never be overdone.
‘Error,’ the servitor buzzed. ‘Outfit requirements-‘
‘Hush,’ Athenus purred.
He marvelled at himself. Every bit his father’s image, but with a son’s twist of creativity.
Hair, perfect and flowing.
Cheekbones, razor-sharp and commanding.
Lips, red as hell.
Eyes, shimmering like Terra’s old oceans, but as lightless as the void.
Of course, his eyeliner was precisely as dark as space.
Athenus had compelled the Necron voidmancer Loreul to use its arcane skill to distil the black fabric of space into an eyeliner to marvellous effect. The black was so rich Athenus shuddered with excitement. It was the only shade; anything else would have been-
‘Ruination!’ he wailed.
His eyeliner was no longer black.
The colour had shifted, the most infinitesimal change from void black to deep purple.
‘My outfit! It’s ruined!’
Athenus smashed his vanity, petals and powders flying.
‘I cannot go on,’ he wailed, and slumped onto his chaise longue.
His eyes fell on a sabre, fixed to the wall like a work of art.
Gold, with a dragon’s head motif around the guard, taken from a White Scars champion at the Kalium Gate. A bloody tale of personal glory at Eidolon’s side. Enough of a trophy to distract any onlooker from his gauche faux-pas.
Athenus couldn’t lose his only chance to see Hekator fashionably humbled in front of the legion. He picked up the sabre and made for his ship’s teleporter.
As Athenus entered the vast crystal ballroom in the core of Canticle City, his mind contained a single thought: would anyone notice his eyeliner?
He spotted Hekator and his sycophantic entourage, drinking from long crystal flutes, all dressed in gaudy gowns of arterial red that showed far too much skin.
‘Athenus,’ Hekator clapped his hands together and smiled, ‘your hair, such an improvement!’
They embraced like cold rivals conscious of perception.
‘Hekator, that gown, it’s fabulous. I remember remarking so at the last Cotillion’
He laughed. ‘Oh, never mind my gown, your eyes! Loreul does incredible work, does it not?’
Athenus blubbed.
‘You must have noticed,’ gesturing at his own deep purple eyes. ‘I just love the colour change. Of course, if you are not expecting it, you could make some surprising choices,’ Hekator looked Athenus up and down.
‘That gown is certainly a surprise,’ one of Hector’s entourage droned. ‘I know age has removed you from war, but is that all the blood you could find?’ Nodding toward Athenus’s hands.
‘Oh behave,’ Hekator chided, ‘I myself faced a similar wardrobe issue. My poor old glamour servitor,’ he gossiped. ‘But as the Perfect Prince would have it, war called, and I was left with little time to put myself together.’
Athenus’s brow furrowed.
Hekator raised his glass to someone over his shoulder. He turned and saw Lord-Commander Eidolon nodding at Hekator.
‘When you are called to the Lord-Commander’s side, what can you do?’
‘I fought at the Lord-Commander’s side, at Kalium Gate, ‘ Athenus started.
Hekator winced, hand to his mouth. ‘I know.’ He eyed the sabre, then licked his lips. ‘Brother, are you dressed appropriately? I must know why you chose that blade?’ Hekator learned conspiratorially, but his words were loud enough to drag every eye and ear to him. ‘Kalium Gate is such a blemish on our honour. How much legion blood did that blade spill?’
‘It did-‘
‘You embarrass the Lord-Commander, on his night, ‘ chirped one of Hekator’s flock.
‘He’s even dressed like the Primarch,’ drawled another.
Every judgemental eye in the Emperor’s Children’s highest echelon was fixed on Athenus, and the Lord-Commander was striding toward him.
‘Oh my,’ Hekator smiled.
The Lord-Commander slapped Athenus backhanded across his powdered face. He smacked down onto the marble floor with a crack, a sheet of cold blood pouring from his face, drenching his gown.
‘Much better,’ said Hekator, looming over his rival with a vampiric grin. ‘Now you are dressed appropriately.’
