Identity

Returns

Toward the end of the month, the warm summer gave way to a chilly, rainy autumn, which is pretty much what I liked. There were enough warmer days to help the trees change color in October, but I welcomed the change, since it was a great opportunity to retreat to my nest. I started planning my Christmas open house, lining up the caterer first of all. Z helped me with the planning. I also got an invitation from the Ospreys, a society I'd belonged to at Cambridge for sportswomen who competed at the highest level there and were eligible to wear blues, half blues, or second team colors. They invited me to be their speaker at the Easter term Speaker's Dinner. I'd have to check my blues, a Cambridge-blue semi-fitted blazer with brass buttons and the top pocket embroidered with my sport, rowing, to make sure it was in perfect condition. If something had happened to it--I hadn't worn it since Cambridge--I'd have time to replace it. I'd already RSVP'ed this year for The Boat Race in late March, and the dinner was Race-adjacent so that I wouldn't have to make two trips. Clever, and it upped the chances that I'd accept. I did, of course, it was a real honor to be asked.

I got some additional work as a result of Freddie's party, including studio portraits of a few bands for their recording studios and the album cover for The Who's upcoming release. And when Uncle Steve's venue for his mini-holiday collection fell through due to vandalism, I offered him my house. It wasn't like one of his major collections; the creations for the holiday collection were offered to his best clients only in limited numbers. This was kind of a treat for his artisans, since they worked hard and had all the holiday garments complete by the end of the first week in December. Their work was much lighter for the rest of the month, allowing them to relax for the holidays, and the pace to slacken off some before the frenzy of Fashion Week. They were all on salary, so the lighter month didn't affect their pay. Press was limited to a couple of the best women's fashion magazines and about fifty of his clients. They didn't always order the dresses, but it was something of an honor to be invited. Z was able to interface with Uncle Steve's caterers and we dressed up the entry hall in icy whites, silvers, and white lights to evoke winter. A silvery blue carpet was the catwalk. It went really well, the dresses were gorgeous this year, of course, and attendees had nice things to say about my home.

The gowns were somewhat of a departure for Uncle Steve, whose hallmark was about making fashion accessible for women as they were. This year, he used corsets to whittle down the waistline and provide the smoothest line over which he draped fragile silk satins, laces, and chiffons. The fabrics were soft and flowy, which contrasted with the architecture of the designs; firmer fabrics like taffeta were only used in bodices to support intricate pleating and folding; they gave way to frothy skirts and necklines which framed bosoms and shoulders beautifully. There were some beading and feather details for additional luxury. The most beautiful gown was black, with a sheer black ruffle standing up from the deep neckline that just barely covered the nipples, setting off the skin of the wearer, the top of her chest and shoulders, and the column of her neck. The crisp folds of the bodice were outlined with the tiniest crystals, which ran down over the full chiffon over satin skirt like trails of dew. There was a train, where it looked like the 'dewdrops' collected. Magnificent and I had nowhere to wear it.

The dress I got for New Years Eve was a sublimely rich deep purple, where the corset was the bodice, trimmed with crystal beads and feathers for a touchable detail, and a miniskirt to cover the essentials with a longer, sublimely draped chiffon skirt that showcased my legs with peek-a-boo slits. When I tried it on for the fitting, it squished my boobs so that I had a decent amount of cleavage, and the color brightened my skin and looked delicious with my copper hair. I'd gotten passes for the hottest nightclub for my friends and me that night and we had to look like we deserved them.

I'd kept in touch with Wally; his resignation from the Titans had caused a huge fuss among the Titans, who had accused him of bailing on the team, not being a team player, not serious about being a hero. The League, according to Mom, was taking it more seriously, and Flash had defended his nephew's decision, pointing out that a group of kids who couldn't plan or understand how to work together were a disaster waiting to happen and that he'd prefer his nephew alive and well, working with his small support team to make a difference. That didn't go over so well, apparently, but Flash was unmoved and Wally seemed happier, testing his abilities more to find out what their limits were.  I was glad he was out of the mess. He'd decided on Velocity for his new hero name, and Flash had approved.

Thyra and Langley were staying at Aunt Emma's for some time with their mom, dad and grandpa and siblings a couple weeks before Thanksgiving; I was taking advantage of this time and taking more cooking classes, this time holiday baking. The snow was falling lightly as I walked briskly toward my home, a bag of the goodies I'd learned how to bake swinging by my side. I thought I might drop off some of the bounty at work for my sister and dad the next day; there were a lot of cookies. I was thinking about my next job, when a subsonic rumble shook me to the bone. I looked around, then up, which is where I should have started. A huge alien craft was moving over the city, and the wind from its passage almost knocked me off my feet. Other pedestrians were disturbed, pointing and recording the event. The design wasn't anything I recognized, not Kree or Scrull, Asgardian, or anything from the Nine Realms that I knew of. I picked up my pace, trotting down the sidewalks, dodging people looking skyward, anxious to make it to my house. It struck me then that my home didn't offer a huge amount of protection, with the age of it, the fragility of the glass dome and doors. All those windows. Still, once I was through the pedestrian gate, I broke into a run and didn't stop until the door was locked behind me. I went into the game room and switched on the screen to a news channel.

They didn't know anything either, and spokespeople for the Avengers and League only said that the superheroes were investigating.  Deri called.

"Mom and Dad said to stay put, wherever you were, until they find out more," she said, sounding nervous although her face was calm.

"Well, they didn't show up guns ablazing, so that's something positive,' I felt compelled to point out, and she nodded. "Still."

"At least all the puppies are together with Sigurd and Torburn," she said. "That's a relief. They'll be protected."  We talked a little more, then hung up, both to clear the lines and because there really wasn't much to say.

It took a half an hour for news to filter through, which is when we learned that this was the triumphant return of the X-Men, arriving with envoys from the Shi'ar empire, with overtures for alliances. But even when this information was publicized, it didn't seem to do much to reassure people. The X-Men didn't have the public trust as the Avengers or the Justice League, because they made a firm distinction between those born with mutations that manifested at puberty at the latest, and those who acquired them, incorporating only those who were born with mutations who they called mutates. They fought 'bad' mutates and flipped sides occasionally, so it could be hard to track who was 'good' and who was 'bad' without a scorecard. Personally, I thought the 'bad' mutates had some good points; people who were afraid of mutates often wanted to kill them or lock them up, and most of them are like people everywhere who just want to live their lives. I could sympathize with them pushing back, but drew the line at wanting more violent solutions. I supported civil rights for all, but I couldn't really see the difference between mutants and mutated.  If a guy comes into your office on fire, it's not going to make a difference to you how the guy's powers were acquired, you're still going to be reaching for the fire extinguisher. Their focus on mutates pretty exclusively helped to create the divide.

That evening, I went out on my roof through the secret tunnel, well wrapped up against the cold, and watched the Shi'ar craft through my telescope. I saw shuttles darting in and out, headed toward the UN. But there were also a couple who stayed high, circling the city before returning to the base ship.