At first the bears had freaked Jupiter out.
She thinks this is pretty reasonable. Animals don’t talk, normally, everyone knows that. And even though everyone should know that, the bears don’t seem to; the one at the front of Lampadias had smiled (can bears smile? She’d gotten the feeling it was smiling. Maybe she was imagining it. Bears probably don’t smile.) and greeted her by name, with the airs of a slightly ditzy but proud matron. She’d offered a dazed smile back, and thanked it, and tried not to think about it until she was surrounded by bears in the market.
(Jupiter snaps her hairband against her wrist. Unkind thoughts. Don’t be mean, Jupiter.)
It’s been about a week. She thinks maybe she’s used to them? But it could also be that it’s just because everything else is so weird that the bears, comparatively, aren’t that weird. There’s other things to worry about.
Like Neptune and Venus.
Venus isn’t even here, and she can’t help but worry about shy shy Venus who’s still finding her voice and realizing how much she wants to be seen, can’t help but feel like she should protect with her many hands -- and Neptune, who doesn’t seem to recall what happened that night at all.
Neptune, who as far as Jupiter can tell, remembers being the devil alone and angry and being cast out by the rest of Group West.
Who doesn’t remember the days of breaking down the wards and folding in and out of skin, thoughts blurry like smeared ink. Who doesn’t remember helping Venus pull her old body away like an eggshell and running the blood of Jupiter clean. Who doesn’t remember being more human than any human has ever been, with more ways to understand each other and be true to themselves than any human could ever have.
God, but she’s really, really worried about Neptune. It sounds super juvenile whenever she tries to explain it to herself: Neptune is a big girl. Neptune can take care of herself. Neptune is, quite possibly, super good at taking care of herself compared to Jupiter.
And yet --
She can’t stop thinking about it.
It’s why she’s made her way to this little cafe, actually. The proprietor is a... middle-aged (? How can she tell bear ages??? It’s voice-based right. Oh god is she going insane.) bear, with a lovely bowtie and a talent for making tiny little pastries and mixed coffees with an oddly floral aftertaste, and Jupiter had thought it’d be a good distraction.
But she probably just looks guilty or something, sitting at a table alone and gloomily drinking coffee. It figures. Of course she wouldn’t even be able to get her mind off of something right.