Post by Loogs on Jun 23, 2021 22:20:59 GMT -5
PREFACE NOTE: The following is an archive of a live role play conducted in real time (sorta) in the Exodus Discord server's experimental Role Play Labs. The title is a placeholder and is not final. For the sake of future reference, this RP is catalogued as Dragon Lab 2. Text is transcribed and presented as is except for some formatting edits intended to make the reading experience on Proboards a little smoother. This is an ongoing piece and future entries will be collated and posted periodically in compiled installments.
It all started on a whim. A joke, a jest, an offhand remark about whether or not he could pull off those thigh-highs in the window. He never expected the guy to take him up on the challenge, but here he sat, on a cushioned bench, waiting for Yoshimitsu to come out of the dressing room. Hector watched as his pal's black, baggy pants dropped around his feet, followed by the shedding of his blue v-neck shirt. About two minutes later, the metamorphosis was complete, and the curtain slid aside to unveil the transformation.
"So? How do I look? Be honest," Yoshimitsu asked, leaning sultrily against the wall, trying his best to conceal the wobbling of his legs, unfamiliar with the technique of keeping balance in those high, slender stilettos. Those long, lace-up leather boots, conforming to the contour of his toned, firm calves. The black stockings clinging to his thighs, ending just barely at the middle where the tiny shorts began.
Hector found himself taking his sweet time working his eyes upward. The waistline of the short shorts underlined his midriff, the sharp contour of his hip bone exposed by the low cut. His eyes scanned the muscle, the bone, the taut skin of his friend's abdomen, until he reached the studded black crop top, slinking off his left shoulder. It was there that he had encountered the unfamiliar shape, the soft outward curve, the alien form of a pair of breasts over Yosh's chest.
"You really had the balls to go with the falsies, huh?"
"In for a penny, in for a pound, right, Hec?" Yoshimitsu responded. "Now answer the question."
But Hector remained speechless. Should he go for the sarcastic answer? Or was Yosh perhaps looking for something more sincere out of him? No, he thought to himself, this is a trick question. So it only made sense to reply with a trick answer.
Hector inhaled deeply, and finally, he spoke. "In my honest opinion... I would definitely say that you are, at least, in my top 5 for the most smokin' hot girls I have ever seen."
Yoshimitsu couldn't help but let out a laugh. Still leaning on the wall for support, he wiggled his hips and winked. "You're damn right I am."
And maybe that's what sealed the deal. That little gesture that pushed him over the edge, that sent him on a voyage of fantasies he never once could have fathomed before this moment. Because otherwise, he would have never let those words slip out of his mouth:
"If you were a girl I would totally get frisky with you."
All of a sudden the boundary between sarcasm and sincerity wasn't so clear anymore. Hector could feel every frantic thump of his heart pulsating in his chest. He bit his lip as he waited for Yoshimitsu to respond. And god damn, did it feel like an eternity and a half until at last, he quietly mumbled something along the lines of:
"...And what if I wasn't a girl?"
Hector stared blankly at Yoshimitsu, his lips starting to part, jaw hanging limp. This time, there was no coherent assemblage of English words he could string together to offer as an answer. Nothing made sense anymore. Not words, not feelings, not even reality as he knew it up to this very moment.
Whatever it was that he mouthed breathlessly that day, he could only guess as to what meaning Yoshimitsu articulated from it.
"Your turn, Hector. We had a deal."
---------
It wasn't often that Hector found himself in front of a full-length mirror. Not since he ran away from home, at least. After undressing himself, he couldn't help but ponder upon the person in the reflection. The first thing that drew his attention were the legs. His legs. Long, maybe a little spindly, maybe a little too long. At the very least, longer than perhaps he had been picturing in his head this whole time. He took note of the condition of his limbs in general--lean, sinewy, uh, fuzzier. Oh god, the fuzz. It was everywhere. It creeped up from his ankles before tapering off at the navel. Of course, he had noticed the body hair whenever he washed himself, but only in a piecemeal manner. Taken in all at once, in full view, it was...uncanny. It was weird. Every nub of bone jutting out of his skin, every thick and thin patch of hair, every single peak and valley and fault line in his skin oh my GOD how long have I been looking like this?! And it just looked...wrong. Like a model assembled with parts from different kits, it just...looked like it wasn't supposed to fit together.
Aaaaaaand that's enough time spent naked in front of a mirror for at least the next decade or two, Hector thought to himself as he hastily slipped into the pleated, navy blue miniskirt he had picked out earlier. He pulled the frilly sailor top over his torso, slipped on the long white gloves with the scarlet trim, the matching go-go boots, and tied all the loose, dangling ribbons into something that could maybe pass for a bow if you weren't looking hard enough.
He took one last deep breath, closed his eyes, and finally yanked aside the curtain.
"Alright, get it over with, you snarky chucklefuck. Laugh all you want, c'mon, I'm sure it's absolutely hilarious." Hector rolled his eyes, if nothing else to avoid meeting Yoshimitsu's gaze.
But he heard nothing.
"No? Really?" Hector dared a side glance at Yoshimitsu. "Not even a giggle?"
Yoshimitsu was sitting with his chin resting on his hand, raising an eyebrow.
"Just tell me I look like an idiot already."
He blinked, now stroking his chin. "No. Well, I mean, you look ridiculous--"
Hector sighed, and shuffled back behind the curtain. "Yeah, okay cool, I knew it, let me just go back in here and change back already--"
"Would you let me finish for once?" Yoshimitsu scoffed. "You're in a fucking costume, Hector, in my opinion it would look tacky on anyone." Hector, with a distressed look on his face, began to scrutinize all the little details of the outfit, and Yoshimitsu scoffed again, massaging his head. "Alright, listen, Hec, just... Forget about what I think for a moment, go back in there, and look in that mirror one more time. How do you think it looks?"
With no more words to protest, Hector slowly turned back inside, and stepped back in front of the mirror. Once more, his eyes focused in on his legs, but this time, it wasn't such an upsetting sight. No, rather, in these vinyl boots that went up to his knees, it had the opposite effect. Red and shiny and sure, kinda loud honestly, but... graceful. The silk gloves, too, had the same effect. He turned around to examine the ensemble from the back, and again from the front, and felt a smile creep on his face as he dared to spin a twirl or two, the skirt fluttering and dancing around with his movements.
Hector turned back to Yoshimitsu, still in awe. "I... I see why girls go crazy for this mahou shit."
Yoshimitsu merely smirked. "Go back in and change real quick, then hand me the costume. Got any plans tonight?"
"No?"
There was that mischievous glint in his eyes again. "Well, you do now."
---------------------
Her name was Helen Mercury, or at least that's how Yosh introduced this friend of his. It had to be a stage name, Hector pondered, as she placed him in a chair by the ornate dresser in her room, reaching for a small bottle of some clear goop among a vast assortment of products organized neatly in front of the mirror. Whatever it was, that's what he was going to be calling the person with whom Yoshimitsu entrusted his face. She looked gorgeous, though. Had a face that really did belong on a stage, but like... She was a girl. Of course she looked amazing in makeup. So naturally, Hector wasn't exactly expecting the same results.
And through the whole process, that clear goop she just smeared all over his face, the collection of brushes softly dusting powders across his cheeks, all he could think was:
"Do girls really put this much effort into putting their makeup on every day?"
"Not most girls, silly. Only if you've got the passion for it, or if you want to impress a crowd of people for a living. It's an art, like oil painting, but with people's faces." Helen was carefully weighing her options between three different shades of blue eyeshadow, and four kinds of brushes. She settled on a shimmery midnight blue. "Oh, this will be perfect."
"Yeah, when you put it that way... I guess it is, isn't it?" Hector closed his eyes as commanded. Looking that good had to take a lot of work. Nothing he could ever see himself having the patience for, which of course, is why they were here. Being a pretty girl seemed hard, but maybe it was worth it. Eyes still shut, he wondered what that strange substance was, being painted along the edge of his eyelids. (Eyeliner, she responded. Now open your eyes, Hector, and try your best not to blink too much.)
Oh, god, easier said than done. The thin brush tickled his bottom eyelid, triggering a reflexive twitch that almost sent the brush right into his eye. Helen merely tsked and carefully held his eye open with her other hand, soft and immaculately manicured. She managed to finish, somehow. Then she moved on to the mascara, which presented a similar set of problems, ones that apparently Yoshimitsu found amusing from his seat in the corner of the room. Yeah, keep laughing, you're next, idiot.
"Okay, almost done here," Helen said. She held out her hand, with three tubes of lipstick in front of Hector's face. "I can't decide, so you pick. Which of these colors do you want?"
He knew immediately what his choice was. "This one." The ruby red. The showstopper. That "only girl in the room" kinda energy he was suddenly dead-set on radiating that night.
"You know, I had this feeling that's what you were going to pick. Fire sign?"
"Uh, I'm a Cancer?"
"Whatever, close enough. Must be time for your Mars return." And then Hector had plenty of time to wonder what the hell a Mars return was while Helen applied something called "base" to his lips, then traced them with some kind of pencil, following up with a coat of the red, and finally finishing up with a faint touch of gloss. By the end of the process, he sure did feel like a painted canvas, with who knows how many layers of stuff he only learned the names for today. She finished arranging the luscious waves of electric blue hair she had meticulously styled earlier, and capped off the transformation by crowning him with a golden tiara, bejeweled with brilliant crimson gemstones.
It was time. "Alright, Sailor Soldier, you can look now." Helen helped Hector to his feet, where he opened his eyes and gazed into the mirror.
The obvious reaction, of course, would be to say you saw a different person in the mirror. And to be sure, that sentiment might have crossed his mind at some point upon laying eyes on his reflection. But if one were to ask Hector what he saw that day, he would describe it more as his face coming to life. There were the eyes. His eyes, amber eyes, familiar ones, but luminous and wide like full moons in a shroud of smokey cobalt accented with a tasteful hint of gold, lashes full and feathered outward. His cheekbones--had they always been there, like that? High, angular, and yet so majestic, awash in the gentle shading of blush. And of course, the lips, making statements he never imagined they could make. The scarlet, highlighting every curve, from the double peaks of the cupid's bow down to the supple flesh of his bottom lip. The topography of his visage, something he thought he knew so intimately as to be second nature, was now mapped out in such painstaking detail, lovingly illuminated like a Persian manuscript.
"...oooookay, your stunned and prolonged silence is either telling me that you are completely in love with it, or that you have just made a very grave mistake coming here." Helen's head poked into view from the edge of the mirror, breaking his trance state. "Hector, say something. Please. The suspense is killing me."
"I... I love it." Three simple words, ones that didn't even come close to conveying the breadth of emotions that had just washed over him, were all he could muster. But at least they made sense. Better than, say, the amorphous blather that came so close to escaping his mouth just then. Definitely less embarrassing, for sure.
Helen let out a sigh of relief. "Oh, thank god you love it." With that, she loosened the rigor mortis grip on the brushes in her hand and got to work tidying up her work station, but not before allowing herself a few fist pumps of celebration. "Yesss! Let me hear 'em say that blue eyeshadow and red lipstick don't mix! Keep talkin' that tra--" Her moment of triumph halted abruptly and she shot a very uneasy glance at Hector. "You're... You're not lying just to be nice to me, right?"
"Helen, of course not!" Hector said emphatically, somewhat upset at the notion that Helen would second-guess her abilities, and most of all castigating himself for having offered such a milquetoast response. "You did amazing! I just couldn't find the right words to... Um, it's just that... I've never seen myself this way before, you know?" He shrugged and hung his head in defeat. "Sorry, Helen, I'm a huge fucking idiot."
The two were surprised by a third voice chiming in, one that seemed unaffected by the air of adolescent self-pity that had crept into the room. "He's being real with you, Helen. I've known the guy long enough to vouch for him. He only gets that dumbstruck look in his eye when he slips into hopeless romantic mode." Yoshimitsu casually breezed past them and assumed his position replacing Hector in the hot seat, but not before administering a light punch to his friend's arm. "Which is a lot of the time, you big sap."
His well-timed remarks broke the tension, eliciting a giggle from Helen and a deadpan stare from Hector. "Well, with wingmen like these, who needs enemies, huh?" he grumbled in comedic fashion. Still, the expert assist was very much appreciated. The two boys shared brief, knowing smiles before Helen began preparing for round two.
-----------
They stepped out of the taxi, one after the other, looking for all the world like video game superstars. Helen first, Helen the catwalk queen, Helen with the face that could launch a thousand cover issues. Helen in the velvety bunny ears, with the lavender locks cascading just past her bare shoulders, with the quicksilver eyes that twinkled like diamonds, with the liquid lips slick in hot pink. Helen in the neon rose, the body-hugging corset, the carefree A-line skirt billowing in the slight breeze, rocking shaggy legwarmers and platform boots with an assertive stride like disco never died and it was back to pave the dancefloor gold. Helen Mercury, the legend. The stone-cold knockout.
Next came Yoshimitsu, in his debut as the femme fatale, the heartbreaker noire. Yosh, eyes inked dark and bold like the wedjat, lips matte and onyx and denying the very existence of light and levity, will-o-wisp hair flickering upward in ghostly shades of blue and grey. The supersonic superhuman himself, in the spiked choker, the leather and the studs, the black-on-black in skimpy strips held together by a gratuitous use of buckles and straps. Yoshimitsu with the warp speed marathon legs, in the black widow boots, the dagger heels, the stab-me-through-the-heart already you cruel bitch. Yoshimitsu, dressed to kill... (himself, trying to make it just to the front door intact. Yikes.)
And then there was
"Hector? You coming?" Helen glanced over her shoulder expectantly. "Let's hurry up and find a table before Catwoman here snaps an ankle or two." ("I'm dOiNg jUsT FiNe hERE thankyouverymuuuUUUUUChhh")
Right, uh. Hector. The, uh, guy who's just tagging along for the ride. In the schoolgirl miniskirt, trying his oh-so-very-hardest not to have a wardrobe malfunction getting out of the car. In the gloves that were probably absorbing all the sweat from his gross clammy hands. Hector, cowering behind the oversized heart-framed shades, the sunset gradient tint, the deer-in-the-headlight eyes he prayed no one would notice. ("All that work and TLC I put into your gorgeous eye job and you're really gonna hide it behind those glasses? Seriously?" "It's a comfort thing, Helen. I've been wearing shades for so long I just feel...naked without them. You wouldn't understand.") Supreme King Shit of Fuck Mountain, in the dollar store tiara, who really went out in public dressed like a character from a children's cartoon. Who hoped he wouldn't spontaneously combust like last time. Hector, who tragically, unquestionably, definitely died that night. Yes, here lies his dead body, in the casket, being lowered into the grave. Here are his loved ones, teary-eyed, gathered here today to mourn the loss of an unfortunate young man, whose cause of death was listed by the coroner as a fatal case of humiliation. He died. He was so young. We can't believe he died. Hector, who is dead. May he rest in pieces.
It all started on a whim. A joke, a jest, an offhand remark about whether or not he could pull off those thigh-highs in the window. He never expected the guy to take him up on the challenge, but here he sat, on a cushioned bench, waiting for Yoshimitsu to come out of the dressing room. Hector watched as his pal's black, baggy pants dropped around his feet, followed by the shedding of his blue v-neck shirt. About two minutes later, the metamorphosis was complete, and the curtain slid aside to unveil the transformation.
"So? How do I look? Be honest," Yoshimitsu asked, leaning sultrily against the wall, trying his best to conceal the wobbling of his legs, unfamiliar with the technique of keeping balance in those high, slender stilettos. Those long, lace-up leather boots, conforming to the contour of his toned, firm calves. The black stockings clinging to his thighs, ending just barely at the middle where the tiny shorts began.
Hector found himself taking his sweet time working his eyes upward. The waistline of the short shorts underlined his midriff, the sharp contour of his hip bone exposed by the low cut. His eyes scanned the muscle, the bone, the taut skin of his friend's abdomen, until he reached the studded black crop top, slinking off his left shoulder. It was there that he had encountered the unfamiliar shape, the soft outward curve, the alien form of a pair of breasts over Yosh's chest.
"You really had the balls to go with the falsies, huh?"
"In for a penny, in for a pound, right, Hec?" Yoshimitsu responded. "Now answer the question."
But Hector remained speechless. Should he go for the sarcastic answer? Or was Yosh perhaps looking for something more sincere out of him? No, he thought to himself, this is a trick question. So it only made sense to reply with a trick answer.
Hector inhaled deeply, and finally, he spoke. "In my honest opinion... I would definitely say that you are, at least, in my top 5 for the most smokin' hot girls I have ever seen."
Yoshimitsu couldn't help but let out a laugh. Still leaning on the wall for support, he wiggled his hips and winked. "You're damn right I am."
And maybe that's what sealed the deal. That little gesture that pushed him over the edge, that sent him on a voyage of fantasies he never once could have fathomed before this moment. Because otherwise, he would have never let those words slip out of his mouth:
"If you were a girl I would totally get frisky with you."
All of a sudden the boundary between sarcasm and sincerity wasn't so clear anymore. Hector could feel every frantic thump of his heart pulsating in his chest. He bit his lip as he waited for Yoshimitsu to respond. And god damn, did it feel like an eternity and a half until at last, he quietly mumbled something along the lines of:
"...And what if I wasn't a girl?"
Hector stared blankly at Yoshimitsu, his lips starting to part, jaw hanging limp. This time, there was no coherent assemblage of English words he could string together to offer as an answer. Nothing made sense anymore. Not words, not feelings, not even reality as he knew it up to this very moment.
Whatever it was that he mouthed breathlessly that day, he could only guess as to what meaning Yoshimitsu articulated from it.
"Your turn, Hector. We had a deal."
---------
It wasn't often that Hector found himself in front of a full-length mirror. Not since he ran away from home, at least. After undressing himself, he couldn't help but ponder upon the person in the reflection. The first thing that drew his attention were the legs. His legs. Long, maybe a little spindly, maybe a little too long. At the very least, longer than perhaps he had been picturing in his head this whole time. He took note of the condition of his limbs in general--lean, sinewy, uh, fuzzier. Oh god, the fuzz. It was everywhere. It creeped up from his ankles before tapering off at the navel. Of course, he had noticed the body hair whenever he washed himself, but only in a piecemeal manner. Taken in all at once, in full view, it was...uncanny. It was weird. Every nub of bone jutting out of his skin, every thick and thin patch of hair, every single peak and valley and fault line in his skin oh my GOD how long have I been looking like this?! And it just looked...wrong. Like a model assembled with parts from different kits, it just...looked like it wasn't supposed to fit together.
Aaaaaaand that's enough time spent naked in front of a mirror for at least the next decade or two, Hector thought to himself as he hastily slipped into the pleated, navy blue miniskirt he had picked out earlier. He pulled the frilly sailor top over his torso, slipped on the long white gloves with the scarlet trim, the matching go-go boots, and tied all the loose, dangling ribbons into something that could maybe pass for a bow if you weren't looking hard enough.
He took one last deep breath, closed his eyes, and finally yanked aside the curtain.
"Alright, get it over with, you snarky chucklefuck. Laugh all you want, c'mon, I'm sure it's absolutely hilarious." Hector rolled his eyes, if nothing else to avoid meeting Yoshimitsu's gaze.
But he heard nothing.
"No? Really?" Hector dared a side glance at Yoshimitsu. "Not even a giggle?"
Yoshimitsu was sitting with his chin resting on his hand, raising an eyebrow.
"Just tell me I look like an idiot already."
He blinked, now stroking his chin. "No. Well, I mean, you look ridiculous--"
Hector sighed, and shuffled back behind the curtain. "Yeah, okay cool, I knew it, let me just go back in here and change back already--"
"Would you let me finish for once?" Yoshimitsu scoffed. "You're in a fucking costume, Hector, in my opinion it would look tacky on anyone." Hector, with a distressed look on his face, began to scrutinize all the little details of the outfit, and Yoshimitsu scoffed again, massaging his head. "Alright, listen, Hec, just... Forget about what I think for a moment, go back in there, and look in that mirror one more time. How do you think it looks?"
With no more words to protest, Hector slowly turned back inside, and stepped back in front of the mirror. Once more, his eyes focused in on his legs, but this time, it wasn't such an upsetting sight. No, rather, in these vinyl boots that went up to his knees, it had the opposite effect. Red and shiny and sure, kinda loud honestly, but... graceful. The silk gloves, too, had the same effect. He turned around to examine the ensemble from the back, and again from the front, and felt a smile creep on his face as he dared to spin a twirl or two, the skirt fluttering and dancing around with his movements.
Hector turned back to Yoshimitsu, still in awe. "I... I see why girls go crazy for this mahou shit."
Yoshimitsu merely smirked. "Go back in and change real quick, then hand me the costume. Got any plans tonight?"
"No?"
There was that mischievous glint in his eyes again. "Well, you do now."
---------------------
Her name was Helen Mercury, or at least that's how Yosh introduced this friend of his. It had to be a stage name, Hector pondered, as she placed him in a chair by the ornate dresser in her room, reaching for a small bottle of some clear goop among a vast assortment of products organized neatly in front of the mirror. Whatever it was, that's what he was going to be calling the person with whom Yoshimitsu entrusted his face. She looked gorgeous, though. Had a face that really did belong on a stage, but like... She was a girl. Of course she looked amazing in makeup. So naturally, Hector wasn't exactly expecting the same results.
And through the whole process, that clear goop she just smeared all over his face, the collection of brushes softly dusting powders across his cheeks, all he could think was:
"Do girls really put this much effort into putting their makeup on every day?"
"Not most girls, silly. Only if you've got the passion for it, or if you want to impress a crowd of people for a living. It's an art, like oil painting, but with people's faces." Helen was carefully weighing her options between three different shades of blue eyeshadow, and four kinds of brushes. She settled on a shimmery midnight blue. "Oh, this will be perfect."
"Yeah, when you put it that way... I guess it is, isn't it?" Hector closed his eyes as commanded. Looking that good had to take a lot of work. Nothing he could ever see himself having the patience for, which of course, is why they were here. Being a pretty girl seemed hard, but maybe it was worth it. Eyes still shut, he wondered what that strange substance was, being painted along the edge of his eyelids. (Eyeliner, she responded. Now open your eyes, Hector, and try your best not to blink too much.)
Oh, god, easier said than done. The thin brush tickled his bottom eyelid, triggering a reflexive twitch that almost sent the brush right into his eye. Helen merely tsked and carefully held his eye open with her other hand, soft and immaculately manicured. She managed to finish, somehow. Then she moved on to the mascara, which presented a similar set of problems, ones that apparently Yoshimitsu found amusing from his seat in the corner of the room. Yeah, keep laughing, you're next, idiot.
"Okay, almost done here," Helen said. She held out her hand, with three tubes of lipstick in front of Hector's face. "I can't decide, so you pick. Which of these colors do you want?"
He knew immediately what his choice was. "This one." The ruby red. The showstopper. That "only girl in the room" kinda energy he was suddenly dead-set on radiating that night.
"You know, I had this feeling that's what you were going to pick. Fire sign?"
"Uh, I'm a Cancer?"
"Whatever, close enough. Must be time for your Mars return." And then Hector had plenty of time to wonder what the hell a Mars return was while Helen applied something called "base" to his lips, then traced them with some kind of pencil, following up with a coat of the red, and finally finishing up with a faint touch of gloss. By the end of the process, he sure did feel like a painted canvas, with who knows how many layers of stuff he only learned the names for today. She finished arranging the luscious waves of electric blue hair she had meticulously styled earlier, and capped off the transformation by crowning him with a golden tiara, bejeweled with brilliant crimson gemstones.
It was time. "Alright, Sailor Soldier, you can look now." Helen helped Hector to his feet, where he opened his eyes and gazed into the mirror.
The obvious reaction, of course, would be to say you saw a different person in the mirror. And to be sure, that sentiment might have crossed his mind at some point upon laying eyes on his reflection. But if one were to ask Hector what he saw that day, he would describe it more as his face coming to life. There were the eyes. His eyes, amber eyes, familiar ones, but luminous and wide like full moons in a shroud of smokey cobalt accented with a tasteful hint of gold, lashes full and feathered outward. His cheekbones--had they always been there, like that? High, angular, and yet so majestic, awash in the gentle shading of blush. And of course, the lips, making statements he never imagined they could make. The scarlet, highlighting every curve, from the double peaks of the cupid's bow down to the supple flesh of his bottom lip. The topography of his visage, something he thought he knew so intimately as to be second nature, was now mapped out in such painstaking detail, lovingly illuminated like a Persian manuscript.
"...oooookay, your stunned and prolonged silence is either telling me that you are completely in love with it, or that you have just made a very grave mistake coming here." Helen's head poked into view from the edge of the mirror, breaking his trance state. "Hector, say something. Please. The suspense is killing me."
"I... I love it." Three simple words, ones that didn't even come close to conveying the breadth of emotions that had just washed over him, were all he could muster. But at least they made sense. Better than, say, the amorphous blather that came so close to escaping his mouth just then. Definitely less embarrassing, for sure.
Helen let out a sigh of relief. "Oh, thank god you love it." With that, she loosened the rigor mortis grip on the brushes in her hand and got to work tidying up her work station, but not before allowing herself a few fist pumps of celebration. "Yesss! Let me hear 'em say that blue eyeshadow and red lipstick don't mix! Keep talkin' that tra--" Her moment of triumph halted abruptly and she shot a very uneasy glance at Hector. "You're... You're not lying just to be nice to me, right?"
"Helen, of course not!" Hector said emphatically, somewhat upset at the notion that Helen would second-guess her abilities, and most of all castigating himself for having offered such a milquetoast response. "You did amazing! I just couldn't find the right words to... Um, it's just that... I've never seen myself this way before, you know?" He shrugged and hung his head in defeat. "Sorry, Helen, I'm a huge fucking idiot."
The two were surprised by a third voice chiming in, one that seemed unaffected by the air of adolescent self-pity that had crept into the room. "He's being real with you, Helen. I've known the guy long enough to vouch for him. He only gets that dumbstruck look in his eye when he slips into hopeless romantic mode." Yoshimitsu casually breezed past them and assumed his position replacing Hector in the hot seat, but not before administering a light punch to his friend's arm. "Which is a lot of the time, you big sap."
His well-timed remarks broke the tension, eliciting a giggle from Helen and a deadpan stare from Hector. "Well, with wingmen like these, who needs enemies, huh?" he grumbled in comedic fashion. Still, the expert assist was very much appreciated. The two boys shared brief, knowing smiles before Helen began preparing for round two.
-----------
They stepped out of the taxi, one after the other, looking for all the world like video game superstars. Helen first, Helen the catwalk queen, Helen with the face that could launch a thousand cover issues. Helen in the velvety bunny ears, with the lavender locks cascading just past her bare shoulders, with the quicksilver eyes that twinkled like diamonds, with the liquid lips slick in hot pink. Helen in the neon rose, the body-hugging corset, the carefree A-line skirt billowing in the slight breeze, rocking shaggy legwarmers and platform boots with an assertive stride like disco never died and it was back to pave the dancefloor gold. Helen Mercury, the legend. The stone-cold knockout.
Next came Yoshimitsu, in his debut as the femme fatale, the heartbreaker noire. Yosh, eyes inked dark and bold like the wedjat, lips matte and onyx and denying the very existence of light and levity, will-o-wisp hair flickering upward in ghostly shades of blue and grey. The supersonic superhuman himself, in the spiked choker, the leather and the studs, the black-on-black in skimpy strips held together by a gratuitous use of buckles and straps. Yoshimitsu with the warp speed marathon legs, in the black widow boots, the dagger heels, the stab-me-through-the-heart already you cruel bitch. Yoshimitsu, dressed to kill... (himself, trying to make it just to the front door intact. Yikes.)
And then there was
"Hector? You coming?" Helen glanced over her shoulder expectantly. "Let's hurry up and find a table before Catwoman here snaps an ankle or two." ("I'm dOiNg jUsT FiNe hERE thankyouverymuuuUUUUUChhh")
Right, uh. Hector. The, uh, guy who's just tagging along for the ride. In the schoolgirl miniskirt, trying his oh-so-very-hardest not to have a wardrobe malfunction getting out of the car. In the gloves that were probably absorbing all the sweat from his gross clammy hands. Hector, cowering behind the oversized heart-framed shades, the sunset gradient tint, the deer-in-the-headlight eyes he prayed no one would notice. ("All that work and TLC I put into your gorgeous eye job and you're really gonna hide it behind those glasses? Seriously?" "It's a comfort thing, Helen. I've been wearing shades for so long I just feel...naked without them. You wouldn't understand.") Supreme King Shit of Fuck Mountain, in the dollar store tiara, who really went out in public dressed like a character from a children's cartoon. Who hoped he wouldn't spontaneously combust like last time. Hector, who tragically, unquestionably, definitely died that night. Yes, here lies his dead body, in the casket, being lowered into the grave. Here are his loved ones, teary-eyed, gathered here today to mourn the loss of an unfortunate young man, whose cause of death was listed by the coroner as a fatal case of humiliation. He died. He was so young. We can't believe he died. Hector, who is dead. May he rest in pieces.