#transvoodoo

“Oh - Hiiii-” Calix reached out, siding over a towel to cover a bit, a little smirk on his lips as the other stared at him and all his pale self. “Can I help you, love~?”

transvoodoo 

Vi had just spent the last hour in a massage chair getting a pedicure. She looked down at her freshly painted toe nails. Midnight Black, was the name of the color. As she wiggled her toes back and forth she watched the iridescent top coat shimmer as the light hit it.

As the pedicurist slipped the complementary foam sandals of to her feet she couldn’t help but laugh. Vlad’s feet were so much bigger than hers, they felt so out of place on her body. 

This is never not going to be weird...  She wiggled her toes again, lost in thought as she watched their movement. It was incredibly uncomfortable; looking at your body, watching you move it and tell it what to do but to feel absolutely nor connection or ownership of it.

She smiled as she made her way out of the nail salon. 

Alright let’s see: massage? check. Manicure? check. Pedicure? check. New clothes? check... Oh thank goodness for his miraculous lack of body hair! Vi thought, unsure of whether this was due to excellent grooming or to the torture he had endured in his past. ...Well looks like there’s only one thing left!

Vi ran her fingers through the luscious locks of silvery hair atop her head. While Vladimir’s hair certainly fit his pretentious style, it simply looked pathetic on her.

Diiing-Ding! 

The bell above the salon’s door chimed, announcing her entrance into the shop. She glanced around at the many patrons, noting each one’s uniquely styled hair.

Oh this place is fucking perfect!

Leaning against the front counter Vi grinned, contemplating all the glorious possibilities for her new look as she waited for the cosmetologist to finish with his current client.

It wasn’t without some discomfort that foot fell past the threshold of the shop not far from the Circling Crow. It was The Dusk and Dawn -- somewhere she had heard of from a patron. They had not been talking to her -- but to a friend of details that were all but foreign to Riven were it not for a base desire that clung to the words the two patrons had shared. They had not been kind, but those words were not Riven’s concern.

“Hello?” 

The word was murmured carefully as a wrapped hand pressed through the doorway, and she squinted into darkness that was only so intense thanks to the light that warmed her back. It was a nice day, but Riven preferred to spend it indoors. The shop wasn’t empty, and she approached the desk with careful glances to those that filled the room -- taking habitual inventory of threat. 

22. A compliment.