Friday
Picture 2
Muse Calliope's Choice: Picture 2
Title:
At the edge of the parking lot was an abandoned warehouse someone had converted into a Safe Haven luxury hotel. Croix had made reservations there for the penthouse suite and had a team of hair stylists and make-up artists waiting and ready to go as soon as Trinity stepped foot into the room.
First thing was for Trinity to employ a glamour that made her more human in appearance, turning her grey skin to a more human looking mocha. She contemplated changing her hair colour as well but ultimately decided to let it be; the mortals would dismiss it as hair dye or a wig and the Fae would just accept it.
Croix disappeared almost as soon as they past the threshold, leaving Trinity to the mercy of the beauty team. One hour seemed to stretch into eternity. The make-up artists plucked, plumped, and painted. The hair stylists straightened, curled and, ah, clipped. In both senses of the word. Some lady showed up with a selection of jewellery and put clunky, twisted looking diamond encrusted earrings on Trinity's ears. Another woman showed up with a pair of pumps; a glittery pale gold with a big clump of pearls dab smack on top and peek-a-boo toes.
Then, of course, came the dress. It … Trinity wasn't sure she had the words to describe it. It was white, pure white like fresh snow, with the poofiest tutu skirt (that's what you call those, um, mini skirts made up of gauzy layers, right?) Trinity had ever seen. The bodice was strapless and heavily embroidered with falling snowflakes. And Croix - or whoever - actually expected her to wear it?
"Yes," the man offering it told her, "he does."
Wonderful.
All dressed up and ready to go, Trinity inspected herself in one of the available full length mirrors and wanted to scream. She looked like a bride that had gone one too many rounds with Edward Scissorhands.
An awkward grunt from the doorway let Trinity know Croix had returned. She turned and saw he'd spiffed up too, donning a white suit and pale blue tie. He looked, ah, cute, sort of like a big cuddly polar bear.
"Comment dites-vous? You clean up nice," Croix rumbled. "J'aime the hair."
Trinity rolled her eyes. "Gee, thanks. You don't look too shabby yourself. Will we be needing masks?"
Croix held up two white eye masks, both of them decorated with swirling silver designs, and handed the smaller one to her. "C'est une mascarade, ma belle; of course you must wear a mask. Now, venez, we have a carriage waiting, a ball to attend and, enfin, un masque à trouver."
With a sigh, Trinity took Croix’s proffered arm and let herself be led from the suite.
Three hundred fucking years old - she really should have known better that to jinx herself.
A/N: To be continued soon!
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