RP:Dressing the Part
Part of the Seven Dwarves All Around Me Arc
This is a Rogue's Guild RP.
Previous scene: Enjoys: Long Walks on the Beach and Devising Dirty Deeds
Summary: With the beginnings of a heist unfolding between them, Leoxander and Eleanor prepare for their upcoming roles.
Beachside Villa, Rynvale Island
A worn path edged by beach primrose leads up to the stained-teak porch of this spacious, seaside villa. The foundation is built upon thick stilts that lift this island architecture only a few feet above the sand, allowing that ocean breeze to flow under the house to keep it naturally cool, as well as providing safety from a high tide flood. The interior beyond is simple: wicker and wood furniture, a short bar and bottle rack built into a back wall. Rooms for rest remain behind closed doors, and only a few exotic trinkets line the shelves. Large, open windows are dressed with the vintage, velvet curtains selected long ago by it's original owner, framing that paradise view of tumbling waves and swaying bitter panicum.
Outside, a shell chime clatters softly in the wind.
The old hammock remains, swaying with a rhythm to the neighboring water.
Eleanor couldn't sleep on that sofa for more than a few hours at a time, and eventually, she could sleep no longer. She untangled her aching limbs from their stiff positions and a low groan reverberated in her chest. At some point, she'd unlaced the borrowed corset, and it lay flopped over the coffee table. This release left the rogue in the short black skirt with the equally-black tunic loosely billowing around her. Despite the freedom she should have to breathe, she felt a particular tightness wind in her chest, though its source was yet to be determined. The rogue gradually pulled herself to her feet, and her temples throbbed, a familiar buzzing between them. Instantly, she raised a hand to her brow, finding the crown missing, and she drew in a shallow breath. Her eyes frantically swept around before the serene living space of the beachside villa reeled her back in. The cold blue iron of the diadem peeped out from her pile of desert-dusty gear, huddled together in a heap, with her collection of razor-sharp daggers, cursed wands, and definitely-not-sentimental rings. El fell to a knee, taking the crown in her left hand while her right curled around her gloves before rifling through the layers of equipment. Her full lips pushed into a reflective pucker, and her brow wrinkled around a gem as restless as she was. From her vantage point, she lifted her wary, hooded stare toward the bedroom, where the pirate dozed deeply, no doubt dreaming of a war-stocked galleon. In the warm streaks of late-morning sunlight that came in through a partially-open window, the spellrogue's features relaxed, her smirk spreading into a wistful half-grin.
As ever, though, the falter of her mask was ephemeral, and as she rose to her full height once more, El sucked in a deep breath and returned the crown to its rightful place, shackles for the gem in her brow. The buzzing only subsided by a few degrees, but it was enough for the woman to recapture some semblance of composure, raking her free hand through her mess of flaxen waves. She crept noiselessly toward the bed, or at least that was the plan until one of the floorboards creaked under her weight. Worried she'd been caught like the thief she was, Eleanor froze in place. As her pale green eyes fixed on her would-be lover's features, she held her breath and tried to judge whether it was safe to resume her sneak attack.
Leoxander hadn’t outgrown his old habits, not even months in the body of a beast. He took a sharp breath through his nose and squinted open his eyes to look directly toward the subtle sound of creaking wood, jaw tight and - if she noticed - his hand clasping for a blade he would usually keep in reach. But he’d left them on the table near her station on the couch. Leo typically didn’t afford himself the opportunity to sleep in, but the relief of comfort mixed with sheer exhaustion had him still in that same position where he hadn’t moved save to breathe for hours through the night and a few into day. His hardened, suspicious expression relaxed as he caught sight of her and remembered where they were, a strange sense of relief settling in for the fact it hadn’t just been some cruel dream, finally breaking out of the spellrogues unintended curse. Matching her black attire in usual worn leather pants and fitted cotton, short sleeved shirt, loose enough to not outline his blade harness still buckled on his middle, but it was tighter in the chest and bicep area since his frame had filled out since the last time he had worn it. He noticed the lack of back pain as he tightened his core to sit up, a rough hand rubbing across an eye and half of his face for a scratch of stubble already starting to grow back in, shadowing his jaw. One eye close the other squinted, he took the moment to stretch out his human limbs, arms raising up with fisted hands behind his head until his shoulders audibly cracked, then he dropped his grip heavily back to the still made bed. No real trace of a hangover, despite that it had been his first drink in a long while, his lycanthrope blood was prime to help several hours of sleep renew and recover the pirate. He actually looked healthy, if sleepy, calm enough in her company that his demeanor and appearance was not the brooding, moody bastard he had often been known to be any given hour, day or night. “I overslept…” He slurred groggy words, just before another noticeable sound revealed him stomach empty and eager, again.
Eleanor sucked on the inside of her cheeks, and for a heartbeat, her eyes widened. She could feel as much as see the panic in the pirate, and although she was poised on the ball of one foot, she settled back with an exhale, rocking on her heels. "Och, yer awake." Suddenly, her gaze was anywhere but toward Leo. The bed. The windows. The strangely formal velvet curtains billowing on the sea breeze. And then back at the wolf once more as she gave in to a crooked and somehow unironically earnest half-grin. Trading the gloves to the other hand, the woman moved a single half-pace forward until she was alongside the bed — within arm's reach, and yet something held her back. The spellrogue felt the ache in her chest bloom, her pale seafoam eyes stumbling over the fresh features of the wolf in the light of day. "Nae, mo ghaol, Ah'd say ye ur wakin' up reit on time." El's full lips twitched in a tempered smile. "But, ye an' Ah hae a helluva day ahead ay us." The rogue tossed her head, sending bangs away from her face, at the same time glancing toward the door. "Ye guttin'?" Her eyes swiveled back to the pirate, softening around the edges as she seemed to soak him in. It was almost like waking from a hazy dream, seeing him here in the midday light, flesh, bone, and more human than beast. "Ye coods pure use a meal …"
Leoxander decided to push himself to stand, since she didn’t take a seat beside him. He might have hesitated to do so to see if she would. It was like walking on ice that wasn’t quite thin but could crack at any moment, for now. “I’m guttin’... after we eat. I d’know she’ll have much. Doesn’t seem like anyone’s been here in a bell.” Understatement, as he stood a near full foot above her on his feet. “You keep callin’ me that I’ma take you back to bed.” He threatened lowly as he tried to help her bangs behind an ear, if she didn’t flinch away. “I ain’t doin’ more sand bird. We need a proper meal.” Particularly for the day they faced, though he’d gone into duty hungry a time or two before. “Barrel’s safe enough to figure all this s***e out. Wasn’t much goin’ on there, last I checked.” Then again, that was six or more months ago. Alright, enough was enough. That surface they stood on wasn’t ice, but it definitely felt like one might fall through, at any moment. He leaned in, cradled her jaw in a hand, and gave her a dose of morning breath kiss that was brief enough not to leave a stain. “Get yer things.”
Eleanor had to lift her chin to regard the wolf properly, and her lashes fluttered above keenly searching eyes, the edges of her facade splintering with his threat. "Och, issat sae?" she countered, her voice dropping to match his. "Ah hink Ah'll keep sayin' it then." But she didn't, not now, although, with the way her dimple winked, her lips clearly yearned to, and her eyes said it enough. Feeling his fingertips brush her ear very nearly swept her feet out from under her. She had to swallow, drawing in a careful, shallow breath, before she could even process the rest of the words he'd uttered. "Reit. Barrel i' is, then," the rogue agreed with a nod. She started to shift her weight, to pull away from Leo and turn toward the door, and yet there was no hesitation, no delay in her response when he leaned in. It was different than the night before — gods, was it indeed so recent? It already felt like it had been a whole moon since he transformed back. The desert palace was a world away, the past weeks and months a painful blur. It all washed away without hesitance, and the rogue had to swallow again, ignoring the heat suddenly burning in her chest and spreading up her throat. The feeling blended in with the buzzing of her temples muted, although it was still muted in his presence. Were it any other day, were they not about to take on their first job together, she might have issued a few challenges of her own. A brief glance toward the bed, and her lips twitched. "Reit." Before pulling away, before allowing Leo to pull away, her left hand sought his blade holster, hooking a finger around it to keep the pirate in place. She intended to reap the benefits of their new status, whatever they might call it, a beat longer. There was no slaking her thirst, yet still, she withdrew, pivoting around on the ball of her foot to wander off in search of her boots.
Leoxander went on the hunt to borrow some supplies, whatever he could find, from what Lita might have left stocked. A moment taken in the washroom to rinse the taste from his mouth and splash some water on his face, and he grimaced at the reflection that reminded him of his hair, overgrown and twisted together in places, something he’d have to take a blade to, eventually. Retrieving his own boots, he took a seat where she had slept, pulled them on, laced them up with a combat tie, wrapped around the back of his heel and pulled forward again to secure. His feet immediately felt heavy, having gone without the weight of that tractioned footwear for quite some time, but he just raised his brows and tilted his head to himself and grasped the steel twins from the table once his shirt was lifted to his chest. As he stood, a hint of a natural and unintended flourish twisted them back to fit into holsters, and he peeled down his shirt with a sidelong glance in Eleanor’s direction, mostly to see if she was so bold as to lace up that corset, again. Returning to a satchel of worn black leather to match some of his unchanging attire, he scoured through some cabinets, packing a small tin can or two from one nook, some bandages and first aid from another, what little there was to steal. Eleanor’s liquor, if she had not already collected it, and finally, the towel they had used mostly dry, now, was shoved in to remove the most obvious evidence of their stay. Shouldering the reasonably heavy pack without trouble, he gave the familiar villa one last look before heading to the door to wait until she was ready, allowing her to exit first before he jarred the lock back into place behind them.
Eleanor collected her boots in the same hand she pinched her gloves but tossed both onto the table in the space Leo's blades had occupied. She returned to the heap of her desert accouterments, a smirk pulling at her lips as she set aside the mask and sorted through the remainder. She began strapping her own daggers alongside either hip — just barely hidden by the layers of the black skirt she'd 'borrowed' — another along the small of her back, parallel to her spine. El set the fourth blade next to the mask on the nearby table. Her fingers lingered on the weapon's handle, padding out a pensive rhythm before she patted it and resumed her routine. She pulled a wide leather belt out of the pile, tossing it toward the mask and weapon before straightening to her full height. Her gaze slanted dubiously toward the corset, but soon her full lips twisted into a self-satisfied grin. Donning the corset with more comfort, as if finally sinking into the role she was building in her head, her dextrous fingers tugged the lacings to their limit. At that point, she pulled at the black blouse to loosen it a bit around the corset's edges. Eleanor took the belt around her hips, over the corset as it flared around her figure, before slipping her fingers into the enchanted pockets lining the soft, runed leather. The spellrogue pulled a fragile glass vial from the belt, although it didn't appear to have any pouches attached to it. She quickly uncorked it and dumped the contents into her hand.
Out came a charcoal-like powder, which the rogue rubbed urgently between her palms. The rogue uttered a short litany in D'Vainese; the powder crackled in response, scintillating between her hands. She raked both hands through her flaxen hair, and as she did so, the tousled waves turned the color of nightfall, more refined in how the curls fell around her shoulders. As if the process was one she'd done a hundred times by now — and maybe she had — she stuffed the empty vial back into her belt and withdrew another. This contained a milky paste, which she dabbed delicately along her jaw, where it glistened briefly before fading into her skin, along with most of her more magical-looking tattoos. Even her gem and the iron crown were camouflaged by whatever enchanted paste she had applied. Returning the second empty vial to her belt, she hastily pulled on her boots, gloves, and bunched up the desert clothes as much as possible before they, too, were hidden in her belt. The mask was tied like a scarf around her neck, concealing the disclike medallion Leo no doubt would recognize. Despite the subtle and some not-so-subtle changes to her appearance, her eyes remained their pale green when she at last sought out the pirate at the door. Doing her best to forsake the more husky, rolled speech she was used to, she offered up a cheeky grin and asked almost rhetorically. "How do I look?"
Leoxander had finished his own task in time to see the last bit of her potion application, but the shape of her waist in that colorfully laced article of ‘clothing’ proved a decent distraction. As impressive as those onyx locks and suitably matched attire was, along with the lack of blue runes betraying her identity, he managed to conceal most of his surprise as he heard her tone alter in pitch, as well as some of her thick accent abandoned. Try as he might, he couldn’t hide the full fledged smirk she pulled onto his expression, and his eyes roamed over her, down to her boots and back to her forehead, which he risked a touch with his thumb to see if the disguise was only an illusion to the eyes. Should she allow him to do so, there might be a very faint flicker of light through the pulled black fabric at the center of his chest. “Like I should start callin’ you Crow instead of Fox.” He answered with his usual drawl, pushing the door with a shoulder to clear passage. That same hand was then offered with a gesture to take the desert attire she’d tucked away, to add to the weight of his pack and carry it for her. As she passed, he gave into her loaded question with a second statement under his breath. “If only I didn’t prefer blondes.” Hopefully she didn’t put one of those blades tucked away into use when she felt his large hand firmly catch a smack below the belt that harnessed more than just steel weaponry.
Eleanor's grin spread as she watched Leo move through a series of reactions and made no move to shirk his touch. She could feel his thumb brush the gem, and she sucked in a breath through her teeth. If the paste worked, hopefully, he would feel only skin. However, with the way her magic wanted to behave lately — especially around Leo — she would be saving her bets for a sure thing. At the flash of light, it was all-too-easy to lower her gaze and her guard, ruminating on the possibilities that were hiding in the shadow of his lapel. "Crow, hm?" It was difficult to return her seafoam stare aloft on the flip side, to fixate on the pirate's features rather than the mysteries below. As the name played around in her head a beat, her brow lifted. "Not … Rona?" Pressing her tongue against the back of her teeth, a smirk ghosted her mouth, and she moved toward the door. She didn't see any need to hand over the desert gear; the belt held more than. What she did see to, however, was sending the wolf a sparkling eye as she passed him. With his hand a brand on her, her thoughts danced back to the royal wedding, and more particularly, the rush they felt afterward. "If I remember correctly," her words trailed off as she stepped out. "You ha' no issue with this look the first time."
Leoxander felt the memories wash in. The stain of red dye as she rinsed his hair, the uncomfortable and ridiculous coat that she buttoned him into and fixed his frills. The bulbous nose that put his large nose to size shame. And her, in that elegant gown, the convenient distraction that aided the height. The dump of loot on the bed and and the elation that came with a swim in jewels and coin. Then… well, he tried not to drift too far into those visions of the past. “Kept the crown, y’know.” Once the door was secured behind them, he hastened down the steps to catch up to her side, adjusting his satchel behind his shoulder blade. “You think she’d bother with eyes on me? Been out of the scene a while, and far as she knows we ain’t exactly on speakin’ terms. But if she sees me with some black-haired broad it might raise flags.” The term kept that mischievous smirk hinted as he glanced over her way. “I don’t think we should split up unless we don’t have a choice, but I hadn’t planned on bringing the red head outta his grave.” The dock creaked just a bit under the weight of his boots as they headed toward the empty, shady streets of that oceanside settlement, keeping his senses alert for any other sign of life.
Eleanor paused on the deck to regard her partner, edgewise. "Ye kept it?" A strange expression crossed her face, but whatever ironic reservations the once-queen held about the trophy were disregarded as they left the villa, especially as the topic turned toward the Oracle. "Aye," she confessed quietly. "Don't think she ever stopped." The same could be said for the spellrogue, but she doubted now was the time or place to mention her own stalker leanings. "But, if my source is t' be troosted — she doesna' come here, no' if she can help it." She shook her head as they turned down the path. "If we see her — weel, it will na' be her." Her hands found the edge of her corset, and she gave the material a tug, readjusting it and her belt for lack of something better to do with the restless limbs. Any speech about the witch in public, and she could almost feel the tiny hairs on the back of her neck stand up. Her gaze went past her shoulder, toward the villa, then back toward Leo askew. "At least, fur now." She agreed with his words, her chin angling downward in a few thoughtful nods. "Dornt ye farsh," she added, letting her voice drop a few degrees as she slipped back into more comfortable tongues. "We ha' a few days 'fore …" El's attention swiveled ahead of them, and she lifted her chin, perhaps in defiance of their enemy's far reach. "Today is all we need."