Path of the Vampire forum

She stared for a moment not saying a word before finally reaching over and grabbing ahold of the garment gingerly as if it were some sort of venomous reptile that she was worried would lash out at her at any moment. This was what Pixie was choosing for her to wear? Girl sure did know how to take an inch and run a mile with it. Luckily for Pixie, Ny wasn't about to give up on this. She'd set her sights on giving her childe this and she wold. Even if it killed her. Which it just might.

Ever so gently she laid the dress out on Pixie's bed, not wanting to damage it. Pixie would probably think it was her attempt to get out of it if she did. She didn't bother actually getting off the bed just then, deciding to stay seated for a moment longer at least. Instead, she quickly pulled off her top, revealing even more scars marring her skin. There weren't many. There was the scar from the knife would that had killed her on her left side and the claw marks dragging along her lower abdomen from when she'd been mauled. Both had originally healed just fine only to later reappear after Pixie's death. Along her upper abdomen were two bullet holes that had been torn into a claw mark by the zombified wolf - the latter of which Pixie had been there to see, at least. The three scars almost formed a weird backwards C along her body. The only other marking was the telltale dog bite scar just over her heart.

Ny didn't sit there like that for long, efficiently finding the edges of the dress before lifting it op and dropping it down to slide perfectly into place. With a practiced hand she was moving to scoop her long hair out from beneath the neckline and then she was standing up beside the bottom of her childe's bed. She hadn't bothered to slide the shorts off yet, but she still had hope that her childe would realize how ridiculous it looked on her and choose something else. While it did hide most of her flaws, though not all of them. The scars from her right arm being severed, the claw marks going down her entire left arm and the top of the dog bite over her heart were all still visible.

She took a step away from the bed and put her arms out in a "see what we're working with" fashion before giving a strangely graceful twirl and then coming to a complete stop. "Really Pixie? This is what you want me wearing to go out and have a good time?" She wanted to mention how jeans would be so much more comfortable but decided, at the last minute, to just leave it at that. Something told her that this whole thing was more important than she really knew.

Having spent a very large proportion of her life in women’s changing rooms—the changing rooms of women who like to skate around tracks at great speeds with the kind-of intention of beating other women up. She is no stranger to scars and bruises, and though she hasn’t seen scars quite as horrible as Nyla’s, she has seen open wounds that are a hell of a lot worse. Hell, she has a scar on her own elbow from where her own arm was broken so badly that the bone protruded from the skin.

Aside from the scars, Zelda still has no problem with the naked flesh of another woman—and Nyla isn’t completely naked, either. Zelda is not embarrassed, and does not turn away. She watches with avid interest as her sire transforms from some raggedy rascal who looks like she could have come directly from some youth haven on the streets, into a woman of near epically dangerous proportions.

Nyla stands and looks down at herself, questioning the choice and whether she’d be able to have a good time in it. Zelda doesn’t flinch, doesn’t even stop to doubt herself. She nods enthusiastically, even before the question has finished being uttered. A pair of shoes are quick to hand, and Zelda passes them over—a pair of silver, Greek-inspired flats that she’d admired for the wing design, rather than for anything else, and which she’d worn maybe once.

”Yes! We’ll take a photo once I’m done, and you can see exactly how awesome you look,” Zelda says. This is how she’d gotten around not being able to look at herself in the mirror—she’d made good use of her digital camera. It was tedious, but at least it worked. With no mirrors involved, images could be captured easily enough. Zelda surges forward, then, taking Nyla’s hand and leading her over to a chair. She forces her sire to sit, while Zelda fires up a nearby hair straightener. She shoots Nyla a wink as she then rolls through to the bathroom to collect her various stacks of make-up.

She doesn’t want to add too much make-up to her sire’s features. Just a little gold to the eyelids, a little rouge to the lips, and some mascara to make those dangerous eyes of hers pop. As soon as she returns to her sire’s side she begins—fussing first with make-up, then with hair, making sure to curl the blonde strands in large, graceful loops so that they all hung neatly over Nyla’s shoulders. The finishing touch would be a few plaits, to make her really look as if she’s come straight from Atlantis.