Page 131 of The Succubi's Choice

With a nod, the dressmaker disappears behind the curtained walls, leaving Katya standing there.

Miri counts down silently and gets to three before Katya turns to them with a raised eyebrow. “Cjell? Is that actually your name?” She asks.

“It’s the name of the body when he first met me,” Not-Thomas says, lazily. “It’s no more my name than Thomas is.”

Katya’s eyes slip down to Miri’s, as if she could convey how crazy it is, as if Miri hadn’t already come to that conclusion herself, but the Dressmaker comes back, his arms full of beautifully dark fabric. With a tilt of his head, he gestures for her to follow, and they disappear into the dressing room.

There’s a moment, with the overly conditioned air slipping over her, where Miri just...breathes. Leans into Not-Thomas, and just lets the time pass.

“Does the name thing really bother you?” He asks, hushed, voice so quiet only she would be able to hear.

“Bother isn’t the right word, I don’t think.” Miri laces her fingers in his, and he looks down at them, for a long moment, and she lets him pull together his thoughts, pull together what he wants to say. Gives him the space to figure it out.

“If...if you want,” he starts, quiet in this strange room, “If you want we can try to figure out a name.”

Miri tilts her head up at him, and he’s still looking at their hands.

“An actual name, not one that belongs to a body, but...to me,” he says, almost shy. “Figure it out. Together.”

A bubble of happiness bursts inside of her, and a smile crosses her face, so wide her cheeks hurt. “Yeah. That sounds good.”

Careful, always so careful, he leans against her, pressing his face into her hair, and despite the line of fire in her shoulder, she presses back against him. They have barely enough time for a breath, before the curtains swirl, and Katya steps out again.

The dress is...almost perfect. It’s a deep, dark, brooding blood red, the sort of blood red that shines navy blue when the light hits it well. There’s a strap right over where the scar would show through, and it hugs Katya’s body like it was made for it.

Which, knowing the dressmaker, it might’ve. It shows off her square shoulders, makes no attempt to hide the fact that Katya is strong. That she is deadly, even in a dress, even to someone much more powerful than her. It gives her the overall look of someone sharp, someone dangerous, and someone beautiful.

Katya falters, just a bit, when she sees the cuddles happening on the couch, but she recovers well. There’s enough fabric to disguise any movement, and Miri could easily imagine Katya hiding many pieces of weaponry in the folds.

“Good?” Katya asks, voice uncharacteristically insecure.

“Perfect,” Miri says, giving her a one-handed thumbs up. “Everything’s perfect.”

END.