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“I doubt any red blooded man could resist you,” you said frankly, “No man would turn down a girl with a strong center like yours. Or a head as fluffy.”
Anya frowned and stroked her hair. “Y’think I oughta grow it more? I mean…”
She was usually so confident about her appearance. “You don’t believe me when I say you look good? I have excellent vision. I’ll say that anybody who disagrees likely has poor eyesight.” Not as pretty as Maddalyn, but that wasn’t what was asked.
“No, I,” Anya stuttered most uncharacteristically, “Y’know. That’s not everything, right?”
“Of course not. You stand out. You look tough, storied. Decorated with scars and clothing alike. Well earned pride. Though I think if you’re looking for people who already know you,” you prodded her stomach with a finger, “We already know how good this looks. For some, a respect towards decorum is as desirable as that tone is. You don’t need to show everything you’re proud of. Besides, I’d appreciate you being in proper dress for the ceremony.”
Anya still seemed strangely uncertain. “Would somebody else like that better, though..?”
“If they think less just because your face is all that’s on display then they probably prefer men anyways,” you made a declaration that could be controversial, “And shouldn’t be somebody you should think of attracting. Anybody you do draw, I’ll be sure to judge them first. My retinue only deserves the best. A proper older brother’s role.”
That last part had slipped out, and Anya squinted, then smirked. “<span class="mu-i">You’re</span> the older sibling? I don’t think so. If anybody is, I’m the big sister.”
“You’re rather short to be a big sister,” you shot back.
“I’m older than you, I bet,” Anya said. Though since her own age was a guess at best, she could easily extend the range over whatever you said. “You’re an only child, I actually <span class="mu-i">have</span> a little sister.” She reached up and pinched your cheek. “Cute how you’re gonna keep all the chaff away, huh?”
“My pride won’t suffer less for you,” you said.