>>5977465>>5977319>>5977275>>5977254>>5977221>+1 Arcana>Learned: Greater Disjunction“…Anyway, as a former ‘elven roommate’ of Pearce’s, I resent the implication.”
“Well I don’t know hat you DIDN’T ever do anything.”
“I did NOT—”
“Suuure, Tips.”
“Testa, I swear on all that’s holy and natural hat I will—”
“…Um, hey!”
Both you and Testa look up for your traditional friendly squabbling at the sound of another voice from the doorway. You gasp a little to see Costella there, beautiful as ever, but now clad in a stylishly sleeveless dress, dark cyan and white and with white elbow-length gloves. In one hand she clutches what looks to be a purse of the same hue, albeit covered in some sort of soft fur, while in the other she holds a detachable cowl or capelet of the same material in white—too hot for desert daytime temperatures, but no doubt useful for a Hawksong or Old maple Hill winter. The halfling assistants, working under Testa’s instructions, have produced a something at once elegant and, well, rather SEXY—cinched up beneath Costella’s not-unimpressive bosom, with the skirt of the dress flaring out and cascading won beneath it, it accentuates her figure incredibly well, and the colour brings out her eyes and suits her freckles, which fleck her cleavage, neck, and face like seafoam from the faint oceanic dress. Lace accents only add to the effect, so it becomes easy to imagine this woman as some sort of sea-born oceanid fey.
“Wow!” you simply say.
“Good work, girls!~” Testa hails the little women peaking out from behind Costella.
You go to your fiancé and, a little swept up in the moment despite yourself, your hands find her hips as you look her up and down.
“So, like, you liiike it?” Costella asks, cheeks a little rosy at the public display of affection.
“You’re stunning,” you tell her.
“It’s not exactly, like, a WEDDING dress, though, like you said,” Costella notes.
“It’s not exactly a wedding you say,” and then add: “Yet.”
Costella’s flush deepens, and she giggles, and you exchange a quick peck on the lips before turning to Nicolette Testa and the halfling women who have assembled to discuss their craft with her.
“We’ll have to hire this fine establishment's services again someday in the future, when we’re ready for an actual ceremony,” you say, loudly enough to be heard over the excited chatter of the half-dozen little women.
Testa takes a bow, and grins, adding: “We’re not done here yet, though. Your turn, now! Girls, strip him!”
“H-hey,” you blurt out, “wait a minute!”
