Xora 3: Shell Game

by Brandy Dewinter

 

Chapter 4 - "Blondeless Ambition"

 

Something felt different when I woke up the next morning and my first reaction was, um, 'concern' that Titania had done something else to me. Correction: I could tell she had done *something*, but I couldn't tell just what she had done. After our conversation of the day before, I couldn't help myself and I squirmed my, ahem, tail on the bunk to see if I had, well, grown a tail. Titania found that hilarious.

*"Gotcha!"* she crowed.

"What did you do to me *this* time," I growled, reaching to see if my ears were pointed, or I had fur or something.

What I found when my hand pushed a swirl of hair into my line of sight was honey-blonde, not sable-dark.

"Dammit, Ti, I don't *want* to be blonde!"

*"Why not? Blondes are very well received in your society."*

"Blondes are a *lot* of things in this society. Do you know what the mating cry of the blonde is?"

*"What's that?"* she asked, and I knew her question wasn't really a straight line, but I gave it to her anyway.

"Next!"

*"What?"* she asked in confusion, then she 'got' it and laughed again. *"Ooh, that's -what did Tryx call you? - wicked! I like that one, and the horse it rode in on, too!"*

I sat up, or tried to. My waist was even tighter, which was no real surprise. Any excuse for a tighter corset was good enough for Titania. When I managed to get to where I could see myself in the mirror, though, it wasn't me. The woman in the mirror was even more beautiful than I had ever been. Her lips were even more full, her face more heart-shaped with an elfin chin and huge, almost-glowing eyes. In short, it was Tryx - or at least Tryx with even longer, thicker hair. Very, very blonde hair.

"Dammit, Ti, change me back. Again."

*"Would you at least let me explain," she asked. "Bee and I agreed to do this. It's a compromise. Your waist . . . "*

"It is not!"

*"Close enough,"* she insisted. *"And your hair. . . "*

Before I could argue with that point, too, she continued, *"Yes, it's Tryx's hair *color*, but your hair length and thickness and shape. So there."*

I pointed at the mirror, and couldn't keep the wail out of my voice even as I was . . . fascinated. "But it's not *me*!"

*"No, it's mostly Tryx's face, but you keep going on about how pretty she is."*

"Well, she is, but . . ," and this time, my voice fell to a whisper, "it's not. . . me."

Ti was not particularly sympathetic. In fact, she snorted in a most unsympathetic - not to mention unladylike - way. *"Like the other one was. Have you forgotten what you looked like before we met?"*

"Well, no, but . . . it was mine, or ours, or whatever. Me."

Titania's voice took on a little softer tone, and she said, *"Well, now this one is you, at least for a while. Actually, it's more of a . . . reference shape that both you and Tryx can use as a basis for variations. That way you will be distinct, yet both stay close enough to be, um, traded easily."*

Any further discussion - that's not actually the right word, but it will do - was interrupted by the door chime. I was too distracted to realize granting admission would be revealing myself - my *new* self - to the outside world so I waved automatically at the door and it whisked open.

Or transformed itself into another mirror. That seemed almost as likely, for a moment. My mirror image showed in the doorway, and if one Tryx in the universe was heartstopping, *three* were beyond belief. My eyes flicked between the real Tryx, the real mirror, and the real me so fast I got dizzy.

The shocked look on Tryx's face was almost worth it, but she recovered faster than I did.

"Lookin' good, girl," she laughed.

"Love what you've done with your hair," I managed to counter, regarding the now waist-length tresses that tumbled down her back.

"Oh, and yours, too," she replied with elegant condescension, then spoiled it by giggling. "You *do* like playing with your own style, don't you?"

Before I could respond again, she got serious and said, "That's something we need to talk about."

An arched brow and glance asked for an invitation to sit, and despite fearing I'd break in half if I bent over (*"It is *not* that tight!"* *"How would you know? You're on the OUT side."*) I motioned her to my sitting area.

"While you were having your head examined," she began, smiling to show sympathy and congratulations at my success, "I did a little research on Mordant, looking for patterns in those he picks for paramours."

 

"To begin with," she said smugly, "they all have excellent figures. Not all are as, ahem, blessed as we are, of course, but all are trim, yet shapely."

*"We certainly qualify for shapely,"* Titania snickered in my ear. *"Trim? Well, that's another story."*

*"Nobody to blame but yourself,"* I retorted, then paid for my lack of, ah, respect with something that was becoming as bad as the lockup trick. Maybe my new corset-equivalent was a good thing, because it stifled the gasp that would have followed Titania's hidden caress. Or whatever it was that she did.

Instead of telling her to stop, which wouldn't have done any good anyway, I tried to concentrate on what Tryx was saying.

"Most are, well, I guess 'adolescent male fantasies' would do as well as anything to describe them."

Titania snickered in my ear again, and said, *"You'll fit right in!"*

I ignored her. Yep. Paid no attention at all. Not to her voice, not to her caress, not to any part of it. My eyes started to cross for an entirely different reason that I just don't remember.

"There is, however, no real pattern of preference in hair color," Tryx continued.

*"Good,"* I blurted, but for once I was grateful for Titania's distractions because I didn't have enough breath for the words to be heard.

*"I'll remember that,"* she promised.

*"So will I,"* I promised in return. Something in my, well, 'tone' is funny for a thought, but whatever. Something in the tone of my thought got Titania's attention and she eased off on her . . . attentions. So help me, I wasn't sure if I were pleased or disappointed.

*"I'll remember *that*, too,"* she promised.

*"Be quiet,"* I demanded, recovered at least enough to try making a demand. Not that I expected it to do any good.

Tryx pushed on as though she hadn't noticed. "There doesn't seem to be a pattern to personality types, either. He probably chooses the prettiest girls since he has his pick of whomever he wants. Sometimes he picks on a blatantly sensual type . . . "

*"Perfect for you!"* Titania decided.

*"Better for Tryx,"* I countered.

" . . . . and sometimes he likes to, ah, deflower a, um, maiden," concluded Tryx.

"Neither one of us meet that criterion," I observed dryly.

"Oh, not literally," she explained. "Stars, that really *would* be unusual in the circles Mordant frequents. But an impression of quivering innocence is sometimes interesting to him."

Her appraising glance made it clear she was considering me for that role.

"I don't quiver."

"Oooh, girl, how can you say that with a straight face? All you *do* is quiver, and shimmy, and slither, and glide, and . . "

I couldn't help a little thrill. *"She noticed!"*

Titania answered, *"Like anyone could miss it, hula hips."*

Returning to the less opinionated party to the conversation, I said, "I most certainly do not slither!"

Tryx's giggle didn't really agree, despite her words. "Well, maybe not, but you can do the shocked innocence look a lot better than I can. It doesn't fit my . . . "

"Features?" I supplied. "Well, I've got the same ones, now."

"Not really," she disagreed. "You don't use them the same way I do, but we'll work on that. In any event, unless there's a specific reason to pretend to be each other, you'll be 'innocent' and I'll be, ah, 'challenging.'"

"Like hell!"

Tryx pointed to her high, stiff collar - and particularly to the emblems of rank. "See these pips? Wanna count 'em?"

"You're pulling rank on me?" I asked in shock.

"Yep," she declared unrepentantly. "Besides, you really can do that innocent thing well, certainly better than I do. Stars, if I hadn't found out about your boyfriend on Teton, I'd figure you were still a virgin for real. That 'my body is too sensual to control, but my heart is really sweet and naive' thing you do is just devastating. I'll have to practically throw myself at the target in order for him to notice me at all. Not that I'd mind doing that. That man looks moderately devastating himself."

"I hadn't noticed," I sniffed.

"Liar!" *"Liar!"* Both Tryx and Titania charged simultaneously.

Before I could defend myself - before I could figure out how to defend myself, for that matter - Tryx resumed her business demeanor. "Okay, we need to work out our roles and things. Ask Titania how long it would take her to change you back to your, ah, 'old' appearance."

*"Old? I don't look a day older than her, and I never - that is, we never did!"* Titania snapped.

*"Lighten up, Titty,"* I snickered, glad for once to see her being the one who felt . . . picked on. *"She means the one before this one, and answer the question."*

*"About an hour,"* she replied grumpily.

When I had reported that, Tryx said, "Right, okay, let me touch your hand and try something."

Holding hands with Tryx was not the most difficult assignment I'd had, but I was surprised when Titania started talking to me.

*"Okay, Bee says that Tryx wants us to work out some compromise things. Bee says that Tryx says she wants us - that is, you and I - to change to an appearance we can get to in ten or fifteen minutes, so we need to back up to our previous look a little. Let's go to the mirror."*

Tryx came to stand beside us, and it's a good thing that Titania was focused on her task because I'd have spent the rest of the millennium just looking at those spectacular images. But in a few minutes my face started to blur in a way that nearly made me nauseous.

*"Hang on,"* Titania ordered. *"It won't be much longer."*

I was surprised at how much change Ti was able to work in just those ten minutes, and yet it still wasn't really me. Beautiful, and distinct from Tryx, but not really me - except for one thing.

"Oh, good," I blurted out when my hair shimmered into its proper deep sable color.

Tryx snickered and said, "Oh, don't be so damn sensitive about that. Blondes really do have more fun, you know."

"Yeah, right," I said. "Blondes have it made. Brunettes don't have an excuse to act stupid."

Tryx's eyes widened, then narrowed as she took up the challenge. "Do you know what brunettes use for birth control? Their personalities!"

I glanced disdainfully at her legs and said, "You really should introduce your right knee to your left . . . since they've *never met*!"

I suppose it could have gotten out of hand, but Tryx's inherent good nature - and Titania's raucous hidden hilarity - made it seem suddenly silly instead of insulting. I dissolved into giggles and Tryx caught the highly contagious condition. She waved her arms in artificial surrender and moved over to the computer terminal.

"We better get back to work. I found out Mordant has a private moon not too far from Mistfall."

"Mistfall? That's the resort planet, right?"

"Yes, and if that's a legitimate question because you've never been there, then you're in for a treat," Tryx promised. "That's where we're going. There's some sort of festival there in a few days and Mordant always attends. We'll be on the liner heading there tomorrow. That'll just give us time to get in some serious shopping."

"Shopping?" I asked. "For what?"

"Clothes, of course," Tryx replied.

"Titania meets my needs," I declared.

*"Thank you,"* she said silently.

*"Thank *you*, Ti,"* I answered. *"One of the many great things about you is that I don't have to shop for clothes any more."*

*"I thought, I mean, from Tryx I got the impression that *all* women love to shop."*

*"Well, maybe I'm not all woman,"* I snapped, surprising myself with a truth I didn't expect.

I didn't get a chance to figure that out immediately. Tryx was adamant and her plan did *not* make me look forward to the opportunity. "Xora, dear, Titania can't provide the volume for girly-girl sweetness. I want lace and ruffles galore! Besides, it's *fun* to shop."

Oh, joy. Lace and ruffles.

We embarked on our expedition, armed with Jonesy's credit chit. It had crossed my mind that Tryx had decided I needed all that . . . complexity in clothing just because the volume would be beyond Titania's ability to simulate. Then I saw myself in a mirror in my new clothes and . . . well, it had never been deliberate, but I could see what Tryx meant. My, ah, uncertainty in those ultra-feminine outfits showed, and it made me look a lot more innocent than I really was. Really. Until I moved. Then, well, like I said, I could see what Tryx had meant. It was as though there were a simmering pool of sensual lava bubbling just beneath a delicate crust, just waiting to . . .

*"Whoa, girl, calm down. Now you're making *me* hot!"* claimed Titania.

*"Like you need any help,"* I sniffed, but I couldn't look away from the mirror. *"Have I mentioned - lately anyway - that you are a real artist?"*

*"Don't be silly,"* she replied. *"Do you think that *I* understand human sexuality well enough to craft something that beautiful on my own? I may be the tool, but I'm just building on what *you* imagine."*

*"I never imagined myself like this."*

*"Maybe not consciously, but the images were there, and so vivid I, well, you remember when we got started. I may have wanted to find a feminine appearance for us, but your own dreams were so powerful that I thought you wanted it, too. And like Tryx says, even if she took that call girl hypnodisk training, she wouldn't move as sensuously as you do. That's not me, either."*

*"That doesn't make things any better."*

*"Doesn't it?"* she asked. *"I would think knowing that this is - and always has been - part of you would reassure you. I won't try to explain it, but 'that person' is definitely you."*

*"But . . . ,"* I stammered, trying to find the words, *"I never, that is, the old Xora never was so . . . outgoing, so. . . so proud."*

*"I'll believe you,"* she replied. *"But I don't think you want to go back, do you?"*

*"Of course not!"*

*"Then accept it, partner,"* she suggested. *"Maybe you were suppressing a lot of things, or maybe your perception of your previous physical . . . limitations became self-fulfilling. Whatever the reason, I promise you, you're not diminished now."*

Though our mental conversation had taken only a few seconds, Tryx had noticed the lag if not the reason for it. "Earth to Xora: Stop admiring yourself and get a move on, we still have to find a dozen outfits before tomorrow."

"Hmm? Oh, right."

Eventually, we found enough outfits to satisfy Tryx's sensibilities. She insisted the clothes fit properly, of course. Or improperly. In any event, as tightly as when all I wore was Titania, except in the areas that ballooned out to billow with every movement. Other than the fluffy parts, it looked like I might indeed erupt right out of clothes challenged beyond containment by all that 'bubbling lava.'

Tryx got some new clothes, too, of course, and some other things that were totally unnecessary, but in doing so she showed me things about being a woman that I would never have figured out on my own.

*"That's hardly surprising,"* Titania laughed.

*"Oh, I know. It's just that . . . "*

*"That you envy her?"* offered Titania. *"Wanna bet that in some ways she envies you?"*

*"Tryx? Don't be silly."*

*"Name your stakes, girl. By the time this mission is over, Tryx is going to *prove* to you that she wishes she had some of your . . . experience."*

*"Oh, of course. Right after Hell freezes over."*

One of the reasons (among many) that I doubted my partner was that Tryx was so comfortably proud of her femininity. It showed in little ways that were both subtle and devastatingly effective. To this day I don't know if it was conscious or just something she did naturally, but she continually demonstrated the difference between *looking* pretty and *being* pretty. We were at a cosmetics counter, which wouldn't seem to make any sense at all. Bee was as good (*"He is not!"* *"Okay, 'almost' as good."*) at simulating her cosmetics as Titania was with mine, but that didn't stop Tryx from buying lipstick. Then I found out it wasn't about what color her lips were anyway. Watching her smooth that creamy gloss on her lips, watching them pout out, and then delicately rub together, watching was . . . intense. Her beauty was so much more than the sort of thing that showed in a mirror. It was a sense of self, a sense of glory that was pleasure too pure to need confirmation from anyone else in the universe. It was what she was, and how she looked was only the surface of something much more important.

I was convinced. Definitely. So I bought some lipstick of my own and started learning how to, ahem, 'use' it effectively. Unfortunately, that meant I now had things to carry around with me all the time, and for the first time I actually needed a handbag. Needless to say, once the need was established, we got several. About the only things we didn't buy were shoes. On that topic, Titania was adamant. In truth, I couldn't imagine manmade shoes - of any height - being more comfortable than what Titania provided.

*"You're welcome,"* she snickered.

*"That doesn't mean you have license to make them any taller! Even if they're, um, okay to stand in, I still can't walk normally in the stilts you make for me."*

*"You wouldn't walk normally if you were barefoot on a beach,"* she laughed. *"Not any more."*

Before I could say anything, she got in the last word with a declaration that even I had to admit was true. *"And you wouldn't want to if you could."*

When we got back to my quarters, Tryx's mood was as effervescent as ever. She pulled me from my distraction with an announcement. "I'll leave you to pack."

"Oh?" I replied, not particularly concerned with whether she stayed, but curious as to why she made such a point that she was leaving.

I should have known. This time, it was me handing her the straight line, or at least enough of an opening for her to get in her parting shot.

At the doorway, she grinned at me and asked, "Do you know what a brunette misses most about a great party?"

Uh, oh. Oh well. "No."

"The invitation," she said, laughing as the door whisked shut behind her.

*"Is she going to a party?"*

*"No,"* I replied. *"She was just teasing again."*

I'm sure she was. Really. She wouldn't leave me behind, not on our last night before the mission. Would she?

 

 

 

 

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© 2003 by Brandy Dewinter. All Rights Reserved. These documents (including, without limitation, all articles, text, images, logos, compilation design) may printed for personal use only. No portion of these documents may be stored electronically, distributed electronically, or otherwise made available without express written consent of the copyright holder.