( it's nothing, really, that he hasn't seen before. a statement that requires some clarification anyway: it's a lot of skin showing, but robin usually wears a dress to show the swan line of her covered throat and collar, and the bare shoulder blades where someone might imagine wings would be. her brother has never acted as her consultant in a fitting room. there, she'd be draped in the bare minimum while she's dressed by the hands of strangers. maybe sunday has overseen the process, watched as his sister stepped onto the stage with an immaculate smile like a glossy brochure. nothing really in the in-between.
in this liminal space, it's different β how it must feel like she's under-dressed because of where they are. the dark bodice of her dress drops no lower than it usually does, accenting the wings of her collarbones, the span of her back. and even the curve of it is covered by the fall of her dark hair... only broken up by the pair of ratty wings poking out beneath the long trail of her wig.
it's just the skirt that must be the problem. not so much a skirt than sheer cloth flared along each hip like an afterthought. her legs stretch long under that, covered up in fishnets and nylon that she must have put on as a second layer, like a self-conscious failsafe.
she wouldn't have thought about the stark contrast it creates now. she hasn't even noticed it. her milky skin showing through the rip of it high along her thigh is as glaring as a spotlight in the dark. but at this point, he must've seen fully naked bodies out in the open; this is hardly scandalous by comparison. )
I know.
( but her tone's softer, maybe, gentling in the artificial sound of birdsong all around them, eyes downcast but expression attentive. for her brother to show any kind of weakness is β novel, a feeling that doesn't dishearten her so much as it buoys her up, makes her feel like she should steel her resolve so maybe he could worry a little less.
... it's justβ )
... what will you do now, brother? ( that's β a new feeling. of course she's concerned, of course she worries for his well-being. she will wonder how he'll adjust, if he ever will, but what sparks this strange sourness on the back of her tongue isn't... solely that. ) I've seen others try desperate measures to escape... while those that partake in the Game and those that do not can become influenced to engage in it all the same.
(have youβ but she bites the inside of her lip, forgetting about the red outline of her lipstick as it smears a bitter taste on her tongue. )
... and even if they won't... everyone seems to feel that something... more awful might happen.
no subject
in this liminal space, it's different β how it must feel like she's under-dressed because of where they are. the dark bodice of her dress drops no lower than it usually does, accenting the wings of her collarbones, the span of her back. and even the curve of it is covered by the fall of her dark hair... only broken up by the pair of ratty wings poking out beneath the long trail of her wig.
it's just the skirt that must be the problem. not so much a skirt than sheer cloth flared along each hip like an afterthought. her legs stretch long under that, covered up in fishnets and nylon that she must have put on as a second layer, like a self-conscious failsafe.
she wouldn't have thought about the stark contrast it creates now. she hasn't even noticed it. her milky skin showing through the rip of it high along her thigh is as glaring as a spotlight in the dark. but at this point, he must've seen fully naked bodies out in the open; this is hardly scandalous by comparison. )
I know.
( but her tone's softer, maybe, gentling in the artificial sound of birdsong all around them, eyes downcast but expression attentive. for her brother to show any kind of weakness is β novel, a feeling that doesn't dishearten her so much as it buoys her up, makes her feel like she should steel her resolve so maybe he could worry a little less.
... it's justβ )
... what will you do now, brother? ( that's β a new feeling. of course she's concerned, of course she worries for his well-being. she will wonder how he'll adjust, if he ever will, but what sparks this strange sourness on the back of her tongue isn't... solely that. ) I've seen others try desperate measures to escape... while those that partake in the Game and those that do not can become influenced to engage in it all the same.
( have youβ but she bites the inside of her lip, forgetting about the red outline of her lipstick as it smears a bitter taste on her tongue. )
... and even if they won't... everyone seems to feel that something... more awful might happen.