|volte_face (volte_face) wrote in het_challenge,|
@ 2008-08-30 22:53:00
|Entry tags:||a: volte_face, f: final fantasy 9, r: promptbuilding|
FFIX, Zidane/Dagger, "By the Book"
Title: By the Book
33. Costume/drag kink
97. playful banter
Warnings: This is the kind of thing I should be duly ashamed for, but am not. Vague crossover, I suppose
Zidane pursed his rosy lips, batted his eyelashes, and, hoisting his skirts in both hands, flounced coquettishly across the room.
“Must we do this again?” Garnet asked, glancing up from the battered papers in her hand. “’Tis passing strange to see you come in such clothes, but it tricks the mind far more to see thee leave.”
Zidane grimaced, eyes theatrically narrowed. “I like it none more than you, ser Valentino, but I mislike it far less than the thought of our lady waltzing into such a house of ill repute.”
“Fairly said, tho more by sympathy for the house than the lady,” Garnet said, her free hand flipping in the air. “Shall we?”
Zidane closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and opened his eyes again, bright and flirtatious once more. He swiftly closed the distance between Garnet and himself, hips swaying all the way. “Don! Oh, Don!” He waved a well-shaped arm, the colored glass on his fingers and wrist catching the light. “My stars must fall in fortunate patterns, for long have I longed—“
“Desired,” Garnet corrected.
“--desired to meet with you, and now here we stand.”
“I’m afraid you have me at a disadvantage,” Garnet said. “Would you grace me with your name?”
“My apologies, kind ser,” Zidane said, dropping into a curtsy which coincidentally also gave Garnet a good glimpse of his nonexistent cleavage. “This is twice I am in your debt, for so kindly and quickly your companionship has dispelled the dark melancholy which has plagued my lonely days.”
He looked up through his lashes. “I have never been one to let my debts grow stagnant through disuse. Would it be adverse to suggest we adjourn to a more private venue in order to discuss proper compensation?” Zidane adjusted his bust line, leaving no question to what he was implying.
“Ser Estrif—“ Garnet began.
“Lady Nimbus,” Zidane corrected pointedly, tapping her on the nose.
“Th’art no lady,” Garnet muttered.
“Ser Valentino!” Zidane cried. “You are both a cad and an oaf!”
“And you are too bold,” Garnet said, “and that boldness shall be your undoing. No true lady would be so forward; discretion ought to be the better half of thy disguise.”
Zidane leaned into her, leering madly. “But would there be a man, and that man be the Don, who would resist an offer such as this?”
“Actually, that sounds lovely,” Garnet said, neatly setting her book on the nearby prop table.
Zidane frowned. “Hey, that’s not in the script,” he began, but then Garnet’s arms were around his waist and her lips pressed sweetly against his own, and after that point there was very little he wished to protest.
After fighting with the curtains for a bit, Blank bustled onto the stage, arms laden with swords of different shapes and a tattered red cloak draped about his shoulders. “Hey Zidane, which one of these do you think would suit my Valentino best and whoa, that is not in the script!”
Zidane spared a hand to wave Blank away, and then Garnet was free to explore the other side of getting her lipstick smudged. Zidane, for his part, was deeply appreciating the many benefits of improvisation.