Ch... ch... ch... Changes!

Tales of Jaycynda Ashleana and her associates.

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Jaycy Ashleana
Seasoned Adventurer
Seasoned Adventurer
Posts: 452
Joined: Fri Apr 02, 2004 6:32 pm
Location: Her ship, with various friends, or at the dueling Arena and Outback

Ch... ch... ch... Changes!

Post by Jaycy Ashleana » Tue Nov 10, 2009 1:32 am

Waking up the morning after the ball felt like a grave mistake. Groggy, he drifted in and out of sleep, various aches and twinges all over his body reminding him of what a damn-fool idea it was, flying through a storm like that. Still wearing the shirt and pants from his tuxedo when he’d passed out, his fatigue-fogged mind nonetheless registered a warm comfort from the woman pressed close behind him, her slender arms gently wrapped around his shoulders. In this hazy bridge between dreaming and waking, lying there, the pillows covered by twin fans of long curly red hair. What he didn’t know, couldn’t see, was that in the night during their exhausted sleep, what was his became hers. Her hair, her shape, her look. His clothing remained, as did hers, but in all appearances, twin sisters lay there in that rumpled pile of sheets and blankets.

“Mmm.” She nuzzled the back of her twin’s neck and scooted closer. A hand drifted across his chest and curled, to pull him closer. Fingers passed over an odd shape that it took her a moment to recognize. She squeezed gently on the breast – BREAST? The gypsy’s eyes opened, blinking, and she scooted back suddenly as she took in the sight. Red hair? Feminine curves? “What the hell,” she gasped.

“Psly?!” The question was sent mentally. She had to know it was him.

"Hrmmm. . .” His sleepy answer was quite audible. “M’still tired. Gon’ sleep s’more.” A hint of a smile crossed his/her face, still not quite comprehending the sound of Jaycy’s voice speaking with his thoughts and accent. Even the unfamiliarity of where Jaycy had touched didn’t register, other than as a pleasant sensation. In a typically male movement, one dainty hand slid down to scratch just behind the thigh after she’d scooted away. One thing kept his mind from drifting back to slumber, that insistent call of morning business to attend to that all creatures suffered upon waking. Pushing up from the mattress, blinking away the fog, fingers coming up to push away the lengths of hair blocking his vision, and muttering softly. “Where’d Tass put th’ fraggin’ bathroom in this joint?” Standing wobbly on two very dainty feet by comparison, he staggered drunkenly towards the door.

If she weren’t so shocked, her lips would have twitched from trying to hide the smile of amusement at his predicament. As it was, she could only gape at him. “Psly,” she spoke both aloud and into his mind. Perhaps the temporary block was preventing him from hearing her. She slid off the bed and moved quickly to reach him. She needed to be with him when he realized what had happened.

The gypsy held back from making contact with him, however. A small part of her wanted to see how long it would take before he would rouse enough to discover the change in himself. “The bathroom is to the left of the stairs, down the hall.” Lips did twitch as she matched steps with him but made sure to keep just out of touching distance. “Your hair is mussed up.”

Psly took a moment to deal with the hurdle that was a closed door, before weaving down the darker hallway, squinting as he looked around. Something wasn’t right. This hallway wasn’t nearly this big last night. Fingers again coming to scratch across a much flatter and softer stomach, before pushing against the door to that bathroom. It took a moment to figure out a distinct lack of lightswitch before turning to find Jaycy. “Y’know where th’ light is in ‘eah?” Odd, Jaycy seemed taller too. By a good foot. Spotting a candle upon a nearby shelf, he nodded at it. “N’vermin’, jus’ hand me thaht so Ah don’ miss th’ bowl’r nothin’.” In his half-asleep haze, he never registered that their voices were eerily similar. Almost the same.

It took every ounce of will not to laugh at the situation. She forced herself to think of the most mundane topics, like cleaning a bathro – oh, that wasn’t going to work. Instead she reached for the candle, thankful Tass hadn’t made the shelves too high for her to reach. With a soft chuckle, she once more faced Psly, the candle held in her right hand. “Why don’t you light it and I’ll hold onto it for you? I don’t want to burn down the Library when he’s been so generous as to offer his hospitality.” She couldn’t quite keep the amusement out of her voice when she spoke, and she had to look away for a moment to hide the grin. “I need to do the same thing, so we can share the space and you can hold it for me.”

He might’ve been half-asleep, but lighting a candle was child’s play, even for him. Blinking against the flare of the fire, Psly eased back into the bathroom, making room for her to close the door. Having someone watch him use the toilet. . .that wasn’t just odd, that slipped past weird almost into creepy. But, he couldn’t fault her logic, in some weird way. Perhaps he was simply confused by the amusement he felt flowing down their mental link.

She followed him in, golden flecks in her eyes sparkling as she held the candle. Normally she wouldn't have asked, but really, this was too good to miss. She also didn't want him to drop the flame and create an emergency that could be quite embarrassing. The door was closed and she took a lean against the wood. "I promise I won't watch." She even made a show of turning her green-gold gaze to the ceiling. Once he turned, however, she would be watching. The grin widened.

Psly shook his head, still not noting the dark red curls trailing over his shoulders, and turned to fumble with the fly of his trousers. Looking down, he froze. Unless something drastically stretched out the waistband of his pants, something was terribly wrong. And on top of that. . .something very important was missing. Shock starting to penetrate through the muddled fog in his brain, as pertinent details sunk in. Everything about his clothing was very, very loose. The countertop seemed higher. Hands and feet were smaller. His chest seemed off-balance, and last he remembered, he’d never had red short and curlies. And no amount of hair at the nexus of his hips could hide the fact that. . .

Psly just couldn’t help. . .herself. That shrill shriek was very loud inside the confines of Tasslehofl’s small spare bathroom.
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