Steel grumbled as the small army of Lalafellians fluttered about her body like she was a piece of comb and they the bees.
Her new friend Miko, whom she had met in the streets of Ul'dah after her adventure with a certain baby behemoth, had talked her in to going to some Starlight Ball, and it had completely slipped her mind. Now, she was being punished for her poor memory.
The tailor could throw something together...but it would take time. And she would need measurements. It all sounded like fighting a dragon to hear the tailor speak...but Steel knew the fault was hers, and so complied.
Steel had no idea her form could be broken down into a series of numbers. She wasn't a stranger to fashioning metal around the curves of a body, but apparently fabric required a Summoner's level of knowledge of higher math. And also required her to stand stock-still while myriad tiny hands pawed at her body in ways that probably would make a fetishist novel writer blush.
The Miqo'te tailor tut-tutted, finger waving about at the Lalafellian assistants scurried about, pulling swatches of fabric about Steel's smallclothes form. It had been about twenty minutes of this treatment and Steel's face was growing darker and darker.
Another tiny digit jammed itself in to her inner thigh as measuring tape was rode up her leg. There was a pause. The finger stayed put near a place that only Steel had let her husband touch before. Then, a tiny voice.
"She has nothin' here, ma'am."
Steel looked over her shoulder at the assistant, her eyes glowing in rage. The Lalafell wilted under the look. Meanwhile, the Miqo'te woman strutted over, muttering. "Whaddaya mean she ha--....oh."
Steel's eyes looked over to the tailor. "What?"
"Dear..." ,said the tailor, lip pouting as if she was a disappointed mother. "You have no butt."
"I have no butt."
A nod.
"I'm reasonably sure I have one."
"Oh, you've something like one, but...not a substantial one. Not fit for th'sorta dress you're looking for..."
Steel peered over her shoulder, a hand resting on her derriere. She arched her back, watching her body move. Sure enough...there was something there, indeed, but her years of labor had all but chiseled the womanly wiles of her backside away. She had decent hips, but beyond that?
Steel's frown mirrored the tailor's. "So...what'm I supposed to do then? Eat cake for a week?"
The tailor had strutted back to the front of the Roegadyn, fingers rubbing her chin. "Well...at least you have an ample bosom. That's something we can work with."
Steel growled. This was going to be a very long day.
Her new friend Miko, whom she had met in the streets of Ul'dah after her adventure with a certain baby behemoth, had talked her in to going to some Starlight Ball, and it had completely slipped her mind. Now, she was being punished for her poor memory.
The tailor could throw something together...but it would take time. And she would need measurements. It all sounded like fighting a dragon to hear the tailor speak...but Steel knew the fault was hers, and so complied.
Steel had no idea her form could be broken down into a series of numbers. She wasn't a stranger to fashioning metal around the curves of a body, but apparently fabric required a Summoner's level of knowledge of higher math. And also required her to stand stock-still while myriad tiny hands pawed at her body in ways that probably would make a fetishist novel writer blush.
The Miqo'te tailor tut-tutted, finger waving about at the Lalafellian assistants scurried about, pulling swatches of fabric about Steel's smallclothes form. It had been about twenty minutes of this treatment and Steel's face was growing darker and darker.
Another tiny digit jammed itself in to her inner thigh as measuring tape was rode up her leg. There was a pause. The finger stayed put near a place that only Steel had let her husband touch before. Then, a tiny voice.
"She has nothin' here, ma'am."
Steel looked over her shoulder at the assistant, her eyes glowing in rage. The Lalafell wilted under the look. Meanwhile, the Miqo'te woman strutted over, muttering. "Whaddaya mean she ha--....oh."
Steel's eyes looked over to the tailor. "What?"
"Dear..." ,said the tailor, lip pouting as if she was a disappointed mother. "You have no butt."
"I have no butt."
A nod.
"I'm reasonably sure I have one."
"Oh, you've something like one, but...not a substantial one. Not fit for th'sorta dress you're looking for..."
Steel peered over her shoulder, a hand resting on her derriere. She arched her back, watching her body move. Sure enough...there was something there, indeed, but her years of labor had all but chiseled the womanly wiles of her backside away. She had decent hips, but beyond that?
Steel's frown mirrored the tailor's. "So...what'm I supposed to do then? Eat cake for a week?"
The tailor had strutted back to the front of the Roegadyn, fingers rubbing her chin. "Well...at least you have an ample bosom. That's something we can work with."
Steel growled. This was going to be a very long day.
