Étoile heaves a sigh as she stares at herself in the mirror. Her golden veil is a perfect match for her sparkling, taut bikini. She's painted her eyes a flawless turquoise and set gems across her nose just so, and the dark whisker lines she's drawn on her cheeks are exactly according to the picture she was given to work with. She runs the brush through her high ponytail and it glides through the strands as if through water. Everything is perfect. And yet...

She pivots on the balls of her feet to check behind her. The luscious black-furred tail Lady gave her oh those... actually, better not to count how long it's been, what's important is that it's inserted as securely and comfortably as she could ask for, and pokes through the special hole sewn into her bottoms just adorably. Her shimmery pastel wings are laced into her top so well she could trick herself into thinking she was born with them if they didn't have such a silly and obvious costume-y flop to them. Her legs are covered by alluring black thigh-high socks that have her feeling warm despite the cooler air and her skimpy outfit. 

She sighs again and casts her gaze her gaze down at her feet. It's no good. There's no way this will work, and it's all her fault. For getting distracted, and for putting too much faith in Marianne to protect what was important instead of... of... no. No. She could fix this. She [i]had[/i] to fix this. There's nobody else in all the world who would even try. Just a few more important details, Étoile, there's a good girl. This has to work. Please, let it work. 

She pulls the first glove tightly over her arm up to the elbow. It's designed to force her hand into a ball to complete the look of the ridiculous and embarrassing cat's paw at the end. It also needs to be laced up, and even though she still has a hand free she takes the time to pull the strings tight and then tie them with a simple knot using her teeth. She's more used to it this way for one thing, but more importantly she knows that giving in will only make the second one more difficult. It's an uncomfortable twenty minutes of effort, but when she's finished she's rendered her hands so completely useless that she has to bend down and pick up her leash and collar with her mouth. 

This is it, Étoi-- no. [i]lamassie[/i]. Go save your Lady. And, just... please, for the love of everything good left in the world, [i]please[/i] don't assign any Lynxes to watch them today. Anybody else is fine, just please. Please. There's no way they're ok with this. Right? 

She smacks her cheeks with her paws and forces her face into a silly, servile smile. There she is! There's [i]lamassie![/i] She nods at her reflection once, twice, and goes trot trot trotting off into the bedroom where she can hear her Lady being devoured by that nasty monster named Anxiety. 

Prance prance prance! She swings her hips with exaggerated enthusiasm to make her little tail go swish-swish and her wings flutter daintily. She skips forward with a sort of courage flowing through her body that even Marianne would struggle to find, and paps her silly paws down in Lady's lap. 

"Pweash, misshtwshh," she chirps just before spitting the collar out. She turns her face toward Tamytha with the best doe-eyed expression she can muster, "I, u-um... [i]l-lamassie[/i] reeeaaaally wants to go for walkies! Can we go? Can Lady take her silly pet to the gardens, please pretty please please?"

She squirms and blushes hot enough to feel near enough a match for Tamytha's own body temperature. Her veil flutters on her face as she nuzzles Lady's lap. Just as nice as burying your face in fresh laundry. Right?