Her eyes bore holes in Machia's face. Sweet, satisfying holes. But all she gets in response is a stupid, smug smile. She can't even grimace in turn; the bit and bridle take that from her. She closes her mouth around the bit with as much dignity and poise as she can muster, and flips her hair back over her neck as she finally rises from the table. 

She glides like a shadow across the room, not sparing a glance for her companion. She cannot help but touch her fingers to her harness straps, has to brush a nail across her chin to know whether or not she is drooling. She shudders, and straightens her back. If she isn't at least taller than Machia for this whole affair then it really will become impossible. 

Madeleine presses her fingers together until the motion feels smooth, and then she calmly and quietly reaches for the chair with her bra. Her neck very suddenly jerks to the right hard enough to make her stumble a half step, but she doesn't so much as turn around as she positions the hooks of the black, lacy number around the front of her chest. She spins it around with her neck suddenly pressed into her chest and wiggles it up until the cups are covering and lifting her petite breasts. 

A deep breath. One step down.

Her white, button up blouse is pure torture. Even getting the pearl buttons on her cuffs done is the work of long minutes and makes her look like a technician attempting to disarm a bomb more than a grown woman dressing herself, and getting everything done down the length of the ribbed, delicate top requires more retries than she cares to count. Her arms are jerked away from her once, twice, again, and when her eyes flash in celebration to see a finished fasten she is immediately forced to mutter around her "mouthpiece" and undo it when she realizes it had gotten misaligned and wouldn't properly fit her if she continues.

Even still it is only another five minutes before she has it to her satisfaction (she had to give up on the top collar button completely) and she tucks it into the waist of her black slacks and tugs back out and in again until it is appropriately flattering against her waist and hips, such as they are. She tightens her wide black leather belt and flips the thigh-length half skirt into place where the gold spiraling accents will best compliment her finishing number.

The long black coat slides onto her shoulders like an old friend. It doesn't matter that every fresh jerk of her reigns takes her balance. The steps she needs to recenter herself are shrinking nearly every time it happens, and now with her coat on it adds a pop of dramatic, flowing shadow to the whole affair that is very nearly enjoyable. Gold chains and gold thread form patterns of a flower on a light background of what might be gears, split across the two halves of her chest. 

She bends down to pick up her shoes. She glides again across the room and shoves the high heels into Machia's hands, settles herself into a chair nearest the door, lifts her delicate foot up and points as aggressively as she may.

"Yhh do th'sh pr'rt."

Her heart is pounding. Her blood is racing. Her ears are high and rigid atop her head. She has to force herself not to blush. She has to fight to keep her eyes calm. Is she really going out like this? Is she... is she really? She really is. Machia is [i]actually[/i] sliding her shoes on for her, clipping the buckles into place around her ankles and then pulling her onto her feet again.

"...Rhhmemb'rr. Sh'mwhhre. [i]Nnissh.[/i]"

Her ear hits her left shoulder as she tries to open the door.