Markus made a purring noise in his throat and took the garment from the tailor greedily. He unfolded it, and put it on rather quickly, getting the hang of the thing without needing too much looking or coaching. It was very nearly a gown, longer than a traditional tunic, shorter than a dress. It was backless, with a bit that fastened around high up his neck, and flowed over his chest. At the waist, on either side, there was an asymmetrical triangular split. Without wearing trousers, his long legs were exposed from the waist down. The fabric artfully concealed his groin and backside. Fortunately, the tailor seemed to know that Markus needed to look respectable, and had put together a pair of inky black pants that fit him like a second skin. Markus danced in place, then slipped his feet into the thigh high royal blue boots that had somehow appeared just for him.
A wing-stretch, gather all his hair to one side, do a regular stretch, and he was ready.
Except not.
"I need to accessorize. Excuse me, sweetness, tailor."
He was already covering ground, gliding to the door with his effortlessly graceful gait.
"Oh, keep the tailor on staff. I like him."
And he was gone, ready to throw on all the bits of beautiful gold he could find.
A wing-stretch, gather all his hair to one side, do a regular stretch, and he was ready.
Except not.
"I need to accessorize. Excuse me, sweetness, tailor."
He was already covering ground, gliding to the door with his effortlessly graceful gait.
"Oh, keep the tailor on staff. I like him."
And he was gone, ready to throw on all the bits of beautiful gold he could find.
