Another journal

I have a year long plan. This month is dedicated to writing.
This is set in the same world as The Devil’s Music, it’s longer, but there’s no good middle point so I’m doing a jump instead of posting it in two bits.

“Shove over Mags, it’s a blasted mirror, not your lover, share it.”

“Ah Torrie, I’d share both, you know that.”

The two girls kissed at the air and giggled, turning in unison to the vanity, lit perfectly on all sides by a spectrum of bulbs. A third girl, older by a couple months—enough to be eighteen already, which she did not let the others forget—lay back on a divan and slowly rolled a dove grey stocking down her raised leg, fussing with the seam. She admired her silk-covered foot as she spoke.

“Mags, have I told you how jealous I am that your father wired your dressing room? I’ve only got gas in mine, it’s horrible. I might as well dress in a fire-lit cave.” Satisfied that the stocking was plumb, she clipped it to a chartreuse garter and brought up the other leg to repeat the operation. Gold-red hair on her thighs glinted in the bright electric light.

“Oh, is that the only reason you’re here then, Eva, to bask in my technological mastery?” Mags met the older girl’s eyes through the mirror, smiling.

Eva dropped her leg dramatically, splaying her arms off the sides of the couch. “Hang it all, you’ve caught me. I’m simply a beast, using you like this. But, as you have discovered that secret, let me now confess another.” She rolled to her side, facing the vanity, her unclipped stocking dropping below the knee. “I’m here to borrow your crimson petticoat too.”

“Oh no Eva, not with your hair!”

“Oh yes with my hair, the colours will all go together when I’m done, you’ll be in absolute awe.”

Torrie made a rude noise and the girls all burst into laughter. They’d more or less composed themselves and Eva had secured her other stocking when Mags’ maid came in, carrying a tray of hot chocolate.

Jumping up from the divan, Eva took the tray from the maid and brought it to the vanity, distributing cups to the other girls. “Veronica, has your task-master Margaret given you the evening off, or are we going to have to sneak you out with us under our cloaks?”

Carefully applying cut feathers to her eyelashes with gum, Mags spoke into the mirror. “Oh, Ronnie’s done—if you’ve checked in with Mrs. Albert?” The maid nodded. “Well then, start getting dressed, Torrie looks about done, she’ll help.”

“You’re presumptuous, Mags, but correct.” Torrie stood and spun to face the others dramatically framing her face with her hands. “How do you like the look of your escort tonight, ladies?” Her fresh face now wore an artistically narrow moustache running like a pencil line across her full upper lip. The same artifice had been worked just before her ears, giving the impression of a full beard kept at bay by the most careful shave. With bobbed hair pinned back and the arches of her eyebrows delicately filled in, Torrie was the perfect impression of a young gentleman.

The others applauded, Eva and Veronica returning Torrie’s grateful bow. A tall girl, with broad shoulders and willowy frame, the illusion was spoiled only by the curve of breasts hinted at beneath her chemise. Acknowledging the evidence of her femininity with a casual wave of her hand, she added, “A strip of muslin and a well-starched shirt front should be enough take care of this.” Taking her cup of chocolate and sipping it carefully to avoid her moustache, she hooked Veronica’s arm in her own and the two began sorting through the presses against the wall.

Mirrored from Journal of a Something or Other.