Meranique de Beauchampierre
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| Meranique leaps to his feet, corset creaking as the sudden exertion stretches it for the first time that day. He reaches over for his fiery orange wig from the hammockside table, carefully positioning its curly locks so that they frame his face just so, then opens up his powder box to touch up his makeup for the public. Satisfied with the reflection in the little bronze mirror he packs his possessions up into his travel pack and makes his way to the deck, just in time to hear the ship's mate announcing the arrival at their destination. "Yes! Just as planned~!" The Breton was a bizarre sight. The dress adorning his lithe figure was of a construction and finery that could befit a particularly exuberant princess; a short crinoline and petticoat gave a flare to loosely-tied flowing fabrics that billowed and raved as the wearer ran, while higher up a lacquered leather corset and ruffled blouse produced a tight and tidy core, only for his garb to puff back out again for the shoulders, then cinch tight again under leather bracers. He ran on three-inch platform shoes and frilly linen socks. Despite the fine craftsmanship of the outfit, it was dyed in commoner's colors; reds and browns with a few stitched-in strips of yellow to provide accents in just the right places. And if one was not already convinced that the breton lad had strange tastes in fashion, he also wore a Khajiit-ear headband atop his cranium while making no effort to disguise his regular human ears. |