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Practice Makes Perfect

Summary:

Enemy encounters aren't necessarily the only things a hero needs to practice for. Such is Ralsei's logic when he re-appropriates his dummy for some very important... training.

After all, there's no harm in a thorough lesson, now is there...?

Notes:

(See the end of the work for notes.)

Work Text:

Breathe, Ralsei, you think to yourself, you've got this.

You wipe the sweat from your paws, smoothing out the front of your best satin dress - the one with the lacy frills all along the hem and the beautiful rose gold trimming all around the black heart window. Dress for the position you wanted, so you'd read - and while you couldn't possibly face them like this just yet, you know that this would be the garment that would seal the deal... so to speak.

You glance over the rim of your spectacles at the figure stood in front of you - this stalwart mannequin has been with you since the beginning, a taciturn companion in the long, lonely days leading up to the heroes' arrival. It looked a little different now, however - since confiscating it from that shameless Addison, you'd adorned it in a rather fetching suit of armour, and you'd remarked aloud about how dashing the effect was. Over its face was a photograph you'd crudely stuck on at the last minute, just to complete the illusion. It's slapdash work, but looking at it now you can't help but notice your pulse speed up a little and your breath run dry.

God, if a mere facsimile of the real thing could invoke this in you...

...no, focus! Now is not the time to get lost in reverie, no matter how pleasant. You have a job to do, and you're determined to see it through.

Now then. You play through the steps in your head. First, give them a warm smile - nice and easy one to start off with! Then, you step forward confidently before raising your arms up... or is it the other way around? You briefly consider going back over the courtship manual you'd been reading, before realising - confound it all! - that you'd placed it back on the shelf in the castle library. Oh, conceited prince, who thought you had all the answers!

...you'd definitely locked the bedroom door, hadn't you...? W-what if Lancer or Queen walked in... or heaven forfend, one of the lightners...! You flick a wrist in the direction of the door, and your scarf obeys, lashing out towards the handle and giving it a quick twist. The gnarled oak rattles in its frame, but remains put, and you breathe a little sigh.

...alright, well, forget all that just now. This is just practice after all, it doesn't matter if you don't get it exactly right first try, does it? And so, with resolve renewed, you step confidently towards the mannequin and raise your arms...

...do you go over the shoulders or round the waist...? With shoulders you'd have better access to their face and hair, but a waist hug would increase the overall contact between you... but would that seem too... desperate? Perhaps a mix of the two, with one arm over and one under, would be best... more of a "good pal" or "bro" hug, as you believe they're called. But then, why go to all these lengths just for something like that...?

JUST HUG THE DAMN DUMMY RALSEI, you scream inwardly, and before you can object, you rush forwards, almost tackling the mannequin to the floor as you envelop it in a tight embrace at the waist.

You shiver a little at the coldness of the metal as it presses against you, but the cloth jumpsuit beneath is delightfully warm and soft to the touch, and you almost fancy that it pushes lightly back against you, as if responding to your gentle caresses. You bury your snout into the crook of its neck; sweet apple mingles with rich notes of chocolate and blueberry in your nostrils, making your fur stand on end and your mouth salivate uncontrollably. A shuddering sigh escapes you, electricity dancing across your extremities, flushing your skin with wanton heat and jump-starting your frail heart into overdrive.

You don't remember the last time you'd felt this way; so close to heaven you could almost taste it, the fulfillment of a beloved object returning to its rightful owner. You whet your lips with your tongue as you prepare to administer the coup-de-grace, your mouth a hair's breadth from its cheek, breath hot and heavy with the promise of eternal rhapsody...

'HEY RALSEI GET OUT HERE!' calls a terrifying voice from somewhere outside, and you let loose a shriek. You try and push yourself away from the dummy, but in your panic your claws dig into the fabric and pull it on top of you instead. And almost in that exact same instant, the lock on your door fails and in walks Susie, rubbing her shoulder.

'We've been waiting AGES for you to come down! The hell you been doing up... here...?'

You lock eyes with her, feeling like you might burst into tears at any moment. She sweeps her gaze across you and the mannequin tangled together on the bed, and you realise with clasping horror that you'd somehow managed to wrap your legs around its base in the chaos. The desire to sink back into the primordial darkness whence you came is overwhelming as hot shame stings your cheeks. For her part, she looks mortified.

'...uhh, should I come back later, or...?'

'IT-IT-IT ISN'T WHAT IT L-LOOKS LIKE SUSIE!' you whine up at her pitifully, knowing full well that it will do absolutely nothing to convince her otherwise. 'I-I was practicing hugging w-with the d-d-dummy and it... it fell on t-top of me and...!'

The dragoness snorts, and then falls about in peals of laughter. You note that the shame you're feeling is now tinged with annoyance.

'You... up here with that... I-I can't dude, I just...!' she breathes in-between attacks of bellowing laughter, holding up a claw as if telling you to make it stop.

'Susie, p-please...!' you say, extruding yourself from the dummy and standing upright with what little dignity you can muster. 'It wasn't that funny! ...was it?'

You stand there and wait for her to compose herself. You try to keep in mind that it could always be worse - what if Kris had decided to walk in instead? You really would have shrunk away into nothingness if that were to have happened...!

'Y-you're not going to tell them, a-are you Susie...?'

She looks at you, eyes still creased with mirth, jaws clamped shut to try and stave off the giggles. You realise in that moment that mere platitudes will not work here.

'...how many cakes would you like?'

'...let's start with three,' she replies after a moment, still grinning from ear-to-ear, 'and we'll go from there. How's that sound?'

...well, three wasn't so bad. You could dash those off in ten minutes, and you'd doubt even Susie would be able to handle anything else after that...

'Th-thanks, Susie...' you mouth, no more breath to articulate your words. 'I d-don't know what I'd have done if they'd found out, so...'

'Found out what?'

Susie's grin twitches again as you turn to look towards the door, almost shrieking a second time when you see Kris stood there, staring directly at you and the discarded dummy dressed exactly like them on the floor by the bed...

...nothingness it is then, you think, as you collapse into a heap of clothes onto the floor.

Notes:

*DOWN*

Some light, inconsequential fluff before the utter Horrors of Chapter 7 of Through Shattered Glass. I promise it's almost done, I just need to make some final edits improving descriptive scene-setting and tidying up some character interactions. Given how long it's been, I don't think another few days, or even a week, is going to kill anyone...

...hopefully.

Kudos, comments and feedback always appreciated! Thanks for reading :)

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