Work Text:
“Alright, kid, what’re you thinking?” Stanley asked.
In the two open palettes on the ground, squares perfectly spaced apart, Suika roved her eyes on joyous pinks and warm reds, cool blues and peaceful greens, shimmering golds and metallic silvers, sunny yellows and neutral browns, without forgetting the ivories and ravens. In the box dedicated to all things lip-related, sticks and pencils in nuances that would make a rainbow jealous were arranged with military precision, back straight and saluting, ready for action.
Before, she’d never seen him with anything other than his daily eyeliner, mascara, and lipstick, thus concluding that he wasn’t interested in other products. Her assumptions were proven dead wrong a couple months ago when he entered the venue hosting the Medusa Research Facility Inauguration Gala dressed to-the-nines with the make-up to match.
The outer half of his eyelids were steeped in a deep, glittery violet, the edges flared out to give a wispy smoke-like effect along his crease. As it progressed along his eye, the colour lightened to an iris purple in the same shade as his mouth, then blended expertly into a sparkling gold once it reached the inner corners. The coal saturating his upper and lower lash lines was thicker than usual and finished in a crisp wing, tracing the limits of the purple both above and below, the eyeshadow pairing extending to the underside of his eyes for balance. His long lashes, curled to perfection and coated in obsidian, framed his rich amber eyes while his perfectly styled golden hair only shone brighter next to the dark-toned design. Dressed in a formal suit, Suika had thought he looked more beautiful than ever, a sentiment that was clearly shared by other attendees whose awed whispers and captivated stares followed him as he crossed the room — even Xeno couldn’t fully hide his wonder as the sniper took his seat next to him at their table. Hushed under the sound of Ryusui’s speech, her ears had caught him quietly complimenting his husband’s elegance, the latter shooting him a loving smile in return.
Observation: People wear make-up.
Perhaps that was the moment that had switched her distant interest in make-up into an active curiosity… Since Ishigami Village did not have any — only ceremonial face-painting during cultural celebrations — she was first introduced to it on their voyage to America. In hindsight, it was a little embarrassing how she thought that Luna’s glossy red lips, light pink eyelids, and glowing cheekbones were natural (it looked so subtle!), but she was soon corrected when she caught their new friend topping up her lips with a coloured cylinder in the reflection of one of the boat’s windows. In contrast, Stanley’s makeup had looked so bold, almost aggressive (but she was terrified of him back then), when his face emerged from his helmet, the razor-sharp black slicing across his eyes and unnatural purple stamped on his mouth like a challenge. It was clear that their intentions were different: where Luna smartly complemented her features to capture attention, Stanley dictated it by brazenly sculpting the look he wanted.
During their world tour, she came to see just how universal cosmetics (and by extension, body art) were. In each of the newly-established cities, traditional methods of production were started up soon after all the survival necessities were secured, ranking similarly to sports and music in people’s list of priorities. In Mumbai, she was dazzled by the way women mixed charcoal or soot in clarified butter and fragrant oils to create a black pigment to swatch on their faces; she helped crush the dried henna leaves into a powder before it was mixed with water and sugar to form a smooth consistency and left aside to ferment for a few days. A week later, her eyes were constantly distracted by the intricate drawings of spirals, flowers, leaves, and lines expertly drawn onto the back of her hands, the rich brown snaking up her fingers in loops and diamonds that made every grabbing action feel dainty and dignified.
Question: Why do people wear make-up? For oneself? For others?
But now, sat crossed-legged on the floor of the Snyder-Wingfield living room, Suika didn’t have a clue where to start.
“You got somethin’ to do after this, right?” Stanley’s voice cut through her indecision.
“Mm-hm, Suika is having a picnic with the girls in the sunflower field after this! Yuzuriha made me a summer yukata to wear specifically for it!” she exclaimed.
“What colour is it?”
“Black with red flowers on it.”
“Which red?” he asked with a vague gesture to the palettes.
She pointed to the one labelled ‘ve-ne-tian red’.
“I can work with that,” he stated with his characteristic confidence.
She gave one last bemused look at the eyeshadows and tore her eyes away to face him.
“Okay!” she exclaimed, grinning wide.
He plucked a small tube out of the box and shuffled closer.
Hypothesis: Wearing make-up yourself and admiring it on someone else are two entirely different experiences.
After disinfecting his hands, Stanley squeezed a tiny amount of product on his ring finger. Despite the roughness of the callouses on his fingertips, his touch was gentle as he patted the cool cream on her eyelids and cheekbones.
“What is that?” she asked.
“Primer. Makes sure the shadow and liner stays nice n’ neat on your eyes.”
Suika hummed and stole an impatient glimpse of her reflection in the small mirror.
“Gotta have a nice base before you do anything, kid,” he snorted in amusement, picking up one of the innumerable brushes in his kit.
Experiment: Get your make-up done to compare impressions.
She smiled shyly and obediently let his fingers guide her face into position. The hairs on the brush were soft against her skin even if the circular movements tickled beneath her brow bone. He was buffing a colour she hadn’t seen on the outer corner of her left eye when she spoke up.
“Did you have this many colours in the old world?”
“More or less,” Stanley replied, “but I really only stuck to the cool tones and neutrals for eye stuff. I even told Xeno I didn’t need all the colours this time round but that arrogant ass only listens to himself sometimes. Though I did have a sweet lipstick collection.”
“Was purple always your favourite?”
“Purple is the Doc’s favourite,” he emphasised with enough mirth in his tone that she could feel him smirking from behind her closed eyes, “look at me.”
“Did you start wearing make-up for Xeno?” she asked as he studied her lid then told her to close it once more.
The question was a bit embarrassing but her curiosity was too great. He switched to a smaller brush, dipped it in his palette, and started patting her middle eye.
“Yes and no. I was interested before I met him; he just made me feel like it wasn’t stupid to explore it.”
Suika knew she was naive in many respects, but she wasn’t a complete idiot. She had heard the whispers from other scientists at the lab derisively commenting on “the pin-up doll that follows Dr. Xeno around” and that “only sis-sies wear make-up”. She didn’t know what that word meant, but the mumbled scoff of “I guess he is” followed by a mocking chuckle was enough for her to make an educated guess, especially since she’d overheard similar remarks about Xeno behind his back. (Something in her gut told her that if Stanley didn’t have a gun on his hip and Xeno’s reputation didn’t precede him, they would have no issue saying those words to their faces). Furthermore, her own observations out and about told her that it was only girls who used make-up; she rarely — if ever — saw any boys wear it. Some, like Yo and Joel, even made a huge fuss about how they’ll “never ever try it”.
“Why would it be stupid?”
“Ah, you’re asking the big questions now, kid. Like it or not, society has their own ideas about how you should look.”
She pursed her lips and didn’t answer. Although Squinty Suika had gotten glasses and grown up, she hadn’t forgotten the little girl who felt forced to hide her ugly, scrunched up face from the world in a watermelon rind — it was pure coincidence that the eyeholes she had poked made her see a bit clearer. She opened and closed her eyes on Stanley’s instruction once more.
“Well, Suika is glad you continued with it. You look really pretty with make-up!”
“Clearly better than without, right?” he quipped back with a mocking snort.
“Stop!” she whined loudly while blindly batting at him with her hands, the colour rushing to her cheeks.
It was one time! So what if she didn’t recognise him with his bare face and bedhead that one morning when she tagged along to Io’s morning stroll back to their house? So what if she yelped dramatically when she saw him through the window and jumpily asked who he was? Never had she received such an unimpressed stare, Xeno’s face looking equally blank from where he stood against the kitchen island, until the pieces clicked in her brain a few painful seconds later. It ranked in the top ten most embarrassing moments of her life and the couple had never let her live it down since. Chrome and Senku had openly cackled at her when she walked into the lab that afternoon, Xeno rapping his claws against the table with a maliciously gleeful grin, as the urge to sink into the ground grew by the second.
“Stop moving or I’ll poke your eye out,” Stanley chided but his voice hitched in suppressed laughter.
She slouched defeatedly, her mouth pinched in a pout, and shut her eyes again. Resuming his task, the pilot began drawing infinite circles on her other eye.
“Suika didn’t say you looked better with make-up. Just different,” she groused.
A lightbulb went off in her head.
“Wait, do you think you look better with make-up?”
“Sure,” he answered easily, “don’t get me wrong, it doesn’t mean I think I’m ugly; but, I wouldn’t spend all that time beatin’ my face if I didn’t think it didn’t do me any good.”
Americans and their strange language. She furrowed her eyebrows.
“I don’t understand…”
“Basically, I put effort into it ‘cause I like the way I look and I like the way I feel when I wear make-up.”
She took a moment to turn the words in her head.
“But you only wear it out. So it’s different at home and in public?”
“Are all these fuckin’ questions a part of your experiment, too?” he questioned, skepticism lacing his tone.
She felt the weight of his gaze on her face as the brush came off her skin. Still, she didn’t back down, lifting her eyebrows to encourage an answer. A short pause later and the inner corner of her eye took its turn in the dressing room.
“In the old world,” he started in a low voice, “I couldn’t wear this shit out. Not where we lived and definitely not at work. So I only did it at home or at family’s. It was my dirty little secret. Things were different when we woke up from petrification and there was no society. I had nothing and no one to hide from any more, especially since I was certain of my position in the squad; the others could just accept it or fuck off. I know it weirded some of ‘em out at first but ultimately I didn’t give a shit because it felt…nice to be able to wear it publicly. Now, I don’t need to wear it at home any more.”
Some things never change, then… She thought about Namari constantly resisting her mother’s suggestions to define her waist by wearing her rope as a belt, her dress remaining baggy and shapeless as she skipped around the Village with her woven necklace. Suzu chopping off her long hair had taken most of the village by surprise; later, her friend admitted that she almost didn’t go through with it because she knew how much her aunties loved her hair, and she didn’t like to make them sad, but it felt so much better like this.
Suika, too, could relate in a different way: during her years alone in Araxá, largely out of desperation, she finally dared to start making her beloved hand drum despite instrument crafting in Ishigami Village being strictly relegated to men. When she returned, some of the elders weren’t happy, claiming she had violated a sacred tradition, but she was convinced no drum constructed by another's hands could resonate as deeply with her soul as the one that was born from her own blood, sweat, and tears; in a move that had shocked many, she had fought defiantly to be able to play it at ceremonies.
‘Hide’. ‘A dirty little secret’. So even Stanley, in all his confidence, wasn’t immune to social pressure… Was it bad that she found the thought comforting? He was one of the strongest people she knew, never flinching in front of others, never making excuses; if even he faltered to expectations, maybe it was proof that to be influenced by others wasn’t a weakness — maybe it was just being human.
“It feels good to be seen the way you want to be seen,” she summarised.
“Oh, elegant conclusion, Dr. Suika,” he responded in a terrific impression of his husband.
She giggled and opened her eyes to see his mouth twitch as he wavered between two brushes, both tiny with bristles angled like a slope. Although she couldn’t see her reflection with the mirror turned away, she took note of the brown and off-white pigments on two of the used tools. The excitement simmered inside her even if she couldn’t feel the powder on her skin.
“Don’t get too excited. Like I told you when you asked, I ain’t that great at doin’ another person’s face,” Stanley cut in while staring intently at the darker shades in the palette.
“But your make-up is always so good!”
“Yeah, on my own face. The motions aren’t the same when you do it on someone else. Imagine if I flipped the order of the drums in a kit or asked you to play your hand drum with the opposite hand — yeah, all the elements are still there, but the muscle memory sure isn’t.”
Well, when explained like that... Like she did when she was bored, she lifted her arms to start drumming the air with her left in the lead, chuckling as her hands waved around more erratically than normal, the motions familiar yet unnatural at the same time.
“Okay, kid: we’ve reached the hard part. I need you to face me, look down, relax your eyeballs, and try not to fucking blink. Or, at least, blink the least often you can. Understood?”
“Yes, sir,” Suika mock saluted and got into position.
One of his palms lay flat on the top of her head to keep her still while the other dragged the brush along her upper lash line, pushing on her eyelashes in a way that made her immediately want to blink. She did her best to hold back as the short, repetitive movements drafted a line from the centre of her eye to the outer corner which he inspected thoroughly, tilting her chin left and right once she looked up. Admittedly, the mumbled ‘oh thank fuck’ was reassuring before he dove back in to complete his work.
“Does Suika look cute, yet?” she prompted with a touch of irony.
“Ain’t that a loaded question…” Stanley shot back.
“Is that a no?” she insisted, a devious grin stretching her lips.
“In English, we say ‘beauty is in the eye of the beholder’,” he evaded, playing along.
Oh! She didn’t know that one!
“Does that mean that every person sees beauty differently?”
“Bullseye.”
Suika liked that! It was so true, too! Through her wanders across the world, she had seen as many ways to style oneself as she had seen people! In Brazil, she had run her fingers through the curtain of thick braids that sprouted from Maya’s scalp and dangled to her waist like woody vines; she watched as they whipped the air dauntlessly when she threw them over her shoulder, amplified her imposing stature when she twisted them in a huge bun atop her head, and slapped against the muscles of her back with every crash of her pickaxe against the rock wall — the former MMA champion had earned more than a few admirers for those several weeks.
At Treasure Island, the teal stone and seashell jewellery gleamed on women’s necks under the Pacific sun, their prominent feathered headdresses drawing eyes as they walked by. At the wedding she attended, she learnt that the sturdy skirt wrapped around the groom’s waist, weaved from the leaves of local trees and spliced with bands of fish leather dyed in intense reds for prosperity, encouraged good luck whilst the jasmine and hibiscus crown adorning the bride’s head was a prayer for fertility. Moz and Kirisame’s warrior-swirl tat-toos garnered attention both on their island and around the globe — even if some older modern-timers in Japan didn’t seem particularly fond of them, for some reason — though Suika still cringed in horror whenever she remembered Amaryllis’ explanations of how they were done.
“A’right. Second eye, now. Same thing. Clear?”
She nodded and dropped her gaze to his crossed legs.
Similarly, the YUZUQLO boutique sold clothes in cuts and materials that were so alien to her culture that it was hard to keep up. Ishigami Village wore exclusively animal leather; however, tanning hides was a stinky and time-taking endeavour, resulting in few choices in their wardrobes that they periodically tailored to fit any physical changes. As such, their garments were simple and loose to facilitate outdoor activities whereas some depetrified, like Minami, enjoyed layering jackets on top of sweaters on top of shirts to fashion their silhouettes. Others, like Charlotte and Stanley, preferred tight-fitting trousers that hugged their body shape. Suika had thanked Yuzuriha profusely when the seamstress had gifted her a pair of je-ans, but then quietly banished it to the bottom of her clothing basket, the heavy cotton suffocating her legs and restricting her movements. To be honest, she wasn’t completely sold on modern clothing just yet (exceptions applied, like the yukata and lab coat, for example) and felt most at ease to live her life and practise science in her people’s traditional dresses.
Stanley finished her second eye quicker than the first and pulled back to assess his creation, amber narrowed in concentration, irises jumping left and right on her face. A tense moment later, he removed his hand from her head with a sigh and tossed the used brush carelessly in the dirty pile. She ignored the muttered ‘fuck that shit’, her attention instead seized by the way the eyeshadows were slid aside. He grabbed the mascara and an intimidating metal instrument where the top was curved in a semi-circle and the bottom resembled handles on a pair of scissors.
“What is that?” she asked, brow wrinkled suspiciously.
“It’s to gouge your eyeballs out,” he joked dryly before clarifying, “it’s an eyelash curler.”
He popped the tool a couple times for effect. She wasn’t impressed.
“Come on, kid, you can’t be scared of a damn eyelash curler. You work with shit that’s miles more dangerous in the lab on a daily basis.”
Okay, he wasn’t wrong, per se, except for the bit where safety goggles were mandatory because chemical reagents and eyes did not mix well.
She hesitated another moment but eventually relented, allowing him to position her lashes through the narrow slit and close the clamp for long seconds, the motion tugging unusually on her eyelid. Once released, he moved it slightly to the left to catch all her outer lashes, then repeated the process on her right eye. He unscrewed the lash paint after setting the curler down, and held it up to her face with instructions to blink regularly, coating the short blonde hairs black with every downward motion. After a quick swipe of her bottom lashes, he placed the wand back into its pot while Suika batted her eyes curiously, adjusting to the alien weight. Through her flickering vision, she watched Stanley reach for the small rectangle housing a pink and orange colour as well as a round circle that glimmered on the surface.
“Your eyes are done, so we’re almost finished.”
He flipped open the cover, dipped a thick brush in the peachy shade, and stamped it along her cheekbone towards her temple. Next, he blended it out in large circles, the soft bristles rubbing her cheek like a fluffy animal.
“Good thing you and I have a similar skin tone,” he commented more so to himself than to her.
Skin tone! Another thing Suika had no idea about until Ukyo and Senku taught them about genetics and me-la-nin. Of course, she knew animals could be different colours but it never occurred to her that humans’ skin could be too! She thought it only applied to hair and eyes… Her brain had the information, but seeing Carlos for the first time, his skin darker than the bark of the tree he was tied to, was still a culture shock! Later, when they revived locals to found Superalloy City, she was astounded by the diversity of the Brazilian people, ranging from pale as snow to dark as night and every shade in between; in the evenings, their bodies melded together in a multicoloured mosaic as they danced and sang around bonfires. Suika found the scene foreign, yes, but in the same way as one sees something they had never thought possible. When she joined the crowd, she privately thanked the Kingdom of Science once again for giving her sight and proof that the world was so much more beautiful than she could have ever imagined. (As they continued their travels, she did notice that the modern-timers of Brazil and America had the most range of skin colours compared to other countries… Hm, she’ll ask Xeno or François about it another time).
With another fluffy brush, Stanley lightly swept the shiny product on her cheeks and nose. After a final once-over, he put his effects down and grabbed the mirror.
“Okay, kid, moment of truth — you ready?”
The butterflies buzzed in her stomach again. She took a deep breath through her nose and nodded energetically, clutching onto her ankle to steady her nerves. He handed her the mirror and Suika stared at her reflection.
Her gaze immediately drifted to the dark coffee, sitting proud but not opaque, blotted in a controlled smudge on her outer lids, fading gently as it reached her pupil, then transitioned seamlessly to a warm cream that tinted her inner corners. The black liner, while not as intense as she was used to seeing on Stanley, began halfway along her eye and hugged her lash line, thickening as it got closer to the edge, then ended with a small flick that stretched just past the limit of her lid, cleverly lengthening her eyes’ naturally round shape. The mascara was only applied to the latter end of her curled lashes to feed into the illusion while making her chocolate irises pop. A thin line of red carefully framed the upper limit of the eyeliner in the colour she had pointed out to him before they got started, adding a pinch of warmth to the cool-toned canvas. The shadow of chestnut on her lower lids and the wash of light tan under her brow skirted around the design to bring dimension and brightness. The peachy hue on her cheeks melted into her skin in a natural-looking flush while the area just above it and along the bridge of her nose always appeared to catch the light to give her face a mild yet constant glow no matter which direction she swivelled her neck. Bizarrely, the first thought that came to her head was that she was glad she remembered to thread her eyebrows a few days ago, the graceful arch matching the elegance of Stanley’s work.
“I’m giving you a choice for your lips,” the pilot announced, his voice ripping her from her observations, “either we can go just gloss, no colour,” he held up a small bottle with clear liquid, “we can do subtle colour plus gloss,” he waved a second bottle with a red liquid, “or we can go full colour like I do,” he finished, gesturing to the lipsticks.
“Um…” she wavered, her mind still distracted.
She felt his keen amber eyes on her as she waffled through her options. But before she could make a decision, he pushed the wax cylinders to the side.
“On second thought, I didn’t put all that goddamn work on your eyes for your lips to steal the show. We’re going with option two.”
She nodded absently, placing the round mirror on her lap and obediently parted her lips. The bushy applicator tickled the sensitive skin of her mouth as it glided over the fleshy centres then dotted it up to the corners of her lips. Once blended, she smiled, pouted, puckered, and dropped her jaw like he asked. In a final step, he swiped colourless gloop on top, the heavier product leaving her mouth feeling odd but not unpleasant when she rubbed her lips together. He looked satisfied when he told her his job was done, pointing to the mirror and leaning back on his fists with a pleased half-smile.
Despite the vivid tint in the bottle, the colour was not at all overwhelming; actually, it wasn’t too far from the flush of red that would stain their tongues after feasting on pomegranates in the autumn but topped off with an unmistakable glossy sheen that sparkled with every movement. The shade was very close to the dashes on her eyes — perhaps a touch deeper — thereby creating a cohesive sound to the ensemble that was her face.
Initial Analysis: who is that?
“Suika…almost doesn’t look like Suika any more,” she eventually breathed.
“Man, if make-up could make you look like a whole ‘nother person, a lot more people would be using it,” he scoffed sarcastically, shimmying off the floor to settle on the couch behind his back, arms splayed on the backrest.
Fair enough. With her experiment complete, she examined the results closer: her cupid’s bow was deliberately defined to give her mouth a delicate shape and the concentration of red on the middle of her lips made them look fuller, healthier. Where her doe eyes had been a defining element of her cuteness (to quote Kohaku), elongating her eye shape had granted her childish face a more adult appearance that, in tandem with the colouring, evoked a distinctly feminine charm she associated with other women, but never herself. Her skin also looked more alive and fresh than she was used to seeing…
Oh.
Suddenly, she understood the appeal of make-up.
Secondary Analysis: make-up allows you to assess your own features in order to enhance them or bring out aspects that were previously hidden or understated.
She opened her mouth to thank Stanley when meows growing in intensity spilled through the open window and the front door swung open.
“Stan, you will be in charge of Io’s needs for tonight. I am letting you know that she and I will not be on speaking terms for the near future,” Xeno announced tiredly as he got down on one knee to release the moaning cat from her carrier.
Suika didn’t like accusing people of things… but that was a boldfaced lie. The princess immediately fled from her portable locked tower and plopped herself on the top-most basket of her cat tree, licking away her non-existent wounds.
“I take it that her first vet visit did not go well?” Stanley surmised.
Xeno merely sighed, left the empty box next to his shoes at the entrance, and slumped down next to Stanley, eyes closed and fingers pinching the bridge of his nose. The latter kindly rubbed his thumb on his shoulder while the scientist leaned into his side.
“Cat’s never had a thermometer shoved up her ass before, can you blame her?”
Xeno glared at him and ignored his comment to focus his attention on Suika. His black eyes analysed her face carefully, evaluating her eyes then moving on to her lips. He reclined back and crossed his arms with a smug smirk.
“You look exceedingly elegant, Dr. Suika. Stan has done superb work as always; your eyes stand out beautifully. I know he likes to match his make-up to what he wears so I presume the red will marry into the clothes you will change into? Even just like this, it complements your blonde hair wonderfully.”
The praise made even the tip of her ears blush as gratification swelled inside her. She’d never been shy about giving out her own compliments, whether it was Stanley’s make-up, Amaryllis’ necklaces, or Nikki’s dresses, but she was a lot less comfortable receiving it. She could admit that part of this experiment was her wanting to try looking pretty in a different way.
And she did.
She really did.
The more she stared in the mirror, the more she liked what she saw. Beyond that, she was proud of what she saw. It made her want to boast about how she had braved the eyelash curler and resisted the tickling on her eyelids; it made her want to hear if the girls thought she looked more mature like this; it made her want to wear her pretty dress and parade around downtown even though she had nothing to do there.
Stanley was right: it does feel good to look good. It was probably a little egotistical but Suika wasn’t perfect.
She was just human.
Tertiary Analysis: wearing make-up makes you want to show it off.
There were still many things she would never understand: why were so many girls careful about their weight when a curvy and fleshy body was a sign that you have enough to eat? Why do so many boys get really touchy when you talk about their height when it has nothing to do with their abilities? If darker skin with straight hair was desired in one part of the world and paler skin with curly hair was admired in the other, wasn’t that proof that standards were based on individual/cultural preferences, not a universal scientific fact?
How could beauty be only one thing when people were so diverse?
There were foods she had tried that she didn’t really like, but she would never tell others not to enjoy them — like Ukyo wisely preached, “don’t say it’s bad, say you don’t like it”.
Her image beamed back at her when she looked down at the mirror.
Conclusion: observing make-up inspires appreciation; wearing it inspires confidence.
“I need a smoke after this, fuckin’ hell,” she heard Stanley mumble.
He bent down to start putting the items strewn about on the floor back in their rightful places in his kits. Suika put the mirror down to help him, gathering and sliding the lip pencils back in their slots. Xeno was still thrown back on the couch, observing them silently for the minute it took to clear all evidence of their afternoon makeover session. Both she and the pilot stood up. He dropped the two boxes and the mirror on the kitchen island and beelined for the window while she headed for Io’s perch.
The kitty had recuperated from her near-death experience and was relaxing on her side in a lazy doze. Her ear twitched as she sensed a presence approaching and cracked open her eyes to see who would dare to intrude her peace. She straightened up in a flash, pupils alert, confusion swirling in her bicoloured gaze. Suika halted, then reached out her hand to the animal’s nose. The princess hesitantly sniffed it but quickly meowed in relief at the familiar scent and rubbed her head on the fingers as the tension left her body. The scientist smiled, scratching behind her ears as her tail bobbed gently. She couldn’t be that different if Io recognised her so easily.
Final Thoughts: doing this everyday would probably kill the novelty of it… it took way too long, anyway. Besides, Suika doesn’t need it. Maybe save it for special occasions, like…parties or weddings.
“Hey, kid,” Stanley called out to her from the window as she left the house.
He was sitting on a chair with an arm hanging out of the frame with a lit cigarette between his fingers, Xeno standing between his legs with one hand combing his husband’s undercut and the other holding out a small vial to her. She skipped to them and grabbed the item.
“Take it. You might need to top off your gloss at some point,” Stanley explained.
“Thanks!”
“You got an oil cleanser at home?”
“Yes.”
“Good. Try not to touch your face. Knock ‘em dead, kid.”
She recoiled.
“Why would I hurt anyone?!”
“It means ‘do your best’,” Xeno clarified with an amused smile.
“Oh,” Suika chuckled sheepishly.
“You look very cute, Dr. Suika,” Stanley’s voice rang out behind her when she hopped off their pathway and onto the street.
She twisted around and raised her arm in the air, swinging it enthusiastically.
“Thank you, Stanley! Bye Xeno!” she sang back in Japanese.
The Snyder-Wingfield couple waved back at her.
Next stop: home to change; after that, she had a picnic to attend!