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author: auriel naughtwell ([livejournal.com profile] allseeingusagi / [livejournal.com profile] exorealistic)

What's _____? it is nor hand, nor foot,

Long fingers swiped over virgin ears, behind which fingertips
tucked dark hair. Dark brown eyes stared at their owner's
reflection. The reflection turned, eyes closed.

Nor arm, nor face, nor any other part

A deep breath was taken a chest pushed outward, trying to
emphasize small breasts. The new adult's met the reflection
again, turning this way and that to find a better angle. With a
heave, the black haired figure stopped. The dramatic posture
eased and slumped forward. A slender hand reached up and
gripped the fine locks.

Belonging to a man.

The wig was pulled off, revealing the neatly secured wig caps
underneath. Civet reached up with a free hand, pulling off the
caps as well. He dropped them into the sink and ruffled his
flattened hair. He stared at the wig - frowning, disappointed
- before dropping it into the sink as well. He placed his hands
at the edge of the sink and stared at himself.

The makeup was well applied, sure, but that wasn't his problem.
It was how - it was why. All of it felt like some elaborate
disguise. Was it his turn on the grand stage of life? Who would
he act out for? A name curled up from beyond the bathroom
door, and he sighed. The word scratched against his skull. He
reached up to rub his face.

O, be some other name!

"Civet. Civet."

He repeated it to himself as if correcting the person beyond. He
thought to take off the makeup, wanting to wipe away the attempt.
It wouldn't have been bad any other day, but today... He sighed,
closing his eyes and pushing upward. Today just wasn't it.

Opening his eyes slowly, he regarded his reflection again, gaze
lowered down to contoured cleavage. He smiled but scrunched up
his nose anyway. Yeah, that was an effort, but perhaps it wouldn't
wear away too badly on his clothes. He reached up to adjust the
fabric of his undershirt and hiked up the fabric. A temporary
solution for now. He reached over to grab his T-shirt when that
name was called again.

He rolled his eyes.


What's in a name? that which we call a rose

Civet pulled the T-shirt on and readjusted the undershirt as well.
He smoothed his hands over his torso and glanced up to the mirror.
"Oh!" came out in a sudden realisation. He leaned towards the
mirror and pulled off the fake lashes, resting them gently beside the
faucet. He stared at the wavy wig still coiled in the sink and sighed
through his nose, pushing away again to head towards the beckoning

By any other name would smell as sweet
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March 2016

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