TIME STAMP
86th of Ash, 4622
Vivian stared at the letter for the hundredth time in his hands. Oh gods. He was supposed to go to a gala?! He looked down at his stomach. The small gentle swell at the beginning of Ash had grown into a softball-sized bulge that clearly advertised his condition. He had been stealing skin creme for weeks to keep his skin supple and free of stretchmarks. Now he somehow had to find clothing. Clothing! Nice clothing! He'd been wearing an unbuttoned shirt for days now, and had completely given up any concept of pants and had just been using wraps around his waist. How in the hell was he going to style this? He frowned and folded the letter, standing and sneaking toward the Veir's room. Emmett's clothing was out of the question but perhaps Anya would have something to fit him? If he asked politely?
After all, he was filling out in a strangely feminine way. Come to think of it, his nipples wouldn't rub quite so uncomfortably in a dress, especially if he could pad them out a bit. The Veir was out for the day, he was sure of it. He knocked at the door delicately, crossing his arms across his chest uncomfortably. Gods he was sore. He'd been bribing the cook for warm cloths to put on his chest.
He'd have to tell her about the Gala. He looked down at the letter in his hand, and the wax seal along one edge of it. It was proof of his claims to be sure. There wasn't a way he could forge it, not with his awful chickenscratch, and the letter had come so professionally there wasn't a way she could claim he was lying. He paced nervously outside of the room, waiting for her to answer the door. Hopefully this would all work out, Anya would give him a dress and he would be able to think up a makeup look that would match.