Andrellia

7. Felicia

The afternoon sun cast a lazy beam across Felicia's cluttered apartment, highlighting the dust motes dancing in the golden light. A muffled grunt made her eyes snap open. There, bathed in the warm glow, stood Arthur, a living anachronism amidst her mismatched furniture.

But what truly startled Felicia wasn't his presence, but what he was doing. Arthur, the legendary warrior, was hunched over her vanity, his brow furrowed in concentration as he squinted at a bottle of bright pink lip gloss.

"Arthur?" Felicia croaked, her voice thick with sleep and a dawning sense of absurdity.

He jumped, the lip gloss clattering to the counter with a surprised yelp. He whirled around, his cheeks flushed a bright red beneath the smudged blue eyeshadow on his cheek, and a pallet of blue eyeshadow clutched in his armored hand like a captured flag.

"Felicia," he boomed, his voice oddly out of place amidst the clutter of lipsticks and blush palettes. "Good afternoon. I trust you slept well?"

"Slept well?" Felicia scrambled out of bed, her sleepwear clinging precariously. "Do you have any idea what you're doing?"

Arthur straightened up defensively, his blush deepening. "Doing? But I was merely... studying these... curious war paints." He gestured vaguely at the open makeup case, its colorful contents spilling out onto the vanity like fallen warriors.

Felicia stared at him, a mix of amusement and exasperation bubbling in her chest. "War paints, Arthur? Those are lipsticks and eyeshadows!"

He blinked, a flicker of confusion crossing his face. He glanced down at the blue eyeshadow in his hand, then back at Felicia, his brow furrowed in genuine bewilderment. "But... are these not for marking oneself before battle? To strike fear into the hearts of your enemies?"

Felicia couldn't help but let out a snort of laughter. "Arthur, Your uh Your Highness.., the only fear these will strike is the fear of looking like a clown."

He frowned, his warrior bravado momentarily replaced by a childlike curiosity. "A clown? What manner of foul creature is that?"

Felicia, still trying to catch her breath from laughter, wiped a tear from her eye. "Clowns aren't foul creatures, Arthur, though their appearance can be... well, a little startling. They're entertainers, jesters who use bright colors and funny costumes to make people laugh."

Arthur's brow furrowed even deeper. "Laugh? But wouldn't that lower one's morale before a battle?"

A snort of laughter escaped Felicia as Arthur gaped at the bright blue eyeshadow now adorning his eyelid. It looked like a small, startled bird had taken flight there.
"Arthur," she wheezed, wiping a tear from her eye, "perhaps 'war paint' isn't the best term for these."

Arthur, his cheeks burning hotter than a dragon's breath, fumbled with the eyeshadow, his armored fingers only managing to smear the blue further. Panic flickered in his eyes. "This... this is unacceptable!" he boomed, his voice cracking slightly. "How do I remove this... this... sorcery?!"

Felicia's laughter subsided into a series of giggles. "Sorcery? Arthur, it's just makeup. There's a remover for that."

He ignored her, reaching for a nearby washcloth with a desperate growl. The rough fabric only served to spread the blue further, blending it with a stray smudge of what might have been lipstick that had somehow ended up on his cheekbone. The once fierce warrior now resembled a young boy who'd gotten into a fight with a crayon box.

"Black magic!" he roared, his voice laced with a surprising amount of fear. "This is some kind of black magic! It won't come off!"

Arthur, his frustration morphing into panic, fumbled at his belt. With a flourish that sent a clatter of metal echoing through the room, he drew Excalibur from its sheath. The legendary blade gleamed in the sunlight, its magical aura pulsing faintly with a golden glow of Arthur's eyes.