His Little Heir

The Best Part

     "Princess?" A fist lightly tapped against the door.

     "Quill?"

      "Yeah. Look, I'm so sorry it took me so long, but I-, Leon wanted to play stylist."

     Daya's eyes widened, then drooped at the sound of his name. She wrapped the towel she had been sitting on tightly around her and shook her head in bewilderment.

     "He what now?" She opened the door to a draft of cold air; her lips retracted in reaction the change, but quickly loosened into a smile as she locked eyes with Quill.

     "I.. may or may not of caught him snooping in your room." He passed the pile to Daya and shut the door, "Then he got mad because I was there, but, uh, to each their own, I guess"

      "Figures."

     "That's not even the best part."

      She undid the towel and let it fall to the floor. Looking at herself in the mirror, Daya couldn't help but notice the changes in her appearance. Her hair didn't fall in scattered waves against her back, bags had somehow crept under her once lively eyes, and even her skin marched in protest against her distress.

      She shook her head at her reflection. It wasn't her, or at least, it wasn't who she was supposed to be.

      Daya's dormant joins whined when she returned to the task at hand, because sitting on a thin, woven towel for half an hour could hardly do anyone good these days.

       "I'll tell you the best part," She hooked her bra despite her wrist's complaints, "My butt's sore."

     "Well, ah, I'm not the one who spent thirty minutes looking for a plain top." Daya could almost feel his eyes roll on the other side of the door.

     "That's what took forever?!"

    bShe threaded her head through the shirt's neck, and let the hair trapped inside loose. Some top. Its chest only drooped around hers, yet somehow, the bottom nearly strangled her waist. Daya cursed herself; why didn't she get rid of it when she organized her closet?

       She sprung for the pants next. The elastic hugged her curves as, well, what Daya could only describe as a man "easing past" a woman in a bar. She shuttered at the all too familiar picture that appeared in her mind, making her cold enough to grab the jacket. She smiled as the familiar fabric settled around her. At least, she sighed, Leon got that right.

      Quill's laugh wafted through the door, "They say you can't rush art."

"This God awful thing? Art?" She laced up her shoes, "I don't know how it escaped the donation bin."

      "Maybe you're so clumsy that you missed."

       "Hah. Hah. Hah. Sooo funny and original."

       Quill's quieted giggles flooded through yet again. If Daya didn't known better, she'd say it was light, and fluffy, like a child's. It reminded her of childhood friends that had just discovered that milk bubbles when you blow at it through a straw, or that funny faces involved more than just an outward tounge.

      "Hey, Quill?"

      "Hmm?"

      "Do you know why he was in there to begin with?" Daya hung towel on the side of the bath and ran her fingers through the fabric.

      "Probably moping. He-he did stuff like that alot when we were younger, but um, it was.. mostly about his mom, though." His hands explored the lion carving on the cedar's surface, "You okay in there?"