In front of him, perched on the edge of the plush bed, was Bazren. One leg was crossed elegantly over the other, swinging with an expectant rhythm, a daring smile playing on her still-unfamiliar face. On the far corner of the room, standing before a full-length mirror, was Mola. She seemed to be acclimating to her new outfit: a stylish velvet crimson shirt with form-fitting black silk trousers. Gone were her tasteless olive threads, which now lay in a sad, crumpled heap beside Bazren, waiting for their new owner.
Xayn: "... Where are my clothes?"
Bazren's brow arched, her gaze sweeping dramatically over to the discarded olive dress.
Bazren: "Seems little miss princess over there didn't think the dress suited her too well. First come, first served Xayn... You're left with the scraps."
He walked to the edge of the bed, his expression a perfect blank as he stared down at the garment.
Mola: "Let's hurry up, shall we? I'm starving...!"
She spoke without turning, her eyes meeting his in the mirror's reflection as she rolled up her sleeves and undid the topmost buttons of her new shirt.
Xayn: "Seriously?"
Bazren shrugged, her grin stretching wider. She was savouring this moment with an almost physical hunger.
Bazren: "Nothing we can do about it now, is there? C'mon! It's just clothing."
He took a deep breath, grabbing the dress and examining the cheap fabric. Alongside it, on the silken sheets, lay an olive hair bobble, bland and uninspired.
Xayn: "'Just clothing'...? Hmph."
He picked up the dress and the bobble and turned back towards the bathroom.
Bazren: "Oy, where're you going?! Lunch is almost served!"
Xayn: "Depart without me if you're in such a rush."
His voice was a monotone, a calm sea belying the depths of his irritation. He retreated into the mist once more, closing the door behind him.
Placing the dress atop a nearby cupboard, he faced the mirror again. The glass was a cloudy mess, his reflection a distorted blur. He wiped a clear patch with the heel of his hand, revealing the stranger's face that was now his own.
Taking the bobble, he gathered his long, dark hair, tying it back into a neat ponytail. Then, in his right hand, a spectral arrow of cool, blue flame crackled into existence. He held its razor-sharp edge to his beard. Dark, shaved hairs began to fall, dusting the white porcelain of the sink.
Outside, Mola's stomach rumbled, a loud, vulgar sound in the quiet room.
Mola: "UGH! I'm not waiting around, I'll meet you two at lunch!"
Before she could take a single step towards the door, Bazren was on her feet, the sound of her standing stopping Mola in her tracks.
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Bazren: "Not without us."
Footsteps came from behind. Though Mola's back was turned, she could tell she was slowly approaching.
Bazren: "Didn't you think it would be so funny to leave the dress for Xayn...? Well, now you wait."
Mola: "O-or what-"
As Mola turned to face her fully, she recoiled. Bazren was inches from her face, a predator enjoying the scent of fear.
Bazren: "Let's *sit*. And let's *wait*."
Mola's eyes trembled. She took a deep breath, defeated, and retreated to the edge of the bed. Bazren followed, standing over her, arms folded.
Mola: "Aren't you hungry, too...? We could just go on without him!"
She sat, and Bazren remained standing, a patient, menacing guard.
Bazren: "We don't need food. Undeath takes many things from you... including hunger. But, I am interested to see what these bodies will do to any food we ingest... Can they even metabolize it? Or will we just be filling up whatever hollow organs are inside, only to puke it all out once it's clogged up?"
Mola's face twisted in disgust.
Mola: "Urgh... what a horrible image."
Bazren: "You're quite welcome! That should stifle your appetite for a while."
Inside the bathroom, the spectral arrow moved with surgical precision. Xayn made slight, deliberate cuts in the dress. The gaudy frills fell away. The skirt was shortened, its hem loosened with several well-placed slits.
Mola: "So you don't need sleep, and you don't need to eat. Hm. Maybe undeath isn't as bad as I imagined..."
She leaned forward, anchoring an elbow on her thigh and resting her chin in her hand, her earlier defiance melting into a weary curiosity.
Mola: "Then again, you have a rotting carcass for a body. So, y'know."
She gestured with her hands, mimicking a scale's plates finding balance. Bazren rolled her eyes.
Mola: "Speaking of! How do your bodies make it across to Mortmundus...? Supposedly, if you die you kinda just leave a husk here in this world."
Bazren nodded, her expression turning serious, the topic engaging a part of her beyond the immediate game she was playing.
Bazren: "Your body is gone. Once you arrive in Mortmundus, your shape is immaterial... You are but a floating spirit. It inhabits whatever carcass is closest to its point of entry -- could be humanoid, could be animal, it depends. Different souls also prefer different carcasses, or 'vessels', as we typically refer to them."
Mola squinted, the word snagging in her mind.
Mola: "Vessels, huh..."
She looked at Bazren again, her eyes widening.
Mola: "So that means that even the bodies you had when we first met were not your own..."
Bazren: "Correct. Our real bodies most likely do not exist any more. And, if they do, I doubt there's much more than just bone left."
A while longer passed. Mola shot up from the bed, her patience finally shredded.
Mola: "ALRIGHT! That's it. I'm done waiting. If he doesn't want to come out, then I'll get him out."
Bazren's brow raised, a flicker of amusement in her pink eyes as she watched Mola march to the bathroom door. Mola knocked, a rapid, aggressive tattoo of knuckles on wood.
Mola: "Ready or not your majesty, lunch calls...!"
She seized the handle and threw the door open. Her jaw went slack.
Xayn: "I was almost done. Couldn't you have waited a moment longer?"
Mola: "I-I... Didn't think--"
Bazren: "HAH! He looks that ridiculous, huh? Well, I wanna see too!"
Bazren strode towards the bathroom entrance, her smug grin faltering, then freezing on her face as she saw him.
Bazren: "What the hell...?"
Without his beard and body hair, the features of Xayn's new face were surprisingly androgynous. Coupled with his gaunt frame and the severe elegance of his tied-up hair, his shape possessed a delicate, almost feminine quality that melded with the modified dress rather than clashing with it. The alterations had turned the restrictive garment into something more akin to a tunic, breathable and allowing for a free, fluid range of motion.
Xayn: "I suppose I'm done, then. Let us go."
He passed between them, their heads swivelling on stunned necks to follow his progress.
Bazren looked at Mola, her expression one of pure, dumbfounded disbelief.
Bazren: "Well, well. Not sure who pranked who anymore, after all."
She followed after him, a slow grin of grudging respect spreading across her face.
Bazren: "Wake up! It's finally lunch time."
Snapping from her trance, Mola hurried after them.