And without much thought to her comfort, lines were being traced at the joints of her arms, over her elbows then around the crease. "Y'smear that, an' I'll cut the lines in with a knife." Not that he would, but he may imprint them with a needle. He'd rather not, and his attentions drew to her knees, lines over the caps and then moving down around the underside, fully expecting her not to flinch at the coolness of the ink, or the lightness of the brush.
When he was finished with that, he pulled her up by an arm to stand, and sank to his knees, painting careful lines where the thighs met hip. Another line tracing the edge of her ribcage, then another just above her collar and around her neck. Perhaps luckily for her, the ink was extremely fast drying, but very hard to remove, so when he wrenched her hand forward and painted thin lines around the joints, he smiled to himself. He could hold these hands without worrying about smears.
Another line, another curve, another dip, it went on for anywhere between five minutes to thirty, but he did not stop until he was satisfied with every sloping line. He rose to his feet, then motioned to the wigs around the room. "Find one to suit an Orion, and prepare it. Don't put it on, but show it to me; this choice is yours, Christine." Offered Leonard, deceivingly sweet, perhaps saccharine. It meant far more to him that he was giving her this freedom, this choice, as it meant he was giving his doll life, and then he wondered if he wanted to see her dance at all.
But he returned to his paints, mixing just the right amount of grey with green and loading up the spray.
The ink was cold, no more cold than water left sitting out, but combine the sensation with a brush and she always fought to not laugh or flinch. Somehow she always managed to do well, after the first few times of either bursting out in giggles or flinching enough that he'd have to redo the lines. Those times he'd punished her and although she didn't have marks to remember, it was another mental scar that never healed properly.
Christine nodded slightly at his command, turning and padding over to the wig collection. She wore the paint so much that once it dried sometimes she forgot she had any on. It was light and weightless, the only time she noticed it now was when she saw it.
Going through the wigs, she mentally went through what she knew of Orions. She was no idiot, she'd seen enough of them, been around them, and learned about them to know what they were like and what they looked like. He had a few wigs that were suitable: shades of red and auburn and blacks. Chris liked red, she liked it a lot. The black was so standard for most Orions, though. In the end, Christine chose a dark colored one. She liked the style, honestly, and the way the curls were. Plus, if he wanted to add color to it, it'd stand out better. Walking back over towards him, she held it out. "This one, sir," she said quietly.
When he was finished with that, he pulled her up by an arm to stand, and sank to his knees, painting careful lines where the thighs met hip. Another line tracing the edge of her ribcage, then another just above her collar and around her neck. Perhaps luckily for her, the ink was extremely fast drying, but very hard to remove, so when he wrenched her hand forward and painted thin lines around the joints, he smiled to himself. He could hold these hands without worrying about smears.
Another line, another curve, another dip, it went on for anywhere between five minutes to thirty, but he did not stop until he was satisfied with every sloping line. He rose to his feet, then motioned to the wigs around the room. "Find one to suit an Orion, and prepare it. Don't put it on, but show it to me; this choice is yours, Christine." Offered Leonard, deceivingly sweet, perhaps saccharine. It meant far more to him that he was giving her this freedom, this choice, as it meant he was giving his doll life, and then he wondered if he wanted to see her dance at all.
But he returned to his paints, mixing just the right amount of grey with green and loading up the spray.
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Christine nodded slightly at his command, turning and padding over to the wig collection. She wore the paint so much that once it dried sometimes she forgot she had any on. It was light and weightless, the only time she noticed it now was when she saw it.
Going through the wigs, she mentally went through what she knew of Orions. She was no idiot, she'd seen enough of them, been around them, and learned about them to know what they were like and what they looked like. He had a few wigs that were suitable: shades of red and auburn and blacks. Chris liked red, she liked it a lot. The black was so standard for most Orions, though. In the end, Christine chose a dark colored one. She liked the style, honestly, and the way the curls were. Plus, if he wanted to add color to it, it'd stand out better. Walking back over towards him, she held it out. "This one, sir," she said quietly.
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