Fay Wray
Title: Fay Wray
Rating: R
Summary: Red was his color.
Warning: Crossdressing, angst, and Ahamo.
It had all started with his grandmother's antique wooden chest.
Ambrose was curious, as all good boys of seven annuals should be, and during one of his many excursions into the dangerous unknown that was the attic of his parents' home, he decided to try to open it up and see what treasures awaited him. It was a beautiful, ornate mahogany box with a rather unnerving lock attached to the front, but Ambrose found that the lock snapped off quite easily due to years of rust and neglect. His fingers trembled slightly as he lifted the heavy lid, and not entirely due to strain. What awaited him inside? Gold? Jewels? Or, even better, the chemistry set he had been begging his father for as a birthday present for ages?
It was clothes.
Coughing from the dust, he peered inside and felt utterly disillusioned. No gold, no jewels, no chemistry sets. Just boring, starchy, dusty old clothes.
Actually...
He reached in and took out a garment; A long, flowy dress made of light blue fabric. Sure, it smelled like mothballs and stale lemons, but it had a certain... quality to it. A quality that all of his other clothes, he decided, lacked.
It fit him rather well, the dress, though it was far too long for him. He thanked the Gods that his grandmother had narrow shoulders and hips, and he danced about the room, enjoying the way the dress swirled as he waltzed. His trousers and shirts certainly couldn't do that, and he decided, as he was quite the decisive young lad, that he would never wear such constrictive clothing ever again, if he could help it.
His mother walked into the room some time later and gently convinced him to get back into his proper clothes before his father saw him. He did so, and forgot all about the chest and the dress.
It had been a tough transition, going from shy, awkward home schooled Ambrose to shy, awkward university student Ambrose, but, he had done it, and with the vigor he usually reserved for badgering his father for the chemistry set he had wanted practically since birth. He had a few good friends, was the captain of the school's debate and soccer teams, and, hey, he even had a girlfriend! If some person out there declared himself the expert on normalcy, he would gaze upon Ambrose's life and declare, "Yep, he's normal." It was a good feeling.
Until the day he returned from his final Spring Break...
"I believe my mother gave me the wrong trunk."
Leona looked up from the book she was reading and gave him a rather uninterested look. "How do you know?" she asked before returning to the novel. She had left her dorm and walked to his nearby apartment to help him unpack his luggage from his visit home, but she certainly did not seem privy to helping out in the slightest.
Rolling his eyes, Ambrose took something out of the trunk and held it up to himself. "Does this look like something I would wear."
It was a rather lovely blue dress. She put the book down, not even bothering to save her place. "I should hope not." She grinned. "Unless you have something you want to tell me?"
"I most certainly do not." He sighed and sat down next to her, examining the dress. "It was my grandmother's. Do you want it?"
"No, it's too showy for me. I'll stick to my plain frocks, thank you very much." She took the dress from him and held it up to his body. "It doesn't do a thing for you. Red is your color."
"Knock it off!" Determined to ignore her good natured teasing, he busied himself with his unpacking. Still, her words remained in his mind for the rest of the afternoon, and they simply wouldn't leave, until...
She was right. Red was his color.
Red dress. Red shoes. Red makeup. Leona had taught him how to apply makeup when she needed his help with the severely understaffed school play, but he found that it was quite different applying makeup to yourself rather than another person. Still, he decided that he had done quite a good job, and he looked great. She was right; it really did bring out his eyes...
Luckily, his grandmother had stuffed quite a wide variety of dresses of various types and colors, and he had found his perfect match: A bright red, spaghetti strapped number that just reached his knees. Though it disturbed him to imagine his grandmother actually wearing the dress, all negative thoughts fled like roaches in the light when he finally got a good look at himself in the bathroom mirror.
"Ambrose? You in there?"
That rap on the door and that soft whisper scared him more than any ghost or goblin could ever even dream to. He jumped, scattering the makeup (stolen from Leona's purse) and knocking him hard onto the floor with a loud thump.
Leona opened the door. "Hey, I know you're probably still adjusting from the trip, but there's a party at Fran's dorm and I--"
She froze. "Ambrose..."
His face turned redder than anything he was wearing. "Can you help me up? I... think I broke a heel."
Minutes passed, and since Leona didn't seem privy to helping him up, he did it himself, leaning precariously on the sink. He had broken a heel. Damn.
"Ambrose..." Her voice sounded strained and hurt, and she looked at him as if he had slapped her in the face. "Do you have something that you want to tell me?"
"No."
"Nothing at all?"
"Nothing I want to tell you."
"Ah." A pause. "Is that my makeup?"
"You can have it back."
"Gods, no, keep it. Red... Red isn't my color, anyway." She gave him a weak smile. "What were you planning on doing, Ambrose?... All dressed up with no place to go!"
"We... can still go to the party. If you want."
"Gods, Ambrose, I... I don't even want to look at you right now." She turned on her heel, and Ambrose was sure he heard tears in her voice. "Goodbye, Ambrose. Have a nice life."
Later that week, he gave all the dresses to charity. He would explain it to Mother and Grandmother later; It was for a good cause, after all. Afterwards, though he didn't feel any better, he believed that, soon enough, he would take comfort in the fact that he would never feel the need to wear dresses again.
Ambrose wondered how many times a man could be wrong before the universe just imploded upon itself.
With university left far, far behind, and the tales of his transvestite escapades had been reduced to merely the spiteful whisperings of a woman scorned, Ambrose was sure that he would find a new life as the loyal advisor to the Queen of the OZ.
There he went, being wrong again.
This dress was... different than the others. It was blue, like the first, but made of a much different fabric: Gingham. It had fallen out of favor over the years, with the dresses only being worn for special occasions or for the fantasies of sick people.
This particular incident happened to fall under the latter category.
He heard the Queen refer to him as Ahamo, but the gossips claimed that Ahamo was merely a nickname, borne out of the Queen's first encounter with the Other Sider where a misunderstanding led her to believe that his place of origin was actually his name. Well, whatever his real name was, he had somehow convinced Ambrose to dress as the original Slipper, curly hair forced into shams of pigtails and all, and tie himself by his wrists to the consort's bed.
Probably through some sort of Other Sider trickery, he decided.
"Lav won't wear the dress," Ahamo said rather ruefully. The room was completely dark, save for the dim light of a small table lamp, and he stood in the shadows. Even though Ambrose couldn't see him, he knew the man was smirking. "I don't understand why. It's such a cute dress! I tried to get her to do it once, just once, but she went on and on about how it's sacred and I should respect it. Jeeze, what's sacred in the bedroom anymore? I remember this chick from Reno, and a nun outfit..."
He paused. "But, I'm probably boring you. You're a decisive man. A man of action. I respect that."
Slipping out of the shadows and crawling into the bed, Ahamo kissed him for the first (and only) time, and said in a throaty whisper, "Leave the dress on."
"I don't understand this. I don't understand this book, this holiday, or why DG's so obsessed about it!" Glitch threw the heavy book with all of his might.
Cain caught it easily, gently sitting it down on an end table. "You shouldn't do that, Glitch. You know how much this Bible thing means to DG. It's all about making her feel more at home on this Side." He grinned. "Besides, the main point of this holiday, DG said, is to get presents. And I know that you wouldn't say no to free stuff."
"You know me well." He inched closer to Cain's side of the couch. "Can I have my present now?"
"According to DG, no. She says we have to wait until six days before the start of the new annual."
"But, that's... ages from now!"
"It's two days."
"I can't wait that long, Cain!" Determined, he completely invaded Cain's couch territory, placing his head squarely in the man's lap and giving him his best impression of a puppy dog begging for treats. "Please? I won't tell if you won't!"
With a sigh, Cain pushed Ambrose's head out of his lap, despite protests, and stood. "Fine... But, just one. And I want to get something, too."
"Fantastic!" Reaching under the couch, Ambrose pulled out a dented and hastily wrapped box. "This was such a great hiding spot. You would have never found it."
Cain returned with a considerably larger box that had obviously been wrapped by Wrap Master Emily. "Oh, that one? Don't you have another one? I've already seen that." For a minute, he simply stared at Ambrose's scandalized expression, but after a while it became too difficult to control his laughter. "Just kidding, sweetheart."
When Cain rejoined him on the couch, Ambrose nudged his present towards him. "Open mine first," he said.
Cain was pleasantly surprised; A heart shaped tin locket with an intricate design, attached to a long silver chain. "It's beautiful. Thank you."
"Open the locket!" Ambrose could barely contain his excitement.
In Cain's humble opinion, the inside was even more beautiful than the outside. "This is a lovely picture of you," he said.
"I know, right? Azka-Dee's been taking up photography. She's getting pretty good at it, too."
"She is."
Smiling, Ambrose extended his hands. "I believe it's my turn."
Watching Ambrose rip open the box made the whole thing seem worth it. "It's... Some sort of article of clothing?"
There really was no other way to describe what Ambrose had removed from the box: It was built like a man's red shirt, but it was far too long and the fabric was too sheer for it to be anything other than a woman's nightgown. "Cain?..."
He swallowed noticeably.. "Sorry about this... The lady at the shop must have assumed that I was dating a woman, but I should have known that you wouldn't like it. I'm sorry."
"N-No, Cain..." Ambrose's eyes had a strange look in them; one that scared Cain slightly. "I... like it. Red is my color, you know... I believe I'll go... try it on."
As Ambrose walked into the bedroom, Cain wondered if he should have brought out the chemistry set instead.
Rating: R
Summary: Red was his color.
Warning: Crossdressing, angst, and Ahamo.
It had all started with his grandmother's antique wooden chest.
Ambrose was curious, as all good boys of seven annuals should be, and during one of his many excursions into the dangerous unknown that was the attic of his parents' home, he decided to try to open it up and see what treasures awaited him. It was a beautiful, ornate mahogany box with a rather unnerving lock attached to the front, but Ambrose found that the lock snapped off quite easily due to years of rust and neglect. His fingers trembled slightly as he lifted the heavy lid, and not entirely due to strain. What awaited him inside? Gold? Jewels? Or, even better, the chemistry set he had been begging his father for as a birthday present for ages?
It was clothes.
Coughing from the dust, he peered inside and felt utterly disillusioned. No gold, no jewels, no chemistry sets. Just boring, starchy, dusty old clothes.
Actually...
He reached in and took out a garment; A long, flowy dress made of light blue fabric. Sure, it smelled like mothballs and stale lemons, but it had a certain... quality to it. A quality that all of his other clothes, he decided, lacked.
It fit him rather well, the dress, though it was far too long for him. He thanked the Gods that his grandmother had narrow shoulders and hips, and he danced about the room, enjoying the way the dress swirled as he waltzed. His trousers and shirts certainly couldn't do that, and he decided, as he was quite the decisive young lad, that he would never wear such constrictive clothing ever again, if he could help it.
His mother walked into the room some time later and gently convinced him to get back into his proper clothes before his father saw him. He did so, and forgot all about the chest and the dress.
It had been a tough transition, going from shy, awkward home schooled Ambrose to shy, awkward university student Ambrose, but, he had done it, and with the vigor he usually reserved for badgering his father for the chemistry set he had wanted practically since birth. He had a few good friends, was the captain of the school's debate and soccer teams, and, hey, he even had a girlfriend! If some person out there declared himself the expert on normalcy, he would gaze upon Ambrose's life and declare, "Yep, he's normal." It was a good feeling.
Until the day he returned from his final Spring Break...
"I believe my mother gave me the wrong trunk."
Leona looked up from the book she was reading and gave him a rather uninterested look. "How do you know?" she asked before returning to the novel. She had left her dorm and walked to his nearby apartment to help him unpack his luggage from his visit home, but she certainly did not seem privy to helping out in the slightest.
Rolling his eyes, Ambrose took something out of the trunk and held it up to himself. "Does this look like something I would wear."
It was a rather lovely blue dress. She put the book down, not even bothering to save her place. "I should hope not." She grinned. "Unless you have something you want to tell me?"
"I most certainly do not." He sighed and sat down next to her, examining the dress. "It was my grandmother's. Do you want it?"
"No, it's too showy for me. I'll stick to my plain frocks, thank you very much." She took the dress from him and held it up to his body. "It doesn't do a thing for you. Red is your color."
"Knock it off!" Determined to ignore her good natured teasing, he busied himself with his unpacking. Still, her words remained in his mind for the rest of the afternoon, and they simply wouldn't leave, until...
She was right. Red was his color.
Red dress. Red shoes. Red makeup. Leona had taught him how to apply makeup when she needed his help with the severely understaffed school play, but he found that it was quite different applying makeup to yourself rather than another person. Still, he decided that he had done quite a good job, and he looked great. She was right; it really did bring out his eyes...
Luckily, his grandmother had stuffed quite a wide variety of dresses of various types and colors, and he had found his perfect match: A bright red, spaghetti strapped number that just reached his knees. Though it disturbed him to imagine his grandmother actually wearing the dress, all negative thoughts fled like roaches in the light when he finally got a good look at himself in the bathroom mirror.
"Ambrose? You in there?"
That rap on the door and that soft whisper scared him more than any ghost or goblin could ever even dream to. He jumped, scattering the makeup (stolen from Leona's purse) and knocking him hard onto the floor with a loud thump.
Leona opened the door. "Hey, I know you're probably still adjusting from the trip, but there's a party at Fran's dorm and I--"
She froze. "Ambrose..."
His face turned redder than anything he was wearing. "Can you help me up? I... think I broke a heel."
Minutes passed, and since Leona didn't seem privy to helping him up, he did it himself, leaning precariously on the sink. He had broken a heel. Damn.
"Ambrose..." Her voice sounded strained and hurt, and she looked at him as if he had slapped her in the face. "Do you have something that you want to tell me?"
"No."
"Nothing at all?"
"Nothing I want to tell you."
"Ah." A pause. "Is that my makeup?"
"You can have it back."
"Gods, no, keep it. Red... Red isn't my color, anyway." She gave him a weak smile. "What were you planning on doing, Ambrose?... All dressed up with no place to go!"
"We... can still go to the party. If you want."
"Gods, Ambrose, I... I don't even want to look at you right now." She turned on her heel, and Ambrose was sure he heard tears in her voice. "Goodbye, Ambrose. Have a nice life."
Later that week, he gave all the dresses to charity. He would explain it to Mother and Grandmother later; It was for a good cause, after all. Afterwards, though he didn't feel any better, he believed that, soon enough, he would take comfort in the fact that he would never feel the need to wear dresses again.
Ambrose wondered how many times a man could be wrong before the universe just imploded upon itself.
With university left far, far behind, and the tales of his transvestite escapades had been reduced to merely the spiteful whisperings of a woman scorned, Ambrose was sure that he would find a new life as the loyal advisor to the Queen of the OZ.
There he went, being wrong again.
This dress was... different than the others. It was blue, like the first, but made of a much different fabric: Gingham. It had fallen out of favor over the years, with the dresses only being worn for special occasions or for the fantasies of sick people.
This particular incident happened to fall under the latter category.
He heard the Queen refer to him as Ahamo, but the gossips claimed that Ahamo was merely a nickname, borne out of the Queen's first encounter with the Other Sider where a misunderstanding led her to believe that his place of origin was actually his name. Well, whatever his real name was, he had somehow convinced Ambrose to dress as the original Slipper, curly hair forced into shams of pigtails and all, and tie himself by his wrists to the consort's bed.
Probably through some sort of Other Sider trickery, he decided.
"Lav won't wear the dress," Ahamo said rather ruefully. The room was completely dark, save for the dim light of a small table lamp, and he stood in the shadows. Even though Ambrose couldn't see him, he knew the man was smirking. "I don't understand why. It's such a cute dress! I tried to get her to do it once, just once, but she went on and on about how it's sacred and I should respect it. Jeeze, what's sacred in the bedroom anymore? I remember this chick from Reno, and a nun outfit..."
He paused. "But, I'm probably boring you. You're a decisive man. A man of action. I respect that."
Slipping out of the shadows and crawling into the bed, Ahamo kissed him for the first (and only) time, and said in a throaty whisper, "Leave the dress on."
"I don't understand this. I don't understand this book, this holiday, or why DG's so obsessed about it!" Glitch threw the heavy book with all of his might.
Cain caught it easily, gently sitting it down on an end table. "You shouldn't do that, Glitch. You know how much this Bible thing means to DG. It's all about making her feel more at home on this Side." He grinned. "Besides, the main point of this holiday, DG said, is to get presents. And I know that you wouldn't say no to free stuff."
"You know me well." He inched closer to Cain's side of the couch. "Can I have my present now?"
"According to DG, no. She says we have to wait until six days before the start of the new annual."
"But, that's... ages from now!"
"It's two days."
"I can't wait that long, Cain!" Determined, he completely invaded Cain's couch territory, placing his head squarely in the man's lap and giving him his best impression of a puppy dog begging for treats. "Please? I won't tell if you won't!"
With a sigh, Cain pushed Ambrose's head out of his lap, despite protests, and stood. "Fine... But, just one. And I want to get something, too."
"Fantastic!" Reaching under the couch, Ambrose pulled out a dented and hastily wrapped box. "This was such a great hiding spot. You would have never found it."
Cain returned with a considerably larger box that had obviously been wrapped by Wrap Master Emily. "Oh, that one? Don't you have another one? I've already seen that." For a minute, he simply stared at Ambrose's scandalized expression, but after a while it became too difficult to control his laughter. "Just kidding, sweetheart."
When Cain rejoined him on the couch, Ambrose nudged his present towards him. "Open mine first," he said.
Cain was pleasantly surprised; A heart shaped tin locket with an intricate design, attached to a long silver chain. "It's beautiful. Thank you."
"Open the locket!" Ambrose could barely contain his excitement.
In Cain's humble opinion, the inside was even more beautiful than the outside. "This is a lovely picture of you," he said.
"I know, right? Azka-Dee's been taking up photography. She's getting pretty good at it, too."
"She is."
Smiling, Ambrose extended his hands. "I believe it's my turn."
Watching Ambrose rip open the box made the whole thing seem worth it. "It's... Some sort of article of clothing?"
There really was no other way to describe what Ambrose had removed from the box: It was built like a man's red shirt, but it was far too long and the fabric was too sheer for it to be anything other than a woman's nightgown. "Cain?..."
He swallowed noticeably.. "Sorry about this... The lady at the shop must have assumed that I was dating a woman, but I should have known that you wouldn't like it. I'm sorry."
"N-No, Cain..." Ambrose's eyes had a strange look in them; one that scared Cain slightly. "I... like it. Red is my color, you know... I believe I'll go... try it on."
As Ambrose walked into the bedroom, Cain wondered if he should have brought out the chemistry set instead.