(no subject)
Wanda had a problem. It was hardly an urgent one, and she'd merrily set it aside for weeks, but now that she'd gotten accustomed to the new and arguably improved island-that-wasn't-an-island-anymore, it was time to get down to business.
It had been tough enough figuring out how to look the part of a woman the first time around. She knew what she thought looked good, of course, but that didn't always line up perfectly with what was comfortable or practical. And make-up? Much easier to get a handle on in theory than in practice. Still, she'd stuck it out, asked for help where she could, and eventually, it all slowly started to come together. She'd decided very early on after her resurrection that, while she'd obviously prefer to be a man than a woman, she'd also prefer to be the best damn woman she could be over half-assing it. If that meant suddenly having to learn to dress herself all over again to fit the new Victorian standard, then so be it.
Alright, so Wanda had a lot of problems. Maybe fashion was the least among them, but it was also the one she felt to most in a position to do something about. And, as before, this occasionally involved not being shy about asking for help.
"Excuse me?" she called, flagging down the first corporeal person she saw passing by the steps to her home and ignoring the scandalized gasps and remarks of scorn from the not-quite-there rabble that bustled along the streets. She was already damn cold, wearing nothing north of her skirts but a black corset that she was pretty much just holding up. She wasn't about to get all up in arms over issues of modesty, as well.
"Care to help a lady lace up for the first time?" she asked, turning around.
It had been tough enough figuring out how to look the part of a woman the first time around. She knew what she thought looked good, of course, but that didn't always line up perfectly with what was comfortable or practical. And make-up? Much easier to get a handle on in theory than in practice. Still, she'd stuck it out, asked for help where she could, and eventually, it all slowly started to come together. She'd decided very early on after her resurrection that, while she'd obviously prefer to be a man than a woman, she'd also prefer to be the best damn woman she could be over half-assing it. If that meant suddenly having to learn to dress herself all over again to fit the new Victorian standard, then so be it.
Alright, so Wanda had a lot of problems. Maybe fashion was the least among them, but it was also the one she felt to most in a position to do something about. And, as before, this occasionally involved not being shy about asking for help.
"Excuse me?" she called, flagging down the first corporeal person she saw passing by the steps to her home and ignoring the scandalized gasps and remarks of scorn from the not-quite-there rabble that bustled along the streets. She was already damn cold, wearing nothing north of her skirts but a black corset that she was pretty much just holding up. She wasn't about to get all up in arms over issues of modesty, as well.
"Care to help a lady lace up for the first time?" she asked, turning around.