Mirror Mirror

Title: Mirror Mirror
Time Period: July, 127 A.E.
Characters Appearing:

Summary: It's wickedness abounds when one vain creature tries not to spoil another's beauty before an important event.

"Stop fussing! I swear on my great gran's pelt that you're a worse fidget than a weasel."

"You'll burn! I'll do it on purpose! Don't test me Constance Rowntree!"

Yells of that sort have been echoing down the stone corridor for the better part of an hour. Inside the little istance's hair with a hot iron. Already a few bits of burnt paper have hit the floor, mostly from Luna's own need to scare the child.

She's not a very nice person.

"Constance! Stop it! Get your hand away from there!" Slapping the child away from the puff of powder sends the thing flying and results in a large dust cloud flying into the air around them.

The child finds this funny. Laughing, Constance seems unafraid of the threat of fire, daring Luna to try just try with one fiery look. The slap of hand against smaller hand causes the child to withdraw it as a temporary retreat before she looks back up at Luna.

"I can do it myself. Better than you! Better than anyone!"

And then there's her other hand snaking its way up to cause who knows what mischief.

"Fine then, naughty thing, I would much prefer to be with boys my own age than sitting and fixing your hair. No wonder my Da' made me do this, your last governess likely quit from all the headache you gave her." Despite the fact that Constance has a sunny disposition most of the time. Except when Luna is around. Perhaps because that good attitude puts the young woman's teeth on edge. No one can be that happy so much of the time without an angle.

Dropping the iron on the dressing table, the older blonde picks up the puff and sets it back into its tin with a huff. She glares at the young girl before closing it tight, then hammering its silver top once with her fist. "Sit still."

"Why would you want to be off with boys?" Constance asks, huffing as the tin is securely closed. Her arms fold over her chest. "They don't know anything. Except Peter." There are always exceptions to the child's rules as Luna has often found out the hard way.

"Okay," she sighs dramatically. "You can fix my hair but you had better not mess it up. I have to look the best! I have to."

Luna sticks her tongue out and makes a face at the child via the mirror. Picking the hot iron up again, she fold some tissue around a thin chunk of hair and then coils the whole mess around it. "You'll likely have it all over in a matter of minute anyway," Luna complains blandly, "you never keep yourself right. Always running around like a chicken with your head cut off. Where do you have to run to anyway? You just said you don't like boys."

Then she sighs and stares off into the distance. Apparently for a little too long because suddenly her eyes go wide and she's swallowing and tittering and hiding something while brushing frantically at Constance's fine hair. "Let's just put it up in a fancy ribbon, aye? It'll look best that way."

"I am just being the best and so I have to look the best and then everyone will like me," Constance explains, rolling her eyes as if Luna should have already known this fact. The girl stares into the mirror, shifting her weight in the chair as she waits impatiently for Luna to finish.

But it isn't long until there's an incidence. The young girl isn't stupid and Luna's hurried actions are not lost on her. "You've ruined it, haven't you?" She shrieks, hands balling into fists. "You've ruined me!"

And then her lip quivers.

"It's not my fault! If you weren't such an insufferable child then parhaps— Oh never you mind! It'll look lovely or you won't leave the house anyway." At least Luna wouldn't if it were her. Constance is enough like Luna anyway… at least in vanity and stage stealing.

The thing Luna was hiding is dropped to the floor unceremoniously, the entire strand that she'd been curling, singed off practically at the root. She kicks it under the chair as a warning to the girl that more of the same could happen. "Now see what you did? Sit still and it won't happen again."

Lip-quivering is only the first stage. Then comes the inevitable tears. But these aren't the tears of anger that Luna might have been expecting. Constance is crying, but it's no wailing scream, no scream of blame, just a round of quiet sobs before she manages to hiccup out a response.

"You have to fix it, Luna. You have to fix it. I have to go out there, you don't understand! It's important. I have to go, they need me, I have to be the best."

Then there's a word that Luna never hears coming out of Constance's mouth. "Please."

But Luna isn't so tender hearted that she understands that she's not being blamed. The tears only set her further on edge, causing her to roll her eyes and let loose a long sigh. "You'll be just fine," it's the good phrase the older blonde gives her before slowing in her brushing.

"We could try fixing it like your auntie's, do you like it in braids?" She begins weaving the hair as she turns the child's stool with her foot, to allow her to see. Holding the thin braid with one hand, she pulls a thin pink ribbon from her dress with the other and begins twisting it in. "That'll make it look fancy… just think what everyone will say, you'll look right exotic, won't you?" Because Aislinn is exotic, as she isn't born and bred Dornie.

The tears continue to fall as Luna's attempts to 'soothe' Constance don't really hit the mark. She sniffles, though still softly, wiping at her face and turning her head so she doesn't have to look at Luna. Which, of course, doesn't make it easy to braid her hair. Breathing in deeply, she nods, feebly.

"She's pretty. Fix it like hers, I want to look pretty like her," she agrees readily, before her voice turns more earnest again. "Please please please fix it. I have to do a good job. It's very important."

"Very well but you will owe me a very large boon for this. Sit still."

Turning the child away from the mirror, Luna begins to work. Constance's hair is twisted and woven into something much different than Aislinn's hair. For one, it's not just a few braids here and there, only because once she started, Luna just couldn't stop.

"Sit and don't move. If you do I will sheer off every bit of hair on your head until you're as bald as an egg." Exiting from the room, the older blonde races through the corridor and comes back more than ten minutes later with an armload of wild heather. "This'll do nicely." Is all the warning Constance receives before sprigs are torn off and fit through her scalp.

It's not the threats that tie Constance to her chair, though her patience might seem as much. She doesn't look so much afraid as concerned, and she stares back into the mirror as she watches Luna finish the braids and flowers. Fingers reach up and brush the last of her tears away as she stares at her reflection.

With her hair braided up at the back of her hair, she looks very pretty indeed. Hair twisted together and tied up at the back of her head, it might be slightly tighter than Constance might like, but the girl says nothing other than wrinkling her nose when Luna sticks in the sprigs of heather.

"I'm pretty," she assesses. "You did okay." That's probably the best thanks the girl is going to be giving.

"Hmph, okay, what sort of talk is that from a girl your age. Really Constance, you'd think you were raised in a barn instead of a castle. You'd do well to learn how to speak properly… and fix your own hair properly if you're going to set your sights on the stage. I'll not be here for long." Whatever that means. Luna gets to work dusting the child's face and painting her lips a ruby shade. The child's eyebrows are brushed and then painfully plucked, giving her pointed peaks where she has none. Rouge, shadow, and a beauty mark on her upper right cheek in the shape of a dark heart are added before Luna finally steps back.

It's a critical eye that falls on the young mistress before Luna takes the end of her own sleeve and tears the lace from it. "One thing I cannot abide by is young women being so plain. Why does everything in Dornie have to be so plain." One hand shucks Constance roughly under the chin to keep her head up while she tucks the fringe around her collar. "You take good care of that, I spent a week crochetting it. It's very expensive silk thread, you'll not know what I had to do to get it."

"I was not raised in a barn," Constance protests, her eyes narrowing at Luna at the insult. Still, she is more patient than before and allows the primping and polishing to put on her face for the stage. And put on her face she does. When Luna has finished her task, Constance holds her head up high, one glance cast to the mirror to see how the lace looks.

"I will never merely be plain," she says, her voice smooth, much more ladylike than before. Perhaps Luna's words were a challenge that the girl has accepted. "Nothing about me will ever be plain and it will be good for you to remember it."

Getting to her feet, the young girl turns towards the door. "I will show them what they need to see. And they will clap and everyone will be happy once again. Everyone will be happy." She pauses. "Because it's important."