Mollyasha lipstick

Yasha likes staying in Molly's little fortune teller's tent, if she has time once the stage is set but before there's a need for her at the admissions gate. The incense is too strong, and Molly is insufferable before the first show in a new town, but it's a nice little respite from lifting things.

"Y'know, the mayor's coming to tonight's show… we should gussy up a little, don't you think?" Molly's voice has her eyes opening from where she'd let them close, spread out over the cheap rugs and faux silk cushions. He sits cross-legged beside her, fidgeting with his tarot deck and tail thrashing in that impatient way it always does when he's itching for patrons to arrive. His anxiety should make her antsy too, she thinks, but she's not at all.

"Why would I dress up? I'm just the muscle." Yasha turns til she's resting on her elbow, facing Molly proper. "And you look fancy enough already."

Molly winks at her with his long, dramatic lashes. "You charmer, you! And to think, I haven't even got my lipstick on!"

With a flourish, he pulls out a tiny pot of something from behind his stout little table, and a brush with a gold handle so nice-looking she knows he must have stolen it. She watches as he dips the brush in the little pot of purple-pink and brings it to his lips, painting them /just/ over-lined and perfectly shaped even without a mirror.

"Would you like to borrow it? Even the muscle needs to look handsome." Molly holds the brush out to her, but Yasha's eyes stay fixed on his lips, the tiny specks of glitter reflected in the lamp light.

After a moment, she shakes her head no. "Wouldn't be good at it. I only know how to just… smear the kohl on my eyes and go."

Molly's nose crinkles at that, the decorative gold chain linking it to his ear jingling slightly. "You're right, I've seen you do it. Here," and then he's on her lap, lithe legs either side of her hips, "stay still."

Yasha doesn't think she's capable of anything but. Molly's hand holds her jaw, angling it as he applies the paint to her lips, and she tries not to think about how close he is for risk of turning pink on the cheeks as well. It's over fairly quick though, and Molly pulls back, arms crossed and admiring his work. "You're more of a winter than I, but still, /very/ charming."

Outside, Gustav clangs a cymbal loud throughout the camp, and the carnival comes alive tenfold, performers rushing past their tent to make their various cues. Molly inhales deep, that anxious breath that actors always seem to take, and stands up, brushing imaginary dust off his outfit. "Well, here we go. Come by again once you're done, alright? If this mayor comes to visit me, I'll split my /tip/ with you for cake after."

Yasha snickers at that. If the mayor visits him, it's likely Molly will fuck him right through the main show. "Alright." Yasha promises, and for a second she's not sure why Molly's staring at her so hard when she says so, until she remembers the colour on her lips. She smiles, ducks as she leaves his little tent, and doesn't wipe it off.