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Characters: Polly/Mal
Disclaimer: The author makes no claim to owning the rights of anything to do with Terry Pratchett or Discworld.
I like girls
It’s the dresses, Polly theorized. It was the dresses that made them silly, like girls. Ruffles and lace and pretty colors, not like rough utilitarian soldier’s wear. Maladicta’s mouth tastes like champagne, like those little hors d’oeuvres cracker things, and most importantly, Maladicta’s mouth tastes like Maladicta. But was it really her? Was this the taste of Maladict, déshabille vampire boy, or Maladicta, trapped vampire girl? Warm, slick, sharp teeth. They giggle and press and sigh up against some pillar in some palace—where the hell are they anyway—celebrating the end. The end for now. She remembers getting dressed; tied and pinned and locked into her fancy things by quiet girls who stared at her trousers and the cut of her jacket. Face hot, getting laced tighter and tighter into her bodice, Polly caught Maladicta’s eye across the room and the smile they shared was breathless for more than one reason. Dresses, isn’t that silly? Look at us, all done up pretty like girls. Fireworks boom and flash pink-red outside, just pretty enough to be unlike cannon fire. Their skin is hot and the skirts are heavy, rustling loud against each other. “Polly,” Mal sighs against her mouth, “Polly,” and Polly finally knows who she’s tasting. |