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He wears the denim skirt because it's stiff enough at the waist to hide a lack of hips and pulls tight enough on the back when he bends over that his ass looks fantastic. He wears a tight tee proclaiming him to be a princess, word formed in sparkly pink, so he only needs an A-cup today. Popping the cap on a tube of cherry lip gloss, he takes a quick sniff and applies it liberally. He likes it because she's never sure if it smells and tastes like juicy pink bubblegum or the cherry it's supposed to be and he likes fucking with her senses like that.
A dab of gel and a tousling with his fingers gives his hair an artfully mussed look that bleeds femininity into his short 'do. He doesn't bother with makeup. He has a faint, fading sunburn across his cheekbones, so no blush is necessary, and any eye makeup would be pointless. Jewelry, though...
They got his ears pierced a while back and she bought him a pair of dangling, silvery musical note earrings, all piranha-grinned dare, and he puts them on now. A short necklace with a round red and teal pendant of her symbol hanging on it goes on next, and finally a gaudy silver charm bracelet that tinkles like a million tiny bells if he so much as thinks of moving.
An ironic kiss is blown to the hottie in his bathroom mirror and on his way back through his room he steps into a pair of flat, open-toed sandals. He may be shorter than John, but he's still taller than her, no need to call attention to it with heels. His toes are conveniently painted pink from when she was over the other night.
Lip gloss and phone are tossed into the purse waiting patiently on his bed. It's covered in sequined cherries and already stocked with typical purse detritus like tissues and his wallet.
The deluge of charms covering his bracelet chime all the way to the bus stop and on into the bus that's just pulling up as he gets there, because he has the schedule memorized and adjusted for traffic depending on time of day. He takes a seat between the front and the middle and no one gives him a second look. Knees together, purse in his lap, he flips through the charms one by one, remembering the stories behind each of them. He's on the teddy bear with a beach ball when the bus pulls up next to the mall and he takes his time getting off, waiting for the initial mad rush to pass. It's a summer weekend and the air-conditioned mall is the place to be.
He puts a little swagger in his walk, making his hips sway as he gets off the bus and heads to the Burger King across the street. It's crowded as well, but she's already there and jealously guarding a table with a friendly, serrated smile. He pauses inside the door and almost smirks when he gets a good look at her.
She's in the red plaid vest that hides her own, unstuffed A-cups, thick hair slicked back into something more masculine. Not that some humans would even be able to tell the difference, unfortunately, but there's significantly less chance she'll be hearing "miss" or "ma'am" today.
Her head snaps up, tilting so her nostrils are pointed in his direction, and her lips slide into a different kind of predatory smile. She stands as he approaches and she pulls out a chair for him, nose sniffing and snuffing to get a good picture of his appearance. His ass brushes against her arm as he takes a seat and her grin widens. She leans over, breathing in deeply, and a hand slowly comes up to trace the chain of his necklace down from his neck to the pendant just below his collarbones.
"You're wearing my symbol, coolkid," Terezi murmurs, breath tickling against his ear.
"No point giving a lady jewelry if she's not gonna wear it," Dave replies.
"I know," she says as she takes her own seat, sharp elbows stabbing the tabletop so she can rest her pointy chin on her hands. "Just making an observation."
Observation, subtly staking a claim in his mind, same difference. He tries not to think about how it's halfway to a collar, or might as well be one, because he's not sure they're at a point in their relationship where there's room for that kind of kink. The skirt? Oh no, the skirt isn't for her, it's because irony, shut up. It's a bizarre, convoluted game of crossdressing chicken they play sometimes without informing each other ahead of time. First one to say something instead of rolling with it loses. They've been gay, lesbians, and this right here more times than he can remember, and so far it's a stalemate.
Because she's a gentleman, Rezi takes his order and goes to stand in line, cane out and bumping shins left and right. Dave stays behind to take up guard duty over their table, purse laying claim on her vacated seat so no one gets any bright ideas about stealing it so a friend can join an already-crowded booth or shoved-together set of tables. Jesus fuck, is that a birthday party?
It is, apparently, because Terezi comes back to the table with their order on a tray in one hand and a bright red balloon clutched in the other. Before he can open his mouth, she's telling him, "I asked first." He glances over and sees that the parents are eying her warily, but don't appear to be making any moves toward getting a manager involved. They probably gave it to her so she'd leave before she traumatized the delicate thinkpans of their precious babies. She sets the tray down between them and pushes an assortment of sauces toward him.
Terezi ties the balloon to her chair and begins drowning her food in ketchup packets. She flashes him a grisly, tomato-bloody grin and suddenly his bra feels too warm and he's pretty sure he's popping a whole logging company in his ironic panties.
Probably, he decides, this whole thing is somehow Bro's fault. He'll leave it to Rose to analyze it, though. Probably he'll tell her about it for her birthday present. He is the absolute best paradox ecto-brother.
He also decides he'll let Rezi get a hand up his skirt later if she wants. He's feeling like that kind of girl right about now.