Unexpected Company, but not Unwelcome
He chalked it up to nerves, the rumbling in his stomach, the nausea. It certainly wasn't the assassin he ate for lunch last season. No no, that couldn't be it. Yet, as he looked in the mirror, at his shoddy make-up job, covered in ivory foundation, his hair a boring mop on his head, he lamented, "I wish I had less not-splendid hair than this dreary mop." After saying it, he pouted, "It's not fair, every star has their own personal stylist. Someone who understands fashion and personal expression as it relates to me, my personality, my performance.
He remembered Omesintihlih, his childhood friend and later lover, whom he dearly missed. Last he heard she'd been bound for Viden. And now neither hide nor hair had been heard of the poor princess of vice. Leaving Zuny all to his poor lonesome. Woe was he.
"I wish... She was he..." Something caught on his throat then, and he feared he'd be retching up some crystalline illusory puke. His eyes went wide, but then he let out a breath and nothing but light came out, light which coalesced, and formed a cloudy nimbus before him. As he pumped more of the wretched light into the air in front of him, he felt something welling up. The light condensced, and began taking shape.
He knew this shape, at a visceral level. It was Omesintihlih's shape! He would know it anywhere, even in Uleuda. Had he eaten her whole and forgotten it? No surely not. What then was happening? Was he producing an illusionary buddy, prompted by his great longing and some unheard of Yludih ability? This felt like a lie, like it wasn't really Omesintihlih, although thoughts of her ran through his mind as she continued to take form.
He saw her form naked, in her first illusionary form, albeit all grown up of course. He swiftly took a overrobe from his dressing chair, and draped it over her, making sure to cinch it at the waist lest some stagehand make lecherous overtures at a very naked and beautiful jewel of an Illusionary person.
"Hello Carmen." Zuny said, crystal tears forming in his eyes. "Since you're here... Mind giving me a hand with my hair, makeup, and clothes?"
Carmen looked up at him, and swept aside her chocolate hair. She sized Zuny up, wrapping her arms around the robe he'd given her. "Red."
"Yes, red. The color of Quacia's blood lights, the stain of a sacrificial Theocratic lamb. The color of home."
"The very prettiest of colors." Carmen nodded. "You have a red wig?"
"No, Agatha is in Quacia still, but her hair, her wig, I'm afraid I misplaced it." Zuny shook his head at Carmen, wondering if she was all there. But then this was how he remembered her, wasn't it? Always the eternal child, at least in her mind. Not the brightest bulb, but sublimely talented in the things she enjoyed. Which, coming back to the point. "Hair, makeup?"
She looked at him again, and shrugged. "Clothes are fine, red and black are good colors on you. But your hair looks like a peasant mop, and your makeup looks like mortar."
Zuny giggled at her, pleased that she had some wit and talent for analogy. Omesintihlih hadn't been that clever with words, but he supposed that was his own influence coming into her 'rebirth'.
It's now perfect.
I expect to see Zunylanih rising in the performance scene!