After having been floated over our escape like a balloon over a parade, we feared that she would be one of the most immediately recognizable of our group. As such, we not only dyed her garish orange hair, we insisted that her new costume cover as much of her as possible. To this end, Vilhelm had found a dress he called a “moo-moo,” a name which did nothing toward endearing the garment to my apprentice.
“I mean, really. High Roller,” she said, backing me toward a corner. “Isn’t it bad enough that half the town’s seen me as a blimp? Tell me I don’t have to be a cow-cow now.”
“Honest, Massha,” Vilhelm put in. “The style is fairly popular here in Blut. A lot of the ladies wear it who are . . . that is, are a bit . . .”
“Fat!?”
She loomed over the little vampire. “Is that the word you’re groping for, Short and About To Become Extinct?”
“Let’s face it, dear,” Tananda said, coming to the rescue. “You are carrying a little extra weight there. Believe me, if there’s one time you can’t kid yourself about your body, it’s when you’re donning costumes. If anything, that outfit makes you look a little slimmer.”
“Don’t try to kid a kidder, sweetie,” Massha sighed. “But you’re right about the costuming thing. This thing is so drab, though. First I’m a blimp, and now I’m an army tent.”
“Now that I’ll agree with,” Tananda nodded. “Trust a man to find a drab mu-mu. Tell you what. There’s a scarf I was going to use for a belt, but maybe you could wear it around your neck.”
I was afraid that last crack would touch off another explosion, but Massha took it as a helpful suggestion and the two of them went off in search of other possible adornments.