Ryah looked horrified. "A makeover?" He sputtered. "I'm not--I don't--You want me to wear<i>make up</i>or something?" That was just about the most terrible idea he'd ever heard of. Not that Ryah was well versed in that sort of thing. Because he was straight, and he didn't do make up. That stuff was for women and actors and actresses and teenage girls. Men didn't wear make up.<br/><br/>As much as he appreciated the thought of having a wing man and back up, the idea of booty shorts kind of ruined it. The closest thing Ryah owned was probably a pair boxer-briefs he hated and never wore. He was definitely more of a boxers kind of guy. "I will give you twenty bucks to stop talking about this," he said, voice verging on desperate. "Fifty if we never bring this up again."<br/><br/>He decided his entire plan was to just show up and buy the vampire a drink. It would have to be enough, because Ryah didn't know the first thing about picking anyone up, guy<i>or</i>girl, and he didn't want to get a makeover.  Though really, if he had his way, he'd be staked out on a nearby rooftop with a rifle. None of this undercover bullshit. None of this pretending to be gay to catch a vampire...and didn't that sentence just sound ridiculous? How was this his life?<br/><br/>"I can't stop you from joining me tomorrow night, not really. And I do appreciate any help you're willing to give, even though I think it's a terrible idea," he continued. But he understood, on some level. Being cooped up, having nothing to do all day, it sucked. It was no wonder Drake was itching to get out.