@ Ome:  Tilting you back in the chair, they trim and primp and wash and scrub and shine and comb and curl, and yet when they pull you back up to face yourself in the mirror, little has changed; you just seem to shine more.  Your hair has been shortened to a mix of practicality and modern tomboyish sass, and though it would be so much less of a burden in any fight, at the same time you're absolutely stunning.  It highlights, quite well, the inherently strong expression carved into your distinguished features.<br/><br/>“Ah... ah!” The spikehaired fellow grins.  “I just saw... for every inch of your face, I had a vision – it's YOU!”<br/><br/>@ KavenBach:  Shari takes a deep breath, and it's almost... as if she's drawn the breath from you, even though her lips are nowhere near yours.  She smiles, breathing you in and out, pulling free your skintight suit gently, in no rush, but neither with the amateurishly slow characteristic of a first-time striptease; no, she gently removes your clothes, and kisses your fingers, and starts to massage your arms, sitting behind you, her breasts pressed firmly to your back as she strokes every ridge of your ribs, up to your armpits, to your biceps, taking in your scent with each silent breath.  Her lips then curl into a smile, and your hands, over your head, are softly bound at the wrist with an instant's effort.  Tim, on the other end of the bed, smiles his inexperienced, quasi-innocent eyes up at you, pressing his lips to your feet, as though worshiping them; rubbing the soles to his cheek, his eyes shut, smiling with the feel as Shari's lips travel up and down your neck at a mile a minute; sensuous, full, turning to meet your halfway, her nostrils flaring and her face pink with flush now in anticipation.  Tim has already begun now with a footbath, fragrant with salts, sponging your feet with a toasty damn sponge, before his lips, his tongue, travel over your toes passionately, puckering over each one, one by one...<br/><br/>@ TaciturnTiger:  “It's not that simple...” He swallows as two security guards stand in the doorway, wearing thick vests; you would recognize these, as most will users do, as primium, refined gold vests, much to magic as lead is to radiation (but far more expensive.)  As with their masks.  The assistant leaves in a panic, and the guards approach calmly with something much like fire extinguishers; there seems no threat about them, only a dutiful disposition despite the hiding of their faces, they spray you both down with the copper canisters, leaving a faint twinkling white dust about you both.  “Please come with us.” The one on the left nods toward the door.  “Agent, you know what's going on.  Miss, you have nothing to worry about if you cooperate, this is for your health, after all.” He beckons to you, preparing to lead you both below.