<span class="bbc_size" style="font-size: 8pt;">"Ehh, seems I'll have to change my plan..."<br/><br/>Alternatives, alternatives...spontaneous tactics invaded Blaire's cranium; the massive onslaught of ploys became painful spikes and were driven deeply into clanking mental cogs. The only option now sprang up from the unsuitable others: a glowing keyboard was slid out--fingers deftly typed their desired message.<br/><br/><em>I thought I was the one playing hard to get! Meet me at the Eight Street tailor. There's a great Italian restaurant right next door.</em><br/><br/>With the satisfying pastry finished--reduced to mere crumbs upon a paper plate--, the enthusiastic female pranced home, actually excited about decorating herself in glamorous finery.<br/>---<br/>The flimsy brush swiped onto chiffon lips a powdery pink...however, not much makeup, besides the distinct lip gloss, was used. Rolling curves snuggled against elegant lingerie: a lavender bikini and brassiere, so luxurious amid the pastures of pale skin whereas they exist. Loose curls billowed over the halter-top dress, whose rich, cobalt material shimmered whenever its wearer took a step forward or backwards. Those chocolate spirals veiled the sterling hoops hanging about each ear; a silver bracelet clinked as the sibling scurried thorough the empty house--Dustan must have been out...<br/><br/>Blaire indeed pouted, more than once, at the mimicked image reflected off the mirror. Too little makeup? Too much jewelry? <br/><br/>She stomped a sandal-clad foot, simultaneously watching the annoyed mime do the same. "I hate this! Christ, I should just go in a T-shirt and jeans..."<br/><br/>After swapping contacts for glasses, the ruffled woman snatched up a leather clutch, then began the voyage to the eatery.<br/>---<br/><br/>Outside the Italian Restaurant deemed <em>Ragazza</em> was where the girl stood, awaiting the arrival of her scrumptious date. </span>