OOC: image by Nat +5 (718)
I'll hold your hand if you hold mine
She told him that she hated it here. Mars didn't have a feeling that she liked the place, but he never realized that she detested it as much as she did. He grew slightly more uncomfortable knowing that she hated it here. Mars was content with where they had moved to this time, and he had found himself to soon be ready to divulge himself into the culture and the people of Crimson Dreams instead of just being in Piccolo Village on their own. None of the others had come here, for what reason the Russo was not sure of, for it seemed nice enough for him at least. I'm...sorry... the male told her. He almost didn't know what to tell her about that. Is there something we can do to make it likeable for you? the man asked her as he continued to measure the woman. She did not flinch, nor did she move much besides taking her hand and touching his chest, and combing through the fur there. Her hand felt good against his chest, but he did not really have much of a response to it because he was not the one whom was like that. Bartholomew would have probably thrown his arms all around her or something of the sort.
She laughed at his mention of her breasts getting bigger, and then commented about how having kids would do that. Inside he felt bad because her having their children was obviously his fault, since without sperm you cannot make children. He knew that deep down that he was the reason these children existed. He did not speak, but he gave her a half smile, pathetic it was. She asked what was going to be made or her, and he had to actually think about that first since he had not really gotten that far with thinking about what specifically he was going to make. He normally took dimensions first and thought about the design later. He paused for a good minute, repeating the number that he had found to be the woman's chest. I'm stuck between making you a new kilt and making you a dress. Your old kilt is sorta...old looking now. the man spoke, trying to find the right words for what was up with the kilt. Most of it was that there was blood stains on it by now. I'm still trying to finish that dress I started to make in early spring. So we can work on that too, if you would like to help with that today as well. the male told her, knowing that he had way too much fabric in the chest area for the woman on the dress. That's pretty much all he needed, and he also wanted to experiment and do frilly things to the dress for her, so that she could look extra beautiful.
Mars moved his hands from her chest to her her stomach that was now flat. He'd almost gotten used to the pregnant belly of the woman that it was almost weird for him to see her skinny all of a sudden and again. It was a relief as well though. Fatter Krystalle ate a lot more than skinny Krystalle, simple as that. Now she wasn't eating for four, so she didn't eat as much. He liked her either way because he felt almost obliged to by Bartholomew's left over emotions that sunk into Mars' side of the fence. In all reality though, Mars was attracted to the woman, for he probably would be lost yet again if he lost her as well. Let's just say that she had grown on him like a vine does a tree.
The male muttered the numbers under his breath before he glanced behind himself and he had taken the pencil and paper from the counter and he wrote down the sizes in inches and then he would move to her hips and repeat the process. Her hips also had grown, and he guessed that this too was from having puppies. Here too.. he commented almost under his breath with an interested flare to his voice. You have any requests or ideas about how it should fit? he asked, wondering if she wanted to put in some more input to what he would be making for her.
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