But she was right that there weren't many options left. They were going for an Oz theme, as they hadn't for some years.
Well, for Cahill, it had been years since the last time they'd last re-imagined that classic American fairy tale. But that would only have been a few months for the other members of Clan Walker, given the differences in how time flowed here in Faerie as compared to the Dreaming. He was still getting used to that. Hard as it was to believe, his mother had recently informed him that she'd only given birth to him less than two years ago.
This time, Fiona was to play Dorothy. It had been Oona when last they'd done the whole Oz thing, but his aunt was currently opting for a part they'd previously neglected, casting herself as the Wicked Witch of the West. Much to Cahill's amusement, Gallech and Reilly had accordingly taken on the guises of two figures likely to spend a lot of time with the Wicked Witch -- a winged monkey and a green-skinned winkie guard, respectively. His younger sister would serve as the Tin Man, as her beloved Finnie had the last time. Finnegan was dressed up as Scarecrow and Seamus had claimed the Cowardly Lion.
As was only fitting, his mother would again be the Good Witch.
With red patent-leather pumps that were thickly encrusted with glittering rubies, white knee-high stockings, a skimpy blue jumper and frilly white blouse, Fi looked a good deal like the iconic character, even if hers was a decidedly more grown-up take. His sister even wore her dark brown hair in pig-tails, just the way Judy Garland had.
Of course,
that
Dorothy hadn't shown quite so much skin.
His sister's apple bottom was slightly visible beneath the hem of her dress. Without the white petticoats, her outfit would have granted an almost unobstructed view of that treasure. The bodice of the jumper didn't cover half of his sister's considerable bust, and the blouse only covered up a little more. That left an impressive amount of cleavage on display.
Oona's skin was green and her nose was longer than usual. Thick eyebrows had grown thicker, and acquired a wicked arch. Her lips were black as pitch, the same as her eyes. She wore a wide-brimmed black hat with a pointy tip. A black cape stretched from her shoulders down to her ankles. The similarities mostly ended there, though. At least, no version of the witch Cahill had ever seen had worn a fishnet body stocking, leather boots with six inch heels, or a black leather corset. Though Cahill could imagine some creative uses of the infamous broomstick, his aunt hadn't bothered to incorporate it.
As the Tin Man, Brittany wore stiletto heels, tight leather pants, a silk corset worn over a long-sleeved shirt, a choker, leather gloves, and a little funnel worn off to one side of her head. All of which, of course, were silver of one shade or another. She carried a woodsman's axe whose shaft was of a piece with its dull blade. Somehow, her getup managed to make her look both more imposing than usual and sexy as hell. If not for the axe and the funnel, it would have been hard to tell who she was supposed to be. But that didn't matter. Cahill would never again think that the Tin Man should be played by a man, even if there was a certain symbolism to seeing his quiet and eerily detached cousin dress up as a character who'd famously been in search of a heart. Her outfit wasn't nearly as skimpy as Fiona's. The only place any skin was visible was from the neck up and the ankle down. But, to his surprise, Cahill found that he rather liked the way the outfit complemented Brittany's body, suggesting more than it revealed.
Of course, no one could compare to his mother.
Caronwyn wore bright pink heels and white stockings with pink rainbows at the center of their elastic bands. Her full hips seemed even broader with her short but wide bright pink skirt. The soft pink overskirt that lay atop it only added to the effect. Her white corset had soft pink stripes and cups and a bright pink ribbon at the center. Soft pink epaulets covered her shoulders and she wore long pink gloves that reached past her elbows. Bright pink rainbows adorned the wrists. To bring it all together, she carried a star-tipped wand and wore a tall, thin silver crown atop her pile of red-brown curls.
Never had a woman looked so good. Never.
Of course, even at her worst, his mother put every other woman to shame. If it could even be said that she had a "worst," come to think of it. But the costume fit her so perfectly, in both the literal and metaphorical senses, that Cahill was surprised he didn't explode the instant he laid eyes on her. Her costume wasn't as modest as Brittany's nor as skimpy as Fiona's or Oona's, and he liked that very much. Her getup struck the exact right balance. No man could gaze upon her and doubt that she had an ultra-feminine form, nor without feeling a painful need to see more of that biologically impossible figure. His sisters looked good, to be sure. As did his aunt. But the redhead looked
amazing
. And then some. She was not only the best-looking to begin with, but hers was the best costume as well.
In fairness, even Gallech and Reilly looked a lot better than the characters they were depicting. Cahill didn't spend much time admiring their appearances, the way he did the women of his family, but he had to admit that they'd managed to eke more sex appeal out of the Wicked Witch's henchmen than one might expect.
Gallech's skin had turned light blue, and he'd grown a good deal of dark blue body hair, but he didn't actually look like a monkey at all. He still had the same handsome face that bordered on beautiful. The body hair that he'd grown was too sparse, too absent from unwanted places, to be mistaken for fur. It really only made him look more masculine, Cahill had to admit. The same way his father's pelt did when he was in satyr form. The blue vest with red and white trim, matching hat, prehensile tail, and feathery wings all made it quite clear who and what his brother was supposed to be, but it wasn't hard to imagine that a woman with a sufficiently open mind would still find him more than a little appealing.
Like his mother, Reilly had gone green. He carried a nasty polearm just like the ones in the film and wore more or less the same uniform. The one difference was the absence of thick plates of steel that should have covered him from neck to waist. Though armor covered his upper arms and all the other details were as they should have been, his torso was unprotected, and he wore his coat open so as to reveal his hard chest and chiseled abs.
If Gallech and Reilly rose above the limitations of their costumes, Finnegan and Seamus transformed their characters into veritable sex symbols.
Finnegan wore loose brown drawstring pants, a tight blue vest, a burlap sack over his head with a hole cut out for his face, and a broad-brimmed black hat. Straw hung out from the bottom of his pants and encircled his wrists and throat. His face had changed color to match that of the sack, save for his nose, which was brown. While Finnegan didn't have his brother's pecs or biceps, Cahill thought that his cousin looked at least as good in his loose but tiny vest as Gallech did in his tighter one. Of course, it helped that he wasn't blue and that his washboard abs weren't hidden beneath a thick layer of hair.
As for Seamus, well, he almost made Cahill wish he swung that way. He'd grown a tail, leonine ears, and a thick golden mane. But aside from that, he'd basically just thrown on a leather loincloth, made his skin golden-brown, and allowed some body hair to grow out. Not nearly as much as their oldest brother though. He hadn't bothered to adopt a feline nose or whiskers, nor to turn his hands and feet into paws. There really wasn't much difference between this Cowardly Lion and ordinary old Seamus. But his brother's best qualities were on full display, from abs any man could envy to long thighs that were powerful but not overdeveloped, and the animal likeness made his typically restrained brother seem wild and dangerous in a way that Cahill could only imagine would drive Fiona and the others crazy.
"So," Oona said, tapping a slender finger against her mouth. Even with her skin green and both her her fingernails and lips jet black, he found her incredibly beautiful. Not nearly as beautiful as his mother, of course, but there was no denying that his aunt was gorgeous. "Toto. Think you can make that work? Or are we all going to have to laugh at you?"
Part of him wanted to say that he had no time for the silly exercise. That he'd come looking for his mother, and he didn't care what the rest of them did, so long as they let him talk to her. But he'd only end up piquing everyone's interest, guaranteeing that he and his mother would get no privacy, if he said as much. Besides, the news would wait.
So. Toto.
"I...guess," he said.
Oona snickered. "You're too cute, Kay," she said, reaching out to pinch his cheek, the way his mortal aunts often had back in the Dreaming.
He took a page from Seamus' book, opting for a very minimal costume. He grew a short, bushy tail and donned a knit hat that depicted the face of a terrier. His goatee grew thicker and took on a lighter tint. His hands and feet turned dark gray, nearing black, but did not turn into paws or grow any hair. Aside from a gray furry loincloth and his hat, he wore no other clothes. His well-muscled body was almost fully exposed.
Yet, he knew before the snickers began that he didn't look as good as Seamus.
A man could liken himself to a lion and add to his sex appeal. But a terrier? Not a chance. It didn't matter that Cahill had an enviable body, a sharply v-shaped torso, long legs, and a huge dick that his loincloth could barely contain. His biceps and calves might look like baseballs, and his abs might have been almost as perfect as Seamus', but with his cute puppy dog cap and his waggly tail, he was a big joke.
"Awwww," Oona tried to say, though she was failing so miserably at stifling her laughter that it didn't quite come out that way. Pressing a hand to his hard abs, she said, "Don't you just look...." Whatever she'd intended to say turned into a mix of snorts and snickers.
"Thanks," Cahill said, infusing the word with as much sarcasm as he could.
"Oh, you're adorable, sweetie," his aunt said, sounding now almost as though she meant it. She went up on tiptoes and kissed him softly on the lips, helping his shame to recede a little further. "And you know it." The hand that had been pressed against his abs fell a little lower and rubbed his manhood through his skimpy undergarment. "Dorothy better keep her eyes on you. This Wicked Witch isn't all that interested in girls from Kansas, but her
little
dog? Him, we'd very much like to get our hands on."
Cahill kissed his aunt back. Deeply. And gave her ass a firm squeeze before letting go.
