Time Travel With a Rude English Boy from the Nineteenth Century.
Chapter Five
PAYTON’S POV
“You’re hurting me,” I whined as Azalea relentlessly brushed my hair. My eyes were watering, and I grit my teeth to deal with the pain.
“All done!” Azalea cried my hair was tangle-fee. My scalp was sore from my hair being tugged so hard. “Now, let’s get your hair up and out of your face.”
It was awkward as she pinned my hair up into a bun. No one ever did my hair when I was younger, because I lived with my father for all of my childhood. I felt out-of-place for the umpteenth time that day. I wondered if this qualified as a makeover. After what seemed like forever and a half, Azalea announced that she was finished. I turned to look into the vanity, but Azalea’s vice-like grip on my shoulder prevented me from doing so. “I’ll let you see when you’re done,” the girl announced. “For now, wait for me to do my hair.”
I nodded and watched her carefully as she turned towards the vanity and began prepping her hair. “Aren’t you going to get a, uh… servant to do it?” I asked curiously.
“No,” Azalea replied breezily. “I prefer to do it myself.” I scowled that she was able to do her own hair, but remained silent. Azalea gripped her black hair and winked at me before pulling it off of her head completely. Bright orange ribbons cascaded onto her shoulders elegantly. I was stunned for a moment, but soon recollected my composure. “A wig?” I asked, and Azalea nodded enthusiastically.
“This mission is far too important for me to reveal my identity,” she informed while fluffing her hair. “My… natural color is far too memorable. I’ll need to blend in to be able to do my part.”
“A redhead,” I mused. Now that I saw Azalea without a disguise on, I studied her closely. With her electric orange wavy curls, mischievous smirk and bright emerald eyes, she highly resembled a fox. “That wig is nicely constructed; I didn’t know you were even wearing one.”
“That is the point,” Azalea chimed before securing her hair up sloppily. She returned the black wig on top of a mannequin head and pulled out a white-blonde one. “Let’s both be blondes tonight,” she grinned before pulling it onto her head and securing it with pins. I was suddenly very nervous for the situation I was being pulled into.
“Shouldn’t I hide my identity, too?” I asked anxiously.
Azalea shook her head. I stared at her: she looked utterly transformed with the new wig on. “No, you won’t have to hide your identity because you don’t have one,” she answered while pulling out a trunk from underneath of the vanity. “No one knows you who you are in this era; there isn’t a soul who knows your name besides Dacre, Lionel and I. No one even knows about the time machine. You are just another person in the background of London. You simply don’t exist in the eyes of the busy citizens.”
Her words saddened me a little. “Thanks for making me feel like a total outcast,” I said wryly, but Azalea just shrugged and ordered me to stand on a stool in the corner of the room. She went behind me and tightened my corset. “Can’t… breathe,” I gasped as she constricted the corset as tightly as possible. Azalea snickered before roughly pulling a silky material over my head. “Wait, what are you ughfmngh!?” I exclaimed as my head popped out of the neck hole of the dress. Azalea tsked while she fixed my hair, and then shoved me into the vanity. “Tah-dah!” she exclaimed, and I was about to holler at her before I saw my reflection in the vanity.
Wide eyes stared back from a stranger. Her skin was a familiar tan, and her golden hair was done in a gorgeous up-do. The dress was tight around the bodice, but ruffled out in elegant creases at the waist. The dress was periwinkle blue with dark grey lace accents, and absolutely stunning. The grey-blue of the dress made her skin appear paler: a trick of the eye. Her piercing aqua eyes were the brightest thing about her. Was… was this girl really me? “Azalea, I… thank you,” I choked out.
Azalea nodded smugly, her faux white-blonde curls bobbing along. “There. I don’t know about no future society, but that’s how we do things at the turn of the century. Now, help me get my dress on.” I nodded dumbly and obliged, still stunned by my appearance.
When we finished, she stepped off of the stool and smugly smirked at her reflection in the vanity. Azalea’s dress was a soft pink that brought out the rose in her cheeks. Pearls were stitched elegantly into every crevice, along with lace and cream-colored ribbons. Golden ruffles accented her curves. She was breath-taking in the dress that was far superior to the one I wore, but I was thankful to be in it at all. It was obvious where people would look first. I never really cared about my appearance, but it stung to be next to someone so gorgeous. I didn’t hold a candle to Azalea’s looks. Suspicion soon replaced my jealously as I asked, “Azalea, why are we dressed so nicely?”
Azalea dug around in a drawer before producing two flamboyant fans that matched our dresses. “Why, The Duke is going to be at the ball. We’re going to kidnap him there. Dacre and Lionel will fill you in on the rest.”
“Oh, right,” I said sarcastically, “We have to kidnap the Duke with the time machine and hold him hostage, I completely forgot.” Azalea frowned disapprovingly at me before pushing me out of the door and into the hallway.
Dress-up time was over: it was time to prepare to commit one largest heists of the century. What have I gotten myself into?
“You’re hurting me,” I whined as Azalea relentlessly brushed my hair. My eyes were watering, and I grit my teeth to deal with the pain.
“All done!” Azalea cried my hair was tangle-fee. My scalp was sore from my hair being tugged so hard. “Now, let’s get your hair up and out of your face.”
It was awkward as she pinned my hair up into a bun. No one ever did my hair when I was younger, because I lived with my father for all of my childhood. I felt out-of-place for the umpteenth time that day. I wondered if this qualified as a makeover. After what seemed like forever and a half, Azalea announced that she was finished. I turned to look into the vanity, but Azalea’s vice-like grip on my shoulder prevented me from doing so. “I’ll let you see when you’re done,” the girl announced. “For now, wait for me to do my hair.”
I nodded and watched her carefully as she turned towards the vanity and began prepping her hair. “Aren’t you going to get a, uh… servant to do it?” I asked curiously.
“No,” Azalea replied breezily. “I prefer to do it myself.” I scowled that she was able to do her own hair, but remained silent. Azalea gripped her black hair and winked at me before pulling it off of her head completely. Bright orange ribbons cascaded onto her shoulders elegantly. I was stunned for a moment, but soon recollected my composure. “A wig?” I asked, and Azalea nodded enthusiastically.
“This mission is far too important for me to reveal my identity,” she informed while fluffing her hair. “My… natural color is far too memorable. I’ll need to blend in to be able to do my part.”
“A redhead,” I mused. Now that I saw Azalea without a disguise on, I studied her closely. With her electric orange wavy curls, mischievous smirk and bright emerald eyes, she highly resembled a fox. “That wig is nicely constructed; I didn’t know you were even wearing one.”
“That is the point,” Azalea chimed before securing her hair up sloppily. She returned the black wig on top of a mannequin head and pulled out a white-blonde one. “Let’s both be blondes tonight,” she grinned before pulling it onto her head and securing it with pins. I was suddenly very nervous for the situation I was being pulled into.
“Shouldn’t I hide my identity, too?” I asked anxiously.
Azalea shook her head. I stared at her: she looked utterly transformed with the new wig on. “No, you won’t have to hide your identity because you don’t have one,” she answered while pulling out a trunk from underneath of the vanity. “No one knows you who you are in this era; there isn’t a soul who knows your name besides Dacre, Lionel and I. No one even knows about the time machine. You are just another person in the background of London. You simply don’t exist in the eyes of the busy citizens.”
Her words saddened me a little. “Thanks for making me feel like a total outcast,” I said wryly, but Azalea just shrugged and ordered me to stand on a stool in the corner of the room. She went behind me and tightened my corset. “Can’t… breathe,” I gasped as she constricted the corset as tightly as possible. Azalea snickered before roughly pulling a silky material over my head. “Wait, what are you ughfmngh!?” I exclaimed as my head popped out of the neck hole of the dress. Azalea tsked while she fixed my hair, and then shoved me into the vanity. “Tah-dah!” she exclaimed, and I was about to holler at her before I saw my reflection in the vanity.
Wide eyes stared back from a stranger. Her skin was a familiar tan, and her golden hair was done in a gorgeous up-do. The dress was tight around the bodice, but ruffled out in elegant creases at the waist. The dress was periwinkle blue with dark grey lace accents, and absolutely stunning. The grey-blue of the dress made her skin appear paler: a trick of the eye. Her piercing aqua eyes were the brightest thing about her. Was… was this girl really me? “Azalea, I… thank you,” I choked out.
Azalea nodded smugly, her faux white-blonde curls bobbing along. “There. I don’t know about no future society, but that’s how we do things at the turn of the century. Now, help me get my dress on.” I nodded dumbly and obliged, still stunned by my appearance.
When we finished, she stepped off of the stool and smugly smirked at her reflection in the vanity. Azalea’s dress was a soft pink that brought out the rose in her cheeks. Pearls were stitched elegantly into every crevice, along with lace and cream-colored ribbons. Golden ruffles accented her curves. She was breath-taking in the dress that was far superior to the one I wore, but I was thankful to be in it at all. It was obvious where people would look first. I never really cared about my appearance, but it stung to be next to someone so gorgeous. I didn’t hold a candle to Azalea’s looks. Suspicion soon replaced my jealously as I asked, “Azalea, why are we dressed so nicely?”
Azalea dug around in a drawer before producing two flamboyant fans that matched our dresses. “Why, The Duke is going to be at the ball. We’re going to kidnap him there. Dacre and Lionel will fill you in on the rest.”
“Oh, right,” I said sarcastically, “We have to kidnap the Duke with the time machine and hold him hostage, I completely forgot.” Azalea frowned disapprovingly at me before pushing me out of the door and into the hallway.
Dress-up time was over: it was time to prepare to commit one largest heists of the century. What have I gotten myself into?