Today’s Daily Post Challenge deals with contrasts and, if possible, we’ll have to write it as a dialogue. Not sure if I can do it properly, but here goes (with characters from the Superhero story)…
A Bit of a Disagreement
“You can’t possibly plan to go out looking like that,” Enye began.
Ean batted his (obviously fake) eyelashes at his (practically identical) twin sister as he twirled in his (ridiculously short) toga dress. “You’re just jealous because I have better gams.”
“You do NOT have gams,” the girl retorted. “Because only girls have gams. You’re not even an honest-to-god transvestite. You could insult a whole lot of people with that getup.”
“IF they find out,” he replies with a grin and a voice that sounds creepily like hers – slightly husky and full, as if she were speaking from her diaphragm all the time. “Which they won’t, because I TOTALLY look like a real girl.” He purses his lips (slathered in rather ostentatious red lipstick) at her. “You’d look like a real girl too, if you tried.”
She frowns at him, looking down at her (frayed) purple unicorn sweater and (tattered) blue denim jeans, with pink socks peeking out of them. “What the hell is not girly about how I look today?”
He gave her the “incredulous twin brother” look, the one where his (perfectly trimmed) eyebrows jump an inch up his perfectly-tanned forehead. “Enye,” he said in his natural voice – smooth and clear, like he’d just downed some rum to clear up his throat. “I say this because I’m your brother, I love you, and my day job is in PR. You look like a gay hobo. A screaming gay middle school theater reject who ended up on the streets.”
She rolled her eyes at Ean and switched gears. “Well I still don’t know how you think you’re supposed to fight crime in a white dress, a wig, and silver wedge gladiator shoes. Can you even MOVE in those?”
His response was to perform a handstand, and reveal that the bottom half of the “dress” was a skort. He lifted his right arm and bolted upright with only the power of his elegantly-muscled left arm. He ended with a circus flourish, a needlessly ostentatious bow, and an obnoxious grin.
His sister crossed her (admittedly jelly-ish) tan arms, covering the eyes of the unicorn on her sweater. She frowned. “Yeah, well I still think you’re nuts. Why in the name of all that is holy would you want to get into crimefighting? DRESSED AS A GIRL?”
His grin softened. “Because I have powers, chiquitita,” he said, his gray eyes looking into her gray eyes. Then he flipped his wig (which looked remarkably like Enye’s hair) as he turned and sashayed (creepily like a five-dollar tart) the window sill. “And because I have awesome gams, which will make it hard for criminals to figure out who the superhero Liberty really is.”
“But you still look like me, ” she pointed out with her neutral journalist’s voice, her hands gripping her elbows hard.
“I know!” he crows gleefully as he puts on a silvery domino mask and retouches his lipstick. “Don’t you look awesome?”
Before she could respond, he leaps out of the window and into the night.