Iggy believed beauty was really only skin deep. Anyone could be beautiful if they could get their hands on the right stuff. The only hard part is not getting caught.
"Wendy?" Long talons prodded against the wooden doorframe of the older Koopaling's bedroom. She was now here to be found. Iggy swallowed a lump of anxiety balling up in his throat, and shakily pushed the door open. Wendy O' Koopa's bedroom was less-than neat, but not quite messy. Stuffed animals were sprawled out all over the room; bright goomba plushies, stuffed bob-ombs, you name it; Wendy had a plush version of it. But Iggy wasn't here to play with toys, no sir. Iggy was here for something much more dangerous. Something life threatening; something so terrible none of the other Kooplings would DARE touch it!
Iggy was here for Wendy's makeup.
Don't get the wrong impression; Iggy wasn't gay. He liked girls, of course, but in this odd infiltration with the opposite sex, he just had to know what was so appealing about them. Was it the smooth skin, and cherry red lips? Anyone one could have that, even Iggy! All it takes is a little skill, and a handful of Koopa Coins: simple as that. The only difficult thing about the whole ordeal would be getting in and out of his vicious sister's room in her attire and with makeup on his face, and make it back to his room without any of his siblings noticing.
Scaly feet padded as softly as possible into the girly, pink quarters. The floorboards creaked and squeaked beneath the weight of his feet. A fearful growl emitted from his throat, and Iggy turned around, making sure no one witnessed his breaking an entering account in Wendy's room. No one was there; the only thing that was there was a photo of his father hanging on the wall across the hallway. A pang of guilt rumbled in his stomach, but he paid no mind, for his mission was almost complete. He could see it, there, in front of him. It looked so wrong. It looked like a humming bird in a murder of crows: Wendy's vanity.
Blush, Mascara, Eyeliner, Lipstick, and a bunch of things Iggy couldn't even identify were sprawled out everywhere on the wooden surface. The clump of anxiety was back, but this time, it was far too thick to swallow. Hastily, he approached it, licking his chapping muzzle. It was all so foreign, so naughty. Boys couldn't wear makeup, but Iggy was a rebel. Iggy was strong, Iggy was excited, and Iggy was scared out of his wits. But it was just makeup!
Iggy lifted his tail, and took a seat in front of the vanity. The stool, sloppily spray painted pink by his father, screeched under his weight. Iggy froze in his position, and for half a moment, he could have sworn he'd heard footsteps in the hallway. But no, that was impossible. Nimble fingers picked up bright pink lipstick. The lid easily slid off, and Iggy stared. What did he do now? Intently, he stared at his reflection. Pink smeared over his muzzle in the same way he had seen his sister do it time and time again.
But just at that moment, just as Iggy was almost glowing with self-respect and self-esteem, he heard something Earth shattering. It seemed like his entire life was flashing before his eyes. Fear struck him like a knife, and just for a moment, he felt naked. His head was light, and he felt like throwing up. But it was just one word. Wendy, awe-struck, stood at the door.
"…Iggy?"