Heliohedonism
Its not normal for people to come to this part of the castle, even less common that they come inside.
Yamuraiha knows who's at the door as soon as the thock of Sinbad's hand hits the wood of the door. She doesn't know that he's going to be distractingly attractive when she hefts it open, hair a positive mess, breathing heavily between fits of laughter and leaning against the doorway, looking at her in a way she wishes he wouldn't- he knows very well what he's capable of doing to her (elevation in heartbeat, perspiration, blood rushing to her cheeks, tingle in lower extremities) and still insists on flaunting it.
He's up to something.
"Yamuraiha. I ah.. I need a favor hmm?"
Called it.
And it's a little cute, Sinbad thinks, that just this little could work Yamuraiha over so that she stumbles blindly out of the doorway and ushers him into the lobby with flushed cheeks. She doesn't even notice Sharrkan right behind him enough to scowl at him, she's so focused on the heave of his collarbone and the sheen of sweat that he's faked by running all the way here in the summer heat that's really only slightly diminished by the late hour.
"My King." It's that the way she says it is cheeky, suspicious and fond and slightly reverent when she says it that makes him grin. It's hardly in his control when he ruffles her hair and whether it's conscious or not, she leans up into the touch.
He gazes around the lobby, high ceilinged and well lit with little assistants scurrying around with all sorts of documents.
Back to Yamuraiha's gaze that flicks to Sharrkan who tries to edge out of her sight.
"What can you do with gender?"
Her eyes light up and Sinbad's gaze is admittedly on her breasts instead of the gesture she makes with her arm before scuttling across the mosaicked floor of the lobby and deeper into the lab to doubtless start on a whole new rant of the amazing capabilities of magic. Sin shoots Sharrkan a look, even though he's still uncharacteristically silent in the doorway to ease the plan. He more than expects Sharrkan to mouth off about how much better swordsmanship is than magic. Sharrkan has the grace to look sheepish while his hand finds a familiar spot at the back of his neck. Just in case, Sinbad puts a finger to his lips and stares at him hard. Sharrkan nods and they both follow her voice into the depths of the lab.
The private offices she keeps are much brighter and Sin squints after his time in the dark, when he comes into the well lit place. It's made mostly for comfort, he thinks. Lamps dangle from the ceiling and the floor is carpet and liberally coated in beaded pillows, scrolls and books. She scoops up the books, and stacks them neatly on a desk in the corner and leans against it, wringing her hands and looking to him through thick lashes and blue . Sharrkan, behind him and perfectly silent except for the jingle of his chains, sits on the floor, stretches like a cat and curls in on himself, sharp eyes still watching. Sinbad himself leans against the door and fiddles with Focalor's bracelet, looking at her in the way that he knows most women just can't get enough of.
"Him. We need him changed for about a week." Sinbad tosses his head towards Sharrkan and the room is quiet save for the clinking of vessels and chains.
"Can you?"
Yamuraiha's eyes light up.
It's taken eight hours of him sitting in a circle, dozens of spells, tens of magoi samples and lots and lots of energy. Somewhere in that time, Yamuraiha's office has become a completely turned over mess and Sin's left in a whirlwind of royal purple and spiced smells. But they've done it.
Sharrkan is now someone else entirely.
She misses himself.
This new body is all curves and softness as opposed to angles and muscle and worse yet, it makes his old uniform look weird. The straps slide even lower than usual on his slimmer shoulders- oh would you look at that, he's got freckles, just like Ja'far- and his hips make the linen stretch. His sandals are far too big for dainty feet and it argues with everything he's used to. And while the mirror she stands in tells him he's hella nice to look at, it's still weird and his feelings toward the disguise border on dislike.
"Does it really have'ta be like this, Yamu? Can't your fancy magic whip up somethin' a bit more, ah... masculine?"
Really, this whole shebang could just be solved if he'd do what she wanted. It's not like it's a really big deal here in Sindria, not like in Heliohapt. But as far away as he is, he can't shake the feeling of symbolism that surrounded the subject in her home country.
"Then you should have given me your hair, dumb sword maniac!"
If he gave her that she may as well-
"I... I couldn't!" After sitting through thousands of rants, he knows well enough that substituting things willy nilly isn't something that can just happen, but surely there must've been an alternative method, and no amount of philippic tirades stop him from asking again.
"I c-can't just give you something like that! Isn't there a funky magic substitute?"
"It doesn't work like that!"
It'll have to suffice to say that not even faced with a thousand nether worldly tortures would Sharrkan give Yamuraiha a lock of his hair.
Even if it's with Yamuraiha, he's just not ready for that sort of commitment.
The door opens and a pretty manicured hand thrusts itself inside with a handful of cloth.
"Put it on." Sharrkan'd like to bitch and moan some more about her new body, but he's got a schedule to keep.
So he snatches the cloth and shrugs out of his own. The uniform carefully folded and the rest thrown to the floor for Yamuraiha to take away. She does and Sharrkan's hand automatically goes to protect her midsection from view. The stupid undergarments are too hard to put on with the abundance of auburn hair that tumbles around his shoulders obnoxiously, so he knots it with a pen from Yamu's desk. She won't miss it too bad. Without it in her way, it's easier to wrap up her chest and while he's tucking in the final bits, he finds that he does like the tits. Just right in size, and if he was himself, fuck they'd fit perfectly. Sharrkan groans and snatches up the loose underwear. Personally, he's been dreading this. They're uncomfortable and excessive, but for women, necessary. As he slips them over shapely legs that hold none of \his old scrapes, he guesses that Yamuraiha has at least been kind enough to give her something very soft because he's not entirely uncomfortable when he puts them on. He hears Yamuraiha outside talking to someone and inhales sharply before getting back to business. Right. He's on a timer. Catching Sin and Ja'far on the way to the ship isn't gonna be possible if he's lagging around.
Logically, the next thing is her stomach wrappings and he reaches blindly on the ground for where he threw them while examining how nice he looks in green.
Her fingertips brush tile.
The wrappings aren't here.
Sharrkan feels a significant amount of Not Good.
His face burns (and he knows it must be so much more noticeable in this new body) as he nervously tiptoes to the door, arms over her navel and knocking frantically. Yamuraiha gives the door a good hard thump in return and her exasperated and only too annoyed voice is muffled through the wood.
"What now?"
"I, ah... Yamu you.. forgot..." On the other side of the door, Yamuraiha can't hear shit. Sharrkan's new voice is a naturally more womanlike thing. Lilting, almost and there's no way it'll be heard through her thick laboratory door. So naturally, she opens the door. Encounters a surprising amount of resistance. Pushes harder. Sometimes the pesky door's hinges get stuck. The door opens a little bit and Yamuraiha drops some force, expecting passage. The door slams back in her face.
Sharrkan is keeping her out of her own damn laboratory.
How dare he.
On Sharrkan's side of the door, there is a significant feeling of violation and he starts screaming for her to stop in as much of his own language as arabic with as much force as her male body would ever allow (And god, he's just happy that he's not reduced to a squeaking kitten of a thing.). The pushing stops.
"Are you alright?" She sounds worried and Sharrkan's heart flutters and her cheeks burn a little at the thought that at least she means this much to her, to be worried for him.
"Wrapping. I- my wrapping, Yamu. What'd'ja do with my wrapping?" His voice sounds a little shaky and he's utterly humiliated to be standing anywhere except her private baths without her navel protected.
Yamuraiha has no idea what she's on about and tells him so.
"What?"
Ah, Sharrkan tightens her grip around her stomach because how could she not know?
"In my clothes. The old ones. There's a bi-g strip of cloth. I need it."
Problematic.
Yamuraiha's already sent those clothes, cloth and all, down to the laundry with a passing maid.
"It's ah... Sharr, it's gone." Sharrkan moans in humiliation and frustration and the slightest bit of excitement due to exposure of the lewdest kind.
"Then get a new one, please, Yamuraiha. I'll owe you big time, I swear."
She knew about the whole navel ordeal, but she hadn't known how intense it'd be. If this'd happened to her, she'd have little to say but perhaps a swear before shrugging off to go retrieve her underwear.
But Sharrkan- her voice is whining, begging and it makes Yamuraiha's face pink in a mixture of guilt and embarrassment. She never really- never really uses her name and regardless of the fact that she's a woman right now, it makes something in her lower belly twinge pleasantly.
Can't have that.
Yamuraiha rushes down the hall to Sharrkan's bedroom as quick as she can, trying to stave off the dampness between her legs. There aught to be some there, right? It's taking too long to climb the stairs to Leo tower, it feels, and she identifies his room by it's double doors and the gold leafed knob that looks like a slightly creepy coiled snake. There's not much time to waste on pandering about his room even if she does stop to notice that it's warm and actually really neat, but she digresses. Goes back to the task at hand. She's right, there are bandages tucked away in a trunk under the open window of the bedroom just as exotic as it's owner. She opens the latches and rifles through spare robes and a thousand trinkets and chains and somewhere, a bell chimes three times.