The spritely blue Tyrvari had said some variation of this a dozen times that evening. She tossed her eggplant mess of a hairdo, seized another bag, scrutinized its label and the security of its tie thoroughly with a mumble, and crept onto the fender of a large red mail coach. With all the nimbleness of a decrepit lurcher, she raised the bag to a chute leading into the behind of the device, dropped it in as though she could barely lift it, and stepped down. All of this she did disgustingly slowly, as though taking as long as she possibly could to spite her company... or perhaps timing herself to an imaginary float parade.
Watching her every move with outward curiosity, the curvacious, rosy-red creature standing before the coach clasped her hands behind her, bounced on her hooves and waited, wide hips swinging impatiently, nose flickering a mildly harsh pink light, until she saw a hoof touch the snow. "C'mon, Dashy! It's show season!" she chirped brightly, as though the postmistress had never been enlightened with this information. "We've got to get you fitted and practice the dance! And I've got a name, ya know."
"As I told your brother, Miss Ruby, I'm not putting on that slutty outfit." Dasher spat - then tensed as she remembered Miss Ruby was the better half of an ingenue.
Ruby gasped with a scandalized blush, her entire face lighting up like a decoration. "H-hey! It's not... that word!! How are we s'posed to dance if we're bundled up like old druidic geezers?!" She hopped up and down with mildly fist-like gestures in the closest thing she knew to anger (stubborn insistence.)
In spite of her irritation, Dasher struggled not to laugh at the clown-like visage. "Maybe you forgot, but it's cold as Celsia's cun--" (here she loudly coughed on her words, remembering her company) "-- cold as Celsia's kiss out here, you want me to put on about two square feet of thin-as-sin silk, and I've got a week of mail everyone else is too drunk on egg nog to put out."
Ruby giggled and tried to remember to tell Dancer about "thin-as-sin" later - then blinked in confusion. "Huh? Nobody else is doing the mail?" she chirped, promptly forgetting to tell Dancer anything whatsoever, as well as the entire conversation up to this point.
Dasher pouted a tiny bit. "They're taking Kinsmend off, of course."
"Uh-huh. And? Don't the mail people do that everywhere??"
Dasher paused, slowly exhaling through her nose.
"No."
Ruby recoiled with pigeon-toes and her hands to her face, her nose brightening to blinding levels. "WHAAAT?!" Dasher winced from the light and cowered from the shriek, her ears flattening to her head and her hands flattening to her ears to deafen the sound. "What kinda sick freak doesn't let someone take Kinsmend off?! That's a right granted by the gods and --"
"Boss lady, unless someone else comes out here and does the damn mail, the Postmaster - yours truly - is gonna be busy all through Kinsmend." A slight hint of triumph snuck into Dasher's voice, and a grin onto her face when she wasn't looking.
Ruby beamed, her nose finally stabilizing in a gentle glow. "Oh! That's easy!" As Dasher's smile dropped in immediate apprehension, Ruby turned on the spot and skipped away.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
A few days later...
Seated on a plush chair and bundled up in luxurious blankets, Ruby thanked the buxom velvet cook, accepted the hot chocolate she'd just brought out, and forced herself to "Thank you, Comet!" again for an embarrassing & mother-sister-ish reminder not to burn her tongue.
Walking across the carpet from Ruby, Comet politely asked Vixen if she could sit next to her - elicting a confused bat-lash what since it was Comet's house - then promptly collapsed exhausted onto the sofa, forcing the russet dame to scramble out of the way. (How fortunate that both had set their drinks down!)
"I never knew Dasher did so much running! ... Is that why we call her that?" Comet fell asleep before anyone could answer, snoring quietly.
After blowing on her cocoa for a moment, Ruby furrowed her brows in worry. "Miss Dancer?" Ruby wavered her question like a small, concerned child. "Could you go make sure Dasher's okay? I think she's still at the post office..."
"Of course, your grace." came the amused response. The voluptous, needlessly-busty pink reindeer set her cocoa aside, rose, and cast off her blankets sensually, inclining Vixen to look pointedly away with a scowl as Dancer's long ponytail and extravagant bosom wobbled, as though animated by a Japanese game developer.
"You go out like that and you're going to have ice caps," Vixen advised, black-gloved arms crossed disdainfully. Dancer stuck out her tongue and jiggled her breasts at her in response.
Fully oblivious to any of this, Ruby gasped with an afterthought. "Oh, and if she's not filled up on booze, please invite her over for cocoa!"
Having reached the coat rack and begun dressing herself, Dancer smiled sweetly. "I will!"
She fully expected Dasher to be drunk beyond decency.
Excepting the Burrachos who are a brewing family, Dasher is the first character of mine who's been explicitly acknowledged as drinking alcohol. I don't touch the stuff myself and hadn't really thought about it until recently.
A lot of my characters are Good Girls who would likely avoid any influential substances. I could see Listra getting a bit tipsy during a festival though.
Excepting the Burrachos who are a brewing family, Dasher is the first character of mine who's been e
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