And now it's Cassie's turn.

A/N: Thanks to SynethesiaTastesGrey and Trisha for noting my big goof of mixing up the names of Alphonse and Augustine!

Alphonse - big, burly he-man.

Augustine - diva dress designer.

Now that my embarrassment is wearing off, I have to admit my warped sense of humor got a kick out of picturing the look of horror on Alphonse's face if he were suddenly transported to a fabric store. Though I shudder to think what he could do to his opponents armed with only a pair of pinking shears.

Warm Up – Hers

It had seemed like a good idea when I had found the boxes from Augustine tucked into the back of the closet at my room at Dante's. They were Sal's last gift to me. Even though in the end she had joined the long list of people trying to kill me, she had also been one of the few people I had considered a friend. Always conscious of my appearance, she had apparently made a few more purchases before she died in the hopes that I might not embarrass her in front of Mircea's vampires and the other Senate members.

She had known she couldn't stop my workouts with Pritkin, but heck if she hadn't wanted to make sure I looked my sweaty best when he put me through one of his training sessions from Hell. The Cassie I saw staring back at me in the full-length mirrors of the training salle was seriously regretting the impulse that had made me pass up my comfortable sweats this morning for my current outfit.

It had looked fine when I had first put it on, but now that I was actually exercising in it? Seriously, I think some of the showgirls performing nightly at Dante's wore more. The neckline had not been this revealing when I had left my room a little while ago.

I tried to discretely tug down my shorts when Pritkin wasn't looking. I suspected one of Augustine's charms was at work, gradually morphing my workout wear into underwear. For hookers. If I survived Pritkin's tortures, I swore Augustine was going to be a dead man. This was the last time the designer would humiliate me.

Pritkin was trying to teach me yoga. He hadn't said anything about what I was wearing, but from the way he'd been frowning since I showed up, I knew he didn't approve. I tried to comfort myself with the thought that if it didn't have lots of places for concealing weapons, nothing I wore would meet with his approval. He was saying something about core strength and flexibility, but all I could concentrate on was watching out for what my outfit was going to try next.

So I wasn't ready when his hands reached out and cupped my hips to correct my posture. He had not been this close to me since our recent la-la-la-not-having-sex-here episode, and suddenly I could feel the energy crackling around us. The touch of his large hands, gentle against my bare skin, brought the memories of just what those hands could do rushing back. My face flaming, I tried to jerk away. Instead, I found myself tripping over his foot and falling into his arms.

I wanted to make a joke about my own clumsiness, anything to mask the attraction to him that flooded my body, but I couldn't get the words out past my suddenly dry lips. When had I come to crave the feel of his arms around me, the thrill of all that hard strength carefully held in check? He was frowning, his lips set in a pinched line. I wanted to kiss those lips until they opened and he kissed me back with all the passion I knew he was capable of. I felt a little lost when instead he set me back on my feet and backed away.

"Careful," he finally growled. Hopefully, he was talking about how clumsy I always seemed to be around him. Pritkin didn't make passes. He would be horrified if he knew how close I had just come to throwing myself at him.

This was a writing exercise, so please don't hesitate to leave critical comments!