Part One:
Smokin' not.

2 weeks before the ball.

The Fairy Godmother rested a pair of crimson-colored ten inch heels on the coffee table, and smiled at her beloved Princess through the blue veil of smoke.

"Not fair." said Princess complained, poking her royal nose out of an extremely heavy 50-page romance novel.

"What did you just say, Effie darling?" the Godmother exhaled another puff of smoke "English, please."

"Bitch." Sveta supplied in high eloquent English "No smoking here."

Crimson lips that annoyingly matched the heels curled up into a smile.

"I was under the impression that this is my house."

Sveta made a face and sat up, tossing the novel onto the plush carpet. "Fine, no smoking at me." her eyes narrover "Or you give me one."

"Na-ah." she Godmother sang "You are no longer entitled to that luxury."

Blue eyes narroved further in confusion.

"That means: no cigarettes for you anymore, sugar."

"You cans I can't not?"

"Not until you get that sentence straight."

A childish, stubborn frown fought with a greedy look for his rightful place on a pretty face.

"When I does?"

"We agreed, child. If you want a fresh start, you have to get rid of your nasty habits."

"'Nestea'?"

"Bad."

"Bad for me but not you?"

"Exactly. You, unlike me, can't afford to be anything less than perfect. Not on the market you are competing in."

"You are doing this on purpose, right?"

"Absolutely."

Part two:
Dress and make up.

Ten days before the ball

"I look like old woman."

"No you don't, Effie, you look like a grown up lady."

Soft hands tucked impatiently at the edge of a blouse, shoulders shifting inside it. A mess of blonde hair was flipped back to allow a better view.

"Where is my breasts in this... thing?..."

"Tucked away safely for only your husband to see."

"You are joking me."

"I think you look very pretty."

"You think that about everything she buys."

"That's becasue you never had anything pretty before."

"Shush Bo. I not want it."

"But you will have it none the less, Efimia."

"I th... th... thooo... Dammit. You say I have to make the man like me."

"That's right."

"This is very no sexy."

"No it is not. 'Making him like you' does not mean you have to dress like a prostitute. Quite the contrary. You have to look like a normal, pretty young girl, in pretty clothes. Men like that."

"No they do not."

"Outside the house they do."

"And inside?"

A wink.

"We will buy those later."

"Buy what?"

"None of your business, Bo."