Stacy Tskzednz

Stacy (born Stktzekiz) is a self-titled "Earthaboo", a Martian who is fascinated and enamoured with Humans and their culture. She loves their music, their art, their fashion, their cuisine, their media and, of course, their people. She was born on Mars, and attended one of the planet's most prestigious university. She managed to finish her degree in Human History, despite the fact that she spent almost the entirety of her three years of uni trying to hook up with the cute exchange students from Earth.

When she saw a "wanted" ad for workers for the Red Light, she instantly jumped on the opportunity and, along with a dozen or so of other horny Martians, embarked on the Wonderland during its passage through the Sol system.

Stacy has had sex a handful of times before, but that doesn't stop her from feeling a ball of anxiety in her belly as she prepares herself for her first work shift. Her antennas tremble slightly, which she's sure any of her colleague could sense.

She has been assigned a vanity desk in the Red Light's basement, and she's currently preparing herself along with the other Martian whores who will be on duty tonight. Her desk mates are also "humanized" Martians, and she watches them put on their accessories.

To her right sits Marilyn, a slightly older girl who's been in the business for a few years. Marilyn wears a blond wig based on her namesake, an antique Earth celebrity that was renowned for her looks. Marilyn's outfit, a flimsy white dress with a padded bust, hangs on the side of her mirror as she does her makeup. She's also wearing pearl earrings and a pearl necklace.

Stacy gawks for a second when she notices the thing hanging from the middle of Marilyn's face. She's got a nose. She wonders whether it's a temporary prop or a permanent cosmetic surgery, but she doesn't know the other girl well enough yet to ask this.

To her left sits Mirabella, who's dark look is inspired by the gothic fashion movement. Stacy vaguely remembers it from her Human fashion class; Gothic people (sometime calles goths) like to wear black and horror-themed paraphernelia, and they were popular around the start of the twenty-first century. There was a resurgence in the movement around the beginning of the twenty-second century, when human society was faced with the existential dread of not being alone in the universe.

Mirabella wears a long black dress, hiding a large padded bra, and a wig of salt-and-pepper hair. She's aiming for a more dominant and motherly look, which definitely works considering how much Stacy wants to be held in her arms.

In her mirror, Stacy spots another coworker, who's laying down on top of a heater on the opposite side of the room. That's smart, she thinks when she realizes what the other whore is doing. By heating himself like that, he'll give his customers the illusion of being warm-blooded.

Stacy is startled when she feels Mirabella's hand on her shoulder.

"You should work on yourself instead of looking around," she whispers. "Or you'll never be ready when your shift starts."

Stacy focuses back on herself, and then nods at the black-clad woman. "You're right, thank you." She takes out the eyeliner and starts drawing around her starry eyes.

"You're good with painting yourself?" Mirabella asks while putting on some soul-sucking black lipstick.

"Yeah," Stacy answers in her chipper tone, "had some Human friends in college. They showed me the basics."

"Good. I'm sure you'll do great tonight."

"Thank you! By the way, do you know where I could get a..." She points behind her, towards the other Martian heating himself.

"A space heater?"

"Yeah."

"Tsk." The older woman's curt reaction surprises Stacy. "Don't waste your money with that. Here, hold my wrist."

Stacy does as she's told, and takes Mirabella's wrist, wrapper around her long sleeve.

"Oh! It's warm!"

"Heating circuits in the dress. Keeps the heat illusion longer, and I don't have to laze around like a dumbass for an hour before every shift."

"I heard that," the Martian on the heater utters from across the room.

"Because I wanted you to," Mirabella quips.

Stacy looks back and forth between her two colleagues, wondering if their feud is playful or hateful, hoping it's the former.

Once Stacy's done making herself look pretty, she goes to her assigned bedroom. She's wearing a wig of short black hair, as well as a tight black tube dress which hides her small padded bra. She figured that it would be better to wear some smaller tits at first, to get used to the feeling. She's also wearing some cheap nylon pantyhose that can easily be teared open for easy access, in a dark brown that matches her shoulder-length gloves.

She jumps at the sound of a small ding. A first client will soon arrive to her room.

"Ok, Stacy, you got this," she whispers, hyping herself up.