#one thing i think is kinda neat is how the blue strip of fabric...thing that used to be held with a metal clasp in his regular design

[askthekirbysquad]

((thinking about... the Egg))

[let-me-love-you-loki]

Planning Too Late

A/N: This came from a suggestion by @lakamaa12​ and takes place six months after Y/N and the Bucks met. 

Early March in Southern California was unusually overcast and crisp. I sat outside one of my favorite Riverdale coffee shops wrapped in a long sleeve thermal and a Young Bucks hooded sweatshirt, nursing a steaming double espresso between my fingers. My phone sat on the tabletop next to me, waiting.

           I sat back and let out a sigh, just about ready to call it quits and head back to my apartment. My eyes closed for a moment and, when they opened, a face filled my vision. Bright blue eyes and a cheesy grin looked back at me. At first, I thought I’d scream. Then I laughed deep in my chest and sprang up from my chair.

           Nick Jackson stood a few feet away. I took a long moment to look him up and down. He wore his favorite Clippers hat, his long light brown hair in a looped ponytail, a navy zippered hoodie, and a pair of plain black sweatpants with worn sneakers. He grinned wider and I practically ran at him, throwing my arms around him. Nick grabbed me with both arms around my back and picked me up. My legs locked around his waist and I hugged him as hard as I could.

           “Oh, God, I’ve missed you,” I whispered as he held me tight. “I hate it when you guys are in Japan. I absolutely hate it.”

           He laughed and put me on my feet. “You do just fine without us, Y/N, and you know it. Matt, on the other hand…”

           I blushed at the mention of my boyfriend. The elder Jackson brother was dark where his brother was light. His eyes were so dark they sometimes seemed black. His hair was a thick curtain of deep brown that he often wore in a knot on the crown of his head. Matt kept a beard—or at the very least some impressive mutton chops—while Nick was always cleanshaven or sporting a day’s stubble.

           Some people might think it was odd that I’d see my boyfriend’s brother before my boyfriend—particularly when they’d been gone for weeks at a time. But it wasn’t strange, not for me. Nick and I had been friends as long as I’d been dating Matt. I’d met them both on the same day, at the same time.

           Plus, we were meeting for a very specific reason. Matt’s thirty-first birthday was coming up. And Nick and I had two days to put together a surprise party before the two of them left for another tour.

           Nick sank down into the chair at my left and picked up my cup. He took a sip and made a disgusted face. He stuck his tongue out a couple times and gagged. Drama queen.

           “What the hell is that?” he asked, shaking his head and practically hacking like a cat with a hairball.

           I took my seat and grabbed the cup. Without a blink, I took a large sip of the bitter liquid. “That is a double espresso with cream,” I replied with a grin. “Matt got me started on them.”

           Nick wrinkled his nose. “You should meet Kenny. He’s into Vietnamese coffee. It’s sweet. Ken drinks it like a fish, but Matt hates it.”

           Nodding, I pulled the little moleskin notebook from the pocket of my hoodie. “Okay, no Vietnamese coffee,” I said dramatically before schooling my features. I moved closer so that we could talk. “Seriously, Nick… you know him better than anyone else. What kind of party would he want?”

***

           Nick looked at the list on his notes app. Y/N had sent him a dozen things to pick up and order for his brother’s surprise birthday party. He thought back to those precious few hours where they sat at the table in the early spring air and talked. Sure, they’d talked about Matt, but Nick felt a little spark of warmth in his chest at the knowledge that he’d been the first one to see her. It was a petty sort of victory, one that made him burn with guilt, but he couldn’t help it. His moments with Y/N were precious and far between, and they were almost always coupled with Matt.

           Shaking his head, Nick walked up and down the aisles of the party supply store. He glanced down at the list—white and green balloons, white and green streamers, white and green napkins, white plates—and picked items off the shelves. She hadn’t asked for it, but he grabbed a tank of helium and one of those felt boards with letters. He added a few fabric table cloths and a cupcake tower.

           He hardly blinked at the final total, even though he hadn’t gotten a few things on Y/N’s list. As he carried the bags out to the Nissan, he caught sight of another shop in the strip mall. He stopped dead in the center of the street and smiled. It wasn’t quite what Y/N had sent him for, but it would pull the whole theme together.

           And, more than anything, he knew it would make her smile. She would throw a wonderful birthday party for his brother, and she would be happy.

           The bell jingled over the door as he stepped inside. He walked up to the counter and asked for the manager or owner. The woman who came up to meet him reminded him a little of his mom.

           “I’m sorry to take up your time, and I know this is a weird request, but…”

***

           “Oh, Nick,” I said, feeling tears burning in my eyes. Looking around the small space we’d rented, I couldn’t help but marvel at everything he’d done. What I’d hoped would be a fun party for us to spend time together before he dashed away to wrestle, Nick had turned into an amazingly themed birthday celebration for his brother.

           Nick stood at my side with his hands tucked into his pockets. Sweat glistened along his hairline. He must have been working for hours to put everything together. I looked up at him, feeling my lips curve into a wide, bright smile.  

           “Well?” he asked, rocking back on his heels. He caught his bottom lip in his teeth and blushed.

           I took another glance around. The tables had been draped in alternating green and white cloths. Little domed lids marched from one end of the tables to the other, held down with handfuls of individually wrapped minds. Along the side of the room, a pair of tables had been set up with the food. They were both draped in green cloths. On the wall behind them, a set of alternating green and white streamers hung from a cluster of balloons. One held sandwiches, vegetable and fruit trays, and other finger foods. The other had been decked out with desserts.

           A felt board sat in the center, the letters arranged on the surface to read Frappe 31st Birthday, Matt! A cupcake tower was already set and filled with chocolate cupcakes iced in green or white buttercream. Clear plastic cups sat in neat rows next to the cooler filled with ice and drinks. White paper cups were filled to brimming with caramel popcorn mixed with chocolate candies.

           And everything was emblazoned with the Starbucks logo.

           “How did you manage this?” I gasped, running my fingers over the felt board. “How did you even think of this?”

           Nick grinned, his eyes going bright. “I picked up the stuff from the party store, and there was a Starbucks right there. I went in and told the manager what we were doing. Since it wasn’t a whole lot, she gave it to me pretty cheap.”

           I turned toward him and stretched onto my toes. It didn’t matter that he was sweating. He had done so much to make this party perfect for Matt, and I couldn’t help but be grateful. I put my arms around his neck and pressed a kiss to his cheek.

           “You’re amazing, Nick! This is…” I blinked back tears again. “Matt’s going to love this.”

***

           Nick walked at Matt’s side. His brother was frustrated. It was their last night before they had to fly out for another two or three weeks for a tour and they were running late for dinner with Y/N. Matt looked sideways at Nick.

           “Why are we here?” he grumbled, crossing his arms.

           Nick tried not to grin. “It’s just for a minute. There’s a promotor here I want you to meet.”

           Matt stuck his hands in his pockets as he followed his brother through the front doors of the building. Nick led the way into a small, dark room.

           “Hey?” Nick said, fumbling loudly against the wall.

           In an instant, the place flooded with light. “Surprise!” People sprang up from every direction. It took Matt a moment to realize what had happened. It wasn’t until he saw his parents, his other brother, and his sister that he started to make sense of things. When he saw Y/N standing by a table wearing a Starbucks apron, he felt his heart go wild in his chest.

           “You!” Matt said, practically racing across the room. He swept his girlfriend into his arms and kissed her sweetly. He hugged her tightly and swayed back and forth. “Is this why you’ve been so preoccupied this weekend?”

           Y/N smiled, and Nick thought he’d never seen anything so beautiful. He watched her look at Matt as if he’d hung the stars just for her. Then she turned to look at him, and it felt—just for a moment—as if he was the only person in the world.

           “It wasn’t just me,” Y/N said brightly, gesturing to the table filled with Starbucks paraphernalia. “Nick is the one who did all this.”

           She held her hand out toward him, wiggling her fingers to get him to come closer. When he was within reach, she took his hand in hers and tugged him close to her side. “I couldn’t have thrown this party for you without him.”

           Nick smiled and felt his heart skip in his chest. He thought back to that moment in the store. He’d been right. Y/N had smiled and laughed and loved every moment and ounce of sweat he’d put into the touches he put onto the party. It had made Matt happy.

           But more than anything, it made her happy.

Tag List

@mox-made-me-do-it​ @lakamaa12​ @not-that-kinda-gurl08​ @justamess44​ @lilred91​ @imagineall-the-fandoms​ @maelleoute​ @librathepheonix13

[thedappleddragon]

haha here we go again

there's a lot of dumb ranting and 3 days worth of logs and a dream in here so im gonna spare evryone’s dashboard and just put it all under the cut.

tw bad memories, talk of unhealthy relations with food, and dreams about dead animals

I realized I kind of entirely forgot to write about what I did yesterday? I kind of did a lot. I know my mom wanted to work on getting tile laid out in front of her bathroom, so we worked together to scrub the concrete and wipe up all the dirt and dust and whatever was under the carpet and remove some of the nails in the floor and bring up a spiky metal strip between the bathroom door and where the carpet was. The other main thing I remember is deciding to continue work on my dress, sewing up the outer bodice, checking that the bodice and lining would fit together, deciding I’d rather have no different colored front panel, and working on the circle skirt. At first I tried cutting the fabric on my bed, but it wasn’t big enough and too lumpy. I contemplated asking my friends if I could borrow their dining table, but I ended up clearing off my own. After I traced and was in the middle of pinning, I accidentally knocked over a glass bowl that I had set on the chair. My mom heard it from the other room and had me come to her room to tell her what it was. She got angry at me, which I thought was fuckin stupid if it was an accident, but after some reflection while cleaning up the glass pieces, I kind of understood why. Mostly I got a little upset about 2 ceramic pieces I made during school breaking a little from the drop. One was a mushroom house from middle school that always makes me remember feeling like an asshole during peer review when I told my person to smooth their project more because I didn’t know “no improvement needed” was an option until I got back to my desk and saw my person saying it was good in all categories because everyone thought my project was great for some reason. The other was a bunch of flowers on a circle. It was the last project we did before quarantine hit, I think. That one is in less tough shape, just a couple flowers knocked off and a chip on one of them. They can both be glued back together, I guess. Then my mom called me back into her room to listen to her talk about wanting to eat huge amounts of food, because she’s clinically depressed with BPD and PTSD and DID and several other acronyms and her favorite coping mechanism is food, but her doctor put her on a diet so she can get her knees replaced, but recently she’s been getting into a zone where she talks about wanting to eat entire cakes and pizzas and buckets of kfc and a gallon of queso or whatever the fuck and she goes “doesn’t that sound GOOD?” And I have to laugh along and say “haha no that sounds bad actually” and get her a piece of ham or something. And every time she goes on her spiel the only thing I can think of is the greedy from the raggedy Ann and Andy musical. It’s just this horrible undulating orange blob that eats everything in sight and seeing it for the first time just made me think of mom and it made me very uncomfortable, with all the orange goo and hurling noises. Also reminds me of this horrible video game boss fight where it’s the apocalypse and a fat lady on a scooter took over the buffet and eats so much during her boss fight, during the defeat cutscene she projectile vomits everywhere and dies. My brother Greg showed me that thinking it was funny. I hated it, and I still do. He showed me a lot of things he thought were funny as a shitty little kid, and I remember several of them being very upsetting. It’s ok. I don’t want to dwell on it. But after cleaning the glass and talking to mom I brought my fabric to my room and called it a night. Oh wait my dad also helped me with some paperwork my coworker handed me so I could get on the payroll.

Today I woke up differently than I have in a long time. I set an alarm for 10 am so I could be at work by 11, but I woke up at 9 from a heavy sleep with dreams about hanging out with my friend in my room, worrying about my dirty house. I wanted to sleep longer, so I got up at 10 to have breakfast and get ready. I spent my shift changing the price tags all around the store, making everything more expensive. I’m gonna work again on Tuesday where I’ll learn how to use the register. I hope I don’t fuk it up, but I have a couple days to relax until then. Maybe I’ll work on my dress. My friends all want to go to prom together, so my new deadline will be March 2nd or a little before. I still need to buy a ticket, but I don’t have access to the link to buy one :( bleh I’m too tired right now to worry about this shit. I only worked 4 hours again today, but after I got home I felt like I could have worked longer if they gave me something else to do. The only price tags left to change were a bunch of grills and stuff I don’t know about but I don’t know if they had any other work for my to do. But I’m glad I went home tho because I was hungry and my feet hurt from standing lol. I did laundry and made myself dinner and washed my hair and drew a little bit and made the table and tbh the pacing of today has been so weird I don’t remember everything. It’s only 1am but I think I’m just gonna go to bed. my friends started talking about going to prom, and I really want to join them, but I can't figure out where/how to buy a ticket. my brain started being really mean to me, syaing that I was being annoying and pushy and that they didnt want me at prom for some reason, so I low-key almost made myself cry until my friend offered to let me be their platonic date since their partner couldn't go. 

last night I had a dream about a hard video game where when you played it, the black shadow enemies would fight you in real life, and one of them left imprints on my arm in the shape of lego bricks. they could only attack you so long as you played the game, and they tried to capture people and you were supposed to save them. I decided it was my time to play, and I walked into my garage that had turned into a cave with bat-people fused into the wall. I paid them no mind as I rescued a girl who was my irl brother, grabbing her hand and pulling her into another versoin of my garage which was uncorrupted and normal looking. she thanked me, and I said it was no problem. then I tricked her, telling her not to trust so easily, as I became one of the shadow enemies and engulfed her in a black sack, trapping her and leaving the room. I came back a couple minutes later, letting him free (now my brain told me he was my brother) telling him I just wanted to know if I was capable of tricking him, and didnt actually want to kill him or whatever.  another big chunk of my dream was taken up by me, my sister, and my dad visiting a run down petting zoo/gamestop. the petting zoo barn was very dark with low ceilings with lots of rabbits and pigs and hay. one of us accidentally killed either a pig or a tiger right next to the exit door, and I had to slink around the gamester trying to distract the owner and keep him from going in the barn and escaping at the same time. I dont remember how it ended, other than me waking up with a sore throat from breathing so deeply through my nose. I had slept on my stomach wit my pillow in my face so I could hardly breathe, and even after I woke up I felt like I wasnt getting enough air. I HATE that feeling, I always felt like I was suffocating in middle school for some reason. I thinkk somethings wrong with my airway but im not gonna do anything about it. im gonna continue to spend 80% of my day laying down so my resting heart rate and breathing speed is slower than an goddamn sloth. whatever.

right now as im laying in bed typing this I feel utterly unpoductive but I KNOW I did SOME shit today. but yeah mostly I relaxed. I worked on my dress, removing and replacing the blue front panel. I lost my exacto knife somewhere so I went to dollar tree to get a knockoff, along with snacks for mom and my sister. the blades aren't as sharp as exacto, but I still know where the name brands blades are so maybe Ill try and see if they're compatible. when I open the package everything was oily and gross, so I washed everything off with soap and water before I used them to cut the threads of the panel seams. I could have used my seam ripper but I wanted to get a replacement craft knife anyway. its kinda neat that it came with 6 different shaped blades for different crafts :) but uhh I also cut out the other half of the circle skirt of the dress, and I have a bunch of extra fabric left over. probably enough to make a whole other bodess if I wanted too. I used my sewing machine to attach the new front panel, and I was hoping to get more sewing done tonight, but when I asked my sister if it was ok for me to use my sewing machine (it right next to the wall between our rooms so she can hear it from there) she said she was going to bed soon so I just attatched the front panel and called it a night. so that kinda sucked. I still have another day tomorrow before I have to work again, and I can still work on my dress on Tuesday after work. idk why my brain thinks that one 4 hour shift is gonna take up my entire day lmao. I just have to get the whole thing done by may 2nd. GOD that reminds me, im gonna be so busy next month. I have six events back to back happening like every other day, plus work. oof. I'll have to let my boss know, but idk If that's gonna make him mad. I've already got pretty comfortable with the lady in charge of the garden center who’s taken lead position while the manager is on vacation, but I dont think I;ll every understand my boss. he’s a sarcastic busy old man and NOT AT ALL approachable. whatever. really the only other tings I did today were drink a shit ton of water play harvest moon, spend too much time on tiktok, and sraw a couple dum things for my friends’ princess au. I fucking HATE the drawing I did for Anna, so I designed her a secondary outfit more inspired by sky pirate bohemian vibes, since she rules over the floating islands. idk if I'll replace her old outfit with the new one in the lineup or just re-draw her old one with better shapes and composition and match the style better or what. I just need it changed eventually becasuse it looks like ass. tbh now that ve taken a little bit of time away from the princess au, there are a couple designs im not 100% satisfied with. but I know that if I go back and make them more detailed or whatever the’ll be more of a hassle to draw and aslkdfhalksdf I dont know anymore. I'm still tied up about color pallets and trying to give everyone a distinct color, and im a little upset it doesn't quite work, and FUCK dude the edgy one’s lore and character are weird and I kind of want to revise it to make it a little nicer but its not my character and I need to stop shoving my dirty little mitts into everyone’s ocs and AHAGHRGHGARGHHG idk man. her power is necromancy and she has a skeleton army, which I think I kinda cool, but I also think it would be neat if her powers extended beyond just that to communing with the dead, helping them find rest, and THEN maybe it can branch into helping fallen soldiers fight again to help them with unfinished buisness. and then if she goes feral and starts abusing her powers, she ignores all the communication and concent with the dead and instead magically rips them from thr ground to do her bidding and they’re uncontrollable and violent and aimless, just like her mind slipping from the magical blight infecting her. idk man we’re till working on a lot of lore. her concept could be SO COOL with just that little bit of extra thought, but so far it’s just MY POWER IS DEATH IM SO EDGY. ugh I know its fuckin rude to bash your friends oc ideas and I might be too overbearing and controlling of this au but dammit im tired and im mean sometimes and my ego is through the goddamn roof and im so sexy and im always right and my meat is huge. ah shit I rpomised my friend I would help her with character design for the dead king but I was busy when she firat asked me and now im not busy but im not doing it ugh. im just frustrated right now because I spent wayyyy to fuckin long just laying in bed watching tikotks and youtube and playing harvest moon an doing jack shit all day. but hey at least I attempted to get a new social security card again today. and them promptly gave up when they said my adress was invalid. again. I feel like im in an uncomfortable medium between having no plans and worrying about the future and having too many plans all the time oh my god. ive been so focused on getting a job and then having a job and making this dress I completely forgot about college shit. thankfully there's no hard deadlines coming up that I haven't already finished. whatever I dont really want to worry about all this hit right now, im just gonna take it one day at a time. (haha it feels like my angel oc just stepped in. how nice of him :) )

[lickstynine]

Street Rats Part 1

this is the first chunk of a collab I did with @feelingsick, featuring young! Bel and Kazu. I really love this pairing, so I hope y’all do, too!

The strip club was fairly quiet, maybe because it was late on a weeknight, or maybe because the nudity economy was in a bad place. There was still music playing, of course, seeing as it’d be real damn awkward without it, but it was still quite audible when the creaky door flew open, smacking into the wall as a lanky young man stumbled into the venue. He was a little banged up, with bruises and bandages visible on his face and hands, but he seemed in high spirits nonetheless.

Scanning the stage with curious, lustful eyes, his pale blue gaze zeroed in on a lithe figure whose purple hair flowed sensually as they danced. Dropping into a chair near the dancer, he grinned slyly, clearly thinking himself to be quite clever as he asked, “Ey, sexy, you come ‘ere often?”

The dancer turned slowly, grinning over his shoulder. If he was startled by Kazu’s roughed-up appearance, he did a good job of not letting it show. He moved towards the edge of the stage, bending down in front of where Kazu sat.

“See something you like?” he asked.

“Yea, you.” Kazu smirked. “Y’ gotta nice ass, an' ya know how to move it. I don't see a lotta white boys that can actually dance.”

He brushed a loose lock of hair out of his face, stretching out his long legs to get comfortable in the shitty strip club chair. As thin as he was tall, his build was almost reminiscent of Jack Skellington. The battered jeans hanging about his legs were loose in the waist but several inches too short, and his faded jacket was rife with stitched-up tears and old burns.

The boy slid off the stage and moved to lean over Kazu’s chair, swiveling his hips. “I can move it any way you want,” he said, touching Kazu’s chest lightly.

The taller boy raised his eyebrows, “oh yea?” he asked, scanning the dancer more closely.

The dancer brushed up against him again, running his fingers through Kazu’s hair. “Just tell me what you want,” he purred.

“I think I want you.” he admitted. It was pretty obvious through the thin fabric of his worn jeans that he found the dancer quite attractive.

“We could always move this someplace a little more private,” the boy suggested. His hand brushed over Kazu’s crotch. “Hundred bucks a throw.”

Kazu bristled at the price, wondering whether he had money for so much as a gas station sandwich, much less a nice piece of ass. He hesitated to reply, trying to figure out how to weasel his way out of this mess, mumbling under his breath, “Shit…”

The dancer hesitated, drawing back a little as he suddenly understood. “Ah, I see. Maybe next time, yeah?” He winked, turning back towards the stage.

“Yea, maybe.” The dark-haired boy sighed, running his hands through his hair and climbing to his feet to leave. His ego was bruised and his wallet empty; he had no reason to linger. He glanced ruefully over his shoulder as he walked off, mentally kicking himself for being a broke embarrassment.

Bel hurried down the street, taking care not to touch the pocket that held his meager paycheck. He knew that was a surefire way to announce to anyone watching that he had something worth stealing.

He needed something to eat, and maybe a new jacket if he could swing that much cash. And, as the sun was already beginning to set, he needed to acquire those things as quickly as possible.

A flash of purple caught the eye of a local sleaze, who had been scanning the area for anybody who looked like they might actually have money on them. He was distracted from his task when he realized he recognized the purple-haired boy as the dancer from the other night. Tucking his pocketknife away in exchange for a pack of cigarettes and a lighter, Kazu drew closer, hesitating to actually engage Bel yet.

He was about to say fuck it and walk away when he noticed the smaller boy shivering. Bel didn’t seem very well-dressed for the increasingly shitty weather, and despite his usual apathy and disdain towards the rest of the human population, Kazu felt a brief pang of concern. After a moment’s thought, he picked up his pace, reaching Bel’s side in a matter of steps (damn giraffe legs).

“What’re you doing around here? I ain’t seen ya in this part ‘a town, and I’m here… more than I’d like to be.”

Bel spun to face him, looking momentarily panicked before recognition hit. “You’re the guy from the other night,” he said, more to himself. He shrugged, tugging his jacket more tightly around him. “I live around here, but I don’t really get out much,” he answered, still eyeing Kazu warily.

“Weird.” Kazu remarked, “I know most’a the people around here…” he left out the part where most of them hated him. “Ya didn’t answer my first question, though. What brings ya out here, since ya said ya don’t normally get out?”

“Just running some errands,” Bel answered, unconsciously checking to feel that his money was still there.

The motion didn’t go unnoticed, and Kazu laughed. “I ain’t here to pickpocket ya. I woulda been long gone by now if I wanted your money. Smoke?” He held the cigarettes and lighter out to Bel.

Bel relaxed, if only slightly, accepting the cigarette gratefully. He let Kazu light it for him, taking in a long draw. “So,” he said, exhaling smoke, “I’m guessing you live around here, too?”

Kazu shrugged, tucking away his lighter and remaining cigarettes. He deliberately slowed his gait to keep from leaving Bel in the dust. “I… I guess ya could say that, yea.” He did exist in that area most of the time, but living usually implied a home of some sort.

“Yeah?” Bel raised an eyebrow. “So, do you have a name, or what?”

“I do. It’s Kazuhiro, not that most of you can pronounce it.” You seemed to mean Americans in context.

“Kazuhiro,” Bel repeated, managing a passable pronunciation. “Nice to meet you, Kazuhiro. I’m Isobel.”

“Nice t… Nice t’ meet ya too?” The taller boy repeated. It wasn’t a phrase he could recall saying before.

Bel smiled, taking another drag. “So, what do you do for fun, besides try to get free lap dances?”

“Look, I was drunk. I thought I had at least like… five bucks on me.” Kazu huffed defensively.

Bel snorted, but his smile was good-natured. “Do I look like a five dollar prostitute?”

“Mmm. Nah, I think ya prob’ly worth a solid seven.”

“Pssh. Flatterer.” Bel dropped the butt of his cigarette, grinding it out with the toe of his boot. “I was a little sorry to see you go. You looked like you could use a good time.”

Kazu sighed quietly, snuffing out his own cigarette between his fingers and tossing it aside. “Eh, I could use a lotta things I don’t got. Food. Money. An actual place to live. But I make do. I spent like an hour makin’ do-me eyes at the local rats after I left, an’ that shit’s free.”

“You don’t need to be paying for sex anyway, I’m guessing. You’re pretty cute, even all banged up.”

The taller boy scoffed and rolled his eyes. “Mm, I guess not, but it kinda turns people off when they ask to go back to your place and your place is a pile a’ blankets in a foreclosed building.”

Bel’s expression softened, but he was quick to hide it. “Luckily, my job gives me a place to stay. Not much else, but it’s comforting to at least have a roof over my head.” He drew them to a stop, glancing up at the bar sign above them. “Hey, wanna drink?”

Kazu paused, rifling in his pockets in search of money. He produced little more than a fistful of lint and some stale mints. “Can’t. Broke.”

“It’s on me,” Bel said, nodding towards the door.

“You sure?” Kazu’s brows raised, unaccustomed to generosity.

“Consider it payback for the smoke. And for turning you down the other night.”

The taller boy shrugged, his desire to get smashed outweighing paranoia. “Works for me.” He pulled open the door, holding it for Bel.

Bel flashed a coy smile, slipping past him. “Such a gentleman.”

Kazu couldn’t help but laugh as he followed Bel into the bar. “What, ya hadn’t noticed what a classy dude I am?”

“Oh, for sure. Honestly, I was surprised to see you in the club at all. I figured you would have gone to a gala or something instead.”  

“Well, I couldn’t find my ballgown.” Kazu smirked, dropping onto a stool at the end of the bar. Despite the height of the seats, his lanky legs still nearly reached the ground, his toes grazing the floor as he settled in.

Bel slid onto the stool beside him, flagging down the bartender. “What’s your poison?” he asked Kazu.

“Vodka, neat.”

Bel nodded to the bartender. “I’ll have a cosmopolitan.”

“D’ya wanna pair a’ pink lacy panties to go with that?” Kazu teased.

“I wouldn’t mind a new pair, if you’re offering to buy.”

The dark-haired boy laughed and shook his head. “Nah, blue would look better on ya.”

Bel blushed, thankful when their drinks arrived and gave him something to do. He took a sip, drumming his fingers on the bar.

“So, what errands are ya blowin’ off to hang with my sorry ass?” Kazu asked, downing his entire drink like an oversized shot.

“Needed some food,” Bel answered. “I finally had some cash to stock up on essentials.”

“Well, save some cash for that. I’d rather drink a little less than see ya starve. Ya ain’t go much weight left to lose ‘fore your just a purple-haired skeleton.” That was easily the most hypocritical thing Kazu could’ve said, but his teasing tone was coloured with legitimate concern.

“I don’t mind,” Bel said honestly. “It’s not often I get to talk with someone who’s interested in more than jamming their dick inside me.”

Kazu chuckled, “And how d’ya know that’s not my endgame?” He gestured to the bartender for a refill.

“Hmm, I guess I don’t.” He sipped his drink. “But I don’t think I really mind one way or the other.”

“Must be my lucky night.” The taller boy grinned, downing his second glass of vodka as quickly as the first. “Free drinks, and a nice piece a’ ass… Man, it’s been years since anybody bought me a drink… that wasn’t poisoned.”

“Maybe that’s my endgame.”

This time, Kazu laughed much more sincerely, a surprisingly warm, deep tone. “There’s sure worse ways to die.”

Bel grinned, happy to have coaxed a genuine laugh from him. “So,” he said, ordering another drink for himself, “on the slim chance that this isn’t all some elaborate ruse to poison a near total stranger…I was thinking, you know, if you ever needed a place to crash for the night, I’ve got a couch…”

“Shit, man, you're living the life of luxury.” Kazu grinned. “I may have to take ya up on that soon. It's gettin’ cold as fuck out lately.”

“I hope you do,” Bel said, and he meant it.

The taller boy smiled, and for a brief second, the frostiness faded from his ice-blue eyes. He gestured for another drink, downing it before asking, “wanna show me the way there when we're done here?”

Bel grinned. “I’d like that.”

Kazu winked at him, glancing between Bel and the bar as he tries to decide whether he'd rather wrap his lips around another glass of vodka or the boy sitting next to him.

By the time Bel ordered his third drink, it was becoming obvious that he was drunk. He wasn’t a big drinker, and it definitely showed. On the bright side, he had completely relaxed, apparently deciding that Kazu meant him no harm.

The taller boy was still barely buzzed, ordering up another vodka as he looked Bel up and down. After a moment, he asked, “Why purple? Cause you like it, or cause it looks good?”

“Both,” he said, sipping at his drink. “I wanted a change after I left home.”

“Mm. I know that feeling. What's your natural colour?” Kazu asked, growing more curious as the alcohol warmed him up.

“Blonde,” he answered. He nodded towards Kazu. “I like your color, too.”

“What, this?” Kazu ran a hand through his messy dark hair. “It's natural, I can't be bothered to do anything with it.” He guessed that would probably come as a surprise; being tall and blue-eyed usually gets one read as Slavic or Scandinavian, which didn't exactly mesh with the slick blue-black hair he'd gotten from his mother.

“It’s beautiful,” Bel said, slurring his words a bit.

Kazu blinked in surprise, his cheeks burning red. He wasn't sure he'd ever gotten a compliment that wasn't from a horny guy twice his age before. “Uh… I… thanks?”

Bel smiled. “I’m glad we met. You seem nice.”

“I promise I'm not. I just happen to like you.”

“S’fine by me.” Bel downed the rest of his drink, nudging Kazu’s shoulder. “Wanna get out of here?”

“Hell yea.” Kazu drained his own glass and hopped to his feet. “lead the way.” He followed the smaller, much drunker boy out of the bar and back to his place, grabbing at Bel’s ass while the tipsy boy fumbled with the keys. As soon as they got in the door, clothes were coming off left and right.

Kazu was, as expected, somewhere between wiry and underfed, with a worrying assortment of scars covering his body, some of which looked weeks old at most. He grinned broadly at the sight of Bel’s lithe body, leaning in to nip at his collarbone and whisper, “Are you as good in bed as you are on the pole?”

“This apartment didn’t pay for itself,” Bel quipped, pressing himself close.

The dark-haired boy chuckled, pulling Bel in to make out. He tasted faintly of smoke and booze, but Kazu didn't mind, as he was much the same. As hands started to move down south, he groped around in the pocket of his discarded jeans to find a condom, and it was only a matter of minutes before they were going at it hot and heavy.  

Bel moaned, burying his face in the sheets as he moved against Kazu’s body. The furious pace felt amazing, until it didn’t. Suddenly, Bel was too hot, his stomach beginning to churn uneasily from all the alcohol.

He pushed himself up, reaching back towards Kazu. “S-stop for a second…”

Kazu froze, raising an eyebrow. “I didn’t hurt ya, did I?” He was worried that perhaps he’d gotten a little too into it, maybe been rougher than he’d intended.

“No, I…” Bel swallowed, his hand moving unconsciously to his lips. “I just don’t feel great all of a sudden.”

“Ah, shit.” Kazu nodded understandingly, climbing off the bed to put his boxers back on. He offered a hand to Bel. “Think ya can make it to the bathroom?”

Bel nodded, taking Kazu’s hand and sliding off the bed. For once he was grateful for his tiny apartment, because by the time he’d made it to the bathroom he was already beginning to heave.

The taller boy cursed under his breath in Japanese, wrapping a supportive arm around the trembling Bel. He helped the sickly boy kneel down over the toilet, pulling an elastic off his wrist to tie Bel’s long purple hair back out of the line of fire. “Try an’ breathe, aight? You’ll be fine. Prob’ly jus’ need to get the booze outta your system.”

Bel hiccuped queasily, letting his head hang over the toilet. “Sorry about this.”

“You're fine, man. Ya got me drinks and a place to spend the night. I don't mind takin’ care of ya.”

Bel’s shoulders shook as he gagged, clearly still trying to fight it down. It didn’t take long for the nausea to win though. He lurched forward, letting out a surprisingly loud belch for someone so small. A rush of vomit was quick to follow, splashing forcefully into the toilet.

Kazu winced, but didn't say anything, patting Bel’s shoulder with a sympathetic hum.

Bel coughed once before vomiting up another stream, barely managing a breath before he was heaving up more of the alcohol. By the time he’d slipped into dry heaving, he was shaking like a leaf, his eyes watering from the exertion.

“Easy. Try to breathe.” Kazu murmured, rubbing up and down Bel’s spine with a surprisingly gentle touch.

Bel tried to follow his instructions, sucking in a sharp breath as his stomach continued to turn itself inside out. Slowly, he seemed to regain control, his stomach settling down as his heaving stopped. Bel slumped bonelessly against the toilet, wiping at the tears running down his cheeks. “Fuck, I’m sorry.”

“You're aight. C’mere.” Kazu scooped Bel up, carrying him carefully back to bed. “ya need anything? Water, maybe?”

“Mmm...maybe later,” Bel said, still feeling queasy.

Kazu nodded quietly, looking Bel up and down before murmuring, “roll over.”

Bel did as he was asked, scooting towards the side of the bed and rolling onto his side, tugging his thin blanket over him.

Kazu sat next to him, placing one warm hand between Bel’s shoulderblades, slowly rubbing up and down. “‘at feel any good?”

Bel gave a contented hum, nuzzling into his blanket.

“Try an’ get some sleep.” Kazu mumbled, trying not to be bitter about being cockblocked by puke.

Bel nodded a little, and in no time he was fast asleep.

Kazu stayed up a while longer, stepping outside for a cigarette before finally retreating to bed, curling up next to Bel with a soft yawn. He didn't sleep for long, waking up just after sunrise and slipping back into his clothes from the night before. He pulled a scrap of paper and a pen from his pocket, leaving a note that said thanks for the drinks, but misspelled and barely legible, along with his phone number. Leaving it on Bel’s nightstand, he tugged on his jacket and shuffled out the front door.

[sesl2020]

The Details: are they God’s or the Devil’s?

I don’t care; I just love them.

Pick Stitching

Suit Linings

Interior Pockets

Flat Piping

Contrast Collars

and OMG the feel of the fabric.

In 2007 while working at Harry Rosen as Visual Coordinator for Alberta, the new spring season of Etro arrived. I almost cried. The jackets were so beautiful. Colourful mix-matched tweeds, luscious paisley satin linings and contrast lapels to die for. The guys thought I was crazy and not for the first time. (I had recently lost almost 100 lbs with Jenny Craig and was not quite sane) But…

Please excuse me while I rip off my shirt. I’m having a Chinook. This talk of menswear is making me hot. Yes ZZTop, there really is nothing sexier than a well-dressed man. Not necessarily expensive, just well. In the late 70’s/ early 80’s young men made a point of being grubby. Not even cool, like grunge, just grubby and unkempt with the absence of style. It was supposed to be Macho. Or Poetic. Hmmmm. Yes, this is the way I tell a story. Bare with me. He-Heh.

…But, the fresh new offerings reaffirmed my love of all aspects menswear. Back in the day, the mid 80’s, I remember the guys at Jack Fraser Menswear in Winnipeg where I was the Regional Display person (or Displaced Person as the called me)  teasing me at my excitement over a new box of ties. Not just any ties. New Bosa silk paisley ties. Yes, it’s supposed to sound like Boss. I got so sick of polyester neats and stripes. It was like Christmas when something new came in to go with all the pink dress shirts. Oh the 80’s.

And then again yesterday evening…. André, my hunnybunny, had gotten paid in Brooks Brothers Gift Cards. $1800 worth. Go figure. Very sadly, during the apocalypse our local Brooks Brothers closed their doors and, as far as we know, permanently.  So, unable to order online in Canadian Dollars, as usual I ended up calling them in the States where they manually entered my order and Gift Cards. Very Helpful, Thanks Michael!

Less than a week later and after paying $150 in taxes and duty Fed Ex delivered an oddly small box containing 5 pairs of dress pants, a windowpane suit jacket, and a $100 belt.  I says to André: ‘why did you order another black belt?’ He says: ‘I’ve never owned a $100 belt before.’ Fair Enough.

Eeek! forgot to do my 500 steps this hour. Back in 3.

Pant! Pant!

As he modeled them, he has a very cute butt and he knows how to strut, I was carefully taking all the tags and labels off, the feel of the fabric and the precision of the stitching brought me back to my happiest career hours picking out coordinates for the windows and dressing bust forms.  One of my weirder skills is being able to unpackage a dress shirt with all its itty bits put neatly in the shirt bag with my eyes closed in less than 5 seconds. If only there were Retail Olympics…

Anyhoo, it was the Grey Windowpane Jacket that really made me smile. The contrast red felt collar lining, the one red threaded button, the red flat piping along the interior lining and pocket. It even has a strip of lining to hold the double vents from flapping. Classic design well-executed is Nirvana. And makes me drool. 

But, don’t forget to undo the Vent stitching. It makes you look…..inexperienced.

Subtlety and Restraint are two excellent ways to describe menswear in general. Well, British and North American menswear. The Europeans are much more outgoing. As I possess neither subtlety nor restraint these are things I admire and covet. Nothing makes me happier than a faint blue, red, or bronze stripe hidden in charcoal flannel. Pick it out with a blue or oxblood tie, cognac shoes and belt and it’s sublime. Step back (5 foot rule) to see if it works. If the suit is striped add a plaid Windsor Collar shirt or if it’s plaid add a yarn-dye stripe. And a pocket square if you’re feeling impish. 

Ah the fabrics, and the ties, and the patterns and styles all with their unique lingo. Mmmm Lingo. 

Whisper with me:

Bespoke

Epaulet

Haberdashery

Collar Roll

Sartorial

Pinstripe

Sprezzatura…..

Definitely the Devil.

I’ve bought a lot of menswear over the years. For myself. My former partner would have nothing to do with anything that wasn’t an old dirty fedora and a dusty ripped trenchcoat. God, he sounds like a Flasher.  It was kind of the same thing as buying myself a present on Father Day because on Mother’s Day even after 3 children I still heard ‘you’re not my mother’. Not that I’m bitter. I gave the man Twins. What more can I do.

Having never been petite of stature or nature, sometimes menswear was my only option. 5’8, size 11 feet, and superbly curved I did not fit the skinny, big haired lollipop girl ideal of the times. Not only did they not offer any kind of fashion in a size 14-16, but all the pants were too short and all the sleeves were ¾. Ok, I had to take in all the waists in men’s stuff, but, as if being one of the only women working in menswear wasn’t enough, wearing it was my own personal rebellion against the female stereotype. That, and I loved the Jackets. Shoulder Pads reigned supreme at that time and they who had the shoulder pads had the power.

And, in any case, it was suicide to wear anything sexy or revealing. Sexual Harassment was rampant. And expected. And a man’s right. I almost stabbed a store manager to death with my wire cutters one day when he grabbed my ass and I automatically back handed him. Any job you applied for you had to have a professional answer ready for ‘How badly do you want this job?’ The things that were said to me on a daily basis even from my bosses would make your hair curl.

‘Do you know what would look good on you? Me.’

I remember a guy at the St. Vital store that kept trying to get me to go to his place for a quicky at lunch. One day I got so tired of it that I finally grabbed my tape measure and told him to whip it out ‘cause I wasn’t going to waste my time for less than 9”. He declined. And left me alone from then on. 

I digress, it’s so nice to be older and wiser and not care about being taken seriously. And people go to jail now for being…. impolite. I dress like a sexy bamf on a daily basis, embrace my curves and still have more balls than most men I’ve known. And I still love menswear.

Omg! Chinooking again. Why? Why do I wear lycra pants? Oh ya, they make my butt look almost as cute as André’s, but so hoooot. And not in a good way. Excuse me as I take them off also. That’s better.

Despite the handicap of his father, I managed to raise my son to be a well-dressed individual.  I think a lot of it was my Father’s influence as well. My Father came of age in the 50’s wearing khaki’s, Dack’s, golf jackets on the weekends and suits to work every day. And, of course, he taught me how to tie a tie. He was left-handed, but forced to be right-handed in school so he batted and tied his tie from the left. Which was awesome because I was right-handed so it all worked out when he showed me.

This is also the man who refused to by a new pair of jeans for the entire 70’s. He wouldn’t wear flares. He had a pair of twill demin pants in narrow white, yellow, and brown stripes that were so recognizable that my Great Aunt Vera recognized him from her moving vehicle as he was filling up at a gas station. It must have been the ’69 Biscayne*. She had just arrived in town from Winnipeg and hadn’t seen him for a few years. Those were some pants. But they weren’t flares.

The ‘80’s on were a big relief for him. He spent the rest of his life, we lost him to Cancer in 2005, in khakis and neat plaid short sleeved shirts and polo shirts. I kept his Grey Flannel Pants and Navy Blazer for years.

We also called him Sir…

And Again! Forgot to do my 500 steps this hour. Back in 3.

….When we would call him at the office, (in Grade 2, an avid reader, I called him every time I finished a chapter in Alice in Wonderland) you couldn’t just ask for Dad. Everybody was a Dad. So we asked to speak to George. When he came on the line he would say ‘That’s Sir to you, kid.’ And it stuck. Even our friends called him Sir. My sister’s kids called him Papa Sir. Kinda like Papa Smurf only more respectful. My youngest niece, Courtney, called him Papa Sewer, but that was just the way she spoke as a toddler. We found it very amuuuuusing. As did he.

Aaaaand, back to my son. I actually enlisted him to work part time at Rosen’s when he was 16. He wanted (or did he?) a part-time job and we needed a Saturday merchandiser. I’d already taught him and his twin sisters how to fold their clothes properly, iron a shirt, and do their laundry. I also taught them that when they look at clothing in a store they need to put it back exactly they way they found it. Respect for Retail. It was sooo fun to dress him and see him get measured for his first suit. Staff Discounts Rock! We never actually worked together at the same time, but it was cool to work at the same place.

I also told him, it being his first job, that ‘If you’re late, screw up, or make me look bad I will let them fire you.’ I also told him ‘Don’t forget we work this lifestyle, we don’t live it.’ Entitled is not a good look on anybody. He chose his Boss suit for Grad, slim fit with pointy shoes and put his long blonde hair in pony tail for the occasion. This was way before man-buns which he would have scoffed at anyway.

I was so proud of him at the first Christmas Party and and at the 2nd he wore his made to measure Tilford purple velvet peak lapel Jacket. As he danced with his girlfriend on the dancefloor I couldn’t help shouting ‘Shake what your mama gave you!’ He got me back when we did a company paintball tournament. The pic of us two in our guns an gear hung in the staff room for ages. But, kept he shooting me. It hurt.

‘William, we’re on the same team. Stop shooting me!’

‘Then stop being a pylon.’

If anyone has pics or memories of the things I’m describing, please feel free to share with rest of us!

*more on Dad’s Vehicles. ’64 Pontiac Stratochief ’71 Chevrolet Impala Custom and the Volaré Station Wagon Woh-oh. Volaré! Woh-oh-oh-no! Not a GM product. ‘Nuff Said. Stay Tuned.

#welldressedmen #menswear #devilinthedetails #metoo #haberdashery #merchandising #display

[blastron01]

Ascendance of a Bookworm – 054

Finishing My Dress and Hairpins

After two days, my fever broke.

Getting my new dress altered might be very risky. If things keep going like this, I'm going to get sick again before we can actually finish fitting it. Contemplating this, I get out of bed, and go looking for my mother.

The kitchen table has been pulled close to the stove, and sitting at it are my mother and Tuuli, diligently working on their handiwork. It seems that since they couldn't work on my dress while I was sick, they've instead been working hard on these instead.

"Oh, Maïne," says my mother. "Are you feeling better?" "Yeah," I reply. "So, how about we get back to working on your dress?"

She tidies up her handiwork, looking just a little regretful, and starts bringing out the dress.

"Where's Daddy? Morning watch?" "He's on the day watch, but since it's snowing so hard he left already."

Soldiers are used to shovel the main roads. While they are given extra money as special compensation for their work, my father constantly grumbles (when he's drinking) about how the pay doesn't come close to covering the back-breaking manual labor.

"Now then, Maïne," she says, unfolding my dress and holding it out for me. "Put this on, please."

I look at it, with its short sleeves and thin fabric, and my face twitches. If I do as she says, then even if I'm standing right in front of the stove I'm going to catch another fever.

"Mommy, could I keep a long-sleeve shirt on? Just one's okay." "Your dress isn't going to fit perfectly, you know?" "That's okay. I'll get bigger by summertime."

My mother puts a hand to her face as she tilts her head to the side, an extremely dubious expression on her face. She looks me over, as if considering her options, then lets out a sigh.

"...That would be nice, wouldn't it?"

At least say something like "I know you will," Mother!

I, not wanting my fever to come back again, put on a long-sleeved shirt, then put my dress on over that, before surrendering myself to the alterations process.

"So," I say, "the biggest size difference is in the shoulders. How about this?"

Just like my mother said, when I put on Tuuli's dress the shoulders are so loose that it's unsightly. So, I've tightly gathered up the extra width, draping it around my shoulders and making it into an off-the-shoulder dress.

"It'll fall off your shoulders like that, you know?" "Yeah, so we should add shoulder straps near my neck, made out of some kind of cloth or cord. If there's leftover cloth from when this dress was made, then that would be great. If not, maybe some blue cloth? Something that would match the sash or the embroidery." "We have some scraps left. It should be enough for shoulder straps, if that's all we need."

My mother rummages about in her cloth bin, then brings back some scraps. She rolls them up into cords, then sews them on as straps. With that, a dress that was so loose that it might fall off my shoulders has turned into an off-the-shoulder dress, designed with straps like a camisole.

"Ahh, it won't fall off like this."

My mother gives a satisfied nod. Then, she scowls, pointing at my side.

"Maïne, no matter how I look at it, that's unsightly. What should we do?"

With the cloth drawn tight around my shoulders, all the loose material has gathered under my armpits. I pinch at it, my head tilted to the side.

"Well, since I'm going to be wearing a wide sash on my waist, it's not a problem to have a little bit of extra material on the side, is it?" "It is. It's unsightly!" "Oh, is it? Then, how about we sew some proper pleats into it? It would take some time, but it would make it cute, right?"

I tuck the so-called unsightly cloth away into neat folds, demonstrating how to pull it back from my chest and towards my sides in three tacks. This kind of delicate sewing is very tedious, but it would get rid of the extra fabric and add decoration around my chest.

My mother hums thoughtfully to herself. "...You're right. That sounds good, then." She sticks out her hand. "I won't be able to sew that if you don't take it off first, though."

I take off my dress and hand it to my mother. I immediately put on as many layers as I can, before breathing a sigh of relief. That was really cold. I think I'll have another fever by the time we're finished.

"You're lucky, Maïne," says Tuuli, as she watches my mother sewing tacks into the dress. "That's going to be such a gorgeous dress." She sighs enviously.

Sure, the dress is going to have a lot of loose fluttery bits and is going to look kind of extravagant, but that's only due to the difference between our physiques. For the average younger sister, this kind of heavy alteration that takes up a ton of her mother's time isn't needed.

"...It's because our sizes are so different," I say. "But starting from scratch is even more work, so this kind of alteration is all we can do. This dress was originally made for you, you know? You get all the new clothes. All I get are your hand-me-downs, you know?" "Ah, right..."

It is the fate of those poor children born later than their siblings to never wear new clothing. (Even Tuuli, though, gets a lot of her clothes from the neighbors, so she doesn't get to wear brand-new things very often, but still.)

"While Mommy's sewing, I guess I should work on my hairpin, too."

Since it'll be some time before my mother is done sewing in the tacks, I get to work on sewing my own hairpin. Since I'm finally starting work on it after all this time, I want to make something a little different than the ones we're making to sell.

"Mommy, since I'm making a hairpin for myself, can I use our thread?" "Since we don't have to make you a new dress, you can use enough for a hairpin, sure." "Thanks!"

Last year, nobody really knew what I was talking about when I wanted to make hairpins, so getting thread was a difficult process, but this year they know what I actually want to do, so I was able to get my hands on some without a fight. Filled with a fresh appreciation of the importance of mutual understanding, I pick up some un-dyed thread.

"I think it went like... this..."

I pick up my needles and, digging through my memories, start knitting a round flower, like a lily-of-the-valley. Tuuli, having finished up a hairpin of her own, comes to check out what I'm working on.

"Maïne, what's that? That's kinda different from the flowers we did for Freida or for our handiwork, isn't it?" "This is going to be the hairpin that I'll wear for my baptism," I reply. "You're finally getting to work on your own hairpin, don't you want it to look like Freida's? Those were so wonderful, too..."

Tuuli, who had been quite taken with the roses we made for Freida, rolls the lily-of-the-valley between her fingertips, lips tapered in a frown.

"I'm using a different quality of thread, so I don't think it would turn out the same."

I remember the intricate, glossy red roses we made for Freida, then sigh lightly. Even if I were to use the same pattern, they wouldn't turn out the same in the end.

As I ponder this, Tuuli grips her needles firmly. "If it's okay that they're not the same, then I'll make them! You made a hairpin for me, so I want to make a hairpin for you too." "Thanks, Tuuli. So, could you please make a flower like one of the big ones we made for Freida, except could you use this thread and make it a bit bigger?"

Tuuli is delighted when I ask her to make the rose part of the hairpin. Since that rose is the largest, most eye-catching part, leaving it to Tuuli, who is more skilled than I, would make a much prettier result.

"Tuuli, do you remember how to make it?" "I don't have a problem with remembering things. Leave it to me!"

...I'm sorry you have such a forgetful little sister.

Having left Tuuli to work on the rose, I start diligently working on the smaller flowers. No matter how hard I'm working, though, my rate of output isn't very quick, so by the time I've finished my third flower my mother has finished sewing in the tacks.

"Maïne, come try this on." "'Kaaay!"

I strip back down to one layer, then pull the dress on. It's turned into an off-the-shoulder, pleated, one-piece dress. Because of the pleats, it seems to naturally flutter as it hangs.

"Mommy, could you get the sash? I want to try it on." "Good idea," she replies.

I tighten the wide sash around my waist, causing the skirt to gently flare out, almost like a balloon.

"I wasn't too sure about this while I was still sewing, but now that I can see it on you, it's really cute." "Because I'm cute, right?" "Because I'm good."

Our eyes meet, and we burst into snickers.

She grabs me by the shoulders and spins me around. "Next is the hem. It's still cute as it is, but it's much too long."

The dress, knee-length on Tuuli, comes down to my ankles. I have no idea who decided this, but around here girls under ten years of age wear knee-length skirts. Incidentally, there don't seem to be any miniskirts here, although if I had to say, since one- and two-year-olds have such short legs, knee-length on them is kind of like a mini-skirt.

Also, and this is really bothersome, not only is it a problem if the skirt is too short, it's bad for it to be too long, too. Shin-length dresses are worn between ages ten and fifteen. When a woman grows up, it seems like it's most desirable for a woman to wear dresses so long you can't even see her ankles. The only women who can get away with wearing floor-length skirts like that, though, are ones who don't have to work. The dresses worn by working women, such as my mother, come down to the ankles.

"How might we go about pinning this up like we did the shoulders, I wonder?" ponders my mother. "Maybe take it up twice in the back and twice in the front, I think... but, Mommy, what do you think?" "Hmm, that actually sounds perfect."

If we bring it up to knee-length in four places, we can make it look like a balloon curtain.

After we sew everything into place, we use miniature flowers like the ones on my new hairpin to conceal the extra stitching. Then, after arranging the folds of the skirt so that the embroidery on the hem is visible, my new dress is complete.

"That looks like a rich girl's dress." "...Yeah."

The dress has been pleated, given loose, fluttery sleeves, and puffed out like a balloon. This dress, which uses plenty of cloth for purely decorative purpose, is clearly not a poor girl's dress, no matter how you look at it. All we wanted to do was take the unfashionably loose bits and hide them away with some clever sewing, but instead we wound up with a design that would be rare even in upper-class households. This is a dress that it quite clearly beyond our family's station.

"...Maybe we should have just remade it?" "If I had the time to do that, then I really would like to, but... this is, hm, really conspicuous, you know?"

Tuuli, having overheard us, shrugs lightly, pointing at the half-finished hairpin she was working on.

"It's too late for that, right? Just the hairpin alone is really conspicuous already, so it's not like it can get worse."

Amongst all the other girls, who merely had things woven into their hair, Tuuli and her hairpin had stood out from the crowd enough to catch Freida's eyes. Since I've already decided that I'm going to be wearing a brand new hairpin, I'm going to be extremely conspicuous anyway, so wearing a showy dress isn't going to get me any more attention than I already will.

Freida had even said that drawing attention to myself would turn me into a walking advertisement for my hairpins. So, I stiffen my resolve even more.

"We worked so hard already, and it's cute, and I don't care if I stand out. I'm going like this!"

My very health was the sacrifice necessary to create this dress. Plus, unlike the miniskirt-length maid dress I was forced to wear at my high-school cultural festival1, this is a very reserved sort of design, so since it's only knee-length there's no need for me to be embarrassed by it at all.

"Well, Maïne, if you say so, then that's fine with me. Now, what are you doing for your hairpin?"

"Since Tuuli's working on this big flower for me, I'm making at least ten more little flowers like these." "I'll help you, too. It's your celebratory gift, after all."

Chuckling to herself, my mother takes out her crocheting needles from her sewing box.

"Thanks, Mommy. So, if it's a gift, then can we use the blue and the light blue thread too? Enough for three flowers each." "Well, now, if you insist." "Yay!"

We all get to our tiny, detailed task of making the hairpin. The three of us make short work of it. We end up with three large, white roses, three small blue flowers, three small light-blue flowers, and fifteen small white flowers. In the span of a single day, we've finished all of the parts.

"How are you going to decorate this?" asks my mother. "Aren't there too many small flowers?" asks Tuuli. "You'll see in a bit!" I say, with a grin. "I'm going to make this part myself. Don't look!"

Even though I said that, though, there isn't a single place in this house that I can actually work without being seen. The two of them pretend not to look, but I'm fully aware that they keep surreptitiously glancing over at me, full of curious questions but, since they are of course not looking at me, keeping their mouths shut. It's actually kind of funny.

"I'm home!" says my father as he walks through the door. "Ahh, I'm exhausted again. All I got to do today was shovel snow and babysit drunk people."

It seems like he'd tried to brush the snow off of himself before coming in, but he still tracked a bit of it on. While Tuuli and I quickly work to sweep it up, I glance up at my father.

"Daddy, did you finish the hairpin for my baptismal ceremony?" "Sure, wait just a bit!"

My father smiles proudly as he brings out from the storeroom out a long pin that has been carefully carved straight and polished. When I realize just how much effort it must have taken to smooth this down so perfectly, my jaw drops.

"What do you think?" "It's beautiful. It moves so smoothly through my hair, and doesn't get caught in anything at all. Daddy, thank you!"

I take the small scrap of cloth that I've attached the three large white flowers to and sew it through the hole at the end of the pin. Then, I run my needle through that cloth, and start threading the small flowers onto it in clusters with small gaps between each flower, so that they can hang down, swaying freely, like a spray of wisteria.

From the roses, the closest of the small flowers are the three blue ones, then the three light blue ones, and then five of the white ones. To add gradation, I add the remaining seven flowers in two more strands, giving it three in total. I'd made this based on the image of a pin that I'd worn with my yukata back in my Urano days, but this has turned out even better than I'd expected. This is definitely a pin to wear on an excellent day.

"Whoa, that's so cute, the way it sways like that!" enthuses Tuuli. "Try it on, Maïne!" "After all that work, you should wear it with your dress, too," says my father. "Your daddy's the only one who hasn't seen it yet!" "That's right," adds my mother. "I'd like to see you in it too, and not over a long-sleeved shirt like before. Let's see you wear it properly."

Pressured by my family, I change into my new dress. Then, I slide my new hairpin into my hair, next to the chopstick I'm still wearing.

"Whoa, Maïne," says my father. "This is amazing! Everyone's going to think you're some kind of princess. The way you look right now is way more elaborate and way cuter than you looked when you were wearing Freida's outfit. You'd never be able to tell just by looking at you that this was Tuuli's dress, just modified to fit you. Now that's my Eva!"

My father praises me while also extolling the virtues of his wife's superior sewing skills, looking very moved. My mother smiles wryly at him, though, and finds a way to object.

"It's not fair for you to compare it to Freida's dress. The quality is so different! But, compared to just normal alterations, this has turned into something quite extravagantly cute, hasn't it! Working with so much extra cloth is really a whole different world of sewing." "If the quality were the same, though, then I'd really be able to say that your work is the best!" "Oh my, Gunther!"

The two of them are lost entirely in their own world, now. Watching the two of them banter back and forth, flirting, is actually kind of painful to watch. I never actually had much of this kind of social interaction in my Urano days, so watching it unfold before my eyes is something I definitely want to not have to do.

I want to escape, but how?

As I start drifting away into feelings that I've been completely left behind, Tuuli, who had been standing behind me and looking closely at my hairpin, steps back into my field of view, snapping me out of it.

"Yep, cute! It's really cute, Maïne! Your dress is showy and cute, but this hairpin is really good! The slow swaying of the flowers draws the eye, and since your hair is such a dark, night-sky blue, the white flowers really stand out!" "Oh, really?"

Perfect, Tuuli. You're my angel.

Latching onto her life-saving voice, I turn around so that I don't have to see my parents. Once their flirty expressions have disappeared from my field of view, I let out a little sigh of relief.

"When we were working I was thinking to myself, 'wow, isn't this going to be too big?', but now that you're wearing it, it's no problem at all." "Your hair is really puffy and wavy, but mine is really straight and doesn't have any volume, so if I didn't make a big, showy hairpin, it wouldn't look great if you compared it to my dress." "Oh, yeah, I see..."

We've only been talking for a few minutes, but already my thin summer dress is doing nothing to stop me from shivering in the winter's fierce cold. Goosebumps stand up along my entire body, and an unpleasant chill starts racing down my spine.

"A... achoo!"

Startled by my sneeze, my mother pushes my father aside and comes over to me.

"Maïne, we've seen enough of your dress already, go get changed and get to bed at once. You'll get feverish again!" "Ah... achoo! Mommy, I think you were a little late. My spine feels all cold and shivery, and my neck is starting to feel a little warm..."

I am very quickly changed into my pajamas and hustled towards bed, but I'm already certain that my fever's begun to rise again. I crawl into my prickly straw bed, then let out a long sigh.

Well, I guess I was already sure that I'd get another fever, so it's not like this is something dramatically unexpected. I wonder, though, is my body ever going to get any stronger?

Translator's notes for this chapter:

1. Japanese schools put on yearly cultural festivals called bunkasai, in which students show off their creative and artistic achievements. These displays can include concerts, art galleries, or even maid cafes such as what is being alluded to here.

prev • next