Difference between revisions of "Logs:A Man in a Dress"

"Well, it still fits, sort of," K'zin exits the bedroom into the cavernous main space where he left Telavi doing paperwork in front of the fire. He hadn't told her where he was going, just had wandered off after a time of laying beside her staring at the ceiling. Perhaps it's for the best because the dress surprise is half the effect of the red crinkle cotton dress that hangs just past his knees. The lace-up yellow bodice with baby blue flowers is wider than it once sat thanks to the musculature gained during weyrlinghood (then lost, then regained), but that's all to the good for the stuffed top section that suggest more feminine curves than K'zin naturally has. His legs are, of course, unshaven and he hasn't bothered with boots just now. "What do you think? For turnover, I mean. I did it before we met," so surely it's alright to repeat? "But I had long hair then." She remembers that much, doesn't she?

Telavi's been so brave with these papers, not even falling asleep on that comfortable rug, enough so that she waves a hand in his general direction: tricky spot! A few seconds later, though, she's finished the latest paragraph and stuck a finger in her place so she can look up, and then her eyes widen. Her laugh blossoms. "Look at you. You kept it all this time?"

"Well, yeah," K'zin furrows his brow like that's a dumb question, not that he would ever say that. "The girl I borrowed it from didn't want it back with the stains." He raises his arms to show. They are impressive, the stains. He must've been nervous that night, or simply danced a lot. "Think it'll do?" For this turnover, obviously. He means with the stains. Even if there's already a disapproving rumble from the dragon wallows where Rasavyth is stirring.

Slowly, and then not so slowly, Telavi's expression accelerates in its fall... much like one of those dancers encountering a patch of grease on the floor instead of just an armpit. "But it's stained." Not to agree with Rasavyth, but, "It's probably set, too, by now-- almost certainly-- and it's such a pretty bodice, too." It was. "I might be able to get someone to overdye the red, but they would still probably show," even if a less-bright red would look better with his complexion anyway.

K'zin's look is blank. "What's wrong with stains?" Rasavyth's objection must be explained otherwise, or more likely not explained at all.

What's wrong with Rukbat rising in the west? "They're stained," Telavi says, dismayed; she regroups fast, though. "Stains are fine," ish, "on work clothes that are going to just get dirty and then stained some more? Or," maybe, "on a costume where you're trying to look like someone who would... someone Holdless or something."

K'zin's brow creases, becoming touched by those lines that communicate quite openly that he still does not understand.

Telavi bites her lip; maybe she's fighting off a smile, maybe it's something else. "Around work," she says informatively, "stains happen." It's a sad fact of life. "But on normal clothes, party clothes, stains are icky. Old stains on party clothes say," keep it simple, keep it simple, "things. Not good things."

"Oh." As if this explains everything. K'zin glances toward the curtain as if thinking to argue for it anyway, but he sighs. Two against one whether Telavi would like to be a part of that two or not. The bronzerider reaches for the laces on the corset to start stripping the costume off then and there. "Well, what then?"

"You could..." let's see how long Tela stays part of that two! "borrow a different set? Maybe? Or... do you want to go as something, or someone, or just wear something nice and add a mask, easy and done?"

"No." K'zin answers mopily to the first, casting a meaningful glance toward the ledge. "Well, I like easy." He admits, "But it seems like just putting on a mask is almost more work than being someone, so I'll be someone." He thinks. "Craftmaster Imsaye is out." Wrong gender. "Um." He thinks. "F'lar?" It's one of the obvious choices, isn't it? One of the Weyrleader names that comes to mind when someone thinks of Weyrleaders. "I could wear my leathers--" His brow furrows; thinking is hard.

She follows his glance with a soft, sympathetic sound-- poor K'zin!-- and stacks her work where it won't go anywhere while he talks; straightening, stretching, Telavi catches a yawn on the back of her wrist before wandering over to K'zin and his corset to help loosen. "You could, and it wouldn't be hard to do up his knot, would it?" Tela asks with an upward glance. It's followed by her own ledgeward look before she adds, "It might even go over well... I wonder what color hair F'lar had. Hers was dark, wasn't it? 'Black as night / O what a sight.'" Sometimes, the less lyrical lines are useful.

"Um." Clearly K'zin doesn't know off the top of his head and if it's somewhere in the great mental index, someone isn't helping, but that's probably because Telavi and K'zin are both guilty of not being team players where Rasavyth is concerned. But surely, too, they can find out. Meanwhile, the idea is settled and she's here, helping undress him and there's that fire and those rugs... There's really only one way this can end: with two dresses looking better on the floor.