The Things We Do

Posted on Fri Sep 23rd, 2022 @ 9:37am by Delaney O'Callaghan & Curtis Vaan

Mission: Mission 16: Hysperia
Location: Personal quarters
Timeline: A week before the festival.
3605 words - 7.2 OF Standard Post Measure

"For the last time, hold still. You're going to end up with a pin through your ankle and I'll have trouble passing it off as an accident."

It was, perhaps, the most unorthodox way to wind up inside someone else's quarters, not that the space really resembled someone's home away from home currently. As was entirely too predictable, Delaney had gravitated towards spending time in Leiddem's space to such an extent that her own quarters had become largely abandoned, except for when they both needed to get ready with reasonable haste and he was hogging the bathroom. In the weeks since she'd found out about the impending festival, however, Laney had discovered a whole new purpose for her allocated space, which she hadn't sought to formally remove yet because that seemed a little presumptive even if a practical observation of her life made it the most sensible option.

Currently, anything that could hang something had coat-hangers full of half-finished garments cluttering them, and the table that had once been barely used for anything, (she'd always eaten on the couch in front of the television), was dedicated to the sewing machine and other supplies that formed the room's central hub of activity. In the middle of the main living area, perched on one of the dining room chairs, a particularly long-suffering Risian was clad in petticoats that partially draped down past the edge of the seat. Knelt to the side, Delaney had a mouthful of pins and a merciless attitude towards using them to secure cooperation.

"Oh, an accident...and then I'll have to explain how I got stabbed through the leg while wearing a dress..." Curtis protested with characteristic whine. "I still don't understand why you made me wear the heels too!" he added, pointing to the bright red stilettos she had forced him into. Forced being a strong word for emotional blackmail and his being far too eager to please.

"The hem needs to sit naturally and, without the heels, I'd be guessing." Overly-critical blue eyes stared up at him for a moment before lowering again to the task at hand. "I don't know why you're fussing, there are plenty of culturally-relevant examples of males wearing robes. This is practically the same thing."

"Practically the-" he spluttered. "They're pink, Laney. Hot. Pink. I'm not sure what cultures you're talking about, but in all the ones I'm aware of that's possibly the least masculine colour in the quadrant. And it's a dress, not a robe. It has underskirts. Next thing you'll tell me is that you need to put my hair in pigtails or cover my face in makeup or something..." his eyes narrowed. "Don't even think about it."

"My thoughts are my own, Mr. Vaan, and I'll thank you not to attempt to police them." She sounded a little too delighted, though having moved around behind him, there was no opportunity to check Delaney's expression for incriminating evidence. "I also think the genderfication of colour is a little outdated, even by human standards. Would it help if I said you look good in hot pink?"

"I mean...I look good in anything...but that's besides the point!" he declared, almost confusing himself between a hint of pride that she might indicate he could pull the look off - before immediately slipping out of that particular trap. "How much longer will this be? I thought you were going to make me an outfit for when we head out tomorrow...if you're trying to convince me to wear one of these big poofy monstrosities you're-" he stopped himself as he realised he'd just used the word 'monstrosity' to describe her creation. "W-what I mean is, these big...lovely...things...?"

"It would serve you right if I did," came the immediate retort, though Delaney was magnanimous enough to know that her long-suffering friend would eventually require some sort of respite. She genuinely did appreciate his assistance, since it was hard to pin anyone else down and Leiddem didn't fit into any of her outfits, but his insistence on spending the entire time complaining warranted a tiny sliver of torment before she released him. "There. You can step down, just don't step on the underskirts."

He hobbled between both feet - still squashed into the heels - and stepped forward, his awkward and masculine motions looking entirely at odds with the graceful beauty of the dress. "I'm glad I didn't-" his ankle wobbled and toppled, his legs not used to the footwear, and collapsed forward. By either accident or through reflex, he fell somewhat dramatically into Delaney, who seemed to grab him as he went down. He braced to hit the ground, but instead found that she had managed to catch him. With his arms wrapped around her shoulders, for a moment they looked like an oddly role-reversed couple in a classic damsel pose; Curtis under a stunning pink dress being held by the less formally-attired Laney. "Don't say it. Don't dare say it..." he whined.

How innocently those blue eyes could flutter. "The only thing I'm going to say is that you better not have torn anything." She was laughing, however, her diaphragm gave away with her expression sought to inhibit. With an exaggerated heave, she pushed him upright and held both hands against his arms as if trying to balance a particularly precarious vase. "Are you good? Are you gonna make it?"

"If you let me take off these damn things," he replied, pointing to his feet. "Going to break something more important than a clothing piece if we go on much longer. Honestly don't know how you manage in them..." he continued grumbling as the stilettos were somewhat unceremoniously removed and allowed him to stretch his sore toes. "I swear, if you've hidden my clothes now, Laney, you're going to owe me way more than you do for letting you dress me up in all this."

"They're over there somewhere, where you threw them in whatever fit it was you were throwing over the shoes. Which," she added blithely, "I don't wear. Hello, you want me to break my neck? They're Kali's, I just borrowed them because the boots I intend to wear with the dress are down planet-side getting resoled."

"I hope you asked for them first. Because if you took them without asking...she'll know. And she's probably test them for DNA evidence. And she'll come after me as though I was some sort of-" He didn't finish the sentence, stooping to grab his clothing in a messy bundle where he'd left it. Glaring at her standing there waiting for him, he huffed and moved behind a changing screen that had somehow miraculously appeared in the last few weeks to change back into his own gear. "Unless this is where you tell me it was Kali you were making a dress for, and I'm somehow the model for an angry stabby Romulan?"

"This festival cannot start soon enough, you're clearly in need of some actual excitement if this is the best your imagination is capable of." With a shake of her head, Laney hung the dress, with all its petticoats, from one of the light fittings in the darkened bedroom and emerged, PADD in hand, to bring up some of the inspiration she'd amassed for Curtis' own costume. "How about channelling some of that inventiveness into figuring out what you want to be?" Moving to the changing screen, she stood on tiptoe to dangle the PADD over the top. "Check out some of these."

Curtis flicked through the different options, his facial expression twisting with each tap of the button. "Is this some sort of vain attempt to convince me that the dress would be the least embarrassing option?" he finally asked. "I half expected there to be an Orion slave girl costume in there somewhere." He continued scrolling, finally reaching a few of her inspirations that looked much less comedic and actually into the realm of serious possibility. It made him pout just slightly that she wasn't entirely making fun at his expense. "Admittedly the one with the armour does look pretty cool..." he finally grumbled.

"I have some patterns for leather armor that are pretty easy to whip up." In as much as leather was ever easy to work with. As she spoke, Delaney had moved back towards the pile of finished clothing stacked up on the sofa and, testing one of the leather corsets between the tug of both hands, wrapped it around herself in an attempt to preset the sizing. "It gets hot though so be prepared for that."

Baulking at the thought of a corset he finally realised that she was teasing him with the idea. "I grew up on Risa. It was hotter than most places you're used to," he retorted. "What do you think about chain mail? Think I could pull off a full chain shirt underneath? I bet you could make it lighter than usual, too..."

The withering look he received was so far removed from the first time Curtis had ever earned it that it practically counted as a normal part of their daily repartee. "What do I think about chain mail? I think you'd fall over face-first into the mud and make a fool of yourself." The redhead smiled brightly through a slight wince as she pulled the fastenings around her ribcage tighter. "Perfectly willing to go down that direction if you want to risk it."

"You make it sound like I'm all clumsy and fall over all the time," he said, fully aware that he had done exactly that just moments ago. He moved over to her and took hold of the strings from her fingers. "Think I can't pull it off? Being even just a little bit strong and heroic?" he asked. As if to punctuate the question he gave the two ends a sharp pull, slyly grinning to himself at the tiniest measure of revenge it permitted him.

It nearly earned him an elbow to the stomach. Gritting her teeth and counting to ten in her head gave Delaney the emotional resolve to avoid charges of grievous bodily harm to her best friend but he had a way of sorely testing her limits. On the other hand, having endured several weeks of Leiddem fussing over her health, being manhandled like she could take it, because she clearly could, was kind of refreshing. "I think you will believe you can, and confidence is half the battle." It was, as far as backhanded compliments went, one of her finest.

His eyes narrowed, processing for a moment whether she was being genuine or just playing with him. When he couldn't decide, he just shrugged, still tugging on the strings in his hands. "You haven't told me what costume Leiddem is wearing. Is it better than mine? I bet it's better than mine. Is it?"

With a grimace, Laney rolled her eyes and reached back to slap his hands away to finish tying off the corset. Breathing, as it happened, was something she was very much a fan of, not to mention that the Betazoid in question would string them both up by their nosehairs if he caught her applying too much strain to her 'recovering' respiratory system. "Firstly, you don't really want an honest answer to that. Secondly..." She turned, fastening the corset at last and then very much not pouting as she gathered her mass of hair up into a makeshift ponytail so that she could actually see what she was doing. "He's taken control of his own costume. He's very...enthusiastic about it."

"You let him decide? But I don't get to properly pick out my own?" he wondered. He sensed from her expression that he should have asked the question in his own head rather than asking out loud. Silently withdrawing the question he tried to quickly change pace. "Actually, given your natural talent for this sort of thing I'd have thought you'd be inundated with requests for help. At least people can actually trust your eye when it comes to Hysperian fashions..."

"I don't let him do anything," came the swift retort, though Delaney had already disappeared into the pile of material stacked behind the sofa. Once in a while, a random piece was flung over the back of the cushions for consideration. "He's perfectly capable of making his own decisions, and they mostly don't end in catastrophe." The implication, of course, was that the same couldn't be said for the Risian. Only one of the two men had lost a fight with an anti-grav trolley, for instance. "And you can pick your own. You just don't seem to have any idea what you want." His compliments, borderline flattery, didn't work on her. Mostly because she didn't believe them.

"Hey, I have ideas! They might be bad ideas, but at least I have them. What do I know about Hysperian festivalwear? I'm a computer genius, not a tailor." He dropped deeper onto her sofa as clothing items landed on his shoulder and head. "I just know better than most when to trust an expert."

"So the turkey costume is back on the table then?" A peek of her head over the top of the couch revealed a grin, and then a slither of silver fabric, an odd enough texture to pass as faux chainmail, was unceremoniously dumped on Curtis' head. "I keep telling you that you have the legs for it."

"I'd rather wear the dress again," he grumbled, then turned quickly to ratify his intent. "Not that I'd be seen dead in public like that...ugh, you're impossible." He pulled the material off his head and fiddled with it between his fingers, exploring the visual effect of the mail. It actually looked reasonably decent. "I dread to think what state we'd be in if you were in charge of ship's uniform."

"Like you said, I'm an expert."

A slight disturbance from behind suggested that extracting herself from the pile, and getting herself off the floor whilst voluntarily trussed up in a leather corset, was perhaps not the most graceful thing Delaney had ever tried to execute. She appeared around the side of the sofa, however, measuring tape in hand and relatively unscathed, holding out a hand. "Up you get." The minute Curtis was on his feet, both his arms were unceremoniously thrust into the air and the tape measure settled around his chest. "Do you have an actual character in mind? Or are you just going for 'boy who wants to be a soldier when he grows up'?"

"Grows-" He almost fell for that one. Half-sulking, he twisted to one side to just about throw off her initial measurements. "I told you: I'm going for strong and heroic. As though you need to add much to this," he added, with a mild flex. "Giving the ladies a free ticket to the gun show and all..."

Nothing about Laney's expression, aimed upwards from beneath a pair of raised eyebrows, sought to instill a lot of confidence in his self-assessment. Which wasn't to say that she saw no value in her friend, or thought he had nothing to offer. He just seemed to spend most of his time trying to be something he wasn't and she'd never really figured out why that was such a compulsion. "So you're going to spend the entire festival trying to bed every available woman, is that your plan?"

"Maybe not...every woman..." he mumbled, momentarily chastised by the question. After all, if Liha and Kali were both there he would end up sans testicles for even considering an attempt like that. "But there's an entire planet down there. Surely you have to admit there's got to be at least one eligible female just waiting for me to burst onto the scene and sweep her off her feet?"

"Hey, if we're initiating Operation Find Curtis' Balls, I'm all for it." It wasn't a lie either, and certainly wouldn't constitute the first time she'd tried to encourage his social skills by blatantly thrusting him into a suitably-available bosom. They were due a basketball game after all this was said and done, come to think of it.

The measuring tape went around his hips next, and then dropped to measure his inside leg. "Okay, so you want dashing and slightly chivalrous, with a hint of suggestion that you could possibly wrestle a small swamp dragon if the occasion called for it? I can make the outfit, but you're going to have to..." Her eyes travelled upwards. "Take care of the rest. Like getting a haircut."

"What's wrong with my hair!?" he demanded, his own eyes squinting upwards. "I think it looks roguish and dashing. That's what the rest of the ensemble should do. Roguish and dashing. And courageous. And intimidating...but not too intimidating that it scares the ladies off..."

"Did you even brush it this morning?" Her own hair, almost to her waist, was heavy enough that its natural curl was mostly content to be reduced to a natural wave but Laney certainly should have had some empathy for anyone whose hair took on a life of its own. Reaching up, she ran her fingers through the mop of curls that was about an inch-shy of elevating him to boy-band status. "Maybe if you styled it..."

Suspicious, as it made sense to be in his knowledge of everything Laney, he let her push her hands through his admittedly overdue-for-a-trim locks. "Styled it...how?" he asked, eyes narrowing. He was leaving himself open to all kinds of sly possibilities: pigtails, braids, a strange over-styled updo...but he also reflected that Laney was more likely than most to know have his best interests at heart. So in this instance he was willing to take the gamble.

The putter of her lips was eventually accompanied by the scrunched up contemplation of her indecision. "It's not long enough for a low ponytail." Which was a viable hairstyle and had nothing to do with frills and furbelows. "You could just slick it back and hope it stayed. Or I guess we could attempt to make you a hat."

Moving across the room, Laney sought out the PADD again and flicked through several screens, jumping through file after file of reference material that she'd amassed across the years. The swipe of her fingers, moved back and forth, sometimes hesitating before dismissing an option, sometimes spreading wider to magnify a potential candidate. After a moment or two, she wandered back and turned the PADD around to reveal what very well could have been a hybrid aesthetic, some sort of cross between Robin Hood and Gawain. "What about this? The hat would solve the hair problem. And look, you'd get a bow and quiver!"

"I don't know how to use a bow..." he said, his natural temperament for complaining getting the best of him in the initial stages of his reaction. "Buuuuut - we could make it work. Green is definitely my colour." He paused, checking her for a reaction. "It's definitely my colour, right?"

"Sure," Laney agreed after a momentary fluster to select an appropriate response. "And the whole point of this festival is that you can learn how to use a bow, if you want. I kind of want to take some archery lessons myself. There's a place in the market that sells some pretty amazing handmade stuff, I stood there for half hour the other day just watching them prepare the fletching."

"Hells yeah I'm down for that!" he declared. The possibility of learning some of those newer skills, especially on a ship as prone to danger as Rosie was, couldn't be ignored. And quite honestly if he was any good at it he might have something to hold over a few of the other more 'hardy' members of the crew. "We should do it together. So I can finally prove I'm better than you at something, of course."

Having seen his attempts to shoot a basketball, Delaney didn't feel rushed to accept the challenge as anything sincere. For once, however, she let him have his moment. "This won't take too long to make," she promised, glancing down at the photo inspiration. "What are your plans for the afternoon?"

"I don't know. All this time in a dress and heels and I have this...strange...desire to drink tea and powder my nose..." he mocked with a dramatic faux soprano. Dropping it quite quickly he just shrugged and tossed some more discarded clothing her way. "Looking up tourist destinations, probably. And figuring out where the best booze is at."

Delaney simply stared at him for a moment with a very familiar expression of incredulous resignation. It was quite a feat to merge the two competing sentiments together but she'd perfected it years ago. "Come back and see me when you're done, I should have this ready for you to try on."

"Yessss..." he made a little fist-pump, probably looking like an excited teenager, but he didn't much care. Hopping up to his feet he did a dorky little finger-guns pose. "Can't wait to look awesome. Be back in a few hours, be ready to party."

A hand, pressed flat against his face, pushed him backwards out of the room.