Hair: tied, box lid: off. She tilts the top one toward Benedict to show him the fabric and ribbons inside, rather haphazardly packed. "I know you said you wanted the dress taken in but I brought my scrap-box in case you see anything you like — we could always add it on?"
Coming over to peer into the box, Benedict helps himself to a silky black ribbon, which he withdraws with an appraising look before glancing hopefully to Gela.
It's difficult to see her, to hear her voice, without remembering her on the other side of a steel grate, weak and tired and hopeless: the taste of tattered leather, the smell of mildew, the cold. But here they both are, hale and healthy, like it never happened. Altering a dress.
"Could we do something with this?" he asks, extending the ribbon to its full length.
Sometimes in order to forget the horrors that's exactly what you need to do: add ribbons to things. This is something she is well practiced at — maybe too much so. Gela takes it from him and it slips through his fingers, satiny. "Maybe trim? Or as a bow?
"You should put the dress on, so I can measure, and we can play around with the ribbon."
She's cuffing sleeves one after the other, bringing them to her elbows.
"Is a bow too--" he pauses, considering, then lands on-- "juvenile?" But even so, he nods, coming behind Gela to close the door so he can remove his outer tunic. He obviously won't be wearing trousers under the dress, but there's no need to make this weird for either of them by taking those off.
"I like bows," Gela says, already tying the ribbon into one just to see — it is floppy in her hands. She turns her shoulder automatically to grant him privacy while he changes, and then draws closer to his things, naturally curious.
Beginning to slip it on, Benedict pauses-- it's a brief hitch of self-consciousness, but he shoulders past it as he pulls the sleeves over his arms.
"A party," he says evasively, testing how the words feel: it's not like his mother is here to scold him for doing something ridiculous, but her voice lives in his head nonetheless. "For... dressing up."
Gela instantly turns back to him to say, "Oh, fun!" and realises he's still dressing, which makes her immediately turns back around again on her heel, averting her gaze with a breathless apology. Then, "Which party?"
He smiles back at her, mirroring the sincerity, though in the instant he turns back around Gela's next question freezes him in place.
He weathers the anxiety of it, takes a deep breath, sighs it out. She already knows he's wearing a dress, it's not like this can get more incriminating. "It's called, um," he says delicately, "a drag ball." How tantalizingly scummy. "It's at [idk man] in Lowtown, in a few weeks."
"Ooh," Gela says, her expression barely changing from a wide, interested smile (lest he be afraid of catching any stray judgement). "And are you performing there...? I didn't know you did that."
It's a sort of art, isn't it, dressing yourself up in a way you don't usually and then selling other people on it. Gela actually knows all about that but she's never gone so far as to attempt drag before.
“I— don’t,” he admits with an awkward laugh, but warms to Gela with the openness of her reaction. “I did it once for a mission, and just sort of. …liked it.” Tucking a strand of hair behind one ear, he offers her a fleeting, shy glance. This isn’t something he’d talk about with many, still sorting it out on a personal level.
“I think there will be people performing, though.”
Yes she can tell, and it's really nice. He looks very pleased with himself about it and tentatively happy, a far better look on him than what he wore when they were in the cells together.
"And you're going to watch. And think about joining in?" Who knows what will happen when you're a few drinks into a night, yes? "It sounds so fun, Benedict.
"We'd better make sure you look really good, then."
"I don't know about joining in," he scoffs with a self-effacing laugh, "nobody wants to hear me sing." He directs his gaze down to the waistline of the dress, smoothing the skirt beneath it.
"It will be fun." Spoken resolutely: a declaration, a command. "I'm sure you could go, if you wanted to see. Just don't expect me to be onstage." He flashes her a smile.
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timeasmymeasure
Re: action
Date: 2025-02-11 06:57 pm (UTC)"Definitely," he decides-- who cares if it actually is-- and grins, closing the door behind her. "What've you got?"
no subject
Date: 2025-02-12 12:19 am (UTC)Hair: tied, box lid: off. She tilts the top one toward Benedict to show him the fabric and ribbons inside, rather haphazardly packed. "I know you said you wanted the dress taken in but I brought my scrap-box in case you see anything you like — we could always add it on?"
no subject
Date: 2025-02-12 04:20 am (UTC)Coming over to peer into the box, Benedict helps himself to a silky black ribbon, which he withdraws with an appraising look before glancing hopefully to Gela.
It's difficult to see her, to hear her voice, without remembering her on the other side of a steel grate, weak and tired and hopeless: the taste of tattered leather, the smell of mildew, the cold.
But here they both are, hale and healthy, like it never happened. Altering a dress.
"Could we do something with this?" he asks, extending the ribbon to its full length.
Allg if this is too crusty!
Date: 2025-04-01 02:39 am (UTC)"You should put the dress on, so I can measure, and we can play around with the ribbon."
She's cuffing sleeves one after the other, bringing them to her elbows.
never too crusty
Date: 2025-04-03 11:22 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2025-05-01 03:23 am (UTC)"Is the dress for an occasion?"
no subject
Date: 2025-05-01 07:21 pm (UTC)"A party," he says evasively, testing how the words feel: it's not like his mother is here to scold him for doing something ridiculous, but her voice lives in his head nonetheless.
"For... dressing up."
no subject
Date: 2025-05-01 10:17 pm (UTC)And can she snag a +1 to it... perhaps...
no subject
Date: 2025-05-02 08:25 pm (UTC)He weathers the anxiety of it, takes a deep breath, sighs it out. She already knows he's wearing a dress, it's not like this can get more incriminating.
"It's called, um," he says delicately, "a drag ball." How tantalizingly scummy. "It's at [idk man] in Lowtown, in a few weeks."
no subject
Date: 2025-05-14 01:22 am (UTC)It's a sort of art, isn't it, dressing yourself up in a way you don't usually and then selling other people on it. Gela actually knows all about that but she's never gone so far as to attempt drag before.
no subject
Date: 2025-05-15 02:55 am (UTC)“I did it once for a mission, and just sort of. …liked it.” Tucking a strand of hair behind one ear, he offers her a fleeting, shy glance. This isn’t something he’d talk about with many, still sorting it out on a personal level.
“I think there will be people performing, though.”
no subject
Date: 2025-05-26 07:02 am (UTC)"And you're going to watch. And think about joining in?" Who knows what will happen when you're a few drinks into a night, yes? "It sounds so fun, Benedict.
"We'd better make sure you look really good, then."
no subject
Date: 2025-05-28 05:56 pm (UTC)"It will be fun." Spoken resolutely: a declaration, a command. "I'm sure you could go, if you wanted to see. Just don't expect me to be onstage." He flashes her a smile.