A Dress By Any Other Name

[Wren Watson]

"Ah didnae set ye on fire." She said dismissively, dragging the dress along the floor. It was sort of the point. Were she actually homicidal she'd probably have tried harder. As it was she was so blastedly dependent on him. His house, his food, the clothing she poached from his dresser... things like that would be harder to come by if he was dead. And maybe sometimes she didn't mind his company too much when he wasn't working so hard at being a complete arse.

"And there's naethin wrong with yer sandwich" She had even less pity for dropped food than possibly scorched hair. Really, decades of plucking sheep from fields and eating them raw put a little dirt in perspective. She gathered it up, put it back to together, and took a bite to illustrate. "See?" she said with her mouthful, holding it out to him.

  

[Angus MacFusty]

DATE: December 29th, 1883
TAG: Wren
WORDS: 91
NOTES:

He watched with amusement as she took a bite of his floor-sandwich and then took it back from her when it was offered. He took a bite, exaggerating his chewing. "Cheese, carrot, floor and a wee dash of dragon spit, jist the way Ah like it!" he declared through a mouthful of food. He swallowed and patted his stomach to add further emphasis.

"A culinary masterpiece!" he concluded with a joking grin. It actually didn't taste bad, a little grittier than before but he'd had worse things in his mouth.

  

[Wren Watson]

Wren made a face as she chewed through the consequences of so thoroughly illustrating her point. "Ooh makes a sandwich wi' cheese an' carrots?" She muttered mostly to herself. It was one of the strangest things she could remember eating though, to be fair, she didn't remember many human meals from before her transformation. She managed to swallow the bite and deemed it not-terrible but she wouldn't be making herself one anytime soon.

She dragged the mountainous garment into the kitchen and, after clearing the table with a few sweeps of her arm, hoisted it up and laid it out with more care than she'd treated it all day. She eyed it for a moment before turning to rifle through the utensil drawer. she held knife after knife up to examine the edge. "Ah dynae suppose ye have sewin' notions, dae ye?"

  

[Angus MacFusty]

DATE: December 29th, 1883
TAG: Wren
WORDS: 135
NOTES:

In truth, Gus had grabbed the first two things that he could lay hands on and stuffed them between bread. He wasn't too sure about the combination either but he was hungry so he wasn't feeling inordinately fussy.

He watched with curiosity as she left him, dress in tow, to pursue guaranteed mischief in the kitchen. Deciding that lounging on the floor eating a substandard sandwich was far less entertaining than getting an eye in on whatever she was up to in the kitchen and so he got up and followed.

Gus was surprised - and mildly alarmed - to find her in the knife drawer, examining various knives of various sizes. "Ah've nae sewn a thing in mah entire life," he confessed, a little too proudly. "Ah donnae think it's done with knives though..."

  

[Wren Watson]

"How would ye know? Ah have actually done some sewing." Wren settled for a small blade with a thin point. Who knew what it was originally meant for but today it would reek havoc on a dress. Obviously it was not ideal for separating seams but it was the best available. "E'en if it was a hunerd years ago."

She'd hated sewing as a child but it had much more appeal when she was a bit older. She had been allowed to take her projects outdoors where she could watch the activity out on the grounds. It was of course an excuse to keep a veiled eye on the handsome stable hand her father had hired.

She didn't mind the bodice, she decided as she formulated a plan of attack. It could easily be tolerated, but the bulbous skirt absolutely had to go. It bunched and pulled in weird places not to mention the bustle meant to be worn at the butt. She would never understand the forced and formed asymetry of it. Carefully she slid her selected weapon between the layers of fabric and slid it against the threads that held it together. "See?" she said showing her whole inch of progress.

  

[Angus MacFusty]

DATE: December 29th, 1883
TAG: Wren
WORDS: 115
NOTES:

If there was one thing more dangerous than an ill-tempered fire-breathing dragon, it was an ill-tempered fire-breathing dragon with a knife. Well, not really, that would be silly but it was still a little unsettling to watch her wielding a sharp weapon and using it to slice through fabric like it was a thin sheet of parchment.

"Y'know, Ah think Ah have a pair of scissors somewhere..." Scissors would surely work better and be less likely to slip and cut something she didn't want, like half the dress off or some fingers. That being said, she'd probably find it harder to point his own wand at him if she was down a few digits.

  

[Wren Watson]

"Are they sharp?" she asked, setting back to her task. She doubted he understood what she was doing because scissors were not especially suited for separating seams unless you only used one side but that was a man for you. A man who took pride in never having sewed in his life. She didn't exactly know what she was doing either but she did know that the dress would be wearable when she was done with it.

And once her sewing skills were warmed up with a passable dress, she could think about making herself a stay. She missed the freedom of being a dragon all the time but she did not like the particular 'freedom' of being an endowed woman with no real undergarments. And none of that corset business would do. She wasn't sure about other women of this era but she enjoyed being able to breathe.

  

[Angus MacFusty]

DATE: December 29th, 1883
TAG: Wren
WORDS: 30
NOTES:

Gus didn't really know if the scissors were sharp, he assumed they were because they were meant to cut things. "Ah guess so..." The question was, where were they?