BSG Fic: Taste (1/1)
Title: Taste
Author: kangeiko
Fandom: BSG
Summary: A sartorial choice.
Words: 350
They didn't actually have anything suitable in the end, despite two days of furious searching. All likely outfits were vetoed by Billy with surprising vehemence; they were too loud, or too sombre, or too not her. Commander Adama suspected that this last was the problem (and what could they do when it was true?) and it was indeed insurmountable. While Tigh grouched about their time being eaten up with frivolities, and Kara itched to smack him for his disrespect, Commander Adama busied himself with trying to solve it in any case.
Laura Roslin had come to the Galactica with precisely three formal outfits: the blue, the grey and the crimson. None of them were suitable, Billy said (except that he didn't, and what he actually said was, I don't want to do this). Not one of them would do.
I don't want to do this, Commander.
And who should do it instead, Billy? Me?
In the end, Starbuck took her only formal gown and handed it over to a seamstress on the Bright Starlight, who used what little scraps of donated fabric she could secure to refashion the blue silk into something (suitable).
Tigh might have made a comment or two (and Starbuck decked him. Again.) but no-one doubted the necessity; not really.
"We are gathered here today -"
(What else were we going to do, sir? Have her lie in state in her underwear?)
Adama could see Laura from where he stood on the podium: an open coffin; her face powdered and hair arrayed across the plush satin cushion, blue silk wrapped tightly around her. It doesn't suit her, he thought, and wondered at the uncharitable thought. His hands were clenched around the frame of his glasses as stumbled in his speech and had to start again. "We are gathered here today to pay our respects to the spirit of Laura Roslin, and to commit her body to the deep."
Her lips were painted pink; the bloom still on the rose.
Death does not become her, he thought again, a bitter taste in his mouth.
(Billy would agree.)
No, not at all.
*
Author: kangeiko
Fandom: BSG
Summary: A sartorial choice.
Words: 350
They didn't actually have anything suitable in the end, despite two days of furious searching. All likely outfits were vetoed by Billy with surprising vehemence; they were too loud, or too sombre, or too not her. Commander Adama suspected that this last was the problem (and what could they do when it was true?) and it was indeed insurmountable. While Tigh grouched about their time being eaten up with frivolities, and Kara itched to smack him for his disrespect, Commander Adama busied himself with trying to solve it in any case.
Laura Roslin had come to the Galactica with precisely three formal outfits: the blue, the grey and the crimson. None of them were suitable, Billy said (except that he didn't, and what he actually said was, I don't want to do this). Not one of them would do.
I don't want to do this, Commander.
And who should do it instead, Billy? Me?
In the end, Starbuck took her only formal gown and handed it over to a seamstress on the Bright Starlight, who used what little scraps of donated fabric she could secure to refashion the blue silk into something (suitable).
Tigh might have made a comment or two (and Starbuck decked him. Again.) but no-one doubted the necessity; not really.
"We are gathered here today -"
(What else were we going to do, sir? Have her lie in state in her underwear?)
Adama could see Laura from where he stood on the podium: an open coffin; her face powdered and hair arrayed across the plush satin cushion, blue silk wrapped tightly around her. It doesn't suit her, he thought, and wondered at the uncharitable thought. His hands were clenched around the frame of his glasses as stumbled in his speech and had to start again. "We are gathered here today to pay our respects to the spirit of Laura Roslin, and to commit her body to the deep."
Her lips were painted pink; the bloom still on the rose.
Death does not become her, he thought again, a bitter taste in his mouth.
(Billy would agree.)
No, not at all.
*