(no subject)
It was not unusual, that when Prior was trying to make himself feel better, he sewed. He saved the delicate stuff for days when his hands didn't shake as badly, and so yesterday he'd spent hours sewing sequins onto the bodice of a dress - no, a gown - since though he was twitchy about the situation with Freddie, and worried about Maureen, and missing Scotty more than ever, hey, at least he had his health! Or at least, health that wasn't as shitty as it could be.
The thing about sequins, though, was that the lining needed to be pressed or they'd just look like little sharp sparkly feathers rubbed the wrong way. Which was why he was in the basement of the compound trying to figure out how to steam the thing without ruining it.
Standing at an ironing board set up by the washers and dryers, he regarded the iron sternly, as if to warn it what sorts of horrible things he might to do it if it fucked up his dress. Since the bodice wasn't actually sewn onto the rest of the dress yet, at least it was a simple enough task to lay it out on the board. It was sequins-down, but they peeked out of the bottom. Peacock blue.
As he started ironing, steam sizzling up from the fabric, he started whistling "Some Day My Prince Will Come." How fabulous would it be if a couple of bluebirds flew in and started helping him with his chores?
The thing about sequins, though, was that the lining needed to be pressed or they'd just look like little sharp sparkly feathers rubbed the wrong way. Which was why he was in the basement of the compound trying to figure out how to steam the thing without ruining it.
Standing at an ironing board set up by the washers and dryers, he regarded the iron sternly, as if to warn it what sorts of horrible things he might to do it if it fucked up his dress. Since the bodice wasn't actually sewn onto the rest of the dress yet, at least it was a simple enough task to lay it out on the board. It was sequins-down, but they peeked out of the bottom. Peacock blue.
As he started ironing, steam sizzling up from the fabric, he started whistling "Some Day My Prince Will Come." How fabulous would it be if a couple of bluebirds flew in and started helping him with his chores?