All ready.
So. Thanks to Matt harrying the postal service, I have an outfit.
Yey!
It's grown-up and everything. You can tell it's grown up 'cos it has pointy-heeled shoes and a handbag and the dress is all swish.
Heh. When I told my father I was dressing 1920's style, I think he believed I meant 'my dress is a bit Art-Deco if you squint'. Not 'I know how to do Clara Bow make-up, I have a feathered headband and I really do plan to look like I stepped out of a 1920's nightclub.' He may be a little shocked tomorrow - or likely just exasperated.
I have a Saki book.
I have painted claws.
I have feathers which are black, shine sapphire in the light and are cut rather like Gabriel's from Constantine.
Thanks to Ketchgirl I have the rather delightful image in my head of Cait and Preacher Morrow in a 20's nightclub, drunk and giggling madly and telling each other jokes in Kachina; Cait dancing the Charleston and then kicking off her shoes to skip around to 'I go like the raven', much to the bemusement of the other patrons and the consternation of the manager. (Preach: "Y'know darlin', always take kindly to a man addressin' me as 'sir'. But godamnit if they don't spoil it addin', 'it's time f'you t'leave now'!")
In short, I am as ready as a lone Corvid could be to face foolish social functions, family, dementia duties and all the rest.
Lalala.
Yey!
It's grown-up and everything. You can tell it's grown up 'cos it has pointy-heeled shoes and a handbag and the dress is all swish.
Heh. When I told my father I was dressing 1920's style, I think he believed I meant 'my dress is a bit Art-Deco if you squint'. Not 'I know how to do Clara Bow make-up, I have a feathered headband and I really do plan to look like I stepped out of a 1920's nightclub.' He may be a little shocked tomorrow - or likely just exasperated.
I have a Saki book.
I have painted claws.
I have feathers which are black, shine sapphire in the light and are cut rather like Gabriel's from Constantine.
Thanks to Ketchgirl I have the rather delightful image in my head of Cait and Preacher Morrow in a 20's nightclub, drunk and giggling madly and telling each other jokes in Kachina; Cait dancing the Charleston and then kicking off her shoes to skip around to 'I go like the raven', much to the bemusement of the other patrons and the consternation of the manager. (Preach: "Y'know darlin', always take kindly to a man addressin' me as 'sir'. But godamnit if they don't spoil it addin', 'it's time f'you t'leave now'!")
In short, I am as ready as a lone Corvid could be to face foolish social functions, family, dementia duties and all the rest.
Lalala.