[email log] [opposite plot] what NOT to wear
Summary: Karen finds Warrick digging through the Clothes that Time Forgot. She's so never letting him live it down. Warning: not even a little PC. PG.
"Oh no, you did not." I look at the ratty-ass K-mart brand button-down in my hand in horror and shudder. It's dingy. Ew. Face screwed up, I pull my head back on my shoulders and stare hard at the clothing box. "You cannot be serious. If I've got to be stuck on this fashion-challenged eau-de-unwashed malaria-trap, the least you can do is give me something decent to wear."
As if waking up with Helen's flesh-sacks in my hands isn't traumatizing enough, I just saw more curvy bits in the shower and my eyes are seriously burning. I can't find that gorgeous hunk of Texas anywhere, either, so this cardboard clothes shanty better cough up some Page Six leftovers or I'm going to be forced do something drastic.
After her encounter with Chuck, Karen was feeling a little unbalanced. He was acting a little weird - for Chuck - and while she was all for him gaining some confidence, she also liked him just the way he was. She obviously wasn't the only one feeling the same; she caught some looks on other people's faces that she felt mirrored her own, and in the interests of not really wanting to know, she did her best not to talk to anyone.
If this was another one of those really messed up magic couple of days, she was going to avoid it as best as she could.
She still had some laundry going, though, and as she made her way down to the basement, she sighed when she spotted Warrick. He, at least, looked somewhat normal. She thought. "Hey, Warrick."
I jump like six feet in the damned air I'm so startled when she opens that lush mouth of hers. I swear, if the girl was a boy, I'd be all over that mouth or it'd be all over me, if you get my meaning. But seeing it's Karen, I immediately start thinking about that prime slab of man-meat she got her claws into, mmhm, my boy Nicky. "Girl, don't even look at me dressed like this. I've got to find some kind of clothes to wear."
Standing up, I look around her on both sides. "Where you hiding that man of yours, girlfriend? You know, I want to see his fine ass."
If the first words out of Warrick's mouth weren't enough, his last were enough to stop Karen in her tracks.
"Nick is..." She blinked and shook her head as if doing her best to convince herself this wasn't like some really messed up version of the Matrix. Maybe it was, and she was still asleep in a world that made sense. "He went running when I last saw him. He...are you feeling okay?"
"Oooh-eee," I say, and fan by my face. Just the thought of Nicky in tight little running shorts, sweat running down that big, thick chest... "Hold me, honey, I need a moment." I close my eyes and wrap my arms around myself and squeeze. "There." I pop my eyes open and wink at her. "That's much better."
Shrugging that off with a dismissive wave of the ri-dick-ulous striped scarf the box is trying to pass off on me, I settle down next to Clothes that Time Forgot and pray for some Time Ain't Seen Yet. "Sure, girlfriend, I'm just fine. Or I will be just as soon as I find something a little more couture than couch potato." Maybe this isn't how I usually am, but it makes me want to yark just thinking about it, so I'm not going to. As far as this queen knows, he's been a queen his entire life, okay? Okay, then. Karen doesn't seem like the brainiac brainchild of Bruce Wayne and Tony Stark and she doesn't look like she's about to go Texas Chainsaw Cheerleader on my queer rear, but I figure it's worth asking. "What about you, honey, you okay?"
"Oh yeah," Karen said, nodding a bit more than she might just to make the point, "I'm fine. Totally okay. Yep." She was so fine, in fact, that she was pretty much memorizing every single thing Warrick said just so she could tell Nick about it all. There was too much crazy going on right here not to.
The whole drooling over Nick thing was just weird, though.
"You sure you're gonna find anything in there? I think the best you'll do is Madonna."
Giving her a look, I shudder. "That girl's reinvented herself more times than Michael Jackson." Right on cue, the box shows me a half-dozen white gloves with rhinestones and without. As if. I snap my fingers. White gloves on black hands went out with Mickey Mouse. "But seriously anything's got to be better than the pimp castoffs, jeans and wifebeaters in my hut. I wouldn't be caught dead in most of that. It took me an hour just to find something that wouldn't make Tim, Stacey and Clinton cry."
Karen nodded, as if anything Warrick just said made any kind of sense to her. Ignoring the crazier parts of this and focusing on the more hilarious parts was probably going to be the only thing to get her through this conversation.
"Hey," she brightly, "maybe you can find something for me, too. It's been a while since I found anything nice in here."
If there was one thing Karen was great at, it was doing her best to milk any hilarious situation for what it was worth.
Sighing melodramatically, I roll my eyes between her and the box. "Only if by 'nice' you mean trashy, trampy, or fashion forward in 1983." I hold up something Britney-does-K-mart, toss it back and show her Frederick's of Hollywood's idea of a "dress", and Olivia Newton-John circa Xanadu in quick succession. "I might have better luck if you stop gawking from over there, honey, and get your hands dirty. Maybe we can confuse it into having some taste." I say 'taste' like I've got a bad one in my mouth, lifting my upper lip and turning up my nose.
Yeah, there was nothing about this entire experience Karen wasn't going to enjoy - and while she didn't think she could constantly tease Warrick about it when he was back to normal, it was the memories that counted. Those, and being able to tell Nick about this over and over again.
She made her way over to the box, reluctant to start digging among the eighties rejects. "I don't know, my taste is like...a t-shirt and a pair of shorts. I'll be totally happy with that."
My head snaps up and swivels to give her a look. "Honey, I may not be into jiggles and vajayjay but for a girl-thing, you got it going on. It's a damn crime you wearing anything that's not cut to accentuate it." Tall she's not, so runway fashion's right out, but even in this tropical hellhole a girl's gotta dress the part. "I'll find you something that makes that delicious hunk of man candy randier than a Texas longhorn in the breeding shed."
There, see, I can be generous, even if part of me would rather rip her face off than help her keep Nicky, and I bet you can just guess which part.
Granted, the past five minutes had been pretty weird from the start, but there were some things Karen really didn't want to hear, even from a completely crazy Warrick.
"I don't really need help," she said a bit hesitantly (even though it was completely true, thank you), but then shrugged it off. She really couldn't do anything but go with the flow here. "But okay."
I roll my eyes, as good-natured as I can be, helping my competition keep her man. "There's never been a woman born that couldn't use a little help from a queer when it comes to clothes. Now, just put your hand here on the box, and let's see what we can get it to--oh my god, what is that?"
I pull and keep pulling til I pull free some kind of Little House on the Prairie thing with-- "That is not shearling. Seriously?" My nose turns up so hard my eyes cross and the box gets a solid shove from me. "You'd better stop screwing around or I'm going to turn you into a shanty for the next visitor to the Island of the Misfit Toys."
"Wow," Karen said, a bit impressed as she stepped back to make way for Warrick as he pulled out what looked like a dozen tiny animals unfortunately stitched together. "Oh my god, that's amazingly ugly. Maybe the next time winter comes around you can save it to make a coat."
Getting a little into it, Karen leaned over the clothes box again to get a look at what else she could find. Ugly meant amusement, but it was never not a good time to get new clothes. It was like going to the mall, except...actually, no. Being around Brodie so much made Karen unable to compare this to a mall at all.
"Girl, that left Ugly drinking Gennessee with Tacky and Trampy and went all the way to Hideous." Mock-shuddering, I throw that shit right back, cover my eyes with my hand and hope like hell whatever it gives me next is something one of us can wear.
"I can't even look." Head turned to the side, I hold up some silky, ruffly thing and oh my god is that a belt?
Karen couldn't help it; she let out a short laugh at Warrick's reaction, then took the dress from him. "The color isn't bad," she said, holding it up to herself. "I bet I can ask Prior to work with it. Do you know Prior Walter? He designs clothes, I think you'd like him."
Yeah, she was totally milking this for all it was worth.
"Is he the alien guy, because girlfriend, you cannot be serious. Aren't lizards colorblind or something like that? You'll probably end up with fuschia and chartreuse, which might be fine for Zac Posen at fashion week but it's not exactly island casual chic." I s-snap my fingers again, eye the dress, and tug on it. "Give me that before someone turns you into the fashion police."
"There's an alien guy who makes clothes?" Karen said, handing the outfit back to Warrick. There wasn't much she could do right now but listen to him. Hell, who knew, maybe she would get some good clothes out of the deal. "No, he's totally human. New Yorker."
I shrug that off and dig deeper into the box. There's got to be some kind of ruby slippers, because, girlfriend, I am definitely feeling like Dorothy right now. There's no place like home, there's no place like home, there's no place like "Oh my god!" I hold up some kind of Vegas showgirl headdress and shudder. "That is just it. If you don't cough up something that isn't a fashion hairball, I swear I'm going to... I turn you into a stageprop for some two-bit casino act." That'll teach it to mess with me. No one wants to be washed up in Vegas. Not even a magic box.
"Oh no, you did not." I look at the ratty-ass K-mart brand button-down in my hand in horror and shudder. It's dingy. Ew. Face screwed up, I pull my head back on my shoulders and stare hard at the clothing box. "You cannot be serious. If I've got to be stuck on this fashion-challenged eau-de-unwashed malaria-trap, the least you can do is give me something decent to wear."
As if waking up with Helen's flesh-sacks in my hands isn't traumatizing enough, I just saw more curvy bits in the shower and my eyes are seriously burning. I can't find that gorgeous hunk of Texas anywhere, either, so this cardboard clothes shanty better cough up some Page Six leftovers or I'm going to be forced do something drastic.
After her encounter with Chuck, Karen was feeling a little unbalanced. He was acting a little weird - for Chuck - and while she was all for him gaining some confidence, she also liked him just the way he was. She obviously wasn't the only one feeling the same; she caught some looks on other people's faces that she felt mirrored her own, and in the interests of not really wanting to know, she did her best not to talk to anyone.
If this was another one of those really messed up magic couple of days, she was going to avoid it as best as she could.
She still had some laundry going, though, and as she made her way down to the basement, she sighed when she spotted Warrick. He, at least, looked somewhat normal. She thought. "Hey, Warrick."
I jump like six feet in the damned air I'm so startled when she opens that lush mouth of hers. I swear, if the girl was a boy, I'd be all over that mouth or it'd be all over me, if you get my meaning. But seeing it's Karen, I immediately start thinking about that prime slab of man-meat she got her claws into, mmhm, my boy Nicky. "Girl, don't even look at me dressed like this. I've got to find some kind of clothes to wear."
Standing up, I look around her on both sides. "Where you hiding that man of yours, girlfriend? You know, I want to see his fine ass."
If the first words out of Warrick's mouth weren't enough, his last were enough to stop Karen in her tracks.
"Nick is..." She blinked and shook her head as if doing her best to convince herself this wasn't like some really messed up version of the Matrix. Maybe it was, and she was still asleep in a world that made sense. "He went running when I last saw him. He...are you feeling okay?"
"Oooh-eee," I say, and fan by my face. Just the thought of Nicky in tight little running shorts, sweat running down that big, thick chest... "Hold me, honey, I need a moment." I close my eyes and wrap my arms around myself and squeeze. "There." I pop my eyes open and wink at her. "That's much better."
Shrugging that off with a dismissive wave of the ri-dick-ulous striped scarf the box is trying to pass off on me, I settle down next to Clothes that Time Forgot and pray for some Time Ain't Seen Yet. "Sure, girlfriend, I'm just fine. Or I will be just as soon as I find something a little more couture than couch potato." Maybe this isn't how I usually am, but it makes me want to yark just thinking about it, so I'm not going to. As far as this queen knows, he's been a queen his entire life, okay? Okay, then. Karen doesn't seem like the brainiac brainchild of Bruce Wayne and Tony Stark and she doesn't look like she's about to go Texas Chainsaw Cheerleader on my queer rear, but I figure it's worth asking. "What about you, honey, you okay?"
"Oh yeah," Karen said, nodding a bit more than she might just to make the point, "I'm fine. Totally okay. Yep." She was so fine, in fact, that she was pretty much memorizing every single thing Warrick said just so she could tell Nick about it all. There was too much crazy going on right here not to.
The whole drooling over Nick thing was just weird, though.
"You sure you're gonna find anything in there? I think the best you'll do is Madonna."
Giving her a look, I shudder. "That girl's reinvented herself more times than Michael Jackson." Right on cue, the box shows me a half-dozen white gloves with rhinestones and without. As if. I snap my fingers. White gloves on black hands went out with Mickey Mouse. "But seriously anything's got to be better than the pimp castoffs, jeans and wifebeaters in my hut. I wouldn't be caught dead in most of that. It took me an hour just to find something that wouldn't make Tim, Stacey and Clinton cry."
Karen nodded, as if anything Warrick just said made any kind of sense to her. Ignoring the crazier parts of this and focusing on the more hilarious parts was probably going to be the only thing to get her through this conversation.
"Hey," she brightly, "maybe you can find something for me, too. It's been a while since I found anything nice in here."
If there was one thing Karen was great at, it was doing her best to milk any hilarious situation for what it was worth.
Sighing melodramatically, I roll my eyes between her and the box. "Only if by 'nice' you mean trashy, trampy, or fashion forward in 1983." I hold up something Britney-does-K-mart, toss it back and show her Frederick's of Hollywood's idea of a "dress", and Olivia Newton-John circa Xanadu in quick succession. "I might have better luck if you stop gawking from over there, honey, and get your hands dirty. Maybe we can confuse it into having some taste." I say 'taste' like I've got a bad one in my mouth, lifting my upper lip and turning up my nose.
Yeah, there was nothing about this entire experience Karen wasn't going to enjoy - and while she didn't think she could constantly tease Warrick about it when he was back to normal, it was the memories that counted. Those, and being able to tell Nick about this over and over again.
She made her way over to the box, reluctant to start digging among the eighties rejects. "I don't know, my taste is like...a t-shirt and a pair of shorts. I'll be totally happy with that."
My head snaps up and swivels to give her a look. "Honey, I may not be into jiggles and vajayjay but for a girl-thing, you got it going on. It's a damn crime you wearing anything that's not cut to accentuate it." Tall she's not, so runway fashion's right out, but even in this tropical hellhole a girl's gotta dress the part. "I'll find you something that makes that delicious hunk of man candy randier than a Texas longhorn in the breeding shed."
There, see, I can be generous, even if part of me would rather rip her face off than help her keep Nicky, and I bet you can just guess which part.
Granted, the past five minutes had been pretty weird from the start, but there were some things Karen really didn't want to hear, even from a completely crazy Warrick.
"I don't really need help," she said a bit hesitantly (even though it was completely true, thank you), but then shrugged it off. She really couldn't do anything but go with the flow here. "But okay."
I roll my eyes, as good-natured as I can be, helping my competition keep her man. "There's never been a woman born that couldn't use a little help from a queer when it comes to clothes. Now, just put your hand here on the box, and let's see what we can get it to--oh my god, what is that?"
I pull and keep pulling til I pull free some kind of Little House on the Prairie thing with-- "That is not shearling. Seriously?" My nose turns up so hard my eyes cross and the box gets a solid shove from me. "You'd better stop screwing around or I'm going to turn you into a shanty for the next visitor to the Island of the Misfit Toys."
"Wow," Karen said, a bit impressed as she stepped back to make way for Warrick as he pulled out what looked like a dozen tiny animals unfortunately stitched together. "Oh my god, that's amazingly ugly. Maybe the next time winter comes around you can save it to make a coat."
Getting a little into it, Karen leaned over the clothes box again to get a look at what else she could find. Ugly meant amusement, but it was never not a good time to get new clothes. It was like going to the mall, except...actually, no. Being around Brodie so much made Karen unable to compare this to a mall at all.
"Girl, that left Ugly drinking Gennessee with Tacky and Trampy and went all the way to Hideous." Mock-shuddering, I throw that shit right back, cover my eyes with my hand and hope like hell whatever it gives me next is something one of us can wear.
"I can't even look." Head turned to the side, I hold up some silky, ruffly thing and oh my god is that a belt?
Karen couldn't help it; she let out a short laugh at Warrick's reaction, then took the dress from him. "The color isn't bad," she said, holding it up to herself. "I bet I can ask Prior to work with it. Do you know Prior Walter? He designs clothes, I think you'd like him."
Yeah, she was totally milking this for all it was worth.
"Is he the alien guy, because girlfriend, you cannot be serious. Aren't lizards colorblind or something like that? You'll probably end up with fuschia and chartreuse, which might be fine for Zac Posen at fashion week but it's not exactly island casual chic." I s-snap my fingers again, eye the dress, and tug on it. "Give me that before someone turns you into the fashion police."
"There's an alien guy who makes clothes?" Karen said, handing the outfit back to Warrick. There wasn't much she could do right now but listen to him. Hell, who knew, maybe she would get some good clothes out of the deal. "No, he's totally human. New Yorker."
I shrug that off and dig deeper into the box. There's got to be some kind of ruby slippers, because, girlfriend, I am definitely feeling like Dorothy right now. There's no place like home, there's no place like home, there's no place like "Oh my god!" I hold up some kind of Vegas showgirl headdress and shudder. "That is just it. If you don't cough up something that isn't a fashion hairball, I swear I'm going to... I turn you into a stageprop for some two-bit casino act." That'll teach it to mess with me. No one wants to be washed up in Vegas. Not even a magic box.