An Outfit Changed, An Identity Reclaimed.

[mamadonna]

Characters: The Dolorosa and YOU!
Setting: 15th floor, the workshop
Format: Basically whatever, if you want to do chocolate things drop a note here!
Summary: Dolorosa is working with some textiles when she gets interrupted?
Warnings: Possible violence and chocolate plot business.

[ Dolorosa had been working on this dress for a couple weeks now, collecting what scraps she could that fit her needs, but they weren't always easy to come by. It was the veiled cape that had been the most difficult, but she'd finally found the right material, and had gotten the dye to properly take.

It was almost finished, and soon she would't have to continue wearing this silly jumpsuit any longer. It only needed one last addition: her sign. It had been sweeps since she'd last worn it, or even been allowed to see it, but she ever forgot its shape, and so making the thread follow her whims until it took form was accomplished without mistake, and only the slightest pause.

It was a form of therapy, this dress. A reclamation of her identity. Within the hour, once properly garbed, she would once again be fully herself. ]

Comments

[hystericull]

Huh!?

[He's caught off-guard for a second, expecting her concern to be with her work and not the current state of cleanliness that his mess of tangles had found itself in.]

[Shortly after his surprise, however, he begins to laugh heartily, reaching up to- All right, nevermind. He's not putting his hands anywhere near the black death-trap. When fingers entered that forbidden zone, they never returned the same.]

Hahaha, uhhh... ain't fuckin' to be all getting my motherfucking recall on, yo. Shit ain't too wicked keen on ablutions, I fucking think.

[mamadonna]

[ She returns to her sewing, only a few more stitches left, but still smiles at him. ]

And that is the what which something must be done about.

[hystericull]

[Oh God what the hell was she getting at he... didn't want... to know...]

Wh-why you all gettin' your motherfuckin' care on 'bout dumb shit like what's that all is?

[mamadonna]

[ And now she glances back down at her work, but doesn't drop the smile. ]

Because it's present state is simply reprehensible.

[hystericull]

[OH. AWKWARD.]

Er, uhh... oh.

Sorry.

[...]

[He felt awkwardly compelled to win her approval. Something about the way she pinned him under her not-quite-stern gaze. It was very strange. Gamzee found himself at a loss for words, something that didn't happen much. He furrowed his brow at the Dolorosa, feeling suddenly scrutinized and sticking a finger in his nose idly.]

[mamadonna]

Luckily, it's also easily corrected!

[ Well, okay, it may be a lot of work actually, but you know, whatever. She finishes her last stitch and cuts the thread, tying it off to hold it. She then hold its up for her own inspection before turning it over to show Gamzee. ]

There. Good as it was the day you first received it, I hope.

[hystericull]

[The boy accepts his newly-repaired shirt with excitement, holding it in front of him to wonder at the magical stitch witchery that had just been exacted upon it. A wide grin spreads over his face. Look at that! The hole was all gone!]

Like it ain't ever was to motherfuckin' be at happening in the first fucking place! Fuckin' bitchin', yo!

[He beams, clutching the shirt to his bare chest like a beloved treasure. Is he ever going to put it back on? Who knows. Eventually he looks back up, still hanging on to the garment for dear life.]

Hey, motherfucking thanks, dog. For real. Shit be all fuckin' fixed up right, now.

[mamadonna]

[ She nods. ] Well, that was the general design in my repairs.

Are you going to wear it, or merely treasure it indefinitely?

[hystericull]

[At this, he looks somewhat dumbfounded, staring from the shirt in his hands to the Dolorosa in bewilderment.]

[Oh.]

[Right.]

Hahaha, guess a brother gotta all be getting the motherfucking clothe on of his fuckin' self what's some time or a motherfucking nother, yeah?

[In a slightly methodical, slightly lackadaisical way, he throws the refurbished top over his horns, letting it slide down to his head before stretching the collar out to slip over his face without smudging any paint. The rest of the loose fabric falls unceremoniously over his bones, but once it does, he resumes pinching it between his fingers to tug and marvel at the closed gash.

If he stares at it long enough, he thinks, she might forget about their second little arrangement.]

[mamadonna]

[ Yeah, well, guess who isn't going to let him! ]

It may be an appropriate occasion for a break, if you'd like something to eat.

[hystericull]

[You drive a hard bargain, Dolorosa. He can't stay wary for long, perking up immediately at the mention of sweets food and breaking into a huge smile.]

Can we all get them little fudgy motherfuckers like what's the pinkies get to making!? That shit ain't being like nothing this brother's ever fuckin' gotten his taste in before!

[The brownies at Willow and Aradia's party were the most delicious things he'd ever shoved in his filthy mouth.]

[mamadonna]

[ She rises from her chair ad takes her staff for support, turning toward the door. ]

Well, that should entirely depend on what we may have on hand. Shall we go see what options are available in the cafeteria?

[hystericull]

[Oh, Lord. He hadn't been in the cafeteria since he'd arrived here. ...Interesting things had happened in there. Oh, look, she'd just repaired the result of one of said cafeteria encounters just moments ago!

It'd be okay, though. He'd be going with her and nothing bad could happen. Even if it did, he now knew that torn clothing could be sewn! What a fucking miracle.]

Motherfuck yeah, girl! Shit sounds all like the most bitchest of motherfucking tits ideas what's ever was kicked up at a brother!

[He followed happily, obediently, scrambling off of the workdesk and almost tripping over his shoelaces in the process.]

[mamadonna]

[ Dolorosa just shakes her head as they move to the hall. ]

Gamzee, I suspect that sentence had no genuine meaning to it whatsoever, aside from an excess in expletives drowning out your intended message.