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

[restitchtime]

You'd be wasting your time if you did - I like my method just fine, unkind or not.

[mamadonna]

Which, perhaps, only further illustrates the need for a more positive influence.

[restitchtime]

I'm done with influences of any kind, especially ones that think they know what's best for me.

[mamadonna]

[ Dolorosa shrugs a little. ]

I can make no demands, the best I can offer is my example and my compassion. Whether you accept it or instead spurn it will ultimately result from your own cognizance.

But you can't expect me to surrender so quickly as this.

[restitchtime]

[that makes her grin a bit]

Hey, if you want to fight over this I'm not going to try and stop you. Just don't get too upset when I metaphorically curbstomp you.

[mamadonna]

I wouldn't consider it a fight. Neither a quarrel.

Disagreement may lay at the heart of this matter, but its solution will seek to eschew conflict entirely.

[restitchtime]

A fight's a fight, don't try and sugarcoat it. It doesn't mean I'm going to hate you forever or shit, it's just how things get done.

[mamadonna]

Not all disagreements need be met with strife, much less violence. A modicum of sugar can be a great distance to making it far more palatable.

[restitchtime]

Talking nice doesn't really have a habit of getting you anywhere but at a disadvantage in my experience.

[mamadonna]

Some of us negotiate that territory rather effectively.

[restitchtime]

And some of us don't have the luxury of interacting with people who listen. Weird how that works out, huh?

[mamadonna]

You'd be surprised how common an affliction that tends to be. Unfortunately, each of us will find it necessary to learn the navigation of such situations.

Some could certainly use the practice.

[restitchtime]

Socially stunted people don't get better with time, just so you know. All they do is learn new and more exciting ways to creep on the people who keep talking with them.

[mamadonna]

If time is the only factor at play, certainly. But that is ever so rarely the case, unless they have been allowed to isolate themselves entirely.

[restitchtime]

Or they people who're dumb enough to talk to them keep blocking their usual methods of being sketchy as hell.

[mamadonna]

But such a block would be an additional factor in itself. The introvert so afflicted would need discover some new method by which to respond.

[restitchtime]

And boy do they ever. It's like an escalating carnival of stupidity.

[mamadonna]

While she yet remains stubborn to the old maneuvers, at least.

[restitchtime]

If it comes down to a game of wills I'm always going to win. They can pull off whatever shit they want, it's not going to help one bit.

[mamadonna]

And if the most offered in challenge to you is the other's patience?

[restitchtime]

Then I end up with another Lalonde or Harley and my ibuprofen consumption skyrockets.

[mamadonna]

I'm afraid I don't recognize either reference. Ibuprofen?

[restitchtime]

Headache medicine. If I get any more people like some of the douches I already know I'm going to be guzzling bottles of the shit just to stay semi-functional.

[mamadonna]

Oh, it can't really be so deeply terrible, can it?

[restitchtime]

I'm not exactly someone who abuses hyperbole. Trust me, it's as shitty as it sounds.