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

[mamadonna]

Would you genuinely find isolation so preferable?

[restitchtime]

Would certainly save me a shit ton of headaches, that's for sure.

[mamadonna]

If an occasional headache is the worst you're left with, I would consider you fortunate.

[restitchtime]

Consider me whatever you like, it's not going to change jack shit.

[mamadonna]

Not while you're set on such changes not occurring, no.

[restitchtime]

I've got a whole unavoidable set of shit that's pretty much eaten up all my flexibility. When it comes to me, nothing changes me except myself. Simple as that.

[mamadonna]

Would that we were all allowed such stalwart resolution, the certain assurance that we could not break. Extreme circumstances, unfortunately, will tend to have differing ideas.

[restitchtime]

I've seen extreme already. If there's anything in paradox space that gets worse than that I don't want to give it the satisfaction of cracking.

[mamadonna]

It can largely be dependent on the personal significance of such circumstances. What variety of extremes are we discussing?

[restitchtime]

Well, we can start with my entire world ending. Kind of hard to get more extreme than that.

[mamadonna]

[ Sounds like something Aradia told her. ]

That sort of thing does seem to go around quite unfortunately often.

[restitchtime]

So I've heard. Sounds like it's some kind of universal epidemic; you'd have thought someone would make a vaccine for that shit by now.

[mamadonna]

Well, if some medical practitioner exists who specializes with cases of that magnitude, perhaps.

[restitchtime]

If they don't they should look into it. Seems to be a rapidly growing field, after all.

[mamadonna]

Though I can't imagine how one would even go about becoming a healer to Space itself.

[restitchtime]

Magic, probably. And an eternity or two in college.

[mamadonna]

By the time the requirements were fulfilled and the knowledge mastered, the very undertaking it was meant to prevent will have long since passed. This would not prove effective for achieving such a goal.

[restitchtime]

You'd be surprised how fast people pick up on things when the cards are down.

[mamadonna]

But the means would first need be effectively possible, otherwise there's little to be picked up on.

[restitchtime]

Everything's possible if you want it badly enough. Thought that was obvious.

[mamadonna]

But some things are simply too big to be tackled alone.

[restitchtime]

That's when you get creative. [she pauses and grins] Or just cheat.

[mamadonna]

Or, you may come to recognize that it is of dire import to depend on others, at times.

[restitchtime]

If you want the shit kicked out of you by incompetency, maybe.

[mamadonna]

Oh, one can do that on her own just as easily, I'm sure.