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]

Not everybody gets shiny happy lives where shit doesn't hit the fan on a regular basis. I can deal with it so I don't exactly give a fuck that my luck's perpetually in the toilet.

[mamadonna]

Don't mistake me for one who could even envision what a life of such luminescence and joy would resemble, child. What we are given rarely coincides with that which we hope for, but that should not erase our need for such hopes.

[restitchtime]

Yeah, you keep hoping. I'm not going to wait around and pray that maybe paradox space decides to lay off me sometime in the future.

[mamadonna]

It can be, at times, the only motivation to continue beyond the current predicament.

[restitchtime]

I've got a little more willpower than that.

[mamadonna]

And it's with no joy that I inform you it will wear over time.

[restitchtime]

I've faced the apocalypse two times over with no problem before getting dragged here; pretty sure there's nothing left to break me with.

[mamadonna]

It may surprise you how the scale of the event is not always proportionate to the reaction. You are yet young and have much to live for, but it may eventually narrow.

[restitchtime]

I doubt it. When you start out against a rock and a hard place you've only got up and out to go.

[mamadonna]

Assuming your only opening isn't below.

[restitchtime]

I've been balancing over the abyss way too fucking long to fall all of a sudden.

[mamadonna]

However your thirteen years translates, you don't appear to be any older than seven sweeps. That isn't nearly so long to be balancing in such a manner compared to some of us who have suffered those same slips.

[restitchtime]

I've got a knack for finding center and enough capability to feel confident promising myself I'm not going down. If the other fuckers you know don't that's not really my problem.

[mamadonna]

Well, then I hope that capability sustains for you. But I would advise being prepared, in case it doesn't.

[restitchtime]

Only idiots go into something without preparing. It's just asking to get backhanded by the future.

[mamadonna]

And still the circumstances have their method of altering themselves in unforeseen ways. Much as we may hope to prepare in general, it will not always be possible.

But those methods we most dread coming to fruition are what we can best meet.

[restitchtime]

Prepare for the worst, hope for the best, and roll with the punches. I'd say it's the kind of basic shit they teach you when you're little, but I really wouldn't know about normal childhoods.

[mamadonna]

I will admit to some curiosity as to what that may resemble to a human, but few of the sources I have yet approached seem especially experienced on the topic.

[restitchtime]

Yeah, kids destined to play Sburb don't seem to luck out when it comes to normal lives.

[mamadonna]

Sburb? I'm afraid I'm unfamiliar with it.

[restitchtime]

[she waves a hand dismissively] It's nothing you have to worry about, just more bad comedy in the movie of my life. Anyway, 'well-adjusted' doesn't really seem to flock to this tower.

[mamadonna]

Given my encounters thus far, I should imagine that to be a conclusive enough statement.

Still, for being poorly adjusted, many of them remain more pleasant than the other examples we have been burdened with.

[restitchtime]

Everything runs on a spectrum. I'm sure the extreme other end is lurking around somewhere and waiting to pounce.

[mamadonna]

Well-adjusted yet mad and unmistakably unpleasant? I would personally consider the two conflicting in ways that cannot coexist, but perhaps I simply have yet to encounter such an individual.

[restitchtime]

That's pretty much textbook sociopathy, so you're probably right on that. Fuckers are pretty hard to pick out until they're knifing you in the face and giggling the whole time.