Blackwood Grove, Fandom, Wednesday Afternoon

[witchoftheflesh]

Adrian had been positively enchanted with everything the island had been doing thus far for the holidays - yesterday had been a bit of a trial, but he had appreciated having mulled wine and hot cocoa literally on tap.

Today he was sitting on his couch, sewing together squares for a Christmas quilt, and watching the cats interact with the balls of sugar. Boston, of course, had declared himself far too dignified and mature for such shenanigans, but Adrian could see how his tail was lashing about. Lydia was...nowhere near as dignified and mature.

"Kitty will be very proud of you," he informed her as he sewed. "And if they persist through the rest of the day, I might even be able to get the rest of my knitting done."

Lydia had not been dignified or mature about yarn balls, either.

[Primarily for one, but open!]

Comments

[mustbeawitch]

The door cracked open and the bag was whisked inside it so quickly that one might think it was by magic.

(No stays? Not even one of those weird modern 'bra' things? Men, honestly. It was fine. It was fine. Lydia could make it work.)

After rather longer than Adrian might have thought it would take Lydia to get dressed, since one had to account for a pep talk given to the nearest looking glass and attempts to do something with her hair, Lydia sailed out of the bathroom with Adrian's quilt folded neatly in her arms. "Mr. Blackwood," she said, "I must thank you for allowing me to impose upon your hospitality, and for not providing me with one of the more horrid modern forms of footwear." These might be ugly but at least they weren't making her want to cut her feet off within ten steps. She offered him, "Your quilt, sir."

[witchoftheflesh]

Listen, he'd done his best, okay? But there was absolutely no way he was going to even attempt to guess Lydia's bra size. There was no reality in which that ended well.

"No imposition at all," Adrian said, collecting his quilt and trying to look like the last few minutes hadn't happened. He was willing to pretend you'd turned back fully dressed if you were, Lydia. "And ugh, there was no way I could condone getting most pairs of storebought shoes. Their fit is an utter travesty."

[mustbeawitch]

"I do so want to like them," Lydia confessed, though she doubted Adrian would understand, being a man and all, "but I don't understand where they've gone awry. I suppose somewhere in the mass production process, but still. It is amazing how some things have gotten worse over the years between my time and now."

[witchoftheflesh]

"There is never any substitute for personal tailoring," Adrian said authoritatively. "Few people's bodies are shaped exactly the same way, but mass produced clothing is meant to fit as many people as possible, leaving nothing fitting exactly quite right, I'm afraid. With clothing, you can take things in or even let them out, considering the atrocity that is the average seam, but shoes?" He shook his head. "No helping them, really."

[mustbeawitch]

"Oh, the seams," Lydia bemoaned. "They're just horrid. And I don't know why no one seems to have heard of a seam allowance!" The answer was, ironically, the same reason that in her time dresses were made with generous seam allowances to allow for alterations or making the dress over entirely: economics. It was still entirely unfair and inconsiderate of the manufacturers.

[witchoftheflesh]

"More fabric means more money spent to produce the garment," Adrian pointed out. "It's far more profitable for manufacturers to have people just buy something new instead."

He didn't mean to be a killjoy, but fast fashion was always going to be a thing for him.

"Oh! Dinner is almost ready, would you like something to eat when it's finished?"

[mustbeawitch]

"I suppose when the fabric is of such dreadful quality they should be ashamed to use any more of it," Lydia mused entirely wrongheadedly, but also: it wasn't like she was wrong. "I try to stick to materials I recognize the names of as much as possible. What even is a 'rayon,' anyway?

"Oh, I shouldn't like to impose," she said, which wasn't a 'no.' It smelled really good, okay? But... "You have already kept me fed for several days now, I think." It turned out cat Lydia wasn't as appalled by sushi-grade tuna as human Lydia. Who knew? "For that I must thank you."

[witchoftheflesh]

Adrian opened his mouth to explain what fabric was, realized that he couldn't properly, and instead turned his attention to that which he could talk about: dinner.

"I couldn't possibly send you home without dinner," he said firmly. "And please, think nothing of it. It was a delight to have you."

His knitting disagreed, but that was between him and his yarn, okay?

[mustbeawitch]

Lydia cast a guilty look in the direction of said yarn.

She supposed she shouldn't compare her behavior to Kitty's. Kitty was a familiar, after all. That was an entirely different beast (ha).

"You're certain it wouldn't be improper?" She supposed Boston counted as a chaperone.

[witchoftheflesh]

"I insist," he said, then paused and added, "though I could be talked around to making you a plate to bring back to the dorms with you, but it will almost certainly be cold by the time you got there."

Another pause. "Unless, of course, roast beef isn't to your liking..."

Come on, Lydia, did you really want to turn down roast beef.

[mustbeawitch]

It had been such a terribly long time since she had had a good bit of roast beef...

"Oh," she said, "well, we wouldn't want for it to get cold, would we?"

[witchoftheflesh]

"It really would be an insult to the roast," Adrian agreed, as if he wasn't going to enjoy cold roast beef sandwiches over the week.