Jeff Calhoun (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
cacophonish) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
come_sailaway2023-01-15 07:58 pm
cacophonish) wrote in come_sailaway2023-01-15 07:58 pm
Entry tags:
life's a drag [OPEN MINGLE]
Who: Anyone and everyone
What: Jeff's putting on an amateur drag show and all are invited to watch or perform
When: let's say this happened Friday the 13th (or just ignore the 'Friday' and say this is Sometime Mid January idk what is time)
Where: Chatterbox
Warnings: None! Please mark any content warnings accordingly in threads.
About a week after the new year, some DIY flyers go up around the ship, bold, stylized lettering drawn out in colorful markers.
Leading up to the event, you'll find Jeff around the ship, shockingly focused as he's keeping himself busy with prep work-- which mostly consists of altering clothes from Tommy Bahama in an attempt to make something draggy out of them. It's hard work, but someone's gotta do it.
The day of the event, he's racing between Chatterbox, the buffet, and the bars, swiping booze and mixers to set up a makeshift bar (unless there's already a bar in Chatterbox, in which case he's swiping booze and mixers to bolster its supplies), trays of appetizers to snack on, and even an assortment of sushi he's plucked from Mikabo.
Everything's all set by the evening. If you're looking to perform, you can find Jeff a few hours before the show, in a makeshift dressing room, which is really just a corner that's been repurposed and sectioned off from the rest of the room with privacy screens taken from the spa. He's got all his makeup here, and an assortment of outfits that's a mix of his own personal wardrobe, and the clothes he's been altering from Tommy Bahama, for anyone who could use it. Get ready with him! Or maybe you need to do some last minute workshopping of drag names and looks and what kind of performance you want to do...
Anyway, once you're ready, hop on stage and put on a show, baby!
If you're just here to watch, have a seat, have a drink, mingle, and enjoy the show! And hey, even if you don't want to get up on stage, you can still have some fun dressing up and having your makeup done. Jeff did advertise makeovers as part of the party, after all.
What: Jeff's putting on an amateur drag show and all are invited to watch or perform
When: let's say this happened Friday the 13th (or just ignore the 'Friday' and say this is Sometime Mid January idk what is time)
Where: Chatterbox
Warnings: None! Please mark any content warnings accordingly in threads.
About a week after the new year, some DIY flyers go up around the ship, bold, stylized lettering drawn out in colorful markers.
CALLING ALL QUEENS, KINGS, THINGS & MORE
OPEN MIC DRAG SHOW AT CHATTERBOX!
FRIDAY @ 9 PM
COME FOR THE SHOW
STAY FOR THE FOOD DRINKS MUSIC & MAKEOVERS
[ And then smaller, a note below: ]
show up early if you wanna perform
no experience needed!
makeup & clothes provided if you don't have your own
(i don't have any wigs sorry ☹️)
xoxo jeff
Leading up to the event, you'll find Jeff around the ship, shockingly focused as he's keeping himself busy with prep work-- which mostly consists of altering clothes from Tommy Bahama in an attempt to make something draggy out of them. It's hard work, but someone's gotta do it.
The day of the event, he's racing between Chatterbox, the buffet, and the bars, swiping booze and mixers to set up a makeshift bar (unless there's already a bar in Chatterbox, in which case he's swiping booze and mixers to bolster its supplies), trays of appetizers to snack on, and even an assortment of sushi he's plucked from Mikabo.
Everything's all set by the evening. If you're looking to perform, you can find Jeff a few hours before the show, in a makeshift dressing room, which is really just a corner that's been repurposed and sectioned off from the rest of the room with privacy screens taken from the spa. He's got all his makeup here, and an assortment of outfits that's a mix of his own personal wardrobe, and the clothes he's been altering from Tommy Bahama, for anyone who could use it. Get ready with him! Or maybe you need to do some last minute workshopping of drag names and looks and what kind of performance you want to do...
Anyway, once you're ready, hop on stage and put on a show, baby!
If you're just here to watch, have a seat, have a drink, mingle, and enjoy the show! And hey, even if you don't want to get up on stage, you can still have some fun dressing up and having your makeup done. Jeff did advertise makeovers as part of the party, after all.
ii. Totally Not A Date
He- (No. She. That feels more appropriate).
She blushes deeply at Dimitri’s admiration, and the words of praise make her eyes widen in surprise. “Th-Thank you,” she mumbles, flustered, averting her eyes from Dimitri’s intense gaze. “There is a trick with colored eyeliner that Annette used to do. I wanted to try it, but I could not quite get it right and had to redo the eyeshadow.” Calming down somewhat, she adds, “I believe the result is still satisfactory though.”
She looks at Dimitri’s outfit. “These are Faerghan, from Sundries, correct? It looks nice. I like how you have done your hair especially.”
She accepts the elbow. “We do, don’t we,” she chuckles in agreement with Dimitri, shocking even herself.
Earlier today, Dedue had been so worried about looking like a laughingstock with her height, her scarred face, her bulky figure, her strong jaw and broad shoulders. But now she is surprised at how comfortable and confident she feels, like all the disparate pieces have snapped into place just right.
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He blushes at the compliments. "Thank you -- they came in a Sundries package about a month ago, with some other clothes. At the time I wondered why, but it's worked out nicely." He huffs sheepishly. "Ossie had to help me with the gown. They're more complicated than they look."
Dedue takes his arm, and laughs, and -- the world's glassy edges melt. The jagged burrs of the voices and music smoothe away. Quiet seeps through Dimitri, soft and sacred, like light through stained glass. A buoying pressure beneath his sternum; the comfortable numbing of a spring breeze, a warm bath, a familiar blanket.
'Happy'. That's the word. He's happy.
He smiles up at his friend, dizzy and bright. "Shall we, then?"
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Dimitri looks so happy, and it’s nice. She feels like she can forget some of the well-built barriers between them for a moment.
When they reach their seats, Dedue pauses for a moment, cautious. “Um. While we are here, I would like to be referred to as a woman, with feminine pronouns. If that is okay. It is a strange request.”
She feels a bit weird saying it out loud, feels the need to almost apologize for it. But she trusts Dimitri enough to ask this of him.
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'Gender', to Dimitri, has always been something akin to 'toenails': you have it, you didn't ask for it, you tend to forget about it until it becomes painful or inconvenient, but it's attached to you regardless. The idea of doing gender on purpose, because it's desirable -- gender being a thing that one does -- is opening whole new worlds to him.
He cocks his head. Cautiously, he asks, "Do you ... feel more like a woman?"
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She thinks, then adds, “I have thought at various points about if I had been born a woman. I think I would feel the same about it as I do about being a man. On the subject, I am ambivalent.”
She smooths her dress as they sit down. “If I had been born female, many aspects of my life would become inconvenient. And so I have been grateful to be a man. But I am enjoying being something different today.”
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Then again, if it's true that he's not technically anyone's heir anymore ... He winces and shakes off the thought.
" ... I don't know," he confesses. It knots up in his throat, painful to say aloud, but -- "I'm not very good at being a man, but I don't know that I feel like anything else."
Another prickle of discomfort, of unbelonging, worming cold along his spine.
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Of course, none of this is what happened, but Dedue can see exactly how it would be.
She listens as Dimitri continues, then gently places a hand on his wrist. “Here, you need not be one thing or another. Existing as yourself is enough.”
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He jumps at Dedue's hand on his wrist -- not unpleasantly, just ... even through thin gloves, he's still unused to his hands being touched, and it sends a tingling spark up his forearm. He stares at the point of contact. He might -- flip his hand over; not take Dedue's, but offer -- no, not here, in this crowded space. It would be too much.
"I know," he answers Dedue, with a more fragile smile. Sidestepping: "It's nice to see people so ... free. I can't imagine anything like this at Garreg Mach."
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“Agreed,” she says. “Annette and Mercedes would enjoy it though. I have been thinking of them. Sometimes, I would sit with them while they were braiding each other’s hair or doing makeup. At times, I wished I could join them. But I was afraid to ask. I think they would have wanted to share, if they had known.”
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" -- hang on, does that man have wings?"
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It does sound less and less likely to happen. And Dedue will do whatever it takes to get Dimitri back there. But she doesn’t really know what would happen to herself if she returned to that world. She doesn’t know if she even has a life to return to.
It’s not good to dwell on it.
The wings comment is a pleasant distraction. “It does seem that that person has wings. Although, Phil also has wings, and I have heard Erin grew wings too. At this point, I do not question strange sudden abilities.”
She thinks for a moment, then asks, “That does remind me of something I have meant to ask. Turning into an animal, that is also an ability one might gain here, correct? I know Giles can shift into a panther. During the time we were not speaking, I saw a stray cat on the ship. To my knowledge, the Serena only contains passengers, not wild animals.”
(Something about the way she looks at Dimitri while saying this seems to be asking a silent additional question.)
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"Erin has wings now? And Phil got his in a similar way ... euh. I must admit, I hope it doesn't happen to me." Forgetting, briefly, that it sort of did. Remembering, as Dedue goes on.
Ah. Hm. Oh no.
"I'm told there's a crab, though I've never seen it," he says cautiously. About two-thirds of his brain is preoccupied by the way Bash is moving around her ( ... ? it's harder when he can't just ask) scythe. Help. "In general, though, yes."
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She gazes at him curiously.
“But it is strange. The passenger did not reveal themselves to me. Nor did they speak aloud, in the manner Giles did. It was as if they wanted to check on me without my knowing who it was.”
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She looks ahead at the stage.
“I thought it might be you, checking on me,” Dedue says gently. “I think I find the idea... comforting.”
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Dimitri's mind catches up with his mouth.
" -- comforting?"
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(So it was him.)
“I thought it might be you. Or someone else you had sent. But the cat reminded me of you. The same eyes.” She points to her own eyes.
“It made me feel less alone. Even when I could not see you. I appreciated it. Even if you should not have spied.”
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Mostly warmth, and softness, and the animal comfort of being held. A rumble that welled up from his chest and rattled his bones. Feeling that, for once, he could do something to help, rather than hurt.
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“At that time, I was lost in my own feelings. You listened to me and made me feel better. I fed you some fish and told you of all my friends from the monastery. How they might respond to seeing such a cat. I tried to say your name among them, but I could not. You comforted me then.” She smiles as she speaks.
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It feels hideously arrogant, now. Dedue looks perfect, radiant, happy; the idea that Dimitri could do anything for her, slinking back as a literal animal after he'd tried to throw her away -- laughable. Stupid. Selfish.
His hands tangle together, rubbing one thumb over the other.
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She frowns.
“You have always done me good. No matter what form.”
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But Dimitri doesn't want to argue this, least of all here, where people are happy. Goddess knows he's enough of a miserable prick without dragging everyone else's mood down with him. Instead, he pushes up the corners of his mouth. "I'm glad to hear you say that."
The upside of being here is that there's no shortage of distractions. The winged m -- performer is leaving the stage, and Dimitri turns his attention back to applaud. Not as enthusiastically as Bash deserves, but, well. He's trying. "That was something. Who do you think will be on next?"
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She tries to focus on the stage and bite back her concern.
“I think you will be surprised by Oswald’s performance,” she says, a hint of eagerness on her face.
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It's hard to feel bad about himself when Dedue is so distracting. If there was a spell for invisibility, Dimitri's certain Dedue would have learned it. He's always tried desperately to fade into the background, unseen, unnoticed -- with good reason, given everything.
Dimitri's never seen her try to stand out before. None of the glitz and glitter of the show can compare to the ease, the openness with which Dedue carries herself. He wants to see more.
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