"You'll see how presentable I can be," Wilson grumbles, not even sure what he means by that himself. He retreats to the stairwell, not bothering to put the chair back where it belongs.
Once he gets into his cabin he shuts the curtains and dozes for an hour or two, not caring whether his elusive food-stealing roommate walks in on him, and wakes feeling considerably less like he's been clutched in the grip of mortal terror. After that, a shower, a shave, and an extended round of meticulous hair-care to give his coiffure even more volume and definition than usual.
Now he has to decide what to wear. He has a decent collection of white shirts and black pants, a spare pair of clean gloves, and the same waistcoat he always wears, but his previous plan to complete the outfit by grabbing the most formal things he can find in his size in the Tommy Bahama feels about as feasible as stealing the Ancient Herald's cape in the middle of the Aporkalypse. He has lots of raw spider silk but the only relevant thing he could make with that on short notice is a top hat, which would look silly worn indoors with an informal ensemble (Maxwell would notice, even if most other passengers wouldn't). And more importantly it would hide all the effort Wilson put into his hair. He does have one thing he can use for a necktie: the colorful scarf that was previously acting as a hammock for the round little stuffed replica of himself. That becomes a sort of ascot.
He shows up to Stellar three minutes late on purpose, which he estimates should be the perfect amount to grate on Maxwell's nerves without being so late that it looks like he genuinely forgot what he was supposed to be doing. It takes more effort than simply arriving within an acceptable margin of the appointed time, but it's the principle of the matter.
no subject
Once he gets into his cabin he shuts the curtains and dozes for an hour or two, not caring whether his elusive food-stealing roommate walks in on him, and wakes feeling considerably less like he's been clutched in the grip of mortal terror. After that, a shower, a shave, and an extended round of meticulous hair-care to give his coiffure even more volume and definition than usual.
Now he has to decide what to wear. He has a decent collection of white shirts and black pants, a spare pair of clean gloves, and the same waistcoat he always wears, but his previous plan to complete the outfit by grabbing the most formal things he can find in his size in the Tommy Bahama feels about as feasible as stealing the Ancient Herald's cape in the middle of the Aporkalypse. He has lots of raw spider silk but the only relevant thing he could make with that on short notice is a top hat, which would look silly worn indoors with an informal ensemble (Maxwell would notice, even if most other passengers wouldn't). And more importantly it would hide all the effort Wilson put into his hair. He does have one thing he can use for a necktie: the colorful scarf that was previously acting as a hammock for the round little stuffed replica of himself. That becomes a sort of ascot.
He shows up to Stellar three minutes late on purpose, which he estimates should be the perfect amount to grate on Maxwell's nerves without being so late that it looks like he genuinely forgot what he was supposed to be doing. It takes more effort than simply arriving within an acceptable margin of the appointed time, but it's the principle of the matter.