Strung Out Chapter 7

[miri1984]

Title: This Costume is Stupid
Words: 1800
Characters: Isabela, Sorcha, Merrill, Aveline
Summary: Dress up parties are so much FUN
Title Art by the amazing pockets 

Isabela and Merrill have convinced me I need to come to this. They say I've been at home too much lately. They say, since I broke up with Rory I've been a complete recluse and they're right but I like my flat and I love my play station and I'm almost three quarters of the way through Final Fantasy VIII again and it's just… hard sometimes to find the energy to get out.

But then… I do love dressing up.

Usually I would have dragged something together out of old clothing, but this year, this year Isabela decided I needed to be dolled up. Dolled up being the operative world. I don't know why I let her talk me into it.

No. That's not true. I totally know why I did. I did it because there's a damn good chance Andy will be there, being as he's involved in SUDS*, or at least was, and I haven't seen him in any capacity other than a "Hi" since the night of the band.

He's been friendly when we've run into each other, apologetic even. I know he works, most nights, and I know he's studying, pretty fucking hard - he's a med student after all and classes aren't light for him the way they are for me, but it…

… hurts a bit.

A lot, if I'm going to be honest with myself. I feel like I've fucked up, no matter how much Isabela tells me I haven't.

"This costume is stupid," I say.

Merrill is giggling in a corner. We're at Isabela's place - she lives closest to Uni in a share household full of people I've never seen who I suspect are drug dealers or possibly accountants, but it's the best place to get dressed up because for reasons known only to Isabela and her many and varied lovers, she has one wall that is entirely mirrored cupboards.

She also has what looks suspiciously like ropes tied to the headboard of her cast iron bed. And a large box of what I'm hoping aren't sex toys underneath it.

Not that I want to admit this, but as Isabela holds up the skimpiness that is the skirt I'm supposed to wear I suddenly realize we're missing someone.

"Not to mention, Iz that there were five spice girls," I say. "We're missing Ginger."

Iz gives me an eyebrow waggle. "No we're not," she says. "Ginger is meeting us there."

Aveline, who's been dressed and ready to go for ages (her costume really wasn't that different to what she normally wore to the gym) looks up from where she's idly flicking through a magazine that looks suspiciously like porn. "I thought Sorcha and I were your only red haired friends," she says. "And when you're done getting Posh ready I want to talk to you about this story here."

"Geri wasn't always a red head you know," Iz says "and what story are you referring to?"

"The one in this magazine, Isabela. About the feisty red haired sports science student and the young police officer?"

"Oooh! That's one of my favorites!" Merrill pipes up. Of all of us she's the only one wearing a wig, and the white blond pigtails look weird on her. Cute, but weird.

Aveline glares at her "You've read it?"

"Oh yes! I love the way he bends her over the bathroom sink in the police station and..."

"Isabela!"

Iz is busy doing things with the bikini top I'm meant to wear, a slight grin on her face. "Oh Av, get over it. No one we know reads that magazine any way..."

Av points at Merrill, one eyebrow imperiously raised. "Merrill doesn't count, she didn't even get that it was about you..."

"Ooh, is it really? Does Don really do that thing with the..."

"Isabela!"

Iz finishes the last adjustment on my costume and holds it up for me. I give her a look.

"what?" she says.

I glare. "two things. One, there's no way there's enough boob support in that top..."

Iz raises her eyebrow, then looks down at her own generous cleavage. "Hawke, there is nothing I don't know about underwire."

"Two," I swallow. "Everyone will be able to see my scar."

Iz's expression, which had been a smug smile up to this point, goes serious.

"So?"

Aveline's head whips round to me as well, her anger with Isabela momentarily forgotten, but she doesn't say anything.

Aveline was there with me.

Aveline understands.

But she doesn't say anything. Not even when I look at her.

"I think your scar is pretty, Sorcha," Merrill says then. "It has such a lovely shape - and it's so symmetrical. You were really lucky," she pauses then, realising what she's said. "Uh… I mean… well, you obviously weren't lucky but… as far as luck goes, you kind of… I'll just stop talking now. I'm sorry..."

"No, kitten, keep going," Isabela says, and there's a smile on her lips again. "As usual you've cut right to the heart of the matter."

I blink. Merrill doesn't lie. She's… not capable of it. "You think it's pretty?"

Aveline's eyebrow twitches. "She's kind of right, Hawke," she says. I look at Isabela, who's nodding.

"It doesn't detract from the shape of your back," Isabela says. "Honestly, Sorcha, ninety percent of the problem with your scar is that you have a problem with it."

I shift my shoulders. She's right. But it's more complicated than just not liking how it looks. I mean… I don't desperately try to cover it up or anything - I'm happy to go swimming and I wear tank tops when it's hot enough, but… this seems excessive. Especially since I'm supposed to be going out looking good not…

…looking like a burn victim.

And when people first see it they usually start asking questions. Or being impeccably polite and not asking questions which is somehow worse. I know the first thing I want to say when I see someone who's disfigured is "Wow, how the hell did that happen?" - I mean, it can't be more rude than just pretending it doesn't exist? Can it? I know I'd be relieved to have someone ask that without blinking and tensing up. The conclusions that some people come to are so far wrong sometimes… I've had people thinking it's something someone did to me and asking about previous boyfriends and my father and that… that was a whole barrel of awkwardness I never want to go back to thank you very much.

But then again, I know it would be nice for me not to have to explain it at all.

I sigh.

"Just put it on Hawke," Iz says, shaking the top and the skirt and raising an eyebrow. "If you absolutely hate it… well, I'll still make you wear it. But I'll be sympathetic."

I take the two scraps of ridiculously small cloth with me into the bathroom and pull them on. I have panty hose to go with it, and it takes me a good long while to work out how to stop the top of them from poking over the top of the skirt. Because the skirt… doesn't cover my belly. It reaches just above my hips. Or at least, it reaches just above my hips if I want it to cover anything of my arse, and I kind of do. No doubt later in the evening either my arse or the tops of my pantyhose will be on display for everyone, especially if, as I'm beginning to suspect will be the only way to get through this, I become sufficiently inebriated not to care.

The shoes are strappy and white and far, far too high. I sigh, sitting on the toilet to put them on my feet, wondering exactly how I'm going to walk to Manning in them without dying. When I finally come out of the bathroom Iz does me no favours at all by giving me a long drawn out whistle.

"Now that looks good," she purrs, standing up and moving around behind me. I wonder, not for the first time, where she managed to get her hands on a leopard skin jumpsuit. She's teased her dark hair out into a cloud of curls and looks fantastic in every way.

"My hair's the wrong colour," I point out.

"No one will be looking at your hair Sorcha," Iz says, turning me this way and that and looking in the mirror. "Now stop slouching," I pull my shoulders back and wince at what it does to my chest, "and let's go out."

Isabela links arms with Merrill and they waltz through the front door. I stand, for a moment, looking in the mirror, until Aveline comes up behind me and puts her hand, gently, on my shoulder.

"You look gorgeous, Sorch," she says softly. "It'll be fun."

I smirk a little, and the face in the mirror dutifully does the same. Aveline turns to toss the magazine she'd been reading on the bed and the smirk turns to a full on grin. "Don't do that," I say. "I want to read that story…"

She slaps me on my bare shoulder and shoves me out the door. "I'm going to kill Isabela one of these days," she murmurs, and I laugh.

*SUDS is the acronym for the Sydney Univesity Dramatic Society - a society that ate my life when I was at Uni, but pleasantly, in a manner for which I am forever grateful.

**The girls are going as the Spice Girls. Their outfit is this: http:/ / . com/ files/ 2010 /09 /spice. jpg (remove spaces) Prizes for who can guess who Ginger will be. No, really :D.