2024-12-09 - Vogue

"I'm bored!" Sadie calls from the living room, where she's been stretched out on the cow-print sectional with a book. Her sister is somewhere in the apartment, this much she knows, and hopefully it isn't far enough away that her clarion call will be wasted.

Louise definitely is somewhere in the apartment. She's not quiet in her comings and goings, the careless door slams give her away. The question is, where is she now -- the answer is close enough, told by the brightly colored squishmallow that arcs through the air to (hopefully) splat against Sadie. Lou follows it, summoned by her sister's dulcet tones, to drape herself over the arm of the sectional. "Did that help?"

"Ack! Aw, mini Benny!" It's really the only appropriate response to being pelted by something adorable, especially when that something is a bigfoot. Which she then cuddles to her, fiddling with his little feet. Deedle.

"Yes. But the moment has passed." Leaving Sadie right where she was, but at least now with company. After a long pause, she peeks over at her sister. "Wanna play dress up?"

Louise worms her way onto the couch. It’s big enough, they can both sit there, she probably doesn’t need to shove Sadie with her socked feet but she can so she does idly.

She’s ready to give moral support in their shared boredom, even looking around for something else to throw (she’s helpful that way) when that suggestion is made. Brings her eyes right back to her sister, eyebrows raised. She started to smile but bites it back for a very solemn, “Absolutely I do.”

Because that’s the only possible answer.

"Yessss." Sadie tosses Benny at her sister and hops up from the couch to skip off down the hall. "Okay come on." Even though Louise literally just sat down.

Sadie's is the primary bedroom because it just happened to be where she already was when she got a roommate, and it's plenty big enough for all of her crap. There's a tall mirror against one of the walls, most importantly, for just such an occasion.

In the walk in closet, she's already pulling options. Her wardrobe runs a wide spectrum, basics like the band tees and jeans, dressier options, some professional ones, and everything in between is full on just for fun. Thrift stores tend to carry the wildest stuff.

As soon as Louise joins her, Sadie is tossing her a hat. "We're gonna take pictures."

And Louise groans but rolls dutifully off the couch to follow, bypassing her own room - smaller, embracing cluttercore, boho meets greasy tools and wire bits scattered across the surfaces.

Joining her in the closet, Lou catches that hat (it’s purple) and plops it on her head at a jaunty angle. “Um of course,” she agrees to the pictures, they have to. This can’t be the first time they’ve done something like this - there’s gotta be a collection of pictures they can add to. Probably with smaller versions of themselves, but still, tradition demands.

There’s something animal print - it may be pajamas, but Lou drapes it around Sadie’s neck like a scarf. Because fashion. “What are we thinking. Hollywood starlet meets dystopian apocalypse? Flamboyant grunge?” Pause. “Do we do…makeup.” She doesn’t usually, but if the situation requires…

"Oh," Sadie turns, flipping her impromptu scarf over her shoulder with drama, "we do makeup." Because she has a plethora of that, too. A lot of normal stuff that she uses when she's going out somewhere, but a loooot of not normal stuff with which to do anything from drag to gore. When you collect things over many years, things happen.

Next for Louise are heels. They're pink and sparkly and ridiculous. "Flamboyant fucking grunge." Obviously.

That means they'll need flannels, glitter, hats, oh that jacket with the faux fur collar is everything. She has it all, and she's basically shopping through her own closet, tossing things at her sister like she's decorating a Christmas tree without looking.

“I still put on makeup like a five year old, be warned.” Get ready for a heavy lippy and, shall we say, dramatic eyes.

There’s a reason Louise tend to raid her sister’s closet. It’s like Mary Poppins’ handbag, theres everything. As things come flying her way, Louise starts sorting into piles. There’s the pile of things for her and the pile for oh hell no not in a million years. Sparkly pink shoes might have been destined for that pile if they weren’t hand-selected for her - they do get narrowed eyes for a best before she plops down on her butt to try them on. Something lands on her, Christmas tree style (is there fringe? It’s like tinsel - what has she agreed to). “Sequins,” she says helpfully, wiggling her fingers towards the back of the closet. “So help me God, you better be wearing sequins.”

Lou’s gonna end fucking ridiculous with a short denim skirt (not by choice but come on she can’t just wear her own ripped up jeans for this) layered over gold lame leggings because it just wasn’t flamboyant enough on its own. The band tee that is artfully ripped on the sides so it shows the bright glittery cami underneath, a flannel that color-coordinates — all she needs? “Accessoriesssss.” Yes it’s hissed, avariciously, before she starts picking through for the sparkliest things she can find.

"No that's good. Very edgy. Do you still use your fingers?" The hopeful look Sadie casts at her sister suggests that she would very much like the answer to be 'yes'.

The closet does go on for absolute days, somehow, but the strain of the overload is showing in the bowed rods and cluttered shoe stash. Louise's 'oh hell no' pile will probably end up doubling as 'Sadie's pile' by the time they get everything sorted. The sequins glint menacingly from the thick of the dresses section. Sadie gives that piece a look, eyes narrow, then considers the shoes she just forced on her sister. "Okay fine. I wasn't seeing sequins but I'll take this bullet."

As the search begins for the little things that will tie this mess together (probably not), Sadie is getting into her dress, bright pink and gold sequins as far as the eye can see, with a ripped fishnet long-sleeve underneath, and some chunky platform sneakers. "I think one of those brown lips and way too much face glitter."

Louise answers without looking up at Sadie as she sorts through a pile of fabrics. “What else would I use, my toes?” So yes. Yes is the answer.

There’s a distinct amount of smug when her sequin demands are met. It’s only fair, if she’s gonna be wearing those shoes - no she doesn’t totter like an actual toddler playing dress up. Okay not very much. She’s got this. Her win is only slightly diminished when Sadie actually puts it on that shimmery dress with all the flourishes and… “How do you make everything work?” Lou asks, eyes narrowed.

Well. Work may be a strong word for it, but it doesn’t suck.

Sadie’s gonna have to provide the makeup too. All Lou would have to contribute is the same Wet’n’Wild lipgloss she’s had since she was a teenager and cheap clumpy mascara that she pulls out for special occasions. She shuffles (I mean strides elegantly) over to start poking through to find the brown lip and the… oh yes… *way too much glitter. That directive makes her smile, not at all concerningly, and she turns to crook a finger at Sadie. Come here my pretty. “I’m gonna do such a good job.” Trust her.

"Don't say that like you haven't tried it." Oh yes, the Mitchell sisters get up to some wacky hijinx when they're bored. This is only one of hundreds of incidents.

That question, rhetorical or not, makes Sadie snort. "Please. Like you aren't owning those shoes right now." Even if there is some small amount of teetering and/or tottering, she has every confidence that Louise is pulling them off and will continue to do so. And yes, their outfits are terrible, but they're stylishly terrible.

There's makeup all day. Sadie's entire room could double as a dressing room for an entire company of entertainers. A mini version of what the park boasts, maybe, and a collection she's all too proud of. You want feathers? Check. A scar on your face? Got it. Full on drag makeup? Oh yes.

Without a trace of fear, she skips over to the little vanity table, plops down on the quirky fabric stool, and aims her face upward. "Do your worst."