2025-01-29 - Mckeignsleigh Rae the Blossom Queen

It's mid-afternoon in the wardrobe department. As busy as the place is, with people moving around and attending to their various tasks, everyone seems to be focused and engaged with whatever it is they're doing, with the low hum of a dozen or more sewing machines and a murmur of quiet chatter between colleagues creating a constant buzz of activity that seems to be motivating everyone through the post-lunch crash. It's still winter in Spellbound, but of course the wardrobe department are already several months ahead, and brighter springtime colours and lighter fabrics are prominent everywhere as the team gears up for the next wave of shows and attractions.

Dmitri stands out wherever he goes - yes, primarily for his head full of coiling and writhing snakes, who flick their tongues and occasionally hiss quietly at anyone who passes nearby - but also (he would like to think) for his general level of aura. He's certainly a calm presence today among the barely controlled chaos of the workroom. Machines can help with a lot of things, but Dima's specialty has always been the kind of intricate beading and embroidery that even in 2025 can only really be done by painstaking hand sewing. To that end, he's sat cross-legged on a comfortable looking bean bag off to one side, an overhead lamp shining down on him as he works on an elaborate bodice for one of the various princesses around the park.

The workroom itself is fairly warm, but you wouldn't necessarily know it to look at him. Dima has a penchant for the slightly oversized and baggy, which he wear in multiple layers, tending to emphasise different fabrics and textures. It's a fairly fashion-forward look, even if (to the uneducated) it can sometimes look as though he just went to his closet and put on every bith of clothing and jewellery he owns. Today, he's wearing a somewhat oversized t-shirt that's been very deliberately distressed and streaked with pain in several places, beneath a worn-looking chambray overshirt with the sleeves rolled up past the elbows. These have been paired with a pair of loose-fitting cargo pants with pockets enough to hold tape measures, boxes of pins and various spools of thread the tools of his trade. A seam-ripper is stashed behind his left ear.

Beside him, on a low table, is a rapidly cooling cup of what looks like green tea, beside a rather larger teapot, as well as a small pile of rings and bracelets, which he's pulled off and set aside to allow him to work. He's focused to the extent that not even his snakes are moving that much, and he hums quietly to himself as his fingers move delicately to create the intricately beaded, repeating pattern he's working on.

Dante's been down here a lot less over the last month than the few before; with the big holiday shows and events in the past, it's been crunch time up in Fabricadabra's Atelier. It's not that there are more appointments than usual -- maybe even fewer, really -- but as noted, Spring is on the way in the wardrobe world, and they've got a seasonal collection to design. And, now, to construct the samples for. Which is what brings him down today, because the Atelier has to look exactly the right amount like sewing happens there, which is not as much as the sewing actually happening there would require. Plus, we can't have patrons seeing the work early, now can we?

He tends to stand out most places he goes as well, and while that's also partly to do with what's on his head, in his case it's merely hair. Hair that's probably not naturally quite that pale blonde, and serves body like it might have to lipsync for its life, but still: hair and nothing more. It's not wholly out of the question that he might hiss quietly at someone passing nearby, but today doesn't look like that kind of day; he strides from the stairs and across the room with simply his usual air of expecting his path -- all his paths -- to be clear. Somehow, it nearly always is.

This is particularly handy at the moment, since he's laden with a considerable pile of fabric, folded in ways that suggest a fair bit of it's already been cut. He sets it down in his particular WIP area, which makes it easier to see what he's wearing today. He's always tended to a sleeker style than Dima's, and that's mostly the case today: slim-fit cream corduroys, a close-fitting cream tank-top, a pair of burnished burgundy leather brogue boots, though they do have aggressively combat-style soles. Over top, however, is an oversized sweater Dmitri might recognize as the result of wool hand-spun and hand-dyed shades from marigold through mulberry in one of his classes. The resulting widths and textures of the yarn are on display via a very open, almost net-like knit of varying size, and emphasized by the pile-up where the long arms are pushed up on his forearms and the asymmetrical angles where the neckline slides lazily off one shoulder. It's a sweater that definitely tells a viewer it's fairly warm in here. There's a few slim wood-and-bead necklaces, but if there were any rings or bracelets, they've already been stowed for the workday.

The other thing he's wearing doesn't quite fit with the rest, but that's recognisable too: the case that holds his handwork tools and supplies, hanging from his shoulder. So it makes sense that what he takes from his pile for now is just an embroidery hoop with a piece of white satin in it, and also that he turns and starts toward the area Dima's currently working in. Due to checking his phone, Dante gets within about ten feet before he really looks at Dmitri. And then stops short, blinking once. "...new do," he observes, eyeing the snakes critically for a beat or two before deciding, "Suits you."

He moves to pull one of the few similar beanbags over, clearly planning to steal some of that good light, and indicates the beading-in-progress with a little tip of the chin. "What's this one?"

Dima does not venture up the stairs to Fabricadabra. As stylish and - yes! - as charismatic as he can be, it is generally understood by everyone that this is not necessarily a customer facing sort of charisma, unless the customers wish to hear exactly what Dmitri thinks of them, punctuated by a good many eyerolls and the occasional foreign-language expletive. Even more so since he grew actual snakes out of his head. So, Dante gets to go upstairs and deal with the general public. Dmitri is quite comfortable here on his beanbag, with his green tea, which he reaches to take another sip from in between stitches, not quite aware of Dante's approach just yet.

Well, not aware until Dante stops slightly short to comment on the snakes and Dima looks up, peering at the new arrival through kohl-lined eyes for a moment or two before his features erupt into a smile of welcome. "Dante!" he greets happily, his accent marking him out as a New York City native. Brooklyn, to those who have the ear for it, with only the very slightest nod to having grown up in a multilingual home. Dima's eyes wander up towards the snakes, which spring to life lightly, forked tongues sensing the air as they coil about in response to the new arrival. "It's been an adjustment." Dima admits. "I mean, how do you even wash this, right?" he spreads his hands helplessly and lifts both eyebrows for dramatic effect.

He lets Dante drag one of the beanbags over, letting him take a seat before continuing to bombard him. Dima is certainly the type that if he knows Dante will not object, will lean over for air kisses on one or both cheeks before offering tea with a gesture to the pot that's sat beside him. Once they're settled, Dima is only too happy to show off the piece of embroidery he's working on. "It will eventually be the bodice for the Blossom Queen's gown," Dima explains, showing off the repeating pattern of richly embroidered and heavily beaded blossoms that he's been painstakingly working on for most of the day. "What about you?" Dima asks curiously, casting a glance over towards the hoop Dante is holding.

Honestly, it's a bit weird to imagine Dante 'customer facing' as well, even if he does have a reasonable knack for keeping his own opinions rather more subtle... when he decides he wants to. And the customers he has to deal with aren't so much the general public as a very specific public. All the same... that part of the job can't possibly have been on the 'pros' side of the list he undoubtedly made in at least his head when deciding whether to take the position, can it?

The sudden smile draws a mirroring one, and he laughs once at the question. Rhetorical though it likely is, he pauses to regard them with head tilted and eyes slightly narrowed. "Damp cloth, then a soft dry paintbrush, pat fully dry," he suggests. "My brother's gone all sparkly and Wesley's grown a tail. Either nothing's happened to me yet or it's done it somewhere I can't see," he adds, settling the beanbag into place and then himself into place upon it with a light flop. It makes it the most comfy, see.

He objects not in the least to the air-kisses, fulfilling his part in the exchange, and while he's already sitting up a bit more for that, adjusts further to a proper working position. The tea offer's acknowledged with a "Thanks," though he doesn't actually go for any just yet, instead putting his case down and opening it up to work from more easily. The display of the piece in progress has him leaning in to examine it. "She will not properly appreciate it," is essentially Dante for 'wow, that looks amazing so far'. A tilt of his hoop shows very light lines sketched out on the fabric, waiting to be picked out in something rather more impressive -- though from the looks of it, not quite so impressive as Dima's current work. He is, after all, the specialist here. "Prince Charmant," Dante rather exaggerates the Frenchness of that name, drawing it out and looking faintly amused, "needs a Spring jerkin. This will be the collar." A beat, eyeing it. "Eventually."

The snakes are relatively well behaved as Dimitri places air kisses against each of Dante's cheeks, with little more than a curious flicker of forked tongues as they pick up on new and interesting scents in the air. Dima listens carefully as Dante begins to reveal his suggested haircare routine for gorgons. It's worth listening to because Dante has fucking fabulous hair. Like seriously.

"Funnily enough..." Dima begins, once Dante concludes with his advice, "...that's pretty much what I've been doing, and I've only been bitten once, so it seems to be working so far, inshallah" and indeed, Dima's hair does look pretty luscious, what's visible among the snakes, anyhow. "It's getting it cut that's going to be the real bitch," he remarks warily, his eyes tracking upwards towards said hair briefly, and then back to Dante, who gets a playful poke of Dima's tongue.

Dmitri is happy to hand off the piece of embroidery for Dante to get a proper look at, and while he does, Dima reaches over to set a hand against the side of the teapot, ensuring the contents are still suitably warm before setting a small bowl out for Dante. "Almost nobody will, I'm certain," Dima responds to the suggestion the Blossom queen will not see the value of the work that's gone into her costume, though the smile he wears is somewhat amused. "The people who matter will, and I will, so as long as she avoids spilling anything pumpkin-spiced over it again, I'm happy for her to be a philistine," he rolls his eyes slightly.

Dima pours out a cup of tea for Dante, only filling the piala about a third of the way before setting the teapot back down. The way the table is all set up beside him, its easy to imagine that almost anyone who ventures to sit near him is drawn into the little tea ritual, and Dima does not like to be refused! With the teapot set to one side, Dima reaches out to take back his piece, and leans closer to see what Dante is working on. The work gets and appreciative "Ooooooo..." from Dima, obviously impressed, followed by a slight gasp. "You got Charmant? Lucky. He's pretty dreamy." Dima points out, leaning back until he's comfortable on his own beanbag once more, and reaching for his needle.

The playful tongue poke gets another quick grin out of Dante. "Careful, they're rubbing off on you." He gives the snakes and hair another thoughtful look. "You're right, though. That's going to be tricky. Maybe you can bribe them to stay still and cooperate with, I dunno, frozen mice or something? What do they eat? Do they eat?" Now he's starting to try to imagine their internal structure and how they work and... sometimes it's best to just accept 'magic'. "Maybe there's a snake charmer somewhere around here who could help out. Mecho-Arcana Midway maybe."

He nods with a long-suffering sidelong glance at the 'almost nobody' note, but again, rather less so, at 'I will'. Dmitri will know, and that matters. And so will he. "If she ruins that with a latte I will find a way to make sure she never enjoys a coffee again." A price must be paid. God only knows what might befall Charmant if the jerkin-to-be's mistreated.

And as for that worthy, the judgement of dreamy draws a breath of a laugh from Dante. "Yeah, he's pretty easy on the eyes," he allows, "...cooperative, too. Not the most scintillating conversation I've had this week, but he seems sweet." He sets the work down on his leg and leans forward to take the cup that's been poured for him, and have a sip or three. Then he sets it back on the table; there's work to be done, and if he spills tea on it he may be forced to ensure that he never enjoys tea again. And that would be a shame.

Dima smiles back when Dante teases him about the snakes rubbing off on him. "I guess..." he remarks, peering up at them curiously, and then looking back to Dante. "They don't eat" he shakes his head "Which is lucky because I don't think any of them have the requisite back end to do what they would need to do if they did..." he points out, though the thought causes him to look a little horror-struck even as he says it. "I think the best option might seriously be to pop an Ambien and just let the guy do his thing while we all sleep" he shrugs. "I might go see the park doctor about it at some point."

Of course Dima knows that Dante will appreciate his work on the bodice, that is why they are costume bros. "Thanks," he smiles, his needle working quickly as he makes small delicate stiches n the embroidery hoop in metallic thread, careful to add the beds atexactly the right intervals to create the kind of shimmering, jewel-like effect he is going for. Dima doesn't visibly react to the idea of the Princess spilling a latte all over it, but there is a quiet chorus of hissing from the snakes which probably fairly accurately conveys his feelings on that. "Right," he agrees, giving his head a little shake.

Dima looks back up when Dante starts explaining about his latest client, the embroidery sat aside for the moment as Dima reaches for his piala, draining the rest of it's contents and then moving to reflll it (and Dante's for good measure) at the same time. Even so, he never fills them very far, no more than a third or so of the way up. He laughs at the implication that Charmant is slightly dim, only to chime in with "Anything but another princess fresh out of Miss Flyover State..." he smirks.

"Mm. Probably for the best," Dante agrees on snake-digestion in this configuration. "Hopefully that means they don't grow, either. Because I'm pretty sure PETA would come after you for trying to trim them, and imagining how they'd molt is hurting my head. Sleep trim seems like a good solution. They sleep when you do?" He's started working -- not quite as quick and deft as Dima, with this, but it takes an educated eye to notice -- and glances up from it now and then to glance at the snakes again, considering. "Does look good on you, though."

He gives a tiny 'thanks' inclination of his head for the refill, but the tea will continue to wait, for now. The princess description gets a little puff of a laugh. "Right? I'm starting to think those pageants have a career counselor asking if they've considered theme park royalty as a profession. I guess it is a decent use of the wear something pretty but indifferently comfortable and walk around being congenial skills they've been honing all these years, though. Blossom Queen one?" He takes a couple more stitches, then tilts the hoop back and forth slightly to make sure the first few beads are behaving as intended, catching the light how he wants. Apparently, they are, as he doesn't seem about to take them back out.

"My sister used to do pageants." Dima has likely met Saint at least once or twice over their college years. "I used to dress her. California, 'course." A fly to state. "...if some of those girls show up here I'm going to have to learn how to murder untraceably with pins."

"Yeah, I am just trying not to think about all the really horrifying possibilities until they either happen or they don't, honestly..." Dima squints upwards towards his snakes briefly, the nearest of which is currently flickering its tongue back and forth across his forehead. He looks back to Dante and nods, confirming that they sleep when he does. "Can you imagine trying to sleep if they were awake?" he asks, arching a brow. Indeed, when they're active, they can be quite active, and his head is currently equally parts scary and mesmerising as they slip and coil around one another.

Dima smiles a little when Dante points out that the snakes do look good on him - they do! The tea refills are a given. Dima will keep refilling as long as the cup gets emptied, though there's no pressure on Dante to drink if he's had enough for the time being. He laughs at the idea of the guidance counsellor recommending all the pageant princesses to become theme park royalty. "If only a few more of them understood fashion I would be thankful but they seem to be all locked in a competition to use as much tulle as possible in a single sitting...." he rolls his eyes.

Dima keeps stitching as they work and leans over to peer at Dante's piece when he stops to inspect it. "I like it," he offers encouragingly, teeth barely showing as he smiles at the delicate needlework. "I think even my babushka would be impressed!" he nods, which to those who know Dima, is high praise indeed! Dima takes the pause as an opportunity for another drink of tea, before settling back down and reaching for his needle again. "Oh, did she?" he asks, when Dante mentions his sister. "She's got a good figure for it," he nods understandingly, then quirks his head to one side. "Was the fire dancing for the talent portion?"

"Fair." Dante may not naturally have the knack for not thinking about these things, but the benefits of managing it are clear enough, sometimes. "...and I figure you'd get used to it. People roll over and move their arms and legs to different positions in their sleep all time, let alone sleepwalking and all. You'd just sleep and they'd have a little snakes-only chat on your pillow." He can't help watching the snakes move a bit while he talks. They are fascinating. If he finds them scary, that he's doing a much better job of concealing.

The mention of tulle gets a little snirk, and a nod. "Plus sequins and satin and trains, oh my," he says dryly, "but everyone knows a fairytale princess is 110% tulle. If you can't hide your entire entourage under the skirt, are you even trying? On the upside, they're all used to dressing to be judged. Most of them take being told what'll give the best effect on them reasonably well." One hand lifts from the work on the word 'effect' to give fleeting single almost-jazz-hand; if he were texting it there might be ironic ✨sparkles✨ either side of the word.

He equally fleetingly looks genuinely pleased by the compliment to his work. "That'd be kind of her," is definitely kin to a thank you, as he gets back to continuing on with the embroidery. "Heh. She took up proper fire dancing in college, but she did try to do fire batons once. They said no 'cause the air was like 63% hairspray most of the time and who can afford the insurance on that? So, mostly non-fire dancing. Singing sometimes. In high school she started doing aerials, mostly."

"to be fair, I have grown somewhat fond of them already, the bite aside," Dima remarks of his hair. He can't exactly See it from where he is, but he does lift a hand to run his fingers along one of the serpents near the front with a somewhat affectionate air. The snake itself seems remarkably tolerant of this treatment, suggesting that all involved have arrived at somewhat of an understanding since they sprouted out of his scalp like that. "It doesn't look like the islands have managed to change you at all, really," Dima remarks of Dante before adding, "Unless you're dressing to hide something," with a humourous air.

The conversation turning back to princesses earns a wearisome, exaggerated sigh from Dima, along with a playful roll of his eyes, especially as far as tulle is concerned. "I swear sometimes it is like living in an episode of Honey Boo Boo..do you remember that? It was on TV when we were kids..." Dima laughs quietly to himself as he remembers the scenario. "Honestly, it only goes to show that you can't teach people good taste," Dima shakes his head disapprovingly. "You're right though, yes. Most of them are sweet and willing to listen to guidance. At least a little. I still have one girl who will not accept she is a winter, no matter how many times I pull out my colour chart," he tuts scoldingly.

Dima falls silent for a few moments then, his attention taken up by a particularly intricate piece of stitchwork. Still, it doesn't;t stop him from listening as Dante talks about his sister, interjecting with the occasional "mmhmm" and "Oh right..." as needed. The joke about the air being mostly hairspray does get a laugh though, along with an emphatic "And that was the night the lights went out in Georgia!" with a bright smile and a flash of teeth in Dante's direction. "Did she win many? Pageants?" Dima ask curiously, having never heard of Dante's sister's exploits up until this point.

"I can feel generations of dads trying to get me to make a joke about them growing on you," Dante notes, "but since I'm pretty damn sure I'm not one, they're out of luck." Mostly. As far as whether the islands have changed him, he agrees archly, "As far as you can tell," before adding, "...or I can. If it's somewhere I can't see, anyone who could hasn't told me." And given he almost definitely has mirrors set up somewhere to give him a decently close to full view when needed, that doesn't leave a lot of options. "It seems kind of random, when it comes on. So I guess I could wake up teal with tentacles for toes tomorrow, god forbid. Imagine what that'd do to my shoe repertoire."

His nose wrinkles a bit, but there's a faint amusement as he confirms, "I definitely saw that show a couple times." A breath of a half-laugh, and he shakes his head. "Does it rule out her favourite colour or does she just not like the idea of being cold and snowy? Promise her the slush is optional."

He's getting into the groove of his current work as well, but looks up at Dima's joke, grinning back before returning to the beads. "She won her share, I guess. Enough to keep at it, though mostly she just wanted to make sure she placed higher than Stephani-with-an-I Taylor. People underestimate the power of spite."

"My dad included, if only he knew..." Dima agrees, rolling his eyes just a little at the dadjoke, though it still manages to bring a smile to his face as he adds "My grandfather too, or whatever the equivalent is in Uzbek..." with an amused crinkle of his nose. He chats away fluidly without ever looking up from his delicate stitches, which probably explains how he manages to get so much done while still holding court and drinking tea around his little table. Dima laughs again when Dante confirms he hasn't changed anywhere that can easily be seen, only to gesture once more at his hair. "There's probably a little 666 under there" Dmitri teases, referencing the old movie. "A much better option than toe-tentacles..." he remarks with a theatrical shudder of disgust.

A couple more stitches are made, another bead affixed in place, as Dima nods along to Dante's vague recollections of Honey Boo Boo with an amused sort of smile. When Dante asks if the wintry complexioned girl wants to wear a specific colour, Dima glances up and mouths the word "Coral" with a look of horror in which it seems clear he expects Dante to share. Smiles are exchanges, following which Dima returns studiously to his stitching. The snakes have grown largely still, resting coiled atop his head like some elaborate updo as he focuses most of his attention on his stitches.

"That's nice..." Dima begins politely, only to let out what can only be described as a cackle when Dante explains about Stephani-with-an-I Taylor. "Oh my god, I can only imagine. I would have wanted to grind her into dust based on the name alone..." Dima shakes his head. "Such a white girl name..." he laughs, crinkling his nose as he does.

"You know too much," Dante replies flatly, turning his head slowly to give Dima an equally flat look, though the corner of his mouth does quirk up fairly swiftly afterward. "If you want to check on it later, fine, as long as you don't try to shave me to do it. If I'm gonna be the antichrist I definitely want to know about it."

He's focusing more on his work again, getting a little quicker as he gets into a bit of a rhythm, but there is a tiny skip in it when he catches the mouthed word, his nose wrinkling. "I'm sorry," he mostly-mouths back, only a hint of the S audible. A little shake of the head, as he continues working. Whatever mental image he's gotten from that information is not one to inspire his next set of designs, clearly.

The cackle gets a brief but broad grin out of Dante, and as for the name, "Right?" Which is coming from a blue-eyed currently-platinum blond. "She always introduced herself that way, too, except on stage. Stephani-with-an-I." A beat. "Also pretty much all Stephanies have an I. She should've said without-an-E. Always bugged me." The chances this was high on his sister's list of irritations with the girl are probably not great, but it probably made the list once Dante mentioned it.

"What's the rest of the Blossom Queen's gown going to look like? I haven't seen a sketch yet but I assume we're going to be having a tiny pared-down version up top by the time she's wearing it."

Dima glances up at Dante and flashes his most innocent, butter wouldn't melt smile, which is a little less convincing when you have a headful of snakes, but you can imagine he was suitably angelic when they were both kids. He laughs at the suggestion of checking under Dante's hair for any bizarre and as-yet undiscovered developments and shakes his head a little. "I'll pass on checking through your hair like some kind of mamma baboon..." he teases.

Dmitri finishes up the last few stitches on his current piece and finishes it off with a final, sparkling bead before setting the hoop aside and the thimble off the end of his finger. Unlike his grandmother, Dima is wholly unwilling to build up a callous for the sake of his embroidery! He reaches for his piala and takes another sip, cradling the cup between his hands as he watches Dante work. When he suggests it should have been Stephani-without-an-e Dima considers this briefly, then points out "Those flyover states though...she might think the standard spelling is s-t-y-p-h-a-k-n-e-e, in which case, with an i would have been novel," he quips.

When Dante asks about the design for the Blossom queen, Dima's face lights up with a smile, and he sets his piala back down on the table. "Well, since you asked..." he chirps, reaching for an expensive-looking sketchpad with lovely, heavyweight paper pages that he keeps in his bag. Tugging it free, he flips through a few of the pages until he finds the one he's looking for, setting it down in front of Dante for his approval. "Here..."

Now maybe it's just a bit more fallen angelic, which is entirely appropriate to the conversation. Dante manages to suppress most of the grin that wants to escape, mostly from appearing and entirely from bleeding into the tone of the light, "Your loss. Not every primate gets that opportunity, you know."

The grin escapes, then, though it's aimed at the work, and only there for a couple moments before it's tamed down again -- and goes all the way to a look of horror as Dmitri proposes an alternative standard spelling, the embroidery stopping short a moment as he lifts his head to look at his friend. "How dare." Shaking his head, he looks back down to the work, one corner of his mouth just barely quirking up. "All right, you have a point, and I really wish you didn't. Ugh."

The next pause in the embroidery is a much more enthusiastic one, actually setting the hoop down on his leg to focus on the sketch. "Oh, we are going to sell so many tiny simplified versions of that one," he murmurs, and his interest in the design is clear in the fact that he doesn't look up to Dmitri again when he speaks. The initial effect taken in, he studies it silently for a moment. "She's going to look amazing. How did you decide to strengthen the extending branch bits?" Another moment, and then he does look up. "You know what, they should have a costume museum here somewhere. Let some more people who do properly appreciate our work get a closer look, instead of packing it all away the rest of the time."

Dima laughs. "Oh, to be remembered by history as the man who almost had the opportunity to pick through Dante Kerekes hair like some kind of insane mamma baboon..." he teases, seeming happy enough to pass and then scrunching his nose affectionately at Dante when that grin finally escapes when he finally sets down his embroidery hoop. It will be quite the gown when it gets done and likely worth an inordinate amount of money. At least, it would be if they worked for a fashion house and not the costume department at a theme park. One day, Dima, one day!

The look of horror at Dima's suggestion (entirely plausible in some parts of the Midwest) for the alternative spelling of Styphaknee causes Dima to tap his now thimble-free finger knowingly against the side of his nose. "See, things could always be more tasteless," he quips. However, he seems more interested in Dante's reaction to his drawing at this point, leaning across the table somewhat to study it along with his friend. There's a look of genuine pride at the positive reaction, Dima's expression splitting with an easy smile as he toys slightly anxiously with a couple of the bracelets on his wrist. Dante's approval had always been important to him!

"Thank you," Dima nods when Dante remarks upon how many kid-friendly versions of the dress they're likely to move through the boutique upstairs. "I figured it was a somewhat unique take, but the embroidery is a killer..." he bemoans, somewhat dishonestly, since it is well known to be Dima's speciality and one of his favourite things to do in the workroom. When Dante asks about the branch bits, Dima smiles quite proudly. "The floristry department! I went and saw the woman who does all the centrepieces, and she showed me how they do it with wire. So I just built it off of the boning in the bodice." he chatters away, gesturing to the appropriate areas on the drawing as he does.

Dima looks briefly blank when Dante then interjects to propose the idea of a costume museum, but it only takes a moment for it to fall into place, and he's on board. "Like The Costume Institute at The Met," he nods approvingly. It was the subject of more than one independent research expedition while they were still based in Manhattan. "We should..." he nods emphatically. "People would go to it too, I expect, and you're right...it's better than packing it all up in boxes for god knows how long," he chews his lip thoughtfully, then nods "You should totally pitch it to...whoever is in charge of that!"

"History never remembers the 'almosts'," Dante declares loftily and not entirely accurately, but accuracy isn't the aim just now. Not for that, anyway. Just the embroidery. Which one day will indeed be being done for a fashion house, surely. Quite possibly Dante's, if he has anything to say about it; he's always been determined to get there, and the approval is certainly not for only this design.

His nose wrinkles again at the quip. "Things can always be more tasteless. There is no bottom to the depths," he intones ominously, then sighs most deeply. They suffer so. Nothing to do but focus on the sketch to improve the situation, yes? Yes.

"If the embroidery were simple, you'd be bored." He nods, scanning the image again. "Floristry wire makes sense. Strong, but not so strong someone's going to get impaled if they trip and fall on her. And using the boning to keep the structure is perfect. Central anchoring." It's a little thoughtful, probably considering whether and how to riff on this for Fabricadabra's seasonal collection. The given theme is always reasonably in tune with what's going on in the park.

That's partly shelved for later, though, as the Costume Institute is mentioned. "Yes, exactly!" A moment, and he agrees, "I should. I'm not sure who that'd be... yet." Ask again tomorrow. "We should be involved with curating it. But probably not solely, we do have other work to do. A small board, maybe?" The pitch is now officially In Development.

"Good!" Dima agrees with a nod of his head about the fate of the almosts. "When they're making the movie of my life, I think I am happy for them to leave that scene out. Of course, they will need someone with incredible hair to play me all the same..." he laughs, before gesturing right back at Dante when he, too, agrees that there is noend to the tasteless depths that can be plumbed. "And not like, cool, edgy, campy tastelessness either..." he shakes his head, lifting his right hand to waggle his index finger back and forth. "I mean honest to god, velour leisure suit and a stanley cup, Mckeignsleigh Rae tacky" Dima waggles his fingers here as he invokes the boogeyman of poor taste.

As they chat, there's a beep on Dima's phone, which he quickly checks. A frown forms, and a glance is given upwards towards the calendar on the wall beside him. "Hmm, I've got one of the new ice dancers coming in for a fitting in fifteen," he explains apologetically towards Dante, though he still smiles at the appreciation for the Blossom Queen design. "Seriously, I appreciate it," Dima smiles, gathering the sketchbook and the section he's been working on and starting to clear them away. As he does, though, he gives a "mmhhmmm" of clear approval for the idea of them curating a costume exhibit together.

"You know I would love that!" Dima beams, pursing his lips thoughtfully for a moment, before suggesting. "Do you want to do a movie night soon and we can make plans? I'll make Chebureki and bring Rose?" he suggests.

"I think you mean they'll need someone with incredible hair to play me all the same," Dante retorts airily, giving said hair a toss (for what good it does). There's just a flicker of a grin before Dima's going all in on plumbing further into those depths. "With 'juicy' on the ass," he agrees, with not even half a pause before, "and did you just-- My brain just spelt that name like five different ways and they're all terrible. I hate you."

There's that beep and explanation, and he clicks his tongue. "And now you're going to abandon me for an ice dancer, I see how it is." He's apparently going to still be here a while, himself, settling back and getting comfortable with his work again. "Fine, I guess you can make it up to me with movie night and fine comestibles. Friday? Or just text me when the chebureki bug bites, most of my social calendar's fairly flexible right now. Actually, even aside from movie night, just text me when it does anyway so I know when to coincidentally drop by."

He's still thinking on the exhibit idea. "Might try to slide through the costume storage and take a few notes... Anyway. Yes. Movie night, my place if you're prepared for my sibs, and I might even contribute to the snacks. If you're lucky." Another quick little smile.

"Well, two people with incredible hair and incredible bone structure, one to play each of us," Dima clarifies with a quiet laugh in response to Dante's correction. "Alas, duty calls..." he quips back, flashing Dante a beif wink when he is accused of abandoning him for an ice dancer, with Dima gathering a few things into his bag as he packs up. The teapot and the pialas are left. He'll wash them up later, and besides, this is his corner of the office, and who is going to be brave enough to come and contest with the medsa boy for it?

"Friday sounds perfect!" he agrees with a nod of his head. "I think I have some frozen cherubeki just waiting to be cooked off, but I might just go to Tarjay and do a fresh batch," he promises. "I'll bring enough for the sibs if you take care of the movie sitch and the dessert?" He flutters his eyelashes here, just for effect. "In any case...I'll catch you soon, hmm?" he smiles once more and leans across the table for a final set of cheek kisses before he's excusing himself for a rendezvous with a figure skater.

"And some unusually stylish snakes," Dante agrees about the casting, and half-watches as Dmitri packs up, the other half of his attention staying on his actual work. "Duty's overrated." Not that he's not quite good about his own, as well.

"Sold," he agrees to the proposed deal, "Friday it is." He leans in for the cheek-kisses before dropping back and making a vague shooing gesture with both hands and his needlework. "Don't keep your ice dancer waiting. I hear they can be really cold." He gives a very brief but very toothy grin, and settles in to bead. A costumer's work is never done.