[for Grace]

[learnfromthem]

Okay, so this looks bad.

I washed to shore in nothing but a ripped Emanuel Ungaro and a pair of tiny little-man shoes, so even though I have my bow and my arrows, actually shooting has been a real pain. Literally. My left forearm is black and blue from my latest attempt at target practice, the arm guard I built shredded to pieces by the time I was down. I've been digging around in this stupid clothes box for an hour, hoping to find something to work with, but so far all I've found are a couple of cute dresses, a new bikini, and a few pairs of oversized kevlar motorcycle pants that fall into my usual purple color scheme but won't exactly fit without some serious sewing skills and repurposing.

Sitting back on my heels, I sigh and look down at my haul.

"God, you'd think it'd be easier to find a purple catsuit."

Comments

[madeofstories]

"You could always try speaking nicely to it," Grace suggests as she approaches the box herself. She's not looking for anything in particular today, and is mostly there in hopes that she'll be able to find something nice for the baby. It's not that Alana doesn't already have a lot of tiny clothes, but both she and Mini are of the opinion that you can never have too many really.

She reaches into the box, pulls out a striped sock, and frowns at it.

"At least that's what someone told me, once. And she never had any trouble getting what she wanted out of it. I've never managed to make it work in quite the same way, but it's always worth a shot."

[learnfromthem]

"I've actually had pretty good luck with this thing so far," I admit, glancing at the girl. She's about my age, so that's nice. Unless she's secretly some four hundred year old vampire. Then I guess I'll just play it be ear.

I pull a dress from the top of the pile and hold it against me to show her: a purple, mod-inspired A-line by a label I don't recognize. "See? Problem is, I'm looking for something a little more... Specific, and it's giving me the right material--" I nod towards the kevlar motorcycle pants. "--but totally the wrong cut."

[madeofstories]

"There's always making it yourself, then," Grace suggests, "If asking nicely doesn't help."

She's only had to do it a few times herself— mostly for Alana— but it's not too difficult. In fact, since taking sewing classes on the island, she's gotten somewhat good at repurposing whatever the box deigns to provide for them. She's most proud of a pair of curtains in her hut that used to be a smock of a horrible cut.

[learnfromthem]

"Yeah, I'm not really much of a seamstress," I'm forced to admit. I push my hair back from my face and sit back on my heels.

"I'm more of a draw something and commission to have it madetress. Don't suppose you know anyone who sews, do you?" Remembering myself, I stick out a hand. "I'm Kate, by the way. Kate Bishop."

[madeofstories]

"Grace," she says, and extends her own hand for Kate to shake. Even after all this time away from her father, it's still a habit for her to omit her last name from introductions. It's a difficult one to break, considering how strict he was about making sure that no one knew that they had any connection to one another at school.

"And I sew, actually," Grace adds, "Well, a little. I did a bit back home, and I've taken some classes here."

[learnfromthem]

"How are you with catsuits?" I ask, probably sounding like some weird fetishist as I shake her hand. I could've thought that one through better.

"I'm really into archery," I explain. "And I had this great, sort of Emma Peel-inspired catsuit at home that worked out awesomely, except I wasn't wearing it when I got here and this box doesn't really cough up arm guards so much."