Who: Kate and Oliver Where: Oliver's Room When: Early afternoon
Oliver wasn't really sure what to expect with the plans he'd made with Kate that day, but if anything was going to distract him from everything that was already going on, this was likely to be it.
"I think I messed up again," he sighed, clicking his tongue in disappointment before leaning over to show Kate the work he'd done on what was supposed to be his first attempt at knitting a scarf, the soft, deep purple-red yarn bunching and angling oddly with the few stitches he'd done. The first couple of lines had gone alright, and he was comfortable, stretched out along the length of his bed, bare feet crossed at the ankle, leaning against the headboard. He'd gotten distracted by movie playing on the retractable screen across the room, his eyes grazing up silently mouth along with the "Bring out your dead" scene in Monty Python and the Holy Grail. His hands had kept moving, apparently confident with his abilities in the task he'd literally just learned, only to glance down and see that the newest line didn't look right compared to the others. He didn't even entirely know how they'd gotten to this point, just that lunch had sounded good. And then a movie. And then a movie and lunch. And then a movie, and lunch, and a distraction they probably both could have used. That had turned into Oliver's giant hands maneuvering knitting needles he hadn't even realized they made that big, and the chunky, pretty yarn that would probably match with a good portion of Edwin's attire. He was generously donating to the "Keep Edwin Fashionably Warm" initiative, of which he was the founding member, whether the elf liked it or not. Hopefully he liked it, anyway. At the rate his was going...
"How long does it usually take to make a scarf that's....y'know...scarf sized? 'Cause I got a newfound respect. And I respected before."
Kate had jumped on the opportunity to hang out with Oliver; if she was left alone to herself, she'd work herself in circles thinking about the driver's license copy she'd received as her reward. The constant evaluation of it was going to drive her up a wall if she didn't get a break, and sandwiches and a movie and now apparently teaching Oliver how to knit was just what she'd needed. She'd taken up a similar position on his bed: one leg stretched out, the curled up so that her ankle was under the knee of the straightened leg. She had a pillow tucked behind her back for support and, unlike, Oliver, she could actually watch the movie and keep knitting without the risk of any mistakes.
"Oh, it depends on a bunch of things - yarn size, needle size, how much time you spend each day," Kate said with a shrug. "With size ten needles and bulky yarn like you have, I could probably finish it in a few hours. For a beginner, maybe a few days to a week if you spend a couple hours on it daily." She set her project aside, reaching out to turn his needles so she could see what had happened. "You're dropping stitches, is all," she said, pointing out the mistakes. "Drop a stitch and it creates a hole, plus throws off your pattern." She looked up at him with an amused smile. "Probably until you've got some more muscle memory, maybe just listen to the movie." Pulling on the thread, she gently undid the mistakes, stopping at the last good point and handing it back to him. "There you go. It wasn't all wrong."
Oliver looked at his lack of progress, then over at the massive, beautiful sweater Kate had been working on. His sweater. The presence of it sent an almost painful pang of warmth and affection through him, edged by a miniscule twinge of almost childish jealousy. How long had it taken her to make that? He looked back down at his own, sighing, before starting again, this time carefully planning out his stitches and growing more self-assured once he realized he was getting back into the hang of it again. "And how long are these supposed to be, exactly? Is there some sorta standard? I mean...longer's probably better, right?" He was going to ask if it was more fashionable, but instead quirked a smile, not daring to look away from his work again. "That way I can wrap it around his head a few times if he decides he's not gonna wear it?"
"Well," Kate said, nose slightly scrunched as she thought over the pattern, "that particular one is about eighty inches long total, and there's about four inches of fringe on each end, so the actual knitted part will be about seventy-two inches long all together. Assuming you stick to the pattern," she added, needles clicking a rapid, rhythmic staccato as she resumed her project. "You don't have to do the full length if you want it to be shorter; it's wide enough that you could probably shave off a foot or two and he could still wear it wrapped around his neck at least twice. Personally, I think longer scarves are cozier. But I'd go with what feels right." She paused. "I'm sure you know what he likes better than I do." Her tone was casual, nonchalant, but there was a very tiny hint of mischievousness to her smile.
"Oh, I do," Oliver replied, pausing his fingers so he didn't chance messing up again as he affectionately side-eyed her. Of course, she wasn't wrong, and it took effort to keep the mental images of using that scarf for Other Things at bay. No doubt it would stretch and look even more like crap at the end of something like that. "I think he'd like longer better, if I can manage it," he finally decided with a sigh, though he realized that was a fairly good opening considering he'd been curious for a while. And he had promised Georgie a while back that he'd look into it. Two birds, one stone. Or, one of those yarn pompom things that went at the end of hats. Could you put those on scarves?
"So, what about you?.” He gestured to the sweater and couldn't help but smile again at it. "Aside from me and that, I mean. You thinkin’ of maybe makin' anything for anybody special?" He waved his elbow as dismissively as he possibly could in lieu of his hand. "Just pretend that wasn't said in a…fishin' for info sorta way."
"Oh, you know," Kate said with a shrug. "Spend enough time in here and I imagine everyone is going to have something from me in their wardrobe, assuming they like whatever I make." She was content enough with little crafts like knitting at the moment, as Georgie's coat had helped scratch the design itch, but she knew it wouldn't be long before the dressmaker's dummy in her room had a new project on it. She had a sketchbook full of things to flesh out if she wanted. "But no," she said dryly, giving him the side-eye this time. "I'm not making anything for anyone special at the moment, and yes, I will pretend that was as subtle as you hoped it would be." Jack was on her list, though, and fairly high up it. He was a good friend, and he deserved something nice for all he did around the house.
Oliver paused again at the returned side-eye, if only to blink as innocently as he could manage, which really wouldn’t have fooled anyone even if they hadn’t known him as well as Kate. “So, continuin’ on in that vein. Are you specifically not makin’ a special someone somethin’ because you haven’t got your eye on one, or because you haven’t figured out what to make for ‘em yet?” He leaned over to nudge her with his elbow, smiling a little mischievously to himself as he got back to work. “‘Cause, you know, I hear if you’ve got somebody to dish on, that’s stereotypically what gay bee-eff-effs are made for. And some stereotypes exist for a reason, I’m told.”
"I don't do special someones," Kate said with an indulgent smile, though she returned her eyes to her work. "I do one night stands, maybe more than one night if we both want it, but as friends only." If anyone started making noises like they wanted something more, she cut them off quick. If she was the one in trouble, she did the same for herself. It was more comfortable that way - plus it was quieter, more discreet. She valued her privacy. "So no, I don't have my eye on anyone in the way that you mean, and I don't intend to." She finished a row, flipped her needles, and continued without breaking stride. "And you're hardly a stereotypical anything; I don't expect you'll start being so now," she added fondly.
"Well, if that means more sweaters for me you sure as hell won't hear me complainin'," Oliver replied, seemingly satisfied, nodding once. Honestly, her answer had mostly been what he'd been expecting, and while he understood it, there was something a little sad about that to him. Then again, even when a one night stand had been all that was on the table for him, it had never really been his preference. Hell, it had been over a decade since he'd last even really considered it, pre-Jason, and even at the beginning he knew it wouldn't have ever been that way with him and Edwin. The casual thing was better for a lot of people, and he got that, and certainly respected anyone who knew exactly what it was they wanted and needed. Additionally, in this place it was the smarter choice, even considering his own relationship with Edwin, and despite the fact that he wouldn't change a damn thing.
After a second he sighed, shaking his head. "You make anythin' for you? Or is that harder? Like, you sorta need a you-shaped person or mannequin to really judge how it's goin'?"
"I have a dressmaker's dummy," Kate explained. "Or I should say, the craft room has one that I've appropriated since I couldn't really foresee anyone else using it." She appreciated that he didn't comment more on how she chose to run her personal life; he wouldn't have been the first friend who thought she was making a mistake by not putting herself out there more after her last relationship had tanked. "It's adjustable within a range of sizes; I can set it to my measurements and piece garments together like that the way I would for anyone else. I don't really need it for the basics, though. I'd mostly use it for things with more structure, like outerwear or gowns, things like that."
She peeked over at his work. "Looking good," she said encouragingly. "I'd just make your stitches a little less tight. You don't want to pull the thread too tight while you're working or it'll warp the shape."
Oliver could feel himself grin as he listened and nodded, taking her advice to heart and loosening up a bit on the next few stitches, pausing to show her. He wondered if the range of sizes were as broad as the sizes of people in the house, but he had no doubt that she could make anything work if she needed to. "You thinkin' about makin' something like that while you're here? Gowns and whatnot? Could probably get a whole line'a Zenith-inspired fashion-wear goin' if you've got the materials for it." He paused before adding, "go one step further and vote in Mount Zenith's Next Top Model or Project Runway, or whichever show that is." He tilted his head." Or both. Not like we don't all got the time. Could set it up like we did the council elections. People volunteer to be included, then everybody votes in."
"Oh lord, that would be a hot mess," Kate said with a laugh. "I can just see someone sewing straight through one of their fingers already, or slicing a hand open with fabric shears, or any number of rookie mistakes." She'd thankfully never done anything more serious than stab herself with pins an unfortunate number of times, but she'd seen much worse, and done by people with plenty of experience. "I don't know if I would make something just for the sake of making it," she mused, thinking about it. "I like making things, sure, but a gown with nowhere to wear it? It seems wasteful. I could make costumes if Edwin ever gets his LARP going, and I suppose if someone wanted a specific piece made, I'd do it - like with Georgie's coat, or Neptune's vest - but I don't know if I'd ever just do it on my own without knowing someone would be get use out of it, no matter how much I miss it." She glanced over at him with a smile. "Why? Did you want a gown of your very own? You'd have to be my dressmaker's dummy but I'm sure I could find a design that would flatter your figure."
Oliver's laugh was loud, and slightly bashful as he ducked his chin toward his chest, trying to make it look like he was just focusing more intently on his work and failing miserably. "Oh, you saw me in that kilt. I don't have the legs for that. But if you ever get bored, and as long as it's not a dress, you can make me anythin' you want and I'll wear it. Pretty sure we established on the first day we met that I trust you to dress me more than myself." He chanced a glance away from the scarf, his mouth twitching as if he were fighting a smile that may have alluded to a few less-than-innocent ideas. "And you should think about those costumes for Edwin either way. He'll get use out've 'em. You see some of the stuff he wears in his day-to-day, right?" He shook his head, his expression fond. “Gotta hand it to him, he’s knows what he likes and commits to it. Kinda fearless in the way.”
"Gown, darling. I said I'd make you a gown. Floor length. Your legs don't matter one bit." She grinned, but backed off. "Be careful what kind of leeway you give me to dress you," she warned. "I picked out things I thought you'd like that first day, but with an industrial sewing machine and some time... goodness, the things I would dress you in." He may have been a jeans and t-shirt, comfy sweater kind of guy but her fashion sense didn't lie and she had more than a feeling that he'd kill in some more tailored, fashion-forward ensembles. "Alas, if I can't make you into my personal fashion doll, I may have to appropriate Edwin for the task." She doubted he'd have too many restrictions if she said she wanted to dress him. "You get used to dressing boldly more easily than you'd think," she told him. "When you're dressing to express who you are, it comes naturally."
"No heels," Oliver replied pointedly. "As much fun as bein' mistaken for the world's most elegantly-dressed, seven-foot sasquatch might be. And no black. If you're gonna pretty me up, I want some color." He nodded once, as if it were decided, then paused to inspect his most recent stitches. Better than the last line, that was at least for sure.
"Bold works on Edwin," he stated as his fingers moved again, before pausing and then reiterating. "Actually, a lot works on Edwin. He's got those crowns and costumes, and all the goth gear. I don't know if I've ever met anyone else before who could make all that seem...I guess, normal after a while. He's so damn confident that you've got to respect it. It's brave to be able to just go out and present yourself in a way you know goes that far against the grain, but own it. No apologies. He's got style, you've got style. Not many people have that kinda gift, or natural talent, or the cojones to run with it when they do. I think the most darin' I've ever really been was a motorcycle jacket, or that hat I got on the island. I wouldn't know where to start lookin' for a style." Oliver chuckled, but looked thoughtful. "What would you dress me in if you could make anythin'?"
"Black isn't what I'd dress you in anyway," Kate said, waving a hand. "Not super bright colors, but I'd pair some neutrals with brighter colors than what you wear now. And patterns. And things that are more tailored." If he'd let her, at least. She knew he'd look good in them, but fashion was as much about feeling good as it was looking good, and it wouldn't matter how good he looked if he was uncomfortable. "You may come to regret giving me so much leeway. I wouldn't force you to wear, say, a bright pink suit, but I might push you a little. Wearing bolder styles might feel strange at first but I think you'd get used to it quickly enough." She smiled at him. "Men's fashion is a lot more comfortable and low-key than women's, anyway, so you're lucky there."
“I ain’t afraid of pink,” Oliver promised, though a second later he wondered if maybe he might be over-exaggerating that a wee bit. A pink shirt was one thing, but the mental image of an entire neon suit was entirely another. Not that he’d ever think Kate would do something like that to him. Especially considering she’d be the one who would have to admit to dressing him that way in the first place. “I ain’t afraid of some pink,” he reiterated a little less confidently than only a second before. “But you know I trust you. Haven’t steered me wrong yet. Just...no paisley. Always makes me think’a gramma.”