milliways_bar | (no subject)

It might seem like Parker doesn't notice Meg as she throws herself (in her pajamas) down on the opposite couch, pillow and comforter coming to rest over her head.

(At least the cat looks content.)

But after a moment, a grumbly, muffled, "Hi," comes from under the comforter.

"Hello, Parker.

"Um, everything okay?"

"No." Muffled.

There's a bit of pawing under the comforter, and Parker's head emerges. She blows hair out of her face.

"No, because it is 2 a.m. and Dawna, Ashleigh, and Emily downstairs seem to think it's all night partyville and I am not going down there to tell them to knock it off again."

"I mean, look at this." Parker points to her nose. "This is not the face of a happy and rested person."

"It's not, no.

"I'm sorry, Parker.

"Is there anyone else who can speak to them about it?"

"I'll probably say something to Karen tomorrow. Which may work. Or may not. I don't know."

Parker Lee -- not at her most eloquent. If it weren't so late, she'd pack up Hoss and go to Luke's house.

Parker pulls her feet up underneath her and arranges her comforter a bit more neatly.

"It's just....and I can feel them printing my AARP card as I say this, but I am too damn old for this."

"Your what kind of card?" Meg asks.

Right. Different times. Different countries.

"The kind of card that they issue you about the same time you start getting the senior discounts at buffets and movie theaters, and you start looking for fashion bifocal frames."

Parker props herself up a little straighter.

"When Aurelia comes back tomorrow, I'm going to ask her if she's still thinking about looking at getting a place off the ranch. She's mentioned it before."

"I mean, saving the money is great. But sleeping would be nice. And having a real kitchen. And living in something not like a dormitory."

"I haven't missed res hall life," Meg says.

"And Alain's building stays pretty quiet."

"Yeah. I'm starting to think maybe grown-up housing would be a good thing. Little house. Apartment. Hell, a trailer."

They don't far so well in tornadoes, but some of them are quite nice inside.

"Anyway."

Parker reaches down to scratch Hoss' ears.

"What are you up to?"

Meg holds up her magazine.

"Looking for ideas for wedding dresses.

"Since . . . that's going to be sooner than I think it is."

"Ooooooooooh!"

Nothing like a bridal magazine to perk a girl up.

"What have you found?"

"Nothing that I desperately wanted to wear," Meg confesses.

"Want to see?"

Maybe Parker will spot something Meg missed.

"Yeah."

Parker begins thumbing through the magazine.

Occasionally, she forgets what era Meg is from. And what sort of fashion ran roughshod at that time.

"Yeeeeeeeah," she says again, looking at picture after picture of poofy skirts, puffy sleeves, sweetheart necklines, lace overlays, and exploding veils.

"Ummm......" Parker is awake enough to want to think of something more useful and diplomatic to say than Oh, honey. No.

"They are all kind of....big."

"Well, they're wedding dresses.

"Aren't they generally big and white?"

"Well. They don't have to be."

Parker flips a few more pages. Dear God, they're getting worse.

"I mean, these are the kind of dresses that will wear you, not the other way around."

Meg looks down at the meringue of a dress on the current page.

She's be nothing but white dress and red hair in something like that, and she knows it, but . . .

"That's what wedding dresses look like for me, though.

"I can't get married in a dress from that shop of yours in Texas, twenty years in the future."

"Well, it might take some explaining, but...."

Parker trails off. She's taking a moment to tap the metaphorical light bulb that has sputtered on over her head.

"Twenty years in the future, no. But you could wear something old. Vintage? Vintage dresses are all the rage right now. My right now, not your right now."

"I don't know if it's as big a thing in the 90s, but I'd think in a city like Montreal there'd have to be a few places that sell vintage dresses."

"So, look for something from an era that was slightly less fond of . . . floof?" Meg says.

"I suppose it wouldn't hurt to look . . . "

"Yeah," Parker agrees, starting to look much, much more awake. "I mean, these dresses -- It's not so much that they're bad." Though a lot of them really are. "But you're so petite you'll disappear in most of them. That would be an advantage, looking at vintage stuff, though. You're bitty. You'll be able to fit into a lot of them."

"Besides."

Parker reaches across, clasps Meg's hand, and looks earnestly into her eyes.

"I love you too much to let you walk down the aisle on your wedding day wearing a butt bow."

She holds up the magazine to show a particularly ghastly example of early 90s wedding finery.

"I mean, look at this. It's like her ass is about to take flight."

Meg laughs.

"All right. I'll look for old dress, if . . . you will come and help."

"Oh, sweetie. Twist my arm."

Wild horses wouldn't chase her away from that invitation.

"I mean, maybe at a time when I'm not wearing voodoo doll pajamas, but of course I'll come shopping with you."

"We should drag Laura along, too. It almost wouldn't feel like a proper dress shopping trip if it wasn't the three of us."

"I think that's an excellent plan.

"We'll go wedding dress shopping.

"You can save me from, what was it, butt bows?"

"Friends don't let friends wear butt bows."

If that's not a PSA, it should be.

Parker's mood has elevated to positively gleeful.

"I have no idea what we'll be able to find, but I can see you in 60s, maybe? Or 50s? Maybe minus the pillbox hat, but that's the fun. You can put your own spin on it."

"This will be so much fun."

"And it won't be what anyone is expecting," Meg says.

Where, by "anyone" she mean "Alain."

"Which, when it's done right, is always a plus."

Unexpected is good when it's a gorgeous piece of vintage clothing. Less so when it's Bjork's swan dress. But since Parker can't imagine a scenario in any world in the multiverse where Meg would wear a swan dress, it's not an issue.

"How long is it until the wedding?"