thatsamilkshake | Room 505, Friday before the dance

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Room 505, Friday before the dance

Things had been.... sort of relentlessly, intentionally, shakily normal for the past couple days, but Francine still felt like she ought to get ready for the dance and be out of here before Katchoo got back, just to avoid...something. Awkwardness maybe. Something.

Of course, when 'get out of here soon' meets 'Francine getting ready for anything,' well. There's bound to be a rumble in a dark alley and you can probably guess who comes out alive.

All of which meant she'd managed to get her dress on and her hair up, but was still hunting for her earrings when the door opened.

[OOC: For the roomie!]

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Katchoo had meant to stay out longer, but she'd forgotten her jacket and it was cooler out than she liked.

"Hey, Francie," she said, sneaking a look despite herself and despite trying not to think about Francine going to the dance with Merlin because she was there and how could she not look? "Oh, my god."

Ooops.

"What?" Francine turned around in full getting-ready-panic mode, with the ooops on top of it, now.

"Do I have a rip? Oh God, I've got a giant rip down the back of my dress, don't I."

Edited 2009-10-23 16:35 (UTC)

"Not at all." Only Francine would get that completely unguarded, open look of amazement to show up on Katchoo's face. "No, no, no, Francine, it's just . . . you are knock-down drop-dead gorgeous."

How many times had Katchoo said something like that -- though maybe not that obvious -- and Francine rolled her eyes and gone on bitching about how she looked like a corn-fed cow? She hadn't kept count, but Francine would lay odds on all of them being a fairly accurate guess.

"Um." What did you say to that besides well, guess I don't have to use the blusher after all and huh, was it this hot in here a minute ago? "Thank you."

Katchoo gave her a smile, not so much because the prospect of the dance was all that cheering as because she couldn't frikkin' well help it with a sight like this in front of her. "Don't thank me," she said, and quickly turned to her closet to look for her jacket -- on the floor, not on a hanger -- before the smile faded. "That's all you, Francie."

"No, it's not. It's an overpriced dress and a bra that says it's made by Maidenform but I think they actually mean Iron Maiden." She could work a jovial tone in there if she tried hard enough, especially with Katchoo's back turned.

"The hell with the dress and bra, Francine." It was easier to say this with her back turned. "You could wear a barrel and you'd look gorgeous."

Katchoo, you're probably not helping here.

Not so much, no.

Don't say 'You might be biased,' Francine. You'll just feel more awkward than ever and you can say that to Merlin but you can't say that to Katchoo. It's like teasing her about it when ....argh.

"Let's just not test that theory tonight, please, Fandom. I'd like to keep my clothes on, please."

Edited 2009-10-23 19:25 (UTC)

Of course she was biased. She'd held that particular bias for years.

"At least for the dance part of the --" Katchoo began to mutter under her breath, then trailed off and grimaced into her closet. "Do you need any help?"

Ow, ow, ow. How did that manage to make her feel guilty and hurt at the same time? There was nothing wrong with doing...whatever might happen after the dance... with her boyfriend, and until Katchoo said it, she hadn't even been thinking about that.

And now, of course, she couldn't think of anything but.

No, thanks, she was going to say, but it came out, "Could you get the top of my zipper? I can reach it by myself but it kind of takes turning into a pretzel."

Why did I say that? she thought, and the answer came back so fast that she wanted to yell at her brain IT WAS A RHETORICAL QUESTION, DAMMIT. Because I want her to touch me.

Katchoo hadn't meant for her to hear that, dammit.

. . . dammit.

"Yeah, sure," she said, stepping away from the closet and moving toward Francine, and how guilt managed to soften her voice instead of making it rougher, she had no goddamn idea.

This wasn't the art store, and there wasn't spandex, and there wasn't any magic pollen, but -- god. Taking hold of that zipper carefully with just her thumb and forefinger was hard.

Funny how the art store and spandex were on Francine's mind too, and how she wasn't supposed to be missing the heat of Katchoo's fingers against her back, but she was.

No one said that anything but was limited to what Katchoo was thinking of.

Zipping up a dress should not be this hard, but Katchoo kept wavering -- not a state of mind she liked or was used to -- between trying to keep her hands exactly where they were in the no-touching zone and smoothing down the fabric of Francine's dress, wishing it wasn't so easy to imagine the play of light over skin as the muscle beneath made it move. "Stop worrying, Francie. You're going to -- you look amazing."

That's not what I'm worried about. Or, well, not anymore. It was hard to remember what she was worried about with Katchoo's warm breath on the back of her neck.

"You know you do too, don't you? Like pretty much all the time without trying." It was the smile. And the hair, but mostly the smile.

Most people didn't get to see that outside of the sardonic variety.

And now, after the talk they'd had on Monday, that observation left Katchoo completely flat-footed.

"Thanks," she said gruffly, and gave in to the impulse to smooth away a wrinkle that wasn't really there. "But you're the one they're gonna see tonight."

Just that touch, even through shiny gold fabric, was enough to distract Francine into holding her breath and forgetting what she was going to say. Or to use common sense when she finally did say it. "Why just me? You should come."

"Hanging out in the corners making fun of people's gotten way too popular now," Katchoo pretended to grouse, and maybe, just maybe, her hand was lingering where it was. "And I don't like to dance. I think I'll sit this one out."

"Are you s--" Francine shut up, suddenly fairly sure why she wouldn't want to come. The same reason why Francine hadn't wanted Merlin to pick her up here.

Saying I wish you would wouldn't be fair, even if right now Francine didn't really want to move away from that hand, which would sort of require Katchoo to come along if she wanted to avoid it.

"Yeah, I'm sure." She didn't mean to let her fingers twitch like that. "You should go out and have fun. Merlin's probably waiting for you."

He was. But...

Sigh.

Francine moved away at last, reaching for her bag. "Yeah, he is. I told him I'd meet him there." Why did her back feel so cold?

Katchoo's fingers curled around . . . empty air. Stupid apt metaphor.

"Shouldn't keep him waiting, honey," she finally said, moving toward the door.

"Right."

Right.

Katchoo raised her head to look at Francine and canted her head slightly in the direction of the hallway. "Go on. Knock 'em dead."

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Room 505, Friday before the dance

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