Sewing a Distraction

June 22, 2015:

Betsy and Rachel visit the very glamorous headquarters of the fashion designer, PM.

Pietro's Dorm Room - Xavier's School

Characters

NPCs: None.

Mentions:

Mood Music: None.


Fade In…

It's been a tough week for Pietro. Kitty hasn't been seen. He hasn't been able to find her - which makes two women who are important to him that he can't, in spite of his great speed, find. Then there's the whole clothes business, which has proven a welcome distraction.
The door to his room is open a crack. Inside, every available corner is stacked high with swatches, clothing in various states of creation and bolts of fabric. There is a tiny footpath from the door to the sewing machine to the bed. Pietro is currently face down on his mattress, partially buried in strips of material, fully clothed. One arm dangles off the side. His fingers are red and raw. Somewhere under all that mess is his boom box. It's playing While My Guitar Gently Weeps.

*

"Pietro. Pietro!" Betsy stares down at the speedster, hands akimbo. "Pietro, WAKE UP," the woman says, sternly, voice cracking. "What on earth are you doing asleep at three in the afternoon?" she demands. "Have you been up all night sewing /again/?"

*

Pietro makes That Sound. You know, the one all teenagers have mastered when their parents try to call them down on a school day? Then he rolls over, a square of purple fabric stuck to his cheek. He opens his eyes and rubs at his face. "Mhmmm, whu? Oh. Yeah."

*

Betsy reaches down and pokes Pietro's rib. She's got a finger a nun would be proud of, and with two prods and a *whack* against a particular nerve just under his armpit, she sends jolting shocks of energy through the boy's body.

"Pietro! Get up!" she says again, tone scolding, backing out of flailing reach. "I told you that we were going to go a few rounds if I caught you burning yourself out again!" she says, her tone full of worry and frustration.

*

"Ahhh! Ow! Jesus," Pietro rolls over. He sits up and scratches his head and mumbles something in Transian. "This is your fault anyway. Going on TV and telling everyone I'm going to have outfits. Now everything I make feels like it's total shit." He buries his head in his hands, then fingers back through his silver hair.

*

Rachel was walking down the hall wearing a black sweater dress, catching the sound of Betsy torturing Pietro to wake up and she could only shake her head. Leaning against the door-frame she peers in and cries out, "But moommmmmm I don't wanna go to school."

*

"Don't curse, Pietro, it's unbecoming," Betsy chides the man. At Rachel's rejoinder, she twists full at the waist, feet planted (maybe she really DOESN'T have a spine!) and jabs a finger at Rachel, eyes narrowed. "Don't /you/ start, missy," she says, though her tone is utterly lacking in conviction.

"Pietro, you're going to burn out at this rate," Betsy says, exhaling and touching her brow. Her hair, pulled back into a loose ponytail, attacks her cheeks with two tendrils that are too artful to be anything but deliberate. "It's not /my/ fault you're being neurotic. It's /your/ fault you aren't listening to me. We just need ten outfits- that's it. Four gowns, six summer ensembles. You aren't even the headliner," she says, sitting next to the man. Roughly, she rubs his back, trying to soothe him. "A hundred galleries will be showing. No one's going to focus in on yours."

*

Pietro peeks between his fingers at Rachel and huffs. He rubs his eyes. "Yeah, but if this is shit, I'm done." Apparently, he didn't take her scold re: swearing very seriously. "For something I never really wanted to do, it's kind of been driving me crazy. I've never worked so hard in my life." A pause, "Well, maybe that one time where I dug a ditch with my uncle during the height of summer. Things were getting…urgent in the…" he pauses. "Never mind."

*

Rachel looked between the pair, winking at Psylocke when she points a finger and narrows her eyes, "I was just teasing." She was clearly behind on the big event that Pietro was preparing for, "Digging ditches to bury stuff is hard work, especially if you're on the clock." Did she think Pietro had been burying a corpse, "What is Betsy helping to prepare you for that's harder than ditch digging?"

*

"I'm launching Pietro's clothing lable for him at the Riverside fashion show next month," Betsy explains to Rachel, gesturing vaguely. She crosses her legs- wearing white on white with silver accents, she looks like a cloud with dusky skin and purple hair. "He drafted some /brilliant/ designs- I love his work. Gowns, formalwear, even some summer dresses. I've a few girlfriends who want to model the gowns, and I think the ladies here at the school could manage the casual wear quite well."

*

"OK so," Pietro stands. He nearly falls back over as he steps on a spindle. Then he clambers past Cocktail Dress Mountain and through Blouse Ravine to find a clothing form. "I've been working on this and I can't…I don't know if it's too weird." He pulls a cloth off to reveal a dramatically asymmetrical gown made out of tiny squares of material sewn into an intricate mosaic. One shoulder sticks up a bit and the other is bare. The hem is uneven, but in a quasi-pixellated way. The inside lining is deep red with a faint silver pattern.

*

Rachel's eyebrows raise at the explanation, she had no idea that Pietro was a fashion designer; but the contents of the room soon make that clear. Her eyes roll at Betsy's remark, "I'm sure that the girls at the Institute would do a better job than some ditzy models and look way better. Just a suggestion." Was she teasing Psylocke?

"That's beautiful." She steps in to touch the dress, "It looks like something from the future. You're on to something." She did know a thing or two about the future!

*

"Ditzy? I was making almost six figures a year as a model at seventeen years old, Rachel," Betsy says, clearly taking some umbrage at the statement. "At the national circuit a model has to know how to address dozens of different nationalities on the catwalk. New Yorkers prefer a confident, chin-up look, while midwesterners like a more relaxed gait. The British prefer an elegantly cultural sweep. A good model can earn a designer tens of percents more per year- on a multimillion dollar contract, that's a hundred thousand dollars for the sake of /one/ good show."

*

"There was a lady in camp who would sew these quilts to sell. But she only had tiny scraps of fabric. It'd take her whole winters to make them. I cheated, of course," says Pietro. He rubs his red fingers together. "It's a good distraction." He won't even touch the model talk with a ten foot pole. That's Betsy's area. He just sews.

*

"Six figures from one of those model's accounts says, most of them got into the business based on who they slept with." Rachel seemed to just be having fun egging Betsy on, even if she meant nothing by it, "That's a perk you should keep in mind Pietro. Models will do anything for a job, as a fashion designer, you can have your pick."

Camp? Getting a bit serious, she asks, "What was the camp?"

*

"Big talk from someone with her mother's thighs," Betsy says, looking at the mess. The leggy model gets a running start and vaults off the bedpost, clearing the stack of Pietro's clothing supplies, and lannds next to him, staring at the dress. "This. This is nice," she approves. "Too small for me, though… hmm. Kitty? Or… " her eyes shift sidelong to Rachel, speculatively.

"Come here, darling. Let's see how well this fits," she says, beckoning.

*

"I'm Romani," says Pietro to Rachel by way of explanation. "Didn't stay in one place for too long. They wouldn't let us." He fingers the edge of the dress. His expression tightens. "Kitty's uh….she's missing. I haven't seen her in days." He swallows. "I looked everywhere." And then came back and sewed to take his mind off it.

*

Rachel grumped a little as she wandered over to Betsy, fashion, trying on clothes and looking pretty were not exactly her areas of expertise. She changed her clothes to look like what she wanted with her mind and didn't tend to spend much time making herself up.

"Um, sure Betsy." She doesn't mention, she could just alter her clothes to match it with a perfect fit but she KNEW how Betsy felt about cheating when it came to clothes.

"Kitty's Missing??" The romani camps are forgotten now, "Why is this the first time I'm hearing about it?" She looks well, worried.

*

"Yeah, she's…I…should go take another look. Won't take long." Pietro sounds distracted, exhausted and more than a little scattered. "I'll finish this stuff up later." And then, he disappears in a sudden burst of speed that sends little bits of fabric flittering through the air.

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