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31_days2007-06-06 03:25 pm
seta-suzume.livejournal.com) wrote in 31_days2007-06-06 03:25 pm
[June 6, 2007][Original] Not the Place for Rickrack
Title: Not the Place for Rickrack
Day/Theme: June 6, 2007 "There shall the fire devour thee; the sword shall cut thee off"
Series: Original. Just a random piece, unrelated to my stories.
Character/Pairing: Currie and Laika
Rating: G
This reminds me that my mom hates rickrack. ^^;
"Hand me a lace pin, Currie," Laika said, holding the delicate frost-like trim to the edge of the unfinished, periwinkle blue ball gown.
"Lace pin? ...Lace pin...lace pin..." Currie muttered to herself as she searched amidst her cousin's supplies. She moved the box of T-pins aside and peeked behind cases of needles. There was a red pincushion stuffed full of some other type of pin, but she wasn't sure what kind they were.
Laika let out a small groan. Holding the whole thing together was making her arms ache. "Do you know what a lace pin is?" she asked her younger cousin, aware of the annoyance showing in her voice.
Currie pursed her pink lips and wrinkled her nose. She didn't know what a lace pin was, but she wasn't about to admit it to Laika. She chose instead to say nothing and continue pawing through the varied kinds of scissors and stitch rippers.
Laika rolled her blue eyes sarcastically. "They're the gold ones, Currie. They're smaller and finer; good for lightweight fabrics."
Currie moved back to the pins and snatched the whole pincushion. Laika was relieved to move her hands from the lace. Curried did the pinning herself. (Laika felt it was the least she could do.) With that task out of the way, Laika turned to size up her cousin.
Currie was short with a round, somewhat plump face. She was stubborn, and the electricity of her glare was matched by shoulder-length, frizzy, blond hair. She obviously had no desire to become a seamstress or to even serve as an assistant. ...But Laika, as her only relative, had a responsibility to look out of her, and sewing was her job. It was all she had to offer the silly girl.
"You look defeated," Currie told her plain, skinny, seamstress cousin.
"Currie," Laika sighed, "I just don't know what to do with you. I could see the way you daydreamed about upperclass society when we measured the little mistress yesterday. You don't like this. And if you're not going to be okay with it, you're not going to get any better or do good work. You're like a piece or rickrack! You just don't want to be sewed down!"
"You're right!" Currie declared, unsure whether a a smile or a pout would better emphasize her feelings, "I don't like this one bit! I don't want to be a seamstress. I'll make it on my own, Laika!"
The brunette had been nodding along with Currie's words up until that last part. "You can't do that! You're fourteen! The streets will eat you up! Your mother wanted you to stay with me until you could take care of yourself!"
"And I can," the girl declared.
Laika was taken aback at this willfulness. It was worse than ever before. She stood by the dress-in-progress and watched as Currie went into her room and moments later walked out of the shop door into the street.
Day/Theme: June 6, 2007 "There shall the fire devour thee; the sword shall cut thee off"
Series: Original. Just a random piece, unrelated to my stories.
Character/Pairing: Currie and Laika
Rating: G
This reminds me that my mom hates rickrack. ^^;
"Hand me a lace pin, Currie," Laika said, holding the delicate frost-like trim to the edge of the unfinished, periwinkle blue ball gown.
"Lace pin? ...Lace pin...lace pin..." Currie muttered to herself as she searched amidst her cousin's supplies. She moved the box of T-pins aside and peeked behind cases of needles. There was a red pincushion stuffed full of some other type of pin, but she wasn't sure what kind they were.
Laika let out a small groan. Holding the whole thing together was making her arms ache. "Do you know what a lace pin is?" she asked her younger cousin, aware of the annoyance showing in her voice.
Currie pursed her pink lips and wrinkled her nose. She didn't know what a lace pin was, but she wasn't about to admit it to Laika. She chose instead to say nothing and continue pawing through the varied kinds of scissors and stitch rippers.
Laika rolled her blue eyes sarcastically. "They're the gold ones, Currie. They're smaller and finer; good for lightweight fabrics."
Currie moved back to the pins and snatched the whole pincushion. Laika was relieved to move her hands from the lace. Curried did the pinning herself. (Laika felt it was the least she could do.) With that task out of the way, Laika turned to size up her cousin.
Currie was short with a round, somewhat plump face. She was stubborn, and the electricity of her glare was matched by shoulder-length, frizzy, blond hair. She obviously had no desire to become a seamstress or to even serve as an assistant. ...But Laika, as her only relative, had a responsibility to look out of her, and sewing was her job. It was all she had to offer the silly girl.
"You look defeated," Currie told her plain, skinny, seamstress cousin.
"Currie," Laika sighed, "I just don't know what to do with you. I could see the way you daydreamed about upperclass society when we measured the little mistress yesterday. You don't like this. And if you're not going to be okay with it, you're not going to get any better or do good work. You're like a piece or rickrack! You just don't want to be sewed down!"
"You're right!" Currie declared, unsure whether a a smile or a pout would better emphasize her feelings, "I don't like this one bit! I don't want to be a seamstress. I'll make it on my own, Laika!"
The brunette had been nodding along with Currie's words up until that last part. "You can't do that! You're fourteen! The streets will eat you up! Your mother wanted you to stay with me until you could take care of yourself!"
"And I can," the girl declared.
Laika was taken aback at this willfulness. It was worse than ever before. She stood by the dress-in-progress and watched as Currie went into her room and moments later walked out of the shop door into the street.