Mun rewatched both the final Broadway performance and the friggin' movie!

[the_witness]

No. I have other shirts. This one is just my favorite.

No, my mother did not give it to me...

Comments

[thesongwriter]

Uh huh.

[your roommate doesn't believe you, Mark -- or he's just having fun busting your balls about it. either or]

[the_witness]

What?

She didn't! It was just...the scarf.

[thesongwriter]

Oh, right -- just the scarf. My mistake.

[the_witness]

...shut up.

[Someone might be a wee bit defensive about his favorite shirt, okay?

Which was absolutely not given to him by his mother.]

[thesongwriter]

[rolling his eyes, he looks away, going back to his guitar and the idle melody he was plucking out] I was kidding, Mark.

[the_witness]

People who wear sweatpants should not kid about other people's clothing.

[But look. A convenient distraction. He nods his head toward the guitar.]

Is that new?

[thesongwriter]

People who wear sweatpants can kid about whatever they want.

[never mind the fact that said sweatpants probably came from Goodwill or one of the flea markets on the West Side, and that by prodding at Mark, he's practically asking for it. so, he's just going to go with the flow of conversation, let his commentary on Mark's fashion choices drop, and glance down at the guitar in his lap, his fingers stilling again]

Yeah. [he hesitates for a moment and then adds] I figured it was kind of time.

[the_witness]

[He's grateful for the signs of life from Roger, no matter how much he'll bitch at him.]

It's good.

Sounds a little familiar...

[restlesswings]

Were you very close? If it's your favouritee, it isn't too farfetched to think it might be a keepsake.

[the_witness]

My mother doesn't buy my clothing!

[thesongwriter]

Familiar how?

[that might be a little defensive, if only because he's trying for something new and original -- or at least something random. sounding like his old band or like he's trying to play Musetta's Waltz whatever wasn't really what he was going for, and the fact that he might have sort of frustrates him]

[restlesswings]

Really? I suppose you could just buy them yourself at your age... but gifts of clothes are common enough, right?

[the_witness]

[Oh, shit.]

I don't know. I don't know anything about music. When I want music, I just write "music starts to play" and let someone else handle the details.

[Smooth, Mark. Very smooth.]

[the_witness]

I guess.

Yeah. On the holidays and stuff.

[thesongwriter]

[very smooth, Mark -- Roger seems to buy that and backs off, snorting] Right. [a vague, perhaps even apologetic look follows, though he'll deny it, if Mark tries to call him on it]

[the_witness]

It's good, though. It's...new.

[If going from hard rock to Puccini counts as new...]

Lyrics yet?

I'm so, so sorry

[photo_perfect]

[Well, Mark, there might just be a technicolor pony in a dress and glasses deciding to look you over at the speed of light. Tsking at what she sees she pauses in front of him, in a most dramatic fashion.]

No, this simply will not do! [Just. Ignore the fact she has a pretty thick Austrian-sounding accent.]

My, are you quite sure your mother did not pick it out? Mothers wish the best, but fashion forward? Simply not.

[the_witness]

...Maureen.

Maureen put something in my coffee.

[It's the only explanation.]

[photo_perfect]

[If only it was so simple. You know, like the entourage of ponies gathering at her sides there. Totally a hallucination.]

You, good sir, need a makeover immediately. Your clothing, it does nothing for me. Nothing at all. It's so... simple and plain and just uninteresting.

[the_witness]

[So maybe Mark is starting to clutch his scarf defensively.]

Um...

[photo_perfect]

[She pauses for just a moment, tapping her chin with one hoof, determining what exactly needs to go.]

Scarf and glasses are fine. That shirt is what needs to... go. And you seem to... shine, it can be fixed.

[the_witness]

Shirt...shine...

[This is a bad trip. Bad trip! Bad trip!]

I'm being given the Joan Rivers treatment by one of my niece's pony toys...

[photo_perfect]

... Pony... toys? [Head tilt, though it lasts for only a moment before she motions, one of the pony entourage bringing out a rack of shirts. Which, for some really odd reason, are human sized.

Don't question it.

Ze magicks.

But she does go to shuffle through the shirts, throwing out different ones with loud disgruntled noises. Best to run now while it's possible.]

[the_witness]

[Run? How can he pass up this opportunity? Maybe it's a trip, but it sure is interesting.

The camera is out.

He'll hate himself later for what he's sure will be hours of nothing on film.]

[photo_perfect]

[Well, he asked for it.

Once she finds something suitable she turns on her spot, facing him again with a rather... in most terms, gaudy to the extreme if you aren't into high fashion, shirt in her... hoof? Somehow she's holding on it.]

Now! This... this will certainly suit you to an amazing degree. You'll be the envy of... whatever you are what are you? and they will all be jealous of your style and design!