J.J. Abrams was busily pouring over the notes he would later give the effects guys. He carefully annotated where the next fabulous lens flare would go with unholy glee as he took a long drought from his bottle of diet coke. Suddenly the door to his trailer slammed open and Zachary Quinto marched in in a huff. J.J. Spat out his mouthful of soda in surprise, narrowly missing his notes.
ZQ was halfway through makeup, one ear Vulcan-ized and the other normal, eyebrows slanting in fury. In one hand he had a woollen mass of grey, which he brandished with gusto. “What is this!”
J.J. bemoaned his lost diet coke for a moment before eyeing the knitted thing in Quinto's hand. “Uh... what is it?” he asked, eyebrow quirking.
Zachary huffed, unfurling the grey sweater Spock would wear to his meeting with the Vulcan council. “This!!”
“Spock's sweater?” J.J. asked, wondering what the offending grey garment had done to warrant Zach balling it up and flailing it around. “What's wrong with it?”
“It's atrocious! You honestly expect me to show up on set wearing this? I get the whole emotion versus logic thing, but do Vulcans lack a sense of style too? I mean, you could of at least made it not look like a sheep fell in an ink vat and then exploded!” ZQ ranted.
“But Spock's mother knitted it for him!” JJ exclaimed, hiding from the wrath of the Quinto.
“Amanda Greyson knitted it for Spock. He's a mama's boy. What else would he wear?” the director asked, peering past his hands.
“... seriously, J.J.? The most important meeting ever and he wears a sweater his mother knits him?”
Zach opened his mouth to protest this, then stopped. Then opened his mouth again. Then stopped again. He twirled on his heel huffily as only Zachary Quinto could, and marched back out of the trailer, slamming J.J.'s door behind him.
J.J. looked down at his notes, thankfully spared from a diet coke bath. Up near the top of the page he scribbled, “Note to costuming: no more grey sweaters.”