It was a perfectly lovely dress. And that’s why you just had to fuck it up.
You and Miss Kanaya Maryam are in a dysfunctional but somehow surviving kissmesitude. Just barely though. It seems as though you two aren’t cut out for this thing, but you’re going to hang on til the very end of it. Enjoy hating each other until there’s nothing else to hate.
So, being the good kismesis, you just have to fuck up this sleek dress she made you. Out of hate of course. She said some petty words how it made you look highly attractive and like a “Narcissistic Porn Star” at the same time. Oh well, at least you came up with a great comeback by stating that when you first met her in person you had sworn she was so broad shouldered she could put on a football uniform and fit in just perfectly in a professional team. Ah, you are so the better kismesis.
You do have to commend her for the stitch work - it’s quite marvelous if you do say so yourself. It would have been such a pleasant dress to wear on special occasions too and it was fitted just perfectly on your subtle curves. She’s good at what she does best. Also, it’s black. Black is always fancy. You two have had a full on debate about colors and your color was black and how it was always the fanciest color while her argument was how bright colors and patterns were so fantastic and blah blah blah. If only you could care less, but it’s a proven fact that, oh that’s right, you can’t.
You grab a pair of scissors - no, that will not do - you grab anything that’s capable of ripping or shredding fabric. Sand paper? No, that would take far too long. Washing machine? Well, it is hand wash only…no, still not good enough. Hmmm, your bare hands will do. You make sure your nails are nice and long for this job, and they are, all perfect and neat. Maybe you should grab a file and make them a little less dull.
You file and file away at your perfectly manicured nails until they are all at a fine point. Your mom would so kill you right now if she was here. Kanaya will flip her shit. You smirk at the work you’ve done on your nails. Shall you take a few minutes to appreciate them more properly? No, that can wait. You have a lot of work to do on this dress yet.
You start tearing at the side near where your pelvis would be. You tear and tear until the tear is perfect, then grab your knitting needles to tear it some more because you can’t have a perfect tear. You have to upset Kanaya, throw her off her rocker, make her go apeshit insane. Also, it will show off your pink thong. God when Dave found that thing you turned so red and then he ran. He did not make a remark at it, he did not stare. He ran for the hills because holy shit it kind of makes a man sick when his own ecto sibling has a pink thong and has worn it and he starts to see it in his mind and he is slightly attracted to her in that vision. Slightly? More like he was very attracted and maybe even slightly turned on and off at the same time.
Then you start to fray it at the bottom, make that nice straight seam into a messy jagged piece of shit. Aw yes. This is the greatest thing you think you’ve done. You hold up your masterpiece and admire. You admire it for a long time.
It’s time. It’s time to reveal your lovely piece of art to the one who will least appreciate it. You told her to come to your room at 8:30 pm sharp. It’s 8:02 right now, so you’ve got time to fix yourself up. You slip on the dress, making sure to pull it down to show off your cleavage and you make sure you make your panties visiable. You turn in all angles and say to yourself “I’ve outdone myself again,” and you sigh. You have a wine glass perched in your hand, filled with red Kool-Aid because they don’t store any real alcohol on here. Also what are a bunch of drunk kids going to cause? An onslaught of bullshit. That’s what. You tap patiently on the desk as the clock ticks slower and slower. 8:32 now. Good going, Maryam, you’re doing okay for now. 8:52 and then she finally shows up. You smirk as her face drops at the sight of her brand new dress for you.
” I made some minor adjustments. I hope you don’t mind,” you chirp, your fingers tracing her face as it lights up in jade green. Just the way you hate it.
“I Hate You So Much Lalonde,” she snarled.
“That was the plan, was it not?” you question, closing the door behind you.