#dowdy

[lushiyigf]

We are like a river running straight from upstream, never look back at what kind of scenery is behind us.

We go all the way forward and miss a lot, If someone could look back then maybe we could discover each other's mind or maybe each of us would have different happiness.

Still good, everything is not too late yet, those who meant to meet will meet eventually, those who meet again will always meet again.

[luck-and-larceny]

Dowdy

She was going to stop seeing him anyway.

He didn't know that, of course. As far as he was concerned, things were going great. 

Things weren't going great.

She wasn't a nice person, not by any stretch of the imagination. Insincere, fickle, teasing, and difficult, Malika was never more invested in someone more than she was invested in herself. She was selfish and unbothered by it. Everyone, to her mind, would be a lot happier if they allowed themselves to be more selfish.

And this guy she'd gone on a handful of dates with was certainly selfish.

But he was also mean.

And it was a boring, unfun, unpleasant sort of meanness. Being mean could be entertaining! Malika'd always enjoyed a good biting back and forth between two shitty people who clearly were having a good time with their horribleness. But the participants had to enjoy it or what was the point?

There was nothing joyful or entertaining about this man's meanness. He didn't seem to get anything out of it but anger and an inflated sense of superiority. He brought the mood around him down with it. That was the exact opposite of fun and Malika was only ever invested so long as there was fun to be had.

Oh, sure, he was attractive. He had the prettiest brown eyes she'd ever seen. And she'd never dated a Viera before so that was novel and exciting. But there would be more pretty brown eyes out there for her to marvel at and he wasn't the only Viera in the world. Maybe the next one would at least have fun when he was being a bastard. 

Tassilo was always particularly shitty when it came to fashion. On every one of the four or five dates she'd gone on with him, he'd commented on how little the others around them seemed to care about their appearance. He'd criticize color choices, material choices, shoe choices, jewelry, hair styles– really anything at all– as though it were fascinating conversation that made him look particularly gifted at fashion himself. 

It didn't. He looked fine. But his snide, angry comments actually made him look less fashionable and less attractive, not more.

So she had no choice. She had to end it. 

And if she was going to end it, she was going to have fun with it.

Why do anything at all if it wasn't fun?

He'd invited her to a fancy art gala. He'd told her he'd bought a new, tailored outfit for it. He would be wearing new, expensive boots. He couldn't wait to see what she'd wear.

She looked forward to showing him.

He did not appreciate being shown.

"How do I look?" she asked, turning in a circle to give him the full view from all angles. "I worked hard on it."

"What have you…" his face was red either from anger or embarrassment, perhaps both.

"You don't like it?"

'It' was a literal burlap sack– well, several burlap sacks that she'd fashioned into the most shapeless dress imaginable. It hung, unflatteringly, straight down, somehow managing to avoid every sensual curve of her body in the process. It was completely shapeless. She'd worked hard on that and was genuinely quite pleased to have accomplished it. With it she wore gray shoes she'd fashioned from cheap felt. They were extremely poorly made, given she had no experience making shoes, and they hardly functioned at all. In fact, she had to wait to put them on once she'd gotten close to the date spot because she knew they'd be too ruined to be effective otherwise.

She'd chopped her long black hair to her shoulders. She'd done it herself with no measuring and no care. It did not look good.

Her nail polish was chipped.

Her jewelry was cheap and did not match.

She wore no makeup on her face.

He had no way of knowing how much effort she'd just spent to look like she'd made no effort at all.

"You've done this on purpose," he said matter of factly, but there was a dangerous chill to his voice.

Oh. Ok. Maybe he did know!

"You've done this to embarrass me."

Wow. Damn. He was surprisingly perceptive. Credit where credit was due. 

"So…" she said slowly, playing stupid, "You're saying you don't like it?"

"I was excited to see you. I've been excited all week. And you ruined it. You ruined it!"

She smiled. "Yeah. Ruining stuff is kind of my thing. I'm very good at it.”

"You can't go in there."

"Oh, I bet I can." 

He bristled. "You can't go in there with me. I won't let you. It's not happening."

"If you go in there," she said sweetly, "I will find every excuse to stand next to you. If you are embarrassed now, I urge you to consider just how embarrassed you'll be if I make a scene."

He stared at her.

She stared right back.

He'd always had a million things to say before. Now he couldn't even think of one. Defeated, he relented. 

"Ok. Let's go in together."

"Wait, what??"

She hadn't expected this response. 

"You win," he said. "Let's go in together. Let's have this last date. We'll look at art. I won't comment on your clothes. After, we'll go back to my place where I'll angrily take them off you. In the morning you break up with me the right way and steal one of my favorite shirts. You suffer for several moons while your hair, which you hastily chopped off just to spite a guy you knew for one moon, grows back. I spend the same amount of time resenting you until I realize you're not worth resenting because you're an insane, petty bitch."

Wow.

Ok.

So he was capable of being interesting while being mean.

This was, in fact, the most interesting he had ever been and she loved it!

She absolutely loved it.

Fuck! 

She grinned. It was genuine. "Ok," she said, taking his arm,"You'll have to point out your favorite shirt to me though. I've only known you a moon. I haven't figured it out yet."

He chuckled ruefully and led her inside, "Of course. I'd hate to make the break up difficult on you, after all."

They would date for several more moons until he eventually broke up with her for being insincere, fickle, teasing, and difficult. She still stole his favorite shirt. And left her burlap dress behind in his closet as a souvenir.

[driftward]

Title: FFXIV Write 2023 - 12. Dowdy Characters: Y'shtola Rhul, Tataru Taru Rating: Teen Summary: Tataru and Y'shtola catch up a bit Notes: None

Y'shtola stood in the inn room in Gridania, holding her arms out as Tataru fussed about her, making final adjustments to her outfit. And while Tataru made her final adjustments to Y'shtola, Y'shtola made final adjustments to her eyes. The haze and shift of aether waxed and waned around her, as she once more began the life long work of adjusting her aether, this time not for vanity nor destiny, but for the rather more mundane but necessary requirements for sight.

Well. If that was the worst her misadventure in the Lifestream would beget her, she would be glad for it. They had not found Thancred yet, but Y'shtola found herself unworried. Her focus had been to get him free of their conundrum, and free she was certain he was, it would just be a matter of time until he chose to make his appearance.

For now, she decided to focus on the here and now, grateful that she was amongst friends once more. And where Y'mhitra had been perhaps on the edge of being burdensome with her attentions and worries, Tataru's attentions were more of relief and simple gladness at her return. Now, the little Lalafell was lost in the element of applying her newly formed skill. Her attentions were almost carefree, and Y'shtola decided she would follow that fine example.

"...there," Tataru declared, hopping off her stool and taking a step back.

Y'shtola stood, and found her way to the mirror. This presented a new challenge, but one she would be pleased to overcome. She stood and looked at herself for several long moments, making fine adjustments, until something like herself came into focus.

And it was well enough. Seeing with aether would take some getting use to, but she could see. Her sight would never be the same, but it was more than serviceable, and she could admire the work that Tataru had done for her.

"It's lovely," she said. She tilted her waist side to side as she looked down and examined herself. "My compliments, Tataru. You may consider yourself among the finest tailors I have ever known. And these boots," she said, crouching down to run a hand over the warm leather. "Ah, how oft I have wished for footwear half as nice. But whatsoever moved you to take this matter upon yourself? Surely something of mine could have been recovered from our old home."

Tataru grinned up at her. "And have you going around in that dowdy old outfit of yours, Shtola?"

Y'shtola sniffed disdainfully at her, and she giggled. "Oh, please. Comfortable enough though it was, you and I both know there is more to style than comfort, particularly for someone as pretty as you! But when I first found out there was a chance we would be getting you back and how, well, I thought to myself, first thing she's going to want is a change of clothes. And then one thought lead to another, and, well, I have been making friends in Ishgard and are owed more than a few favors, so..."

"And so you dreamed up this."

"Just so! I knew what Alphinaud would be asking of you, and so thought you might need a coat suited for comfort, style, form and function! A laboratory coat of sorts you could wear in the field seemed to fit the order of the day. You'll find that it is quite solidly aetherically shielded, but at the same time with channels to help you with your conjury. The ribbon work is able to be replaced at a whim, and I've prepared several for you to be able to change out, each with its own enchantments - and a few spare for you to prepare yourself."

"How very thoughtful," murred Y'shtola appreciatively, as ran her fingers along the fine material of the ribbon work in question.

"Well, I know you, Y'shtola, you wouldn't be happy at all if you did not have at least some say in the final result. And I also happen to know you do so love your footwear, so I paid special attention to the boots, and, well, if you're going to be wearing thigh highs, I thought, perhaps some daring in the design to draw the eye," said Tataru, giving her a wink.

Y'shtola smirked back at Tataru. "Indeed? Are you trying to insinuate something there, young Tataru?"

"You know me, just trying to be helpful! Oh, Y'shtola, how I've missed you."

"And I am ever grateful to be back in the realm of the material," said Y'shtola, examining herself once more in the mirror, and making a few more final tweaks and nudges, both to how the outfit sat on her, and to herself as well.

And her words were true. From her time when she had first made the decision to dive in the lifestream until now had been harrowing, but now that she was full and present in body once more, she had to admit, the world seemed more alive to her, and her to herself as well. Rather than succeeding at wearing her down and away, to prepare her for her next life, the adventure in the lifestream had instead given her new appreciation for the life she had.

And the new outfit was as much a statement to that new reality as well. She nodded, satisfied at the image she saw. She was whole. She was hale. She was Y'shtola, as she ever had been, and she felt a resurgence of youthful fire take light in her once more.

The world had not waited for Y'shtola to return, and now she would not wait until it noticed she was back. She now had the opportunity to make up for lost time and more, and she would be seizing it.

She turned to Tataru. "I wonder if the Warrior of Light will notice the daring in your design," she said, giving the Lalafell a wink. Tataru's eyes went wide for a moment, and then she laughed merrily.

"Well, only one way to find out!" said Tataru, and the two left to join their comrades.

[roughridingrednecks]

Dowdy

[dbaydenny]

Dowdy she oft heard

and other words not so dear

expressions of hate

puncturing joy stranding her

on a sad road no one takes.

.

D W Eldred

[vanishingsydney]

The Duke. The Duke of Edinburgh hotel (1878), before opening time. A rather   dowdy very old pub these days, but beer is beer. Named after Queen Victoria's second son Alfred, who survived an assassination attempt in Sydney in 1868. The lion couchant facing the morning sun is set off nicely by the TV aerial. Enmore.

[pointless-letters]

“It’s like she’s not even trying.”

[yesterdaysprint]

St. Louis Post-Dispatch, Missouri, July 25, 1909