xp_logs | Marie-Ange and Amanda. Prom Log one of three.

Marie-Ange and Amanda get ready for prom. Amanda is, as always, uniquely Amanda about formalwear. And Marie-Ange is, as always, just a little meddlesome.

"Stop. Fussing." Marie-Ange said firmly, though it sounded more like "Stamp fressing" with the bobby pins in her mouth. Her meaning was clear though. Getting Amanda's hair up into a simple twist was harder than she'd thought, if only because Amanda kept trying to see what she was doing.

At least she didn't need help with makeup, or the dress. Just hair, and really, Marie-Ange didn't blame her. If she hadn't left hers down, she probably would've needed help too. Hair was evil and uncooperative just when you wanted it to sit still and behave itself.

"Well, if you wouldn't keep pulling at it..." Amanda grumbled under her breath. Well, not so much under her breath as she hoped, since Marie-Ange gave her a Look in the mirror. "Look, this is really not a good idea. I'm going to look like a right berk and I can't even dance proper! Why don't I just go and you tell Angelo I got sick or something?"

"You look fine, and dancing is not as hard as you think it is. -Forge- can dance. At least he claims he can." Marie-Ange scolded lightly, after finally taking the last pin out from between her teeth. "And I am not going to tell Angelo that, unless you do get sick." She paused, long enough to realize that she might've given Amanda a -bad- idea, and then added. "And if you make yourself sick, I am just going to tell Dr. MacTaggart on you."

"That's just fighting dirty," Amanda grumbled. Marie-Ange had a nasty streak, Amanda knew. She so would. "This is a bad idea," she tried again, trying hard not to chew on her nails and thereby ruining the manicure that had been done. "Half the people here think I'm the Wicked Witch of the West. I don't want to spoil everyone's big night."

"Anyone who still thinks you are an evil should be cursed with warts. Or flying monkeys." Monkeys were filthy, nasty little creatures. "And you can no more ruin everyone's big night than Bobby can, or Forge, or anyone else who has done something and made people angry." She finished, finally, with the hair, tucking a loose lock into the twist and under a well-hidden bobby pin. "Besides, the people who think that are too chicken to say anything, yes? Or are not here, and so do not matter."

"Will you stop being logical at me? Makes it bloody hard to panic and run away like a big girl." At last Amanda cracked a grin. Turning her head gingerly this way and that to take in the style, she nodded. "That looks really good." Then doubt crossed her face. "But I've got sod-all taste. Is it okay? D'you think Angelo'll like it?"

Marie-Ange hrmed thoughtfully at Amanda, bit back a gleeful giggle at her worry about Angelo approving, and grinned back. "I am sure he will think you look fine. Because you do." And then she looked -down-, at the heavy, clunky, black boots still on Amanda's feet. "Amanda..." she started, just a touch exasperated.

"What?" the Brit asked innocently. Following Marie-Ange's look, she gave the other girl her best imploring look. "Aw, c'mon Angie, they're comfortable! And they suit, we can call it formal punk or something. Look, I even cleaned them!" She held out a foot, the boot on it indeed nicely polished and shiny. "The laces match the dress?" she continued, increasingly desperate.

"Combat boots are not suitable footware for the prom!" Except she just couldn't even say it without laughing. The combat boots were so... Amanda. And Marie-Ange couldn't bring herself to do more than cover her eyes with one hand and try not to laugh too much. "Well, I suppose if you went to the trouble of getting matching laces..." She finally got out, every other word puncuated with a half-giggle.

Amanda looked down at her feet, admiring the deep-red laces that actually did match her dress perfectly. "Does this mean I get to keep them?" she asked hopefully. She had proper shoes, but they hurt her feet and wearing heels always made her feel like she was going to fall flat on her face. "I told Angelo to wear his steel-toes so I won't break anything when I stomp on his feet."

"Well, I suppose if your date is also wearing boots.." Marie-Ange agreed, trying to sound like she was giving in and totally ruining the effect by laughing. "It is like matching colors for the punk set." Besides, it was a nice effect, and like Amanda had said, formal-punk. Which only Amanda could pull off like this.

"If the school fashionista says it's okay, then it must be okay." Amanda beamed at her former roomie, getting up from the chair and giving her a little twirl to take in the effect. Short little dark red dress, hair pinned up and the boots. "Thanks for doing this for me, mate," she said, going from nervous to slightly giddy. Despite her misgivings and excuses, she was looking forward to this. "I wonder how the boys are going? Doug's going to lose all his languages when he sees you."

"For anyone but you, it would not be okay," Marie-Ange replied. "But you are you, and could not be any other way." Twirling herself in reply to Amanda's comment, she glanced down at her dress. "I would imagine Douglas is attempting to get Angelo not to fidget with his tie," she said. "And Douglas has seen me dressed up on many occasions. I rather doubt he will lose -all- his languages."

Amanda snorted. "Rubbish. You're definitely worth a bit of slack-jawedness. Maybe even some drooling." She grinned and winked appreciatively at the red head. "Poor Ange. He has to wear a suit to work and now he has to wear one to party as well." It was clear she was joking from her tone. "Well, here we are all dressed up. What next?"

"Next we tell our dates that we are done making ourselves beautiful, and that it is time for them to come pick us up," Marie-Ange replied with a smile. Picking up her phone, she dialed the mobile phone she knew Doug was carrying, and after a few quick words, hung up. "They will be here in a few minutes," she said.

"Great," said Amanda. "Plenty of time for me to have that nervous breakdown."