A/N: Cowritten with my next-door neighbor of awesomeness!!! Read on and beware of glitter...
THIMBLES! And on with the fic...
Saran VD
A Touch of Fabulous
It was springtime.
And Mark was lonely. Typical. Especially after... Joanne.
Pssh, like he was even still hung up on that. Right. It was really more about Maureen and her stupid things laying around the loft.
Which Mark had been meaning to take out for ages, of course.
Anyway, Mimi might be able to use some of those old pairs of boots... and all those hairties... and those half-empty cups of coffee. Someone might still want to drink them, right?
Unlikely, Roger reminded him constantly, but what did he know?
And that half empty bag of make-up, sitting on the sink. Some of those were still usable... not that he'd tried them or anything.
And those stupid feather boas... how could she ever have thought they'd look good on anyone? Who enjoyed inhaling strings of multicolored feathers, anyways? It wasn't like they were useful for anything. Like, a scarf, maybe...
Compared to those ridiculous things, his scarf was not stupid! Besides, there was something ominous about them. They kept... staring at him. Like they wished they were as cool as his scarf was. As if. There was no way they could look remotely as good as it did. He would prove it himself.
To give the thing more of a chance, he picked the blue one... on the left (not the one on the right; that one was ridiculous. Who likes two-toned neckwear, anyways?). It sat in his hands, shedding feathers, looking very pathetic. Bracing for the worst, he flung the thing around his neck and over one shoulder.
Only then did he realize he still had his scarf on.
He grimaced; did he really have to take it off? It wouldn't be a fair contest otherwise. His scarf would make anything look good. Eyes still closed, he reluctantly peeled off his precious treasure. As he held back a whimper, the scarf piled at his feet.
He took a deep breath and went in for the plunge.
The feathers were kind of... No Mark! Don't believe its lies.
That's right, he thought, can't even bear to look in the mirror. It would have to be the window for this... thing.
The reflective glass couldn't lie to him, too, could it?
It couldn't possibly look passable, maybe even okay. Certainly not good. It was probably just the color. Blue was his color; he couldn't change that. There had to be a more fair way to judge this.
Fire engine red. Nothing looked worse on him than that; it clashed horribly with his hair. Not that Maureen's opinions had any influence on him, of course.
He tore into his closet, reaching for the third one to the right. Fire engine red. Perfect.
He whipped it around his neck and dashed to the window. Of course. It looked horrible... sort of. And the feathers were, you know... a little less than very comfortable.
But that didn't prove anything. He had wear another if he were to be sure. He stormed over to his closet, stepping on his scarf in the process. He uttered a frantic apology to it, but neglected to stop.
That pink one to the left of the center. Surely that would be the end-all-be-all. He could judge them all by how awful that one would look.
Or not.
There was something wrong with the window. That was the only plausible solution. He couldn't be... enjoying this, could he?
No, never. The boas were terrible. He just had one more to try on. You know, to make his point... or whatever his excuse was.
He turned back to his closet. There it was. The holy grail of all feather boas. The one that Maureen had said was- what was it again?- fabulous.
He trampled his scarf in his fervor. There was no apology this time; he needed to try on that piece of white, glittery magnificence.
The boa settled into place on his shoulders. Something felt right.
Mark slid in front of the window on sock feet, but remembered how it had lied to him. He couldn't do that to this boa. It was time for the mirror. There was no mirror in his bedroom, but he would go to any length to make this boa look good- or rather, bad. Terrible. Awful.
Fabulous.
He journeyed down the hallway and into the living area. There was a mirror mounted to a wall across from the window there. He stepped right in front of it, unable to help smiling at his reflection. Maureen was right. It was fabulous.
There was a knocking on the glass behind him, and he whirled around to see none other than Mimi Marquez standing on the fire escape. She was staring through the window, evidently looking for Roger, with an expression of utmost horror upon her face.
Confused as to the cause of her fear, Mark waved merrily at her.
She slowly backed away, never taking her eyes off him for an instant. Mark watched her until she was out of sight.
Sighing, he turned back to the mirror and adjusted the boa a bit. She must have been blinded by his fabulousness. Who wouldn't be? He turned on his heel and returned to his bedroom (after glancing at his reflection once more, of course).
What was he saying about feather boas again? Oh. Right. Mareen didn't know what she was missing.