i take absolutely no responsibility for this whatsoever

[urbancate]

,
This is how it happened.

First



Like, it's the world's ugliest sweater. Am I right?

Second

A conversation with ohownovel  (yes, I will continue to blame credit my enabler. shut up) that went something like this: (lots of lol's and rofl-ing left out for readability.)

McCoy's sweater on the shuttle is truly hideous.

But he's so lovely it doesn't matter.

It just makes you wonder - why is McCoy wearing that hideous sweater?

Because Jocelyn burned all his clothes.

Like, who decided that McCoy should be wearing THAT.

I dunno. He looks like he's been on a bus for ten days. Hobo!

I wouldn't be surprised if Karl had been all "Yeah, that sweater right there, McCoy is wearing that ugly piece."

HAHAHAHAHAHA. YES!!!!!! I want another wardrobe mistress fic now. Where she's like NO FUCKING WAY. And he's like YES. And she's all NO.

You're cracking me up!

TRUFAX. YOU KNOW IT HAPPENED.

OMG. Karl totally brought the sweater himself.

He saw Deforest wearing it once and had to find one JUST LIKE IT.

Third

I write another wardrobe mistress fic! I swear, I'm going to end up doing this for like every movie Karl has ever made. THIS IS NOT GOOD.

The Sweater Incident

 

"No. No way. Absolutely not." She is shaking her head and there is a touch of disdain written across her face, something about the slight flare of her nostrils. The key costumer assigned to the main cast - his wardrobe mistress, essentially - is telling him no.

 

"You don't understand, love. I found this sweater - I went looking for this particular sweater - and it's exactly what McCoy would be wearing, so I'm wearing it!"

 

"No." She enunciates the single word with all the affect of someone dealing with an idiot.

 

"Yes!"

 

"No. Your costume for this scene is right here." She gestures to one of the rolling racks with a paper at the front declaring it to be Karl Urban, Bones, Shipyard Shuttle. A military surplus-looking jacket with an extra lining, jeans, boots, and a perfectly boring and very un-my-wife-just-took-the-whole-damn-planet-in-the-divorce-McCoy solid green sweater.

 

He holds up the hanger with the gray and black zipper-pattern sweater again. "I'm wearing this."

 

"Over my dead body." She crosses her arms underneath her breasts, crumpling a measuring tape into the cleavage of her red t-shirt. "Mister Urban," she adds after a moment.

 

"If that's the way it has to be, then, fine with me." He smirks and pushes past her to hang his sweater, McCoy's sweater, on the rack.

 

"You are unbelievable!" She grabs at the hanger before he's even hooking it over the rod.

 

It becomes a standstill where she's pulling and he's only sort of pulling because he could rip it right out of her hands if he wanted to but he doesn't want to risk destroying the damn sweater.

 

"Look," she says, practically fuming. "You've got your job and I've got mine. And my job is to make sure nothing this hideous makes it on set and then on camera. Do you understand?"

 

"Of course, love. And my job is to make a character come to life on camera. So. I'm wearing the hideous sweater. For the character."

 

"No, you're not." She pulls a little at the hanger again but he doesn't budge.

 

This whole approach is obviously not working so the thinks he'll try something a little different. He grins at her. "What's it gonna take, eh?"

 

Her eyes go a little wide, but her grip remains firm on the offensive-to-the-wardrobe-mistress'-sensibilities sweater.

 

"What do I have to do to convince you to let me wear this?"

 

She bites her lip and she's looking at his mouth and she's forgetting her vociferous objections. "It's not up to me, Mr. Urban. This wardrobe has already been approved. If Mr. Abrams doesn't like your sweater, then that's that."

 

"Let me worry about J.J. And it's Karl, call me Karl." She's still watching his mouth. Her eyes are bright and her cheeks are flushed - debate, anger, arousal, he thinks.

 

"Karl." The pink stain over her cheekbones deepens.

 

He tugs gently at the hanger and she lets go. He puts it in place in front of the jacket and the removes wardrobe-approved green thing from the rod. He tosses it past a table and into a corner. "Now. Seems I owe you one."

 

She raises her eyebrows a little. "Yes, Karl, you owe me one." She pulls on the measuring tape draped around her neck. "I have work to do now, though. So. Later."

 

"Later, love." He grins and leaves.

 

 

Comments

[heddaberry.livejournal.com]

WE IS HILARITY!!
Although, that man could be wearing damned sackcloth and I'd still want to take a bite outta him. NGH. <3

[urbancate.livejournal.com]

We are a fucking brilliant comedy duo!

Sackcloth? You sure he wasn't wearing that in Pathfinder at some point? ;-)

[heddaberry.livejournal.com]

Mmmm. He wasn't wearing much in that movie, girl. And he was all slick and stuff most of the time, too. (Though I do prefer him with shorter hair. IT'S THE NECK. BETTER ACCESS PLS!)

[blcwriter.livejournal.com]

Karl. Sackcloth. Mmm. If we smear ashes on him, can I lick him clean?

[heddaberry.livejournal.com]

Sure! I'll take him in a bubblebath...

[urbancate.livejournal.com]

I would take him in a bubblebath
I would let him help me with my math
I would take him in a bed
I would do these things from in my head
I would take him with some kink
I would take him at the kitchen sink
I would let him wash my hair
I would take him ANYWHERE


(oh, god, what is WRONG WITH ME?)

[heddaberry.livejournal.com]

One Karl
Two Karl
Red Karl
Blue Karl

????

*SMOOCH* *RUNS AWAY*

[urbancate.livejournal.com]

One Karl
Two Karl
Red Karl
Blue Karl

OMG. It's the movie in a nutshell!

[heddaberry.livejournal.com]

IT IS.

KARL 1.0
KARL 2.0
CADET KARL
OFFICER KARL

"Meet me in my office, Nurse."
"Yes, Doctor."

*SIGH*

[urbancate.livejournal.com]

"Meet me in my office, Nurse."
"Yes, Doctor."

He sort of growls and she snarks out her compliance, but sweetly.

Later:

She closes the door behind her, looks down at him, lounging back in his desk chair. "Why don't you be a little more obvious about it, McCoy? Meet me in my office? You've been watching too many old movies."

He grabs her hips and pulls her in, pressing his mouth against the fabric of her uniform above her navel. "Are you really gonna complain about it?"

"No, I guess not." She runs her fingers through his hair, holds on.

"That's what I thought." He pulls her down.

[heddaberry.livejournal.com]

WOMAN. I KNOW YOU BETTER BE WRITING THIS IN EPIC FORMAT BECAUSE I WANT TO SEE IT ON MY DESK AS SOON AS I FINISH READING THE MANUSCRIPT FROM THE SEVENTH LAYER OF FUCKING HELL.

Are we clear?

/Kirk out.

[urbancate.livejournal.com]

FUUUCK. You're gonna make me attempt McCoy/Chapel?! GAH.

[heddaberry.livejournal.com]

Confirmed, Lieutenant.

[urbancate.livejournal.com]

First:

Gaila brings the drinks this time, their third round, sliding into the tall booth at the back of the only bar on Deep Space Four.

"So, Chris, exactly how long have you been stationed on the Enterprise?" Gaila slides a neon pink cocktail in a very large martini glass across the table.

"What?"

"Just answer the question. How long have been on the Enterprise?"

Christine has the sudden feeling she's being interrogated, as Gaila and Janice and Nyota all lean forward, waiting for her response. She does the math quickly in her head, figures the Battle of Vulcan counts. "Two years, seven months, three days, and, I guess two hours."

"And how long have you been in love with Dr. McCoy, our engimatic Chief Medical Officer?"

"Um, two years, seven months, three days, and, what, an hour and half?"

"I thought as much." Gaila smiles, Nyota nods, Janice gives her a look of commiseration.

"Do you think everybody knows?"

"Yes." They all nod.

"Do you think McCoy knows?"

"Oh, definitely yes." Gaila sort of bounces.

"That is bad news."

"Well, we just thought the time had come to do something about it," Nyota offers, as if this is all a rather logical discussion.

"Like what?" Christine is horrified. Mortified. Embarrassed. Oh, god, there are not enough adjectives for this feeling, whatever this is, of being exposed and she doesn't even know. She downs half of the pink martini in one quick gulp.

"Invite him out for a drink and then after about twenty minutes casually drop into the conversation the fact that you'd like to marry him and have lots of sex and babies." Gaila bounces again, green and sparkly as only Gaila is, and at this moment Christine really wants to hypospray that right out of her friend. Instead she orders another drink.

[heddaberry.livejournal.com]

I AM GIVING YOU MY FIRSTBORN. THAT IS ALL.
Except it may already be promised. MAYBE MY SECOND BORN?!

[blcwriter.livejournal.com]

YAY! Wardrobe mistresses for the win! Although, with a naughty Karl smile in the offing, I'd say they both win.

[urbancate.livejournal.com]

Not until NOW had I thought of wardrobe mistress as possible dream job, but SRSLY - Hi, my job is to dress Karl Urban? I'm there.

[affectingly.livejournal.com]

Oh man, that story was adorable. KARL! WITH HIS LITTLE FACE! UGH. who could ever say no to him?

[urbancate.livejournal.com]

Exactly! It is impossible to say No to Karl. (I just really hope that someone somewhere said no to that sweater at some point.)

[hiddencait.livejournal.com]

So you have to admit, ugly sweaters aside, that would be a fabulous job to have.. unless it was undressing Karl...

Speaking of which- you know you have to do one of these for Pathfinder right? I mean.. THE MAN IS WEARING A LOINCLOTH. Seriously. And it's not exactly a sturdy loincloth... me and my chicas have a drinking game with that movie: everything you get a glimpse of Karl's ass.. you take a drink.

So you KNOW his costume designer was female and way WAY repressed lol.

[urbancate.livejournal.com]

Ha ha! The new Saturday night agenda reads as follows: Watch Pathfinder, play drinking while watching Pathfinder, find a wardrobe mistress fic somewhere in all that lack of wardrobe.

[hiddencait.livejournal.com]

Whoo hoo! That's what I like to hear lol.