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.