serious-face

vdistinctive


What, was "Rudy" on cable last night?

. . . Yes.


gender-swap - bemused-face, gender-swap - side-eye face
Eliot Spencer vdistinctive
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75 Godiva Street, Saturday morning
It took Eliot approximately two seconds after he woke up to recognize that something was distinctly not right. He sat up slowly, noting the -- rather drastic, really -- change in his weight distribution, especially across the chest. He didn't remember straining anything working out, yesterday, or anything else that would account for any of this. And anyway, it didn't hurt. His whole body just felt . . . weird.

Which for a guy who spent his life insanely aware of his body and how it was functioning was just a little bit disconcerting.

He finally got around to opening his eyes and looking down about ten seconds after he woke up. The growled out "Dammit, Fandom," was rather higher pitched than normal, but no less deeply irritated.

Sometimes he really did hate this island.

[ooc: for those who'd be in the bed with him.]

Parker had wound up in the center by dint of being the skinniest; also the most likely to be able to get out of bed without disturbing the other two.

Well, except for when awakened by an entirely unfamiliar voice.

She opened her eyes to find out who was talking.

"Where's Eliot?"

Eliot rolled his eyes over to her, suddenly irrationally grumpy that she didn't turn into a guy over night. "It's me, Parker."

Parker scrambled to the top of the bed frame, and glared at the woman in Eliot's spot. Then she noticed the person in Hardison's spot.

"I suppose that's supposed to be Hardison too, hunh?"

Eliot looked at the figure on the other end of the bed and managed a small smirk. "Yeah, probably." He leaned his elbows on his knees at the edge of the bed (decidedly ignoring the strange lack between his legs) and ran his hands through his hair.

At least that hadn't changed much.

". . . I'm definitely going to need a bra."

"You can't have one of mine," Parker said automatically. "You'd stretch it all out." Then she stopped and scowled at herself. "I mean, prove it. Prove you're Eliot."

This was really unnerving. She liked consistency in her people! This was not consistent!

"Seriously?!" Eliot groaned. Waking up and immediately muttering 'dammit, Fandom' wasn't proof enough? "Fine. I guess -- ask me something only I would know."

But to be fair, lots of people on the Island said that pretty often. It just meant that this new woman knew where she was.

Parker paused, and checked that Hardison was still asleep, and since he was....

"What did I say when we were in the crevasse?" she said, keeping her voice very low. "About why I wanted to bring that guy back to his wife?"

Eliot smiled a little. That was what she went with, huh? "Because Hardison or Nate or Sophie would do it. And you wanted to do the right thing." He shifted to face her. "And I said it was better it was us. Because we do the things they can't."

"Oh." Parker stared, and finally got down from the headboard so she could stare from up close. "Eliot?" She went to poke him. "You're all pretty."

Eliot snorted. "I'm always pretty." He looked down again and sighed. "Just not usually this . . . jiggly."

"Well, that's true." Then Parker had to slap a hand over her mouth to keep the giggles from waking up Hardison. "You look like one of Hardison's warrior priestess avatars!"

Fandom, Parker looooooves you!

Eliot looked up from where he was most definitely not watching himself jiggle, dammit. "What? I do not!"

"You doooo. And your eyelashes are even longer. How did you do that?" Parker peered into Eliot's face and grinned at the expression. "Eliot, ninja warrior priestess! You just need armor and your sword."

"I am not wearing any of the armor in one of Hardison's games," Eliot grumbled. "That stuff is like asking to die."

Which meant before this wore off, she was going to get Eliot into some other kind of armor, yes!

"Do you feel okay?" Parker asked belatedly. "Aside from jiggly. You remember what you're supposed to, anyway."

"I'm fine," Eliot grumbled automatically. He stood up carefully, adjusting for his new center of balance as he went, then striding purposefully for his dresser. (Okay, seriously, did they just jiggle at everything he did?) "It's Saturday, right? So this'll probably just be a weekend thing?"

"Awwww. Probably," Parker said, then blinked. "This hasn't happened to you here before? And what are you looking for?" She tilted her head. "Are you taller?"

"Don't you think I'd've mentioned it if I'd been a woman for a weekend before?" No. No he wouldn't. "And I am not." He pulled on a pair of his boxer-briefs -- which fit differently, but not badly -- and then his jeans -- which were slightly too short and way too tight in the hips -- and sighed. "Maybe. A little." He was. By half an inch.

"Not if you'd think I'd warn Hardison." Parker hummed and tilted sideways. "I bet that 'Dite's store has bras big enough for you right now. And some pretty stuff."

You know, thinking about it, this was maybe kind of cool. "You're lucky Sophie's not here to make you buy high heels."

Eliot groaned. "You'd better not call her." The last thing he needed was Sophie shrieking and cooing over him like this. "I'll just use an ace bandage or something. It'll be fine."

He'd be buying at least a good sports bra before the day was out.

"They're breasts, not muscle sprains," Parker told him, looking very dubious. "I mean, it's your chest. And mine's way smaller. But I don't think that's gonna work."

"I just need somethin' to --" flatten them down "-- hold 'em in place. An ace bandage'll do that just fine." He came back over to the bed to get the first aid kit he kept in the nightstand, and tried not to think about how his hips were stretching out his jeans. Or how said jeans were starting to drag down from where he'd tried to pull them around his waist. "I couldn'ta turned into a flat chested chick?"

No. No he couldn't.

"Do you look like your sister?" Parker asked, intrigued. "You're going to need a belt, too. And different shoes."

Isn't this fun?

"Not if I got taller," Eliot said. He hadn't actually seen himself in a mirror, yet. "And I don't -- my boots are --" Eliot looked helplessly at his comparatively dainty woman-feet. "Dammit, Fandom!"

"Why we yellin'?" Hardison mumbled, still too close to sleep to realize his voice was a few octaves higher than he was used to. "S'too early for yellin'. Babe, pretend to be sorry 'bout whatever so Eliot makes us breakfast."

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