Theodosia (![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png)
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ds_flashfiction2003-04-24 08:44 pm
theodosia.livejournal.com) wrote in ds_flashfiction2003-04-24 08:44 pm
Entry tags:
The Adventures of Regina, Queen of Manitoba
Okay, so it's a little bit over -- 1117 words, but if you squint really hard and round down really severely, it's very nearly under the limit, right? (Also, I understand that the sales tax is 15% in Nova Scotia.)
I blame some of this on![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
shrift, who has been tormenting me with her evil, enticing, evil, evil, evil (and did I mention enticing?) painted Ray icons. The rest I blame on one of my favorite Australian movies, which seems to have come unstuck in time and place, and gone through a bit of a change of cast and location as well. There's probably a whole movie's worth of plot out there somewhere, you'll just have to make do with the section presented here....
Fraser could hear the voices raised from outside the purple bus, which wasn’t a good sign. Diefenbaker sat by the steps and grumbled, still angry over the doggie leather chaps that Miss Butchie had suggested he don.
“We all agreed we had to make sacrifices for the case,” Fraser reminded him. “It was just a suggestion. Perhaps we can contrive something glittery for your collar.”
Dief yipped derisively, and Fraser sighed. “As you will,” he said, straightening his skirt, and making sure his wig hadn’t come askew.
Inside, Miss Butchie was looking tearful, her wig grievously disarranged. She was clutching – yes, a bra and falsies – in her large hands and looking daggers at Ray. “Oh, Miss Fraser!” the older transvestite wailed. “Miss Thing here is refusing to wear her tits!”
“You try to put those things on me once more, and I’m going to punch you so hard your wig flies off,” Ray said.
“You’re being absolutely hateful,” she hissed.
“Blow me,” Ray said tauntingly.
“Ray!” Fraser said. “Miss Butchie is only trying to help.”
“Oh no, Frase!” Ray said, getting up from his chair at the makeup table. His makeup was on, but he was naked to the waist in a pair of violet satin panties, and a black garter belt holding up fishnet stockings. He stalked lithely around the small room, seemingly unaware how he looked. “We agreed on certain conditions, like I don’t do anything that makes me feel uncomfortable.”
Fraser closed his mouth, trying to determine if his tongue had actually dropped out. He’d been gratified when Ray agreed to aid the investigation, but he hadn’t expected his partner to be so… fetching… in drag. Or half-drag in this case. “Ah,” he temporized, running the conversation quickly back. “Yes, boundaries.”
“I’ve been a good sport, haven’t I?”
“I – certainly, Ray.”
“I’ve done the makeup, I’ve done the stockings and tried to do the shoes—”
“Oh, I was able to borrow some shoes – they’re practically flats,” Fraser said, proffering the bag.
“I hope to hell they fit,” said Ray. “Because y’know, I really can’t walk in high heels. Not a political statement… it’s my ankles.”
“They just take a bit of practice,” hissed Miss Butchie.
Ray glared. “The dress, no problemo,” he said. “But I draw the line at tits.”
“It will absolutely destroy the illusion, darling!” said Miss Butchie. “We talked about that.”
“Really, Ray,” Fraser said. Ray had a nicer torso than he’d imagined; he had to look away before he lost his train of thought. “It’s merely part of the costume, as it were.”
“I get that,” Ray said.
“And you wore them at the fitting,” said Miss Butchie.
“And felt like an idiot,” said Ray. “By the way, I hope to hell real breasts don’t feel like cold sacks of water flopping around on your chest, or I am going to have to apologize to every single woman I’ve ever known.”
“If you feel uncomfortable,” said Fraser, “then of course, you shouldn’t – but what brought this on?”
Ray took the shoes out of the bag and tried them on – they were white leather flats with daisies for buckles. Fraser couldn’t help noticing that his legs went on for ever. “For the past week, it’s been, ‘Ray don’t do that; Ray, what would a lady do; Ray, get in touch with your inner princess.’ I’ve tried channeling my Mom, I’ve tried asking myself what would Stella do – which, by the way, she would have reamed out the Bitch Queen of Canada here—” he waved at Miss Butchie, who sniffed loudly “–by the first day, and killed him—her on the second. With a nail file.”
“Getting in touch with one’s feminine side is hard work,” Fraser said.
“That’s just it,” said Ray. He got up again, and pulled one of the dresses they’d discarded as unsuitable from the closet. “I’ve been doing it wrong. Like, you told me about that animal – animation – ana—”
“’Anima,’ if female, ‘animus’ if male,” Fraser said.
“Yeah,” Ray said, looking down at the dress. “And I said, my anima would be Stella, she was my perfect woman. Only there was a lot to Stella that bugged me. I don’t know if you noticed, but my marriage kind of broke up—”
“Quelle surprise,” muttered Miss Butchie.
“One more crack, and I am bitch-slapping you into next week,” said Ray. “Anyway, I thought, ‘what if I’m trying wrong? If I do got this inner woman thing, what is she really like?’”
He lifted the dress over his head and shrugged into it with animal grace. It was a white sleeveless mini-dress that left his muscular arms and tattoo bare. “My inner girl is pretty much a tomboy.”
“Really?” said Fraser, intrigued.
“Stella always said I was halfway to being a dyke,” said Ray. “It was a joke, but…. My inner girl isn’t very girly… which is why I’ve been sucking as a drag queen.”
Miss Butchie coughed something that might have been “And how.”
“But the thing is… there are all kinds of transvestites and drag queens at this here convention. I was taking it as scripture that all drag queens were like you guys, when in fact some of them suck worse than I do. Zip me up here, will ya?” He turned and presented his back to Fraser, who complied.
Ray walked over to the mirror and stared at himself, smiling. “Yeah,” he said. “I’m not a very girly transvestite. What I am, is a guy in a dress. And that’s great… because I’m good at that. I go out there trying to be Miss Fascination 1998 and everybody’s going to know it’s hinky… whereas if I’m enjoying myself being a guy in a dress, it’s going to be ‘Who’s that hot number in the miniskirt?’” Ray put his arms akimbo and grinned.
“Well… he does look hot,” said Miss Butchie. “I have to give him that.”
Fraser closed his eyes and shook his head to clear it. “Hot enough,” he said, when he had got his voice under control.
“Well, then, what are we waiting for?” said Ray, taking a feather boa off the dressing table.
“What about your wig?” said Miss Butchie.
“No wigs,” said Ray. “My hair is already as up as it gets, it’d be just guilting the lily.”
“Like Hilary Swank’s older, sluttier brother,” said Miss Butchie.
“You betcha,” said Ray. “Are we ready to go, Miss Fraser?”
“Ready enough,” said Fraser. “Now if I understand this correctly, your inner lesbian is enjoying dressing up as a man dressing up in woman’s clothing?”
“I have figured it out, Frase,” said Ray. “I am a drag king.”
I blame some of this on
shrift, who has been tormenting me with her evil, enticing, evil, evil, evil (and did I mention enticing?) painted Ray icons. The rest I blame on one of my favorite Australian movies, which seems to have come unstuck in time and place, and gone through a bit of a change of cast and location as well. There's probably a whole movie's worth of plot out there somewhere, you'll just have to make do with the section presented here....Fraser could hear the voices raised from outside the purple bus, which wasn’t a good sign. Diefenbaker sat by the steps and grumbled, still angry over the doggie leather chaps that Miss Butchie had suggested he don.
“We all agreed we had to make sacrifices for the case,” Fraser reminded him. “It was just a suggestion. Perhaps we can contrive something glittery for your collar.”
Dief yipped derisively, and Fraser sighed. “As you will,” he said, straightening his skirt, and making sure his wig hadn’t come askew.
Inside, Miss Butchie was looking tearful, her wig grievously disarranged. She was clutching – yes, a bra and falsies – in her large hands and looking daggers at Ray. “Oh, Miss Fraser!” the older transvestite wailed. “Miss Thing here is refusing to wear her tits!”
“You try to put those things on me once more, and I’m going to punch you so hard your wig flies off,” Ray said.
“You’re being absolutely hateful,” she hissed.
“Blow me,” Ray said tauntingly.
“Ray!” Fraser said. “Miss Butchie is only trying to help.”
“Oh no, Frase!” Ray said, getting up from his chair at the makeup table. His makeup was on, but he was naked to the waist in a pair of violet satin panties, and a black garter belt holding up fishnet stockings. He stalked lithely around the small room, seemingly unaware how he looked. “We agreed on certain conditions, like I don’t do anything that makes me feel uncomfortable.”
Fraser closed his mouth, trying to determine if his tongue had actually dropped out. He’d been gratified when Ray agreed to aid the investigation, but he hadn’t expected his partner to be so… fetching… in drag. Or half-drag in this case. “Ah,” he temporized, running the conversation quickly back. “Yes, boundaries.”
“I’ve been a good sport, haven’t I?”
“I – certainly, Ray.”
“I’ve done the makeup, I’ve done the stockings and tried to do the shoes—”
“Oh, I was able to borrow some shoes – they’re practically flats,” Fraser said, proffering the bag.
“I hope to hell they fit,” said Ray. “Because y’know, I really can’t walk in high heels. Not a political statement… it’s my ankles.”
“They just take a bit of practice,” hissed Miss Butchie.
Ray glared. “The dress, no problemo,” he said. “But I draw the line at tits.”
“It will absolutely destroy the illusion, darling!” said Miss Butchie. “We talked about that.”
“Really, Ray,” Fraser said. Ray had a nicer torso than he’d imagined; he had to look away before he lost his train of thought. “It’s merely part of the costume, as it were.”
“I get that,” Ray said.
“And you wore them at the fitting,” said Miss Butchie.
“And felt like an idiot,” said Ray. “By the way, I hope to hell real breasts don’t feel like cold sacks of water flopping around on your chest, or I am going to have to apologize to every single woman I’ve ever known.”
“If you feel uncomfortable,” said Fraser, “then of course, you shouldn’t – but what brought this on?”
Ray took the shoes out of the bag and tried them on – they were white leather flats with daisies for buckles. Fraser couldn’t help noticing that his legs went on for ever. “For the past week, it’s been, ‘Ray don’t do that; Ray, what would a lady do; Ray, get in touch with your inner princess.’ I’ve tried channeling my Mom, I’ve tried asking myself what would Stella do – which, by the way, she would have reamed out the Bitch Queen of Canada here—” he waved at Miss Butchie, who sniffed loudly “–by the first day, and killed him—her on the second. With a nail file.”
“Getting in touch with one’s feminine side is hard work,” Fraser said.
“That’s just it,” said Ray. He got up again, and pulled one of the dresses they’d discarded as unsuitable from the closet. “I’ve been doing it wrong. Like, you told me about that animal – animation – ana—”
“’Anima,’ if female, ‘animus’ if male,” Fraser said.
“Yeah,” Ray said, looking down at the dress. “And I said, my anima would be Stella, she was my perfect woman. Only there was a lot to Stella that bugged me. I don’t know if you noticed, but my marriage kind of broke up—”
“Quelle surprise,” muttered Miss Butchie.
“One more crack, and I am bitch-slapping you into next week,” said Ray. “Anyway, I thought, ‘what if I’m trying wrong? If I do got this inner woman thing, what is she really like?’”
He lifted the dress over his head and shrugged into it with animal grace. It was a white sleeveless mini-dress that left his muscular arms and tattoo bare. “My inner girl is pretty much a tomboy.”
“Really?” said Fraser, intrigued.
“Stella always said I was halfway to being a dyke,” said Ray. “It was a joke, but…. My inner girl isn’t very girly… which is why I’ve been sucking as a drag queen.”
Miss Butchie coughed something that might have been “And how.”
“But the thing is… there are all kinds of transvestites and drag queens at this here convention. I was taking it as scripture that all drag queens were like you guys, when in fact some of them suck worse than I do. Zip me up here, will ya?” He turned and presented his back to Fraser, who complied.
Ray walked over to the mirror and stared at himself, smiling. “Yeah,” he said. “I’m not a very girly transvestite. What I am, is a guy in a dress. And that’s great… because I’m good at that. I go out there trying to be Miss Fascination 1998 and everybody’s going to know it’s hinky… whereas if I’m enjoying myself being a guy in a dress, it’s going to be ‘Who’s that hot number in the miniskirt?’” Ray put his arms akimbo and grinned.
“Well… he does look hot,” said Miss Butchie. “I have to give him that.”
Fraser closed his eyes and shook his head to clear it. “Hot enough,” he said, when he had got his voice under control.
“Well, then, what are we waiting for?” said Ray, taking a feather boa off the dressing table.
“What about your wig?” said Miss Butchie.
“No wigs,” said Ray. “My hair is already as up as it gets, it’d be just guilting the lily.”
“Like Hilary Swank’s older, sluttier brother,” said Miss Butchie.
“You betcha,” said Ray. “Are we ready to go, Miss Fraser?”
“Ready enough,” said Fraser. “Now if I understand this correctly, your inner lesbian is enjoying dressing up as a man dressing up in woman’s clothing?”
“I have figured it out, Frase,” said Ray. “I am a drag king.”