Well, aren't you cute? [Roderich + Berwald]

Roderich stood in the designing room patiently, staring down at his almost completed design. The clothes sprawled across the table were a mass of colourful fabric, accompanied by just the right amount of winter accessories. He smiled at them, casual and modern; things he would never be caught dead wearing.

Earlier, he had sent for a model to try the clothes on. He had no specific model in mind, and he merely told them to bring someone small who would be wearing their big boyfriend's clothing. Of course, he doubted a big bad boyfriend would actually wear the cute snowy penguiny sweatshirt he created. However, that was not the point. It was merely silly concept inspired by what he had seen models walk into the styling rooms wearing. Roderich had needed a break from complex designs. Simple cuteness was refreshing.

While waiting, the Austrian busied himself by fiddling with the clothes, examining and reexamining each seam. It was a useless task. It would not matter much if a seam was perfect or not for a simple fitting. The top would be draping loosely around the model's body, hiding flaws for the moment.

[ uhh... i'm not sure how Berwald will fit into this... but uh. oh well ]

Roderich Edelstein. He's heard of him. Berwald quietly clicked his tongue as he flipped the card over in his hand. Well, the designing rooms were just 3 levels upstairs. And if its a job then, he might as well get to it. He looked around, nodded to a few people as the nodded back that he can leave, " Thanks Berwald, gave me tons of great frames, " waved the photographer from the other side of the set. He gave the man smile in reply as he stepped into the elevator. He tapped a button on the board and it glowed 5.

A moment later he was walking past rows of doors. He looked at the card again, and hurried his pace. It was the one after the next. This one. Berwald lifted a hand and knocked his knuckles against the door, "'scuse?"

((Hahaa...Sorry. When writing things on very few hours of sleep, really strange logic happens.))

Roderich had been sitting on the table, slouched over the clothes and making sure the zipper worked properly, when the knock on the door finally came. He stood up instantly, not placing much thought upon the deep voice calling through the door. A deep voice could belong to anyone after all.

“Come on in,” the Austrian replied easily. However, he gaped when the tall Swedish man stepped in to the design room. Apparently when requesting a model, he had dropped the term “big boyfriend” more than “dainty cute model”.

“Hello.” It was followed by a long pause. “Are you sure you are not...ah...smaller?” Roderich queried lamely. Obviously there had been a mix-up. He could not kick him out though. That would be rude. The model would at least have to try on something. Maybe it would look better.

The room was full of colourful fabrics and half done garments were spread out across the tables and pulled over mannequins. Wait, a penguin shirt? Well, yes, it was adorable, but, did the man plan to put that on him? Well, in all honesty he wouldn't mind, just that wouldn't it look strange- no, awkward on a man of his size?

Smaller? Well, that explained it. The designer probably requested for a more appropriate model for his clothes. Did he get the wrong message? Or did the man forget to include specifics in his request. Either way, maybe it was best if he left, " D'ye want m' t' go get another model?,"

Roderich stared, uncomprehending as to what the tall model had said. Roderich's own English was iffy at best, laced with a very thick accent and the occasional odd word choice. He had trouble understanding clearly spoken English. Mumbled English made even less sense to the Austrian. This whole situation was rather frustrating.

It took Roderich a few moments longer before he suppressed his bewilderment and feigned a calm and undisturbed air. In response to whatever the model said, the designer shook his head no. Many bad encounters with a certain obnoxious model (Gilbert) had long since taught the man that no was always the safest answer.

“Ahm...Ah...Your name?” He asked awkwardly, trying to be polite. He then gestured for the model to come over to him.

He really needed to learn how to speak clearly. The designer looked, well, confused. Obviously showing that he didn't catch a word he had just said. And when the other asked for his name, his accent reared its ugly head and Berwald knew that the man probably had a limited English vocabulary, "Berwald," he replied as clearly as he could after sighing heavily on the inside and he stepped into the room.

He eyed the clothes around him uncomfortably. No, they didn't suit him at all. Well, it was a models job to make clothes fit and suit, to work the clothes, no matter how unfitting or ugly. Be a professional. He'll make this work.

Roderich nodded when Berwald gave his name, showing that he understood this time. He did not, however, offer up his own name. Roderich had no intention of being rude, but the thought never crossed his mind. Instead, the Austrian was preoccupied with finding a solution to his problems.

The designer held up the oversize sweatshirt in front of the model. He was not yet offering it to him, instead trying to size the model up. He was pretty sure that it would fit Berwald and still offer a bit of extra fabric on the sides, but it looked a tad short. Then there was the cutesy imagery...Cute and short?

Roderich sighed and gave in, handing Berwald the sweatshirt. “Put it on and tell me what you think.”

Here we go. Berwald gave a small smile at the designer and drew his hand out to accept the sweatshirt. He looked around the room. Well, there wasn't anyplace to change. So he took a step back and pulled his shirt off his body and over his head, then he put the sweatshirt on. He took a fraction of a moment to settle himself into the soft shirt. He felt uncomfortable, like he thought that he would. It wasn't the clothes, the clothes were very comfortable. It just wasn't the sort of clothing he was used to. He forced himself to swallow the discomfort. He didn't want to seem awkward, not while he was working.

He turned around and walked a few steps away before walking another few towards the designer. A basic walk; trying to do his best to make the sweatshirt look right on him.

His hand wandered into his pocket, touching his phone. Hah. Adam would like to see him like this.

[ sorry for the Adam bit. mmm. He's an OC. Right now hes just gonna be there as Berwalds boyfriend until he does some stuff with someone from the rp ;D ]

Roderich politely gazed at his sketches while Berwald changed into the sweatshirt. He only gaped when the models were wearing clothes. No matter what the models may think, the Austrian could care less as to what they looked like with clothes off. It was only once the rustles of fabric stopped that Roderich turned his gaze back to Berwald.

The designer's gaze followed the model in completely silence. He was thoughtful, instantly recognizing the all around wrongness of the garment on the tall man. He wanted to fix it, make it work. Not once did he seriously consider getting a more suitable model. He would fix it for this man.

Roderich's gaze abandoned the model and settled on his sketches. He modified the sketches calmly, but teasingly questioned Berwald while he did so. “What do you think of it?”

Berwald found himself stretching his neck slightly to look at the sketches. But he only managed to get that the other wass penciling a few modifications on the design bfore the designer spoke and asked him a question, " Comf'rt'ble," He started. Perhaps he should be more elaborate, but his mouth refused to say any more on the subject. Now, on to the things that he didn't like about the sweatshirt, " Won't work with pe'ple m' size," or people that look like him or ones with 'scary aura' ( as they call it ) SHould he correct himself? " M'ybe i's just m'," He mutters to himself.

He starts to feel his stomach sink slightly. Logically he would think that it was because he felt that he didn't try hard enough to make it work. No excuses. Not even if the sweatshirt made him - a well built man well over six feet - look - dare he say it? - cute.

Afterall, work isn't work if you don't have to do things you don't like once in a while.

Roderich pretended to continue sketching while he slowly translated what the model had said. It took a few thoughtful minutes, but once he had done it, he let out a chuckle. The delay in his reaction was painfully obvious, but he continued working as though it was nothing.

“Comfortable?” murmured the Austrian in amusement. It may of felt comfy, but the designer was positive that the model could be in no way mentally comfortable is such a cutesy sweatshirt. Especially since he said it would not work on him. Roderich grinned at the model, grabbing a pair of scissors . “We will just have to make it work then. How does cute and tough sound?”

Scary. Actually. Cute and tough sounds really scary. But Berwald just smiles politely, as a reply, and tears his gaze from the scissors. He hesitates to step forward to allow the designer to do his work on the sweat shirt. Should he take it off? Or did the man wanted to fix the shirt as it is?

" D'ye want m' t' take it off?" He asks slowly, taking a step back .

Roderich frowned when the model did not step closer to let the designer cut away at the design. Perhaps he could not understand him very well? That might explain his mumbling dialect. He was speaking again, slowly, much to the Austrian's relief. It did not take him too long to decipher it.

“Hm? Nein, no. I can work like this,” he replied, walking toward the model instead, “Here. Just sit so I can reach. I will not cut you.”

Oh, allright then. Berwald let the designer come closer, and when the man told him to sit, Berwald had to hide a confused frown. Wouldn't it be better to fix it if he stood? But Berwald decided to listen to the man and looked around to pull a nearby stool. He seats himself and straightens his back.

He patiently holds his position, as the designer snips away and does his work on the fabric. Berwald tried his best not to seem uncomfortable, which was easy. He has been in far worse positions for some insane photographers. For a 21 year old, he's had more than a middle aged man's share of muscle aches and cramps.

Roderich settled comfortably in front of Berwald. Before starting to cut and reshape the hoodie, he straightened out the sweatshirt to avoid making mistakes. The designer cut the fabric almost carelessly, humming classical music as he worked. In no time at all, Roderich removed all the features that had defined the garment as an oversized sweatshirt. All that was left was a cutely patterned tee-shirt with a large neck and a small slit up one side.

“Hmn. Suits you more. No design in it though,” grumbled the Austrian without even sparing a proper glance at Berwald. He had turned back to the tables, digging through the piles of half-finished projects and scrapped fabrics. At one point, he paused to jokingly toss a dress to the side, near Berwald, with a sarcastic comment of “I'm sure this would suit you” before finding an unfinished jacket. He glanced at Berwald.

“Want to be of help? Do you know how to sew by hand? If not, I can teach you.”

As the designer cut, Berwald manages to recognise the tune the designer absently hummed. It sounded very familiar, but he couldn't put a title or place his finger on when and where he has heard the song. It sounded somehwat clasical, but Berwald keeps his lips shut, and doesn't ask the man what it was. He listened as the scissors noisily cut the fabric, and his eyes watched as the disconnected pieces fell silently to the floor.

As the man stopped and turned back to the table, Berwald followed his eyes and watched as the man searched through the pile of half finished clothes. He forced a smile when a dress was thrown to his side. He doesn't know whether to say something to counter the man's comment. No. He should just stay quiet. Maybe. He tightens his jaw and lets out a sigh.

The the designer turned towards him again, showing him an unfinished jacket, "Yeah," Berwald replies after a moment, nodding his head once, readjusting his body on his seat. Sewing. Now, he wonders why he decided to learn how to sew in the first place. Was it because his sister's dolls kept tearing up? Was it because he was interested in making clothes? When did he learn how to sew anyway?

He looks around and sees the sewing machine on the next table, " Mm. Tell m' wha' t' do,"

Roderich frowned at the other man's seeming to be lacking sense of humor. All in all, it just seemed to make the model more and more intimidating to the Austrian. He had hoped to make the model lighten up. Instead, he ended up feeling like a fool. He too sighed, before settling beside the Swedish model to quietly give him his instructions.

“Not with the sewing machine. By hand,” stated the designer, handing over the jacket. He also handed the model a handful of rather large blue buttons. “I need you to sew the buttons on. If you could reinforce the button holes, that would be a help as well.” Roderich continued to hover awkwardly by Berwald for a moment, watching his work carefully, before finally moving away from the man.

Roderich snatched up a mass of printed fabric from the table and moved to a clear space to cut it. He did not bother getting measurements from the man, instead faithfully cutting away at the fabric, occasionally glancing at Berwald for reference. Once the fabric started to take a vaguely pant-like look, Roderich attempted to make conversation with the model.

“Soh. Berwald. Talk,” demanded the Austrian as he walked to the sewing machine. “What is it like being a dress-up doll. A model.”

By hand? Allright then. He accepted the buttons and looks around for a roll of thread and a needle. He finds it in a box and arms length away. Threading the needle, Berwald quickly gets to work. At first he takes his time to steady himself and to get his hands adjusted to the precision needed to sew. He finishes the first button a few minutes later, and a Re inforced button hole as well. He measures the spacing, and starts on the second button. He glances upwards for a moment, looking at the designer before the man turned around and leaves him to his work. Good. It was starting to feel uncomfortable, but he understood why the man was cautious. A model doing something like this? It is a good and based caution.

He doesn't look up from the needle and buttons as he worked, concentrating. So when the designer spoke and demanded him to talk, Berwald had to stop himself and restart the social part of his brain, "Mm," A dress up doll? Was the man starting to get impatient with him? He couldn't see why. It was allright, as long as it wasn't bad enough to make him loose the job , " I's allrigh'. Jus' bear with it. I's work. Nothin's easy. Isn't as gl'mourous like p'ple think," Yes, he knew that his words were more disjointed than they usually are. He was trying not to screw up the stiches, or miss one. He remembers being better at this. Maybe his hands just needed a bit more time.

Roderich nodded idly at Berwald, instead concentrating on threading the sewing machine. No matter how many times he used the machine, it always gave him a hard time when threading it. He then sent a piece of scrap fabric through the machine to test the stitching. Upon finding it satisfactory, he started upon the first seam of the pants.

“It must not be,” answered the Austrian carefully, after a few moments filled merely by the sounds of the sewing machine. “I get a lot of grumpy models in here. They are never in a good mood. They are either nervous or, for lack of a better word, bitchy.”

Roderich nearly finished the first seam before quickly adding, “Not that you seem to be fussy. You are being surprisingly respectful.” With that, he finished what he was working on and moved to the next seam.

Respectful? " Jus' makin' sure I get th' job," He answers bluntly, not looking away from the needle and thread going in and out the fabric. One more button, " Mm. Models are like tha'. Pretty pictures feeds egos," He adjusts himself and straightens up, not realising that he was slouching, " An' mos' of them aren't used t' hard work," Done. He gives a slight sigh and tidies the buttons, a quick look over the seams and stitches and he turns around to show the designer.

Roderich could not help but scoff at the model, “I already tore apart my original design for you. You have got the job. Just continue to be blunt, I much prefer it”. With that, he concentrated on the sewing machine for a bit, only pausing to talk when lining the fabric up to start a new seam.

“Mm...” he eventually hummed, rather distracted, “I was always under the impression that the rudeness they suffer outside of the photo shoots made them grumpy...” After a few moments, he fully turned his attention to the model, nodding at the blue coat.

“M'kay, try it on. I will hem it when I am done with the pants. Ah, and the sleeves are supposed to be too long,” instructed the Austrian. He did not start sewing or speaking again, instead trying to stifle an exhausted yawn. He worked far too much these days.

Berwald nodded once and stood up, pulling the jacket over the ex- sweatshirt, which he was starting to get used to. But, he won't be caught seen in this outside this room. Well minus the runways and photoshoots, " Crazy ph'tographers makes us bitchy, yes," He adjusted the jacket, pulling the long sleeves down his arm, and fiddled slightly with the shirt underneath, looking at a mirror at the far wall of the room, " But then again, who wouldn't be," He shrugs as he turns around to look at the designer, " Makin' us feel more like mann'quins than we are,"

He does a small turn, walking towards the designer's table " Quite like th' jacket," He comments, drawing a smile on his face. He notices that the designer had eyebags. Faint. Probably mostly hidden under a layer of makeup or some facial products. He tries not to ponder too much on the matter and redirects his eyes to the designer's work.

Roderich pulled the pants from the sewing machine, paying close attention to Berwald. He gave it an approving smile, but not bothering to comment yet, much more intent on finishing as quickly as possible. “That is because in the eyes of most staff you are not anything more than a mannequin. It is much easier to boss you around that way,” hummed the Austrian bluntly.

Roderich's smile turned proud. “I am glad you like it. It looks quite good on you. Flattering. You would have the women throwing their numbers at you.” He rubbed his eyes, sewing pace getting far slower. He offered the unfinished pants to Berwald. “Mn, here, try these on quickly. See if they fit and look acceptable.”

Berwald gives the designer a brief smile and a short laugh. He nods, " Is prob'ly why we always seem un'appy," Inside, he sighs. Well. There were perks to the job. Tons of perks. Parties. Oh the parties. Money. Money. Money. Connections. It's such a cruel world to live in.

He blinks, looking up and taking the pants from the designer. He smiles at his comment, " 'm sure. But 'f they're girls then they'll be dis'pointed," The smile turns into a short lopsided smirk, disappearing as he takes a step away from the table and pulls his own jeans down, quickly replacing it with the unfinished pair that he was given.

He takes a moment to settle himself into them, " I think they fit m' quite well," He walks a few steps to peer at the mirror, " Wouldn't mind wearing this on th' street,"

Roderich blinked in surprise at being given a smile and laugh. He returned the gesture with a smile of his own. However, he was thoughtful for a few moments. His gaze was lazily curious. He hmmn'd before politely and sincerely questioning the man, “But why do you willingly be a dress up doll?”

The Austrain once again grinned—a proud, almost smug grin. His gaze is politely averted though, instead falling upon his nails. He examined them arrogantly until he was sure the Swedish man was dressed. When he turned his gaze back to Berwald, he stared critically at the outfit for a few moments. “Eh...I am sure the woman and the men will equally throw their numbers upon you.”

“Good, good. They look great. Even better that you would wear them,” he paused, as if basking in his triumph in dealing with the sudden change in design plans. “Are they comfortable? Do I need to make adjustments?”