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reddwarfslashTitle: The Yarn Smeghead
Pairing: Rimmer/Lister
Rating: G
Disclaimer: I don't own any part of Red Dwarf, The Yarn Harlot (Stephanie Pearl McPhee), Kaffe Fassett, Elizabeth Zimmerman (knitting GODDESS) or make any money from fanfiction.
Notes: Yes, um, I like knitting too much. Sorry!
Warnings: gratuitous knitting celebrity name-dropping, near constant mention of yarn (what? yarn is a kink for some people)
Beta:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
kahvi, who is wonderful and shiny
Lister slammed his needles down on the table in frustration. “Smegging thing won't smegging work.”
“Uh oh,” said a mild looking man in an impossibly bright sweater. “Someone's an unhappy knitter today.” The man untangled what looked to be several dozen different coloured balls of yarn and laid his knitting down. He stood up from his deep, comfy chair – an exact replica of the one Lister was sitting in – and moved around the deep oak table until he was stood behind Lister. “Well, what's wrong with it?”
It should have been immediately clear to anyone, expert knitter or not, that there was quite a lot wrong with Lister's knitting. The mess of dropped stitches, mismatched increases and odd shaping was actually a very normal state of affairs. The mild looking man certainly didn't seem to think there was anything strange about the tangle of yarn in front of him. “You have some interesting colour choices here,” he said reassuringly, in an accent that was a distinctive mix of American and British.
“Interesting is one word for it, Kaffe,” interjected a grinning woman with messy hair who was manically knitting on a sock just to Lister's right.
“Steady on!” said Lister, “Nothing wrong with the colours.” He held up the square of almost-fabric. The pleasant, understated lighting perfectly brought out the bright neon greens and yellows and the big patches of fuchsia pink.
“It's...” the curly haired woman trailed off staring at the patch of knitting. Her mouth was twisting into funny shapes. “Hmm. It's... interesting.”
“Interesting?”
“Look Lister, it's knitting. There is no bad knitting, as long as you like what's coming off your needles.”
“Thanks, Steph,” Lister said, and managed a weak smile. “It just doesn't feel right today, y'know?”
The second woman at the table, the elderly, gentle faced woman sat directly opposite Lister, had so far been silent, but at this she lifted her head from the exquisite lace baby sweater she was working on. The other two knitters fell silent and turned to listen reverently on the off chance this distinguished knitter was going to speak. Even the clacking of their needles seemed to quieten out of sheer respect. She cleared her throat. The messy haired woman, known as Stephanie Pearl McPhee, leaned forward in her chair so much that she nearly fell out of it, and made a strange excited squeaking noise like a squirrel before sitting up straight again.
Elizabeth Zimmerman, as the elderly woman turned out to be, gave her a stern look. She cleared her throat again, and then she spoke. “David,” she said. “When we knit we imbue the fabric we are creating with a piece of ourselves that it carries with it forever. This is what makes a hand knitted garment so precious.” Lister nodded enthusiastically and thought of all of the beautiful items he had created, the bobble hats, the wonky scarves, that glove that ended up as a sweater. That was art, that was. “It is therefore possible for events in our lives, vexations and arguments, emotions we are feeling or suppressing, to affect our knitting. Could this be what has happened in this instance?”
Lister thought about this for a moment. “I don't know, maybe.” He seemed uncharacteristically glum, and Kaffe Fassett patted him on the shoulder sympathetically. For a while there was silence, save for the clicking of needles.
Lister picked up his knitting and inserted one large needle carefully through the loop on the other. His tongue poked out of the corner of his mouth in concentration. He wrapped the yarn around the needle, then dropped the whole thing back onto the table. The knitters looked up. “IthinkIhaveathingforoneofmyshipmates,” he rushed out in one breath.
Stephanie grinned even more widely. “Aha!” she said.
Kaffe appeared to be mulling the information over, while Elizabeth Zimmerman merely raised an eyebrow and continued knitting.
“Is it Cat?” Stephanie demanded. “Cos dude, Cat is hot.”
Lister's mouth dropped open. “Wait, how do you know what the Cat looks like?”
Kaffe frowned. “He comes in here to discuss designs. He has some really exciting ideas, you know.”
Stephanie mouthed the word hot at Lister behind Kaffe's back.
“Right... I don't think I want to know. It's not him anyway.”
“Not the robot one?” Stephanie pulled a face.
“No! It's... it's Rimmer. You don't know him. At least, I'm pretty sure he's never used this program.”
“Oh.” She thought about this for a while. “I thought you hated Rimmer? You're always complaining about him.”
“I do! I did, I... I dunno, man.”
Kaffe nodded sympathetically. “Have you thought about what you're going to do about it?”
“To tell you the truth I've not been able to think about much else lately.”
“Well, how does he feel about you?”
Lister snorted. “He hates me, man. I don't think he'd be interested.”
Elizabeth Zimmerman raised her head once again, this time actually putting down her knitting. Stephanie let out a little mew like a cat falling out of a tree. “Young man,” Elizabeth said, fixing Lister with one of her most stern looks. “You must talk to this person and let him know how you feel.” Lister began to argue but she silenced him with a fierce glare. “You must tell him, not for you...” she paused dramatically, and the other two knitters held their simulated breath, “...but for your knitting.”
Kaffe nodded sincerely, and Stephanie burst into applause. Lister frowned, but assured her he would think about it. He sighed and stood up. “End program.”
The knitters disappeared, as did the oak table and the deep, comfortable chairs. The gentle, muted lighting was replaced by the harsh glare of Starbug's strip lights. Nothing remained of the knitting group except the ragged scrap of brightly coloured knitting Lister still clutched in his hands. He stared down at it for a moment, then disengaged himself from the AR machine and left.
Later he clutched the same knitted fabric in his hands as he entered the midsection. Rimmer was sat at the table sipping at a hot cup of tea. He was completely unaware of being watched, and unguarded as he was he looked.... he looked good. As close as he ever seemed to come to content. The sneer that once Lister would've sworn was permanently fixed to his face was nowhere to be seen. After a moment though he noticed Lister standing in the doorway and looked up. “What are you looking at?” he sneered.
“Nothing.” Lister replied, and smiled. Rimmer shook his head as if doubting Lister's sanity for the hundredth time today. “I made you a hat,” Lister said. He held the little bit of knitting out towards him.
Rimmer picked it up between two fingers as if unsure if it were completely sanitary. “Oh,” he said. He dropped it onto the table in front of him. “Is that what this is supposed to be? A hat?”
Lister's face fell, but then he smiled again. “It's just a bit of me... for you.”
Pairing: Rimmer/Lister
Rating: G
Disclaimer: I don't own any part of Red Dwarf, The Yarn Harlot (Stephanie Pearl McPhee), Kaffe Fassett, Elizabeth Zimmerman (knitting GODDESS) or make any money from fanfiction.
Notes: Yes, um, I like knitting too much. Sorry!
Warnings: gratuitous knitting celebrity name-dropping, near constant mention of yarn (what? yarn is a kink for some people)
Beta:
kahvi, who is wonderful and shinyLister slammed his needles down on the table in frustration. “Smegging thing won't smegging work.”
“Uh oh,” said a mild looking man in an impossibly bright sweater. “Someone's an unhappy knitter today.” The man untangled what looked to be several dozen different coloured balls of yarn and laid his knitting down. He stood up from his deep, comfy chair – an exact replica of the one Lister was sitting in – and moved around the deep oak table until he was stood behind Lister. “Well, what's wrong with it?”
It should have been immediately clear to anyone, expert knitter or not, that there was quite a lot wrong with Lister's knitting. The mess of dropped stitches, mismatched increases and odd shaping was actually a very normal state of affairs. The mild looking man certainly didn't seem to think there was anything strange about the tangle of yarn in front of him. “You have some interesting colour choices here,” he said reassuringly, in an accent that was a distinctive mix of American and British.
“Interesting is one word for it, Kaffe,” interjected a grinning woman with messy hair who was manically knitting on a sock just to Lister's right.
“Steady on!” said Lister, “Nothing wrong with the colours.” He held up the square of almost-fabric. The pleasant, understated lighting perfectly brought out the bright neon greens and yellows and the big patches of fuchsia pink.
“It's...” the curly haired woman trailed off staring at the patch of knitting. Her mouth was twisting into funny shapes. “Hmm. It's... interesting.”
“Interesting?”
“Look Lister, it's knitting. There is no bad knitting, as long as you like what's coming off your needles.”
“Thanks, Steph,” Lister said, and managed a weak smile. “It just doesn't feel right today, y'know?”
The second woman at the table, the elderly, gentle faced woman sat directly opposite Lister, had so far been silent, but at this she lifted her head from the exquisite lace baby sweater she was working on. The other two knitters fell silent and turned to listen reverently on the off chance this distinguished knitter was going to speak. Even the clacking of their needles seemed to quieten out of sheer respect. She cleared her throat. The messy haired woman, known as Stephanie Pearl McPhee, leaned forward in her chair so much that she nearly fell out of it, and made a strange excited squeaking noise like a squirrel before sitting up straight again.
Elizabeth Zimmerman, as the elderly woman turned out to be, gave her a stern look. She cleared her throat again, and then she spoke. “David,” she said. “When we knit we imbue the fabric we are creating with a piece of ourselves that it carries with it forever. This is what makes a hand knitted garment so precious.” Lister nodded enthusiastically and thought of all of the beautiful items he had created, the bobble hats, the wonky scarves, that glove that ended up as a sweater. That was art, that was. “It is therefore possible for events in our lives, vexations and arguments, emotions we are feeling or suppressing, to affect our knitting. Could this be what has happened in this instance?”
Lister thought about this for a moment. “I don't know, maybe.” He seemed uncharacteristically glum, and Kaffe Fassett patted him on the shoulder sympathetically. For a while there was silence, save for the clicking of needles.
Lister picked up his knitting and inserted one large needle carefully through the loop on the other. His tongue poked out of the corner of his mouth in concentration. He wrapped the yarn around the needle, then dropped the whole thing back onto the table. The knitters looked up. “IthinkIhaveathingforoneofmyshipmates,” he rushed out in one breath.
Stephanie grinned even more widely. “Aha!” she said.
Kaffe appeared to be mulling the information over, while Elizabeth Zimmerman merely raised an eyebrow and continued knitting.
“Is it Cat?” Stephanie demanded. “Cos dude, Cat is hot.”
Lister's mouth dropped open. “Wait, how do you know what the Cat looks like?”
Kaffe frowned. “He comes in here to discuss designs. He has some really exciting ideas, you know.”
Stephanie mouthed the word hot at Lister behind Kaffe's back.
“Right... I don't think I want to know. It's not him anyway.”
“Not the robot one?” Stephanie pulled a face.
“No! It's... it's Rimmer. You don't know him. At least, I'm pretty sure he's never used this program.”
“Oh.” She thought about this for a while. “I thought you hated Rimmer? You're always complaining about him.”
“I do! I did, I... I dunno, man.”
Kaffe nodded sympathetically. “Have you thought about what you're going to do about it?”
“To tell you the truth I've not been able to think about much else lately.”
“Well, how does he feel about you?”
Lister snorted. “He hates me, man. I don't think he'd be interested.”
Elizabeth Zimmerman raised her head once again, this time actually putting down her knitting. Stephanie let out a little mew like a cat falling out of a tree. “Young man,” Elizabeth said, fixing Lister with one of her most stern looks. “You must talk to this person and let him know how you feel.” Lister began to argue but she silenced him with a fierce glare. “You must tell him, not for you...” she paused dramatically, and the other two knitters held their simulated breath, “...but for your knitting.”
Kaffe nodded sincerely, and Stephanie burst into applause. Lister frowned, but assured her he would think about it. He sighed and stood up. “End program.”
The knitters disappeared, as did the oak table and the deep, comfortable chairs. The gentle, muted lighting was replaced by the harsh glare of Starbug's strip lights. Nothing remained of the knitting group except the ragged scrap of brightly coloured knitting Lister still clutched in his hands. He stared down at it for a moment, then disengaged himself from the AR machine and left.
Later he clutched the same knitted fabric in his hands as he entered the midsection. Rimmer was sat at the table sipping at a hot cup of tea. He was completely unaware of being watched, and unguarded as he was he looked.... he looked good. As close as he ever seemed to come to content. The sneer that once Lister would've sworn was permanently fixed to his face was nowhere to be seen. After a moment though he noticed Lister standing in the doorway and looked up. “What are you looking at?” he sneered.
“Nothing.” Lister replied, and smiled. Rimmer shook his head as if doubting Lister's sanity for the hundredth time today. “I made you a hat,” Lister said. He held the little bit of knitting out towards him.
Rimmer picked it up between two fingers as if unsure if it were completely sanitary. “Oh,” he said. He dropped it onto the table in front of him. “Is that what this is supposed to be? A hat?”
Lister's face fell, but then he smiled again. “It's just a bit of me... for you.”
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no subject
Date: 2009-03-23 10:56 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-03-23 11:04 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-03-23 11:37 pm (UTC)Makes me want to pull out my knitting again.... 'cept I should finish the gigantic crocheted quilt project first and get the multitude of granny squares off my window sill, but still.
*crush!*
Date: 2009-03-24 01:36 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-03-24 07:16 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-03-24 08:43 am (UTC)“I made you a hat,” Lister said.
This is my favorite line in anything I've read this year.
The ending!! Sentimental, yet perfectly in character, and keeping up the status quo - exactly like the show. Brava!
no subject
Date: 2009-03-25 10:22 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-03-24 08:12 pm (UTC)Lister's face fell, but then he smiled again. “It's just a bit of me... for you.”
That is such a great line to end on, this really made me smile.
no subject
Date: 2009-03-24 09:23 pm (UTC)this is absolutely genius!
I always love fics like this one. The idea is so mad - but then the story! Oh!
“You must tell him, not for you...” she paused dramatically, and the other two knitters held their simulated breath, “...but for your knitting.”
and this one made me giggle so much!
ohh, and the ending! Squee!
<3 luv it
AWWW
Date: 2009-03-25 02:44 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-03-27 08:46 am (UTC)