Olin & Varan - The Ironwood Rave Part 1

“... are you sure I can’t add …” Olin waved at all of Varan. “ … anything? Makeup … paint gun … color.”

Varan peered at him from behind her mirrored round sunglasses, and adjusted the light blue bucket hat with bright pink peace signs she wore on her head. “I know,” she said, straightening her cropped camisole so it almost touched the waist of her wide-legged cargo pants. “It will be a shock for someone to not have their butt cheeks on full display wearing little more than nipple covers, there’s no need to make me feel more like a fish out of water.”

“The intent is not to make you feel like a fish out of water.” Olin said hands up. “But as your friend, I am trying to help you not look like … a mallrat. It is not about how little you wear or expose your skin. Wear what's comfortable. But the point of this is to be wild and free, being a rave is like being in a very full of birds of paradise.” He tried to explain. “Skin can stay covered but you'll be the only one dressed looking like she came from a teenage pop concert.”

Varan gave him a look. “You’re just trying to get even for the gray suit I made you wear.”

“I’m trying to save you from yourself. Grey has a place. Just not at a rave.” Olin nodded knowingly.

“Fine,” Varan acquiesced, following Olin to his closet. “Fair is fair. You wear a tie on Sunday, I’ll wear something bird like tonight.”

“Wait … the tie was optional?” Olin asked tiling his head.

“We both know you’re going to purposely dribble coffee on it then remove it as you fake embarrassment over the stain,” Varan accused.

“Historically ties are just fancy napkins.” Olin pointed out.

Olin’s closet was the size of most apartments in the sprawl. The walls were lined with wardrobes and plush benches, while suits and coats hung on velvet hangers in another section. Cabinets would open to reveal rows of footwear or accessories like watches and trinket jewelry. Anything pricey was safely locked away. Varan rolled her eyes at his collection of hats and flowing scarves.

“When dressing for a rave there is a couple of do’s and don'ts. Do dress in layers if you are shy about showing skin, and think about how to change your outfit from beginning wear to hours of dancing on ketamine wear. Trust me it gets hot real quick. Don’t wear metallic jewelry, trust me …” He said moving through his closet rapidly sifting through hangers of colorful cloth. “... how much skin are you okay with showing? Are we talking full coverage because showing my shoulders is a sin or I’m confident in a bikini?”

“I’ll skip the ketamine, thanks,” she chuckled. “I promised to keep an eye on you. That’s hard to do if we’re both stoned. And…” she added,, catching herself. “Why do you have a cachet of bikini tops in your closet?”

“Does it matter?” Olin shook his head selecting a purple pants with a metallic sheen and a vague deeper purple leopard print. “Try those on, it might be big so use the cinch pins instead of a belt.”

“These were yours, right?” She asked, crinkling her nose at the thought of wearing another girl’s pants. Olin apparently had an entire stock of rave wear tucked neatly in the cabinets on the walls.

“Yes, from a thrift store in London.” Olin assured as he sifted through the multitude of colorful shirts. “What kind of bra are you wearing?” He asked considering a silver mesh shirt.

“Black?” Varan offered in response. “What does that have to do with anything?”

“There are two types of underwear people wear Varan. One is for comfort and the other is to be looked at.” Olin explained. “So is it … black but practical and comfortable? Or black with lace, and fringe, that makes me feel pretty? It will determine what we can use for a top.”

“It’s meant for comfort. Not for use on a magazine cover,” Varan sniped.