View allAll Photos Tagged SCARF
I decided i needed a warm scarf that could be wrapped around the neck a couple of times for extra warmth. I used this lovely pattern called the eternity scarf found here via ravelry .
It consists of a carbon stitch (doesn’t the texture of the scarf remind you of a waffle weave thermal?) and plain old stockinette. You can wear it down long or you can wrap it around your neck like i do for maximum warmth!
I really enjoyed knitting this scarf; it only took a couple of days to complete and the pattern was flawless!
It’s the perfect accompaniment on a cold winter day.
==Panessa Studios, Now==
"That was a no, was it?" Pitt finished, dressed in Cluemaster's orange jumpsuit, a yellow scarf around his neck.
'I wouldn't have thought it, but Brad does play a good Cluemaster,' Gar admitted, as he turned a dial on the console.
At the side, Booker stood mouthing his counterpart's closing words.
"A very polite one, but yes."
The director rose from his chair, running his hand through his hair. "Not bad people, great work! We'll resume after lunch."
Gar nodded, removing his headset. 'Beats working for Billings, that's for sure,' he murmured, as he made a beeline for the breakroom.
"Actually-" the director called out, "Gar, can I talk to you for a minute? I brought in a construction consultant- bit of a mouthful I know, hah. I was hoping you'd give the 101 tour, the basic lay of the land."
"Oh, uh, sure," Gar said, as he zipped his jacket up.
"Great! She'll be here in a few minutes, ok. I'll send her to you."
===My Alibi. Years Ago===
Gar opened the door with a rusty creak, taking particular notice of the sign in the front window. "Private Function."
Assembled around a round table of sorts (simply several stools pushed together) were the Misfits. As the rest of the group joked about with each other, Drury, sitting at the far end, sat fiddling with his engagement ring. *His* engagement ring. Didn't even feel real. As Chuck nudged his elbow to get his attention, his eyes lit up.
"Gar! Did you see the suits I ordered?" he yelled out cheerfully.
"Yeah, they're... colourful. You, uh, seem excited," Gar noted, scratching a patch of dry skin on his neck.
"Love them! Got the bridesmaids in mellow yellow, but us lads, the OGs, we've got purple... Nothing, uh, nothing rhymes with purple, but you get my point," Drury smiled bashfully.
"Uh, sure."
"We get to pick our own logos, right?" Chuck chimed in. "For the breast pocket."
"Oh, aye, custom made. Whatever kites, calendars or flames that take your fancy. C'mon, sit down, sit down," Drury continued, as he grabbed another stool for Gar. He didn't sit down.
"Christ, Drury, you don't even have a date set," Wist gasped, a tad off put by his enthusiasm.
"We can't all elope in Vegas, Dave," Drury chuckled.
"Ha! You'd think he'd priotise that. Fortunately," Julian began. "He has me." He continued, now turning to Drury. "Now, I know you'll want to do it on Valentine's Day, all aspiring couples do, but it's cliché. Think of all the other potential holidays. Father's Day, Mother's Day-"
"Oh, I dunno, I heard Maxie Zeus made a booking then," Blake smirked.
"An Oedipus joke, Blake? Didn't know you could read..." Fiasco murmured, handing him their next round of drinks.
"Oddie who?"
"Look," Gar growled. "I just came by to let you know... Don't worry about a plus one."
Drury frowned, and turned to the group. "... Guys, give us a minute, will ya?"
"Sure thing, Drury, see you in five," Chuck nodded, as he led the group out, the wind slamming the door shut behind them.
The duo were quiet for a minute, until Drury looked up from the table, lowering his voice. "Clair said no?"
"I didn't ask."
"Gar-" he began, resting his head in his hands, exasperated.
Gar sighed, taking his gloves off, rolling up his sleeves and pointing to his face, exposing his burn marks. "How could I, looking like this Dru?"
"I-" Drury stammered, lost for words.
"Just... give it to Blake will ya?" he groaned. "I heard he's been collecting them anyway. Something about a harem, I don't know."
Drury shook his head. "Yeah, no, that's not happening. Blake, well... He's a predator."
...
Gar's jaw opened in disgust. "*Shit.*"
"Not like that!" he added hastily. "Well, a little like *ahem* He likes to hunt, is what I meant."
'You're not helping his case," Gar smirked, as he slid onto a stool.
"I don't exactly want to!" Drury stammered back, the two of them now laughing together. As the laughter fades, Drury slides a beer along the makeshift tables and Gar catches it, the duo sipping their drinks quietly. "You'll find someone, Gar, I know it."
"Oh, yeah?" Gar sipped. "What makes you so sure?"
"Easy. I did."
"You, my friend," Gar said, "still have a face."
"Ach, well-"
"Even if it's ugly as hell."
Drury looked across the table, Gar now fully smiling. "Well, we can't *all* have your smouldering good looks," he shot back.
"I," Gar grinned, "Wasn't stupid enough to pass my genes on."
===Panessa- Break Room===
Gar looked up at the TV, frowning. Lois Lane was on a tirade about Arkham, and that, that worried him. “Today marks one year since the destruction of Arkham City claimed the lives of over 100 inmates within the open-air supermax. The man-made earthquake was triggered by a machine designed by a cabal of US elites known as the Court of Owls, and facilitated by the eco-terrorist organisation, The League of Assassins. Reports on the League have been sparse; it is understood that most perished during The Society’s assault on their stronghold this past summer. The Society, a union of over two-hundred supervillains of varying levels of notoriety, was itself fragmented during the three-way confrontation between themselves, the League of Assassins, and the Justice League in the Hindu Kush Valley. Most of its leadership, including Bane, are presently incarcerated in Slabside Penitentiary, the remote metahuman prison in the South Pole. Several questions remain; how many Society members are still out there? And is Slabside Penitentiary secure enough to keep the rest contained? Doubtful. Earlier this year, Slabside was the site of Mayor Marion Grange’s death at the hands of Onomatopoeia, who at the time was meant to be securely locked away in the prison's east wing. This is Lois Lane on behalf of The Daily Planet, signing off.”
‘Drury, wherever you are, I hope you’re not watching,’ he thought, glancing over to the trio of Injustice Leaguers in the corner, clearly enjoying their newfound success- even if it was born from their ridicule.
"We're big, right?" Disaster was saying. "Why don't we get our own trailers? Or personal assistants?"
"We've still got Big Sir," Bruce said supportively, his long hair being braided by Ratchett's enormous hands.
"You'll *always* have Big Sir, Mr Major!" he interjected cheerfully.
Ignoring him, Maj. sighed. "Small comfort, Sir's as much of an actor as... Nic Cage is."
"You better take that back," one of the stage hands snapped back.
Disaster groaned. "Have you *seen* how many of those strawberries-"
"Razzies."
"- he has? I think I was being kind! ...I don't see why they have to separate us, that's all."
"Gee, why would they keep Brad Pitt away from a bunch of ex-supervillains?" a voice called out. Gar looked up, this must've been the building consultant they'd called.
She sauntered in, toolbox in her hand, belt hoisted high, and headphones resting around her neck. She liked music. 'I can work with that,' he thought.
"Gar, this, is Jenna Duffy," the director announced, following in behind her.
"Pleasure," Gar said.
"Naturally," she winked back.
"Gar, before we resume, I want you and Jenna to run point on health and safety on the set. Check those barricades. Safe, but functional yeah?" the director said, as he grabbed a coffee from the machine, and handed one to Duffy. "See you in ten."
"Got it, Edison," he called back, as his boss disappeared into his trailer. "So, Jenna! This, is the team. That's Bruce, that's Paul, you'll know Dufus, obviously."
Duffy nodded, and waved at him.
"Big Sir is saving up all his pocket money, Mrs Lady. Big Sir is going to buy a biiiiiig tricycle and a bigger wagon to carry all of his friends!" he announced proudly, blushing slightly. Gar couldn't help smile.
"Ah, Ratchett, never grow up."
"I'm gonna buy a boat!" Disaster declared loudly, putting on a pair of sunglasses excitedly. "Gonna sail the high seas!"
"Maj, the price tag's still- uh," Gar begins, sharing a smile with Duffy. At this, Booker hastily stuffs the $2.00 plastic glasses into his pocket, and straightens his tie awkwardly.
"Dammit, Bruce, you told me they were fine," he snapped.
===The Moth Cave===
Chuck rested his hand against an old picture. Heh. The Misfits were all gathered around a table in My Alibi, Len pointing a finger up at the cameraman. 'Poor Rigger,' he smiled. In the front, Drury and Miranda sat hand in hand, fresh from their wedding- her yellow dress tainted slightly by Zodiac's blood. Or maybe that Larson fellow's... 'Julian, Blake, Drury... Miranda... so few of us left,' he sighed to himself, and placed it in a cardboard box.
"Give me a hand with this, will you?" a voice called out from above.
Chuck looked up. Coming down the stairs, was Gar, with his arms laden with wine glasses, tablecloths and a thatched picnic basket. Rushing into action, he took a pair of chairs from him, and guided him to the bottom. As they laid their labours along the ground, he came across a glass bottle, nestled in a paper bag.
"Dom Pérignon... That's expensive stuff. What's the occasion?" Chuck asks, as he runs his finger along the label. Instinctively, Gar takes the bottle from his hands, and slides it back in its' box.
"Met someone," he mumbles, his cracked skin blushing slightly.
"What? Not the person you've invited to the manor for some Mothmobile themed tune-ups-?" Chuck grins, placing a hand on his back.
"Lynns, you dog," Chancer smirks.
"Speak from the heart, man!" Firebug smiles, placing an approving hand on his shoulder.
Gar shrugs it off, and he turns to the trio. "It's not- that's not- Drury's gone. Someone needs to make sure his stuff's looked after, and she just so happens to like his toys."
"Bet she's got some sick toys of her ow- Ow, why'd you hit me?!" Sharpe complains.
"Because you dissed his girlfriend-" Rigger interjects. "Not cool, man."
"I did not! T'was a compliment, Gar honest! Really, I bet she's stack- Ow! Next time, I'm gonna fuckin' shoot you!" Chancer snarls, rubbing his bruised skin. Rigger grabs him by his lapels, and drags him away.
"She's not my girlfriend-! ... Not yet anyway," Gar yells after them. "What, you not joining them" he asked, turning back to Chuck.
He sat down, perching on a particular homely looking boulder. "It's just us now, Gar. The originals. What was it Drury called us?"
"The OGs..." Gar winced slightly.
"God, we got old," Brown chuckles slightly. "Morty's still skirting his taxes, Len's been tending that bar for half our careers, Julian went Lightning Bug on us, Drury..."
"- Is Drury," Gar warned.
"And Blake... Blake was possessed by a sex demon... Look, Gar, I know I'm not him-"
Gar cocked his head to one side. "I never said you were."
"But let's just say one of us deserves to be happy, eh?" he smiles, as he pats him on the back, and joins the others.
"Gar? You down here?" Duffy calls out, as she makes her way down the stairs.
"Yeah, uh, mind the step will you?" he calls back. "18, maybe 17, is a bitch."
As she lands at the bottom, Jenna takes a look around the cave, toolbox in hand, and stops at a small bench. "Did you, um, is that, uh, a picnic basket?"
Gar turns to the spread, and nods. "Yes. Yes it is. I thought you might want, uh, a sandwich. Or something! I got miniature quiches too. And wine."
"Wine and power drills don't exactly tend to work so good, honey."
"Yes! Right," Gar turns his head, and notices Rigger in the corner, raising a proud thumb. "*Ahem.* You, uh, look... I like your skin."
The trio pause, huddling together. "Do we reckon that was *meant* to sound racist?" Chancer asks.
"What? Nah, I reckon it was self deprecating," Rigger explains, a little off put.
"Right, right. Cause his face is fucked," Sharpe says, satisfied.
"Can you guys give us some privacy, please?" an exasperated Gar asks.
"Right you are!" Chuck calls back, as he pulls the other two to their feet.
"Jenna-" Gar begins, swallowing.
"Yeah, Gar?" she asks back, a slight Irish twang in her voice.
"I-" he continues, before a loud ringtone echoes through the cave. "Oh, what now?" he growls.
"It's going down, I'm yelling timber-" the phone rings, before a gloved hand grabs it, in a desperate attempt to silence it.
"Sorry," Chancer adds sheepishly. "My phone," he explains, as he clambers back up the stairs, and puts it to his ear. "Hi, Gramps. No, yeah, on my way!"
Gar glowered, before turning back to Duffy. "Do you want to maybe instead grab a-"
"Coffee? Love to."
This is a shot I took for last week's SSC but decided not to use. I arranged a very fine scarf on the lightbox, creating a rather pleasing abstract.
knitting a bamboo patterned scarf with classic elite's bam boo yarn which is made from 100% bamboo... wheeeeeeee! ;D
Elegant mature lady, wearing a marine twin-set with a vintage silk scarf tied around her neck, sharing a tender kiss with a younger woman in a preppy purple dress.
From the French series "Speakerine".
1960`s Audrey Hepburn Style.
Gorgeous pure silk scarf by RoSa Shoes.
Take a look at their website, they have some cool stuff on there.
I have the red and green scarf, but would love the other colours too
The last picture of this photostream: my Avatar..... at last in full version.
Isn't she gorgeous?
Both preppy and casual, wearing an elegant white blouse, collar up and wide open, with a delicious silk scarf around her neck, an amazing fuchsia cardigan on her shoulders and blue jeans.
Thanks to all of you for your visit and your nice comments..... and rendez-vous on: Blouse et Foulard 2