Guy Crood (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
acroodawakening) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
thecapitol2013-12-11 10:50 pm
acroodawakening) wrote in thecapitol2013-12-11 10:50 pm
Entry tags:
Fashionably Terrified
WHO| Closed to Guy and Cinna
WHAT| Guy attacks his stylists with hair scissors and a shammy towel and needs a friendly face
WHEN| A few days after Guy is revived in Week 6, I guess?
WHERE| In the Styling Area wherever that is
WARNINGS| None so far
There really was never going to be an end to Guy freaking out in the Capitol. Oh, he'd adjust to some things and in circumstances where showing his fear and panic could cause him or others harm, he'd learn to stuff those outward reactions down, but they'd still be there. After all, there was never going to be an end to the parade of horrors this place had to offer when most of them didn't even exist in his world yet.
That was why, when one of his district's stylists ushered him in for his styling session, absolutely insisting that he couldn't run out into the city like that again without being 'cleaned up' first and things started to go downhill, his panic wasn't quite as loud and wild as it was during his screaming rampage through the city.
Buuut it still happened.
The thing about the image of the caveman that the Capitol wanted was that for them to be happy with it, Guy had to be rugged and outdoorsy, not unclean (by their standards) and hairy. He had to smell musky in the way that cologne did, not in the way actual muskrats did. As for Guy's body hair, it was definitely not picky enough about where it had decided to be located - all over his legs - and that had to be fixed.
He was okay with the washing. Screw what Lestat had said, Guy was planning on sticking to what he'd said and only washing once a week. He was also not happy with how they told him to do it, which was basically 'You're filthy, take a shower and scrub really well, here use these strange potions in this particular order' and physically shoving him into one. Still, he liked the occasional bath and the shower itself had been entirely novel. All of the horror about this world aside, whoever had figured out the whole hot and cold running water thing was a genius and he wanted to figure out how it was done. In fact, they had to yell at him to get out because he stayed in even after he was clean just messing with the knobs to adjust the temperature of the water.
It all went downhill from there. There were toothed things that hurt when they were tugged through his hair (brushes and combs). Next were the metal things they used to cut his hair (scissors). When it was clear they weren't going to be jabbed into his eyes and were just meant to tidy up his hair (but not too tidy, couldn't lose that wildman mystique!) he was able to calm down, but only barely.
Then it got worse. There was a handheld...whatever that made a loud scary noise and blew air at his head to dry his hair (hair dryer). That nearly had him hiding under a table but then he realized that was harmless, too. Then there were the weird little metal things they used to cut his nails and toenails with and the terrifying tools they cleaned his teeth with (he had to argue with them about something called 'dental work' but enough baring of his teeth made them back down from doing anything to them). After that, there were all kids of strange greasy substances (lotions and oils) they wiped all over his skin or - when he started outright slapping the people touching him - made him wipe all over his skin.
The eyelash curler was where he started to make his stand. After arguing for five minutes with the stylist about letting it near his eyes when it was clearly meant to pluck out eyeballs, he ultimately grabbed it, ran back over to the shower, and dropped it down the grate where they couldn't get it anymore. Then the tweezers almost had him punching the person wielding them in the face once he realized what they were for - because what kind of person thought it was okay to torture someone by pulling out their hair?
"My eyebrows are supposed to there or I wouldn't have eyebrows!"
It was the hot wax that ultimately broke the ever-so-tentative peace between him and the stylists. Guy understood cleaning himself up to look good. He had a mate, after all. You had to bathe or take dust baths sometimes, make pretty baubles for yourself, keep your clothes clean, clean your teeth with a stick, and wash out your mouth so your breath wasn't bad. That was just grooming. Sometimes if he and Eep had planned to leave the baby with Ugga and get away for an evening for some time to themselves, he even found a nice, fragrant wood and burned it in a little fire, wafting it towards him so he smelled good. (And she loved it.) Besides, there was a lot of mutual grooming among humans in his world for the social aspects and also because no one wanted to be that person embarrassed by having a big ol' bug in their hair. That was worse than having a booger hanging out your nose without realizing it.
But people pouring hot substances on your legs and then ripping out whole swaths of hair without telling you what they were up before they did it to were clearly not tidying you up to look good. They were not trying to groom you. No, they were sick, sick people.
"What is with your war on body hair?" 'War' was his new favorite word. It was the perfect word for people fighting against something for stupid reasons or no reason at all. "What is wrong with you people?!"
This left the stylists with something of a conundrum. That conundrum was 'How do you style someone if they've climbed up on top of a cabinet to get away from you and are screaming about how you're clearly just trying to torture them?' Even more pressing: how did you do it if they were also throwing things from inside the cabinet at you and trying to stab anyone that came too close with a stolen pair of hair scissors?
None of them were getting paid enough for it to be worth getting beaned in the head with a curling iron and that was why they went for another stylist, hoping his calm bedside manner might help here. It was either that or the Peacekeepers but they knew well enough that asking them to intercede would wind up disastrous and besides, they didn't want it to seem as if they couldn't do their jobs.
"I mean you deal with District Twelve," one of the stylists was saying to Cinna as he led him over. "You made coal into diamonds there, darling, so we figured you might be able to help us figure out how to deal with him. We just need him to sit down long enough to finish but he's a little wild thing - too savage and simple to understand what an undertaking he is. We were hoping you might be able to lend us your, ah, civilizing touch?"
As Cinna approached, he would see the nomad crouched atop the cabinet in just a loincloth, hot wax still on one shin, slapping a stylist repeatedly in the face with a wet shammy towel to beat her back as she tried to pull him down.
WHAT| Guy attacks his stylists with hair scissors and a shammy towel and needs a friendly face
WHEN| A few days after Guy is revived in Week 6, I guess?
WHERE| In the Styling Area wherever that is
WARNINGS| None so far
There really was never going to be an end to Guy freaking out in the Capitol. Oh, he'd adjust to some things and in circumstances where showing his fear and panic could cause him or others harm, he'd learn to stuff those outward reactions down, but they'd still be there. After all, there was never going to be an end to the parade of horrors this place had to offer when most of them didn't even exist in his world yet.
That was why, when one of his district's stylists ushered him in for his styling session, absolutely insisting that he couldn't run out into the city like that again without being 'cleaned up' first and things started to go downhill, his panic wasn't quite as loud and wild as it was during his screaming rampage through the city.
Buuut it still happened.
The thing about the image of the caveman that the Capitol wanted was that for them to be happy with it, Guy had to be rugged and outdoorsy, not unclean (by their standards) and hairy. He had to smell musky in the way that cologne did, not in the way actual muskrats did. As for Guy's body hair, it was definitely not picky enough about where it had decided to be located - all over his legs - and that had to be fixed.
He was okay with the washing. Screw what Lestat had said, Guy was planning on sticking to what he'd said and only washing once a week. He was also not happy with how they told him to do it, which was basically 'You're filthy, take a shower and scrub really well, here use these strange potions in this particular order' and physically shoving him into one. Still, he liked the occasional bath and the shower itself had been entirely novel. All of the horror about this world aside, whoever had figured out the whole hot and cold running water thing was a genius and he wanted to figure out how it was done. In fact, they had to yell at him to get out because he stayed in even after he was clean just messing with the knobs to adjust the temperature of the water.
It all went downhill from there. There were toothed things that hurt when they were tugged through his hair (brushes and combs). Next were the metal things they used to cut his hair (scissors). When it was clear they weren't going to be jabbed into his eyes and were just meant to tidy up his hair (but not too tidy, couldn't lose that wildman mystique!) he was able to calm down, but only barely.
Then it got worse. There was a handheld...whatever that made a loud scary noise and blew air at his head to dry his hair (hair dryer). That nearly had him hiding under a table but then he realized that was harmless, too. Then there were the weird little metal things they used to cut his nails and toenails with and the terrifying tools they cleaned his teeth with (he had to argue with them about something called 'dental work' but enough baring of his teeth made them back down from doing anything to them). After that, there were all kids of strange greasy substances (lotions and oils) they wiped all over his skin or - when he started outright slapping the people touching him - made him wipe all over his skin.
The eyelash curler was where he started to make his stand. After arguing for five minutes with the stylist about letting it near his eyes when it was clearly meant to pluck out eyeballs, he ultimately grabbed it, ran back over to the shower, and dropped it down the grate where they couldn't get it anymore. Then the tweezers almost had him punching the person wielding them in the face once he realized what they were for - because what kind of person thought it was okay to torture someone by pulling out their hair?
"My eyebrows are supposed to there or I wouldn't have eyebrows!"
It was the hot wax that ultimately broke the ever-so-tentative peace between him and the stylists. Guy understood cleaning himself up to look good. He had a mate, after all. You had to bathe or take dust baths sometimes, make pretty baubles for yourself, keep your clothes clean, clean your teeth with a stick, and wash out your mouth so your breath wasn't bad. That was just grooming. Sometimes if he and Eep had planned to leave the baby with Ugga and get away for an evening for some time to themselves, he even found a nice, fragrant wood and burned it in a little fire, wafting it towards him so he smelled good. (And she loved it.) Besides, there was a lot of mutual grooming among humans in his world for the social aspects and also because no one wanted to be that person embarrassed by having a big ol' bug in their hair. That was worse than having a booger hanging out your nose without realizing it.
But people pouring hot substances on your legs and then ripping out whole swaths of hair without telling you what they were up before they did it to were clearly not tidying you up to look good. They were not trying to groom you. No, they were sick, sick people.
"What is with your war on body hair?" 'War' was his new favorite word. It was the perfect word for people fighting against something for stupid reasons or no reason at all. "What is wrong with you people?!"
This left the stylists with something of a conundrum. That conundrum was 'How do you style someone if they've climbed up on top of a cabinet to get away from you and are screaming about how you're clearly just trying to torture them?' Even more pressing: how did you do it if they were also throwing things from inside the cabinet at you and trying to stab anyone that came too close with a stolen pair of hair scissors?
None of them were getting paid enough for it to be worth getting beaned in the head with a curling iron and that was why they went for another stylist, hoping his calm bedside manner might help here. It was either that or the Peacekeepers but they knew well enough that asking them to intercede would wind up disastrous and besides, they didn't want it to seem as if they couldn't do their jobs.
"I mean you deal with District Twelve," one of the stylists was saying to Cinna as he led him over. "You made coal into diamonds there, darling, so we figured you might be able to help us figure out how to deal with him. We just need him to sit down long enough to finish but he's a little wild thing - too savage and simple to understand what an undertaking he is. We were hoping you might be able to lend us your, ah, civilizing touch?"
As Cinna approached, he would see the nomad crouched atop the cabinet in just a loincloth, hot wax still on one shin, slapping a stylist repeatedly in the face with a wet shammy towel to beat her back as she tried to pull him down.