[OPEN] Everybody get some cherry candy yum-yum

[fuckingcool]

Who| Oceana and all y'all
What| it's between arenas, and everyone's favorite trash mermaid is a bit restless.
Where| the Tribute Center during the day, and a swanky bar in the Capitol in the evening.
When| 7/31
Warnings/Notes| Language??

one. daytime

There are definitely other things Oceana needs to be working on right now. After all, the next Arena is never far out of sight, and her tributes will need things to wear. But if she has to spend another minute holed up in her workshop she's pretty sure she's going to flip her lid. So she decides to strut her stuff around the tower instead, making the rounds--peeking in on some friends and making some social calls dressed in a black catsuit, giant rhinestone belt, patent leather pumps and a positively huge blonde wig that doesn't appear to have been brushed, ever.

She also finds herself making a kitchen stop, because a bitch gets hungry and nothing fills her up better than a cup o' noodles and the hottest hot sauce she can find. Don't interrupt her when she's trying to eat, though. She can and will cut a bitch.

two. out on the town

By evening, Oceana's desire to socialize has turned into a desire to socialize while imbibing astonishing amounts of alcohol, so she changes into a sequined minidress and heads out to find somewhere dark and swanky with loud music where she can do so.

"Vodka, straight, in a martini glass," she orders in a bored tone. "Ooh, and could you put like, six olives on there?" The queen smiles, teeth frames by a lush red pout. "A girl's gotta eat, right?" Apparently the bartender isn't into six-foot tall men in dresses and heels, so she turns to the person next to her.

"Wow, no sense of humor at all. Screw that, I'm fucking hilarious."

Comments

[fuckingcool]

Oceana rolls her eyes. "Fine, whatever." She can compromise--or at least, she can learn. "Don't worry, you'll look cool as fuck. I'm gonna trick you right out so that nobody even thinks about stepping to you."

She pulls a little notebook out of her clutch bag, tongue between her teeth. "I don't suppose you know your own measurements."

[hit_girl_mindy]

Mindy grinned a little. If there was one thing she was good at, it was trying her stylists' patience: but hell, if she was going to be made up to be the Capitol's plaything, better that its on her terms a little, right? Wait a second, was that a fucking short joke?!

Whatever. She asked a question. "It slips my mind. Not exactly something I have to worry about when I'm supposedly catered to, I guess."

[fuckingcool]

Oceana gives an exasperated sigh. "Alright, bitch, let's do this." Don't worry. It's practically a term of endearment where Oceana is concerned. She pulls a measuring tape out of her clutch and waves Mindy into her workshop, pointing at a little pedestal in the center of the room. The queen puts on an exaggeratedly polite air.

"If you'd be, like, so kind."

[hit_girl_mindy]

Mindy could think of worse things to be called than "bitch." Truthfully, it was more than appropriate right now.

"Don't mind if I do," she said with the same kind of mocking politeness.

[fuckingcool]

Oceana helps Mindy up into the pedestal and immediately goes to work, yanking her limbs into position so that she can measure her collar-to-floor, her armspan, her bust, waist, hips, thighs, waist-to-floor, and shoulder-to-shoulder. She clicks her tongue.

"You're still built like a pre-teen boy, but don't worry, honey. We can definitely work with this."

[hit_girl_mindy]

Ugh. This part. She fucking HATED this part, where she was prodded and yanked and generally made to feel like one of the Capitol's many barbie dolls. Of course, after the story about that Snow White girl Harley gave her, she knew it could be much, much worse.

"Thanks for that reminder," she said, rolling her eyes. She was a fucking pre-teen, how was she supposed to look?

[fuckingcool]

"Just trying to point out that you're not totally beyond help, yeesh." She waves a talon-tipped hand, rolling her measuring tape back up and tossing it over to her worktable. She crosses to the hair and makeup chair and pulls a color swatch chart up on the video panel next to it, scrolling through several pages of brightly-colored hair samples before resting on a rather shocking shade of violet.

"Whatcha think about this?"

[hit_girl_mindy]

"Good to know," Mindy said, shaking her head. Of COURSE she knew she was not beyond help. Hell, even she wasn;t so stupid that she thought she was ugly. Stylists, really.

"That-" She was ready for some wise cracking comment but seeing the wig made her fall silent. Of course it was longer than the one she'd worn, but it was there all the same, a reminder of what she used to do. She had risked death and certainly made things dangerous, but by that token made her imprint on the city a little safer. Hit Girl. Masked vigilante, pint sized terror. Polly Pocket meets Rambo.

Then, of course, she remembered the last time she wore the wig. Her victory in the Games. The celebration. The mockery of everything she'd been.

"Something else," she said quietly, trying to brush it off. Shit. Even looking at the thing caused her pain.

[fuckingcool]

Oceana bites her lip, watching Mindy's face change at the sight of the dye sample. She flips through a few more screens, trying to ignore how upset the poor thing obviously is, even if she's trying hard not to show it.

"Okay, okay, fair enough. Here, how about this--neon green. Just on the ends of your hair. Real cute, especially if we stick with the pigtails."

[hit_girl_mindy]

Ok. Got her shit together. Damn it, it had to be purple. So...green tips. Strange. Sort of ST. Patrick-y.

"I'd be open to it, but what are we going to wear to match with it? Can't think of what goes well with green."

[fuckingcool]

"Don't worry, mama. It's super high-fashion right now. It'll look boss with some black leather, maybe a black denim vest over an a-line dress. But don't worry about that part. I'll come up with something boss as hell."

And if she doesn't like it, well. That's just too damn bad.

[hit_girl_mindy]

"Leather and denim. Now that I could rock, and it fits me perfect. I don't know what an A-line dress is, but that's why you're the stylist."

She shrugged. "Now if I could only get a motorcycle to match that stuff."

[fuckingcool]

"Hell yes!" Oceana does a little fist pump. "I promise you're gonna look fucking cool, okay? Now." She takes Mindy by the shoulders. "Wanna get started on your hair now? Otherwise we can always do it later." It's obvious that the queen is excited to get started.

[hit_girl_mindy]

So the enthusiasm was a plus, and while Oceana was a stylist, she was also a little trashy and running off of the mouth. She swore a lot. Mindy liked her.

"Nah, I never do much with my hair. Go crazy."

[fuckingcool]

"Fuck yes," Oceana crows triumphantly, grabbing Mindy's hand and leading her over to the hair and makeup chair. "Okay. Sit here, let me get my shit ready."

While she crosses to the panel and goes about ordering the correct dye color, she chatters cheerfully, and it's noticeable how much the queen's attitude improves when she's working. "Most of my tributes are so hesitant to let me do something fun to their hair. But I like your attitude, mija, you seem like you don't let anyone fuck with you, but you got an open mind, too. I dig it." She collects the dye from the panel's output slot and crosses back to the vanity table. With a flourish, she drapes a black cape over Mindy's shoulders, and goes to work taking her hair out of its pigtails, brushing it out gently but with purpose.

"You have gorgeous hair. Super glossy and soft, but you got a strong shaft, too. Dyeing it won't fuck it up at all, don't worry."

[hit_girl_mindy]

"Argh, slow down!" Mindy laughed, not at all minding the hair pulling. Better it was in this way rather than her actually being in a fight with Oceana.

Mindy shrugged, letting her talk. She was a lot more fun than most stylists, actually talking about the craft and such, a little less about themselves or stupid gossip about what dumbass from the Capitol was doing with some other dumbass somewhere else. This, this reminded her of home.

"I had a way that I looked, and now I can't look that way anymore," Mindy said, "so I might as well try some shit out and see what I look best in, right?"

The pigtailed uniform girl shtick got boring after awhile.

She nodded, smiling a little. "Thanks. Not usually getting compliments on stuff like that."

After all, unlike her friends, she didn't really have a mommy figure.

[fuckingcool]

"Sorry," Oceana replies lazily, not at all slowing down. She's a woman on a mission, and this is how she works. She gets Mindy's hair detangled, smooth, and sectioned off in record time, using a few clips to partition off the top half. Then she sets about mixing up the dye in a little bowl.

"That's the spirit," she agrees. "Mixing it up is a good thing, you know?" She finishes whipping the dye together, setting aside her whisk and picking up a foil square. Matter-of-factly, she begins to paint neon green onto the bottom third of Mindy's hair.

"Well, that's a fuckin' shame, 'cause you're pretty."

[hit_girl_mindy]

Mindy didn't actually expect her to slow down. She could almost see the way this particular stylist worked: she could be lazy when it came to not having nothing to do, but at her job? She was dedicated and dared anybody to tell her she wasn't.

Granted, she did wince a little. It was rare her her to do much more with her hair than giving it a good brush, so this was going to take a little bit of adjusting. Once she felt the dye being applied, she relaxed.

"Pfft, whatever," Mindy said, blushing slightly. "Maybe when I'm older...if I live to see it."

[fuckingcool]

She starts to open her mouth, to say Of course you will, but the words die in her mouth. Because even though Mindy's a mentor, it's all too clear that the Capitol doesn't play by the rules. Even as a citizen, Oceana can see that. So instead she leans over Mindy's shoulder, setting her brush down to place her hands on either side, meeting her eyes in the mirror.

"Honey, we are gonna turn you the fuck out. Even the butchest tomboy deserves to look fuckin' gorgeous, okay?"

[hit_girl_mindy]

"Tom-yeah, I guess I do have the qualities," Mindy said, even though she never exclusively settled on that look tomboy's sported. Granted, dressing that way tended to be way more efficient, but she had to blend in and be a mentor and all that useless shit. Looks were EVERYTHING. There was no way sponsors would even give her a glance if she wasn't at least appealing in a way.

"By all means, turn me out. I've kinda let the looks go to seed lately. Too much on my mind."

[fuckingcool]

"Own it. I'm not one to judge anybody's style, after all." Oceana laughs as she wraps a section of hair in foil and clips it up out of the way. "I'm a fucking man in a dress."

The queen shrugs her skinny shoulders. "Hey, there's been a lot going on around here lately, yeah? It happens. That's what I'm here for, anyway."

[hit_girl_mindy]

"Back home, I thought the goal was to be a 'queen' in a dress," Mindy said flippantly. "Besides, I'm to busy scheming to are abut what I wear. I know the decision's mine, but I don't mind a little advice."

She chuckled. "Yeah, that's a fucking understatement. A LOT has been going on."

[fuckingcool]

"Don't I know it," Oceana murmurs, and then gets quiet as she goes on painting dye and wrapping foils. This is dangerous territory, not exactly something she should be discussing with an off-worlder, of all people. But she has to say something, so as she wraps up and clips the last foil off of Mindy's neck, she clicks her tongue.

"I'm sure y'all will...figure something out." That's the most she'll say on the subject. She's not an idiot. She knows that someone is always watching, always listening.

[hit_girl_mindy]

"Always have to," she said, shaking her head. "It's on our heads, after all. Once you see a good friend of yours carted off to be tortured and you can't do shit about it? You realize you have to adapt the way you think but real fucking quick."

She said it with an air of nonchalance, but of course it was Mindy: she knew as well as Oceana did anything and everything could be bugged.

"How long on this, you think?"

[fuckingcool]

Oceana turns her wrist to inspect an imaginary watch.

"Hmm, probably a half an hour. You can go, if you want, just take a shower or something after thirty minutes. Your hair's light enough that it won't need to set any longer than that."