thecapitol | why you procrastinate grrrl? [closed]

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why you procrastinate grrrl? [closed]

WHO| Dave and Elsa, Oceana
WHAT| Dave gets back to the capitol, gets a haircut and has a nightmare. woo.
WHEN| Start of week 4
WHERE| District 9 quarters
WARNINGS| Talk of death and shit.

[Oceana.]
A stylist appointment is the last thing on his mind, but he doesn't really care enough to fight it. He has nothing better to do, so he might as well let Oceana primp him up while he does some backstage work for the people still stuck in the Arena. His assets are frozen, so he's useless, his best shot is to be heartwarming enough to get some shit sent in from weirdos who like his hair cut. When he looks in the mirror, he can definitely see the benefit of it. He looks better than he did when he came in the Arena given that he'd gone straight from prison to fighting, but the tiredness is showing and really, his hair has always been pretty damn scruffy.

He looks almost gormless when he wanders into the workroom, but at least he didn't have to be nagged or escorted. He's pointedly come in looking like he rolled out of bed and threw on his shades, he might as well give Oceana something fun to focus on.

"Hey, I'm dead." He calls out, which she probably knew already. "All ready for my surf 'n turf."

[Elsa.]
There hasn't been any avoidance as far as Elsa is concerned, even if he's been tired since he hauled his ass back. After he'd been patched up he'd had doctor visits and stylists appointments to deal with and there hasn't been a good time to really talk things out. They're both getting better at opening up, but it's easy to see when they need a little more time to think on it. Dave feels so many levels of stupid and embarrassed. He feels like he fucked up big time, but he knows he can't keep blaming himself. It's just how the game is, and he was never going to win, there's so much he'd do differently given the chance to reflect.

Maybe he'd spent too long reflecting, too long trying to think about how he could have fought harder or avoided the situation entirely. It makes for restless sleep, strained sounds escaping his lips as he buries further into his pillow. He's never tossed much even in during nightmares, he tends to curl more than anything, making more expressions with his face than he manages in a day. He doesn't feel like he's asleep, how could he sleep through the sound of sirens? It's a warped rendition of what he lived through the other day, but it's coupled with his usual default nightmare involving the sounds of ghost murders. Shit sounds pretty awful, so it's no surprise it's giving him a headache even though he can't manage to wake up from it. The occasional exhale is followed by a grunt or a curse and his fingers dig into the pillow, utterly unaware of the state he's in when he's this deep into a dream.

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"Hola, baby," Oceana calls out from the three-way mirror in the corner, where she's fluffing up the bright yellow wig she's got on today. Her outfit is surprisingly simple; tight black leggings with leather over the knees, and a black t-shirt with a skull and roses over the chest. Very chic, very appropriate a color scheme for the amount of dead kids flooding back into the Capitol every day. She eyes him in the reflection, looking just as scrubby as he did when she first met him. "Welcome back to the land of the living."

Truth be told, she's been sort of excited for the return of the Strider kid. She'd followed his activity in the Arena with interest, pretty much from the start but especially when he'd started snuggling up and smooching with his new boyfriend. "Looks like you had a real fuckin' bender up in that bitch," she comments smoothly, turning and traipsing toward him in sky-high heels. When she reaches him, she gives him an appraising look. Poor kid had a rough time, but she's not in the habit of being outwardly sympathetic--especially after her talk with Jolie. She needs to watch her tongue. She needs to be on her guard 100% of the time. And that means that her interactions with her Tributes need to be as brisk and no-nonsense as possible; none of that mushy shit.

So all she says is, "I had no idea you were into the D," as she takes him by the shoulders and steers him toward her chair.

Oceana always looks pretty damn hot. It's a wonder Dave can keep his opinion of that under wraps. The drag thing is different to him, but it isn't the weirdest thing. Just the source of some immensely conflicted feelings. Like, y'know, most attractive people.

They didn't always have the best conversations, but he certainly didn't hate her. If Bro could get on board with a stylist then maybe they weren't really so bad. Just people doing their jobs, it isn't their fault their jobs are stupid.

"Define bender." He asks before she continues. "Oh." Well that was straightforward. Apparently there is something straight about Oceana. "I'm into a lot of things people have no idea about." He idly considers throwing her off by mentioning furries but decides he might as well play into the PR thing. "But I mean, who wouldn't want to cut themselves off a slice of that guy? He's fine as hell."

Edited 2014-09-19 11:45 (UTC)

The queen only rolls her eyes. "Yeah, oh. Kissing dudes, mercy deaths, getting stabbed to the bank and back. All that shit." She goes about throwing a black styling cape over him, fastening it at the back and tucking in a towel to keep stray hair fuzzies from getting under his collar. Turning his chair so that he's facing into the mirror, she gives him a smirk.

"I guess so, if you're into lanky teenage boys." Oceana is not. Oceana is into tall, sexy blondes with muscles and big dicks. Bonus points if they're straight. But that's irrelevant. So she combs her fingers through his hair, pulling it backward from his face, getting a feel for the texture and thickness so she can determine how best to go about cutting it.

"Now. You ready to look fucking cool as fuck?"

"Yes, that is absolutely what I am interested in. I cannot get enough of any of that. I am so disappointed to be out here." He isn't quite sensitive enough to get mad, but he won't let that one slide without a snarky comment. Don't dish it if you can't take it goes both ways.

He scoffs in response to her observation, staring forward into the mirror and seeing pretty much exactly what she's describing. "The heart wants what it wants. Besides, it isn't like I'm looking for competition here." He debates it for a second, but he decides to just slip his shades off and sets them in front of him. Now he's just going to enjoy the feeling of hands in his hair and pretend it isn't making him want to doze off. Much.

"Hmm? Oh. Sure, I was born ready or something."

"Didn't say you were interested in it," she retorts, using some clips to pull the top section of his hair up and away from the sides. "I just said it happened, pendejo. You gotta listen." She pulls back as he takes his shades off, and she won't deny the flicker of interest she feels at the sight of those eyes. Damn. He's like an albino, or something. She's frankly shocked the Capitol hasn't started favoring red contacts as a fashion trend.

"Alright, let's fuckin' do this." She reaches for her clippers, clips on the second-shortest guard size, and flips them on. A loud buzz fills the room, and she places one hand on the side of Dave's head as she starts to lop off his blonde locks, stripe by stripe.

"Please, if I listened to everyone with a razor in their hands I'd be dead right now. More dead. Probably."

He pointedly ignores any interest in his eyes. He's had to go through Arenas and such without them, so he needs to learn to stop making his vulnerabilities so obvious.

"Jesus." He mutters under his breath as the hair starts to fall off. It's the weirdest thing to watch in the mirror, having your hair shredded off by a drag queen. Life got dark. "This is weird. I think I was born with that haircut." He was.

Oceana chuckles. "You have a point." That doesn't stop her from her work, though, and soon she's got an entire side of his head shaved off. Which looks pretty comical, what with the hair clips and all.

"Okay. Hold still now while I do the back." She pushes his head forward so she can get to his neck, and starts to clip the back, brushing soft blonde locks out of the way where they fall onto his shoulders. "All the better reason to shake it up now, no?"

"I'm full of 'em." Good points, that is. The look is pretty damn comical. So much so that he almost wants to stand up and try to leave now. He could walk the streets and pass it off as Capitol fashion, but Oceana would probably boot him up the butt.

"Challenge accepted." It's kind of easy to stay still when you're half drifting off from the relaxing feeling of your hair departing from your head. "Sure." He resists the urge to shrug at her observation, since he needs to stay still. "Goes with the general theme of my life right now, but you're probably tired of hearing that, huh? How's the Capitol been without my sunny disposition and infectious cheer?"

"It's getting really fucking old," Oceana replies cheerily. She sympathizes, of course--wants to help these poor kids, but at the same time hearing the same gripes over and over gets old fast.

"It's been quiet, as usual. None of you little assholes barging in here and demanding I make their shit less sparkly or high-heeled." In a few swift strokes, the back of his head is shaved almost bare, and then she's moving around to the other side. "You're lucky you don't have a weird-shaped head."

"If it helps, it gets old for us too. I had more fresh material when I was in space. Now all my jokes are kind of just half-assed whining with a punchline. Boohoo, right?" He is, of course, legitimately joking around with her.

"Do I? What a relief. I didn't know what I was going to tell my family if it didn't go well." Hold on a minute.. "I thought you said you knew I didn't have a weird-shaped head? Did you hornswoggle me?"

"At least I'm not alone in this bullshit, then," she chuckles as she finishes shaving the other side of his head. She sets about unclipping his hair and, taking up her comb and scissors, begins taking sections and snipping away, giving his hair some shape so it's not just a mop.

"I fuckin' lied. Get used to it." She gives him a Cheshire grin in the mirror. "But I was right. I'm always fuckin' right."

"I don't think you could be alone even if you wanted to, right? We'll all buzz in like shame flies sooner or later. Unless one of us snatches the House Cup or whatever it is we're fighting for." He observes lazily, knowing that reference will go over her head like most of his stupid references. "But I'm sure you're used to smarmy capitol guys swarming you as it is, huh?" Might as well flatter her if she's going to be fucking around with his hair.

"Fascinating. Remind me to ask you who I should bet on later. I could use the money." Even if all of his assets are frozen so he has nothing with which to place bets.

"Once again, you hit the nail on the head," Oceana observes boredly, snipping away it his fluffy duck down hair. Snip, snip, snip. Shaping it so it'll fall perfectly into his face like the ultimate coolkid. But she grins at his flattery, gaze still focused on her work.

"Yeah, well, you know how it is, mijo. When a bitch is as fly as I am, it's hard to keep the papis away." Snip, snip. She's a fast worker; she has to be. "I'll pretend I didn't hear that. Ever thought of putting some color in this mop?"

"I'm real intuitive." He points out helpfully, blowing a scrap of hair away from his mouth as he does. It ruins that suave guy getting his hair did thing he's got going, but it's necessary. Getting hair styling was always more of a movie thing than a shit that happens in real life thing for him.

"Tell me about it." He's totally batting the papis away with sticks, right? Something like that, anyway. "Colour? I guess. I thought people had a thing for the natural blond rays of sunshine or whatever. Girls seem to like it, at least." It's why they keep touching it, probably.

"Sure you are," Oceana replies dryly. She's concentrating now, trying to give his hair the perfect shape so he doesn't look like a Q-tip. That would be a tragedy.

"The blonde's okay," she shrugs. "Just sort of boring. I was thinking of maybe doing a little stripe right up the middle." She pauses, trying to think what would piss Dave off the most. For comic effect, of course. "Maybe purple."

"Boring? What's boring about spun gold? Shit is natural. There ain't no bleach in this mop. You can't just up and taint it with some crayola goodness." He wonders if she's trying to rile him up to see how indignant he gets, so for the most part his defensive answers are mostly layered with sarcasm. That colour, however, has him thinning his eyes at the mirror.

"Purple is for pretentious sacks of crap. That ain't the vibe we want to give." His brow twitches, finding it hard not to turn around and stare to convey the seriousness of his answer. "I'm thinking something fluro."

Oceana just waves away his answers with one hand as she snips away at the last couple layers of hair. "Like what? Orange? Yellow, maybe?" She huffs. "We'll see. We can take it one big change at a time." Expertly, she sets down her scissors and combs and takes up a big kabuki brush and starts to brush away the ticklish little hairs from his neck.

"But hey, you're done, kiddo. Congratufuckinglations, you sat through baby's first haircut like a big boy."

"Orange isn't my thing either. I'd say red, but I dunno if having red or orange hair and freckles is gonna make me look like a stooge." He pulls a face in the mirror when she brushes at his neck, spinning the chair around when she bids him his freedom.

"This is what adulthood must feel like." He rolls his shoulders, moving his hands up to brush at the strange lack of hair on the back of his head. "Mmm. Liberating." He slinks toward the door, turning to wave at her when he does. "You're welcome." He slips his glasses on and steps on out.

Oceana wrinkles her nose. "Gross. You're right." That'd be fugly as hell, she's not even playing. She's not quite done when Dave decides that he's outie 5000, so she chases after him a bit with the brush, giving up when he gets too far away.

"Yeah, yeah. Go on." She rolls her eyes good-naturedly. Kids.

Ever since Dave made it back to the Capitol, Elsa really hasn't known how to approach the subject. She hasn't avoided him, of course, though they certainly haven't talked about it either. The air of not being ready has been pretty apparent, but she also knows that it can't be put off forever, either. Elsa is incredibly grateful for what Dave did for her, but she also feels intensely guilty for putting him in that position. It had been easy to ask for, when the pain had been so awful, but now she wonders if it was the right thing to do. Talking about it is hard, though, and finding the time or the courage is even harder.

She hadn't ever intended on doing anything but sleep that night, but her nightmares as of late have been worse than ever. They're always about the same thing, about the same people. Those she's closest to getting taken away, or not coming back from death in the arena. No matter what it is, she loses them and they don't come back. The methods are different every time, but the ending is the same. She's alone and she never sees those she loves ever again.

Whenever she has them, which is almost nightly, she wakes up screaming their names. Or sobbing. It depends on just how intense the dream is. Tonight, as it happens, is one of the worst one. With Dave on her mind so much the last few days, he's the spotlight of it, dragged away in front of her and never seen again. Elsa wakes up with a cold feeling in her gut and a burning, irrational need to make sure that it hasn't actually happened while she's been asleep. She's out of her room without even thinking about it, padding down the halls until she reaches Dave's door.

Elsa opens it quietly, not wanting to wake him if he is still there. She's shaking as she steps into the room, the darkness making it frustratingly hard to see anything until she gets closer to his bed. Relief floods through her and she nearly collapses to her knees with the force of it. "Oh, thank goodness," she whispers, her voice shaking. Elsa moves closer, sitting softly on the side of the bed so she can look down at him for a moment, just to really solidify the fact that he's there. Alive and breathing and not dead, or gone. It doesn't take her long to notice the obvious signs that he's having a nightmare. Her chest aches with sympathy, knowing just how awful it is to experience a nightmare you can't even wake up from.

It's around then that he lets out one of the strained noises and squirms in his sleep, and she realizes that it must be pretty bad. With a frown, she reaches out and gently brushes hair off of his forehead, before leaning in and pressing her lips to his forehead. "Dave?" she whispers, leaning back a few inches from him. "It's time to wake up, Dave. Everything is okay." She keeps her voice soft and soothing, hoping to rouse him from the nightmare without scaring him more.

The dreams are relentless, both in the fact that they keep coming back and that they never seem to stop. He's been boasting about his comfortable bed, and the sad thing is he was genuinely excited to be in it. Yet, he doesn't think he's had a full night's rest since he got back. Fuck, he might have slept better in the Arenas. Particularly the night he and Elsa spent curled up on the floor of the Arendelle shop. It's been an awful two months, but that last week was definitely the point of exhaustion for him.

And so he can't sleep properly.

He's idly considered sneaking into Elsa's room before, not even to sleep, just to chill. Maybe just sit on the floor and make sure she's alright or something like that, but he wants to give her a little more space. He knows she doesn't hold anything he had to do against him, but a little thinking time never hurt anyone, just a little more time to let that wound scab the fuck over.

A wince escapes his lips when she touches his face, the memory of Molotov's nails scraping his cheeks a little too fresh to bare. The kiss, however, seems to soothe him some. He can just barely hear Elsa's voice and it's relaxing, just enough to rouse him from his sleep with a little grunt. He squeezes his eyes shut tighter before opening them wide in surprise at the woman suddenly in front of him.

"Woah." He murmurs, sitting up to rub at his eyes with the palm of his hands. He still looks shaken, he still feels shaken, but he's more confused than anything. "S'the time? Did I sleep in or something?" And now he's getting more alert, wondering why she could be here. "What happened?"

Elsa feels a slight tug at her heart when Dave winces at her touch. She can only imagine what he must be dreaming about, but a part of her doesn't want to know either. They've both gone through so much trauma and they both have so much emotional and traumatic baggage. But it's a relief when he settles a little, glad to know that she's helped a little.

The biggest relief comes when he wakes up and doesn't seem too overly startled. She's woken up roughly from nightmares before, and it's not a fun thing to do, so she knew easing him out of it was probably the better idea. Elsa leans back a bit as Dave sits up, and she has to resist the urge to hug him hard. He's still obviously shaken, so she doesn't want to overload him too much after just waking up from what seems to have been a very nasty nightmare.

"Don't worry," she says, shaking her head softly. "You haven't overslept. I- well, it's actually still the middle of the night," she admits, almost sounding a little sheepish. "Nothing happened, I..." She trails off, feeling a little embarrassed, shrugging her shoulders a little. "I just wanted to make sure you were still here," she finally says, her voice quiet.

Elsa's voice does wonders to bring ease into the situation. She doesn't sound scared or stressed, so there's no reason to worry. She'd let him know if he had a reason to, he's sure. He just nods, swallowing thickly as he lets the surprise pass over him.

If he were able to really think about it, he might be a little more touched that she's here, but he can't shake the worry. He hears the sheepishness in her tone and it's enough to urge him to lean forward. His forehead bumps against her shoulder and it's an invitation for a hug, even if his hands are still limp by his sides. He doesn't want her to feel that he's shaking, but it's a rare moment when he genuinely craves touch so he has less reason to believe that everything isn't really alright.

"I'm still here." He assures. "I miss dreaming about turning up to school naked." He follows that with a tired chuckle, trying to ease the tension.

It's rare for Dave to be the one to initiate contact like this. Usually it's her, and she's okay with that. So it's a little surprising when he clearly leans in and wants a hug- but she's quick to hug him anyway, wrapping her arms around him gently and leaning in to rest her cheek against the top of his head.

Even though she knows that he's here, that she's hugging him and that he hasn't been taken away, his words are what really cements it all and makes her feel better, even if that's a little silly given the circumstances. She can feel him shaking, which just makes her squeeze him a little tighter in the hopes that he'll eventually calm down. Despite the heavy air, she lets out a laugh at his little comment.

"Funny," she says, pulling her head away so she can sit up a little straighter and look down at him, a small smile toying at her face. "I had the same nightmare, but it was my coronation."

As much as Dave would like to deny it, things have changed between them since the Arena. You can't just kill your friend, watch them die by your hand, and not feel a little strange around them. To his credit, he might have tried to pull away from her a while ago, but now he's pushing closer and keeping himself there. It's difficult not to let his mind linger on it all.

He lets himself soak in the comfort, knowing it's just a nice and private moment between them and there's nobody to barge in and make him feel weird about it.

When she speaks, he idly thinks nobody would complain if she showed up naked, but he decides not to vocalise it. He moves to shift back to lean on the headboard of his bed, patting the side next to him. "Never thought I'd take being naked in public over something." He scoffs at himself. "I'd join a nudist colony if it gave me an out."

Things have changed, but on Elsa's side it just makes her love him even more. To her, Dave is one of- if not the- strongest people she knows. If it had been her in that situation, she isn't sure if she would have had it in her to do what he did. Her entire life has been spent fearing the possibility of hurting Anna- so to be put in a situation where she has to take her life? Or Dave's? It's not something she wants to think about.

The point is, things are different, but she doesn't feel at any sort of odds with him, and she continues holding him up until he pulls back to lean against the headboard. Elsa herself moves further onto the bed and sits against the headboard next to him, her hands clasped lightly over her stomach.

His words make her chuckle, and she reaches out to nudge his arm with her elbow. "You and your sense of humor," she says affectionately. It's weird on occasion, but she's used to it by now. "So," she says, in a tone that shows she's looking for lighter subjects. "I haven't really had the opportunity to tell you, but-" Elsa reaches out, this time with her hand, and scratches at the side of his head, where it's shaved down. "I love your new haircut, it suits you a lot." She gives him a smile, before moving her hand up into the longer part to give it a ruffle. "Was it your idea?"

It isn't something Dave feels particularly strong over. It just felt like dirty work that had to be done. It hadn't felt remotely good or satisfactory and the guilt really only shifted when he saw her alive and relatively well. It made him think back to that stupid conversation with Loki, reminded him that nothing about their friendship is really permanent once they either leave or die fighting the Capitol. He isn't liking either of the options on the crossroads ahead, but part of him likes to linger on the idea of saying fuck it to his grand destiny and going to Arendelle to be best friends with a Snow Queen and her sister instead. Everything they've described about it makes it a better, simpler option than the long haul he has back home. He's a bit of a quitter. Or a wannabe quitter, at least, he seems to quit at quitting a lot of the time.

"We'd all be doomed without it, I know." He moves with the nudge, like it actually shifted him at all. "So." He repeats with a careful tone and expression, she could either be looking to say something deep and depressing or something conversational and light. He almost exhales in relief when it's the latter, his head rolling to the side so he can properly appreciate the scratching. An appreciative grumble escapes his mouth in place of a thank you and his eyes fall shut for a moment before he furrows his brows and opens them again. "The last crazy new idea I had for my hair was to part it to the other side and it looked like shit." He gives her a look of scrutiny. "It was Oceana's grand plan. I told her she could shave it off if she made me some suits instead of dressing me like a nerd."

Elsa thinks about it sometimes, too. It's painful to think of home, but when she does consider the possibility of everyone going home, it's always... the three of them. Not just her and Anna, but she just naturally assumes that Dave will be there, too. He's such a big and irreplaceable part of her life, almost like he's always been like that. So as far as she's concerned, he's always going to be in her future regardless of what happens.

She can't help but laugh a little and smile at his reaction when she scritches his head. It must feel good, so she keeps at it for a few seconds even as he keeps on speaking. When he's done, she lets her hand fall away, an amused smile playing on her lips. "Well, I think both haircuts are lovely," she says pointedly. Dave's hair looked perfectly fine before he got it cut, she wants him to know that. "But this suits you, too. And it's fun to pet," she adds with a chuckle. "But it's your opinion that matters the most, I think. So were the suits worth it?"

It would warm the cockles of Dave's dumb heart to know that's how she feels. He knows he's important to her, it's too obvious to deny it now and to try doing that would be rude to the woman who weirdly insists on being so steadfast and protective of him. Sometimes, though, it takes a deeper consideration to realise the depth of her affection for him or his affection for her. Really, sometimes he needs to stop and really think about how dangerously close he's getting to people and how hard it will be to let go. But that isn't any kind of thing he wants to imagine when he's already jittering.

"You would say that, though." He gives her a nudge with his boney elbow. "I could rock up like. Entirely bald with a single lock of hair just gelled and curled over my forehead and you'd probably love it. Be honest." He pulls a lock of his hair forward to demonstrate this before letting it flop down to his face. "It's pretty swish, I guess. The breeze on the sides of my head are refreshing. Wish people would stop acting like I got my hair did because I'm more invested in being fashionable than being miserable, though." People keep acting like his priorities are skewed because his stylist wanted to change his hair.

Okay, Dave is probably right when it comes to his comment about his hair, but Elsa just rolls her eyes with a bit of light exasperation. "I don't know about that," she says. "That would look incredibly silly." If she were a little more immature, she might stick her tongue out at him, but luckily she resists.

She doesn't mean to come off like she's judging him for getting his hair done, it just seems like standard practice for stylists to do it even against his will. Elsa is just trying to make sure that it was a consensual thing. "I'm sorry if I annoyed you," she says, frowning a little. "I was mostly teasing."

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why you procrastinate grrrl? [closed]

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