hey oceana can we go thrift shopping

[gladiayyygirl]

Who| Oceana and Gannicus
What| A very professional measurements session between a Tribute and his Stylist. Really professional and definitely not an excuse to touch Gannicus's muscles. Yeah.
Where| Oceana's studio
When| pre-Crowning
Warnings/Notes| such awful language

The mornings are essentially a write-off for Gannicus. He spends them hungover and recovering in the District Nine suites, unable to do much beyond be a large, noisy nuisance in the lounge and make a shameless mess of the kitchen. When he feels more human once more he inflicts himself upon the Training levels, punishing his suffering body and pushing himself to another kind of excess. It isn't until late in the day that he emerges again, returning to the District Nine rooms having sweated out more alcohol than a normal person would drink in a whole evening.

Showered and dressed - barely, in a pair of slim shorts and not a single scrap of anything more - he wanders bare-footed to his next task. Modern day clothing has been something that Gannnicus hasn't quite grasped yet, and he isn't exactly keen on fixing that. Still, a meeting with his Stylist is a good enough way to pass an hour or so before he plans to throw himself with abandon back out in to the bars of the city and repeat the whole process all over again.

He knocks on the door of the studio with a fist and waits.

Comments

sdff fuck that title is so good

[fuckingcool]

As for Oceana, she's been busier than ever, whipping up depressingly edgy garments for her Tributes to wear to the crowning. Her workroom is scattered with mannequins--a white dress composed of buckles for Elsa is the centerpiece, almost finished. But as for the beefiest of her charges, she's stumped. Gannicus's proportions bring to mind broken chains, not restraint. So she's called him in for a fitting.

Well, okay, a fitting, and also so she can check him out up close and personal.

When he knocks, she's taking a smoke break, lounging on a velvet sofa wearing something slinky and leopard-print, her wig one of her signature dirty-blonde wavy ones with the dark brown roots. Super classy. She grins to herself, stubbing out the remains of her cigarette.

"Come in, baby," she calls out, not even bothering to move. She may have a ladyboyfriend now but that doesn't mean she can't flirt, right?

couldnt resist tbh

[gladiayyygirl]

He doesn't need to be told twice. Gannicus pushes the door open wide with one hand and glances warily around the room before cautiously stepping in. Gannicus and clothing have never been particularly good friends - as if the fact that he's only wearing shorts and nothing else wasn't a clue - and now he realises that his stylist is surely going to make him wear more. He'd been happy enough to come to this fitting earlier, but now he isn't quite so confident.

The room is filled with a hundred alien little details that he's never seen before but Gannicus blanks them out entirely. The shiny fabrics, the complicated accessories, the machines and scissors and needles - it's an outrageous and confusing backdrop, nothing more.

He moves slowly through the room, approaching Oceana on the sofa with an expression of wary interest.

"Am I in good time?" He asks, squaring his shoulders and lifting his chin. The grin he musters is lazy but warm; he hates the idea she might see some of the caution in his eyes.

"I hope I have not kept you waiting past appointed hour..."

[fuckingcool]

She sits up only slightly, propping herself up on an elbow and surveying her quarry with a feline stare. You know, a feline with not a lot of grace and a bit of vodka in her system.

"You're right on time, baby, don't you worry." She sits up, crossing one leg over the other. Feeling her oats. Feeling the fantasy. Damn.

Damn.

They don't make them like that anymore.

"I wanted to discuss your outfit for the crowning, and get some. Measurements." Calm down, Oceana, you're on the job. No time to be a thirsty little dick pig right now.

i have been laughing all week over 'thirsty little dick pig' jsyk

[gladiayyygirl]

He moves through the room silently, drawing closer to the vaguely predatory woman on the sofa with his gaze locked solely on to hers. He'd be lying if he said he didn't enjoy the strange brand of tension between them; Gannicus, walking in to her lair - his stylist, sizing him up and holding in her elegant fingers a kind of power over Gannicus that he hated as much as he enjoyed.

Gannicus stops barely a foot away from Oceana's couch, presenting himself for her inspection.

"I care not for 'outfits'," He says slowly, warningly, using the word Oceana had used to describe the strange, clinging robes. "I would sooner walk naked with cock for all to see, than wear these-" He nods to the various creations, eyes roaming around Oceana's handiwork, "-And their like."

Don't take it personally, Oceana.

kdfksf GOOD

[fuckingcool]

Oh, fuck, the way he walks is like a goddamn panther and Oceana is so, so very into that. And boy does she ever take the opportunity to inspect him. Up and down, several times, letting her lips curl into a smirk. Those abs. Those abs. God, she wants to wash her clothes on them.

"Naked, huh? We could work with that, baby." Finally, she stands up, and moves immediately to circle Gannicus with one hand trailing lightly over him--over his pecs, his biceps, his lats. "...Yeah, I can work with this. You're fucking gorgeous, has anyone told you?"

[gladiayyygirl]

This - this was a game that Gannicus could play. He knows only too well about the kind of balance of power that the looks shared between them concealed; he holds her gaze where he can, eyes still locked on to her finely painted features even when her own shamelessly raked up and down his body. It was the kind of look that he'd grown accustomed to early on his life as a slave. It was the kind of look that inflamed that little part of his ego, that drove him to perform and show off and display himself to the baying crowds and secretly loved every moment of it. Gannicus can practically feel her gaze as it wanders over his body... and then he realises he can feel it. He tenses a little beneath the hand and squares his shoulders. Let her look. Let her look as much and as long as she wants.

"Often," He replies with a slow, proud smile at the compliment. He knows how this game works as well. There's a wealth of innuendo in his words as he adds in a murmur:

"And most loudly."

[fuckingcool]

Shit.

Shit, god damnit, this gladiator really knows how to fucking talk, and to a fast-talking drag queen like Oceana, that's half the battle. He's a man of few words, sure, that much is obvious, but he makes those few words count, and tone more than makes up for it.

"I bet," she replies, voice low and husky. It's kind of obvious that she's forgotten about the whole ladyboyfriend waiting at home thing. She pauses in her prowling, standing behind him and looking at his ass. She's totally being professional about this. She needs to know how tight to make this thing, okay?

"What if we rigged up some kind of loincloth? As little fabric as possible, I swear." It'd be a crime to cover up too much of that.