Doll-dagga buzz-buzz ziggety-zag, Godmod grotesque burlesque drag

[quiethumerus]

Who| Kurloz and OPEN, special prompt for D4s.
What| The new stylist settles in.
Where| D4’s floor and the main commons
When| A day or so following his network post and on.
WARNINGS| Language?

The Office room, for D4 (and not)

He decides to dress down. Something simple, casual for the process involved with getting to know each Tribute. Comfortable.

Comfortable comes in the form of skull-cut shirt and dark shorts over golden patterned leggings matching his bear-trap epaulets. His makeup is set to match, filling out the open shirt collar, gold-brushed flower pieces tucked into his hair. Each curl has been duly attended to, nearly unrecognizable for sharing attribute of the disgusting mop of the Traitor’s rats nest, and to the ends he’s added the lightest dusting of yet more gold and some purple. He almost thought at one point to get the indigo of his eyes surgically removed, change it to a pitch black or back to it’s natural blue-grey-almost-purple, but having had it since his youth, it may as well have always been his and it worked so well. Yes, he thinks, this will do nicely for casual introduction. He keeps the masks off this time, letting his stitched mouth go exposed.

He’s got his pens and paper ready at his desk, a chair for himself there and a lounge piece for his guests to stretch out upon. He’s got his cloth pieces set out around in all textures, and colors for his use, his materials collect in neat rows and organized boxes. There is a faint shimmer to the place, like already he’s left a coat of glitter upon it all. He’s made his home here fast with partially melted candles of all hues and collected rows of animal skulls with tags stating their latin names in neatly written cursive. Books are stacked half-hazardly upon a shelf featuring the names of old plays, particularly the shakespearean, and some with names referencing to things “arcane” for whatever that amounts to in the Capitol. There are draping curtains and genetically modified flowers that glimmer in the light. The window projection has been changed from city scenery to some distant beach whose waves crash mutely upon the shore.

There is a bright terrarium in one corner where a small snake with iridescent scales lives. The creature while not much physically modified by genetic experimentation, has been modified for better behavioural attributes including higher proclivity for affection. It is the prize of the room, the only to beat out the worn picture of a young boy and his even younger brother, caught in the glare of sun wearing toothy grins. The picture is tucked into the desk corner, angled so that it’s non-visible to those who don’t look for it.

When all fussing is done, all that’s left is to wait. And thankfully it isn’t for long with the knock of what he hopes is one of his Tributes come for their appointment with him. He greets the door with a bright smile that pulls at his threads.

Commons - a

The wonder of it doesn’t cease. He’s in the Tribute tower. He works here. He’s not just a Stylist he’s going to be District four’s stylist. The head stylist to be exact, giving order to the underlings for the making of masterpieces upon his people. He doesn’t imagine it any kind of dream, but perhaps some cruel joke. He might awake tomorrow and find all of the tower gone.

There is much work to be done but he has to take a look around, a short one at the very least. He visits the different floors, steeling peeks at the Training Center he couldn't enter, where the killers prepared for the fight and the survivors for the run. Even the common room holds a sort of glory, brilliant marble fireplaces and shining chandeliers. There are magazines lain out, either forgotten by some Tribute or other, or left out for someone to read.

He dares a peek at the first one, seeing what gossip he may have missed in all the excitement of these last few weeks. It’s really a shame that traitor’s face features so prominently on the one beneath it. That just won’t do.

He drops his magazine and plucks up the garbage. With a smile still upon his face, he carts that magazine on towards the fireplace. Then, ever so pleased to do so, he drops it into the flame. Oops.

Commons - b

In soon enough time, he’s settled at the bar. One quick grind of a blender later and his meal has been served, a curly straw stuck in it and slipped through the stitches of his lips. He’s got wide eyes for cataloging every face he sees and ears listening close for the newest gossip as there was always something. He has an image to craft and so is not kicking his feet but keeping those heels firmly upon him, one leg folded finely over the other.

There is a fair bit of space around him, chairs entirely free despite the normal chaos of this lobby. This may or may not have to do with the visiting Capitolites going to any conceivable means to avoid the chairs located beside him.

Oddly, he doesn’t seem to mind.

Comments

[quiethumerus]

He nods a yes. It is always easier when people are able to read along with his mimes, no matter how clear he tries to be. At least, in that particular respect. He doesn't much mind leaving them to flounder when it comes to writ.

He laughs at her joke. A motion of mirth lifting his chin and tilting his head back a bit. Then he puts on show of a pout, head rested on one hand and the other on his chest. Oh woe is me. The smile comes back.

He looks curious at her then, pointing at her drink in attempt to ask what she's chosen.

[pythianjudgment]

It's sort of weird, she thinks as she observes him miming his laughter at her joke, talking to someone who refuses to speak. Not that he can't, he just won't. It makes everything else seem more subdued, to not hear the laughter in his voice or smell the teeth behind his smile. There's something so genuine and real about that kind of laughter that feels absent in his motions...

But she doesn't dwell on those thoughts too much. He asks about her drink, and she shrugs and slides it towards him for observation. "It's just fruit juice. Some kind of berry concotion that they make here. Strawberries, raspberries, blueberries, et cetera. It's really delicious." She motions to the drink again. "You can try some if you don't mind troll cooties."

[quiethumerus]

She notices how she watches him, like she's just not sure. He doesn't usually get so far that the other person can be unsure, the lot of them skipping ahead to distaste. He pays it no more mind that he would those disgusted with him.

When she passes the drink, he considers whether or not he ought to be concerned over germs. There was that illness madness some time ago... but then, he's not too concerned with such things affecting him. The drink smells nice too. He decides to give it a shot.

That is, he plucks up a straw of his own from his drink, slipping it first into hers, then positioning it just right so the straw fits between the stitches. The sweet and sour burst of flavor puts a buzz to his tastebuds, and he grins at her for it, giving a thumbs up before quickly removing the straw from her drink.

[pythianjudgment]

Terezi observes Kurloz with even more curiosity, smelling the way that he positions the straw to slip between the stitches. She's not outright staring--she can't, now can she?--but she is cocking her head inquisitively at him.

When he flashes her a thumbs up, she makes a noncommittal 'hmm' noise in the back of her throat before pulling the drink back in her direction. She takes a sip of her own.

"Do you always eat like that? Without taking those out?" She motions at the stitches, as if it's not a social faux pas to point them out. It probably would be to anyone else, but she doesn't seem to care. "Or drink, I guess? Do you actually eat anything? Or is it all smoothies and liquids?"

[quiethumerus]

A sharp one, he determines. Something to be noted. Good to know in later need or avoidance. He's good enough with noticing the expressions and gestures of others, as well as the meanings there, but they are not the mute ones, he is, and so he waits always for words.

Her soft little 'hmm' simply confirms his thoughts. That is a noise of observance. He wonders if the whole deal of drink-offering was simply to see how this went.

And so, while unusual, it doesn't surprise him as much as it could to have the threads made the show and topic of conversation. He smiles, noting for himself how she doesn't let him do each question one at a time, as is the only way he can proper follow along with body language. She wants him to write.

IT IS NOT TYPICAL OF ME TO PARTAKE IN CUISINE OF SOLID FARE. THE THREADS COME OUT TO BE CLEANED ON OCCASION, AND RARER STILL WILL I INDULGE. IT IS SOMETHING I ALONE SHALL EVER BEAR WITNESS TO. I DO NOT EAT OFTEN.

As if it weren't obvious by his frail little frame. A tall wisp is he.

[pythianjudgment]

Terezi prefers the writing, to be honest. There's too much in body language to be left up to interpretation. Yes and no answers don't get you very far, and she's more than a little curious about this human who reminds her so much of her Kurloz--right down to his name.

She sniffs at the paper that he writes on, scrunching her mouth up to one side. If he thought that she might be satisfied with those answers, then he was sorely mistaken.

"So that's why you're so tiny." Like she has any room to talk in that department. "Do you miss it? Eating solid food and talking? Do you ever forget that the thread is there and accidentally open your mouth too wide? What about if you have to yawn?"

[quiethumerus]

And that, perhaps, is where there divide will lie. That is the exact reason he vastly preferred keeping to body language. But he relents nevertheless where necessary.

He snorts at her comment. Tiny. He was six foot.

He shakes his head first off.

ANY LAPSE IN MEMORY FORMERLY HELD HAS BEEN DISCARDED IN MY TEN YEARS TIME. MY DECISION IS ONE THAT FOSTERS CONTENTMENT AND IS THUS WORTH ANY DIFFICULTY MOTHER FUCKIN ENCOUNTERED. YAWNING IS HARDLY A VEXATION AND DOES NOT REQUIRE I TEAR MY THREADS FREE FOR ITS TRANSPIRING.

[pythianjudgment]

Terezi makes a noncommittal noise in the back of her throat as she reads his response. Just a simple 'hmm' of her own. It's hard to imagine someone who would give up the use of their voice, especially in a society where the voiceless are paraded around like criminals and possessions wrapped into one. To align yourself with something like that... There must have been a very good reason behind it.

"Why did you do it? I can't imagine that you just wake up one day and decide 'I'm going to stitch my mouth shut, that sounds like it could be fun.'"

[quiethumerus]

Images flash quickly by behind his eyes. Tuna. Meulin. His own self before a mirror.

He's not going to spill so easily. But he can be courteous enough to provide answer.

HAS COGNITION NEVER STRUCK 'I DEARLY WISH A THING REMAINED UNSPOKEN'? HAVE YOU NEVER CONTEMPLATED A QUIET TO GIVE ONE'S SELF A NEW PERSPECTIVE? IN REPENTANCE FOR A SIN, HATH NO REFLECTION COME THAT YOU WOULD DO MOTHER FUCKIN ANYTHING?

[pythianjudgment]

In repentance for a sin.

The way that sounds in her head is painfully familiar. She doesn't like it from him, much in the same way that she doesn't like it from her own Kurloz--though her feelings are much stronger for the latter. She can't help but wonder what great misdoing this version thinks he needs to repay.

"I've wished that I hadn't said things before. But never to the extent that I would stop talking at all. Whatever you did must have seemed pretty bad." Seemed, she says, knowing that misdeeds are not always as they seem when recounted by those who did that. It's hard to get that kind of perspective when you're in the thick of it.

"Do you mind sharing? You can't dance around it and not expect me to be curious. I can promise not to gossip, if that helps. We're a tight-lipped bunch in this Tower. No one likes the gossip rags here." She mimes a zipping and locking motion across her lips, well aware of the reference to his own stitchings.

[quiethumerus]

And this is why she is dangerous, he determines. She does not fear the peak and pry. She will stay no spade in her digging. She is sharp and ready to form thought her own, some of which he cannot allow to come to pass.

She's one of the first to ask about that time. She makes a fair case. He believes she wouldn't tell anyone were she told. But it doesn't matter. He is not about to break his greatest vow, right at the source of it.

He smiles on her. A smile of, Sweet girl. Take no offence... He brings his hand up and preforms a zipping motion over his lips just as she did. Then he shakes his head.

...But you haven't a chance, Pyrope.

[pythianjudgment]

Cute. Terezi gives a snort of amusement and then a shrug.

"Alright. Fair enough." She'll just have to get the information some other way. There's very few things in this city that stay completely secret. There has to be someone else who knows the dirt on this guy. It might not be any of her business, but she's determined to find it regardless.

She swings her feet back and forth, bumping her toes against the bar counter. "So what do you do around here when you're not dressing us up in garishly flashy clothes?"

[quiethumerus]

He takes on a look of mock offence, then presses his fingertips to the bar table and gives a look that says excuse me? "Garish"? Why, he thinks he looks quite good right now. He worked hard on this makeup.

But he's glad to have the topic change which is why he latches onto it with no true offence taken.

There's much he does when he's not doing his job. He knows in the way that most Capitolites don't that people hate this city, but it's all petty biased judgement. There was nothing wrong with the city itself. There were wonders here if only people would look for them.

THIS GREAT CITY IS HOST TO MUCH. LOCATION, FESTIVITY, AND PERSON ALIKE. MY DEAR COMPATREPTILE, CAL, HAS ALSO KEPT COMPANY MANY AN EVENING. I FIND PARTICULAR MOTHER FUCKIN FONDNESS AT THE PIER TWELVE CARNIVALE.

[pythianjudgment]

For something he can't speak, his expressions can be hilariously telling. Terezi grins at the feigned affronted look that he gives her at first. All in a day's work. It's probably a good thing that he doesn't take any real offense, though.

"Do you?" Terezi lifts her brows at that. It's... a very Kurloz thing to say, she thinks. She should have taken her own Kurloz there. There's no doubt in Terezi's mind that he would have enjoyed it just as much. But that isn't really an option anymore.

"What is the carnivale like? Is it... all on a pier?" Maybe that sounds like a bad idea on second thought...

[quiethumerus]

He nods quite enthusiastically. A pier or a carnival; either could be among his favorite places, but combined to one, it's a dream. There isn't a mother fuckin place in the world that's like it. And people call this place empty.

He gestures wide above his head to indicate wonder, waggling his fingers as they come down for the magic he feels there. His arms go to his chest, his smile bright like he can hold the wonderful feelings close.

Then his hands clasp together and he leans forward, nodding again, for she should definitely go see this. Everyone ought to.

[pythianjudgment]

His gestures are amusing, to say the least. She smiles a little at his enthusiasm and wonder as he pantomimes his emotions to her. They're not difficult to understand: Wonder and sparkle, and magic... Something like that. His mood would be catching, if not for her own reservations.

"I think I'll pass." She has no reason to go alone. She might have had a reason once, but that was lost to her for now. And all that water would put her off any festive mood as soon as she set foot on the pier.

"But it's nice to hear about something normal around here for once." As normal as carnivals get, anyway.

[quiethumerus]

He makes a face as though to say, "Why would anyone want anything normal." But even still it is not without a joke tone. As much as something entirely unvoiced can have a tone.

His expression follows up with a pouting one; Shame you won't visit. But he smiles quickly and shrugs his shoulders. She would suit herself it seemed.

He strikes out a hand at her then, so as to shake. A pleasure meeting you.