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

[ka_sera_sera]

It isn't so odd that the stylist is so dismissive of a district not his own. It does get Roland's attention, because twelve is the one district whose people, thanks to Signless' enthusiasm for them, seem at least vaguely real and human in Roland's mind, but it isn't strange. Feels it though, almost. It jars with the story of honor and legend that, if Roland had to guess, he'd say this stylist honestly believes.

So when he nods at the praise it's absent, because he's still thinking that over. He needs to ask about it, probably, if nothing else for the sake of parroting the idea of district four's superiority in interviews. On the heels of that praise Makara gave him asking after it shouldn't prick that district pride too much, but even if it does the risk is worth it.

"Now I know why you do what you do, why it is that it's important, but why for district four? I've never been there, and likely never will. All I can know about it is a little of what it exports, and anything more no one's been too interested in explaining. What is it that makes district four more worthy than the rest?"

[quiethumerus]

Roland misunderstands, though Kurloz doesn't realise. It's not that he'd been dismissive of twelve for being outside his own, even if he does favor his own above all others. It was simply the truth that District twelve had nary an impact, let alone a win, for a good many years until the shock of Katniss and Peeta. He wonders if their singular mentor is even still alive, but then quickly moves along.

I HAVE BESTOWED UPON YOU THIS REASONING ALREADY, BROTHER. I HAVE BEEN THERE. I HAVE KNOWN THEIR PEOPLE. I HAVE BEEN WITNESS TO THE POWER OF THEIR ENDURANCE, BRAVERY, PERSEVERANCE, AND KINDNESS OF THEIR HEARTS. AS WELL AS THEIR SACRIFICE. THIS PRIVILEGE AFFORDED TO ME WAS A RARE AND GREAT ONE. IT IS WHY I INSIST TO YOU AND THE REST OF YOUR FELLOW FOURS, THAT BESTOWED UPON YOU IS AN HONOR.

THE OTHER DISTRICTS WILL FIGHT FOR THEIR DISTRICT, AS IS THEIR DUTY. IT IS MINE TO WORK ALONG WITH YOU THAT YOU MAY FIGHT FOR YOURS. THERE MAY ONLY BE ONE WINNING DISTRICT.

And he should hope it not too much to ask that they aim for that District to be their own.

[ka_sera_sera]

Roland does realize, a little, that he'd misunderstood. It isn't so much that this stylist - Makara, because he can't avoid the name forever, can he? - thinks that four is more worthy of winning. "Someone has to win," Roland nods, thinking he now understands a little better. "And it's our job to make sure that someone is us. How often have you given this lesson? Things must be very different now from the days all your tributes would understand this implicitly."

And this question, too, has a more than casual purpose. Roland does not expect Makara to be so obvious about any negative opinion of the offworlders as some have been, especially given his attitude thus far, but it is still worth the question, or at least worth an opening for the stylist to talk a little on the matter.

[quiethumerus]

It pleases him to see that Roland is taking his words in, and hopefully, taking them to heart. He was not so stressed by the misunderstanding, he likes to think it takes a lot to truly phase him, but it brings a significant deal of ease knowing he does not have to fight with his Tributes.

AS OF NOW, OUR TALK ACCOUNTS AS FIRST RECITATION OF THE RIGHTEOUS WAYS THAT ARE TO BE FOLLOWED BY THE PEOPLE OF PANEM. I EXPECT A LESSON IN ORDER, TAKEN FROM THIS; I MUST PROVIDE NOT ONLY MY SKILLS AS A STYLIT, BUT MY MOTHER FUCKIN TUTELAGE TO THOSE WITH LACK IN UNDERSTANDING. I HOPE YOU TOO APPRECIATE THE HONOR AND NECESSITY IN OUR WICKED WORK.

[ka_sera_sera]

"I do, I think. Much more than I did, and it does make things here a little clearer. Although-" He lifts an arm, looks pointedly at the long fringe hanging from it. "-I still don't understand the vehicle by which it's done. I'm afraid fashions in my home were a little different."

And also mostly reserved for the idle rich and all who modeled themselves after them, those self-important members of Gilead's highborn society who had no more important business to tend to than gossiping over frippery. Most of what Roland has seen in Panem so far has done nothing to disabuse him of this notion, and he suspects not everyone sees things as the Initiate's Capitolite-twinner does. Roland decides to keep this thought to himself.

[quiethumerus]

Kurloz looks delighted. Genuinely so. There's more soul in his motions for it, from when he clasps his hands together, happy to have made a difference, to when he puts his hand over his heart and closes his eyes, an oh yes, that. He waves a hand. Not to worry about that.

THIS IS THE INTENT OF MY SERVICE TO YOU. THIS IS WHY I SEEK INQUIRY ABOUT THINE PERSON, THAT I MAY BETTER TAILOR ACCORDINGLY TO MATCH YOU.

[ka_sera_sera]

Roland does not say that this surprises him, because he's sure his face says that very well. He sits up a little straighter, takes a moment to take it in. That is new, and not a sentiment he ever expected to hear from a stylist. But he does not say that either, as he's sure it too is plenty obvious. "That's a kind sentiment, but I think ultimately a doomed one. I can't think of a thing you could tailor to me that would please the people of this city. In my old life I wore jeans, a shirt of simple cloth, a hat to keep out of the sun. That's all. Even if I minded the formalwear of old Gilead a little less, I don't remember enough of it to tell you much."

[quiethumerus]

Kurloz's smile goes all tight around the edges, no longer reaching his eyes. Still, the smile does not slip. He writes.

IT HAS BEEN GOING REMARKABLY WELL BETWEEN US, BROTHER ROLAND. DO NOT DAMPEN THIS TALK WITH INSULT UPON MY SKILL AND POSITION.

That written and shown, he goes on to add...

FASHION IS AN ART AND CRAFT AS MUCH AS MOTHER FUCKIN ANY. I KNOW WHAT IT IS I AM CAPABLE OF. THERE WILL BE NO ISSUE.

[ka_sera_sera]

As of the introduction Kurloz had made on the network, Roland did already know that something like this might be a weak point for him. Or at least a sensitive one. Still, Roland notes it. He nods. "Do you need anything more of me, then? Or shall I leave the rest to you?"

It's meant to come off as an honest question, respectful, but Roland's manner is just a little bit colder when he asks it, more distant. The little taste of freedom - the freedom to look less like a dressed up showhorse, anyway, to have some little choice in his life here, had felt good while he'd believed he might have it. But the stylist has taken back control of the conversation, put his tribute in his place. Of course.

[quiethumerus]

He doesn't think it's touchy to want to do his job. He'd heard things about the Tributes and perhaps some part of him hoped it mere rumor but he supposes he can't be surprised. He keeps smiling.

I SEEK YOUR UNDERSTANDING, BROTHER. WE MAY WORK IN ALLIANCE WITH ONE ANOTHER OR YOU MAY DECLARE FEUD AGAINST ME, BUT I INTEND TO DO THE WORK I AM MOTHER FUCKIN PRESENT FOR. THE CHOICE IS YOURS.

Sorry Roland. He has no intent of letting you get away with mere jeans and a t-shirt for a professional interview, no matter how many times oppression is cried. He had intended to create compromise. Now he's tempted by petty retaliation.

DO YOU FATHOM?

[ka_sera_sera]

Roland sighs. He sits back in the chair, slumping a little. Time to drop the friendly act, or at least let it sag a little. "I have no intention of feuding with you. Believe me when I tell you it isn't worth it to me." With district four's other stylists before this, yes, but only because they did not attract attention to him by making things into an actual feud. It'd been a little malicious, but meant mostly as stress relief. One which seemed less viable from the moment he'd walked into this office.

"I only don't understand what it is you want of me. You say you want to tailor my clothes to match myself, yet when I tell you the clothes I'm used to you tell me I'm being insulting. Do you really mean to tailor them to me, or only to make clothes that look fine? I'll not fight you on either, but if I'm to work with you properly I do need to be certain."

[quiethumerus]

Kurloz has been toyed with before. There is a very specific bit of tolerance in him for it. His brother could do all he wished. Caiaborus could do anything. Some Tribute was not going to walk on him in any way or means. He watches Roland's act melt away and sees no hypocrisy in claiming a victory there.

I SOUGHT FROM THEE AN ACCORD. I HAD INTENT FOR ACCOMMODATION AND COMPROMISE. YOU IN TURN TELL ME THERE IS NOTHING IN MY CAPABILITY THAT WILL SERVE BOTH YOU AND THE CAPITOL. YOU GIVE IMPLICATION I OUGHT SIMPLY MOTHER FUCKIN STEP ASIDE. YOU PERCEIVE NO INSULT.

HOMIE, I INFORMED THAT THERE WOULD BE NO ISSUE IN RIGHTEOUS RECOMPENSE FOR EACH SIDE AND STILL MY WORDS HAVE BEEN MET A TWIST. BOTH THINGS ARE WITHIN MY ABILITY. HOWEVER, MY PATIENCE FOR IT REMAINS DEPENDENT ON YOU.

[ka_sera_sera]

He leans forward to read, frowns, and sits back, still frowning. His look isn't angry, although there may be a little frustration there. Mostly, what Roland looks is confused. "I don't understand you. Neither of us understands the other, I think."

Roland means this honestly. He is not, though, sharing his full thought, which includes at least some small understanding. The understanding that the man in front of him is quite a sensitive little prick. But Roland ought to have known that, with what he'd already been learning about the stylist Makara. "It was a thoughtless comment, one I should have thought twice before making in the first place. But as to the rest-"

Will this make Makara even angrier? Well, he'll be careful, but there's no getting around it. "I'm afraid some of the language of your world is still alien to me. I don't understand what the rest of your words mean. I'm willing to work with you. To take your orders, too, should you give them. I was trying to make that much clear. I was also trying to ask if you had any questions of me, here and now. Anything else you need of me before you begin your work."