thecapitol | So hold my hand

Entry tags:

So hold my hand | OPEN

Who| Meulin, Kurloz; Open!
What| Meulin ogles some Tributes and reunites with an old friend
Where| Tribute Commons
When| May 16th
Warnings/Notes| None right now

A] Main Commons; OPEN

Meulin had taken extra care in dressing this evening. Her skirt was a shimmering teal that clung to her legs, ending just above her knee. Her top was a soft gold muted gold, matte to make her skirt shine. Twin shell combs pulled her hair back from her face and drapped gold chains over the back of her hair. Gold bracelets connected to rings on her fingers. She wasn't ashamed of coming from a District, even if people saw it as lesser, but it would probably be troublesome if no one took her seriously. So it was best to dress the part, even if she wasn't going to a party.

She'd come far earlier than he'd suggested, eager to see the Tributes and perhaps speak with a few if she could. This was more reconnaissance than actually seeking out tributes for interviews but she wouldn't say no. Opportunities didn't just fall in ones lap but it could happen. Maybe.

After judicial thought as to the proper place to watch the elevator, she settled on a couch near the bar. It handily preventing her from walking too far in the too high heels her cousin had foisted on her and well, the view couldn't be beat. She'd never been to the Tower and it didn't disappoint. What a strange sort of place, full of people. Sponsors, she's sure, and several people she recognized from broadcasts and magazines. None came to speak to her but she wasn't surprised. These were all a level above her, a lowly writer, so she wouldn't expect to speak to them. It give her plenty of time and space to mull over a drink and think about the the past few days.

When someone caught her attention, she watched them, trying for subtle but often just staring. She's got a bit to learn about this people watching thing.

B] Main Commons; Closed to Kurloz

At some point, she'd moved to the bar, having decided blatantly staring at people wasn't the best way to make friends. Perched on a bar stool and She'd had much to think about after they had said their goodbyes on the network. Most of it had to do with her apparent status as an alternate to two separate trolls, one of whom had been here before. With each troll that had spoke to her, the likelihood that they were all separately lying became smaller and smaller. Though Terezi hadn't mentioned it all and wasn't she friends with her alter. She laced her fingers together and set her chin on them. And then there was how Kurloz never spoke, never even whispered. Not that she could have heard him if he had, but it certainly felt like he didn't. But he wanted to see her, spoke of her in the same way, like it never happened.

Her gaze slid towards the elevator and back to her drink, smiling faintly. Things could be worse. Much worse. Her eyes closed, only springing back open when the click of shoes on the floor stopped nearby.

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He'd spent a long time trying to figure out what to wear. It was important to him, to look nice for her. Not too off, too unusual, too unlike she remembers of his time back then but... good. He considers donning suits and gowns and anything to see her wonder, but he knows there will be one thing she's focused upon most.

He picks out another set simple. Leggings, shoes inspired by ocean bio-luminescence, a sweater of netting, a crown of bones with hanging pearls. He pulls in green that reminds him of her and hopes she isn't startled by the contrast of the black threads. Maybe it will be fine. Maybe it won't matter at all.

He's worked even harder those last few hours since her call to make up for any time lost now, time he didn't want to think he was wasting. Time he wanted to savor.

His heart is racing as the elevator goes done floor by floor, light by light. He's nervous like he hasn't been in ages. There's a pad of paper tucked in close to his heart and a pen with it. He wonders if it all won't come loose with how he feels.

The doors open and he gets his first real good look at her, his Meulin, his dear friend. She's dressed wonderfully. She's so beautiful. He missed her so much and twists in his heart and wounds he forgot he had. But he'll do this right. He'll approach with a smile, heels clicking along. When she looks up, he'll raise a hand in the most hopeful (and worried) little wave. He's never really been self-concious of his stitches, hiding them only when it was required he make certain impressions. Not until now.

Turned to meet him, she traces her eyes up over his outfit. He's dressed beautifully, a picture she hadn't expected but appreciates nonetheless. Over his shoes--glittering leggings make her grin. His net sweater--and her eyes skip, falter, and he's treated to the dubious pleasure of watching Meulin try and fail to keep her reaction contained. She tries to slide up to his crown, the pearls, the way it falls beautifully, but her eyes draw back to his lips.

Avoxed--no he's here, he's a stylist, he can't. That's why he doesn't speak. The smile that fell tugs back up stubbornly. She doesn't want to ask. She wants to ask. Her fingers twitch with the effort not to touch them, to ask.

"Kurloz!" She slips off the stool, walking closer and pretending as hard as she can that the stitches are normal, a stylistic choice, a defiance, not something she worries about.

He keeps his smile up, sure and firm, even though he can't help swallowing a little when he sees her falter. He pretends it's nothing. He pretends he didn't see it like she pretends it didn't happen.

Her smile comes back and he pretends he didn't notice her fingers twitch. They're both pretending so hard it may as well be a game.

He smiles wider at her greeting, shoulders lifting in a way to tell he'd be echoing it with her name otherwise. He beams down at her, debating if for a moment, before finally deciding. He wraps his arms around her in a hug.

When his arms encircle her, she returns the gesture almost without thinking. Her hands on his back, over the sweater that drapes and clings in turn, and they find the holes to grab on. Where her words are light but loud, her body betrays her, the clinging to his shirt, the half formed tears that sparkled on her lashes. What happened to him when he left. What happened in the years since she knew him, since everything.

"I missed you, it's been so long!"

She says that as if she's not sick with worry, with fear for him.

He made the right move. He knows it immediately, and only half because it feels so good to have her in his arms, to have her here with him again and safe. He still can't hardly believe she's really alive. He would think it was a dream but his dream are never so pleasant.

But he can feel too the way her grip is a little too tight, a little too desperate. He mirrors it, trying in every little way he can to spill at least a few of the thousand little sorry's going off in his head.

He nods to say the same, head bobbing clear enough that she might at least feel it a little if she couldn't see it.

She pulls back enough to get a look at him, not so far that she has to let go quite yet. Avoiding the stitches with care, she looks him over until she's satisfied she can see the boy he was within the man. It's there, under glittering makeup. She laughs. She dressed the sea for him and he her.

"I see we had the same idea. Only you pulled it off fur better."

One hand pulls from the holes of his sweater to ghost over the makeup on his face, not touching and perhaps not just for fear of smudging it. He's beautiful, like everything she dreamed, but despite their closeness, there seems a distance.

He keeps a hold on her and its not having to wonder if she'll mind. They're both all grown up and the thought alone seems silly. He doesn't realise what she's laughing at until she explains, just enjoying the sound.

Then he laughs too, shaking his head however fondly. He reaches a hand up and taps the tip of her nose. She looks very nice too and he'll not hear otherwise.

He closes his eyes as she brings her fingers by his face. She never touches and that's just as well. There is a distance now, but they can change that. He's sure of it.

She blinks at the touch on her nose, then smiles, bright and real and it shows in how her whole face lights up. Maybe he can see through her smiles but until he says--writes--something, she can pretend they're all the same. He surely can, he knows her best of anyone here.

"Sorry! It sparkles. You look amazing." Her words are clumsy again, tripping over themselves to get out. The hand left hanging in space quickly settles on his shoulder.

"I'm being silly, of course you look amazing. Nefur less than the best." She winks, deliberately.

He can tell. Of course he can tell. Arise, fair sun, and kill the envious moon, but no, the moon has its own beauty and he'd not take the light completely from the night, nor shadow from the day. She does as he does, perhaps even better, trying to make what was without become within.

There something really special about a right proper eclipse of those things, and bearing witness to it also.

His own grin is real, always more lopsided than a perfect when he did so genuine. It tugs at his stitches even more when he does so. He laughs again at the wink, like its something to be conspiratorial about. Then he brings a hand up to his heart to give nod a show of thanks on her complimenting.

His eyes go bright upon her. He casts a deliberate look on around the lobby, then turns back to her, questioning, wondering what she thinks of it all thus far. He'd only ever dreamed of showing her his world.

At his curiousity, at the look around the lobby, she looks too. People of every age and height, and it's with not a little bit of self satisfaction that she decides she's definitely with the best dressed and most attractive. Clearly, Meulin had the best taste in friends.

"More people than I expected. Here--and in the Capitol. But brilliant. You know? Shining and splendid and much more than I expected." Her eyes trail a girl walking by but slip back to him. It's hard to say what she's talking about exactly, the Tower, the Capitol or something else, but it's all true.

"I like it."

One of the other people who happens to pass through the lobby is one Terezi Pyrope. She's not dressed nearly as fancy as the other Capitolites--today is a casual day, and she'd opted to go with something a little more plain. At least as far as the option her Stylist gives her to begin with.

The teal in Meulin's skirt catches her attention, if only because she's not used to smelling that color on other people. She pauses, tilting her head a little at the way that the girl seems to be staring at others. Then eventually, she heads over to the couch.

"I thought about trying to sneak up on you, but I've been told that is a mean thing to do. Not socially acceptable. Kind of on the same level as openly staring at people. Not that I would know."

When she realizes she has company, her eyes jumps away from the random Capitolite and their enormous hair and back to--Oh, that troll. Terezi. And she's saying something. Meulin politely waits until her lips stop moving before she replies.

"Sorry." She taps her ear, to remind her. Not a very conscientious member of the disability club is she.

Gary does a double-take on his way out of the elevator, hopping out of his eager trot so he can stare at this person staring back at him. She's ornately dressed, like any Capitolite he's ever seen--but the sponsors are usually direct in approaching him, and the reporters are more obtrusive in their observations. Must be some kind of fan, he reasons.

This is fine! Gary loves fans. After a moment of pondering, his face splits into a grin and his free hand, not holding the stack of books at his side, is propped jauntily on his hip. "Evening!" Gary chirps. "You want a picture or something? I have time!"

He absolutely does not have time--this assignment is due Monday morning. But who cares? The fans are so much more important.

Edited (I know how calendars work) 2015-05-18 21:31 (UTC)

Oh, right. The deafness is actually a thing. The kind of thing that is not worked around by some other sense. Humans are so weird. But, well... She isn't going to feel too ashamed when Meulin just made the same mistake that she did.

She heads over to the bar to grab a few napkins before flopping herself down on the couch next to the deaf girl. A message is scribbled in green marker a few seconds later:

1 4M GO1NG TO 4SSUM3 TH4T TH3R3 W4S 4 V1SU4L G3STUR3 TO 4CCOMP4NY TH4T SORRY TH4T YOU GR33T3D M3 W1TH

She laughed, shaking her head. Right. Blind--yet she gets around so well. How did she even notice her over here if she couldn't see? Mysteries. Mysteries for another time. She leans in to read the message. It gets easier to read those numbers as letter as time goes on.

"Cute color! And there was, I forget too. I have a pad if you'd rather use that! And a bunch of pens, but you have your marker so we purrobably don't need that."

She blinks up at him and suddenly when he walks over, she realizes who he is. All that staring and a name hadn't quite connected but his grin makes her remember. He did that concert, she'd read about in Cerberus. One had to keep an eye on things after all. Gary something.

Oh dear and he's saying something. She pulls up her brightest smile in return.

"I'm sorry, I can't hear you! Hold on, I have a pad of paper...in here somewhere."

She digs in her purse, pulling out a pad and well, whatever handful of pens she has on top. Some are colored for the trolls and bear their faces, others are black, red and one lovely one that writes in rainbows. She offers them to him helpfully.

Terezi makes a face, scrunching her mouth up to the side in displeasure. The displeasure is soon apparent when she writes the following on the napkin:

WHY D1DNT YOU S4Y SO 1N TH3 F1RST PL4C3? TH3N 1 WOULDNT H4V3 GON3 TO F1ND 4LL TH3S3 N4PK1NS

The napkins that Terezi is now going to drape over Meulin's head like a hat because what else is she supposed to do with all of these? Sheesh. Though she stops after a moment when a thought occurs to her. Another note is scribbled onto a spare napkin:

WH4T K1ND OF P3NS D1D YOU BR1NG?

Edited 2015-05-20 17:21 (UTC)

"You walked away before I could say something!"

Napkins. All over her head. One drapes over one eye, like an odd eye patch. Meulin blows at it but it doesn't seem to want to move. Very fashionable. She pulls that one off to set beside her.

"All kinds, every kind. I went to a stationary store."

And just to prove her point, she pulls out the notepad with one hand and a handful of pens with the other. Every color of the rainbow, bedecked with tributes and Capitol sayings. Truly, she went overboard, but a lot of her life revolves around having paper and pen, she needed this many. No matter what her cousin said.

Terezi is honestly surprised that she's letting the other napkins stay put on her head, save for the one that she pulled off for being in her face. Definitely not a Capitolite, this one. Not that Terezi minds at all. She grins at the stupid antics until the girl pulls out a bunch of pens in response to her question.

Delightful, is Terezi's first thought as she leans in to sniff at the pens. One of them happens to catch her attention--a pen with ink the color of her blood and her face plastered on the plastic jacket. "Oh no," she says out loud, her eyes widening in disbelief. The grin doesn't fade. She plucks it out of Meulin's hand and then swipes the notepad along with it so she can scribble down a new message:

TH1S 1S DOWNR1GHT PR3C1OUS
1 H4D NO 1D34 1 W4S 1N TH3 PR3S3NC3 4 F4N
DO YOU W4NT MY 4UTOGR4PH???
1 C4N L1CK TH3 P4G3 TOO 1F YOU WOULD R4TH3R H4V3 TH4T
MY TONGUOGR4PH
TH4T 1S WH4T 1 4M C4LL1NG 1T

She will, she's just distracted. Ridiculous troll antics are seeming par for the course with Terezi. Who even knows what she'd do next. Probably something equally silly. Like--

Like discover the pens have faces on them. Fabulous. And she picked the one with her own. Is she blind for real or is this more smelling things? She thought it was emotions not...pens. Her face heats up when she reads what Terezi wrote with said pen.

"No--I got all of them, see?" She pulls out mutant red, green and fuschia pink, cerulean and mustard yellow. She doesn't pull out the indigo, stashed at the bottom, gotten at a steep discount. She doesn't know why she bothered with that one. Besides how it kind of reminds her of Kurloz, a little, even if he hates his alters.

"Well the ones in stock. Some are old."

Terezi seems to study the other pends for a moment. To her credit, the smile doesn't fade from her lips completely, but it's no longer a full-blown grin. If anything, she strains a little to keep it in place. She can smell the colors... and the lack of a specific color that had come to her mind with all the rest.

Were they really so quick to erase any proof that he had once existed? It wouldn't be so hard to deal with if she didn't notice all the little places where he should be but isn't. She nods a little with Meulin's explanation, writing a short agreement:

NOT 4LL OF TH3M

She should probably do something else, but her thoughts feel hung up on that line. She has the sudden wild urge to do something that they can't cover up, something that can remind her of him... But the feeling passes when she reminds herself how stupid that would be.

DO TH3Y H4V3 MOR3 OF THOS3?
FROM TH3 PL4C3 TH4T YOU GOT TH3M FROM?

Edited 2015-05-20 22:08 (UTC)

"No--ah..."

She stalls on the words, lips moving but not wanting to say it aloud. She'd gotten every one they had, even if the green and blue trolls were no longer here. Green would be her color right? Ironic, given it's her favorite. She deliberately chooses a plain red to write down but she doesn't want to say aloud.

I got ALL of them. I can give you the address. Or take you sometime. But I got the last of ONE of them, so what were you looking for?

There was one thing she got from the coverage of Terezi, besides her friendship with the troll Meulin is a copy of. Even if she didn't speak it aloud, even if it was traitorous to think about him or speak of him.

Edited 2015-05-20 22:46 (UTC)

The capitalization of those particular words strikes Terezi as strange. Also the switch from talking to writing. It feels almost conspiratorial, despite only having just met the girl. She was from the districts, but... Not everyone shared the same feelings about their oppressors, and she had been given a pass to a life of glamor. Could she have been planted as a spy? Or was she trying to ferret out some kind of scoop?

Her face on the headline, expounding on how much she was pining after her lost love wasn't the sort of publicity that she needed. Unsmiling now, Terezi takes up her pen again, writing another response:

JUST 4 GR33N ON3
M4YB3 4 T34L ON3
TH4TS 4LL

She did want those, too. The green one, especially. And this was safer than the full truth.

On video, it was often because she didn't feel comfortable with the topic. In person, she just wasn't sure how much she wanted to say about the colors she chose. Terezi's answer isn't really the one she wanted, doesn't cover the concepts she wanted to ask about. But it's all she's getting and so she works with it.

You can have them if you want. I can get new ones of those! Pick what you like? I get a decent allowance. :33

She offers the bag to her, not quite looking up at her, not meeting her unseeing eyes. She smile bright, nudging it at her again.

"It's fine, really."

She offers the bag, and Terezi feels like it might be some kind of trap about to close on her hand as soon as she reaches in. She can get new ones, she says... Which means there are still more at the shop. She's almost certain that she knows what Meulin meant to say, but she takes the bag to rummage around in it anyway.

There at the bottom of the bag she finds it. It's an indigo pen with a face that smells so familiar to her, straight down to her bones. She stops rooting for a moment, only because Meulin isn't looking and she doesn't think anyone can see inside the bag.

She doesn't dare touch it. It would be such a stupid thing to ruin her credibility over a pen just because it has her matesprit's face on it. But she wants it, nonetheless, just like she wants every little thing that might remind her of him. Her heart feels a little heavier as she pulls her empty hand out of the bag.

She plucks up the green pen, depositing it into her lap and writes with the teal one again:

TH3S3 4R3 F1N3
TH3R3 1SNT 4NYTH1NG 3LS3 TH4T 1 W4NT 1N TH3R3

And then, just for a change of topic:

TH3Y G1V3 US AN ALLOWANCE TOO
3XC3PT BY 4LLOW4NC3 1 M34N 4 L1TTL3 PL4ST1C C4RD OF F1N4NC14L 1RR3SPONS1B1L1TY
1 C4N BUY YOU LUNCH SOM3T1M3 1N 3XCH4NG3 FOR TH3 P3NS?

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So hold my hand | OPEN

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