thecapitol | (no subject)

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Who| Signless and Beck | Signless and OPEN
What| Signless has a chat with the new D12 stylist and does his best to stay occupied.
Where| Around the Tower
When| Arena Week 2
Warnings/Notes| None I can think of!

A. For Beck | D12 Stylist Area
Stylists are, admittedly, not Signless's favorite part of the Tower staff. He doesn't like being fussed over and prodded and put in outfits that are more impractical than they are comfortable. It's incredible how much he misses Cinna and Cinna's understated style, even if the stylists that have been looking after Twelve since Cinna left have been giving him increasingly more and more freedom in what he wears. There are some perks to seniority, he supposes.

It's therefore with only a little trepidation that he steps into the domain of Twelve's new stylist, an as-yet mostly unknown entity to him. When she introduced herself over the network he was still steadfastly ignoring his communicator and so he has no idea what to expect from her. These tattoos aren't going to update themselves, though, and she's the best place to start.

"Miss Scordato? May I come in, or are you busy?"

B. OPEN | Tower Commons
A new rack of Celebrus is always something to at the very least take a glance at. Most of the time Signless just hopes he and those he considers his have been overlooked, but it seems this time he hasn't escaped a mention. Frankly he's surprised there wasn't more of a focus on him given his connection with the Initiate, but he's grateful that connection wasn't mentioned or, god forbid, the focus of a whole tragic chunk of an article.

No, they chose to talk instead about the time he thought providing a mercy kill as someone who'd never killed before was a good idea. They chose instead to focus on a relationship with the Psiioniic he doesn't actually have (wrong quadrant, still very much up in the air) instead of the relationship he does have and has had for months. It's not really that bad but he knows his small but dedicated group of fans are going to have a field day about what they see as confirmation of their 'ship'. Panem humans are weird.

"At least cloaks are finally in fashion," he mumbles to himself, flipping idly through the pages.

C. OPEN | Around the Tower
If there's one thing Signless has noticed about Capitol fashion, it's that male humans seem to wear an awful lot of dresses. He may be somewhat biased by the large amount of drag queens on staff, but he still feels as though that might be something he should get in on. And why not? Leggings are 'feminine' clothes (apparently?) and those are perfectly serviceable and comfortable. The right dress should follow the same principle -- and, furthermore, should show the Capitol that he's making an effort to adapt to their norms and lifestyle.

Alright. So it's possibly a little flawed, as plans go, even if it comes from a good place. It doesn't stop him from talking with Beck, and it doesn't stop Beck from making the dress or setting him loose on the Tribute Tower with it on. As expected, the dress itself is quite comfortable -- he asked for one that wasn't restrictive and that showed off the floral tattoos on his arms, and that's exactly what he got. He doesn't even mind the makeup, simple black eyeliner and red lipstick; it's no worse than any of the other makeup he's been put in and for once it actually suits him. No, the real problem is the heels.

Signless doesn't like shoes at the best of times. He's worn heels all of once, a pair of low chunky blue things that were part of his disguise during the first jailbreak. These heels -- bright red, fairly tall, strappy -- are an entirely different beast. When he's not wobbling around like a baby giraffe he can be found sitting on the nearest flat surface giving his feet a break.

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"I've more or less stayed with what Cinna set out for me originally, and it's served me well," he says with a nod, pleased to hear that she doesn't think his image needs too much change. He likes it more or less the way it is.

"Simple clothes, layers, bare feet if I can get away with it. We wanted to play up the idea of someone who was non-threatening, and he thought the simplistic style of dress would translate as suitably non-Capitol. It's also not too far away from what I wore before I came here; I've found it's far easier to navigate social situations if I'm not constantly distracted by how uncomfortable I am in my clothes." The few times he has been forced into clothing he's uncomfortable with, it's shown.

"If you wanted to try to incorporate more authentic Alternian style into what I wear to add to that alien look I could give you advice there."

Beck almost claps at that, her face lighting up. "Would you? I'd love to learn some more about it! And then we can get you something that's really all about you, you know? Hang on." Holding her cookie between her teeth, she bends over in her seat, rifling through a few drawers before coming up with a notepad and a pencil. One long leg kicks up onto the desk, and she looks over at him expectantly.

"You seemed to like leggings as well, right?"

That is exactly the reaction he was hoping to see. His face lights up in a mirror of hers and he sits a little forward in his chair. Not that he hasn't liked a good chunk of the day to day outfits he's been allowed to more or less put together for himself -- this isn't really about the clothes. This is about someone in the Capitol who's honestly interested in his culture for reasons other than to fetishize it.

"Yes! Back home they were all I would wear -- not the leggings you have here, ones that went all the way up to my chest." He indicates about where with one hand. "They needed to be simple because we made all of our own clothes, they needed to be comfortable because we spent all of our time traveling, and they needed to be covering because we spent all of our time traveling in the desert."

Beck nods encouragingly, making a quick note and taking a bite of cookie as she looks him up and down. "Makes sense," she agrees, chewing on the end of her pencil. "What did you make them out of? I mean, I'm guessing you didn't have synthetics in the desert, right? Were they elastic, or did you have, like... a drawstring or something?" Then, with a slightly sheepish laugh, "Sorry, sorry. Getting carried away. But didn't it get awfully hot, wearing something like that in the desert?"

She's never been in the desert, of course. She's never been anywhere but the Capitol, where the weather is temperate and comfortable, and her idea of what you wear in the sun is accordingly more about showing skin than covering it. Even having seen the damage the sun's done to some Tributes in the past, it's hard to make that seem real. Put a Capitolite in a desert, and they'll immediately make a stylish bikini.

"No, no, I don't mind the questions. My mother would buy fabric when we went through towns. Really it wasn't that different than what the leggings I wear here are made of -- a little thicker, if anything. As for heat, well. Trolls are nocturnal, and the desert is cooler when it's dark. It's only since living here that I've adjusted to being awake during the day and sleeping at night."

And how weird is that, to realize that he's so well-integrated that he's even adopted a human internal clock? It used to be hard to stay awake during the day, a trial to get to sleep at night. Now it's just a normal part of his schedule that he takes for granted.

"I know that feeling." Beck laughs, winking at him. "When I started working here, and I wasn't working nights any more, I was late to work so often. Now I'm up at 5am every morning." Not that she's overcompensating or anything. "Makes sense, though. I guess I always figured deserts were really hot all the time, like they are in the movies. The leggings you have now, they're not too thin or anything, right?"

"Oh, no, not at all. Panem is cooler than Alternia but I've acclimated well enough. It's only when it gets into the snowy season that I have to switch to thicker fabrics. And shoes. I never wore shoes until I came here."

In fact, the very first thing he ever did when he first arrived in the Disneyland Arena was to take off the boots they'd outfitted him with because he simply couldn't walk with them on.

"I've gotten more used to that, too. I have a few pairs of soft leather boots I'm very fond of. I wouldn't object to more of those if you wanted to make some."

"I'll see what I can do." Beck sounds thoroughly cheery about the idea. Solid suggestions! Her favourite! "I can't imagine not wearing shoes outside, though. Don't your feet get all cut up? What if someone's broken a glass or something?"

This is, of course, coming from someone who's currently barefoot herself, but that's different. She's inside, and there are first aid kits in case she steps on something. She doesn't imagine those would be readily available in a desert, which she's still imagining almost exactly like the desert Arenas she's seen.

He'd much rather give good solid suggestions than whine and balk and get stuck in something he hates. It makes everyone's job easier.

"Fourteen sweeps of calluses don't fade easy," he says with a toothy grin. "The team before you took over tried to get rid of them. They couldn't thin them down faster than I could build them back up."

He has a feeling she's one of the few stylists here who won't be absolutely disgusted by that.

His feeling is right; she laughs, covering her mouth with her hand. "Oh, so you're the reason Tiberia quit! Did they get the metal files out?" She crosses one leg over the other, her own bare feet perfectly smooth and pedicured. "I used to have hell with callouses when I was dancing, you know. I'd come back from a show and spend half an hour sanding the stupid things off, and then they grow back thicker the next time, and you just never stop. You might have the right idea, just letting them grow!"

It works for him, anyway. He's an alien, can pass it off as cultural or just physiological. She, unfortunately, is going to have to keep on with the emery board on her own feet.

"Oh, but we could do something with bare feet!" she says after a moment, and claps her hands. "Maybe some more tattoos? Or we could paint them on, if you'd rather."

Tattoos. Tattoos! He's been enjoying talking to her so much that he actually forgot the reason he had for wanting to speak to her in the first place.

"I actually wanted to talk to you about my tattoos; I've been thinking about adding more to them. The flowers I have now are for my family from before I came to Panem, but I have so many connections that I've made here and it doesn't feel right not to include them. I had wanted to use them to cover up some of the chains in the original pieces, but if you wanted to add some around my feet as well I'd consider it. I can see flowers working well for an anklet design, maybe?"

If Beck knew that was what had made him take so long to ask, it would make her day. As it is, she's still pretty cheerful, clapping her hands together in enthusiasm.

"What a great idea! I hadn't realised that was what the tattoos meant!" And, now that she's been told, she's looking at them with a rather calculating expression. It's a touching thought, the idea of carrying the people he loves with him around like that. She wonders why so few people do it. "We could definitely do that, sure! What flowers were you thinking of?"

"Something for Roland, of course," he says. "Not a rose, that's too obvious -- and he's no rose anyway. I was thinking a cactus flower. Something unconventional."

Roland is a lot of things, but a traditional symbol of beauty and love is not one of them.

"And then snapdragon for Terezi... and foxglove for the Initiate. I know it seems strange to want him on my skin after what he did, but whatever kind of person he was, he was a big part of my life. It will serve as a reminder to be more cautious in future."

He isn't sure where she stands on that particular issue, so it's safer to keep up the face of the friend betrayed for now. And even if she is more rebellious than most Capitolites, her office no doubt has cameras.

"Doesn't seem strange to me," Beck says, with a little half-shrug. "We can't just forget about people who helped make us, even if they were traitors and liars. Even if they're only really useful as a cautionary tale."

She bites her lip, looking thoughtful for a moment, then turns to pick up her notepad again. "Cactus sounds good for Roland, anyway. I like it. Unexpected, but it totally fits. Tell you what, why don't you sketch up any ideas you've got for where to put them, and I'll sketch up my ideas, and we can see what works best all around, you know? Getting an artist's the easy bit, I can have you signed up and in the chair in an hour."

"Good idea. Though they'll have to be able to extrapolate off the sketches a little, I'm not much of an artist myself."

The scratchy pictures he draws are clear enough, though. They extend the flowers up his arms and onto his shoulders, with a few single flowers trailing as far as up his neck. There are notes in particular about the chains and how he might like them covered if possible: flowers growing through the cuffs of the shackles or threaded through the links, not covering them entirely but taking the focus off them. There are more important things to him than how he died.

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this can ALSO probably fade soon we are on fire