thecapitol | But what am I to do when the Devil is I?

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But what am I to do when the Devil is I?

Who| Kurloz & Meulin
What| Long before the dream event, Kurloz arranged for a date next arena. There's no backing out now.
Where| Pier 12 Carnivale and Arcade
When| Some time during the mini Arena.
Warnings/Notes| language, smoking/drugs. Possible references to self-mutilation/mouth-stitching, Peacekeeper violence, brainwashing.

There aren't enough blunts in the world, let alone crammed in his inner-vest pocket next to his pen and paper. These are made special, rainbow smoke swirls rising the fuck up. Miracles in his lungs with the hope they'll curl up in the back of his mind. He wonders if she'll even remember. Maybe she won't.

He's dressed like she'll show anyway, makeup done, crown on his head, skirt and leggings. The blunts fit right between his stitches. She won't be able to tell, but the threads have been done in fresh. Most important of all, he's put a smile on.

Behind in the lights shine and flash, an epileptic's nightmare. The pier is massive, enough so to compensate for the heavy rides that weave under and up and around. The air smells of sweets, meats, and deep-fried everything. There's shouts and laughter and joyous screams, the occasional performer going about their way. One the one side of the beach, the arcade spills sound onto the sand. On the other side, just pure beach. His home away from home, here. He can't count the number of times he's been around. He's a regular. He's been one since before he was a mute, which means they pretend to still like him.

Even if she doesn't show, he figures it won't be a waste of the night.

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He won't show. It's pointless to put this much care into her appearance. Though she's sure a Capitolite would say she hadn't put enough. Not much flash or glimmer, she dresses simply. Her dress is better suited for the beach but she dresses it up with a lace choker, heels and a big flower clip that pulls back her her hair to one side. Her makeup is light, gold shimmer at her temples that slips into lavender at her eyes and gold lining her eyes. Perhaps this simple choice is deliberate, a reminder, or just being tired of dressing up ever day for work. She hardly knows herself. She doesn't really know if he will be there.

If he doesn't come, she'll find a little cafe to hole up in and read something. It won't be a waste of an outing. She holds her purse behind her with both hands as she walks, eyes fixed on the rides that swing, roll and rocket above her. They dip up and under the pier in defiance of logic. Trust Capitolites to make something big and grand.

Her eyes slip down and her smile doesn't falter when she meets his gaze. Surely her eyes must show her surprise and the hesitance. She doesn't doubt he remembers, has ever detail vivid in his mind. Does he really want to be here? He smiles but she's not sure the smile is for her.

She raises her hand in greeting and picks her way through to him.

Edited (wow good going me) 2015-08-11 23:27 (UTC)

He finds, no matter how he tries, with his face turned upward toward the sky, it is impossible to blow smoke rings with stitches through his lips. There's no moment where he considers taking them out, just a curious blankness in him. It's familiar, so it doesn't bother him.

But so is she, so he's not sure what the difference is. It's a flash of light that makes him look down, has him see her. She looks like she came in just off the beach, a lovely ghost in the night, but a ghost would never welcome him even as much as she does. She's beautiful, and he feels like he did all wrong. He should've worn green. He should've worn black. He should've done something different than what he is.

He spots the surprise and hesitance in her eyes and uses that time to bar the doors on his own, no one gets in, no one gets out. His heart aches so he pretends that it's hollow. Simple, easy corrections. All is well.

He takes one last breath from his joint and stubs it out. (He was nearly done anyway.) Then he starts over, beaming. He bows to her and his crown stays on, held with hidden clips.

Edited 2015-08-12 00:02 (UTC)

It'd be easy to pretend nothing happened. That the incident in the dream was just a dream on her own. But he hadn't spoke to her, hadn't sent a text confirming or even a message for her birthday. Though he probably didn't remember. It had been years.

She smiles bright, hesitance vanishing as she watches his bow. He comes back up and the crown doesn't slip an inch. Clever. She's convinced she'll lose this flower an hour into the night.

"I love your flowers. I think I wore something similar to the Crowning. Goes very well with the motif."

Stepping in closer, she deliberately takes up his hand in the same slow delicate way she had before.

If he sees that flower slip he'll be more than willing to give her all the tips for pulling off the same staying ability as his crown, but his focus isn't so much upon that at the moment. He's trying to keep it from being anything that happened in the dreams too. Right now he just wants this to be about them having fun.

And because of that, there's no reason to stop her from stepping close. Certainly no reason to stop her from taking his hand. He meets hers and gives a squeeze most gentle.

He's glad she showed up, he decides. They'll have a good time here. So help him, he'll make certain of it. Even if all their previous engagements have had their notes of sourness.

He gestures at her, then out to the park behind him. Are you ready?

She looks up and out beyond him. There must be the sounds of children screaming in delight, a cacophony of music to match the light. All she gets is this dull vague sound but she closes her eyes and imagines for a moment. Sometimes sounds come easy. The soft roar of the ocean, the sound of her sisters voice thought it must be too high for her now. The sound of his voice is harder to pin, harder to capture and hold and imagine in all its glory, perhaps because it no longer exists. He'll never speak again and she'll never hear it. She laces her fingers through his and opens her eyes to smile bright at him.

"Let's. Do you know what do because I've nefur been. You told me about it and then I had to wait to go with you."

Her fingers lace with his. Her eyes look right up. The memories fizzle away like soda bubbles and he forgets they were ever mother fucking there. What good are they? What good is all that when they go the motherfuckin now.

He smiles back and speaks with his eyes. You're in for a treat.

He starts leading them in. Covering costs is always the first thing, but in short time they're through. Sales booths surround, a coaster zips by over heads, blowing their hair, the delighted screams there and go in an instant. Everything is bright and flashing. Everything is beautiful.

He points out a Ferris wheel, a Merri-go-round with all kinds of fantastical creatures. His attention goes to the house of mirrors and funhouse right above. He points it out like a delighted child then looks to her to confirm his delight is warranted.

Hand in hand, he shows her the splendor. The vague noise gains a pitch as the coaster speeds by and her hair flies in her face. The world is a flashing thing of light that moves so fast she can hardly keep up. Her hand squeezes his and she stops still at the sight of the Ferris Wheel that reaches up in to the sky, practically touching it. Her shoulder bumps his as she slides closer with a sudden fear tinged pleasure at the idea of being up so high.

It's all the perfect distraction, like nothing she's seen and so there's no haunting memory to call up, no confusion and even his stitched lips are smiling in delight, no fear or pain. She practically beams at him as he points out the other attractions. It all seems so intense, she's not sure what to do.

"Where do we go first?"

He's so delighted to show her everything, but he doesn't fail to watch her face. He watches for any sign of anything at all, evaluating for himself what she's most interested in, what should be tried first and what must come later. They've done the tour, now's time for the show.

The Ferris wheel seems the winner here. He knows what that ride could mean though. So, he points at a coaster, something to start them off while they had the energy, then to spinner ride, a swinging boat, a haunted house and funhouse next to it, a few games here and there, a second coaster, and then finally, back at the Ferris wheel. Best for last.

He looks at her and gives a thumbs up, but there's a question behind it. Is this a good plan?

Best for last. She evaluates the choices and decides she knows no better at what order things should be done. But the wheel that reaches so high, that does seem best to do last, when it's dark as it can be in this city and she can look out and see all around. She nods at the question in his tone and tugs his hand, off in the direction of the first coaster.

Once they're closer, the sheer size and height of it make her wonder if she's made a wrong choice here. No, she must persevere. A little thing like the height of a rollercoaster won't dissuade her.

He squeezes her hand, meaning to provide small comfort and strength. She can do this, he's positive.

And truth told, he's too excited to pass it up. There aren't thrills quite like this anywhere in Capitol, so was his opinion. He's grinning wider than his stitches want to go.

The line doesn't take long-- wonders of the Capitol. He hops into the seat first then reaches once more for her hand so as she can join him. Hoping she will.

He doesn't give an opportunity to hesitates and really that's what she needs. No time to overthink, no way to sneak out of it. She takes his hand and steps in, takes a seat and refuses to let go of his hand. The track rises up out of sight before them and she turns to look at him quickly.

"It's safe right?" She smiles, as if joking, but the train lurches ahead into motion and her words voice fades to a squeak.

There's a strong temptation to simply shrug, just to see the reaction and laugh at the sure horror. He can't do that to Meulin though. What he does instead is give a thumbs up, which is much more likely to be taken as a yes, this is perfectly safe, over the possible we're doing it anyway.

The coaster rises up and over. There's the brief slow in time when everything lifts and his heart starts to feel the rush. He looks over wide eyed in that breif bit of time, then they're lurching forward, moving like lightening over the track. They go up and done, on in circles and loop up and over beneath the pier and over. He listens close to her and keeps holding on to her hand.

right up until they come to a stop and are able to exist. His hair is vastly more poofed than it was before they got on, but his crown is still attached. He nods his head towards the next ride.

She appreciates it, for what it's worth. It settles something for a moment at least but that last only moments until they crest the hill, pause. She doesn't look at him, eyes locked on the fall below, the surety of their demise and the promise it would be fine. The speed tears a scream from her, everything airborne, her hair, her heart, her lifting from the seat a fraction.

The screams change in pitch, giddy with the arenaline and fear, the rush of it all. She feels as though they'll collide with themselves or the pier so many times, but it only adds, only makes it more thrilling and she has never felt this sort of rush before. Not when Tula tried to teach her to surf, not when she jumped from the pier the first time. Nothing compares.

The stop brings her back to herself. Carefully, her legs still unsure of themselves after that bout of flying, she climbs out and after him. The next ride, of course. She's breathless, laughing as they walk.

"I thought I would die. Until we didn't--that was amazing."

The moment the scream changes from fear to thrill is the best moment. He can hear a laugh underneath and that's what makes it good. There really is no other comparison.

When she climbs out after him her hand it taken once more, their vastly differing heights being the only thing to stop him from linking their arms. There's a laugh on his lips that doesn't fall, but can be felt when he gently bumps her side. Proof you're alive.

He takes her onto the spinning cyclone next, hair all sent whipping about. Then comes that boat, the rush to the back seats where the sensation of floating is best felt. The haunted house follows, all manner of demonic looking mutt popping up. It's in here he wraps his arms around, as though he really can protect her so long as the monsters aren't real. He makes faces in the funhouse mirrors and later slaps down the money for games. The gun feels wrong in hands but it wins him a prize to pass along. An unfortunate choice, as then attempts to get on the final coaster mean parting with what plush companions they've acquired.

It's just one last coaster, one last gripping of her hand before the sharp drop. Then all that's left is that Ferris wheel. He spares a glance at her, just to confirm it's what she wants to do.

It's such a sensory overload, she feels that when she comes home, she'll have to lay quiet on her bed for a few hours before sleep will come and the giddiness will diminish in her veins. The spinning, floating, the actual fear and his arms around her, she soaks all up all the sensations. She drags him to mirrors that make her tall and him short and laugh and laugh.

He gets to see her try the ringtoss and fail, but fling a dart to a balloon just perfectly. She gets her prize and promptly hands it over to Kurloz. They both need souvenirs.

The last coaster is a breathless adventure much like the first and the fear is still there at the top. It flings down and she's giddy all over again when they step off hand in hand. She chatters sometimes, but sometimes she doesn't, but it's all the same. It's all the same to them.

The Ferris wheel is their last stop and she finds she doesn't want the night to end. Doesn't want this easy time with him to come to a close. He looks at her and she smiles, nods, squeezes his hand.

"Can you see the whole Capitol from up there?"

They have a rhythm. They used to when they were younger as well but with all the changes, he would've assumed it lost. But it's not lost, it's just changed. She fills the silences and even when she ain't doing so, the quiet is comfortable, not expectant on his incessant babbling as when they were kids.

She lets him wrap his arms around and that's a miracle. He gets to listen to her laughter before the mirrors. He's duly impressed by her skill at the dart throwing, breaking into applause before the prize is placed in his hands and he smiles fondly at her. Now comes the best.

To her question, he nods, already looking up in breathless anticipation. It's whole form flashes with rainbow colored lights, every now and then changing to form whismical patterns and pictures. He takes her with him up to the line, through it, and into the carriage.

He's done this a thousand times but he's always done it alone. The doors close on them both and he settles inside. It's only as they start to lift that he looks up and sees her there, realising this will be his first time not going solo.

The view goes from the glory of the Carnival, to the beauty yet beyond, the city bright and wondersome. Even stars can be seen should one look just long enough. All the lights twinkle on the water of the bay, the sound fading out.

She still fears falling but it's diminished. Less so, now that she's tempted death on the coasters and now that they can sit here and watch the world slowly come into view.

It's breathtaking and she cautiously leans up on the railings to get a better view. Her feet are tucked up underneath her to better balance as she tries to get even higher, to see even more.

She turns back with a grin that slowly fades into a fond smile as she watches the light play over his makeup, over his hair and outfit. The shimmering rainbow light suits him so well.

Way, hey, and up she rises...

The view is beautiful, but in all truth, he's not looking at it all. He's looking at her, simply watching her face. He sees where she lights up and grins, what wonders come about her. If he could just see inside he head, what marvels would he find? The way the light shines upon her... it's beautiful. She's beautiful.

He spares one glance out before she meets his eyes. From his point of view, where she looks onto the city, he sees the bay and so that's what's the backdrop to her, as if they were at sea. Up here, nearing the highest point of the wheel, they are so far from the world and everyone in it, so far from the past.

He shifts, sliding forward to tuck a bit of her hair behind her ear. This night should be proof, shouldn't it be? It should show that the past doesn't have to exist. Up here, none of it ever happened.

His hand still gently cupping her jaw, he leans in the rest of the way, threads touching her lips this time.

Edited 2015-09-13 20:41 (UTC)

Her flower flew off on that last coaster, so her hair falls all about her face. The gentle touch isn't unexpected, isn't unwelcome. Neither is when it lingers on her cheek, on her jaw. The uncertain feeling that rises in her gut makes her want to babble this moment away. The idea that this can't be and won't be. Like last time. Like every time.

But it does. It is. The kiss on her lips arrives soft and sweet and with threads that are a reminder but not a deterrent. She kisses back just as soft and twice as sweet, holding this moment in her memory. The moment everything was perfect.

It's no passionate make-out. It's not like Caiaborus, pulling his hair and being used all up. It's not like Porrim's fangs on his neck, tracing tattoos. It isn't neither the many nameless nights, taking whatever drug he'd managed to score to fuck and forget. He doesn't want to let Meulin go. A whole damn decade apart and he still wants her.

He's kept himself stitched and away on the vaguest and slimmest of hopes that he could help her back home. He became a stylist for District four when he could've chosen any other. He hasn't cared for anyone else like he has for her.

He loves her. And what could be more mother fuckin unfortunate than that?

He pulls his lips away, not to catch breath or anything, but simply because. He moves up to kiss her forehead, refusing to think beyond what he feels. His crown comes off his head gets placed upon hers. He puts on a smile.

Meulin only has other soft kisses to compare it to but it isn't them. They aren't even close. Her lips part as he pulls away, to take in breath, to spill out words, but she doesn't do either. She watches him for a moment, thinks about the words she'd want to say, the things she feels. She holds them back, holds them close and dear and doesn't bury them again but doesn't let them out into open air.

She loves him. She doesn't know why she doesn't say it. He must already know. He kisses her forehead so sweetly and crowns her with bones and light and love.

Her smile blooms even brighter as she reaches up to touch the bone crown. Her hand moves to his, grasps his hands gently within her own and lets the inescapable feeling fill her up. It's foolish and selfish and reckless but she doesn't care. She leans up on her knees to kiss his own forehead, leaving a black smudge in the middle of his white that makes her bite back a giggle.

The smile he wears grows more real with the way her own smile grows, the way she plays with the crown. And of course the mark of a kiss left in his paint. He laughs a little himself, silent as always but visible.

He shifts in beside her then, tucking himself close and wrapping his arms around her. His head leans to the side, closer to her. If he could just pull her up inside, cage her within his hollowed ribs, she'd surely be safe there.

He casts a glance over the side, down at the ride-runners who seek to keep their wheel balanced and he grins back at her, knowing this illicit act will garner frowns around but being unable to care. She's his. He's hers.

His grin is mysterious for a girl who doesn't know how the wheel balances or that they shouldn't be tucked in close together like this. It gains a smile back all the same. It's difficult to worry when he's wrapped around her. The embrace fills her up to the brim. It makes it so easy to forget about before, about all the reasons this could go wrong. Whatever this is. It makes it even easier not to care about labeling what they have.

"Thank you for tonight."

Before she can think about it too hard, she leans up to kiss him this time.

No label. No worry. No sureness that when they wake up in the morning, they'll never see one another again. There's tomorrow and the day after that and all the time onward. They don't have to say they love one another. They already know.

She leans up and he meets her part way, placing a kiss upon her lips, hand going up to hold her hair. He can only kiss like this, nothing more, but he doesn't think she'll worry so. She hardly mind the feeling of thread like some how would pull away repulsed.

You're welcome, he thinks, as he draws back. It's been quite the night now, hasn't it.

The Carnival really was all full up with miracles. She just so happened to be one he was missing.

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But what am I to do when the Devil is I?

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