Julie Grigio (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
misscabernet) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
thecapitol2013-05-27 12:50 am
misscabernet) wrote in thecapitol2013-05-27 12:50 am
Entry tags:
[open!]
Who: Julie Grigio and OPEN
What; Getting used to being around myriads of people and generally reacting to a normal life in general. What is normalcy???
Where: The training center, wandering around, WHEREVER U WANT HER.
When; Post-Arena
Warnings/Notes: idk cursing I guess
Julie was thinking how weird it was -- only in retrospect, of course -- that the first time she'd been back in a, moving city after, oh, ten years, she'd needed to take it in alone. It was overwhelming, all of it: people moving without watching their backs, dressed in flashy, overwrought clothes that they hadn't scavenged from shredded corpse two towns back. There were wigs and bright gleaming gems and restaurants that sold food without rot and maggots and, Christ, she could get anything she fucking wanted if only she could figure out what that was.
She still wasn't sure. All of that wishing for what not only she'd lost, but humanity itself -- maybe it was just something simple. Fireworks and making out with Perry under a full moon, veins warm with beer. Then they could go see some stupid action movie where things exploded but not into sparks of color, and there was always a sweeping soundtrack, music that wasn't guarded jealously because it was so hard to find.
Going out and taking it all in was too much. She'd heard about it: culture shock. Had to figure this was something like it. So after that fiasco (where her heart had pounded and she'd felt a little sick from the lights and the natural heat of too many humans in too small a space), she stayed inside. Quieter there. And training, no matter how fucked it seemed, was normal. Keep up the accuracy, always be on your toes. No rest. Don't stop looking behind you.
God, if she could thank dad for all his shitty new-world colloquialisms that stuck in her head.
She was getting more adventurous. Wow, small goddamn victories. Still, she kept thinking... it wouldn't be too far off, getting thrown back in there. Getting to try her hand again at surviving or killing.
She could use the vacation. Besides, she wasn't up for admitting she might've been a little too fascinated with the center's elevator. What? Like she'd ever seen one of those working before. Not that she could remember. There was definitely a childish glee in watching the buttons light up, riding the box from one bumpy floor to another.]
What; Getting used to being around myriads of people and generally reacting to a normal life in general. What is normalcy???
Where: The training center, wandering around, WHEREVER U WANT HER.
When; Post-Arena
Warnings/Notes: idk cursing I guess
Julie was thinking how weird it was -- only in retrospect, of course -- that the first time she'd been back in a, moving city after, oh, ten years, she'd needed to take it in alone. It was overwhelming, all of it: people moving without watching their backs, dressed in flashy, overwrought clothes that they hadn't scavenged from shredded corpse two towns back. There were wigs and bright gleaming gems and restaurants that sold food without rot and maggots and, Christ, she could get anything she fucking wanted if only she could figure out what that was.
She still wasn't sure. All of that wishing for what not only she'd lost, but humanity itself -- maybe it was just something simple. Fireworks and making out with Perry under a full moon, veins warm with beer. Then they could go see some stupid action movie where things exploded but not into sparks of color, and there was always a sweeping soundtrack, music that wasn't guarded jealously because it was so hard to find.
Going out and taking it all in was too much. She'd heard about it: culture shock. Had to figure this was something like it. So after that fiasco (where her heart had pounded and she'd felt a little sick from the lights and the natural heat of too many humans in too small a space), she stayed inside. Quieter there. And training, no matter how fucked it seemed, was normal. Keep up the accuracy, always be on your toes. No rest. Don't stop looking behind you.
God, if she could thank dad for all his shitty new-world colloquialisms that stuck in her head.
She was getting more adventurous. Wow, small goddamn victories. Still, she kept thinking... it wouldn't be too far off, getting thrown back in there. Getting to try her hand again at surviving or killing.
She could use the vacation. Besides, she wasn't up for admitting she might've been a little too fascinated with the center's elevator. What? Like she'd ever seen one of those working before. Not that she could remember. There was definitely a childish glee in watching the buttons light up, riding the box from one bumpy floor to another.]
no subject
“Escort says…image matters,” R was about to whip out a shrug when he remembered Julie getting on his case about it. She was already reaching into his pocket as R swallowed and began groaning again. “Guess…so? You can…have it. It’s on…me.”
The doors opened to the lobby, the floors as spotless as if the Tower was brand new all over again. One of the Avoxes quietly faded into the background, so good at lurking even R almost missed him standing there in the corner. R started out of the elevator, Julie’s hand in his. Where did you go shopping here? Did he even remember how to shop? R suspected he didn’t. “Shopping” trips for him usually involved lurching along with the other zombies, grabbing something if he liked how it looked, sounded, or touched. No money required. Easier that way.
Julie would have to be the leader. R was down with following and trusting her to know what she was doing.
He’d say this was more her world than his, but thinking back, he’d seen the way she ogled the yacht, the way the other Living here simply didn’t care about stuff like Carbtein and if those clothes were a grab-hazard. How her eyes went big and wide and she'd take it all in. Maybe they were in the same boat after all.
no subject
"Your treat?" There's at least two seconds where she wonders what the limit on this is. Does it even have one? It hasn't escaped her very obvious notice that the Capitol is all about treating the tributes like something to be honored. Or at least like the kind of people that'll cooperate if they spoil the hell out of them. What can she say? It works. She's not so blind she doesn't notice.
The doors opened, and there's that moment like the first step of walking into Disney once she pulls them out of the tower -- too much to see, no idea where to go or where the hell anything was. She wandered, sure, but not far. Maps were required here. Or, like, guesswork. Yeah, go with that.
"So, any ideas? You hungry yet?" Totally rude question, by the way, but it was something to keep in mind here. She didn't know if they, uh... fed him. And as far as she knew, she hadn't seen R munching since home. Actually, not even really then. Since Perry.
Shit. Okay, not now. She reached up and tugged on the muzzle, gentle. "You think they're gonna freak if I try to get it off?"
no subject
R thought about that near miss with Eponine, how his Escort (politely) wigged out. “Pro…bably. They’re…very strict.”
With good reason, R wanted to add. It wasn’t like he had an urge to go chomping on Julie the moment that muzzle came off. She smelled insanely good – all Living did – but even he noticed that around her, it seemed like the hunger had no choice but to shut up and take a backseat for a change. It wasn’t always the case with the others. Sometimes it resurfaced, made him daydream and that was when R was glad about the muzzle being plastered to his face. Besides, he rather talk shop than talk about who he fantasized about being good eats, R’s corpse straining to flush again.
“Let’s…shop,” R said, thinking he was pretty slick for changing the subject away from the undead cannibalism thing.
He took the initiative, his cold hand squeezing Julie’s as he pulled his muzzle away from her and began shuffling down the path, R staring dully at the sun as they stumbled out onto a perfectly nice, beautiful Capitol morning. Now where to? At first he was ready to lump all the directions to Julie…until she made it plain and clear she was as much in the dark as he was. Awesome. Two lost patrols.
Standing there next to some tree that had been cropped to within an inch of its life, R tilted his head and sniffed noisily. When in doubt, sniff your way out? Okay, that probably only counted when he was hungry but…yeah. He didn’t have any better plans than put one foot in front of the other and see where that took him.
no subject
Too bad. She shrugs it off, looking unbothered. It's not gonna be the first time humans treat a zombie like an animal. In some way, they've got the right idea. No accidental deaths, no more Dead. It might be why it's worked -- why they can claim there's no zombies around here. Just the one, apparently.
"Sure." And then their grand journey continued a few more shuffling steps, and R stopped to. Sniff the air.
Okay. Seeing the animal thing here.
"You really gotta cram the bloodhound act, R. It's weird." And weird for them was pretty damn weird. What, was he gonna smell them up some pad thai? Only way that'd be helpful. (She'd still never found any on that yacht.) "What about, like, clothes?" She pulled away far enough to inspect him. Sure, the Capitol was all about glitzy, and the muzzle was certainly an eye-catcher, but she could admit she missed the old-school hoodie look. Minus all the blood and zombie goo covering the front. "We'll get something to match the muzzle. Make you look stately. People might take you seriously."
She might add that her plans never came with satisfaction guaranteed.
no subject
“Worth…a shot,” R says. If they could find some more relaxed clothes, that’d be awesome. R’s had it up to here with stiff collars and creases so sharp they were borderline lethal. He got his Escort thought it was all the rage (plus they kinda-sorta fixed his awful posture) but he did miss his old clothes. Did Julie? “You’re…the boss….today.”
Go ahead, he wanted to moan, do your worst. R trusted Julie’s judgment. It had to be better than his Escort’s, anyway, and it’d be her personal touch. He could live with that. R smiled behind the muzzle and after a moment, began unsteadily leading them down the street. Compared to the streets back home, these are clean, body-free of both the dead-dead and walking kind. If they bump into people, it was because they were getting stooped and cooed over for holding hands, R staring lost at these and trying to plot a way around. Eventually he got the rare lightbulb ding moment going off in his head to make their fans do something for them for a change.
“Know …way to…stores? We…want to…shop.”
There. R solved the problem of where to go. Sometimes he had a plan.
no subject
Not when she was looking at him. That stung. A little. A lot. (Why couldn't she get him out of her head? Pear was gone. R was here. R was here with part of Perry in him --)
So. Clothes. And she got to be the boss. Pretty sure she could could the number of times she'd been the boss on a hand with no fingers. Her hand tightened in his, though the smile on her face was easy, shoving her waves of hair behind her shoulder as they moved. She was pretty okay with having no idea where to go, really. Pretty sure anyone would jump at the chance to give a tribute directions.
Felt that way, at least. If anyone had said Julie would have fans, she would've... well, she wouldn't have laughed because it was a pretty shit joke, but obviously belief would've been non-existence. It was still pretty non-existent. Even when people came up to them, she couldn't do much but turn red and stammer with annoyance.
R got them going. How about that. Julie picked a couple of older ladies, hair gone crazy with pinks and neon greens like some sick twist of cotton candy, their chattering excited as they pointed out store after store. Clothes. Yay. Julie didn't really give a fuck about giving them more than a hasty thanks before all but dragging R behind her, inside.
The inside wasn't what she'd call... uh. Un-glitzy. Or normal. There were freaky colors, stuff that, honestly, she didn't even know what part of the body it covered. Hats bigger than her torso.
Oh. An undershirt. It was even black. Score. "So I'm thinking the serious thing might not be happening for you."
no subject
“Maybe…not so bed,” R said, dragging himself away from a hat with its own built-in laser display. The lights played across the delicate net surface, almost like they were alive. Like fish. The non-biting kind.
He eyeballed the shirt Julie actually bothered to pull off the rack instead of looking at it suspiciously, like it would blow up in her face if she handled it wrong. It looked like it had the sleeves in the right places, simple, the kind of thing he didn’t know they even made in the Capitol. All the clothes here were definitely on the safety-last list – even R could tell and he was a corpse. Plenty of things to grab onto or strangle or flat-out poke someone’s eye out with. R wasn’t too surprised to see Julie going for practical stuff instead of the fish-shirt.
“Find…something…you like?”
R wasn’t even looking at the shirt now, his eyes only for Julie. He kept telling himself he’d cut it out with the creepy staring. So far he was failing hard and not even sorry at this point, R’s gray eyes fixed on how Julie would fiddle with the shirt, feeling the material, wondering what she was thinking and happy to know there was something clicking in her head. It wasn’t at all like with another zombie. Even M took awhile to build up to something. With Julie here, he could watch how her eyebrows would scrunch, her nose would wrinkle, or something would make her smile to herself, this private one like she was by herself and not pretending they weren’t getting sniped by cameras.
no subject
It's weird stuff to think about when here she is, beside one of Them, even if he's wearing a muzzle over his mouth.
She looked between him and the shirt, and the stupid idea of trying to find something that might impress him -- that might catch a zombie's attention -- nearly set her reeling. She shrugged, nonchalant, sliding the shirt back where it was. Actually, on second thought, she thought it might just be a bra.
"I'm still looking," she said. They move to another rack and something does catch her attention. It's a dress, strapless, with a fluff of black feathers at the top. The dress, though, is an orange, red, and black mix, the pattern exactly like the wings of some kind of butterfly. There are layers and folds and, god knows why, this one does catch her eye. It's like that princess dress, but not burnt all to shit. The last time she wore a real dress was when Perry met her father. Their little dinner party.
She pursed her lips, narrowed her eyes at it, then lifted it up anyway. Julie held it against herself, looking to R for a reaction. Any reaction, she figured, was a welcome one. "What do you think? It screams so not me."
no subject
R peered at the dress, focusing first on Julie's pink face, then on the splashes of orange against black. Compared to some of the stuff they passed on the way in, it looked like it was in the wrong store: it actually looked like a dress at all. He tried to picture Julie wearing it. Swap out the red number she had on before – R could feel his shriveled brain clenching, like it didn’t want to flex its muscles – and yeah, there it was. His imagination stuttered until it came back with something. Julie in the butterfly dress.
R felt his heart trying to pretend it was anything but a dead lump in his chest. Was he impinging it fluttered?
“…It…looks pretty,” R decided to come clean if his personal opinion was going to be rattling out today. Maybe it wasn’t Julie’s usual style, but he liked it. In fact, he liked it a lot. “You would…work...it.”
Uh oh, here it came: R decided to try something new and daring even if he snapped off a few fingers in the attempt. The zombie’s gray hand wobbled up. He thought he remembered what this looked like – in fact, he was sure he must’ve seen it before on one of those trampled magazines, the ones he pawed through trying to read and ended up just staying for the pictures. Now he was going for broke, wanting to impress on Julie just how much he liked the dress she picked out even if no, it wasn’t her because she knew better than to wear something that would hold her down while zombies chewed off her legs. His fingers folded one by one, almost tortured, R ignoring the fact that a few of them were giving warning creaks.
Eventually he cranked it out:
Julie’s dress earned R’s very first thumbs up, shaky and barely holding it together. (It totally still counted).
“You should…get it, Ju…lie,” R groaned. “Really.”
no subject
It was worth it. First she gets pretty, which, look, she's not the desperate kind and that was good enough for her. Julie's also spent enough time around R to know he wasn't done yet. So she waits, quiet, watching it all happen in slow-time. The raise of his arm, the clenching of his fingers. And then that single thumb raising up with that goofy smile.
It definitely counted.
Despite herself she laughed, though it wasn't at him. It was a soft huff of disbelief, watching him as her teeth grazed her lip. Sometimes it was hard -- okay, outside of the dead glow of his eyes and the mottled grey of his skin and, hell, the muzzle -- to remember he wasn't actually alive. Sometimes he seemed so entirely human that she kind of forgot. Just for a second.
You are something else, she thought. What she said was, "If you're on board with it, I'm sold." There was a note of pleased confidence in her voice because, despite what she'd figured, R's opinion mattered. And she might've been looking to impress a little.
"What about you?" Her eyes were appraising as they swept over him. "I kinda miss the hoodie look. We gotta find you something."
no subject
The shy smile behind his muzzle grew a little wider, softening despite his rigor mortis muscles. With Julie here, sometimes he felt like he wasn’t rotting, like maybe he could go with a good tan and fresh clothes and that the muzzle was only there for looks.
“You…liked it?” R’s rattling voice was surprised, then pleased, because the clothes a zombie died in were one of the few solid clues about who they were. It was one of the few personal things left. He’d sometimes felt self-conscious about his: a ratty hoodie compared to M’s nice suit, holes that probably were there even before the apocalypse. Now Julie was saying she liked the “look” (he had a look?) and that made R miss his hoodie even more now. “I…agree. Find...more…like it?”
“You would look both adorable if you tried matching colors,” said the voice behind R’s shoulder. “Trust me.”
By now they’d attracted attention – they might not be the most popular Tributes out there, but a girl and her zombie was still a sale and this sales associate was a hardcore romantic who'd love a chance to make her mark on one of the Arena couples. She shipped it all: Katniss/Peeta, Julie/R, Howard/Eponine, Maximus/Wyatt – you name it, she gushed and giggled about it to all her friends. Now she eased her way around R’s shoulder, this little short girl about Julie’s age who had shaved half her head and replaced it with shimmering tattoo scales, today in District 12’s reds and blacks. Her nametag glittered with ABELIA across it. R hadn’t even heard Abelia pop up until now, the zombie giving a slow start in surprise.
no subject
"What?" Christ, she nearly lost her heart there. It wasn't just the zombie who was surprised, though Julie's reaction was a little faster -- a jump in her heart, a hand raised to her hair to nervously pull at it.
She didn't want to think about the fact that with R, sometimes, she kind of. Forgot the rest of the world. Or. Fuck. Julie's eyes jumped to the nametag, back up to the girl's head. What was with the fucked-up fashion around here? It was like... hell, she didn't know. Even what she remembered of, you know, normal life, no one dressed like the people here.
"Yeah, uh..." She glanced at the zombie, tucking the dress tighter around her arm. "There's no way I'm gonna do that. We're not even in the same district." Bad enough that they had people, like, thinking they were together or something. The hell was she supposed to do with that?
no subject
R was torn between finding it comforting someone out there isn’t too weirded out at that thing(?) between Julie and him and something else. Annoyance? R thinks he’s annoyed after all, because they were doing this together, just Julie and him, and now there’s someone else he needs to groan up words for. If you ask him, he’d rather save the few words he can groan out at a time for Julie. Glancing at Julie, his head lolling almost lazily, he could see her body language had changed: she had the dress stuck almost defensively under her arm, like she wanted to turtle up and stand her ground at the same time like she could do both. Pure Julie.
“Looking for…” R wracked his brain for what he wanted to say. “Hoodie.”
He can see the girl starting to come up with colors and accessory suggestions and sneaking another glance at Julie, he thought this could get more complicated than it has to. R hurried to think of something simple. He cheated, going off Julie’s colors: not the dress she picked out, but her.
“Yellow…or blue…?” R slid that in right there, thinking he was doing decently for being put on the spot here. He even remembered to be polite. “Puh…please.”
His eyes drifted from Abelia to Julie, checking to see what she thought of his new color choices.