maskormenacelogs | put the bass in your walk

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put the bass in your walk

WHO: Hazel & Martin
WHERE: some mall in Heropa
WHEN: July 13
WHAT: Hazel is going to get her not-quite-babysitting charge some new clothes if it kills them both.
WARNINGS: None!

[Hazel keeps both of her promises - sometime in the middle of the week she drops a reminder in Martin's inbox, and now that the day has finally arrived she's standing in front of the door to his house, rapping smartly on it. she's actually put on one of her dresses, paired with opaque tights and a hoodie to hide the bare stretches of skin, as if looking a little more fashionable than usual is going to give her some sort of authority on this whole thing.

she's conveniently forgetting that the last time she went out on a shopping trip with someone else she tackled said someone in a changing room and accidentally shoplifted an ugly sweater. it's not important to right now.]

Hey, Martin! It's for you!

[after a few moments of waiting she decides it's smart to raise her voice and let Martin know that he actually needs to answer the door. he seems like the kind of person who, even if he remembers their date, would hide under the couch and hope whoever was knocking would eventually leave.]

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[it's progress that the second notification Martin gets isn't one he responds to the whole network about. it's progress he doesn't credit to himself, or even think as a step in the right direction at all. it's just one more thing to linger in his mind until the day happens to come.

the worst is the seven part. seven of what? he thought of asking, but any time he actually remembered that was something to ask about, anyone remotely trustworthy wasn't in earshot. that's just how things go when you're not the sort of kid who knows how to socialize.

alone in the house, the knocking startles him, and he can only ignore it for so long before realizing with a fright that it's most likely Hazel, and having his worries rewarded by hearing Hazel -- that makes him hustle to pull open the door, wide-eyed and harried.]

So-sorry! Sorry...I remember. We're going somewhere, right? I didn't forget...

Forgot about the apologies, though.

[it's either a testament to her restraint or the fact she knows she's going to need to save her dramatic gestures for later in this outing that Hazel doesn't gently tap his chest with a pointing finger as she says that. nor does she linger on it long, dismissing the topic with a casual shrug of her shoulders.]

Come on, let's go. You've got everything you need?

[calm down, dude is what she's trying to say without saying it. he's going to need to not look so stressed if he doesn't want to pop at the mall.]

[he starts to nod, but stops. wait.] Do I need to bring something? [Martin looks a little confused. of course, he has no idea what this entire trip entails, so...]

Just what you'd normally bring to go out.

[Hazel has already accepted that she is going to be purchasing all of the clothes they select today. she's not even going to bother bringing money up.]

[a fresh, steaming pile of nothing. that suits Martin fine. he steps outside properly, pulling the door closed behind him.]

I don't need anything.

Alright, then let's go.

[she spins on her heel and starts off, trusting that Martin is at least paranoid enough to know he should lock the door behind him. Hazel's a little glad that the mall is within walking distance, because she's not actually sure if his nerves would survive a trip on the back of her vespa.]

[locks? Hazel, that's an awful lot of faith that's about to be wasted, because even after the hesitation where door locking happens, he just hops off the step and trots to catch up, setting his pace fixedly a step and a half behind hers, same as last time.

travel montage.]

[well you know what, IT'S NOT HER HOUSE. this is a mistake that Hazel won't be directly paying for, except in guilt probably.

eventually they reach the mall, and Hazel slows her pace so that Martin's forced to keep even with her lest he run right into her back before turning slightly to look at him. pro plan.]

Alright, this is it. There's probably still going to be a fuckload of people even at this hour, so don't freak out. Or - I guess you can freak out if you do it quietly, but we're still going in.

[there's a real risk of that, but Martin stops short and backs up a step when she turns to address him. he stiffens, shoulders shrugged up and eyes big, waiting for the next order.

lots of people... he gulps, but says nothing, only nodding, his fingers wiggling before curling into little fists.]

...you can hold onto the bottom of my hoodie if you think you're going to get lost or whatever, by the way. It'd be a huge pain in the ass to have to page you on the loudspeakers.

['if you think you might get lost' is code for 'if you're feeling especially uncomfortable', but Hazel is too...herself to say it directly. she shifts a little, shoving her hands into her pockets; that's all the emotional readiness she's offering right now.]

Come on, we've got a lot of places to hit.

[aaaand she's off again, heading straight for the entrance. let's start the circus.]

Uh--oh, al... [there she goes. alright, he'd been saying, but it dies in his throat.

he should be asking questions. Shade said that was a good part of learning things here, asking people questions. but Hazel's the sort he's afraid to get stirred up; she's like Danielle, if Danielle were irritable all day, and that's a lot to handle, especially in a place Martin has no real bearing in.

following is easy until she pulls open the glass doors and the both of them are blasted by the air conditioning, and his ears get filled with the din of a building whose acoustics are boosted by high walls, open space, and linoleum floors full of clicking heels and clopping children.

Martin gets a chill just as much from the scale as the cold, the hairs on the back of his neck standing on end. he hesitates in step, trying to absorb it all, before snapping out of it to chase after Hazel before she gets too far ahead.

he feels like a guppie in a shark tank, but he's too startled and overwhelmed to ask how long they have to stay.]

[if it makes him feel any better, Hazel's confidence in direction drops considerably as soon as they're inside. truth be told, she hasn't really been to the mall all that often after the outing with Josuke; she mostly hits beat up thrift shops and smaller stores that maybe cater a little to the goth crowd. gotta find your skulls somewhere.

she tilts her head upwards slightly so that she can gaze at both levels of the building, chewing on her lower lip as she tries to decide where they want to go first, and just where the fuck said place is after she settles on that.]

If they've moved anything around since last time we're going to be fucked...

[she's mumbling to herself, but it stops as soon as she makes her decision. with a nod of the head that's a lot gentler than what Martin is probably used to from her, she starts off towards a nearby clothing place. it's not nearly as trendy as the place Josuke took her, but Josuke isn't here now. this is all Hazel's (nearly dead) fashion sense.]

[there's not a lot in here Martin can relate to, to put to an adjacent memory and give him a sense of direction or...belonging. even the parts where the walkway expands out the most between the walls of brightly-lit, colorful displays in glass aren't close enough to the wide spaces of the compound to really fit in Marty's limited imagination.

it's really something -- just not having anything as a point of reference but the body in front of him guiding him to who-knew-where, for some reason. something about colors and clothes. and perhaps it really wasn't a thing to worry too much about, but Marty simply couldn't find a sense of ease at all in such a place.

more than a few people encouraged him to put himself out in the world, to ask questions, to learn, but it's hard. it's just hard, Marty thinks, feeling his throat get tight again. he knew he was already doing a bad job, ducking his head down and following the distorted reflection of Hazel in the tiles.

he startles a little and shoots his head up when the floor gives way to the carpeted interior of the shop Hazel picked, getting an eyeful of mannequin.

he pointedly veers to stand with Hazel between him and it, visibly creeped out.]

Where are we-?

Mm?

[it takes her a second to really register what he's said, her mind being lost in the realization she's going to have to start picking clothes for another person immediately, but she blinks and turns to face him again.]

Oh, some store. I didn't really look at the name. [is that what he was asking? knowing Marty...probably not.] We're here to look for some more outfits for you.

[in red. nice clothes in red and, she supposes, other warm colors. yes. ok, she can do this, she used to be intensely put together back in the day. it's fine.]

Oh... [that seems vaguely familiar, and-- and, in actually letting himself squint around (why is it so bright?), it makes sense here. there's more clothes here than he's sure he's ever seen in his life, and certainly more diverse than he's used to seeing. it's one thing when it's on a body, quite another when it's just...dangling there.]

Yeah, so...

[so, yep. clothes shopping!!! Hazel makes the first charge and actually starts going through a rack, her grimly pursed mouth the only outward hint that she's feeling a bit out of her depth. but she is absolutely determined to make this work, and is more than willing to re-die in the process of achieving success.]

Let's start with shirts, ok? Just go through and pick out the shit you like, we'll work on sizes and crap after.

[Hazel misses out on suffering a genuinely heavy, awkward atmosphere; Martin's too distracted to even consider feeling awkward. instead, he's staring around, trying to understand.

something he likes? tall order. what's he supposed to like? he wants to know, but part of him realizes he'd probably just get yelled at for asking. he has to be better. take initiative. learn.

deep breath.

when he moves, there's distinct decisions to avoid things with bright color or flashy patterns. whether that's liking or not? it doesn't play on his face, because he looks about as confused with those as with anything he gravitates toward, barely daring to touch anything.

none of these are made for Darkovs...where are the plain things?]

[speaking of tall orders, so is subtly watching him to see what he gravitates towards, it turns out. this is a purely person problem that Hazel's suffering - the clothes racks are just slightly taller than she is, and she's forced to stand on her tiptoes and hug them if she actually wants to see over them.

after several comical attempts to streamline the endeavor, she just gives up. god fucking dammit, she probably looks like a huge weirdo. he's just getting whatever he's getting!!!

whatever he's getting seems to include a disproportionate number of lumberjack plaid patterns in various colors, but she's not going to talk about that. it's harder to find low key patterns on tops than you'd think, apparently.]

Hey, still with me? You haven't had a breakdown yet, right?

[she calls over to him after a while of browsing, just the crest of her hair visible over the rack she's standing behind. damn her small stature.]

Huh-? [he startles out of his thoughtful daze and looks about, weaving through racks and back to her.] What?

Come on, I'm not that short.

[Hazel already knows that isn't why Martin was asking, but her inability to play nice with the rack heights has her pride smarting a little. she shakes off the grumble quickly enough, though, pulling some of the hangers in her hands closer to her chest so she can get a good look at him.]

Let's see what you've got so far.

[he does have something, right..? or at the very least has picked out stuff she can grab on the way to the dressing room...she hopes.]

[yes, but he's short. shorties all around. shorties who abandoned the shirts and came empty-handed. his face reddens when she asks, even glancing down while he knows he definitely didn't deliver anything.]

I...I didn't take anything down, I wasn't sure-- [he turns partway, pointing in the direction he came.] I was looking there.

You can touch anything that's got a price tag on it, you know.

[maybe she should have mentioned that before starting. god, she was such a fucking mess. this was why Hazel probably shouldn't be trying to show anybody anything without a chaperone of her own.]

Whatever, it's fine. We can grab them on the way over.

[and she starts off to where he'd pointed, although slow enough that Martin can both follow and ask questions if he wanted.]

Is it-- really alright? [he follows his usual half-a-pace behind.] I mean...did...someone make all of these?

Not the way you're thinking of.

[Hazel's experienced enough at this point to be able to make that assumption confidently, although she's not exactly thrilled about having to explain mass production in the near future. this was rapidly turning into a horrible reliving of her middle school days on the other side of the glass.

when they reach what seems to be about where Marty was before, she tilts her head at him slightly in silent request for him to show her what might've caught his eyes.]

[huh? what was he thinking of? aside from a few ladies sewing, like back home. but they only made repairs; he's never seen anyone make his uniform...

no time to really muse on that, seeing as he's being put on the spot to pick things out. he swallows and , tugs at a plain, white shirt hiding behind something a bit too noisy.

only...] All the sleeves are short on everything...

Yeah, it's a real pain in the ass, especially because right now it's all the summer bullshit.

[Hazel can personally sympathize with this plight; she's constantly doing everything she possibly can to cover up as much of her body as possible while still maybe wearing things she actually likes. who the hell wants to see her gross mutilated body? nobody, that's who, including herself.

on the plus side, it means that she's also a professional at making things work that shouldn't, so she's got a solution for the current problem.]

You need to layer it with other stuff - like a light jacket or a really boring long-sleeved shirt when you can find them or something like that.

[he blinks, looking up at her.] Where do I find those?

Uhhhh, there's probably some jackets here. And for the long-sleeved shirts...I grabbed a bunch when it was a little cooler out, and now I order most of them online.

[like a weirdo. a weirdo who never has to worry about ordering the wrong size once she ascertains what fits her with each bran because her body is locked into this point for all eternity.]

There might even be some place in the mall that's got their fall stuff out, honestly. They put things up so early, it's ridiculous.

Edited (wow that was just sad) 2015-07-20 01:08 (UTC)

[is it? he'll have to take her word for it, because it doesn't make much sense to him.

his head ducks down, mumbling:] I should have sleeves that are long...

Yeah? How come, you get some tattoos of naked chicks you don't like so much anymore?

[this is absolutely not the reason, and Hazel knows it. it's the whole reason she suggests it in the first place as she holds out a hand with a grin for the shirt he'd grabbed.]

[that only confuses him, making him hesitate in handing it over just for the sole purpose of trying to understand that.

here, shirt.] Um, no...it's for safety. So it's harder to get bit or cut.

[awww, is she going to have to explain nude tattoos to him too? this is the biggest disappointment of the day. she takes the shirt all the same, remaining in place for a few moments more in case he grabs something else. after five minutes they're taking whatever they've got to the dressing room.]

I don't think a couple layers of cotton is really going to help you in the long run, honestly.

[he blinks.] No? But it's made to... [he glances down, picking at his dirty sleeve, giving it a testing tug before offering it over.] It doesn't tear. See?

[go on, pick at a kid's unwashed sleeve. it is, actually, quite a tough weave, true to his word.]

[well, Hazel's done way grosser things in the past. things like sticking her arm into swamps in the middle of the night in search of her other arm that had been bitten off by a werewolf. this is hardly a blip on the radar - and she's curious, anyway.

she shifts the shirts in her grip around before reaching out with a newly freed hand and poking and tugging the offered sleeve. oh, yeah, that is pretty tough.]

Huh. [a little response, but it's suitably impressed.] I don't think you're going to find anything that matches up here.

[congrats on being the first person Martin's freely reached out/offered an arm to without some trepidation, Hazel. nobody celebrates it because the only one who'd even think it doesn't have the mind to think it, still all focused on clothes and the task at-hand.]

Oh... [but this is a problem, he thinks, pulling his hand back and picking at the cuff of his sleeve.] Then-- then maybe I should stick with these. Just to be safe.

[her mouth quirks, not quite positive or negative but certainly an expression of something, as she regards him and his concerns for a moment. this is the sort of paranoia that Hazel would expect from herself (albeit over different issues) and as always, she hates to see any part of herself reflected in other people. no one deserves that.]

I don't know what you think is going to happen here, but I've been here long enough to say that it's probably never going to be an issue.

[she shrugs, the gesture lopsided thanks to the stuff in her arms.]

There's a reason most of the fabric is this thin, you know?

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put the bass in your walk

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