maskormenacelogs | i've made a huge mistake. ( OPEN )

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i've made a huge mistake. ( OPEN )

WHO: Lust and YOU?? Lust and you.
WHERE: a bunch of places
WHEN: all month long why the heck not, except prompt three would icly take place later in April.
WHAT: Lust's life is uninteresting and you should definitely, definitely let her cut your hair.
WARNINGS: Lust's gross inner monologue, which is gross, depending on responses I might start linking mariachi covers in the comments

A. DYE SCREAMING.*

This is the cold, hard, truth: Lust doesn't know anything about cutting hair. Oh, she's read instructions, checked out books, watched the tutorials that people for some reason feel the need to upload to the internet, but she's still had no training beyond the initial orientation. Not that it matters either way to her -- the worst they can do is reassign her, which she'd welcome. In the meantime, she'll pull her hair back each morning, make pleasant conversation, and pretend she knows what she's doing.

For some reason, she has yet to receive a serious complaint. Perhaps it's because of her manner. Lust's experience with haircuts is dwarfed only by her experience with not being an awful person, but she's at least able to put up a convincing facade otherwise -- polite, friendly, engaging. That last one especially. People, she's discovered, are often strangely talkative with their hairdressers, and some are remarkably candid. You never know who might end up in your chair, or what they might reveal upon a little prompting.

In fact, you might even find that the person in your charge isn't a local at all! Which is what's happening in this prompt. Whether or not she recognizes them for a fellow imPort, whether or not they recognize the woman behind them in the mirror, Lust's smile is exactly the same.

"Good afternoon," she says, her voice perhaps a little higher than it might sound on the Network. "Do you have anything particular in mind?"

B. A LIBRARY IN HEROPA. THE LIBRARY IN HEROPA??

When she first arrived in the City, all those years ago, she spent hours at a time trying to commit its streets to memory. She'd had hundreds of years to familiarize herself with Central's layout, the vast majority of which she actually predated. After the sudden dizzying removal from that point of reference, it only made sense to try and reestablish that sense of ease with her surroundings. Doing that with New York City is easier said than done, of course -- that much had become obvious right off the bat -- but she had continued nonetheless, right up until her final departure. Maybe it was that she was too stubborn to give up on the task. Maybe, on a subconscious level Lust would never personally acknowledge, she was simply hungry for something to do.

Heropa is far smaller than the City, which is both a positive and a negative, but whatever way one slices it (hyuk hyuk hyuk hyuk hyuk) that level of devotion is no longer necessary. Research, though -- that's still very important, and types of knowledge are gathered most fruitfully in different locations. In this case, it's the nonfiction section.

There's a reason Lust burned down an entire library branch rather than find Dr. Marcoh's research herself; too much information delivered all at once can be almost as bad as none at all, and she's feeling that now more than ever. The actual predicament is open to whatever you want it to be for the purpose of not having five different characters get beaned by the same book in five different threads. She's clearly having some trouble keeping the stack of books in her hands from overbalancing as she bears it over to a desk, or maybe she's reaching for a particularly heavy volume high on the shelf. Whatever the issue is, this totally normal woman needs a hand with her reading material. She won't deign to actually ask for assistance, but if your character's not that great a Samaritan she may shoot an apologetic "little help here?" glance at them if they're nearby, or maybe one topples off the stack and directly onto their foot; whatever it takes.

Should a character choose to assist her and catch a glimpse of the titles, there won't appear to be much internal coherence in her selection pattern. There are a couple of books on hairstyling, substantially more history texts on the early-to-mid twentieth century, and something that looks like the Lesser Key of Solomon. You know, as one does.

C. DE CHIMA TRAIN STATION.

Unfortunately, the same things that make Heropa so indispensable as a location complicate it in ways that could easily prove detrimental to Lust's interest. It's not a big city, after all, not compared to the last, and well-intentioned newcomers are arriving all the time. Such a low civilian-to-hero ratio doesn't lend itself to any of the shady behavior she's accustomed to -- the chance of being observed by them, or even engaged, skews higher with each passing day. Bravado aside, her current living situation is far from ideal, and she's really really sick of pretending she can cut hair. So she starts perusing her options.

Maurtia Falls is out of the question. Even if she weren't certain moving there wouldn't impinge upon her makeshift compromise with Greed, it's already looking too popular for its own good. That leaves just two. Today, it's De Chima. It's late in the afternoon at this point; she's already concluded her business and is well ready to wrap up this day's work, any boring personal conclusions on what the city has to offer can wait until she's actually on the way back to Heropa. And that might take longer than she had originally calculated. Will take longer, if she can't catch this train.

Her scarf, which is deep red and seriously inappropriate given it's almost May, billows out behind her as she runs, faster than anyone ought to be in shoes like that but not quite fast enough. The doors have shut; the train is rapidly chugging away. Save cutting the nearest car into pieces -- which, admittedly, has its allure -- there's nothing to be done about it. The click of her heels on the platform slows to a halt, and there's no more sound from this particular woman until she's caught her breath enough to muster an extremely irritated sigh.

The prospect of wasted time galls her, as usual but the only way to counter that is to make sure her time isn't wasted. For the first time since she heard the train departing, her attention shifts back from a single target toward whatever fellow commuters might remain in the area, and her hand goes for the communicator stashed away in her purse. The likelihood of anyone interesting being here isn't high, admittedly, but there's always a chance -- and if they are, perhaps they'll recognize the device.

And if not... small talk is inane, but there's a cluster of buskers nearby cuing up for their next song. Any kind of distraction might wind up being welcome.

D. SCREW PROMPTS, YOU DO YOU.

*this is not actually the name of the salon where Lust and Ruka work but let's be real it might as well be

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Connors was at the library, doing some research for work, of course, but as well as different sort of stress reducers. He knew that the incident at the science expo wasn't his fault. But he still wanted to be as careful as possible. So, he had checked out a book on yoga and meditation, which was now sitting in his messenger bag.

As he walked towards the door, he noticed Lust, large stack of books in her hands, trying to make her way over to a desk. Almost instantly, he does an about-face, heading back over towards Lust in order to help.

"Here, let me help," he said, as he hurried over to her. Yeah, it would be great if the person trying to help with that massive stack of books had more than one arm. As it is, Connors quickly bends down to pick up one of Lust's books that fell on the floor...and then another one slipped from her grasp and hit him on the head. Biting his tongue to stop from swearing, Connors sets the book he was holding down on the floor in order to massage his now-throbbing head.

Oh, Mr. Connors. The man's of far more interest to her now than ever before, admittedly, but there's still something innocuous to him. Perhaps it's the vulnerability suggested by his missing arm; perhaps it's simply how he conducts himself, as he's doing now. Such a gentleman. She's all ready to politely insist there's no need, then accept his help anyway, when disaster strikes.

Keeping up the image of normalcy is important, no doubt, but this is one of those situations where even the most well-crafted verbal reaction can go remarkably awry. Actions speak louder. Accordingly, she swallows back whatever dumb nonverbal sound of surprise she might have let escape and reaches out reflexively (okay, "reflexively") as though about to inspect the site of his injury. This move sends at least three more books plummeting to the ground, though mercifully Connors' head is no longer in their path. Lust stares at them as though they have done her some great personal harm.

"Honestly," she mutters, her intended audience somewhat unclear, and with that she deposits the remainder of the stack in a neat pile. On the library floor. One hand actually does come to Connors' forehead at this point, if enough of his face is uncovered, although she seems to think better of the gesture and almost immediately withdraws. At least he seems conscious.

"I'm so sorry, Mr. Connors," she says, not feeling sorry at all. The book that just conked him lies open to something very similar to this. "But you'd probably know better than I... Is there anything I can get for you?"

Connors is too busy checking out his head (the corner of the book hit him, for heavens sake). Turning his head to look at Lust, he notices that her hand is pretty damn close to his forehead and, not really sure what to do, moves back at the same time Lust moves back her hand.

It's almost something from a shitty romcom except Connors turns into a lizardman and Lust is Lust.

"Don't worry about it," Connors responds, with a small little smile. "My head's suffered worse." He reaches over to the book that bonked him on the head and...very obviously pauses, giving the book a quizzical look. Truth be told, he has no idea just what those diagrams and foreign words are supposed to be. Closing the book, he offers it to Lust.

"I've got to say, I haven't seen diagrams like that before," said with a small nod towards the book.

It was a huge mistake, coming in for a haircut. It was one of those things that needed to be done, and he'd heard quite a bit about this place, word of mouth said that it wasn't bad, and that there were imports there, which always piqued his curiosity. Why not support import businesses, after all?

The soft tingle of the bell and his expensive shoes on the floor was the first indication that it was someone wealthy, even though he was anything but these days. He made decent money, of course, but it wasn't what he was used to, and investments could only go so far -- just enough -- enough that he could get set up eventually, putting most of it away.

But he had to take time for him, of course, and his appearance. Especially with so many commitments coming up.

And while the voice didn't really catch his attention, the view did.

He smiled, something wide and over-confident. "Well, I was thinking a haircut."

OF ALL THE GIN JOINTS IN ALL THE TOWNS IN ALL THE WORLD HE WALKS INTO HERS!!!!

Being the very picture of consideration, Lust refrained from rolling her eyes at him.

"You're quite sure?" she said. She'd taken up the pair of shears she currently held well before noticing Tony; otherwise she would have been tempted to swap them out for a straight razor. This was the better choice, though, all things considered. Much less blatant. "It's not every day we get to meet each other in person, Mr. Stark, and I'm not a professional just yet. It would be a shame to ruin the occasion with a slip of the hand."

"I'm sure I could survive, and besides, I'd really rather support my fellow import right about now," he explained, stepping closer, if only to follow her to whatever chair she would find him in.

"I'm in your fully capable and expert hands. I'm sure you'll be perfect."

And if not, well, it's not like he hasn't had a bad haircut before, especially for the sake of impressing a lady. How many of them he slept with? Probably too many. They were the reason he maintained a perm for some time.

Rather than direct him to a seat Lust took a step forward herself, not precisely smiling back.

"You'll have to make do with another set for a while," she said mildly, as if actually apologizing for not touching his scalp. Lust's eyes fixed on something beyond Tony's shoulder. She ducked her head in a quick nod, a gesture clearly not meant for him. "I'm not in charge of the washing."

At this point the person to whom she was nodding comes up to Tony! It's an assistant, whose literal only defined characteristics are a.) they are not Ruka b.) they have an extremely firm and powerful grip. FADE TO BLACK. RETURN TO PAST TENSE.

Whenever he emerged, damp-headed, from the little alcove with the shampoo sinks, he'd find her waiting for him, with her shears tucked back into her apron and her hands on the back of a chair.

"Don't get me wrong, though." She spoke, once he was within earshot, as casually as though their conversation had never been interrupted. "I do appreciate the vote of confidence. Take a seat, Mr. Stark."

Edited 2014-05-18 20:00 (UTC)

The powerful grip was surprising, from the attendant, but he put up with it with little complaint, even though he had a feeling that he wouldn't be coming back here again, if this was going to be the person shampooing his hair. He thought that he required a more gentle touch than that, after all.

This was going to readily ruin his hair.

Although he put up with it, with no complaint, and the moment started to lead him into the right place, that smile was back on his face, and he sat down comfortably.

"I would hope so. I think you'll do just fine," he paused, waiting for her to start. "So how are things? Did you settle into the new place just fine?" as if Lust were an old friend.

Tate has a discman. The fact that he found it (and appropriately "liberated" it) from a junk section in a thrift shop bothers him, but it's familiar technology in a world that's more like Violet's then what he remembers in high school. A quick stop to the CD store with a bag and he's got what he needs: Mudhoney, Nirvana, and Nine Inch Nails. It's alarming how comforting he finds music, even now.

He actually signs up for a library card, though. He's not a complete asshole, he figures, and he's there almost every day. Screw school, he's old enough not to go and he got kicked out of his old one anyway (that's the story he'll tell anyway), and he'd much rather be surrounded by books and music, lounging in a chair, a pile of poetry by Bryant and Thoreau.

Tate is, also surprisingly, not a fucking tool, either, because he keeps his music down as he pours through the texts. It's when he hears a book cluttering from a shelf next to him that he pulls the headphones down, cranes his neck over, and sees someone in need of assistance. He raises an eyebrow, looks at the book that's fallen, and then quietly rises to his feet.

He doesn't pick up the book, but instead disappears behind an aisle to grab a step stool and place it next to the woman, looking up and trying his best not to stare too long at the rather ample bust on her.

"Better?"

Sans discman, Lust's only distraction from the sound of Tate's approach is her own current irritation, which admittedly has been pretty substantial thus far! Of all the days for her to decide against wearing heels, honestly. The fallen book lies neglected on the floor as she stares up, very nearly glares up, at her current quarry. By the time she notices anything else, he's very close indeed -- not quite at the point where he's setting down the stool, but near enough to see that the book by her feet is open to an image of a naked man inscribed in a pentagram. That is definitely a thing.

No surprise manifests itself in her stance once she does notice, and no tension. She simply settles back onto her heels and turns to look at him until what's done is done.

"Much." Though the woman's tone remains a little clipped, the relief in her expression is obvious, and deliberately so. Whether or not the young man (okay, boy, she thinks of anyone who looks younger than 25 as "boy") is of consequence -- and her baseline assumption is that he's not -- it won't do to appear ungrateful. The ghost of a smile flashes across her face as she plants one foot on the highest tier of the stool, vanishes even before she steps up with the other. "Thank you, really."

She has no desire to stay and speak with him further, not without something to gain. On the other hand, she still needs to get what she came here for, not to mention replace the book. (The gap in the shelf, clearer now from this new vantage point, has reminded her that it fell in the first place.)

"Sorry," she adds, looking down at Tate with an apparently genuine measure of consternation, then at Three Books of Occult Philosophy with no concern at all. It might as well be a cookbook. "Would you mind?"

(De Chima was an interesting place. Roy had first heard about it when he was talking with a few excited locals in the park after they stopped him for a photo. ”It’s the coolest place. I get all the latest trend updates from my friend there,” they said, and, “They’re always coming out with cool new gadgets!” Admittedly, their comments did little to convince him to go, and it wasn’t until he learned just how much research went on in De Chima that he decided to visit.

It was a little quieter than he expected it to be, despite it being a city. The tallest buildings seemed to be corporate buildings, and while the inventions showcased in the stores were certainly intriguing, it was the former that caught his attention the most. Surely, a place dedicated to so much research would have some means of transporting everyone home again. Or at least some clue as to what the government was organizing.

It’s later than he originally planned to stay when he decides he’s gathered enough for the day. As he heads up the stairs to the train station, he goes over what he wrote down about De Chima in his notebook.)

(THAT IS UNTIL HE HEARS THE SOUND OF A TRAIN ON THE PLATFORM COMING TO A HALT)

(AND MAKES A DASH UP THE STAIRS TO TRY AND CATCH IT

Yes hi excuse me pardon me I'M TRYING TO MAKE THE TRAIN)

(WHY DO PEOPLE INSIST ON TAKING BOTH SIDES OF THE STAIRS WHEN THEY'RE COMING DOWN CAN'T YOU SEE PEOPLE ARE TRYING TO GET UP THE STAIRS?

AND HE MAKES IT JUST IN TIME

To have the doors close in his face. He stands on the platform and watches as it slowly pulls out and continues on its path.)

(WELL GREAT. NOW I'M STUCK HERE AND THE NEXT TRAIN WILL PROBABLY TAKE FOREVER TO ARRIVE)

(SIGH)

(He takes out his notebook again and flips through the pages with a pen in his hand, occasionally crossing something out or writing a small note in. Those corporate buildings must be guarded to some extent. It would be difficult to try and infiltrate them with what he knows right now.

The red from Lust's scarf is what he notices first. A quick glance down confirms the sound of heels he heard while he was running, mixed with his own footsteps. He looks up from his notebook and gives an apologetic smile in her direction.)

It seems we've just missed i--

(WHY IS THIS HAPPENING TO ME)

[ It's him. Again. Of course it is. She'd very much like to walk away, and even more like to cut him down where he stands and let his body tumble onto the tracks, but neither of those are feasible options right now. Such a shame.

Lust tucks a lock of hair back behind her ear, feels around for a moment to assess the structural integrity of her ponytail, ducks her chin, and smiles. ]

We just keep running into each other.

[ Could he have followed her? If he had, there were surely better moments than this to force a confrontation. ]

And what brings you here, Colonel? [ The band breaks out into the truly dulcet tunes of a song neither of them will recognize! This is a blessing in disguise, since it means neither of them will know that a mariachi cover of Phil Collins' Sussudio exists in this world. It is the one facet of Mustang's idealistic innocence which will remain unshattered. ] No, don't tell me. I'm sure it must be the culture.

I suppose that's one way of putting it. (Roy slips his notebook into the inside pocket of his jacket while he glances at the mariachi band.) I've heard so much about this city, I thought I might as well take a look for myself.

(He takes a minute to look around the platform. Fortunately, there aren't many others who managed to miss the train, and those who did are keeping their distance from the band and, subsequently, themselves. There are only two exits that he can spot from where he is, which is both good and bad, because it means it would be difficult for anyone to get away were anything to happen.

He positions himself so his body is mostly turned towards Lust.)

And yourself? (WHAT KIND OF MUSIC IS THIS are they going to play the whole time we're here?) I didn't think you would be interested in a place such as this.

[ Lust's eyes don't narrow when she sees Mustang reorient himself. Her smile doesn't sharpen. Any change in expression, regardless of its direction, would be telling.

And that would all be very cool and self-contained! In reality, it's more like she doesn't do any of that until the singer busts out in a rich baritone, at which point her eyebrows rise like they're being beamed up to the mothership. She very quickly hikes them down again. ]

You'll find I'm interested in all sorts of places. And the advancement of science is of interest to anyone, right?

[ THERE'S A GIRL THAT'S BEEN ON MY MIIIHIIIND
ALL THE TIIIIIME
SU-SU-SUDIO ]

Speaking of that. I do hope the adjustment hasn't been too rough on you.

(JFC IT WAS ALL A LOT BETTER WHEN THERE WASN'T ANY ACTUAL SINGING I'M PRETTY SURE YOU'RE OFF KEY, SIR, AND GOD DO YOU HAVE TO SING SO LOUDLY WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU GET OFF THE PLATFORM WHAT EVEN IS THIS SONG AO;SHFI;ASDHFI)

(Is how Roy actually feels. But what ever internal screaming he may be doing doesn't show itself in his expression as he stands there with his hands in his pockets. He does glance at the singer when he begins, though, with a slightly irritated stare.)

They certainly know how to keep us busy, though it isn't anything I'm unable to handle. If anything, it's interesting to see all of these places.

(He returns his attention to Lust just as the singer bursts out with a clap:
BUT I THINK SHE LIKES ME JUST THE SAAAAME
SU-SU-SUDIO)

Though, I suppose I should thank you. I had no idea you were so concerned about my well being here. I'm touched.

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i've made a huge mistake. ( OPEN )

b: library edition, set sometime after science snafu

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A

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B | Slides in here huhuhuhu

IT'SBEEN84YEARS.GIF

C. 1/?

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DONE

just uses this icon forever

the best one tbh

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1/2

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