The Ball. And Doom.
Aug. 26th, 2009 09:25 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
amicably_absentFor some reason, while Cain was stolen by Ahamo, Jeb and Tutor to get ready for the ball, while Glitch found himself hurried off by Raw, DG and Azkadellia.
The girls had clearly been scheming for a while, because there was beauticians ready, girls with steam things and hot things and clothes and al kinds of things that Glitch was sure he hadn't to go through to get ready for balls before.
Raw was stripped out of his furs and washed, doing a remarkable impersonation of a cat getting a bath with the yowling and complaining and eventual compliance with pouting. He cheered up when they got to blow drying and brushing through, his wild fur and hair neatened and brushed out and settled. Glitch insisted they weave ribbons through it, bows that Azkadellia clearly didn't entirely approve of and made DG pull that face that said she was laughing inside but wouldn't hurt feelings by saying it. Glitch thought it was cute, especially was Kalm was given the same treatment.
Then the mirrors were taken away and he was set upon by the ravenous hoards. Combs and brushes pulled at his hair past yells from DG telling them to mind the zipper. His face was scrubbed with some sweet smelling, rough stuff while his nails were buffed and filed and cleaned. Steam blasted over his scalp and oil that smelt like satusma was carefully worked through it to 'give it definition', whatever that meant.
The girls were being done at the same time. Azkadellia was quiet and elegant. DG complained and yelped as her hair was curled and pinned up, her make up up expertly applied. Glitch stopped questioning after a while when they descended on him with brushes until he was whisked away by a team of dressers, away from the girls and into a side area to be put in a suit.
He didn't mind the tight fitting, long sleeved under shirt. He dealt with the formal pants and thin piping on them and the polished black shoes. He didn't even grumble at the shirt that was done up att the way, professional and proper and not at all how he usually wore them.
The coat caused a stink. It was heavy, with small hooks instead of buttons and a deep wide swing and beautiful trim like he thought his old coat might have had before his head casing. It was a rich colour and lined with rich silk.
And it had medals. And that was the problem. He had no idea what they were for, but he was assured they were his and he had to wear them because Her Majesty had asked him to.
Which is why he's dressed up so fine, with shining medals and just enough make up to accentuate his features and his hair in disarray, with loose curls and gleaming zip, because he's used his fingers to undo the neat work the hairdressers did hiding his zipper with Ambrose's old side part.
And he was dragged in there to be there with the Royal family. So naturally, he's lurking near the corner of the Royal Dais, exchanging looks with DG and hoping Cain turns up soon so he has someone to talk to against his wall.
The girls had clearly been scheming for a while, because there was beauticians ready, girls with steam things and hot things and clothes and al kinds of things that Glitch was sure he hadn't to go through to get ready for balls before.
Raw was stripped out of his furs and washed, doing a remarkable impersonation of a cat getting a bath with the yowling and complaining and eventual compliance with pouting. He cheered up when they got to blow drying and brushing through, his wild fur and hair neatened and brushed out and settled. Glitch insisted they weave ribbons through it, bows that Azkadellia clearly didn't entirely approve of and made DG pull that face that said she was laughing inside but wouldn't hurt feelings by saying it. Glitch thought it was cute, especially was Kalm was given the same treatment.
Then the mirrors were taken away and he was set upon by the ravenous hoards. Combs and brushes pulled at his hair past yells from DG telling them to mind the zipper. His face was scrubbed with some sweet smelling, rough stuff while his nails were buffed and filed and cleaned. Steam blasted over his scalp and oil that smelt like satusma was carefully worked through it to 'give it definition', whatever that meant.
The girls were being done at the same time. Azkadellia was quiet and elegant. DG complained and yelped as her hair was curled and pinned up, her make up up expertly applied. Glitch stopped questioning after a while when they descended on him with brushes until he was whisked away by a team of dressers, away from the girls and into a side area to be put in a suit.
He didn't mind the tight fitting, long sleeved under shirt. He dealt with the formal pants and thin piping on them and the polished black shoes. He didn't even grumble at the shirt that was done up att the way, professional and proper and not at all how he usually wore them.
The coat caused a stink. It was heavy, with small hooks instead of buttons and a deep wide swing and beautiful trim like he thought his old coat might have had before his head casing. It was a rich colour and lined with rich silk.
And it had medals. And that was the problem. He had no idea what they were for, but he was assured they were his and he had to wear them because Her Majesty had asked him to.
Which is why he's dressed up so fine, with shining medals and just enough make up to accentuate his features and his hair in disarray, with loose curls and gleaming zip, because he's used his fingers to undo the neat work the hairdressers did hiding his zipper with Ambrose's old side part.
And he was dragged in there to be there with the Royal family. So naturally, he's lurking near the corner of the Royal Dais, exchanging looks with DG and hoping Cain turns up soon so he has someone to talk to against his wall.
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no subject
Date: 2009-08-27 01:29 pm (UTC)It's only afterwards, much later afterwards that his brain release the lock on his body. When Ambrose has stopped screaming and sobbing in the back of his mind, railing against his decision and has been reduced to whispers even he can barely hear, murmur please like he did they took his mind away, broken pleads.
That's when Glitch breaks, sinking to the floor and hugging his knees, crying and sobbing so hard he can't breathe through his own grief. The cold tiles press against the metal through his scalp and the scent of satsuma fills the air.
He screams and smashes every bottle in the bathroom, until the perfumes mix in a heady, choking cloud of scent that obliterates that soft waft of satsuma forever.
Screamed out, crying, he finally falls to lie on his side, brokenly whispering like Ambrose in his mind.
"I love you." Pause. "I love you." Pause. "I love you." Pause.
Into the night.