windfall | unfortunately, like a fool, i said, "it's not like i want to let you go"

No way? You're joking…

[ She momentarily leaves Aki in pursuit of verifying this by staring at her reflection in the window of some closed storefront, squinting into the murky deepness and angling her face one way, then the next. …Honestly, she can't tell a single thing from how dark it is. Realizing that, her expression pinches, and Denji hurries after to catch up with Aki, hands patting at her face. Which, of course, is probably the worst thing you can do with acne-prone skin. But Denji doesn't know that. ]

The date's in a few days, [ she agonizes, because it is a date. No matter how many times Aki refuses to acknowledge it as one. She shakes at her superior's arm. ] Hayapai, Hayapai… [ Time to turn up the charm — ] Show me that thing you got! I'll put it on right now!

Quit touching your face...

[Aki pauses as Denji examines herself in the window, then continues on as she rushes up - Only to groan when she starts shaking at her arm that isn't carrying the bag.]

I'll show you when we get home. You can't put it on here. You need a real mirror.

[And not a car mirror or a reflective sticker. Ugh, she's not going to drop the idea that it's a date, is she?]

You've never used anything like this before? Any kind of make-up, or powder...?

Uh, well… I found this box with different types of red paint in the dumpster once. It was kinda crumbly but basically good as new, so I took it home.

[ It would be clear to anyone else that the blush palette was past expiration… ]

I tried putting some on the next day, and around the usual time I used 'ta get called out to run a devil job, I come out — you know what the first thing those yakuza jerkwads said when they saw me? They said I looked like the Clown Devil! And they start laughing! What the hell, right?

[ Denji gnaws on a thumb as she gripes about the memory, like she can still here them jeering at her as they drove her out. …Though when she'd stolen a look at herself in the rearview mirror, her entire face looked like an abstract painting. That is, if abstract painting were made completely with cake batter.

Warily, she asks: ] That thing ya got — it's not gonna make me look ugly, is it?

["Kinda crumbly but basically good as new." Uh huh. That she calls it red paint has Aki truly unsure if she found blush, lipstick, or actual theater make-up, but either way the story is a typically depressing Denji story of her childhood with yakuza. She's ready to leave it there with no response when she suddenly asks that and has the nerve to sound actually nervous about it. Like Aki would fuck her over like that.]

No.

[She could have actually dragged Denji over to make sure the shade matched, but she's seen the girl enough with and without dirt caked on her face to have a good idea. Walking up the stairs to the apartment, she talks over her shoulder.]

Make-up's about highlighting, not changing. That's all it's going to do.

[Which, inadvertently, says that Denji isn't ugly, but she isn't trying to make any deep statements here.]

Didn'tcha say it was gonna hide my zit, though… I don't wanna highlight it.

[ Like a film reel that keeps going and going, the night pans past them as they turn off from the stairs, into the walkway belonging to their floor. She lags behinds her, staring off into the thousands of lights beaming in and away from the train cars and buildings and taxis, not paying close enough attention to Aki's words to read between them. Sometimes Denji can't help taking it and getting distracted in when the city blinks its eyes at her. It's prettier than the grass paths she used to always walk back home by herself with Pochita.

If only she were in better company. ]

Whatever, guess it'd be lame if I got there and Makima couldn't recognize me, [ Denji says, kicking her shoes off to side. She gets a few steps away before she pauses, then scurries back to turn her shoes out to face the door. Better to stay in her good graces if she's going to be helping her with her makeup. ] So as long as I don't look like I belong in circus or somethin'…

You won't look like that.

[Seriously, it's almost insulting how she thinks Aki is going to make her look stupid. She's not an outright bully, of course she wouldn't do something as cruel as that. Glancing back when Denji doubles back to correct her shoes, Aki doesn't comment - but the lack of comment is almost as positive as actual words of thanks would be from others. So that's something.]

Go wash your face, first. You're probably sweaty. [Does she get sweaty in that helmet...? Is her head even in that chainsaw? Questions Aki doesn't actually want the answer to. She settles down in the living room, unloading the bag and pulling the small bottle of concealer from its box.]

[ Isn't Aki just as sweaty? Well, forget it. ]

'kaaay! ~ ♫

[ There's a cosmic shift to her mood with the promise that Aki really will be helping her clean up, and she cheerily trots into the bathroom. Though they've been through enough together that some of her more outrageous judgments regarding the devil hunter have mostly lifted, it's true that she still has some lingering, let's call them, preconceptions.

Abandoning her possessions on top of the washer, she lands in front of the sink, quickly dunking her face close to the water spout as she splashes herself. Bouncing out, she loosens the top few buttons of her blouse so that she can more easily tug her collar up to wipe at the water dripping down from her cheeks. It clearly doesn't help dry her off, because the front of her bangs are still sticking down to her forehead when she sits down directly to Aki's right. ]

Tell me what I need to do! I'm ready!

[She's like an eager puppy. Like a pomeranian. Especially when her hair is a mess like this. Aki turns to face her, studying her face for anything else she may have missed. Just the zit, she thinks.]

Hold out your hand. [She uncaps the concealer, pulling the application wand from the liquid.] This is used to cover up stuff. If you get a zit, or red spots, this is what you use. ...Your skin is so smooth. [Said with a mix of surprise and annoyance as she really takes her in, seated this close. Damn teenagers who haven't been poisoned by alcohol and cigarettes and devil killings yet.] Anyway - You want to make sure it matches your skin color. And the back of your hand is a good match.

[She swipes the applicator across the back of her hand, examining the color before nodding.] See? It matches. You're darker than me, so the one I use wouldn't work. Get it?

[ Aki's the same as always. No outward difference in intonation between instructing her to hold her hand out and telling Denji to keep a devil off the backs of nearby civilians — objectively, she's treating the lesson as she does anything. So there's no reason for Denji's gaze to so keenly stalk what she's doing, the shine in her eyes making it look like she's witnessing the secrets behind a magic trick. The twist of the cap, a wave of her makeup wand, and — there it is. A smear of the liquid concealer gliding up the back of her hand.

Instantly, her brows raise. ]

Woahhh, it's sticky. And you're right, it's the color of my skin! How'd you do that?

[ She turns her wrist back and forth, watching the light shimmer off the streak with a sense of wonder. Then, she wipes her hand clean across her face, leaving a line dragging from one end of her cheek to the other. She doesn't even hit the spot where her zit is. ]

So I just put it on like this?

[...She should have known not to leave her to her own devices.]

No, not like that - You need to mix it into your... [Sigh. Aki frowns before leaning forward to grab her hand again.] Look. You can see it, right? Here. [She dabs a fresh splotch on her skin, beside the part where the previous one was all but wiped away.] You can see it's shiny, right? So you need to blend it in. Don't move your hand.

[With her middle and ring finger, she rubs circles over the concealer on the back of Denji's hand, blending it outward until the patch is only somewhat shiny, mostly matte in texture and faded into her skin.] Like that, you see? Now you can't see it anymore.

[ Ah, Denji really can't see it. The blended spot gives the illusion of waxiness to her hand as Aki spreads out its coverage, hiding even the faint green of her veins. Usually when she's made to stay in place, it kindles this coiling compulsion to retaliate with force (especially, if it's someone creepy holding her down, which, truth be told, applies to most men outside of Makima) or ricochet herself far, far away. But watching Aki and her fingertips, manicured as they are — uniform, and not quite as sharp as her tongue, watching her slowly brush out her skin is…

She dismisses the word that comes to mind with a shake of her head, and, from the way she abruptly freezes, realizes that body language is kind of counter to what she wants. So very quickly, before Aki can make any assumptions: ] U-Uh, yeah! I'm seein' that I don't see it!

…But you're gonna keep going, right? I mean, do I just rub it in the same way you're doin', but on my face? I dunno how, so you better show me that, too.

[Okay, good. Denji gets the concept of blending. But she's still demanding help for her face, too, so Aki sighs and leans a little closer.]

Don't move, then. ...Your hair's in the way. [She pushes it back, swiping her palm back from her forehead, but it doesn't stay put, fluttering back down from how damp it is. Aki frowns and reaches for her own hair. She strips it from its high ponytail and stretches the elastic between her fingers.] This is just for demonstration. You should comb your hair better. [And with the hair band, she wraps up Denji's bangs and pulls them up and out of the way, securing the elastic so her skin is left clear.]

[...She looks kind of funny like this, but Aki doesn't pause to laugh at her. She was already freaked out enough at the idea of her making her look stupid, so no need to tell her that she does right now.] Okay, hold still. [And she leans forward to dab the applicator over the small zit near her nose, then a few other spots where her skin is reddened.] You just put it wherever your skin's looking uneven, or discolored... Get it?

[ Her eyelids had scrunched closed as Aki fussed with her bangs, sweeping a cluster of her stubborn hairs into a tie. Less a ponytail and more of a pony-tuft, it somehow manages to stand on end in defiance of gravity, rather than flop back. She's a few seconds from arguing back at her — Don't lie! There's only one way to comb hair! — when Aki tickles at her face with the cold tip of the wand, and an indignant sound skips out of her.

She wants to move, badly. But Denji forces her spine straight and focuses her gaze down the slope of her nose — at first, then as the concealer is dabbed elsewhere, she stares forward completely. The magazines she flips through are all obsessed about facial symmetry and balanced proportions; she's never seen that when she looks in the mirror, but when she looks at Aki that's all that takes up her vision. A long face, dark blue eyes, a mouth that always sits in a perfect line and never smiles at her.

…Oh, but there is one thing.

Though the case may be that Aki doesn't have any zits, she does have a dark lash dusting the peak of one cheek.

In lieu of an affirmation to her question, Denji says nothing before blowing warm air directly at Aki, dislodging the lash and making a few hairs framing her face brush back against her chin. ]

Got it.

[ How to use concealer to hide her blemishes or what was on Aki's face? Of course, she provides no explanation. ]

By the way, how do you know so much? You don't look like you put on a whole lotta makeup… or care about this sorta thing, ever.

[Denji blows in her face and it's not a rough enough blow to dislodge her concentration, but she does have to stop herself from smacking him upside the head or something. She still has no idea what she even did that for, but luckily before she can demand that Denji distracts her with a question.]

I used to watch my mother, I guess.

[The truth is, she couldn't say why she knows this the same way she can't say why she knows how long to cook an egg for a rolled omelet. She just does. She grew up with other girls, she had a mother at one point, she went to high school. At some point it was just as normal to know as it is normal to know how to put on clothes. Aki caps the concealer and begins rubbing the concealer with her fingers again, blending it into her skin until it's even across her face.]

It's just the sort of thing you pick up, after awhile.

[And the sort of thing that, sadly, doesn't really surprise her that Denji didn't, now that she actually thinks about it. Someone who never went to school long enough to learn about fiends definitely never had a chance to learn about something like make-up.]

...You didn't have a mom, right? I guess most kids learn from them first. But mine died before I ever wanted to put any on, myself.

[ She tries to imagine it behind closed eyes: A dark-haired girl about the height of her knee staring up at a woman whose appearance is identical to hers as she pats out her face with a fluffy cushion. Asking questions, following the drawn contours blend across the edges of her jaw, up her cheeks. No, Denji doesn't have that experience, and because of that, she doesn't feel any true absence for it. Or she didn't, until this conversation. ]

Your mom… She was probably really hot, I bet. [ No homo. ] I remember always gettin' told that I look more like my old man than whoever lady I came out of. But I always hated hearing that — not that I wish that I looked more like some stranger I dunno… I just didn't like feelin' as if I owed the guy that part of me. Used to think that if I grew my hair out, folks would stop saying that crap, but then it'd just get in the way whenever I had a job to do. Gah, there's no winning!

[ Timed to her groaning outburst, she throws her hands back, braced outward, one of her legs suddenly stretching out from its crossed position and nearly hitting Aki's knee. For all that, though, her eyes are still shut. ]

Say… Do ya ever look in the mirror and kinda see her in there? Your mom? Or when you put this stuff on, does it feel like you're watching her do it again?

[She thinks her mom was probably attractive...? Aki frowns, but doesn't say anything as Denji continues on. Her annoyance fades into a type of pity, listening to that. Telling a girl she looks like her dad is probably an insult of some kind, but Aki can see it even without knowing the man. Her flat chest, ratty hair, wiry frame... She won't say it, but she can imagine it. A younger Denji pulling on her hair in an attempt to make it longer.]

[Maybe because of that she doesn't scold her for nearly kicking her in the knee, capping the concealer instead and rubbing her fingers together to blend out the make-up that's still on them. She glances up when Denji speaks again, then frowns. Considers just answering, No. But wouldn't that be a lie?]

I think about her hands, sometimes. [She sets the concealer on the table, closer to Denji's side.] I used to watch them the most. When she did her make-up or cooked or folded laundry. So sometimes I wonder if our hands would look the same, when I get older.

[But probably not. Because hers are stained with blood, and her mother's were... Clean. Neat. Trim. She stares down at her hands, her nails. Clean, neat, trim. Maybe it's just been too long since she saw them.]

...You could always put your hair up, if you wanted to grow it out.

[ Sensing that they're done now, she watches Aki seem to observe herself — or rather, her hands — anew. Denji rolls a kink out from her neck while her gaze bears downward at that same thing; there may be a few faded scars here and there, but to her, Aki has the kind of hands of someone who could have easily made a living modeling watches and jewelry on the home shopping channel. Long and spindly. Weirdly gentle, when she'd applied her makeup for her, but with enough strength to slap she and Power clean across the backs of their heads, to scythe her blade through the innards of a devil, to wrench the cord at Denji's chest and rev her back to life.

When she gets older, huh…

As if they both don't already know that Aki will never reach the same age as her mother when she died. But she doesn't point that out. Wouldn't have, even if Aki had given her the chance to before bringing up styling her hair a different way. For a moment, she can only blink at her, surprised by how relieved she is to have the distraction. Why, she doesn't know. ]

My hair?

[ Denji cups a hand up against the wild ends of one side, bouncing the strands. Unconvinced. ]

Ain't it too short, though? It'd just look like… [ Her nose wrinkles. ] A topknot. It wouldn't be a ponytail like yours.

[A topknot...? Aki frowns at the image to keep from laughing at it. She'd look so stupid with a topknot.]

Not like that. I meant, if you grew out your hair, you could just tie it up and keep it out of the way.

[Though... Is her hair really too short right now? Without asking she leans over and motions her to lean forward, reaching to grab at her hair and bunch it into a solid tail behind her. It takes a couple tugs to get every strand, but - ...Okay, she definitely doesn't have enough hair for this. Under her breath, she mutters,] Maybe pigtails...

Ah, hey...

[ She eyes her from an upwards slant, her head dipped to allow for her hair to be easily gathered, bangs obscuring much of her gaze. She's dubious, of course, but slightly less so from what she would have been before the older woman's earlier help.

As Aki's surmised, her choppy hair clearly isn't suited for anything more complex than a hair brushing.

...But pigtails? Seriously?

The beer case on the table hasn't been torn into yet, nor does she catch any trace of alcohol in her breath from this proximity. Her cheeks are the same light, neutral tone as the rest of her. This tells Denji one thing: Aki isn't drunk. So this is a fully sober suggestion...

Snorting, she muses, ] Should I give it a shot?

[ Suddenly, wedging her own fingers past the fist Aki has curled at her crown, she starts to rise and pad back to the bathroom. In the first place, she wants to look at how she looks now with some "highlighting." ]

[Why does she sound so perturbed by the idea? Aki pulls her hands back, watching her rise up and head to the bathroom. She's a teenager, isn't she? Aren't pigtails normal for that age...? Not that she ever wore them, herself, but still... Frowning, she turns back around and reaches for a beer, breaking one free from the plastic rings and snapping it open.]

It's just an idea, if you wanted to... [She raises her voice so Denji can hear her, but eventually trails off. Wanted to what, look more feminine? It'll take more than that. She dresses like a hoodlum and her chest is flatter than you'd expect, since she wears such loose clothing... Calling out again, she adds,] If you stop cutting your hair yourself, it might grow out to a more even length.

[ Pigtails aren't abnormal for a sixteen-year-old, but she's not trying to look her age. She wants to be mature and dependable, but still sexy and cool, but also someone Mister Makima can flirt with when nobody's watching because she's just that irresistible to him. She wants to rock badass steel arms at work, then share a nice dessert with the guy she likes. She wants to look like she has the whole package.

…Which she's loathe to admit, in a way, means that she wants to look a little more like Aki. Is that too much to ask? ]

If I don't cut it, nobody else will unless I cough up some serious dough, [ she hollers back through the open door, snapping an elastic around one cinched part of her hair before moving on to the next. Appearing to miss the point that, if she wants to change how she presents, it may need a little more investment on her end. One that doesn't involve saving up to eat a bunch of beef cutlets.

Denji stares at herself in the mirror, hands curled around the edges of the sink as she leans forward to examine her face. Her hair is whatever, but her skin's creamier at least, the unevenness around her nose and cheeks neutralized by the pigment of the concealer. She can't even make out the pimple.

But despite her satisfaction, she doesn't come out yet. Rather, she shuts the door, turning to look back at the garment bag she'd so happened left inside the bathroom earlier. Unzipping it bares open a silky sheer negligee that Denji immediately smooths a hand over to iron out any wrinkles and gnarls visible to her eye, from the lace bodice to the cool, watery material of the skirt. Being from the closet of a pop idol, it's rather tame in design, though no less luxurious.

To Denji, though, it's nothing more than a beautiful dress.

After about ten minutes, she leaps out of the bathroom with uncontainable excitement, her hands planted at her hips and the hem of her skirt fluttering like a superhero's cape. It should be noted that the chest of the outfit is slightly sagging down Denji's chest from a lack of mass to fill the cups in. ]

Ba-bada-duuum! Hey, hey, hey, so whaddaya think? [ She glances down herself, sheepishly, fiddling with the cord of her starter, trying to keep it from crosswiring with the trusses of the outfit. ] This'll knock Makima right off his feet, yeah?!

Edited 2024-06-16 20:30 (UTC)

[Denji spends her time in the bathroom and Aki, for once, doesn't scold her for it. She drinks her beer and turns on the TV. Ignores the holler about how it's expensive to cut hair. It really isn't, she could argue, because it's a part of grooming. If she had neater hair, maybe people would respect her more, and then maybe she would earn more money, and then maybe she could get more haircuts. ... lWhat is she spending money on, anyway? Aside from the few times she eats out or Aki refuses to buy her smut at the convenience store, it's not like she has many expenses. She watches the droning news and sips her beer, turning a disinterested eye toward the bathroom when she parades out...]

[...only to nearly spit her drink out at what she's wearing.]

You - That's what you took...?! [The shock is obvious, more so than the color that springs up on her cheeks. What the hell does she think, that she can go on a date in that...?!]

You know that's - You dumbass, those are pajamas. [Correcting herself because Denji probably doesn't know what "lingerie" means.] He'll be knocked off his feet, alright - And anyone else who might see you prancing around in underwear. You can't wear that outside!

[ Could be because of Aki actually entertaining her and her jabber for most of the evening, talking her through writing a report, helping her carry things while her hands were full, teaching her how to put this concealer stuff on… But Denji had hoped that when she revealed her big showstopper outfit, she'd hear something — more supportive than this. Something nice.

Denji scowls at the ground. Irritation's an easier emotion to express, to latch on to, than disappointment. ]

Duh, I took it! Emi-chan's rich. [ Or her dad is, anyway. ] She's not gonna miss one lil' dress.

[ Which is what it is. A dress. ]

You're… You're just an old, booze-brained hag! Don't act like you know crap about what's popular with girls my age. I see 'em wearing stuff like this all the time in the streets or — or, like, on TV.

It's not a...

[Before she can finish, Denji is spitting all sorts of insults at her. Old, booze-brained, hag. Each one is a little sharper than the last without actually holding any spice to it. Flustered, Aki knows. But she also pities her a lot.]

[...She'd look beyond stupid, if she showed up like that. Aki gets to her feet, setting her beer down on the table.]

You said you want to look grown up... But that doesn't look grown up on you.

[If anything, it only accentuates that she's still a stupid kid. Aki motions for her, brows drawn and lips flat. Pulling open the door to her bedroom, she heads inside, clearly expecting Denji to follow.]

Come on.

[And inside, she pulls open her closet. Beside the row of uniform shirts and jackets are various casual clothes. And yes, she's taller and wider than Denji, has a larger chest, but surely there's something in here she can wear. She starts digging through the articles, tugging out a few random ones and tossing them out onto her bed. ...And one that she pauses at before flitting past, rolling her eyes. Himeno gave that to her and she never wore it. It was way too small. He never had an eye for fashion, anyway. That's not something she would ever wear.]

[ Continuing to wallow in the injustice of Aki not immediately jumping to pat her ass, she stands there without following for a solid five seconds. The moment she hears a closet open, though, her nosy self is right there sitting on her bed, scouting each piece of clothing that Aki delivers into her orbit. ]

I don't see how your clothes are more grown up than what I've got on.

[ Ignoring that Aki hasn't even given Denji permission to wear any of her clothes yet, she takes turns pressing whatever's nearest to her chest — there's more than plenty she could play with pairing into an outfit unique to her, but it's the sweater that eventually goes over the negligee.

…While the soft knit covers the obscene amount of skin she'd had on display, it noticeably doesn't go with what she's already wearing. Her skirt is also still peeking out from under, the faint curve of her ass visible through the ultra-fine material. Then, she tugs on the long button-up as an extra layer over the sweater, which helps to hide her back, but doubly makes her current attire look overly stuffed. Slipping off the bed to finally snoop inside Aki's closet herself, probably in search of socks or something, she peers past the woman's arms — ]

Ooh, what's that?

[ — and snatches out the very outfit she'd just passed over. She examines it, looking over the blouse from front to back. ]

I've never seen you wear this before.

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject