capeandcowllogs | From London to New York, Cap Ferrat to Capri

WHO: Grell, the Major
WHERE: Supahjail!
WHEN: Satur...day. Lunchtime.
WARNINGS: Fabulousness.
SUMMARY: Grell goes to fabulousify the Major and eventually discussion of Cinematic Record happens.
FORMAT: para?

How many weeks had he been in prison? Grell had been contemplating this all day for lack of anything better to do, and that continued into the cafeteria with a listless and bored lunch. Really, how much time had he wasted over three insignificant lives? It was a travesty. Personally, Grell was estimating...oh, two months? Apparently murder could net you a life sentence - and there was no way he would spend the next few centuries in these abhorrent conditions. Despite that, his attempts to find an escape route were all met with failure and disappointment - for being built by humans, this prison was remarkably well-built.

Really, all he wanted to do was have some fun.

"I suppose I'll have to wait until I'm loose, now won't I?" He sighed dramatically, getting some sidelong glances as he did. Needless to say, he wasn't the most popular person in the prison. Sighing again, a long-suffering one, he looked back down at his food with a slight grimace.

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The Major plopped himself and his tray down across from Grell, smiling. Grell was a insane bloodthirsty maniac who reveled in wanton slaughter, which automatically made him the Major's kind of people. The Major wasn't looking too good today- the prison jumpsuit looked terrible on him, his hair looked greasy and unkempt, and his fractured jaw was swollen and discoloured. Nonetheless he was still in good spirits, especially now that Integra was around, and he gave Grell a little wave.

Grell looked up to the Major when he arrived, and one of his sensibilities - God knew which one of them - absolutely screamed at the sight. The jumpsuit he could overlook, that looked terrible on anyone, but how could he allow the other hideous imperfections to pass? Ignoring the fact that little could be done about the jaw, of course. Grell stifled his horror and smiled, waving back with an idle twitch of his hand.

"Major, you look terrible!" Not as insulting as he'd meant it...maybe. "Your jaw - my, what brutality these people have! I suffered a great deal as well in my own capture. But you're looking as if you're in a good mood - at least that's something, hm?"

He was getting an idea - something fun to do, if not possibly a little difficult to pin his target down to accomplish. Oh well, that never stoppedh him before.

The Major nodded. He was more than a little vain about his appearance- why else wear those white suits all the time?- but all that was of less than secondary importance to the fortunes of battle. He motioned towards Grell, asking how he was doing.

Grell was pretty good at reading body language and hand motions - had to be, with his job - and so it was only moderately difficult to keep the one-way conversation going.

"I'm rather fine, really - miserable being caught in this horrible place, mind you, but I'm becoming quite accustomed to that." A toss of his hand, an idle gesture that meant nothing in particular. "I need to get out some time soon, however - cabin fever, you know! I really do long for blood in between my fingers once again, it's really a sensation that can't be beaten." A hair flip. "I'm growing so horribly bored with this place. I have some notions of fun, but..." He ended with a sigh, once again trying to redirect the conversation - relentless, a machine.

Thoroughly ignorant of his peril, the Major motioned for Grell to continue, to share his 'notions'. He could use some fun in this place himself, now that his little project was complete.

Edited 2010-05-26 23:00 (UTC)

A flash of teeth, a cocky grin. He made a slight noise in his throat of pleasure and began, possibly leaning forward a little more than he realized.

"I look as fabulous as I can humanely manage within this place and using the spoils they've provided me with, as meager as they are. But you could use a little work, and I have the exact touch to handle it." His grin probably wasn't even mock-kindness anymore, just vicious and determined. His tone of voice lilted. "There really is nothing quite like beautifying yourself, and though I can do very little about your jaw - very sorry to say, it could use work as well - I can manage otherwise!" He leaned forward over the table, smile widening imperceptibly - well, maybe not. Maybe he just thought it was imperceptible.

"So what do you say, hm?"

Being the kind of maniac who found a rain of artillery shells upon his position to be a great thrill, the Major wasn't frightened of most things, not the way ordinary humans were. The prospect of a makeover at the hands of the grinning effeminate lunatic leaning closer and closer to him? That unnerved him just a bit. The Major did not want to be fabulous! He shook his head and backed away, a little frantically.

Edited 2010-05-28 11:19 (UTC)

Used to having his objects of interest resist whatever ~~sick~~ wonderful ideas he had had at that moment, Grell was undeterred. He leaned further over the table, reaching a hand out to catch a hold of his current target's jumpsuit.

"Now now, don't make it difficult! You'll look a thousand - no, a million times better than right now! You'll thank me, you really will."

Considering that Herr Sutcliffe so often referred to himself as though he was Frau Sutcliffe, the Major was not inclined to trust in his estimations of what looked good, especially on the Major. But Grell had an awfully good grip on his jumpsuit... and the Major's pride prevented him from attempting to attract the attention of a guard.

"Wonderful, we really will have to improvise here but I'm certain I can make you look far better than you do at the moment." Grell, completely oblivious to anything else at the moment (especially the food), made a show of lithely hopping over the table to the Major's side and performing a close inspection. "The hair needs to be done, you could use a bit of touch-up with the bruising - I can do a little, not much - a bit of styling," he went on and on, glancing around for anyone who might stop him.

A haircut and something to hide his bruises? That did not sound too bad at all. The Major dared to relax and smile a little wider. Perhaps Sutcliffe's... artistic vision did not extend as far as might be feared.

Still, the Major liked his hair, and began typing into his communicator. Your enthusiasm on my behalf is most welcome, Herr Sutcliffe. What precisely do you propose to do to improve my hair?

"Hmmm," he purred, biting his lip distractedly as he reached up to play around with said hair, "a wash, of course~, possibly followed by...oh, a bit of dye, something to bring out your eyes. What color do you propose?" He asked it with a grin, in a sort of way that said I'll pretend to take your opinion into consideration, but probably won't. "How about red?"

"Nein!" The word was out of the Major's mouth before he could stop it, and he immediately clapped a hand to his jaw and groaned as pain shot through it. Still, it was worth it to make perfectly and absolutely clear to Herr Sutcliffe that the Sturmbahnfuhrer of the Millennium Group was not going redhead.

From London to New York, Cap Ferrat to Capri

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late forever I suck

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