[florals? for spring. groundbreaking.]

[majorlyugh]

WHO: Major Lilywhite
WHERE: Around the village
WHEN: First week of September, any time
OPEN TO: OTA
WARNINGS: N/A, will update as needed

---

The hunger started growing inside of Major almost as soon as he set foot back into the village. He knew it was beginning to bubble inside of him when he'd had a bite of a peach at the Inn and the thing tasted half like ash, half like fruit. While his amnesia took its time wearing off, he'd spent time in the woods, attempting to catch squirrels and woodland creatures to try and get some of their brains - just enough to satiate him until he could find a more permanent and more appetite-suppressing solution.

Luckily, he'd recovered all his memories and run into Liv and Ravi, both of whom were sharing the same cabin. He'd been told that they'd been gifted brains by the Gift Gods, which was nothing short of a miracle, considering all of them needed to get their cranial munch on with some regularity.

Ravi told him that they were still mapping out the personality traits of each brain, so Major chose one at random and decided to cut himself off a hefty chunk. He didn't need the whole thing, and he didn't need it every week the way Liv did, but he still needed enough to make the cravings and the hunger stop.

It wasn't soon before long that the personality of whomever once used that brain started emerging.

Unfortunately, or fortunately depending on perspective, it happened to be the brain of a young fashionista. It also happened that this particular fashionista hated everything clothing-related in the village.

When he goes around the village for this particular week, he can be seen wearing:

a blazer repurposed from his bright, raspberry-colored scrubs with no shirt underneath because ugh shirts, the collar of which has been adorned with various feathers he's found around the village (some might've been forcefully stolen off of a few unfortunate birds);
his usual jeans that he's tailored and tapered to fit more tightly (though nothing as abhorrent as a skinny jean);
perfectly "messy" (read: toussled just so) hair with a Zoolander Blue Steel pout to match;
his usual shoes;
and a rotating crown made of interwoven twigs, sometimes with flowers, other times not because nature. It really matches the ~aesthetic~ of the village and ties the whole thing together.

If he catches you eyeing his new threads, he might give you a judgmental sneer and a click of his tongue to his teeth, insisting that he was trying to go for something reminiscent of Gaultier Fall 2011, but ugh, it's impossible to make anything remotely decent of a runway in this place, what with the minimal fabrics and access to electric sewing machines.

But lord help you if you call the color red "blood orange." He might just verbally eviscerate you for that.

It's fucking red.

Comments

[oorah]

Frank can't really be the judge of anyone fashion-wise, which was true enough before his "gifted" outfit at the party. But today he's wearing it from head-to-toe again, a bright teal hoodie with basketball shorts and Jordans to match. His teal communicator is barely visible as a result, but there's a hand-braided leather bracelet wrapped tightly around the other wrist, his overgrown hair and beard lending a certain je ne sais quoi to the sight.

And then, there are the dogs. A black-and-tan bloodhound who stays close by his heel, two stocky Corgis who follow after, a tall Samoyed and a blocky gray pitbull flanking him slightly ahead, and then there's Aurora: a sleek black German Shepherd who barks when she spots Major and runs up to greet him with all the fervor of a small bulldozer. All Frank can really do is shrug at the dog's overwhelming nature, she listens to him sometimes, but he's learned to just let her do her thing.

[majorlyugh]

"Ugh!" Major shouts as the dog comes up, jumping all over him, running the risk of ruining all of Major's hard work to make him at least a little bit decent for this plague-era village. But after a second of recoiling away, Major takes a better look at the dog and thinks that it's as sleek as a classic Chanel bag, and even though he doesn't do what he'd normally do (get on his knees and pet the thing), he doesn't look as disgusted. The corners of his lips might even twitch with something like a smile for half a second.

He looks around like someone looking for a waiter.

"Excuse me! Um, excuse me, whose dog is this?"

[oorah]

"Uh," is all he manages at first, accompanied by a slow blink. If he knew the man's internal commentary, he would agree that Aurora is a classic. As it is, he's wary of someone who appears scared of dogs at first, but then the man is looking around and so does Frank. "Guy named Kira. Why?"

He goes a little cross-eyed as he looks back at Major, the five other dogs huddled around his legs now. "I walk her sometimes." Read: every day. He'd die for her. "Don't let her fool you, she's a real sweetheart."

[majorlyugh]

"Kira. Ohmygod, Kira! I remember him. Haven't seen him again since I've reappeared and all that, but I remember him. Those cheekbones! He could do runways in Milan, Paris, the whole circuit if he wanted," Major says, suddenly growing introspective as though he's debating whether or not he could convince Kira to do modelling. He mulls it over with himself for a moment or two before remembering that he's talking to someone else. Someone he doesn't recognize.

He considers the dog again. He's still not bending down and fawning over it the way Normal Major would, but he looks .. pleased? Maybe?

"Such a sleek little thing. Reminds me of that classic Chanel bag, you know? The classic classic, not that .. colorful garbage they're churning out these days."

[oorah]

"Uh- yep, that's him." Wow, this guy is something else, huh? Frank looks over Aurora, he thinks he understands what Major means... except he's never seen a Chanel bag before (you know, unless it was a fake in Chinatown.) But the sentiment sort of tracks. "I'm just gonna take your word for it, pal."

[majorlyugh]

Major can sense that twinge of judgment in the man's voice, and it makes his expression fall to something more sour. These uncultured swine! Who didn't know what a classic Chanel bag looks like? Who could be that deep under a friggin' rock to not at least be somewhat familiar with them?

He looks back to the dog, bending over just enough to give the dog a couple of open-palmed, apprehensive pats on the head. It's more with his fingertips than with the rest of his hand, like he's afraid he'll catch something if he makes too much contact with the creature.

"I don't believe we've met before," Major says, still looking at the dog. He lets that linger in the air for a second or two before slowly sweeping his gaze up to the man. He adjusts the makeshift coat he's created for himself, blowing air out of the side of his mouth to keep a feather from bothering him. "I'm Major. Major Lilywhite. And before you ask," he starts, eyes rolling pre-emptively, "Yes, that is my first name, and no, it's not a rank."

[oorah]

Aurora rubs her head against his hand the second it's offered, grinning broadly, and Frank spares the dog a fond look before focusing on Major again.

"I wasn't gonna ask," he assures with a little nod, trying to come across as anything but judgmental. If the guy will barely touch the dog, he's betting on him not being the handshaking type and shoves his own hands deeper in hoodie pockets. "Frank." Not Lieutenant, not Mayor. This guy isn't the only one trying to shed his labels.

[majorlyugh]

"You'd be the first not to," Major comments with a resigned sort of air about him. "Usually the questions are that, followed by, is that really your name? And then, what was wrong with your parents? And isn't that a question I ask myself every day." His tone indicates like their commiserating over something shared, but that's a wild assumption on Major's part. Truth be told, his history with his parents had been complicated, but his name was something he'd learned to get over. At least once he was out of high school. Those years had been tougher.

Major glances down to the man's hands as he shoves them into his pockets. Normal Major would be the first to extend a hand for a friendly greeting, but this Major is pleased that the man's already seemed to figure it all out.

When blowing air on the feather doesn't seem to help, he reaches up to tame it down as though petting the head of an evil cat a la Dr. Evil.

"Frank." Solid name, albeit a tad .. blasé. "How long've you been here, Frank?"

[oorah]

"91 days," he replies without missing a beat, gaze sliding over the other man's face again. He really is something else. There once was a time he would've been too observant to miss someone like this around the Village. He's become complacent, he supposes. "You?"

[majorlyugh]

"Just long enough to know how fucked up this place is, amirite?" Major asks, leaning in conspiratorially before standing normally again. Err, well, as normal as he can while on this brain and caught in the tangled web of its personality traits. "Me?" He heaves a heavy sigh. "I dunno, six months? Seven months? Something like that. Hard to keep accurate track when we don't have any Rose Gold iPhones to help. Then I left for a while. I was out on some .. mission thingy." He waves a dismissive hand. "Came back sometime after that. According to my friends, it was something like two or three months. I think it's been about a month since I've been back for the second time."

[spoileralert]

Steph doesn't just eye the threads. She stares, eyebrows raised, an expression of mixed amusement and horror on her face.

"Oh my god. Give those feathers back to whatever poor chickens you stole them from. They need those, you know."

[majorlyugh]

"Excuse you, I need them," Major retorts, hand to his chest, his shock, horror, and insult very, very real. Subconsciously, he reaches up and gives some of the feathers a little stroke. He looks to them with the faintest of smirks before looking back at Steph with a bit of a glare. "And they're not chicken feathers, okay? What am I, some peasant? A milkmaid? Ugh, though you'd think I would be given the fact that we're in .... this situation," he gestures around him with his hand. "If you must know, and apparently you don't, I was trying to channel this incredible look from Gaultier Fall 2011. I did the best I could do!"

[spoileralert]

Steph is confused, but unimpressed. Is he doing a bit? He's probably doing a bit.

"And you failed. Miserably. You look like you've been tarred and feathered then painted black. It's real bad."

[majorlyugh]

Major looks like he might burst into tears, if it wasn't for the sudden tension in his jaw, the steeling of his lip that he bites. He inhales a sharp breath of air to will the tears brimming at his eyes away. He flicks his head back, nose more in the air than before, and scoffs, disgusted.

"People called Coco Chanel mad, too! People told her she was ridiculous for liberating women from the constraints of the "corseted silhouette," but she did it! SHE DID IT!"

[spoileralert]

Oh god. Is he about to start crying? It occurs to her for the first time that he’s actually being serious... for some reason. She frowns at him.

“Major, what’s going on? We’re hunting just to survive and now suddenly you’re worried about clothes? I mean, I hate the scrubs too, but this doesn’t seem like you.”

[majorlyugh]

Major adjusts his makeshift blazer, tugging it together around him. The no-shirt look is so in, but it's also not great against the elements or when one might be feeling a bit .. attacked. He brushes some of the feathers away from his face, taking great care to not undue any of their haphazard attachments.

"Why wouldn't one worry about clothes? After all, it's our way of introducing ourselves to the world! It's the first thing others will judge us on! What kind of impression does one want to make? When one chooses to wear a pair of boots from three seasons ago, it means that they're too lazy to care, or perhaps they're trying too hard to appear like they don't care, but deep down, they do. They care about making others think they don't care. But me? I live my life out loud, and I care! I've done the best I could with the tools and resources we have, which is abysmal to begin with. Cut a guy some slack!"

Is he offended? Not really. At least the Major deep down isn't offended. But is his fashionista brain brimming with insult? Absolutely.

[spoileralert]

She holds her hands up in surrender. She doesn't actually want to offend him. She just thought he was joking around.

"There's nothing wrong with caring how you dress. It's just kind of sudden, you know? I'm sorry, I thought you were just fooling around. The feathers are... fine, probably. Whatever they are. Distinctive." She struggles for compliments that aren't outright lies, especially in light of her earlier comments.

[majorlyugh]

Major does his best to regain his composure, closing his eyes, exhaling a slow and steady breath of air to calm the jitters in his fingers. Bits of his normal self peek through, and when he opens his eyes again, they're full of apologies and embarrassment. Dragging his lip under his teeth, he hesitates before asking,

"I know this is ... all really weird? And I'm sorry?" He sounds like himself. "There's an explanation, but ... I ... can't really give it to you .. like, not yet. But maybe .. eventually? But in the meanwhile, this," he motions to himself and the ridiculous extravagance he's managed to create, "is my reality for the next, like .... week. And I'm so sorry. I'm not mad you."

[spoileralert]

"O...kay?" Steph is deeply confused, but she really doesn't have any choice other than to take his word for it.

"Well... as long as you're not mad, I guess? Is there anything I can do to help?"

[living_proof]

There's been a lot going on. A lot. Maybe that's not an excuse to have slacked on my regular wrangling of small forest creature brains, but apparently I thought I had more left than I did. You might be asking why this is important when we've got most of three human brains left in the fridge, and the answer is this:

If I eat bunny brains with the human brains, they basically cancel each other out. I neither feel compelled to dig a warren nor whatever insanity lurks in the personality of the poor person I have for lunch.

I think you can see where I'm going with this. No bunny brains, just human brains, plus a hungry Liv equals fingers crossed.

"Yass queen!" I shout at Major the moment I catch sight of him, arm lifting to snap enthusiastically over my head. "WORK, bitch."

Welp. Guess it could be worse.

[majorlyugh]

Major's chin tilts up at the encouragement, even if he doesn't see Liv right away. He knows her voice innately. He flicks his head back and forth to move his invisible Victoria's Secret Angel-esque balayaged tresses from his face before immediately strutting up and down his equally as fabricated runway. At the end of it, he pauses, does a half-turn, does a half-turn the other way, looks the audience up and down, and walks the other way, pausing for a similar pose at that end.

He then walks back over to Liv with controlled excitement on his face.

"Does it scream Gaultier? Or am I looking more like a Sears catalogue?"

[living_proof]

"Ugh, as if that were even possible," I instantly reply, my head flopping back with a groan. "This is some serious Alexander McQueen 2004 realness. I mean it. All you need is like, antlers. And tulle. Like—" I lift my hands and pull them down through the air in front of Major. "Everywhere."

I pull in a sharp gasp, eyes rounding. "Ohmygod, you totally look like Gaga. I mean, with a bigger ass obviously, but you can't have everything."

[majorlyugh]

"You know there is a very fine line between couture and catalogue," Major replies with a knowing tone and equally knowing narrowing of the eyes. He stares down the bridge of his nose at her, eyes glittering at the mention of McQueen, one of his favorite designers. He could almost squeal, but that's so .. unbecoming. So uncouth. So uncultured.

"We could find antlers, easily. I mean, this place has all those ... creatures running around it, doesn't it? How hard could it be? Don't they .. shed them or something? Lose them? Don't they grow back? I don't know, I was too focused on the way they gave that female rabbit a fur stole in animation."

He glances down and behind him, as if he's suddenly remembered he has an ass.

"Gaga! What can't that diva wear? I am still living for that 2017 Grammys look she pulled with Marc Jacobs. It was David Bowie meets Yellow Submarine meets Milan."