How (Not) To Dress To Impress

[control_freak]

Who: Foster and YOU
What: Foster's stubborn refusal to wear presentable clothing gets him on the RM's shitlist. He gets turned into a cow.
Where: The carnival grounds
When: Before the kidnappings
Warnings: Over-the-top self-deprecation, and... uh, he gets turned into a cow.



A. Before

To be honest, Foster wasn't terribly interested in his new... career. His 'hiring' was less of a blur and more of a short yet tedious process of being told what he was going to do and why and then being left to do it. Which... he understood. But he didn't really... care?

He didn't care about the job. His mistakes, yes. He couldn't stop thinking about it. But the whole... part where he was supposed to talk to people? What was he supposed to do? Didn't she know what kind of disgusting, worthless garbage she was counting on? Why, she'd be better off with no one than relying on someone like him. No, she would be better with even literal piles of refuse lining the walkups to her shows. His revolting presence would drive people away, would... would...

Also.

He didn't really like talking to people.

But he had a couple of days to "settle in." To... explore.

And then he has to get to work.

Which he does--a skinny, sallow figure the off-brown colour of an old cement road, dressed only in striped flannel pyjama pants and a haphazardly wrapped blue scarf. On his breaks, he retreats back to the back lot--honestly just a dressed up trailer park, he doesn't understand why they call it a backyard.

And he might not dress for the job--barefoot and ribby, with no shirt and tangled yellow hair--but he's definitely got a way with words.

"Life is short, you know! Too short to live without a little wonder. Without awe. Without magic! But tonight... tonight you can have all that and more! Buy your tickets now..."

He smiles, just shy of brightly.

"Regret lasts a lifetime. No matter how long or short...!"

B. After

There's a new addition to the menagerie.

It's not very exciting. In fact, it's so ordinary that it's kind of odd.

But there it is: a sleepy-eyed, standoffish brown cow.

If you talk to it, it ignores you. If you try to pet it, it moves away.

So.... normal cow?

Lmao no

Comments

A

[mossbuds]

Lars, as usual, is trying desperately to mind his own god damn business in this awful magical nuthouse, but also as usual, people are trying the fuck out of him. Also, he doesn't have headphones or music in this place, so it's a little harder to just tune people out. He's been trying to walk fast with his hands stuffed in his pockets, and to glare at the path beyond, but...

Good lord, is Foster ever a... site...

Lars very rudely leans quite comically back, his hands extracted from his pockets as his expression fixes in a sneer.

"Eugh! What the hell, dude, put on a damn shirt! Ain't nobody gonna wanna be buyin' tickets from some guy who looks homeless and crazy. You look like a dang mess."

He could have ignored this. He really could have. But he's feeling generous today. Fix your damn life, stranger.

[control_freak]

Foster stops talking. For like... an entire second. And he appraises Lars with bright blue eyes. Then he smiles, eyes lidding just slightly.

The thing is... Lars isn't wrong.

"...have you ever heard the phrase 'truth in advertising?'"

Homeless, no.... but 'crazy' and 'a dang mess' aren't really dishonest representations of him, are they? What's wrong with that?

[mossbuds]

Lars gives Foster a lip lift of disgust, and eyes him up and down. This guy's kinda creepy...

"What the hell's that supposed to mean?"

Lars knows what the phrase means by itself, but is having some trouble parsing it in context.

[control_freak]

Foster's smile widens incrementally, a brief, uncanny glimpse of white teeth and calculated sincerity.

"I mean... well, you can wrap up garbage in a nice box and paper, but it's still just trash, isn't it?"

Imagine, if you will, a beautifully wrapped present. Crisp paper, a heavy box... but there's something strange about it. A smell... would you even want to open it? How would you feel once you did? Rotting food, shredded paper and crushed plastic...

It's better to keep trash where it belongs. Someplace where everyone knows without opening it what's inside.

[mossbuds]

Lars now makes a throaty noise of disgust, feeling himself get goosebumps. He's never met someone so self deprecating. And it's creepy, yeah, but a part of Lars also feels... kinda... something. It's uncomfortable, and Lars might realize in retrospect it's because he's projecting; he understands what Foster's saying, because he kind of relates.

"Sure, I guess," he concludes with a flamboyant wind of his wrist, rolling his eyes flippantly. "But whether or not that's true, that's totally irrelevant! I don't see what that's gotta do with your pitch."

I just don't have an icon for this face. Tragic.

[control_freak]

Lars' vocal expression isn't just rude, it's... coarse. Hedonic. Visceral.

He could wallow in disgust like that, sink himself into its gross sincerity. That sound.

Being dismissed out of hand isn't something Foster is unused to. In fact, it's so common he really takes it for granted. But for this...

His smile changes, becomes tighter, thinner. Abruptly, he's taking Lars in through different eyes, his steady stare cool and judgemental.

"You should."

TRAGIC

[mossbuds]

Lars somehow resists rolling his eyes again, and he shoves his hands stiffly into his pockets; it's a gesture he does when he's uncomfortable, though he's never noticed. Seeing Foster narrows his eyes makes Lars do the same, mocking him with the imitation.

"What, you sayin' 'if you don't ride this ride you're gonna become homeless trash'?"

[control_freak]

It's a painful dichotomy for Foster. He'd been so moved by the sincerity of Lars' disgust... and yet now, only a few seconds later, Lars is being willfully obtuse. Why?

"You're misunderstanding me on purpose." There's no accusation in his tone, just flat declarative. He crosses his arms, but one arm reaches up to support his chin, a finger crooked just under his mouth.

You could argue his body language is pretty contrived but.... it's not like Lars has any room to talk.

[mossbuds]

"I'm misunderstandin' you because you aren't makin' any sense," Lars jabs, thrusting a finger loosely in Foster's direction. "You're being weird and speaking in metaphors and junk!! Nobody talks like that! How's anyone supposed to understand you?

"It's no wonder your pitch sucks so damn much; you're super vague! It's bad enough that you're underdressed and off-putting, but you're goin' a whole 'nother extra damn mile!"

Damn, Lars, way to completely lean into a total stranger. Again. He's not really had an outlet for his stress, so he's...getting in trouble, lately.

[control_freak]

"......"

Foster blinks at the jabbing finger. Just once. Not in surprise.

He smiles back at Lars again. Now, more than ever, it's a slightly uncanny smile.

"....yes!"

He gets it!

"But I already know I'm terrible at it. Communication... style, other people... I'm worthless in every way, it's disgusting. So no decent person could understand a thing that comes out of my mouth, right? I never make any sense, I'm so disorganised--even when I say it clearly, my ideas are twisted, rotten. I really should have been discarded like the trash that I am--!"

He lifts one hand, running his fingers back into his hair--it's thick and yellow, kinked, and they get stuck, forcing him to pull it back out and try again, then a third time until he can run his hand back through its curls without ripping anything out.

[mossbuds]

Lars takes a nervous step back, furrowing his eyebrows. Christ, did he just cause this dude to have a meltdown? He raises his palms cautiously. "Whoa, dude, chill out. It ain't that deep. I know my drags are real, but y'don't gotta fuckin' lose it!"

He levels his tone, and is kind of astounded in the back of his mind that he's trying to cam someone else down, for once.

"Look, when someone tells you why you suck, that's an opportunity to suck less. Alright? Just put on a shirt and you're already headed in the right direction. Right? Get me??"

Okay, it's official: he has got to stop checking strangers, because the results have been pretty insane lately.

[control_freak]

Foster gives Lars a look like he's something dredged from the bottom of a septic tank.

It's understandable, though. Operating on a very simple misconception, it's hard not to see why Lars would think he'd want to improve himself. But if there were any meaningful way in which Foster could have changed himself, he would have seized it a long time ago.

But there isn't. Because putting on a shirt wouldn't be the right direction. It would be exactly the opposite.

"No--no, no, no. Didn't you hear what I said? Even if you wrap garbage up nicely, it's still garbage!" His fingers curl into his hair, grabbing a fistful of yellow locks in agitation.

[mossbuds]

"Jeez, man, you are really buggin'." Lars makes another cautious step backwards, squinting suspiciously at Foster. He doesn't feel like this dude could hurt him, but he definitely feels uncomfortable, because, you know, Foster is clearly fucking insane. "Are you on somethin'?"

[control_freak]

"No." Foster squints his eyes briefly, so that he actually manages to look extremely wounded, if simultaneously angry.

"I--" He stops, flustered, frowns and pulls at his hair for a second. "I'm not high!"

Then, suddenly, he pulls his hand free and in all seriousness, all sincerity, tries again.

"This is what I mean. You're too generous... even suggesting that someone like me is in any way redeemable! I don't deserve that kind of kindness. Even if it's very flattering, I can't..." Hhhnngh. How does he explain it? How does he... he knows he's said this before, to someone else--more than once? He just can't remember...

Why doesn't he understand?

"Seeing someone's good nature go to waste on me... it really just makes me sick."

points

[mossbuds]

"Well, chill out, buddy. I ain't got no good nature," Lars shoots back icily, crossing his arms. He of course doesn't believe that's wholly true, but as far as Foster's concerned, Lars figures, it is. It's...obviously still backtracking, but. Good try, Lars.

"I'm just bein' objective! That shit was hardly kind. I basically just described what critisism's for! For example: do you have these episodes every damn time a customer doesn't take your hook? If so: you prolly gotta work on that too. It ain't about your dumb trash in a giftwrap metaphor, either; this is... just bad job performance."

[control_freak]

Foster.

Laughs.

"If they ignored me? Wouldn't that make more sense??" You don't stop to talk to trash on the side of the road, do you??

....do you?

Because he sincerely hopes this isn't one of those people that feels bad for inanimate garbage that ends up lying next to the trash can because someone was too lazy to dispose of it properly.

[mossbuds]

Frustrated, Lars stomps a foot and throws up his hands.

"Not when your job is to hook customers, dumbass!!" He points seethingly at Foster. "You're missin' the point!"

[control_freak]

Well, there's your problem.

Lars is severely overestimating Foster's level of commitment to his job.

Truth be told, failing at his job is all Foster is capable of doing. Even if he did have some kind of investment in it--which, in this case, he intensely lacks--the prospect of failure versus the reality of it makes for sort of a self-fulfilling prophecy.

He just meets Lars' eyes. And stares at him, waiting.

[mossbuds]

Lars pauses at Foster's—lack of a reaction, then shoves his hands into his pockets, bony shoulders peaked with discomfort. It's clear he isn't getting through to this dude, and Lars—wasn't even sure what he was doing, wasting his time arguing about shit that Lars truthfully didn't even care about. It wasn't like Lars was the epitome of a good work ethic, and this place in particular had a job so morally lousy that Lars couldn't give a real shit.

But damn, at least Lars was decent.

"Ugh! Whatever man, I'm outta here. Have a nice life, ya creep."