barbieland room (NSFW ACCIDENTALLY)

[devil_or_angle]

*there's a new door in the hallway. it's pink. thinking alluka will surely love whatever is behind it, killua turns the handle and heads in to make sure it's safe. his eyes are immediately assaulted with a plastic world made up of the brightest candy-colors he's ever seen, so startling that it takes him a moment to realize that even his clothes have changed to match, trading out his turtleneck and jeans for an open teal-and-pink striped shirt and identically-patterned shorts. he grimaces down at the dorky getup before venturing further inside, wondering if he might be able to find a change of clothes in one of the pink, multi-story houses lining the shiny cul-de-sac.*

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[descendsanathema]

*Kalluto was stomping away from the cabins, trying his best to control his breathing, being considerate of Melody, who could probably also tell from his heartbeat that he this was a little ridiculous right now.

Didn't care. He was mad.

In his dream, he was every bit the pretty little doll that his parents wanted him to be. He couldn't speak, only be dressed up as others pleased, and be cooed and fawned over. Even his kills lacked that satisfying moment wherein fear first develops in their eyes, that powerful few seconds between realising they're about to die and Kalluto ending their misery.

That's such an adorable outfi- glurkh-*

Fuck OFF, *he screamed while pounding the nearest door with his fist. He looked up at the plate on it - "Sailor Room". His mood brightened instantly as his mind pirouetted through different historical eras of naval exploration, combat and patrol. As he stepped through the door, he took a deep breath, could already feel the salty air and water spraying his face as a wave inundated the top deck. The breath became a sharp gulp of air, Kalluto completely surprised to find himself indoors, in an inoffensively temperate climate.*

I guess... I'm on leave?

*As he looked around his surroundings, he realised he'd stepped into a walk-in closet not unlike the one in his own cabin, but with a far more limited set of choices mounted on a shadowboard behind a clear plastic case. Plastic was the right word for the pastel violets, blues and teals highlighting the omnipresent pink that soaked everywhere he could see.

He recoiled from the mirror, squinting at it, as soon as he saw his reflection. He didn't look bad as a blonde, the shining platinum underneath his cap just on the borderline of being too close to white for his complexion, but he'd never have chosen it for himself, nor adopted the cut - a fresh recruit's buzzcut, grown over about eight months, choppily rendered into the makings of an undercut with amateur barber work. From the mirror, he also saw that he was wearing a horizontally striped pink and white shirt, which he felt to be quite comfortable cotton suited to the open seas, with loose trousers to match, and polished black shoes.

He appraised the shadow board again, realising that the sets of accessories suited different countries' uniforms, contemporary and past, through the prism of them all being made for plaything sailors. He found a solid, bold turquoise square of cloth and tied it up as a neckerchief, smiling at how it popped off against the lukewarm colours on him and all around him without going far off the aesthetic. Kalluto would stand out, not fade into the background like.... like...

He looked outside, now, astonished at first that he could see outside so broadly. The walls had been cut away, the clear view of the sky and into so many other houses on a cul-de-sac street revealing various people in equally pastel archetypical getups, signifying archetypical professions.

They weren't people, Kalluto knew, but he found it no trouble to play along when he was in the mosh pit, or feel the tug of yearning from seeing the mosh pit in the mirror. But in this case, he was unnerved by the stilted, robotic motions of everyone, the glass vacancy in their eyes, and the way they got the superficial trappings of how they should act just right while missing the mark on everything else. They absolutely weren't people. If he didn't know any better, Kalluto thought he might find one of his brother's needles sticking out of them.*