Infinitus | Prodigiosum Sequel

v. death by perfume; markus + tristan

* pov: third person (markus)*

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Perfume Hell was, well, Hell.

The people were nice, no question. Peter Mclean was really cool — not just because he was a Cherokee who was proud of it, but he was smart and had a way with words that Markus didn't know and knew at the same time. Lacy and Mitchell were great people who helped him a lot with his atrocious, cliché bad-boy clothing and hairstyle.

He'd worked long and hard to grow those locks. And now Aphrodite decides to take his soul of determination and discipline away from him?

And, well, not everyone was nice. Valentina Diaz couldn't care less about them. A few of the girls were busy fangirling over Why Don't We or Bangtan Boys or whatever. And then there was Drew Tanaka and her clique.

My God.

The second Markus had won the little fight with Julia using his persuasion skills that he'd only now learnt to be Charmspeak, this tall Japanese girl that was maybe about nineteen or something instructed her two sisters to drag him into the cabin and bombarded him with questions that were practically useless.

What clothing brands do you like? "I don't really care."

What perfume do you wear? "I don't really care."

How many girls have you hooked up with? "I'm twelve, so zero."

How many girls have you crushed on? "They're not my..."

—type...

You're still stuck in the closet and the door is locked, my friend. Don't you dare look for the key and jump out of there no matter how much you want to say that your favourite colour scheme is the rainbow or how painful your crush on McCoy de Leon is.

Good times.

What's your favourite makeup brand? "I don't really wear makeup??"

What if you did? "... Fenty Beauty?"

Drew puckered her lips and wrinkled her nose in distaste. There was no denying that she'd look good without makeup on — she'd look better. Markus didn't have a problem with makeup at all, and he supported people who did it. But Drew just looked weird.

Her black hair was curled and pinned and braided, and she didn't pull it off quite well. Her eyeshadow was electric blue and glittery, a bit too much eyeliner, a bit too much highlighter, and her bubblegum pink lips were just. Why.

And then she spoke in the haughtiest voice known to man. "What? Well, Fenty Beauty is nice and all and the variety of shades it comes in is stunning and Rihanna is great I guess, but I think I prefer Kylie more. Sexier."

"Well, you asked my opinion, and not for you to try and change mine," replied Markus, shrugging. For the fourth time that day, he scratched his head, scratched his face.

Changing his clothing was easy. Mitchell had a lot of old shirts stuffed in a box under his bed in the event that someone got claimed and absolutely abhorred their assigned wear. It was the hair he had the most trouble with. He took, like, five showers. But the hair gel on it must've been waterproof or something. Peter told him that nothing would work, and that it was normal, and that if he was lucky enough it would only last about three days.