Promptocalypse: Ceeliosa
Word Count: 1118
Episode Alignment: post-AoTD
Recommended Soundtrack: “Good Girls,” CHVRCHES
Summary: @gointothevvater's St. Cecilia decides to buzz cut her hair, and brings Tess along for moral support (and brat taming).
--
“Just say the word and we’ll get started,” Destry said for the fourth or fifth time. Their cutting hand was starting to cramp.
St. Cecilia’s breath quickened again. Her gaze darted from Destry’s ombre teal bob to Tess reading on the leather couch to her own ring-lit reflection. If this is Purgatory, at least it’s stylish.
St. Cecilia opened her mouth. “Could I get a pink gin fizz first?”
“No.” Tess tossed her book on the couch. Her olive-green suede motorcycle boots hammered the concrete floor. “You said you wanted to do this with a clear head.”
Fuck off, St. Cecilia wanted to say to her. She glared, then pouted, but nothing drew Tess in. For all the ways St. Cecilia saw Charles in her, Tess never indulged her moods like he did. It was intolerable. Why did she ask Tess to come along, anyway?
Tess gave St. Cecilia a weary look. She's going to make me say it. “I’m,” whispered St. Cecilia, so Tess had to lean in. They stared at one another’s reflections. “I suppose I might be nervous. Perhaps.”
Tess softened. “Of course you are,” she said. “This is important to you, and we can get scared when something is important to us.”
We? It would be nice to see Tess get scared about something for once, but it was nice to know that nerves were normal. “But what if Charlie—”
Tess shook her head. “Not his call.”
“But—”
“But nothing.” She tied her tunic sweater around her waist, revealing a Pretenders tour shirt that had seen much better days. "Why are we here?”
St. Cecilia rolled her eyes. “I’m getting the chop,”
“Uh huh. Why?”
“Because this isn’t me anymore, I don’t think.”
“You want to prove a point to yourself – whether the point is true or not, it’s not for me to say – but you’re the only one you have to prove something to. Now, I can’t help but notice that Charles isn’t here, but you asked me to come with you. There has to be a reason for that. My guess is that you want someone here to call you on your bullshit. Am I close?”
Tess was dangerously close to getting scratched. Yet as Destry set down the scissors to stretch their hand, St. Cecilia felt as if she was about to lose something precious. “Wait!” She looked back up at Tess, her voice father away. “Why won’t you just tell me what to do?”
“Because I’m not your mommy and I’m not your dommy,” she whispered. Was she scolding?
“Could you just be for right now?” St. Cecilia said with a laugh that caught in her throat. She couldn’t play pretend, not with Tess.
Trevor saved the moment. “I’m here!” he called from the front desk. “Did I miss it?”
“We need some music,” Tess muttered to Trevor, taking Destry aside and leaving St. Cecilia all alone.
“How are we doing?” Trevor gently spun St. Cecilia’s chair around, stopping just as he saw her tears catch the light. “Oh, hey, what’s this about?” Trevor, such an understanding soul.
“What if Charlie can’t stand it? What if it’s a massive mistake? What if I can’t find a good makeup look to go with it? What if I don’t feel any better or any different and I look like a bloody skinhead?!” Trevor handed her a tissue. “Why can’t Tess just tell me if I should or shouldn’t? Is she right, and I’m just kidding myself? I asked her here to—to—help me get through this, and she’s not helping at all-”
“Hey, hey.” Trevor turned her chair to face him. “Whose idea was this Ceeliosa look?”
“The what?”
“You know, Ceeliosa. Like Mad Max.”
St. Cecilia laughed in surprise. “Mine.”
“And how did you feel when you had the idea?”
She sniffled. “Good, if I’m being honest. Proud.” Her platinum hair shone in the light. She wanted it, and everything it stood for, off her body for good.
“All right.” He turned her chair to Tess and the stereo. CHVRCHES pulsed through the speakers. “Let me ask you a question: do you think she gives one fraction of a shit what others think of her ideas?”
St. Cecilia laughed. Of course, Tess didn’t care, and that’s why she was here and not Charles. Tess wouldn’t let her compromise on herself. I want to be like her- No, that wasn’t right. She wanted to feel like her – self-realized. Sure of herself.
The driving beat helped St. Celia sit up straighter, breathe deeper, think clearer.
They tell me I'm hellbent on revenge
I cut my teeth on weaker men
I won't apologize again
Tess strode back to St. Cecilia as if the song belonged to her. It did in a way.
I never had a taste for liars
Or the uniquely uninspired
'Cause I don't need to be desired
“Hey.” Tess spun the chair back to the mirror. She crouched next to St. Cecilia. “Don’t look at me. Don’t look at anyone or anything else. Just look at her.” She pointed to St. Ceclia’s reflection.
Is it easier when you don't have to count to ten?
When you don't have to pretend?
I want to know that feeling
“What does she want?” St. Cecilia couldn’t help but glance at Tess. “No, no, eyes to her. She’s the one who matters here. What matters to her?” St. Cecilia waited for an answer to appear out of thin air. “Either you want to do this, or you don’t. Or you don’t know. There’s no wrong answer, as long as you’re answering for yourself.’
What if I don’t know how to do that? Tess would probably hate that answer, but it felt true. St. Cecilia looked in her reflection for every version of herself that she let down, or who someone else let down, who just wanted – needed – to be told that she was doing the right thing. From her mother to her band and all the fucked-up pit stops in between, she had searched in vain for a sign of her worth. Everywhere she looked, she had been disappointed – not because Caj or Nita or Charles or even this exhausting moose of a woman didn’t care for her, but because she kept having to find it somewhere else.
The choice of a haircut was a small step, and maybe it was a symbolic gesture, but perhaps the choice of it was the most important step she could take.
“Destry?”
Killing your idols is a chore
And it's such a fucking bore
“Yes, ma’am?”
But we don't need them anymore
We don't need them anymore
She rolled back her shoulders. “Let’s get on with this, shall we?”
