Work Text:
“Your hair is dry.”
The words mean nothing to Gwen. They flow in one ear and out the other, another meaningless dig made by a girl prettier than her, a girl dumber than her, a girl who submitted herself to the rule of misogyny and thought her beautiful blue eyes meant everything in the world. Gwen has dealt with mindless drones like Lindsay before, she knows how they work. She knows how to make them leave her alone.
“Yeah. It’s more flammable that way. I want to be a walking hazard.” She quips back. She’s being sarcastic, a concept too complex for someone as dimwitted as Lindsay to understand. So, she dumbs it down, and adds on, “I really don’t care. Go do something else.”
Lindsay frowns, her bright blue eyes sparkling in an attempt to incite any sort of emotion within Gwen. It doesn’t work. But, Lindsay continues on with her pity fest, as oblivious as always.
“I mean it! There’s so many split ends. You’re dyeing your hair wrong.”
“Excuse me?” Gwen looks up, her eyebrows furrowed. “What do you know about dyeing hair? I know what I’m doing.”
Lindsay takes off her blue bandana and sets it on the communal bathroom counter. She runs her fingers through her hair to flatten it out, and then dips her head towards Gwen, pointing her finger to the part in her hair.
To Gwen’s surprise, the roots of her hair are not the soft yellow tone she expected. They’re a darker, dirtier brown. It’s hard to see unless you're looking for it, it’s obvious that Lindsay recently bleached her hair. But, the pristine, smooth, natural look of her golden locks hide that fact. They look as natural as can be.
“You can’t even tell, right?” Lindsay reads Gwen’s mind and stands back up straight, running her fingers through her hair. They soar through effortlessly, no tangles.
“No, not really. I had no idea.” Gwen experimentally runs her hands through her own hair to see if she receives the same lack of struggle. No luck. It’s knotted.
“Yeah, it’s nothing like yours. You did it yourself, right?”
“Yup. How could you tell?” Gwen asks rhetorically, rolling her eyes.
“The colors are blotchy, you have too many split ends, it’s frizzy, the back is uneven, and I can still see some brown hair on the underside.”
Gwen self consciously covers her hair with her hand, wondering even why she suddenly cared so much about hiding it. “You weren’t meant to answer. Besides, I like it this way, it has more character. It’s much better than your perfect bimbo blonde.”
Something flashes in Lindsay’s eyes, too quick for Gwen to decipher, but she moves on without a shred of further acknowledgement.
“Here,” Lindsay takes a step towards Gwen and takes one of her pale, white hands. She rests a strand of her hair in her palm. Gwen is taken aback at first, her initial instinct to be to swat Lindsay away, but, as the golden lengths caress her skin, she's surprised at how it doesn't only look soft, but feels soft as well. Against her better judgment, she strokes the surface and even reaches further up to Lindsay's head to feel more of it.
Maybe Gwen has been near Cody too much, but the scent of it enchants her, as well. Thankfully, she fights against her impulsiveness this time and backs away, crossing her arms.
"Huh. It actually feels quite nice. It's not a wig, is it?" Gwen jokes, smirking. Though, a part of her would've been intrigued if it was a wig, too. She's cosplayed a few times and was in desperate need of a good hair resource.
"It's all natural! I can show you how I make it so soft, if you'd like."
The proposition is hilarious, and Gwen laughs, but after a few moments she realizes: Oh, Lindsay was serious about this. Lindsay wanted to force Gwen to spectate her little Barbie makeover session, and she would gossip about boys the whole time, and blah, blah, blah.
"Nope, not happening. I'm not watching you do your hair."
Lindsay scoffs, a condescending gesture Gwen didn't even think she was capable of. "No, silly! I'll do your hair!"
"No."
"Please?"
"No."
"Pretty please?"
The relentless begging is making Gwen fold- she's looking into Lindsay's eyes and they spark nothing but pity and guilt in her chest. She grumbles to herself and looks away.
On one hand, dealing with her. On the other hand, strategy wise, this wouldn't be a bad move to get Lindsay to go against Heather. If she could manage to persuade Lindsay to turn on Heather, she'd get a majority, and…
"Fine, you can do my hair. But don't cut it, please."
"Oh, please! The only scissors I brought are my nail scissors, and I am not using that on someone's hair!"
Lindsay drags Gwen over to the bathroom lockers, where all of the girls keep their respective belongings. She opens her own and takes out a massive pink duffle bag with tassels on the side of it, and more sparkles than Gwen has ever seen. The way the glitter falls onto the ground when the bag shakes suggests that Lindsay made the eyesore herself, and Gwen is very glad she's the art archetype here and not her.
"Which scent do you prefer? Vanilla or lilac?"
"My deodorant is Old Spice Krakengard, if that helps."
Lindsay takes out a bottle of febreeze and sprays Gwen with it.
With every additional product she removes from the bag, Gwen feels her stomach drop lower and lower. She can hardly keep track of all the different labels. Shampoo. Conditioner. Moisturizer. Body scrub. Body lotion. Facial lotion. Hand lotion. Foot lotion… Nail lotion? Why are there so many lotions?
By the time she is done, there's a whole ensemble of products on the floor. And, somehow, the duffle bag still looks half full.
"...Wow. That is… so much." Gwen's jaw is dropped open. Does Lindsay seriously apply all of these things all of the time? "Hold on, I thought we were only doing my hair."
"I changed my mind! You definitely need more than that!" Lindsay's smile of bliss almost hides the fact she just ripped Gwen's self esteem in two. Almost. God damn, she knew she wasn't the best at keeping up her hygiene, but this was just embarrassing.
"Thanks," scoffs Gwen as she rolls her eyes.
"Of course! Now, you go take a shower," Lindsay shoves a bunch of bottles and tubes into Gwen's arms, "and when you're done, I'll do your nails and teach you how to take care of your hair!"
Okay, easy enough. Gwen makes her way to the nearest shower, careful to not drop any of Lindsay's precious beauty products, and enters. As she lines them up on the ledge, she reads each and every one of their names. Shampoo, conditioner, and … a light-up shower head, apparently.
She takes off her clothes and abundance of jewelry and throws it over top of the curtain, praying it doesn't hit Lindsay. It didn't, and her clothes collided onto the ground with a dull thump.
Hold on, was Lindsay even still in here? Gwen almost peels back the curtain before realizing she was completely naked, and instead decides to call out for her, instead.
"Linds?"
God, why'd she use a nickname.
"Yeah?"
Gwen is relieved to hear the answer, but now she has to come up with a reason why she grabbed Lindsay's attention that wasn't as pathetic as saying, 'I thought you abandoned me.'
"Uh, do you use conditioner or shampoo first?"
To be fair, Gwen only uses her brothers 3 in 1 for her showers. She didn't know the answer to that question in general.
"...Do you know what you're doing? Like, at all? You seem really confused, hun."
Did Gwen just get called 'hun' by Lindsay? Wow. This is a new low.
Gwen bites her lip and glances at the mountain of supplies behind her, and it’s safe to say she’s clueless.
“Not really, no.”
“Okay! Give me a second!” Lindsay chirps from the other side of the curtain.
Under the rhythmic thudding of the shower droplets, Gwen can faintly hear things being moved around and Lindsay talking to herself. She hears the dull thud of what sounded like fabric against the floor, and her heart skips a beat.
“What are you doing?” Gwen calls out anxiously, rubbing her thumb against her palm to calm herself down.
“I’m putting on my bathing suit! Do you know where yours is?”
“It’s hanging on the-” Gwen’s bathing suit is thrown over the top of the curtain and lands on her head. “Nevermind.”
At this point, Gwen doesn’t have the willpower to explain to Lindsay that she doesn’t want to take a shower with her. She’s in too deep. The only thing she can do is take deep breaths and remind herself that this was all a strategic move. As long as she doesn’t panic, it’s okay.
She quickly puts on her suit, and finishes just in time for Lindsay to carelessly throw open the curtain and walk inside. She’s wearing an orange bikini. It complements her skin and hair and contrasts her eyes, and Gwen wonders if Lindsay herself made such an educated choice, or if she hired someone to do it for her. Hah.
She should probably stop judging Lindsay.
The shower suddenly feels a lot smaller, and a lot warmer, as Gwen presses herself against the tiled wall to give Lindsay more space. She’s pouring shampoo into her hands, the translucent purple substance emitting a faint scent. Droplets of water fall into Lindsay’s palms, and once the shampoo is saturated enough, she begins to scrub her hands together, creating a foam.
“Come over here!” Lindsay smiles, and Gwen reluctantly steps towards Lindsay. She’s spun around, now facing the stream of water.
She feels Lindsay’s hands go atop her head and rub the bubbles in, and holy shit, it feels heavenly. Her nails dig into Gwen’s scalp and comb through her short blue locks. It feels like a massage, and Gwen has to consciously force herself to stay silent so as to not make any embarrassing noises.
Suds slip down her shoulders and down her chest, and Gwen watches them as Lindsay hums in the background. The entire moment was so intimate, Gwen almost felt guilty for letting Lindsay be so nice to her. Be this nice to someone so mean.
“Rinse out the shampoo, now!” Lindsay instructs Gwen, and she does as she’s told. The warm water feels nice, but compared to feeling the bodyheat of Lindsay’s hands and arms washing her scalp, it means nothing.
Once the water runs clear and no more bubbles slide into the drain, Gwen steps out of the stream. Lindsay takes a generous amount of conditioner and applies it to the ends of Gwen’s hair. She finishes quickly, and nearly steps back into the water, before Lindsay grabs her arm and stops her.
“Whoa, you have to let the conditioner sit for a moment! It makes your hair softer.”
“Oh, my bad. I didn’t know.” Gwen apologizes, huffing, and moves away from the stream of water. She crosses her arms and leans against the wall, tapping her foot as she waits for this supposed conditioner-timer to run out.
“Why don’t you? Shouldn’t you know about this stuff?” Lindsay asks, tilting her head. Gwen glances up at those bright blue eyes, and feels herself answering out of an obligation she can't recall feeling before.
“Hm? Oh, no. I lived with my dad when I was really young, and he didn’t really teach me hygiene.”
Gwen expects Lindsay to respond like most people. The standard, ‘oh, sorry, I didn’t know!” Maybe, she’d even hit her with a, ‘hah, my parents are divorced too,’ even though Gwen doubted Lindsay’s parents would serve her any less than a maid would.
But, Lindsay doesn’t say any of that. She just blinks and goes, “That’s not an excuse, silly!”
And at first, that hurts. Gwen’s eyebrows furrow and she's ready to go on her standard rant, the one about how underprivileged people didn’t have the same opportunities as normal people did. The rant about how she was raised in a broken household, and was too busy worrying about the next rent payment than worrying about the newest perfume sale.
Her mouth opens, but then it closes, because Lindsay is right.
She doesn’t have those fallbacks now. Well, many of them anyway. She has every chance to go to a drug store and pick up reliable beauty supplies with just a bit of research. But, no. She’s attached herself to her misery and uses it as a way to bash on anybody who’s better. She associates being pretty, taking care of yourself, and wearing cute shoes with mindless bimbo barbies who don’t understand her struggle, and that they were worse for that. They’re slaves to capitalism, and the male gaze, or whatever. She thinks she’s better because she’s not like that, but she isn’t. She’s not better because she struggled. If anything, she’s worse, because despite her opportunities and resources now, she stays attached to her old struggles. As if it’s a style.
“I… guess. Thanks.” Gwen mutters, casting her glance off to the side.
“Mhm! Anyway, you can rinse the conditioner now.”
Gwen stands under the showerhead, and agrees with herself to start caring about her appearance more, to start putting effort into her presentation. To stop that pessimistic mindset, to stop romanticizing any pain. Of course, this is another instance of having self revelations in the shower, that stay in the shower, and mold and rot along the walls. But, this one means a lot to her, and even if she doesn’t keep up with the resolution herself, she had a friend who could make her.
A smile forms at the thought. Lindsay’s her friend. Huh.
The heavy slam of the communal bathroom door causes her expression to fall into one of mild panic, and Gwen pauses her breathing to limit any noise. Lindsay does, too, and they both wait in silence.
“Lindsay!” A voice snaps from outside. It’s Heather. Who else sounded that pissed off for absolutely no reason?
“Yes, Heather?” Lindsay calls back, as if she’s a servant, and it’s …pathetic.
“You’ve been here forever, finish up! Beth and I have been waiting for you.”
“Sorry, Heather!”
Gwen figures that she should be the one hiding, so in order to prevent Heather from seeing two sets of feet underneath the shower curtain, she perches hers atop the shelf of beauty supplies and balances herself using the wall.
“Why are Gothy’s clothes out here?”
Shit.
“She’s swimming, I think! She came in and changed while I was doing my hair.”
“Ew, okay. Well, I’m gonna be throwing those rags into the lake. Come out soon, and bring the ointment for my rash.”
The door slams, and Lindsay and Gwen are left alone.
They make eye contact, and Lindsay looks nervous. She opens her mouth to speak, but before any noise could come out, Gwen bursts out laughing.
“Pffft, rash ointment!?” She cackles, nearly falling off the shelf and having to catch herself on the wall. Lindsay starts laughing, too, and soon the both of them are practically losing their minds.
“I know! It was so funny. Someone put red ants in her bed, and they totally bit all over the place!”
“That may have been me.” Gwen giggles.
“What, no way! Where’d you even get them?”
“Harold had this ant farm with him? I don’t know. He’s so weird.”
Lindsay gives Gwen a look, and Gwen scoffs.
“Oh, come on! I’m not that bad.” She defends herself, and Lindsay only laughs at her pitiful attempt.
“Uh huh. Sure.” The blonde rolls her eyes.
“Shit, Heather totally just trashed my clothes.” Gwen suddenly realizes, and her eyes widen at the thought. Would she seriously have to walk all the way to the girls cabin in a towel? Knowing that there were people like Heather, Cody, and Duncan on the island? She feels sick to her stomach.
“You can wear mine, it’s okay!” Lindsay offers, patting Gwen on the shoulder.
Ugh. Wearing V-Neck crop tops and booty-cut shorts was not in Gwen’s plan for rediscovering herself, but it’s not like she had any other choice.
“...Fine.”