fandomtownies | All and Sundries; Thursday.

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$sundries

All and Sundries; Thursday.

WPP had dropped a point from all its gain and, while it was just a little decent, it left Turtle in a bit of a sour mood, so she was hiding behind a copy of the Wall Street Journal at the counter, reading a fascinating article on the excitement of technology stocks. Turtle still felt anyone who invested too heavily into technology stocks were a fool; too unpredictable. You needed something solid to stand on, not something that could potentially be obsolete in a month when a competitor comes out with a small but more powerful model. Did they learn nothing from those Silicon Valley blowouts?

Today's Squishy flavors: Magnificent Magenta, Vibrant Vermilion, Red.

All and Sundries is open.

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He kept trying to switch around the merchandise to see if Turtle would notice. She did. She had eyes in the back of her head. Not literally, but Apu started to wonder...

Especially if it's about the market. Or explosions.

How about exploding markets?

Wade stopped by the shop for some groceries. Groceries being single guy code for alcohol and meat. And mustard. Very important, mustard.

"How you doin' Turtle?" Wade asked cheerfully.

Turtle lowered a corner of the Journal to peek at who was addressing her, and her mood shifted from pensively business to slight bounce. "Hey, Mr. Deadpool. Look! My tooth is all better!" And she opened up her mouth, leaning forward to display it as if there had actually been visual signs of discomfort before, which there hadn't been.

That was... kinda gross. And this was coming from the guy who had been waist deep in dead bodies. Bodies he had killed, of course, but, you know, dead nonetheless.

(Stupid clones.)

He ooo-ed though, because it was the nice thing to do. "Better than Bourbon?"

Turtle closed her mouth and settled back with a shrug. "More effective, definately. Kind of fun, too." She lowered the paper a little more to inspect Deadpool's prospective purchases. "Grocery shopping, I see."

"Yeah, the roomie doesn't like it when I eat his food," Wade said. "Even though it is really fun to see that angry little vein pop up on his forehead."

"Hate to sound like my mother," Turtle said, inspecting the choices again, "but you might wanna throw in some, I dunno, veggies. Or carbs. Or...anything."

She really didn't want to sound like her mother; she just wanted to make a bigger sale. Hey. It worked with Tannim. But there was a pretty big difference between Tannim and quite possibly the coolest teacher she'd ever met, so she didn't have high hopes that it would work.

Wade looked down at his food and frowned. "You know what?" He asked. "You're right!"

He disappeared shortly, bringing back a big jar of pickles and package of hamburger buns with him. "They're a vegetable, right?" He asked, holding up the giant pickle jar with one hand.

Score. "They sure are," Turtle nodded approvingly, and then tilted her head. "What about desert, though?"

Wade looked down at the pile of alcohol, then back up at Turtle. But he guessed that beer wasn't technically a desert.

"Hmmm," He said speculatively. "Whatcha got for the discerning mercenary?"

Turtle noticed the regard to the alcohol and considered it again, checking to see if maybe she'd missed a bottle of desert wine. Nope. Sorry.

But she did have an immediate answer to the question, the perfect addition to balance out any healthy diet. "Twinkies! I'll give you half off the second box, in a special, one-time-only deal."

"Ooo! Twinkies!" Wade made grabby hands for them. "For when the world ends and all that is left are them, the roaches, and a crazy ass Bruce Banner."

"I don't know who that is," Turtle admitted, "but if he's got Twinkies and roaches, he's a pretty lucky guy."

"Now, you should get some chocolate syrup to dip them in. That makes them gourmet, and you can impress everyone with your culinary genius."

Wade nodded at her assessment. Roaches and twinkies: the American dream.

"The only person I would impress would be Yuki and..." He trailed off, thinking about chocolate syrup and Yuki, grinning in a way that could be taken as several different emotions depending on who was watching him. Rosette, for example, might see it as lusty. (That perverted Nun.) Had Nate been around, he would know it as the 'Wade's Face of Plotting Bad Horrible Things to Private Property' look. (Oh, I put dozens of HoHo's in his bed once and now I have a look?)

Turtle just took it as a moment of brain damage, arching an eyebrow at the sudden cut-off. And then shifted gears entirely. "I impressed Mr. Yuki the other day in class," she announced proudly.

"Really?" Wade asked, shaking himself from fantasies of filling Yuki's room with twinkies. "How?"

"He really liked my story for class!" Turtle beamed, exaggerating a bit. "He said it was..." she took in a breath as she tried to remember, "something good, but jumpy. But I don't think jumpy is all too bad of a criticism, especially with how her responded to other people." Her nose wrinkled. "I think Mr. Yuki has anger management problems."

Wade nodded in agreement. "He really does." He held up one of the bottles of whiskey. "Which is why I'm bringing him this!"

"Ooooh," Turtle enthused excitedly. "That's a very nice present. Make sure you give him a present like that next week, too, preferably before class, so he might be in a good mood. If he has those."

"That might seem suspicious," Wade replied. "I'll just casually leave them in his desk on those days."

Turtle gave Mr. Deadpool a 'look' from across the counter. "Randomly appearing bottles of whiskey are somehow less suspicious than one being directly offered?"

"If he needs them that badly in your class, I doubt he'll care about where the booze comes from."

Turtle snorted a laugh. "That's a very good point. If you do that, though, could you put a little note on it that says 'from your favorite student'? Do you think he'll know it's me?"

"I could draw a picture of a turtle on the note," Wade suggested.

Turtle really, really, really liked that idea. "It can be, like, my mark, you know? 'The Turtle has struck again!'" She posed dramatically.

"We just need to get you a costume and you'll be a masked vigilant," Wade said proudly. "Or mercenary. I'd lean toward mercenary if I were you."

Turtle nodded. "Mercenary sounds more profitable," she decided.

(Awww, how adorable.)

Wade handed over the money for the groceries and chuckled. "You ever want to know how to blow crap up or shoot things, you just let me know."

Turtle might be taking him up on that offer much sooner than one might think. She grinned at him as she got his change and bagged his merchandise for him. "I will. Thanks, Mr. Deadpool."

Ugh, why couldn't she be old enough to drive? Mr. Deadpool had to be the coolest teacher ever. Seriously.

Parker came in with a poster for Teal Dear (http://community.livejournal.com/fandomhighdorms/945185.html#cutid1), then grinned when she saw Turtle. "Hey. I'm trying to expand our audience, do you think Jane will mind if I put one up in here?"

"Mmmm," Turtle's mouth shifted thoughtfully as she looked at the poster. "I think there's, like, a dollar posting fee, or something."

Parker gave her a dry look. "Really. Because I can just post it outside, on one of the trees."

"I can garantee you the money will go to a good cause," Turtle said, unfettered. "I doubt you'll get such a garantee from the tree. And who knows, there could be evil squirrels in that tree, waiting to attack. A dollar is a very fair price for garanteed safety."

Parker's eyes glint, as she can't resist. "A dollar's a lot for a poster that's only good for a day and a half. Hmm. I'm thinking fifty cents. Possibility of a dollar *next* time Teal Dear play, of course."

Which was a fifty percent profit. "Sold!"

Parker fished out two quarters and handed them over, then got a Diet Coke from the refridgerated section. "Pleasure doing business with you, Turtle. I hope I see you at Caritas when the band plays."

"Oh, I'm definately going to check them out," Turtle nodded. "Buffy mentioned them to me, and that you're their manager, and, well, I can't imagine you wasting your time on a crappy band, so..."

Parker grinned wide. "They've got a record contract, and are in the black for only being around six months. You do the math." She handed over the money for the drink, and said, "I'll look for you there, then. And introduce you to the band, if you get there early enough."

Playing Turtle has actually made me want to read the Wall Street Journal. Help me.

I now know more about shoes than I ever thought I wanted to.

You're doomed, dude.

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All and Sundries; Thursday.

Mod Apu.

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