fandomtownies | Pixie Dust, Monday Afternoon

Shop without a tiny mute fairy mocking you.

That really is not your color, you know.

Heading out to the mainland to do all his shopping got to be tiresome, so Yitzhak decided there was a possibility of being very relieved that there appeared to be a new fine clothing store right in town.

Naturally, this meant he had to come check it out.

Also naturally, this meant that he was at his scruffiest, surliest, battered-leather-iest best when he clumped into the shop in his motorcycle boots (finest 80s vintage -- meaning stolen off a drunk and passed-out biker in a bar outside Amarillo) and started looking over the lingerie racks with a critical, one might even say seasoned, eye.

A customer. Just what she needed. Wait, she did need customers, they gave her money so she could get more liquor. And this was --

What on earth had stomped into her store and why was it near her soft, pretty, silky negligées!? It was going to get mud on them. Or just general scruff.

Yitzhak was completely unmindful of Tink at the moment, too absorbed in comparing two particularly lacy, silky negligées. His hands, for once, were immaculate today, since he'd been doing some in-depth wig care and there was no way he'd damage his most valuable hairpieces by not giving himself a manicure first.

The look on his face as he reached out to touch the silker-looking of the two he'd been comparing was very close to publicly indecent.

Oooooooh, silk. And the cut on this? He'd look stunning.

Tink zipped around to give this yucky looking guy a piece of her mind, for getting his ugly, filthy, stupid hands all over her delicate, gorgeous lingerie. His hands were probably covered in grease and dirt and --

No, actually, he had a lovely manicure. Well. That was a first. She didn't see many people dressed like that who had such gorgeous nails.

And did he see the state of hers? She snagged one on Saturday and trimmed it down but now her lovely French tips were gone. Was there a place in town for that? Because this was breaking her tiny pixie heart. Look how uneven and ragged and pedestrian she looked. It was a crime.

Ooooh, tiny, sparkly little lady! Yitzhak definitely noticed her now.

Of course there was a place in town for that, and Yitzhak was only too happy to use those lovely manicured hands to give Tink a detailed set of gesture directions to Theodoric of York's. How could he not? She was as sparkly and elegant as he could ever aspire to be. He could almost hate her for it.

Actually, maybe he kind of did, secretly, but if you thought he wasn't going to get as many beauty tips out of her as he could, you'd be wrong. Wronger than a drag queen who went out in hot pants and forgot to tuck. Besides, there were some really nice clothes here, and Yitzhak never went out of his way to offend anyone who could help him be even more fabulous.

Oh, he seemed very nice! He wasn't talking like all those stupid humans did and he even knew where she could fix her nails. She wouldn't set his jacket on fire after all!

Now. Why was he looking at pretty satiny things? Was this for someone? Wait, no, this was for him?

She eyed him critically. Really? Well. He did have marvelous cheekbones. Had he thought about jewel tones? They'd do nice things to that olive coloring he had.

Tink had never heard of drag queens. But anybody wanting to look divinely fabulous had her complete approval.

Yitzhak, as a complex series of gestures and eyebrow-twitches indicated, did in fact happen to be quite the fan of jewel tones. (And had he known, he would very much have appreciated the lack-of-flameyness of his jacket.)

Did she happen, he inquired with an elegant hand-twirl, to have any particular suggestions for jewel tones?

The more fabulous, the better, since he had a drag competition coming up soon and wanted not just to walk away with the competition, but leave it nicely perforated with his stiletto heels on the way out.

Jewel tones were just so deliciously lush, weren't they? All ripe and a little like springtime.

Something about his complexion screamed teal to her. A bold sort of teal, a little more leaning to blue than green, but not the brassy cheap 80s kind of teal, because who needs that? Nobody, ever.

Something like these, over here. He could always go with something a little more understated, but understated was seriously overrated. He knew what she was talking about, right?

The only thing better than crushing the less fabulous under your stiletto heels had to be ... you know? She couldn't think of anything. Unless it was crushing them while sipping something extravagant and very, very alcoholic.

Did he need more stilettos? She had a lot. She was low on size 6 at the moment, though. Someone bought them all.

Jewel tones, as far as Yitzhak was concerned, were the invention of the gods -- as his facial expression clearly indicated, complete with italics. (Behold the power of nice cheekbones!)

Teal was good. He liked teal -- and as much of an 80s fan as he was, that brand of teal was off his list, thank you. He left that sort of thing to Hedwig, where it belonged.

Oh, yes, those were definitely on his list. Understated was no fun at all, because why go with understated when you could dazzle? Dazzling was so much more satisfying.

Dazzling, his next bit of perfectly-executed catwalk strut seemed to say, was really the only way to go when crushing the less fabulous under your stiletto heels while holding a fancy, expensive boozebomb in each hand, and oooh, if she had any in a size 7, that would be perfect.

[OOC: Ahahaha. Sometimes it helps to remember to hit Post. *facepalms like whoa*]

He didn't talk, he strutted like a diva, and he had such a lovely manicure. This biker-looking human guy was her favorite customer ever, Tink decided. Did he happen to have any liquor with him? She was tempted to start pouring some cosmos. This conversation needed cosmos.

Stilettos. How high were we talking? Personally, she thought the higher the better, but some human-types liked to point out they fell and sprained their ankles on anything higher than six inches. To which she always wondered, why were the human types falling in the first place? Clumsy fools don't deserve stilettos. Falling is not fabulous.

He could probably tell her take on understated just from her outfit. And all right, just between them, since no one else was here ... did this dress make her hips look big? She'd been worrying lately. It was just the way it flared and the world does not need fat-looking pixies and was she just being neurotic? She did that a lot, you know. Being dumped for a plain-faced boring smarmy English twat will do that.

(Hahaha, no problem! ♥)

Yitzhak rolled his eyes eloquently. Most humans had no appreciation for the virtues that were grace and poise, but hey, the more clumsy stiletto-inept fools there were, the more fabulousness for them, right?

He fully approved of the outfit, he really did, and in his not-so-humble (according to the smirk) expert opinion, it was awfully flattering to her hips. And he completely understood that neurosis; the only thing more effective at inducing said neurosis in someone than a plain-faced boring smarmy English twat was a whiny, emotastic, pimple-faced, repressed Jesus freak teenager, if she knew what he meant.

He had a point. The more idiots there were stumbling over their own ankles, the more fabulous they looked by contrast. And that could never be bad.

He liked it? Really? Oh, that was so good of him to say. She did so try her humble little best to appear put together, you know. She was just a pixie, but she did so like to appear presentable, of course. She was horrible at false humility, but it did so amuse her to try.

A whiny little Jesus freak teenager?! That was an outrage. There was no standing it. This called for liquor. Luckily, she kept a few bottles behind the counter for just such an emergency.

Well, truthfully, she kept a few bottles behind the counter because work made her cranky. But that could be their little secret, couldn't it?

Yitzhak, who had just such a stash behind the counter at Luke's, nodded indignantly -- a practiced rock groupie could put a lot of indignation into the simple act of hair-flopping nodding, after all. (Practiced rock groupies were good at recognizing false humility too. Sometimes it amused them even more.)

With a quick shimmy and a pirouette, he assured her that even he would be awfully hard put to pull off the dress she was wearing quite as well as she did, but now was definitely the time for liquor. It was the only thing you could do when reminded that people had horrible taste and would pick boring English twats and whiny Jesus freak teenagers over people as fabulous as them.

. . . it could possibly also end in tears, but that was where the fun lay.

Ronan had noticed the new store in town, and felt it might be nice to come by and see if there were any new and interesting clothes available. Preferably in black.

Another customer! Tink was feeling charitable towards customers at the moment Ronan walked in. Customers meant money, which meant more absinthe. Which was much yummier than Squall's tequila, which he was out of and why did he never buy more? Did he expect her to? Because that was not going to happen.

Welcome to her fabulous store with the fabulous clothes and fabulous, fabulous owner.

"Hello," Ronan said, smiling broadly. "I was wondering what you might have in black. I was looking for a couple of nice shirts?" He shrugged casually. "And I don't suppose it would hurt to see what you have in the way of slacks, either. Or anything else you might suggest."

Was he asking? She was an expert at this sort of thing, you see. Couldn't he tell by how fabulous she looked? Because she did. Not everybody could pull off marabou slippers.

Now. Black. A little overdone, but it did nice things for him, so he could keep it. Had he thought about spicing it up with a splash of color? Black could be so dramatic, but if you did it wrong, it was just boring.

And clothes should never, ever be boring. What was the point?

Well, she was the owner, it appeared; and she was quite fabulous; so, yes, he was asking.

"I do the occasional bit of colour," he said, "but not really much. Maybe something subtle? Blues or reds would be nice. Not together, obviously."

Red wasn't very subtle. That's why she liked it. But green could work, too. Something bright to pull out all that black. A belt or an undone necktie, even.

Did he stay with true blacks? Or some of the darker charcoal grays, like over here, or some of the softer not-quite-blacks? He did check to make sure his blacks didn't clash, right? Clashing black was horrible.

"There are subtle reds," Ronan pointed out. "Burgundy, and other saturated reds. But I do see your point," he continued, "and I do like that green..." He pointed to an emerald shirt. "Which is completely getting away from my original request, but now I'm thinking maybe that, with some charcoal slacks?"

Burgundy wasn't red, it was burgundy, but there were muted reds and so it was a moot point. But really, with black? You needed a red that stood up and waved hello.

See, emerald. Very nice. A bright change from the black. Worked nicely for his coloring. Brought out his eyes. Why was he still standing here and not trying things on?

Ronan laughed as he made his way towards the dressing room, coming out a few moments later to model the new clothes for the proprietress. "I need something else to go with it," he said, considering it. "Do you carry any jewelry? I'm thinking perhaps a silver pendant."

Of course she had jewelry! She also had shoes. Really, what was the point of a fabulous diva store if it didn't cover all the bases?

Something like this? Silver, with a nice fleck of green? Or this weirdly-shaped one. Hmm. How far was he going to unbutton the shirt?

The oddly shaped one, Ronan thought, would hang quite nicely when he had the first couple of buttons on the shirt undone. "Don't you agree?" he asked, holding the pendant up against his neck, letting it hang slightly.

Tink approved. Well, any time human-boys had their shirts undone, Tink approved. Just because they were all freakish giants didn't mean she couldn't appreciate the visual.

But definitely that one. Maybe push the sleeves up a little. Did he need shoes? Go with black for the shoes.

Ronan approved when human-boys had their shirts undone, too; looking in the mirror, he definitely approved of his current appearance and thought that others would, as well.

He directed a wry look towards Tink. "Of course I'm going black with the shoes," he said. "Perhaps these? Unless there's something else you'd recommend."

No. The classics were classics for a reason. Some gray socks and he had an entire outfit, wasn't that nice? This store was marvelous. She thoroughly enjoyed it, anyway. Except when she snagged her nails.

Although this one was from Squall's tequila bottle, not work. Still.

Ronan smiled. "Thank you, you've been a great help," he said, as he grabbed a pair of the gray socks. "How much do I owe you?

Tink loved this part best of all. She jingled happily and gave him his ~~handwavey~~ total. And this was where he gave her money! Money, which meant liquor. This island was wonderful.

Indeed, it was, as Ronan handed over ~~handwavey~~. "Pleasure doing business with you," he said. "I do believe I will be back again."

Tink isn't allowed to end the world today.

Yitzhak + Tink OTP!

*is dying reading this*

Tink wishes all her customers were drag queens. Because oh, wow, the fabulousness. ♥ (Thank you!)

Pixie Dust, Monday Afternoon

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