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Pixie Dust, Late Tuesday Night

What sort of demented people sent shipments this late? Humans were insane. Just because she'd specified it was a rush order was no excuse for them to call and wake her up when decent people were sleeping and make her come down here to sign forms and put things away.

(All right, she hadn't been sleeping. She had been drinking Squall's tequila. But that didn't change the fact that decent people were asleep.)

She was never, ever using that stupid carrier again.

Pixie Dust isn't open, but the lights are on and the door is unlocked, if anyone is curious and wants to deal with an enraged, drunk pixie.

(OOC: expecting someone, but also open for your masochistic insomniac needs.)

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Blackheart was a demon. He wasn't really likely to be asleep in the dead of night, was he? It was comfortably dark outside at night, he'd learned, and he fully intended to be out and about to learn all about the island that he was stuck on.

Not much really caught his attention, but he did have something of an affinity for lights (his father absolutely hated bright light, he had used it many a time to piss the old man off) and found himself gravitating toward the store.

Pixie Dust. Nice. Girly, but nice.

Blackheart really had no need for knocking or paying attention to signs, so he invited himself inside.

Tink heard the merry jingling of the door's bell and ... wait a second. Customers?

Tink flew to the front of the store in an angry rage. Who did this stupid pale Goth wannabe think he was, barging into her store? It was closed! She was not selling things to fake vampires in the dead of night when she was half-drunk on tequila! He should come back in the daytime, if translucent skin could handle being out without an umbrella! And what did colors ever do to him, anyway? GO AWAY!

Blackheart raised an eyebrow at the angry jingling of the fairy. Oh, please. He was far too good to bother with this.

"Cute," he mumbled, then glanced around the room. "Good taste in clothing, too. Whoever would have thought there'd be someone with taste on this island?"

Of course she had taste, she was a pixie. Fairy. Whatever. Would anyone this adorable not have good taste? She was almost insulted. In fact, she might work herself up to being insulted, here in a minute, if she tried hard enough. It was easy when you were drunk.

Anyway, she was new to this island, thank you very much, and was he always so insufferably rude? The store was CLOSED. His black lipstick and Nobody Loves Me t-shirt would have to wait a few hours. How would he ever survive? She didn't know, but he'd do it far, far away from her. Because he was leaving now.

Blackheart wasn't about to leave, thank you very much. He had gone through the trouble of coming through the bloody front door and now he was listening to the irrational jingling of an irate pixie. Fairy. Whatever. He was going to make it well worth his while, thank you very much. And the look he gave her was quite obviously one of the 'I bet you don't even carry Armani, anyhow' persuasion, and if this drunken little woman kept jingling at him in such a tone, he might have to take his business to a store that knew a real customer when one walked through the door, thank you some more.

And he didn't have to jingle at her to convey that much.

Excuse her?! She most certainly did have Armani, not that his teenaged punk wannabe ass could spell Armani, much less afford it. She was supposed to be drinking tequila right now, not catering to some stupid pampered brat who probably called himself Vlad or Lestat when his real name was Murray or Josh or something else thoroughly mundane. He should head back to the suburbs and watch more music videos in his parents' basement and dream of one day getting a pale, apathetic girlfriend, which would never happen. And go away already.

Blackheart snarled. Fine. He wasn't about to put up with this nonsense from a fairy who didn't know the prince of Hell when she saw him. And she was more than welcome to go and cry over more tequila, too. He'd find better clothing than the crap that his father had forced on him elsewhere, and leave this little hole to the pixie. Fairy. Whatever. It wasn't his fault if she preferred to serve stupid, half-brained, pathetic little humans over him. Her loss.

Oh, look, he was so impressive with those teeth! All the little juvenile delinquents in his hometown must be drooling with envy. Morticia and Lavinia probably almost let him see their cleavage when he pulled that trick.

Good riddance to bad little man-boys who seriously thought they could play at being e--

Tink hovered mid-air and sniffed. And then sniffed again.

She zipped closer to regard him with some curiosity.

He ... wasn't human at all, was he?

Blackheart crossed his arms and scowled, one foot nearly out the door. If he was aware at all that she had for a moment thought him to be a pathetic, smelly, stupid little human, he might have been affronted enough to turn and leave right away. Fortunately, while he was relatively good at comprehending pixie-jingle-speak combined with drunken bodily gestures, he was not a mind-reader.

He raised an eyebrow once again at the pixie. Fairy. Whatever.

"And you would be looking at what, exactly?" Really, now. Piss him off and chase him out and then decide that he's interesting. That's rather bad form, fairy. Pixie. Whatever.

He didn't need to be so huffy. He was the one who barged in here, while she was drunk and the store wasn't open and he wasn't, was he? That was delightful. Because that meant he wasn't a poser little Goth wannabe, he really was something creepy and evil, and that gave her happy shivers.

She was sorry about the black comments. Black was fine, or whatever. Listen, he should come in and have a drink with her. She has a favor to ask him, and she always repaid her favors. She could be a useful friend, he should know. Had he ever heard of a place called Neverland? She could be very helpful.

His arms were still crossed and his eyebrow was still inclined ever so slightly, but the way that his jaw was tilted indicated well enough that he was certainly listening. Watching. Whatever.

At least he wasn't dealing with a human right now. Ugh, nasty things. Pixies were so much more pleasant to deal with. Fairies. Whichever. They were able to be so much more... sinister. Blackheart liked that in a woman, even if she was two inches tall and propositioning him to do bad things. He was very good at doing bad things, really.

Right! He should come this way. Here, over by the counter. She didn't have tequila here - an oversight she'd be fixing soon enough - but she had absinthe. Oooh, wasn't the name delicious? Absinthe. Here, he could even have some.

Now! Evil, then. To evil!

... He was evil, right? He had the smell of evil. If he was just playing at the evil thing, she was going to set his hair on fire. He was evil. She could tell.

How did he feel about killing English girls? Stupid ones, with bad hair and boring plain faces and whiny smothering voices? Slow, painful methods preferred.

Absinthe? That really was a very spectacular sounding liquor. And of course he'd try some, given the nature of what the fairy was propositioning him with. His pixie might have been slightly rusty, but he certainly knew his charades well enough to piece together that she wanted him to kill someone.

Killing was fun. He'd have to do something about his father's ridiculous restrictions if he wanted to really enjoy himself, of course, but he did know various forms of slow, very painful, very maddening tortures. One of the benefits of being homeschooled in Hell.

"Really, I'm not picky about who I kill."

What? Plotting bad things was half of the fun in life. Actually executing those bad things was the other half.

Tink jingled rather happily, and poured him a glass of bright green liquid. Well, if he was a dark creature sort of thing, he could handle it, right? Mmmmm, absinthe! They made a shot with absinthe that was called a Neon Fairy. How was she supposed to resist?

Yes! Yes! Killing! He should kill the Wendy-bird! She was about this tall and had a plain face like this and her hair up and she called him Peeeeee-tah in this whiny, soppy, horrendous voice and she sniffed rather a lot and she was a complete brat. And Peter should die, too, or at least be maimed, and he was prancing around like a stupid little man-boy with a wooden dagger and refusing to grow up unless she was playing at being his mother and how disturbing could you get!? And she, Tinker Bell, had drunk poison for that ungrateful sorry excuse for a wretch and he had still chosen her and really if he could rip out both of their intestines and make pretty curtains out of it that would make her so, so happy. Nothing would ever make her happier. Would he like more absinthe?

More absinthe would be excellent, yes. It wasn't quite as smooth as human souls, but it really was pleasant. In a green sort of way.

Blackheart took a moment to mull the whole thing over. Really, his contempt for humans grew every time he heard (beheld?) about such idiotic goings-on. Did the entire human race think that somehow they were better than beings such as himself? And the little pixie. Fairy. Whatever.

"I don't do curtains," he said, finally.

Tink waved dismissively. The curtains would smell funny and look bad and it was more a gloating sort of thing. It wasn't the crux of the matter.

She pulled the wand out of her cleavage - and didn't she have nice cleavage? She really thought that she did, thank you - and began writing in swoopy letters.

Neverland.

Had he heard of it? Could he get to it? Would he go there and kill the Wendy-Bird and her Peeeee-tah? And maybe drown a few Lost Boys? That last bit was optional, they had probably managed to starve to death without her around by now.

Blackheart considered the writing for a moment - a handy little trick, that - and then shook his head slightly.

"Never heard of the place," he stated. He hadn't been out of Hell very long, after all. How was he supposed to know all this geography after only a few days? That wasn't to say that he had lost his interest, but it might make getting there to disembowel some absolutely useless humans into something of a challenge.

Tink sighed into her absinthe. She should have known better. That would be far too easy. She met someone willing to rip the Wendy-bird's lungs out and he couldn't find Neverland. That was how it always went. Fine. She was sorry to waste his time. She would sit here with her absinthe and think about how humans were the dumbest, ugliest, most pathetic species ever invented.

That would require another glass of absinthe. Luckily she kept extra bottles.

At least the fairy was well-prepared so far as alcohol went. Blackheart had to admire that she had a gameplan.

"Look, you get me there, I'll do whatever you want me to do to your infestation."

Honestly, it wasn't the end of the world. Yet. He'd be in a better mood if it was, thank you.

Tink perked up. He would? He really would?

Oh, that was too kind of him. He was such a gentleman to a sweet, innocent fairy in need. The cleavage helped, right? Sure, she knew he was mostly happy for an excuse to slaughter, but really. The cleavage helped. She could tell.

This would take some doing, but she had faith in them. And she would owe him a favor! And having a pixie owe you a favor could be a very pleasant thing indeed. Was there anything he particularly wanted? Needed? She had a feeling they might become very good friends.

The cleavage was somewhat tiny, but if Blackheart considered her something of a scale model, the cleavage perhaps helped a little, yes. In all fairness, he was absolutely huge, wasn't he?

Really, the satisfaction of killing a few unwanted pests was more than enough for him, but there were always other things. If he could barter a good thing for a good thing, he might as well.

"Alright, here's the deal," he decided suddenly. "If I manage to get to Neverland to take care of your problem, you, in turn, do whatever you can to make my father absolutely miserable, should he ever show up around here. He's an old-fashioned, insufferable idiot. Making him miserable shouldn't be difficult."

Yes, he was full aware that he was asking the fairy to harass his father. It was possible that he either had too much faith in the fairy, or none at all in the devil.

He considered a moment more. "And I think I should like to spend more time here," he added. "Time spent here means less time spent out there, being near to that swarm of human filth."

He was huge. Tremendous. Enormous. A giant, really. She was definitely impressed.

Make someone miserable? This father-person sounded like a complete bore. She enjoyed making people like that suffer. Oh, that sounded simply delightful.

If he really wanted to spend more time here, he could work here. Ugh, retail, but really. Look how divine this store was. And employees got a discount of - wait for the wand to come back out of the cleavage - 20%, and first dibs on anything cute. And she really did have Armani, he should know. And any time people were here, that meant she could be at home, drinking more of Squall's tequila. Win-win.

Blackheart gave the fairy something of a bemused stare.

"You want me. To work. To sell things here?" He'd have laughed out loud, but even he had moments of poise. Now and then. "I am so not the customer service type, it isn't funny. How many of your customers would you like me to eat, now?" The whole notion was hilarious, really. "Me, working retail. How mundane."

Tink sniffed. Oh. Well. That was fine, then. He didn't want to sit around all this lovely silk, and mock the pathetic humans who wanted to buy it. He didn't want a discount on his Armani. He wanted to spend time here and not be paid for it. That was certainly a smart decision. She could see that he was obviously very bright. Who needed money? Or absinthe, really? Not him. Clearly.

"Don't push it," Blackheart warned, though he wasn't likely to do anything nasty to anyone who had agreed to be insufferable at his father, really. "I'm free Tuesdays. Take it or leave it."

Tink would take it, thanks! That meant Monday nights she could get thoroughly bombed on grain alcohol and not worry about opening the shop. Employees were ever so much fun!

And he shouldn't worry about the stupid customers, because customers were boring and dull, more or less, and he could ignore them if he had more interesting things to do.

Did he want to see the room in the back where she burned things? He did, didn't he? One of her employees could incinerate things just by looking at them. He could do that, too, if he'd rather. So long as he didn't drink all her liquor.

Blackheart shrugged his shoulders and couldn't help but smile. There was something about the prospect of being paid simply for being his usual charming self while surrounded by signs of a superior fashion sense that just held some sort of appeal to him. And the discount wasn't half bad, either.

So, place where things are burned! That sounded appealing, also!

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Pixie Dust, Late Tuesday Night

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