fandomtownies | Pixie Dust, Monday

Avoid the psychotic scarier-than-usual pixie.

She's a ray of sunshine today.

Pam tentatively eyed the clothes, thinking she needed something for Homecoming, while she looked for the proprietress. Not that she really knew what to look for.

A customer. Well. Customers meant money meant absinthe meant Tink should zip forward and try to be civil. So. Here she was. Civil. Wasn't she? Yes. Yes, she was.

Welcome to Tink's House of Cooler Stuff than Most People on This Island Deserved. Wasn't it all so very chic? It was. Would you expect anything less from someone like her? Of course not, because she was utter chicness itself. Fabulousness in four-inch form. Maybe three inches. She'd never exactly measured herself, you know.

This girl really needed to do something with her hair.

Pam blinked at the little -- very little -- winged person gesturing at her. "Um. Hi. My name's Pam," she said slowly. "I...was wondering if you'd be available for an interview? For the school paper?"

Excuse her? Tink was very busy, she should know, and couldn't just --

Interview?

Oh, my! Her glamorous career as a movie star was beginning already! That worthless director really had sent out press releases about their joint endeavour that he hadn't seemed to have started on at all. She wouldn't have to kill him after all!

Darling, she was always available for the media. Did her hair look all right? Now. What sorts of questions did this lovely young reporter have?

She, Ms. Tinker Bell, diva extraordinaire, was ready for her audience.

Pam smiled, still a little unsure, and pulled out her little steno pad. "Okay, obviously Pixie Dust specializes in really gorgeous clothes, but what actually brings you and these gorgeous clothes to our teeny little island?"

She felt a little sucking up might be in order.

Oh, her public was too kind. She simply tried to do what anyone would, and save this island from hideous, painful fashion atrocities. It was a giving job, really.

See, she, the illustrious Tinker Bell, was from a place far, far away, with a stupid little retarded boy who clomped around getting himself into trouble, and she had saved him way too many times and really it was a blessing when that stupid ugly English twat had batted her eyes and stolen him away and they both needed to DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE.

She was all right now. She had come here, to this island! Without Pee-tah or Wendy-birds. So she could be glamorous and help people and charitable and too, too fabulous. Wasn't she fabulous? Did this reporter girl need a makeover? She was very good at those. Ask anyone. Especially her.

Pam transcribed the gesticulations as best she could, trying to err on the side of flattery. "Okay, then. Are you anticipating the whole Homecoming thing? It seems like that'd be one of your biggest times of year." And yes, Pam still needed to get her dress. A date, too, but that would come in due course, hopefully.

Homecoming! Yes! People were coming home and buying fabulous wonderful dresses and suits and she didn't exactly understand this whole 'Homecoming' thing except it meant people needed to be more fashionable than ever and how could she object to that? She couldn't. People gave her money and left with beautiful, wonderful clothes and that was the most exquisitely perfect thing ever, especially when it meant she had absinthe.

She did have absinthe. Did the reporter girl want some? Mmmmm, absinthe.

Pam would pass on the absinthe, since she'd heard that it was poisonous. "Um, one last thing -- anything you think that my readers should absolutely know, that isn't already included?"

Tink considered.

Absinthe was delicious.

Her roommate Squall was stupid and so was his class.

Fashion mattered.

Accessories could make the outfit.

Wendy was the worst name in the world.

She was a diva and they should all watch her movie.

That sounded like it, right there.

Pam, again, transcribed what she could. "Okay. Thanks a lot! I'll, um, probably be back in sometime this week to get a dress for the dance."

Oooooh, yes! She should do that! And get her hair highlighted, because she would look very nice with highlights and would Tink be getting a copy of this magazine when it came out? She adored the press.

"I'll come by with a copy of the paper or something this week," Pam promised, getting the gist.

Tink jingled happily. Oh, the media was ever so wonderful.

Ron came into the shop looking intimidated as all get out.

It didn't help that he was carrying his old dress robes (http://i6.photobucket.com/albums/y244/iamgumboy/gofpromo7.jpg) with him.

"Excuse me? Is there anyone here who can do alterations?"

Tink, feeling much cheerier than earlier - hooray, absinthe! It made everything better, it really did - waved at the redhaired boy. Hello! Welcome to Tink's Empo-- what on earth was that?!?

Was that still alive?! Clutching and crawling towards her to infect her with bad, painful ugliness?

In an instant she pulled the wand out of her cleavage.

FOOM.

Better to be sure. It certainly wasn't alive now.

Okay. They were all safe, now. Good. What did the poor, afflicted boy need, other than that destroyed as quickly as possible?

Ron stood there staring at the pie of ash on the floor.

"Wha- Wha- Why did you do that? That was my only suit!"

Tink tucked her wand back into her cleavage and shook her head.

That hadn't been a suit. That had been a nightmare come to life. Really, wearing that? He had been considering it? Because going naked and stringing Christmas lights around his legs would have been slightly higher on the socially acceptable scale. In fact, that might have been avant-garde.

No one should ever wear something like that. Not ironically, not for money, not with a threat of death. The world was actually a happier place now that it had returned to whatever Hell dimension it was born from.

Couldn't he feel it? The rightness of the universe again? Much better. Really.

"But... that was my only suit!" Ron wibbled. "I don't have anything else to wear to the dance! I can't afford to wear anything else to the dance!"

All right, those were three separate issues.

For the first, that hadn't been a suit. That had been a demon intent on sucking out its soul. Trust Tink. She was good at this.

For the second, having nothing to wear was a marked improvement over having that to wear, and look! They were in her fabulous store filled with glamorous clothes!

For the third .... ugh. Why was everyone in this town poor? Fashion wasn't cheap. Please tell her he had more than that homeless juggler sorry excuse for a director who had loose change? Please?

Ron pulled out his money bag and pulled out a couple of galleons. "Can this get me anything?"

Tink scooped up the galleons and flew them back to her cash register, tinkering some with a calculator and conversion rates.

Then she gave him a raised eyebrow.

He should define "anything", there.

"Just a suit. And a shirt. And a tie," Ron said in a pleading tone and puppy dog eyes. "To replace the one that was destroyed. Yes, it was ugly but I have nothing to wear."

Tink sighed, melodramatically. Did he have a date? For this Homecoming whatever it was? Was there some girl who was going to be thoroughly embarrassed if he showed up in Christmas lights or another avant-garde suggestion? Did he have any useful, interesting talents, such as making promotional materials for her soon-to-be-blockbuster film?

They should start at the beginning. First, find the outfit, then discover how on earth he would afford it. Easier that way. Trust her. In the meantime, he should take ...

The pixie quickly turned into a blur, loading Ron down with various suits. Black, brown, navy; white shirts, mostly, but a few in pale shades of mint or blue; ties in nearly every color imaginable.

And shoes. Shoes were very important. He wasn't going to forget shoes, was he?

Ron was quickly becoming overwhelmed by the... pixie? She didn't look blue.

"I have a date. She's my best friend," Ron explained as he struggled with the clothes. "I can also do some magic if need be."

Tink considered. Magic? Well! He would owe her a favor. Something fun and magical. He wasn't the type to go back on a favor, was he?! Because she already had to kill a fake-director this week and that would be no good at all.

Changing rooms! That way! He should go, immediately, and try these on. No dropping them! Shoo!

Ron disappeared into the fitting room and came out wearing a black suit (http://i6.photobucket.com/albums/y244/iamgumboy/mq001.jpg). "This is perfect. I'll definitely owe you one for this."

Tink clapped her hands excitedly. Oh, my! That was much nicer! He should definitely wear that. He looked presentable! And this outfit wasn't actively trying to eat anyone's souls! Very, very good. Tink approved.

Now, owing her one. He meant this? Because there was a director out there who was about to become a lifeless corpse because he lied to her, and she was perfectly content to increase her body count this week. He couldn't go to the dance with his little friend if he had no spleen. Spleens were important. And should never be on the outside of one's body. Trust Tink.

Getting the general gist of what Tinkerbell was saying, Ron gave her a sneaky grin. "Well if you're looking for a little revenge... I might be able to get a hold of a few things that would amuse you to no end while perhaps punishing someone else."

Revenge? Revenge? Ooooh! He was speaking her language!

She was always up for creative bartering. And he looked very nice in that suit. Had she said that? He did. It was very much his color.

Interesting revenge? Painful revenge? Did he know how to get to Neverland and blow up a Wendy-bird? That could wait, she had Squalls and Valentines to maim. He had revenge toys? Really? Honest?

Ron was already taking off his coat and putting it on a hanger. "Trust me. This stuff is brilliant and made by the most malicious people I know. My brothers."

Tink had a feeling she would like these brothers of his. Did they know how to get to Neverland? If she could at least make Squall a little miserable for this past weekend, then he could absolutely have that suit. It was very nice. And would these items be getting here soon? Did he have them with him?

Oh, she liked customers.

"I don't have anything with me here," Ron replied. "But I'll send an owl to them tonight and you'll have some things by the end of the week."

Tink jingled happily. Oh, that was perfect! And would he sign something to that effect, so that if he was another stupid person who tried to rip her off, nobody would feel any sympathy for him when she ripped out some of his innards and made them into tinsel? It was standard, really.

Because Tink doesn't want the world to end until she gets to take out a Wendy-bird.

Pixie Dust, Monday

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