fandomtownies | Demon Marcus, Wednesday, All Day

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Demon Marcus, Wednesday, All Day

Well. Callie was having a miserable day. She had been a pony this weekend, she'd been squawked at by fake Manbirds in class -- even if that one was her own fault -- and she couldn't believe she was stuck on this stupid island to begin with. Only one thing helped when she was in this foul a mood -- well, two, but let's be polite in a public post.

So Callie was going through the new shipment of shoes that came in. What? She was allowed to be girly. Just because she was a demon didn't mean she wasn't a girl. And if opening your own shop just so you could buy designer items from yourself at wholesale prices was wrong, then she didn't want to be right. Because Callie couldn't own too many Blahniks, that was why.

The Help Wanted sign was still in the window.

(Same as before: clothes for differing species, body types, and odd requests; souvenirs from (New) Hell; accessories and shoes!)

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"Stupid fucking son of..."

So, Sparkle's class-assignment Brownie had gotten to the point where he was just too damn obnoxious to be around. And. And when Sparkle had stepped out for some goddamn edible food, he'd come back to Muffin (or whatever his name was) wearing his clothes.

His goddamn clothes! And he'd nearly put the Brownie through a freaking wall for it, too. He didn't care about the shirt or the pants or the fact that the guy had been into his makeup and his gel, but then he'd been wearing his socks, his yellow socks, and that was where Sparkle drew his line.

So... Sparkle was in the market for some new clothes, because Mortimer was just hot the sort of Brownie that he wanted to wear anything after. And Sparks was kind of making faces at the prices.

"Ouch."

"Fashion isn't cheap," said Callie, who was modeling a pair of Alexander McQueen (http://www.saksfifthavenue.com/main/ProductDetail.jsp?FOLDER%3C%3Efolder_id=2534374306418098&PRODUCT%3C%3Eprd_id=845524446406149&R=828832540194&P_name=Alexander+McQueen&N=306418098&bmUID=jtXRVKl) pumps in the mirror. "Do you see this? Peep-toes with a skull. Italian leather. I have to get these."

It was possible she wasn't paying a whole lot of attention to his stupid sock drama or whatever.

"Huh... the skull's a nice touch," Sparkle decided, actually taking a moment to really look at what she was wearing, there. "Not tacky or anything, it's like just enough, you know?"

This observation didn't get him a new pair of socks, but hey, Sparkle liked fashion. It wasn't his fault he couldn't afford it at all.

"From someone else, they'd be trying too hard," she agreed. "They'd overdo it."

She glanced at him again. He got the shoes; that meant she was actually going to attempt to help him buy something from her store. That was how these things went. "Too poor for socks, or too poor for fancy designer socks?" she asked. "There's cheap stuff in the back."

If she put it up front, then the high-paying clients would turn their noses up and leave. She had an image to maintain.

Edited 2012-05-24 00:47 (UTC)

"Too..." Sparkle wrinkled his nose a little, not really wanting to finish that sentence. He really didn't want to call himself poor no matter what the case was. That was something he'd been called his entire life. He sort of... lost his taste for it. A long time back. "Too..."

He glanced toward the back, where she said the cheap stuff was.

"Fuck, I was just looking anyhow. I don't have..." Money. For socks. Right. "... Spent everything on cereal this week that this asshole Brownie I was assigned to won't even eat and then he started wrecking my shit. Not that you need my sob story or anything. People like me just breathe on fancy-assed merch like you got in here and people start burning it like that shit's gone all, like, unclean."

"You're right, I don't actually care about any of that," Callie said easily. Well, she didn't. "But you have flair. Something between heroin chic and post-punk. You wouldn't fit in a swanky boutique, no, but somewhere really upscale might hire you just to lounge around, looking bohemian and authentic. Street is very in right now."

"Yeah, well..." Sparkle glanced around the shop again, thoughtfully. "It isn't like there are exactly many options around here for places to work. Little island in the middle of Assfuck Nowhere, USA? One clothing store. And like some place with a panda that hassles you if you go down the cheese aisle that sells the sort of crap they sell in grocery stores."

But they didn't carry duct tape. Which was unfortunate, because Sparkle's shoes were kind of in dire need of the first aid.

"So you need money, and I need people to open the store on days I don't feel like coming here," Callie summarized, efficiently. "One question. You are smart enough to realize that stealing from a demon pretty much guarantees that your innards are going to be lunch, right?"

This was her hiring process, right here. Resume, interview, all of that was overrated. She owned security cameras, and she could set people on fire. It was a handy system.

Yeah, that struck Sparkle as pretty handy, right there. And, while he hadn't really been asking for a job, he had to admit that actually having money would be... well... useful.

He wouldn't have to, say, start plotting elaborate shoplifting schemes just to give ungrateful bastard brownies a box of cereal that they weren't going to eat.

"I don't steal from people who give me work," Sparkle informed her, not sounding even remotely offended. It wasn't like he had a problem with shoplifting, generally. "So there's not going to be any rooting around in my guts any time soon, thanks."

"Great," Callie said, leaning over to pick up the socks Sparkle had been eying. "Pick a day. My schedule's pretty open. And I'll teach you about fun with expense reports."

It wasn't like she owned the store. Technically, sure, but her father was footing the venture as part of Maggotbone Industries. To punish her.

Which made buying new shoes even more fun, since it wasn't her money.

"Uh... Sunday?"

Because like hell Sparkle could be bothered trying to remember what days he had classes during the week. Obviously not on Wednesdays, since he was standing right here right now, but... meh.

"Is Sunday good?"

It wasn't like it was going to get in the way of his impressive social life or anything.

"Sunday's fine," Callie said, peeling off one of the pumps as she walked. "I'm not going to train you or anything, because all you need to do is stand around, look disdainfully at people, and ring up purchases. I'm assuming you can use a cash register, and if not, learn."

She stopped in front of the the register to punch in a few codes. "Since you're worried about fitting in to the high-fashion attire of this little shop, go ahead and pick yourself out some things. Try to keep the total retail price to a minimum since you're already getting these very nice socks," she paused here to run the socks past the price scanner, "and a lovely pair of Alexander McQueen designer shoes."

Why shoplift, when there were far more elegant ways of stealing money? And of pissing off your father. That helped, too.

... Oh, Sparkle liked Prof. Maggotbone. He didn't like handouts. Generally refused them on principle, because even if he was a fucking charity case, he still had his pride. But the way she'd phrased it, she was presenting this as a business expense. And who was he to turn down a work uniform the day he was given a job?

"Yeah?" He took another moment to glance around the store, and then grinned a little. "I'll try not to pick anything too embarrassing."

Actually, if she was giving him this stuff for free, he was going to try to keep it as cheap as possible while still making it look good. And he was pretty certain he was up to the task. Some nice dress shirt and some... slacks or something... A tie...

Callie waved a hand. "Short of you showing up for work dressed like the Mooby cow, I'm not sure I give a damn," she said. "Daddy doesn't look at bills before he pays them. At least, not ones from me. And I'm not about to be his brood mare for Satan's Dark Army so he can just shut up and pay for my shoes."

This comment actually made sense in context, but had been removed from context so that it didn't. At all. But she didn't really expect him to care about her problems any more than she did about his, so.

Edited 2012-05-24 03:07 (UTC)

Context was for the weak, anyhow.

"Fair enough," Sparkle decided, because whatever, he was just fine with roundabout conversations that didn't necessarily make sense. He was already making his way to a rack of shirts, picking through them for something in his size. "It's all bold colours and off-white this season, isn't it?"

That Sparkle knew this...

"I'm hearing there's a big art deco push in some of the spring lines," Callie said, touching up her lipstick. "Very 1920s-in-Paris. I feel like I'm missing everything being here. When you think fashion, it's Milan, not Maryland."

"Yeah, I didn't exactly come to the island to check out Fandom's new summer trends," Sparkle snorted, picking a few button-downs from the rack and looking them over thoughtfully. "But they have TV sets in the dorms, so it isn't like I'm completely cut off or anything."

And with this job, maybe he could even afford a laptop or something someday, so he could just fucking Google it instead of doing battle for the remote in the common rooms.

Edited 2012-05-24 03:41 (UTC)

"Did you get sent here, too?" she asked. "I'm coming up with creative retaliations while I decide if this place is worth my time."

Some of the latter might involve how dramatically upset her ex was about her being gone.

"Apparently shipping me to America is supposed to keep me from terrorizing the neighbourhood back home," Sparkle scoffed, deciding on a shirt in rich violet and putting the rest on the rack again before turning to the dress pants to go with it. "You know, because I guess teenagers are prone to slaughtering their neighbours in their sleep, eating their still-beating hearts and all that."

The mere state of being under the age of twenty automatically made him a natural born killer. True story.

"Do they think it'll keep you from terrorizing things here, or is it a strict not-in-my-backyard ploy?" Callie asked. She glanced up from examining her nails to look over his selections. "You might as well get a back up or two. It's not like I'm paying retail."

Sparkle glanced back her way, and then shrugged and returned to the shirt rack to pick out the cream-coloured button-down and a black one that he'd been sizing up, too. It was difficult to go wrong with black, really.

"I think Lewis probably doesn't really give a shit, just so long as I don't get them kicked out of Parkdale," he intoned, shrugging. "And I guess so long as I don't get arrested or anything here, too."

"Does this town even have a police force?" Callie asked. "Grimes would have a field day. Shoot the place up, illegal detainings ... most people don't know their rights enough to question it."

Say what you want about him, but Grimes was fun.

And Sparkle didn't doubt that. Except for how he completely did, and the lip he was curling back was demonstrating that nicely enough.

"Yeah, well, I do, so he better not try to fuck with me."

Thelma was not exactly wandering in because of the 'Help Wanted' sign. No, she just really wasn't sure what possibly would be in a place called 'Demon Marcus'. Except possibly a demon named Marcus. When she spotted her teacher, however, she looked slightly relieved.

"Ah, that explains the name a bit," she said in lieu of a hello.

"It's a chain store," Callie offered. "New Hell's a tourist trap, and tourists love kitsch. BloodBath and Beyond ... Sin-a-Bon ... they lap that sort of thing up."

"I do hope there's not any actual blood baths in that place," Thelma remarked. "Sounds like it'd be the worst kind of tourist trap, if it was."

"Oh, no, New Hell's more subtle than that," Callie explained. "It's there for people to shop and enjoy the little taste of danger. It's safe enough, so long as you don't go pushing the boundaries, but people always do."

"Ah, well, I suppose I don't need to worry about it much either way," Thelma admitted. "What all do you really sell here, any way? Magical knick-knacks, demon fashion?"

"Just clothes," Callie said. "Accessories, shoes, and the like. All the knick-knacks are souvenirs. Nothing here's actually magical. Do they sell magic items in town?"

"There's a magic shop that was staffed by a rather cute witch the one time I was there," Thelma said. "How actually magic things are, I'm not sure. But she was the real witchy deal."

"That, I'll have to look into," Callie mused. "But no, this is just clothes. Unless you want a keychain from the Hell Rock Cafe. 4.99 plus tax."

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Demon Marcus, Wednesday, All Day

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