fandomtownies | Demon Marcus, Sunday

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Demon Marcus, Sunday

All in all, today wasn't a bad day.

Well, it was kind of an unfortunate weekend for a guy who worked in a clothing store, granted. When he'd walked in for his shift, half of his inventory was already gone, and the rest had been pawing at the door waiting for him to open it so that the whole lot of it could stage a jailbreak. Which wasn't necessarily bad. It meant that there was at least a pair of pants that he could make a grab for as they shuffled on by. For a guy who had shown up to work in a pair of shorts rationalizing that he could just get more clothes at the store, that was... kind of a win? Halfway a win. The pants didn't even fit all that well. He needed a belt to hold them up.

Sparkle sighed as he looked around at what was left. There was at least a little bit of stock. Mostly the stuff that had been on the racks since forever that had somehow missed the burn barrel. Maybe people who were desperate would put it on, but Sparkle couldn't see anybody in their right mind wearing that garbage willingly.

"Let me guess," he drawled, looking at a pair of parachute pants with hamburger print on them, "you're the scabs."

[OOC: Open!]

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It's not pretty.

Literally. Nothing in here is pretty right now except maybe the people.

He's got pants on!

... That's something, right?

Feel free to mod the most hideous clothing you can get your hands on. That's all you'll find here today. :D

Atton hadn't answered his comm in nearly a week, and while Mical was used to some amount of... tantrumming from the man, it was beginning to get highly convenient.

So he commed Atton's roommate - that seemed the easiest possible way to get to him. That may have been cheating, but in Mical's experience, it was effective.

Sparkle's phone began to ring.

Alright, so, on the list of people Sparkle expected to have calling him, Mical was somewhere near the bottom, below 'Brad Pitt' and 'an actual rock.' And he didn't exactly recognize the number right away, so maybe he could be forgiven for answering the phone with, "If I won anything, I don't want it, and don't even think about trying to get me to subscribe to something."

Yes, even on a Sunday. Damn telemarketers.

Well, that was... unexpected. Then again, Mical was starting to expect the unexpected from Sparkle, after the last few stunts-- regardless. "Ah," he said. "No, you haven't won anything. I'm sorry to bother you, but is Atton showing any sign of getting out of his snit?"

Mical had given up on attempting to be respectful about it, whenever this happened. It was a snit.

Oh. It was him.

"Uh, man. In order for me to be able to answer that, he'd have to, like, be here. I thought you put him to work or something."

He kind of hadn't seen Atton in a while.

...

His guts were doing a little kind of lurchy thing. Okay. Fuck. It was probably nothing. Right?

"What, he's not there?"

"He's not there?" Mical echoed at more or less the same time. He blinked rapidly.

He hadn't had any sign that Atton was in the kind of mood that led to another galaxy-spanning bender... so that seemed unlikely. But then what? "No, I refused his request for an operation last week and he left. I presumed..."

That he'd gone back to Fandom to sulk, like the last few times this had happened.

"Why the hell would you presume anything about Atton? Have you ever, like, met the guy?"

Okay, that was a slightly shrill note, even for Sparkle. He took a deep breath and reeled it in a little.

"Maybe he got sick of you telling him what to do," he said, a bit more reasonably. If slightly petulantly. "I don't know if you've noticed, but you don't exactly inspire the guy with confidence in your ability to make the right call about basically anything that he has a vested interest in."

For Atton to be making requests to do something, he had to be interested in it somehow.

"Considering my previous experi--"

Mical stopped that sentence midway. He'd gotten comfortable with the perimeters of Atton's behavior, and that was exactly what the man had always been good at preying on. May the Force be with us.

He rubbed his temple.

"Please tell me he's said anything to you about where he's going."

Sparkle gave a heavy sigh and sagged back against the counter, staring up at the ceiling.

"Not even a voicemail this time," he muttered. "I mean, he just kind of goes for a while, you know? To do your Jedi stuff. It isn't like I call to keep tabs on him whenever he's gone for a few days. I can try."

Hell, he was kind of inclined to. Not that he expected answers.

"Could you?" Mical could feel that old, Atton-shaped headache coming on again. "He isn't answering his comlink when I try it."

Sparkle swallowed, and nodded, and then remembered that the telephone wasn't great at picking up either of those things, so he sighed again and said, "Yeah. I'll call you back, let you know if he answers?"

Normally he wouldn't be so helpful for Mical. But damn him, now he had Sparkle worried.

"Thank you," Mical said, with earnest sincerity. "Most likely it's nothing, but if it isn't... I would like to know about it."

Because knowing what he knew about the situation Atton had been so interested in - this could end very, very badly.

"Yeah. You and me both. Call you back in a bit."

And with that, Sparkle hung up. And stared at the ceiling for a few more minutes, and then, silently willing Atton to pick up the damn comm, he dialed.

A few minutes more, with his throat feeling like it was somewhere in his guts, he returned Mical's call.

No luck.

That call was answered immediately. "Yes?" Mical said, some level of concern bleeding into his voice.

Sparkle huffed out a little bit of a rueful laugh at that. Shit. Shit. Hearing Mical's concern wasn't doing any good helping Sparkle tamp down his own. It brought out that old urge to bury himself down, hide the scared kid under a facade of whatever story it took to make this all stop.

But that wouldn't find Atton.

"No answer," he muttered, instead. "I can keep trying. Let you know if he answers. But right now, I don't think he wants to talk."

The scared kid could take a hike right into the bottom of a bottle later tonight. Now wasn't the time.

Mical ran his fingers through his hair and let out a sigh. "Of course not," he said, "Never rely on Atton to make anything easy."

He dropped his hand. "Thank you," he said. "Please do let me know if anything changes. I'll do the same."

"He wouldn't be Atton if he wasn't driving us crazy," Sparkle pointed out, a bit ruefully. "But yeah, I'll do that. And thanks."

Maybe he'd only called Sparkle because Sparkle was the convenient way to Atton, but it was still good to know there was something going on. Obliviousness had been great too, sure, because he didn't know there was something to be worried about. But Sparkle hated being in the dark more than the worry that was now rattling around inside of his head.

Where the hell did you go, Atton?

"May the Force be with you," Mical said formally.

He switched off his comlink.

Hey, look who also had pants on!

... Just pants. Dante'd lost his shirt sometime yesterday afternoon, and neither it nor any of his other shirts had come back to him. Which meant he had to come in and buy more shirts. Again.

At least he didn't look in the least bit concerned - or even really aware - of being shirtless as he walked into the store. ... He probably wouldn't have even cared if there hadn't been pants involved. "Hey," he called. "Anyone in?"

"Yeah," Sparkle muttered, hanging up his phone. "You too."

And then he just kind of took a seat on the floor for a bit.

Yeah.

That was a great place to sit.

Clothes were more like a suggestion around here anyway, weren't they? Sparkle blinked up, still a little bit out of sorts after his conversation with Mical, but couldn't help but smile faintly at the familiar voice. Or the view.

Don't mind that he was picking himself up off the floor, Dante. The weather was nicer down there.

"I'm basically the only thing left in here," Sparkle noted, dusting himself off a bit. "Hey, Dante. Nice shirt."

"Thanks," Dante said, without missing a beat. Squinted a little at the sitting on the floor thing, though... and then at the state of the shop.

"Looks like somebody stocked up."

"Give you three guesses who, and if the first two aren't the fucking island, then you're way off-track," Sparkle replied, shrugging. "We have some stuff left, but... uh..."

He glanced at the remaining stock.

"How it didn't end up going right into the burn barrel is anybody's best guess."

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Demon Marcus, Sunday

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