fandomtownies | Demon Marcus, Sunday

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Demon Marcus, Sunday

Sparkle's mouth twitched as he stared down at a shipment of... shoes was a loose term for them, really. They went on the feet, presumably they protected them from things that might get stepped on, and he'd heard they were comfortable, but Sparkle still maintained that they were an affront against nature and that whoever had created them had to be stopped.

But here he was. In the Demon Marcus. With a whole damn case of them in assorted sizes and colours. Enough technicolor foam clogs to leave Sparkle groping for a pair of sunglasses. Or to asphyxiate him to death if he attempted to dispose of them in the traditional Demon Marcus way. But then, after that laundry strike, he'd been kind of thinking that maybe there was another way.

So, instead of throwing them directly into the burn barrel, Sparkle made a sign.

Free Crocs!
No catch. Just take them. Please, for the love of god, take them.
Half off anything in the store if you do.

That was absolutely a sound business plan, right?

[OOC: Open!]

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You are totally welcome to just run in, grab a pair of Crocs, and run away without taking advantage of the discount. You know. If you're crazy and just really like foam shoes or something.

He's making a big deal about shoes, yes.

This might be to help distract him from other worries that were only getting stronger by the day. It happens.

It had been something like a month.

Mical had hoped it wouldn't come to this. But it had.

Sparkle's phone was ringing.

Sparkle's phone... was ringing. And it had taken him a few seconds to nerve himself up to answering it. Because once again, it was someone from Atton's reality, and once again, it wasn't Atton doing the phoning. Which... well...

Look, calls from Mical were never good news.

So it was with some trepidation that Sparkle answered with just a kind of tentative, "Hey?"

There was a lot in that 'hey,' though. Mostly worry. A note of question. The indication that he was ready to hang up again and go get exceptionally drunk on a moment's notice...

"Hello," Mical said. He sounded faintly resigned. "I'm afraid I must tell you we still have not seen - or heard from - Atton. And we have a request to make of you."

He may as well get to that as fast as possible. There was no sense in dragging this out.

Sparkle swallowed heavily and looked up toward the ceiling. Okay. The request was... not completely a surprise, even if he hadn't been entirely expecting it. But here they were, and Atton was still missing and... Okay.

"What do you need?"

That on its own probably said a fair bit about how much he'd heard from Atton, himself. Beyond the delivery back on his birthday and a 'not dead' text that he'd gotten weeks back, anyhow.

"We were hoping... perhaps if you were here, we could somehow convince him to return," Mical said. "You could at least help us with the search."

He drew in a breath. "We are grasping at straws," he said honestly. "Mira has always been able to find him, because his few episodes of... cold feet have been predictable. This appears to be different."

"I..." Sparkle fell quiet for a moment, sort of floundering around a little at that. It was a big galaxy, and one that he wasn't nearly as familiar with as the Jedi who were asking him for the assist. He didn't know what he could possibly do when faced with that.

But he did know Atton.

He licked his lips, and closed his eyes, and swallowed.

"Okay. Yeah, I- I mean I'm working right now but I can close up and make sure everything my employees need is... I mean, I'll just, uh." Fuck, words always got a little harder when Atton doing something monumentally stupid was concerned. Go figure. "Or, um. When do you need me?"

That probably should have been the first question, Sparkle.

"Next weekend, perhaps?" Mical ventured quietly. "We are still following some leads. With any luck, I will be cancelling this appointment soon enough."

He doubted it, though.

It turned out Mira was right: when Atton wanted to be gone, Atton was gone.

Sparkle blew out a tired breath between his teeth. Okay. So this was a maybe, still. He hated maybes, but not as much as he hated not knowing where the hell Atton was. That was... it was something.

"Next weekend," he echoed. "Gives me time to tie up whatever loose ends there are here, in case I'm gone for a while. That works. If those leads go anywhere, let me know?"

Please, please, please keep him in the loop, Mical. Sparkle was going crazy here with the not knowing.

"Of course," Mical said. He added, earnestly: "If we find him, you will be the first to know."

He'd probably even follow through on that. It was so audible that one could almost hear Atton growling something about boyscouts somewhere.

Under different circumstances, Sparkle might even have thrown in a crack about merit badges.

"Thanks," he said instead, and then, after a few more seconds, he added, "I'll be ready in case you need me. Whenever, okay? I don't really... I mean... I'm not, like, tied to this place."

Fandom was a place where Sparkle lived. It was the company he kept that made it very nearly a home.

"Thank you."

That was fully meant, too.

"But I do hope it won't be necessary for us to disturb your life too much."

Perhaps this was why the previous Order was so obsessive about severing personal ties.

"I should leave you be for now, however. I'm certain you are busy."

"Yeah, sure," Sparkle said, casting a speculative look toward the case of offensive foamy shoes. "Super busy."

Not busy at all.

"Thanks for..." What? Including him? Finding some use for him? Sparkle was having difficulty grasping at the right words, here. "You know. Just thanks. See you around, Mical."

Hopefully, with any luck, it wouldn't even be soon.

"May the Force be with you," Mical said quietly. He shut down the call, ran a hand through his hair, and sighed.

The Order's problem child, indeed.

As both Cassandra and Jalian had on several occasions commented on her clothing being impractical, Lucille had done some research. There were actually sportswear for ladies in her time that no one had ever told her about, and thinking about it, clothes like that might actually be practical and not entirely tasteless.

So when she entered the shop, Lucille was carrying a book on the history of fashion, which gave a few examples. Considering the selection available, perhaps they had something in stock.

Sparkle was still slightly preoccupied by the conversation he'd had with Mical earlier, along with a whole host of other things that were chewing at his brain today, but that wasn't going to stop him from looking up at Lucille when she entered the shop and giving her a little smile and a nod.

"Hey," he greeted. "Good to see you survived last weekend."

Seemed like a good greeting, anyway.

"Good afternoon," Lucille greeted. "And yes, we both survived. It was kind of you to lend me a weapon." She smiled a little. It had been a relief at the time to find someone else who preferred flight to fight.

"Well, I mean... there were crazy people trying to kill everyone," Sparkle replied, giving a shrug of his shoulders. "The only way I'm not going to give you something to defend yourself with is if I think you're more likely to hurt yourself or somebody else while you're at it."

So it was kind of like a vote of confidence, too. It meant, hey, Sparkle trusted you to not cut off a finger or something. Good job!

"Still trying to figure out if it makes me a terrible person that I'm not sure I want to DJ at Doctor Lecter's next wedding attempt. I'm pretty sure 'almost got killed' is decent grounds for going, 'Sorry, I respect the hell out of you, but I need to sit this one out.'"

"But it is unlikely that it will happen again, isn't it?" Lucille said. "Dr Lecter told me they are planning to have the wedding on the island this time. But I'm sure no one will be offended if you decline."

There was no sarcasm in her voice. Sparkle had been kind and generous, and not in a way that Lucille found annoying.

Sparkle gave a little nod.

"Well... I'll think about it, anyway," he decided. "I don't think they've set a date yet, so I don't even know if I'll be around."

Because he wasn't holding his breath for Atton to make a miraculous return on his own any time soon.

"But! That's probably not why you're here, is it? Can I help you with anything?"

"Yes," Lucille said. "I'm in need of clothing suitable for exercise." She was was about to show him the image in the book she had brought, when she saw the sign and the shoes it referred to. "What are those?" she asked, her dislike obvious.

"Basically these are the physical embodiment of everything that is the matter with fashion today," Sparkle sighed, casting a glance toward the shoes. "They arrived in the last shipment and I can't even give these things away. Maybe I'll hang on to them in case the island starts eating shoes or something and everyone is desperate. I'm told they're really comfortable."

It should be noted that he was going to just go on taking other peoples' word for that one. There was no way he was letting them near his own feet.

"They are quite horrible," Lucille readily agreed. "Not that I claim to understand the tastes in fashion here." She paused, reading the sign. "You give them away and offer a discount to whoever takes them?"

"I really can't give the things away," Sparkle replied, smiling and ducking his head a little. "Like, I want them gone. They are an affront to my eyeballs and I'd burn them in the back room but the fumes would probably kill me. But people don't want them."

"No one wants them? But if I take a pair you will offer me a discount? I promise you I would never wear them."

In case Sparkle was worried about that.

"I feel, like, ten times better having heard that promise," Sparkle laughed. "Yeah, if you take a pair, you can so have a discount. You'll be doing me a favour, you know?"

"Good. They will be a suitable gift for someone, and I'm happy to do you a favor." Lucille's smile had just a hint of evil.

"Now," she said. "I have been considering something like this".

Sparkle leaned forward to look at the outfit that Lucille was showing him, and then grinned a little.

"Vintage," he said approvingly. "We actually do have stuff like that, you know? In the section with all the specialty clothes, but I'm pretty sure all of the outfits like that have the usual number of arms and legs, and nowhere to put wings or a tail. I can always do adjustments if they do, anyway."

"Unless suddenly growing wings or or another set of arms are common occurrences, I would prefer clothes without those adaptions," Lucille said. "You do seem to have quite a selection here."

Once again, there is a cat sitting on my butt and I am trapped forever.

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Demon Marcus, Sunday

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