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Demon Marcus, Sunday

Sparkle had listened to the radio this morning. He'd listened to the radio and he'd spent a good twenty minutes either laughing or crying, he wasn't completely certain which it was, but whichever it was, he'd been left grinning and aching and exhausted when he was done, so he'd basically just let autopilot take over and he'd made his way to work.

So... now he was at work. And there was a new shipment of scarves in, the big fluffy warm kind that was perfect for way-too-cold weather, and if he was going to take all day just unpacking those and tagging them for sale, well, so what?

God, his head hurt. His head hurt and this island was... what this island was. So good on it for that, he supposed.

{OOC: Open, sans the OCD, because lazy.]

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Kathy had been telling herself that she needed a pair of gloves; it was January and the rock hadn't exactly dressed her for the chill in the air. She might be immune to freezing to death, but she could still be uncomfortable.

But it was a thin excuse, made thinner by the fact that she had no money in which to even purchase gloves. She just wanted an excuse to stop by Demon Marcus to see if Sparkle was still there on Sundays, one she could fall back on if he wasn't--or, if he didn't want to see her.

But he was there, as always, and after taking a deep breath, Kathy opened the door to join him.

"...Hi, Sparks."

Sparkle didn't want to talk to people today. This was one of those 'loved ones back from the dead' weekends, and while his list of loved ones these days was shockingly large these days compared to back when, he didn't generally hold this sort of thing in high regard. It was one of those things where... like... the island conveniently ignored that horrible shit happened and then went and rubbed in your face that it was totally capable of making it better, but was it going to? No, because the island was an asshole.

So when he heard the door opening, he ducked his attention back into sorting fluffy scarves - that one was yellow, he hated it - and was going to be quite content to do just that until whoever it was actually needed something.

Which basically all went to shit when he heard Kathy speak. His head snapped up and his eyes widened a little, and fuck the scarves, the box was going flying because it was directly in the path of the mad dash he was making in order to tackle Kathy with the biggest, squeeziest hug he could manage.

"Mouse!"

"Aww, come on," Kathy protested. "That hasn't been accurate in--oof!"

And then she was being squeezed hard and there went all of her air for talking. But not for hugging tightly back.

"Doesn't matter if it's accurate," Sparkle mumbled, clinging hard. "Once a Mouse, always a Mouse. Idiot."

He was going to start in on the name-calling early, because maybe it would distract from the kind of sniffly way that line was being delivered, there.

Honestly, of all the things she'd been called this weekend, 'idiot' was getting off lightly.

"Never did manage to give you a nickname that stuck," she said, burying her face in his shoulder. "Somehow that doesn't seem fair."

"I mean, I'm already named Sparkle," he pointed out, and shut up, that was not another sniffle there. Never. No way. "It's hard to top what my mother already gave me, girly."

Shitty mother. Unfortunate name. A real great dead-end start on life.

"You're right," Kathy mused and if her laugh was a little shakier than it should have been, well, they were both good at ignoring things, right? "I should find a totally stereotypical white guy name to call you instead. Like...Bryce. Or Wyatt. Connor. Chad. Chase." She snapped her fingers. "Todd! I should call you Todd!"

"... I am never answering to Todd."

And now if Sparkle was kind of lingering in that hug a little more, it was because there was really no way to wear make-up like he wore make-up, and then have a moment like this without looking like the cutest boy at the school just stood him up for prom.

Okay. No. Fuck it. He was leaning back and reaching up to smear it around even more. Whatever.

"Like, ever."

For reasons including but not limited to 'Kathy was going to go back to being dead after today, and so nobody would be around to call him that.' Which he was not thinking about, thanks.

"Dylan, then? Blake? Austin?" Because throwing ever more ridiculous names out there meant you didn't have to think about the reality lurking around the corners. "Also, you've got something around...there." She gestured to her entire face, giving him a smile that held a great measure of sadness. "One of the many reasons I chose not to wear makeup today."

And also, the rock hadn't provided her with any. Details.

"S'fine," Sparkle sniffed, ducking his head a little all the same. "I'm willing to bet it's the in look this weekend. Sadcore. Totally the next punk."

Because Sparkle would so never be able to identify as emo.

Ever.

"Also," he added, forcing a little smile, "Blake sounds like a gay pornstar name. I will tolerate Blake only if every time somebody calls me that, I am allowed to start stripping."

"Only if you promise to provide your own theme music at the same time," Kathy said, brushing her hair out of her face and possibly a stray tear away as well. "I have faith you could belt out a showtune and make it stripworthy all at the same time."

"I mean... like, that's basically just all of Cabaret, Mouse," Sparkle pointed out. "I already undress while singing Cabaret. I just, like, never have an audience."

... Look, his logic here was that at least he didn't have to worry about scarring her for life.

Maybe he did! All remaining...eight or so hours of it!

"All you're doing is proving my point here, Blake."

Oh, Kathy. Kathy, you'd really asked for this.

"... Willkommen, bienvenue, welcome..."

Because Sparkle had just warned you, and now he was reaching for the bottom of his shirt. He was totally willing to play stripper chicken with you, girly.

"Fremde, etranger, stranger..."

Ha! She was a lot more comfortable with casual nudity now than she had been years ago. Being friends with Dante meant seeing a lot more skin than someone might ordinarily expect, never mind adding a 'with benefits' distinction.

"You need a little more hip action if you're going to make this a good striptease," she informed him.

...He'd still probably win. But she could hang in there for a little while, at least!

Sparkle rolled his eyes a little, but that wasn't going to stop him from rolling those hips like he was getting hot and heavy with the air itself. Because Sparkle was shameless, and pulling his shirt up niiice and slow.

"Gluklich zu sehen, je suis enchante," he sang, pulling his shirt up over his head - for the sake of trolling you, Kathy, he wasn't even going to be shy about his ugly goddamn vibroblade scar - and then swinging it around a few times. "Happy to see you, bleibe, reste, stay."

Seriously, the only person who had seen this much skin on him in ages was Leto.

Kathy was laughing now, hands over her mouth, though they hadn't--yet--creeped up to cover her eyes. Those eyes traced that livid scar that licked over Sparkle's chest, but she wasn't going to ask about it. Not now. Scars like that came with stories, and she didn't think that story would bring Sparkle any happiness to share.

So instead she let her eyes fall towards those gyrating hips and forced a laugh until it became genuine. "All right," she conceded. "Now you're working it!"

"Do not ever doubt my ability to pull off a damn good stripper act," Sparkle said, winking, tossing his shirt backwards haphazardly to land on the counter, and then reaching to undo his belt. "Willkommen! Bienvenue! Welcome! Im Cabaret, Au Cabaret, To Cabaret!"

The belt slithered out from the loops on his jeans, and then he was reaching to undo his fly, which would expose his totally amazing Hello Kitty underwear and once again, he didn't care. He didn't care so much that he was turning around so he could work his ass and show off that kitty all at the same time while he started to slide his jeans down.

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Demon Marcus, Sunday

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