Courtney (honeyortar) wrote in amalgaversehigh, @ 2010-10-29 03:27:00 |
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Entry tags: | !ic, !logs, location: mall, student: albert wesker, student: courtney emerson, student: maxwell anderson, subplot: halloween |
[LOG] That boy is a monster.
Where do the cool kids hang out after school? The mall, obviously. But not that lowly, trashy mall. This is the fancy mall on the rich side of town. The one with stores that carry shit like Coach bags and Jimmy Choo shoes and things no normal person should ever need. Anyone who's not willing to drop a few hundred on something you can get from the regular mall should...probably go to the regular mall.
Of course Wesker would be shopping here. Step foot in that gross, commoner mall? Not a damn chance. He's making his way through what little crowds there are, chatting on his cell phone, while in his other hand he's got a couple bags from some of the clothing stores. His next destination? That fancy boutique up ahead.
Fancy /indeed/. It even has personal shoppers so all the rich, snooty people who shop there don't need to lift a finger. And they get the added bonus of bossing people around. Excellent. One of those poor saps who does your shopping for you is Maxwell, and he's jsut finished clocking in, heading up to the register to wait around until called upon to be a glorified slave. Fun!
Oh, Courtney loves the mall and Courtney loves spending daddy's money on things she doesn't need. Shockingly, she doesn't have any purchases yet, but that will surely change. The fact that she's heading towards the same store as Wesker is a coincidence, but she's certianly not going to complain when she runs into him.
Finishing his convo, Wesker slips the far too expensive phone into his khaki pants and goes to enter the store. Oh, but who's that? Courtney. He grimaces and mutters to himself as he tries to sneak in before she can spot him. Will he be that lucky? Probably not. Oh boy, a customer. Maxwell stops leaning on the counter and stands up straight, eyeing Wesker as he slips into the store. Huh, he's seen him around school, but if they've ever spoken to each other, Maxwell can't remember it. He'll just be hanging out over there until he's needed, and if not, that's a-okay with him too.
Please, Wesker. Courtney has your scent. You'll never be able to hide from her. Ever. "Albert!" Trollan. Just a little. "Fancy meeting you here!" She saunters over to him with a sly smile, "Look at you, with your bags. What do you have there?" Nosy? To say the least.
Wesker HATES his first name. Hates SO MUCH. He grudgingly slows down and gives Courtney a grunt of recognition. "It's Wesker." He frowns and shakes the bags he's carrying. "Clothes. Why do you care?" He knows she's plotting all the time and he's almost curious to know what she wants now. "Are you going inside or not?" Oooh, a personal shopper, one who's a peon at his school! "You!" He points towards Maxwell and snaps his fingers loudly. "I need a new pair of dress slacks. Get your tape measure and don't take your time, if you want a tip."
Time to bury a slew of resentful emotions and go kiss ass. Maxwell smiles politely and nods, mentally bashing Wesker over the head with a tire iron, but physically grabbing said tape measure. He wanders over towards the two blonde kids, and for some reason, his spidey sense is tingling. And by spidey sense one means hunter sense, but still. Hmm. "I can help you with that... /sir/." The kid's his age, but etiquette and store policy demands he addresses him as such. "What style are you interested in?" Out comes the tape measure and Maxwell gets to work, trying to shake that bizarro feeling.
Courtney smiles widely when Wesker corrects the name. Oh, he doesn't like that? Grand. "Mmm-hmm. Wesker. Right." Also: /whatever/. She'll cann you what she wants. "I'm curious, that's why." She follows Wesker into the store with almost a spring in her step. "Oh, look at you. Mister Demanding." Does she like that? /YES/. A glance goes over to Maxwell and, of course, she has no sympathy for the retail peon. Someone needs to help the pretty people, after all.
Wesker ignores Courtney as best he can, but her voice is just so...piercing. Ugh. "I'm not demanding, I just want good service from people like...him." He snorts in Maxwell's direction as he assumes the position. Someone's used to being measured. "Basic black, something with a relaxed cut but not baggy. I'm not some middle class loser." Oh snap.
Wesker, you /ass/. Maxwell's eye twitches ever so slightly, biting his tongue as he stretches the tape out to measure Wesker's inseam. "Mmm, of course, sir." SIR. HE HATES IT. Ahem. Courtney is glanced at but otherwise ignored; if there's no potential for a tip from her, he's not interested.
Wesker, you should really quit talking like that because, were Courtney less of a well controlled being, she'd be knuckle-biting in public. Still, she's all about being a pest. "I suppose you couldn't detect the sarcasm in my voice, yes? God, you're adorable, but you're not very bright." Oh ho. "Getting all dressed up for something special, or just so you can lord your superiority over others?"
"And I dress to the left," Wesker adds, for extra insult. "Don't forget." Maxwell calling him sir makes him smile from ear to ear in a disturbingly dark manner. Oh yes. He is pleased. Bow before him, damn it. He is a /god/. "Sorry we all can't be as smart as you. Wait. I meant slutty, not smart." He doesn't even look back at Courtney when he replies. "A little of A, a little of B." He glances back down at Maxwell and sneers. "And please don't take all day. You're wasting my precious time here."
Must. Not. Punch. Customer. In. Nads. Even though they're like /right there/. Maxwell inhales slowly and stands up, measurements done. The 'left' comment is ignored, because there is no work-safe way to reply to that, but he does nod curtly and say, "Sorry, sir. I'll hurry along and get your trousers then." Trousers. Oh, Brits. Maxwell's more than happy to run off to the back room if it means getting away from Wesker and his bloody /mouth/.
"Soooooo," Oh god, she never. fucking. shuts. up. "Are you doing Halloween, or are you too /good/ for that?" Courtney will slum on occassion, this is no secret. Wesker hmphs and glares as Maxwell takes his leave for the moment. If only Courtney would do the same. "I might go out of town for an actual party. Not these beer bong skankfests they hold around here. I'd like to keep my Halloween STD free, thank you very much." He sniffs and looks disgusted by the very thought, then glances at his watch. Stupid grunts, work faster!
Oh, Maxwell's working all right. Working on bitching about Wesker to his coworkers in the back. He found the pants right away, but he needs just a sec to bow off some steam before heading back out there. Yes, it's going to probably cut into his tip, but he'll deal. Stupid wanker, grumble grumble.
Courtney rolls her eyes, "Is that the only insult you have? The whole STD thing? It's pretty weak, I think you need some better material." She's beginning to think he's never even /had/ sex, with how he talks.
Wesker mmms. "It's the only insult I'll waste on you." Oh, how nice. "Now don't you have better things to do instead of bothering me? Don't you have men to give filthy bathroom blow jobs to? I mean, that seems to be your usual hobby from what I've heard." He starts tapping a foot on the ground. Damn workers!
Oh, what a comment to come back out to. Maxwell frowns but quickly puts that fake smile back on his face as he heads over towards Wesker, holding up the perfectly pressed and folded dress pants. "Here you are, sir. Are they to your liking?" They best be, dammit.
A hand is waved in the air, dismissing Wesker's comment. "You actually believe rumors? Please. They paint me to be a much worse person than what I actually am." In regards to that specific subject, at least. "I do not, actually! Maybe I'll just keep you company for awhile." That's more of a threat than anything.
"We'll soon find out, won't we?" Wesker arches a brow at Maxwell and reaches out to run a finger along the fabric of the slacks. "No. Too scratchy. Find me something softer. No silk." He sneers again and makes a shooing motion. "Rumors all start somewhere," he tells Courtney. "Oh goody. My day is made. Lucky, lucky me."
Priiiiiiiiick. "Right away, sir." Maxwell makes a rage face when he turns around, back to Wesker and Courtney, then heads back to the stock room. More bitching is had, and he sets off to find the god damn softest pair of fuggin dress slacks they carry.
Courtney smiles all sweetness at Wesker. "Oh, they start somewhere. But it's a game of telephone and 'filthy bathroom blowjobs' to strange men is obviously the end of that telephone discussion." Blowjobs, yes. In the bathroom to strange men? Not so much. "Your day should be made. I don't bestow my presence upon just anyone, after all."
Ugh why can't Maxwell get anything right?! Wesker lets an angry growl slip free and glares down at his watch. Then his back twitches. That's not a natural twitch. It's like there's something moving under his skin. If he notices he doesn't let on. "Of course it's all lies," he says sarcastically. "You're innocent and pure, right?"
And back out comes Maxwell, that 'something's not quite right here' feeling creeping up on him again. Unsettling, that. Shake it off, Anderson. He once again presents the pants for Wesker's approval, asking, "Are these more to your liking, sir?" They better be; they're the most expensive ones the store carries, and if they were any softer they'd be made out of freaking angel wings.
It's not just Maxwell that sense something...off in the store. But Courtney's senses are a little differently tuned and what she's sensing doesn't read as 'bad' or 'unsettling'. "Oh, absolutely not." She says to Wesker. "But I can fake it /real/ well." Really well, even.
Oh, new pants. Wesker does the touch test again and furrows his brow. Seconds tick by and he makes Maxwell wait because he is a corporate wage slave and Wesker is a rich bastard. "They'll do," he eventually says in a tone that reads 'you've failed me again you waste of organs'. "Have them boxed and waiting for me at the register." Max's tip? A five dollar bill. Ouch. "Please. I'm sure you can fake lots of things well," he asides to Courtney. "I've heard those rumors too. I'll pass."
Oh, burn. But Maxwell will take it if it means getting Captain Douchenozzle out of the store. He nods and heads over to the register, getting to work on boxing up the pants. As much as he wants to make it look like crap, he doesn't want to hear Wesker complain anymore, so he does a meticulously good job of getting that all squaed away.
A smirk is given to Wesker, "Oh, I'll wear you down eventually. All boys," Oh. "Have their weaknesses and it's only a matter of time before I find yours." It's not obsession. It's an alpha thing. At least, that's what she's going to tell people.
Wesker makes his way to the register, browsing on his way there. Oh, that belt looks nice. He grabs it, drapes it over one arm, and rolls his eyes at Courtney. For the briefest of seconds they turn this weird orange/red color and okay, that's creepy. "Boys may have their weaknesses but I am not a boy. You'd do well to remember that in the future." He drops the belt down on the counter. "Add that."
Aye, aye, captain. Maxwell grabs the belt wordlessly, ringing it up along with the pants. "Your total today is $365. Is there anything else I can do for you, sir?" Please say no. If there's any decency in the world, say noooooo.
"Oh, please. You're a boy until you prove otherwise." Prove it to her. Proooooove it. When she catches the eyes change (because it's not like she's going to leave him alone), it stops her next comment from coming out. At first, it looks like she might be surprised or shocked, but then a smirk appears. "I do well to remember that/ Or what?"
Wesker eyes Maxwell for a moment and a slow, predatory smile appears. Flashing perfectly white teeth at the poor guy he grabs for his wallet and hmms. "Yes. You can carry this bag out to my car. These too." He shakes the bags he already has and chucks them onto the counter, along with a platinum credit card. "And don't dirty them." Geez, is Courtney still talking? Of course she is. "Or what? Or nothing. You'll remember it." There is no other option! Not with Wesker. "I'm not going to waste my precious time trying to force it down your whorish throat."
FFFFFUUUUUUUU- Okay, breathe, Max, /breathe/. "Yes, sir." It takes every ounce of restraint he has in him to keep his tone neutral, but he manages, gathering up all the bags and boxes strewn about the counter. Oh how he wants to chuck them all at Wesker's stupid chisled face. But he won't, instead deciding to seethe inwardly while waiting for Wesker to lead the way. It's really not in his job description to carry other store's items out to people's cars, but the customer is always right, and usually rich, so these things are unspoken rules of sorts.
Courtney 'pffts' audibly. "Right, right. It's so cute when you boys think you're so big and bad. You're the best ones to break down." Is she joking? Probably not. "Absolutely adorable." Talking down to her peers? Being condesending? All day, every day.
Thankfully Wesker's car isn't parked too far from the entrance. Like he'd walk more than a few feet? Fat chance. He pulls out the keys to the Beemer and hits the door unlock button, then pops the trunk. "In there," he orders Maxwell. "Try not to wrinkle or rip anything. And hell help you if you get fingerprints on my car." He snorts before glancing back at Courtney, since she more than likely followed him out. "Mmm-hmm. Are you still talking? To be honest I stopped listening about five minutes ago. No wonder people put your mouth to use. I don't see how anyone could tolerate hearing you yap like an untrained dog all day."
Of /course/ this guy has a Beemer. Maxwell barely contains his eye roll when he sees the car, and goes out of his way to avoid touching the paint job at all costs. Not that he cares if Wesker's car gets fingerprnts on it- hell, if he had the option he'd key the damn thing- but he doesn't want to hear him bitch anymore. Or talk at all, for that matter. He figures if he can just get the damn bags into the trunk without screwing anything up, he can get the hell away from these two and their creepy vibes.
Actually, Courtney's parked out this way and she has had much more fun pestering Wesker than shopping. So she can't complain about that too much. Besides, she's such a natural at this that anyone watching from afar would assume they're having a normal conversation. Not throwing barbs at each other. Then, oh my. That is a nice car. "My goodness, you are going to be a fun project, let me tell you." It will be SO rewarding when she finally sinks her claws into him.
Wesker watches Maxwell like a hawk. If so much as a flake of skin lands on that car he will beat him with a tire iron. Then beat him more for getting blood on his clothes. "I'm done with you now, you can go back to your pathetic job." God, this guy. It's a wonder no one's gone all Saw on his ass yet. Does he have /any/ redeeming qualities?! Probably not. And yes Courtney that is a nice car. A very nice car. Only the best for Wesker, which is probably why he won't fuck her. Go figure.
Do these two ever shut up? Good lord. Maxwell sighs quietly when he's finally dismissed, closing the trunk to Wesker's car before turning to walk back towards the building. He doesn't get paid enough to deal with this level of douche hattery, truly.
"Oh, you assume you have a say in this? Please. That's cute." Also, my father could crush you, yada yada, so on and so forth. "Aww, leaving so soon? But I was enjoying your company!" Maybe. You were mostly watching his ass, Courtney.
Maxwell, you poor man. FINGERPRINTS. Wesker's jaw clenches and he tightens his grip on his keys. The tip of one digs into his palm hard enough to draw blood, even. "You lower class failed abortion," he gruffly barks at Maxwell. "Get back here and wipe your /marks/ from my /car/." His eyes narrow and oh, they're that freakish orange/red color again. He doesn't even reply to Courtney, but she'd get a good look at the creepy twitching his right shoulder and back area has going on.
Whoa, whoa, whoa. What? Maxwell stops and turns to look back at Wesker. Is this asshole serious? "It's a bloody car, mate. Get over i-" Um, hi crazy eyes, what's up? Suddenly that creepy feeling from earlier is starting to make a lot more sense now. Maxwell's instantly on guard, and for a moment he thinks that perhaps Wesker here is a shapeshifter, what with the yellowish eyes and rippling shoulder action, but no; Wesker's eyes are /staying/ that color, and the shoulder... well, he's not really sure what's up with that. He's going to wait for just a second to see how Courtney reacts to all this, because if she freaks out, he can't very well leave her here alone (stupid hunter duty), but is she doesn't, then there's a good chance she's with him, and then Maxwell's gonna haul ass on outta here.
Courtney does indeed get a good look at what's happening with Weskers shoulder and back. Her eyes go wide, but it's not in fear, it's in utter fascination. Of course, that probably doesn't change a whole lot for Maxwell because, hey, sometimes that's how people react. It's all she can do to not reach out and touch whatever's going on under his shirt, for a variety of reasons. But she glances to Maxwell before looking back at Wesker. This should be interesting.
Okay. Calm down, Wesker. You can do it. He lets out a forced, ragged breath and stands up nice and straight, then clears his throat. "I suggest you leave my presence," he says in a cold tone to Maxwell. At least his eyes are back to their normal blue color. His shoulder twitches again but it's more subtle, not as squirmy under the fabric of his polo. "I'll let you off the hook. This time."
The hair on Maxwell's arms is raised and his mind is trying to cycle through every supernatural creature he's encountered or read about, but nothing's adding up. Courtney's reaction isn't what he was expecting, but he doesn't have time to dwell on that because Wesker's talking to him, and thank god, he's giving him an out. Maxwell doesn't need to be told twice; he books it for the mall, leaving Courtney to deal with all that on her own. Sorry chica. Dad's getting a call as soon as he's inside, as is Jude, and then oh the hunter rumor mill, it will be turning.
Courtney watches Wesker calm himself and Maxwell tear ass away and into the mall. "Oh, what was that?" Absolutely not dancing around this little thing. "Fingerprints on your car do that to you?" Is she going to? It's a good possibility. See what all this mess is under his shirt. However, she does move to sort of place herself so he can't easily get into the car. The empty parking space next to them helps her with this. "Someone's got quite a temper."
Wesker turns and glares at Courtney and oh, that's some rage face right there. But the kind of rage face that's eerily calm. "I'm not going to stand here and play your stupid games with you, Emerson." And with that, he goes to hop into his convertible and starts the engine. Listen to it purr.
"Oh? So that wasn't something squirming under your shirt? That wasn't your eyes going all animal?" Courtney's on to you now, Wesker. The top not being up on the convertible gives her the advantage to grab his freak shoulder. This 'game' just went into new territory. "So, what brand of monster are you?"
Wesker smirks. Or it could be a threatening gesture. Who knows? Either way he keeps his cool otherwise, even when Courtney goes for his shoulder. Which, now, is perfectly normal. And muscular. Enjoy that. "Oh, I'm not a monster. I think you're terribly mistaken." He slips on a pair of sunglasses that probably cost more than most people make in a month and buckles himself into his seat.