Charles Lavalle (dressedtothrill) wrote in light_of_may, @ 2013-12-10 03:00:00 |
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Entry tags: | 2009-09-29, fiona |
i'm not one of those who can easily hide
Who: Charles & Fiona
Where: Grocery store
When: Afternoon
For the countless time so far that day, Charles looked at his reflection like he’d gone and grown a second and maybe a third head. Wasn’t that he didn’t look good ‘cause he damn well did. Charles-motherfuckin’-Lavalle always looked good. ‘Cept maybe when he’d just come off the end of his shift at Ad Gustum and was trying to get out before the demon caught up to him -- but in that case there wasn’t a damned soul could argue he didn’t a have a right to look like there were very real vultures circling… Where was he again?
‘Why you look as plain as a black canvas.’
“Blank,” he automatically corrected, then gave Sugar a sidelong stare. If that was a joke, it was too lame to be funny… but it was kinda true. The were-peacock was still confused about how he came to be dressed largely like a guy for once, though he guessed it proved to the world that there were in fact manly clothes in his closet. But since he wasn’t in that closet, he didn’t give a fuck what they thought about what he wore. It was just today’s mood, was all. Sugar had said so already, now Charles was just trying to lay an expertly manicured finger on the why of it. Were the splashes of blue a by-product of his mood or did they cause it? Did he actually believe colour could change your mood? … Only when enough was added, but it damn near always changed for the better. The same rule was applied to alcohol. And cooking.
Speaking of which, while some bitches were admiring themselves, their cupboards needed filling. Lifting his trilby long enough to adjust his headscarf (grey -- really?), Charles stopped making faces at himself in the store window and decided to actually go inside. Well, he decided to try. Sugar had never been to the store before. Out for coffee, sure. All the way to the store? Hell, no. And there was a fuckton of good reasons. First was that he was a small (ish) bird with massive feathers and tended to make people flip their shit. Second, the little fucker had too much attitude.
Toning down his own attitude as much as possible, Charles tried to sound as respectful as he could without wanting to bitchslap himself. “How’s about I leave him just outside?”
‘How about yo’ momma? You’re not leavin’ me here with this--’
“I’ll be real quick, I swear,” he promised, acutely aware that Sugar was broadcasting everything to everyone. “I’ll be right in and out - you won’t’ve even noticed I was there.”
‘They never do.’ That one got a laugh from someone in the store, somewhere, and the were nearly choked his familiar. It was a good job they were both as lacking in shame, or he would have been mortified and Sugar would’ve been dead. ‘I take on you and aaall you fuckers if you try’n take me to Chinese restaurant.’ Charles just looked at… well, at Sugar’s wing, because spreading them clearly proved his might and completely obscured his witch’s view of him.
Then he looked back at the store manager (according to his badge) with an expression that he hoped was pleading. Hoped. Needless to say he didn’t do pleading very well until dumbass o’clock in the morning and someone was threatening to ask him to cover the first few hours of Darlene’s shift. “Seriously. Can we? Bitch is just loud.”
‘I fly in anyway, then you do what, huh? Huh? Get nets and run ‘round like little--’
And that, guys ‘n dolls, was apparently how you forced the manager to let you in. Would’ve been easier to call the police of something, but no. Not this time, anyways. Wasn’t til he’d gotten a cart and was halfway through the store -- with no items actually claimed -- that Charles dared to laugh. “Alright trouble, what’s up first?”
‘Want it in the order you thought of it, order of convenience, or alphabetically?’ When the answer didn’t come straight away, he prompted one the way his ward tended to find the most irritating. ‘Huh? Huh?’
Charles had to stop the cart. “Well, shit. Good question… Make it up. -- The order, not the whole list.” A beat. “I mean that, bitch.”
‘... Milk.’