Post by Esque DaggerHair on Jun 11, 2010 23:56:32 GMT -5
"C'mon Pete, hurry up. Hurry uuup!" Tugging at her driver/bodyguard's sleeve, the currently blue, purple, and pink haired teen bounces in place as she stares at the approaching candy store.
Best fucking candy in town, you betcha.
Even the Fat Cats ordered from X, in discreet and fancy looking packages, of course.
That's not to say there aren't other confectionery establishments, but they pale in comparison to the, perhaps drug laced, sweets manufactured by the Man Behind the Counter.
"Mr. X! Oh Mister Ex! I'll take a candy carousel miniature, the edible chocolate fountain, and five mystery bags!" Shoving her way gracefully to the counter, ignoring the muttered protests, she beams up at the Man Behind the Counter as he nods, writes down her order, and slaps a Post-It on the wall.
"And a 'While-You-Wait' jar, please." Grabbing one of the many rows of colorful glass cylinders, the girl turns away from the poor people who can't afford the amount of sickening sweets she just demanded, and plops herself down on one of the many chairs along the wall for the customers with large or complex orders to wait.
Uncapping the jar, she shakes a handful of malted milk balls into her palm and shoves the chocolate into her greedy, hungry, maw. Candy put her in a good mood, an agreeable mood, a much less defiant and snobbish mood, "Want some, Pete?"
Best fucking candy in town, you betcha.
Even the Fat Cats ordered from X, in discreet and fancy looking packages, of course.
That's not to say there aren't other confectionery establishments, but they pale in comparison to the, perhaps drug laced, sweets manufactured by the Man Behind the Counter.
"Mr. X! Oh Mister Ex! I'll take a candy carousel miniature, the edible chocolate fountain, and five mystery bags!" Shoving her way gracefully to the counter, ignoring the muttered protests, she beams up at the Man Behind the Counter as he nods, writes down her order, and slaps a Post-It on the wall.
"And a 'While-You-Wait' jar, please." Grabbing one of the many rows of colorful glass cylinders, the girl turns away from the poor people who can't afford the amount of sickening sweets she just demanded, and plops herself down on one of the many chairs along the wall for the customers with large or complex orders to wait.
Uncapping the jar, she shakes a handful of malted milk balls into her palm and shoves the chocolate into her greedy, hungry, maw. Candy put her in a good mood, an agreeable mood, a much less defiant and snobbish mood, "Want some, Pete?"