Thread: How to Ride a Night Mare [Quin x heartless]

Given the green light, Dori still took a moment to prepare herself before sharing her story, taking deep breaths and wiggling her hands, shaking them to get rid of the fluttering in her belly and the nerves that still prickled her skin. Standing up straight, she adopted a grand stance and moved her arms in sweeping, flourishing gestures. She knew how Star liked a good story and how it went even better with a performance. See more It was just after 11 this morning, Dorito started, arching a dramatic eyebrow. Mr. Cole was in back, taking a delivery of kipper clay from the vendor. I was tasked with manning the front desk and as usual, I spent my time wisely... by drawing crooked teeth, mustaches and lipstick on the faces of the people in the art mags. And of course, with her corrupted finger, she could make the markings a part of the magazine photographs. Giving the people real makeup and facial hair that looked indistinguishable from the photos, except for the fact that there was a cartoonish slant to the application. Turns out... a lot of the human and kippie models are actually transsexual pirates who are very happy about their personalized art supply cases and professional easel sets. Clearing her throat, Dori went on. So, there I was, just keeping an eye on things when in walks this hot piece of ass, she said, her voice trembling and lowering over the description of the man in question. Rugged eye candy, alternative hair style, leather coat and droopy pants, like an old school bad boy trying too hard. Dorito rolled her eyes and huffed but couldn't help biting her lip over a grin. No big whoop, right? Just some idiot poser coming in to waste paint on a canvas and call himself Da Vinci. He goes straight for the professional shadow hair brushes that are so obviously way out of his budget and the prick probably doesn't even know how to use them properly. I of course snort quietly, because you know, I've got this idiot's number and he glances my way briefly, sees me watching as he ponders the mysteries of what brush he needs. And he acts like so casual, making pursed lip faces and taking stuff off the wrack, looking at it before hanging it back up like he's contemplating and weighing the options of freaking life or death import. And I can tell he knows I'm watching just from this ridiculous display, which solidifies it for me even more what a poser and a doofus he is. Dori giggled and swept her arms up and back, like an interpretative dance as she progressed with her story. After I got my fill of looking at him, noticing him noticing me noticing him, I went back to my magazine, because who gives a shit? she shrugged and snorted condescendingly. And I'm right in the middle of turning a young lady painting a really boring and stale Baby Flower picture on an easel into a heavy weight boxing champion right after a match, with bruises and split bloody lip and everything, when this stupid hot stud comes up to the desk and slaps some fucking 45 credit feeler brushes right in front of me. And he's got this look on his face--! Dorito stopped to laugh about it, still giggling as she tried to continue. This big, smug-guy grin, she sputtered, her voice getting a nasally edge like always happened when she got over excited and tried to talk. Like he just dumped a huge, impressive turd right in front of me and like he expects me to be fucking wowed out of my shorts. And I just sigh really big and tell him he doesn't want that. It's a freaking kippie feeler turned into a brush, very hard to control and designed to get a very specific effect with the paint you put on it. And there's no way this asshole knows that or is in any way painting something that complex! She flopped her hand on her thigh and rubbed her black finger under her nose casually. So, then he tries to convince me that he really does want that, she said, rolling her eyes upward and setting her chin with an edge to remember the exchange. How she'd started to tell him condescendingly what the brush was for and how he'd interrupted her, telling her what he was working on and the detailed dynamic he was going for. And he does. He convinces me. So, I get flustered and tell him whatever and start to ring him out because fine, whatever, you're a fucking artist. And he starts to talk to me, Star. And he's rude, invasive, creepy interested in my finger and the doodles in the art mag, just all up in my shit with this friendly guy bullshit. He tells me he thinks I might need medical attention for my legs, I tell him if he doesn't leave, so will he, because in about 5 seconds I'm gonna shove him down the basement shop stairs. And... Dorito breathed a laugh, smiling in wonder and shrugging. I dunno what happened? she grimaced awkwardly yet extremely excited and happy. I have a date? Or something? I told him he smells like puke and he says 'well, let's hope I smell less odorous when I pick you up tomorrow night'. What the fuck is that?! That's a date right? Her story having reached it's conclusion, the brown and purple haired girl contorted on her feet like she was having some sort of seizure, her hands clasped over her face and her knees bending together. Then she was gasping, red faced and shaking her fingers again, her equilibrium returned to normal. I mean, what the fuck??? That's crazy, right?