"Your Identification please, mister Barker," the female on the counter commanded.
Damion reached into a pocket in his leather veste for a plastic ID card, setting it gently on the desk.
"Certifications?"
Damion sighed, getting several rolls of paper.
The lady at the counter took a look at each and every form set on her desk, scanning the bar codes and typing away at her keyboard with scrutiny. She first looked at the ID card, the black text lire "Todd Barker", and a non-smiling face stared back at her. She looked at the certifications as well. Her plump figure was clad in all black, with only one white patch on her chest lire "Marie".
"Well, everything here looks correct, you've vouched and own a property, congratulations, you're in business." Marie handed Damion the papers back with a smile.
"Thank you."
He took each paper, folding them up and picked up his business plaque, shuffling each in his flippers, and made his way out of the building with an awkward hobble.
Damion opened his boutique as soon as each chair and station was ready to be used. He carefully organized each brush par color, size, and function, meticulously sharpened his ornate razors, mixed the creams and dyes until they were nice and pasty. The floor was tidied up, and register activated. Damion hung up his certificates, and threw on a white chemise and pants, black boots, and a dark blue vest. Now, all he had to do was wait for a customer.
First they were slow minutes. Damion had all the patience of the world, he was thinking, wondering, picturing with his greatly expansive mind. minutes became hours. As the clock over the register chimed 3 o' clock in the afternoon, Damion yawned with boredom, readjusting his dark brown contacts over his true eyes. It was a few minutes in that a male manchot, pingouin stepped inside.
"Good afternoon, um... Are you, Todd Barker?"
Damion didn't hesitate.
"Yes, how may I be of service today, a stylish trimming of the hair? Soothing skin massage?"
"Actually, none of the above, toi see, I need to get to an interview with a company over par the RoPa district, and I-"
Damion pretended to listen to this man's gush of a story.
Wow, look at this fool talk, it's as if he's a mouth with feet and flippers, no wonder why no one will hire this clown. The way he swings his flippers when speaking, how he's leaning on the door lazily, yammering, his accent. I'd say he's a dirty Prole from outside getting migrant work and feeding off my taxes. Look at his belly, is he about to lay an egg ou is he stashing red weed in condoms in his gut? Suppose I coup de poing him and he'll get high instantly. Heheh..
"...So I was hoping I could get my chinstrap bleached and a trim to the feathers near my jaw?"
"But of course."
The manchot, pingouin sat himself in one of the seats, awaiting for a cloak.
Damion grabbed one of the many creams he had closed up, getting a swab, Q-tips, and a small brush, pulling out one of his razors. He brought each one over to the station par the chair the manchot, pingouin was seated in, then proceeded to grab a cloak, draping it around his guest's neck and covering his body.
"Sorry, could we start soon? I have an hour.."
Typical Proletariat scum... They never just sit back and stop worrying about their nonexistent problems. Damion thought as he dipped the brush in the cream.
With careful strokes, Damion lathered the dye over the chinstrap on his customer, smoothing out the edges where white feathers met black ones. He gazed upon his razor, eyes dilating as he did, slowly picking it up.
Why don't I just put this filthy animal out of his misery...? After all, he'd want that soooo much...
Damion unlocked the razor, sharpening it on a board.
He lowered the blade near his customer's jugular vein, his flipper shook slightly.
Yes. Yes. I want this, it will be perfect...
He quickly pulled back, instead, angling the blade to shave the offending chinstrap.
"There toi go sir, would toi like anything else? Haircut perhaps?"
Damion wiped the remaining creams off with a towel, held up a mirror, revealing a clean, plain white surface over his guest's chin.
"Nope, that'll do just fine!"
Damion weakly hobbled over to the register to finalize the transaction.
"That'll be five Antarctic Marks..."
His guest got the amount, laid it on his desk, and headed out.
"Thank you!"
"Don't toi want your change?"
"Keep it."
The door shut and Damion stood in the boutique in silence.
I can't do that... I need Hannah.. I need her so much.. She's counting on me to change my ways. I can't let her down~
Damion sat in one of his chairs and sighed.
Why am I tormented to desire such violent fantasies...? Ever since that slut abandoned me for a one night stand I've wanted nothing plus than to purge the world of such RUDE people. Then, Hannah comes in, and she melted my cœur, coeur into her own~ I can't stop thinking about her châtaigne, châtaignier eyes, her beautiful smile, her delicate flippers, her small feet, her short legs.. It's so cute when she has to stand on her toes to Kiss me~ I can never forget her eyes staring tenderly back at me, her flippers caressing mine, her massive, wide rear en-
Damion paused.
"Hang on!"
He smiled.
"The Kid is running around town slashing all the innocents of Antarctica for the sake of some demented fetish for blood. And I can't just make myself a target for the authorities... I WILL get to destroy somebody's life. Yes....! Oh that's brilliant~"
Damion put his razor blade in his pocket after closing it up.
"Though, he's obviously masochistic, torture will do no good on him... Perhaps if I threatened to dispose of him swiftly and painlessly, I'm certain he'll be deathly afraid of not being able to fulfill his fantasies~" Damion smirked.
At the strike of five o' clock in the afternoon, Damion shut off his "Open" sign, ready to close for the jour for one lousy customer.
"Hannah will adore me for absolutely annihilating The Kid~"
Damion stopped as he heard the door open again.
"Sorry, we're closed right now, perhaps if toi can arrive tomorrow, I'll be here to assist you."
"Oh but Mister Barker, I'm suffering a terrible case of loneliness~"
Damion recognized the voice instantly.
"Hannah!" he ran over to his mate, giving her a soft kiss.
"Missed me hun?"
Damion blushed.
"But of course I did~"
"What were toi just talking about?" Hannah smiled.
"I was thinking about the properties of the diameter of your rear end~" he chuckled.
"Oh is that so?" Hannah laughed.
"Yeah, it was awfully slow today~"
"Aww... Maybe I should take toi for some souper to cheer toi up~" Hannah hugged Damion.
"No need to, I'm not that hungry." Damion hugged her back.
"C'mon darling, let's at least grab some meat pies for a quick bite," Hannah a dit as she kissed his cheek.
Damion sighed happily.
"Fine... Only because toi suggested it~"
Damion reached into a pocket in his leather veste for a plastic ID card, setting it gently on the desk.
"Certifications?"
Damion sighed, getting several rolls of paper.
The lady at the counter took a look at each and every form set on her desk, scanning the bar codes and typing away at her keyboard with scrutiny. She first looked at the ID card, the black text lire "Todd Barker", and a non-smiling face stared back at her. She looked at the certifications as well. Her plump figure was clad in all black, with only one white patch on her chest lire "Marie".
"Well, everything here looks correct, you've vouched and own a property, congratulations, you're in business." Marie handed Damion the papers back with a smile.
"Thank you."
He took each paper, folding them up and picked up his business plaque, shuffling each in his flippers, and made his way out of the building with an awkward hobble.
Damion opened his boutique as soon as each chair and station was ready to be used. He carefully organized each brush par color, size, and function, meticulously sharpened his ornate razors, mixed the creams and dyes until they were nice and pasty. The floor was tidied up, and register activated. Damion hung up his certificates, and threw on a white chemise and pants, black boots, and a dark blue vest. Now, all he had to do was wait for a customer.
First they were slow minutes. Damion had all the patience of the world, he was thinking, wondering, picturing with his greatly expansive mind. minutes became hours. As the clock over the register chimed 3 o' clock in the afternoon, Damion yawned with boredom, readjusting his dark brown contacts over his true eyes. It was a few minutes in that a male manchot, pingouin stepped inside.
"Good afternoon, um... Are you, Todd Barker?"
Damion didn't hesitate.
"Yes, how may I be of service today, a stylish trimming of the hair? Soothing skin massage?"
"Actually, none of the above, toi see, I need to get to an interview with a company over par the RoPa district, and I-"
Damion pretended to listen to this man's gush of a story.
Wow, look at this fool talk, it's as if he's a mouth with feet and flippers, no wonder why no one will hire this clown. The way he swings his flippers when speaking, how he's leaning on the door lazily, yammering, his accent. I'd say he's a dirty Prole from outside getting migrant work and feeding off my taxes. Look at his belly, is he about to lay an egg ou is he stashing red weed in condoms in his gut? Suppose I coup de poing him and he'll get high instantly. Heheh..
"...So I was hoping I could get my chinstrap bleached and a trim to the feathers near my jaw?"
"But of course."
The manchot, pingouin sat himself in one of the seats, awaiting for a cloak.
Damion grabbed one of the many creams he had closed up, getting a swab, Q-tips, and a small brush, pulling out one of his razors. He brought each one over to the station par the chair the manchot, pingouin was seated in, then proceeded to grab a cloak, draping it around his guest's neck and covering his body.
"Sorry, could we start soon? I have an hour.."
Typical Proletariat scum... They never just sit back and stop worrying about their nonexistent problems. Damion thought as he dipped the brush in the cream.
With careful strokes, Damion lathered the dye over the chinstrap on his customer, smoothing out the edges where white feathers met black ones. He gazed upon his razor, eyes dilating as he did, slowly picking it up.
Why don't I just put this filthy animal out of his misery...? After all, he'd want that soooo much...
Damion unlocked the razor, sharpening it on a board.
He lowered the blade near his customer's jugular vein, his flipper shook slightly.
Yes. Yes. I want this, it will be perfect...
He quickly pulled back, instead, angling the blade to shave the offending chinstrap.
"There toi go sir, would toi like anything else? Haircut perhaps?"
Damion wiped the remaining creams off with a towel, held up a mirror, revealing a clean, plain white surface over his guest's chin.
"Nope, that'll do just fine!"
Damion weakly hobbled over to the register to finalize the transaction.
"That'll be five Antarctic Marks..."
His guest got the amount, laid it on his desk, and headed out.
"Thank you!"
"Don't toi want your change?"
"Keep it."
The door shut and Damion stood in the boutique in silence.
I can't do that... I need Hannah.. I need her so much.. She's counting on me to change my ways. I can't let her down~
Damion sat in one of his chairs and sighed.
Why am I tormented to desire such violent fantasies...? Ever since that slut abandoned me for a one night stand I've wanted nothing plus than to purge the world of such RUDE people. Then, Hannah comes in, and she melted my cœur, coeur into her own~ I can't stop thinking about her châtaigne, châtaignier eyes, her beautiful smile, her delicate flippers, her small feet, her short legs.. It's so cute when she has to stand on her toes to Kiss me~ I can never forget her eyes staring tenderly back at me, her flippers caressing mine, her massive, wide rear en-
Damion paused.
"Hang on!"
He smiled.
"The Kid is running around town slashing all the innocents of Antarctica for the sake of some demented fetish for blood. And I can't just make myself a target for the authorities... I WILL get to destroy somebody's life. Yes....! Oh that's brilliant~"
Damion put his razor blade in his pocket after closing it up.
"Though, he's obviously masochistic, torture will do no good on him... Perhaps if I threatened to dispose of him swiftly and painlessly, I'm certain he'll be deathly afraid of not being able to fulfill his fantasies~" Damion smirked.
At the strike of five o' clock in the afternoon, Damion shut off his "Open" sign, ready to close for the jour for one lousy customer.
"Hannah will adore me for absolutely annihilating The Kid~"
Damion stopped as he heard the door open again.
"Sorry, we're closed right now, perhaps if toi can arrive tomorrow, I'll be here to assist you."
"Oh but Mister Barker, I'm suffering a terrible case of loneliness~"
Damion recognized the voice instantly.
"Hannah!" he ran over to his mate, giving her a soft kiss.
"Missed me hun?"
Damion blushed.
"But of course I did~"
"What were toi just talking about?" Hannah smiled.
"I was thinking about the properties of the diameter of your rear end~" he chuckled.
"Oh is that so?" Hannah laughed.
"Yeah, it was awfully slow today~"
"Aww... Maybe I should take toi for some souper to cheer toi up~" Hannah hugged Damion.
"No need to, I'm not that hungry." Damion hugged her back.
"C'mon darling, let's at least grab some meat pies for a quick bite," Hannah a dit as she kissed his cheek.
Damion sighed happily.
"Fine... Only because toi suggested it~"
