[Ruinee] The shoes are killer.
That's what drew her in - fuck me red pumps displayed on roman-style columns in the winter - one shoe at a time - with impossible narrow stacked heels that come to the most impossible points and a shape more elegant than the curve of a woman's spine.
The tony little shop does not have a sign hanging out on the street, and the Christmas lights lining the windows are tasteful little white ones. There's no kitschy Christmas decor - just sleek, minimalist, rather glitzy little acknowledgments of the season.
No one would wear shoes like that out on the streets on a night like this. Or rather: no one ordinary. It's sixteen degrees and getting colder, and there's already six inches of snow on the ground. Still, shops are open late on the Mag Mile on these blustery December evenings, even those so high-end that you have to search for the name, posted in tiny comic sans lettering on the top left corner of the frameless glass door that opens onto the narrow shop floor. Blonde wood floors and stark white walls complete the sense that these is a gallery space rather than a sales floor. On a wall of mirrors back agains the back wall, more shoes are displayed in stepped rows. Scattered clothes on narrow racks flank the walls, and a central display counter has perfumes and jewelry.
A handful of shoppers are inside, a clerk who leans against the counter in a nonchalant manner, holding a bottle of perfume in old-fashioned gold atomizer, and a bored boyfriend sprawled across one of the few chairs in the shop.
[Luana Kirchmann] It's cold outside and that's alright with her. She doesn't mind the cold, nor the snow, or the way that people huddle together in shops for warmth and the glow of the lights. What better way to spend a cold night then browsing shops and looking for pretty things to blow money from a bank account on.
Dressed in a pair of jeans, some comfortable boots and a peacoat over a cashmere top, layered with a camisole beneath and a nice scarf around the neck, Luana walks into the store. She unwraps the scarf from around her neck and unbuttons her jacket the moment the warmth from the heaters hits her face. Her gloves are being peeled from her fingers next, while she walks the shop in a slow meander, taking not only in the items for sale but the few others already in the store.
The bored boyfriends gets a faint smile from the corner of her mouth.
[Ruinee] He's a big guy, no older than twenty-five, maybe not even that old, wearing a peacoat himself, and a scarlet and gray scarf loose around his neck. Blonde hair cropped short, with wintry blue eyes set in a face that is tanned despite the season, with cold dark nights descending early and staying all night long. The chair's gilt - upholstered in white and gold brocade, and he's sitting in it like a jock sprawling on the bench, trying to intimitate the opposing team by expanding to fill whatever space he can. Legs apart, one arm sticking out.
The door opens and he looks up, catches the edge of her smile.
And he: smiles back and gives her a little nod up as his eyes travel down her body as she begins to unbutton her jacket. There's no skin, but he smiles appreciatively anyway - the motion of her fingers as she pushes each button down and through, down and through, down and through.
"Pheremone, miss?" - says the clerk, holding up the ball of the atomizer as Luana begins to pull off her winter gear. The bottle itself is crystalline in a diamond shape. " - it's the latest thing. We just have a few left - " Then she twists her shoulders. "Or if there's something else I can help you find, just let me know."
[Luana Kirchmann] Her gaze swings across to the clerk that captures her attention. Even in her boots, with the small and suitable heel for snow, Luana isn't the tallest or imposing of persons. She looks from the clerk to the bottle that's being held out, and her mouth, still in a part curve from the mild flirt with the jock in the white and gold throne, curls wider. A laugh is held back, but it's there in the undercurrent of her voice. "I think I have enough of my own." Pheromones that is. The idea amuses her, especially when she recalls the Garou sniffing at her neck and growling at her ear.
"But let me have a smell." Gesturing with her free hand towards the bottle, and searching across the counter for any of the small cards in which to have it sprayed. She doesn't want to smell it on her wrist, even if its the best way to see how a scent mingles with her own. Some of these stink awfully and the last thing she wants to do is walk around smelling like garbage disposal.
[Ruinee] There are a handful of cards tucked under the blotter near the register, and the clerk - who still manages to look both bored and engaging - flashes a half-smile back to Luana for the withheld laughter in her voice, the undercurrent of the private joke she's offered. "Yeah? - " the clerk laughs the way she smiles - it never reaches her dark brown eyes. She lifts up the bottle and gestures behind her toward the sprawled jock. "He seems to think so. Still, we all could use a little help - "
So saying, with a dead-eyed wink, the young woman spritzes the perfume on a paper card for Luana to sample. The scent is immediate, a rich undercurrent of musk and vanilla, with overtones of sandalwood and bergamot, a dry-berry note that reminds her of a fine red wine. " - we can't keep it in stock."
The jock is still watching Luana; her ass now, what he can see of it beneath the bulk of her wool peacoat - or maybe the angle of her jaw, visible through a downfall of hair. It's not clear what he's watching, but even looking away, she can see his attention linger in their dual reflections, wavy against the back wall, interrupted by the stair steps of stillettos, boots and party shoes.
[Luana Kirchmann] "Speak for yourself," the Austrian had said to the clerk with a tone that may have been intended to be insulting under the mildness of it. Taking the card from the clerk, she waved it several inches away under her nose and scented it delicately, breathing it in rather then sniffing at it.
While she's aware of the man still watching her, she's not paying obvious attention to it. Small, brief glimpses of him in the reflection or the occasional peripheral glance is all that she gave. She also kept an eye out for anyone that was meant to be with him, the girlfriend, mother even, or otherwise. At least now he hardly looked bored.
Lifting her olive coloured eyes to the clerk, she questioned; "How many bottles do you have left and what size are they in?"
[Ruinee] "I beg your pardon?" - says the clerk, straightening her body through the spine, this subtle sort of reigning in evident in her dark eyes, as her languid posture is dropped in favor of something - rather more alert, silken. She stares at Luana steadily as the other woman scents the card, directly enough that the look is nearly (though not quite) rude. A Garou, Luana knows almost by istinct, would take such a look as a challenge. Would make a challenge with such a look. Some test of dominance.
- then it ends. Luana asks how many bottles are left and the clerk forces her painted mouth to smile, a small one. "We have two one-ounce left, and another half-dozen of the quarter-ounce. All pure parfums, not cologne or anything watered down. Which can I get for you?"
--
Then a seam in the display wall opens, the cleverly-hidden door to the dressing rooms, complete with its own display of impossible heels. A (bottle) redhead, a slight girl with a cute figure comes parading out in barefeet, wearing a fitted one-sleeved black dress, the tags obviously visible at the neckline. The jock's attention snaps back to the door as it opens -
"Hey," he says, "I like that one, babe. Can we - " go now is on his lips.
Except that something snaps in the girl, and she turns, goes still, quick as a striking snake, a flash of white sharp teeth as she snaps her jaw together " - What the fuck were you doing?" There's a pause where he's speechless, not even conscious that he was checking out another chick. That's what he does, and his bafflement is so evident. The girl, however, is steaming - "[i]were you fucking looking at her?[/i]"
That's what drew her in - fuck me red pumps displayed on roman-style columns in the winter - one shoe at a time - with impossible narrow stacked heels that come to the most impossible points and a shape more elegant than the curve of a woman's spine.
The tony little shop does not have a sign hanging out on the street, and the Christmas lights lining the windows are tasteful little white ones. There's no kitschy Christmas decor - just sleek, minimalist, rather glitzy little acknowledgments of the season.
No one would wear shoes like that out on the streets on a night like this. Or rather: no one ordinary. It's sixteen degrees and getting colder, and there's already six inches of snow on the ground. Still, shops are open late on the Mag Mile on these blustery December evenings, even those so high-end that you have to search for the name, posted in tiny comic sans lettering on the top left corner of the frameless glass door that opens onto the narrow shop floor. Blonde wood floors and stark white walls complete the sense that these is a gallery space rather than a sales floor. On a wall of mirrors back agains the back wall, more shoes are displayed in stepped rows. Scattered clothes on narrow racks flank the walls, and a central display counter has perfumes and jewelry.
A handful of shoppers are inside, a clerk who leans against the counter in a nonchalant manner, holding a bottle of perfume in old-fashioned gold atomizer, and a bored boyfriend sprawled across one of the few chairs in the shop.
[Luana Kirchmann] It's cold outside and that's alright with her. She doesn't mind the cold, nor the snow, or the way that people huddle together in shops for warmth and the glow of the lights. What better way to spend a cold night then browsing shops and looking for pretty things to blow money from a bank account on.
Dressed in a pair of jeans, some comfortable boots and a peacoat over a cashmere top, layered with a camisole beneath and a nice scarf around the neck, Luana walks into the store. She unwraps the scarf from around her neck and unbuttons her jacket the moment the warmth from the heaters hits her face. Her gloves are being peeled from her fingers next, while she walks the shop in a slow meander, taking not only in the items for sale but the few others already in the store.
The bored boyfriends gets a faint smile from the corner of her mouth.
[Ruinee] He's a big guy, no older than twenty-five, maybe not even that old, wearing a peacoat himself, and a scarlet and gray scarf loose around his neck. Blonde hair cropped short, with wintry blue eyes set in a face that is tanned despite the season, with cold dark nights descending early and staying all night long. The chair's gilt - upholstered in white and gold brocade, and he's sitting in it like a jock sprawling on the bench, trying to intimitate the opposing team by expanding to fill whatever space he can. Legs apart, one arm sticking out.
The door opens and he looks up, catches the edge of her smile.
And he: smiles back and gives her a little nod up as his eyes travel down her body as she begins to unbutton her jacket. There's no skin, but he smiles appreciatively anyway - the motion of her fingers as she pushes each button down and through, down and through, down and through.
"Pheremone, miss?" - says the clerk, holding up the ball of the atomizer as Luana begins to pull off her winter gear. The bottle itself is crystalline in a diamond shape. " - it's the latest thing. We just have a few left - " Then she twists her shoulders. "Or if there's something else I can help you find, just let me know."
[Luana Kirchmann] Her gaze swings across to the clerk that captures her attention. Even in her boots, with the small and suitable heel for snow, Luana isn't the tallest or imposing of persons. She looks from the clerk to the bottle that's being held out, and her mouth, still in a part curve from the mild flirt with the jock in the white and gold throne, curls wider. A laugh is held back, but it's there in the undercurrent of her voice. "I think I have enough of my own." Pheromones that is. The idea amuses her, especially when she recalls the Garou sniffing at her neck and growling at her ear.
"But let me have a smell." Gesturing with her free hand towards the bottle, and searching across the counter for any of the small cards in which to have it sprayed. She doesn't want to smell it on her wrist, even if its the best way to see how a scent mingles with her own. Some of these stink awfully and the last thing she wants to do is walk around smelling like garbage disposal.
[Ruinee] There are a handful of cards tucked under the blotter near the register, and the clerk - who still manages to look both bored and engaging - flashes a half-smile back to Luana for the withheld laughter in her voice, the undercurrent of the private joke she's offered. "Yeah? - " the clerk laughs the way she smiles - it never reaches her dark brown eyes. She lifts up the bottle and gestures behind her toward the sprawled jock. "He seems to think so. Still, we all could use a little help - "
So saying, with a dead-eyed wink, the young woman spritzes the perfume on a paper card for Luana to sample. The scent is immediate, a rich undercurrent of musk and vanilla, with overtones of sandalwood and bergamot, a dry-berry note that reminds her of a fine red wine. " - we can't keep it in stock."
The jock is still watching Luana; her ass now, what he can see of it beneath the bulk of her wool peacoat - or maybe the angle of her jaw, visible through a downfall of hair. It's not clear what he's watching, but even looking away, she can see his attention linger in their dual reflections, wavy against the back wall, interrupted by the stair steps of stillettos, boots and party shoes.
[Luana Kirchmann] "Speak for yourself," the Austrian had said to the clerk with a tone that may have been intended to be insulting under the mildness of it. Taking the card from the clerk, she waved it several inches away under her nose and scented it delicately, breathing it in rather then sniffing at it.
While she's aware of the man still watching her, she's not paying obvious attention to it. Small, brief glimpses of him in the reflection or the occasional peripheral glance is all that she gave. She also kept an eye out for anyone that was meant to be with him, the girlfriend, mother even, or otherwise. At least now he hardly looked bored.
Lifting her olive coloured eyes to the clerk, she questioned; "How many bottles do you have left and what size are they in?"
[Ruinee] "I beg your pardon?" - says the clerk, straightening her body through the spine, this subtle sort of reigning in evident in her dark eyes, as her languid posture is dropped in favor of something - rather more alert, silken. She stares at Luana steadily as the other woman scents the card, directly enough that the look is nearly (though not quite) rude. A Garou, Luana knows almost by istinct, would take such a look as a challenge. Would make a challenge with such a look. Some test of dominance.
- then it ends. Luana asks how many bottles are left and the clerk forces her painted mouth to smile, a small one. "We have two one-ounce left, and another half-dozen of the quarter-ounce. All pure parfums, not cologne or anything watered down. Which can I get for you?"
--
Then a seam in the display wall opens, the cleverly-hidden door to the dressing rooms, complete with its own display of impossible heels. A (bottle) redhead, a slight girl with a cute figure comes parading out in barefeet, wearing a fitted one-sleeved black dress, the tags obviously visible at the neckline. The jock's attention snaps back to the door as it opens -
"Hey," he says, "I like that one, babe. Can we - " go now is on his lips.
Except that something snaps in the girl, and she turns, goes still, quick as a striking snake, a flash of white sharp teeth as she snaps her jaw together " - What the fuck were you doing?" There's a pause where he's speechless, not even conscious that he was checking out another chick. That's what he does, and his bafflement is so evident. The girl, however, is steaming - "[i]were you fucking looking at her?[/i]"
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