Post by Slugslinger on Oct 27, 2010 8:44:09 GMT -5
Slugslinger waits for a few seconds to see if anyone's going to follow him out, if only because he shoplifted some cheap shirts. After that wait, he guesses there won't be a pursuit and snorts again in a what-can-you-do fashion, shrugging to himself.
"Ah well. Interesting while it lasted at any rate," he murmurs. He looks again critically at the clothes still in his hand, then shoves them into the arms of the first passer-by that comes within range, some lanky, gangly collection of limbs with big green eyes and a shock of stiff red-gold hair jutting out at odd angles from under his cap. He staggers with the force of the push, then looks in disbelief at the shirts in his arms, then to his own drab vest and slacks, then to Slugslinger. "Here," the jet blurts out without looking at him. "I don't want 'em." And in spite of the skinny man's baffled sputtering, Slugslinger keeps on walking – practically strutting, pleased with himself and how his day is going so far and not too humble to show it.
In the store, the mood among the staff and customers is mixed. Some are bemused or aghast at the display Slugslinger just put on; others are merely annoyed. A very few by comparison are actively displeased, one of them the cashier who has no problems expressing her distaste for robots – quietly, at least, while she's on the job. She bends to pull up a bag for her customer and a dainty gold pendant swings free of her blouse neckline for a moment. Sharp eyes will notice it looks like a heavily stylised pair of horns. She tucks it back into place, thinking nothing of it, before bagging her customer's purchases.
At the same time, Slugslinger's sales girl returns, supervisor in tow… and customer gone. She stares at the dressing room door with the footprint in it, then looks around in muted horror.
OOC: Slugslinger out of thread unless pursued, but I can stay another round with the sales girl or such if need be.
"Ah well. Interesting while it lasted at any rate," he murmurs. He looks again critically at the clothes still in his hand, then shoves them into the arms of the first passer-by that comes within range, some lanky, gangly collection of limbs with big green eyes and a shock of stiff red-gold hair jutting out at odd angles from under his cap. He staggers with the force of the push, then looks in disbelief at the shirts in his arms, then to his own drab vest and slacks, then to Slugslinger. "Here," the jet blurts out without looking at him. "I don't want 'em." And in spite of the skinny man's baffled sputtering, Slugslinger keeps on walking – practically strutting, pleased with himself and how his day is going so far and not too humble to show it.
In the store, the mood among the staff and customers is mixed. Some are bemused or aghast at the display Slugslinger just put on; others are merely annoyed. A very few by comparison are actively displeased, one of them the cashier who has no problems expressing her distaste for robots – quietly, at least, while she's on the job. She bends to pull up a bag for her customer and a dainty gold pendant swings free of her blouse neckline for a moment. Sharp eyes will notice it looks like a heavily stylised pair of horns. She tucks it back into place, thinking nothing of it, before bagging her customer's purchases.
At the same time, Slugslinger's sales girl returns, supervisor in tow… and customer gone. She stares at the dressing room door with the footprint in it, then looks around in muted horror.
OOC: Slugslinger out of thread unless pursued, but I can stay another round with the sales girl or such if need be.