Where: Delvin’s Discount
When: Friday, June 19th 12:15 p.m.
Who: Open
Fallon had to order almost the entirety of her Ice House wardrobe online. There was no “decent” establishment in Wheeler that would ever dream of selling clear heeled platform pumps and the vanilla, Christian modesty undergarments that stocked their intimates section was almost laughable at times. However, Fallon couldn’t deny that Delvin’s prices fit her budget perfectly and there were sometimes small prizes of hot red lace or black velvet tucked between the beigey nude nursing bras and the off-white granny panties.
She heaved a sigh as she scoured the clearance rack for anything remotely tantalizing. Cheap plastic hangers hurriedly scraped against the metal rack as she flipped through countless pairs of knickers that even her grandmother Sophie would have cringed at. Her excitement rose when she spotted a bralette pushed to the far corner of the rack. “God forbid the citizens see a lacy bra, huh?” she mused to herself before pulling the item off the rack and holding it up to her chest for consideration in a mirror nearby. She pursed her lips in contemplation, hardly realizing there were eyes on her.
She lifted her contemplative gaze to meet the eyes of the other. Without thinking Fallon threw the bra to the ground in embarrassment. “Holy shit!” She tried to blink herself back into composure. Half startled and half mortified. “Sorry, I mean holy… shoot, sorry.” She kicked the bra under the rack, making a mental note to pick it up later. “Hey, long time no see! Just getting some shoppin’ done, huh?”
It was supposed to be a straight enough line from the entrance to the pickles they were craving. In theory, Draco would be in and out in less than ten minutes. Hunger pang resolved and dignity restored. At home. And yet, thirty minutes later, they were still hugging the pickle jar, eyes darting from all sorts of foods to clothing and home stuff. Draco was mesmerized. Soul stolen by the big box store’s goblins, as grandmother used to say. Or, more likely, too stoned to keep objectivity. Either way, Draco kept on walking, losing themselves in all the options they would never buy, just to find their way into the most horrendous section of all: the one that had little to no usable item of clothing.
They couldn’t remember seeing a scene so sad. For the options actually spoke of Wheeler’s reality. False prudes with all the interesting things kept as far away from the surface as possible. “For fuck sake,” they muttered to themselves, face twisted as they realized the section had yet more to offer: a woman who actively sought out the interesting bits. They weren’t supposed to laugh. In their head, Draco was actually not laughing at all. Composure was kept, her move completely gone under the radar. But the weird face soon turned into a small, uncontainable laughter, and Draco couldn’t help but look down to their shoes, avoiding eye contact. The bra did look good on her, but commenting on it would probably sound bad. Very bad, actually. Creep level, maybe? They couldn’t decide. Head was all fuzzy with... well, their life choices, really. And a nice stash. Which, if said out loud, would be worst than commenting about the bra.
Instead, then, Draco just looked up and offered, in a still half laughing, half pretending not to, voice: “Yep. Had a pickle craving, came to sort it out,” the free hand pointing to the jar they were still hugging. “Having a craving as well?” they asked, regret coming as soon as the words left their mouth. “I mean, shopping. Buying stuff you need, yes, obviously...” and they gave up. Words weren’t coming out right anyway. Might as well be silent.
