do you know what they say about short men with big feet?passionforshoesMay 6 2009, 18:58:12 UTC
If there's one thing Cindy hates, it's being injured. Of course, Cindy hates a lot of things, but being in pain is up there somewhere between number one (Prince Charming) and number two (Prince Charming) on her list of things to hate. Probably at one point seven or so. It's bad enough that her left arm is in a sling and she has all types of bumps, scrapes and bruises. What makes it worse is that fighting with damn Lumi caused it and she doesn't even have any painkillers to help her out. Sure, she heals fast being a Fable and all, but even some things take time. Where's the shitty doctor Swineheart when you need him?
It takes a little more than juggling to start dialing a customer's number on the shop phone with one hand. While waiting for the customer, Mr. Logan NoLastName, to pick up, Cindy curses the fact that only she is experienced enough to deal with custom orders. Something has got to give.
they have an adamantium skeleton?twodogsfightingMay 6 2009, 19:40:43 UTC
That damn phone. He only kept it because it was marginally less annoying than having to check that Network thing all the time. It vibrated in a circle on the table in front of him and he checked the number before picking it up. Nobody he knew.
"What?"
Regardless of how he would treat a person face to face, he always ends up a bit snappish over the phone. Something about being interrupted. The waitress comes over and he motions for a refill of his coffee - black - and the empty plate that formerly held a passable apple pie was taken away.
more like they have adamantium feet.passionforshoesMay 6 2009, 22:47:27 UTC
Well, that's one way to answer the phone. Cindy rolls her eyes and sighs. She is not in the mood to be dealing with a difficult customer today.
"Hello, this is Cindy from The Glass Slipper. I'm trying to reach Logan about his request for a custom order," she greets the gruff voice on the line with a forced sweet as pie tone. Custom orders made her a lot of money; no need to screw it over by telling the customer to go fuck himself just yet.
is that supposed to be an insult?twodogsfightingMay 6 2009, 22:54:44 UTC
Logan's tone softens to something a little less grouchy, not that it's really noticeable. She's trying to be nice, he had given them his number, and he did want a new pair of boots. So he was willing to compromise.
"Right. I need a pair of custom-fitted cowboy boots. Nothin' fancy, but quality, an' I heard your shop was the place to go for quality."
The compliment didn't cost him anything and was the closest she'd get to an apology for his earlier snap.
only if there no adamantium where it counts.passionforshoesMay 6 2009, 23:03:33 UTC
"That's something I'll like to believe is true." She's amused. Word of mouth definitely is good for business. She'll have to put on a sale to reward her customer base.
"So, cowboy boots," Cindy says trying not to laugh. It's not like she hated cowboy boots; her hate for shoes is limited only to Uggs and Crocs. But even if she has a pair herself, the city girl in Cindy always laughs at the sight of a gruff man squeezing his feet into a pair. "You'll have to come in for some minor paperwork and a foot fitting, Mr. Logan. We also require a cash deposit on your order that fifteen percent of is non-refundable should you cancel your order once the work has begun."
Blather, blather, blather. Lordy, sometimes Cindy hates business talk.
if you have any doubts he's more than willing to prove he doestwodogsfightingMay 6 2009, 23:11:44 UTC
He hears that stifled laughter and looks up at the ceiling. Unfortunately, he's used to people making fun of his fashion choices. Living in a school for so many years forced him to develop a certain level of insulation.
He zones out a bit during the business blather, taking a drink of his coffee, and grunts in agreement . "Sounds fine. When's good?"
unfortunately, cindy is not interested in men who wear cowboy boots.passionforshoesMay 6 2009, 23:28:21 UTC
"Well, let's see," Cindy starts as she hauls the phone up on her shoulder while flipping through the custom order book. She hisses as pain shoots up her bad arm, but she tries her best to ignore it in the face for money. Money can buy her a lot of things, like Percocet and a nice bottle of Merlot to wash it down with.
"There's an appointment space free at three fifteen this afternoon and another at six thirty. Can you make either of those today?"
Logan recognizes pain when he hears it, but he's not going to be the one to call her on it. Pride is as pride does. Checking the clock on the wall he waves off a coffee refill and pulls out his wallet to pay.
"The first one. Quarter after three," he replies irritably, leaving a healthy tip for the waitress nonetheless. It's not her fault. And clearly this meeting is going to be a difficult one.
Yeah, take that irritation and shove it up your ass, Logan.
"Mmhmm. I'll see you then, Mr. Logan." Cindy doesn't say goodbye or anything like that before hanging up. She's irritated herself, mostly out of soreness, but Logan isn't making things any better. She just hopes he actually shows up and doesn't waste her time that she's rather be spending sitting in a soft and comfy chair.
Logan doesn't believe in signing off on telephone conversations either so that's fine with him. He's really got nothing to do until the appointment, so he goes for a walk around the gardens before coming back to the City square proper. Cindy's shoe shop with its glass slipper pings something in his head but he's not sure what it is yet so he just leaves it there to ferment.
Best to get this over with, he tells himself, and pushes in to the decidedly feminine store.
Cindy would like to say she's counting the dots behind her eyelids in her private bedroom, but instead, she's holding her forehead in her palm wishing the customers would stop coming for more than five minutes so she can rest. The jingle of the bell hanging over the shop's entrance has her reluctantly raising her head. A quick, slightly annoyed, glance at the register clock tells her that it's appointment time and this must be the ever pleasant Mr. Logan.
Short. Hairy. Grumpy looking. That explains the attitude problem.
And yes, that's the only name you're going to get. He has others, but this is the important one. His eyes sweep the shop automatically, definitely not finding anything of interest or direct danger in the high heels. But Logan knew the kind of destruction a pair of hells could do on the right woman, so respect where respect was due.
The proprietress was looking as run-down as her momentary lapse on the phone had suggested, but he was not inclined to be unduly compassionate.
Whatever. It's not like Cindy has a last name either.
"Yes, yes. I'm Cindy. Just give me a minute and I'll be right with you." It definitely takes more than a minute for Cindy to get up from her stool behind the counter and gather up all the things she needs: appointment binder, base style binder and receipt book. Actually, it takes like five minutes of a impromptu juggle act complete with foul language aimed towards Lumi (wherever she is) before Cindy gets enough a handle on things to cross the floor towards Logan. She unceremoniously drops the bundle on the floor before taking a seat in one of the customer chairs. Horribly unprofessional, but she doesn't actually give a fuck.
"Do you have anything particular in mind? Certain designers, color, all that good stuff?" Cindy huffs out, looking up at the man who probably doesn't get looked up at by anybody but dwarfs and children.
Funny story about dwarves, but now isn't the time to tell it. Logan almost smirks at her obvious unhappiness to serve, and helps himself to a seat across from her. He also drags the style binder across to himself unceremoniously and helps himself.
He knows what he wants, it's just a matter of making sure she offers it, and raises an eyebrow in her direction. "You gotta pen?"
It takes a little more than juggling to start dialing a customer's number on the shop phone with one hand. While waiting for the customer, Mr. Logan NoLastName, to pick up, Cindy curses the fact that only she is experienced enough to deal with custom orders. Something has got to give.
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"What?"
Regardless of how he would treat a person face to face, he always ends up a bit snappish over the phone. Something about being interrupted. The waitress comes over and he motions for a refill of his coffee - black - and the empty plate that formerly held a passable apple pie was taken away.
Reply
"Hello, this is Cindy from The Glass Slipper. I'm trying to reach Logan about his request for a custom order," she greets the gruff voice on the line with a forced sweet as pie tone. Custom orders made her a lot of money; no need to screw it over by telling the customer to go fuck himself just yet.
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"Right. I need a pair of custom-fitted cowboy boots. Nothin' fancy, but quality, an' I heard your shop was the place to go for quality."
The compliment didn't cost him anything and was the closest she'd get to an apology for his earlier snap.
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"So, cowboy boots," Cindy says trying not to laugh. It's not like she hated cowboy boots; her hate for shoes is limited only to Uggs and Crocs. But even if she has a pair herself, the city girl in Cindy always laughs at the sight of a gruff man squeezing his feet into a pair. "You'll have to come in for some minor paperwork and a foot fitting, Mr. Logan. We also require a cash deposit on your order that fifteen percent of is non-refundable should you cancel your order once the work has begun."
Blather, blather, blather. Lordy, sometimes Cindy hates business talk.
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He zones out a bit during the business blather, taking a drink of his coffee, and grunts in agreement . "Sounds fine. When's good?"
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"There's an appointment space free at three fifteen this afternoon and another at six thirty. Can you make either of those today?"
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"I'll be there this afternoon."
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"What time this afternoon, Mr. Logan?"
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"The first one. Quarter after three," he replies irritably, leaving a healthy tip for the waitress nonetheless. It's not her fault. And clearly this meeting is going to be a difficult one.
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"Mmhmm. I'll see you then, Mr. Logan." Cindy doesn't say goodbye or anything like that before hanging up. She's irritated herself, mostly out of soreness, but Logan isn't making things any better. She just hopes he actually shows up and doesn't waste her time that she's rather be spending sitting in a soft and comfy chair.
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Best to get this over with, he tells himself, and pushes in to the decidedly feminine store.
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Short. Hairy. Grumpy looking. That explains the attitude problem.
"Can I help you?"
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And yes, that's the only name you're going to get. He has others, but this is the important one. His eyes sweep the shop automatically, definitely not finding anything of interest or direct danger in the high heels. But Logan knew the kind of destruction a pair of hells could do on the right woman, so respect where respect was due.
The proprietress was looking as run-down as her momentary lapse on the phone had suggested, but he was not inclined to be unduly compassionate.
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"Yes, yes. I'm Cindy. Just give me a minute and I'll be right with you." It definitely takes more than a minute for Cindy to get up from her stool behind the counter and gather up all the things she needs: appointment binder, base style binder and receipt book. Actually, it takes like five minutes of a impromptu juggle act complete with foul language aimed towards Lumi (wherever she is) before Cindy gets enough a handle on things to cross the floor towards Logan. She unceremoniously drops the bundle on the floor before taking a seat in one of the customer chairs. Horribly unprofessional, but she doesn't actually give a fuck.
"Do you have anything particular in mind? Certain designers, color, all that good stuff?" Cindy huffs out, looking up at the man who probably doesn't get looked up at by anybody but dwarfs and children.
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He knows what he wants, it's just a matter of making sure she offers it, and raises an eyebrow in her direction. "You gotta pen?"
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