Outfit
Max wasn't so sure why he'd gone to Braxton Street. The high-end boutiques and displays of the latest fashion weren't his thing, but a throwaway comment from Ash had him curious enough to risk it. He'd quickly learnt his lesson about following anything Ash said, as the price tags had chased him off nearly enough immediately. It didn't matter how well the shirts sat on their display mannequins or how soft the material was to the touch, cool in summer and warm in winter, it was just too fucking expensive. He could buy none of this, not with how he'd ripped up his one expensive suit because he'd been ambushed by some asshole darkness creature.
Still, he couldn't bring himself to just bail without getting something, his tail between his legs. Maybe he could pick up something for his ma, or Emily. So that brought him to now, wandering along the street, past shoppers who peered in the windows and ooh'ed over the luxury of it all, or those who could afford to shop here as a matter of course, and walked inside like it wasn't marking them as clear upper class. Max had left the ooh'ing behind but was still window shopping. He ignored the clothing stores, immediately knowing the prices would be too much for him to stomach, but the boutiques that sold smaller items–handmade leather goods, metalworks, art–were more in reach. A small thing for more than he might normally buy, but it wouldn't set him back hundreds of bucks.
His eyes settled on a shop that seemed to be an odd one out. The clean lines of the display shelves were populated by crystals, rocks, bottles, and rough, handmade soaps. Like a high-end Body Shop with a dash of new-age mysticism, just based on what he could see of the crystals. Handmade soaps weren't impressive gifts, but they were more hit than miss, so Max took the chance to have a closer look. Em liked smelling nice, and Max liked smelling her, so it was a win-win if he got her expensive soaps.
Pushing the door open, Max was immediately hit with a wall of cloying scents, heavy with a myriad of herbs and woody scents, thick enough to cut with a knife. It invaded his nose, blocking out anything other than the potpourri of the shop. He braced himself against it, stepping in further and letting the door swing shut behind him with a gentle ring of the bell above the door. He couldn't see anyone by the counter, but he heard the muffled movements of someone beyond it, in the back, maybe.
Alone for the moment, Max let his eyes scan the room- It was a clean space, bright and light despite the miasma of incense and scented soap. The shelves and displays were organised neatly, holding crystals, rocks, handmade soaps, incense sticks and bricks, even wax melts, and a whole wall of what he thought had to be dried herbs. It was stocked for the new age crowd, hippies with too much money.
He did a circuit of the room, turning his back on the counter to peer at a table of handmade soaps, spotting delicate handwriting describing the soaps, the price listed as an afterthought, after a whole paragraph of what was in it and what it did. Shit like 'ease the soul' and 'imbue serenity'. Max was looking at it in without really taking it in, breathing through the smell of the place and trying to get used to it.
Max wasn't so sure why he'd gone to Braxton Street. The high-end boutiques and displays of the latest fashion weren't his thing, but a throwaway comment from Ash had him curious enough to risk it. He'd quickly learnt his lesson about following anything Ash said, as the price tags had chased him off nearly enough immediately. It didn't matter how well the shirts sat on their display mannequins or how soft the material was to the touch, cool in summer and warm in winter, it was just too fucking expensive. He could buy none of this, not with how he'd ripped up his one expensive suit because he'd been ambushed by some asshole darkness creature.
Still, he couldn't bring himself to just bail without getting something, his tail between his legs. Maybe he could pick up something for his ma, or Emily. So that brought him to now, wandering along the street, past shoppers who peered in the windows and ooh'ed over the luxury of it all, or those who could afford to shop here as a matter of course, and walked inside like it wasn't marking them as clear upper class. Max had left the ooh'ing behind but was still window shopping. He ignored the clothing stores, immediately knowing the prices would be too much for him to stomach, but the boutiques that sold smaller items–handmade leather goods, metalworks, art–were more in reach. A small thing for more than he might normally buy, but it wouldn't set him back hundreds of bucks.
His eyes settled on a shop that seemed to be an odd one out. The clean lines of the display shelves were populated by crystals, rocks, bottles, and rough, handmade soaps. Like a high-end Body Shop with a dash of new-age mysticism, just based on what he could see of the crystals. Handmade soaps weren't impressive gifts, but they were more hit than miss, so Max took the chance to have a closer look. Em liked smelling nice, and Max liked smelling her, so it was a win-win if he got her expensive soaps.
Pushing the door open, Max was immediately hit with a wall of cloying scents, heavy with a myriad of herbs and woody scents, thick enough to cut with a knife. It invaded his nose, blocking out anything other than the potpourri of the shop. He braced himself against it, stepping in further and letting the door swing shut behind him with a gentle ring of the bell above the door. He couldn't see anyone by the counter, but he heard the muffled movements of someone beyond it, in the back, maybe.
Alone for the moment, Max let his eyes scan the room- It was a clean space, bright and light despite the miasma of incense and scented soap. The shelves and displays were organised neatly, holding crystals, rocks, handmade soaps, incense sticks and bricks, even wax melts, and a whole wall of what he thought had to be dried herbs. It was stocked for the new age crowd, hippies with too much money.
He did a circuit of the room, turning his back on the counter to peer at a table of handmade soaps, spotting delicate handwriting describing the soaps, the price listed as an afterthought, after a whole paragraph of what was in it and what it did. Shit like 'ease the soul' and 'imbue serenity'. Max was looking at it in without really taking it in, breathing through the smell of the place and trying to get used to it.