Because I could. And because he's pretty much my fav OrgXIII member. I own nothing.
The bell over the door tinkled. Barely glancing up from his book, a second was enough for Zexion to take note of the three teenagers now roaming the comic section of the store.
They had every mark of a trio of amateur thieves. Zexion silently dared them to try it and make his day.
Begged them, nearly. He'd been working three hours and made only two sales. Even as avid a reader as he would get bored waiting for the next two hours, and consequently his shift, to be over.
Brat number one looked way too casually up and down the aisle they were standing in. Brat number two leant against the wall that gave him a decent view of Zexion at the cashier's desk and whether he was apparently looking in their direction. Brat number three was crouching low to the ground, flipping through a comic on the floor with one hand while simultaneously stuffing three up the front of his hoodie with the other.
Zexion snorted. And they thought they were being subtle.
Crime complete, brat number three straightened up. The other two abandoned their posts immediately and the trio made their way casually back to the shop's door. As they passed his desk again, Zexion snapped his book shut.
They jumped about a foot apiece, turning to face him with faces clearly revealing their guilty consciences.
He smirked.
"Boys," he drawled. "Do you know how heavy a blunt, solid object has to be to cause severe trauma to the cranium?"
Brat number two squeaked.
Zexion hefted his hardback, 1000- plus pages folio in one hand as though considering. He nodded once, decisively, and settled it back into both hands as though he was going to swing it at something.
The brats started backing away slowly.
"Do you want to find out?" He continued, slightly softer.
The squeaker shook his head frantically and tugged at his friends' clothes, trying to get them to leave. Brats one and three seemed frozen in horror.
Zexion leant forwards over the desk slightly, and grinned. There wasn't a lot of sanity in it. "Then I suggest you remove the comics from your sweatshirt, very slowly, and place them on the desk here." He patted the shiny surface in front of him. "Understand, children?"
His tone of voice made 'children' the dirtiest insult in the dictionary.
Brat number two broke and hightailed it out of there. The sudden movement galvanised one and three into movement: one 'eeped' and was out seconds after his friend; three took precious seconds ripping the comics from their poorly concealed hiding place and flinging them at the scary-looking cashier behind the desk, before he too made his bid for freedom.
The door slammed behind them, and Zexion relaxed back in his chair, once again engaged in his book.
One hour, fifty-seven minutes and counting.
My mind... I have no excuses.