xp_logs | Miles & Warren, Saturday afternoon

Miles has an unfortunate case of shopping while black during an outing with Warren.

The message sent to Miles was simple.

If you ever want to get laid, I'm taking you shopping.

Warren had decided to take Miles under his wing, so to speak. The younger boy was full of potential, and they seemed to get along well enough. The comment Miles had made about Warren being el Big Brother had resonated with him. Much like with Sue, Warren felt he could offer a lot to someone younger. In this case, he could help Miles with his wardrobe.

After all, if they were going to be seem in public, Miles had to learn the ways.

So outside Warren waited, leaning against his BMW, sunglasses firmly in place. Today, he'd chosen a more casual look -- grey slacks, a long-sleeved burgundy shirt with a grey sports jacket over it. No tie, one single button on the jacket. Armani sunglasses. He had an image to project.

Miles wasn't sure how to interpret the message. So many questions ran through his head. Shopping for what? Who was going to pay? Why did Warren care? Who was Miles going to nail, anyway? Was that even legal?

But Warren seemed to have his best interests at heart, and if anyone knew anything about wooing the ladies, it was Warren Worthington III. So Miles put on a nicer pair of straight-cut jeans, a fitted t-shirt that Gwen had once told him looked really good because it flattered his spider-enhanced physique, a knockoff Spider-Man hoodie he bought ironically in Chinatown some time ago, and his winter coat. Mildly assured that his appearance wouldn't embarrass Warren, he quickly sent a text to let Warren know he'd be right down.

"That's a different car than last time," he said when he got outside. "Is the hovercraft still in the shop?"

"This is my Tuesday car," Warren replied. "And although I have a full contingent of scientists working frantically 24 hours a day, 7 days a week, they have yet to invent a hovercar." He smirked. "I'm thinking of sacrificing one to create motivation. Thoughts?"

"There are some actual witches in this house. I met one. They could do the sacrifice for you." Miles hopped onto the passenger seat and kicked his feet up. "Mmm, luxury. So where're you taking me?"

"Ah yes, step number one: never dirty your own hands if someone else can do it. You learn fast, my boy." He stepped into the vehicle and started it.

"And we're going to a little boutique I like to frequent. Lesser known designers but the in house tailor never questions why I won't let him do alterations on my body. I provide measurements and he obeys." He gave Miles a critical eye. "Jeans and hoodies are fine and dandy, but if you'd like to explore another side, we need to get you some decent event clothes."

"Oh good, I've always wanted to go to an event. Maybe one day I can even go to a soiree. PSAT word." Miles didn't bother to ask how any of this would be paid for. He felt a mild sense of discomfort at the thought of Warren spending money on him for a frivolity, but it was probably just a drop in the bucket for Warren.

Warren pushed at Miles' feet. "Sit properly. Proper posture is surprisingly important. And put your seat belt on." Activating the Bluetooth on his phone, he put the music on. It was starting to grow on him, but if he was honest, it all sounded the same.

Miles followed orders and sat normally for the rest of the ride, although he continued to tap his feet in rhythm to the music and occasionally join in with the lyrics. When they arrived at the boutique some time later, Miles raised an eyebrow at Warren. "I thought we were going to go to, like, JCPenney or something."

Warren practically choked. "That is a dirty word. Do you truly think this," he motioned to his clothes, "comes from a department store?" He unbuckled his seat belt. "No, my young friend, this is a whole other spectrum. Personalized shopping, exclusive lines. Welcome to the 1%."

"You try growing up boricua in Brooklyn. JCPenney's where I get my nice clothes." Miles followed Warren into the store and blanched when he saw the price tag of a blazer on a mannequin by the door. "You could buy two StarkPads for this price," he muttered. What was he getting himself into?

Warren shrugged. "You have to spend money to look like money." Noticing the manager near the back of the store, he turned to Miles. "I'm going to see if one of my orders is in. Take a look around. If you like something, try it on. My treat. I have plenty of Soirees with a plus one." And some were even age appropriate. And with that, Warren left Miles to his own devices.

Miles really had no idea where to start. What do girls even like to see men wear? He ambled down the first aisle, trying very hard to ignore the price tags. Vests? Do women like vests? He'd overheard his mother and her friends swooning about Matt Bomer on White Collar once, and didn't he wear one? The guys in Inception did, and so did Han Solo. He picked one out at random from the rack to inspect it. As if he knew what to look for.

"May I help you?" a salesperson asked from the other side of the rack. She ran her eyes up and down him, examining him, obviously coming to his same conclusion that he was completely lost.

"No thanks, I'm good." Last thing he needed was some Judgey McJudgerson judging him when he failed at fashion. Hopefully Warren would be back soon to guide him.

"I'm sure," she replied haughtily. She turned and headed back down the aisle while Miles continued perusing. When he looked up again, she was still there, eyeing him warily. Strange, he thought, and tried to put it out of his mind, but she hadn't moved an inch when he looked up from the next aisle a couple of minutes later. A sick sense of dread began to fall over him, and he stuffed his hands into his pockets, as if hiding some of himself would help him disappear from the salesperson's view.

Big mistake. She started towards him, still wearing a fake smile that didn't reach her eyes. "Sir, maybe this isn't quite the right . . . setting for you. I would be happy to point you to some other stores that might be more . . . appropriate for someone like you."

"Appropriate for so . . ." Miles felt like he'd just been doused with gallons of ice-cold water when the true meaning of her words came clear to him. His stomach twisted in knots, and his heart pounded ten times worse than it did when time was running out on Super Mario Brothers. He'd been in this situation before, he realized, when shopping with his mother. The overly-cautious word choice by salespeople. The stalking and wary stares from security. The subtle but constant reminders that they didn't belong there.

Warren chose that moment to return from the back, and Miles almost ran up to him. "I want to leave," he said, struggling to keep his voice even. "Right now. Please."

The change in his friend was visible. Gone was the happy-go-lucky kid he was used to. This teen in front of him was upset, and Warren had no idea why. "Alright," he said immediately. Giving a brief nod to the manager, and noting a strange look on the salesperson, he led Miles out of the store.

Once in the safety of the car though, he hoped Miles would be more at ease to talk. "What happened? Are you upset I left you? I only went to speak to Felicity, she had some excellent suggestions for you."

Miles was finding it a struggle to breathe. It was too stuffy, not enough air. He got back out of the car and took deep breaths of the frigid aid, praying it could calm him. Green sparks of electricity danced across his fingers, and he again shoved his hands into his pockets, now so no one would see his venom blast acting up.

"Esa vendedora," he said, his bottom lip trembling. " Ella me . . .ella me dijo que . . ."

Thank god he was fluent in ‎Spanish. Concerned, he frowned. "¿La morena? ¿Qué te dijo? Me puedes confiar...."

"Ella me acusó of shopping while black," Miles finally managed to say. His breathing started to even and his hands were no longer sparkling. "Think I'm going to freaking steal something or rob them."

Shopping while black? Now this was something completely incomprehensible to Warren. "You came in with me," he said outloud, not expecting an answer. "This is unacceptable. I will not stand for this and you shouldn't either."

With that, Warren marched back to the store, checking to see if ‎Miles was following him or not. Striding into the store with a clear purpose, he saw Felicity, the manager, talking with the brunette salesperson from earlier at. . Felicity smiled when she saw Warren.

"Mr. Worthington, I take it you've decided to make those purchases after all? Allow me to assist."

He gave a broad smile. "No, Felicity, I'd like to close my account actually. I will no longer be frequenting your establishment."

The smile on both women faltered visibly and it took a moment before the manager could speak again. The amount of money he'd spent in that shop had paid for rent and then some many times over. "I'm sorry to hear that, Mr. Worthington. Is there any particular reason why?"

"I'm glad you asked, Felicity." He motioned to Miles who was hanging back behind him. "I came in with a close friend of mine and the service he received was appalling. In fact, it was discriminatory, and absolutely unacceptable. I have always been assured of exemplary customer service but for a staff member to insinuate beliefs based on race and alluded wealth....well. I simply cannot stand for that. Assumptions should not be made of a harmless 15 year old boy, regardless of his race or perceived social economic status."

Throughout his speech the salesperson visibly blanched. She was clearly the instigator, but Warren paid her no heed. "So. If you could kindly close my account, I'll pay the balance owing on the items I've ordered. I'd also appreciate the items being shipped to me once they've arrived.". He pulled out his wallet and extracted his platinum card. "And can we do this quickly? I still have to outfit my friend for the Sotheby's auction coming up."

The manager kept apologizing profusely but Warren acted disinterested. Once he'd made up his mind, that was it. He paid the ridiculous amount without blinking an eye,and as he put his wallet away, he finished calmly by saying his regrets. "You do have a lovely establishment, and I wish you all the best. Perhaps your staff could do with sensitivity training. Or maybe you could look at your hiring practices."

Warren looked around the store and gave a sigh. "Such a pity. Your tailor is one of the best in the city." Ignoring whatever jumble the manager was throwing at him, he left the store, motioning for Miles to follow.

"Are you feeling any better," he asked, concerned, as they neared the vehicle. "I could suggest she get fired, but I'm fairly certain that's going to happen anyways."

Miles spent the entire exchange silent, eyes locked on his shoes and not any of the people. Warren's vigorous defense of him made him feel simultaneously distressed and gratified. He was right on Warren's heels when the older man turned to leave, but even now, back outside and away from the racist humiliation, he couldn't bring himself to raise his head.

"Thank you, I guess. You didn't have to do that."

"Yes I did," Warren stated. "You're my friend, and that was uncalled for." Unlocking the car, he gave his friend a smile. "The world can be a cruel place. I know that. I'm not so blind to the world to not be aware of that. But you're my friend, Miles. And I don't have many that I can truly trust. So yes. I did have to do that. And I'd do it again in a heartbeat.". He opened his car door and grinned. "Besides, I slept with the manager a few weeks ago and I was wondering if things would get awkward. You just did me a solid."

That was almost a predictable comment from Warren at this point, but it brought a smile to Miles's face, anyway. "If you could bang everyone who causes problems for me, I'd appreciate it." He got into the car and leaned back in his seat, trying to let the stress evaporate. He still felt physically sick, but at least he wasn't going to throw up or discharge a venom blast anymore.

"As long as it won't lead to jail time for me, you got it, bud." He started the car and gave him a look. "Want to try somewhere else? Or should we be extra exclusive, and have a designer come to us? And next time, maybe I'll even let you dress me."

Hopefully no ‎jeans.

Miles took a deep breath, held it for a second, and then slowly exhaled. "I'm fine, really. It's not the worst thing that's ever happened to me." Keep it in perspective, he told himself. What was a little racism compared to armed bank robbers and mad scientist supervillains? "If you know another store, that's fine with me."

Warren nodded and shifted out of park. "Sounds good. I promised you a shopping spree and I intend on delivering."