[At the moment the one she's sharing it with - or maybe just dragged in along with her - is a dark-haired woman who is barely a slip of a thing compared to Bowsette.
Have you ever seen someone walk into a Denny's in a state of wide-eyed confusion? Someone who was sober while doing that? That's Ashi right now.]
[ It's probably the fifth or sixth variation of that question that Y has asked since they stepped in. Being fabulously wealthy, this sort of place makes him feel... greasy. Gently prodding the meat with a fork held right at the end of the handle. ]
Romilly flops into the booth across from Jacob and chirps a thanks to the waitress laying two sticky, laminated menus on the table. She leans her elbow on the table and sighs.
"It's still a couple hours back to Hope County, ain't it?" she muses, entirely disregarding the menu in front of her. "I would've figured John could pay the extra to have this load delivered directly instead'a you havin' to go get it. Unless he was just tryin' to get you out of his hair for a day for some reason."
Not that Romilly is complaining about the opportunity to venture outside of Hope County for a little while, even if the most exciting stop is a roadside Denny's of questionable sanitation.
[Well, this guy barely qualifies as a "senior citizen," but even so! He's seated within earshot at the diner-style bar. In stark contrast to Mako ordering everything, all he's got before him is a plate of 55+ Scrambled Eggs & Cheddar Breakfast and a mugful of coffee.]
[He can't help but turn around in his seat when he hears someone ordering everything. Including the entire 55+ menu. Upon seeing who's ordering, well. His expression is somewhere between mortified and impressed.]
[ johnny's got his leg pulled up, taking up the rest of his side of the booth. with slight disgust, he flings a link of breakfast sausage off of his fork across the restaurant. ]
Ah, Denny's. Nothing more heartwarming during the holidays than eating thawed mystery meat served by the underpaid American workforce with a smile.
[ he's wearing on her last nerve. her contact (now over an hour late) is wearing on her last nerve. this whole goddamn fucking awful go nowhere waste-of-time night is wearing on her last nerve, actually, but he's-- ]
Really? [ she asks around her mouthful, annoyed. that thawed mystery meat's the first meal she's had since this adventure began and it's the only thing that's gone right. ] You've got to ruin this, too? You can't just shut the fuck up and eat your goddamn Grand Slam?
[ --especially awful and rogue finds herself wondering why she'd agreed to this job in the first place. underpaid american workforce? at this point he can't pay her enough for what she brings to the table, least of all the patience of a fuckin' saint for putting up with him. ]
[Rocket lowers his menu slowly. This is not the first time they've been to a space Denny's, nor will it probably be the last, but is it still as weirdly family friendly and grimy at the same time (somehow) as the first time? Yes. Yes it is.]
Who’s turn is it to send the doggie bag to Zwei? I lost count.
(Chocolate pancakes... which aren’t part of the usual Grand Slam menu order but Yang was nothing if not insistent. They’re part of her order along with hard boiled eggs, sausages, hash browns and orange juice. It’s all being added to Dad’s account anyway.)
[Nonzero odds this is a disappointing first meal post-resurgence (in which case she's a little pale, little shaken, quite possibly caked with swamp muck in places), but she's gonna fucking destroy a grand slam and milkshake with zeal regardless. Cannot pay for any of this. Highly approachable energy, or may already waiting on someone. Crosscanon/assumed cr are A++.]
[Lachlan's been around long enough to know that when you run into another brand of supernatural identity, the encounter does at times take place in an appropriately epic setting, with the natural world's most imposing features as backdrop and each party's magic displayed in awesome detail.
And that other times it happens in a shitty corporate-regurgitated diner where everybody's primary interests are the cheap ass pancakes and sodium-laden processed meats.
So when the woman walks in, trailing fresh-used power thick as Newfoundland's Grand Banks fog -- along with the distinct odor of swamp ooze -- he's not particularly taken aback, or even much inclined to pay attention. As long as she isn't about to initiate some Captain Planet-style battle in here, he doesn't really give two shits. It's not his business; he's got his own messy magical dramas to ponder, and a plate of bacon and steak besides.
(The waiter'd had a bit of a tough go of it with Lachlan, as he'd refused to use the fucking inane meal names while ordering, and was also visibly disgruntled by the lack of scrapple, which has every goddamned right to be a universal menu item and not just a regional selection as far as he's fucking concerned.)
But there's something about the woman that draws the eye. Maybe it's how, despite a tremulous pallor, she's managing to pack in the hash browns like the winning maw in Hungry Hungry Hippos; maybe it's just how otherwise empty and devoid of half-interesting shit to glance at is this shabby dining space. He finds himself watching her table out of his peripheral, making mental side bets about whether she'll be able to down that milkshake on top of everything else -- and eventually, about whether she'll be able to pay.
Because the more time ticks by, the more she cleans her already picked-over plates and pokes her straw into the drained glass, the more she and the put-upon lone waiter engage in a game of visually circling one another until one of them's got to break pattern and approach, the more Lachlan's sure this diner hasn't got a dime on her.
And he just waits, watching to see how she'll handle it, wryly anticipating some fucking awkwardness.]
[That nerd with a laptop, using the Denny's wifi while their pancakes grow cold and their milkshake melts. There are bags under their eyes from not having slept in...a while.]
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