Denny's

[thesearesocks]

It's late. Like, 3 AM late. You're hungry as fuck, but nothing is open.





Except Denny's.

RULES

1. Post to the meme.
2. Find somebody to eat with. Figure out why the hell you'd do this to yourself.
3. I don't think they have the Hobbit menu anymore, fuck. Maybe you should ask the waiter or something.

Comments

[loan]

[ Jane's human, still, but only just. She doesn't need to eat. She doesn't need to breathe. She still feels pain. Her organs are all still there, inside the mottled, too-pale skin of the corpse that is her body, and her heart beats sometimes, when it remembers to.

Greasy food, milkshakes, pancake specials. Nice and benign at 3am. Who really gives a shit. 

Jane Abney's only here for one reason. She slips into the booth opposite him without hesitation. She smells like menthols and gasoline and her heels are the same hotrod red as her car, parked outside with the lights on, keys still in the ignition. Her smile's the same shade of red, and it splits across her face like a wound. Her teeth are dull. Off-white, not white. ]

Your glasses make you look like an asshole.

[ Her nails are split, cracked. Dry. She drums them against the shiny plastic of the table anyway.

She came here to meet him. Put another way: she wanted to meet him. Killing gods is practically an all-American pasttime, after all. ]

[beyete]

[ He sees the woman from the first clack, the form singled out by the too-bright lights on the red shoes and weaponized smile, making her way to the booth like she's snatching the protagonism right off the Corinthian's hands. He's only back in the scene when they're face to face, a streak of purple hue reflected off the abyss of his sunglasses.

He's half-smiling, glancing down at her nails after taking in everything else. Jane can't see it, but she might know regardless. And he might know something about her, too. ]

Well. [ Quite the opening, his tone is accusing. ] I've been called worse.

[loan]

[ Those bare hands lift, turn wrist-side up in a dismissive gesture. ]

We've all got someone to be, slick.

[ It's not that she's impatient — what she has too much to spare now is time. She's other things. Greedy, angry, a host of similar parasitic feeling; dead, deader, deadest.

She can almost see her reflection in his lenses, if she squints. Her elbows lean atop the table, pitching her whole body forward. Jane gives him a long look. He's sharper, somehow, than how she imagined he'd look. All this talk about monsters and realms, of unsleeping here and senseless violence there, on the news, around the world — and it's still easiest to walk around this world looking human. Human-ish.

She eventually leans back. Her back hits the booth with a soft thud. ]

You want coffee before I give you my pitch?

[beyete]

( Sorry, real life got in the way for a while. )

[ It's a game: who will give something away first, with the Corinthian hiding his gaze behind dark lenses, and Jane all but worried about what he can see through them. After one second too long— ]

Why not.

[ It sounds like it's going to take a while. Maybe he hopes that it does. ]