2019-05-19 - Coffee, Conversation, Collusion

The music tonight is grime rap - /indie/ grime rap, with the occasional popular tune thrown in, and the diner has its usual small scattering of guests. Sitting on the business side of the counter is the purple-haired Gina, wearing black skinny jeans, a plain black tee and a velvet black choker with a dangling silver tree pendant. Also, today's makeup includes dark blue lipstick, which must be good quality considering she's enjoying a sandwich and it's not all being rubbed off and ruined.

"Ey, Gina. Cheers for that, Love."

Setting himself down at the counter, Carver looks like he's just taken a nap in one of the diner booths. Mostly because he has. His suit, the same design and coloring as the one he was wearing the last time he was here is crumpled and disheveled from sleeping on a chair, but otherwise completely clean. There's no sign of grass stains anywhere. Either he found a laundromat, a willing accomplice with a washing machine, or he's just been out in the rain for long enough that nature's been doing the best it can. It's actually pretty hard to tell. As usual, he's either hungover, still drunk, or trying to regain his senses after passing out for exactly one hour and forty-seven minutes. Rules are rules after all.

Just in case, Gina does pick up her phone to check the time, noting he is within his limit. No immediate answer: she finishes chewing first, before glancing over at Carver, "Gonna have to find yourself a place eventually, bright-eyes." She comments, pulling a piece of tomato from the sandwich and popping it into her mouth. "Coffee to wake you up, or you feeling up to food now?"

"Both sound pretty good to me." 'Bright eyes' there is anything but, Carver taking the perceived little jab in stride as he stretches his back out on the stool. Careful listeners definitely get the sound of a couple vertebrae re-aligning. It was a comfortable booth, but he's got terrible sleeping posture. Gina's sandwich is eyed. It's eyed a lot. He actually eyed people in short skirts on a friday night in a bar less than he's oggling that sandwich. "That." He points. "Looks delicious. Black coffee and whatever that is will have my undying gratitude for at least ten minutes."

Gina takes another bite of the sandwich as Carver watches. She's not above going a fraction slower for the audience, teeth biting through layers of gently toasted bread, juicy tomato, crisp lettuce, soft cheese and crisp bacon and turkey. "I'd rather get the menu price and fifteen percent on top of that." She says dryly, but she does put down the sandwich, brushing crumbs from her hand before she moves to ready up Carver's coffee, calling for the sandwich to get started as well. While she's at it, she refreshes her own cup as well. Soon enough, she returns with a cup for him - the bear paw on this one has a gold gilt ring and red nails, and is set on the table across from herself. Apparently Carver doesn't get service directly to his table. "It'll be like seven minutes." Gina adds, settling back down in her seat.

Dinner and a show? This diner's classier than it looks. At least Carver gets to throw her the definition of a 'Hungry Look' that contains zero innuendo. That can be a rare commodity, sometimes. "And I'd rather a loaded omelet with enough bacon to cause an immediate infarction in anyone who dares try conquer it, but I've heard that's a terrible idea." Someone's been talking to the locals. The placement of the cup when she returns gets a slight raise of the brow, and then a roll of his shoulders that summons a sigh that could put any petulant teenager to shame. "Christ, fine. Make me work for it why don't you?" He complains as he heads over to collect. And then settles in infront of her.

This is how you collect strays, You know.

Strays, or regular paying customers? Potato, potahto. Gina just shrugs, "Not your butler. You could just do without coffee entirely." She points out, maybe missing the fact that she is in a service industry. There is little amused grin, however, at the talk of the omelets, and a small shrug, "Sorry." She says, not sounding sorry AT ALL. "You could always try. One in a million chance you're the special someone who breaks the bad luck streak." Gina sips her coffee, smirk still in place.

"I don't think I've ever seen someone running a diner purely out of spite before." Carver gives an appreciative taste test of his coffee that meets with some approval, even despite the fact he didn't give it a second to cool, and there's a soft burning sensation settling at the back of his tongue. Stoic appearances are everything, it would seem. He watches that smirk for a second. Just a second, then gestures to his general appearance, including the scattered hair atop his head that seems desperate to escape in any which way it can. "Do I really look like someone who has broken a bad luck streak? Ever?"

Spite? That has Gina snickering, shoulders shaking as she stops the laughter from fully forming. "It's not spite." She clarifies, amused. "I kind of like the diner. But I basically bought it to do something with the insurance payout." She seems to assume he just-- knows what that comment is all about, shrugging and settling on a smile for his gesture, "Oh, absolutely. After all, the guy who never wins would go up against you and find himself a champion in no time." She sips daintily, a little noisily, at her coffee, before adding, "Probably cancels itself out, though, when it comes to omelets. It'll be the best omelet ever made, and then it'll get dropped before it gets to you."

Assuming Carver knows something is a terrible habit to form. Mostly because he'll act like he does. Watch. "The best of a bad situation always ends up involving bacon. Fill the loss with food taken to a business level. I like it." Ignore the glance out of the window at the storm that's rolling in. Again. At least he's inside for this one. "Are you saying I need to be a straw man in all things, love? That's..." He turns back to face her, holding out a finger from the coffee cup in her direction, his face settling into something of an appreciative expression "Actually a good idea. I could probably make some easy money." Look, they're mirroring shrugs. "If you think I've not eaten floor omelet before, you really need to get to know me. It was carpet, too."

That's all right, Carver. Gina herself always seems like she has a secret tucked away for a sunny day. She picks up her sandwich and takes another bite. Up close, Carver can probably hear the crunch of lettuce and bacon. Good thing his is coming along soon. "In the US, being the straw man pays pretty well." She agrees, before the talk of carpet-omelet has her grimacing, "Ugh. Don't think I've ever gone down that far. You must be preeeetty dedicated to your life choices, bright eyes. Worth it?" It's a casual question, and Gina very much doesn't seem like she cares about the answer.

Carver's mouth moves to open, but he took too long giving a little non-committal shrug. That's a mistake when someone asks him a question with such an opening for an insult to be thrown his way.

"Allie hasn't made a conscious choice since '99." The girl perched in the seat next to him beams, propping a violet denim-covered elbow up on the table as she waves her hand around with as much commitment as 'Allie's shrug. "He's scared of committing." She whispers conspiratorially in Gina's direction. Yup, same person she had the brief glimpse of the last time the man was here, although whether she chooses to see her again this time is still a little up in the air. Melissa don't mind. Melissa got to diss the one person she knows can always hear her.

"I like to go with the flow as best I can." Caver replies, throwing a glance aside with a little quirk of his lip that's either humor or a snarl. Honestly? Hard to tell, as he's covering it with a hefty swig from his coffee so soon after. "Sometimes that means sudden cash for doing nothing, other times, floor omelet. Swings and Roundabouts, Love."

"MMhmm." Gina responds, before her eyes slide right over to Melissa, that little smile back in place, "Think you're the one who knows what's up. Next time I'll just direct my questions to you. Gina, if he hasn't mentioned it." Because why not introduce yourself to the visiting ghosties? Gina takes it in stride, really-- and why not? She's as much a lighthouse bulb as Carver is. But then there is a plate slammed down in front of Carver by another of the staff members - another sandwich, perfect and delicious, with some fries, a small dish of cole slaw and half a pickle. They're gone quickly, because apparently the two waiters on staff today are fighting on some game on their DSes.

"I pretty much feel the same way. About going with the flow. But personally, I kit out a boat, don't just dive in blind. But hey, you've obviously lived a more interesting life than I have." Gina notes, reaching into a pocket for a deck of cards and starting to shuffle. Plain, bicycle deck.

"Melissa." Melissa answers, flashing a much brighter smile than she's offered. "I'm definitely the smart one."

"I used to make plans, Gina." Carver replies, pointedly ignoring the uninvited guest. "But c'mon, you've an idea of half the shit that goes on, right? Plans..." He waves his hand in a very similar manner to his ghostie friend. Which raises the question of who was the first to do it in their lives. "Plans never really go all that well. Easier to make it up as you go along." It's then that he's taken the entire sandwich up in his hand, eyeing the contents with, as usual, approval. "'Interesting.' Right. Reminds me of that Chinese saying. The 'May you live in interesting times' curse. They've definitely been that, that's for sure." The whole thing is said to no-one in particular. Or maybe the sandwich. Hard to tell. He's raising it up to his mouth to take that first, delicious taste. And then 'Lissa's voice pops up one last time.

"Bet you can't fit it all in your mouth at once."

Oh yeah, she's the smart one.

"I've got a clue or two." Gina says, shuffling away at the cards. She's practiced, that's for sure. And from the brief flash of confirmation in her eyes, she was pretty well aware of the old chinese saying when she said it. "But I don't have a problem making plans. I don't chase anymore weirdness. I've got a pretty sweet life right here. Business owner suits me more than whatever flavor of unusual anybody wants to brand me." Says the girl with purple hair and blue lipstick. Then again maybe the purple hair and blue lipstick are a sign of how high the bar for 'unusual' is. Who knows! Either way, there's a lightning-quick grin when Melissa dares him, before Gina fans the cards out, in one neat arch, between the two and their plates. "Pick one out." She suggests. "Just one."

Carver gives Gina's little rationale for getting out of the game a quick thumbs up. That's all it is. Hell, that's all he can do, he's got a mouth full of sandwich, and nobody likes tacit verbal approval if it comes with a tomato and lettuce spray as an added extra. So, instead, the thumbs up. Melissa, again, is nowhere to be seen, although whether that's because of some serious twinging going on across town or the fact she's seen the man eat and knows to bail is up for debate. He's crunching down, expression one of deep desire when she offers out the cards. It gets an eyebrow raise as he chews thoughtfully, considers, and then reaches out to take a card. It's a subtle //attempt/ that he moves to take two, but she's holding the cards and he's distracted by a sandwich. It's... it's pretty blatant.

Gina presses a single finger down on Carver's hand, a quick double tap. Her nails are, shockingly, painted dark purple. "Ah ah." She says. "Just one, bright eyes. Or else I'll have to do a full show, and no one wants that. I'm just curious which one you'll pick." She admits, flashing Carver a smile, and does that smile seem momentarily...softened? "It's just a silly sort of game me and my mom used to do. I got a vibe I should try it with you. It's not every day someone who shines like you do comes in for coffee and a sandwich from that far away. No magic trick." Her lashes lower, and then she adjusts herself in her seat, reaching up to brush her hair off one shoulder. "Anyway, rude to cheat when someone's feeding you." Nevermind that he's still paying.

Both of Carver's brows raise this time, the man seeming more than a little surprised he got caught out. Surprised, but apparently not all that abashed. There's a hefty swallow of what sandwich he was chewing, thanking some unseen force briefly that he didn't accept the dare placed upon him. That's usually a little touch and go, after all. "Fine, fine." He agrees, totally not offering her a roll of the eyes as he swaps out the sandwich for his coffee, the hand on the cards very deliberately grabbing one. single. card. with thumb and forefinger. He's not watching to see which one it is. At all. All focus is on her face. That's where the con happens, after all. "I slept in a booth and slipped a business card into someone's cleavage within two days of coming to town. 'Rude' is my wheelhouse."

"You're so feisty." Gina says, scrunching her nose like she's complimenting someone's pet poodle. And with a roll of her eyes she holds out a hand for the card, "Not a magic trick, sweetheart. Just a little home-grown curiosity." Fingers waggled, palm-up, waiting for the card even as her free hand slides all the rest of the cards together back into a neat pile, tapping them lightly on the edge to even everything out. She smiles at Carver again, entertained, "You're a suspicious one, aren't you?"

Carver just offers a stare at the... compliment? Observation? Denouement? That's as far as his dictionary knowledge goes, so he just shrugs and hands back the card. "Home grown-curiosity is the worst kind." He muses, scratching at the stubble that lines his jaw with an idle finger before plucking out a slice of tomato from his sandwich and popping it into the corner of his mouth. "It's the kind that not only kills the cat, but loads it up in a sack, throws it in the river, then looks confused and goes 'what cat?' when the rest of the family ask about it." The tomato crunches. Carver might have a bad experience with house pets, his father and the Thames. As for his nature? That just gets a grin. Oh, and what a grin it is. "You don't know the half of it, pet."

Accepting the card, Gina sets it down between them, not looking at it juuuust yet. No, first she has to process what Carver is saying, both brows creeping up, "Not the kind of thing I'm into, bright eyes. I own two cats myself. Wouldn't dream of hurting them." Is that really the important message here? Either way her attention is going back to the card, flipping it over. "Seven of hearts, huh? Not what I was expecting." She murmurs. "Makes a looooot of sense, though. I could've guessed that on my own." She smiles, slightly, and moves to slide the seven back back in with the rest of the cards. "All things considered, I'd say you're right. You've got a lot more going on than I ever did. I'm kind of digging you." Something about the way Gina says it, implies less romance and lust than say, the same interest she might give a band or a sweater. "So watch out for yourself. We have some night visitors in town as well." She pushes away from the table, leaving her deck of cards on it, and collects her coffee cup. "You want a refill?"

"Nobody dreams of hurting things they love, pet." Carver slides his cup over now that it's well and truly empty, picking up his sandwich once more as she's flipping the card over. Does he look at it? Hell no. Does he get a little twinge in the corner of his mouth as she reads it aloud anyway? Yes. Yes he does. "Been a while since I've seen someone pull out the cartomancy." He'd have apologized in advance for speaking through a mouthful of food, but he was too busy taking in a mouthful of food. It's a deliciousness catch-22 in action. "'Night Visitors.'" The term almost comes with a laugh. It absolutely does come with an escaping piece of lettuce, flapping over his chin before it's poked back between his lips. "And you wonder why I'm suspicious." There's no judgement in his voice. At most, it's a casual amusement. One that's still there when he nods to the offer of a refill. "That'd be perfect."

"Not really cartomancy. Like I said, just something I picked up, travelling with my mom." Gina says this as she walks back with both coffee cups, probably as much to get away from food pieces he's throwing out as to get more coffee. In fact, she just gets two fresh coffee mugs entirely. Who knows what particulates got sprayed around? And she's taking her time with the making of coffee, too. Possibly brewing a whole new pot. "I do, actually. You've met one before, right? They ping different. Not like you're tethered around here."

The diner has, as usual, a handful of people, waitstaff off in the corner challenging each other in some DS game unless someone explicitly calls for assistance, and the music is playing a fast-paced style of british rap. Gina seems to be conversing with Carver, and the two together are gosh darn super shiny.

Frankie breezes through the door like a small red-headed whirl wind in a flurry of vibrant colored fabric and a dark puffy coat. She wipes her shoes off, aggressively, then begins to head towards the counter to find herself a seat. She gathers up her hair, twists it around a finger, then sheds her coat with a dramatic sigh before slumping onto one of the stools.

Hey, it was one piece of lettuce, and Carver controlled it in an admirable fashion. "Tomato, Tomahto." He mumbles, watching the proprietor abscond with his cup. He looks about as disheveled as ever, although the most-of-a-suit and the long coat are actually pretty damn clean. "Yeah, I've-" And then he's interrupted by vibrant fabrics. That, coupled with the general shine he gets off of Gina at any given moment? Boy howdy is there a rummaging in his coat, not letting go of a sizable sandwich even for a second as he searches, finds, and appropriates a pair of dark sunglasses. Unfortunately, they're not the bright blue pair he was wearing previously. Woe. "Jaysus." He mutters low. "I gotta stop drinking or go blind. Those are definitely my two options." Hangovers. Hangovers for days.

Gina doesn't even blink at the whirlwind redhead, just continues prepping coffee, "Still don't have a liquor license, Frankie. You want food or should I just throw the dessert menu at you?" Gina asks, stirring caramel sauce in her cup and having a sip, then adding more, before she moves to go set a cup of coffee near Carver. "Five bucks says your sobriety streak goes under in less than a week." Gina notes, before strolling back to the counter, leaning against it where she can see both Frankie and Carver.

"When are you going to get that, Gina? You're killing me." Frankie sighs faintly, but then she drums her fingers on the counter like she's actually debating which menu she might want. "I should eat real food." She doesn't look like she's going to eat real food for a moment, but then she nods, "I'll have fries and a shake. Surprise me on what flavor." There is a bright smile flashed towards Gina before she looks at Carver, measuring him up before her brows hitch upwards slightly, a glance given to Gina with an unspoken question.

Carver nurses the cup of coffee like it's a lifeline. Actually, it probably is. A sip's taken before one hand presses up against his forehead, propping him up against the table as the other enables him to chew the sandwich thoughtfully while Gina actually pulls off serving a customer. In her own way, sure, but points for effort. Not that he's judging. He's got a whole three days experience, after all. "I'd take that bet." He doesn't look up from the table. "Except then I'd owe you ten bucks, and myself ten bucks." Betting on him is a fool's errand.

"Pourhouse is right across the street." Gina says, ruthless and cold-hearted to poor Frankie's dilemna. But she waves for a waiter setting up an order to include that one as well, because at the moment she can't be bothered. She has FRESH COFFEE, after all. Gotta have another sip while it's still warm, so she does. She shrugs at Frankie's glance, too, filling in, "New guy. Got vibes about this town. He's british. Allie Carver. Pretty sure he's homeless for now, but he amuses me. I'll tell you what card he pulled later." Girl talk! Either way, she shrugs lightly, "Bright eyes, this is Frankie. Went to school together." Like everyone did.

"Allie?" No judgment. "Nice to meet you, Allie. Welcome to town, we're a wonderful, amazing...beautiful town, too." Frankie doesn't seem to care who brings her the food, so it's a good bet that she's used to this treatment from the cold-hearted Gina. "Two of diamonds? Six of Spades?" She might just be listing off random cards instead of patiently waiting to be told. "I know a few good places to crash if you need a mostly leak free roof over your head."

A wave of the sandwich is Carver's response to the introductions handed out. That's actually pretty high praise, given that he has to stop eating it for a few moments to do so. Thinking about it, that's actually really high praise. "Carver, please. Or Alistair. If you'd be so kind." Definitely British. Very, very definitely hungover. "I've got a couple places myself, but if you'd like to write out a list, I'm willing to hear ideas."

"Like Crowley?" Frankie smiles at that before she reaches for her jacket, pulling out an old receipt from somewhere and a pen, scribbling down a few things, then crossing others out. "Are you broke? Because that might actually change the content on the list just a little." And for that answer she does wait to keep writing things. Then she points the end of her pen towards Gina, "You should help me to convince her to serve alcohol."

There's a soft sigh through a mouthful of bacon and tomato, Carver's face dropping at Frankie's instinctual connection. "Yesf." His other hand reaches for that coffee. He looks like he needs it. Well, he's looked like he's needed it since before he took a nap in one of the booths, but somehow the association has renewed that sense of anti-vigor. "And no. I have funds." There might be some subtext there. There might not. There's definitely bacon. He's talking with his mouth full again. "And I think you're on your own with that one. I've never convinced anyone of anything."

"Thelema...interesting religion." There might be shade to that comment. But when Carver says that he has funds she starts to write a few things on the receipt once more, then she tucks that pen behind an ear before she starts to carefully begin to fold the slip of paper into a small origami hat. "Right on the tail end of the spiritualist movement of the Victorian era...a.." She pauses, squinting as she thinks about it, "Praeterhuman dictated the book, or something." She shrugs before getting to her feet, moving over to hold the little folded hat out to Carver on her fingertip.

"Wouldn't know a thing about it, love." Carver lies, almost as a matter of habit, reaching out his hand, slightly bacon-grease covered, to take up the offered hat note. It disappears into the pocket of his waistcoat without a look. Frankie gets one, though. Just a quick appraisal before his hand shifts to act like a ball cap, shielding his eyes from the colors of her outfit. "A lot of made up words by a weird guy, sounds like. Because the world didn't have enough of that to begin with." His sandwich is an emotional support sandwich right now. He'd apologize for seeming aloof or unconcerned about meeting new acquaintances, but... well, he's not bothered by it.

"No? I can tell you all about it." Which is how Frankie invites herself to sit with Carver, her arms and legs crossing, "So Crowley and his wife went on this trip to Egypt, and during that trip a non-corporeal being called Aiwass dictated the core book of the religion to him. Much like how a few other books about divinity have been dictated over the years." She lifts a hand from where it is tucked into her arm, "Stop me if you've heard this before, though." Then she tucks her hand back, continuing with the story.

"So this being dictates this book, and lo...there are many connections to Egypt, right? Child of Horus, or maybe Horus the Child?" She shakes her head just a bit, "Anyways, it's really getting back to the roots of things, magic, your will, rules, metaphors. Things like that. From it branched a few things later on, like Satanism...which is where most people have run into his name."

Gina's been distracted, with coffee and texting someone, somewhere. She glances at Carver as he pulls his BS out, but turns back to her phone. Even as she eventually brings Frankie's order over to her, setting it down before she takes her own seat down at the table. "Frankie's full of this stuff." Gina adds in, continuing to text. "More than I ever knew about this kind of stuff." Gina helpfully includes. "It's pretty cool stuff. Total illuminati."

Head down, focus on the sandwich, Carver. You can do it. The "Mhm"'s, The "Right"'s and the "Yuhuh"'s come with a practiced efficiency, food in mouth or otherwise until he's got no sandwich left to cover for him. "Shit." He accidentally says aloud. "Satanism. Really." Is a lackluster cover for it. Thankfully, Gina's back by the time he's had to resort to using the coffee as an excuse to not look up. He should have stopped her. Why didn't he stop her? "Total Illluminati." He agrees. Eventually.

"Inspiration for....paved the way." Frankie agrees with a nod, reaching for the milkshake and straw to pair the two of them together so that she can sip from it. "Wicca, modern paganism." She glances at Gina, winking at her before she turns back to Carver, "Illuminati is bullshit, though. They all died out when the Bavarian government said no can do guys, nope, no more. Of course, I guess you got a million other secret societies out there, some that aren't even actually secret." She leans towards Gina to try and see what she's texting, "Satanism though, it gets a bad wrap. They, much like more mainstream religions, have their good and bad."

Gina looks on to Carver's face, and she just...smirks, at his despair. Share the misery. Misery is bonding. Welcome to Gray Harbor. "Secret societies have been around before and after the Illuminati. They're just the one with the most press release. But it's whatever. Not like there are secret societies in Gray Harbor." Blandly stated. And with a pause, before she takes a sip of her coffee, glancing towards the door before she looks back towards Frankie, smiling slightly, "Right?" She adds, before her attention goes back to Carver, "Anyway, bright eyes over here," Apparently Gina has decided this is just Carver's name now, "Really should get the grand tour one of these days, so I hope your list is extensive. He'll be interested in the bars around town."

"Plenty of things get a bad wrap that don't really deserve it." Carver agrees, finally taking the risk to look up at the two of them. Well, there's actually three of them to him. One's making a face. "I've already found the one bar." Well, the pourhouse is right there. Not exactly difficult for him to spot. Depending on his state, anyway. "And the last tour I ended up going on was some mustachioed guy muttering on about the age of the woodwork in this old plantation house I stopped in on before I came to town. I normally drink for fun, but I'm pretty sure I was doing it to survive there." British. Definitely British. "What exactly is it that you... do, Frankie?" He's already formed some opinions.

"I only suggested the one or two places to sleep, but..." Frankie considers it, but doesn't add anything to the list when Carver asks her what it is that she does. "I'm a psychic." She glances at Gina, sharing a moment clearly about the various possible reactions that she might get for this declaration, then she reaches for the ketchup to cover her fries in it. "There are plenty of places to drink around here, and maybe one more if Gina ever gets around to it."

Gina totally gives Melissa an upnod when and if she chooses to be visible. She enjoys a little more coffee, and her brows raise when he mentions a mustachioed woodwork item. "Well that sounds like fun, actually. I'd take that tour." Another quick text, before she meets Frankie's eyes, and when Frankie declares she's psychic, Gina deadpans, "Dun dun duuuuuun." LIke the pale she is. "Still not going to get a liquor license. I prefer dealing with hangovers than drunken shenanigans, Frankie."

"Con-Job or Cheater?" Carver's response to Frankie's occupation comes with the idle curiosity of a store clerk asking paper or plastic, taking a long slow sip of his coffee as he watches the two of them from behind the eye-saving sunglasses. Gine gets a quick, small quirk of a smile at her reaction to the tour. "You can. It's about 220 miles away. I think they'd love the custom." And then the rest of the cup is chugged. Just outright chugged. Like his life depended on it. Or, more likely, as if his plans for time-management depended on it. He already wasted nearly two hours by napping, after all. "Trust me, Gina. Stick to the drinks you do now. They're the best." Rummage. Rummaging in his waistcoat means she's about to get paid.

"Like drunks don't come in here anyways." Frankie replies with a laugh, sliding a fry through some ketchup before she shoves it into her mouth, then she shrugs at Carver, "You can come see me some time, figure out for yourself if I'm a con or a cheater. Whatever that actually means." Bullshitting the bullshitter right there. She picks up another fry, pointing at him as ketchup slops off, "Read the note. It'll explain everything."

"I get a lot less of them if they're not paying me for alcohol." Gina says pointedly to Frankie. Before wrinkling her nose at Carver's question, "220 miles? No thanks. I only travel that far to see my dad." She scoffs, before checking her phone again. "Gotta bounce and see a friend, though. Pay up and bounce too, Al." Gina reminds, as if he wasn't already checking, "Anyway Frankie. I'll text you later about his card." And with a sigh, Gina rises, to go grab her cloak beyond the counter.

Exact. Exact change. Well, okay, there's a note in there too, but it's still pretty impressive what Carver can pull out of his pockets without looking. Probably made easier by not having to work around a potato this time. Long story. Bonus: the amount also includes a tip. "Paying. Bouncing. Not sure if they'll be a friend, though." There's another dip in his pocket as he stands, pulling out an off-white card, sliding it over the table towards Frankie at her offer of letting him find out which she is, and coupling the whole movement with a quick nod. There might even have been a wink, but the guy's still wearing those hangover-helper 9000's on his face. "It was an... education to meet you, Frankie. I'd tell you to stay out of trouble, but I'm not that much of a hypocrite."

Gina, too, is given a departing call as the money-bundle is placed on the counter for someone, anyone to collect. "Thanks again, pet! I'd say I owe you, but I just paid, so..." The thought trails off with a shrug before he's heading to the door, pulling the note from his pocket as he does so. He's really a guy that tries his best to enter with fanfare, and leave without. Must be practiced.

"Good luck." Frankie says into the wind, either for Carver or Gina, she doesn't pick sides. But the off-white business card is reached for as she continues to consume her meal of ketchup with a few fries and milkshake. "He was perfectly safe, though. I wasn't going to tell him about how neo-paganism is a joke fifty percent of the time." It's a parting shot to Gina, that one. Then she's sliding the card into a pocket after looking at it.