2019-10-09 - When is Weird Too Weird?

Post-Breakfast Rush (everyone eats before 8 to get to work on time), and Gina is looking pretty amused with herself as she stands at the counter, flipping through a magazine about Batboy's vengeful kidnapping of Elvis's lovechild after he and Elvis broke up. It's all a plot of the Nordic aliens, but even if the conspiracy is fake, the drama is real!...ly entertaining. There's only one waitress now, a shy, mousy girl in an oversized sweater-dress, along with Gina, in a black flannel shirt over a bustier, black skinny jeans tucked into boots, and her usual purple hair to match the purple lipstick and smoky eye. So hey, Gina is back in town! And ignoring paying customers, which means poor Ms. Sweater is rushing about when called for.

Paying customers. That is the key, right? Frankie rolls through that door like she fucking owns the place. Which means that when she plants a foot against the door and shoves it in she is leaving a foot print behind that Ms. Sweater will probably have to clean later.

Maybe she happened to know that Gina was back in town, like some creepy stalker because as soon as she's two steps through that door she bellows in her best Ricky impersonation (which means it's really bad guys), "You got some 'splainin' to do!" Or she does, because she doesn't come busting in like a loon on her own. Oh no, poor Greg has now been drug into this entire thing.

Greg manages to get hit by the door coming through it as it rebounds from Frankie's kick, and is rubbing his forehead with a super intelligent look as he nearly staggers into the restaurant. An innocent bystander could be forgiven for believing that a homeless vagrant followed Frankie in off the street; Greg does not dress to impress in his shitty, much-distressed drug rug hoodie, ratty-looking baggy jeans, and DCs that look like they've probably skated a thousand miles.

Greg says, "Ow."

Gina is, when all is said and done, an awful human being who doesn't even have the decency to startle, or look up with a guilty expression, or even grin at Frankie's entrance. Nope. She glances up from her magazine, raises her eyebrows, and then looks right back down again. "Franks. Keep dirtying my door and I won't get you your souvenirs." She says. Flip to next page. Then looks back up at the 'ow,' "...and abusing customers, on top of that, huh. Tsk, tsk." Gina shakes her head, disappointed in Frankie. One assumes.

The ow is unexpected, because Frankie saw the door going full assault, she just assumed that Greg would, and the fact he got beaned in the head should cause her to apologize. And she might be doing it mentally, she's breezing past it like everything is totally fine. "He's not a customer."

He probably is, actually, a customer. But that's not his current status under Frankie's designation categories. She reaches for the front of his hoodie, and then starts to drag him in Gina's direction, "I want you to meet Greg." She very much assumes that Gina and Greg have never met, and it allows her to ignore the threat about shoe prints on doors.

Greg squints towards Gina from under his rubbing hand as he's yarded forward, grinning sheepishly. "Hey," he offers, ever eloquent. "I think I might have a concussion," he tells the air in Frankie's general direction.

"I'm Greg," he tells Gina, just in case that wasn't clear yet. He stops rubbing his head long enough to extend his closed fist for the honor of a bump. "Good to meet you." While he awaits reciprocation, his eyes wander around the place, and his mien is as one who studies a strange new life form. "So this is what people do when they're awake in the morning, huh? Fuckin' incredible."

Most people, when someone says 'I want you to meet (person)' will then proceed to introductions and acknowledgement of the other person. But Gina looks over Greg, then looks back to Frankie and instead asks, "Why?" Because why meet PEOPLE, ugh Frankie why. There's another look towards Greg when he actually goes ahead and introduces himself. "Gina Castro." The fist is eyed, but then Gina's attention goes back towards Frankie, both brows rising once again. "Why am I meeting your concussed abuse victim? I told you already I'm not helping you murder any more fuckbuddies, Firecrotch." Gina doesn't even sound like she's teasing, guys. It's her superpower. Serious, vaguely disappointed deadpan as if this was all an actual item to discuss at 8AM in the morning in a diner.

"I already told him I wasn't burying him with the animal sacrifices." Frankie points out as she slides onto a stool, dragging Greg down onto one next to her. Because that's what you do with people with concussions, you drag them around and risk more damage to their brain. But to show just how much she cares she is also reaching for his face, trying to force him to look at her so she can check his pupils.

Like she knows what she's doing.

"But yes, this is what people do in the morning. It's also what they do at night, just usually not dressed as nicely." She then informs Gina with a whole lot of seriousness, "Gina, this is Greg." She said that already, but the last part is new. "My boyfriend."

Greg blinks stupidly at Frankie, but ultimately no more so than any other given day. "I'm not an animal," he insists weakly. "I'm a real boy." The comment about murdered fuckbuddies does give his eyebrows occasion to climb his scalp, though, and he shoots a look between the two women over his still-extended fist. It's 'How I Met Your Mother' all over again, because that fist will not go away unbumped.

He clears his throat quietly. "I'm a boyfriend though. I'd like to imagine we rate a private hole, at least." He glances back towards Frankie with a bright smile. "I really would like to."

Gina makes a small 'ahh' sound when Frankie mentions her previous promises - as if it was actually an indicator of the relationship. She does blink, slowly, when she spots Frankie fussing over Greg. And opens her mouth to maybe crack a joke or say something about it-- but then Frankie is being serious. And Greg is confirming this crazy new story. And Gina takes a moment to consider, before she reaches beneath the counter, pulling out a few small paper cups. And then there's a flask coming out, and she pours the three cups halfway full with the clear liquid from the flask. Picking up two, she taps Greg's fist with one paper cup (if he doesn't take it, she'll just put it ON his fist like it's a mini table). "всего хорошего." She says solemnly, and kicks back the mystery liquid which is definitely not alcohol because they aren't licensed to sell that.

That done, she then turns to her side and pushes herself up until she's sitting on the counter. "So. How'd this happen?"

"I said I'd give you your own hole a few feet over from the others if you promised not to wear my face." Frankie conversations clearly are no less fucked up in the harsh light of morning, or in public, or mixed company. "You promised."

Which means he has to stick to it, or he's going into the hole with everything else. There is a few seconds where she pats his cheeks, then gives him a kiss on the forehead before she turns towards Gina, leaning forward to start saying something. Then those paper cups and flask come out, and she's narrowing her eyes at her, "I thought you said this wasn't ever going to happen." But then again, Gina isn't selling it after all. But that doesn't stop Frankie from reaching for one of the cups, lifting it before taking a sip, then she sets it back down, "How'd what happen?"

Greg relents his fistmaking -- definitely fistmaking, not fisting -- to take the little paper cup, and shoots back the whatever without any apparent registration of concern. Or even curiosity. "You owe me a bump," he tells Gina, who now finds herself added to the long tradition of those who owe debts to a drug dealer.

His smile towards Frankie is beatific and open, distinctly out of place with literally everything publicly known about the man, and he gives a cute little air smooch towards her. "Uhh, it happened because she put me under mind control, actually," Greg says very seriously. "I don't really remember the details very well, but I think I smuggle Asians now."

"I'm not selling it on the regular. It's a special occasion. Firecrotch now burns for only one man." Gina continues in that quasi-serious, quasi-joking(??) tone. There's a shrug for Greg, "You're dating Frankie. That earns you talking and phone privileges. Bumps are for people who impress me. Or who I hate mildly less than I do most other people." Look, Gina is even taking the time to explain to Greg! She clearly has acknowledge his place in Frankie's life.

Turning to Frankie, then, she asks, shaking her head, "You liked somebody enough to mind-shine them into being your boyfriend?" It ends with a few tsks. "Efficient, but. It'll be problemantic when you get bored of him." A pause, as if that reminds her of something, and she reaches for a napkin, pulling a pen from her back pocket and writing a number on it, followed by a sentence, and slides it over to Greg.

For the curious, the sentence is, 'Order the omelette if you are here against your will.'

"Gina is a bitch." Frankie says this in much the same tone as she might say the sky is blue, water is wet, everyone dies eventually, it's a day ending in y. The cup gets lifted back up and she finishes the contents of it before setting it down, and sliding it in Gina's direction, "I don't even get bumps."

Which might explain just how hard it is to actually impress Gina, or Frankie's hamming it up and making it look that hard. Both are equally as believable as a state of being.

"I did not actually mind-shine him into being my boyfriend. I tried to mind-shine him into bringing me Chinese food and flowers. Instead evidently I'm getting floaters and Chinese people." She shrugs her shoulders, glancing towards Greg and returning his smile, although her's is less dopey but probably only just. "He even ignored his phone for me." Which rates pretty high on the list of amazing things, Gina. Amazing things.

"Oh I'll get that bump," Greg says with conviction. He takes a look at the napkin and picks up the paper cup, setting it upside down on top of it. "I don't eat in the morning," he says informatively. "Got to stay light on my feet." He goes right on as if that weren't a perfectly weird thing to say, and in the light of a public day he keeps turning to check the door and peer towards the street like a sketch ball. "Yo, isn't this where all the cops get lunch?" he asks in a doubtful and perhaps more than a little anxious tone.

Reluctantly he tears his attention back to Gina and Frankie. Or really Frankie; let's be real here. When he's not eyeballing the street, he's staring at her like a total creeper. "She just keeps it real," he tells Frankie, of Gina, because it's always best to offer commentary on people you've just met to others who've known them far longer. "It's chill. Listen, if you don't want the Chinese people I can cancel the order, but I'm pretty sure they just, uh..." He draws a thumb across his throat expressively, crossing his eyes. "So if you want that on your conscience."

One shoulder lifts and falls in a subtle shrug, giving a single nod when she's called a bitch: Gina acknowledges and accepts it as easily as Frankie says it. The brows go up as the story about sin, depravity, and human trafficking continues. And then quietly turns her face and makes a gagging sound, before she coughs to "cover it up." "Sorry, got a little bullshit stuck in my throat. Never did learn how to swallow it." She says dryly, before she collects the empty(?) paper cups. "Yeah. The cops come in here for lunch sometimes. So do ex-cons, EMTs, and Frankie. I don't discriminate against people until they piss me off."

She stops to look back at the starry-eyed pair and their weird flirtation-filled conversation. "I can see why you'd go for him, I guess." And to Greg (acknowledgement! Talked to, and not entirely over!) she holds out her palm. "Hand, please. You'll have to stop by later for me to use my cards. I don't have my good decks unpacked."

"To be fair...I eat three meals a day here unless I manage to scam a meal off someone else, somewhere else." Which usually includes bar food, or Elias' family feeding her out of pity. Mostly she just eats here, because so far she's managed to avoid food poisoning.

"Maybe we can just free them, then." Because having poor, innocent blood on her hands is different than all the other blood on her hands, right? She glances at Gina when she demands Greg's hand, then she reaches over to help facilitate this by taking his hand. Which would be super sweet and romantic if it wasn't for the fact she was trying to give it to Gina. "I've not even given him a reading." Which might mean nothing.

Or everything. "We're going to get matching tattoos after this. This is our first date, that's date two. I'd like to know if this is a good idea, Gina."

"Oh it's for sure a good idea," Greg immediately replies. He lofts a quizzical brow at Gina, but if Frankie wants him to give the girl his hand, then the hand shall be given as fuck. He presents it proudly, like a good boy, which makes the deep, bold 'M' on it stand out. But he also continues to sketch out and peek over his shoulder almost as if Gina's 'reassurance' didn't really help him out very much.

"I'm very lovable, actually," he informs Gina while he studies the other patrons in the restaurant like a lurker. Or the patrons -- he hasn't bought anything. "Anyway, what are we reading? I hope it's a book on learning Cantonese, 'cause our new family gets here next week."

"Tal's been talking about moving to Texas, I could use more waitstaff if one of them wants a job." Gina says, before she looks down at the palm of the hand, studying it minutely. "MMm." She says after a moment, then glances at Frankie, "Of course it's a bad idea. Relationships are always a terrible idea-oh, wait, were you talking about getting your brand new family of chinese immigrants tattoo'd to match yours? I mean, if they agree to it why not?"

She looks to Greg, then, away from his hand, and waves for him to take it back. Saying simply, "You're fucked. But you might live through it. The shine helps. But it won't always. Only so much you can do with the shine and adrenaline. Oh. And Don't eat the chocolates without asking. Not that you should eat anything there, but don't say I didn't warn you. Frankie told you what she does for a living?"

"Cantonese? I only know Mandarin." No, no she does not. "Maybe we should send them back." She then glances towards Gina, listening to her for a moment before she reaches for Greg's hand herself, pulling it towards her so that she can have her own look at just how fucked he actually is with everything.

"Eat what chocolates where?" Because clearly she doesn't see that in his hand, or she does. And she's testing Gina. Probably because she doesn't see that in the hand, and she's distracted by listening to what Greg's answer might be to the question posed to him.

Greg squints at Gina intently while she studies his hand, and echoes her advice carefully: "Don't eat the chocolates," in the way of a guy trying to remember something important. If past experience serves, Greg will throw fire at any chocolate he sees forever now. In fact he looks sidelong at Frankie with a thoughtful expression, before easing himself up off the bar to take a careful -- even suspicious -- look at Gina's shoes.

"She's smarter than everyone around her for a living, including me," Greg says with a coy grin. "I don't want to start insulting Frankie on our first date, but I think we're a lot alike." He shoots an apologetic look Frankie's way. "She hasn't said much about the particulars yet, but I seem to remember she's got a video certification course ready to go."

His dark eyes turn to watch Frankie carefully when it's her turn to read him, locked on to her eyes. "How bad is it, babe? Should I just let you dump me in the sacrifice hole right now?"

"If it was that easy I'd be playing the stock market." Gina says dryly. A shrug, before she raises her brows at Frankie, continuing in that dry tone, "Oh look, he does know you. Anyway. " Her boots are black leather, lace up, functionally worn, and mostly clean except for some dried mud. It is rainy out there. "You don't have to worry about the sacrifice hole. You're too willing for that. It'd ruin the vibe. Unless we drowned you." A pause, a loom to Frankie, brows lifting to ask her opinion on this murder form. Greg is hers, after all! None if his own agency, not anymore.

While looking at Greg's hand there is a far more casually tossed off comment to Gina, "Found out who my dad was." Was. Past tense.

But then she traces a finger over the lines on Greg's palm, "It's not that bad, I mean...she's right. You're fucked. But only because you've got the potential to get too ambitious, and think too big." She looks back up from his hand, closing both of her hands over it as she gives him this wide-eyed look like she's about to give him the worst news, leaning towards him to lower her voice. Quiet enough that she is aiming for Gina to not hear the words. Then she straightens back up, providing her opinion on drowning, "He did promise me floaters."

Greg seems strangely relieved to see the muddy boots, and eases back down into his seat.He nods to Gina. "Check. So just keep doing what the sexy voodoo mistress says." He shrugs lightly. "Easy! I was planning to anyway." He leans in to listen to Frankie, and whatever she said ends up leaving him with a pensive expression on his face. But he leans forward to give her a quick kiss anyway, because everybody loves PDA.

"I'd rather not be drowned," he offers conversationally, "if I get to weigh in here, yo." His tone says if not, that's fine too. "I'll drown someone if you want though. Just not the Chinese; they really didn't do anything to anyone. I suppose I could open a restaurant..."

"You did?" Okay, that actually sounded surprised. And Gina actually looks curious, leaning forward. "Anything interesting?" A pause, then, as she further shows more emotion by rolling her eyes at Frankie. "Spoilsport." She accuses with no heat, before she raises her brows at the quiet whisper not meant for her ears. But she hops down from the counter, to prepare coffee. This may have been brought on after the PDA. Gross, guys. Gross. She does look over her shoulder when he offers his input, saying, "I guess don't let Frankie get bored then, George. Or bug me too much. And how did we get into restaurant ownership?"

"Our new Chinese family." Frankie was following that train of thought, she was right there with Greg on it, which just means that life really has flipped around like a wild rubix cube of fate until crazy matches crazy.

"Right, dad. Addington." Frankie glances over towards Gina, sure that the significance of that will sink into things very quickly. "Gregory Addington, loving husband, devoted father....of his married family." Which is so much more complicated then just some random dude getting his rocks off with her mom and nothing else. She shrugs her shoulders, quickly dismissing the less than pleasant topic to turn back towards Greg, leaning towards him like she might give him a kiss, and create more PDA, but she doesn't.

The urge seems to pass, or she realizes Gina might not put up with more, and she doesn't need something thrown at her head.

Greg lacks both the wisdom and stupidity to have transferred his quite healthy and erotic fear of Frankie to Gina. He reaches out place a comforting hand on Frankie's leg, and offers her a smile that he means to be bolstering. It ends up looking a lot like all the other smiles or grins he thinks look some kind of way but don't, most likely.

"Oh I don't think I would worry about her getting bored. I'm nothing if not exciting." He points towards Frankie with a mischievous grin. "You know, maybe it's for the best -- I won't have an angry dad trying to chase me away with a shotgun. Those fucking things hurt." It's stated as something that's a fact, not hyperbole, but maybe he's just being droll. The keen observer might note that in his fantasy, he's getting shot rather than run away.

"Alright yo, that was bullshit before. I'm hungry as fuck. Y'all got any waffles?"

Gina lets that sink in, oh yes, when Frankie mentions her dad. And her commentary? "Better stick with the human trafficking victims. They'll probably cause you less trouble. I know a guy who might know a guy if you need medical records changed somewhere." Apparently, Gina is very much the light-bridges-on-fire type if something is too troublesome. Woe. But then there is Greg, and Gina just shakes her head and sips her newly made cup of coffee. She's not surprised by his lack of fear. Gina is harmless! Absolutely harmless, guys.

The question about waffles has her giving a small snort, however, "Yeah. We do. A lot of them. What else do you want?¨ Gina asks, reaching into the back pocket she pulled the pen from to also pull out a small ordering pad, setting it down to write with one hand and sip her coffee with the other.

"I doubt my dad would have had a leg to stand on even if he was alive. You know...cheater that he was." Frankie rolls her eyes at that, but then she shakes her head at Gina, "No..it's fine. Whatever they say, they are only technically family." Which, clearly, but she's smart enough to mostly avoid all the baggage that comes along with the Addington name.

When Greg remembers that they came for the food she smiles at him, a wide, bright smile that says it all. He's fucking adorable and she is rather entertained by that adorableness, and all the future train wreckage that is just down the line from now. "I like the fries and milkshakes myself." But it's also 8am, and that isn't the best breakfast food. "But if you want waffles I suggest the link sausages, not the patties, and fried eggs, not scrambled. The scrambled ones at places like this are always that weird liquid shelf stable shit...that' s just not right."

Greg nods knowingly throughout Frankie's delivery, and then digs in his pocket to pull out a crisp hundred dollar bill, slightly wrinkled, which he sets on the counter. This is how restaurants normally work, right? He gives the money a little nudge towards Gina.

"Yes," he agrees with a smile for Frankie. "All of those things, and waffles. With everything." He smiles brightly. "The voodoo mistress demands it. I have to appease her so I don't get drowned."

Then he looks back at Frankie with a calculating look. "I don't mean to be the one to say it but I really think that family owes you something, and this is probably a pretty stupid topic to put my foot in, but... splash." He shrugs lightly. "Blame it on poor training up til now."

"Nice try, Frankie. You've eaten the patties, the scrambled eggs, and every other breakfast item here. With a clean plate." Outed! Or maybe not and Gina's lying. But the food is really good diner food. Almost like the ingredients are quality ones. But... can't be, with what the diner charges. But Gina writes up the order, impaling it and ringing a bell for someone to get started on it.

The hundred is collected, brought to the register, checked for its veracity using one of those special pens, and then change is made. Precise change. At least it's mostly large bills. "Smart plan. I'd still say to cut any links unless you think you'll need a kidney. A lot of family is just extra baggage." A small shrug, "Personally? Anything an Addington gives you chains you to them. Even the gifts. Keep the feelings light there."

"Owes me what, though?" Frankie wonders with a tilt of her head, not looking uncomfortable about the subject, but that might say a lot about the sorts of subjects she talks about with old people that want to hear about their best puppy Miffy in the afterlife. Or some other such non-sense. She rolls with the weird and awkward well. Most of the time. Not all of it. But today, in this, right now. This subject, she rolls with like a champ.

When Gina outs her as having eaten everything, she points out, "I'll never say no to food, even shitty food." Except evidently overly burnt food. That might be enough to get her to just say no. But there is a shrug when Gina's opinions of the Addington's is made, but she's also not actually disagreeing with the assessment, either. Because, it's probably on point, too. "I haven't really had much contact, so."

Greg tilts his head to the side as he considers Gina, immediately pushing the money forward without even looking at it. "That's... a really smart way of looking at it, actually. I didn't think about it like that." He looks at Frankie and shrug. "I just don't like you owing. I'm about to fix it," he states in a warning tone. "But y'all are probably right. I don't know shit about the family, but I know rich people don't live in the world we do." He shrugs, sliding a grin towards Frankie. "You can get my kidney if you need one. Used, high mileage."

He gets completely distracted for a moment watching a cop car roll by, doing their job and all while he scowls at them from his bar stool. "Too many cops in this town," he observes as he turns back back around. "They're fucking everywhere." He watches long after the cruiser pulls out of sight, frowning. "I feel like a fuckin' endangered species."

"I've got experience on this." Gina says mildly, in response to Greg's praise. But that's all she says on the matter, and she glances out the window when he does, and looks briefly amused , eyes going towards Frankie. 'Really?' Is the question in said eyes, before she turns back towards Greg. "Half of them are corrupt, two thirds give no shits and the rest are overworked and ten minutes away from a nervous breakdown. But they're our boys in blue, here to protect the community. I buy some of their stuff when they have the bake sale." Oh snap! Is Gina a LAWFUL CREATURE? Look at that bland, cryptic tiny smile! Frankie's tastes in friends can clearly be improved! "I can see how it'd be nerve wracking for a future ex-con. Look me up when you're out. Ex-convicts get the Daylight Discount."

When it's brought up that he's going to fix it, there is a frown, and Frankie looks like she might damn well have something to say about that. But there is Gina, right there with the commentary on the cops. She rolls her eyes, "Right. Bake sale." She doesn't buy this one, or has her own semi-healthy mistrust of most of the cops in town as well. Although it doesn't appear to be nearly to the same level as Greg's is.

Which might just be because she's a local, and knows which ones are the corrupt ones. Right? It's enough to distract her for a moment from giving her opinion on whatever crazed scheme Greg might be trying to cook up. Instead she glances towards the window, then back to Gina to shake her head, "Not unless he stops avoiding chicks with blue shoes. If he keeps doing that, he should be fine."

"I ain't getting convicted on shit," Greg assures anyone who'd like to know. "They got to catch me first. It's gonna be harder than they think." He gives a sly little smile, ensconced in confidence. Evidently it hasn't registered on him yet that maybe the cops can do crazy shit too, here.

He drums his fingers idly on the counter top and fidgets, looking between Gina and Frankie. He gets a look at Frankie's little frown, and it causes his brows to draw down stubbornly like a closing gate. But he doesn't say anything else about debts... for now.

"Oh I'll run from the blue-shoe chicas for life, babe." He shoots a look at Gina. "I don't think I like chocolate anymore either." Just for the merest fraction of a moment, he almost seems to put one and two together and arrive at three, creeped out and afraid. But then it passes, to be replaced once more with blissful ignorance. The lamb to the slaughter.

Gina only smiles as no one seems to believe her bake sale shenanigans. But she doesn't comment, as just then there is a ding! from the food being ready, and two plates are pulled out and set in front of Greg and Frankie. Crisp, fluffy, thick waffle, perfectly fluffy scrambled eggs with a hint of salt and pepper, the toast is thick, the whipped cream tastes distinctly like not canned whipped cream, and once again one may appreciate just how slim the margins must be in this place. But hey, good food is good food. "Syrup is over there, along with extra salt and shit." Because Gina sure as heck won't go. "There's pecan and pumpkin syrup in the back, too. Don't ask. Basic as fuck." Gina eyerolls, before she settles her look on Greg. "Never said you couldn't eat any chocolate. Just be careful of any you... find, I guess? She shrugs. Not HER future, after all.

"Don't go eating Turkish Delights handed to you by icy blondes." Frankie is quick to offer that suggestion, and she clearly assumes everyone gets it. She's not even trying to be mysterious when she says it. Nor is she unwilling to go over there for the syrup. Not the salt. She just gets the syrup and brings it back, holding it out so that Greg has the chance to use it first.

The talk of debts, and fixing them, gets a pin in it. She's not about to leave that go, not entirely. But there's no good reason to ruin breakfast to address it currently, either.

She reaches for her fork to start on her eggs, getting that taken care of before the bad for her things like waffles. Of course, she's rude, and talks with her mouth full, too, "I was going to show Greg what I did...First hand, maybe. If not first hand, there's that television show, gives a half-decent representation."

Greg pulls the plate of waffles towards himself, and brandishes his fork. Damage is ready to be done! At the explanation about where syrup can be found, he glances over there. You can almost see his eyes measuring the distance, and then he turns and just starts eating bites of the waffles the way they are. "Gross," he says, also with his mouth full -- aren't they a pair! "Pumpkin is nasty as fuck. Prove me wrong."

Then Frankie makes the long trek all the way to the syrup and back, and Greg gives her a grateful smile as she offers it to him. "Thanks baby," he says as he takes it, a moment of which many of his clients would probably marvel over a snapshot. He pours an alarming, unnecessary amount of the stuff over the waffles before handing it back and digging in.

He grins with a little laugh. "I could probably like... hide in the room somewhere. I'm a highly practiced lurker."

"Can't argue with fact. Sweet pumpkin is gross. I prefer it savory." Gina comments, before her eyes go back towards Frankie. "I rewatched that movie yesterday with Iggy and Vee. They hiss when the lion comes on." Something that makes Gina give one of her amused little smiles. But then we're back to Greg lurking like a lurker and Gina nods, "Not a bad idea. I recommend it so he knows what he's dealing with. I don't do what she does, by the way." Gina points a thumb at Frankie. "But my mom was pretty familiar with the work. Pretty unprofessional, though. I just run a diner and occasionally read the cards."

"He saw Scratch." As though seeing her taxidermy rooster would give him some kind of clue as to what she does, and educate him on why nice drug dealers like him should hide from her. But clearly, he hasn't wised up and hit the sidewalk in a quick run from her.

The syrup is retaken, and she pours a more healthy and reasonable amount of it on the waffles before she pushes aside the cleaned plate of eggs and things to focus on the waffle and syrup, shoving quick bites into her mouth before she waves her fork in the air, tucking the food into the pocket of one cheek so at least no one is forced to watch her talk with food falling out, "I could bill you as an assistant. Mom use to do that when I was a kid."

Greg glances between Gina and Frankie almost as if he has any idea what they're saying. He does a good approximation of following along, anyway. "Scratch is my dude," he laughs. "That little homie was a good omen." He continues stuffing his face with waffles at really a pretty alarming rate. Is he trying to race Frankie?

"I've heard that people in positions of power take sexual advantage of their assistants, so I'm on board." He jumps as his phone vibrates in his pocket, and he jumps up to pull it from his pocket. He walks over by the door to look out -- for cops -- while he taps away a response on the phone. "...hey baby," he calls so very sweetly to Frankie. "I think I'm gonna have to go take care of this." He finishes his text and his scan for cops and puts his phone back in his pocket, fishing the keys to his van and probably everything else he owns out of his hoodie pocket to set them on the counter in front of Frankie. "You can take my van home," he tells her.

"Scratch still exists? Huh. " Gina says, as if vaguely surprised Frankie and the stuffed chicken have made it this far. But she nods slowly, "I can see why you like this George guy. He's slightly smarter than most." Or just more agreeable and happily ignorant? But there is a small roll of her eyes for the sexual advantage joke. "Only if the victim is appealing." But then he's getting a call, sweet-talking Frankie, and leaving everything for her. Gina rests on her elbows on the counter, watching this exchange thoughtfully. "Business call? Later." Her tone is slightly dismissive, so Greg doesn't have to feel any need to share details. Instead, Gina's attention is on Frankie... waiting for Greg to leave.

"Of course Scratch still exists. I love that cock." Rooster. Frankie does this entirely on purpose. When Greg starts laying out his life-in-pockets on the counter she gives him this look, then towards the pocket the phone went into before she takes the keys, "Sure." She puts the keys in one pocket, and then anything else he feels the need to leave with her into another, on the off chance that she might actually return the items later, and not just vanish them somewhere in her apartment. She moves to deposit a kiss for all his troubles, then promptly turns her attention back towards Gina, "Work call."

Not that Gina asked her.

Greg leans in to Frankie's kiss. "I'm gonna meet this dude at work. Stop by if you want, or I'll catch up with you later." See how well he affects a casual lack of concern? It's almost believable, except not at all.

Then arrives the momentous occasion, and Greg looks sidelong at Gina while the wheels in his head spin, adding up the figures and steaming along towards hopefully the correct conclusion here. Or at least correct enough. He looks at Frankie. Looks at Gina. Back at Frankie.

"Love you babe," he finally says, and aims a little peck of a kiss her way. "I'll try to wrap this up as quick as I can. Lex has the store today so I don't need to hang around." He taps his pocket and smiles. "Text me? I like the way it sketches the junkies out when I divide my attention." He fires another wave Gina's way before prowling out the door -- not running into it this time. His hood goes up and his sunglasses on the minute he steps over the threshold, and it's a discernibly different Greg that leaves the restaurant, swaggering dangerously down the sidewalk.

Gina watches Greg leave, his transformation into a - let's admit it - silly but cute lovestruck boy to a swaggering, jovial criminal. Her expression doesn't change at all. Gina's always been so very good at tucking her thoughts behind smoky eyeshadow and slight, meaningless smiles. "And another falls to the mighty power of muscle and hormones." She comments, before turning her attention towards Frankie. "Legit boyfriend?" She asks, her voice lacking its usual hint of secrets. "Not a mark?"

"Legit boyfriend." Frankie doesn't look like she's actually offended by that question. It is, in fact, a very valid one. "I don't even know how the fuck it happened, Gina. I mean, I'm not freaked out, or need rescuing. Just..." She shrugs her shoulders, pushing her plate away before she glances towards the door, "I guess it just was one more weird thing to happen in my life. Everything seems to happen just...Weirdly."

Gina collects Greg's empty plate, if allowed, and the small paper cups, turning to return them to the kitchen and the trash, respectively. It gives her a moment to think, a moment to sort through a few thoughts. She refills her coffee cup and plucks a pastry from the cabinet of them, nibbling on it as she returns to face Frankie, and offer a small smirk. "You're going to become Lil' Goth Girl Part 2. You'll start /pining/. And having all these emotional crises. At least it'll be entertaining sometimes." She sips her hot coffee, sans caramel, and has another bite of the pastry. "I don't hate him. He's like a puppy. I just want to feed him table scraps, pat him on the head and vivisect him in the woods to divine the future from his entrails." How does one say such things without a single change of expression, and just eat more pastry? If Gina, easily.

"I am not going to pine." Frankie assures Gina, her elbows resting on the counter, chin in her hands, "But Lil said she'd help me get him a baby mini pony taxidermy thing...or a scary satan yard gnome." She shrugs, clearly either option is something that she is fully on board with happening. There is another look cast towards the door before she nods, "He really is like a puppy. An adorable, cuddly, eager puppy that I want to hug and pet, and then mount him on my wall with Scratch forever."

"He seems like a keeper." Siiiiip. Maybe Gina doesn't even realize how much scrutiny those words reveal. But Frankie's known Gina for years. Gina's an emotional Fort Knox half the time. "Dead or alive. I approve. Just don't tell him that. Drugs?"Casually asked, before she waves her coffee cup, "No, don't tell me, actually. Let's go back to your mounting habits." Another little smirk at Frankie. "I picked up he's got some knowledge of his shine?" This is slightly quieter, just between them.

"Does he know about Gray Harbor?"

"Yeah, he knows." Frankie is absolutely certain about that, and it shows in her expression, "In fact...he knows too much and not enough, if you know what I mean."

If anyone knows what she means, it is Gina. She reaches for her pocket, tugging her phone out to check what time it is, "I should go, though. Got a few things to do this morning before I get the shop opened and then sit there for the next four hours."

Gina does know, by the flash of... sympathy? Nah, couldn't have been. Well, empathy, perhaps. Anyway, whatever it was-- it was quick, in her gaze, before it went away again. "Your problem now." Is all she says, though, shrugging and collecting Frankie's plate. "Pretty sure you've got it handled, though. We'll catch up, you can tell me what I missed. Later."

"I will." Frankie replies with a quick smile, "Later Gina." She doesn't pay, because Greg did that earlier, and this is Frankie's usual MO. Get someone else to feed her. She then pulls out the keys to her borrowed van, and heads out to drive it home.