2019-10-10 - Omelette

In fall, night creeps closer and closer. By the time the dinner rush is done, the sky is darkened, it not dark already, and the last handful of customers are spread out. One group of raucous teens argue amongst themselves about their later plans and debate how to split two desserts seven ways, a trio of blue-collar men hunker over their plates, and a tired mother begs and cajoles her toddler not to spit out food in her hand and fling it around. A waiter, tall and gangly even without the mohawk, and who looks like they should be in highschool, is perched at the edge of a table texting on his phone, while a bored girl meanders through the crowd, putting plates in trays like a reluctant teen who'd rather be doing anything but.

And finally, there is Gina. She's leaning forward on the counter near the register, texting and wearing an oversized black sweater dress with happy little purple pumpkins and orange bats around the hems, over ripped galaxy leggings and black boots. Her purple hair is swept and tied to one side, and her lipstick of choice today is a deep blue-purple color. Her attention is on her phone, head bopping along to the heavy metal mariachi music combo blasting from the speakers.

And then Cassidy enters, pushing through the door with her shoulder. Why? Because her hands are full. A bright matte purple handbag is hung from the crook of her arm whose hand holds a phone whose thumb moves deftly in a single handed composition of what's sure to be a mix of all caps, abbreviations and more exclamation points than is necessary. In her other hand is a pack of cigarettes and a lighter. She's not about to smoke inside, it's just that she just finished.

"Oh a love this song," the blonde murmurs to herself absently, then hums in a soft voice, "Como te deseo...dodododoo."

Once she clears the swing of the door she stuffs phone, cigarettes and lighter in her purse. She knows better than to wait to be seated here, so she briskly steps over to an empty booth in the section of the diner where the cops typically mingle. Same section every time. Like a collective unconsciousness selected it and designated it as 'the spot'.

Amusingly enough, the same section used by the cops is actually the section that the criminal element enjoys making deals when the cops aren't present. Who woulda thunk? As for the waitstaff, beyond a collection of glances - bored, irritated, and apathetic - the staff just goes back to what they were doing prior. Cassidy has all the time in the world to peruse the menu (cut like a bear standing on all fours in silhouette, landscape mode, the fold along the spine) because no one is interrupting. Not until it passes the 6-8 minute mark. Not unless called. Gina just keeps bopping during that sweet guitar section accompanied by the sing-screaming. Who knew metal branched out like that? Gina, apparently. Finally-- eventually-- Gina herself will pay attention towards Cassidy, mentally catagorizing her.

Cassidy makes little ticka ticka sounds with her mouth as she sits there silently and idly drumming hands on the table. She lifts one palm to the side of her mouth and calls out, "I'll have the ham and cheese omelette. Thanks. And a water. And a coffee."

Cassidy then digs for a notepad from her purse and sets it on the table with a pen on top of it. She clears her throat gently and returns to gazing at her phone, but now far less intense about it.

"And an orange juice," she calls out while looking at the screen.

Gina's brow raise, and her eyes skim over towards the employees. Who also look back at her. Her expression doesn't change, though, she just sighs and pulls a notepad from the sweater dress's pocket, scribbling the order down. The slip of paper is torn away, impaled on the hook for the cooks to gather.

But now Gina's attention has been caught, you see. And she turns her gaze back on Cassidy, studying her with the smallest wrinkle in her brow as she considers where she's seen her. It clicks, eventually, and a very faint smile flits and disappears. "Water, orange, juice, and coffe, did I get that right?" She drawls.

It takes a few moments for the words to float across the room, enter the ear canal and then register in the brain of the distracted, texting, Cassidy. But when they do she nods to her phone. "Yes. Oh, and toast. Sourdough. Lightly toasted."

Several seconds transpire.

"With the butter on the side"

For all of Gina's apathy, Cassidy manages to hit two key points: no bullshit small talk? Bonus. Indecisive shifting of her wants? Con. "That it, or you going to add something else?" Gina asks, even as she reaches... not for her notepad, but for her own phone, swiping through a few things and tapping occasionally-- until the heavy metal mariachi fades and suddenly, there is.... 1940s pop. The Andrews Sisters start explaining about the Boogie woogie bugle boy of Company B, and Gina finally gets around to adding to the menu options, before looking at Cassidy and raising both brows.

"That's all." Cassidy says with a little sing-songy lilt, channeling Miranda Priestly (intentionally? unintentionally?).

Finally, the rest of the order goes on. And Gina decides Cassidy really isn't interesting-- 70% better than most customers, but not enough to not hate. SO it's back to her phone while she casually texts herself and bops to the 40s. Until there comes the ding! of the food being ready. Looking up, sadly all three of the other waiters (the third one was in the back) are occupied doing actual word-related items. So, without bothering to suppress a sigh, she collects the items - including all the cups and glasses - and brings it towards Cassidy. The drinks are all set down first, before she points, "Sugar and creamer's right over there." Because obviously she's not going to bring it over.

And then she sets the omelette down. And it's... well, about what one expects from a Grizzly omelette, if they're a regular. It's been half-heartedly stuck together, but it clearly fell apart before, the outside a mix of burnt-flecked, damply shining yellow egg and the wrinkled, crumpled parchment-paper outside torn in places where it cooked a bit TOO much. The ham is just shredded strips laying limply on the omelette, like little flatworms that never quite managed to escape, and somehow the cheese is all bunched up and only half-melted. But someone tried to make the omelette slightly more visually appealing by sprinkling salt and green onions over it.

It's also over salted, and half-cooked in the middle.

Cassidy tosses off a thanks as she shifts her elbows off the table and leans back only just enough to make room for the arriving food.

While staring at her phone, she picks up her fork and, without looking at the plate, scoops up a bite. It travels toward her mouth... but then she laughs and sets the fork down with the uneaten bite, because whatever text she got demands two hands to answer!

"You're the new owner aren't you?" she asks off-hand without looking at Gina.

Gina's already turned away to walk off - no 'do you need anything else' or 'anything I can do for you' - no, the serving staff here don't bother with that. Except Bennie. Sometimes. But she's /weird/. But at the question, Gina looks back over her shoulder, both brows rising. "Far as I know." She half-turns to look over Cassidy. "TV chick. You're not from around here, huh." It's not a question. And Gina continues her travel to the counter - waving for the mohawked-boy to get behind the counter, while she sits at a stool on it.

Cassidy is too busy answering her text just then. She finishes and places the phone face down on the table. She looks about at the directions while she picks up her fork.

That bite travels up toward her mouth...

But then the fork falls back to the plate with bite uneaten as Cassidy furrows her brow in confusion and reaches for the orange juice. "TV chick?"

"You're running the cop side of the Ghoul Circus. Gina says casually, one foot hooking behind the ring of the stool, the other idly swinging, as she checks her phone again. Without being prompted, the mohawk guy prepares a cup of something -- coffee? -- and sets it in front of her, complete with a slice of pie and a flipped bird before he goes back to manning the counter. Gina ignores the items for now and glances towards Cassidy, "That is you, right?" Her tone is entirely casual, idle even. "Been catching up on the news."

"Ah." Cassidy states when she lifts her head in recollection of yesterday's press conference. "The Kruger murders, yeah. Not so much the others. Not at the moment."

Cassidy then answers a phone call. "Yes? Hello?" She listens and mm hmms a few times.

"Well listen, I'm going to need that today otherwise I'll...." she searches the room for inspiration and looks at her food, "...I'll force feed you an omelette from the Grizzly." She smiles playfully and lifts her fork and finally takes the bite.

Almost instantly she scrunches her face and leans forward. Her tongue protrudes slightly to let the bite roll back out of her mouth and onto her plate. She wiped her tongue with her napkin and takes a sip of orange juice.

"Ok. Keep me posted." As soon as the phone is back down she moved the plate away from her and favors her toast instead. "That is truly awful."

While Cassidy talks, Gina reaches for her coffee and takes a sip. Pauses to consider the flavor. Deems it worthy of a second sip, before she eats a bit of her pie. She doesn't even bat an eyelash at the threat she overhears - nay, was that a brief flicker of a smirk? MAYBE. But she just sips more coffee, before she glances at Cassidy when that bite is taken. She doesn't even smile! Just keeps sipping her coffee, as if Cassidy is a particularly interesting specimen. (The orange juice, by the way? Is fresh squeezed!) "Dare, haze, or curiosity?" She asks.

"No thanks. I don't like that game." Cassidy replies. She is only just now looking at Gina with an impassive objective scrutiny likely dominated by the question 'what could I prove?'

Gina raises both brows, "So you just didn't know about the omelettes?" Gina sounds disbelieving. But she shrugs. "Bad luck then, I guess. Most people who show up know better." Gina is incredibly casual.

Cassidy looks back incredulously - mirroring the tone if disbelief. "How...why would I know about omelettes?" asks the woman whose time is currently mainly invested in murder investigation.

Gina raises both brows at the look of incredulity Cassidy throws, and her tone is full of 'duh' when she says, "...it's a small town. Also, coworkers. Also the internet. Also the omelettes sucked even before I opened the place. Not as bad, but the rest of the menu made up for the suck by being worse." There's no pride. This is FACT.

Cassidy shrugs and rotates her wrist to flip her palm to an upwards face. "Ok." She reaches for her OJ and drinks the rest of that, then goes back to picking at her toast.

The toast is pretty great, actually. The bread and butter both taste fresh and flavorful, and it came with a small pot of jam that tastes surprisingly...homemade, in a good way. Gina herself doesn't feel the need to converse much, either, sipping coffee and enjoying her pie with an utter disregard for the customers, occasionally bopping her head to the cheerful 40s pop.