2019-10-21 - Late Night Food

Dressed in a sunset colored jacket with dark turquoise sleeves and dark jeans, Blake steps inside the diner alone. The motley diner isn't exactly buzzing with activity on a Monday night. He takes a seat in one of the patchy booths and shrugs off his jacket. The ghostly guy looks down at the menu as he settles back into a slouch. "Hmm." He glances around the immediate area of the restaurant, waiting for the waitress.

So, there was this diner that Tyrone just /had/ to check out. He'd never /believe/ what it was like there, he had to see it for himself. He'll be amazed, he was assured, and he'd have never seen anything like it before. Easton was adamant about it. Tyrone was going to have to stop taking Easton up on his suggestions of places Tyrone should go.
Parked at a table, Tyrone's wearing an olive drab sweater with the letters USMC emblazoned across his chest in gold stencil-styled letters. There is a large camo parka set across the seat of the chair adjacent to him. The fact that he's already got a glass of water at his table and he's idly watching in the direction of the 'kitchen' might indicate that he's already ordeered. When BLake walks in, though, Tyrone turns to look in his direction. Because it's better than staring at the kitchen door.

The waitress doesn't seem anywhere to be found right now, or in the next minute or two. The clock ticks on. When Tyrone looks over, Blake just grins and lifts his chin to the man briefly in acknowledgement. He taps his foot under the table as time drags on and /still/ no waitress. There are kitchen sounds and smells to tantalize them both.

Blake glances back to Tyrone and then gets up to sneak forward and slip into the seat across from the other man. "Hey man. How long have you been waiting here? You ordered already right?"

"Yeah. And I dunno, probably ten minutes? Maybe fifteen? I didn't look at the clock right away, but I know it's been seven minutes since I noticed," Tyrone explains, shrugging his shoulders. "I dunno how long it takes them to make a burger, but maybe they're being /extra/ authentic and had to go out and maul a cow or something."

"More like they have to raise it first," Blake quips appreciatively with a smirk. "That's not too bad. Name's Jasper. You looking to eat alone or you mind company with your burger?"

Finally the waitress comes out, looking a little harried, wisps of hair coming down from her pony tail. She's probably been standing on her feet since before the crack of dawn. "Five more minutes." She looks down where Tyrone does not have any drink or water and then simply walks away from the table after giving Blake a look. About thirty seconds later an ice water is set down in front of Tyrone. Blake is currently sitting across from Tyrone in one of the booths, but the rest of the restaurant isn't all that hopping at this hour.

The waitress who originally took the order? She's proven to be a liar. Because just then, the person who pushes the door open with her back, one hand holding a plate, the other checking her cell phone, is one Gina Castro. She's wearing an asymmetrical, teired black skirt over purple leggings, boots, and a navy blue shirt beneath a cropped hoodie that, amusingly enough, bears a cartoon of a bull comforting a sobbing cow over a burger inside a cradle, with the arching words 'Delicious Tears' above it. Her eye makeup is all smoky eye, her lips are a rich purple just like her hair, and she glances up only to make her way towards Tyrone, drops the plate in front of him, and then glances at the pitcher of water with raised brows, then looks towards the waitress working. Wow, initiative. "Yeah so." Gina looks towards Blake, "You ordering or just using booth space?"

Settling in to wait another five minutes, Tyrone is surprised to see Gina coming out with his burger. When she doesn't even bother asking whose it is or offering any sort of nicety, he just shakes his head. Oh, Easton. What a bastard you are. The plot for revenge begins formulating in Tyrone's mind and he smirks a little. With a small chuckle, he sets to making sure his burger is at least mostly cooked before he picks it up to start eating it.

Blake looks up to Gina and grins. "I would if anyone asked me what the hell I wanted." His tone is a touch more scathing than his grin which is actually on the warmer side. "I'll have waffles, with maple syrup and fruit syrup on the side, grits, and bacon, extra crispy. And a coffee, pretty please...and," he looks back to the man who is starting to chow down, and since he got no answer, says, "far be it from me to stand between a man and his burger. I'm actually sitting at the booth right there," he hangs a thumb behind him before pushing up to retreat to his former seat. To the observant, he only uses that arm.

The food... actually looks amazing. The bun looks perfect, lightly toasted, the patty is substantial, cooked to specification and flavorful, the toppings are fresh, and is that a homemade sauce? Yes, probably. The fries are also crisp and golden, perfectly cooked, and with a light sprinkle of flaky salt. The whole reason the Grizzly stays in business, besides the "charming" quirk factor of bears upon bears upon bears and apathetic staff, is really that the food is shockingly good, especially when considering the price and portions.

For her part, Gina finishes something on her phone, and suddenly the music in the diner changes to-- well, you know the music in every spy movie? Any of it? That's spytrack, according to Spotify, and that is what's playing. Pausing to listen for a moment, Gina nods, satisfied with the music, before finally pulling the notepad from her hoodie pocket, scribbling down the order, "Waffle, maple syrup and fruit syrup to the side, grits, extra crispy bacon, coffee." She only glances at him to see if he denies this, before she turns to head to the counter, ripping the paper from the pad to impale for waiting orders. She then begins making a cup of coffee-- and adding caramel sauce to it-- and taking a long sip herself, before she works on a second cup.

Well, he didn't /mean/ to ignore Blake. But, well, there's this burger, see, and Gina was waiting for him to respond, anyway, and so ... yeah. Tyrone looks over and watches Blake move back to his table. Then he shrugs and just focuses on eating. Oh, and there are french fries! ... but that ketchup is so far away .... Crap. Tyrone's brow furrows and he looks around. Oh, hey, the table behind him has ketchup, too. He backs away and snags the bottle from the other table before splurting a bunch on his plate, right next to the fries. And then he starts eating those, too. The way he's putting away food with both hands, one might think he's worried someone's gonna take it away.

Blake barely has time to nod to Gina, but the efficiency doesn't seem to bother him at all. He reaches up to rake his fingers through his hair and slouches back in his seat. Then he pulls out his phone to chicken type with a single thumb across the screen. He glances up and over to take notice of the aggressive chow down. He arches an eyebrow and then his gaze swings back toward the last place he saw Gina out of the corner of his eyes.

There's no surprise that the food goes over well. Gina collects both mugs of coffee, setting the one that has a bear print with sparkly glitter nails down in front of Blake. Like the food, it's also surprisingly good coffee-- not the best coffee, but someone clearly bought something they like. See: Gina. Who sips her own mug of coffee before she adds, "Food'll be out whenever, I guess." Gina says casually.

As Tyrone makes his way through the better portion of his meal, he pauses suddenly and sits up. Then, he very quickly turns and rolls towards the restroom, on his way to do some paperwork in the oval office. Which will take a little while. Maybe somebody will be nice enough to box up his food for him while he's gone.

Blake lifts his hand to rub at his forehead a little as he waits. He looks up from below his fingers when Gina sets down the mug in front of him. Lowering his hand, he squints up at her kind of like someone who has gotten a headache from staring at the sun. "When is whenever?" He looks down to the coffee, sees it steaming, and leaves it alone for now. "Kind of matters. Well could."

Gina just shrugs, casual and unconcerned. "When it's done, I guess. I'm shit at cooking." Siiiiiiip. Very audibly. Hot coffee! "But I guess if you're in a rush I can set the order to go." Grudgingly stated, as if she's doing Blake a very large favor. But then the smallest speck of interest forms, and Gina looks over Blake, "You're not local." Not a question. "In a rush to get somewhere, or just anywhere but here?"

"Cool." Blake says to the first comment. "Don't bother. I can hold out. I like the decor too much," he says with a flash of a grin. Still he squints a little at the end of it. "Moved here if you would fucking believe it. You're a local I take it?" He reaches out to pull the coffee closer and lifts it to blow across the surface. Someone has no desire to burn their tastebuds off.

"Don't miss out on Ms. Pansy." Gina points up to the ceiling-- and if he looks up, in the rafters, is a mounted, snarling bear head of what must have been a massive bear, in full snarl... with a pearl necklace serving as a "collar" of sorts. Maybe Ms. Pansy is also enough to distract him from noticing the way Gina's eyebrows creep up at the comment about moving here. But she answers the question, leaning against the table as if it's perfectly natural. "Raised right here. Left a few years for school, but came back. I missed the weather." Gina's tone is conversational, but it... has just a touch of an intonation to it, that makes it difficult to tell if she's being sincere or sarcastic or teasing. Especially not with that barely-there smile she gives. "You'll have to be more careful here. The storms are one thing, but the quiet places are what will get you."

Blake lifts those blue eyes upwards to the big bear bearing down on him. He shoots Ms. Pansy a cheeky wink. Whether he notices Gina's reaction or not, nothing gives any indication he has. "No offense, but I must have been fucking high as a kite at the time I decided to move here." Though could he really have been high so long as to actually move here? Unlikely. Blake is the opposite. All smiles, invoking toothy grins without ever actually bearing his teeth. "What, will you come for me in the silence?" he teases with a bounce of his eyebrows.

That draws a small, derisive snort. "Like you seem worth the time." Gina doesn't even seem to notice the words might be construed as a personal attack, just casually throwing it out there. "I'd consider packing up and leaving if I were you. Or not. Your life." A small shrug. "You've got it all over you. CHarm, glitter and shine." Gina gestures to encompass Blake with her coffee cup. "The town loves people like you. You'll fit right in." Is she talking about his winks and smiles, or the Glimmer-bright nature he has? Well, her own's pretty comparable. "Still recommend a short stay and a long trip."

"You'd have to get to know me for at least five minutes to figure that out...Sharp," Blake lifts his coffee for a mock toast and then takes a sip. "Yeah. I've tried to leave five times since I got here. Fuck I can't even move out of this house I'm at." Blake straightens up a little. "You too. I wonder if it's a coincidence that you 'missed the weather.'"

"I've got practice walking away." Gina shrugs, "Gets easier the longer you leave. But this place grows on you. Insert mold joke." There's a ding! and Gina looks towards the counter where the meal is ready. And, sighing, she gets up, taking her cup -- "I don't do normal well. I don't really stand out here." Or so she assumes, heading towards the counter to-- refill her coffee cup, first and foremost, including the caramel sauce, grab a cookie, and then bring the plate over to Blake.

As could be expected from the sight of the burger, the food looks ridiculously good, especially considering the surroundings. Including the syrups, which is definitely real maple, not "maple flavored" or "pancake syrup," and the grits taste equally authentic.

"Normal's overrated...That's what they say right? Fuck. What is normal these days? Pretty sure normal's been fucked up since the beginning of time, between the systemic sexism, racism, age old classism, etcetera, etcetera, 'normal' has always been a shit show." When Gina moves off, he lifts his hand to his forehead again, fingers shading his eyes. A few moments later, his hand drops from his face to his lap and he looks over to the counter. No more smiles, just this slightly pained press of his lips that could pass as pensive. The waffles land in front of him and he looks down, a ghost of a grin there. He looks up to Gina and nods, "Thanks."

"Literally what I'm paid to do." Gina points out as a response to the thanks... before just sitting down at a table right next to Blake, feet propping up in the chair, coffee and cookie set down on the table. She doesn't touch them quite yet, instead tapping a finger on the table impatiently for a moment as she considers something or the other. And then sighs. Deeply saddened. And looks back to Blake. "So. I usually don't fuck around and tell people shit. Personal philosophy of mine. But lucky for you, I just pulled more swords than I'm comfortable with twenty minutes ago. So you, pretentious and pedantic new guy, get three warnings from me." Gina doesn't look particularly happy about this, either.

Blake doesn't tuck into his food immediately and his cavalier slouching has ceased. He's slumped forward slightly when Gina sits down, slightly dazed look. He blinks and looks over at her when she speaks. "More swords?" There's a muted quality to the way he says it. "Was that the warning? About..." He takes up his fork and uses it to try and start cutting the waffle with the side of it, pressing hard as his other arm remains limp. "Are you sad because I'm..pretentious and pedantic or..?"

"No." Gina's answer is simple. And what part is she answering? She reaches for her cookie, breaking it in half, then in quarters, dipping it into the coffee before taking a bite. "I don't know you. I don't like you because people in general piss me off. Just pointed out your specific flavor." Gina adds, watching Blake. Not interfering. Studying. "It's what fell. It could be a warning to either of us." She dips her cookie again, stirring it slightly in an infinity-- no, in a figure eight. "Eight of swords. Confusion. Self-blindness. Restriction as your strength turns against you." Gina eats the cookie, sips her coffee. "Could be me, could be you. I don't know you." Blunt and straightforward. "Still want the other two warnings?"

Blake glances over to Gina when she says people in general piss her off. His expression is neutral, but not happy neutral. He reaches for the maple syrup and sees the fruit, doing a slight double take before pouring out a nice pool of the sticky liquid. There's a rigidness to the man now. His fork when Gina discusses the portents. "Could be both of us," he mumbles, his deep voice not really matching his youthful appearance. He squishes it down to pinch off a bite and swirls it through syrup. "Yes."

Gina doesn't seem bothered by Blake's expression, neutral or not. Her own face, like her voice, can be difficult to read when she doesn't want it. "It probably is. It was one of my oldest decks. It likes efficiency." There, again. Is it a joke? A truth? Her expression doesn't say. If it's a joke, she's great at deadpan. "The second is obvious. You've felt it. But I don't know you, or how often you get fucked over. So in short. Most other places, you slip up every couple of months, maybe. Expect to be a lot more fucked up. Especially if you love feeling special over your glitter. " That raises a humorless little smile , "And third." Her eyes focus on Blake further, carefully. "It's not being used like it was intended. Don't assume that when you see it." Gina settles her feet back on the ground, straightening in her seat. "All I've got for you."

Ruining multiple lives with a single reading. That /is/ efficient, but it's not a thought he shares with Gina, and there's little enthusiasm unearthed by the discovery. Instead, just numbness. There's a ghost of a grin at Gina mentioning him getting fucked over. "You don't even know the half of it." The grin turns inwardly sardonic as if Gina's missing some cosmic joke. "Feeling special over my glitter?" He leaves his fork to the plate and reaches up to rub at the crown of his head, mussing up his hair a little. "Is that supposed to become more and more vague? Don't assume 'something' is not being used as intended? Aren't you supposed to be general but not /too/ general?"

Gina's humorless smile remains. For a moment, brief though it may be, there might be a flash of feeling in those dark eyes, but it's tucked away, shuttered behind that ambivalent smile. That hovers, and then falls, abruptly and purposefully, "Don't actually know any of it, new guy. Absolutely fuck all about you except the glitter and gleam. Which means I know you're fucked, one way or another, and so your opinion of me means jack shit." She has more of her coffee, rising to her feet. "So come or don't, listen or don't. I suck at this shit. But I gave you the warnings, so I'm going to hope my karmic debt is cashed out." She's about to walk to the counter again.. but pauses. "If you actually believe in fortune-telling shit, I do know a good one."

"Probably best," but Blake doesn't elaborate. He gets another bite of his waffle. He seems unshaken by how well his words have gone over. Blake doesn't try to set Gina straight on what he meant, perhaps assuming it's too late to make a difference. It's unclear. His eyes sweep after her with a measure of discomfort. "How am I supposed to listen and heed the warmings if I don't know what any of it means?...Huh?" He shakes his head at Gina's last words, confusion washed over his features. "What do you mean you know a good one?...are you fucking with me? I've got a shitty memory sometimes," he mumbles with that low voice of his.

Gina says, "Not my problem." Gina says... not unkindly. Just not kindly, when Blake asks about the warnings. She watches as he grows confused again, finishing off the last of her coffee as she does. "And yes. I probably am." A thin slice of a smile, again, before Gina repeats. "If you're into fortunes and cards and all that, I know a good one in town. If you aren't, power to you. Anyway I've got accounting to do. You need any more shit or something?""

"Fuck," Blake grumbles as he still feels left in the dark by the stranger. His brow crinkles up and there's a measure of discomfort in his eyes. "Yeah...Right." He pushes up halfway through his meal, his sides left untouched. He pulls out his wallet from his back pocket and pulls some bills that ought to be more than enough to cover his meal, and drops the money to the table. "Gotta go," he mutters and then outright leaves.