2019-11-07 - Two Cops And A Park Ranger Walk Into A Diner

It's early morning at the Grizzly. It's not too busy, but certainly not vacant. Right about how you'd expect for breakfast. There are a few waitresses doing their thing, or just standing around, mostly. Alison's one of them, her red hair atop casual attire as she serves up breakfast to the patrons of the diner. There's plenty of space to sit, between the counter, tables, and booths.

Garrett is, judging by the dark brown pants and light brown shirt with Garrett above one pocket and Olympic National Park above the other, getting ready to head into work, like so many others no doubt He gives the diner a brief glance about, considering options, before slipping over to the counter, settling in at the end and glancing about.

The redheaded waitress is refilling someone's coffee as Garrett takes a stool, but she soon finishes and heads over, grabbing a menu from elsewhere on the counter, sliding it in front of the park ranger. Alison puts on her best waitressing smile (you know the one, it's fake as hell) and says, "Good morning. Coffee?" She doesn't quite wait for a response, though, grabbing a clean mug from under the counter and setting it down beside the menu.

Garrett looks up from where he'd let himself get distracted by his phone, flashing a much more sincere smile in return. "Please," he says on a very London accent, nodding a confirmation for the coffee and opening the menu. "Busy morning?" His tone is somewhere between actual question and idle observation.

Alison brings out some creamer to go along with the sugar (and non-sugar sweetener) holder nearby, then mostly fills the mug from a fresh carafe from the warming spot. "Not too bad. Better than being empty. Right after Halloween was a ghost town. So to speak. Time goes faster, y'know?" The waitress's own accent is indistinguishable from any other person native to the area. Her eyes glance down to Garrett's shirt, landing on the logo of the the nearby national park. "Probably busier than the campsites at this time of year, at least."

Garrett adds nothing to his coffee, even if the provided creamer and whatnot get another small smile of thanks. "Yeah, not very many campers this time of year," he agrees with a little chuckle, gaze flicking back and forth between Alison and the menu. "Clear out after Halloween... what, straggling tourists finally clear out? Seems an odd time for business to slow down."

Alison shrugs a bit! "Maybe the fog kept people away. I'd have thought that the Masquerade would keep things busy for a few days, but things are picking back up." A pause. "Maybe too much weird stuff going on, but that's not exactly a new thing around here, it seems like." Hearing a ding, she steps back to the pass-through to grab someone's stack of pancakes as it's finished by the cook, then delivers it to the hungry person waiting for it, returning to Garrett after a moment or two. "I mean, I think. I've only been here for a couple months now, but it just seems like a constant parade of weird."

"Maybe," Garrett agrees with the fog assessment. Good a reason as any. The abundance of weird gets a little snort of laughter, a vague agreement, but no actual comment. He takes a moment to actually focus on the menu when Alison vanishes to deliver food, but cocks his head to the side at the latest comment. "Hm, not just me that noticed, then? Yeah, doesn't take too long to notice, apparently. Been around about that long myself." He sighs, sips his coffee, and finally closes the menu. "Veggie omelet, wheat toast, please?"

Alison doesn't elaborate on the weirdness. Elaborating on weirdness tends to make you a part of the weirdness. And being weird is no way to make friends, much less make tips for service.

She makes a slight expression of hesitation at the order of the omelette. "Mm.. have you had the omelettes here before, by chance? I mean, I like them, but sometimes people don't.." Hesitation slides more into something approaching sheepishness on the woman's face. That might've been something of an understatement.

Garrett picks up the... less than flattering review of the omelet and shakes his head. "I haven't. What's wrong with them?" he asks, looking a mix of cautious and curious. And maybe just a little amused. "And have any recommendations for something more.... palatable?" he adds.

Alison gives another little shrug. "Couldn't tell you myself. But they go back a lot." The waitress leans on the counter a bit, pondering a substitute recommendation. "The french toast's great, but that's a bit more on the carby side than I'd guess you're looking for. The scrambled eggs are great too, and the fried eggs have that perfect crispy little edge on them.." She gestures in the air with a finger, as if outlining the roundish shape of a fried egg, for all the good that will do. "Something about the omelettes, for some reason." The forced smile from earlier's slowly replaced by a more genuine one as the conversation goes on. "Maybe the grill's cursed, but only for omelettes?"

"Hm, fair enough." Garrett accepts the non-specific answer regarding the flaws in the omelets before considering the suggested alternatives. "Yeah, fried eggs sound good, then, I think," he decides, then laughs. "What an oddly specific curse," he muses, glancing in the general direction of the kitchen and giving a small shake of his head, and then returns the actual smile. "I'm Garrett, by the way." As if the name tag hasn't made that clear.

Alison nods and punches in the order. "Yeah, I have no idea. I mean, the food's pretty good here, despite.. well." She gestures around to the bears and bear-themed decorations that adorn the walls of the diner. "I guess a restauraunt can't quite get everything right." It's at this moment that the music changes to something approaching some weird hybrid of country and metal. Alison looks towards the back and glares in the general direction of someone in particular, but then turns back to Garrett. "Nice to meet you! I'm Alison."

Garrett looks around at the decorations then grins at Alison, shrugging. "I kind of like the decorations," he confesses. "Reminds me of back home a little bit." Pause. "...Minnesota home, not London home," he clarifies with a little laugh. "Nice to meet you as well, Alison," he responds, glancing in the direction of her glare and clicking his head to the side. "Not a fan of the music?" he asks innocently.

Alison grins. "I mean, I like them, mostly, but they're not exactly what comes to mind when I think of good food." Then she points at the stuffed bear by the door to the diner, partially obscured by jackets hanging from his paws and over his head. "Except him. He can be mean. Watch out for his claws."

"I guess they don't exactly get too many bears in London, huh? Minnesota seems more likely for bears, maybe? I've never been too far from Seattle though. What brings you around here, anyways? London's a long ways from Gray Harbor. Alison shakes her head a bit at the question about the music. "It's more about the wild bounces from genre to genre, really."

"Mind the bear claws. Noted." Garrett gives a sharp nod of understanding, giving the bear in question a look and pointing at it in a very 'got my eye on you' sort of way before returning his attention to Alison.
"Yeah, London isn't known for its bears," he agrees with a laugh, shaking his head. "Minnesota moreso." The question gets a little nod down at the uniform. "Work, mostly. Get paid to spend all day in the woods? Yes, please." He nods to Alison, looking curious. "What about you? Said you're new in town, too, right? What brought you out this way?"

There's a ding from the back before she can answer, and it's Garrett's breakfast. She brings it over - a pair of crispy fried eggs, a stack of white toast, and a side of sauteed vegetables (peppers, mushrooms and the like that you'd expect in an omelette), setting it down before refilling the park ranger's coffee.

"Sounds like soggy work to me, at least for nine months of the year. Can't really be beat for the three months or so of summer, I imagine." A pause. "Well, it'll sound weird, but moving here came to me in a dream. And I couldn't quite shake it, so here I am. It's not so different from Seattle, just smaller, a bit slower.. some of the people have this weird shine to them, if that makes any sense?" She gestures to the diner once more with open arms. "No big job offer, but I was ready for a change, I think."

"Thanks!" A bright smile from Garrett as his breakfast arrives and he sets to, taking a bite of some of the vegetables before saying anything. "A little wet, but nothing a mid-day sock and boot change doesn't keep up with," he answers lightly, not seeming at all concerned about wet feet. Another sip of coffee, then an interested look at the reason for moving.
"...so you literally followed your dreams to get here?" A glance about. "I've had worse dreams, I suppose," he decides, but gets further interested at the mention of shiny people. "I don't know about shine, but I do keep thinking people look familiar, if that's any consolation? Still weird." A shrug and he takes a bit of egg, giving a little nod of approval.

Alison pauses a bit before answering. "I mean, not like, a life goal or anything for moving here, just.. like an idea that I couldn't shake from my mind." Another shrug! She's full of em' this morning. "Yeah, maybe that's it. Hard to describe. Maybe past lives and all that kinda thing." She says halfheartedly, not really believing what she's saying, then tugging over a carrier that holds ketchup, hot sauce, and a few other things that tend to be popular to put on eggs. "I'd like to think that my past life decided to settle down somewhere a bit more happening, though."

Garrett waves off the explanation, shaking his head and smiling. "Hey, I wasn't trying to make fun. That's cool. You wanted to to the thing, so you did the thing." He gives a nod and a vaguely admiring look. The past lives explanation makes that expression change to something more bewildered. "Maybe?" He doesn't seem convinced, but that's probably not surprising given the subject matter. The various potential egg condiments go largely ignored as he works his way through his breakfast, seated near the end of the counter in the busy-ish diner and chatting with Alison between bites.

Ruiz shoulders his way into the diner, one of a pair of cop or cop-adjacent looking men speaking in conversational tones and- nope, definitely cops. Black on black uniforms, duty rigs bristling with weaponry, and a radio crackles noisily as they belly up to the front counter, before being switched off. The Hispanic one's a Captain, judging by the fancy pins on the collar of his jacket, and his buddy looks like he might be a Sergeant. Unmarked black cruiser parked outside, and the big guy seems to have a hankering for, "Blueberry waffles. You got any today, sweetheart?" He's got a grin for Alison; the captain looks a little surlier, and consults the menu like it's actually accurate, while his friend orders.

Alison leaves Garrett to his breakfast for a bit to take orders from Ruiz and company. She grabs some clean coffee cups from under the counter, setting them down in front of the two newcomers. "I can make that happen, as long as you promise not to cause any trouble." She gives Ruiz a little wink at that. "I think there should be some bearclaws done in a few minutes too, if that's your kinda thing. Coffee for you two this morning?"

The uniforms are just gravitating to this end of the counter, even if Garrett's park ranger getup doesn't quite carry the same weight. "Morning, officers," he greets, raising his coffee in their general direction before he takes a drink. "Watch it, she warned me against the bear claws not ten minutes ago," he adds, but there's probably a joke there judging by the tone and the glance he gives to the large, stuffed bear/coat rack.

Ruiz looks up from his bear-themed travesty of a menu, to the redhead trying to bribe him, just in time to catch her wink. Trouble? Does he look like trouble? "Do my best, honey," his buddy helpfully answers, then elbows his boss when the bearclaws are mentioned. "I'll buy a box of 'em for the break room if you promise not to tip the FD off."

The older officer, whose nametage reads: 'J. R. de la Vega', is poring over the menu again by this point, and murmurs, "Please. Black." The coffee, that is. "And a croissant." His accent mangles the word pretty badly, and he closes his menu and shoves it across the counter, with a glance at his buddy. "Why would I tip them off?" Garrett gets a little raise of the Sergeant's hand and a pleasant smile. The Captain? Nada.

Alison nods, and fills the coffee cup as requested, before turning back to the pastry holding box behind her, plating a croissant and placing in in front of the officer with some cutlery, a napkin, and a little tray of jams, butter, and whatnot. And then she's off to punch in the Sergeant's order of blueberry waffles. Her brow furrows a bit, and she ducks behind the counter for a moment. Her voice can be heard, but just barely over the music and ambient noise of the kitchen. "Yeah, blueberry. I couldn't find a button for it!"

And then she's back, heading over to Garrett first. "Anything else you need, just let me know." Walking back over to the officers, she says, "Oh, sorry about those bearclaws, that batch was actually special ordered last night for the fire department guys. There's a few left though, otherwise?"

Eggs gone, Garrett sets about using the last of his veggies and toast to mop up any yolk that has spread across the plate, eating quietly until his plate is clear, though he doesn't seem quite to be in a rush to head out the door, sipping contentedly at his coffee. The Sergeant gets a small return smile, and Alison's pass by gets a slight raise if the mug. "Maybe just a top off when you get a second, thanks," he requests, not sounding at all like it's anything urgent, sliding his phone out of his pocket, scrolling idly as he caffeinates for the day.

The look on the Sergeant's face when he's informed of the demise of the bearclaws is.. well, have you ever seen a grown man on the verge of tears? "I'll take one," he grumbles, big hand going around his coffee cup once it finally arrives. Ruiz just shakes his head, like he's been babysitting the guy and his bearclaw craving all shift, and just wants to drink his coffee in peace and check his messages on his cell phone. Which also comes out once he remembers.

Alison grabs a bearclaw from the pastry holder as well, brings it out with some cutlery, sets it down, etc. It's still /fresh/, but it's not exactly quite the same, warm out of the oven and dripping with frosting. "Holler for me if you need to take off in a hurry and I'll throw this stuff in to go packages for ya. Name's Alison." She heads back over to Garrett, topping off his coffee cup as well, setting down a to go cup. "Same goes for you! Don't want you having to suffer in the soggy forest all day without coffee."

When the to-go cup is offered, Garrett lets out a resigned little nod and pours his coffee from mug to styrofoam, sighing. He fishes out his wallet and leaves a twenty on the counter before giving the officers a little nod, and Alison a smile. "Nice to meet you, Alison. Have a good one. Officers." A little wave to all involved and he's heading for the door, coffee in hand.

"Thanks, Alison," proffers the Hispanic cop who's considerably stingier with his smiles. Though if she happens to look his way before she heads off to give Garrett a refill, he'll flash her a quick one. Then take a large bite of his croissant, flaky crumbs strewn across his plate and probably his lap and definitely his beard. He flicks at them with his fingertips, but misses a few. His buddy, meanwhile, nibbles on his sad looking bearclaw and probably thinks angry thoughts about those damned FD usurpers, looking up only long enough to tick off a casual salute to the departing Garrett.

Mere moments after the park ranger heads out the door, there's a ding from the kitchen. Alison turns and grabs a pair of large blueberry waffles from the passthrough with a "Thanks Nick" in the cook's direction, then brings them over to the bigger cop, along with some the usual condiments for such. Those, on the other hand, look quite fresh. Since they are! Just cooked and all, steam and blueberry scent filling the surrounding air. "That waffle place out of town makes a mean churro waffle. I keep meaning to get over there for one, but it's hard to drag myself over there when there's waffles here all day."

Ruiz is about to ask for a refill on his coffee when his radio goes off, and this time it isn't something he can ignore. He holds up a hand to his buddy to indicate five. Minutes, maybe? As in, that's how long he's got. Then he tosses a crumpled bill on the counter, flashes Alison a brief smile, and speaks into his radio while prowling for the door, "Ten-four, officers enroute. ETA is.." He checks his watch as he shoulders his way out, "..eight minutes."

Alison packages the waffles up and the remnants of the bearclaw, fills the to go cups with fresh coffee, and send Ruiz and the Sergeant on their way. The waitress cleans up after them, and goes about her day. Breakfast gets busier, than it quiets down somewhat before lunchtime..