fandomtownies | Luke's Diner, May 9 (Friday)

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Luke's Diner, May 9 (Friday)

Lacey was painting again today, and if the repeated sounds of the brush slapping against the wall were any indication she was pretty annoyed -- okay, mad -- about what had been said about her on the radio last night. She'd thought she'd gotten away from that sort of thing; people in Dog River were always saying snarky things about her, but she'd been hoping it wouldn't happen here.

Today's Special
Pick something.
It's all special.

Luke's is open. Grr.

[OOC: One more available diner shift, either Monday or Wednesday; ping me if you're interested.]

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Paint-splattered clothes are no fun.

Or maybe you prefer that Pollock look.

A squirrel raced into the diner, fedora askew and notepad slung across its wee back.

He chittered and pointed towards the pies.

Some of the radio squirrels were born without a sense of self-preservation.

Lacey turned and glared at the squirrel, not having processed the meaning of the fedora and notepad yet; she was still stuck on RODENT. IN MY DINER.

"Oh, no, you don't," she said, holding the dripping paintbrush up. "Take your little rodenty germs out of my diner!"

Lacey, it could be said, was also somewhat lacking in the self-preservation department sometimes.

The squirrel squeaked in annoyance and reached for his notepad.

"PI!" he wrote insistently, and held it up.

"Is four-point-one-three, everybody knows that," Lacey said. As if she knew. "But you can't have any of the P-I-E. I don't serve squirrels h -- wait a second, you can write?"

The squirrel looked at the pencil in his paw and gave her a "duh" look.

Lacey stood up, but she still had the paintbrush in one hand.

"Of course the squirrels around here can write," she said resignedly. Nope, the fedora+notepad combination still hadn't clicked in her head. "But you're still probably all mangy and I'm pretty sure you're getting me closer and closer to violating food sanitation laws every second you're . . . oh, I'm talking to a squirrel. Go on, shoo!"

The squirrel hissed at her, then wrote "Ev0l Luek PaNtR!" on the pad and held it up.

Another piece of paper quickly followed. "PIE?"

Because that would work.

"Okay, you really need . . . hey!" Lacey brandished the paintbrush at the squirrel, unmindful of the paint everywhere. "Did you hear that on the radio? Because let me tell you, that's a complete lie, and I'm definitely not giving any pie to a hostile little . . . thing that spreads gossip and germs!"

The squirrel had applied for the job because of the chance to spread gossip and germs.

He pulled out a grubby press credential.

It said "R-PORTER, WTFH" on it.

". . . you work for the radio. I wish I could be surprised." Lacey's shoulders slumped.

Why, no, that's not a crude drawing of a squirrel with a target on it.

Hee.

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Luke's Diner, May 9 (Friday)

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