fandomtownies | Luke's Diner, Thursday

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$luke's,
priestly

Luke's Diner, Thursday

Priestly was buzzing with anticipation and nerves about tonight's performance, muttering his lines to himself as he went about his daily grind.

The kitchen staff decided that, to make him feel better, they'd distract him by putting stuff in his hair.

Today's specials
Bacon cheeseburger
Fried cheesewheel
Rootbeer floats

Luke's was open.

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In case you don't want Shakespeare muttered at you by the guy with a paperstand for hair.

Listen to him try to convince you to come see the play!

Fred eyed the specials board. All of it sounded damn delicious.

"...toast," he ordered. "And small green salad."

He hated himself soooo much.

Priestly's eyebrows went up just a little bit, but he nodded. "Anything to drink?"

"Water," Fred said. He eyed Priestly as if to say 'go ahead, punk. Crack a joke. Make my day'.

Dude, that look was kind of creepy. Priestly decided against pointing out that the guy should probably get some protein from somewhere and just kind of hurried back to get the order.

Oh crap, should he bring out little butter pats for the toast? The guy was clearly on a diet, but toast always came with butter pats and if it didn't, the guy might think Priestly was trying to say something. . . .

He grimaced, then quickly swapped out all the real butter in one of the dishes with low- and non-fat butter alternatives and brought it out with the toast, salad, and a pitcher of water.

"Here ya go, sir."

"Thanks," Fred said, poking at his salad with a fork. "You go to the school, I'm guessin'?"

Priestly nodded. "Yeah. I'm a senior this year."

"Big kid like you, and you're not in my class?" Fred said. "Let me guess. Pacifist?"

Oh, this was the dude who taught punching people for fun and profit.

"No," Priestly said, a little lamely. "Just . . . I got enough of hitting people when I played football."

"There ain't no such thing," Fred said. "Then again, someone punched you, you're likely to get a damn piercing ripped out." He laughed.

Priestly shrank subtly away from Fred. "And in general I'd rather not find out."

"Wuss," Fred said, laughing again. He'd started to actually eat his salad.

And, okay, now Priestly was starting to get a little pissed off.

"Dude, just because someone doesn't want to go around hitting people doesn't make them a wuss."

"Jokin', junior," Fred said. "What, you never been teased before? You should be glad I ain't makin fun of your hair or the twelve pounds of metal in your face."

"Yeah, well, maybe you should be glad I didn't bother to mention the threat you pose to the structural integrity of that chair."

"You don't make fun of what people look like," Fred said. "That just ain't right."

He stood up, harrumphed, picked up his salad in one hand, and threw it at Priestly.

"I ain't paying to get insulted."

Priestly caught the plate, squinting through the rain of lettuce.

"Yeah, 'cause my hair and piercings have nothing to do with what I look like." This guy was a complete freak. And Priestly's assessment totally had nothing to do with Fred's weight. "And I ain't getting paid to be told that I should be hitting people."

Fred turned and stomped out. "Learn to take a joke."

"Yeah, well, learn how not to be a psychopath!" Priestly called after him. "And eat some protein!"

Yeah, that'd show him.

A cucumber slid down the back of Priestly shirt and he squeaked, flinging the plate into the air.

Geoffrey's poster was at least in far better taste than some companies that think they're edgy and clever ~~and in need of a youth-quake~~. . . .

I wanna go back to bed. But half my department is already out, today. . . .

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Luke's Diner, Thursday

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