fandomtownies | Luke's Diner, November 8 (Monday)

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Luke's Diner, November 8 (Monday)

Yes, Lacey was a proponent of talking to plants as a way of encouraging them to grow. No, it wasn't unusual for her to be spotted doing just that with the vegetables in the diner planters these days.

"Look at you, aren't you just a nice healthy bunch of spinach? All . . . robust, with shiny, shiny leaves . . . boy, I bet you're just chock full of chlorophyll and nutritious goodness, aren't you? And you -- I don't think I've seen lettuce that crisp and fresh in a long, long time. . . ."

Yes, she was petting the veggies. Shut up. Her life was kind of sad.

Today's Specials
Green Beans with Bacon and Chestnuts
Potato Gratin with Mushrooms and Gruyere
Cranberry and Wild Blueberry Pie

Luke's is open, and . . . yeah, the kitchen staff won't judge you for staring.

[OOC: The OCD is off trying to get three stars on all the Angry Birds Halloween levels for me. Dude, don't look at me; I don't even know about this post.]

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John wasn't staring. Yet. He wasn't staring yet, because he'd only just gotten in through the door and, well, from his vantage point, there wasn't much to be stared at.

He cleared his throat. "Pardon...?" He was fairly early, after all; maybe he'd misjudged the level of 'open' of the diner.

"You're going to grow up to make someone's salad very happy someday soon," Lacey was cooing at the lettuce, but she looked toward the door.

"Oh, hi!" she called, waving enthusiastically (have more shame about talking to the vegetables this way, Lacey, honestly). "We're open. Come on in!"

Well, she was certainly... energetic.

John flashed her a polite smile that managed to reach his eyes about halfway, and came on in. So to speak. "Early days, I take it?" he asked. His ability to ignore things like 'talks to plants' was legend.

"That's me. Bright and early," Lacey confirmed; evidently, her 'maniacally chipper' setting was up to 11 today. Oh, sublimation, the sad, sad, bizarre forms you take sometimes. "Just . . . doing my part to help everyone get the week off to a good start! What can I get for you today?"

Her eyes did have a charming sort of manic light to them, John observed. His smile went up a little bit unsconsciously. "Very kind of you. Tea, please," he said, "Then some kind of lunch. I haven't really had a good look at your menu yet, I'm afraid."

Oooh, he was so polite.

. . . Lacey's eager-to-please air, though, as she presented the variety pack of teas with a Wheel-of-Fortune flourish, was entirely normal.

"That's not a problem," she assured him, turning momentarily to fill a pot of hot water for him. "I can get you a copy of the menu now, unless something on the specials board catches your eye."

"Is there anything in particular you recommend?" Impeccable manners, our John, though not in the icy fashion of, say, Mycroft Holmes. "Any... dishes?"

That pause probably wasn't supposed to be there. She'd turned around, though, and John idly darted a glance down before he caught and reprimanded himself.

"Oh, stop it," Lacey said with a little giggle in the manner of someone who liked to think people were flirting with her. "Personally, I think all of it's good, but maybe we can narrow it down. Were you thinking of something sweet? Savory? Maybe a little of both?"

"A bit of both sounds excellent," John said (smiled and nodded) and slid into a seat, knitting his fingers together as he did so. "Have you been working here long?" She seemed nice.

"Oh, thank God, a man who doesn't look at the menu and then order a chili cheese dog every time." There miiiiiiiight have been a tiny bit of a Fistpump of Victory there. Hush. Brent Leroy was exasperating even at a distance. "I've got a new burger recipe I've been working on -- a patty stuffed with braised short rib, and topped with fig jam."

If he tried it he'd be her new favorite person ever.

Lacey got out a mug and set it out for him along with the hot water and tea basket, leaning against the edge of the table. "Oh, gosh. I've been here about three years now, I think? Wow, where does all the time go . . ."

[OOC: And I have to run off-site for a while, rawr. Yay SP?]

John, who lived on a diet that was composed mostly of Chinese food, just nodded in her direction. "Right," he said. "Sounds good, let's have that." Maybe if he'd paid more attention, he'd have shied away and gone for the chili cheese dog. Whatever it was.

It sounded a little disturbing, honestly.

"Three years," he echoed. "Well. You must have quite a feel for the place, then. All the... oddities."

[[ always! ]]

Yes, if you'd seen Brent Leroy inhale chili cheese dogs, you'd be disturbed too.

. . . anyway. New favorite person!

"Oh. Oh, yeah," Lacey agreed, scribbling the order down and sending it back to the kitchen before she drifted over to run a fingertip idly down one of the lettuce leaves in a nearby planter. "The invasions of tiny adorable animals, the gremlin bites, the waking up naked after being a singing wall trout plaque for a week . . ."

And here he had been nodding along until that sentence suddenly came to a screeching halt in his brain, not unlike a car accident--

"Singing wall trout plaque," John repeated. (Naked. He expelled the word 'naked' from his mind, though Jeff Murdock could've told him that wasn't going to work for very long.)

Why, why, why had Lacey felt the need to include that example? "I don't even know how that one happened," she said quickly. "Although wow, it was embarrassing. Don't tell me you haven't had any of that kind of Fandom weirdness hit you yet?"

. . . she didn't mean the kind that resulted in nudity, necessarily . . .

"Not... unless you count the singing," he said, smiling perfunctorily. "My colleague's the one who's previously changed into... something."

Oh wow, was female Sherlock the last thing he wanted to sneak into his brain at a time like this.

Edited 2010-11-09 16:02 (UTC)

Yes, the dubious caliber of songs Lacey had ~~handwavily~~ sung in her apartment over the weekend was best left completely undiscussed.

"Your colleague changed? What, into an animal, or . . . ?" Lacey was about to ask who his colleague was when something else occurred to her (mercifully distracting her from the temptation to ask what happened upon the changing back, at least for now). "Oh, gosh, I'm so distracted today -- where'd my manners go? I don't even know who you are."

She extended a hand. "Lacey Burrows, by the way."

"A woman," John replied. With any luck, his slightly off smile didn't reflect the sheer level of disturbed he was at both the fact that it had happened, and the fact that he was still thinking about it.

Though it was gone in a second anyway, as he took her hand and shook it firmly, and held on maybe a little too long. "Doctor John Watson," he offered. "John's fine."

"Ooooooh." Apparently Lacey was easily distracted today. "You're a doctor?"

And easily impressed, by the sound of it.

"Very nice to meet you, John," she went on, smile bumping up a notch or two in brightness. "How did your, uh -- colleague," and she hadn't meant to imply anything by the spin she put on the word, it had just snuck in there -- "take the change? I've never had that happen."

John had heard that spin one too many times not to kneejerk and go, "Just a colleague," before answering anything else. "And he's... well, he's not very easily rattled. It's... hardly important. I work at the clinic."

Segue, segue like the wind.

"I bet you see some of the most interesting cases there," Lacey said dreamily, and a little naively, and oh, really, just a colleague? "I've always thought being a doctor was such an impressive profession. You must be really skilled with your hands."

Lacey.

Yes, just a colleague, just a very, very asexual colleague that a sincerely and happily heterosexual John shared a home with. For goodness' sakes.

"Well," John said, smile turning flattered, "I am a surgeon. The work requires a steady hand. Much," he added, "like waiting tables, I presume. I bet at the busy end of the evening you're running around balancing plates like an expert."

Well, you never knew around Fandom!

And sure, John, flatter the woman; she soaked that sort of thing up like a sponge. "Oh, it's not the same kind of thing," Lacey said, waving a hand self-deprecatingly. "Getting people their food without dropping it isn't nearly as crucial as maybe saving their lives; it's just getting the hang of it."

Beat.

"And occasionally, a little strategic hip action."

. . . for leverage. What?

It's all right. It's not like he wasn't constantly attempting (and failing) to convince the various servers of London that he wasn't dating Sherlock, anyway.

"Really?" John said, eyebrows going up. "...Well. You seem to have... gotten the hang of it nicely."

The Internet was incorrigible that way, wasn't it?

"Is that your professional opinion?" Lacey raised both eyebrows and leaned against the cash register. "I mean, really, does it show?"

A lot of people were. Annoying, honestly.

"Excellent hip action," John agreed. He was ... wondering vaguely when he'd gotten quite this forward. "Wouldn't want to change anything about it myself."

"Oh, well, then." Lacey wasn't usually in the habit of flirting with customers -- less because of any ethical compunctions and more because it had gone disastrously in Dog River -- but somehow she wasn't caring much about that today. "I'm glad you appreciate it. Someone ought to. Who knew all that tray-carrying would pay off?"

John smiled along, and it took him about half a minute to realise he hadn't even picked anything to order yet. "...Yes," he said. "Well, perhaps we should talk about that some more at some later date?"

Oh, smooth.

Lacey leaned a little further into the cash register and said with a touch more emphasis than was strictly necessary, "I would love to."

So comparatively, yes, that had been smooth, John.

Excellent.

"Good," John said, with a smile. "Very good. Er-- how are you this weekend?"

If he gave it a few days, he'd be able to suss out whether Sherlock was going to try to derail anything.

"Completely, tragically free," Lacey answered. Oh, god, was that a wibbly lower-lip quiver? Yes. Yes, it was.

"Saturday night?" he asked, with a winning smile.

No, seriously, he wasn't forward in quite... this way... usually. "Dinner?"

Lacey usually (oh, let's be honest, 'usually' in this case meant 'sometime in the last ice age') put at least a token effort into pretending to think about the question before answering. Today, though, she nodded far too eagerly.

"Ohmygoshyesplease?"

. . . that was sad, Lacey.

Well, what was she supposed to do? She'd failed her saving throw vs. winning smile abysmally.

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Luke's Diner, November 8 (Monday)

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