fandomtownies | Luke's Diner, May 16 (Monday)

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Luke's Diner, May 16 (Monday)

It wasn't that Lacey wasn't interested in going out and exploring the isladn's new surroundings today. She was. She really was!

It was just that, the more she thought about it, the more the prospect of all that sand intimidated her. Sand, with its tiny, gritty, abrasive little particles that got everywhere, and then if it got everywhere it just stood to reason that she'd track it everywhere, and then there'd be sand in her shoes and sand wedged between the cracks of the tiles in the diner floor and sand in her carpet at home and . . .

So she was staying right here. In her nice and (so far) sand-free diner. Yes.

Not because she was scared of the sand or anything, though!

. . . ignore the compulsive sweeping.

Today's Specials
Eggs, Hash Browns, and Steel-Cut Oats
Roasted Broccoli with Asiago
Slow-Cooked Pulled Pork Sandwiches

Luke's is open, and sand-free, by god.

[OOC: And OCD-free, and I don't even know.]

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Ariel, who rather liked sand, was out enjoying the sand before she started to get a little bit hungry, and getting a little hungry while enjoying sand made her think of Cheetos, and Cheetos made her realize....

It was Monday!

And that didn't mean she should be at work right now (which she should be), but that Lacey might be at work today, and so Ariel hopped up and headed back toward the island toward the diner.

And she wasted no time. "Miss Burrows! Miss Burrows! I have a question for you!"

Give Lacey a moment; she hadn't quite latched onto the prospect of SAND. INCOMING.

"Yeah?" Lacey was still hanging onto that broom, yes. "I might even have an answer for you!"

Impending realization in 3, 2 . . .

"Can you fry a Cheeto for me?" Ariel asked, bouncing up closer to the counter. "Please?"

"Can I what?" That wasn't an answer, Lacey. That was another question. "Theoretically, yes, but -- why?"

That was yet another question, Lacey, honestly.

There could have been an answer next, except slightly delayed yet horrifying realization had sunk in.

SAND.

And so with a squeak and a little "Oh gosh," Lacey clutched her broom a little closer.

Ariel blinked a little, an eyebrow lifting a little, and she looked over her shoulder as if half expecting there to be something really terrible behind her. But there wasn't so she turned back toward Lacey. "Oh gosh, what?" she wondered. "And I want to know what it tastes like, if you deep fry a Cheeto."

And this was where Lacey found herself in the horrible, horrible dilemma of a position where she didn't want to turn down a customer (or chase one off kind of literally with a broom), but sand in the diner? Rock and a hard place!

". . . like a deep-fried Cheeto?" she suggested weakly, letting the broom twitch just a little bit in a vague sweeping motion before she got it under control. "Well, I mean, why not?"

Oooh, half-hysterical giggle. "We can give it a try!"

"We can?" It was like Lacey had told Ariel that it was Christmas. "Great! I brought my own Cheetos and everything!"

And, to prove it, she reached into her satchel to pull them out, which probably didn't do much for the sand situation since the satchel had also been in the sand.

"Oo--" Ariel almost said oops, but she stopped herself. Maybe Lacey wouldn't notice. She thought she'd distract her by shoving the bag of snacks her way. "Here! I'll leave the master to do it!"

Her poor, poor deep fryer. Her poor, poor --

***

Flash-cut to your standard soft-focus fantasy sequence, of Lacey in a pith helmet and safari outfit (yes, this is all wrong), trudging through a desert. It's clear and brilliantly sunny out, but no wind . . .

Until a GALE FORCE GUST blows through, swirling sand everywhere like a gritty, aggressively exfoliating screenful of static. When it clears, Lacey's standing waist-high in a dune that wasn't there before.

LACEY (who should be paying Anakin right about now): NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

***

"The master?" More hysterical giggling! "Oh, thanks. That's . . . I'm a master of deep-frying. I feel so accomplished. Why don't I just --"

START SWEEPING MANIACALLY -- no, no. Rein it in, Lacey. Rein. It. In.

"I'll take these back and get them started for you, okay? Why don't you take a seat? Can I get you a drink while you wait? Water, maybe? A nice, tall glass of boy-it's-really-hot-out-there water?"

"MMmmmmmmm," Ariel considered the glass of water as she easily slid onto a stool and figured that she'd had enough water in her life and said, "I'd like a Dr. Pepper, please. But don't fry them too long! I think they'll get really gross if you fry them too long, you know?"

"Absolutely." Don't try so hard to sound enthusiastic, Lacey. "Nobody wants over-fried Cheetos, right?"

There was just the problem of only having two hands, and if she was going to get a glass of Dr. Pepper and take the Cheetos back to the kitchen (and probably get laughed at by the cook but that was hardly new) she was going to have to let go of the broom and . . .

Okay, soda first. And while she filled the glass, and brought it over to Ariel, she was very slowly peeling the fingers of the one hand choke-gripping the broom away from its handle, one by one.

"I'll, uh." She reached for the Cheetos. "Be right back with these, okay?"

"I'll be right here!" Ariel promised, spilling a little more sand on the floor accidentally when she went to get her awesome fun straw from her bag. "Waiting in excited antici....pation!"

. . . just take that pathetic whimper of Lacey's, as she hurried into the back, as agreement. Enthusiasm, even.

The whack was the broom (she hadn't succeeded in letting go of it) smacking into the side of the fridge on her way.

The guffaw -- well, that was the cook, who laughed the entire time Lacey was in the back, and kept laughing for a good thirty seconds after she reappeared out front, sizzling plate of deep-fried Cheetos in one hand and the broom still in the other.

"There you are," she said, trying oh so subtly to sweep up some of the stray sand with the broom while she set down the Cheetos.

"Ohmygosh!" Ariel laughed a little herself, looking with awe at the dream finally laid out before her in actualization. "It really worked! It's a thing of beauty, Miss Burrows, I almost don't want to eat it!"

Which, of course, meant in a second after, she was reaching for one to try.

The thing was, they were kind of horrifying Lacey, who gestured a little maniacally toward the plate with the non-broom-clutching hand. "No, no, really, I insist, give them a try!"

La la la, no sand-sweeping going on here, nope. That was just a tic. Yes.

And try, Ariel most certainly did. In went a deep-fried Cheeto, which she slowly, thoughtfully masticated, considering each nuance of flavor infused in this new take on her favorite snack.

"Hmmmmmm," she said, swallowing and reaching for a second. "They're...not bad."

The word she was ~~taking from internet reviews~~ looking for was...underwhelming.

~~. . . why am I not surprised.~~

Leave it to Lacey to still take it badly when even a culinary attempt she'd doubted from the start didn't go over well.

"Just not bad?" she asked, looking a little frantic.

Ariel shrugged a little, oblivious still to any frantic tendencies on the woman's part. "I mean, they're Cheetos," she said, "so of course they're awesome. They're just not any....more special awesome than just regular Cheetos."

"Well, they were already crunchy to begin with," Lacey offered, daring to sweep a little harder now. "I'm not sure how much crunchier they could get in the deep fryer."

Sure, make it an unwitting challenge, Ariel. She'd spend nights awake over this now.

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Luke's Diner, May 16 (Monday)

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