Luke's, Thursday Afternoon

[geniuswithasmartphone]

Today, the dishwasher had finally deigned to talk to Hardison. After months of giving him the cold shoulder (for no discernible reason), he'd finally decided (also for no reason) to start talking about one of his true passions in life: building miniature boats in bottles. Hardison absolutely couldn't care less about that hobby, but hey! Progress! All he had to do was stay quiet and pay attention to the lecture.

Less than three minutes into their conversation, whose passport should finally get flagged on his system? The Butcher. Because of course.

Hardison really tried to pay attention, hoping that the dishwasher would start to wrap the talk up within a few minutes. Or at least get to a natural pause. But after another four ticked by with him showing absolutely no signs of pausing, even for breath, Hardison had to interrupt.

"Naw, man, naw, this is mad fascinatin', I mean that, but I need to--"

Affronted, the dishwasher stood up. "That's fine," he said in frosty tones. "I know when I'm boring someone."

"No, that ain't it at all!" Okay, yeah, also that, but this was actually important. "We've been keepin' an eye out for this international murderer--!"

"Not interested," the dishwasher said, spinning on his heel and stalking back towards the kitchen. "I knew this was a bad idea!"

"Awww...dammit!" Hardison growled, before calling Eliot to let him know that the Butcher had been spotted. "So damn close! I hate this guy! Next time Eliot kills him with an appetizer, he'd better stay dead."

Today's Specials
Shrimp Chorizo
Pork and Kimchi Potstickers
Rosemary Caramel Apple Pie

Stark Industries - Thursday

[notaweenie.livejournal.com]

Another day at Stark's with Barry and yet another portal opened to yet another dimension.

No fish or flying fruit today. Nope. Today it's just a tiny penguin who apparently thinks he's a knight. A rather annoyed penguin knight who keeps poking Barry to hurry him along and send the penguin back home.

"Quit fucking poking me or I'll deep fry you in clarified fucking butter!"

Barry was not a fan at being poked at.

Post Office, Thursday

[doesnotkneel]

Edward had weathered this storm once before, and he was intent on weathering it again.

... though so far, this day hadn't brought him much.

There was just the one suitcase, that read a farmer from the cradle to the grave. No efforts he had taken to dispose of it had worked. So now it sat at the front of the post office, staring at him.

He tried to ignore it as he sorted the mail.

[[ open! ]]