Post office, Thursday

[intotheout]

Tip found a package with her own name on it when she arrived at work, today: a collection of art supplies from her mother and J.Lo. Tip had asked for them to send her some stuff a little while ago, since the island didn't have much by way of an art store, but she hadn't explained why she couldn't just pop into the city to find one herself. The last time she'd wandered off into space without asking, she'd ended up grounded for two years, after all. Her mom had apparently interpreted this as homesickness, and put a very nice note in the package about how feeling homesick was perfectly natural and Mom was really proud of her for being so brave, and she was only a couple hours away the way the Slushious flies, so if she wanted to come home to visit for the weekend, that was just fine.

"Well, I wasn't homesick," Tip told Bill, who made a sympathetic looking bubble shape in the air. He followed her everywhere, of course, and knew she was lying. "What should I try to draw first?" Bill made the bubble equivalent of a shrug.

The next customer to come in would find a fine coating of charcoal dust coating most of the counter, while Tip attempted to draw a tree. "It's abstract impressionist," she told them, as they fastidiously clutched their package to their chest.

Whatever. They would have found something else to complain about, anyway.

[open!]

Luke's, Thursday Afternoon

[geniuswithasmartphone]

So, many days later and the staff of the diner was still obsessed with the musical that had won all the awards. Hardison came downstairs to see Cook and the dishwasher standing back to back, with baguettes held ramrod straight in their hands. The rest of the staff called out numbers with each step. "One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten paces!"

At ten paces, the two...combatants? (though Hardison was certain that Eliot would just call them idiots) spun around and started ripping off pieces of their baguettes and flinging them at each other. "Lee, do you yield?" the busboy called after a particularly heavy barrage of bread ended with Cook getting pelted. "You got him in the side, yes he yields!" one of the waitstaff called back.

"Never!" Cook hollered. "You can take my life, but you will never take...MY BREADSTICKS! Come on, second!"

And suddenly the inside of Luke's was a hailtstorm of thrown foodstuffs as whatever scene they were acting out devolved into a massive food fight. Dinner rolls, breadsticks, tortillas being whipped through the air like frisbees...It was madness. Yeasty, baked madness.

Hardison just stood there for a moment, facepalming, before going to fix the Specials sign.

Today's Specials
Anything you want, just make these idiots cook something.

[No OCD!]