Trooper Station, Friday

[pocketpretzels]

The Troopers today were deep in the midst of an incredibly heated argument, one that was causing some serious division here at the station: namely, was it in fact too early for pumpkin spice lattes and other fall-associated beverages and treats, or not?

Watts was just going to stay out of it, frankly.

Groovy Tunes; Friday [08/30].

[x_wondrous_x]

The stereo was pumping out some tunes reminiscent of some of Stewart's early electro roots, with a heavy focus on the Fischerspooner, and Stewart himself was lounged in the armchair throne at the back of the store in the performance area, getting absolutely no work done, unless you counted wrinkling his nose at his schedule for the upcoming semester and building up playlists on his phone based around all of them.

He would definitely count that as work, and he was the boss here, so, overall, he could count this as a very productive day.

Look. He'd shown up. What more did you really expect from him?

Groovy Tunes is open.

Midnight Manor kitchen, Friday morning

[knightinshinarmor]

It was a damp and gross kind of day out, so Remy was staying in. But he wasn't really feeling hanging out in his room all day, despite it being remarkably spacious for a boarding house of this size.

He and the cats were in the kitchen, then, the three felines twining their way around Remy's ankles as he worked on cooking up some classic Louisiana breakfast items.

Excessive amounts of classic Louisiana breakfast items. He'd grown up learning to cook for a large family and then spent not insignificant chunks of his life living at an institute with a communal kitchen. It was possible he didn't know how not to cook excessive amounts of food.

He was still learning how to do it without half of it getting eaten by the cats though.

"You don't even like sweet potatoes," he told Figaro as he shooed him off the counter yet again. "Mon amis, you have your own food right over there."

But their food was way less interesting than his! Surely at least the bacon drippings were for kitties!

[open! Please help keep me awake at work today!]

The Perk, Friday Afternoon

[ifwebeworthy]

Don had skipped the gremlin Starbucks at the towerlet, hoping to avoid the onslaught of specialty fall beverages, but he still needed coffee, so he'd stopped in at the Perk, where...

"No, I don't want an apple crisp latte. I just want coffee! Who puts apples in coffee?...Sure, you drink coffee with pie, but...actually, do you have any pie?"

Now he wanted pie, and Thor was curious about the apple crisp latte. He should've gone to JGoB. Well, at least he had finally obtained a plain black coffee and a table to drink it at.

(Open Perk is open!)

Rey's warehouse- Friday afternoon

[thatwaslucky]

You know that anniversary that had been on Rey's mind? It was today. She was both trying not to think about it and finding it impossible not to think about, and she wasn't really up to training training today. Instead she was trying to organize things around the warehouse some, since last week's missing equipment had magically reappeared, keeping herself busy with the little things.

Maybe later she'd try to be one of those people who could veg in front of the TV. She got the appeal now.

Pick Your Poison, Friday

[not_a_goddamn_princess]

"Am I depressed?" Margo asked the bath bomb, staring it in the face.

She was draped across a bench in a corner of the store, with a bottle of red wine at her side. "Can't even pull off a bank heist before my co-conspirator bailed. Seriously. The fuck is wrong with me?"

Was she losing her edge?

She blamed Fillory.

... Either way, Pick Your Poison was open.

The Perk, Saturday Morning

[ifwebeworthy]

If anyone had noticed a rather localized lightning storm centered on Stark Tower this morning, not to worry, that hadn't been Tony going full mad scientist, that had been Thor and Don fighting over who got to exist right now.

Despite his very strong argument that Don would be expected to put in an appearance at the welcome picnic, Thor had lost.

So now he was stomping into The Perk with a point to prove. "The apple coffee," he demanded. "Bring it to me."

You don't have to do this.

"I wish to. It may be delicious." The baristas wisely opted not to question the big guy in armor talking to himself, and in short order he had an apple crisp whatever latte-maybe-macchiatto in hand. He took a sip, and, if it were possible for him to do so, he was sure the spirit watching him drink would have been holding his breath.

Well?

"Surprisingly good," was his verdict. Would he be ordering another one when he finished this one? Yes. Would it be to spite Don? Only partially.

(Open Perk is open.)