Waffle House, Wednesday Afternoon

[napking]

It was a truth universally acknowledged that where there were waffles, there would be Gray. In this case, he was sitting across the booth from Raiden, practically vibrating with excitement as he awaited his waffles (one chocolate chip, because always, and one pecan, because Raiden insisted).

"How come you never brought me here before?" he asked Raiden.

"Uhh, because it didn't exist before?"

"Pffft. Details."

(Open Waffle House is open 24/7.)

Comments

[carbsliftthespirit]

"Also we don't really have them around Echo Bay," Raiden pointed out, because NorCal was shamefully deficient in some ways.

[napking]

"But waffles!" Gray protested. A whole house! Just for waffles!

[carbsliftthespirit]

"Yeah, Smalls, that's what we're here for. The waffles. And the hash browns. And the biscuits and gravy. And..." He was getting sidetracked. "But yes. Waffles."

[napking]

"Have you been to Buc-ee's yet?" Gray asked. "I heard somewhere that they have a bunch of--" He yawned. "A bunch of..."

Not now! he protested to Sloth. My waffles aren't even here yet!

Sloth, like the butthole he was, ignored him, pressing Gray resolutely down within his mind. Enough.

I haven't had any!

[carbsliftthespirit]

"Aw, Smalls," Raiden said, recognizing the clear signs of Sloth being a dick when he saw them. "If your waffles get cold we'll order you a fresh one when you wake up, okay?" And Raiden would selflessly dispose of the first round before it could actually get cold, of course.

[napking]

"But my waffles," Gray whined aloud before he slumped over in the booth, sound asleep.

[carbsliftthespirit]

When the server came back around to top up Raiden's coffee, she eyed Gray's position, stretched out on the bench, for a wary moment before she said, "He probably shouldn't sleep there." You didn't know how halfheartedly that thing had been cleaned or when, Raiden.

"He's fine," Raiden assured her. "He's slept in worse spots."

The server shrugged, said, "If you say so," and moved along.

[heroic_jawline]

Steve had been working his way along the various streets today, trying a little bit of counter programming against the TV people and talking to them about collective bargaining, the minimum wage of Maryland, and how many hours they needed to work to qualify for health care.

It had been discouraging and so he was drowning his sorrows in a plate of all-the-way hashbrowns and pecan waffles. "You're getting paid well, right?" he asked the waitress, who snorted and walked off.

[carbsliftthespirit]

"They earn their tips here, y'know?" Raiden asked him from his own booth, with his own hashbrowns and his own sleeping brother.

Possibly he was trying to distract himself from the source of the slight stickiness of the vinyl currently pressed against Gray's face.

[heroic_jawline]

Oh, definitely don't think about that, Raiden. It'd probably been there for decades.

"They really do," Steve agreed with a smile. "And the food is great."

[carbsliftthespirit]

"There's just something about a griddle. And actually cooking the food. A lot of these chain places it comes in frozen in a plastic bag and they microwave it." Fun facts!

[heroic_jawline]

Steve looked suitably horrified to hear that. "Really?"

[carbsliftthespirit]

"You know Olive Garden?" Raiden asked him. "That's what they do at Olive Garden."

Sorry, Olive Garden. And sorry, Steve.

[heroic_jawline]

"That must be why my husband never suggests it for dinner," Steve said.

Yep. That was the only reason Tony Stark wouldn't go to an Olive Garden.