OPEN SIGNUPS The Diner - a place of rest, relaxation, and recuperation

Red Thunder

A Warrior in a Garden
Original poster
FOLKLORE MEMBER
Posting Speed
  1. 1-3 posts per week
  2. One post per week
  3. Slow As Molasses
Writing Levels
  1. Adept
  2. Advanced
  3. Prestige
Preferred Character Gender
  1. Male
  2. Female
  3. Primarily Prefer Male
Genres
Fantasy, SciFi, Modern, Magical
the diner.jpg
the Diner
Neither Jin's nose nor Loulle's stomach were long denied. Ma'am walked back into the dining room, plates stacked and balanced expertly on both arms. Louelle's order was first: golden brown waffles, large and fluffy and still steaming, with a fried egg sunny side up to accompany it. Included were small bowls, one of butter and one of a dark brown syrup.

Jin's was next, and significantly larger. Waffles of the same quality. Sides of bacon, sausage links, and eggs, and a separate plate of hash browns with cheese and onions. Best of all, the canid fingers. The best way to cook them, as any scrapper knew, was to fry them in their own fat, reducing the hemolymph within until the flesh was tender and sweet. These were cooked better than any starfield scrapper of half a century could have managed, and as fresh as the day was long.

The other arm bore a bit less of a burden. Hale's apples and eggs had finally arrived, as if the Owner had put off cooking his order until her expected guests had give their own. The protein was fried in the same manner as Louelle's, while the apples had been fried themselves with sugar and cinnamon. Moses merely got a top off for his coffee; he seemed extremely content with that.

Smiling at the group, Ma'am checked the table.

"I'll check back in a bit."

She turned away, four glasses of orange juice somehow accompanying everyone's meals. Moe smiled into his mug, taking a bit sip of the black coffee.

"It's good; you'll enjoy.

"So. Magic and dragons. Mercenaries and Terrans. Classes and the 21st century. This is a thing, ain't it?" He chuckled. "I dunno the how is so important; maybe more the why."

Hale hummed, nodding as he stabbed an apple slice with his fork.

"I agree. It seems intentional, that we should all be gathered here. But for what purpose?"

He took a bite, face pensive.
 

Kuno

Django Jane
SITE SUPPORT LEAD
SITE SUPPORT
DONATING MEMBER
FOLKLORE MEMBER
Posting Speed
  1. One post per day
  2. 1-3 posts per week
  3. One post per week
Writing Levels
  1. Intermediate
  2. Adept
  3. Advanced
  4. Prestige
  5. Adaptable
Preferred Character Gender
  1. No Preferences
Genres
Fantasy, Sci fi, Romance, Historical, Modern, Supernatural
JIN CHO

God and Law Almighty above. This wasn't reprocessed ship portions spewed out onto a metal platter in a sub temperature room. This wasn't a crumbly Delta's Choice warrior ration either. This was food. Real, tangible, tasteful, tangy, savory... She had never seen canid fingers cooked to such perfection. The crust gathered along the gnarled edges was the perfect shade of maroon, the flesh darkened from its original magenta by the flames of the grill. Alongside it was the bacon, sausage links, and three fat eggs perfectly yellow and scrambled. Jin's eyes couldn't move from the feast; she moved on autopilot, dusting the eggs lightly with pepper as the voices around faded into a quiet noise. At some point, a glass of orange juice was placed besides her moving hands. The mercenary stopped entirely, her eyes drinking in the liquid gold. Was that...orange juice?

Jin was quite sure a bead of drool was escaping out of the corner of her mouth.

For what purpose were they there, Hale asked. But who cared?

"'Scuse me."

Even in the throes of sensory starvation, Jin could not forget her manners. It was all the curtesy she gave the guests around her before she descended upon the meal laid out in front of her. The eggs disappeared in spectacular fashion down her gullet, and soon after she pounced upon the canid fingers. She took a bite and instantly sighed.

"Sweet Law."

Some folks reckoned canid fingers tasted like swine. She liked to reckon those same folks needed a little more on their palate than space-approved pig cells spread as faux meat. There was just something inherently unique about canid fingers; it was neither pig-like nor gamey like ducks, but the slight acrid aftertaste was just to die for. Not her words, by the way; the man who had first made canid fingers had said the same thing...before dying, of course.

At some point, Jin came up for air, and she started, eyeing Louelle.

"Mm! Sorry, ma'am." She wiped her fingers off with a napkin before plucking up a long, contracted canid finger and placing it on Louelle's plate. "Here, sister. One for you too. Don't mean to hog 'em all."

She swiveled a bit, doe-like eyes peering at Hale and Moses. She held the canid plate towards them.

"Want one?"


 

Nougat

That One Guy
FOLKLORE MEMBER
Invitation Status
  1. Look for groups
Posting Speed
  1. One post per week
Writing Levels
  1. Elementary
  2. Intermediate
  3. Adept
Preferred Character Gender
  1. Primarily Prefer Male
a5f439150e91b3bff9d39001880156da0938fbc3.pnj
Pamet's day was not going very well.

This morning, a new student had appeared in Pamet’s second period art class, a bulky boy with a dark scowl set on his face. This in itself was not strange, as many students liked to sit in the art room during their free periods. However, as this student settled down in the free seat next to his, Pamet had noticed an anomaly. The other student did not seem to have any emotions at all. This was quite unusual, seeing as humans were incredibly emotional creatures. A quick glance of the boy’s hands had revealed a set of silver rings etched with protective runes, and this was when Pamet had realized that something was wrong.

It was, according to Mara’s crash course on supernatural politics, incredibly disrespectful to carry anything which would cause harm to another species within the community. So despite the fact that werewolves rarely ventured into urban landscapes, no one would dare wear anything even resembling silver. Angering a werewolf was not the best idea on a regular day, but an especially horrible one when it was as close to the full moon as it was.

Besides being a social taboo, seeing someone wearing such materials also served as a useful marker in determining what they were. Whether they were simply ignorant humans or a hunter, it was best to practice caution when interacting with such people. Seeing as most of Pamet's interactions were with classmates, he generally assumed that he was speaking to the former.

Considering the runes, however, Pamet thought the chances of this boy being a hunter were slightly greater than usual.

Nonetheless, he had stayed for the duration of his class. He rather doubted the hunter would try to attack him in the middle of their lesson on ancient sculptures, and he needed time to plan.

Dying wasn’t a major concern to Pamet. He had been alive for a significant amount of time, and he had yet to meet anyone that knew how to kill him. At most the hunter would damage Pamet’s body beyond repair, but he was sure that Stevie, the necromancer who lived down the hall, could source a new one. Pamet, however, was not keen on getting his roommate or neighbour killed, so it was important to ensure that the hunter could not follow him home. As such, his plan was this: he would try to lose the hunter if he could, and if he couldn’t then he would just have to try to kill him.

Once the bell had rung, Pamet slipped into the crowd of students exiting the classroom, chatting about some show that he didn't know about. He was sure the hunter was following close behind, but was equally sure that the hunter would not be able to grab him without causing a scene. But he could not hide among the students forever. As his classmates headed for the stairwell to go to the cafeteria, Pamet instead walked into the washroom.

The second floor washroom was one of the few areas in the school whose windows could both be opened and also lacked a mesh screen. Students often liked to smoke there, as they could easily dispose of the evidence by throwing it onto the roof below. At that moment, however, the washroom was empty.

It was simple enough to climb out the window. It was just big enough for him to fit through it, and the roof below was close enough that he probably did not injure himself much by falling on top of it. He was headed for the edge when he heard a shout from behind him. Pamet glanced back to the open window. It was difficult to see through the sheets of rain that fell, but he could see the shadow of the hunter in the window. He seemed to have realized, just as Pamet did, that his significantly larger frame would not have fit through the window as easily as Pamet.

Pamet smiled and waved at him before pivoting away on his heel. He thought Stevie and Mara would rather enjoy the fact that he did so when he told them about the encounter. Besides, he had spent far too much time practicing his smile in the mirror to not make use of it when he could.

He stepped off the edge of the roof. The rain paired with his admittedly inadequate eyesight didn't make for the best situation. He tumbled off the roof of the car he was aiming for, landing awkwardly on his wrist as he hit the tarmac. Pamet stood up quickly enough, however, jogging out of the parking lot as he checked himself over for damage. He thought he heard a cracking sound when he moved his wrist. At the moment, however, it didn't seem to affect his movements. It would have been preferable if he had landed on his back, as his backpack might have served to cushion his fall, but there was nothing he could do about that now.

In the meantime, the hunter had made it out of the building. Pamet had to keep moving.

His school was set in the heart of downtown, and there was usually a sizable crowd making their way down the sidewalks at all times. However, heavy rains deterred most people from wandering outside. This was one of the few times that he did not see a single person on the sidewalks.

He decided then that he rather disliked the rain. Without the chance to hide among the crowds, Pamet knew that the hunter would catch up eventually. Rather illogically, however, he continued to run.

Taking a sharp right into a small alley, Pamet found a brief moment’s reprieve as he heard the hunter slip and fall a few metres behind him, a slew of curses nearly drowned out by the roar of the rain.

He also found himself face to face with a brick wall.

Pamet froze, his gaze darting around to find an escape.

There. A door. Presumably only meant as an emergency exit, as there wasn’t an outer handle, but whoever had been through it last had set a few pieces of cardboard in the doorway. The door jutted out enough that he might be able to pry it open.

He scrambled for the door. It was made of metal, and with the rain, it had become quite slippery. Nonetheless, he pulled. The hunter had made his way into the alley.

The door opened. Just a slip, barely a centimetre, but enough. He jabbed his hand in the opening, uncaring of what further damage he may cause to his wrist, dragging the door open. He kicked the cardboard out of the way as he ran inside.

He could hear the hunter’s heavy footsteps splashing behind him as the door slammed shut.

He looked around.

Something was wrong. The place he had found himself in was nicer than the outside indicated. Pamet stood in a diner, well-lit and much cleaner than he had expected. He had been in similar establishments before, usually in the middle of the night with Mara as she waited for her next meal. However, the flickering fluorescent lights, cracked upholstery, and dead-eyed occupants he had come to associate with such places were not present here.

Pamet glanced back at the door behind him. It was glass, instead of the heavy metal door he had entered from. Despite that, he could not see the hunter outside.

A teleportation sigil, perhaps. Stevie had told Pamet about those, although when he had tried to show him what they were, the only thing the necromancer had managed to teleport were his own eyebrows. The emergency exit of a building was an odd place for a sigil, but spellcasters were often quite illogical, so he tended not to think too hard about their choices.

More importantly was what he was going to do now. Originally, he had planned to abandon his body to use as a barricade as he looked for a suitable place to hide. However, he did not think that would go over well with the people occupying the diner. He needed another plan. Soon, preferably, before the hunter happened upon the sigil as well.

In the meantime, however, he debated whether he should move from where he stood. He was currently soaked in rainwater, mud covering his shoes and flecked on his button down. He was sure to leave tracks wherever he went, which seemed like a shame considering how neat the diner was. From what he could tell, the emotions here were largely positive and it would be quite unfortunate for that to change.

On the other hand, his current appearance could be useful. Mara always said that Pamet looked rather pitiful. However, she could pick him up with one hand and throw him like a ragdoll, so her opinion was rather skewed. Looking how he was at the moment, however, he probably did look rather sad and vulnerable. Perhaps that could be helpful if he hoped for the occupants of the diner to keep him safe from the hunter.

Then again, he thought, eyeing the staff which leaned against the wall by the door, that might not be necessary. The staff was rather old-fashioned and he had never seen a spellcaster carrying such a flashy instrument, but was clearly imbued with magic. Perhaps the owner would understand his predicament.
 
  • Like
Reactions: Kuno

unanun

Child is born, with a heart of gold
FOLKLORE MEMBER
Writing Levels
  1. Adaptable
Genres
I'm wary of magic with lots of rules.
"Payment first."

The cigarette in Lin's mouth smoldered and spontaneously burst to light. She pulled the circle of embers up the paper and released the smoke from her nose.

"I don't take IOUs. Contracts don't mean anything on the rim. ... And now you're going to have to pay for the roof, too." A whiff of dust broke from the ceiling. With a sound no louder than the tap of a nail, a red hot microscopic needle of tungsten buried itself in the paper. The paper smoked and small spheres of flame burst around the needle, spreading out to consume the contract.

From a thousand kilometers above in the sky Lin focused the lenses of the Kwangtung. Through infrared and xray she watched her body get up, walk past the bar, and down the hallway to the toilet. Inside lurked a few men in optocamoflauge, but their brains had long been boiled out of their ears by her gamma lasers.

She stepped through the door and the checkered tile filled her view.

The cylinder of glass and walls closed in on her. She could not breath. She was being crushed to death. All around she looked was tiny space, things meant for her size, seats made for her ass. There was no balancing perspective, no bird's eye view from a million paces away that allowed her to dispassionately disconnect herself from any situation at will. Her heart thundered in her chest. Ringing filled her ears. The floor spun beneath her.

The nausea of freedom. Free of the billion pound weight chained to her mind. Free of the weather, the seas, the telescopic view of anything within a light second radius. Her mind spun in a void free of stimulus, filled with opportunity, filled with uncertainty, not knowing what to do anymore because she was suddenly blind, deaf, mute, powerless.

"Yes."

"Yes!"

"YES!" She quietly screamed from her belly through gritted teeth, and burst through the entrance.

"BEER!"
 
Last edited:
  • Like
Reactions: Kuno

Red Thunder

A Warrior in a Garden
Original poster
FOLKLORE MEMBER
Posting Speed
  1. 1-3 posts per week
  2. One post per week
  3. Slow As Molasses
Writing Levels
  1. Adept
  2. Advanced
  3. Prestige
Preferred Character Gender
  1. Male
  2. Female
  3. Primarily Prefer Male
Genres
Fantasy, SciFi, Modern, Magical
Screenshot_20211127-220150_DuckDuckGo.jpg
the Diner​

Hale made a face at Jin's offer before he could prevent it, though he immediately blushed, corrected it, and gave an apologetic no, thank you. Shrugging, Moe took her up on the offer, taking the proffered gift betwixt his fingers as he eyed the young man.

"If y'ain't ready to eat what's there, you'll always be hungry."

He examined the canid finger suspiciously, as if not entirely willing to follow his own advice, before taking a tentative taste. Hale's face scrunched up in aggravation.

"But I am eating what's here! There's so much food, I don't know how anyone could go hungry.

"Anyway," he said, pausing for a bite of fried apple that he very obviously enjoyed. "I have been considering things. From the sounds of things, we are all here immediately following some point of tension or other. Magic, or certainly magic in my land, often is triggered by conditions. Maybe-"

"Maybe it's Providence," Moe finished the thought. The canid finger had been ravenously consumed after the first taste, and only a good upbringing kept him from eyeing the others or asking for more helpings. "Break's good for the soul. Rest and relaxation. A bit of shut eye, so to speak."

So involved were the two in their food and their conversation that they didn't hear the first of the newcomers. But Someone did.

"Oh, honey!" The Owner had glanced over her shoulder from behind the countertop, where she stood conducting her duties. Grabbing a hand towel, she bustled over toward Pamet, matronly concern written across her expression. "Welcome to the Diner. So glad you could come in out of the rain!"

Without asking, she began to dab at his sopping wet face and hair before smiling warmly at him.

"Have a seat, sugar. Any seat you like. Keep the towel with you to dry off, and here." She produced, from somewhere, a mug of hot chocolate of the perfect warmth to hold. "This'll warm you up. Be with you in a bit to get your order."

Her hand went to his backpack, pressing gently but irresistibly away from the front door. The cheerful expression grew perhaps a bit of an edge, if someone had the eyes to see it, and she remained at the entrance in the traditional hostess position.

Even as Lin stumbled through the door, gathering her mind, reining in her senses, and making demands, the Owner remained impassive, a wall of steel. Hands on her hips, feet an inch or two outside her hips, her gentle smile relaxed minutely.

"Welcome to the Diner. Beer is, I'm afraid, not available. Neither is the ruckus allowed. You are welcome to take any seat; I will come take your order shortly. Meanwhile, please respect the atmosphere."

Lin, familiar as she was with effectively being the avatar of a highly specialized and advanced piece of technology, might know what it was like to feel the weight of size and power behind one's words. There was no mistaking, then, the Owner's own power behind her words. Behind the veiled threat. The please was a queen's command concealed in niceties, fangs behind painted lips.

Having ensured Pamet had found a seat, Ma'am disappeared back into the kitchen.
 
  • Spicy
Reactions: Kuno

Nemopedia

Chaotic Lawful
SECURITY DEPARTMENT
FOLKLORE MEMBER
Invitation Status
  1. Looking for partners
Posting Speed
  1. Slow As Molasses
Writing Levels
  1. Adaptable
Preferred Character Gender
  1. No Preferences
Dynalight;Mate;
Louelle Huang

The waffles looked great, fresh and crisp on the outside and fluffy on the inside with this perfect colour to them and the promise of a warm mouthful. Like a dream and definitely made with love, rather than apathy thrown into an iron that was cleaned heaven’s knows how long ago. It made Louelle’s mouth water, the smell and the sight and just the entire thought of food and waffles. Hungry, hunger, hu—

Until she saw Jin’s plate that was. Octopus? Squid? What was it? Strange in colour, stranger in sight and just rather horrifying in overall?

The sinful sounds that Jin produced didn’t help either as Louelle forgot about her own meal, staring in interest at the strange tentacle (?) being gobbled up like it was a ladyfinger, though it definitely didn’t look like the dog fingers she had been expecting, and hopefully nothing like canine fingers as she had been imagining until now.

“Ah,” Louelle managed to sound when one of the fingers was plopped down on her still untouched plate, “ah, don’t worry about it,” she managed to get out rather reluctantly, wondering what a polite way was of declining what was already given, for she surely couldn’t ever do that with any of her aunties at a family dinner.

And then the door opened once more, and Louelle shifted, a little afraid to see that ‘dragon’ of hers again, but instead faced another drenched-looking student that seemed quite as lost as how she had felt and still felt.

Maybe he wanted the canid fingers? Louelle eyed the tentacle on her plate once more, the words of Hale not forgotten and actually goading her into a slight feeling of guilt before she thought of a way to perhaps get out of trying the strange ‘finger’ by generously offering it to the newcomer. Jin had gobbled it down like it was ambrosia, after all, so it wouldn’t be like the sibling shoving off their vegetables on the plate of the oldest, right?

Luck struck her, however, or perhaps a bout of clumsiness, as the thunderous voice and order of ‘beer’ startled the female so badly that she –as put in their youthful 21st century terms– yeeted herself, and for some reason also the glass of orange juice provided, and spilled it, as guessed, right over the plate with untouched fluffy waffles of perfection, the slightly less appetising, and now wholly unappetising tentacle, and right into her lap.

Bad luck indeed, and Louelle had nearly the mind of slamming her forehead down the bar, if the sight of the mush on her plate, along with the tentacle (that she swore was still wriggling) wasn’t in the way.

"Bon sang," she sighed past her lips, turning away from the trickling stream of orange that was still ongoing.

text colour: #C2E1E8
 

Kuno

Django Jane
SITE SUPPORT LEAD
SITE SUPPORT
DONATING MEMBER
FOLKLORE MEMBER
Posting Speed
  1. One post per day
  2. 1-3 posts per week
  3. One post per week
Writing Levels
  1. Intermediate
  2. Adept
  3. Advanced
  4. Prestige
  5. Adaptable
Preferred Character Gender
  1. No Preferences
Genres
Fantasy, Sci fi, Romance, Historical, Modern, Supernatural
JIN CHO

"Mmmrfere?"

There was too much food in her mouth. With disturbing speed, the bacon and sausage links had been inhaled, and the waffles, quivering in buttered up fear, had soon met the inner lining of her stomach. The scrape of her fork had played into the background noise while the others talked, and by the time two newcomers had come in, a canid finger had been swishing around in that black hole of a mouth of hers. The hash browns were slated for the chopping block next but--

Oh, poor Miss Louelle. She had on such pretty nice clothes too.

"Here," Jin repeated, food swallowed. There was a napkin dispenser on the side of their table; the soldier took a fistful of it and dumped them unceremoniously in the girl's lap. "Won't take the stain out but...Aw, maybe the boss lady over there can make you another waffle."

While the latter of the stranger's abrupt appearances hadn't so much as made Jin bat an eye, she could admit it was a loud surprise. The woman had come in there hollering like a drunk at a bar. Jin eyed her curiously, then the boy who looked like he'd been caught up in a bad storm. Misfits, the lot of them. Gingerly, she nodded in greeting to both of them, her smile friendly enough.

This was better than any holovision the ship could have provided. If this all turned out to be just some unfortunate, highly-detailed, remedial virtual simulator the higher-ups had sprung on her...Ah well. She didn't want to think like that. However, it did raise a question.

"Hey Moe, you said you'd been here before, right?" She asked, tilting her body towards him. "What happens when we leave? Are we smack dab right where we left off?"


 
Last edited:

Nougat

That One Guy
FOLKLORE MEMBER
Invitation Status
  1. Look for groups
Posting Speed
  1. One post per week
Writing Levels
  1. Elementary
  2. Intermediate
  3. Adept
Preferred Character Gender
  1. Primarily Prefer Male
a5f439150e91b3bff9d39001880156da0938fbc3.pnj
A woman appeared before him. Concern emanated from her, a sweet and warm feeling which he quite enjoyed, but knew better than to indulge in. It was because of that feeling that he did not jump out of his skin, both figuratively and literally, when she descended upon him with a towel, recognizing it as the kind gesture that it was as she wiped the rain from his face. Moments later, he was ushered away from the door, his hands now clutching the towel as well as a mug of hot chocolate that the woman had seemingly conjured from nowhere, though perhaps that was simply Pamet’s eyesight failing him.

Now to find a seat. He had already decided to stay close to the other occupants of the diner. Safety in numbers, after all. At the very least, if escape was necessary he could drop his body off with them for safe keeping. Or, at least, for the distraction provided by the ensuing chaos of someone seemingly throwing up a sentient black liquid and then dropping dead. Mara had told him on a few occasions that watching him do so was rather disconcerting.

He had just started walking towards the other occupants when Pamet abruptly noticed the presence of someone new, the sharp, refreshing scent of elation soured by some other, more uncomfortable feelings that he tried to ignore. It appeared far more suddenly than natural; she must have teleported to the diner as well.

The feelings preceded the newcomer’s shout by a few moments, so he wasn’t too surprised. However, it appeared that not everyone was like him. When the new person had arrived, one of the occupants of the diner startled badly, spilling juice all over her food and herself. He’d been dutifully trying to ignore it, since he rather disliked negative feelings, but she did seem like she’d been rather on edge this whole time. Perhaps she had also stumbled upon this place by accident.

The woman who sat with her (whose aesthetic, he noted, greatly clashed with the other) had dumped a fair amount of paper towels on her. Still, Pamet decided that this was as good an excuse as any to approach them.

He crossed the last few steps to stand a comfortable speaking distance from the woman. “Er, do you need a towel?” Pamet raised the pitch of his voice when he spoke. He’d read somewhere that that made people seem less threatening, if his bedraggled appearance did not already do that for him. He shifted his hot chocolate to one hand, holding the towel out to the woman.

“I think I’ve got some stain remover too, if you need it.” Unexpected stains had turned out to be an unfortunate byproduct of taking art classes (as well as having a vampire roommate with a taste for drunkards), so he tried to be prepared.
 
Last edited:

unanun

Child is born, with a heart of gold
FOLKLORE MEMBER
Writing Levels
  1. Adaptable
Genres
I'm wary of magic with lots of rules.
"Atmosphere."

The echoes of Lin's request were absorbed by the Diner as she looked around the space. Red chairtops, lacquer everywhere, and a fluorescent sign at the back to bathe it all in a nearly harsh neon glow. She tried to view the space from above, behind, visual spectrum, xray spectrum, anything, but the only things she saw were what came into her eyeballs, and the acute claustrophobia returned.

"Right. Atmosphere."

She conjured up a memory of when she was an Admiral and straightened her back with long forgotten habit, folding her arms behind and clasping her hands. Though she wore a baggy wool sweater over some black turtle with a touristy graphic, she gave it the poise of a peacoat deflecting the interstellar wind as she stood on the prow.

She took one step past the threshold, and the checkered tiles appear to drop to negative infinity, blurring together into grey. The pit of her stomach fell out of her body, replaced by a rapid rise in nausea.

"I .. I think .."

She stumbled to the side and leaned heavily against the counter.

"I think I need something to stop me from throwing up." The room began to spin.
 

Nemopedia

Chaotic Lawful
SECURITY DEPARTMENT
FOLKLORE MEMBER
Invitation Status
  1. Looking for partners
Posting Speed
  1. Slow As Molasses
Writing Levels
  1. Adaptable
Preferred Character Gender
  1. No Preferences
Dynalight;Mate;
Louelle Huang

Unceremoniously the contents of the napkin dispenser were dropped into her lap, here and there stained a little by the grease of the food Jin had been eating before, and while Louelle was grateful, knowing that her clothes were ruined for the day, she couldn’t help but think that the older female may need the napkins for her own face.

“Thanks,” she mumbled before the newcomer offered his own help, stain remover and all, a smile sent into his direction as she waved over to the seats, “nothing a laundry machine can’t wash,” she shook her head, finding the offer sweet, but ultimately unneeded. She was but a poor undergraduate after all, how great could her clothes be, other than cheaply bought from fast fashion stores where labour conditions and production lines were even more questionable.

But that wasn’t even the biggest shock, that came later with the newcomer who suddenly seemed very pale and very out of place before announcing that she was to—

“Someone catch her,” Louelle called, this time slipping herself out of her seat to leap over to the other. Never mind the curious question Jin had asked earlier, or even the orange juice, they needed a first aid specialist, or whatever, a doctor preferably.
 

Red Thunder

A Warrior in a Garden
Original poster
FOLKLORE MEMBER
Posting Speed
  1. 1-3 posts per week
  2. One post per week
  3. Slow As Molasses
Writing Levels
  1. Adept
  2. Advanced
  3. Prestige
Preferred Character Gender
  1. Male
  2. Female
  3. Primarily Prefer Male
Genres
Fantasy, SciFi, Modern, Magical
Diner.jpg
the Diner
Moe scrambled up with Louelle. He grabbed one arm, looking to his partner to grab the other, and slowly guided Lin to a sitting booth behind where they had lay their feast. The cowboy stepped aside, making way for a cautious Hale, who examined the woman closely.

"No," he said definitively after a moment. "No physician, I think. She just needs a moment. And maybe some food. Can one of you hand me my bowl of apples?"

Once his request was fulfilled, he sat beside Lin with the confidence of long practiced care.
"Here," Hale said, smiling with eyes watchful. "You must have something to eat. Apples will give you some energy until Ma'am returns to take your order."

Crisis averted, Moe returned to his seat, unable to resist a grab at the smallest canid finger on Jin's plate. It was down his gullet before any objection could be voiced.

"Anyways," he said. "To yer question, Jin. Yeah, best I kin tell, we get back t'where we was just when we left it. Fact, I reckon the little lady here will find her clothes tah be good as when she first got here, time she leaves again."

In fact, it seemed the storm of napkins that had descended into Louelle's lap had done a very thorough job. Little was left of the liquid save a passing dampness. Nor did the mess on her plate remain to remind her of the accident; Ma'am had emerged from the kitchen with a hot plate of fresh waffles and a damp cloth and was arriving at their table just as Moe finished speaking. The plates were switched and the table wiped and she was gone again with the ruined waffle before any could react. A fresh cup of orange juice sat beside it, waiting. This one had a plastic lid with a straw.

Moe grinned.

"Ma'am likes it clean 'round here, in word and deed.

"Ah! Manners. Call me 'Moe', young'un and ma'am." He stood, touching his hat to Lin and offering his hand in greeting to Pamet. Then he began gesturing to the others, indicating them as though they were lifelong friends. "That there is Jin. Louelle's the one had the accident. 'N Hale is helpin' you out, miss. Good to meet ya'll."
 

Kuno

Django Jane
SITE SUPPORT LEAD
SITE SUPPORT
DONATING MEMBER
FOLKLORE MEMBER
Posting Speed
  1. One post per day
  2. 1-3 posts per week
  3. One post per week
Writing Levels
  1. Intermediate
  2. Adept
  3. Advanced
  4. Prestige
  5. Adaptable
Preferred Character Gender
  1. No Preferences
Genres
Fantasy, Sci fi, Romance, Historical, Modern, Supernatural
JIN CHO

The ensuing events were finally enough to dislodge Jin from her meal. Not that there was much left anyways; besides that, she didn’t want to eat too much, else the Gorgonites would eat her for breakfast. Still; it didn’t stop her from snagging a canid finger as she turned in her seat.

She was, of course, too slow to assist the newcomer in finding a seat. Louelle and Moe had aptly beat her to the punch, and mousy Hale had rushed over too. The only one left by her was the other stranger, some cute dark-haired boy with a cherubic smile. Flashing him a small smile herself, the soldier peered around him, peeking at the lady they were helping into the back booth. Jin stared some, eyes dark.

Maybe she could–

“Hm?”

Moe’s voice snapped her attention back. She cocked her head a bit, listening. So they’d go right back to where they left off, eh? Law. She’d need a minute or two to digest her food before she ran back into that firefight. She had been hoping rather selfishly that at least a little time would have passed; at the very least, enough time for Nam and the others to realize all hell had broken loose planet-side and to send down help. But it looked like she was on her own…as usual. She gave a sharp whistle, shaking her head ruefully.

“Well. Good to know,” She answered, looking away. How long was too long to linger? Surely, at some point Ma’am would turn them out, no?

Jin was surprised at her own reluctance to return. It wasn’t just the food that made her want to stay; the ambience of the diner was unnaturally comforting, as if the building itself was wrapping them up in one great big hug. Ma’am had mentioned taking a break. Jin couldn’t recall the last time she’d ever purposefully done such a thing.

She couldn’t recall the last time she’d been in a restaurant either, if ever. When the diner owner came bustling over with Louelle’s new meal, the soldier automatically began piling up her own empty dishes. With a grunt, she rose, dishes and all, and with a quiet “‘scuse me” to Pamet, sidled out from the booth and approached the kitchen. Vintage style, there was a rectangular opening and counter between the main diner and the kitchen. Jin saw Ma’am moving about back there; she settled the dishes on the counter, waving a bit.

“Hey, thanks for the meal. How much do I owe you?”


 

Nougat

That One Guy
FOLKLORE MEMBER
Invitation Status
  1. Look for groups
Posting Speed
  1. One post per week
Writing Levels
  1. Elementary
  2. Intermediate
  3. Adept
Preferred Character Gender
  1. Primarily Prefer Male
546f9ebd9e73e310cb546dd6f40f2d2dfc0d7a68.png
There was a bit of a scene as the loud woman’s discomfort came to a head, with most of the diner occupants rushing to her aid. However, Pamet rather disliked when people threw up on him, and he doubted that he would do much besides getting in the way. So he chose instead to hang back with the woman who looked as though she came straight out of one of those space movies Mara kept making him watch, sipping his hot chocolate so that he had something to do. At the very least, he tried to make himself useful by fetching the apples when the man with the oddly pointed ears requested it, though he still managed to maintain a fair distance from the sick woman.

What was of more interest to Pamet was what that cowboy – Moe – said about the diner. If they ended up back at the same time and place that they left, then it couldn’t merely be teleportation as he had initially assumed. It was something that required more investigation. Neatly sidestepping the woman from the booth as she walked by with her small mountain of dishes, Pamet shook Moe’s hand, nodding along as he introduced the others in turn. “My name is Pamet,” he said with a smile. “It’s nice to meet all of you.”

Niceties aside, back to the matter he was interested in. Should he continue to pretend that the supernatural didn’t exist? He quickly decided it was too much trouble than it was worth if he was trying to get information. If need be, he could probably figure out some way to play it off. “So this place isn’t just connected to teleportation sigils, then?” he asked, setting his half empty mug of hot chocolate on Moe’s booth table. “It’s more like some alternate dimension that’s connected to others.”

He had never encountered such a thing, but that explanation seemed more plausible than any others he could think of at the moment. Considering the wildly clashing aesthetics of everyone around him, he was willing to accept that perhaps they were not from the same place as him, whether that meant a different country or a different dimension. The latter would be more convenient for him, as he probably wouldn’t have to worry about what information he would have to conceal.

“Is there some sort of sigil that transported us here? Or is there something else?” He didn’t expect Moe to be able to answer all of his questions, of course. He was, presumably, also just another person plucked out of his dimension and placed here. However, Ma’am, as Moe had called her, was otherwise preoccupied at the moment, so Pamet would wait to approach her with anything he couldn’t figure out.
 
Last edited: