1/28/2005

Logfile from GarouMUSH.

Denny's(#2977RJ)
It could be a Denny's in Los Angeles, California. It could be a Denny's in Newark, New Jersey. It could be a Denny's in Friend, Nebraska. As it happens, it's a Denny's in St. Claire, Washington, but the surroundings don't really matter. It's a Denny's.
The double doors of the glass foyer lead to a matching set of doors to the restaurant proper, and on entering one sees to one side a pair of gumball machines and a grab-the-toys-with-the-claw machine, to the other, a payphone, and ahead, the register and the ubiquitous freestanding sign: Please wait to be seated. No matter the time of day or night, no matter how many or few patrons seem to be seated, the waitstaff always appear to be bustling about, and it takes a minute or two before one is free to seat any new arrivals.
Large panes of glass make up the majority of the outer walls, giving a good view of the street from any of the many red vinyl upholstered booths that line the walls below them. Most of the booths are two facing benches and a table, able to hold four people comfortably or 6 really cozily, but each corner holds a bigger one, fit for as many as ten rowdy late night teenage patrons. The open area of the restaurant is littered with tables and chairs, all seemingly for parties of four. On every table in the restaurant are the usual condiments, menus, and a carafe with a slip advertising the orange juice, all in a neat little wire corral.
The waitstaff are all neat, and range from perky and helpful to sullen and incompetent; there's also that one requisite smart ass waiter who jokes with all the patrons and is the favourite of all the high school students. The clientele range from crying babies to elderly folks with walkers, trendy teenage girls and loud, dangerous looking hoodlums, and any of the types might be seen at any hour.
Plastic plants hang from the ceiling beams and sit on the counters. Very low pile carpet in semi-geometric designs lies unnoticed across the floor. Cups of eternally refilled coffee sit on almost every occupied table. The food is cheap, plentiful, and overall, edible. It's not the Ritz. It doesn't have to be. It's a Denny's.
Contents:
Gert
Obvious exits:
Out

It's the last hour before midnight and Denny's is still doing pretty good business, it being Friday night and all. Groups of college students (and other people aged similarly) sit at the booths and tables, eating typical Denny's fare. A couple of homeless-looking middle-aged men nurse cups of coffee in a booth near the back. And Gert's off by herself in a booth near the front windows with a glass of cola and a plate that, currently, contains only crumbs. Open in her hand is a battered copy of _Christine_ by Stephen King, but her eyes are on the window -- either her reflection or the view outside.

Kenneth is not the typical customer by any standard. Looking a bit too young to be out so late, and a bit too angry, the youth slips into the Denny's like a stormcloud floating through the night sky complete with threat of rain. A number of people look over when he enters the mini waiting area, and some of them scoot away or get up and walk out. An elderly couple pause in their conversation, food going half chewed.

[look Gert]
Gertrude Vogel is a bit under five and a half feet tall, boyishly slim, and quite pretty apart from the rather large nose. She also appears to be Chinese. Her thick black hair is cut short in an easy-to-maintain sort of way, and she doesn't wear make-up or jewelry. Her skin is unblemished, and her dark, almond-shaped eyes are guarded. She appears to be somewhere around twenty years old.
She's dressed in an extra-large black t-shirt and baggy black jeans, along with a black zippered hoodie and a dark green-gray East German Army coat for the outdoor chill. Her sneakers are black Ked knockoffs. Around her left wrist is a digital watch.

[look Kenneth]
Kenneth(#3651Pc)
Kenneth is already tall and a somber youth. A certain aura, an intangible, uncomfortable atmosphere penetrates his otherwise good social graces that makes him seem at first impression, unapproachable. He is not only young, but fairly attractive as well. His body has the tone of athletic potential, yet is not intimidatingly muscled. The way his dark hair carries itself back gives the impression of a windswept style, with the forelocks lurking forward, tips hanging just over his eyes in a way that accentuates the long, appealing features and shape of his face. At first impression, he may seem completely Asian by heritage, but at a more direct glance, there are a few traits that hint at a mixture of bloodlines both Western and Eastern. The mild slants of his eyebrows add a way to tell his variances of expression from his normally cold black eyes. While not eccentrically colored, his gaze can become highlighted with a slightly lighter grey cast in stronger lighting.
Kenneth dresses well in a way that looks almost like a uniform, even if it is casual wear. A white buttoned shirt is left partly loose at the collar, coupled with a pair of fitting black slacks and oxford-like shoes. On colder or windier days, he has a black, inner-lined button down blazer which serves as protection from the weather.

Gert glances over as so many others do, though seems not only unaffected by his 'aura', but completely unimpressed. She even frowns slightly and gives a little eyeroll.

Kenneth watches another potential customer look at him and decide he wants to sit in the back. The very back. Never mind the service is a bit worse there. Kenneth on the other hand, doesn't look bothered by the man's request to move. None of the waitresses seem to want to wait on the boy, nor do they particularly want to go and ask him to leave. That said, the newest waitress - Gert's waitress - is sent out to brave him. "Just one, hun?" "Yeah." The philodox is thus led, and sat down in the booth next to Gert's, given a menu, and left alone. Kenneth turns his gaze down to the menu, but looks very much like he's not hungry at all.

Gert's waitress really is suffering 'new fish' syndrome, since she doesn't seem all that keen on serving Gert, either. But maybe that's due to the Chinese woman's less than sparkling personality; the way Gert snags the girl's attention (once she's done giving Kenneth his menu) with an abrasive, "Hey," is less than desirable.

The waitress, a blonde, gamely forces a cheery smile. "Did you want your check, ma'am?"
"No," says Gert, not smiling back. "Just a refill." She taps her ice-filled glass. "And a cup of chicken noodle soup." The waitress continues to smile forcibly, nods, and hurries off.

Kenneth at first, really isn't paying attention to what goes on around him. He's lost off in his own little bubble of self-contained miserable aura, and it leaks out with the way he sets the menu back down and lifts it up again. As the waitress hurries off, Kenneth looks up like he was going to call her back over and order. Annoyment crosses the philodox's features, and just as quickly leaves with a huff from him. Because Gert is right in his field of vision, she happens to get glanced at, watched for a moment longer than usual.

Gert, by coincidence, happens to glance over at Kenneth just as Kenneth glances over at her, and two sets of dark eyes meet. Gert's narrow faintly.

By the look in Kenneth's eyes, he's young but seen hard times. The look of a lone wolf, but one who isn't so proficient at living alone that he would do fine without help. The youth's gaze almost seems challenging - almost. And when their eyes meet, he doesn't look away.

Gert is fairly attractive, even in the slouchy clothing, but also looks both tired and stressed. There's steel in her, though. More than in most of the "mundanes" Kenneth typically comes across. The mutual stare stretches out over several long moments and might have gone on longer if not for the return of Gert's waitress with another glass of cola.

"Hi, um..." The waitress hesitates uncertainly, looking from Gert to Kenneth and back again. Gert looks away from Kenneth and frowns up at the waitress. The waitress looks unnerved, and her smile is weak. "We're out of chicken noodle," she says apologetically, setting the drink down. "Still have, uh, broccoli and cheese and french onion, though."

Kenneth sniffs as soon as Gert looks away, chin tilting up as if it were the slightest victory and one he would savor. The waitress' intrusion leaves him generally looking at her afterwards, waiting for Gert to finish with the decision of broccoli cheese or french onion so that he can order himself.

Gert wrinkles her nose, not much liking either choice, it seems. "Just get me some onion rings, then. Please." The last word is added with a touch of minimal courtesy.
"Right away, ma'am!" chirps the waitress, a little too perkily to be sincere. She swoops away and past Kenneth's table, clearly intending to continue without pausing to get the boy's order.

Kenneth watches, waits, and allows the waitress to slip through his intended net though the youth's gaze must sting upon the woman's back. Dropping his eyes back down to the menu, he looks over the contents once more with a blaise sort of review. Several more minutes go on with him not even having received a glass of water for his trouble, and Ken not speaking a word to request one. It's when Gert's order of onion rings comes out, and the waitress picking up and delivering, does the halfmoon perform a Very intent stare upon the waitress. From the counter, to Gert's table, and just as the waitress is about to stiff him again does he finally speak up. "ExCuse me," he states loud enough so that the rest of the customers around can hear him, "But I would like to order. Please." Tight, tense, but put forth with the necessary polite words, the waitress loses the battle and is caught. She goes over, taking the boy's order. "Grand Slam, scrambled eggs, side of toast and no butter." "Would you like something to drink?" "... Coffee. Black." The waitress scribbles hastily, and then flitters off without even stopping to confirm his order.

Gert watches the interaction out of the corners of her eyes, then turns away in order to give the minimal focus required to the task of putting ketchup all over her onion rings in multiple spirals. Apparantly, she likes a lot of ketchup.

[A lost pose because I didn't notice my HD was out of space. But it was something about Kenneth staring at Gert and her ketchup antics.]

Gert makes an effort to ignore this, one hand holding her book open while the other delicately picks out ketchup-covered onion rings by the small parts that aren't drippy with thick red stuff. Eventually, though, and before the waitress comes back with Kenneth's food, she loses patience and turns to him sharply. "_What_."

Kenneth blinks in response first. His silence is almost as irritating as the constant stare he settles upon her. After a minute or so, he finally shrugs and leans back into the back of his booth, eyes looking away. "Nothin'," he answers her. "Just thinkin' that Stephen King wasn't too good a writer."

Gert raises her eyebrows. "Really." Her voice turns chilly. "Well, gosh, I guess I'll just go and shoot myself for reading this, then."

Kenneth extends his hand out, just to tap at the table as he waits for the food he ordered. "That doesn't solve much. You gotta shoot the source, he's the problem maker."

"Sorry, don't agree," Gert retorts. She clips off her words in a cold, haughty sort of way, and the manner in which she turns back to her table is dismissive.

Kenneth drums his fingers again, letting Gert's irritation flow while his keeps itself circulating inside. He doesn't continue the argument, eyes slipping away towards the counters where the waitress Still hasn't received the order, and nor has she returned with even that complimentary glass of water. And the philodox's impatience waxes.

Gert, meanwhile, does her utmost to ignore Kenneth, and it actually seems to work, after a while. She reads, eats ketchup-drenched onion rings, sips cola, and reads about a malevolent car. While Kenneth's impatience waxes, hers wanes; the youth may think what he may about King's writing ability, but the horror master seems more than capable of capturing and holding Gert's attention.

After another period of long waiting, Kenneth isn't able to stand this shunt off any longer. Not even the occassional attempt at keeping his gaze on the woman reading is enough to distract him from his notice of how rather poorly he's being treated, and when the halfmoon notices he's not even been served after another group of customers who came in after were seated and passed their receipts, he stands up abruptly from his booth. A series of Japanese curses mutter out from the boy's breath as he proceeds to stalk down the walk towards the counter and demand just what's going on. The waitresses though, see him coming and they scatter to do another unnecessary checkup on their current tables. Kenneth notices all this, and with a tight, twisted frown he swallows down that ball of Rage. "... see how it is..." he growls out just within earshot of Gert and some other customers, a few of which are looking at him and another which is distinctly trying Not to look at him. Finally he turns away from the cashier stand and makes his way out of the restaurant. No fuss, no complaint, simply a resolved but frustrated frown upon the boy's features as he nearly punches the glass door open and steps back out into the cold night. Kenneth comes around the front where the glass separates him from the warmth inside, stopping particularly upon the spot where he can see Gert. He looks over, through the window at her for a moment.

Gert was one of the people watching all of this, and when Kenneth looks through the window he finds her looking back at him. Her expression is unsmiling and unsympathetic, and after a few seconds she simply goes back to her book. Again, dismissal.

Uh huh. Kenneth's eyes narrow, teeth gritting so hard it must hurt to do so for very long. Eventually, though, the futile act of fuming on the sidewalk will do nothing for the chill in the night and with a snort of dissatisfaction, the boy moves on down the street and takes his rainclouds with him. The waitresses mill about for another good ten minutes once the halfmoon is gone, and once the coast is absolutely clear does Gert's waitress return to active service.