|Famine | Fia Black (black_horse) wrote in nevermore_logs,|
@ 2013-01-13 02:25:00
|Entry tags:||famine, saint patrick|
Who: Famine & Patrick
What: Lunch and chattings
When: Sunday afternoon
Where: Famine's restaurant
which still doesn't have a name
Warnings: Language, TBD
Lunch on Sunday afternoons always went one of two ways: either they were slammed, or they were standing around twiddling their thumbs. Today was a day of the second variety, and Famine was in the back, juggling kitchen utensils, because yes, she was that bored. There were all of four customers in the dining room, and she'd sent out the last plate 20 minutes ago.
She let the utensils drop, one by one, catching the knife last and throwing it across the room, where it embedded itself in a jar of tomatoes. "Augh, I'm BORED!" she screamed, which just made her sous chef eye her like she was nuts. "Go fucking smoke, or something," she growled. "God knows I could do with one."
She was digging in her bag for her smokes and lighter when the door chimed, and a presence she knew all too well came inside the restaurant. "Actually, scratch that, you're staying here, and I'm going on break," she called back, flinging off her apron and heading onto the floor. "Irish!" she said. "What brings you to my humble eatery?"