[Diner: Atticus & Hazel]
Atticus was a work in progress.
Tonight, was sitting at the counter in the diner. Tended to act older. Tended to carry himself like a man already graying and with the weight of the world on his shoulders. Tonight, he looked his age. Blame the beanie, but the sweatshirt and tee he wore beneath were warm, and the jeans were worn, and his sneakers had island dirt caked on the soles. Slouched as he sat on the stool, nursing his own black coffee. Had befriended the waitress with a lazy smile and the offer of a smoke. Was comfortable.
Had been working on the spell. The Spell. Had the runes figured out. Had the incantations worked out. Was trying to decide if he was going to involve anyone else in his stupidity. Knew Billy would look things over for him, if he asked. Problem was trying to get the kid to just do that, to not involve himself further and possibly get hurt. Could ask Lear, but Lear would just insult him and snap his fingers to solve the problem. Could ask Janus, but Janus would think it was a bad idea, and there would be a cost associated with Janus' help. Was sitting here, a half-eaten slice of apple pie in front of him, nursing bad coffee and trying to decide.
Meantime, the haunts that lurked outside the diner's windows were numerous. The haunts inside were fewer, but no less significant in number. All with their heads blown off, their veins slit, their faces bruised. No one could see them but him, and they weren't going to sap him here, where people could call 911 and have him tended to. Nothing annoyed a haunt more than medical intervention while they were draining his battery. So he was here. Safe. Thinking.
Wasn't listening to the music. Just heard the girl's voice once she commented on it. "Hmm?" Was more sound than word, a man pulled from a reverie. "What was that?" he turned at the waist, attempting to place the voice.