Re: Selina C/Jack P: the (bad) diner
"Oh? One piece of toast, one cup of coffee, and you're an expert in me?" She was amused, and it showed. Lips tipped at the corners, and she chuckled and sipped from her mug. She knew he was putting her together all wrong, but that was fine with her. Press? Was press, and it really didn't matter if it was right, if it was true. No, the power was in power, and power came from notoriety. And she? She was an expert at smoke and mirrors.
He coughed, hacked, and it reminded her of Jersey bars and smoke, men speaking Russian around a round table in a room with one light overhead. It reminded her of youth. Youth, not childhood, because the woman at the counter? She'd never had a childhood. "I'm not your sweetheart." With a smile. She delivered it with a smile, but it was impossible to tell if she meant it as warning, or if she was just being flippant.
And she watched him as he doctored his coffee, but it was a lazy attention, one that said he was just something to settle her gaze on. She wasn't counting his sugars, and there wouldn't be an article running about it the next day. "Me? I wear an elf hat and everything. I'm the very embodiment of Christmas."
She didn't know what the nice work meant, but she figured it was just more of his mental notes. He thought he had her number, and that entertained her to no end. If she was that easy to make out? She would've been long dead. In truth, she didn't even know herself as well as he thought he did. She chuckled again, and she pulled money from her pocket, the bills rolled, and she didn't count them before she put them on the counter. The tip? Was insanely generous.