Who: John and anyone who would be hanging around Chow's Diner What: Another day in the business. When: Tuesday, June 15th (Afternoon) Where: Chow's! Rating: PG-13 for John's filthy mouth. Status: Incomplete
It was no coincidence that John's favorite place to smoke on his break was in the alley to the side of the diner, directly next to a rusty "No smoking within 25 feet of building" sign that had been placed there for some reason or another several years before. Hell, sometimes he even leaned against it simply to appreciate the irony, but mostly it was because the sign was just a few feet farther away from the dumpster at the other end, which was appreciated on the hotter, more humid days of the New York summer. Today, during his customary after-dinner-rush break, John simply leaned against the bare brick wall, directly next to the rusty round table and chair set that had been set aside from the original diner to act as a "break room" for the workers within. The area was littered with old potato chip bags and cigarette filters, water cups, napkins, newspapers, and fast-food memorabilia for those who didn't feel comfortable actually eating from where they worked. He couldn't really blame them, as the diner certainly looked like a hole, but the food was notably solid provided you didn't inquire about the actual nutritional content, or lack thereof.
Summer was tough for a diner cook, as the already stifling warmth of the kitchen was just as bad as the steaming concrete outside. As a pyrokinetic it was a little ironic that John was waiting impatiently for winter to come back, but at least the alley managed to apply a rather nice wind-tunnel effect, most days. One thing he could appreciate about the summer was the fact that the his second cigarette break wasn't spent in cold darkness, the sun still chugging on for another hour before the sky dimmed and the motion light above the kitchen door summoned all sorts of unappealing insect life. Currently, John was appreciating the sunlight, if only to scan over one of the abandoned newspapers left behind in the diner from the morning crowd, the headline more interesting than it had been in a while.
"City Shakes in the Wake of New Attack"
"Oh, for fuck's sake." The end of the cigarette bobbed against his lips as he grunted to himself, his hands maneuvering the newspaper to find the continuation of the story, his eyes scanning the ground for any other remnants of the section the article was located in before giving up, throwing the entire thing to the ground. Pincering two fingers around the filter, he inhaled deeply, the remainder of the cigarette sparking and glowing as he finished off the rest in a rather impressive and well-practiced display, one that Tessa often often berated him for during their slightly different smoke-sessions. With an equally impressive flick of his fingers, the filter sailed through the air and landed farther down the alley, but by that point John was already on his way back to the kitchen door.
He managed to get partway into the doorway before he stopped, staring rather unimpressed at the scene before him. The new kid, bus-boy whatever the hell his name was, had taken over the kitchen for all of five minutes, and already the stove was on fire. If the costumers on the other side of the swinging door hadn't smelled it yet, they likely would soon, though chances were everyone in the diner could hear the sound of the gangly ginger's wailing. "Sorry! I'm so Sorry!!" He chanted in a shrill shriek to no one in particular, fanning his stained dishcloth feverishly in the air in an effort to apparently blow the flames out, successfully making the situation worse.
John's hand went to his forehead, rubbing circles into his skin as he grimaced in annoyance, before raising one hand out, palm down in front of him, closing his fingers into a fist. At the same time the flames extinguished themselves, leaving behind little more than the hanging smoke cloud. The redheaded boy barely had a time to blink and process what had happened before John was angrily dragging him out of the kitchen and toward the dining area by the collar of his shirt. "Get a fucking dish bin and stay the hell out of my kitchen from now on." The movement of the swinging door after that was as close to slamming as it would ever get, John disappearing behind it to assess the damage and see what orders had piled up in his absence. Good thing it was an off hour, and a weekday.