Re: Bad Diner: Rory/Claire
Rory glanced over the menu with compartmentalized interest, mostly he was looking for some kind of drink menu that promised the possibility of bloody marys full of vodka. Of course, the drink portion of the menu boasted a couple kinds of juices, sodas, and milk. "Deep. Fried. Waffles." He repeated with thick eyebrows raising when he traded in her likeness for the menu, dropping the flimsy plastic to one side because Claire had his whole attention then. "Well, that sounds fuckin' deadly. Let's do it." When any day could bring one's last meal, it would have been a shame not to. Save the yogurt parfaits and smoothies for the gentler crowd. He wasn't a waffle guy really, but the prospect of batter dropped into hot oil brought to mind all things delicious. "What do they put on top? Ice cream?" If ice cream and hot fudge wasn't an option, it should have been..
Mention of the Dalmore made him nod his head, grinning. "Saving that one for a rainy day, me n' you. Either after you save the world or I burn it down." Although, he supposed that in either instance, only one of them would be left behind standing and capable of drinking it. Such was only one of the more minor problems with being an associate of Hell, he expected that he'd be around to watch the world burn down to ash. Not that Rory was one to say that if he could go back in time and change the selling of his soul thing he would. Dying sucked, as he recalled. He really wasn't eager to do it again. So far, he hadn't needed to. Kinda-sorta immortality was the only real bonus, he supposed. But, as stated, dying was bad enough for him that he couldn't lament the couldas and wouldas of his human yesteryears. So what if he had some screwed up chip in his head now? And so what if the days and nights in this town bled together like one big, blinding hampster wheel of the most terrible, unsatisfying monotony? "Maybe I shoulda brought the Dalmore with me today," and he smiled at her from behind a fresh sip of coffee. Harmless and handsome, not at all suggesting that they might not live to see tomorrow.
Mention of the black wolf made Rory momentarily struggle with swallowing that sip, and he nearly choked before setting the mug back down. "Uh, no." Upon returning to his frequent strip club rounds, Rory had naturally heard about the wolf attack, and it really sounded like something the hound would do… but Rory suspected that he'd… well, he hoped he'd remember that. Besides, the Hound had a certain MO that was easy to pick out of a line up with the usual animal mauling suspects. In full disclosure, "I don't think so."