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· 🙤 •° · ︻╦デ╤━━╾ ·°• 🙦 ·
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❝ I didn't know you were kinky like that. ❞
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A MULTI-COLORED CLOCK TICKSticks away steadily on the wall. Several posters hang below it. One of a 1963 split window Corvette, another of the COLA logo in big squiggly letters, and a third of Elvis Presley's Girls! Girls! Girls!
Del's Diner — Coffee & Sweets looks identical to your stereotypical American diner—from the food to the drinks to the ambiance. Around the room, every wall is colored with some sort of bright blue paint. Red-cushioned seats and checkered floors add to the vibrant atmosphere. Even a noisy little jukebox flashes in the corner.
Flare calls it retro and gushes about how much she loves it.
Five says it's nauseating and grumbles about leaving as soon as possible.
To his dismay, however, he has been sitting in this booth for exactly forty-six minutes, waiting for Flare to finish restocking the condiments before clocking out. Fortunately, the building is still empty. The dinner rush has not started, and no obnoxious people have entered to disturb the serene mood. Flare had also cleared the table of empty plates, leaving Five by himself with a clean surface to sip coffee and brood.
What is he going to do now? His mission just collapsed in on itself and left an even bigger mess to clean up. The task of capturing Flare, retrieving his siblings, and doing so within the next ten days would be . . . difficult, to say the least.
"Okay, almost done, Five!" she suddenly pops up beside him, free of her apron. "Are we gonna—"
"Sparky! Pick up some salt packets before ya shift tomorrow, would ya? Ricky just spilled our last tub of 'em into the fryer."
She sighs.
"You got it, Gramps!" she hollers over her shoulder.
Five bites his cheek. Capturing Flare would have to wait. There are too many unknowns, and she has already made connections. Ripping her out of the timeline now would only complicate things. This truce, it seems, really is their only option.
She turns back to Five, wearing her usual sly smile. He quirks a brow.
"So, is that your grandpa or something?"
"What?" she crinkles her nose, "Of course not; he's my manager. What makes you say that?"
