Hall & Oates [NaNoWriMo Fail]

Say It Isn't So

prompt 7: in which a natural disaster occurs

Hall

Rocko's looked like a hole in the wall from the outside, the windows were big and grungy, the large sign that said "Rocko's Sandwich Grille" hung at an angle (and I could never tell if this was intentional or not). The outside of the building looked as if it needed to be scrubbed with heavy duty bleach and burned with acid before it would even begin to look presentable.

But the inside was always bustling with people, from middle aged couples to teenagers that had just gotten their licenses and had convinced their parents to let them use the car (you could always tell which ones were there's because they were parked haphazardly over at least two parking spaces, nuances). Each wall was lined with sleek black booths that sat at least four people on each side. The middle had been filled with tables and barrels for sitting. At the very front there was a stage just big enough for a five person band.

After unloading Paula's minivan (that Gabe somehow convinced her to let us borrow for every gig, despite the fact that it was World War Holy Shit every time they spoke) we came in through the side entrance.

"Let's kill this shit," Spunk said, his drumsticks in his right hand. He had wrapped them in red and black tape and written his name in block letters along the side. He looked like his usual, mismatchy, self. With his wrinkled t-shirt and crisp black slacks.

"I'll go and tell them that we're here," Frankie said, she began pushing her way through the hordes of people.

"Should we just grab a table then?" Onyx asked, eyeing Gabe.

Gabe just shrugged and crossed his arms, pouting like a three year old. He was still in a pissy mood since I'd missed one practice. One little practice, I was still a rock god as far as I was concerned and I wasn't going to mess up a gig. Not when Noelle Pierce was going to be there.

"Sure," I said, shooting a pointed glare at Gabe.

We sat at a large booth toward the back of the restaurant where we could see everyone that entered through the side and front doors. I looked between the two as I lowered myself into the vinyl booth, looking for a girl with choppy bangs and paint splotches.

"About an hour and a half," Frankie said, pulling her hair to the top of her head as she parted the sea of people one more time.

I passed a look at Gabe who seemed to be panning the restaurant just like I had been a few seconds ago. When he saw me looking he scowled. I frowned, "Seriously, knock it off."

He looked in the opposite direction, "No clue what you're talking about."

"You guys are being weird," Spunk said, scrunching his nose as if he smelled something gross. He raised his eyebrow, waiting for some sort of explanation.

"No clue what you're talking about," Gabe repeated, looking at his nails.

Onyx, Frankie and Spunk all swiveled their gazes my way. As if it was my responsibility to fix things between Gabe and me. But I hadn't broken anything, Gabe was being an asshole so Gabe was supposed to apologize. It was only fair.

A waitress came over to our table, a genuine smile on her face (and she smelled of Rocko's famous sour apple smoothie). Her uniform was super tight, it was a wonder she could move at all. "Since you guys are our performing band tonight, your food and beverage will be on us," she said dropping a menu in front of each of us.

Spunk's jaw dropped to the table, "Are you kidding? I thought that was a rumor!"

Frankie began stretching and looked over at Onyx, "My friend, you're about to see something really spectacular." She winked (which made Onyx blush and shit himself, I guarantee it) and picked up her menu, flipping it open and scanning easily. We each ordered our food (Frankie and Spunk a little more than the rest of us), and then there was the waiting game.