The Careful Implementation of External Pressure

Case #1: Kiri Mills.

Case #1: Kiri Mills. 
Monday/February/18/2019/3:47AM

Kiri Mills worked the night shift at Delilah's Diner, on the corner of Maple and Hill in some backwater town, lined by cornfields and a town just like it every thirty miles, and she was the only waitress on staff when they walked in.

She was leaning over the counter, lazily doodling stick figures with sharp pointy teeth on the back of her order pad and taping her white converse shoes against the checkered tile floor to the rhythm of the catchy but over-played newest pop-song when the kitschy bell above the door rang.

Even if the diner hadn't been empty, even if it hadn't been nearly four in the morning, and even if the four young girls who entered had been older, she still would have zeroed in on them immediately. Each one of them has a commanding presence, in different ways, that would've had her looking up and pausing even during the busy morning shift.

The first who slides through the narrow doorway has short brown hair, and eyes that appear slit in the trick lighting, but correct themselves less than a second later. She's wearing a hoodie with a cutesy dog on it, and she's pulling another girl through the door with something like impatience.

The girl she's dragging along appears to be the oldest, and Kiri is briefly jealous of her long, brown hair, subconsciously tugging at her own black locks, done up in a messy bun so that it's out of her way. The girl behind her is wearing a worn leather jacket and Kiri can smell the smoke on her from the counter. Even if she couldn't, the girl has a cigarette tucked behind her ear, almost hidden in her tangled red hair. She's dragging her feet, and Kiri winces when she sees the heavy black boots she wears, hoping the girl is conscious enough to avoid leaving black streaks on the floor.

She's not, but the girl she holds the door open for, another ginger, although she has her hair done in a long braid, nudges her side as she walks past and the first redhead rolls her eyes before picking up her feet and letting the glass door swing shut.

"Qween, I'm right behind you, you don't gotta pull my arm off," the oldest laughs, and Kiri's attention moves from the last two to the older and the one dragging her, Qween?, to the booth in the far corner.

"Wouldn't be the first time, Fanta," The taller of the two gingers remarks as all four of them begin to take their seats. There's a brief staring contest between the leather jacket wearing one and the first to enter, the brunette, but eventually, the brunette slides into the booth and the taller of the two boxes her in.

Kiri flips her order pad over, leaving one of the stick-men with only one fang, tucking the pen in the apron pocket of her soft yellow, typical '1940's-waitress' uniform, and grabs four menus from under the counter.

She ducks around into the kitchen to tell the cook, a curt old woman who wasn't happy to be working at this time of night, that there were orders coming in, and by the time she's approaching the table, the conversation between the four had switched topics.

She knows she shouldn't eavesdrop, but they're the first customers she's had in hours, and she won't make it till sunrise if she doesn't find some source of entertainment besides drawing stick figures and out-of-proportion houses.

The leather jacket wearing one is nudging the girl across from her, the other ginger, with her foot under the table, and seems to be trying to convince the other into something. Kiri pretends to whip down the table behind there's just to catch the words before she interrupts.

"Come on, love, throw on some Zeppelin, please? For me" Her features, too mature for a girl her age, morphs into a child-like pout, but the one she's bothering ignores her with a slowly declining patience.