Participate in the Infirmary!

Author Topic: first date || a night vale au || nefette  (Read 238 times)

Nefertari Nejem

    (01/23/2017 at 01:02)
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Grown FC:

Stories were whispered in the shadowy areas of the town and within the Moonlight All Night Diner out a vicious beast that ravaged the streets. Nefertari listened to the whispers half-heartedly, wondering what kind of bread-subsititute was available for the French toast tonight—actual bread being, of course, illegal because of the ban on wheat and wheat byproducts—when the trembling hostess approached her.

"I-it's—" She gulped and pointed at a blonde girl brooding in in the corner booth. The customer had been there before, and almost everyone there had tried to serve her but in the end it always fell to Nefertari, though she didn't much mind. She barely uttered a word and only ever ordered coffee, but she had a vaguely mean look about her. Nefertari just assumed it was because a Librarian had gotten her parents, or something equally as horrifying, and thought better than to ask. She really didn't understand why everyone was so afraid, though. A bit broody, sure, but so were most of the midnight shift regulars.

Knowing what would happen next, Nefertari pulled out her notepad and approached the girl with her usual self-assured swagger. Setting pen to paper, she asked, "Can I get you anything, hon?"
« Last Edit: 01/23/2017 at 01:05 by Nefertari Nejem »

Bette Märchen

    (01/23/2017 at 01:38)



She bristled at the sound of the bell. Every time, that bell. It didn’t matter how she entered the diner, throwing the heavy door open or in a slow and shameless creep, someone always looked up at her at the sound of that bell. Patrons, waitresses, percolators, the insidious lemon chiffon cake. It gave her away even before the darkness of her ardor that spread around her in a nameless, beastly haze.

That waitress would be here. And if that waitress was not, she would not be responsible for what happened to any of the others. Except that she would, and everyone would know it. But that did not mean that she cared.

Heavy boots and heavy steps. Black tiles, white, in their zig-zag pattern like sigils or protection or possibly, probably, both. The floor was often the most reliable thing about a place, because walls could never quite be trusted. She had tested and torn many. And that was just this month. And just with her hands. The bell seemed to echo in every ugly edifice.

That waitress was here.

Booth. Her booth. It was clean again but for the place setting. With her eyes locked on the empty violet bench across from her, she pushed the pieces of etiquette away. The tile bloomed beneath approaching feet, bells in the tap of her heels. Bette tightened scarred fists.

"Can I get you anything, hon?"