IT'S... WHO EVEN KNOWS AM, AND NOTHING IS OPEN. EXCEPT...

[photophobic]

WHO: Any imPorts stuck in the Storm
WHERE: A Denny's, formerly in Jeopardy, now in the hands of the fates
WHEN: Who even knows, anymore? What is time?
WHAT: It's the apocalypse. It's an abandoned Denny's. Come on in.
WARNINGS: Place any warnings in your subject headers please!
NOTES: This is a general meet-up/mingle log/free-for-all for the wandering weary— native Denny's employees will NOT be on hand to take your orders!

 

No, no-one technically needs to eat or drink in this strange, timeless storm. But is hunger or thirst ever truly the reason to drag your weary bones to Denny's, that faithful fortress always open for those who find themselves stranded, far from home?

Not that this particular Denny's was open for breakfast in the apocalypse, with the native population scattered. This is a Denny's under new, anarchic management, a sanctuary in the storm. A place to regroup and recover, strategise and sympathise. All are welcome here.

Particularly if you happen know how to operate the deep fryer...

Comments

[numberthree]

The Apocalypse hasn't ended, but Allison is stopping for coffee. It doesn't matter if her body doesn't actually need it, or food, or sleep at this point, somehow (except, it does), she could use some coffee before heading right back out again.






She might even be getting coffees to-go for her siblings.

[callmesuperboy]

A somewhat battered Superboy is there, tired-looking but alive, and wearing civilian clothing for once as he wanders in and out of the kitchen, cooking food, making drinks, and being silly. Every order gets floated out to people via telekinesis with a grin and a flourish.

They're stuck in an apocalypse cloud. Things suck, and the world might end. Why not have fun sometimes?

Spotting the rather sober-looking woman he has been in a few shoots with, he waves as he approaches. "Miss Hargreeves, good to see you. Can I get you something?"

[obediences]

He kept losing track of the others in the storm — which was irritating, because it honestly didn't feel like Luther's fault, but rather the corners of the world looping back in on themselves, the topography of Jeopardy rewriting itself whenever he wasn't looking. But when he catches sight of the bright DENNY'S sign, squinting through the sandstorm, it sparks a distant faded memory. Another diner, a doughnut shop, a happier time. Sneaking out to it with the others when they were kids.

So he finds himself walking towards it, and gently pushing those glass doors open, and then that tight vise in his chest unclenches and loosens when he sees Allison at the counter, fussing with the coffee machines.

He exhales.

"Thank god. Had a feeling I might find you here," Luther says, and pauses on the threshold. His gaze instinctively sliding across the room, checking the back exit, the corners. All safe.

[photophobic]

REFRESHING »»»

Kylo Ren doesn't wear aprons. He also doesn't, it seems, tidy up after himself in any way whatsoever, up to and including closing the doors/drawers of the kitchen's storage while searching for whatever he wants.

He's currently in the process of filling an industrial-sized blender with a bewildering collection of ingredients that will almost certainly taste vile when mixed into one of his infamous smoothies. On the counter are a pile of plastic packets of frozen fruits and vegetables lifted from the freezer, a chopping board covered in the remnant parts of previous dissections, a scattering of emptied tins (tuna??), the top and mangled core of a dismembered pineapple...

And right now? He's stabbing open a packet of frozen peas with a ridiculously oversized knife.

Judging by the row of glasses he's set up by the blender, he intends to inflict this horror on at least four other people. Perhaps, a timely intervention?

REGROUPING »»»
cw: blood, description of injury

Kylo would absolutely be kicking the door open with a violence that would have it ripped off its hinges... if it weren't both a sliding door and an automatic one at that. His face is taut and irritable as he stalks over to his favourite booth, clutching his upper arm— he's bleeding, fairly dramatically.

And then he stops, short. Looms. Glares down at the current occupant of his chosen brooding spot.

"You're in my seat," he snaps, a hiss of pain running under the words.

His long, black sleeve gapes open where the fabric has been slashed to shreds over his bicep. What's visible of the skin beneath is stained and tacky with blood— with still more welling up and spilling over the viciously and inexpertly applied pressure of his fingers.

REFLECTING »»»

The storm is beginning to get to him.

A still, dark shape, Kylo broods silently in the corner, hunched over a mug of hot chocolate long gone cold. Is this it? Is this what their lives will be, now, this endless conflict? These torments? What purpose but suffering could there be in forcing them to relive their pasts and confront their futures, demanding they sacrifice of themselves over and over— and for what?

He should have done it, while he had the chance. When he closes his eyes, he can see the world he and Ronan could have made, he can feel the loss of the dream and it's not fair, it's not--

Kylo bursts into fury with an animal cry. He grips the tabletop by its edges, tearing it free from its bolted-down legs to hurl it violently at the wall. All the condiments and cutlery scatter and slide from the surface to careen wildly through the air while the unappetising remnant of Kylo's beverage spills in a dramatic arc. The mug shatters into pieces.

And the heaving fury of Kylo's shoulders as the paper napkins flutter and settle at his feet suggest he is far from finished.

WILDCARD »»»

Anything else you'd like! Hit me up on starktech if you want to chat ♥

Regrouping

[heliophilic]

M looks up from his self-created pancakes at the man who is currently looming over him, dripping blood all over the floor and his table. Without breaking eye contact from the guy, he pushes his pancakes over towards the window.

"Hard to get up when you're standing in my way," he replies, as if this were a normal conversation and the guy's arm didn't need medical attention.

But fortunately for Kylo M's implants were already running scenarios. Of horrific, brutal murder sure, but that wasn't the fortunate part. The fortunate part was that M had lived with these implants long enough to know how to trick them, how to think of a particular scenario that might actually help him, rather than teach him a new way to bring death. And in this case, he tricked his implants into running through ways he could strangle this guy with some sort of cloth.

M awkwardly scoots out of the booth, pushing the guy away touching his uninjured side, and heads towards the back of the restaurant. He may not have any intention of following through with that strangulation, but he does come back with three employee uniform shirts that his implants pointed out from the back.

"I'm ripping that sleeve off... and if you come after me I'll rip the arm off while I'm at it."

After all, he doesn't have to be nice.

refresh...ing.....

[besainted]

[ He may not typically be a fan of the food served in a restaurant like this, but that doesn't mean he can't probably create something a little more palatable with the supplies they might have. That's the thought that had brought Damian into the kitchen, in any case, but his sense of purpose and drive had tapered off pretty quickly upon see what his kitchen company is putting together.

Is ... is that tuna?

He might look pretty ragged himself right now, his usually impeccably flawless pale suit neither impeccable, flawless, nor as pale as it should be, but that doesn't stop him from casting an extremely judgmental look over all this. He clears his throat from the kitchen doorway. ]

Is everything ... going alright in here?

reflecting

[nightmarist]

Far be it for Ronan to interrupt a healthy outburst. He's perched on the table of a neighboring booth, chin in hand and elbows on his knees, watching the cup and cutlery and condiments go flying. It's anyone's guess how long he's been there. He hasn't bothered to exist for most of their stay in purgatory.

He understands it. The rage. He'd been angry, too, for a while. But now that Kylo's taken up the role of diner-trasher, Ronan has naturally settled on the other end to balance the scales. He's resigned. They're here now, whether the blame falls on their inaction or whether this is a punishment from God for even considering the mass murder they'd been planning to commit.

Catching one of his leather bracelets between his teeth, Ronan gnaws on it and waits until Kylo's ready to be comforted.

refreshing

[forcelight]

Stepping inside the dinner, Rey is disappointed to find the lack of any cooked food, a commodity that she's come to get used to with how easy it is to come by (normally).

That's not the case, but she can make do - frozen fruits are still better than the gruel she'd ate on Jakku, and with them she can probably make something semi edible.

Seems like someone else beat her to the idea, though. What she isn't expecting is for that person to be Kylo Ren, with an odd amalgamation of ingredients and a very large kitchen knife.

She picks up one of the tuna cans and sniffs it, pulls a face and puts it back down.

"So..." a pause. "Dare I ask what you're making?"

regrouping

[hellogoodhigh]

Klaus is lost in memory when the other man approaches. Idly stirring a cup of coffee as he tries to remember the last time he's had to actually rest. Shore leave in Saigon, maybe, when he and other members of his squadron would cut a little loose and try not to get themselves arrested off base.

Simpler times, it feels like, with the sandstorm raging all around them and the strange monochrome of this world seeping into his vision through the glass.
He doesn't even notice Kylo approaching until it's too late, and the sudden gruff voice has the skinny man jolting in his seat.

"Last I checked, your name wasn't on it." He retorts, a knee jerk reflex that comes with being the class clown and number four of seven siblings.
"... Jesus, what happened to you?"

Slowly, Klaus stands, worry creasing his brow. Whatever made that cut, that much blood- could be bad.

regrouping

[h2no]

"Good lord," he says with a wince, getting up to move aside. "You look like shit. Is it gettin' worse out there...?"

Well, regardless.

"I can heal ya, if you want. Getcha some food, too."

reflecting

[mofi]

There's a storm just outside but at least the Denny's is quiet.

Everything is still. Calm. It sounds empty, less active than it usually is. The diner could have been empty and Murphy just not even realize it.

Not too far away from Kylo, a few booths over is Murphy. Arms folded like a pretzel, a bone pillow for his head. No, he isn't tired. Not physically anyway. Mentally, Murphy is drained. This may have not been the worst thing but the sister's wanted so much and for what?

The next moment, moments, minutes, hours - who knows - something viciously rips him into consciousness; his soul nearly ejects right out of his body.

"What the fuck just happened?"

[roughworkdone]

Time

Kaz has lost all track of time.

He doesn't know if it's been hours or days. He doesn't feel tired but he hasn't slept. The neon sign flickering in the storm is not exactly a relief, but it's a place to be. Kaz isn't the only one here but he doesn't immediately approach any of the other bodies in space. Instead, he finds a booth that doesn't look remotely comfortable and throws himself into it. It has a decent view of one of the big windows. Behind the glass, the storm keeps going.

Kaz rubs his forehead, pinches the top of his nose. After the ordeal in the church, he isn't particularly eager to explore any other important buildings. He stretches his bad leg out along the booth and finds himself wondering if there's hot running water anywhere in the city. He could use a fucking soak, and there are worse places to wait this out than a bathtub.

And it will end, won't it? Storms always do. Always.

They have to.

Toil

Eventually Kaz finds his way to the kitchen. There has to be something here worth trying to eat. The first order of business is coffee. He can manage coffee. There's probably more banging around and cursing than necessary; most of that is just letting out frustration. He finds a mug and fills it before the pot is finished brewing; he carries it with him as he starts looking through drawers and refrigerators and pantries.

Okay. Potatoes. He can do potatoes. Butter, some herbs. A skillet.

Kaz Brekker doesn't really cook, but what kind of idiot fucks up potatoes? He keeps his gloves on as he cuts and dices and throws the potatoes in the pan with a lot of butter. Seasoning. Push around with a wooden spoon.

He might even share if someone makes it worth his wile.

toil

[measuringdicks]

Richie pokes his head into the kitchen, and sees—well, someone's making some food! Oh thank god. Richie's not actually hungry, but he's uneasy and he hasn't seen Caleb since they split up, he needs a teeny bit of normalcy right now. Clearly he can find it in this abandoned Denny's.

"Dude," says a scrawny stick of a teenager with eyes magnified by thick glasses, coming up to Kaz out of curiosity, "the fuck are you trying to make?"

[deadthing]

beverages??

For much of his time in the storm, Noah has been in ghost form. There's a dubious kind of safety in it (can't die if you're already dead) that outweighs his usual discomfort with existing that way. But here at Denny's, he's reverted to human for a snack break. Which it's not like he needs? The weird time dilation in here means no one really feels hunger and he could avoid it as long as he's a spirit, anyway. This gross shit is purely because he wants to.

And what makes it gross? Well, he's seated at a booth with his feet pulled up onto the seat, seemingly about to straight-up guzzle syrup out of the little pitchers. There is no food in sight he could be planning to pour it on. It is going to go right in his mouth. He holds two of them up to the light, making considering noises about which to taste first.

"Blue or red?"

wildcard

[For any other Denny's shenanigans.]

walks into a denny's like a week later..... i'm sorry

[melodramagic]

[ Having exhausted all her witchy options in her quest to find a way out of this apocalyptic storm, Sabrina takes shelter in this abandoned Denny's only to discover it's hardly so when she encounters multiple stragglers inside. She cocks her head to the side as she spies imPorts devouring food like stray animals or asleep in booths, drooling on cushioned seats.

Strange, she thinks, she doesn't feel tired herself. It's another aspect of this storm that piques her curiosity; why isn't she physically exhausted or hungry?

That question will have to wait as she initially walks past Noah in his booth, then backtracks, a plate of pancakes in her hands, noticing the pitcher in Noah's hand. ]

... you know you're supposed to have it with pancakes or waffles, right?

[hellogoodhigh]

↬|| Salt and Pepper Diner
[ He manages to sneak into the diner when, as far as he’s aware, it’s empty. One of the places nearby that actually has food, and even though he doesn’t feel like eating, he knows he needs to. So he’s here, sneaking bread and butter out of the back, cracking eggs against the flat top grill he heats up so he can try to cook a proper breakfast.

Somewhere in the waiting for the griddle to heat and cooking sausage, he ends up trying to break the silence by singing to himself.
It’s terrible. Awful, really, because Klaus? Can’t carry a tune in a bucket. And he takes the idea of ‘dancing like no one’s watching’ quite literally, since he’s unaware of anyone else’s presence.

That is, until he’s halfway through belting out ‘What’s New Pussycat’, using the spatula in his hand like a microphone, and fully in view of the front of the counter, where someone catches his eye, and he comes to a dead stop. ]

Er.

[ With the chagrined embarrassment of a man caught in the act, he attempts to try and look cool. ]

So, you here for the coffee? Just made a pot.


↬|| Wildcard

[ Want something different? Hit me up at [Bad username or site: ”peachkoala” @ ”plurk.com”] ! ]

[forcelight]

Coffee. [ What had she just witnessed? Will she ever be able to unsee, or rather - unhear that singing?

Probably not. The corners of her mouth curve in an almost smile. ]

I'll take some coffee but you can hold the performance.

[bookkeeper]

[ Nate had just dropped himself onto a stool, filthy and dripping blood from a healing cut at his hairline. He exhales heavily, relieved and grateful for the moment to rest and reaches up to wipe with the back of his hand at the blood making a slow trek down his cheek from his temple.

Christ, even if the guy at the griddle is a terrible singer, Nate’s going to enjoy the fact that someone is keeping things light despite what’s going down. Props to him.

A hand is held up, his smile tired. ]

Just here for the coffee, yeah. But don’t let me stop you, that’s a good pick for a tune.

diner;

[pillz]

[kavinsky has been here for a little while actually. the terrible singing brings him out from the back, where he'd been poking around, low-key trying to maintain a presence while kylo ren had stepped out. hard to maintain any kind of clear base or center of operations, but it's better when at least somebody's there to hold down the fort.

what the fuck is that noise.]

Hargreeves?

[he isn't exactly surprised. all kinds of characters finding their way in here, from uncle polly's beefcake sink laundry to the meadows kids. strange waystation.] I'll take coffee.

[mofi]

I am here to tell you to shut the hell up, [ Murphy drawls.

He had come from outside, looking ragged and weathered.

Denny's, for out of commission as it is, serves as a safe place amidst the apocalypse. This isn't the first time he's been here, navigating his way through the kitchen with some sort of previous knowledge (as little as it maybe). ]

Yeah. [ Murphy holds out a plain, ceramic mug. ] Fill me up.

wildcard-ish

[anathemic]

[ They'd holed up in Small Mediums at Large for a while: it was a safe place to nap for a few hours, to drink some tea (which Anathema had, for once, surreptitiously laced with some restorative spellcraft), to regain their energy before setting back out into the storm. She couldn't quite tell how much time they'd spent there, though: time muddied, turned strange and blurry at the edges.

The diner was a nice change of scenery, at least. She was seated in one of the booths, long legs stretched out onto the other seat, when Klaus returned with his attempt at a breakfast. ]

You could be a short-order cook, if the medium thing doesn't work out.

[solarcharged]

☼ come on and slam

Apollo didn't technically need to eat, drink or sleep before the storm but that doesn't stop him from doing those things here anymore than it did in the real world. He eats because it's a facade of normality, he sleeps because it passes the time. And there's some kind of strange comfort in looking after people, it making sure they're all getting through this in one piece. Call it a mothering instinct or call it just giving a shit about the people you love, Apollo doesn't care.

But his cooking repertoire is... limited. Even as a single parent raising the most powerful eight-year-old posthuman in the universe Apollo had never been great at cooking. But the Denny's menu isn't exactly complicated, or so Apollo tells himself as he sets out to recreate something that had caught his eye in the brightly coloured plastic menus.

"You're getting a Grand Slamwich," He authoritatively tells whoever is sat at the strip of seats facing the kitchen, tying up his blond hair into a ponytail.

"It'll be great, I promise. Maybe even better than how Denny's does it."

Which is code for 'I'm making this up as I go along, expect the unexpected.'

☼ avert thine eyes

Time may not be passing in the grand scheme of things but every time Apollo heads out to punch a few eldritch horrors back through the power plant doors his uniform stands a fresh testament to how much time has really passed. Monster gore builds up over the days, reducing the white and gold of his fraying spandex uniform into a hideous painting of claw streaks and brain splatters. It stinks in only the way eldritch innards can, with a ripe stench of decay and cauterised flesh. Apollo is no stranger to that particular aroma but it doesn't mean that he's okay with smelling like this for the fifth (fourth? sixth?) day in a row.

And besides, it's not very sanitary to stink up a Denny's with a cloud of gore-smell.

Out of politeness he waits until the ragtag collection of people in the restaurant has dwindled to a daily low before quietly slipping into the kitchen. The dishwashing sink is helpfully labelled DIRTYS ONLY and, knowing that you genuinely can't get dirtier than dried monstergore, he deftly peels apart his spandex at the hidden zip and dumps the stinking fabric in the bowl. The smell that rises from the blackened heap of material is foul even as Apollo squirts a healthy amount of lemony liquid soap over the blackened material followed by a stream of fresh, hot water.

Standing over the sink in only the tight-fitting boxer briefs that he usually wears underneath his uniform, Apollo watches thoughtfully as the sink fills up. At least the lingering stench of monstergore has a citrus fresh undercurrent as the steam begins to rise around him. The weirdness of the situation - Apollo, mostly naked, standing over a stinking, scummy, foaming sink of superheroic laundry - isn't lost on him. Thoughtfully he helps himself to a black Denny's apron hanging by the sink and slips it over his head, tying it in a careful bow around his considerable waist. Even pulled tight the fabric barely covers his chest but at least that makes it slightly less weird. Right?

avert thine eyes; spoilers: kavinsky is not averting thise eyes

[pillz]

Kavinsky does not avert his eyes. That is a really nice back. And butt. And legs. And there's like, that wet going on, droplets everywhere. He could lick the tendons in the back of Apollo's ankles for days. Annnnnnnnd

okay. All right. Sorry. He's just horny from having killed a bunch of stuff recently. It's problematic. He's problematic.

But he can pretend to be normal! Taking a breath, he tells his half-chub to calm down, and is grateful for his pants. "Yo," he calls through the open doorway, pretending now to look away. "I can make you another one of those. Uniform. Exact same as the brand new, assuming you can kind of... describe how it used to be. Before the..." he gestures with one tattooed hand in an abstract way, that might mean, 'I like your shoulderblades' or it might mean, 'i.e., your unitard is laminated in monster viscera.'

"Good to see you, Uncle Sunshine."

He's not exactly surprised to see Apollo in here. Superhero, after all. But something aobut him being here, at Denny's, while Kylo Ren flips tables!! outside, is funnily out-of-place. Makes Kavinsky smile, worry less that Apollo, too, shall punch him for abducting children.

come on and slam

[h2no]

Unfortunately, Archie doesn't hesitate to climb over the counter and hop up on one of the leftover step stools the employees had left behind to peek over Apollo's shoulder. Necessary, thanks to the almost foot of difference between them...

Anyway, he pokes around some of the ingredients that are still around.

"No meat, Polly. Ach-- maybe we should work out how to keep this stuff fresh..." he says, rubbing his beard. Shrugs. "You wanna go loot a store, later?"

He doesn't say for what reason. Maybe he just wants to indulge. Maybe he wants new clothes. Maybe he just wants to break some shit, despite his chipper demeanour.

[hellosirs]

coffee!

[ Angus, who arrived in Jeopardy about a day ago - not that it's easy to tell, here - is in dire need of some normalcy, and a place to catch his breath, rest up, and regain some spell slots. To him, normalcy and safety go hand in hand with tea and coffee, and this is why you might see a scrawny preteen poking his head out of the kitchen, holding a coffee pot in one hand, and a teapot in the other. ]

Hello sir/ma'am! Would you like some? I've got a fresh pot on.


resting!

[ He may not be physically tired, but Angus has used up a lot of his spell slots, and needs to recharge a bit. He can be found curled up in a corner booth at the very back of the restaurant, nursing a cup of tea with his nose buried in a copy of Caleb Cleveland, Kid Cop: The Case of the Cursed Candelabra. Later on, he actually lies down in the seat, pulls the brim of his cap down over his eyes and his jacket over his shoulders, and attempts a nap.

Judging by the grumbling, it isn't working. This would be a lot easier if he were actually tired. ]

[burlyboy]

[ Magnus lopes into the Denny's looking like -- well, looking like he's spent the last week fighting. He doesn't look great, but it's not so different from what Angus has seen before when they managed to drag themselves out of one mission or another, bloodied and bedraggled but nonetheless successful. All Magnus is missing this time is the success.

And, well, the team. But that's fine. He's here for a place to sit down for a spell, maybe wrap up a wound or two, chug some black coffee until he feels mildly more human again. He's been operating on animalistic instinct, this past week, on survival and devotion to beating the shit out of anything that would hurt someone else alone.

Which is why he sees Angus and says, ] Oh, hey Ango.

[ And then he pauses to think about it for more than a millisecond. ]

Waitasecond. Hey, Angus? What the fuck?

[ Did this kid seriously run into the apocalypse? ]