midnight train going anywhere

daybreak diner / closed: @sylvan-scenes & @arloreynoldsboyle

the day probably couldn’t have gone worse, as far as bash is concerned. the universe has unfortunately gifted him with a couple of very common fears—heights, first and foremost (this is exactly why he’s never even been on a plane) and then the dark. being unable to see anything is bash’s worst nightmare and it’s coming true now. were he at home, it would’ve been fine…ish. bash was meant to leave soon anyway, he was this close to hanging up his apron and calling it a day but the weather had other plans.

when the lights go off, he’s in the bathroom washing his hands. at first, he figures it’ll come back up in a moment but it doesn’t. more time passes and it’s still dark and bash’s breathing picks up because this can’t mean anything good. he reaches to the side and takes a careful step, enough so he can touch the wall and then lean against it. his hands are shaking as he reaches for his phone—old thing, the torch doesn’t work anymore so the best he can do in terms of light is the glow of his screen. he feels dangerously close to a panic attack too (he can’t even remember when was the last time he had one—this is bad) but tries to do his best to stop it from developing any further.

it takes him five minutes to get his breathing back to normal and for his heart to slow down. his hands don’t feel so clammy anymore and any sudden noises don’t seem to be making him jump anymore. he takes another five to make sure that he’s actually fine and then he finally walks out to meet his boss, his phone doing a shit job of guiding him.

“okay, so…what’s—uh, what’s happening? are we getting out?” bash asks but he guesses that the amounts of snow he can see outside of the windows is answer enough. “shit.”

•••

When the lights flickered, Arlo’s first response was a flash of panic. Then, they shut off entirely, and Arlo’s panic moved up from a flash to a constant thrum under every thought. He’d known panic well, and he knew just as well how to push it down, to shove it under a smile and a forced sense of confidence. He spent a solid three minutes pacing around, looking for anyway out, only to find that while he had been cleaning, every single exit to the diner had been loaded with snow, too strong to escape. He made a valiant attempt, pushing hard at a door, then a window, but the verdict was clear. He was stuck.

The next three minutes involved intense breathing, trying to regulate his nervous system, and failing. The cold was encroaching, slow and ominous, the temperature of the diner dropping degree by degree. Help was on the way, he reminded himself, smiling at nothing in particular (he heard that helped, when someone was panicking, but it just made him feel crazier). 

He was genuinely considering trying power posing when he heard Bash’s voice, at which point he was flooded with some kind of relief. At least the snow hadn’t somehow trapped Bash in the bathroom, right? He turned around to the source of the voice, wishing that he could just see what was happening.

Seneca watched with a glassy look to her eyes as he took notes on her order, as nonspecific as it was other than the drinks she wanted. She leaned forward slightly, but it made the entire room feel like it was spinning. Even she knew she ought to get something in her stomach, and soon. 

“Do you got, like… like chocolate chip waffles?” she drawled out slowly. Those she could eat a ton of. It was probably a good thing she wasn’t headed home, she would have stopped at some corner store to buy them and fallen asleep while they were in her oven and likely burnt the entire crappy apartment complex she lived in down. “Oh! And pie, you got pie?” 

•••

“I know… Odd to think about, isn’t it? You suit fatherhood too well to not be one.” She wanted, quite badly, to sneak in a joke about that being why he started to early - but she felt like that can of worms was best opened when she was more well-rested. She didn’t want to end up sticking her foot in it. Still, the exaggerated dad-sounds made her laugh, all too fondly. “Well, there’s no time like the present… I say you get scouting the PTA. Or take your guitar, and let the musically gifted dads come to you.”

Was there anything more endearing than somebody openly and proudly adoring their children? No, Hazel certainly didn’t think so, not when Arlo did it. She rested her chin in her hand, watching him cook, listening to the comforting lull of her voice, and trying her best to keep her eyes open through it. Maybe it was a silly idea to take herself somewhere she felt so at home when she wanted to stay awake. “You forget you’re speaking to a lady who similarly did extra school on purpose… I thought the very same thing,” she pointed out, with a lazy smile. “He’s always been a bright spark. And to make it into his very own dream school… No wonder you’re so proud. I was the same way with Darcy, when he started… Still am. You must be missing him like mad.”

•••

“What if I became the Pied Piper of the PTA?” he mused, laughing a little at the thought of walking the streets of Islesbury with a guitar and a sting of dads behind him. “That would definitely be one way to get the band together...”

At the reminder of her own extra schooling, Arlo felt a spark of admiration. “I’ll still never understand how you managed it... I mean, I felt overloaded with a kid and a job, but nursing school and a kid?” He timed his whistle with a chop of lettuce, the two sounds working together to fully express his awe. “Speaking of school, how’s Darcy doing? Is college treating him well?”

Connor nodded, there was no doubt in his mind about that. “They’re all going to go a little nuts over your smell, probably. But– you can take that as a compliment! They love good food, so…” he trailed off, allowing Sausage Casserole to gently lap up the treat, his tail continuing it’s steady sway.

“Bacon’s… Okay. It’s edible, but kind of bad for dogs in the same way it’s not great for people. Giving them, like, half a slice of bacon - depending on the dog’s size - is kind of like giving a human a cheeseburger. It’s fine, but probably not great to give them every day,” he explained, gesturing a little further along the kennels. “Well, uh, up next we’ve got The Senator,” he said, sidestepping towards the next dog along, who was in the middle of the very important process of wiggling around on his back in the middle of his space. “He’s a funny little guy.”

•••

“The Senator...” Arlo repeated, internalizing this bacon information before allowing his focus to be completely drawn by a funny little guy just hanging out. “I can tell he’s a cool dude...”

He stepped a little closer, trying to maintain the reverence that the dog’s name commanded. “What’s his story? I feel like he’s got a lot going on.” Would he need to make his house a workspace where laws could be passed? 

Seneca’s head grew heavier and heavier in her open palm where she propped it up as the man spoke to her. He offered her water and coffee, a sudden reminder of what a bad hangover she would probably have the next day and how badly she’d wanted coffee just a minute or two ago. How had she forgotten so fast. She perked up in what felt to her like an instant, but in reality was her sitting up with a slightly delay and nodding. “Yeah, coffee would be good, and water… Probably a lot of water,” she drawling thoughtfully. 

When he offered to share the specials with her, she turned her body to orient it toward him, lifting her legs onto the booth as she faced him. She crossed one ankle over the other and gave him an enthusiastic thumbs up. “Hell yea, fuck me up daddy,” she responded to complement the gesture. “What’s the sweetest thing you got? I love sweets. And whipped cream…”

•••

Water, water, water. That sounded like a good idea to Arlo, who was fighting increasing concern over the proceedings, especially as he words veered towards the most suggestive side. He clung to professionalism, writing down “Sweet” on his notepad.

“Always? As in, before you were even a dad?” Hazel asked, with the best mischievous grin she could muster in her exhaustion. Granted, Arlo had been a father for the majority of his life, but she didn’t have the energy to take such considerations. She could relax around him in that sense, she didn’t have to think of everything. “A lofty ambition. As for the food… Please don’t make me alphabet soup with lettuce in it,” she clarified, with a playful lilt to her voice. “I’ll take the chef salad. You’re a chef, should be nice and easy, right?”

With the menu closed, Hazel slid it back towards Arlo. “I usually manage to get your point, don’t I? I’m sure we’ll be fine,” she said; that was another truth she always trusted. “It helps that I know your favourite subjects. How’s Owen doing? All settled into the college life now?”

•••

“Before I was a dad? God, that was so far back I think I’ve forgotten!” Arlo said, hamming it up with what he hoped was an old man’s grunt. “At least a decade. I feel like that’s an idea I came up with when I was 20 and never quite forgot.” He began reaching for some veggies, assembling a little salad work station in his position. 

“As for Owen... he is my favorite topic. And he’s really making it work. You know, when he told me that he wanted to go to Georgia Tech, I was a little bit surprised,” he explained, busying his hands with the process of chopping lettuce to serve as the salad’s base. “But he seems to really be enjoying the South! Maybe I should’ve predicted it when summer was his favorite season, but I just thought that was because he didn’t have to go to school! Which, honestly, was a misstep on my part, because for some reason...” he whistled. “That boy loves school. He’s been mentioning looking at grad programs, which just boggles my mind, because hey! Who sits through classes and thinks... gee, I want to do this more! I don’t totally get it, but I’m not gonna stop him. More schooling just means more information he can use to save the world, as far as I’m concerned.”

“He’s always like that. He kind of… lumbers around like he’s just woken up from a nice long nap, even when he hasn’t.” The dog in question, as docile as ever, gave Arlo’s hand a tentative snuffle, and then a lazy lick. Afterwards, he sat down, looking up at the pair with a look Connor recognised as expectancy.

“Oh,” Connor said, glancing between Arlo and Mr. Casserole with a soft chuckle. “I think… He can smell food on you. I mean– maybe. You… You run the diner, right?” he asked, tentative as ever, just in case that turned out to be a weird thing to know. “That’s probably a good thing. They’re all going to like you… partially because they think you’ll have snacks for them. Actually– you can feed them, if you want. I’ve got a…” There was a pause as Connor rifled through his pockets, one after the other, until he eventually fished out a small plastic bag filled with little brown pellets. The sight of it alone was enough to get Sausage Casserole’s thick tail wagging in its usual thumping rhythm. “Treats! I found them. Did you want to…?” He held the pouch out, with a friendly smile.

•••

Arlo moved his hand from sniffing-position to giving Sausage Casserole a soft pat on the head, then turned back to Connor. “I do run Daybreak Diner, yes... which hopefully means that I’ll be popular in this crowd.” Arlo accepted the pouch with a smile, fiddling with it to open, then pouring some treats into his hand. He wanted to be thrifty, as he didn’t want to put all of his dog eggs in the Sausage Casserole basket quite yet.

He held out his palm, now laden with some treats, and looked over at Connor. “Is bacon good for dogs? Because that’s something I’ll have a lot of... I mean, I can literally bring home the bacon.”

Daybreak Diner, early AM  Closed Starter for @arloreynoldsboyle

She was wasted, and she knew it. As much as she wanted to fool herself, it was extremely likely that plenty of folks around her realized it too.

The room spun around her highlighted blonde head as she slipped into a booth at the local diner. Maybe some coffee would sober her up, she thought to herself as she swayed slightly in her seated position. Could she even afford a cup of coffee? The thought sent her clumsy hands rifling through her pockets and emerging with a small mass of crumbled bills and pocket change that spilled from between the cracks of her fingers and clattered loudly across the table. Maybe if the crowd in the diner hadn’t been a mix of older couples and hungover students she wouldn’t have earned as many side eyed glances for her sloppiness, but where they had sobered up by now Seneca was still thoroughly inebriated. 

Seneca wasn’t even remotely bothered–or aware–of the looks she’d earned herself. Instead, she was mostly focused on flipping the menu at the table back and forth looking for something she wanted. Her eyes drifted slowly to the wad of cash she’d placed at the seating across from her, where someone would have enjoyed the meal with her–if I had any friends who could stand to put up with my shit. There was a $20 bill, which meant there should be enough for her to eat, but her thought process quickly shifted to how ridiculously hungry she was as she leaned forward against the table. 

It took more than a moment for her to notice someone had approached the table to take her order, a dad-looking type with a nameplate that read ARLO. She quit fiddling with a sugar packet long enough to grin widely and place her chin on her palm, her elbow propped on the top of the the table, and ask, “Did you come to bring me pancakes, baby?”  Too casual perhaps, but she wasn’t really in a state to think better of it.

•••

Working at and owning the 24 hour diner came with familiar pitfalls, and familiar types of customers. Arlo had fond memories of the first hammered customer he ever had, which was at the ripe old age of 18, before he could even legally drink himself. 

Decades later, in the same building, he was faced with the all-too-normal sight of someone completely smashed, sitting in a booth. He approached carefully, surveying the bills scattered across the table, as well as the apparent level of inebriation. He kept his little pad where he kept track of orders up, pen poised. 

“You want pancakes?” he asked, writing pancakes? on the page. “I can also bring you some water. And coffee.” Without waiting for much of an answer, he wrote those down on the page too. 

“I can also tell you the specials, as well as my personal recommendations.” he kept his voice slow and kind, maintaining the same countenance as he would with a sick kid.

Hazel let out a slightly too loud honk of laughter, quickly looking away after the fact. “Right, well– I’m letting you know now, up-front, that if you start a band called Chunky Flu Shot, I’m not being one of your groupies. Name it something else, and… I’ll consider it,” she joked, with just a little too much conviction.

The mention of the jukebox sapped that away from a moment; Hazel drew her lips back, very deliberately avoiding looking at it. “I could do with a salad… And maybe the conversation too, if you’re sure you haven’t got too much to do. A… word-salad,” she added, with a slight nod. “I’m pretty exhausted, so that’s probably all my words are going to sound like, but I can trust you to keep things relatively coherent. …Right?”

•••

“I have always wanted to start a band made up of dads...” he admitted, before reaching for a menu and passing it to her. He leaned over the counter, making pains to point to the relevant section, even if it was unnecessary. “Pick your salad anti-poison... I’m afraid we don’t have a word salad on the menu quite yet, though... maybe it could be like alphabet soup, but with lettuce?”

He flashed another smile, before pulling his lingering finger out of the way, hopefully giving her ample space to read. “I’ll try to keep it nice and coherent, but that’s never been my strong suit.”

With an enthusiastic nod, Connor gestured towards the door beside the register, making his way out from behind it. “Well– right this way, then. The best thing to do is just to get a feel for… the whole gang, really,” he explained, holding the door open. The kennels were bustling as per usual, with several yaps and snuffling sounds providing a backing-track. “A flexible schedule’s pretty great! Big dogs take up big time,” he said, walking backwards along the aisle between each enclosure. “And… Big walks, sometimes. There are a lot of things to consider, like… age. Have you thought about that? There’s a world of difference between a puppy, a mature dog, and a senior… Oh, like this guy here…” Connor stopped beside the pooch in question, resting his hand against the wall beside his space. “This is Sausage Casserole, but we call him Saucy for short.” Sausage Casserole was a distinguished gentleman, with a soft golden-yellow hue to his fur, and a few greying spots here and there. “He’s a labrador cross, but we’re not quite sure what with. We’re guessing he’s about 10 years old, and he’s real gentle… Sometimes it feels like he’s just– an incredibly large duckling. I mean, look at him,” Connor tilted his head to smile at the dog, who stood curiously in front of the gate between them. “Such a gentle man…”

•••

“Ooh, a gentleman... Sausage Casserole is already the gentleman’s dish, that’s for sure.” He bent over with a slightly-exaggerated groan of effort, offering his hand to Saucy for him to... sniff? Was that a dog thing, or a cat thing? He wasn’t sure, so he opted instead of attempting a civil conversation with the man of the hour.

“Why, hello there, old chap... are you always this laid-back, or has it just been a long day?”

“oh, she’s downright freezing but it’s her god given right so it’s not like i get to complain, right?,” ken says as they stand up so they can actually look at the other’s face and not just his knees. they brush off the sand and assess the damage—it’s alright. clothes will dry, they’ll be fine. “smart. see, i still haven’t quite figured out how to dress for this place. i mean, i know i should know because i’ve lived here before but it’s been ages and i got way too comfortable with california weather. today’s probably like…early sweater weather and here i am sporting last-minute resort wear,” they chuckle and make a vague gesture at their shorts. “hey i know you. i mean, i don’t, what i mean is that i recognize you. you own the diner, right? you’re my cousin’s boss.”

•••

“I do, I do own the diner, it’s...” he looked over to the ocean, then back at Ken. “It’s kind of the coolest job in the world. And it keeps me inside from the cold.” He shrugged, making a vague gesture to the chilly air around them. “And your cousin! Bash, right?” he tried to maintain a level of carefulness, just in case the identification was wrong. “I hope you haven’t heard too many complaints about me.”

From across the counter, Hazel matched Arlo’s stance, planting her palms onto the counter parallel to his. It was simply much easier to keep herself upright and awake that way, of course. “It was a long night-shift… Not necessarily a bad one, though. I installed a grand total of eight catheters, with an impressively minimal amount of mess, if I do say so myself…” She shrugged, with a proud smile. “And I ended up having a rather long argument with an elderly in-patient about how our flu shots apparently ‘have chunks in them,’ even though we weren’t trying to give him one. All in all, I’m just… a little worn out, but I have to pick Damien up in a few hours. I can’t risk sleeping through an alarm,” she explained, with that same smile turning a little more weary.

Hazel reached into her purse, pulling out her wallet to give it a little wiggle in between them. “So, there you have it. I’m tired, I’m hungry, I’ve got a belly to fill, time to kill, and a sensible-but-substantial amount of cash to burn. What can you do for me, Arlo?”

•••

“I can do many things, Hazel,” he answered, shooting a sunny smile. He couldn’t keep it down, even as he tried to make his face more contemplative. “I can’t give you any chunky flu shots... even if that sounds like a fun band name... but I can probably get you a salad. Those wake me up a little... I think it’s because eating one tricks my body into thinking that I’m gonna jog soon. I can also turn the jukebox up a little, to avoid any ear-sleepiness. Back on the food track, I have a very functional coffee machine, as I’m sure you discovered.”

He opened his mouth, then closed it again, coming up with and deciding against voicing a joke about his personal abilities, all in one breath. To mow over that pause, he went onto the next item. 

It wasn’t rare for Connor to spot a familiar face wandering into the store, but it always caught him by surprise to recognise somebody for the first time. He didn’t stop by the Daybreak Diner even half as frequently as he used to when he first moved, but he remembered it pretty fondly, and Arlo’s face was a recognisable one. So was the silly voice - he’d definitely heard that at least once before. “Hi! Dogs… Yeah, we’ve got plenty of those. And a… solid handful of lizards, if you don’t click with any of them,” he answered, standing up straight before nodding towards the door behind him. “I can take you through to look around right now… Do you know what you’re looking for? I mean– in terms of… breed, or size?”

•••

“Let’s start with the dogs,” he decided aloud, rubbing his hands together in excitement. The world (All 4 Pets, specifically) was his oyster, and he was excited to explore it. “My thing with dogs, personally... I haven’t totally decided. Because there a lot of dogs that I find cute! And I, uhh, I have a pretty flexible schedule, so the high-maintenance dogs aren’t off the table. So small dogs... big dogs... throw ‘em at me. Not literally, of course, I don’t think I could catch the big ones.”

At times, Micah wasn’t quite ready to go home when he stepped into the night as he left Deja Vu. Sometimes he wasn’t quite ready to transition from throbbing beats into silent nothingness, and others he was swept up into his own restlessness. He tended to find himself drifting into the diner as he had in the early in his move to Islebury. It was a welcome respite to get to know the locals, or simply to fill his time. Currently, early intentions of going to the gym had him resisting the lure of his bed. Going home after work would be game over.

“Technically,” Micah offers with a light grin as his hands laced around the coffee in front of him. “The night feels far younger than I do, but I like your train of thought. Have you had a good night, er, morning so far??”

•••

“It’s been pretty good!” Arlo answered, offering up a quick smile as he busied his hands with wiping down the counter. “My son called- well, Skyped, if you wanna get tech-y about it... which he always does. Get tech-y, I mean...” 

(Owen, his son, going off to college was a tough adjustment, but at least one thing didn’t change: back then, when people asked how he was doing, he’d usually just talk about his son being on mathletes. Now, he talks about his son being in college.)

“Yeah, he’s having a bit of a hard time adjusting to the Georgia weather, but since everything is getting closer to fall, it’s a bit easier. I’m worried about midterms, personally, because even though I never went to college myself, television made them look mighty difficult... he seems to be confident, at least. I mean- did you go to college? Were midterms as bad as TV made them seem?”

{ - }

“I did. You might as well have been screaming my name across town,” Hazel replied, glancing down into the pot, as though it had been made just to tempt her. “And as much as I’d love to… crash my ship against that rock, I’m afraid I can’t risk anything heavy like that. Not right now, anyway…” It wasn’t like she could ever resist the diner for long. “Actually, I was hoping for–” Hazel was interrupted by her own stomach, belting out a deafening rumble. Her smile turned sheepish, and she ducked her head, shaking it a little in her embarrassment. “Anything that’ll keep me awake for the next… two hours, give or take. I’m serious - anything - and I might have to eat it standing up. I feel like the second I sit down, I’ll be out like a light…”

•••

“I’m glad you heard that too! My throat was getting a bit sore,” he said, placing the pot itself by his side on the counter. Both hands came out, bracing himself on the counter as his eyebrows furrowed, thinking hard about the perfect meal to keep her up.

“I think before I diagnose you with this upcoming meal... I think I need to know more about your day. What energy are you bringing, here? Was it a good day at work that’s about to continue? A terrible one?” 

Despite Hazel’s best efforts, there was no known cure for the common double-shift. Her symptoms, like always, included sore feet, dry, tired eyes, and a hunger that just wouldn’t quit. The prognosis was bleak; she felt like death, and her feet dragged with each step closer she took towards the diner. That was the thing keeping her going; once she opened the door and the familiar fragrance of home cooking enveloped her, some of the ungodly weight on her shoulders subsided. She took a long, deep breath in as she made her way to the counter, peeking her head over to catch a glimpse of the kitchen. She could hear the usual clanging of pots and pans as he worked, which almost muffled out the way he whistled as he went. A tired smile graced her lips when she noticed he was wiggling his hips too, dancing along to a song she couldn’t hear. “Arlo?” she called out, resting her hands on the counter as she leaned further, just to make sure her voice carried over. “Are you busy?”

{ @arloreynoldsboyle​ }

•••

Arlo loved a slow day at the Daybreak Diner. It was perfect for conversations with newcomers to the town (who always seemed to find themselves at the counter, ready to receive some hot coffee and fatherly advice), and for more... personal distractions. Hazel, it turned out, was the perfect distraction, pulling his focus away from the pot of spaghetti that he was finishing up. 

“Me? Never!” he said, turning around at the sound of that familiar voice, wooden spoon in hand. He turned back for a moment, just to pull the pot off the stove, before walking over to the counter, lugging it along with him. “Did you hear the pasta boiling from across town? I have heard that it can have a bit of a siren call effect...”