𝚎𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝𝚢-𝚜𝚒𝚡 𝚕𝚒𝚏𝚎

JEREMY ALLEN WHITE, CIS MALE, HE/HIM – There goes KENNETH CRAWFORD clocking into the SUNSET DINER. The TWENTY-NINE year old is a LINE COOK from NEW ORLEANS, LA. I think they are TENACIOUS but I heard that they can also be SELF-DEPRECATING. Hope they have a good shift! 

tw: absent parent, illness/stroke, parent death, gambling, religion mention, jail

Lu knew she should have prepared herself more for this, to come back home and face people again after not speaking to them or giving any semblance of an explanation for a whole year about her whereabouts or even if she was still alive, but she had needed to go. Ran away was a better term, but she couldn’t bring herself to regret it, and Lu truly thought she was ready to be back and see them all again, but there really wasn’t anything that could have prepared her to see him again, coming out of the diner, the familiar sight akin to a swift punch to the gut. The silence surrounding them felt so heavy that Lu took it upon herself to try and push it away. “I, um, I went to Spain for a year,” she said as she buried her hands in the pockets of her jacket. “’Bout time I got a vacation, huh?” Lu jokingly said, even as the joke fell flat, her laughter fading until she eventually took in a sharp breath, letting her eyes rest on his face. “How has your mom been?” She asked softly. 

.

“Spain.” He uttered the word quietly, as if saying it aloud was somehow going to process the information faster. The initial worry when she had left, the absence of her aside from just memory. Crawford wasn’t sure where he thought she’d gone, where he had wanted her to go, but to tangibly have that place now— it stung about as bad at the day she disappeared. His jaw clenched as he trained his eyes on the parking lot, eyes running along the cracks and grooves, the pebbles, the leaves, anything not to look at her. “I hope you had a good time,” he said finally, dryly as he picked his head up, still casting his gaze far off from her. His blue eyes glazed over, looking at the entrance to the lot but not seeing it. His mind was too full as her question reminded him of all that she’d missed. Fuck, what a difference a year made. Crawford’s Adam’s apple bobbed in his throat, his next words heavy and difficult. “She... um,” he paused, pressing his lips together, gnawing at the flesh of his own mouth. He readjusted the strap of his bag, hiking it up higher onto his shoulder, stalling. How was he supposed to say this? After a breath, Crawford just laid it out, simple and bare. “She died.”

                april  mirrors  the  silent  arch  of  his  brow  with  a  curious  furrow  of  her  own,  freckled  shoulders  lifting  into  a  meager  shrug,  “don’t  know,  might  catch  a  date  with  that  guy  at  the  end  of  the  bar.”  the  patron  in  question  had  been  one  of  those  tacky  tourists  who  seemed  eager  to  flaunt  his  money  to  nobody  in  particular  —  gold  chain,  shirt  unbuttoned  to  reveal  unruly  tufts  of  chest  hair,  had  to  have  been  pushing  seventy,  yet  shamelessly  leering  at  every  passing  guest.  april  offers  a  coy  wink  at  crawford,  inching  closer  to  whisper,  “obviously  just  my  type.”  she’s  easily  softened,  however,  by  the  mention  of  her  favorite  beloved  ol’  madman  -  the  delightfully  strange  arlo  sprigg  of  new  orleans.  “mm,  ol’  arlo  would’ve  objected  solely  because  he’d  be  disappointed  in  both  of  us  if  we  ever  stopped  at  just  one  round,”  she  coyly  reminds  him,  finishing  off  the  final  remnants  of  her  old  fashioned  and  grinning  brightly  over  at  her  guest.  “i’m  afraid  you’re  stuck  with  me  tonight,  so  you  better  start  deciding  which  jukebox  tunes  you  want  to  see  my  drunk  ass  dance  to  by  round  three.”  cheeks  are  pinched  pink  by  the  cheap  liquor  that  warms  her  lithe  frame,  curious  gaze  fixed  on  crawford’s  profile,  “maybe  i’ll  finally  get  you  to  dance  along,  too.”

.

Feeding into her game, Crawford looked past her shoulder, eyeing the end of the bar and the man that occupied it. There was always one. As gruff as Crawford might get with having that sort around, even he could admit it wasn’t a proper night out without at least one sighting. Bonus if they had some string of plastic beads around their neck. “A perfect match if I’ve ever seen one,” he bantered back, returning his attention back to her. “You make a solid point. Good thing neither of us make a habit of letting ol’ Arlo down.” The corner of his mouth tugged into a smirk just as his fingers wrapped themselves around his cup and drawing the liquor towards his lips. While his father had been one for bourbons and whiskey, it had been her grandfather that had taught him more about it, allowed him— despite protests of being too generous— to try anything beyond well liquor. Soon there was nothing left but a faint ring of amber at the bottom of his drink. “You’d like to see that, wouldn’t you?” He laughed, rearing back on the stool as he shifted his weight, his body ever so slightly inching forward on the stool, Crawford’s knee entering her space. With a shaking head, he slid his empty first round towards the edge of the bar top, the tell-tale sign that they were ready for another go. Places like this, they didn’t need all the formalities. “You can be here all night trying. Not going to happen. Cute you think you got a shot.” 

          𝑻𝑯𝑬𝒀 𝑾𝑬𝑹𝑬 𝑺𝑾𝑨𝑴𝑴𝑷𝑬𝑫 𝑰𝑵 front of the diner, so Mercy could only imagine what it must be like on the backend. The non-stop customers, the countless amount of orders and not to mention the amount of large parties they’d gotten in all within the last hour. She could feel his exhaustion radiating from him and her’s was no match. “I wish I could tell ya, baby, really.” Eyes merely rolling at the thought. Pressing her shoulder against the wall, Mercy’s body turned until she was fully facing Crawford—taking a minute to inhale another hit before speaking. “But, I mean, it is holiday season. Ain’t this the time tourist begin floodin’ in?” 

.

Crawford was her mirror opposite: where she stood tall against the exterior wall, he sat hunched, his forearms resting atop his thighs. “Someone should tell them they’ve got the wrong ‘New’. Aren’t they supposed to go to New York?” While he had never been, he wasn’t so far removed from popular culture to remember it being featured in maybe half the holiday films his mom had popped on the television. The ice rink. That big tree. Snow. All experiences he only had second-hand. After another puff, Crawford spoke as smoke billowed from his lips. “They better have left you good money at least.”

open to: everyone! location: breaux mini mart

“now, before you say anything–” montez interrupts himself, picking up cups of flapjack mixes from the aisle and puts them in his cart. along with it came a couple of those instant cinnamon rolls and a few ingredients for pizza. he could sense the other person has been watching him pick up a questionable amount of said things, so he couldn’t blame them. “these are not the only things i eat, actually, these are also for my students. turns out they respond to you better in pop quizzes when their appetite is on the line.” he chuckles, shaking his head to himself. “who knew this accidental strategy would work?”

“Considering I would have sold my soul over for a Lunchable as a kid, not that surprising,” Crawford responded, his head shaking just once from left to right. He had a short while until his shift at Sunset but had gotten a text about needing lemons. In typical fashion, no one had bothered to say anything when the box had gotten low, let alone when they’d taken the last one. “But hey, even if it was, not like I got a whole lotta room to talk. My diet consists of leftovers from work. One of those,” he gestured towards the other’s cart, “would probably do me good.”

“Don’t even think about it,” Crawford warned, a hint of a smile on his lips as he cast his eyes away from the bartender’s retreating form, drink order placed. His body was shifted on the stool, his hand digging into the back pocket of his jeans to fetch his wallet. The material was worn, a strip of duct tape held one of the corners together, and it was sparse of bills. Still that didn’t stop him from plucking a few of them out and placing them on the counter. “Arlo would never let me hear the end of it if I let you buy the first round. You’ll have your turn. Unless you got some plans to run outta here?” Crawford finished that question with a silent one, his eyebrow raised, asking ‘do you?’

closed starter for @crawfxxrd​

location: outside sunset diner 

There was only one reason she had been avoiding the diner since she came back from Spain – and that was in the form of her ex-boyfriend she already had a complicated friendship to begin with. She hadn’t exactly planned on just popping up out of the blue to let him know she was back but as she was walking home that night and saw him, Lu figured this was the perfect opportunity to just let him know that she was back in town. “Hey, KP,” she said, showing him a small wave and a nervous smile. She didn’t exactly know what kind of response she was going to get from him after a whole year of not speaking with him. “How have you been?” 

.

In the process of clocking out, walking out the door, and heading towards his truck, Crawford had begun to think about what his plans for the evening might be— weighing Easy Street over the comfort of his worn-in couch. What he hadn’t expected was to hear that old nickname. And her voice. Time slowed with recognition and as Crawford raised his eyes from the asphalt to her face, his heart had begun to hammer in his chest. The girl he had let go. The one that then left without a goodbye. Stunned, he barely managed a “Hey,” in return. As he stood there, bag hung loose on one shoulder, his fingers flexing along the strap, he couldn’t stop looking at her. As if he expected her from one moment to the next to simply vanish. He wondered if this was what it felt like to see a ghost. Finally, after catching himself, he shook his head and cast his eyes down to his feet. “How’ve I been? Um... yea.” How could one sum that up? “I’ve, uh... I’ve been.” The silence filled with the nod of his head. “Not sure about you.” There it was— the cutting, biting thought that had scratched at him for over a year.

location : outside sunset diner .

open to : anyone .

           𝑾𝑯𝑬𝑵 𝑰𝑻 𝑪𝑨𝑴𝑬 𝑻𝑶 𝑺𝑴𝑶𝑲𝑰𝑵𝑮,  Mercy was no stranger to it. More often than not, it was merely used in a way to calm her nerves, handle stress. A little hit of nicotine to help her cope with what seemed to be plaguing her mind. The late night rush at the diner had finally passed and, being a server down, the waitress had seemed to be working on autopilot. With the rush officially dying down, Mercy needed the break. She deserved it.  So, there she was. By the back door with a lit cigarette hanging from her lips. “You caught me,” she stated after exhaling a light cloud of smoke before tossing a small smirk in their direction. “Don’t tell my mom.”

The moment that last ticket had gone out, Crawford had given his station a quick clean and headed towards the door. There was one milk crate in particular— the black one near the recycling— that had become his favorite over the years. He sat on it now, his own cigarette lit between his fingers. “Wasn’t planning on it,” he replied, mumbling as he brought the Lucky Strike up to his lips. It wasn’t his best habit but even his own mother would have been a hypocrite to ever have told him to stop. “Not like I’d have the energy anyways. What the hell was that? It’s Wednesday; when was the last time we were ever busy on a Wednesday?”