War of Hearts.

owen trying to get carlos to stop calling him captain strand

bonus:

TK & NANCY  

“You wouldn’t know anything about getting…ah…coffee stains out of paper, would you?” Ren asks. Before him sits a stack of documents that are, unfortunately, now soaking wet from a spilled coffee cup. ( Who, exactly, spilled the coffee cup? Well, that’s a secret Ren plans on taking to the grave ). He tries to free the corner of one page, but when it disintegrates before him, he drops any further attempts at freeing the pages from one another. “I mean…I’m sure my boss has backups saved to her computer,” He doubts Josie’s the type who would give him paperwork to catalogue and file otherwise, despite her distrust of the postal system, she had to keep backups for her backups somewhere. “…But I’d also hate to ask her. I mean, she trusted me with these for a really important case and I’d hate to say I ruined her notes because of coffee…Do you think any of these are salvageable?”

“So, it looks like on Google that you need white vinegar and water. Something about dabbing it on there and then using paper towels for the moisture. I don’t know if that really would help but hey, sometimes Google doesn’t steer you wrong, right?”  Starr looked at the papers in question and frowned. “I don’t know, my man, those are some nasty stains. You could just tell her you made it look nice? Like those cool parchments from Harry Potter?”

— Held at knife point, she reached underneath the front counter to draw her own, personal weapon of choice. It wasn’t her coveted Smith & Wesson Model 19s, but something far more powerful: la chancla. Scout wasted no time in scolding the petty thief, giving her sandal a good shake in the robber’s direction. “What do you think this is, huh?” she said. “We only keep a hundred bucks in the register at a time. There’s literally a Citizens Bank next door you could’ve robbed.”

Scout whipped her sandal at the robber’s wrists. The knife flew out of his grasp, clattering at the feet of her would-be customer had her afternoon shift not devolved into a hold-up at Pedro’s. “I am not about to be stabbed with your mother’s nail file,” she warned. She slips off her other sandal, reels her arm back, and flung it towards the criminal’s face.

The robber panicked. His elbow drove down on the display counter’s glass. Shards plunk to the floor, a merry tinkling sound with the lightness of a spring rain. “Shit, he’s seen Die Hard,” she swore. Scout glanced at her customer who as of right now, had the upper hand.