hi chat

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"And you're telling me this is a 'bastion of American culture'?" Spy asked dubiously, not exactly confident that the words 'American' and 'culture' belonged next to one another in a sentence. At least, not unless one was discussing pearl clutching, a dysfunctional relationship to food and intoxicants, and disquieting amounts of patriotism.

"It is the bastion of American culture!" Soldier assured him with disquieting amounts of patriotism. "There is nothing more American than showing up somewhere at three in the morning and ordering complicated hash browns using code words off of a laminated placemat menu!" He paused a moment, then added, "Except fighting the English."

Spy could get on board with that part, at least. All the same, he took a drag from his cigarette as he took in the sight of the building before them. It was an architecturally disinteresting building, a squat rectangle made of brick with large plate-glass windows surrounding a dining room full of booth seats. A red, metal awning hung atop the windows, and above that like a ribbon wrapped around the upper section of the building was yellow paneling, the words WAFFLE HOUSE adorning each of the building's facings in stark black sans-serif letters. The restaurant was hideous from the outside, the combination of colours deeply unappetizing when invoking the idea of waffles. Spy breathed out smoke through his nose, his lips settling into a frown.

This was going to be a miserable time. He already knew it. Americans loved heavy, greasy, filling breakfasts that made one lethargic all day. He preferred a nice pastry or a baguette with butter and jam, something light to start his day. Sure, it was basically dinner time now, so something rich and filling wouldn't destroy him, but all the same he didn't exactly feel that it boded well.

Then he looked to Soldier, who was wearing that excited grin of his, fairly bouncing in place as he finished getting out of the car and closed the door. Spy sighed and finished his cigarette, flicking the butt to the ground. He hated how cute that grin was, how precious Soldier's excitement was, like a puppy straining at a leash, bounding with every step. He hated how much that wormed its way into his chest and had gained a death grip on his heart, squeezing like a stress toy.

How dare he.

"Lead away," he bade, gesturing vaguely to the restaurant, only for Soldier to snag him by the hand and tug him inside.

*

The inside of the Waffle House was noisy, there being no back of house to drown out the sounds of cooking. Instead, the register and bar seating were all that separated the food preparation area from the rest of the restaurant. As such, the air was choked with both grease and the smell of sizzling meat and potatoes, both uncomfortable and alluring at the same time, and in spite of himself, Spy found his stomach growling. Even if he did wonder about the sanitation concerns of such a setup at restaurant scale.

From behind the register, one of the restaurant's waitresses, a matronly latina woman with a stocky frame and a warm smile, waved the mercenaries in with an air of familiarity.

Spy afforded her a polite nod, and Soldier tossed her a, "Thanks, sister!" and he steered Spy to a booth in the corner, letting Spy put his back to the wall and giving him a view of the entire restaurant.

"I prefer the bar," Soldier said as they slid into the booth opposite one another. "But I know you want good sight lines."

Spy swallowed down the way his heart leapt at that. For fuck's sake he was nearly fifty years old could he please not react like that every time someone endearing understands how he operates and accommodates that without judgement?

"Merci," he managed, schooling his expression.

Soldier grinned broadly, then slapped the placemat in front of him, a laminated rectangle. "Here's the menu. They have combo meals or you can order piecemeal."

Spy picked up his placemat, cringing at the slight stickiness of the plastic, and read the offerings in front of him. Standard fare, from the looks of it. Eggs, breakfast meat, the eponymous waffles, hash browns... wait."

"Smothered, covered, capped—what is this nonsense?" Spy asked, squinting at the hash brown portion of the menu.

"The hash brown code!" Soldier declared excitedly. "You have to order using the code! Like me! I want onions, cheese, and chili on my hash browns!"

"They put chili on them?"

"Yup! So when I order, I'll ask for 'em smothered, covered, and topped!"

"...why can't you just ask for them with onions, cheese, and chili?"

"Because this is Waffle House, missy! And at Waffle House, there's protocol!"

Spy sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "I... see."

"Can I get you boys any drinks to start?" The waitress who had greeted them swooped around to their table, notepad in hand and a laugh in her voice as Spy jolted, honestly surprised. "Sorry, baby, did I startle you?"

"I am fine," Spy huffed, more affronted at being called 'baby' like this woman knew him than anything.

She answered with a soft chuckle. "I'm Isel, and I'll be your waitress today," she introduced. "So what can I start you boys with?"

"Coffee, black," Soldier said with a smile. "And a glass of milk."

"Honey, I don't think you need stronger bones. You're built like the broad side of a barn," she teased, making Soldier chuckle warmly in reply.

"Well I can't start slacking off now," Soldier said, flexing a bit for effect.

It unsettled Spy, seeing him interact with a civilian like he was almost a normal person.

"And for you, baby?" Isel asked Spy.

"Coffee as well. And water," Spy replied simply. He watched her face fall as he refused to meet her warm energy with anything but cool dispassion, and forced an earnest-looking smile to his face, turning on the false charm to appear more comfortable and genteel. "Thank you," he added, his voice soft, pretending at shyness to make up for his initial veneer of distaste.

Isel seemed to take it as intended and noted down their orders. "I'll get that right up for you boys," she said, sweeping away in an instant, leaving them alone to consider their menus.

"So, what're you thinking?" Soldier asked, lifting his placemat-cum-menu and peeking over it at Spy, his eyes barely visible in the thin strip of space between the rim of his helmet and the top of the menu.

Spy couldn't help a small, genuine smile at how impish it was. "What are the waffles here like? Are they fluffy, or thin?"

"Thin, and nice and sweet!"

Spy pursed his lips, wondering if his tastebuds could stand up to something even Soldier thought was sweet. Though he did quite like thin waffles. "I suppose I'll try one of the platters, then. Have the full Waffle House experience," he said, like he was resigning himself to the gallows.

"Attaboy!" Soldier cheered, pumping his fist.

Isel came back around with two mugs and a coffee pot, pouring each mercenary a piping hot cuppa before turning around and setting the pot down on the bar, where Soldier's milk and Spy's water awaited. She set those drinks down beside the coffee mugs and pulled out her notepad. "So what'll you boys have?"

"I'll take the All Star Special," Soldier declared, tapping his menu on the table. "Eggs scrambled, white toast, and bacon."

"Grits or hash browns?"

"Hash browns, all the way," Soldier replied with a grin, then returned his menu to placemat mode.

Spy frowned in thought. Well, he did say he'd get the full experience. "I'll have the special as well," he said. "Eggs runny—"

"Over easy?" Isel clarified.

Spy had to think a moment. It had been a long time since he'd ordered eggs at an American diner. "...yes," he settled on, hoping he was right. "Wheat toast, and sausage."

"Grits or hash browns?"

"Hash browns, and I would like them," Spy squinted at the menu, "smothered, covered, and... chunked?"

Scribbling down some shorthand, Isel nodded. "Alright boys, I'll get that in for you."

"Merci," Spy offered, trying to dispel some of the awkwardness as she left.

"Big meal for you, Crouton," Soldier chuckled. "I'm surprised you can fit that much food in you!"

"I assume you will handle anything I cannot pack away," Spy said with a roll of his eyes as he lifted his mug to his lips.

"You'd be amazed how much I can fit inside me!" Soldier declared, nearly making Spy snort his coffee.

"Yes, well," Spy sputtered, trying to regain his composure as he shooed dirty thoughts from his mind. "I must say, this place is very... familiar. Welcoming."

"It's a home away from home!" Soldier agreed, casting a look around the room.

Spy didn't follow his gaze, watching the maniac across from him instead. Soldier's smile was warm, like he truly felt at peace here. Spy wondered how many places Soldier truly felt that way.

He was a warrior by his very nature. Violence was in his blood. He had energy for days and a lust for life that found joy in every tiny thing. But outside of the Gravel War, he had nobody. Any trace of his family was long gone, and the man's only friend had betrayed him for a haunted sword.

And he came here to be called 'baby' by the waitresses and fed rib-sticking breakfasts that were designed to remind a man of home. Of mornings when his mama would fry up some eggs and serve them with a big glass of milk for her growing boy.

Something ached in Spy's heart at that. Soldier's experience of home was as transient as his own, long gone and existing only in hazy memories and gentleness purchased from strangers. For him it was quiet cafes. For Soldier it was a greaseball diner chain where Spy was pretty sure the song playing on the juke box was about the Waffle House itself.

"Come on in, you see, we'll treat you like you're family

Just come on in, we're always home

We've got good food back to keep you coming back

At the Waffle House you're always welcome back home

Look for the big yellow sign

Morning noon and night

Look for the big yellow sign

Come on in we'll treat you right

Look for the big yellow sign"

Spy watched Soldier drink his milk, a soft smile lingering on his lips, forgetting himself in favour of enjoying the weird, dangerous, frustratingly endearing man sitting opposite of him. So lost in the moment he was that he almost didn't notice it when someone from a nearby booth got up and punched a man clean off of one of the bar stools.

Silverware clinked and plastic cups slammed onto tables as the entire room's attention was dragged to two men, a pair of blue-collar white guys, who were now currently in the middle of a brawl on the grease-tacky linoleum tile floor, the initial aggressor now mounting his opponent to rain blows upon his face as the other man shielded himself with his arms and shouted epithets, daring him to beat him even as he was doing exactly that.

A scream erupted as the woman who had been sitting next to the man at the bar hopped from her stool and snatched the metal napkin dispenser from the counter. With a mighty swing, she clubbed her companion's assailant upside the head with the thing, a resounding DONK filling the room.

Wheeling around and clutching his head, the injured man slapped the now-dented napkin holder from her hand and clocked her in the jaw with a hook, sending her tumbling to the floor with a wail. At that point, several other customers took offense to his offense, and rose from their seats with ill intent.

"About time!" Soldier cackled, shifting to get out of his seat.

"About time?!" Spy barked in shock and confusion as a massive brawl broke out in the middle of the restaurant, most of the staff looking somewhere between nonplussed to mildly annoyed at the situation.

"This is the longest I've been in a Waffle House before a fight's broken out!" Soldier explained, clarifying very little. "Now here's where the real fun starts!"

Before Spy could get another word out, Soldier charged into the fray, fists flying, cackling like a madman.

Isel calmly came around with a tray full of food and set it out on the table in front of Spy. "Slow for a Thursday," she commented with a soft chuckle as she finished setting everything out. Turning, she set the tray down on the counter and waded into the melee.