#fp:starter

"What's with all the muffins? You hostin' a damn bake sale or something?" FP looked at what he could only consider to be the largest plate of baked goods he'd ever seen in his life. He flicked the plate, letting his nails make what he was referring to abundantly clear, as if it wasn't already. "You look about as thrilled as I am. What's the deal with all of this?"

"You lost? Or just chasing shadows down some rabbit hole." He raised a brow in confusion, slouching back in his seat. The hum of the bar's jukebox was cutting through the late-night bitter chatter as he sized her up over the rim of his glass. "Plenty of empty seats," he added, "So, what is it? Out with it, already."

"Alice Cooper, slumming it in a diner past midnight." FP smirked, raising a brow in playful arrogance. "What's the headline this time? 'Trading Bylines For Burgers?'" He leaned back in his seat, trying to play it cool despite his cler eagerness to be around her. His eyes were bright and his smile was genuine. "Funny how you still pick the booth I'm in. Guess some things stick, huh, princess?"

"Of all the joints in town, you pick this one. You tailin' me now?" FP asked, raising a brow as he watched the other approach. He'd wanted to sneak out for an early morning breakfast before he started work. He'd been helping out at a security gig. It was pretty boring, but, he needed the money. "The coffee here ain't that good. So, why are you really here, huh?"

"Well ain't this a peach? Storm's howling, roof's leaking, and I'm holed up with you." FP shook his head, what a time for his motorbike to break down. He'd managed to limp it into this rundown warehouse, but, with the weather and lack of cell service, it seemed he was stuck here for now. "If I didn't know better, I'd say fate's got a damn sick sense of humour."