Goodness Gracious, Great Balls of Plastic
WHO: Misses Atthis and Natalia
WHAT: When there are balls, there is death.
WHEN: July 15th, High Noon
WHERE: McDonna's.
RATING: E for euphemisms and Everybody's Gay for Atthis (alternatively: Everybody's Dead for Natalia)
( You Shake My Nerves and You Rattle My Brain... )
WHAT: When there are balls, there is death.
WHEN: July 15th, High Noon
WHERE: McDonna's.
RATING: E for euphemisms and Everybody's Gay for Atthis (alternatively: Everybody's Dead for Natalia)
( You Shake My Nerves and You Rattle My Brain... )
Though normally Natalia avoided such questionable places, she had learned during her time in Америка that the establishments that seemed more like lard factories than reputable places of food service usually possessed the most inexpensive prices. And if she did not want to be bothered by hunger pains when she tracked down Brother to wherever he went...
It would have to do.
And so, Natalia, still decked out in her blood-stained and torn dress (that she had fortunately been able to trade for the flimsy piece of cloth she had been forced to wear before), ventured into the den of grease vapors and kiddie meals.
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Thus unto Atthis did the palest of visions come blustering in through twin glass doors. It glowered with such dark intent at the dignity starved cashier that the unfortunate soul seemed instantly to freeze where he stood, as stiff and as rigid as a scraggly fir in winter chills. His fingers had paused, hovering half over the register, half at his ear as though he had been meaning to scratch it.
"C-"
His shout, his frantic one syllable stutter incited McDonna's remaining inhabitants to glance in his direction. Hungrily devouring such an intriguing development with the same ferocity they did their meals. Stuffing burgers in their mouths as they watched him begin to waver in place, wobble at the knees, brace himself against the counter.
Atthis was all but standing out of her chair when she registered the fact, slowly lowering herself while the man continued stuttering and the women near her ceased their chatter.
"C-can I-?"
What a temptress! What a glimpse of the magnificence of feminine perfection! The point in the angles of that posture, the danger of that expression propelled the foolish boy to finally take a step back. "H-help you-?" He murmured quietly and Atthis abruptly felt the intense need to leap over that counter to offer her services to the wild flower instead.
She watched in the manner of a hawk.
Intent. Still. Ravenous.
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Her penetrating, oh god, almost dead stare at him rather than the menu above made the newly-promoted cashier (suddenly wishing for his older, safer position of manning the deep fryer) squirm in place and check his watch to see if it was time for his lunch break yet.
Which was, according to his watch...still an hour away.
D-damn it.
“Food.”
The blood(!!!)-soaked women with laser beam eyes suddenly must have spoken up, but when he looked back up from his (far too) slowly ticking watch (move faster, damn you!), her face was still set in the same stony expression that she had come in with.
He wondered dazedly if she was an escaped serial killer and if there was a impending hostage situation at hand. God, he hoped it wasn’t him. He only had three car payments left.
“W-what?”
“Anything that will not kill me.”
She said more than one word, amazingly, but the request was a bit of head-scratcher in a place that boasted the greasiness of its burgers. ...M-maybe a chicken sandwich combo would do...?
Going with that, “T-that’ll be si--” Before he could finish, the supposed runaway axe-murderer dug into a hidden pocket in her dress and pulled out a leather wallet with the initials A.S. clearly branded into it. Without bothering to pull out the money herself, she carelessly tossed it onto the counter.
It was also of note that half of it was soaked in blood.
“I will wait over there.”
Without bothering to wait around for change, she walked away; the cashier’s eyes following her up until she claimed a booth near the back by the play area and disappeared from sight.
Looking back down to the wallet that was staining the counter with what he might be able to pass off as ketchup if anyone asked, he carefully extracted the required bills.
God, he didn’t get paid enough for this.
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She had set her aim carefully and now, as the woman situated herself restlessly in the booth opposite and apart from Atthis, she began to mentally tick off the moments until exactly the right instant to move. The wrap was a tasteless prelude to sweeter, more substantial flavorings.
Adoration, adulation. Ode to thee, the white haired queen. Her nails dug through flimsy paper to sauce-softened pita. She ignored it.
"I think she's insane...There's paint all over her."
Atthis raised a thin brow, glancing to the pair by the pit with their heads close together.
"No that's blood. I work at a hospital darling. I know what blood looks like and that is not paint."
"Well it's certainly not ketchup."
"You know, it's weird, but she does look a bit familiar doesn't she?"
"I hope not! Where would you meet a woman like that? See that poor cashier over there- she was probably thinking about dragging him out back and-"
The Cashier was gradually, hesitantly plucking currency from the wallet that had been dumped on the counter with all the delicacy of a brain surgeon. They recoiled simultaneously, chattering in a way Atthis thought was entirely unbecoming. Those frown lines were going to be hell on their faces give or take a half dozen years. If their terrible diets didn't kill them first.
If the Banshee did not take them first. It was four minutes later and Atthis was still counting down, the women were still babbling, sending covert glances toward the murderess(???), when Deep Friar Turned Cashier finally cleared his throat to stutter an 'O-o-order up' out into the eatery.
The quadruple of them- Gossipers, Grecian and Employee alike- held their breaths as they anticipated a look, a sneer, a motion, an anything from the crazed patron in the dubiously splattered frock.
Atthis gave a small pained noise, withdrawing her fingers from her mouth as she realized her wrap had long since been consumed and her hand made a terrible substitute for a meal.
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