International Hut of Descrimination
Who: The Maxx
What: Hunting for some pancake-y goodness.
When: During The anti-heroes rallies
Where: New York
Interactions: Creeper, Open
Warnings: None.
Pancakes had become a ritual. Every evening after a long day of keeping the public safe (or rather, trying to. So far they had stopped a jay-walker and someone spitting on the sidewalk which Maxx got a little brutal with...) they both lumbered into the Waffle Hut with stiff shoulders and sore feet, stomachs rumbling in want for piping hot waffles, bacon, eggs and coffee.
They were regulars and Charlie, the head cook knew just how each of them had preferred their eggs (runny for Creeper, Well done for Maxx), how crisp their bacon (CRISP!) and how black their coffee or pulpy their OJ.
The Maxx stretched his arms above his head to force some of the stiffness out of his shoulders and back. He could smell the delicious grease already.
They pushed the doors open and walked in to see Jenny, the greeter. She was a nice girl who went out of her way to make Maxx feel less like a scary monster. She knew things, like Charlie knew things. She knew just how much time to give them to decide, she knew to refill without asking, she brought little butter-filled packets when all had consumed. She was magic. Maxx raised a claw to her.
"Hey Jenny." He growled.
Jenny's normally cool blue eyes that reminded The Maxx so much of the Outback sky widened and she seemed alarmed. "Oh uh, I'm sorry we're...not...serve-" She stopped herself. "I mean. You have to leave."
"What?" Maxx asked. "Why?"
She edged to the right, in front of the desk, but it was too late. Maxx noticed the plaque dictating the rules. 'No shirt, no shoes, no supers, no service.'
"Please, just go." Jenny looked away and busied herself with her notepad.
What: Hunting for some pancake-y goodness.
When: During The anti-heroes rallies
Where: New York
Interactions: Creeper, Open
Warnings: None.
Pancakes had become a ritual. Every evening after a long day of keeping the public safe (or rather, trying to. So far they had stopped a jay-walker and someone spitting on the sidewalk which Maxx got a little brutal with...) they both lumbered into the Waffle Hut with stiff shoulders and sore feet, stomachs rumbling in want for piping hot waffles, bacon, eggs and coffee.
They were regulars and Charlie, the head cook knew just how each of them had preferred their eggs (runny for Creeper, Well done for Maxx), how crisp their bacon (CRISP!) and how black their coffee or pulpy their OJ.
The Maxx stretched his arms above his head to force some of the stiffness out of his shoulders and back. He could smell the delicious grease already.
They pushed the doors open and walked in to see Jenny, the greeter. She was a nice girl who went out of her way to make Maxx feel less like a scary monster. She knew things, like Charlie knew things. She knew just how much time to give them to decide, she knew to refill without asking, she brought little butter-filled packets when all had consumed. She was magic. Maxx raised a claw to her.
"Hey Jenny." He growled.
Jenny's normally cool blue eyes that reminded The Maxx so much of the Outback sky widened and she seemed alarmed. "Oh uh, I'm sorry we're...not...serve-" She stopped herself. "I mean. You have to leave."
"What?" Maxx asked. "Why?"
She edged to the right, in front of the desk, but it was too late. Maxx noticed the plaque dictating the rules. 'No shirt, no shoes, no supers, no service.'
"Please, just go." Jenny looked away and busied herself with her notepad.