2.3 Crepes and Cyclones
“I’m hungry,” Simon said suddenly, looking down at his stomach and frowning. Marshall sighed and shook his head.
“Didn’t you grab anything at the hotel?”
“You didn’t let us,” Dash snapped, glaring at him. “You said, and I quote, ‘I’m not made of money.’”
“Well, that buffet was expensive, and it’s true- I’m not made of money,” Marshall said, then added, “despite how much you’ve bummed off me over the years. I should’ve charged you interest.”
“Hey, look!” Simon exclaimed, pointing just ahead. “There’s an IHOP on the next exit!”
“IHOP? Are you serious?”
“I want pancakes,” Dash demanded, and suddenly, eerily in sync, he and Simon leaned right by Marshall’s ear and chanted, “Pancakes. Pan-cakes. Pancakes-“
“Fine! Fine, we’ll go, just please-“ Marshall reached over and shoved Dash away, “-get outta my face. Buncha weirdos.”
Dash and Simon high-fived each other, grinning. Mars rolled his eyes.
“Not like I’m not mega-hungry, too. I would’ve stopped eventually.”
“Yes, but it’s more fun when you cater to our whims,” Dash told him. “Besides, what’s better than IHOP?”
Marshall paused, then countered with an answer Dash couldn’t dispute. “My mom’s muffins.”
Less than five minutes later, the trio walked into IHOP, Dash and Simon looking like two kids in a candy store. Mars just looked disgruntled.
“Three in your party?” the hostess asked, smiling at Mars.
“Yeah. Just me and the kids.”
“Oh, quit your bitching,” Dash chided. “You act like we held a gun to your head and forced you to come here.” He immediately shifted his attention to the hostess, flashing a grin at her. “Hey. How’s your morning going?”
“Uh, fine, thanks,” she replied, suddenly looking nervous. “Right this way, please.”
For the first time that morning, Marshall smiled as they followed her. “Rejected,” he hissed under his breath to Dash, who promptly socked him.
“Fuck off, Teller.”
“Maybe she’s just not into old guys,” Marshall quipped, tweaking a strand of Dash’s hair. Before Dash could respond, however, Simon pushed them into opposite sides of the booth and sat beside Mars.
“Simmer, children,” he said, giving them both looks that said, If you make a scene in public, I’ll kill you. “Miss, I’ll have some orange juice.”
The hostess raised her eyebrows at them- it was clear they’d totally confused her. “Um, okay, and you two?”
“Coffee. Black,” Dash and Mars said in perfect unison, then stared at each other in shock. Simon smiled at the hostess.
“Don’t worry. They’ll be fine.”
And, as a bonus, Jackie has done some sketches for this drabble here.