Ben's Chili Bowl, Washington DC, Wednesday
Eliot nearly dumped a vat of vegetarian chili on himself the third time the comms squealed in an hour. They were feedbacking like crazy, today, ever since he'd gotten himself into the kitchen of the historic restaurant, and he'd been beyond done with it the very moment it started.
"Dammit, Hardison!" He wasn't quite beyond caring that his 'coworkers' were staring at him, yet, so it was a low hiss. "I thought you said you had these things fixed!"
"Hey! New guy!" The head cook, who had at least a hundred pounds on Eliot and a good seven inches, loomed over him. "Shut yer goddamn yap and keep that chili moving!"
Eliot had damn well better get to punch someone on this job.
[ooc: for the other leveraginians. Leveragites? Levers. Whatever.]
"Dammit, Hardison!" He wasn't quite beyond caring that his 'coworkers' were staring at him, yet, so it was a low hiss. "I thought you said you had these things fixed!"
"Hey! New guy!" The head cook, who had at least a hundred pounds on Eliot and a good seven inches, loomed over him. "Shut yer goddamn yap and keep that chili moving!"
Eliot had damn well better get to punch someone on this job.
[ooc: for the other leveraginians. Leveragites? Levers. Whatever.]