[ the diner :: open to all ]
WHO: Opened specifically for Sark (
the_freeagent) and Peter (
sirsognatore) to meet, but anybody can pop into the diner.
WHAT: Life never stops at the diner.
WHERE:Un Morso Di Mangiare, 24-hour diner. Vie Marsala and Via Aspromonte.
WHEN: 1 AM. A weeknight.
[ note :: since the diner is a great place for people to meet and randomly interact, thought opening up this thread would be a good idea. just feel free to open up a new thread -- open or closed -- and if you want it at a different time, just note it in the subject line ]
Although Julian Sark considered himself to have rather fine taste, he did understand and indulge ocassionally in the delights of diner-hopping. There was something terribly indulgent about it all. The bustle, the smell, the brashness of the decor, all of it writ large and unashamed in its Americana garishness. He wondered idly whether or not this Peter Petrelli fellow would enjoy his choice of meeting place. The man, as far as he could tell, was an American, so a place like this should make him feel right at home. He hoped that small comfort would make Adam Monroe's keeper a little bit more amenable to speaking. He had come, after all, for answers.
Sitting back in his seat, he stretched both arms out across the width of the bench and sighed. Sark had hoped that all of this business with the man with his face could have been dealt with much more finesse and panache. But with dwindling resources, he imagined it couldn't be helped. Waving over a waitress, he smiled at her with the best charm he could muster and ordered himself a coffee. He waited.
the_freeagent) and Peter (
sirsognatore) to meet, but anybody can pop into the diner.
WHAT: Life never stops at the diner.
WHERE:Un Morso Di Mangiare, 24-hour diner. Vie Marsala and Via Aspromonte.
WHEN: 1 AM. A weeknight.
[ note :: since the diner is a great place for people to meet and randomly interact, thought opening up this thread would be a good idea. just feel free to open up a new thread -- open or closed -- and if you want it at a different time, just note it in the subject line ]
Although Julian Sark considered himself to have rather fine taste, he did understand and indulge ocassionally in the delights of diner-hopping. There was something terribly indulgent about it all. The bustle, the smell, the brashness of the decor, all of it writ large and unashamed in its Americana garishness. He wondered idly whether or not this Peter Petrelli fellow would enjoy his choice of meeting place. The man, as far as he could tell, was an American, so a place like this should make him feel right at home. He hoped that small comfort would make Adam Monroe's keeper a little bit more amenable to speaking. He had come, after all, for answers.
Sitting back in his seat, he stretched both arms out across the width of the bench and sighed. Sark had hoped that all of this business with the man with his face could have been dealt with much more finesse and panache. But with dwindling resources, he imagined it couldn't be helped. Waving over a waitress, he smiled at her with the best charm he could muster and ordered himself a coffee. He waited.