Two Weeks Into Quarantine (Cafeteria)

[Henry Gondorf]

Henry stared after Sally as the man raced across the room towards Mason. It looked like Sally and Mason were deep in conversation when Henry finally blinked.

"Huh. Maybe next time I should make a better warning on the bottles. Think anyone would be daring enough to drink from a bottle with a Haz-mat symbol?" Henry asked. It struck him that given the right circumstances that might be the least of some peoples worries.

[Sally]

Later on, Sally moseys on back towards the gentlefolk, calmed some and squinting. In one hand, he holds his flask, in the other, a few of the mostly-empty liquor bottles.

"So there, Brewmaster, any advice on what cocktail I should top off with?" Sally asks, setting down the partials and his flask. It would appear he's going to pour them all together to fill his empty vessel. Displaced vagabonds can't be too choosey about how they keep their tanks fueled, after all.

[Henry Gondorf]

Henry steps away from the board as he studies the remains Sally gathered. It hurt seeing so much gone without knowing how much had a chance to sample. Was it a bad sign remembering the taste of Ondrej's beer made choirs of angels sing? Looking around Henry realized a few of his bottles stood in the group.

"Well," He said as he cautiously sniffed some and tasted others, "That depends. You plan on needing to see in the near future?" Tasting done, Henry looked up to stare at the empty air. His gaze hovered near where he remembered Sally standing. "If not I think if just found out what can get you there."

[Nick Sleet]

Nick strolls into the cafeteria, flipping through a notebook and muttering to himself. Barely avoiding a collision with Sally on the way in, he grabs a table, pulls out the "news" sheet from the party, and begins scribbling.

[Henry Gondorf]

A minute passes before focus returns to Henry's eyes. He zeros in on Sally with a smile before turning back to the bottles. He sets aside three and leaves the rest. "I thinks," Henry said with a slight slur as he picked up a two from the trio, "you gonna like to mix these two." He gives them both a gentle shake to feel the weight. "Give each a two count when you pour. Itsh not so much a cocktail than love tap to the liver." He picked up the third. "I would hold on tah this one. You're never gonna know when you a drink or a handy little firecracker."

Henry eyed the other bottles on the table. "The rest I think you going be happier keeping seperate. And tha hell away from open flames." He took a moment to straighten out his coat. He pulled out his hat then gave it a quick flick of the wrist to snap it open. "I think I'm going ta take a stroll through this lovely little fog bank. Maybe sober up before the groundhog radios Mr. Sun out of his damn bed."

[Brett]

It was nice and quiet, late night under the fluorescent lighting in the cafe was probably the best place to sit and think that wasn't a tiny little room. The radio man emerged from his self-imposed hibernation to enjoy the open space when it didn't have the lingering smell of food that dreamed to be airline quality when it grew up.

Looking over scraps of paper, the newsletter, and his own horrible handwriting; Brett tried to put together the meaning behind it all. Puzzles with parts withheld are a whole lot more frustrating he concluded but, at least he had some pieces and a CD player he managed to borrow with some Johnny Cash.

"I'm stuck in Folsom Prison, and time keeps draaagin' on." But that train keeps a' rollin, on down to San Anton'..."

[Henry Gondorf]

"...When I was just a baby, My mama told me, 'Son always be a good boy, Don't ever play with guns', But I shot a man in Reno, Just to him die. When I hear that whistle blowin', I hang my head and cry." Henry chimed from across the cafe as he made his way towards what snacks laid out for the night owls.

[Brett]

Coming out of his own little world Brett looks up to see Mr. Gondorf across the way, smiling he takes off the headphones and waves him over.

"A fine musical taste sir, they just don't make em' like they used to I think. I caught a broadcast of something called Dubstep last week, I thought I broke the damn radio!" Brett looks through what's left on shelf for the commissary in solidarity with the night owl "It's slim pickings tonight, off brand potato chips, floor cleaner, and moxie's all I found hanging out, I'll split the Pine-Sol with you."

[Henry Gondorf]

Henry nodded in thanks for the complement before making his way over to Brett.

"You realize it's be bit redundant to mention floor cleaner and moxie in the same sentence, right?" Henry joked. He pulled up a see close by with a smile. "Don't get me started with music these days. There is still talent in the world. No doubt there. But some of this crap has to stop. When then hell did it become a bad thing to take the time to actually put meaning behind the lyrics?"

[Brett]

I know man, it's just... like somewhere along the way we forgot that music was supposed have meaning, soul, passion! Big hair, auto-tune, and music execs did a fantastic job of ruining what was good about it."

He grabs a littlebag of "Gorridos" and tears it open. Putting half the bag's contents on a little paper plate, giving Henry the remainder of the bag. A crunch later gives an underwhelming burst of salt and stale.

I'm excited to get some decent diner food once we get out, greasy cheeseburger or slice of pie that didn't start in a can. If only for the unhealthyness of it get me out of here..."