You don't have to go home (Closed)

[Barbara Robinson]

The squeaking of a damp cloth running over a formica countertop ran in time to the rhythm of the song playing from the jukebox over in the corner. This was intentional on the part of the cloth's owner, one Miss Barbara Robinson, owner of the ice cream shop whose bartop was now being cleaned.

"Nobody knows where my Johnny has gone,
Judy left the same time;
Why was he holding her hand,
When he's supposed to be mine?"

Barbara wore a frown on her face, one that was less due to sadness or anxiety and more due simply to exhaustion; it had been quite a long day, and at 8:45, it was just about closing time. Unlike some other diners, she didn't keep the place open 'til all hours of the night; this was, after all, an ice cream shop, and who wanted ice cream at two o' clock in the morning?

Well, in fact, she usually did, but she was the owner, not one of the customers. Frankly, she could help herself whenever she wanted, and Lord knew she did.

As the woman scrubbed a ketchup stain off the bartop, a soft sigh drifted between her lips; this song always got to her, simply tugged at the heart strings. Not that she had ever really known love, but everyone has that soft spot in their hearts, even those who keep it hidden from view.

"It's my party, and I'll cry if I want to,
Cry if I want to, cry if I want to;
You would cry too if it happened to you."

The woman kept scrubbing, more lightly than before, as though she really wasn't putting so much effort into it. She was alone in the diner by now, alone with her thoughts, and it was clear that something was on her mind. Something was troubling her, it seemed. Her brow furrowed, just a bit at first, then more, and suddenly she looked up from her work and barked, to nobody in particular,

"Hey, wait a minute! This song's not from the fifties!"

She practically cackled at this revelation, but the woman was also a bit annoyed: whoever had sold this jukebox to her had a lot of nerve mixing up all the decades. She didn't bother to change the song, though: she liked it just fine, and besides, there was nobody else in here.

The plump brunette looked up at the tacky lime green clock hanging up on the wall. Eight fifty. She could close up now if she wanted, as it was clear nobody else would be coming in. But where did she have to go? At any rate, she preferred it here to her apartment.

[Abe Milton]

The week had been slow. This was no surprise. A lot of the students were dealing with finals or preparing to go home, more people were spending their money on gifts than on dinners out, and the cold weather made food at home by the fire or the TV seem appealing. But not really for Abe. For one, home was pretty empty these days, and he preferred the bustle on a rainy day. And when the world was covered in snow or rain, it made him remember how much his wife had used to drag him out into it and had waltzed with him, laughing at how his hair got slicked to his head or speckled with white and teasing him on how old she looked. This weather made him sad, and his usual solution?

Try something different.

This might've surprised people who knew the consistently Orthodox and fairly conservative man, but trying new things allowed him to add different things to his schedule, his menu, and his life. So today, he was going to try the ice cream parlor.

He didn't normally eat ice cream. But he liked to support other small businesses and swap shop-talk, so to speak. So he closed the restaurant early, fetched his cane, and drove to the mall. It was at least dry. His nice black trenchcoat (a vanity thing for him, he knew it suited him) was quite wet by the time he arrived, and he shrugged it off as he came to the door and put it on his arm, then squinted slightly at the sign before leaning to look through the door.

"Hello," he said. "Am I too late?" It was a shame that small businesses closed at all kinds of hours these days.

Then again, he reflected, thinking on his own hours of work, like he could talk.

[Vincent Meian]

The day had been tiring, even if he hadn't done much training with his students. Lei had that effect on him, in a way; having your past come back to bite you really wasn't a walk in the park (so to speak). The lack of sleep, early morning, dealing with pranks, paperwork in distracting places, having to stay after hours to make sure things were cleaned up properly, having to negotiate with the cleaning staff on borrowing a carpet cleaner and a can of leftover primer, making arrangements to have the lock on his window fixed, finishing cleaning up the room... then making an extra trip downtown to buy groceries... Vincent was tired.


It had been by sheer luck that he'd seen the diner on the way home past the mall.


It didn't look like much, but it seemed relatively nice; it had the air of a 1950's American jukebox show, with the bright colors and vinyl seats and enormous windows decorated for the holidays. Inside, he noticed a plump woman with red hair wiping down the counter next to the register. And near that...


A pang of temptation hit the tall man, and he struggled with the urge to go in versus going home. His family was expecting him, he needed sleep, it was dark, snow was falling, and he had grocery bags cradled in one arm. But he was also in need of a pick-me-up, and this restaurant had exactly what would do the trick. So, without further hesitation, he went to the door of the diner, waiting patiently as the man in front of him stood in the doorway.


The room looked warm and inviting, and music played out from a jukebox (a real jukebox!) in the corner of the room rather than a sound system in the ceiling. The whole room smelled of greasy food and cleaning solution, but even still the ex-soldier lowered the hood of his army jacket and wrestled the edge of his white scarf from his face. He wondered, like the other man, if he'd walked up after-hours.

[Barbara Robinson]

No sooner had Barbara determined that she would close up shop ten minutes early than a rather wet figure appeared in her doorway. She quirked an eyebrow; it seemed almost too coincidental, really - but she didn't mind, for as previously mentioned it was not as though she had anything particularly glamorous waiting for her back at her apartment. Besides, one person couldn’t take more than fifteen minutes to eat, pay, and leave, so there was no harm in staying open a bit later than usual.

"Yeah, we're closed," she said with a friendly smirk, though it was clear she was being facetious as at the same time she was putting some silverware down on the bar by where she was standing.

She reached down below the bar to grab a menu for this man, and when she stood back up to place it down on the bar as well, she noticed then that a second man had arrived. Gee, this joint was jumping now. But she couldn’t rightly say yes to one and no to the other, so she beckoned them both inside. It would be good to have the extra spending money, at any rate.

“Yeah, alright, get in here,” she said to the second man, though the tone in her voice was light. “But I’m making you two sit together so’s I don’t have to move.”

A second place setting and menu were presented, and Barbara was leaning on the other side of the bar, tossing her rag aside. “Start you off with a drink or somethin’?” She assumed they were here for dessert, since it was pretty late. She wasn’t even sure if they were here together or not, since they’d arrived near the same time.

“Geez, I didn’t even realize it was raining,” she muttered as her eyes fell down to the man’s soaked coat; she did have outward-facing windows, but those were on the other side of the shop from where the bar was situated by the mall-facing entrance, and she hadn’t had cause to venture over there since she’d cleaned up after the lunch rush.

[Vincent Meian]

The trainer had almost left when he saw that the woman was closing her restaurant, but at her invitation to sit he bowed his head respectfully. "Thank you," he answered, the tiredness in his own voice showing his stress slightly. He turned to the man ahead of him and pulled down the scarf about his face, smiling slightly. "I do not mind the company if you are amiable."


Placing his sack of groceries next to the stool at the bar, the tall man looked about the room before he sat, a slight smile on his face. It'd been a while since he had sat down to eat something he himself hadn't made. It was especially nice because this place served the one thing he loved to eat most in the world but forced himself not to consume regularly: ice cream. "Hot coffee, if I may," the long haired man answered, taking off his dripping jacket and folding it over his arm to place neatly on his parcel. No sense in dripping all over the floor.


Sliding into the stool with a look of relief, Vincent glanced to the man beside him momentarily before catching their host's comment about the weather. "It became worse suddenly only a short time ago," he replied, looking outside himself. "Thunderstorms, I believe, though I have seen no lightning yet."

[Abe Milton]

In spite of himself, a faint smile flickered onto his face as she made the statement and set the silverware down on the counter, and he nodded his head at the woman. “Well, thank you for taking, uh, us in anyways.” He glanced over at the other man and offered him a hesitant nod, although he didn’t know who he was at all and had never made his acquaintance—a surprise in a town like this, when he’d already decided that he seemed to know everyone there was to know. He had lived here for a while, after all. “That’s fine,” he said, offering the other man, and then a woman, a smile. “I like the company. It’s a cold night and company is always good.” Especially living alone as he did. Maybe he should look into a roommate, but he was a little old for that. He limped into the restaurant and settled down at the table, smiling at her.

“How about a hot chocolate to start off with?” he inquired, shrugging off his coat and draping it carefully over the back of his chair so it could dry off properly. It wasn’t dripping anymore, which was a step in the right direction, and he would’ve been ashamed had he gotten her floor wet. “Thank you. And yes, the storm isn’t in full swing yet, but I hear it’s supposed to get worse. Whatever.” He shrugged his shoulders. “Been a productive day so far? And I'm Abe, by the way. Abe Milton." He offered his hand to the man, then to the woman. "Nice to meet you."

[Barbara Robinson]

Barbara sighed at the news that the storm would be worsening that evening; she was usually pretty full of energy, but it was getting late and said energy had been expended throughout the day. "It usually does," she thought aloud as she fetched two mugs. She approached a canister sitting on the counter behind the bar, which contained a "special" hot chocolate mix of hers consisting of cocoa powder, a lot of sugar, and tiny chocolate morsels that would melt when the hot water hit them.

"Regular or decaf?" She called behind her to the man who had ordered coffee; she assumed decaf since it was pretty late, but everyone had their habits. She poured hot water out of the dispenser sitting beside the coffee; she was very happy she had purchased it, as it came in handy in moments like this when someone wanted a hot beverage like cocoa or tea and she didn't want to get out the kettle.

Having made the two drinks, she set the mugs down in front of the respective customers just in time to hear the first man's introduction. "Barb," she said, her full name being Barbara but most folks calling her by her first syllable alone. "Been okay," she replied honestly; as it was winter, ice cream shops tended not to fare quite so well, but there had been a steady trickle of customers so she wasn't complaining.

She thought for a moment before asking her next question. "Say, I think I recognize you from somewhere," she stated, leaning with both elbows onto the bar. "Do you ever go to the local chamber of commerce meetings?" The Pilot Ridge Chamber of Commerce was comprised of most of the small businesses in town; Barb went occasionally as owner of a local eatery just to see what was what.

[Vincent Meian]

Vincent though about the day and decided against regular coffee. He wanted this day to end when he got home. "Decaf, please," he answered. "No cream or sugar." The woman went to her work with energy and efficiency despite the lateness of the hour, and had brought them the coffee as the man sitting with him made his introduction.


"Vincent Meian," he answered as well, shaking the man's hand firmly with his own scarred and tattooed one. Four months ago he would have been uncomfortable with the custom, but now it was a regular habit with people he met. He still didn't know everyone in town, but that was to be expected considering that most of his time was spent at the school. "It is good to meet you both, as well."


The woman's next question seemed to be directed more at Abe than himself, but the tall trainer shook his head anyway. Town meetings were often during school hours or on weekends that seemed to mesh poorly with his schedule. He had never gone to one.

[Abe Milton]

“Nice to meet you, Barb,” he said with a slight nod in her direction, although the formal and more conservative side of Abe would’ve preferred more of a…longer name. But that was all right. It was a small town, they were fairly free of formalities, and he wasn’t in the FBI where he had to address people by “Mr. and Ms. So-and-so.” Nor did he have to analyze the meaning behind everything. He just had to attempt to ease up on that. When he was in the restaurant, people called him Abe (It was his trademark, for goodness’s sake), but he still kept that formality. “And you, Vincent. Ah, you work for the school, right?” He stopped by there periodically, as he sometimes volunteered his restaurant for catering events. It was the last he could do. “I think I’ve seen you there. And....your wife? How is she doing?"

“Thank you,” he added to Barbara, taking a sip of the hot chocolate. It was delicious, and his eyes fluttered shut for a moment as he enjoyed the flavor. Even though he’d taken turns as an accountant and an FBI agent, deep down, Abe was a foodie, and he valued flavor above all else. He took another sip, then set it down, prepared to savor it incredibly slowly—and when it was a little colder. “This is great,” he added, and it was completely heartfelt.

“Yeah,” he said, “I do go the meetings.” He smiled. “Not as often as I’m supposed to, I think. I think I have seen you there. Were you there for the meeting when those dogs got onto the stage?”

It was the nice thing about a small town--these stories got shared around everywhere.

[Barbara Robinson]

Barbara was anything but formal, so Barb it was. The woman smiled as the man complimented the hot chocolate. "Glad you like it," she said. She, like so many others, took pride in her work, and her food was her work, so she appreciated hearing good things about it. "Special recipe," she added with a grin; no Swiss Miss in here.

"I thought I recognized you," she added, leaning forward against the counter. "And no, I don't think so. Doesn't sound familiar, at any rate." She couldn't imagine what dogs would have been doing at a Chamber of Commerce meeting. "I don't go to them too often, either, but sometimes there's some useful information." Like when they organized the small business walk to get folks to visit local businesses around town; that had certainly been good for the ol' coffers. "You're in restaurants too, right?" That much she knew, but she couldn't remember what. Given that his name was Abe, she probably could have guessed.

"You work at Hammel?" She asked, turning towards the other man. "Uh, okay, lesse, do you know... Sean?" She couldn't remember the man's last name, as they only met briefly at the townwide holiday party ((yay anachronisms!)), but she knew he worked there as like a doctor or something.

[Vincent Meian]

The interest in his line of work amused the Japanese man slightly. It wasn't really surprising to him, either, that someone recognized him from an event; he cut a rather unique figure in most crowds, even here in the United States. Taking a quick sip of his coffee, he nodded. "Yes, I do," he replied genially. "And Nakia is well - she seems to be enjoying the... intimacy of being at a school rather than a hospital."


As the other two spoke of the town meetings, Vincent enjoyed more of his coffee with a slight smile. The bitter liquid was not something that most of his nationality enjoyed, but he'd picked up a taste for it in his youth. His wife had as well, though it was for entirely different reasons, and their tastes regarding its preparation were very different. The ceramic mug warmed his hands as he held it, and the tall man looked up once again as Barb questioned him. "I do," he confirmed again. "Dr. Neville is the school psychiatrist and a friend of mine. You have met?"


It wasn't terribly surprising; the older man seemed to be everywhere at once and knew everyone in town. Besides, both he and Vincent shared the same penchant towards sweets - he didn't doubt that the man was or would be a frequent customer here.

[Abe Milton]

Abe grinned back at her, unable to help himself. It was nice to have someone else who appreciated the art of cooking. So few people did, especially the art of not using mixes. He didn’t drink a lot of hot chocolate, but it was nice to know that when he did, it wasn’t from a mix. He held it up in a wry salute. “I definitely appreciate that, Barb.” That still felt very strange to the man. Too many years of “Ms., Mr. and Mrs. So-and-so” to adapt to calling someone by a nickname, even though he went by Abe almost all the time. He wished he could say the same about recognizing her, though. Ah, well. “Better you missed that one,” he said. “Mrs. Cratchett from the street never got over it.” But it did have good benefits for his business. He nodded in response to her question. He wasn’t too worried about any animosity between the two. They catered to different audiences entirely, and he didn’t lack for customers. “I do. I run Honest Abe’s.” A slight roll of his eyes indicated he noticed the irony, and he smiled a bit, then glanced back at Vincent curiously.

He didn’t really know Dr. Neville, although he suspected the man had come into the restaurant periodically. “How do you liked working there?” he inquired instead.

[Barbara Robinson]

Barb looked from one man to the other as they conversed; it seemed that one of them knew the other a bit from around town (or around the school, as it were). She was leaning with one pudgy elbow on the countertop, two fingers from her other hand absentmindedly pulling at the string of her apron. The woman nodded as Vincent confirmed that they had met before. "Yeah, we've met," she replied, voicing this agreement. "Just once, though. I don't know him too good."

The large brunette also wouldn't consider Honest Abe's one of her competitors; frankly, she wasn't even sure she had any real competitors, considering Shake was virtually the only ice cream joint in town, and her establishment didn't serve dinner. "Oh, cool," she replied as he explained his occupation. "I think I've been there once. A while ago, though. I think." She certainly recognized the name - it was one of the nicer places in Pilot Ridge, not that there were exactly a lot of five-star restaurants in town - but couldn't quite recall whether she had ever dined there. "You been in the business for long?"

She looked down at the two men's mugs, content to see that they both seemed to be enjoying their respective beverages. "Anything else I can get you guys, by the way?" She asked.

[Vincent Meian]

"I am sure you will see more of him during the year," the trainer answered to Barb with a slight smile. "I believe he possesses the most famous sweet tooth in Pilot Ridge."


He'd just taken a sip of the coffee in his hand when Abe directed a question at him, and took a moment to think as he swallowed and set the mug down, his hands enveloping the whole of it rather easily. "It can be difficult," he admitted. "However, there are certain rewards from teaching a new generation how to control themselves. I have done similar work in Japan, and I believe I am beginning to prefer this school over my previous station."


Looking back to Barb, Vincent actually did smile. She'd just asked the magic question, and who was he to deny an offer of something else to enjoy? "Do you have a specialty ice cream? I would like what you favor yourself, if I may."

[Abe Milton]

In the same way that Barb didn’t think she had competitors, Abe had to admit that his place didn’t really either. It was a small town, and very, very few places offered vegan, vegetarian and kosher items. And yes, it was also a good date place—you had to fill some niches, right? Even if it did mean that everything there was exceptionally expensive.

Well, not too expensive. He tried to keep it reasonable. His wife had insisted on that. She hadn’t wanted to alienate the students.

“About six years,” he told Barb. “My wife and I started it when I moved here.” He rarely went into the details behind that story—let people think what they would. Besides, former FBI agent tended to scare people away, as did the whole widower mess. “And you?” He tilted his head to the side and offered her a smile, then turned back to Vincent.

“Hammel was a good experience,” he remarked. “It definitely changed my life, and not in a bad way.” He couldn’t imagine inheriting the bakery now. “Why did you move from Japan, then?”

He hesitated, eyeing the hot chocolate. The truth was, he didn’t need more, but how often did he get to sit in an ice cream shop? So he shrugged his shoulders. “That’d be wonderful, thank you. I’ll take whatever he’s having.” He inclined his head to Vincent. “Or whatever you recommend, I guess.” He offered her a smile.