The various day's errands done, Trace has returned to the rented motel room, cleaned up, and is out in the parking lot not far from his car. It's a little earlier than the agreed upon meeting back here to hang out, but that's how life goes. He's got a cigarette, and an opened beer, and most of the more mundane people coming through the truck stop and motel parking lots have been steering well clear of the ahroun.

Felix has less of an inherent effect on the population around him, managed to grab a shower at some point earlier, and apparently noticed one of the waitresses; as a result, he's currently inside the diner, drinking coffee at the counter and chatting her up. The coin-flip seems to have fallen in his favour, this time, since she seems perfectly willing to have this be the case. Judging from the amount of food still on the plate at the seat next to him, his previous neighbour may have been less comfortable with the Galliard's company. The Gnawer glances at the clock now and then, when the girl is off waiting on other people, and as it gets close to the specified time, out the window. It's just a quick glance at first, and then another as he registers that Trace actually is =there= already, before he (presumably) excuses himself, and emerges, strolling across the asphalt toward the Ahroun.

Trace lifts a hand (the one with the beer in it) in a wave, before moving to drop the empty can into one of the many trashcans amongst the parking lot before walking towards the Gnawer. "Evening," he offers, and grins. "So I got to uh... actually talk to Jamethon-rhya today, without the interruptions of yesterday. After I teach you that Gift, I'm going to teach him the rite we talked about, and then I'll have most of chiminage done. And I got lost out in the woods a few times, but hey."

"Evenin'!" Felix returns, along with a grin of his own. "Yeah? That sounds good. He's been mostly okay to talk to, the times I have. Ain't quite so..." He trails off, gesturing vaguely, and shrugs, "like some of his family." It's not quite clear whether there would have ideally been a descriptive word in there or not. "Kinda cryptic now an' then. An' I may possibly've got lost out there once or twice myself. Temporarily."

Trace nods, and pulls out cigarettes and lighter from his pocket to tip in offering to the Gnawer. "Well," the Walker points out, "he's the first Fenrir I've ever talked to at length. They never really stayed, anywhere I've been before. So I don't have much of a baseline for judging by, really." He grins. "And he isn't judging me by yesterday's first impressions, so that's a start."

Felix accepts the offer with another grin and a "Thanks," and lights up, returning things to the Walker. He looks pretty pleased to have it, also, in that way people often do when you give them something they didn't realise they were currently wanting. "You saw one, at least. Other day at the meeting, big guy standin' by Thane who got upset about our magic kitty friend sayin' he'd have to think about shit?" He keeps a casual eye out for people close enough to listen in, but for some reason those people who have a reason to be in the parking lot don't seem inclined to be doing it around the Garou. "Which, this," a slight gesture of his cigarette, "an' that remind me: officially, it's okay to smoke in the caern, =if= your cigs are all natural an' shit. But someone like Brom might get in your face about it." Eyeroll. "Bawn's okay even if they ain't, as long as we ain't litterin', obviously." Another drag. "'m glad Jamethon ain't holdin' yesterday against you."

There's a nod, and Trace offers Felix a fairly savage grin in the 'might get in your face about it'. "Ah," the Walker says, nodding after he takes a drag from his cigarette. "Well, he might get in my face. But," Trace continues, still grinning, "it also might end badly for him. I like me a lot better when I've had a smoke recently, I know that much." He grins. "Yeah, me too. He seems like a good guy, and offered his help should I ever need a sept Elder as well, and Gatekeeper or not he didn't have to do that. And he understood, about LA, and crap. We got to talking about that people get too caught up politicking sometimes, to make progress and such."

The grin is returned, albeit currently somewhat less savagely from Felix's corner. "Might," he agrees, "but I reckoned you oughta know. He's a Guardian, but I got a feelin' he'd've reacted the same anyhow." He watches a breath of smoke float away, and the grin goes wickeder, "Wonder if I'd get in shit if it was pot. 's plenty natural, after all. Anyhow. What counts as politickin', in your book?"

Trace chuckles and shrugs his shoulders. "Maybe, maybe not," he says. "Politicking. Everyone sniping each other's ideas and plans for trying to gain the upper hand, influence, instead of just... doing what's best for Gaia, doing what we need to do. Infighting and that sort of crap too." He shakes his head and stubs out the butt of his cigarette on his boot, dropping it into his pocket. "That sort of divisiveness doesn't help anything."

Felix nods, considering. "Ain't too bad here, far's I've seen," he seems to decide, "I mean, there's folks as get on each other's nerves, an' folks as weren't thrilled when Thane took over an' prolly ain't that much more thrilled now, but people been workin' together pretty good all in all, from where I'm standin'. Possible they're just bein' real subtle, I s'pose."

"Makes sense," Trace says. "In any case, I sure as hell hope so." He takes a long breath in, and then sighs. "I mean, I don't have much experience with Shadow Lords either," he points out, "so I'm not about to judge Thane by the stereotypes of his tribe, unless he starts acting like the stereotypes. And he hasn't, so far as I've interacted with him." He glances over towards the diner. "Let's go frighten the locals, hm? I'm starving, all that distance between here and the Bawn really is longer than I thought it was until I was running it both directions."

"'bout as long as I thought it was," Felix says, with a glum overtone that suggests it's nonetheless agreement. It's gone when he grins again, and turns back toward the diner. "Yeah, works for me. Do me a favour an' try not to frighten the hot ones too much, though," he teases. "Coffee's good, an' the pastries. Ain't got a proper meal yet, though, an' I could use one too."

Trace flushes slightly red, which is impressive given his darker complexion to begin with, but he's definitely blushing. "There's hot ones?" he asks, clearly perhaps... interested. "/Si/, I'll try." He grins. "I mean, I'll generally chalk distances up to I need the exercise, but between that and the day I think I'm getting more than I need." He starts off towards the diner, with a bit of purpose in his steps.

Felix saunters, which seems to be his most customary gait; he carries himself confidently but casually, as though the world might just possibly be his but if so he's quite happy to share. "Couple of 'em, at least," he confirms as they walk, "Though admittedly mostly we got truckers an', nah. This mornin' there was one girl just passin' through, an' one of the waitresses, Wendy. Tall, kinda sandy brown hair, great legs. Likes country music. Right now there's Lucy, 'less she went off shift..." He glances toward the window more appraisingly; the girl he was flirting with before does seem to still be working. Dark hair, average height, and indeed quite pretty by most standards. He grins when he spots her still there. "There's folks'd suggest we can't get too much exercise. ...ain't so sure I'm one of 'em, though." He tugs the door open and makes an unnecessarily flamboyant 'after you' gesture toward the opening.

Trace tips an imaginary hat to the Galliard, and looks back after him, and grins. "Well, that would depend on what sort of exercise it is," he says, leering mildly, and moves over to take a seat at the counter. The ahroun is relaxed, though it only does a little bit to lessen the overall impression of him being dangerous. "I think I'll have one of those burgers," he muses. "They look pretty damn good."

<OOC> Felix says "Heads or tails?"
<OOC> Trace says "Heads."
<OOC> Trace finger-crosses.
<OOC> Felix grins.
>>> It fell heads: Lucy has high enough WP to deal with Trace.

"Can't argue with that," Felix says, and it's his turn for the grin to get a bit feral, though not all the way to savage. It settles back to merely mischievous as he follows the Ahroun inside, claiming the seat next to him at the counter. "They do, yeah," he agrees, glancing around at what the rest of the place is eating rather than picking up one of the menus, "Steak an' eggs was good this mornin'. Coffee ain't bad, neither." Presumably-Lucy gives them a minute to get settled (and while she refills some of that coffee down the other end of the counter) before heading their way, giving them a smile; although a couple of the people with coffee refills are looking at the Garou as though they aren't sure they want to bother with the new cup, she doesn't seem similarly affected. "Evenin'," she greets them brightly as she sets fresh glasses of ice water at their places, adding to Felix, "Welcome back." The Galliard declares with his hand on his heart and a definite touch of melodrama, "I could not stay away." The grin returns, as he continues more normally, "Miss me? This here's my friend Trace."

Trace adjusts his jacket ever so slightly, and smiles. The ahroun seems pleased, overall. "/Encantado/, Lucy," he offers, with a nod. "Felix has been showing me around town and such the past week, I just moved up here." He grins.

Lucy giggles at Felix's first claim. There are dimples. "Nope! Much too busy," she replies lightly, "Barely noticed you were gone."

Felix essays to look wounded and woeful, doing a passable job of it. "You're a cruel, cruel woman," he complains, shaking his head, "Break a man's heart." It gets him another dimpled grin, before she looks to Trace.

"Nice to meet you -- is that Spanish?" she asks, sounding intrigued, "What brings you to the area, and how're you liking it so far? And while I'm peppering you with questions, have you boys decided what you'd like?" She glances sidelong to Felix, who barely gets out an almost convincingly innocent "Yup," before she adds, "From the =menu=?"

The Galliard lifts his chin and claims with too much of an amused edge to really pull off wounded dignity, "I was gonna say a cheeseburger. With fries an' coffee."

Trace drums his fingers on the counter, "/Sí, español/," he says, grinning. "Learned it as a kid, I grew up in Los Angeles." That statement is a little bit quieter, but not so much as the previous few days grimness on the subject, not enough to dampen the overall mood. "I've got some family up here, and it seemed like a good place." He grins. "I'd like a hamburger. That one with the onions and such on it, and french fries too, /por favor/. And a coke, I think. Coffee can come later." He glances towards the ceiling. "With dessert."

"Well, it is a pretty good place," Lucy says, with a glance around as if to check this is still true, "but I always wanted to visit L.A. I mean, St. Claire is a pretty big city, but you don't see people writing songs and movies about =it=, you know? So, hamburger," she looks from Trace to Felix, "cheeseburger, two fries, coffee and Coke. Okay, I'll get that out to you tout de suite." The dimples again as she adds, "That's a lot more of what I remember from two semesters of French than it ought to be." She turns and heads off to put the order in and take care of some of the other customers' orders and refills, although something about an Ahroun in a restaurant really slows down the dinner rush. Felix watches her go for a couple moments, then glances around to consider the remaining other patrons.

"Well," Trace says in response before she moves off, "most of the songs and movies are overrated anyway. Or just flat-out lying. There's a lot more greenery up here." After that, he looks over to Felix, with a grin. Some of the customers who remain have still nonetheless moved to sitting in the booths, further away from the pair of Garou. A few have left outright, and one of the cooks in the kitchen keeps looking over at Trace with a nervous expression. "Pretty good. And the room's not bad either," he points out.

Felix grins back. "Ain't all bad, havin' to drop by here some," he agrees. One of the customers who suddenly felt a booth would be much more comfortable definitely looks as if it hasn't made nearly the difference he hoped, still stealing nervous glances at the pair and, if one notes details, keeping his cellphone to hand. He probably hasn't got it primed with 9-1, at least; surely if he thought they were =that= bad news he'd have already left... right? It may not help that this probably isn't his usual scene, as he's wearing a suit that looks far too expensive for the venue. The Gnawer notices him, and smirks slightly, keeping his attention fixed on the guy for a few seconds. "...you ever just wanna fuck with 'em a li'l?" he asks the Ahroun quietly.

Trace nods, lifting one hand to run his fingers through his hair, and push it out of his face. Which works to keep his hair out of his face for about thirty seconds, maybe a second or two longer. "Sure I do," he admits, "but not when we're supposed to be keeping our heads down." He chuckles, a sidelong glance towards the more nervous patron, and shakes his head as he turns his attention back towards Felix. "It's never worth it."

"Just a =little=," Felix murmurs, still watching for a second or so before he sighs and turns his gaze away from the guy, and toward Lucy, who's chatting with an elderly trucker while bringing him a slice of pie and, as always, more coffee. "Sometimes it's definitely worth it. Keepin' our heads down is a lot less fun. Hope it don't last too much longer."

Trace nods agreement. "True," he says, and then looks down at his lap, carefully adjusting his jacket so that none of the guns are visible to even a less casual observer, though the hand that's not resting on the counter is resting not far from the holster for the revolver, just on the outside of the jacket instead. "Keeping our heads down is shitty. It's also waiting, which I kind of hate most of the time. I'd rather be doing something." This time, the sidelong glance is towards Lucy, and the ahroun's expression eases towards a grin. "But if we have to keep our heads down somewhere, at least it's here?"

"Me too," Felix says with feeling, certainly about waiting vs doing things, and quite likely about possibly implied things one might like to be doing. "Ain't real good at not doin' shit. I get bored easy. Ain't bad at fixin' that, usually, but it involves comin' up with shit to do. Sometimes people wish I hadn't." He considers a moment. "Less often since I got here, though. It's weird sometimes." Lucy swings by with the drinks, setting them in front of the appropriate recipients with a bright smile for each of them, and is gone again, off to handle someone's bill.

"/Gracias/ Lucy," Trace says, before she goes off, and with a hint of a smile in his eyes, and perhaps a little more of an accent to his words than happens when he's not using Spanish. The Walker traces his finger along the rim of the glass a few times before picking up the soda, and nodding. A sip later, Trace chuckles a bit. "Well, that's good though, right?" he asks Felix, thoughtfully. "The last part," he clarifies, continuing, "so very few of the things I do to fix boredom are consistent with that whole low profile thing. Though the teaching ought to keep me busy enough-- and you, too, at least for a bit." He purses his lips, and offers, "We should find some... interesting tools to use, to work on it."

Felix sounds, it might be noted, entirely comfortable with all of his previous comments except possibly that last part. Still, he nods to Trace's reply, while reaching over to claim the sugar bowl and draw it in. "Well, yeah, I reckon it's good, all in all. Just ain't used to it. An' yeah, not a lot of mine are either. Guitar, I guess, since all I can use right now's the acoustic. S'pose fightin' if I'm out there." Another glance toward Lucy, "Maybe a couple other things. But most shit requires the city, an' generally I only like a low profile when I'm avoidin' cops." More packets of sugar than reasonable go into the coffee, and some creamer as well. "Yeah, though, that oughta keep us busy for some. Wonder what kinda shit we can find..."

"I suppose lighters count as tools," Trace says, shrugging his shoulders. "And we already figured cars do. I think really, just about anything that isn't a rock really counts. Maybe vending machines count, too. Though I do not think that it would let you control the vending machine without putting money in it... sadly." The ahroun falls quiet, as he sips from his soda, and lets out a breath.

"Lighters definitely count as tools," Felix says, "...hypotheoretically, a rock could be. I mean you can definitely USE it as a tool, though I reckon it depends where the line gets drawn. If it has to be made with some kinda intention to be used, I s'pose it wouldn't be unless it was one of them caveman-type stone axes or whatever." He takes a drink of his coffee, not as gingerly as would probably have been wise for a first sip. "Heh. Maybe you could convince a vending machine to give discounts. Or rebates. There was this one at a public pool I used to swim at, if you wiggled the little lock box on the front just right, it'd start payin' out like slots." The memory gets another grin.

Trace chuckles. "I think I saw one of those stone axes in a museum, once," the Walker says, shaking his head briefly. "The natural history museum or whatever it was. I hope no one /still/ uses them. Yeah, it has to be made with some sort of intention as a tool, as far as I've ever understood," Trace says. Once more, he shrugs, and glances up at the ceiling. "The sooner everything's back to normal, the better. /El tiempo todo lo cura/, time cures all. At least, they say so."

Felix nods, "I saw 'em on some TV show once. An' yeah, that's what they say, time heals all wounds. An' the sooner the better."

Lucy picks up their plates and brings them over, setting one in front of Trace, "Your hamburger," and the other in front of Felix, "aaand your cheeseburger. Need anything else?"

Felix reaches over to snag the ketchup from slightly down the counter, giving her a bright, "Nah, I'm good. Looks great. ...no, wait, wait, thought of somethin' do I need. I definitely need to know when your shift ends."

Lucy lifts a brow and teases, "I don't know, I think that might be more of a 'want' than a 'need'."

"So's ketchup, but you woulda given me that," Felix teases back.

Lucy dimples again, but doesn't reply, instead looking to Trace, "How about you?"

Trace ducks a nod when his food comes, and his gaze follows Lucy, and the interaction with Felix, and he shakes his head ever so slightly. "Well, if /I/ asked when you get off, too, then you'd just think we're troglodytes, and that's not at all my intention," he says, grinning slightly, and very lightly kicking Felix's foot. "However, I think what Felix was trying to ask, is whether you had any plans after your shift."

"That," Felix says to Trace, with exaggerated dignity and a light kick back, "is what I was asking =next=. Or more specifically," he looks to Lucy again, "I was gonna ask if you'd like to go for a walk with me, at whatever time that is. Or a drive, if you'd rather get off your feet after all this. But I =will= need to know what time that'd be."

Lucy grins at Trace, and shakes her head. "I wouldn't think you were troglodytes. They're usually hairier," she says, then considers Felix. "I don't knowww," she muses, "Wandering in the wilderness all alone with a complete stranger, after dark? I'd feel like the first victim in a horror movie."

"Well, let's just go with the drive, then," Felix replies innocently, and more normally, with a shrug, "'sides, they say a stranger's just a friend you ain't met yet. An' we've met!"

Trace flushes red a little bit when he gets kicked back, but the smile gets offered to Lucy rather than Felix. "We are a little... stranger than most," the Walker says with a joking grin, picking up a french fry to trace invisible patterns on his plate. "But not troglodytes. That is very, very reassuring to know."

"Really?" Lucy asks Trace, with that same intrigued tone his use of Spanish got, and studies him for a second, "You don't seem that strange." A little more playfully, she adds, "Glad to reassure you, though... the lack of clubs, that's another clue." Felix gets a probably intentionally obvious considering look for a couple seconds, and then a small smile, just enough for a hint of the dimples. "I'll think about it," she says in nearly the same tone.

Felix meets her gaze and holds it for a moment, giving her a roguish grin in return. "Think hard."

Lucy blushes faintly, but if she intended to reply, it's interrupted by a, "Hey, can I get a refill?" from farther down the counter, and she spins to snag the carafe and head that way, "Absolutely! Sorry for the wait..."

Trace raises his eyebrows as he looks at Felix, before chuckling softly and shaking his head. "Clubs," he says in between a bit of hamburger, "are a very inefficient weapon, all things considered." The Walker watches Lucy as she goes, and then his voice drops a few volume levels. "I... thought you have a girlfriend?" There's no judgment in the question, merely curiosity and as though Trace is trying to get the big picture straightened out, before he glances down to Lucy. "I mean, don't get me wrong, I'm glad I'm not scaring her," clearly meaning Lucy, "off, but...?"

Felix watches her go as well, and glances sidelong at Trace when the question comes. "Well, wife, technically," he answers, "but yeah. Lilah." He takes the top bun off his burger, applying a fair amount of ketchup to both the rest and his fries. "...an' yeah, she pretty much knows who I am." There's a small, almost tender smile there, briefly, directed toward the burger, before he puts the lid on it and glances toward Trace again, with a slight shrug. "'spose we kinda got a understandin'."

Trace listens, and in between bites of his hamburger, nods. "Hey, if it works for you," he says, "then all the better." As before, there's no judgment, though a moment later Trace tilts his head, having apparently thought of another question that he pesters the Gnawer with. "What made you decide to actually get married?"

This one has to wait while Felix eats a big enough bite of his burger that he's actually unwilling to talk around it. "You ever been to Vegas?" he asks in return.

Trace shakes his head in response. "No," he says, picking up a french fry. "Might be one of the few places that's got more movies made about it than LA, though." The french fry that had been contemplated now gets eaten, followed by some of the soda.

"'s true," Felix says, "An' New York, prolly. San Francisco prolly ain't got quite as many... anyhow. So, there's this Denny's there. Biggest one I've seen, got weird fancy architecture. Serves drinks." Presumably not just the standard diner set. "An' inside, it's got a wedding chapel. No shit. You can get married at Denny's." He looks to Trace, a fry in hand, "You can get married at Denny's in =Vegas=. By =Elvis=." It's not quite clear if that's all the explanation coming, but it's certainly said as if it ought to be all that anyone should truly need to understand.

The entire explanation gets a bit of a chuckle and a nod following. "As long as that Elvis isn't a zombie," Trace points out. "They say he faked his death, after all."

At the suggestion that Trace does indeed understand this, Felix breaks into one of the sunniest grins the Ahroun will have yet seen on him, and nods. "It was exactly as awesome as I thought it'd be, an' I thought it'd be about the best thing known to man or beast," he perhaps slightly exaggerates, "We definitely didn't get the original Elvis, but he was damn good. ...real one wouldn't be a zombie if he =faked= his death, would he? Although if they're undead..." Shrug. "Anyhow. So, yeah. We'd been drivin' together a couple weeks an' she'd never been to a club, so I took her to one, we got pretty drunk, went explorin' places the rest of the night, an' about dawn we got hungry an' found the Denny's... so. S'pose that's more or less why." A slight pause, and thoughtfully, "You're the only person that's ever asked why, 'less you count 'is she pregnant'."

Trace grins a bit. "Well, if she /were/ pregnant I doubt you'd be making a big secret of it," Trace points out, and traces his finger around the edge of the soda glass once again. "So logical process of elimination, it didn't seem like something to ask." A moment later, and Trace offers to Felix, "Someone should make a video game. About zombie Elvis, with all the conspiracy theories around it and all that."

"If she was, we woulda had to name it Jesus, 'cause she was savin' just about =everythin'= for marriage," Felix says, and there's a hint of frustration in there just at the memory, though more amusement now that time has passed. "I didn't even know people really DID that." He eats the fry, and another, before suddenly adding, "'m glad we did. I mean, not 'cause of that, though obviously I ain't complainin'. But I reckon we'd've parted paths by now." He shakes his head, making a bit of a face, and leans back a bit on the stool with a small but dramatic brandish of a fry. "Anyway!" he declares, and eats it, "Zombie Elvis would make a good video game, yeah. Have a bunch of zombie impersonators servin' him, maybe. Find where he's secretly workin'. Behind the scenes. ...ain't too bad as a band name, neither."

The Glass Walker chuckles, and lifts his shoulders. "Wait, wait. One better," he says, and there is a mock-dramatic pause before Trace continues. "have the ending of the video game be that zombie Elvis is the person who really actually killed Kennedy, and responsible for the World Trade Center and all that. I mean, if you're going to make a video game that is centred around conspiracy theories, why not just use all of them at once for the ridiculous factor?"

Felix laughs. "Shit, yeah," he agrees, "What else? Maybe throw in the moon landin', I heard some rants about that one, an' there was this one guy in my old neighbourhood was always ramblin' about chemtrails an' black helicopters an' the Illuminati..." He picks up his burger again, and has a somewhat smaller bite, one that lets him add after a few thoughtful chews, "I dunno if I like Elvis bein' the bad guy, though. Maybe he really IS workin' in some diner somewhere, an' zombie Elvis was created in a lab for fakin' his death, but it came properly alive an' evil."

"Buenos Aires," Trace points out to the mention of Elvis being working in a diner. "One of the big conspiracy theories I've heard regarding Elvis is that he bought a plane ticket to Buenos Aires the day after he supposedly died." Trace finishes off the last of his fries with a grin, and picks up his soda once again. "All conspiracy theories come from the moon. That's got to be it."

"Buenos Aires," Felix agrees, "Flew there an' got work as a line cook. Prolly doesn't know a thing about what Zombie Elvis is doin', but he's the only one who can stop it." He goes for some movie-trailer intonation on the last clause, then grins again. He's most of the way through the burger, now, though he pauses to put some of the fries on it. "Well. Make a good story. I'd prolly play it."

Trace grins again, his gaze wandering back over towards Lucy at the pause in conversation, despite that his soda is still mostly-full. "You should narrate it," he offers to the Galliard. "Or commercials, or something. You'd be good at it."

Felix may have the occasional glance straying that direction as well. His coffee's slightly below half, but probably isn't particularly relevant either. "Yeah? Sounds fun, I'd do that. Was in a bunch of plays an' shit when I was a kid... not in a long time, though." He considers the Ahroun briefly before asking, "What were you gonna be when you grew up?"

Trace turns the glass around again, the same fidget as before. "I suppose that really depends on when you asked me," he muses. "I wanted to be a firefighter or something when I was really little. By the time I was in middle school..." The Glass Walker trails off, pausing thoughtfully before he continues, "I figured I'd grow up to be the boss of the gang someday, /sí/, which is ironic. Or that I'd be in prison somehow."

"How come ironic?" Felix asks; he doesn't seem fazed by the answers, just interested in the story. Another brief glance toward Lucy, and back to Trace, "...an' what exactly =is= a troglodyte? Ain't heard that one before."

Trace for a brief moment, manages to keep a straight face, looking over at Felix seriously. "More or less, cavemen," Trace replies, with a perfectly reasonable smile on his face as he says this. "Cave dwellers." The straight face lasts all of a few seconds before the Ahroun just snickers. "See also: Full moons, according to many people I've met." He pauses, and explains, "Leader of the gang I was in was fomor. Either he was for a long time, or he ended up as one given everything that the gang was into, /yo no sé/. Found that out when I was new to all this." There's another pause, but most everyone is giving the two Garou a wide berth, and at a quiet volume, Trace continues, "Killed him and a bunch of other fomor on my rite."

"Oh. A'right, that makes sense. Hairy, clubs. Got it," Felix replies in the pause, with just enough of a grin to leave it ambiguous whether it's just the definition he means, or also the application to Ahrouns. It fades to something more serious as the rest is answered, and he nods. "Yeah, I reckon I see the irony," he says, "an' sorry, if you were close." Still speaking softly, although not quite so softly as to give people the impression they're trying not to be heard. True as it may be. "I'm pretty sure Jayce ain't one," he says, after considering a moment, "but man, it'd be shitty if he was an' I had to kill him. Sounds like a good rite though... 'side from that."

Trace lets out a breath, an nods. "Well, he wasn't one when I met him, I think?" Trace says, "But he didn't deal with most of the kids much, so that was a while before any of anything." He takes a long sip of his soda, setting the glass down again gently. "It was still kind of pretty damn shitty, yeah. I mean there had to have been dozens of nests of fomor in the city and they set me on that one, and my elders knew the connection. Taught me that things aren't always as they seem, though."

Felix finishes off the burger, washing it down with coffee, which he nearly has drunk all of, now. "S'pose that was part of it," he says, nodding, "it bein' that one in particular. I was hopin' mine'd be somethin' like that, not the connection part, just the killin'--" Lucy, coffee pot in hand, approaches, and the Galliard shifts the sentence without stopping its flow, "--zombie Elvis wouldn't do any good, not unless you broke the curse bindin' him to the undead body BEFORE you primed the holy flamethrower. He'll just respawn."

Lucy looks a bit bemused by the portion she overhears, but gives the both of them as smile as she arrives, with a quick scan over their glasses and virtually empty plates. "More coffee?" she offers Felix, and to Trace, "Or soda? And did you still want dessert?" She indicates the dessert menu in the holder on the counter.

"Yes please an' definitely," Felix replies, attention quite firmly focused on her, "What'd you recommend?"

"Everything," Lucy replies, meeting his gaze briefly as she refills the coffee cup, then glancing to Trace as she continues, "...but if I were ordering right now I'd get the strawberry-rhubarb pie, à la mode. First berries of the season."

"Well, the only way to kill zombies is supposed to be to take them apart, so wouldn't that go for Elvis too?" Trace says, the change of subject a fluid one. And then Lucy is coming over, and the ahroun grins and ducks a nod to her. "I think I will take that coffee I mentioned earlier, now," he says to Lucy, blinking a few times. "Since this is dessert. And well, I suppose that with 'one of everything' probably being an unreasonable option, I'll take three of those slices of pie you mentioned, with ice cream on two of them."

Lucy looks faintly dubious at the order. "Did you want any of those to go? Our pie slices are about," she indicates something that looks like around a quarter pie between the thumbs and other fingers of her not-quite-touching hands.

"I dunno, one of everythin' sounds pretty good to me," Felix says, "...but I don't think I'm gonna start with it. Maybe if we need second dessert. I'll have a slice of that with ice cream too, an' a Coke, an' a chocolate milkshake. He considers a moment, deciding, "...an' then we'll see."

Trace purses his lips, and only seems to deflate a little bit as he gives in to Lucy's good sense, throwing his hands up in apparent defeat and with a bit of a silly grin. "Well, if you say so... the one without the ice cream to go," Trace agrees, "either way I can have it later and this way I know I've got something back in the room." Felix gets a nod. "Can't exactly take ice cream to go."

"Sounds like a plan," Lucy says. The murmured "de accion" from Felix is apparently for Trace's ears, not hers, a faint smile to go along with it. He finishes the last couple of his fries so that she can take the plate, and Trace's as well as long as he appears to be done. "Okay, I'll be right back with that."

Felix watches her go again, then shifts position on his stool, stretching a bit. "It's only zombie Elvis it'd go for. Elvis-Elvis we want livin' anyhow," he notes seriously to the Ahroun, then grins again.

Trace grins and folds his hands on the counter. "Thank you," he informs Lucy, quite serious for just a moment. "Maybe we can believe in Elvis, the way Tinkerbell spurred people to believe in fairies," he suggests, and it's hard to tell precisely whether the Ahroun is joking, because he manages a deadpan delivery, one eyebrow quirking upwards. "I believe in Elvis."

"I be-LIEVE in Elvis!" Felix declares, with all the fire and fervor of a TV preacher, and the volume and frankly hamminess too, head bowing forward slighty and one arm making a dramatic upward sweep. The sudden outburst gets the attention of more or less everyone who hasn't yet been driven from the room by the werewolves' presence, staring in their direction. The Galliard seems unbothered by this, in fact showing every sign of relish (and, from up close, just a hint of malevolence) as he lowers that arm to point straight out toward the terrified suit from earlier, "You, sir! Have you accepted Elvis Presley as your Lord an' Saviour? For it is only by the glory of his blue suede shoes that thy soul shall avoid everlastin' torment in the heartbreak hotel!"

The unfortunate businessman's eyes widen as the Gnawer's attention focuses on him, and the declaration is scarcely done before he yelps "Yes!"

Felix squints at him, then nods, dropping his hand. "Good," he says, much more normally, though with projection that hints at the earlier-mentioned theatre history, "As you were." There are giggles from various parts of the room, and a few headshakes as well, sometimes from the same person and sometimes not.

Trace doesn't manage to keep a straight face at all during any of this, and his gaze goes between Felix, and the businessman, and the ahroun loses the bit of composure that was preventing him from uproarious, slightly toothy laughter. "¡Elvis /está vivo/!" The Glass Walker doesn't project nearly as much as Felix did, but it's enough to carry through the room and add to the performance. Falling silent, Trace's arms cross over his chest, and he fixes a slight stare towards the businessman, before spinning back around to face the counter.

From where the Garou sit, the businessman's whimper at that stare can't quite be heard -- but it can be seen. He must have used all his reserve of determination just staying this long to try to finish his meal, because after the Ahroun's look he doesn't even bother trying to play it cool; he slips out of the booth, tosses what looks like almost certainly too much cash on the table, and flees, barely remembering to take his briefcase along with him.

"Good man! Spread the gospel!" Felix calls after him with a shoulder-height fist of solidarity, and the door closing is about the last he can take, dissolving into snickers and giving his co-conspirator a toothy grin.

Lucy watches the man bolt, takes an extra glance toward his table once he's gone, and then scoops up the tray with the boys' order on it, bringing it over. As she sets the plates in front of each of them, she meets their eyes in turn. "Felix," she chides lightly, tone serious but eyes nonetheless amused, "Trace. ...Don't do that."

"And go into the world and preach the gospel to all creation," Trace tells Felix, and then snickers a little more under his breath, watching the door swing shut. It takes a long, deep breath to regain his composure as Lucy comes over with their desserts. "Awww," he murmurs, glancing from her, to the pie, and back and licking his upper lip ever so slightly. There's a bright grin, "Alright, but only for you, Lucy." He wraps his hands around his cup of coffee and bows his head towards her briefly. "After all, when you ask like that how could I /ever/ say no?"

Felix laughs at Trace's remark, and it takes a couple good breaths of his own to also get down to a reasonably controlled level. He gives Lucy puppy-eyes at the scolding -- pretty decent ones, especially considering that he's also keeping her gaze as long as she'll let him -- and replies with a slightly too contrite to be believable, "Yes ma'am."

There's the dimples at Trace's reply, and a tiny downward tilt of Lucy's head and eyes before she turns to Felix, giving him a slightly suspicious look. She hasn't set the milkshake down yet, and keeps it on the tray, one hand on the base of the glass, holding it hostage while she asks him in the same tone as before, "Can you behave?"

"Ain't my most notable talent," Felix admits, giving up on the contrition in favour of a mischievous grin that seems decidedly more genuine, "...but like the man says: for you."

Trace picks up his fork, and twirls it in his hand, and sticks it into one of his pieces of pie, with not quite too much force but certainly enthusiasm, and then he looks over at Lucy, "I'll make sure he does," he assures Lucy, though it's not perhaps as reassuring as it could be because a little after, the ahroun starts snickering again, stifling it behind his free hand. "Or at least, I'll try my best."

"Hmmmmm," Lucy says, appearing less than throroughly convinced as she looks from one of them to the other, but also as though it's getting harder to maintain. There's definite hint of an upward pull to the corners of her lips, clearer on one side than the other. "All right," she says then, setting the milkshake down, "See that you do." A quick nod, and the dimples are clearly starting to win again as she turns with the tray.

"Yes, ma'am," Felix repeats, still grinning. He pulls his pie and milkshake both toward him, arranging things for easier left-handed consumption, and pokes the ball of ice cream with his fork for no obvious reason.

Lucy takes about two steps before she glances back, looking a touch mischievous herself, and says, "Nine o'clock." Then she's to the other end of the counter, refilling a cup of coffee for the hundredth time.

Trace raises his eyebrows at Felix and there's a very gentle (congratulatory?) shove of the Galliard's shoulder, before attention turns to his pie with obvious satisfaction. The pie and the quickly melting ice cream both hold his attention for long minutes, until there's little ice cream left, although some pie. It would appear that the two slices of pie are quite reasonable for Trace, and three might have been.

"Behave," Trace gets out around a mouth full of pie and ice cream. "It's on my honour that you do, now, or something like that." He sounds amused, even if he is talking with his mouth full making it harder to tell. A bit later, and he adds, "Or next time, you might not get a milkshake."

Felix looks decidedly pleased with this result, and also with his food; he turns the grin briefly on Trace at the shove, and somewhere Satan regrets not investing in a space heater as for quite some minutes there is not only good behaviour but also near silence, if perhaps not impeccable table manners. He perhaps could safely have gotten slightly closer to the 'everything' plan, given the emptiness both cup and plate have reached.

"Bein'-have just the best I can," Felix assures cheerfully, mouth equally occupied. To the later comment, he replies conversationally, "Her milkshake brings all the boys to the yard. ...the good ones, anyhow." He gives Trace a sidelong look and adds with a half-smile and slight lift of a brow, "Don't ask, don't get."

Trace flushes red one more time and glances at Felix, almost a 'should I', and after he's finished his slices of pie-- which takes him only a little bit longer than Felix and his one slice of pie-- the ahroun digs into his jacket and comes out with a pen, and a scrap of paper, and scribbles on it for a little bit, with surprisingly neat handwriting, and then scribbles on it a bit more. Cursive, no less.

You must be made of copper and tellurium, because you're CuTe.

The last word is made with the squares for the periodic table of the elements, and then underneath that, the ahroun's scrawled his name and a phone number, and then folded it into a little envelope-shaped piece of origami, a few fingers wide. When Lucy comes back over one more time, the ahroun picks it up, and offers it to her. "/Es para ti/," he says, with a small smile.

And the milkshake. Never forget the milkshake. Felix idly sips the remaining half of his Coke once the food's devoured, and that glance gets a slight lift of the eyebrows in return. When Trace starts writing, the Galliard leans slightly over as if to spy on what's been written and partially drawn, and indeed must be paying at least some attention to it, since there's a tiny, satisfied nod when he sees the number being scribed. The whole process is quiet. Perhaps too quiet, as parents, babysitters, and teachers the world over have suddenly realised in similar circumstances. This may or may not be a factor in the fact that Lucy returns to refill the soda and coffee remarkably shortly after the Ahroun finishes his work. If she's relieved to see that by every appearance they actually have been behaving, it doesn't show; the surprise at being offered the note does, though. "Thank you," she says, turning the 'envelope' over in her hands, and gives him a smile. A new trucker settles at the counter, and she picks the carafes back up, heading over to wait on him.

Felix thanks her for the refill, and sips his replenished drink as he yet again watches her walk away. It does not appear to be something he's likely to get sick of soon. Beneath the level of the counter, he gives his companion a thumbs-up, without actually seeming to look.

"/Es mi placer/," Trace responds to Lucy, with a slight dip of his head in a nod, and his hands wrap around the coffee cup as she walks away. A long sip of his coffee later, and there is a bit of a grin that gets offered to Felix. In the quieter tones of their earlier conversation, he says, "Definitely worth the distance, I think."

"Ain't all bad," Felix allows at similar volume, mirroring that grin. He takes another look around; all the people who seemed unnerved by the pair have managed to get out of there except the poor cook, who is still stealing nervous glances toward them now and then. Probably hasn't been turning out his best work tonight. "...yeah. Ain't bad at all," he decides, with a small nod.

Another person comes into the diner just as far as opening the door and stepping halfway in before turning around and leaving immediately, but although Trace notices, he doesn't seem terribly bothered by it at the moment. That grin stays on his face, followed by a silent whistle as he finishes his current cup of coffee that coincides with Lucy walking behind the counter away from the two. "Not bad," Trace agrees.

It's not all that long before Lucy returns again, this time to hand them the little folder containing their bill. The smile she has for both of them is bright. "Thank you," she says, "Come again!" This is, it's clear from observation thus far tonight, what she's probably required to say to anyone but the constant regulars, but she may sound just a bit more like she means it with them. Certainly she doesn't usually add the 'See you later' Felix gets before she's off again -- quite swiftly, too quick for them to really reply. This may be intentional; when Felix flips the holder open, the bill has 'Lucy' and her (well, presumably her!) number written at the bottom. Nice handwriting on her, too. The Galliard grins again, and moves a hand toward Trace beneath the level of the counter -- this time in fist-bump position.

Trace returns the fist-bump, before very deliberately taking the bill from Felix, with not quite supernatural speed but significant speed nonetheless. It's clear that he's not intending to let his friend pay. At least, not tonight.