bloodstainxd:
The dinner rush had come and gone and The Grill was in it’s quiet, late night lull. Apart from Zale and his skeleton crew of bored cooks, there was hardly a soul in the joint. Just one or two of the regular drunkards, who were so consistent in their patronage, they might as well have been part of the decor. Really, Zale had nothing better to do than stand at the bar, busying himself cutting up limes for the next shift to use during happy hour.
He hardly even glanced up when the door opened and a dark haired man walked in. Young, attractive, dressed decently. Really, the customer could’ve been the standard fair for the town, if only he’d been sporting fangs or drenched in the blood of a virgin.
“Evening,” he responded, nodding to the young man. With a sigh, he dropped his knife on the cutting board, letting his dark eyes settle in on the customer. The least he could do was give the person his full attention while they were in front of him.
“Well, the horse tastes like shit, so I wouldn’t reccomend that,” Zale told him, only half joking. The Grill didn’t serve horse. Though, in general, it did taste like shit - he’d known, he’d tried it more than once. “I’d say get a full rack of ribs ribs. They’re solid, and they come with mac n’ cheese and cornbread on the side. Cornbread is fresh, too. The guys made it this morning.”
Ben managed a genuine smile at the horse quip, largely because he had been let off the hook. He gave a light, appreciate laugh before glancing back to the menu. And nodding, he lifted his gaze up once more. That sounded like a lot of food, but he had that peculiar metabolism where he could eat anything and forever stay 5′6″ and rail-thin. A blessing and a curse. But he was on vacation. So screw it. “Uh, that sounds great. Let’s do that. But hold the mac n’ cheese if that’s all right.” In truth, he always had a way of apologizing for himself, of asking for things but it being cool, no problem if he were not allowed them. It’s mac ‘n’ cheese, man. You’re not rejecting someone’s kidney. “I keep kosher,” he added as an afterthought, offering an explanation no one asked for. “So I could’t eat the horse even if I wanted to.” But he hadn’t always kept kosher; he did it when he felt like it. And coming into a restaurant like this was probably an odd time to start feeling like it. Besides, cornbread totally had butter or buttermilk or something. Well, he tried. “Is there actually horse?”
He hummed, ducking a bit. “You can’t get fresh cornbread in Jersey.” Maybe you could; he didn’t know. “That’s...uh, cool. I feel like most things are boxed or frozen.” He smiled again, going into his bag and retrieving his camera,setting it on the bar-top and taking the opportunity to start clicking through some of the photos he had taken that day. “It’s a pretty little town, here. I’m from a little town too, but I don’t know, it’s different. I’ve never been to Vermont.”












