having a quiet afternoon in; feeling like doing that "choose a WIP and i'll write a bit of it" meme that's been going around but I only have 2 WIPs so it's really just a binary choice:
"e/R 1970's" (sequel to this)
"the patron saint of all-night diners" (sideways spin-off of this feat. Julie the waitress and the Reagan-hating fry cook falling in love)
(i don't think you're supposed to give that much context to the WIPs but *sunglasses emoji* sometimes you gotta break the rules.)
snippets under the cut. both of them are set in restaurants in the American midwest, which i mention only because it might be distracting otherwise. throw me an ask about one or the other and i'll write three more sentences. i will do this until i get tired.
e/R 1970's
Grantaire frowns down at her menu. “Suppose I’ll have to get used to lentils eventually,” she says, “if it’s bound to become part of the lifestyle. Only, remember when all you had to do to be a lesbian was want to make love to women?”
“And live entirely submerged in fear and shame?” Enjolras replies, without heat. New York’s Stonewall Riot seven years earlier—and the bolder, more confrontational movement that followed it—have changed her. With a suitable outlet for her particular magnificent energy, she is more focused than ever in work, and a little calmer in repose.
“True,” Grantaire replies. “But I worry that any day now, we’ll be issued a box of cats.” She shakes her head theatrically. “You know I can barely keep houseplants alive.”
“Houseplants don’t meow until you remember to water them,” says Enjolras. “And I admit, I have a morbid curiosity for what you’d name a pet.” She raises her eyebrows.
“Skinny Bones, if we fed him the food of our people,” says Grantaire. “Did you see they sell vegetable ice cream?”
Enjolras shrugs serenely. “We’d give him meat,” she says. “Cats are carnivores. And as far as human food goes, the spinach and black olive enchiladas aren’t half bad.”
They’re sharing a table at Viv’s Vegetarian Spot, the best lesbian-owned cafe in all of Boystown and likely all of Chicago. “Best” being perhaps a little generous, in Grantaire’s meatloaf-and-potatoes-loving book.
“You know I admire your devotion to supporting our sisters-in-arms—our sisters-in-amour, let’s say,” Grantaire counters, “but in this one particular case, I’ll never grasp why you—”
Enjolras reaches over and squeezes her hand; their waitress has swooped in, the numerous political pins rattling on her denim jacket like chainmail. “WE HAVE BEEN TOO NICE TOO LONG” reads one. “OUT OF THE CLOSET, INTO THE STREETS” reads another.
“Hi there, I’m Sandy. Can I get you two anything?” she asks.
“I’ll have the enchiladas,” says Enjolras. She hasn’t moved her hand on top of Grantaire’s. And then she beams up at Sandy and adds, deliberately, “And my date will have…”
“The enchiladas also,” Grantaire fills in, swallowing hard as Sandy nods and retreats to fetch them waters like this is the most normal and natural thing in the world. “Alright,” Grantaire says. “I think I can grasp it now.”
the patron saint of all-night diners
The first thing to know about Al’s 24-Hour Eats is that it didn’t start as a haven for the queers and deviants of the greater Indianapolis area.
The second is that the transformation was no accident.
“Julie Williams,” says Lloyd, the night manager.
Julie nods, smiles blandly. She does not adjust her unfashionable brown turtleneck or her equally out-of-date khaki maxi skirt, both chosen with care at Goodwill in an effort to look as staid and buttoned-up and employable as possible.
Lloyd’s eyes scan down her resume. She presses her lips together. Given that he’d kept her waiting in the narrow, dingy outside his office twenty minutes into their scheduled 10 o’clock appointment, it feels like he could’ve at least already read a single sheet of paper. A bead of sweat slides down her spine.
There are six lies on her resume, and seven truths. The lies: previous places of employment, mostly, retroactively fitting her with a past where she has always been known as she. The provided contact numbers belong to sympathetic friends who have been told to answer the phone cautiously over the next couple of days. The truths: her name, first of all, truer now for years than whatever might be printed on her birth certificate. Her list of relevant skills; even in her previous life, she knew her way around a tray of plates, a table full of rowdy drunks.
Also this: Julie Williams is a people person.
This will be important later.
“You ever done this before?” Lloyd says suddenly.
Julie blinks. He’s still holding the paper in his hand. The paper which says that she has a combined fifteen years of experience working as a waitress in dining establishments across the Midwest. This is not strictly true, but that’s not the point.
“Yes, I have,” she says, in her most pleasant voice. “Most recently, six years at Sunrise.”
“Sunrise in…?” Lloyd trails off.
“Lafayette. Up way past Lebanon.”
“Were you any good at it?”
“Very,” says Julie without hesitation.
Lloyd lets out a long sigh. “That’s good, that’s good. Between you and me, we’ve been having a tough time filling the night shift lately. Nobody wants to work anymore. And this part of town going the way it’s been going, we’ve been getting a lot of weirdos applying.” He raises his eyebrows.
“I’m real sorry to hear that,” she says. A second bead of sweat is slipping down to join the first one, right at the start of her asscrack. Charming.
“Yeah.” He pulls himself to his feet and shakes his head. “This place is headed downhill fast. Has been since that seedy little rathole across the street opened.” He must be talking about Hey Sailor, the windowless establishment Julie passed on her way here. Mentally, Julie updates the little dot on her mental map from probably a gar bar to almost certainly a gay bar.
“I should warn you,” he adds, “the crowd gets a little wild at night. Our last waitress quit because she couldn’t hack it. Think you can stand up to the freaks and perverts?”
She can feel her smile go sharp-edged. “I don’t let anyone push me around, sir.”
Provided the patron saint of all-night diners comes through for her and she gets the job, Julie makes a solemn vow to herself just then, regarding said freaks and perverts.
This, too, will be important later.
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