thrownbyeris

[thrownbyeris]

the diner (pt 2/?)

(tw: broken glass = tiny mention of blöod)

Rhea follows him, saying something I can’t hear through the buzzing in my ears.

I shake it off, and press the water glass against my throbbing cheek. I’ve made a calendar of stupid choices recently. 

And I watch through the glass as one of the men sitting at the counter reaches and opens the register deftly, so quietly that even the old man two seats down doesn’t notice.

None of my business. I can’t really see him doing it, technically, the cup is making everything blurry. Or maybe my eyes are.

But then he grabs the full tip jar too and I think of what that money would mean to me and I’m on my feet before I realize.

The bell rings as I shove him hard, sending him sprawling through the doorway. The jar shatters and the kitchen door bursts open at the noise, Rhea taking in the scene of me gathering up bills and thousands of coins into the hem of my sweatshirt.

Rhea’s gaze shifts to me, uncertain. “What is-” Looks to where the tip jar used to be, and it clicks. “Did you-”

“He got the register,” I say, blinking. Too much moving. Maybe I should have finished the water before becoming a vigilante. “Probably should have grabbed one of you, now that I think of it.”

“One sec,” Rhea says sweetly. “Silver!”

Her suspicion is just my luck. I stare at the money and glass tucked in my sweatshirt, the blood on my hands slowly dying the bills red. Picked up a lot more broken glass than I meant to.

I dump the tips onto the counter and pull out my own money in the hopes of paying and leaving, another a bad move, because Rhea is now eyeing the cash with what can only be described as more suspicion.

“You gonna make the young lady pay?” croaks the man to my right. Rhea and I turn. 

“I know you’re old-”  I begin.

“I’m not making her pay,” says Rhea stiffly, “She had coffee.”

“After she tore up her hands going after your money?” The old man shakes his head. “That’s just what ain’t right in the world anymore. You do someone a favor and you get repaid with accusations.”

“I haven’t accused her of anything,” Rhea is getting agitated. “I need my boss to see-”

“Rhea.”

I hadn’t even seen the man exit the kitchen. He’s chewing his cigar still, watching me and the old man. 

“Silver, I-”

“Thank you, Rhea,” He motions his cigar towards me. “Sit back down for a minute.”

“I-” 

“Sit, please.”

I sit back down in my booth, and take a shaky sip of water, spilling down my chin. Great impressions overall. I swipe at it, feeling blood smear across my chin, and scrub at it with my sleeve.

“May I join you?”

I look up at Silver. I won’t waste time believing he’ll let me go easy. I saw the bat the Cook had by the kitchen door, and whatever Silver is carrying tells me he makes his own opinions.

“Sure,” I say dully, wondering where they’ll dump my body once they’re done.

Silver settles himself across from me, graceful despite his intimidating size. 

“I’m not chasing, I need money, but not like that,” I burst out. Panic makes me monologue. “Or junking, or- unless that’s easier for you, if you want me to be- I could forget any of this, I’ll find you a new jar, I-“

“I don’t like people stealing from me,” he says.

“I didn’t-”

He waves his hand. “That’s not what I’m asking, kid, I’m asking if you want a job.”

I stare at him blankly as he places my bloodied cash on the table.

“Coffee’s on the house. This part of town can be too much for people,” he says, “I need a tough server. Mine keep quitting.”

“I never-”

“I trust my regulars,” says Silver, and I realize he means the old man. “And you don’t chicken out.”

“You don’t need much experience, you need money.” Silver says. “What, you got another job?”

“I can start tomorrow,” I say, and he nods, satisfied, getting to his feet.

“Wait,” I choke up as he looks back at me. “How- how do you know I didn’t just try to take it and chicken out?”

“I trust my regulars,” says Silver, and I realize he means the old man. “And you don’t chicken out.”

[thrownbyeris]

part of the inspo for the diner came from an old sketch

[thrownbyeris]

the diner (pt 1/?)



There is a diner ahead of me.

I can see it shining, a false sun, softened by the light rain misting on my face. The bell rings as I enter, and a gust of warm air pushes my hair back.

I sit at the booth furthest from the door, in the corner by the bathroom. A lone car speeds by under Motel, VACANT, flickering across the road. The door is still closing slowly as I sit.

My view of the exit is blocked by a curly-haired girl with more piercings than I’ve ever seen.

“Hiya! Can I get you anything to start, hon?” Her smile flickers like the motel sign as I meet her eyes. I watch her lip piercings glitter as she drags the corners of her mouth back into shape.

I can’t blame her. I can see my reflection stamped on the diner windows.

“Coffee,” I say, because I have to pay for something, “And just some water, please.”

“Sure thing.” Her expression is understanding in a way that irritates me. I shove away my anger as she pops back to the counter.

Rhea- says the name tag- is back again in a moment, placing the water in front of me and pouring the coffee before moving on through the diner, refilling mugs and laughing politely at something a man at the counter says.

I sip the coffee, scalding the back of my throat, and chug half the water. I’m thirsty, and tired, and hungry, but I’ve decided I want a bed in the motel more than I want food. I'm not even sure why I asked for coffee at this hour, but I’m stupid when I’m cold.

I had to pay for something.

Across the road, the sign flickers and goes out and my heart sinks before VACANT appears again.

Right. The lights are broken.

The diner is nearly vacant, it must be close to closing now. The clock says two, the number of occupied stools at the counter.

The bell rings again and a large, broad-shouldered man chewing a cigar adjusts his coat and shakes out his hat as he stands for a moment, scanning the room. I look away just before our eyes meet and feel him watch me for a moment before he greets the server, who’s smiling again, for real now.

The light slides off his silver hair as he disappears into the back. He must be the owner, but I don’t care. He’s not the person I’m looking for.

-—-—

{ posting here and TikTok bc I like using music to hint at things, the pts are slightly different given the restrictions of each platform }

[thrownbyeris]

posting on TikTok and tumblr to force myself to write anywayyy the first piece I’ve started to share is in parts until I can figure out where to post it as a full piece (open to suggestions gimme some pls) and is mainly about 2 cigarette bastards enjoy or print it out and burn it either fuels me

edit: I will be posting in slightly different format here than TikTok for reasons that I assume are clear but question me if you wish I encourage that