Day 8: Freeday

[warmskies]

Frankly, Claude knows he's tempting fate when he reassuringly tells Marianne, "Listen, I'll be fine, it looks like the night is shaping up to be a quiet one anyway."

But what else is he supposed to say? Marianne has her cell clutched in her hands, tearstreaks still kind of visible on her cheeks in the cheap lighting of the Golden Deer Diner, and he, personally, himself, had to listen to her frantic calls from Hilda about how their cat had managed to slip out right into the path of the local stray that hung around the apartment. If Claude knows anything about cats, he's pretty confident the stubborn little thing will survive anything short of a complete mauling.... but just knowing there'd been a scuffle, and apparently a lot of blood, and, well. Claude knows his workers. He knows she'll be in a mess until she can settle for herself in the little pet E.R. that her cat will be in good hands.

So he gives her leave with his blessing, and allows Lysithea to go too since Lysithea finally has her driver's license and wants to help, and then Claude settles in for what he really does hope is a quiet night. The Golden Deer is a 24/7 diner, which is tempting fate all on its own, but he hopes - he's pretty sure - that things will be fine. At least, they'll be fine so long as they don't get any troupes from some theatre or another from their last show of the night, or kids from band practice hyped up from all the wild nonsense that happens in band. Claude knows both of these things are likely to happen, and exactly how they happen, too. He was in both.

For an entire hour after Marianne leaves, it actually is quiet. Quieter than is normal, even on a weekday night, considering nine o'clock is usually a pretty decent meal time for lots of people. Sure, it's no eight, but it's still manageable, especially for a lot of office workers who got stuck with overtime, or people who forgot that they do in fact need food to live.

That means Claude is practically expecting something to explode when the clock strikes ten, with Raphael just humming some ditty in the kitchens and him waiting patiently behind the counter as he ensures that the Pokego gym which hovers over the diner is still under firm Team Instinct domination. But nothing explodes.

Instead, the door just jingles open, and the head of a pretty blond woman pokes in. She doesn't speak. That's because she's not given a chance to even try when a voice cheerfully calls out from somewhere behind her, outside the diner, "YO! Are you guys still open? Can we come in?" The woman who didn't speak just smiles, and waggles her fingers at Claude.

Claude straightens up with a smile of his own, although he doesn't put away his cell or tab out of Pokemon Go. When one becomes the manager of an independently owned 24/7 diner, you learn to fear not god, not devil, and not Steve from down the street who threatens to bring the whole diner down because he claims he's a Mystery Shopper. You know. Despite, again: independently owned. Claude is pretty sure their city doesn't even do that...

But just because he has the most poweful ability known to mankind doesn't mean Claude is a dick about it. He smiles back at the woman and steps out from behind the counter, tucking his phone into his apron pocket. This will count as steps for hatching his egg, right? It requires, like, ten miles or something, he needs all the help he can get. "Hey, yeah, come on in," he says, smiling, and maybe 25% genuine if he's generous. If this table is decent, if weird, enough to ask if a place is open (24/7 diner aspect not withstanding) before barging in, maybe it's not that bad-

In the half second it takes for him to make this judgment call, two shapes shove their way inside and are a near blur as they make their way with immediate decisiveness towards a large booth near the back. It's like giants are stampeding through the Deer - except one of them isn't even that tall, Claude realizes. At least, he can't be taller than Claude himself. Perhaps that explains just how speedy the shorter of the two shapes is, and he practically crashes into one of the seats with legs near flipping into the air. If there's a thud that signals head meeting cheap wallpaper, Claude just hopes it isn't severe enough to get the Deer involved in a lawsuit.

That's enough to make the taller shape stumble to a stop, and he finally gets a good look at the two people who have decided to bumrush his fine establishment. "Felix!" whines - no, exclaims - no, whines a man almost as tall as Raphael in the back, and a blond just like the cook. Instead of that pretty summer wheat yellow, however, his is a bit more pale. Like hay, gathered up on the back of a truck and dry from too much travel.

And he's built like someone who would haul around hay for a living, too, although he doesn't beat out Raph. Like, gym rat built, visible past the ratty and hole-ridden tee and roughed up jeans he's wearing. In a get up like that, Claude would expect equally busted up sneakers or maybe some tough boots for that punk look... but, even at a distance, it's obvious to Claude that this big, muscular blond is wearing slippers. Like, the kind of pretty little things that a girl would wear to go with her sundress. Just, you know. Made for really big feet.

Different feet kick up at the air for a second - and those are wearing similar slippers, Claude realizes - before their owner jerks upright from where he'd done a homerun winning slide into the booth seat. The blond had hair that had fell roughly around his shoulders, but this Felix has dark black hair that's a few inches longer, and which he's hastily pulling back into a ponytail. His jeans had seemed to be in worse shape than his friends, but his tee shirt is opposite. "Listen, don't blame me for losing," he retorts.

Neither of those voices belong to the voice that had initially yelled out, however, and now a third not-that-voice rings out, drawing Claude's attention back to the entrance. "Honestly, Felix... Do you have to make everything a competition?" a second woman asks, walking past the first blonde woman and followed by a tall pretty redhead of a man who looks like he could easily be a model.

Now, Blonde 2 is pretty interesting, because she sure seems to be dressed for entirely different weather than everyone else. One of those large billowing coats is draped over her shoulder, the kind that have arm holes instead of sleeves. Frankly, it's big enough that a person could probably smuggle a couple of geese in the thing, if the geese bothered to be cooperative instead of full of hate. Unlike The Blond (tm), she doesn't wear her hair loose, and she doesn't have it cut short like Blonde 1. Well, maybe it's still short, but it's mostly held back by a braid that seems to go along the side of her head to the back, keeping it all out of those sharp green eyes of hers.

Laughter slips out from the redhead, who is dressed in direct contrast to - "Ingrid, if Felix isn't competing for something, then I don't think he's even alive in this dimension. Besides, you know how it is." He folds his hands behind his head, trailing after his two friends. "Just that time!"

Claude's Mystery Senses are tingling, but he tries to keep it on the down low at least a little bit, instead focusing on his job as he gathers up menus from their little stand. "So, just the five of you tonight?" he calls over as the redhead and his two blonde friends finally reach the table.

Ingrid looks up at him in surprise, as if she'd completely forgotten that he existed in the first place, but the initial Blonde, Blonde 1, just smiles over. "That's right! Sorry for all the commotion. It's just us five for tonight! Here, Dimitri, you can take the corner seat on this side, with us..."

So he has Felix the gremlin tugging the redhead down onto his side of the booth, Dimitri the gym rat sliding in on the opposite side of the booth with Ingrid, She of Much Coat, and finally the original blonde settling in on the edge. It kind of makes Claude want to laugh, honestly. He's pretty sure that the three aren't related - different noses, eye colors, shades of blond - but it is really hilarious to just... see them all lined up in a row like that, while their two friends who don't have blond hair settle in on the other side.

It's almost like a high school clique, or some strange dystopian work of fiction where people are sorted based on their hair colors. The only question is, in that hypothetical dystopian young adult novel, would it be the blonds with all the power, an evil council judging the two plucky protagonists (well, maybe not plucky, considering Felix the Gremlin)? Or would it be the blonds rising up for The Revolution (tm) that inevitably gets watered down in the movie version, fighting against their much more uniquely hair-colored overlords? Claude has a script in his head already.

He also has the menus ready, and sidles up to the booth with a relaxed smile. Grand entrance aside, they seem like they're all alright. He'll have to judge the tip later to see if this judgment is on the nose. "Here you go," he says cheerfully, handing the menus to each person . "But can I get anything to drink for you all?"

There's a moment of confusion as Ingrid and her fellow blonde try to find out where the drink section is located, but the redhead merely leans back in his seat and rolls his head to the side in order to grin up at Claude. "Three waters for us, if you don't mind," he says, pointing to Dimitri, Felix, and himself. This close, he actually looks even more beautiful than Claude had already kind of known him to be.

Which is kind of impressive, honestly. The thing about human beauty is that, once you start getting super close, you start noticing all the little things that don't fall into the typical "ideal" of beauty. It's the stuff that a lot of magazines do their very best to photoshop out: the stretch marks on thighs, the crinkles of eyes when they smile, the existence of their nose at all. It's photoshop, or it's makeup, and since Claude is pretty sure he's not living in the Matrix... Huh. Not a lot of guys use makeup. Him, Ignatz, and Lorenz are the only ones who do that he knows of and interacts with on the regular.

But this guy looks like he uses makeup: smooth skin, hints of eyeshadow that are just a tinge off natural, full lips. Claude makes a note to bring it up with the guy, if the conversation ever gives him a chance, or he makes one. There's something else to focus on in the meanwhile. For example, the definitely more natural flush spread along his cheeks and the stretch of throat that is exposed from his tank top. Both Dimitri and Felix look like they're similarily flushed from excitement; maybe they're in some sport or another. Maybe they're just rowdy. Either way, Claude marks down three waters for the table, and glances over to the women.

Finding the drink section happens pretty quickly, and choices are made even quicker than that. Claude goes through the usual spiel, that he'll be back in just a moment, and then he goes to their drink fountain. As he does so, he can see Raphael peering from the kitchen window where the food normally slides through. "Finally got some customers tonight, huh?" he asks, grinning broadly.

Claude grins back. "Yup, a group of five," he says, even though they're probably perfectly visible from the kitchen. Just something to hype Raphael up. He's the kind of guy that actually prefers busy days, because he doesn't care much for standing around doing nothing. The only reason he even plays Pokemon Go is because, one, his sister plays it, and, two, it often allows him to wander around places during his runs or when he wants to hang out with her. "Fire up the grill, alright, big guy?"

The humming from the kitchen gets louder, and Claude places the drinks in the perfect balanced position on a tray before he makes his way back. He wanders right into a rather passionate discussion, with Felix gesturing towards his menu. "It has peanut butter!" Felix hisses, but not in the disgust and surprise that Claude has heard so many patrons use. "Why wouldn't you get that?" Claude puts down Sylvain's water, which the redhead takes without even looking at it for a long deep gulp.

"I don't have to explain my choices to you, Felix," Dimitri says, with the solemness of a king. This is slightly ruined - or possibly made better - when that sentence is followed up with, "They cook the cheese on both sides of individual bread. Aren't you curious about that?" And he leans forward slightly, fingers braced against the edge of the table, right as Claude is leaning forward a little to place his own water before him, and -

Oh. Mmmm. Claude had understood, academically, that Dimitri's shirt had holes and tears in it, all over. Yet he hadn't quite accounted for the severity of it, like the large diagonal slashes across Dimitri's chest in a mimicry of claw marks... or just how ripped Dimitri is. Because the answer to "how ripped is Dimitri" is apparently enough to have actual cleavage, peeking out from behind those torn open gaps. Claude has never seen a man with a chest that he wants to sink his hands into so much.

Proving himself to be a god damn bastion of restraint, Claude just pulls himself back up smoothly and plasters on his customer service smile. It's his best defense against a chest like that. "Well, the good news is that you guys have plenty of time to decide on your order," he tells them, winking. "You have the good fortune of coming on a quiet night. When you all decide on your order, just wave me over, and I'll be back in, oh... maybe five seconds, max."

"We may need the time!" the so-far-unnamed mystery blonde giggles, one hand curled up at her lips.

"I hope not," Ingrid groans, before she leans across the table as well to start hissing at Felix. It's not hard to catch snippets of her words - "Just accept that he doesn't like peanut butter over cheese, not everything has to be a fight" - but Claude remembers to indulge in his manners, since he really hasn't in a while. At least not when it comes to eavesdropping.

Besides, his attention gets taken back to the redhead, who winks right back at him while putting down his now nearly downed glass of water. "Sorry about this," he says. "I'm Sylvain, by the way, and this is Felix right next to me. He's currently bickering with Dimitri and Ingrid, here... and Mercedes is our handler." He laughs a little bit. "So now you have the names for all of us if we ever get so annoying that you feel the need to call the cops!"

Claude laughs along with him, and picks up the near empty glass of water again. It doesn't miss him that Sylvain is appreciative of this action, even though it's pretty subtle as far as emotions go. "No worries, I doubt I'll be calling the cops anytime soon," he says, going back to retrieve the water refill. When he returns, Felix is right in the middle of pulling his legs up to get his delicate shins away from Ingrid kicking at him from underneath the table while Dimitri tries to calm her down.

If this were a normal diner, maybe there really would be a concern on calling the cops. But that's not how they do things at the Deer. Claude just hands the water back to Sylvain, who begins to drink it at a slightly more normal pace, and looks over to Mercedes. Despite the shenanigans going on right next to her, she seems perfectly at ease as she trails one finger along the various descriptions for each of the dishes in the menu. With one last glance at the three-way soon-to-be-attempted murder at the end of the booth, Claude smiles at her. "Want me to get you an appetizer while you guys hash out the main deal?" he asks.

That makes Mercedes look up, but it's Ingrid who answers, immediately distracted from where she's telling off Felix. "Oh!" she says, looking suddenly bashful, as if she wasn't about to use a salt shaker to commit a felony. Now that he's looking, her nails are wicked sharp, and painted blacker than he thought possible. "Actually, I was wondering if perhaps you could get started on my order ahead of the others?" Ingrid asks, drawing Claude's attention away from her nails. "I'm not trying to jump ahead or anything. It's just that it's rather big, as far as orders go..."

Felix snorts, feet still pulled far off of the floor. He gives off the impression of a very sarcastic but very feral cat that way. "I thought the two of us were going to pig out tonight," he asks, jerking his head in Dimitri's direction. "Can you not outdo both of us combined for one night, Ingrid?"

While Ingrid points at her eyes and then at Felix, Sylvain laughs. "Well, we know how she is when it comes to food, and she's been keeping up with you two all night!" he says. "Anyway, I'm good with it."

Everyone is good with it, apparently, which is also a good thing in itself... because Ingrid orders three different sandwiches for herself alone, along with a salad, and Claude is almost relieved himself when the others all decide to order some appetizers for themselves because it means they won't be starving for what might be a long while. Felix and Sylvain agree to go splits on some onion rings, Ingrid gets some fried stuffed potato skins to do the same with Mercedes, and Dimitri...

Dimitri finally looks up from the menu, and Claude realizes two things:

The first is that Dimitri is actually missing an eye - or the other one is injured, or some such things, because he's wearing an eyepatch the covers one side of his face in pitch black. It's stunning that it's such an obvious thing, but, up until now, Claude has simply... never been able to see that side of his face this entire time. He was at a distance with most of his back to Claude, and then he was seated with that side of his face not within Claude's view. Funny, the kinds of things that are in such plain sight, but perspective makes everything...

The second is that this is the first time Dimitri has looked at him.

It's write all over Dimitri's face, because he actually pauses, staring at Claude, and the thought occurs to him with some faint surprise, just like when he'd noticed the eyepatch. Mercedes, Sylvain, and Ingrid have all recognized his existence, and Felix placed his order with him. But Dimitri? Dimitri was caught up in his argument with Felix, and then looking over the menu. Now, he's looking at Claude. And the way he's looking at him...

Distantly, Claude wonders if he's dealing with a group of very high people, or at least that's, like, a little over half high in terms of diners at this one particular table. It might explain some things, like the vast amount of food that Ingrid alone is going to eat, and that Felix, at the very least, seems determined to catch up to.

"Oh," Dimitri says dazedly, before he jolts up. "Oh, I apologize, we're here making a ruckus and we never even gave our names-"

"Got it covered, Dima," Sylvain says, having nearly drained this glass of water now in the time that all this conversation and bickering has been going on.

A blink. "Oh," Dimitri echoes, and there's a quiet sound of a foot hitting a shin. Felix is halfway down his side of the table, but Dimitri doesn't seem to have noticed at all. "Well, that's - good, then. Um, some cheese sticks for me, please?"

"Cravings especially bad tonight?" Mercedes asks sympathetically, reaching around Ingrid's shoulders to squeeze one of Dimitri's.

As if realizing the words that actually came out of his mouth, Dimitri shrugs and looks a tad embarrassed. It's such a soft expression for a guy that looks like he spends at least half his day in a gym, or fighting off bears, or something. "I swear I was going to order something else, but, well. I suppose sometimes one doesn't realize their own desires until the moment strikes."

"Hey, we all have those nights, especially at ten at night," Claude laughs, even as he marvels at the words that just left this man's mouth. Who even says things like that? Who references desire on a weekday night about cheese sticks? It's ridiculous, and he really shouldn't be feeling as charmed as he is. He really shouldn't. "Alright, I'll get these out to you soon, along with the..." Glancing down, he reads off the three different sandwiches that Ingrid ordered: "Cheeseburger Deluxe, Sesame Fried Chicken Sandwich, and a Club Sandwich." He pauses before remembering to jot one last item down. "Oh, and a Cesar Salad. Coming up."

Raphael's eyes practically light up when he sees the beginning of the order, and Claude can already tell that he's going to rush out of the kitchen when he's cooked everything from start to finish, just so he can enjoy the presence of other people who also find just one sandwich to be an appetizer. The actual appetizers were a good idea, honestly, and Claude is glad that he suggested them.

Everyone else is clearly glad that he suggested them, too, considering the way their eyes light up when Claude comes back with the onion rings, potato skins, cheese sticks, and another glass of water for Sylvain. After that, well... Claude takes their orders, of course.

Felix absolutely wants that peanut butter burger, along with some of the meatiest sandwiches that they have available. Dimitri definitely goes for the inside-out grilled cheese himself, plus a cheeseburger with three different kinds of cheeses on it (he wasn't kidding about the craving) and one of the meaty sandwiches that Felix is also getting. Mercedes is a lot more interested in the onion soup they have available, and a simple club sandwich to go with it. Surprisingly, Sylvain also goes for the grilled cheese, seemingly amused by the novelty of it.

Pretty simple stuff, volume of food aside. Claude doesn't really have any reason to stick around. But, well, it is an unusually slow night. They are his only customers at the time being. Would it really harm anything? And maybe if his curiosity so desperately wants to find out the story besides such a mismatched group of people.... And maybe if he wants to respectfully just look at Dimitri and the way his muscles shift so very visibly past the torn and frayed holes in his shirt...

Listen, he's not a creep about it. He just admires, from a distance, when he has a feasible reason for why he could be looking over in Dimitri's direction. The last thing he wants to do is make anyone feel uncomfortable. And Claude has an entirely not-horny reason for looking at Dimitri, too, one that he brings up after a while of getting dragged into chatter on who came up with the idea for peanut butter burgers. "So, what's up with the punk look, you two?"

Well, punk and with slippers. Claude is still not entirely sure what to make about that. As far as he could tell from a distance, when Felix and Dimitri's feet weren't obscured by the table, and also other people's feet, the slippers fit. They aren't the kind of things that they borrowed from Ingrid, or Mercedes. So that means, logically, they belong to Felix and Dimitri respectively. Why. What kind of fashion statement is that? He so desperately wants to know, but somehow just asking people about their feet choices seems out of bounds, somehow. Claude will take it slow. Figure out the little mysteries first.

Besides, just the outfits on their own are apparently a mystery unravel considering Sylvain's reaction is to look at his two friends and laugh. "Oh, shit, he's right. You guys look completely like a pair of punks going to spraypaint graffiti on the side of an abandoned warehouse, or shopping at Hot Topic for the latest band tees. You are wearing old band tees."

"I would never vandalize property without permission or good cause!" Dimitri says, so scandalized that the exactness of his words almost goes unnoticed.

"And I'd never buy anything but jeans from Hot Topic," Felix says, disdain loaded in his voice more lethally than any gun. An onion ring hangs limply from one of his fingers. "Art stealing scumbags who make shitty art, why would I want their shirts?"

Mercedes laughs a little bit, looking delighted at Felix's disgust for capitalistic expected lack of integrity. "And that's why you get all your things from Etsy," she says. "Anything else to say about your honor?"

"I'm not good at art," Felix deadpans, and even Claude has to hide his snort of laughter behind one hand.

Realizing that they've sort of deviated from actually answering the question, Dimitri clears his throat. "We simply dressed in clothes that don't mind- well, that is to say..." He pauses, searching for his words. Thankfully, that's around the time that Ingrid leans around Mercedes to pick up the slack.

"They're just doing something that requires clothes they won't care about if they get torn up a lot," she explains, smiling apologetically. "Felix gets really energetic, and Dimitri is the only one who can keep up with him."

Is it just him that finds that particular sentence to be just ripe with innuendo? It might just be him. Ingrid, just based on what he can see of the way she speaks and how she holds herself, doesn't seem like the kind of lady to do that. Sylvain is another matter entirely. Mercedes too, now that Claude thinks about it. It's always the nice ones that get you. "Oh yeah?" he asks casually, hip leaning against the booth seat on Sylvain's side, since that seems the least crowded by far. "What do you guys plan on doing tonight? Or have done already, I suppose. Whichever it is."

"Just a home project, you know," Sylvain says casually, but just a tad too quickly to feel like the truth, if that makes any sense at all. Claude tells plenty of lies and not-exactly-truths himself. He knows the taste of one when it's in the air. Additionally, across the table, Ingrid shifts awkwardly and seems to be fighting a frown. "Nothing really interesting, honestly!"

The only people who say the project they're working on isn't interesting are people with no confidence and a lot of uncertainty about their hobby of choice, and liars. Claude is pretty sure of that, with a very few and very rare exceptions. Now he's even more curious about just what is up with this motley crew, but pushing straight away won't get him anywhere. Experience tells him that much.

So Claude just nods, accepting it as it is for now, and grins at Sylvain, Ingrid, and Mercedes. "Not helping out yourselves, huh?" he says, nodding down to their choice of attire. Sylvain with the flip flops, Mercedes with a perfectly average sundress that suits her dashingly, and Ingrid... Well, he supposes theoretically Ingrid's coat could hide similar clothes underneath. Maybe she's just embarrassed.

"Oh, we're just moral support!" Mercedes says cheerfully. That might sound playful in any other conversation that's perfectly ordinary, but it sounds true coming from her lips. So either Mercedes is an even better liar than him or Sylvain, or that's true. Claude isn't sure which is the more intriguing option. "Besides, Dimitri and Felix are so particular."

"What does that mean?"

As Mercedes and Sylvain team up to start mercilessly teasing Felix on things like how he prefers his exercise and the way he takes things like tea, Dimitri tries to peer over the two other heads that are inbetween him and the rest of the diner. "Do you have any hobbies, Claude?" he asks politely, as though this isn't just an encounter between a customer and the guy who's getting paid to be here. Like they're meeting up at the library and reached for the same book, got wrapped up in conversation. Something like that.

Claude isn't oblivious. He likes to think he's the very opposite of oblivious, as a matter of fact. So he picks up on that awkward and shy little smile Dimitri sends at him, how bright that single eye shines at him, hopes to get his attention. This isn't the first time someone has taken a shine to him, and definitely not at the diner alone... But somehow, this time doesn't feel that bad. He smiles back.

"I run a law blog, actually, so a lot of my time is spent reading up on cases, new and old, and keeping up with all sorts of changes to law. Stuff like that."

Like so many other people before, Dimitri looks surprised. "Oh, are you studying to be a lawyer?" he asks, which is also something a lot of people before have asked him.

"Oh, nah," Claude laughs. "That requires a lot of money, and - well, let's just say I have my own reasons." His grandfather could probably foot the bill, and may even gladly do it, but Claude knows that would come with some strings attached. Doing all the work to cut those strings, or unknot them where they're tied.... It would be a lot. There's his parents too, of course, but that means entering the bloodbath of inheritance with his brothers, and, frankly, Claude thinks he wouldn't mind too much if he never saw their faces again.

Of course, he's made sure he has his way into both parts of his family, if things ever come to that, or if he sees a good reason to... But that's something for the vast unknown which is the future. For the time being, it's filled with complicated twists of thorns and vines... and a random, if cute, guy sitting at his work waiting for his two burgers and a grilled cheese doesn't need to know all that about him.

Most people don't need to know all that about his life, including his actual friends. Claude finds that to be perfectly normal. What person knows every single thing about another person anyway?

Dimitri nods his head, no doubt restrained from nosing about from a sense of politeness - he seems like a really polite guy. What customer at a diner ever worries about introducing himself to his server? "Well, it's certainly an interesting thing to maintain..." Claude is expecting the usual spiel, about why he couldn't make more of a career out of it, get a loan, all that. Instead, Dimitri seems to digest the information for a second. "What got you interested in that sort of thing?"

...Huh. That's the first time anyone has ever asked him why for anything on what he does. Oh, sure, sometimes Lorenz does, especially back when the two of them first met, but that's always more along the lines oooooof... Claude, what on earth are you thinking territory rather than a genuine curiosity towards his feelings and motives. He's still deciding just how to answer that when the bell at the kitchen sounds off with its cheery little ring.

"Looks like that's you guys!" Claude says, cheery in an almost sort of ironic way because it's not like there's anyone else in the diner right now. It's kind of wild, honestly. Is there something going on in another part of town that's emptied out this part? Maybe he should just be thankful for now. Then, later, he can bug Lysithea on it. "I'll be back in a second... although it'll probably take longer than that to bring everything over."

Seriously. He has almost a dozen sandwiches to carry alone, and then he has to handle Mercedes' soup so that it doesn't crash into the floor. In the interim, Ingrid ordered another batch of potato skins, too, so that gets added to the pile. Claude doesn't think he's ever seen Raphael happier in the kitchen besides on really big lunch rushes. His only table seems pretty happy too, all attempts at conversation completely put to the side as they all hastily begin to organize the table so that it has the max amount of room possible. It's only a diner booth; that seems an almost impossible task.

Somehow, with some impressive plate arrangement and the sacrifice of one plate to be nothing but a pile of collective fries so that they can get rid of so many other plates, they manage to do it. Friendly as this group has been, Claude knows when his services are no longer required. As they all begin to happily tear into their food, with Sylvain once again drinking more water, Claude turns his back to them so that he can return to the counter space. Friendly bickering bounces off his back and it's hard not to smile.

Raphael is poking his head out the kitchen window, which is almost definitely not allowed for most people, but it's fine. Probably. If there's any one thing that Raph loves more than food and pumping iron, it's seeing other people enjoy food, too. And there's no denying that Table 8 in the back is living it up with food being stuffed into faces and chatter filling up the diner as though it were anything but empty. "They seem like great folks," Raphael tells Claude once he settles behind the counter. Raph doesn't have a high bar for what qualifies a great person, admittedly, but Claude can't disagree with him here yet.

"They sure seem to be," he says, sneaking out his phone that's been going this entire time so that he can click out of Pokemon Go before he eats up his whole damn battery. But he has gotten some steps in, sort of. He'll take that. Phone away again, he leans back against the part of the back counter where they store up all their coffee machines and multitude of cups. "Apparently they got a project two of them are working on. Probably made them pretty hungry, if their order is anything to go by."

"Huh! Well, good for them! You gotta eat if you wanna work!" Claude is pretty sure it's the other way around, at least to other people, but he kind of likes Raphael's version. "So, what's the project they're workin' on?"

"Dunno."

"Oh." Raphael considers this response before he nods. "Well, lemme know when you find out."

Claude laughs a little bit, quiet and under his breath. There's something to be said for people who are just... too earnest, too straightforward, for any other bullshit. The whole world that people have made for themselves is a complicated web, where no one reveals their entirety to anyone else and everyone has made up complicated rules on who can say what how. It's a world Claude is quite familiar with. Hell, he's become a master at navigating it. But people like Raph... They just don't see a need for all the fuss. He rather likes that part of him.

After all, it means that Raphael doesn't beat around the bush on what he's wondering, and he doesn't hesitate to trust Claude. He doesn't hesitate to see him just as he is in a lot of ways. He knows Claude is smart. He knows Claude likes to know things. That's enough for Raphael, because he's also come to the conclusive decision that Claude is A Good Person and nothing can budge Raphael once he's decided on something. If there's any person who makes Claude remember how valuable morals are, honestly, Raphael isn't the worst choice.

"I'll let you know," he says cheerfully, and begins to actually do his job instead of hanging around looking pretty, although that is also a pretty important job if he does say so. For right now, it's mostly just hanging around, taking care of the occasional refill as plates start to quickly get cleaner at a rather impressive speed. Eventually, someone else actually steps into the diner for a coffee and a late night breakfast of pancakes. Compared to the massive order that got prepared before? It's out in the blink of an eye.

Unlike his rowdier table in the back, this person seems to stay away and stay mostly quiet as he enjoys a coffee. Claude adjusts his personality and interactions accordingly, not much bothered by either the polite but distant mannerisms of the man, or breakfast in the middle of the night. Sometimes customers just don't come into talk. That's fine. Idly, Claude picks up on the Italian accent, the dark suit and fedora... At one point, he almost thinks he spots something green poking out of the suit pocket, but it's nothing.

Normally, he'd pry more into that... But prying can only happen with certain customers, and he doesn't want to ruin what's looking to be a perfectly good night so far. And, honestly? That perfectly good night, Table Number 8 in the back, has a lot of his attention as it is. Most of his attention. And the stereotypical Italian who looks like he's going to fulfill an assassination hit doesn't even stay that long. By the time he leaves and Claude cleans up his table - everything neatly placed onto the plate, he appreciates that - Table 8 has hardly calmed down much at all. Laughter and conversation still bubbles up from it.

The food is a different matter, and Claude admires it as he steps back to the table to get rid of any empty plates. With how much food Raphael stuffs onto the Golden Deer's burgers, most people sometimes struggle to eat even one. In the short amount of time that Claude has left them, Dimitri, Ingrid, and Felix have all devoured all three of what they ordered. Well, almost devoured. Felix is still stubbornly working on his meat mountain of a sandwich, and Claude suspects that he's only been held back as he is because his mouth is too small. Dimitri is also working on his grilled cheese, but more because he's savoring it, a smile on his face. He looks cute.

So that leaves Sylvain, Mercedes, and Ingrid, of the food devouring monsters and apparent queen, with empty plates. There's still a mountain of fries dominating the middle of the center of the table, but it's sort of stopped being a Mt. Everest. Maybe more of a Chimborazo. As Claude is marveling this, Ingrid and Dimitri immediately start to fuss at any mess they've made. "Oh, I'm so sorry about this," Ingrid says while Dimitri hastily stacks some plates together with stuffed cheeks and a corner of his grilled cheese poking out. "We weren't even thinking about this."

"You do know this is my job, right?" Claude says, laughing a little more obviously now as he accepts the plates from a very contrite Dimitri. "A little mess is hardly the worst part about all of this."

With his mouth full and exactly too polite as Claude would expect to speak with his mouth full, Dimitri just shakes his head. Ingrid picks up the verbal end. "Still... They're a lot of plates."

"And they won't drop!" he says, shrugging and turning back to dump them into the busing bin that's just behind the counter space. In the time it takes for him to turn around, Mercedes and Ingrid have gotten up to allow Dimitri the ability to scoot out. While the ladies slide back inside, and Mercedes playfully says something to Felix and Sylvain, Dimitri comes on over. In the light of the diner, it's clear that Claude wasn't seeing things. Definitely slippers on his big ol' feet, things that make him just about silent as he walks over to him.

"We appreciate your service tonight," Dimitri says, in that stiff and awkward manner that makes Claude suspects he's been mentally practicing. "The food has been delicious."

"I'll have to let Raph know you said that." Claude comes from around the counter, leaning against the end of it with his fingers folding over the edge. "It's been such a slow night, we were starting to wonder if we were the last people on earth. And he loves cooking."

"And you?" When Claude just cocks his head at him, Dimitri clarifies, "Do you love working here?"

Ha. What a question. Being a server in a 24/7 diner - or really most servers in any restaurant business - isn't typically a job that one loves. "There are probably better ones," Claude admits, because... it feels like it's fine to admit that to Dimitri. Even disregarding his own attraction to the hot blond towering over him, he's just one more customer in a line of them. There's no harm in admitting the obvious to him. "But I like the people, really. My coworkers are all great, and we have a lot of fantastic customers."

It's not really anything worth smiling about, but Dimitri does anyway. "There are worse reasons for staying with a job, I suppose," he says. Before Claude can ask what he does, Dimitri continues. "Is that why you study law? Because you like people?"

Huh. Claude blinks before his memory gets back to functioning, and he grins. "Oh, right. Why I run a law blog, right? Well, it's definitely one of the reasons." It's a major reason, as a matter of fact. Frankly, not a lot of people really understand law. It's too full of specifics, or jargon that requires a lot of searching to really get, and can just be... tedious, to put it lightly. At the same time - "But I genuinely like it all, too. It's amazing to see how different places and different people just... try to decide what they think and hope is justice. I mean, don't get me wrong, it's frustrating at times, too. You can see just how low people can sink in order to win a case."

In a lot of cases, the second a person realizes he's talking about law, he can see the interest fade from their eyes and almost see how their thoughts have turned in another direction. That's not with the case with Dimitri, however. This tall and one-eyed guy in ripped clothing with slippers on his feet just nods, attention focused purely on him as he rambles about law, and court cases. "Can you give me an example?" he asks, not just out of politeness, but because there's actual interest in his tone.

Claude could probably given him a couple of dozen examples just off the top of his head, honestly. The history of law is long and happening basically every single day. Even he can't keep track of all of it as it happens, as much as he sometimes tries. Still, so that he doesn't overwhelm the poor guy, Claude hums thoughtfully. "Alright, so, when it comes to evidence, sometimes the prosecutor won't play nice and share it promptly with the defense lawyers. Instead, they'll send it at the very last minute. So..."

And that's how they get wrapped up in a conversation about the various kinds of issues prevalent in law, whether that's something difficult such as a lack of individuals running for the DA office of local cities and counties, or more... human flaws. Dimitri clearly has trouble now and then keeping up, asking Claude to explain something a little more, or go more indepth on something else... but he's interested. He gets passionate, too, asking what can be done, how things work.

There's something nice to finding someone just as passionate as him. Maybe that's also part of why he's stuck around with the Golden Deer. Sure, it's a sort of customer service hell, with so many people who don't seem to care much about how they treat their servers... But he's found that same passion in Lorenz, and Leonie, and Raphael, who especially has a lot of passion but just needs a direction to point it in.

Speaking of Raphael.... At some point, while they're in the middle of discussing the unfortunate relationship that can often arise between defense attorneys and local police departments, Claude looks over to the table and stops himself. "Oh, looks like your friends are almost ready to go." All of them have gotten up mostly from their seats, and seem to have stuck around mostly because Raphael has emerged from the kitchens to engage his new favorite people in active conversation. Sylvain and Felix mostly just seem to be going along with the flow, and the same can be said of Mercedes. But Ingrid? Her and Raphael seem absolutely enraptured in their conversation, the two of them gesturing back to the table (now completely devoid of even the faintest trace of fries).

It's cute, and Claude is amused to see that the plates and glasses have all been carefully and politely stacked best as possible. Apparently, even without Dimitri there to fuss, the others seem to care about that kind of thing. Probably have been in food service themselves, really. Those are often the types who think to stack plates and cups.

"Oh!" Dimitri says, and rapidly spins around in place. It takes a second for Claude to realize that he's trying to spot any sort of clock - which, in the Golden Deer, would be a large one made of bronze whose antlers serve as the frame for the clock face itself. They are, if nothing else, committed to their aesthetic. "I apologize, it must be *so* late for you," Dimitri says, turning to look down at Claude.

"I mean, this is a 24/7 diner," Claude reminds him, grinning again. "Although you would be a bother if we had a closing time." He laughs some more at the panicked expression that falls across Dimitri's face, unable to stop teasing him a little bit. "But just remember the pay and not get caught up in how full you feel, alright?" And he does kind of hope that three burgers a piece is enough for Dimitri, Felix, and Ingrid. Although Raphael would probably be happy if they ordered more...

This bit of humor flies right over Dimitri's head as he nods seriously. "Of course. We would never do such a thing as avoid paying our meals. Just - please, pardon me a moment." He hurries over to the rest of the group, who perk up when they see him rejoin them, and there's a quick break from the no-doubt fascinating conversation on food to put their heads together in a manner that Claude is more than familiar with. It's the gesture of every single friends group that waited until the end of dinner to figure out just how they'd all split the pay, and who would take care of the tip.

At least it doesn't take long for them all to come to a decision, and he watches as the friends crowd around the table while Raphael happily goes to stand by Claude. That's also around the time that there's the rumble of a motorcycle outside, followed by quiet, and finished up with Hilda hastily hurrying through the front doors. Immediately, she makes a beeline for Claude while pulling her backpack from around her shoulders. "Marianne is staying at the vet clinic, and she had to use Lysithea's car for the cat carrier," she says, giving only a passing glance to the group. Without any context, they look like just your average group of friends, and not that much weirder than any of the other usual late night weirdos. "So ta da! Here I am!"

Claude grins. "Marianne really is the only person in the whole world who could ever convince you into taking an extra shift," he says fondly.

While Hilda is groaning because she knows he's right, Raphael just beams. "She's sure lucky to have someone who loves her as much as you do, Hilda!" he says decisively, as if it's the most obvious truth in the world. Well, he's not entirely wrong.

Hilda knows that, too, sighing with one hand cradling her cheek before she smiles. "I guess everyone gets got by some version of that sooner or later," she says, tucking her bag behind the counter in a little nook where it won't be bothered much, or be a bother to anyone else. While her hands focus on pulling her apron out, she peeks over the top of the counter at the gaggle of friends who seem to be doing... something. Correcting an error in exact change or something, from what he knows of Dimitri now. "This as busy as it's gotten tonight?"

"Pretty much," Claude says with a shrug, leaning against the counter. It's probably not professional to just be lounging around chatting up his friends-slash-coworkers like this, but, if he may be permitted, his counterpoint: it's starting to reach midnight. "There was a guy who decided that it was breakfast in some time zone, even if it wasn't this one, but he just finished up and left. You came back just at the end of all the excitement!"

Alternatively, she's come just as their quiet stretch is the prelude to a weird midnight busy stretch, but that's something they can all deal with when it comes to them. Hilda knows that as well as he does, but she doesn't call him out on it. It is what it is, in the end. "I'll start taking care of the dishes, then!" she decides as she straightens up, sliding the apron over her head and tying it with skillful fingers around her waist. "You know, while it's still - oh, looks like they're done."

Sure enough, the group is moving away from the table and to the exit... for the most part. Of course Dimitri is heading right towards them, a fact which Claude has to fight against slightly or else he suspects he'd grin like an ass. "We really can't stay for much longer," Dimitri says apologetically, nodding politely at Hilda once he knows she's there. "And I am certain that we would only be a bother to your other customers if we did."

"Nothing but complaints all night," Claude says, his drawl seeming incredibly loud in the emptiness of the diner.

Dimitri raises his eye up to the ceiling like he thinks the divine can help him in a 24/7 diner before he focuses back onto him. "Well, regardless of any complaints," he says, straitlaced and straight-faced and anything but straight, "I do feel bad about leaving in the middle of our conversation." He ducks his head down politely. "I hope you all have a good night.... And we can finish our conversation next time, Claude!"

Just like that, he turns with a hasty wave over his shoulder, and disappears.

"Charming the customers again~," Hilda says, all sing-song as she trails behind him over to the now abandoned table.

"Says the master of her art~," Claude sing-songs back, and perks up when he sees the tell-tale green peeking out from underneath the stack of plates. Carefully, he lifts the stack up just enough and slides out.... Okay. Well. Needless to say, with all the burgers, and the other food, the bill ran fairly high for the five of them. That's just something that happens in the average big group, let alone groups with such big eaters in them. The average recommended tip would have been impressive enough on its own.

But this... Claude hastily does some math while Hilda gapes - first at the pile of receipts, then the money in his hand, and finally the receipt still left on the table. "What kind of saints did you give food to tonight?" she finally asks, while Claude marvels at the tip they all left.

"Really hungry ones," Claude says with a triumphant grin as he tucks the wad of cash away into his tip pouch. "That's what you get for not being an ever present worker, Hilda!"

They both playfully give each other a little more shit, clean up what little is there, and eventually customers start pouring in again - some truckers who need to push their schedule, artists and college students foregoing the night for projects, other people who don't mention what exactly they're doing out this late at night. It's fine, and it keeps them busy. Keeps them funded.

In the back of Claude's mind, however, his mind keeps digging up Dimitri's parting words. Next time. Was the food really that good? Or had their conversation on unchallenged shitty defense attorneys really hooked him in? It's a mystery, really.

And yet Dimitri does come back. He comes back the next night, as a matter of fact, with his only reoccuring friend being Mercedes, and a couple of new faces. Dimitri doesn't have a huge and bustling friends group or, if he does, they're not all the kind of people he brings to a diner in the middle of the night. As far as Claude can tell, Dimitri has seven friends he sticks close to, and night two is when Claude meets the other half of them.

Nights three, four, and onwards are when he really gets to know them, in the course of navigating dinner options for the whole group, especially since the Golden Deer is not above switching things up every month.

Annette is a sweetheart with a lot of energy, a flickering attention span that hops from one conversational topic to the next, and seems to keep dropping her forks. Actually, she has a lot of concern in general, apparently, for the silverware that the Deer gives her, and Claude spends at least a portion of any meal with her reassuring her that she hasn't... bent the metal or something. Either their stuff looks cheap, or she's a weight lifter and they don't know it. Claude keeps his mind open to the possibilities. He also remembers her favorite meals, and how she has a tendency towards fish, if they get it, and always finishes up with a dessert.

Ashe has a favorite hoodie that Claude never sees him without, which, honestly, is pretty damn understandable considering it seems to be made out of some... fur? Leather? Suede? It has a gentle gray pattern to it, and Claude would worry that he's some terrible baby seal killer or something, but Ashe is one of the gentlest guys he's met. He always makes sure the tips are even better than they normally are, and makes sure to compliment Raphael heavily. That probably explains the month where they just have a huge selection of fish dishes when they decide to change out the menu as they do every month, and Ashe and Annette are happy as clams. If Annette has a tendency towards fish, Ashe has an infatuation with fish. He's not sure if they're dating or not.

Mostly Claude isn't sure if they're dating because of Dedue, who the vast majority of the group seems to adore, and Dimitri especially. Dedue is the second tallest man Claude has ever seen, which makes him mildly jealous because Dimitri and Sylvain are kind of outnumbering his own group here on that front. But he's an eye of calm in the midst of all their more excitable friends, and perfectly polite. If he's honest, after a lot of conversations with the guy, Claude is pretty sure that he's actually a bit of a softy, and also has some very carefully coiled rage in him. Claude can respect that, just like he can respect some of Dedue's odd habits, like how he also mimics Sylvain's tendency of calling in before he enters the diner, and eating steaks as raw as he can get them.

The exact faces always change, except for one: Dimitri. It's always Dimitri who comes in, just the exact friends who are different, although Mercedes certainly seems to make a stellar effort to tag along as much as she can. A 95% appearance rate, from what Claude has seen. And no matter who shows up, they always leave an incredible tip.

"I mean, they are kind of weird," Lysithea points out one night, when the group had dipped in on an especially busy night, and it's all washed out calm again like the tide. Now all that's left to do is clean up. Once again, a very impressive tip has been left behind. They all try to steal that table, when the group comes in, but Claude is incredibly pleased to say that Dimitri seems to have designated him as his favorite and always tries to choose a booth or table where he's serving. "Have you seen how they dress?"

"We really shouldn't gossip about our patrons," Lorenz sighs, in for the night as the host. Not that they really need someone doing host work, Claude thinks, at least at night... But then again, it is handy to have someone thinking about what tables are available so that they don't have to, and answering the phones. Speaking of phones...

Claude laughs, and then grimaces as he steps over to another booth to find that someone has just.... left a diaper there tucked in the corner of one seat. Cool. Great. "I mean, we've had weirder," he says, leaving his bus bin behind as he goes to grab a garbage bag instead. "Remember that phone call Lorenz got last week? About cereal and stuff?"

A moment of silence must be had for Lorenz, whose face screws up recalling that awkward conversation. Marianne is the one to break it as she cleans up the counters. "They're really nice...." Which is true. Even beyond the tipping, every single member of Dimitri's friends group takes care not to be rude or impatient with the Golden Deer staff. Felix is probably the worst, but Claude has had time to get to know him. He's not so much rude so much as just abrasive at times, or blunt, but he's never intentionally cruel. For Marianne, he's especially careful, after he was too much himself and made her flinch. It's an attention of care.

"They're still weird," Lysithea insists, sliding her latest bucket into Raphael's arms as he more than happily takes care of the dirty dishes that need to be done. They're all too busy clearing the place out, and, well, fortunately Raphael loves to help. "I mean, Sylvain drinks so much water. I don't think I've ever seen him go to the bathroom for as much as he drinks."

"I don't think he likes the heat," Marianne says quietly, smiling to Claude when he returns from the trash with his bin in her arms. Now that she's gotten adjusted to working at the diner, no longer jittery and clumsy enough to be a threat, she does her best to help... and carrying a bin is easy. It's Raphael who's doing the washing, after all. She keeps talking, even as she carries the bin to the back. "He tends to come on really cloudy or rainy days... Have you noticed?" And everyone, obviously or subtly, looks at Claude.

Well, of course they look at him. Grabbing another bin, Claude grins slyly. He's.... possibly been keeping tabs on their new favorite regulars. "That would certainly explain why he comes in at night, too," he agrees. "Although you think he would be suffering side effects from drinking so much water. That can mess up a body... Although, honestly, I feel like he has to be some sort of aesthetic influencer on a social media site. I just don't know which one."

"Is this because he's allegedly pretty?" Lysithea asks warily, twirling a bin around in her hand.

"He is an extremely beautiful man, yes," Claude says without shame, because he refuses to let heteronormativity do that to him. "But I've noticed that his skin almost sort of shimmers.... I think he's using a lotion or makeup or something. Hilda should ask him where he gets it sometime..." Setting his bin at the table of the very people they were gossiping about, he crouches down to make sure no napkins fell down onto the floor. Even the best of people miss that part... But then his brain stops. "Oh, shit."

In the distance, he thinks he can hear Lorenz mutter, "Please not in the literal sense."

Good news for Lorenz, but bad news for Dimitri's group- "I think one of them dropped their wallet when they left," Claude says, reaching out to grab it. Everyone knows him extraordinarily well, because he's surrounded by his fellow floor employees in a heartbeat by the time he stands up straight. Well, he is already flipping through it, admittedly... And raising his eyebrows at what he finds.

Lysithea speaks up first, incredulous. "Aren't they all adults? Where's the driver's license here?"

"Perhaps he had to take it out for something," Marianne suggests, willing to believe things that aren't the immediate worst case scenario when it comes to other people. Not her, sure, but other people. You know. "Sometimes you forget things..."

"He has a credit card, so he has to have some form of identification somewhere," Claude says, sliding one such thing up a little more in its pocket to see the name that's there. "Oh- it's Dimitri's. Didn't take him for the clumsy type."

Lorenz and Lysithea both give him a judgmental stare that he really has never earned once in his life. Except for all the times he did, he supposes. "I do recall that you said something that made him spill his drink all over himself, earlier tonight," Lorenz says slowly.

"Stop flirting with customers, you're not in high school anymore," Lysithea says, as though she didn't just leave that period of her life pretty recently.

"He gave me his phone number last week, so I think I'm allowed," Claude drawls and, ignoring their gaped mouth looks right at him, rifles through the rest of his stuff. Part of it is his curiosity, sure, but he's also wondering if there's something else in there... A different phone number, or something. Whenever he's tried to call Dimitri, usually in the afternoons before he comes into work, he's just gotten voicemail. Maybe he shouldn't be surprised, considering what is apparently Dimitri's normal schedule.

Instead, what he finds is an incredibly worn out business card, with one corner so bent that it's holding on through sheer miracle and a tear on one side, with the words:

EISNER MERC AND ETC.
MERCURY MIGHT BE IN RETROGRADE
BUT YOU DON'T HAVE TO BE
HANDLERS OF ALL NOCTURNAL EVENTS AND OTHERWISE

All four of them stare at it for a moment. It has a very pretty lace pattern framing the words, and a strange pale green that Claude feels as though he's seen at a couple of churches in town and literally nowhere else. "Eisner.. Merc, huh?" he repeats a loud, glancing down at the phone number listed beneath the words. He doesn't think he's ever seen it in the phone book.

Well, he may not have found it in the phone book, but apparently someone has read it in some book somewhere, because Lysithea smacks one fist into her palm. "Oh, I know that name. It's right by my favorite bookstore - Eisner Merc. I have no idea who runs it."

"You've never been inside?" Lorenz asks, with at least a small amount of curiosity.

"I thought it might have been an antique shop, or something just as interesting," Lysithea says, crossing her arms, "so I tried once, but it was closed. It didn't have any of its hours on the door or the windows, either."

Eisner Merc and Et Cetera, a mysterious store that apparently has no hours available to the public, isn't in the phonebook, and yet a card of theirs which Dimitri has in his wallet. "Intriguing," Claude hums, looking down at the number to memorize it. Does Dimitri work there? Would it explain his weird hours?

Right as he's in the middle of committing the number to memory, however, the door at the back clinks open, and he immediately shoves the wallet into his apron pocket. All of them turn around, taking a look over at their latest customer... and there's a pause, instead of Lorenz immediately hurrying over to help place them, and the rest of them going back to cleaning.

The guy at the door is.... Well, it's hard to describe, exactly, but there's something off about him. Oh, sure, that sort of vibe is so prevalent in the middle of the night in a diner where time doesn't feel real, sure. Claude has experienced it so much that he's long stopped caring. But the guy - soon two guys, now, or at least they look like guys - is just different from that. They look way too pale - paler than Lysithea, and Lysithea squares up for constant sickness in the ring every other month. Bags under their eyes, boots covered in mud, hoodies and coats that look like they've been through the ringer....

Lorenz recovers first, while Marianne shifts behind Claude, and Lysithea tries to pretend she's casually holding her empty bin down at her side and wouldn't go to war with it. "Hello, welcome to the Golden Deer Diner," Lorenz says, stepping forward to take up all of the two guys' attention so that the rest of them aren't looked at. Long purple hair, loud voice, the tendency to wear roses on any part of his attire that he can get away with even when it doesn't make sense - he's very good at it. "A table for two, or do you have others you're waiting for?"

Jerking stiff, as though they're the ones caught off-guard, the guys eye Lorenz in a way that Claude, personally doesn't like. "Oh, we're not-" The man coughs into his fist, throat raspy, like he's been shoveling dirt into his throat. "...We're not here to eat. We're just looking for something that was left behind."

This whole set up stinks, and Claude can tell that he's not the only one who smells it. Lorenz pauses for only the most split of seconds, something not really perceptible to people who haven't hung around him much. "Well, that's quite unfortunate," he says. "What is it that you left behind?"

"A wallet," says the man's companion who came in after him, sounding slightly less like they've choked on dirt in the last half hour. In fact, they sound like the exact opposite, and it's smooth in a way that sets alarm bells going off in Claude's head. "We think it was..." And there's a pause, as though the person is looking at the diner for the first time. Claude isn't on every shift, but he suspects that this is this person's first time. "The booth, over there."

And they point right over to the booth that Claude and the girls are standing near. The booth Dimitri and his friends had been sitting in just a half hour later.

The diner seems far too empty again, too strangely empty just like it had been on the night that Dimitri had first stepped into the dinner, and Claude almost feels as though the wallet is burning in his apron. Claude smothers the feeling neatly, like he has a million other times in the past when doing just regular food service. What makes this irregular? He's yet to find out. "Oh, we just cleaned that one out," he says casually, giving his own bright smile when those eyes shift over to him. A chill crawls up his neck. "It must have gotten picked up in the time you first left it. I'm really sorry about that! Sometimes things get missed, even by us."

For a second, there's nothing but silence, and Claude keeps his smile on his face even as he hears the soft sound of Marianne picking up a glass of water that was left behind by Sylvain - seventh one in a row, lucky number seven. He suspects she isn't picking it up in the interest of cleaning. Even as they watch, the two guys turn away from them all, leaning in close to mutter at each other. There's no reason for them to suspect that he's lying, is there?

Except, apparently, there is, because the two suddenly whirl in on him. On all of them, and the first guy begins to stride forward with aggression rolling off of him in waves. "If you're hiding things for that arrogant dog, then you're just as good as dead," he says, reaching into his coat jacket.

Claude shoves Marianne over to the direction of the counters, where there's more cover because fuck, is this a gang thing? Lysithea bristles, hurrying over to back up Lorenz even as their friend and coworker tries to step in front of the bastard because Lorenz lacks as much common sense as he is full of fucking chivalry. "Please calm down, or I'm going to have to ask you to-"

Lorenz doesn't get a chance to finish his sentence, and Lysithea freezes, staring. Claude stares, too. He thought it was a gun they'd have to worry about. But.... It's a skull. A skull, human, held out towards Lorenz as the man is left helplessly grasping at his throat and... and....

He's floating. No, he's - lifted up into the air, and the lights throughout the entire fucking diner flicker, there's something there, a shape, a - Claude has no idea, and his entire body is filled with goosebumps, and what the fuck-

"STOP!" Lysithea screams - roars - more than her short and frail body can hold, and the diner shakes, lights flickering. There are dozens of people there with them, in the inbetween darkness. Lorenz is suddenly dropped, sputtering and coughing on the floor. Both of their intruders stare at Lysithea, shocked. Claude is admittedly staring too. None of them, very clearly, have any idea what just happened.

This is a problem for skull guy, because Lysithea takes advantage of the moment to fling her bus bin right at his face with all the might of a tiny god. The sharp clunk of plastic against a head snaps Claude out of it, and he immediately rushes forward to join her. He's not the only one rushing forward. On the other side, he can see the second person doing the same, and the corner of his eye, there's Raphael, and a blur of blue, and he has so many people under his watch that he has to act quickly and his brain is going through a million things because he never expected to do this and-

A CrAcK snaps through the air, glass shattering against the second guy, water pouring everywhere into a huge puddle on the floor. Marianne. Yeah, it's Marianne, and Claude grins, wild and wide and adrenaline burning through him. That attack was just enough for the guy to falter, crumple slightly against a table as he recovers. It's enough for Claude, too. "RAPH!" he bellows, him and Lysithea both at Lorenz's side as they haul him up.

Raph is like a bull; he'd charge right through all the tables to tackle those two guys up front. He can see it on the blond's face from across the restaurant. That's now how Claude does things, however. It was something he'd told every single one of them at one point: they're not here to get into a fight with anybody, not if they're not sure they can win it quickly and easily. He always figured that would be the case with an armed robbery. Whatever this is? That goes double.

And Raph listens. He always listens. He charges over, faster than anyone would think because they miss his long legs for his forest of muscle. In a heartbeat, Raph is hauling Lorenz up into his arms, and Lysithea is there with him. This leaves Claude's hands free, which is good, because the two guys are recovering. Immediately, he starts grabbing whatever he can from the tables near them, following after Raph to cover his back. Saltshakers, pepper grinders, a bottle of ketchup - anything and everything. Apparently neither asshole was expecting this, especially Claude's dead-center aim, or Marianne's frantic barrage. Using weird fucking skull-based bullshit magic apparently made them cocky.

But - one of them straightens. It's only ketchup bottles. It's the second, still in that puddle from the glass of water, and he reaches into his coat, too, and Claude can't move his hand fast enough to stop him-

He suddenly stumbles, hits the ground, knees first, and Claude stares because it almost looks like he's being dragged. Did the magic they use fail? Skull guy looks back too, startled-

And that's when two shapes burst through the diner doors, shoving their way inside and a blur of blond and blue-black smashes straight into one of them.

It's Skull Guy, going down with a scream and the sound of a hard crunch. Between the tables, Claude can see the skull rolling across the floor. Past the other tables, there's a hard clatter, a smack. Second comes scrambling upwards, pale, more wet than he already was, and trying to back away towards the door as he tries to dig through his jacket. "You'll regret this-" he snarls-

A messenger bag slams into the back of his head with a distinctly heavy and plastic thud, and Second goes to his knees, where a.... seal soon flings its whole body against him. While Second goes down further to the sounds of angry seal barking and growling, Claude slowly drags his eyes away from that peculiar sight to stare at...

Mercedes lowers her messenger bag and waves at him. Annette, her hair on actual fire, starts to immediately fuss. "Oh, Mercie! You just got that laptop!"

Towering over both women, Dedue politely raps his knuckles against the dooframe. "May we come in?" he asks, as if a seal isn't biting some sort of creepy cultist asshole into submission right at his feet, and a pair of wolves aren't presumably ravaging Skull Guy in the forest of diner tables.

All of them stare - Raph still holding Lorenz, Lysithea somehow having gotten a hold of a steak knife, Marianne with a serving tray held in front of her. Claude, running on adrenaline and guided by habit, just says with a kind of manic cheerfulness, "Oh, sure, come on in!"

And they do.

While Dedue, Mercedes, and a still very-much-on-fire Annette all take care of the guy at the doors, still being smacked about by a seal, there's the sound of.... crunching, creaking, and a familiar voice speaks up. "Claude! Are you and all of your friends alright?"

Slowly, heart pounding in his chest still, Claude turns his head to look over to where Skull Guy had fallen. Dimitri is now poking his head over the tables, eyepatch missing and revealing nothing but jagged scar tissue. His shoulders are bare; Claude suspects that he's fully nude. From behind Dimitri, Felix hauls himself up, definitely fully nude with his tits hanging out and a very attractive set of muscles in sharp relief as he drags Skull Guy through the diner. Unfortunately, Skull Guy does not appear to be fully mauled himself... but he's holding his arms close to his chest, sleeves shredded and soaked with blood.

A lot is happening right now, and Claude kind of wishes he had more time to digest it instead. Instead, letting out a breath, he raises both hands and waggles them. "I'm alright," he says. "But Lorenz got picked up by, uh... something."

"Enslaved spirits of the dead," Dedue says. At some point, Ashe joined their group, and the seal is missing. This connection does not escape Claude's notice. "I suppose there is no point in lying to you. Ingrid will not care for it, when she rejoins us once she is finished searching things from above."

"Pardon?" Lorenz says, dazed more than a little bit. Marianne seems to have lost her voice entirely, although she's also hiding her eyes due to Felix just - storming around in the nude as he tosses Skull Guy to the floor besides his partner.

From the floor comes a very familiar voice as the Deer staff starts to slowly filter out from behind the counter. "Alright, so I know this place doesn't close, but you might want to put a sign on the door, because explaining things is going to take a while." Claude steps past a couple of tables, towards the area where Marianne throw a glass of water at Second's head, and there's.... Sylvain. Also naked, although only from the waist up, emerging from a puddle of water that shouldn't be nearly deep enough to house a man there. In the bright lights of the dinner, scales glitter in patches all along his body, his arms, his face. "Long story short: congratulations on becoming the protagonists of the year's newest supernatural young adult novel!"

"What," Lysithea says quietly by Claude's side. It's a good thing Raphael is still holding Lorenz, because the guy looks like he's going to faint. Claude can't tell if it's from the turn of events or being choked by the dead.

There's the sound of wingbeats - enormous, heavy - outside of the diner, and Ingrid comes rushing in. It's easy to tell it's Ingrid, even with the massive eagle wings, and the furry cat feet. "It looks like it was only these two for now," she announces, passing rope down along to Ashe as he begins to tie up the two bastards who made such a shitshow. Her eyes - now so much brighter and more predatory than they've ever been - flick to Claude and his staff, and her jaw tightens somewhat. "...I apologize that you get dragged into this."

"Dedue, do you have my clothes?" Dimitri asks meekly from behind some tables, still doing his absolute best to not show off his naked body. Unlike Felix, he apparently is still familiar with embarrassment, and shame, and basic social standards. "And, ah, my packer..."

They clean everyone up. Mercedes carefully looks over Lorenz to make sure he's not going to bruise, or end up cursed by the morning. Lysithea hastily scrawls out a quick "CLOSED DUE TO EMERGENCIES" sign to tape against the front door before she clicks the rarely used lock. Marianne helps dry off Sylvain, and somehow manages to get all three boys - Dimitri, Felix, and Sylvain - to the bathrooms so that they can change without anyone from the outside staring at three very naked and very handsome men. Claude cheerfully drags the two intruders into their walk-in freezer. They'll survive.

And then, after Raphael has made stacks of pancakes because apparently breakfast food is comfort food is the perfect meal for recovering after an attack by a pair of douchebag necromancers.... They all get an explanation.

Ingrid it explains it the best, almost as if she's practiced for it: those two were necromancers with a grudge against Dimitri's pack, and figured that revenge meant harassing the heir to it all. They'd tried low level haunting, whispers of hatred and the like, but it turned out that, well, the thing about a mostly stable schizophrenic is learning to ignore some of the bullshit hallucinations or delusions of grandeur and the like. Yet the rest of Dimitri's friends group, upon hearing his latest issues, had realized that something had been up, and started to hunt the assholes down. Deciding to up the stakes, they figured they'd grab something personal of his, hunt down the business that helped Dimitri out as well just to clean up loose ends, and....

Well, they'd obviously never gotten that far.

After that, well, it's only polite that the group introduces just what exactly they are to help lessen the confusion. Ingrid is a griffin, Sylvain a siren, while Dimitri and Felix are from the same werewolf pack. Annette, once she stops making her hair burn, is a fire elemental. Dedue himself is a vampire, which explains a lot, and Ashe is a selkie, which needs no explanation whatsoever.

"And what are you, Mercedes?" Claude asks her, unendingly curious as usual.

Mercedes smiles at him. "Oh, I'm human."

They all just.... let that sink in. And then they get back to eating the stacks of pancakes Raphael made, because at least that still makes sense no matter how much the world seems to have changed for them.

The pancakes really do seem to help, honestly. With the adrenaline having left their bodies and their stomachs getting fuller, the Golden Deer staff begin lively conversation with their supernatural guests, getting all the excitement and curiosity and concern out of the way. Claude, rarely but only for the time being, lets them at it. He has to adjust to the information he has now before he goes after more. When he knows how to use what he already has... then he knows he won't go astray with his questions.

Well, most of his questions. Questions towards all the life-changing, worldview-warping stuff. More mundane questions are the kind he thinks he can consider, and he glances sidelong at where Dimitri is sitting right next to him. There aren't any booths that can fit thirteen people, so Raphael and Dedue had to shove some tables together. "So," he says, "Werewolf, huh?"

Dimitri's shoulders hunch up in some shame. "I apologize for all of this," he tells Claude quietly, for probably the sixth time in this night alone. "I would understand completely if you wanted us to never come by again. This was never supposed to happen. I was going to just come back to get my wallet, but then we all saw what was happening in the diner.... But that's too much to ask you to bear."

Oh, right. Smiling, Claude reaches inside his apron and presents the wallet to Dimitri. "Oh, no, you can still come by. It wasn't you fault that a pair of assholes decided that attacking food service employees was a good plan of action; really they're exactly like regular customers in that way. But this does explain why I can never get a hold of you during the day."

While his shoulders lose some of their tension, Dimitri rubs the back of his neck. "Quite. Having a nocturnal schedule ruled by the moon can be quite troublesome. I apologize for not getting any of your calls."

"No worries. I guess this means I should call at night instead, huh?"

"...Do you still want to call?"

"Of course." Claude feels something warm settle inside of his chest when Dimitri's expression blossoms into such a beautifully hopeful smile. "How else am I going to set up a date for us?"

Dimitri stares, and then he smiles, and he holds Claude's hand underneath the table while Lorenz asks about the difference between Ingrid's griffin nature and sphinxes, and Sylvain suggests Lysithea become "one of those not shitty necromancers, because I think you're still kind of haunted".

Some of the world might have changed to his eye, become anew all over again.... but some things are still the same, too. Like a date for Friday next week, eight at night, for a stargazing event that plastered its posters all along their advertising corkboard by the front. Claude can't wait.