xanimacruciari

_{[ He’s lost track of time. It could be weeks
since he left his home, but if he was told
that it was months, he wouldn’t be stunned.
A sign that signals a roadhouse ahead is
his personal way of knowing that maybe it’s
time to stop and grab something to eat 
before heading out of town once more.
When Sam enters, it’s evident that he’s
one of the few attendees at this time.
Dark bags below his eyes are plain,
and his clothes haven’t been thoroughly
cleansed in weeks, but damn, he’s as
h a p p y  as he’ll ever be. ]}

_{[ Her question has become much too
familiar to his ears. Sam sprawls a 
few maps across the table, before he
addresses her. Eating has become 
one of his last priorities, but not doing
so would result in various unneeded
problems. A hand rubs his neck, as
if he’s pondering her question. ]}

                                                 _{❝Uh——what’re your specials?❞}  

_{[ He’s really not interested in what their 
prominence is, but rather, decent food
that’s cheap. Money is scarce, and he
needs to start nailing that into his head
instead of buying things with ease. ]}

it’s not a personal thing, really, but for
the span of about thirty seconds, she
sort of hates him. his earnest distraction,
the maps, the helpless happiness he can’t
have the decency to hide. it’s all what she
wishes she could have. this is some new
age sort of torture. this is like starving,
and being subjected to 24 hours of the
food network.

she presses her lips together, because
she’s half-forgotten what their daily is,
or what day of the week it is, for that
matter. she’ll check over her shoulder
at the grubby chalkboard where, just 
under the daily special, some ignorant
soul has written something obscene.

the blonde gives an exasperated
sigh, and swipes the curse away
the best she can, leaving the
ghost of it’s vulgarity streaked
on her apron. 

❝— tonight's fried chicken.
you’re in luck, sweetheart,
that's our best.❞