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The bell of the diner jingled softly as Five entered. The place was busy, clearly a popular spot in town, and all of the employees were too preoccupied to notice as Five slipped into a spot at the counter. The air was thick with the smell of fresh coffee and frying bacon, a comforting scent that Five had forgotten about during his years in the apocalypse.
He surveyed the diner - it seemed relatively safe, no Swedes lurking in a booth waiting to come out and shoot him again. The countertop was pristinely clean, lined with sugar packets and faded menus that proudly boasted 'Voted the Best Diner in Dallas, 1952!' There was a large jukebox in the corner, but it wasn't playing anything. An attraction for the evening, rather than the morning, he thought. The walls were lined with framed black-and-white photographs of staff and customers alike, all grinning cheesily into the camera.
"Cherry Pie, I'm sure whatever Iona has to say is very important, but a young man is waiting to have his order taken at the end of the counter," a stern voice echoed from inside the kitchen. Five suspected that he was the young man in question - he couldn't decide if he was offended or not. At least people didn't think he was young enough to play with Kenny from the original timeline. It was miserable enough to be stuck in the body of an 18-year-old as a man nearing 60, but he was thankful he hadn't ended up in his 13-year-old body. That would've been a nightmare.
"Hello, what can I get started for you today, darlin'?" a sweet, upbeat voice said from in front of him. Five, still looking at the photographs on the walls, turned his head slowly knowing exactly who he was about to come face to face with. She was the exact reason he'd ended up in this diner in the first place.
Five wasn't an idiot, he could recognize beauty when he saw it. This girl, her name likely reminiscent of something that would be shortened to 'Cherry Pie,' was a lovely, delicate little thing. She had brown hair, although perhaps 'chestnut' would be more accurate a shade match, that was softly curled at the ends with thin bangs hanging just below her brows. Her eyes were big and blue, framed by long lashes and highlighted by the small amount of makeup she wore. Her face was round and youthful, cherubic almost - she couldn't have been more than 20 - and she reminded Five ever so vaguely of a doll. A mannequin, even.
Internally, he kicked himself. Even if he was also physically 18, he was still an old man, and raging teenage hormones aside, he couldn't forget that. What worth is a pretty face when the world was going to hell in less than 10 days? He was here for one thing and one thing only - to figure out why she'd recognized him in the alleyway.
He'd seen it in her eyes, that startled look that couldn't be attributed to seeing him blink. No, Five was certain that she thought he knew him and he was here to figure out why he recognized her, too.
"Coffee, black," Five stated monotonously. "And keep it coming."
He had the cruel urge to throw a mocking 'darlin'' onto the edge of his sentence but decided against it. If anything, he was the weird one for not having a cartoonish Southern accent.
