Lunch Break
dilleachta & benjamin cook & hale francis
las ballenas
dilleachta & benjamin cook & hale francis
las ballenas
Dilleachta was uncomfortable. Discomfort practically washed off of her in waves. She regarded the room like a cage – nevermind that it was a restaurant. A rather nice one, at that. Maybe it was the fact that she was sitting in a booster seat.
The Machine did not have many couriers. Or perhaps they did. Benjamin Cook, however, only knew two others: Dilleachta, and Hale Francis. Hale had hired him, and Ben had hired Dilleachta. He'd asked, before, if Hale knew who'd hired him – but that didn't seem to be the sort of thing Hale felt like talking about.
Ben was fairly mundane, as these things went, a suburban white kid who just so happened to be capable of flight. Hale looked normal at first glance, a lanky black guy with an afro and thick-rimmed hipster glasses; his powers, however, involved time manipulation. They were, in Ben's opinion, infinitely cooler than flight.
Dilleachta didn't have any powers, but that wasn't obvious to look at her. Three feet tall with a face like a china doll, she had cat ears and a tail, and not much good to show for it. She wore more makeup now than when Ben had hired her, dressed in a suit that made it look like she worked in an office. But Ben couldn't help seeing a wet cat in the rain, trapped on the edge of nothing the way they'd all been.
Normally these dinners were just Ben and Hale; Ben had invited Dilleachta this time, experimentally. It would be nice, to bring her out of her shell. If he was honest, he missed being surrounded by a gang of friends – even if his previous experience had mostly involved getting treated like shit.
In his friends' defense, he had been a shit.
"I am getting a cherry limeade," Ben declared, first to answer the waitress. Hale gave him a mocking grin.
"Don't wanna fly home drunk?" Hale teased, giving the drink menu a passing glance. "Bring me the most expensive red wine you have. I'm going to have to be classy enough for the both of us. Cherry limeade. Are you twelve?"
"Dilleachta?" Ben prompted, and she was considering her menu very seriously.
"Water," she said finally, after all that. As the waitress left, her red eyes met Ben's blue ones, her pupils black slits. "Would… you mind calling me Leah, instead?"
He smiled, wide and welcoming, reassured by this potential gesture of friendship. "I don't think we'd have a problem with that – would we, Hale?"
"Not at all." Hale smiled, as well, all suave charm – but she did not actually seem very reassured by the sight of two men grinning at her. Both seemed to realize this at the same time, turned their gazes back to their menus as if they didn't always get the same thing. "Do you know what you're getting?"
"I might get this salad," she suggested after a long deliberation, and both men exchanged A Look. Salad did not really strike either of them as cat food – but then again, who were they to judge? "Maybe a half order."
Silence descended as all realized that they did not actually have much to talk about. Normally, Ben and Hale would talk soccer – but Leah didn't seem like she'd be into that sort of thing. At her size, a soccer ball might be deadly.
"Have you done a job yet?" Ben asked lightly. If nothing else, they certainly had work in common.
"Yes. It was… strange. I don't know if I explained things properly."
"Don't even worry about it," Hale said dismissively, a wave of his hand. "People who ask too many questions void their contracts, anyway."
"I… thought that wasn't possible."
"Oh, god, you've got him started." Ben rolled his eyes, and Leah looked between them, confused.
"Just because you forgot all about Ji-Hun–"
"I did not forget about Ji-Hun! He kicked my ass on numerous occasions. He was a juvenile delinquent, and is probably an adult delinquent. I don't know where you get this shit."
Hale ignored Ben's assertions, leaned in toward Dilleachta conspiratorially with a very serious gaze. "Look, this is real important, okay? Do not fuck with??? ??????e. Do not look that gift horse in the mouth. Poke around too much, ask too many questions, you will get retconned so fast that it will never not have happened."
Dilleachta was leaning away from him, and Ben put a warning hand on his shoulder. "Dude, don't scare her – Hale is the only one that's ever said anything about this, okay? You're fine. If you weren't fine, you wouldn't be here, right?"
"I have time powers," Hale persisted. "I see this shit, okay? Most people can only remember shit that's happened, but I can remember shit that never happened anymore. Shit that gets changed. Everything smoothes itself out, but I remember the wrinkles. Right?"
"Years now," Ben sighed, exasperated, rolling his eyes. "Years, he's been saying this kid I knew in high school worked here."
"Ji-Hun was smart, okay? Except he wasn't smart enough to keep his nose outta shit. Kept poking around, trying to figure out who The Machine was. They warned him he'd be void, but he didn't listen, and then he got retconned."
"Ji-Hun was a criminal. I mean, I liked him. I wouldn't mind catching up with him. But I don't think I saw him read a book ever. We're talking about a seventeen year old kid that threw cars at people he disagreed with and fucked thirteen year old girls."
"Yeah, now."
"Yeah, always."
"Exactly! That's how they get you."
The waitress reappeared, and they ordered the usual: a sampler of appetizers, a burger for Ben, a steak for Hale, and now a half-order of an overpriced salad for Leah.
"I don't really care how it works," she said quietly once the waitress left. "I don't know – I mean, I don't expect to know how everything works. As long as it works. If it seems like bad things don't happen – that's basically the same as if they don't, right?"
This didn't seem right to Ben, but Hale nodded, pleased. "Smart kid. Don't worry about details. Our job is to be in the right place at the right time, everything else is above our paygrade." He leaned into the table conspiratorially again, this time toward the both of them. "Let's talk about some real serious shit." He paused for dramatic effect, considered both their faces. "Did you see what Lola Tea wore to that awards show last week?"
"Oh my gawd," Ben gushed dramatically, because it was unabashed gossip time. "That thing with the ruffles underneath her…?"
"Yes! Can you even believe she thought that was a good idea?" Hale turned to Leah, a gleam in his eyes. "Please tell me you saw it, I have got to know what this classy dame thought about that travesty." Ben thought he saw Leah sit up straighter when Hale described her as a classy dame, and he wondered what it took to get that kind of skill with women.
"I may have seen it," Dilleachta admitted, abashed, the way one might confess to having seen filth. This was not entirely inaccurate. "The pink seemed like the strangest thing."
"Oh, that woman looked a filleted salmon on a knotty stick," Ben agreed with a nod. "I mean, that's her prerogative, if she gives no fucks more power to her – but then that shit she said about Queen K.K.?"
"That was fucked. Up." Hale looked offended that anyone might even dare looking at the Queen, to say nothing of Lola's crimes. "Talking shit like that, in a dress like that? Pot, kettle."
"It's not unfair to hold her to her own standards," Leah declared, like a royal proclamation. Later, Ben would have to ask how Hale had figured her for the Lunar Inquiries type.
"She's just bitter because she peaked – what – five years ago? Even then she was hanging out with girls half her age, shit was creepy."
"She can't touch the Queen and she knows it."
"I'm not really sure why she was ever popular," Dilleachta confessed.
"You probably managed to avoid actually hearing her music," Hale suggested, the tone of a man who hadn't had her luck. "Sirens, man. I know objectively that her music's awful, but it just gets into your brain. It's like candy. I've got it out of my system now, but for a while there – it was bad, man. I've got some embarrassing concert shirts. And concert dresses. Can you believe she sold concert dresses? They did not fit, I can promise you that. Those were some shady business practices."
Dilleachta was not exactly glowing, but there was a ghost of a smile on her face, and her eyes no longer searched the room for an escape. She was comfortable, at least a little. Enough that they could do this again. Enough that maybe – eventually – they'd feel like friends.
It would be nice.
The Machine did not have many couriers. Or perhaps they did. Benjamin Cook, however, only knew two others: Dilleachta, and Hale Francis. Hale had hired him, and Ben had hired Dilleachta. He'd asked, before, if Hale knew who'd hired him – but that didn't seem to be the sort of thing Hale felt like talking about.
Ben was fairly mundane, as these things went, a suburban white kid who just so happened to be capable of flight. Hale looked normal at first glance, a lanky black guy with an afro and thick-rimmed hipster glasses; his powers, however, involved time manipulation. They were, in Ben's opinion, infinitely cooler than flight.
Dilleachta didn't have any powers, but that wasn't obvious to look at her. Three feet tall with a face like a china doll, she had cat ears and a tail, and not much good to show for it. She wore more makeup now than when Ben had hired her, dressed in a suit that made it look like she worked in an office. But Ben couldn't help seeing a wet cat in the rain, trapped on the edge of nothing the way they'd all been.
Normally these dinners were just Ben and Hale; Ben had invited Dilleachta this time, experimentally. It would be nice, to bring her out of her shell. If he was honest, he missed being surrounded by a gang of friends – even if his previous experience had mostly involved getting treated like shit.
In his friends' defense, he had been a shit.
"I am getting a cherry limeade," Ben declared, first to answer the waitress. Hale gave him a mocking grin.
"Don't wanna fly home drunk?" Hale teased, giving the drink menu a passing glance. "Bring me the most expensive red wine you have. I'm going to have to be classy enough for the both of us. Cherry limeade. Are you twelve?"
"Dilleachta?" Ben prompted, and she was considering her menu very seriously.
"Water," she said finally, after all that. As the waitress left, her red eyes met Ben's blue ones, her pupils black slits. "Would… you mind calling me Leah, instead?"
He smiled, wide and welcoming, reassured by this potential gesture of friendship. "I don't think we'd have a problem with that – would we, Hale?"
"Not at all." Hale smiled, as well, all suave charm – but she did not actually seem very reassured by the sight of two men grinning at her. Both seemed to realize this at the same time, turned their gazes back to their menus as if they didn't always get the same thing. "Do you know what you're getting?"
"I might get this salad," she suggested after a long deliberation, and both men exchanged A Look. Salad did not really strike either of them as cat food – but then again, who were they to judge? "Maybe a half order."
Silence descended as all realized that they did not actually have much to talk about. Normally, Ben and Hale would talk soccer – but Leah didn't seem like she'd be into that sort of thing. At her size, a soccer ball might be deadly.
"Have you done a job yet?" Ben asked lightly. If nothing else, they certainly had work in common.
"Yes. It was… strange. I don't know if I explained things properly."
"Don't even worry about it," Hale said dismissively, a wave of his hand. "People who ask too many questions void their contracts, anyway."
"I… thought that wasn't possible."
"Oh, god, you've got him started." Ben rolled his eyes, and Leah looked between them, confused.
"Just because you forgot all about Ji-Hun–"
"I did not forget about Ji-Hun! He kicked my ass on numerous occasions. He was a juvenile delinquent, and is probably an adult delinquent. I don't know where you get this shit."
Hale ignored Ben's assertions, leaned in toward Dilleachta conspiratorially with a very serious gaze. "Look, this is real important, okay? Do not fuck with??? ??????e. Do not look that gift horse in the mouth. Poke around too much, ask too many questions, you will get retconned so fast that it will never not have happened."
Dilleachta was leaning away from him, and Ben put a warning hand on his shoulder. "Dude, don't scare her – Hale is the only one that's ever said anything about this, okay? You're fine. If you weren't fine, you wouldn't be here, right?"
"I have time powers," Hale persisted. "I see this shit, okay? Most people can only remember shit that's happened, but I can remember shit that never happened anymore. Shit that gets changed. Everything smoothes itself out, but I remember the wrinkles. Right?"
"Years now," Ben sighed, exasperated, rolling his eyes. "Years, he's been saying this kid I knew in high school worked here."
"Ji-Hun was smart, okay? Except he wasn't smart enough to keep his nose outta shit. Kept poking around, trying to figure out who The Machine was. They warned him he'd be void, but he didn't listen, and then he got retconned."
"Ji-Hun was a criminal. I mean, I liked him. I wouldn't mind catching up with him. But I don't think I saw him read a book ever. We're talking about a seventeen year old kid that threw cars at people he disagreed with and fucked thirteen year old girls."
"Yeah, now."
"Yeah, always."
"Exactly! That's how they get you."
The waitress reappeared, and they ordered the usual: a sampler of appetizers, a burger for Ben, a steak for Hale, and now a half-order of an overpriced salad for Leah.
"I don't really care how it works," she said quietly once the waitress left. "I don't know – I mean, I don't expect to know how everything works. As long as it works. If it seems like bad things don't happen – that's basically the same as if they don't, right?"
This didn't seem right to Ben, but Hale nodded, pleased. "Smart kid. Don't worry about details. Our job is to be in the right place at the right time, everything else is above our paygrade." He leaned into the table conspiratorially again, this time toward the both of them. "Let's talk about some real serious shit." He paused for dramatic effect, considered both their faces. "Did you see what Lola Tea wore to that awards show last week?"
"Oh my gawd," Ben gushed dramatically, because it was unabashed gossip time. "That thing with the ruffles underneath her…?"
"Yes! Can you even believe she thought that was a good idea?" Hale turned to Leah, a gleam in his eyes. "Please tell me you saw it, I have got to know what this classy dame thought about that travesty." Ben thought he saw Leah sit up straighter when Hale described her as a classy dame, and he wondered what it took to get that kind of skill with women.
"I may have seen it," Dilleachta admitted, abashed, the way one might confess to having seen filth. This was not entirely inaccurate. "The pink seemed like the strangest thing."
"Oh, that woman looked a filleted salmon on a knotty stick," Ben agreed with a nod. "I mean, that's her prerogative, if she gives no fucks more power to her – but then that shit she said about Queen K.K.?"
"That was fucked. Up." Hale looked offended that anyone might even dare looking at the Queen, to say nothing of Lola's crimes. "Talking shit like that, in a dress like that? Pot, kettle."
"It's not unfair to hold her to her own standards," Leah declared, like a royal proclamation. Later, Ben would have to ask how Hale had figured her for the Lunar Inquiries type.
"She's just bitter because she peaked – what – five years ago? Even then she was hanging out with girls half her age, shit was creepy."
"She can't touch the Queen and she knows it."
"I'm not really sure why she was ever popular," Dilleachta confessed.
"You probably managed to avoid actually hearing her music," Hale suggested, the tone of a man who hadn't had her luck. "Sirens, man. I know objectively that her music's awful, but it just gets into your brain. It's like candy. I've got it out of my system now, but for a while there – it was bad, man. I've got some embarrassing concert shirts. And concert dresses. Can you believe she sold concert dresses? They did not fit, I can promise you that. Those were some shady business practices."
Dilleachta was not exactly glowing, but there was a ghost of a smile on her face, and her eyes no longer searched the room for an escape. She was comfortable, at least a little. Enough that they could do this again. Enough that maybe – eventually – they'd feel like friends.
It would be nice.
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