The International House of Pancakes somewhat maintains that small diner feel, even though it is a much larger franchise. Beige walls are decorated with pictures of various menu items, and are lined with four-person booths. The center aisle is also comprised of booths, with a short privacy wall between them. The kitchen is mostly hidden from view, but the smell of cooking food continually wafts through the restaurant.

Now, yeah, Lane and Rosemary live together, sure, but all the same they really don't see much of each other these days. Rosemary's out and about working on an album almost every day, and between that and Lane's uncompromising work schedule, well, yeah. So now Rosemary's got her feet up, taking up 100% of a booth all by herself at the IHOP down the street from their crummy little apartment, chainsmoking and glowering at anyone who dares to give her gross, sweaty, gutterpunk-y self a dirty look.

Oh man!

The only thing that makes pancakes better are roommates! So the cell phone comes out, and after a few tries she manages to dial Lane's number.

Lane picks up after a few rings, muffled at first, speaking before she's even got the phone by her face.
"… So I told him /fuck off/, right? — ROOOOOSE." She sings it out. "What's up? I got off work and some tourist dude totally gave me a tip! Like! A dollar! I wasn't even serving food???"

"Laaaaane!" Is the cheery response. Rose: Not so good at smilin', but Lane always brings her happy side out. "What? Why? What top are you wearing? No, don't answer that, I don't want to know I don't think. Come to IHOP! I'll buy you paaaancakes?"

"/No/ top, /obviously/." The eyeroll? /Audible/. "Cool! Ok, I'll be there soon! Get me boysenberry! Also bacon!" In fact, it takes about a half hour for her to get there, but when she does she comes /bursting/ through the door, pausing to stand on tiptoes to try to —
Ahah. She'd know that hat /anywhere/.
Lane trots over, smoothing her hair all unthinking. She's waving a plastic bag.

"Well then this explains everything. I'm surprised you only got a dollar!" Rosemary offers a dark chuckle into the receiver and snaps her phone shut, after a presumably absurd farewell. There's an empty plate in front of Rosemary, well, two, actually, and one with a single slice of bacon on it. She hops up to her feet to greet Lane with a hug, "Hiiiii! I um got you pancakes but then I ate them. Also most of your bacon."

Lane hugs back, then gives Rosemary's hat a yank. "That's because you're a douchebag /and/ you probably have a tapeworm." She leans in promptly to try to snatch that last bit of bacon.
"Anyway, I got leftovers from work — the cafe was throwing away churros and fried chicken!"

"Don't joke about the tapeworm!" Rosemary says urgently, her eyes going just a little bit bulgy, hands instinctively falling to her stomach, "I don't have a tapeworm. Or any parasites. Shut up!" She flops back down into her spot, perking up at the mention of churros, "What?! Why the fuck are we at IHOP then?"

"I /thought/ I was getting pancakes." Lane perches at the edge of the table, nibbling at the edges of her bacon. /Savoring/. For about five seconds and then one-two-gone.
"Here—" she drops the bag on the table. "Go nuts. I can't believe they're supposed to throw it out after a couple hours. It's /fine/. People are too picky. Anyway, it -should- be dinner. I got lots."

"I got hungry," Rosemary, defensive, "You shouldn't've taken like eight years to get here!" She flags down a server, pointing at the empty plates, at Lane, "More pancakes for my friend. Bacon, two, yeah, better make it two orders." Her little mistake covered up she starts rummaging through the bag, oohing under her breath, "Man you are gonna get /so much/ free food. You're gonna be everybody's best friend. By which I mean my best friend. I'm gonna eat your food."

"Don't eat /all/ my food. Only half of it is for you!" beat. "Ok just leave me like, /a/ churro?" making it a question. O, Lane. /Too/ softhearted. /About churros./
"So how's your music stuff goin'? Any /particular/ reason you're feeding me? Nominally?" Lane slides into the other side of the booth. "Anyway, I don't know how long I'll be there — the dude in charge is kind of a dick, sooo. Like. Kind of a /bag/ of dicks." She leans forward, making sure this is /stressed/.

"I will endeavor not to eat 100% of your food," Rosemary says, deadpan, "But I make no promises. The tapeworm cannot be denied." If she wasn't willing to take advantage of her roommate's kindness, well, what kind of a friend would she be?

"Buh." Rosemary pulls the brim of her hat down, curling up into herself a little bit, "We're not gonna finish the album. Dimitri can't keep from hitting on me long enough to play a whole song and Leisl can't stay sober long enough to make it to her drum throne so… Yeah. Bad. Hence," she waves idly at the empty plates, "Pancakes." She snickers softly to herself, peering out from under the shield of her hat, "Oh yeah? Severed, or disembodied?"

"Leisl!" perking up. "Is she the redhead? Anyway, if you /slept/ with Dimitri he would figure out you're awful and leave you alone?" crooked smile, although a moment later Lane's joggling her foot against Rosemary's leg in what she thinks of as awkward apology. "So are you gonna … audition more people or just fuck off?" momentarily uncertain, Lane covers it by rummaging in the bag and pulling out a churro, which she wiggles in the other girl's direction.

"The redhead," Rosemary bobs her head, and sticks out her tongue, "Yes but that would involve sleeping with Dimitri. Have you met Dimitri? He told me today that he has not washed his hair in four years." Pause, "This was meant to /impress/." She loosens up a little, batting idly at Lane's foot as she stretches herself back out again, "Fuck off, probably. If these fuckers could work together they could be a really good band but they can't. I don't know why they thought another-" Churro! Scarf.

"No." Lane leans back, pressing the heels of her hands against the edge of the table. "/Nooooooo/. That's — nooooo." She wrinkles her nose. "Was it /really/? Like— is he — is he a hair band guy?" don't they— well hair's the title ok? Rosemary's the music one! Lane just bobs along in her wake and listens to what she's told to listen to.
"Name your new band the Churros. Or the Tapeworms. Be emo-scream-rock."

"Yes." Rosemary stares across the table, her lips a hard, thin line. "/Yesssssss./ Yesssssss." Beat, "Yes." She shakes her head, "No, he was just some gross punk jerk. I find myself hating him more and more with every passing moment." She leans back in her seat, tap-tap-tapping one finger on the tabletop, considering. "Churros. Not mexican enough. Tapeworms. Ooh, no. I would be scared of us."

"Yeah but then only really dedicated people would listen to you, right?" Lane beats a litle tune out against the table with her forefingers, then makes a face and draws her hands back, resting them in her lap.
"So what'll you do then? There's opening at Wal-Mart." Half-hearted: she can hardly envision Rosemary at /Wal-mart/. "And will you keep in touch with Leisl? Like? I mean I should probably get her phone number." Because they are: so close.

"I dunnoooo…" Rosemary wrinkles her nose up a little bit, "I'd like to keep in touch with her but I don't feel like she will take me leaving well." Wal-mart? Really, Lane? Question pointedly ignored. "You should call her!" Ever since their little failed, uh, thing — Which Rose refuses to refer to as a relationship — she's been doing her best to play Cupid. Guilt, maybe? Unfortunately, she's very bad at it. "She thinks you're cuuuuute…" Sing-song, sly, peering over the rim of a mug of coffee.

And unfortunately, Lane is /always/ interested in /anyone/ /ever/ who thinks she's cute. "Well I think /she's/ cute." Definitive. Despite, you know, the SUPER DRUNK thing. Lane can drink! "I'll call her, and we will go on an awkward date." Decisive. /Yes/. "Anyway," Lane tips her head. "Fuck. I promised Gwen I'd take her 6 o'clock shift at Benny's. Get my pancakes to go and then bring them to me and I'll get you drunk?"

"Brilliant!" A pen comes out of the depths of Rosemary's bag, and she scrawls a number on a paper napkin, "Liesl. I honestly do not know how to spell her name so you will have to remember what the L stands for," she passes the napkin over, "Oh it won't be awkward. She is usually too drunk to be awkward! It's almost adorable, really…"

She rears back physically as though struck by the idea of a 6 AM shift. "What. Honestly I do not know how you do it, girlie." She wiggles her fingers in a little wave and leans back in her seat once again, "See you in a little while, yeah? Many pancakes for you, and free drinks for me." Now that is a good deal for everyone!

"/Sweet/." Lane arches up, stuffing the napkin into her back pocket, and the rolls on out of her seat. "Excellent." She shoots Rosemary Fonz fingers and then gives herself a little shake. Right! Time for home! "Anyway, I do it because it means I get the /money/ to get /expensive alcohol/ to /get your drunk/. You see? It's all about you, /really/! See you!" Lane fairly flings herself out the door, ready to be moving again.

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