[center][h3]Loom: Darlyn's Cafe[/h3]
[i]Day 3, Afternoon[/i]
Roanne, Tokarin, Lazarus, Zadkiel[/center]

She treated her meat [i]well[/i]— that was the real difference between a good burger and a mediocre one. Sure, people might say it was just a slab of meat that was about to disappear down the gullet in a matter of minutes, but that wasn't how Roanne worked. Food wasn't survival, wasn't an experience, it was [i]life[/i]. Healthy food made a body strong, delicious food made a body happy, and no body could get along without food period. So she took the matter of serving meals seriously, most especially when it came to her meats. The exchange of life to sustain life was sacred in its own right, so it ought to come with dressings that would make the diner appreciate it most.

Flat iron steak grounded in the kitchen for the juiciest, purest flavor—check. Mix of milk, bread crumbs, and house-made barbeque sauce—check. A pinch of salt, garlic, and cayenne pepper—check. She mixed them all together with her own hands, packing the meat loosely and weighing each patty before heading to the grill. She couldn't just slap them on, either, no; her babies needed maximum crusty, caramelized searing for a proper barbeque flavor. Of all things, she used a cast-iron pan on the grill, leaving the lid on to keep it smoking hot until the meat went inside. How many times she flipped the heavy thing in a day didn't matter—it produced the juiciest burgers with a perfect crunch she [i]dared[/i] any other chef or backyard barbequer in all of Loom to beat. 

Not that any food critics were visiting anytime soon. It wasn't that the restaurant had a bad reputation, it was just in the wrong part of town, not where tourists liked to visit when looking for the brightest and loudest landmarks to take selfies in front of. The pride of Roanne's life was limited to a 5-year-old article printed from Loom Bugle's website, framed and set between two hockey players on the wall in front of the bar. “BEST BURGERS IN TOWN: DARLYN'S CAFE IS THE NEW DELICIOUS,” its title read, following a short little blurb about the restaurant’s specialty sandwiches. In all that time, no one had ever commented on the boring piece of paper, but someday, someday a bored drunk was going to point at it and say something along the lines of, “Damn right!”

“Ro! Denise has to leave early today. Cover the bar for lunch, won't you?” Elaine's shock of gray-brown hair popped out from the kitchen door, much to the angel's frustration.

“I'm not in a people mood today. Make Caleb do it.”

Caleb, who happened to be assisting on the kitchen, snorted with amusement. “She had a busy night, see—”

“[i]Aaaaand[/i] I'm going. Try not to light anything on fire!” Roanne tugged off her apron, stuffing it into a ball before hucking it at the boy. His laughter followed her all the way out the door and into the hallway, where she tied a new apron over the top of her black chef coat and washed her hands. Her hair was still caught up in a messy ponytail, which bounced along with way more energy than her sore, leaden body had when she made her way out to the restaurant’s dining floor.

Lo and behold, there were the bright and fluffy, unmistakable wings of Toki. Roanne slapped her forehead, already having forgotten the message she'd sent. Of course, that wasn't all—right next to Toki was another set of massive wings that could only belong to one person. It was early, way too early to be thinking about [i]him[/i] again, much less [i]seeing[/i]—

[i]Don't think, don't think about it. Just go![/i] Roanne pushed up her lips with two fingers, trying to smile before she walked over. Somehow Toki saw her before she even got there despite the menu in her face, waving and smiling and—[i]Gods, she is so cute![/i]—just being herself. She and Jasper almost seemed to match with those soft, cherubic faces and blue eyes, but one had a dry familiarity to his gaze while the other was all shy sweetness. 

“Lookit you, buoying up the whole world with that smile. I'll start you on a Cheribita—you'll need it if you're sitting next to Jasper—total stranger I've never met, best keep away from him—and how about a Dark and Stormy for you, Mr. Up to the Nines?” The last nickname she reserved for Lazarus, casually brushing aside the massive aura that hung around him like an angry thundercloud.

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