A Trip to McDonalds

[hazlogs]

It is currently 16:11 Pacific Time on Mon Jan 5 2015.

Currently the moon is in the waning Full (Ahroun) Moon phase (99% full).

Weather: 53 and cloudy, no rain, fog in some areas.

Outside on the driveway is the tell tale baby blue 1968 Fastback GT Mustang and Justin is kneeled next to one wheel with a bicycle pump, trying to pump enough air into one of the tires that Samantha decided to let out earlier in the afternoon. He is shirtless and wearing a flannel shirt about his waist tied with the sleeves and a pair of torn at the knee jeans. He has a frustrated look on his face as he jacks the pump with his hands.

Fitz slouches around from the back of the house in the usual white t-shirt, jeans, and boots. The shirt looks new, and it's the only thing that does. Upon seeing Justin, he gives a crooked, lazily malicious smile and says, "Oh, hey, look, it's babyballs. Hi, babyballs."

On the porch like a feral Old Yeller is Watcher. The lupus is stretched out and conveniently blocking anyone probably looking to come in or out because it's the best spot to catch the fading sunlight on the vaguely warmish day. An ear twitches towards the voice of Fitz, which suggests he's not asleep but his eyes are closed and he doesn't seem driven to get up.

It can take a minute to properly identify just what this canine is. To those in the know, though, his species isn't quite so vague. As a coywolf, Watcher physically resembles his coyote heritage more than his wolf as a whole. He's smaller and leaner than a wolf, with the longer ears and lighter build one would expect to see on a coyote. He's got a thick coat, though, and it lends him a bit of false bulk that usually makes him just look a bit shabby. His paws are also larger, ending with curving claws. His muzzle is a bit broader though not so heavy as a wolf but contains the same array of sharp teeth. Overall, he's a tawny grey-ticked coloration with a darker saddle. His undersides are lighter and he has yellow eyes.

Pushing himself upwards, Justin brushes his knees off as he turns towards Fitz. "Oh, hey, look. It's limp dick. Hi limp dick." He fires back at him with a raise of the 'finger' at him.

Shaggy brown hair and darker brown eyes frames this young boy's face. Justin has a slightly tanned complexion with a hint of Puerto Rican from his mother's side, Caucasian from his father's. He has a fairly lanky build that could use a bit of bulking upas he is built like a high school track runner. He wears loose fitted 'destroyed' blue jeans, simple tank tops, and worn down sneakers that are about five months in need of replacement, and during the cold, a thick green military jacket from his Grandpa. He looks like your average, ordinary American young teen that plays outside and is fairly active. Tall at five foot ten, he is a few inches higher than most his age for now.

Fitz's grin only widens. "Whassa matter, someone mess with your ride?" He nods toward the car.

Three-Mountains cracks open an eye as banter continues, the Uktena eyeballing the two from where he lays. It seems enough to encourage him to lift up his head, jaws gaping in a wide yawn as he hikes himself up back end first then front.

"Samantha got all pissed off I wouldn't take her to the city for milkshakes after she insulted my taste in McDonald's. I bet you're a fan of the Shamrock shake, huh?" Justin says with a smirk on his face as he gives his tire a few taps with his foot to make sure it's filled enough, then puts the cap back on. "Since you probably won't recognize a bitch this hot, this is a 68' Fast Back GT. The same car that was in the Steve McQueen movie The Bullitt. This has a three-ninety V8 engine with three hundred and fifty six horses under the hood." He pats the hood of it fondly. "Put it together myself with my grandpa over the last nine years. It's all mine now."

Fitz makes a little unimpressed 'pfft' noise at the Shamrock Shake remark, and when Justin goes on to lay out his vehicle's pedigree, he continues to look unimpressed. "You own a car old enough to need dentures, whoop de fucking doo."

At mention of milkshakes, Three-Mountains perks right up like someone lit a fire under him. He comes bouncing down off the porch and trots over towards where the two stand. He would like one! Are we going? The Uktena sways his tail enthusiastically, though the actual discussion about the car doesn't seem to inspire any enthusiasm with him.

Grinning down at his feral best friend, Justin leans over and gives his ear a tweak. "Fuck yeah we can get a milkshake. Too bad Fitz here thinks my old lady is too old or else I'd invite him also. Too bad, one rev of the engine and that guy's dick would get so hard he'd poke a hole in my dashboard." He spins the keys around on his finger with a wide grin, raising a brow upwards. "T-M, better call shot gun."

"Jeeeesus Christ, kid," says Fitz in a frustrated manner so exaggerated that it can't possibly be sincere. "First you call me a limp dick. Then you bust out some kinda vague reference to me being Fianna I guess, even though I'm probably about as fucking Irish as a hole in the ground, but whatever, Fianna blah blah blah Irish, I get it. And now you're like, hey, he gets off on cars. Where's the goddamn consistency, huh?"

Three-Mountains twitches his ear free of the abuse and gives his head an annoyed shake. Snorting, he squints to Justin before taking to his Homid form full of stereotypes. Someone needs to teach him to wear jeans. "Though holes... bad in the car?" He raises a hand to inspect nails. "Why no lupus in car. Claws bad for seat."

"Psh, you could sit in my car in lupus, I don't care. You'd look bad ass with your head hanging out, tongue all lolled out and shit." Justin says as to Watcher as he makes a 'blah blah blah' hand motion towards Fitz. "Anyways, we're rolling out for shakes, you wanna come or you just gonna continue being a Reddit troll in the driveway?"

Physically, Watcher looks like a young man maybe in his late teens. He's lean and in the high five foot range. Overall he has a distinctly native american look to him, with a tanner toned skin and long hair dark enough to black save under direct sunlight where it has a faintly brown cast. His eyes have the marked epicanthic fold and look to be a dark brown in hue. There are a few features that don't entirely match, though. He's got a wider nose bridge and nostril set that might fit better on someone of african-american stock along with a faint texture to his hair that can be seen at close range. He's wearing very traditional clothing one would expect of an ancient Native American - a deerhide tunic and trousers and high boots dyed a dark brown. Sometimes, a coat lined in grey rabbit's fur is added.

Fitz scratches his stubbly chin, eyes narrowed and thoughtful, mouth curled into a lopsided grimace. Then, abruptly, he bares his teeth in a mockery of a jovial grin. "Yeah, why not. Baby Balls, Limp Dick, and Squanto, sure."

"Bad for the Veil." Watcher says towards Justin and angles for the car. He even clambors in the back seat. He is kinda short and, well, less weird with a kinda Native-dressed guy with seats blocking the view. "...squato?" He mumbles with a perplexed look towards Fitz, clearly missing the reference.

"It's an old school movie reference for the name of an Indian dude. Don't worry about it. Sides', we do kinda need a real name for you in public." Justin says as he climbs into the driver's seat and puts the keys in the ignition. The engine roars to life as the power of 356 ponies under the hood come to life. Everything inside is stock and refurbished. For a Gnawer car, this beast is immaculate and spotless. It's his grandpa's car and it needs to be respected. "How about if we call you Han? Kinda like Han Solo but Han sounds kinda Indianish."

Fitz slouches into the shotgun seat and immediately props a dirty boot on the dash. "He's a lupus, call him Chewie. You're drivin', you own the ride, so you'd be Han. I'll be Luke."

"I have a name." Watcher says with a bit of a confused frown as he sprawls in the back seat. It's law. Beasts much always take up as much room as possible. "Three Mountains new name. You call me... T M." He says the initials slowly. "Tee... Ehmm... Teehm... Tehm... Tim? Call me Tim?"

Reaching over and smacking Fitz foot down, Justin gives him a /glare/, the beast rumbling up to the surface. "Don't ever put your fucking feet up on my dash!" He snaps out. "This car deserves every bit of respect you would give your Elder." He reaches in the arm rest and yanks out a napkin and starts to scrub the mud off. "And Tim works, bro."

Fitz smirks. "That's a reeeeeeeeally low fucking bar for me, kid."

"Car territory, should be respected." Sniffs Watcher (Tim) from the back seat as he picks at a frayed bit of his deerhide sleeve. "How we get milk shakes. "

"I built this car from scratch with my grandpa. It's worth more than my own life. Just be cool with it, alright?" Justin says as he calms down. Putting the car into gear as the shift stick is put into place, the car rumbles down the driveway with a perfect purr of the engine. Reaching over, he pushes a cassette tape into the deck with a click to start playing Credence Clear Water Revival.

Fitz shrugs and behaves himself, slouching down further in the seat, fingers taptapping on his thigh. "That's pretty screwed up, kid."

(travel)

McDonald's(#1393RJ)

A small McDonald's which is devoid of any sort of garish trappings. Instead, it seems to focus on fast, friendly service with a smile and good food. Above the counter to the north, you can see the glowing yellow billboard which details the food and prices. Behind the cashiers, a few people can be seen scurrying about near the grill, making drinks or tossing finished burgers down a small metal chute toward the cashiers. Along the side wall, children's high chairs can be seen, each with the grinning face of Ronald McDonald. A wall poster asks you to donate money to the Ronald McDonald House. Opposite the cashier counter are both Smoking and Non-Smoking sections for in-house dining. Fake plastic plants hang from the ceiling and below the skylight in the center of the room is a square wooden basin that rises 3 feet into the air. In the basin are live potted plants, including a rather stumpy tree.

A glass door on the western side of the fast food joint leads back out onto the street.

The bright baby blue 68 Fast Back GT rolls into the parking lot of Mc Donald's and comes to a a rumbling halt. Out comes Justin in the driver's seat, Fitz in the passenger and Watcher in his human form (We call him Tim now), from the back. Giving himself a long stretch, he closes his door carefully, then reaches into his pocket to count through a couple of ones that he got from recycling. "Well, I got enough for at least two small shakes."

Fitz gives the car a calculating and cunning eyeball, then saunters after Justin, thumbs hooked into his front pockets. "Big spender, hoss."

Watcher follows after Justin, looking entirely out of place but doing a valiant effort to play it cool. He is clearly sniffing the air a lot, perhaps a bit more than a person should be, but maybe he's just really hungry? "I... do not have those." He murmurs as he looks to the green singles. "...important for... something not food or warm." He mumbles and looks at the food behind the counter with a covetous look.

The southern Gnawer is sitting in a booth by himself with a few burgers from off the dollar menu and a cup full of water. He is taking his time and enjoying the heat inside of the building to warm him up. He doesn't notice the three enter the fast food joint at first or at least he doesn't acknowledge anyone until they look in his direction.

An attractive "country boy" would be an affectionate description for this lean but muscular figure. The first thing one would notice is that his fair skin shows a variety of small scars from childhood scrimmages and a few from adulthood. The worst scar is the one that begins at the bottom of his ear and runs down to his shoulder. His raven-colored hair is cut short and his face is continuously going from clean shaven to 10-day stubble. The lingering smell of spicy, cheap aftershave rises off from his body. The clothing he wears is worn and often tattered; however there is always something with a southern twist. He frequently wears Wrangler denim jeans and a plaid shirt. On his head is usually either a cowboy hat or worn baseball cap. On his feet is typically pair of study cowboy boots.

"It's called money, Tim. You use money to buy food with. Without it, you can't get it." Justin says with a grin to the Lupus. "But, because I got enough for two and you're my best friend, I am getting you a shake. Mostly because I want to see you use a straw." He opens the door for the others to head in, then passes in afterwards.

"Hey," says Fitz. "If I give you a fiver, can I kick one of your baby's tires?"

"...strah?" Watcher mutters. Clearly that word did not come up in his lessons. He can only shrug and looks between Justin and Fitz before he glances towards the tables. There's a few patrons giving the kid in deerskin clothing an oddball look and it seems to spur the Lupus to find the back-back-back table to hunker in with his back to the wall.

"If you got five, that means you got enough to get yourself a shake. And if I got enough for two, then I think we're all good, so, no, you can't kick my baby's tires." Justin glowers a bit as he stalks for the front of the line, working the couple of bills back and forth in his fingers. "What flavor you want, Tim? White, pink or brown?" He looks over to spy Aaron, then gives a quick flail of a hand, waving to him.

At Aaron's table, he has his cowboy hat placed on the seat next to him. He takes a bite out of his first cheeseburger. As he looks around, he spots Justin and waves back towards him.

Fitz grins that crooked asshole grin of his, unrepentant, unpleasant, and unfriendly. Justin's glower has very little effect. "Get pink, Timmy. It's a man's color. At least, it used to be."

Watcher gives a considering wrinkle of his nose and replies, "All taste same mixed. Any good." He remains in his corner of the booth, glancing at patrons out of the corners of his eyes as they give the Garou equally sidelong looks.

"We'll both get pink ones. I like strawberry." Justin says with a wrinkle of his nose as he orders the two shakes, then puts the thirteen cents in the 'help kids plz' plastic jar next to the register. He takes the shake and hands one to Tim, then leans over to take a quick suck off his own straw. "Like that. Just copy. Don't try and eat the straw or swallow it. Won't feel too good."

Aaron continues munching on his burgers like it is the first thing he has eaten all day. Perhaps even two. He forces himself to slow down while eating by taking small and slow bites. The Ahroun looks on edge this evening as a full-moon shines bright outside the brightly lit restaurant.

Fitz perches a hip on the counter now that it's his turn and starts asking the employee behind the register about the current advertised specials, asking if the McRib is gluten-free, if it's free-range, if it's kosher, if the fries are GMO-free, how big a fries comes with the meal, if he gets a discount for a small...

Great, a customer must be muttering. Really, says another, a kid is teaching a retard how to use a straw. That black-haired kid was probably adopted from a reservation and a future of alcohol, only to be ignored and left to wander the street. Watcher-Tim eyes the straw. His immediate reaction is to slowly bite it while watching Justin. Nope, not right. He manages to get it roughly in the right position, but still biting more than sucking. Wolves don't have lips. Third time he almost gets it, but then about sucks down the straw itself with too much effort and ends up hacking.

If any of the customer's words reach his ears, Justin would whip his head over quickly to the source of the direction and put a bit of the monster behind his stare to shut them up. He nudges Watcher over to Aaron's table and nudges him to sit as he takes a seat across his fellow Ahrou. "Hey, teaching Tim how to use a straw." He says with a grin as he gives his best friend next to him a shoulder bump. "Just like this." He demonstrates again. He holds the straw with one hand so it does not move and shows how his lips work the straw. "Just suck it up, but /slowly/. Don't do too much or it will make your mouth super cold and will give you a head ache."

Fitz leans further over the counter, almost but not getting close enough to invade the employee's personal space, as he continues asking detailed questions about the McRib Value Meal. A manager comes over, an older woman who looks like she's dealt with plenty of shitheads in her life, though Fitz's grin gives her pause. It doesn't stop her from taking over for her subordinant, though; brusque and businesslike, she takes Fitz's order, which is incredibly detailed and requires a whole bunch of little requirements, like how he doesn't want any salt for his fries. A line builds up while she explains why he can't have two McRib patties in a single bun, maybe he would like an extra McRib? No, Fitz doesn't want an extra McRib sandwich, he wants /two/ patties on /one/ bun and /three/ pickles...

Aaron pauses while eating his second burger to watch the two with a mild-interest. It doesn't take the older Gnawer to figure out that Tim is either a lupus-born or just really sheltered. He simply nods his head in understanding towards Justin. "Hi Tim," he whispers politely. The Ahroun looks sidelong towards the counter and at Fitz. "You came with that guy?" he jerks his thumb towards the Fianna while asking Justin.

Watcher looks reluctant to abandon his corner for where Aaron is and moves rather sluggishly. He glances towards Fitz as he drives the underpaid employees up the wall. He doesn't interfer though and jus hunkers himself in his new seat. "Hello." He mumbles to Aaron and falls quiet while trying this straw thing again - slower but with no less effort.

"Aaron, this is Three Mountains of the Uktena." Justin says softly so that eavesdroppers can't hear. "Born woofy. Just rited. We're best friends. Uhhh.. that guy is Fitz.. Fianna.. asshole." He rolls his eyes upwards as his posture slumps, taking another sip.

Fitz finally makes his order. A price is determined. Fitz checks his pockets, then puts on the fakest 'oops! gosh, sorry!' face because it turns out he doesn't have any money after all.

Fitz saunters away from the counter.