Energie
Junior Member
The crackling sound of sizzling food and the clank of dishes filled the air of the Blue Plate -- the home away from home for the Borlands. The place had been around since the Stone Age and it's walls were filled with all the memories from just about that far back -- pictures, newspaper headlines, and framed Vinyl records lined nearly every inch of free space on the walls.
Tory Borland rarely ever had a free hand from the second she stepped foot in her diner at the moment walking purposefully with her hands filled with three plates. Her apron was tied snug around her waist and her hair naturally framed fell around the contours of her face. She rarely wore a smile, instead maintaining a look of earnest that was just as authentic to the Blue Plate experience as the country fried steak.
"Lovely of you to finally join us, Roman." Tory stated, her voice dry and crisp as she approached the counter where a group of misfits had assembled every morning for as long as she could remember. The Borlands didn't have many traditions, but Tory would be cold in the casket before they missed a morning gathering at the diner for breakfast.
She slid the last three plates she had in her hand down the counter until they all came to a stop just before the person that were intended to fed. "Hope. Kian. Ole Sal can cover the rest of those tickets; hell, I'm paying him for something. Ya'll come eat." Tory called them from the kitchen, as she ran the roster of children through her head making sure that everyone was there.
She poured herself a mug of coffee, as she waited for the last of 'em to find their seat at the counter, before pressing her hand to her hip and muttered, "Well, the food ain't going to eat itself. Dig in."
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Marcello sat at the head of the lengthy dining room table with a newspaper in hand and a warm mug of coffee within reach. It was a rare occasion when the family's dining table even saw use, but Marc figured there'd been a long enough break between uses and had organized a family brunch to cover some things with his children and spouse.
The kitchen was filled with the smells of food -- Belgian waffles, Roasted Tomato and Feta Souffle, Peppered Applewood Smoked Bacon. The Zocchis had high standards in everything they did and their taste in food was no exception. Their personal chef had been on-call since 6am that morning getting everything together.
This campaign season had been a turbulent one, his competitors for the seat of United States Senator proving more qualified adversaries than any other politic position he'd run for. The media had an ever-increasing radar on the Zocchi family with Marc's long-time reputation as a family man and Marc wanted to be sure that his family never did anything to shatter their image that they'd work several decades to construct -- successful, talented, and the epitome of the American Dream as nothing was out of reach for a Zocchi once they put their mind to it.
"Lucia, be a dear and make sure that everyone is up and getting ready." Marc stated to the maid without ever looking away from his newspaper. As she walked off to complete her task, Marc's eyes slid to his watch. Little meant more to the man than his time and he'd planned to make this brunch curt and purposeful.
Tory Borland rarely ever had a free hand from the second she stepped foot in her diner at the moment walking purposefully with her hands filled with three plates. Her apron was tied snug around her waist and her hair naturally framed fell around the contours of her face. She rarely wore a smile, instead maintaining a look of earnest that was just as authentic to the Blue Plate experience as the country fried steak.
"Lovely of you to finally join us, Roman." Tory stated, her voice dry and crisp as she approached the counter where a group of misfits had assembled every morning for as long as she could remember. The Borlands didn't have many traditions, but Tory would be cold in the casket before they missed a morning gathering at the diner for breakfast.
She slid the last three plates she had in her hand down the counter until they all came to a stop just before the person that were intended to fed. "Hope. Kian. Ole Sal can cover the rest of those tickets; hell, I'm paying him for something. Ya'll come eat." Tory called them from the kitchen, as she ran the roster of children through her head making sure that everyone was there.
She poured herself a mug of coffee, as she waited for the last of 'em to find their seat at the counter, before pressing her hand to her hip and muttered, "Well, the food ain't going to eat itself. Dig in."
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Marcello sat at the head of the lengthy dining room table with a newspaper in hand and a warm mug of coffee within reach. It was a rare occasion when the family's dining table even saw use, but Marc figured there'd been a long enough break between uses and had organized a family brunch to cover some things with his children and spouse.
The kitchen was filled with the smells of food -- Belgian waffles, Roasted Tomato and Feta Souffle, Peppered Applewood Smoked Bacon. The Zocchis had high standards in everything they did and their taste in food was no exception. Their personal chef had been on-call since 6am that morning getting everything together.
This campaign season had been a turbulent one, his competitors for the seat of United States Senator proving more qualified adversaries than any other politic position he'd run for. The media had an ever-increasing radar on the Zocchi family with Marc's long-time reputation as a family man and Marc wanted to be sure that his family never did anything to shatter their image that they'd work several decades to construct -- successful, talented, and the epitome of the American Dream as nothing was out of reach for a Zocchi once they put their mind to it.
"Lucia, be a dear and make sure that everyone is up and getting ready." Marc stated to the maid without ever looking away from his newspaper. As she walked off to complete her task, Marc's eyes slid to his watch. Little meant more to the man than his time and he'd planned to make this brunch curt and purposeful.
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