the plot

[♦ Darien Shields]

Alright, admittedly, this was an odd place to relax. With the flashing lights and the Asian kids who brought shirts just to change out of after DDR and the just-pubescent girls who saw him come in on his motorcycle and now thought him God, it seemed to be no place for him to be. But here Darien was, having just fixed some huge mixer in the back, sitting back with some coffee that was part of his restitution in a comfy chair, observing.

He knew the owner long enough that instead of calling Geek Squad for the various technological mishaps that happened around this place he called Darien's cell instead, and luckily enough he caught him as he was out the door. Still in Geek Squad gear, but the money (and coffee) was all his. He gave a thumbs up to the owner as he loosened his black tie, ignoring the sniggers of punks laughing at his relatively formal attire. Hey, at least I have a job.

Oddly enough, the low electronic buzz that emanated from the various machines in the cafe soothed him. His friends often joked that he was half-computer due to his technological prowess and his iron wit, but as his shirt said, Darien thought he was just a geek. A geek utilizing his talents in the real world instead of rotting in his parents' basement - because his parents didn't have a basement. Hell, he didn't have parents. [color=green]Well, that inner monologue ended rather darkly.[color=green]

[♦ Alana Baker]

"Alright, got a coffee and a non-fat, sugar free, triple chocolate mocha-frappucino, with a hint of mint and cinnamon."

Alana could still feel the odd taste the order left in her mouth; cinnamon, and mint in a blend of chocolate and coffee? Who in the world ate that sort of stuff? She dropped off the order at a table where two blond girls sat. One, she knew had be a natural blond, while the other girl's hair was positively too bright to be a product of genetic coding. The girl with the faux-shade hair, as she would forever be known in Alana's mind, gave her somewhat of a sneer.

The brunette said nothing, and one of her eyebrows rose, the faux-shaded lass opened her mouth to speak but was left that way as Alana wandered off, tray in hand and mind somewhere in the sky. She often worked that way, at least when bringing orders to the tables near the bar, right next to the arcade. Her boss often asked her if she needed a day to meditate on the wondrous world they lived in; if Alana didn't answer, he would say that he could give her all the time she wanted by firing her. She would smile, a seemingly charming smile, and leave to begin working: Serving young, hormone driven teens their caffeine and sugar. As if the world needed another outlet to drive the youthful sugar-consuming masses wild.

As Alana headed back to the bar, she noticed one of the other waiters place a glass of soda and point to a man, in rather formal clothes, who stood near the machines where several teens skittered and ran about.

Alana frowned; the man seemed so out of place, and there was something about him. It wasn't that something was off, far from it. There was a certain aura, if that was the appropriate word, about him. Still, the girl carried the drink on her tray and walked up to the man. She resisted the urge to frown again. He was... very tall. Much, much taller than her.

"Sir? A drink, on the house."

[♦ Darien Shields]

Just as he disposed of his finished drink, here was another waitress giving him another drink on the house. He raised a brow but took the drink, saying a curt "Thank you," as he sipped it, looking rather pointedly for the owner of the store.

And, goddammit, there he was. Smirking. Smug bastard. Darien knew exactly why he was giving him more drinks.

See, he and the owner of this fine establishment went rather far back, with the owner being an upperclassmen friend of his in high school and in college. Darien made the mistake of locking him out of the bathroom after a particularly long round of drinks and despite his constant visits to fix his technology, he knew that at some point he'd get him back.

So basically, right now he was trying to get him to drink all of these drinks on the house and catch him off guard. Not today, man, not today. Darien was much too on his feet with the caffeine already in his system. He should've known!

And the bastard didn't have the balls to carry this out himself; he instead got his waitressing team to do his bidding. The girl was hopelessly tiny - maybe he planned that to throw him off so he'd just take all the drinks. Ha ha ha, not likely. "You're not in on this, are you?" Darien asked quietly but audibly, quite the feat given the roaring noise in this place.

[♦ Alana Baker]

Alana slipped her tray under her left arm, studying the man before her as he pointedly looked at the Manager of the bar. She had seen him before, but with the number of people that came to the Circle Cafe, it was hard to keep track of those who stood out more without having to take a picture. The lass remembered when the machines needed to be repaired, that the Manager always called the same number.

Ah. Now she could recall. So, this was the one all the employees were betting on or against; to the young girl, it didn't look like he could hold his liquor. The sixteen year old was about to turn when she heard the man speak, quiet but in an articulated manner. No smile crossed her face, she wasn't about to try to be charming.

Interesting as he was, he could have been just another jerk under the guise of mysterious member of the male human species.

A new question rose in Alana's mind: Should she tell her about the giant pot, about the people betting against or for him? She wasn't betting, so it wasn't as though she had much to lose.

"Oi! Baker!" A blond waiter passed, and Alana tossed her the empty tray before turning to answer the previous inquiry presented by the formally clothed man.

"...No. The other waiters are." With that, she shot a small glance at some of the workers at the nearby bar, who seemed to have stopped working for a few seconds to view the scene near the machines. They smiled sheepishly, continuing their work; but not before two knocked into each other, showing how the art ob subtly was lost to them.

"The boss keeps telling us to keep it a secret, otherwise he'd lose. I'm not betting and this job is temporary. Hopefully he would be good natured and pretend he found out about the pot another way. At least then Alana would keep her job for a while.