Toward the end of Deucalion's meal, people began to wander into the restaurant. The Alpha kept his head down as an elderly couple slipped into the booth behind his own. The woman's perfume was not unpleasant, but heavy all the same; it thickened the air around them in a plume of synthetic fragrance that made his nose twitch.

The familiar squeak on the tiles told him his waitress was coming and he looked up accordingly, ignoring the couple's idle chit chat about their granddaughter's upcoming piano recital. He clenched his jaw at their loud voices. Annoyed with the break in silence, Deucalion tuned them out as best he could. Apparently some of his annoyance played on his face, because the young woman chuckled quietly before speaking.

"You have about five minutes before the lunch rush comes in," She warned him, tone filled with mirth, "Refill or would you prefer just the check?"

"Just the check."

"It's 9.69," Deucalion felt her hand come down on his shoulder, her voice dropping to a conspiring whisper as she told him, "you could just leave the money on the table and sneak out, if you wanted to avoid getting sucked into whatever petty argument my two favorite customers are getting into."

A rueful smirk crossed the werewolf's lips as he began to connect the sections of his cane, "And here I thought that title was reserved for me."

"Oh, trust me, darlin', if I was gonna call you something I'd come up with something a lot more…colorful, than favorite." She teased, a familiar, casual warmth in her tone, but still no arousal in her scent.

"Colorful?" He repeated dryly. An amused brow rose over his glasses. "Odd choice of words when referring to a blind man."

The woman let out a huff of amusement and pulled back. Giving his shoulder a squeeze, she told him, "Don't play the blind card with me, handsome. Still gotta pay your tab and tip your waitresses."

"And what lovely waitresses they are." The man replied, clicking the last section into place.

She walked away with a scoff, purposely knocking her hip against his arm; he was quick to pull his wallet out. He kept his bills in a certain way as to differentiate them; ones were left straight, fives folded in half, tens folded lengthwise and twenties folded in a combination of the previous two. It was the last he reached for, straightening the wrinkles out and setting his empty coffee cup on it. Always best to over tip in establishments one planned on returning to, he thought.

Without signaling to the waitress, he slipped out of the diner and out into the sunlight.

When he returned the next day, the weather had taken a turn for the worst. Cold rain had hammered down on him; slicking his hair and making his clothes stick to uncomfortably to his skin. Deucalion shuddered as he slipped inside, shaking some of the water from his glasses with a growl of annoyance. It hadn't been raining nearly as hard when he left the apartment. Barely drizzling then, but now it was an outright downpour.

Light feet squeaked on the tile, louder than they had been previously. Apparently the waitress had been caught in the rainstorm as well. "Oh, hey, I'm glad you're- wow."

Deucalion slipped his glasses back over his eyes. He had been told, repeatedly by the twins, that his eyes could be unsettling. With an arched brow, he asked in a mock innocent voice, "Something wrong?"

"You are…let me get you a towel or something," The woman rushed, sneakers squealing as she moved into a spare supply closet. As she got farther away, she called, "Take a seat! Preferably at the counter, ten feet forward, watch the step!"

The Alpha did as he was told. He let his cane skip over the tiles and found that her guess was off by two feet and tucked that away in the back of his mind for another visit. It was a habit, developed over the years, to mentally map out any areas he frequented (or intended to frequent). It hit the mentioned step and he reached a hand out. Soft leather and duct tape hit his fingertips and his lips twitched. He doubted there was a seat in this place not being held together by will and the sticky reflective material. Deucalion slipped into the seat and began to section off his cane as soft squeaks filled the air once again.

"She fill ya in on the special yet?" A deep voice grunted.

Jimmy- Jim, the cook. He supposed he was probably facing him directly, the smells from the kitchen blocking the man's natural scent. The Alpha shook his head, "Not yet."

"It's oatmeal."

A feminine voice piped up as the waitress returned, tone heavy with sarcasm, "Oh, well don't dress it up for the customers, Jim."

"Shut up, Red."

"You shut up," The woman teased. She was close now; barely a foot away if the werewolf had to guess. As her hand came down on his arm, he supposed he was correct. He turned to her and she pressed a towel into his hand.

"Here, dry yourself off."

Deucalion did as he was told. Patting his face with the slightly starch material as she rounded the counter, he asked if they had many customers that morning. The cook gave a grunt, but didn't answer. The waitress took up where Jim left off, "Only a few stragglers like yourself."

"Is that right?" He arched a brow above his glasses, curious as to why her tone was heavier than it had been the day before. Less welcoming and more stand offish. Her scent had changed as well. The bitterness was still there, as was her flowery shampoo or perfume or whatever it was she used, but there was a hint of something else to it now; arousal. Barely there, but distinct enough for him to register.

"Yep," The register dinged as she continued, "Hold out your hand."

Cautiously, he did as he was told. Her hand cupped his, fingers long and her touch gentle as she turned his palm upward. She pressed a bill into his hand and let him go. He let out a hum as he rubbed it between his fingers. There were two distinct creases and he nodded knowingly, "This is the bill I left for you yesterday."

"Yes it is." He felt the woman shift across the counter. Her tone was clipped and annoyed as she plucked the coffee cup up from beside him and poured him some decaf, "It's a twenty. The meal was only nine dollars."

"I'm not seeing a problem."

The woman huffed. "The problem is I spent about fifteen minutes yesterday trying to figure out the kismet repercussions of stealing from a blind guy. Even an inordinately handsome one such as yourself."

A wry, somewhat condescending smile crossed his lips, "It was a tip."

"A 110% tip? That's not a tip, that's charity." She shot back indignantly. Setting the cup just to the right of his hand, she continued absently, "Sugar and creamers to your left, mind the cash register."

Deucalion nodded and pulled a packet of sugar out from the container. Shaking it absently, he pursed his lips, "I've offended you?"

"Look, I'm sure it wasn't intentional, okay? You don't seem like the talk slow to the help type, well…maybe a little," she admitted, but the waitress waved off that train of thought and carried on earnestly, "Probably comes with the territory, but I can't accept a ten dollar tip. Not from you, not from anyone."

Jim's voice cut in from the back, voice tired but amused, "I told her she should just give it to me, but she wouldn't listen."

"The territory?" Deucalion asked, inclining his head in her direction as he tore the packet open and dumped the sugar into his coffee.

"Don't you work at the college?"

The werewolf blinked behind his sunglasses before letting out an irked, "No. Why would you think…?"

"You were in a tweed jacket!" The woman shrieked with embarrassment, "I didn't even know they made those in real life!"

"You thought-"

"You know what," She interrupted, a hint of indignant embarrassment in her voice as she waved her hand again. "Doesn't matter, I'm sorry. Now give me ten dollars to cover yesterday's breakfast and I will happily take your order."

The man shook his head and pulled out his wallet. He slipped the twenty back inside and plucked out a ten. Holding it out to her, he shook his head as she opened the cash register once again. Tone laced with amusement, he told her, "See if I ever tip you again, Miss…?"

"Isla. My name's Isla." The waitress told him, taking out the change and pressing the coins into his palm. "You got a name, or will handsome suffice?"

"Well, it certainly is an apt observation, wouldn't you agree?"

"I certainly would," Isla replied, her voice light and warm once again. The man absently wondered how it was a jacket and a lavish tip was enough to warrant her distain, but since it had passed quickly enough, Deucalion pushed it aside as she asked, "What can I get for you?"

"The oatmeal sounds just fine."

"That, is a very good choice on a wet day." She shuffled away from him, "You get that, Jim?"

When she received a grunt of acknowledgement, the woman giggled. A smirk drifted across the Alpha's face as he raised his coffee mug to his lips. It was steaming, fogging his glasses slightly and the woman made a low noise in the back of her throat.

"You should let me wipe those off for you."

Deucalion blinked, "And why would I do that?"

"Because it's really distracting and they're going to rust if you don't?" She offered, setting a napkin and a spoon beside the sugar packets and cream.

The man pulled them from his face and passed them to her. "Are you the only waitress here?"

"At the moment? Yes. Only one employed? Not so much," She breathed on his glasses and he heard the slight squeak as she rubbed them with a piece of cloth. "Why? Sick of me already…whatever your name is."

"Deucalion."

"Fuck off," She snapped at him in surprise. Apparently out of reflex because she quickly began to apologize, fumbling and laughing anxiously, "Sorry, I just, you know- it's not exactly everyday-"

"It's fine," He smiled, flashing straight white teeth and a bit of delight at her embarrassment. "Not the reaction I was expecting, but not the worst I've heard."

"Well, whatever you say, Dee." A bell rang behind her and her attention shifted, "Really, Jim? I'm literally two feet away."

It rang again, this time just to spite her. Isla huffed and a chortle could be heard coming from the cook. Muttering a very naughty word under her breath, she picked the bowl up from the counter and set it in front of the customer.

"Can I get you syrup? Honey? Brown sugar, white sugar, nutmeg, cinnamon, Nutella, yogurt-"

"Honey will suffice."

"But you didn't even let me finish," Isla teased, already moving to fetch it for him.