"I've got some good news and some bad news this mornin'," Rube announced, distributing his post-its as Kiffany placed their usual breakfasts in front of them.
"The usual?" Kiffany asked, standing over their table with a pot of coffee.
"Is it ever anything but?" Roxy asked.
Kiffany shook her head.
"I want the good news first," Daisy said, reaching for the syrup. "I always like to start things off with positivity."
"We're gonna get both anyway," Roxy pointed out, taking a grateful sip of her coffee. "Either way, you're gonna get shit upon. What difference does it make when?"
"I just prefer to soften the blow, is all. What's wrong with that?" Daisy countered, daintily unwrapping the napkin and laying it carefully in her lap.
"Nobody asked you whether you wanted the good news first or not," George pointed out, taking a bite of oatmeal.
"Georgia, if I wanted your opinion, I would've asked for it. So Rube, tell us? What glad tidings today?"
Roxy shot her a glare. "That's for Christmas. Glad tidings is for Christmas."
"Big job today."
"But I wanted…" Daisy began, but was silenced by George and Roxy's glares.
"Well, this is what you've got," Rube said, passing around post-its.
Will Schuester once pulled countless all-nighters as a Spanish major, and even a few as a teacher getting grades in before the deadlines. But driving sixteen hours without so much as a ten-minute break brought new meaning to the word 'tired.' He'd been wiped-out before, but never so exhausted it was starting to settle into his bones. At the moment, keeping his eyes open was a Herculean effort, especially after spending the last night in the motel room with the boys, who apparently thought sleep was optional. He had lost the feeling in his ass hours ago.
"If you want to take a nap, I can drive," Reuben Jones (Mercedes' father) offered.
"I'm okay," Will lied. At least, he would be fine once he got a couple of cups of coffee. After the expenses that came out of his paycheck as a consequence of the last trip to Nationals, he barely had enough to cover his rent that last month of school. Kurt's room-service bill alone had been enough to nearly give his father another heart attack, and that wasn't even including the cost of the ruined pillows.
Figgins, in his infinite wisdom, insisted that there be two adults of each gender for this trip to avoid any more financial set-backs, so Will held a meeting with all the Glee parents before Christmas and, Carole Hudson-Hummel, Juliana Lopez (Santana's mother), along with Mr. Jones had volunteered.
"Fine, my ass," Reuben said with a chuckle.
"Legally, I'm the only one who can drive this thing, sir, or otherwise, I'd take you up on your offer in a heart-beat."
"I don't care which one of you drives," Juliana Lopez snapped in the seat behind him. "Just as long as we don't get lost, comprende? And can we please stop somewhere for breakfast? My freakin' back teeth are swimming!"
"Si señora," Will mumbled with a roll of his eyes. Apparently, the apple didn't fall far from the tree.
Of course, there wasn't time for another stop between the venue and the hotel, but like he was going to tell her that.
He turned into The Emerald City Motor Inn, which was right next door to an establishment called Burger Round-Up, thankful to be not moving, if only for just a little while.
Big reaps, Roxy knew, were always a big pain in the ass.
She liked working on her own. She liked being able to do her own thing, to not have to listen to Mason being a fucking idiot or Daisy being fucking annoying or George just being…fucking George.
Even Rube. She loved Rube in her own way, but God idamn/i that man got on her nerves.
With the big reaps, though, it meant she had to put up with everybody, and she wasn't even getting paid for this shit.
She'd gotten two reaps: K. Hummel and A. Abrams. It was already approaching 9:30 AM and if these kids were going to make their appointments, she needed to hustle. A. Abrams' times were both listed at 10:11 AM. The location hadn't been listed on the post-it since Rube was taking them to their appointment (or rather, K. Hummel and A. Abrams' appointment) and she didn't care. All she knew was that she had a shift to get to on the force and even that was boring as fuck. She hadn't made one damn bit of difference.
And now she was escorting the dead to their final destination, and she'd been standing in The Burger Round Up for the better part of a half an hour waiting for the goddamn reaps to show the fuck up.
She was just about to leave, make some excuse that she needed to get to her day job when she noticed a gaggle of kids and a few tired adults who had just come in.
"Alright guys!" a tired-looking man in a tired-looking sweater-vest announced. He fucking looked like Mr. Rogers. "New Directions, you have thirty minutes to eat and get back on the bus! We have to get to the venue for rehearsal!"
"Oh dear God I'm going to die of salmonella poisoning," a blonde said as they entered. Roxy hadn't been there before personally, but she knew there'd been reaps here in the past. "Or cholesterol poisoning. One of the two."
"Come on Quinn, one burger's not going to kill you," a dark-haired giant of a girl with pale skin and glasses said in a monotone.
It was called The Burger Round-Up, and the burgers weren't the only things that were cheesy. The whole place was decked out in a dumb-ass Western motif.
There were even bullhorns on the wall.
"I don't think grease is good for the vocal chords," a short brunette said. Her nametag indicated that she was Rachel Berry. "Do you think this place has Vegan options?" she asked to nobody in particular. Roxy wanted to smack her.
"I think my cholesterol went up ten points just breathing in the fumes," a tallish impeccably dressed dark-haired boy said. According to his name tag, he was A-Schizzle Abrams. Abrams. He could be one of hers. "This can not be good for my complexion."
"Come on guys, I'm sure they have salads or something," another dark-haired kid, even taller than the Artie kid said. His name tag read Puckzilla. Definitely not one of her reaps. "Besides, I'm starving. I haven't eaten in like, forever."
"Yeah, but do they have anything Kosher?" A mowhawked kid asked. His nametag read 'Finn.'
"Mr. Schue, this place got a C-plus on its health department report card. This place does look a little sketchy," a large black girl complained. Her name-tag read 'Tina.' "Isn't there anywhere else?"
"Guys, we don't have time for anything else. You took an extra twenty minutes getting to the bus and this is the only thing close to the motel. Besides, we're already here. It's either this or starve."
"Howdy, Partner, welcome to Burger Round-Up," a cashier said in a bored voice. She was wearing a cowboy hat. "What can we rustle up for you today?"
"Um, do you have salads?" Quinn asked.
"As a side," the cashier replied.
"So…I'd like a salad."
"What kind of dressing?"
"Just vinegar," she answered with a murderously sweet smile on her face.
"Name?" the cashier asked, rolling her eyes.
"Quinn Fabray."
Roxy watched and waited along with the rest of her reapers from her post in one of the booths that faced the front counter, leaning against the drink machine, watching the kids, trying to figure out how best to go about her task at hand.
"Excuse me," Daisy said, brushing a hand on Quinn's shoulder. "Do I know you?"
"I…don't think so…" Quinn said.
"Sorry, my mistake," she said, grabbing a napkin from the bin. "I guess you just have one of those faces."
"At least they all have name-tags," Daisy said as she went back to the group. "That's helpful."
"Not necessarily," Rube said. "Observe." He nodded his head in the direction of two boys and an older woman.
"Finn, honey," a woman said to Puckzilla. "If you and Kurt want to go stand in line for the restroom, I can get our orders." The boys exchanged questioning glances and left.
"Just get me a salad. No cheese, or croutons…" A. Abrams said, making a face. "And iplease/i, no bacon-bits. Just oil and vinegar dressing on the side."
"Dude! Bacon bits are totally the best part of the salad!" 'Puckzilla' said as they left for restroom.
"The Hudsons may have fabulous arteries, Finn, but the Hummel genetics aren't so fortunate. I have a fifty percent chance of inheriting my dad's arteries, and I am inot/i going to add fuel to the fire."
"K. Hummel. THAT'S K. Hummel, not A. Abrams?" Roxy said with a sigh, shaking her head. "So they switched! Fucking little brats."
"Mr. Schue," the short brunette said. The 'A' on her nametag was in the shape of a star, and Roxy hated this Rachel chick on the spot. "I really don't think this kind of establishment is conducive to an optimal performance."
"Rachel," the haggard-looking man answered with a sigh. "We're eating here, or we're starving for the rest of the day. There's no time to go anywhere else."
"Looks like you've got one of your reaps, Georgia," Daisy said.
"Fuck me," George replied. "I don't want her. She's annoying! Can't someone else take her?"
"You're only stuck with her for a couple of hours, Peanut. Suck it up," Rube said. She brushed between Rachel Berry and Mr. Schue.
"Well that was rude!" Rachel huffed.
"One Boss Burger with a side of Tumbleweed Tots for S. Evans!" came another bored voice over the loud speaker. A tall blonde kid bounded up to the counter.
"Oh, he's cute!" Daisy said, making eye contact and waving at him.
S. Evans smiled shyly and almost dropped his tray as he went to find a booth. Daisy brushed up against him as he filled his drink.
"Excuse you!" a large black girl huffed when she saw it happen.
"Mercedes," a kid in a wheelchair said, wearing a nametag that read 'Kurt Elizabeth Hummel,' "He's not your boyfriend anymore. He can flirt with whoever he wants."
"Chuck-wagon Chicken Sandwich for A. Abrams!" the voice droned again. Mercedes got it for him.
"Excuse me," Roxy interrupted, brushing a hand on Artie's shoulder.
The Blonde (Latina Girl had called her Brittany) was making some stupid-ass comment about little dogies and how they were supposed to only be eaten in Japan, when she noticed out of the corner of her eye that Mason tentatively approached her.
" 'Scuse me," Mason asked, touching Brittany on the shoulder. "But do you have the time?"
"I can't wear a watch," Brittany replied. "I kept looking for the bomb because of the ticking sound."
"Get a fucking watch, Creeper," Latina said.
All the reaps were done except one. K. Hummel. Mr. K. Hummel was sitting at a table, picking at his salad as he fussed with his cell phone.
"Kurt, honey," Carole said. "Call your father. I let him know we got here safe and sound, but you know how your dad is. He wants to hear from you."
Kurt rolled his eyes. "Fine. But he does realize that I am going off to college next year, right?"
"He knows, Kurt, he knows," Carole said, patting his arm, "but we have to ease him into these things."
"I'll just go outside," he said. Kurt stepped away from the crowd and went outside so he could make the call, and Roxy finally had her chance.
She laid a hand on him as and brushed his sleeve.
He looked at her in confusion.
"Did I have something on my sleeve?"
Roxy nodded. "It's gone now. You had a bug. Think I took care of it. Nice hat," she said, eyes floating to the top of Kurt's head, this one, a purple checkered fedora with a feather in the brim. "My Gramma had one just like it."