"Good morning, can I start you off with some coffee?"

Deucalion glanced in the woman's direction. Her tone had been breezy and surprisingly earnest, as warm as the sunlight pouring through the window, and he answered passively, "Decaf, if you please."

"Not a problem, just give me a second…"

The Alpha listened to her walk away, sneakers squeaking faintly on the tiled floor as she went to get the decaf pot. He tilted his head toward her voice as she spoke, "Nice to see the weather's finally cooling down."

"It certainly is." He rested his chin absently on his hand; his fingers idly tapping the handle of his white cane. Deucalion listened as she fluttered about the counter, his ears seeing more than his eyes had in years as she came back around. He supposed his waitress to be in the younger end of her twenties, given how strong, rich her voice was and how quickly she moved about. The booth he sat in was no doubt a garish enclosure, he was sure. The linoleum tabletop was chipped and the seat in which sat, while well padded, was being held together with duct tape and little else, which earned a hint of a grimace from him. When he heard her return, his expression shifted to something more akin to a smile. The man flexed his fingers around his white cane, "The humidity was dreadful this summer."

The waitress hummed in agreement as she poured his coffee, "You got that right. I swear I thought the paint was going to peel off my walls. Creamers are to your left, the sugar packets about an inch forward."

"Thank you," Deucalion nodded gracefully as he tried and failed to repress the small smile pulling at his mouth. It wasn't often people let him sort things out for himself- they either dismissed his blindness entirely, deeming it too awkward to mention or insisted on coddling him. Which, admittedly, at times played to his benefit. Such people were considerably easier to manipulate when they had preconceived notions that he could play into. It was when such people felt the need to treat him like an invalid that it grew tiring. It was when they insisted to assist him when it was clearly unneeded that his patience began to wane with the public. He appreciated the waitress's approach, noting that there hadn't been so much as a hint of condescension or pity in her tone.

"No problem, have you decided on what you'd like?"

The Alpha supposed her to be somewhere just under the six foot line. Tall for a woman. He would be able to get a better gauge of her exact height when he stood. It was so much easier to tell heights comparatively that way. He listened as she pulled a notebook out, the pages crinkling slightly as she flipped to a new page.

The man caught a whiff of her perfume, a synthetic flowery scent that did little to mask the undercurrent of bitterness in her natural scent. Focusing on it, he replied, "What would you recommend?"

"Well, were you thinking of a light breakfast, or maybe something heavier, assuming you're having breakfast at all and not an early lunch." Her voice was still friendly, laced with flustered amusement as she shifted from foot to foot with restless energy.

"Breakfast is fine." Deucalion turned his face upward in her direction, wondering if he made her nervous. The thought put a smile on his face, but there was no anxiety in her scent. Just that same perfume and oddly acrid natural scent. It wasn't cancer or a tumor- it wasn't heavy enough, but too central to her core to be a blood disease. Strange.

She hummed absently. After a moment, she answered, her tone no longer as playful, but rather a touch apprehensive. "Well, the oven puffed pancakes are awesome. You get one pancake, topped with strawberries or blueberries. I know it doesn't sound like much-"

"Blueberry pancakes sound wonderful."

"It's $8.50, plus tax." She rushed and he could feel the air move as she waved her hand, "I mean, I don't know if you're in a hurry or have an allergy or anything, so if you don't like it, I can hook you up with something else, okay?"

"That's fine." His lips curled back in amusement, flashing white teeth and emitting breezy confidence. He gestured to the empty diner around them with a casual flick of his wrist. "Are you always this busy?"

"You just missed the breakfast rush," The woman explained as she rocked on her heels. Her voice evened out, less anxious and more relaxed or at least as relaxed as he had heard her so far, "We'll be swamped again in an hour or so…I'll make sure to give you a heads up."

Deucalion nodded with an appreciative bow of his head as he told her, "My sincerest gratitude."

"Oh…" A teasing tone entered the woman's voice, honeying it as she gave his shoulder a light nudge with her index finger, "Someone knows how to earn brownie points with the wait staff. I'll make sure Jimmy treats ya right."

"Jimmy?" He repeated, surprised by the casual contact but not put off by it. It was unlikely she was flirting with him, there had been no rush of arousal; with him sitting so close, the man certainly would have caught the taste of it in the air. With a curious smirk, he listened as she spun on her heel; her shoes must've been rather well worn, the soles of them creating subtle squeaks with each step she took. It was irritating and grating on his sensitive hearing, but not unbearable.

"Our line cook," She explained before she put his order in, only to receive a grunt of acknowledgement from the man behind the window before she turned back to him, "Jim's not much of a morning person, are ya Jim?"

"Shouldn't you be wiping down the counters?" A gruff, decidedly masculine voice asked with hint of annoyance in it.

The waitress let out a huff of quiet laughter. With a hint of teasing smugness, she replied, "Yeah, probably."

Deucalion followed her path, listening as she went about wetting a cloth and wringing out the excess water.

"Do you want me to turn on the tv? Or maybe the radio?" She called from behind the counter.

He would've been able to have heard had she whispered, but of course the human needn't know that. "The radio would be splendid."

"Okay, handsome, quit trying to butter me up with your common decency and casual politeness. A waitress shouldn't become too used to such things." The woman teased. A faint click followed before the deep voice of Frank Sinatra filled the still air. "Is this okay?"

"It's just fine."

"Good, because the dial's broken and I couldn't change it anyhow."

A smile curled over his lips, but he didn't reply. The crooning voice didn't overtake his senses as it might have a blind human. His hearing sharp enough to hear the cook in the back heating the oven, a gas one, evidently, judging by the smell and the low floosh it gave when lit. A few tables over, the young woman was humming contentedly. It was off rhyme with the music, more a made up melody than trying to follow the slow tempo of Moonlight Serenade.

Personally, Deucalion had always preferred the Glenn Miller version. The need to add lyrics had always puzzled him, the instrumental version having held up so well on its own. The emotion had been just as clear, just as seductive and romantic, without the words- more so even, but he felt no urge to complain. The sun was warm through the window, the company was harmless and light and judging by the delicious smell wafting from the back, the food would be good. Better yet, there wasn't a werewolf for miles and he didn't have to pretend to care about whatever little spat his pack members were having.

His attention drifted back to the woman's scent. It was faint under the aroma of baking pastry, the gas and whatever spray she was using to wipe down the counter with, but it was there. The werewolf wondered vaguely whether or not she was aware of her illness. The thought had barely crossed his mind when he heard it, a slight irregularity in her heart beat; a palpitation. A quiet gasp followed, a hand coming down on linoleum and a squeak as a foot slipped out from under her. Deucalion pursed his lips, the sound of her erratic breathing a surprise but not anything he was going to rush to remedy. It would be hard to remain inconspicuous if he reacted to every little medical emergency that went on around him. Admittedly, he did turn in her direction, curious to as how it would play out for the young human. It would be a pity to lose such a friendly service worker…much less before he got his breakfast.

The waitress inhaled, her breathing evening out, slow and deep as her heart continued to pound and stutter. He tilted his head toward it, the sounds of Frank Sinatra fading out and giving him a short window to listen to her without the distraction of music. She ground her teeth and the light scratches of her nails digging into the tabletop could be heard, but she wasn't panicking, wasn't crying or trying to get help. She just grit her teeth and struggled to breathe through what he was sure was a painful spasm, given the fact her heart had yet to slow and continued to skip and hammer in her chest-but just as quickly as it had come on, it ceased. The rhyme returned and the woman took a deep breath just as a bell rang.

"Order up," Jimmy called, his voice gruff as he dinged the bell insistently.

"Okay." The woman whispered. When he kept it up, she repeated herself, louder this time, "Okay!"

The werewolf noted her formerly casual cheerfulness was now forced and strained. The waitress took a few steadying breaths before she moved over to the counter. A new song had come on the radio, Don McLean's Vincent, but neither of the employees paid it any mind.

"Don't think I didn't see that little freak out, Red," Jimmy murmured softly to her.

"Don't think I didn't see that little glimmer of concern there, old man." The woman replied back teasingly.

The man grunted in reply and the waitress, Red, giggled, a silvery sound that made the werewolf smirk. He assumed the nickname was take on her hair, as it usually was when a woman was referred to as such, but didn't bother to dwell on it as she approached. The scent of cinnamon and fresh fruit made his mouth water and Deucalion tilted his head toward the sound of her voice, sectioning his cane with absent minded precision.

"Okay, now, if you don't like it, I'll take full responsibility since I totally forced your hand-"

"Hardly," Deucalion smirked as she set the plate in front of him. The light clatter of the silverware followed as she arranged it to his right. "It smells ambrosial."

She let out an amused huff, "I'm going to assume that's a good thing."

"It most certainly is," The werewolf assured her, placing his napkin in his lap.

"Can I top you off?"

"Please."

He listened as she went to fetch the coffee pot. It was impressive how easily she had managed to regain control of her movements. Given her recovery time had only been moments, he was rather surprised to find her fluttering about like nothing had happened.

"Don't you touch that until I get the syrup," She warned him, tone just as full of jest and indiscriminate affection as it had been when he first sat down. "We have maple, plain honey, strawberry, blueberry, blackberry, mixed berry and citrus. Just tell me what kind you'd like."

"Quite the selection you have."

The human chuckled, "You bet we do."

"Blueberry will be fine, thank you."

"There's that common courtesy again," She teased, her feet makes little squeaks on the tile once more. "There is no need for such chivalry; I am but a humble servant, my good sir."

A wicked smirk crossed his lips at that. "If I'm making you uncomfortable, I could impart some vulgarity between my thanks."

"Sweetheart, don't take this the wrong way, but I don't think my heart could handle such foul language coming from such a pretty mouth."

There was no tremor of a lie in her voice. Deucalion tilted his head at that, a brow arching above his sunglasses in amusement as she set the bottle on the table and directed him to it. He inclined his head in thanks once more and she went off to finish wiping down the tables. He was pleased to find the food was as delicious as it smelled. Perhaps he would become a regular at this establishment. The music filled the silence, the feminine singer unfamiliar to him but certainly pleasant enough as he ate.