JL's Diner(#253Rs)

	As you enter JL's Diner your feet land on a soft, supple 
'Welcome' mat. It appears to be faux velvet, with a picture of Elvis 
Presley striking a pose and saying, "Thank ya for coming. Thank ya very 
much." This mat lies on a black and white checkered marble floor that 
shines like it was just-waxed.
	Your gaze travels across the diner layed out before you. To your 
left is the gleaming white countertop of the oaken bar. Seven barstools 
with shining silver bodies and a red leather top line the bar's edge. A 
soda-jerk in a white outfit stands behind the bar, waiting to take your 
order. His crimson name-tag is pinned to his left breast, a sharp 
contrast from his immaculate white uniform.
	To your immediate right are several booth-style tables. The 
tables have the same white top as the counter, and the booths have red 
leather-esque padding. Several waitresses bustle around you, rushing 
back to the kitches with orders. You finally notice a small crimson 
sign with a sterling-silver frame that reads, "Seat Yourself."

Mike doesn't deal with extreme heat very well, and the weather today is 
just too much. He enters the diner and beelines for the counter. 
"Pepsi! Uh, please, I'll have a Pepsi." Pause. "More ice?" Another 
pause. "Bit more ice." Only when the glass is almost totally full of 
ice does he take a look around the diner.

Blake, who was already seated at the counter with a plate of (gasp) 
food in front of him, noticed Mike fairly quickly. "Mike!" he yelps, 
practically pouncing on him. "Mygod Mike, the weirdest thing 
happened!!"

Ian Dawn has just ordered a sandwich. And some tea. He is careful to 
avoid coffee, as it does very strange things to his metabolism. As the 
waitress leaves to get his order, Ian makes sure no one is looking, and 
quickly polishes his table until he can see his face in it, replacing 
the table utensils with a package of plastic utensils he's carrying 
around. This city isn't safe YET, he thinks.

Mike almost drops his glass, but manages to save all but two ice cubes, 
which make themselves a hazard on the floor. "Blake?" He blinks. "Wow, 
you look good...what happened?" He's assuming it's not something BAD, 
or he'd have heard about it on the news. Ian is unnoticed. Sorry.

Blake sits on the stool next to Mike. "I--I don't know," he admits. 
"But it wasch weird." He reaches around behind him to pull his plate 
over. "I wasch in the Park and I met thisch guy," he begins, starting 
back in on his french fries.

Ian Dawn gets his order, inspects the sandwich carefully, and begins to 
eat. He then realizes that this is a finger food, and his utensils are 
useless. Oh well, good to be prepared, at least. He goes to the 
bathroom really quick to wash his hands, then comes back to eat. As he 
does, he idly listens to a conversation in the next booth over where 
both conversers appear to be surprised about something.

Mike watches Ian as the man leaves and returns, for want of anyone else 
moving about. "That *is* weird," he agrees with Blake.

Blake rolls his eyes. "Not *that* part," he grunts. "It wasch the guy 
himschelf. He'd juscht been pulled through by the Infinity Effect. 
Schome schuperhero from a parallel universche. And he *knowsch* me." He 
takes a quick drink of his apple juice.

Ian Dawn tenses. Superhero? This sounds interesting. He's heard of the 
Infinity Effect, but never gave it much mind. As long as the outsiders 
don't make a mess. But other superheroes... Ian finds himself leaning 
towards the counter.

Mike blinks, not *quite* getting it. As he doesn't. "Wow, really? Was 
it someone *you* know?" A worrying thought occurs. "It's not another 
Carol, is it?"

Blake blinks. "Would that be bad?" He shakes his head. "No. Anywaysch I 
alwaysch thought that couldn't happen. No--No, schomeone elsche. He 
knowsch Carol too, though. *He* schaysch that in this other reality, 
he'sch in a schuperhero team with me. And Carol, and schome other 
people. A *schuperhero team*. With me. He even had a picture of usch 
all. I tell you, I've been tripping out." He goes back to eating, as if 
trying to find something to occupy his hands (which he is).

Ian Dawn leans too far, and falls over. As he picks himself up, cursing 
with words that "aren't too harsh", he steps towards the bathroom to 
make sure he's not dirty and steps on an errant piece of ice. 
"Yeeeaaaaa!" WHAM!

Mike would probably make some comment about the Infinity Effect - which 
he knows a fair bit about, having done some serious research - but he's 
distracted by Blake's story. "Wow," he says, and really means it. "He 
had a *picture*? That's kinda creepy. Are you gonna let him join your 
team here?" And then Ian goes over on the ice and Mike cringes. "Sorry! 
That was my fault, I'm sorry.."

Blake leaps out of his seat to help Ian up. "No, it'sch mine," he 
corrects Mike. "I'm schorry," he tells Ian.

Ian Dawn allows himself to be picked up, too dazed to say anything but 
"No, no, it's okay" over and over. He is eventually led to another 
counter seat, where he gratefully slumps onto the counter for support 
and gets a glass of water to calm himself. "It's alright. Really. 
Should have been watching myself."

Mike is dismayed at himself, watching anxiously while Blake helps Ian 
to the seat. "Things like that happen around me a lot, I'm really 
sorry. You really okay?"

Blake waves cheerfully to the disgusted-looking waitress who arrives 
now to clean up the rest of the ice before someone else slips and sues 
the diner, then sits back down.

Ian Dawn manages to return to his normal... well, USUAL train of 
thought. "No, really, I'm okay. I'm more durable than I look." *sip* 
"Couldn't help but notice that you were chatting about superheroes, 
though. I myself am interested in the whole super scene in our fine 
city. What's this one like?"

Mike blinks, startled, and glances around, his expression almost 
furtive. "Jeez, you guys...it's not safe to go on about heroes, and 
stuff. You'll get yourself killed," he informs Ian seriously. "You 
gotta be more careful who you talk to. We could be anyone."

Blake has gone back to his food, still ravenous. "Guessch you're 
right," he admits to Mike, then turns to Ian. "Anywaysch, this guy I 
wasch talking about, he'sch a little exschitable," he tells Ian, 
immediately ignoring Mike's advice. "Wears funny clothesch." He takes a 
drink of his juice, not at all registering that he could well be 
describing himself, before going on: "I think he schaid schomething 
about throwing forksch."

Ian Dawn lacks the crucial survival trait present in most vigilantes, 
and also disregards Mike. "Oh, you can't be anyone, because you're you. 
Right?" He isn't used to Blake's lisp so it is hard to decipher, but he 
manages it. "Forks? Weird." says the man with the Mop.

Mike half-starts to reprimand Blake again, then stops short, blinking. 
"You mean knives, right? Nobody throws forks."

Blake shakes his head, chewing, then swallows. "Nah, he schaid forksch. 
I dunno. I like it, I think it'sch a cool schtick."

Ian Dawn nods a bit. "You know, that would take a lot of skill.." Ian 
knows that wielding a mop takes quite a bit of practice, so forks must 
too.
Mike blinks at Blake, again, then shrugs and stirs his ice with the 
straw. "I guess," he says doubtfully. "But c'mon...here? *Forks*? Can 
you see someone standing up to Superman with some forks?"

Blake flinches a bit at mention of Superman. "I...well..." He falters. 
"Maybe not. But...Tofu Man would be in *big* trouble," he finishes 
defensively.

Ian Dawn doesn't laugh. This isn't because he doens't like the joke, 
it's because he can't understand the joke. Humor is not his strong 
suit. "Tofu man? My, there's all kinds, aren't there?" He remembers a 
news report. "Though actually, I think I remember hearing on the news 
that someone DID manage to incapacitate Superman. Someone by the name 
of Sullivan, I think."

Mike grins at Blake, then looks to Ian, practically bouncing in his 
seat. "Yeah! That's right! It was *so* cool." Except that Superman 
isn't a bad guy. "Nobody's ever done *that* before." He gives Blake a 
look. A 'tell him it's you cuz I probably shouldn't' look.

Blake attempts to disappear into his jacket. "And they'll never do it 
again," he says in a small voice, offering no other comment.

Ian Dawn furrows his brow at Blake. "Are you alright Mr... Mr... er, 
what IS your name, by the way?" He seems genuinely concerned.

"Threepwood," says Blake quickly.

Mike stares at Blake. See, Eddie in this situation, or even Ray, would 
catch on. But this is *Mike*. "No it's not." He looks to Ian. "He gets 
all embarrassed like this, ignore him. I'm Mike, who're you?"

Ian Dawn smiles. "Ian. Ian Dawn. Pleased to meet you, Mike!" He looks 
at Blake. "And Mr... Threepwood? Or isn't it? No need to get embarassed 
around me, I'm harmless, really!"

Blake stabs at his remaining food with his fork. "Oh...it'sch 
Schullivan," he mutters resignedly. Mike is bound to blab eventually. 
"Hi," he remembers to add.

Mike gives Blake a concerned look. While he knows that you have to be 
careful about being a hero, he tends to trip over the idea that people 
might not *want* to be well-known for it. He opts to say nothing, 
stirring his rapidly-melting ice.

Ian Dawn smiles. "Ah, Sullivan. Very nice. What's the first name Sul-" 
BLINK. "SULLIVAN?" His voice goes hoarse, his eyes go wide. "You're 
him! Wow! You're a superhero! You beat one of the city's greatest 
threats! Wow! Wow! W- *think* Woah!" Imagine! A fellow superhero, right 
next to him!

Blake clutches the countertop. "Fer Chrisschake schut up," he hisses, 
panicking. He looks around quickly for signs of angry thugs coming to 
get him. "I didn't do it on *purposche*," he says, resorting to his 
old, but true, excuse.

Mike grins at Ian, amused. That was exactly his reaction, but he's 
getting more used to the idea now and Ian's behaviour strikes him as 
funny. "It's okay, Blake. Ian, keep your voice down, huh?"

Ian Dawn tries to calm down. "Sorry, sorry, it's just that- Wow. A 
superhero." Even though he himself is one, he's never accomplished 
anything that great and is impressed by other, "greater" heroes. "I'm 
just overwhelmed. And here I thought I-" He goes quiet. "So, um, what's 
your superthingamajig? Motif? You know, style?"

Blake scowls. "I'm not giving demonschtraschionsch today," he manages 
to say, sulkily.
Mike frowns. Now he's upset. Perfect. "There's no need to be like 
that," he says quietly. "People need heroes, Blake. Specially in this 
city." He aggressively stabs an ice cube, which disintegrates.

Ian Dawn nods frantically. "I agree. This city needs heroes." In fact, 
I should be... He begins to stand up, fumbling for money, and manages 
by luck to get enough out to pay the bill. "It's been nice talking with 
you guys. Really!" He retrieves his duffel bag from under the table 
where he was sitting before the accident. "I hope to see you again!"

Fate. You've just got to hate it. For by some stint, one ice cube was 
missed, and Ian hits the wrong area AGAIN. He manages to avoid serious 
injury, but the bag goes flying, and hits at such an angle that some 
contents spill out. Strange looking gadgets, like floor polishers and 
some kind of white pistol, along with enough of a uniform to spot part 
of a large "D" on the chest. Ian yelps and dives for the stuff, trying 
to smash it back into the bag before anyone spots it.

Blake is too busy sulking over his plate to get a good look at 
anything. More fate. :) "The heck..?" he exclaims, jumping up. "You 
trying to die?" He goes to help Ian up again.

Mike stares. Ian is upgraded from 'nice enough guy' to 'possible 
nutcase'. "Oh, jeez. What are you, Janitor Man?"

Ian Dawn manages to get the uniform and gadgets back in, waving a hand 
at Mike in panic. "No! No! I'm the Disinf- no, I mean, I'm just a 
janitor! Really!"

Blake absently hands Ian an overlooked bottle of a foamy chemical. "My 
fault, again," he says cheerfully. "You'd better watch out, head 
injuriesch are a bummer."

Mike frowns at Ian. "I'm a janitor. I don't bring my work home with me. 
But, hey, whatever." He doesn't want an argument. Not with Blake 
already having been upset once.

Ian Dawn looks thankful as he manages to close up the duffel bag. 
"Really? A fellow janitor, imagine that! Ha ha!" The laughter sounds 
forced. "Haven't seen you before, but then, I don't really meet other 
janitors. I tend to manage well enough alone." He doesn't bring his 
work home? What kind of a cut-rate janitor is this fellow? He seems 
nice enough...

Blake stands up. "Well, juscht be more careful," he tells Ian simply, 
and returns to his seat.

Mike frowns at Ian for a bit longer, then leans over to Blake and 
whispers. "Guy must be a superhero, I guess. But he sure doesn't look 
like one." Nor does Blake, but Mike is happily impervious to that.

Ian Dawn hefts the duffel bag and tries to look natural as he flees for 
the door.