Fuck sake, he really needed to get a handle of his time away from the cities. While he was craving pancakes, he had missed out on it due to some big plans...oh who was he kidding? He had been kidnapped and roughed up, now he was ready to eat at this...surprising place called "Pancakes Only" and it was very interesting to see what was going to happen next. 

"Hey, can I get a buttermilk pancake and some chocolate syrup? With some chocolate sprinkles...and a waffle stacked on top of that..."

Looking around, he noticed some people staring at him like he was something of an oddity. Maybe he was but right now he was trying to make sure that he got all that he needed, right now, he was hungry and something to eat, along with drink never felt bad with him. So here he was, about to dive in before he remembered Ron_Swanson...

Had the man known that his partner had been kidnapped, looking down at a newspaper...he noticed the OBITS and now this is where he found himself wide-eyed, breathing heavily...

"Romulus - found dead in the early hours of the morning..."

So this is why some people were surprised to see him around. They thought he died, what the fuck was happening here!? He really needed to find out, cause this was getting a bit scary, he couldn't have been a ghost...no, that was just impossible, wasn't it!?

"Sir, your pancake stack with a waffle is here...would you like anything else?"

And like that, he came back to reality, wondering if he was going to be truly okay...cause this was just freaky for him. Thanking the waiter and without another word, he dove right into his pancakes, not once caring for decorum and right now, he just wanted to satisfy the craving that was growing deep within him...

And the looks he got, well, he would never notice. People were disgusted that a man like him could even begin to eat like that. They hoped someone would stop him but it didn't even look like he could stop himself...dear god!

Ron pulls up a stool next to Rom

pancakes aren't really breakfast food he mused, so he decides to order his usual

I'll take all the bacon and all the eggs you have please and thank you

"You would think that you would have had enough bacon and eggs, yet here you, chowing it down like there is no tomorrow. I have to wonder if my father gave you that rare appetite or the league made you earn it over time."

Rom laughed ever so slightly, noticing that Ron had pulled up next to him. He couldn't lie that he was about to enjoy this, his time with Ron had proved to be slightly upbeat, and he could talk about his father, not many people wished to do that and currently, he was going to take those chances whenever he saw them, so here he was and here he was going to enjoy himself to the end of his line. 

"Seriously, besides the breakfast, what the heck are you doing here? I never even suspected that you would be one to come here and enjoy well, eggs and bacon, not even a single pancake? What the heck is wrong with you Ronnie?"

Chuckling, he smiled at the man, he knew that he was just teasing and Ron, well, he seemed to be the type of guy that would cuff him upside the head before that even happened. Still, his respect for his uncle was something that he would never forget. He had helped his father, he had seen the journals he had left behind and the way he spoke about him, even in those moments, it was warming. 

"Besides the city itself, what else brings you to Pancakes Only? You came to check up on me? Uncle....or are you here to gimme some cash? I'm good with either."

He chuckled once again, deciding that Ron was here for either, and he seemed like he wouldn't mind either as well. Flagging down the waiting staff, he ordered another of the same that he had just devoured. Cleaning up the mess around his mouth with a tissue, waiting to hear his uncle Ron_Swanson's words.

Ron let the eggs and bacon digest, and took a sip of breakfast whiskey

Well, I heard you used this place and i was out walking, showing off my new head gear, courtesy of Madhatter and thought i'd see if you were around.

You know, you're welcome to your father's old table at Mulligans in Chicago, another old friend of his @Mercy_Fiorention still frequents the place, she's forever waiting for steaks.

"Headgear!? Headgear!? We need to talk about that and soon, because I've been meaning to get kitted out for some threads, can you refer me to your guy?"

The plate of waffles and chocolate syrup covered buttermilk pancakes. His eyes wide as he looked at the extra waffles and pancakes, looking up he noticed a waitress and soon, he realized that they must have heard the little conference he had given in the streets to put an end to the scandalous rumours that Zek had placed upon him.

"I'm always around, I'm always somewhere but I may be going out to Las Vegas soon, not for gambling like my old man. I just cleared up one debt, I don't need another so soon, trust me on that one. I just want to see what he found there, why he found it so...interesting to be honest. And maybe I can find something too, who knows what happens?"

A little smile played at his lips at the moment, Ron had been something of a positive influence besides his taste in music. He and his father had agreed in that way, though that had found them on the receiving end of many glares courtesy of his father's teammates, it was fun being the outcast.

"Mulligan's, I've wanted to go there for some time, but I was never allowed. Dad always said that waiting for the steaks was always like waiting days on end, is there something you want to tell me about that? Like what took that chef so long?"

Chuckling again, Rom found himself devouring the waffles as he looked at Ron. Wondering in his mind if Mulligan's steaks really were that worth it, maybe he should have found out soon when he visited Chicago.

'son, a good steak is worth waiting a decade for, especially with a fine single malt alongside it.  besides, it's also about the companionship, your father understood this'

Ron watched Rom and noticed how uncanny the family resemblance was.

Let's head over there, steaks are on me.

"We really need to discuss you and this...steak business, I have to wonder if and my father worked off a lot of the shit that got you guys those rings..."

Rom couldn't help but raise his brow, Ron was someone that clearly had his athletic figure...somewhat. It was still there, and he wouldn't lie that the man was intimidating him currently. A smile played at his lips, maybe this was something that needed to happen, meeting Ron could give him another perspective, one that he needed to understand the life that he was currently in...

"You want to go to Chicago for steaks? I have to swear that your chef is a bit...late with the steaks, I'm sure that I've heard something like that before. I have to say that it's certainly a bit all over the place."

Rom chuckled, the rumours regarding the steakhouse was something that always had him chuckling. Ron was a good friend to his family, continued to be someone that he would trust and maybe head into business with. The games at the court certainly gave him a bit of income, his father's league monies now seemed untouchable, and he wouldn't forget that, ever.

"Should I really go to Chicago for steaks? What about the places here? Tell me, because it's certainly something that has me curious, what makes Mulligan's the premiere place to eat steaks, I find myself wondering..."

A smirk now played at his lips as he finished his pancakes, he knew that Ron would somehow have an answer. It was always something that the man seemed to have, without another word, he pushed his plate to the side, giving Ron_Swanson all his attention.

"Go on Ron, wow me!"

"there's no secret son, it's properly aged beef from premium heiffers, killed by my own hands, the turf and turf is the house speciality and is guarantteed to add half a second to your hang time" *

*not guaranteed to add half a second to your hang time

Looking around as suddenly, music played from the radio and his eyes darted around, Rom had wonder what the fuck was going! The man had stood to his feet, seemingly as everyone disappeared in the Pancakes Only diner...and for a moment, Rom had to wonder if Newt_Scamander, and he had got a bit...high on their own supply, cause this was odd, and he had never even noticed that he was just watching. It was a bit odd, but he found himself smiling then watching, seeing how the man could wow him

There was no other words but...what in the goddamn had just happened? All Rom knew was that the man definitely knew how to make a pitch and a sell, he had Rom ready to fly to New York then. Only due to that, he heard the later words muttered under his breath. His brow raised in curiosity, seeing how the man had done that, he shook his head as suddenly, the patrons reappeared, the radio had gone back to a soft style and all that remained was Ron's blank face.

"You have to be shitting me, that's it!? No secret sauce, no extra add ins!? Just the steak!? I could go to Dale's and got two bacon cheeseburgers for the price of one, that's just the burger deals, then there's the milkshakes but I'm pretty sure the chef put that there because it's my favourite place..."

And with those words, the chef in the back of Pancakes Only looked at him with steel in his eyes. All Rom could do was avert his eyes. Only looking at Ron who continued to watch him, for a moment, Rom wanted to reach and out and poke him, wondering if he was okay. Only to remember that plenty of moments had been like that before. It was certainly interesting, with a soft smile, he leaned forward and took a sup of his milkshake on the side. 

He grimaced, it wasn't better than Dale's BUT it was doable. At least, that's what he thought for the moment.

"By the way, is it really guaranteed to increase hang time? I mean, I'm not a player on the court but it'd certainly be something worth giving out a lot more if it proved to be truthful..."

Sharing a little smirk with Ron_Swanson, he knew that he had heard him correctly. All he had to do was allow himself to catch the man, maybe he could assist his Uncle Ron in getting his steak's a lot more sales, he would have to see though.

The door flung open and Mercy didn't mind where it came to rest. It so happened it wedged against a slightly swollen floor, and the Detroit streets howled into the pancake shop. She scowled as strands of hair, too defiant for her bun, lashed at her face and delivered a swift kick with a heelless boot into the jammed door. No effort was made to fix her hair, it just settled once more and that seemed to satisfy Mercy. The black locks rested on a collared white blouse, which in turn was enveloped with a tight fitting jerkin. 

She paced for a moment, not drawing her attention away from the split in her nail from a less-than-sober tumble she took the previous night. She chewed, picked and filed the fingertip against the fabric of her pants, eventually sitting down at any random table. The menu laid open on the crooked cloth, it was rewarded with a moment's glance, at which Mercy saw only the word "Pancakes" then returned to her grooming.

Yes, that will do. 

On the sidewalks of Detroit, men and women braced themselves against the lashes of wind and poverty. They were dressed in greys and browns, matching the palette of the industrialized jungle that surrounded them. Despite wearing the same worn clothing, one man stood out from the crowd. He was taller than most, broad-shouldered with wild black hair longer than that of most men. What set him apart, however, was more in his bearing than his physical attributes. He strode down the sidewalk with his eyes raised, even as most people he past kept their gaze on the pavement below.

He approached the pancake shop with a cautious eye. He was taking a risk by reaching out to an established member of the underworld, but the risk seemed worth it. Dylan needed the resources- and perhaps even the protection- of someone with clout. Mercy_Fiorentino was a name even a newcomer had heard on the streets. Someone who would put together an entire racing circuit might be the sort of person looking for new talent. 

And if he had to invent a "mutual friend" that didn't exist to get her to sit down with them, then that was a risk Dylan was ready to take.

The aroma of pancakes distracted him more than he'd anticipated, and for a moment Dylan regretted not stealing breakfast for himself. Then again, missing this meeting over a loaf of bread would be far worse than ignoring an empty stomach. 

There were a few people in the restaurant as Dylan walked through the door with his hands in his pockets. As was his usual habit, he evaluated potential threats, but the place seemed mostly full of civilians- with one exception. Mercy was easy to spot. 

Dylan made sure his hands were out of his pockets as he walked over and slid into the booth across from her. It had been a while since he'd seen a woman, and he reminded himself of his danger to keep himself from the usual leering of a sailor after a long voyage. His voice rumbled with the hint of an accent, mingled from a childhood spent moving around the North Sea, although a keen ear would note that the Scottish burr was most prominent. The woman's letter had suggested an irreverence and familiarity that differed from what he'd assumed would be customary. As a result, he tried to strike a balance of casual confidence and respect.

"Thanks for meeting with me, Miss Fiorentino."

One hand rested on his stubble-covered jaw as he looked thoughtful. 

"I don't want to lead you on; the mutual friend I referred to is myself. But based on what I've seen in the streets, I thought maybe you could use a friend like me, and it would only be a lie if you decide to stand up now and walk away. Now that you're here, I'm hoping you're intrigued enough to hear me out."

She stared, for a while. Nimble fingers toyed with the menu, having given up on her contorted nail. It flicked around and around on one corner, encouraged by her thumb and index finger. Then she lost control and it collapsed pathetically to the ground. 

"Darn."

The sound was American, a whisper and dispirited. It came to rest and she exaggerated a pout, forcing out her bottom lip. The menu was given a moment of silence before a server strode past and scooped it up, forcing Mercy to break her stare. There was nothing else to capture her attention, so it landed on the man now sat opposite.

"You're... the guy?"

Barely a second passed.

"From the letter?"

She looked him over, this time studying and assessing. She leaned to the side and inspected his build, then straightened up. She reached over and took a hand, looked at it, felt it, then dropped it again onto the table. Attention then turned to the very small pockets of her waistcoat. She squeezed her fingers in and produced two buttons, which clattered onto the table. One bounced excitedly onto the floor and rolled out of view. She tried another pocket. A racing stub, which warranted an inspection. Dissatisfied. She continued to pat herself down, now burrowing through the pockets on her pants. A lipstick - even though she wore none - a small ornate box and... 

"Ah ha!"

She grinned proudly as a folded up piece of paper was produced. Without hesitation it was opened up and her eyes shot across the page.

"Dylan... Mooerrrr?"

She stood up swiftly and collected her effects. The letter was scrunched and discarded.

"Ever been to New York, Dylan Mooer?"

There was no indication she intended to wait for an answer.

Dylan watched as frantic fingers froze, the woman's face falling into a pout. It looked like he'd guessed right about casual. Most of the criminals he'd known weren't like this. But then again... he was in America now. 

He froze as the woman reached over and took his hand. She seemed to evaluate it like an expert trainer would look at the hooves of a horse. Could she feel the bones broken from countless fistfights? The skin made worn and leathery from the sea salt and the ropes?

Dylan stayed silent as she dropped his hand and started rooting through her pockets. A fancy look box caught his attention, but she only seemed satisfied when she'd unfolded a piece of paper.

"Dylan... Mooerrrr?"

"Muir- like "your".

"Ever been to New York, Dylan Mooer?"

Mercy_Fiorentino stood and collected her things as Dylan studied her. He'd first heard the question as part of an interrogation, not an invitation. 

"Only briefly. I docked there on my way into the country before taking a train to Detroit..."

But she was already moving, and Dylan followed her. 

Juanita catwalks in with extreme sass and strikes a pose

Hey vGoddess, chica you lookin daaaaaaaaangerous gurrrrrrl, you wanna grab a drink with me?

Juanita does snappy clicks in a 'z' formation

Venus was walking out of the Pancake shop when Juanita appeared in front of her.

"Hey, thanks! You don't look bad either," she smiled, "I'd love to do so. You wanna go now?"

It was very early in the morning, too early for Julius. Still feeling a bit groggy, Julius made his way over to a pancake diner for remedy. Hoping an early morning breakfast would set him straight for the tasks ahead. "Here we are. 12th Street, Pancakes Only. That'll be a buck 25."

Julius paid the cab driver then sent him on his way. 

As he entered inside the diner, he was swarmed with a bouquet of pancakes. It was a lovely and rather warm aroma that permeated the room. He shook off the trance state then took a seat at the nearest table. There he was presented with a menu. A waitress approached him to ask for his drink. He asked for glass of orange juice and it was given moments later. He was now ready to order.

"I'll just have two of your normal pancakes." 

Julius waited about six minutes before his meal arrived. Fresh and steaming from its plate. Julius lathered them cakes up with syrup and butter before diving in. He finished about fifteen minutes later. The meal was delicious and he would've asked for more if he wasn't pressed for time. Definitely would be coming back again. He walked up to the counter to pay his total then exited the diner.

Humu entered the shop, waddling like a penguin in his famous landsuit he inherited from his great great grandfather and sat down at one of the window seats. He ignored the rest of the people, the weird stares he got meant that they had no idea who he was and why he'd beat their asses for looking at him funny, but he didn't want to cause trouble and lose his chance for some decent lunch.

As he studied the menu, he remember one of the stories his grandfather told him, somehow his name sake ancestor was fond of pancakes with bread crumbs. He smiled and decided to order it

Hello there waiter, a stack of pancakes with whole grain breadcrumbs please!!

Sal saw this pancake business and decided to walk in. He entered the spot and looked around a bit. It looked nice from the inside, so he took a seat. Took off his hat. Waitress, young woman, mid-20's, approached his table and asked what a gentleman would like to order. Sal smiled and ordered a plate full of pancakes with strawberry jam and also a cup of coffee with some milk and sugar. Waitress nodded and excused herself. Sal pulled out a pack of cigarettes and lighted one up. At some point the waitress came back and brought his order. Sal thanked her politely and gave her a little tip. She thanked him and excused herself again. Sal tasted the pancakes and they were delicious. He sat there until he finished his food, then paid for everything and thanked the owner. Then he walked outside, lighted another cig and continued his walk.

"Pancakes, what a novel concept...", there was a hint of nausea in his voice when entering, probably due to the fact that Azathoth had never eaten most human foods as he had only been stuck in this body for a few days now. So when he heard of thin cakes topped with sugary tree semen and churned white cow piss he was skeptical to say the least.

"Hand me two of these... cakes, and some of your fountain drink water while you are at it."

When the food arrived at his table he poked at the wobbly creation a few times before slicing off a bite. Once the sugar rush subsided, he was more than happy to finish the rest; maybe not all human creations were bad, he thought to himself before quickly pushing that silly notion out of his head.

"Two more."

This went on for a while until he had cleaned off many plates, and then he was finished. Excusing himself from the table at which he sat, Azathoth laid down some strange coins before heading out the door.