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Free of her alarm clock, Quinn actually managed to sleep late for a change her first morning in Vegas, and at around eleven she decided to take the truck and wander down to the strip for something to eat. The day was bright and crisp, and after parking the vehicle she walked through the sparse traffic on the sidewalk until she found and honest-to-God all you can eat restaurant. For the price, it was too hard to pass up, and she soon found herself at the steam table filling up a plate.
Seating herself in a booth, she pronounced the food surprisingly good and tucked in, having added a large glass of soda to her meal. Maybe later she'd check out one of the casinos and play the nickel slots. That was one thing she hadn't managed to get into, the gambling. But that was what time off was for, right?
If you could call and 'all-you-can-eat-buffet' a second home, then Whistler would have keys to over two hundred restaurants across the continental United States.
He may have been an agent for the Powers That Be, but that didn't mean his expense account was unlimited. They'd always given him just enough to keep the car (now probably a burnt out heap outside of Battle Mountain) running, a cheap roof over his head and the rare good meal. He'd developed a system over the years, one which involved hitting up restaurants such as this and little sandwich baggies. And now that he was down to the last of the money Rhiannon had loaned him (and it was a loan, no matter what she'd say) Whistler made sure to stock up.
He piled the plate so high it threatened to resemble the Leaning Tower of Pisa. The plate balanced in his right hand while the left carried the cup with too much Coke and too little ice, as he searched for a booth near the corner to do a little sleight of hand.
( Chowing Down )
( More Serious Things )
Whistler wrapped a napkin around his fingers, then pressed it against his lips. "Nah, I'll manage," he offered. "I've had...some practice at this. But it was good to share it with someone who appreciates the finer art of such things."
He fished out enough money for a fifteen percent tip before sliding out of his chair. To the cash register was maybe twelve steps and various foodstuffs were more than secure on his person that he could make it at least a block before any chance of slippage.
"It was a pleasure, especially as we didn't have to fight through any monsters to get to the fried chicken." He tipped his hat to the girl. "I'm sure I'll see you in Searchlight."
She nodded at him, picked up her last piece of fried chicken. Maybe a third pass at the steam table after this, just to get dessert. She'd seen brownies up there last time and hadn't gotten any because her plate had already been so full.
"Bye, Whistler," she said with a small wave. "I'll see you down the highway, I guess."
Once the man had made a safe getaway, Quinn got up and headed back towards the food, napkin in hand. Brownies and a couple of other things on a new plate, then some rolls to be stowed inside her jacket. Buffet-style eating ruled.
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