[ All weak to break, down here, mules pullin' ox-carts. He's takin' up her space, doesn't even have a toaster to bargain over. All that goody-goody's scarin' off her regulars, fearful'a what, "Dad'll think."
Far as Ritter can see it, "Dad's" a big man with no backbone.
[ What was it they told him about bullies, back in school? βTheyβre just after a reaction. Donβt give it to them, and theyβll leave you alone.β There was comfort in the idea that ignorance meant peace-
[ Her voice goes up, peters off like the smoke in-hand. Too much'll spoil her appetite. Spoil company's, too. ]
These things don't change just 'cause you think you're doin' me a favor. Ain't wartime, Barlow, these men don't get by on "good rations."
Like hell I did. Like /hell./ You think I like this littleβ
[ Hitch, hack. Dry season's kickin' her while she's down. No thinner-pot out yet to wet her whistle. ]
This little run-around? I know what you owe me. Know my rates.
[ That earns her a stern look. Glanced from over her shoulder, while Barlow rummages around the medicine cabinet. ]
I did /not./ You got exactly what you paid for, Dorris. Where would be the point in giving you any less, hm?
[ Blakeβs next to her at the counter, tray in hand. Heβs biting back the urge to make a comment. Tonightβs dish is one of his favourites- runny as it is, thereβs benefits to eating something without any suspicious chunks floating inside of it. ]
[ Early enough that the cafeteria's closed. Good for Ritterβmeans she doesn't have to cut into her workin' hours. "Every minute wasted's a buck lost," ]
I don't work like that, Barlow. You /stiffed/ me.
[ The shutter clinks as it rolls itself up, before settling in place overhead. A quick dust of the countertop later- and the nurseβs station is open and ready for business! ]
Cook ain't servin' what he used to. Look at this shit. As if the run-off ain't bad enough, all chalky fuckin' shitwater, they wanna call /that/ good eatin'. Gourmet. What a joke.