rosemac:

Elbows perched on the bar’s dirty countertop, Mac squints at the text gleaming from his phone. He blinks twice and then reads the words again, just to be sure.

“Goddamnit, Charlie,” Dee curses from behind the bar, one hand grasping a cloudy drink that looks as if it’d been infected with tapeworm. “How many times do I have to tell you to stop putting spaghetti in the soda gun lines?”

Mac glances up from his phone to see Charlie standing beside her, one hand on his hip. “Oh, look who’s too good for a little pasta in their mixed drink,“ he mocks.

“I think it’s a great idea, Charlie,” Frank voices from where he sits to Mac’s right. “Broads dig spaghetti.”

Dee narrows her eyes, mouth parted in disbelief. “Not in their alcohol, they don’t!”

“You’re telling me you wouldn’t try a spaghetti and tonic?” Charlie presses. “Spaghetti cranberry? A Mojhetti? Really, Dee?”

“Uh, yes, that’s exactly what I’m saying. Those sound disgusting.”

Charlie purses his lips, head shaking in solemn disappointment. “You have no goddamn taste.”

Dee rolls her eyes as she pulls out a strand of spaghetti from the gun head and flicks it onto the countertop. Then she pauses, cocking her head in contemplation. “Well, I guess it would be pretty funny if you put some in a Highball and called it a Meatball instead,” she chuckles with a smirk.

Charlie and Frank both frown, squinting in confusion.

“That sounds like shit, Deandra.”

“Yeah that doesn’t even make sense.”

“Oh come on,” Dee whines, “How is my idea any worse than yours?”

Charlie sighs and runs a hand through his hair. “Fine. Mac—what do you think?”

Mac blinks, heart racing. His eyes witnessed the exchange take place, but his mind’s been elsewhere. “Dennis is coming back.”

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