Hmm, was it damage avoidance, or damage mitigation that was more effective?

The pencil tapped on the paper character sheet three times before spinning around. The eraser scoured the hapless number from the designated box.

“Are you going to wait on the customers or not?” She wiped her hands on a grubby apron before putting them on her hips.

Sally looked up to see the short, portly figure of the diner owner, Doris, standing midway in the doorway to the kitchen. Seemingly unable to decide whether not burning the food or chastising the one waitress in the diner was the most important thing at present, her eyes were still soft despite the scowl.

“They're fine, Miss Doris, barely even moving a muscle.” Sally waved her free hand towards to general horde of Sunday morning breakfasters.

Most were contently murmuring about their week or chewing through the cooked flesh and eggs the cook had drowned in grease. None of them looked particularly needful of her attention.

Doris shook her head, her grey curls bobbing about as she resigned to heading back to the fryer. “Just pay attention, okay?”

Sally scratched at her blonde hair and glared around the room again, seeing if anyone dared required more coffee or needed to pay their bill. None met her challenge. Sunday morning was perhaps the dullest time in the diner - anyone up this early had no right demanding such prompt service.

Resigning to double-check that there was still enough coffee to dispense, she turned around and narrowed her blue eyes at the glass pot atop the heated plate. The dark liquid inside was at an adequate level. Oh-Doris had mentioned they had changed the coffee brand this morning due to a stock shortage. Sally turned the dark container around on the desk to read the name and wrinkled up her nose. RatJuice? No complaints from the customers yet… but that was terrible marketing.

She returned to her sheet and slowly filled in the empty box… with the same number she had just erased. She exhaled and fiddled with one of the ribbons in her hair as the box was purged of numerals once again. It had taken all week to get to this point, but the character was almost close to being complete. It was by no means min-maxed, but everything about it had been curated to be authentic and effective.
The small sketch of her character ‘Krunk’ stared back at her in silent judgement at her indecisiveness. Krunk had it all. Strength, Charisma, and a cool hat. Probably even a suitor or five, if Sally really wanted to drive home the fact that the character was just escapism from her own insecurities.

“Oh, what system are you playing?” A voice roused her from staring at the paper.

She looked to see a man probably only a little older than her nervously eyeing up her character sheet. He had messy brown hair and green eyes, and his shirt said Goreblaster on it. It looked like one of those terrible over-the-top, obscure band shirts. The usual Sunday crowd was nearer the grave, other than the occasional weekend office worker, so his appearance was a surprise.

“Technically,” she twirled the pencil nervously before dropping it on the floor, “I am not playing… yet.”

“You don't have a group?” He raised his eyebrows.

The question wasn't meant to be judgemental, but Sally still recoiled mentally from her own slant on it.

“I haven't been into Hobgoblinicide for long,” she lied, mentally hiding away the stack of books and unused characters, created and languishing in long-forgotten piles at home.

“That's fair,” the guy rubbed the back of his neck, “I'm, uh, Theo, by the way. You should come by the Card Dungeon sometime - there are a few groups you might be interested to join.” He slid money across the counter with a smile.

“Sally,” she nodded in return, before remembering she had a name badge on. “Do you have a group?”

“I do,” he smiled, heading towards the exit, “but it's only for the worthy.”

Sally pursed her lips and frowned as she watched the door close behind him. Was that a challenge, flirting, or just being condescending? In theory, whichever was the correct answer, it still made her want to try to get into the party.

Did Doris serve him earlier? She looked down at the money presented. The perfect amount for the basic breakfast and all-you-can-drink RatJuice special. Sally frowned and shuffled it off into the till - surely she would have remembered serving him earlier?

Her nerves struck up, overriding her brief confidence. She didn't know anyone else going to the shop; what if she embarrassed herself? After building her ideal character for so long, what if she made a mistake or ruined it in some way? The character sheet now sitting lonely atop the counter seemed like a bad idea waiting to happen - an invitation to disappointment.

“Sally?”

She startled and turned to the gruff projector of her name. It was just Reginald after some more coffee. She sighed and picked up the heated pot.

Reginald was a regular, to the point where the diner was like a second home to him - or even his first. Every day he would spend as much time as he could there, drinking coffee and slowly reading the newspaper. Always in a brown tweed suit and matching hat. Same chair. Same table. He was as much part of the furniture as the strange mammal statue Doris had placed at the end of the counter over a decade ago - not that Sally had been here that long, thankfully - she had no intention of working here til she died.

“Sorry Reg, was miles away,” she poured his fresh coffee, “anything good in the papers?”

“Never is,” he shrugged glumly, “always sounds like the world is ending.” His tiny eyes peered out from craters of wrinkles, and his grey-flecked beard cradled a slight smile.

“Well even if it does, you still got this place.” That didn't sound like a great comfort out loud, but Reginald seemed to perk up and nod in agreement.

“Order's up, Sally!” A shout came from the kitchen.

The covered window to the kitchen opened up, and two plates of hot, greasy food were placed on the shelf. The wrinkled face of Doris peered through. “Table Three!”

“Roger that, Miss Doris.” Sally clunked the coffee pot back onto the heated plate and grabbed the two plates.

With a clunk, the kitchen window shut behind her and she sighed. It wasn't that she didn't enjoy her job; she had just been here way too long. What had started as a summer holiday job to get her more social - or at least, that's what her parents had said - had turned into a few years of waiting tables. Waiting to wait on tables. School had passed, and it became a full-time thing. The work was simple, and Doris paid well enough… but she had been languishing.

She smiled to the customers - a couple in their late middle age - a skill long practised and automatic. To an outsider, Sally was all the confidence and friendly sass that you'd expect from such a quaint out-of-the-way diner. But inside, interacting with people was an alien concept passed the required pleasantries of this familiar setting. If only she could kill off that part of her brain.

Sally returned to her side of the counter, the safe side, and squatted down to pick up the pencil. The momentary hiding spot, away from the dozen-odd customers and the persistent glare of the morning sun was a relief. A small wall of aged wood and commercial function. The shade was almost enough to let her sales face melt away, and then the diner door swung open.

The familiar unkempt boy that was the other diner worker strolled in. His shirt untucked and dirty blond hair a messy thatch, with the amount of thin ice he skated on, he could go professional once he inevitably got fired.

“What’s with the tie, Charlie?” Sally pointed at the wonky, partially loose black tie around his neck. “Got an interview?”

“Not quite,” he beamed beneath tired eyes, “they say to dress for the job you want.”

Sally raised an eyebrow as he slowly walked towards the kitchen. “What job do you want?”

He shrugged in response. “No idea, but with this on, it’ll come quicker.”

“You’re an hour late for shift, the only thing it’ll make quicker is giving Doris easy access to throttling you.”

He waved her off, entering the kitchen - the muffled raised voice of Doris vibrating through the wall as she chastised him.

Sally shook her head and smiled. Charlie had only been there six months and had been a thorn in Doris’ side nearly every day - it was a wonder why she kept him around, but the old owner had a soft spot for them both. In truth, she saw the boy as a little brother too. As a single child herself, it was nice to-

Crash

She turned to see the sluggish glances of the diner patrons move over to Reginald.

“So sorry, dear - I knocked the coffee off moving my paper.”

It was hard to be annoyed at the earnest apology as the old man’s tiny sad eyes looked up at her. Plus, it was just a cup - it’s not like anyone died. Sally grabbed the dustpan and brush and went back around to clean up.

“Not to worry, Reg, let me sweep this and I'll grab you another one.”

“Thank you, you are too kind. I feel a little off today.”

She smiled as she brushed the last of the shards together and scooped them up. Finally standing, a weird vertigo sensation made her wobble. Putting a hand on the nearby table, a frown weighed heavily on weak muscles.

“Oh, must have gotten up… too… fast.” The words came out slurred, and as she tried to move her hand, a weird numb sensation filled every limb. Something smelt weird too, but her foggy brain couldn't place it.

Maybe she just needed some rest?

Sally closed her eyes, and let the darkness take her.