Cacti stand on the hill like strangers. The car which bungles between them, Dell contrasts, is the most familiar car she's ever seen that she's never seen before. It's about as sleek as a balloon critter. Blue like one too. Three bicycles are strapped to it this way and that. A fourth is a hundred miles back on the side of the freeway. That means two kids are piled into the back. Not many cars stop in Idle these days, but this one always does.
Dell kicks back in her seat - so much so that it would have toppled over with her in it if it weren't for the tip of her boot locking under the table to counter it. In a single motion she's freed from the web she wove herself into, and off to work. It's standing up, but for people with too much time to squander. A shell of a slice of pie, no longer anything peach about it, keels to its side from the commotion. The mice that share a tabletop with it are used to Dell acting out as such and have survived the vibrations with little ballerina paws. They reposition themselves around their shifted treasure. One looks up to Dell with a pout. She pauses with her elbows jutting like chicken wings out of her about-to-be-shrugged-off vest, "Needs cleaning, better y'all do it than me." Quicker than a spit, the crust is carried down the broom handle ramp Dell set up for the critters to get up in the first place. "Do it behind the fridge though!" She watches as the mice change direction mid-jaunt towards the kitchen in the back.
With a snort, she turns back to the coat hanger by the door, pressing her elbows together behind her back so her vest will fall off onto it. Sunlight glances about the room after it catches the bronze of the badge which is pinned to the lapel. Because Idle is one of those towns. One of those towns where even the sheriff has two jobs. Dell snorts a snort wholly unlike the one she did before and snags an apron off the hook below, ducking under the necklace, and tying a square knot behind her back.
Dell takes a half-step towards the door before turning back to the table she was seated at. She swipes up her cell phone and shoves it deep into her pocket, then scoops up the broom and all the dishes set out and carries them to the counter. The kitchen is just on the other side, with a countertop set a foot below the window and out of eye-line. Dell dumps the dishes there and reaches around the doorframe to the right to prop up the broom. She peruses the eating area once over again and walks out.
The car has gotten to their street by now. That's not all Idle has, main street, but it's all the tourists get to see of it. Dell watches as the dust clouds billowing from the rear wheels engulf the souvenir shop and the arcade and make their drifting way to the saloon. Sepia goes well with the askew wood planks and ornately carved signs, blotting out the not-so-hidden touches of modernity which are all Dell can notice anymore. The grit starts to spill into the porch as she walks across it towards the pen which cuts out the front left corner of the Silo, which is the name of Dell's restaurant. Inside the gates is nothing but a horse. A butterscotch mare with a long curling mane and big brown eyes. It swats its tail at the sand as the car idles by and turns into what's apparently a parking spot across the way.
"Be sweet to these, Girlie, cupboard's almost bare," Dell says, laying a hand on her back. The mare gives her a sideways glance, turning the comment back on its speaker. "Maybe you're right." Girlie continues by delivering a gentle kick to her trough. Metallic yelps much too hollow spill out. "I know, I know," Dell says.
It's with this in mind that she looks up grinning. "Heya," she takes a couple sauntering steps towards the folks spilling out of the Subaru. "Welcome to Idle, you folks hungry?"
The mom turns out of the van, struggling to hold a little boy wearing a cowboy hat made out of foam. "How could you tell?" she says with a weak laugh.
"Come on in, we'll whip something up for ya." Finding themselves in what looked like a ghost town, the family was eager to follow. Four of them total, just like Dell had worked out. The young ones reached out to Girlie as they passed her, prompting their parents to reach out to them and remind them of their manners. 'It's no trouble,' Dell would have said, but it seemed like more trouble than it was worth. They were through the door now - a swingy little shuttered thing - and Dell starts making a table. "My name is Dell, I've got a few odd jobs around these parts. Only ever wear the one hat though," she gives her brim a sharp tug. "Cooking is one of 'em, my odd jobs, and I suppose I wait and do the cleaning as part of that as well. Take a seat," she says as she pulls out the last chair. The family does so. "Can I get y'all anything to get started with?"
The father animates, his hairy elbows barging up to the counter, all the folds and years in his face tightening up into a cherubic smile as he looks around at all of his family members back and forth and back again. "How about a round of sarsaparillas?" he asks, almost cheers.
"We got Coke products."
