Rochester Reformatory

Iris keeps her look sharp and intentional. Her dark blonde hair is always styled—loose curls or pinned up depending on the day—and her eyeliner is as pointed as her comments. She favors dresses with fitted waists and bold patterns, pairing them with heels that click noticeably on the diner’s tile floors. Her nails are always done in seasonal colors, her jewelry is tasteful but present, and her name tag is polished. A small tattoo peeks out just below one sleeve, though few have seen the whole thing. Her posture is confident and slightly theatrical; she knows people are watching and behaves accordingly. Behind the counter or walking the floor, she moves like she owns every inch of the room—and she does.

Iris is charismatic, calculating, and socially fluent. She knows when to charm, when to withdraw, and when to casually drop the exact piece of gossip that will cause someone to flinch. She asks personal questions that feel conversational—until they’re not. She’s not overtly cruel, but she’s rarely generous unless it benefits her. People describe her differently depending on who’s listening: kind, cutting, flirtatious, observant. All of it can be true, depending on the day. She keeps track of who owes what—favors, apologies, silence. If she’s ever caught off guard, no one’s seen it. She can hold a smile while ending a conversation, and her compliments are often too precise to be innocent.

Iris came to Rochester in her mid-twenties and took over the diner shortly after. The previous owner didn’t take care of the place – it wasn’t profitable, and it was known as the “Dirty Diner”. Since then, she’s made The Mourning Bell into a fixture—half breakfast spot, half town-wide listening post. She claims to be from “downstate” and never elaborates. Some say she used to be in marketing. Others think it was politics. She never corrects them. What’s known is that she pays her staff well, never closes without cause, and never misses a beat when asked about something she probably shouldn’t know. She’s been here ten years, and the town still hasn’t decided if she’s one of them.