Starring:
Summary: Junayd comes to the Moon Pie seeking advice. Oz comes to the Moon Pie seeking food. Hannah happens to deliver both.
Date It Happened: January 12, 2002
Damn Good Pie
The Moon Pie Cafe
It's afternoon, the sun is bright, and the Moon Pie Cafe has its share of patrons. At the moment, Hannah is behind the counter, chatting up an old hippy on one of the stools at the counter, clad in jeans and a Moon Pie Cafe and a t-shirt. People are eating pie. Not just sweet pies, but also savory pies, like lasagna pies, not to mention quiches. But there's certainly a fair share of berry and chocolate and meringue and such to go around. The energy of the cafe has a certain…almost a sort of hum to it, one that is really more felt than heard. A good few of the patrons in the shop are shapeshifters of various sorts, from the kitsune in the corner in petite Asian woman form, to a the very same old hippy that Hannah is chatting up.
Funnily enough, Junayd isn't here because he's a shifter. Well … he is, but he's not here out of any sort of shifter camaraderie. Rumor has it that there's someone in this cafe who has this ability to teach control over shifting during those nights when shift happens. And since this is the last night of Junayd's own Time Of The Month, so to speak, he's kinda in need of some lessons. Dressed a long overcoat, gray cargo pants, a white T-shirt, and a pair of sunglasses to help with the almost hangover-like daytime sensitivities, he pushes his way into the door of the cafe and pauses a moment to let his nose and eyes and ears adjust to the new fragrant and buzzing environment.
The scent of a new shifter seems to filter around the room, but folks more or less ignore it save for some of the inexperienced types. Hannah's nostrils do a subtle flair, and she reaches out and gently pats the elderly hippy on the shoulder as she comes around the counter and approaches Junayd. She meets his gaze pointedly, shoulders back, body language confidant. "Welcome to the Moon Pie. Can I help you?" She smiles, keeping her mouth closed as she does so. Showing teeth might mean something else entirely to some folks here.
The stench of shifter is easy to read, even under the smell of food. Unlike the others, it makes him a little tense, but Junayd is here on a mission, and damned if he doesn't go through with it. The overpowering mixture of different shifter scents, however, makes it difficult for him to pick up who is one and who isn't, so this is probably why Hannah is met with friendliness instead of contempt. The fact that she's female and good-looking doesn't hurt such a reaction either. y halo thar pretty lady. "I'm sure you can," he responds. "I'm looking for someone."
"There's a lot of someones here." Hannah says, turning and gesturing to one of the stools at the counter. A menu is set on the placemat. It is, unsurprisingly, full of pie.
Which is great, because he's absolutely ravenous. Which isn't surprising; he's always ravenous during days like this. Junayd takes a seat and immediately peers down at the menu, noting every pie that has meat in it. He wants that one and that one and that one and that one and that one and that one. And that one. But business first. "This someone can help me with something," he states vaguely. "It has to do with, ahm … change." Then he points to the menu. "I'll take all of these, and this one."
Hannah lifts a brow. "You want…all of our meringues and a broccoli ham quiche?" she queries, arching a brow. "You must be um," she can't help but look amused, "Very hungry. Change is good. We're big fans of change around here."
"So I've heard." What's that? Is that bitterness? Why, yes it is. He's trying to keep it contained, but it slips out. It's also accompanied by a glower up at the sign above the counter. Crescent moons. They kinda make him antsy. But he's smiling soon after. "I have a very big appetite." Said with a not-so-subtle eyeballing, and not of the menu. She's probably heard that one before. "I don't like change, and I'd like to avoid it. Which is what this person can help me with, so I'm told."
Hannah puts the order in for a line-up of pie-cups of all the meringues, and a broccoli ham quiche, letting Junayd glower and whatnot as she fills a glass of ice water for him, since he hasn't requested anything to drink. "A lot of times the path of least resistance is usually the way in which we come to understand the nature of control." she comments thoughtfully. "And in order to understand control, one must accept." What is she, some kind of Buddhist?
"I can accept the existence of Bible-thumpers; that doesn't mean I have to like them." He doesn't touch the water yet. "Besides, I do not believe in a fate that falls on men however they act, but I do believe in a fate that falls on men unless they act." Junayd smiles, then pushes right on: "Speaking of acting on fate, what's your name?"
"Hannah Cooper." she says, offering her hand with an easy smile. "And I was definitely not talking about Bible-thumpers."
Junayd takes that hand and gives it a … kiss on the back of it. So much for handshakes? "Hannah," he squints upward. "Hebrew origins meaning 'grace'. You live up to it." Smilesmile. "Junayd ala al-Din. And I know you weren't talking about Bible-thumpers. I'm just saying that I can accept this happens, but it doesn't mean I have to enjoy it."
"Whyever not?" she asks in slightly sardonic surprise. "Well. It's not suited to everyone." She gestures over to one of the booths toward the back. "Why don't we move over there so we can talk?"
Especially those that don't exactly enjoy tearing around the countryside killing anything with a pulse and then waking up feeling like hell the next morning. Junayd picks up his glass and rises from the stool to head over to the booth, but he doesn't sit until Hannah has done so. A few wary glances are cast toward others in the cafe.
An interesting observation, as Hannah passes through the cafe, in a seemingly casual manner, she reaches out and touches people. Generally not more than a brush with her fingertips on a shoulder or top of the head, but she's noticably tactile as she winds her way to that back booth and sits down. "Why don't you tell me about your situation, Junayd?" she inquires.
The door opens to allow Oz into the cafe, spinning his keys once around his finger before he tucks them away in the pocket of his sheepskin jacket. He steps far enough inside to let the door swing freely shut behind him, and then pauses just a moment before he starts heading instinctively towards the counter.
On the opposite end of the spectrum, Junayd does his level best not to touch anyone. Never know which one of them is a dirty dirty shifter. Well, except Hannah. Hormones dictate that she is too pretty to be a shifter. She is just a zen master. Mistress. Person. Lady. He slides into the booth and folds his hands atop the table. "How much do you want to know?"
A whole chorus of voices raise, including Hannah's (she perks a little when she sees the young man), "OZ!" he is hailed, in much the same fashion as 'Norm' in Cheers. Or 'Morn' in Quark's, if you will. As Oz is greeted by a pretty, immediately flirty waitress (musicians are SO hot), Hannah gestures to him she'll be along in a few minutes. Her tone is more quiet when she addresses Junayd. "You're not a werewolf." she says plainly. "I can smell that much." She inhales. "Feline, of some kind, but not were. Magical curse?"
Oz handles the sudden surge of attention with a simple headbob and a raised hand of greeting, though it is enough to get a subdued smile from the man. The flirty waitress is not unappreciated, though he seems to find it more amusing than anything he's particularly going to feed into. Instead, he just puts in an order for a coffee as he claims a stool at the bar, catching Hannah's gesture and returning it with one that she should take her time. He's in no hurry.
The chorus of greetings causes Junayd to flinch painfully. Owowowowowowow. Doesn't help an already developing headache when he can hear … everything. "Yes, some sort of cu— " But suddenly he freezes. Wait. Smell? His eyes narrow. "You're a werewolf." Not a question.
"Of course I am." Hannah replies matter-of-factly. "Do you think I'd have any capacity to teach others at all if I wasn't a shapeshifter myself?" She tsks a little bit. Her brows lift. "Do you have something against werewolves?" Now she smiles, showing teeth.
Oz takes advantage of this bit of downtime to take a look around at the patrons, offering some personalized nods in greeting to those he recognizes. The guy talking to Hannah also gets a cursory glance, but he's really not looking to pry. Instead, he leans back against the counter, one elbow propped on it.
It's like a sudden icy blast of wind came sweeping in. Any friendliness Junayd was showing instantly disappears. Nobody had told her she was a shifter. He'd just hoped she was, well, a zen master or something. He's silent for several seconds, stone-faced, before he finally starts to rise. "I have to go," he grunts. No 'thank you for your time' or 'pleasure meeting you', just 'I have to go'. Evidently, he has a problem with werewolves. And were-anythings. And kitsunes.
"You're welcome back any time, Junayd." is the blonde's smooth reply. "Provided you behave yourself." As if inferring that he's the one who's control is in question. Which it is. She's not stupid, but fortunately his prejudice amuses her. She more or less dismisses him by walking toward Oz, the arch of her back and lift of her head a subtle bodylanguage equivalent to 'you sir, are unworthy of my time'. But it becomes friendlier when she approaches the young rocker. "Oz," she says warmly, and gives him a brief hug, if he'll permit.
Oz permits, sliding up off his stool to make it a proper greeting, not some awkward half-hunched over thing. Though thanks to his stature, he's not a whole lot taller standing up, but that never seems to bother him. Not having missed that body language as she approached, Junayd gets another curious glance, before Oz's attention is back on the woman, offering up a little smile and another nod in greeting as he settles back on the stool. "Gotta say, coming to this place? Great for the ego," he states in that usual wry tone of his.
Which is just the sort of body language Junayd's exhibiting — only in a more feline way. Head low and shoulders hunched, he makes his way to the door — again without touching anybody — and shoulders his way out into the street again. There's not even a backward glance. So much for that avenue of help.
Hannah shakes her head. "Idiot." she says with regard to the man who just exited. "He came for…well, you know what he came for. Apparently thinks that wolves aren't fit to shake his hand, though." She shrugs. If she hears about a rogue shifter doing damage, she'll take steps. "You're on the house tonight, Oz - if you play a bit for us later. How long are you in town?"
Oz casts one last glance after the departing figure, as Hannah fills in some of the details. "Guess we need better PR," he suggests dryly, before bringing his attention back to her. He knows better than to argue about the matter of the tab, just nodding in agreement to this fair offer. "Depends. Came back to catch up with old friends. Turns out I'm further behind than I thought." He gives a philosophical shrug.
"Sorry to hear." Hannah says in sympathy, moving around the counter. "You know you're always welcome here in Los Feliz. And in Griffith Park. If you're here for the moon, will you run with us?"
"Funny the things that happen," is all he has to offer to the idea of being so behind the times. Oz hesitates slightly at her question. "Thanks. But … I'm keeping that stuff in check these days." Always so very careful with that inner nature. "You getting a lot out?"
"Be careful, Oz." Hannah says gently. "Keeping that energy under lock and key can often result in unexpected pressure exploding at the wrong time. Griffith Park is a free and clear territory that we can let go in without hurting people. Think about it, even if for one night. Or if you just want an enclosure, we can manage that too."
"You have no idea," Oz remarks to the idea of it exploding at the 'wrong time'. It's a dark joke that isn't even fully a joke, and he makes no attempt to explain it. "I'll keep that in mind. I've been doing okay. Leading a stress-free life nowadays." The lengths he's gone to in order to remove as many triggers as possible.
The corner of Hannah's mouth quirks. Yeah, she gets the joke. "Well, we hope to see more of you." she says, at ease. Her amusement heightens as she checks out his coat. "I always did like that thing." she says. "Makes you a metaphor."
"I'll keep in touch, long as I'm in town," Oz promises, which might not be much of a promise, but is about the best a wanderer can do. He glances down at the coat, one corner of his mouth twitching up in a grin. "An apt one, some days, it feels like. Mostly it's just a corny joke." It's hard to tell which sentence is more true - or maybe not all that hard to tell. "How have things been around here? Any trouble?" He looks back up at her with that.
The cool thing is, Hannah's generally made sure Oz knew he's welcome both to stay, or to come and go as he pleases, so his wanderlust and non-committance doesn't seem to bother her at all. "Not so much." she says. "I've heard a rumor that Wolfram and Hart might be pursuing some natural wild population control legislation, but so far it's just rumors."
Oz arches an eyebrow at that bit of news, but seeing as it's only rumours so far, he simply nods. "I can keep a watch out, see if I hear anything. Not that I'm as well connected," he allows with a subtle gesture to the cafe. "But never hurts. Hard to tell what's a crazy rumour and what's the crazy truth these days."
"Usually the truth is crazier." Hannah notes philosophically. "So what can I get you? Let's get you fed, and then you can play us some tunes."
