Puppy Love


Hannah_icon.gif Jack_icon.gif

Summary: Jack comes a'courting. Hannah's plan to get more with honey than she would with vinegar backfires badly.

Date It Happened: February 3, 2002

Puppy Love

Moon Pie Cafe

February! It's the month of love. The month of Valentine's Day. And love is in the air, even if it's one-sided and … not so much love as something devious. To some, that's all that's needed. All you need is love! A tall, wild-looking man dressed in a rumpled brown suit makes his way toward the Moon Pie Cafe. He left a message for Hannah earlier, and he needs to see if she's received it yet. He whistles a jaunty little tune to himself as he makes his way into the diner without a care as to what his recognizable scent might do to those inside.

If love is in the air, it smells like the rumpled masses. It's afternoon, and since it's the waning moon, it's that time after lunch and before dinner - the plays only has two or three people, and only the staff of the were persuasion. Which doesn't mean the boss stading at the counter wiping it down; almost immediately she looks up, shoulders tense.

For his part, the man acts as though he's perfectly welcome and not at all trespassing. He grins broadly as he surveys the place, murmuring quietly under his breath. The accent is thoroughly American, perhaps Chicago. "Lovely, lovely little place. Oh, I love this— " he whispers, running a hand over a table as he passes "— just fantastic. Ooh, pies." That's when his gaze lands on Hannah and the counter, toward which he strides with great confidence, head high, eyes bright. "This is a brilliant place," he informs Hannah in what is now a faint Scottish brogue.

Hannah looks him straight in the eye, her smile showing teeth. "Glad you like it." she says, when her tone suggests she'd be glad if he put a shotgun in his mouth and squeeze the trigger for a bullet-wad of silver. "Is there something I can do for you?" Like maybe gut him from gullet to gizzard? Alliteration is fun.

The icy greeting falls on deaf ears — or at least ears that only hear selectively. Hannah might be saying, 'Eat rocks and die', but what he is hearing is, 'Oh you beautiful magnificent beast, I adore you!' Signals, they get mixed. His grin brightens and he leans his elbows on the counter, lowering his head and peering up at Hannah with what could only be adoration. Almost puppyish, really. It would be cute if not for the unbalanced sheen behind it. "What've you got in the way of meat pies, love?"

Really, she cannot afford violence in the cafe, and it's supposed to be a safe haven, so unless he's oh…chewing on a baby right in front of her, she's going to keep to that. Wordlessly she plucks up a menu and sets it in front of him. There are indeed, meatpies on the menu. Quietly, "You had no right, doing what you did. If you'd approached us straightforwardly and without hurting anyone, we'd have welcomed you."

The man's eyes light up when he's presented with a menu, and he skims over it hungrily. Hannah's statement just earns her a blank stare, a blink, and then he glances to the side thoughtfully. A beat of silence, then he looks to Hannah again and points to a pie listing pork in the ingredients. "I'll take this one." The accent has shifted again back to the Chicago flair. He cocks his head to one side, raising both eyebrows innocently. "Why'd I have no right?"

Hannah inputs the order without taking her eyes off of him. "This is our territory. You are a guest here. You've got the manners of a jackal. And if what you're looking for is to take over, you know what's involved. We've worked hard to make this safe for ourselves. You seem bent on destroying it." She leans forward, gaze intent. "Why?"

His head tilts further to one side and he leans forward on his elbows. Though his face is close, it's no closer than what is acceptable for having a private conversation. He keeps his head lower than Hannah's and smiles up at her sidelong. "You're very beautiful. Didn't you like my gifts? They were for you. That's why I left them, you know."

"No, I didn't." she says. "If you want to please me, you can do so by obeying our customs. And that doesn't involve assaulting humans or making problems in our territory."

That does nothing to dampen the man's smile. It grows wider, if not more manic, and his face tilts a little closer but also a little lower until his ear nears the countertop. "But they were gifts," he wheedles, voice lilting placatingly. He straightens his head again and brings it up level with Hannah's face, though he again maintains an acceptable distance. "I'm not looking to take over, love," he intones in a much more business-like tone. The puppyish expression is gone, replaced by a fully cold sort of smile. "You and I, we could do great things together. We've got potential."

"They were disgusting." she tells him. "And unacceptable. And I don't think there'll be any 'You and I' for the forseeable ever." A bowl is slid forward under the lamps, and she turns, picks up, and presents his meatpie to him, setting it in front of him. "Order up." she says sweetly.

His smile becomes much more steely, and he doesn't look at or touch the pie. His gaze remains locked on Hannah. "I think you'll change your mind before long," he remarks. "I'll bring you more gifts. That should win you over. Many more gifts. And I'll make friends, too. They'll tell you I'm not a bad sort." It's not clear what it is he means by 'make friends', but it doesn't at all sound friendly.

Hannah leans in, lips pulled back in what is a distinct snarl. "No gifts." she hisses. "No friends. You come into our territory, you brutalize humans, you endanger us all…get out." Abruptly she flicks a brow, and switches tactics. She leans in close, lets that untenable, feral sensuality that she-wolves carry under their skin lose, and tries honey where vinegar has failed. "I've told you already what to do if you want to please me. And if you can't do that, then you're not really all that sincere, are you?"

The ploy seems to be working, or at least it causes the man's eyes to go a little glassy and his smile to take on a more dreamy quality. He, however, still seems to be fairly lucid — or, well, as lucid as he ever is. Which is not very lucid at all. "If I weren't sincere," he murmurs, "I wouldn't bring you gifts, and I wouldn't— "

Suddenly he lunges forward, one hand going out to grip Hannah's chin, and his lips latching onto hers in a hungry kiss. He's not gentle and not gentlemanly about it.

Hannah lets him kiss her, and even kisses him back…for a few moments before she bites him. Not hard enough to tear away flesh, but hard enough to make him bleed, hard enough that when she pulls her mouth away, there's blood on her lips. "My rules." she says. "My territory. Any more 'gifts' and I'll make sure every hunter in this city sets out to have your pelt on their wall, if I don't get to you first."

The only acknowledgement of the pain is a quiet grunt. He doesn't try to draw away even when there are teeth in his lip, but once the kiss is broken, he raises his fingers to the bloodied spot, runs his tongue over the bottom of his lip, and grins — wolfishly. He seems to enjoy the taste, even if the blood is his own. After a moment's pause, he reaches into his pocket and withdraws a wad of bills and coins, which are all placed on the countertop. In among the money is a crumpled piece of paper with the smallest hint of red ink visible. His other hand goes out to pick up his pie, which managed to survive the onslaught. "You'll have to catch me first, love," he rumbles before he turns with his lunch and strides for the door.

Hannah frowns, reaching for the paper amidst the cash and coinage. Her carefully cultivated peace for their kind, about to be destroyed? This cannot be happening.

The note is in the same scrawl as before with a reddish-brown splotch on one corner that smells of days-old blood. The poem reads:

jack spratt will soon be bak
and it will soon be seen
that jackie's got his eye on u
and u can be his queen

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