Chat Over Coffee

Bean Scene Cafe

Bean Scene is a small coffee shop and cafe that caters primarily to a younger crowd. The cafe has always been at least a year late in joining any given fad, and in the past it's been done in western-style, set up as a beatnik hangout, a go-go disco, a fern bar, and once even attempted to cash in on breakdancing. A plaque has recently been placed above the door, and says, "No fad is dead until it appears to Bean Scene".
Case in point, the cafe has a grungy feel to it.A grey brick facade has been placed over the walls, the flooring looking more like a worn down metal grid, complete with old sewer grates every few feet. Tables and chairs set about the cafe are quite casual in appearance, made of metal meant to look rusty and splattered with multi-colored paints. Metal street signs hang from the wall amid images of garage bands. Behind the counter is a black chalkboard displaying the available items and costs.

It's not long passed sunset, and the Bean Scene is as always busy, the tables are fairly crowded and the line for coffee's halfway to the door. The type of customers are changing as well, gone are the kids on their way home from school, or those heading home from work, and in come those out for the evening and the dates, there are even a couple of fangbangers, yet to someone not familiar with the Bean Scene the most unusual customer is likely Michael, he sits quietly in a corner of the shop a cup in hand. He doesn't move, his attention seems fixed in the depths of his coffee there's no mistaking what he is unless of course one were truly oblivious, the only break in his silence is the ocassional comment to passing staff which of course is met with everything from nerves to good humour.

Brett, while not a 'usual' customer, is very aware of the shift of clientele and atmosphere of the 'Bean come sundown. He'd made the mistake when he'd first arrived in the city to spread out his work and study over coffee and random bits of sweet cakes. He learned quickly that it simply wasn't the time or the place for that. A newspaper, sure.. as long as it was a tabloid rag.
So, in line, with a local paper tucked under his arm, he waits as those before him try and make up their minds. Around the line, there's talk, rather loud talk at that, about the days happenings.
"I swear.. a mad dog is doing this? No way in hell! It's gotta be some Werewolf of London. Aroooo!" A college age kid is obviously trying to impress the girl beside him.
"Oh, don't start with that again." His posturing only receives an eyeroll. She'd heard it all before?
"C'mon.. my class in Esoteric Experiences specifically says there's such things as vampires, right? Ghosts? You've seen the shows! Why not werewolves.. and.."
"Because it's not Halloween."
The line is moving slowly, giving Brett a chance to take a look around. There's hair standing on the back of his neck, and he's got that 'eeeeeh' feeling again, which could only mean the one thing to him… and casting his gaze around, finds it. Him.
Now, of course, that he's located the source of discomfort and ill ease, there's no looking away. Not easily, anyway. Brett could easily explain it as self-preservation, and does.
Shuffling step by shuffling step, he makes it closer to the counter.
"Vampires don't only come out on Halloween," the young man won't give in so easily.

Michael looks up as Brett begins to stare at him, he actually raises a hand to the Shifter; his expression civil if not friendly, it could almost be taken as an invitation to join him, which of course raises the question; which is worst, refusing the vampires invite, or actually engaging his interest.

Yeah, actually, that is exactly what crosses Brett's mind at the time of the wave over. Does he lie and say he was only stopping in 'to go', or—
A nod is given in response, accepting the invitation when he gets to the counter for his order
"Full moons only happen once a month or so." The young college co-ed now brings out the 'big guns'. "And the attacks aren't during the full moon." Is there a 'nyah' in there somewhere?
"Well.. well.." He won't be easily shaken from his belief, and tries to think of a good response.
"She's got you there, buddy," Brett leans forward, a good natured smirk playing on his face. "Now.. you're next."
The couple look back, the co-ed a little longer until she's nudged, and their orders are taken and filled.
Brett puts his in, a coffee with caramel added- light and sweet, and stepping away after paying, he grabs a napkin and begins to make his way to the back. A couple clumps of girls have also noticed the vampire in the back, and if they're not fangbangers, their interest in the man would probably more than hint that they'd like to be.
"Evening." Brett remains standing for a moment before he puts the paper down on the table. There's a timeline half hidden by the fold regarding the attacks, along with other Dallas news. Pulling out the chair, he sits down slowly. "Brett." Might as well introduce himself before saying anything else, like, "A coffee bar?"

Michael bows his head very slightly before motioning to a seat. "Michael; its a pleasure. And yes… I like the smell of coffee, it's been present most of my life, and people talk casually over coffee, I grow tired of listening to politics or men trying 'pick up' women." He shrugs a shoulder, his eyes turning to the paper. "Of course even over coffee one can't completely escape politics, current events always lead to politics after all."

"A pleasure."
Pushing the newspaper aside, the explanation for its presence is offered, "It's the only time I get to read anything that I can actually sit and think about, rather than having to hear hysterics," Brett responds. There's that niggling thing still at the base of his spine. Fight or flight, he supposes, but if he's going to sit here for a few for conversation, it's something he'll have to deal with. It does put him on 'alert', however. Particularly after seeing the speed in the street.
"t"Though, coffee's good. I think you probably share the 'love the smell, can't handle the taste' with more than a few people in here." He shifts his coffee, a slightly self-conscious smile appearing. "Including me. Caramel. Sugar. Milk. I think it ceased to be coffee a couple sugar packets ago."
His brows rise, however, at the admission of not wanting to watch the eternal 'dance' of mating rituals. "A coffee shop…" is repeated before he thumbs ever so subtly behind him. "You know you'll never escape it in your lifetime." The fangbangers, the spring-flingers…

There's a nod as Michael takes a look around the room. "True, but there's very little you can esacpe when you live as long as I have, there are times I find watching the clubs to be…. amusing, and I'm always fond of the Bass Clef Club, but ultimately it's good to go somewhere… different." He looks amused for a moment. "Not to mention I can't help but find the surprise it causes amusing, I don't drink… well with the obvious exception yet no one ever wonders why I visit bars." He looks at Brett, the amusement leaving his tone. "You know it's turning into quite a mess the dog attacks. I that your local authorities are considering… outside aid?"

"Yeah," Brett has to admit that even he'd been taken by the odd appearance of the vampire in a coffee bar. Logic presents itself as Michael mentions that no odd-flags go up to see them in a night club or bar, and he has to admit that as well. "You know, you're right. No reason why a coffee bar wouldn't have something for you," how hard is it to say 'blood', even if it's marketed in bottles? "I mean, they serve hot coffee. It'd make as much sense as a nightclub, if not more."
Shaking his head, Brett gives a slightly chuckle, "Got me," he admitted. "Mea culpa."
The shifting of topics brings Brett around, and there's no surprise evident in the shifter's tones that the vampire knows exactly what he is; if not the flavour, at least the brand. "That's the word on the street, anyway. Search is on, and there's the occasional mention that a change in tactics is needed if it's going to be caught." It was the best Brett could do at the moment. Shifters were warned, via whispers, that the best defense was a shift themselves… depending upon the animal, of course. A, say, housecat couldn't do it. "We're all keeping eyes out. People are pretty scared, though."

Nodding Michael offers a very slow nod of his head, he becomes thoughtful as he stares once more into his coffee. "I can't always tell shifters from Weres, there is a difference in… smell, but it's slight, so you'll have to forgive me if I give offense, but we're working on the assumption that it's a Were rather than a shifter yes?" He sighs. "I've not heard of a rogue Two-natured in a very long time." He speaks quietly, possibly more so than he would usually. "I may have to offer my services; see if there's any method to the attacks."

Now the entire topic of shifters and weres Brett would rather leave.. for another place if not another time. Still in hiding. Bump in the night!
"No offense," Brett ducks his head slightly and looks around, "But.." his hand flips, "could we not.." Please?
"I think I've ever read articles from a journalist who is bringing back Sir Arthur Conan Doyle's 'Hound of the Baskervilles'. Crazy dog on the moors trained by someone looking for money."
Brett's voice remains low, "I haven't heard of any .. really anti-social people," rogue shifters, "but there is always that possibility. If it's something else, well.." the pack really needs to get more organized?

"You shouldn't speak against the Pack… at least not to outsiders, they don't generally take kindly to that." Michael glances around. "Don't worry, there's no one who can hear… I've become a good judge of such things." He keeps his voice low. "Still it's going to be difficult keeping the family secret if this mess doesn't get cleared up, wouldn't you agree?"

"Nothing I have heard said, and the fact that you have suggested stepping in to help does.. make quite a statement, doesn't it?"
Brett looked around again, his eyes shifting, and nods. It's not that he's ashamed of who and what he is, it's just, "Okay. But they do still sell torches and pitchforks in the local tractor supply store. Sure, they're tiki torches for bugs, but.." There is a smile when he says this, but it doesn't quite reach his eyes. He doesn't have the manner of a man hunted; simply.. cautious.
"I'm hoping for the 'Hound of Baskervilles' happy ending, even if they have frame a crazy guy already under the eye of the police." After all, which is preferable? News coming out that the old Vincent Price movies were far more real than hokey, or framing someone who needs to be put away anyway as a 'mastermind dog trainer' targeting a prominent family?
"I'd have to find a new job." He smirks, "Pretty sure they wouldn't want me continuing to teach impressionable young minds."

Michael rises from his seat with a slight chuckle. "Oh, the Pack has supposedly requested our help, generally I wouldn't get involved, but someone I associate with was attacked; that's not something I think I can let pass, not to mention people are becoming a little… excitable the situation yesterday proves that." He bows his head. "You'll have to excuse me, as interesting as this conversation is the nights grow short, and there always seems to be more business to attend to."

Brett makes to rise as the other man does out of courtesy, and nods. "I can understand that," though the news regarding the request for aid is something he hadn't heard yet through the grapevine. "God help the person being hunted, then.
"As far as the fear, yes. This really should find a quick end."
Brett takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly, rolling his shoulders to see if he can't release some of the tension building there. "Of course. It was a pleasure meeting you, Michael. At least name to face now. Take care.." and be well? What does one say to a vampire? "..Have a good evening."

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