Breakfast at Clover's (Moki)

In the Clover shop all was calm with the quiet chatter of the patrons in the background adding to the quick footsteps of the waiters and waitresses as they bustled from table to table serving the customers. Moki sat reading calmly as he waited for his tea to arrive. He glanced at his watch briefly before sighing and drumming his right fingers on the tabletop in impatience. Ten minutes. Ten minutes he had been waiting for a simple tea and a small pastry—a pastry and tea he had seen served to customers who had come in later than he had. Perhaps he should say some—

“Could you stop that?”

“Hmm?” Looking up Moki cast his hazel eyes upon a young man sitting at a table to his left. With a scowl on his face, a large frame and dirty, calloused hands characteristic of a laborer the man certainly looked menacing. Naturally Moki replied with a soft yes, but continued to drum his fingers against the wood. While he could stop drumming his fingers the man had not asked if he would—semantics, how amusing art thou—and so Moki returned to his reading as he continued to his wait. At the next table he heard the man begin to tap his leg angrily at Moki’s drumming.

“He had decided to live forever or die in the attempt…”

Well weren’t we all? Smiling at the amusing line Moki was pleasantly surprised as a waiter approached him and set down his order; apologizing for the delay he hustled away. Setting his book into his leather bag beneath his feet Moki stirred his tea and watched as the steam born from it rose silently.

“Mind sitting with a feral?”

“Who has a name! It’s Rebecca Freeman.”

Lost in the fog of his tea it took a moment for the scientist to react to the two ladies at his side, and he slowly turned to them and blinked out the haze of his reverie. The peeved waitress was pretty—or would be if she didn’t wear so much make-up—but she did not draw Moki’s eye. Standing beside her looking quite peeved herself was a tall hybrid with pleasantly orange hair and soft caramel eyes. A feral, huh? How intriguing. She did not seem dangerous. Then again one may smile and smile and be a villain. He almost didn’t want to let her sit with him for fear she was a rebel but ever the polite gentleman he replied, “Miss Rebecca Freeman may sit.”

That said Moki turned back to his tea and pushed the extra chair out with his foot so the hybrid could sit.

She’s looking at me. Moki thought in awkwardness as he saw the hybrid eying him. Although it was only natural to observe one’s company Moki felt like one of his experiments, ogled and being held up to some invisible and impossible standard. He must’ve seemed unimpressive (as always) for he was short of stature with the mismatched clothing of a layman, yet also wearing some trinkets that indicated he could afford to dress wealthy if he so wished. That, and he’d bought the most expensive tea.

Blowing softly on his tea Moki lifted it and sipped the fluid; the tea warmed his insides as it flowed down to his stomach.

“Have you ever read the Sherlock Holmes series?”

Setting his tea down Moki looked at the woman in surprise. He hadn’t even planned to engage her in postprandial conversation let alone while he was enjoying his tea. What to say in return…

“Why, I have indeed.” He answered reticently. “I rather enjoyed the Hound of the Baskervilles. I suppose that is because of the phosphorus canine.”

Everything can be explained by science.

“What is your favorite novel of his?” Moki asked as a waiter walked past them. He noticed that the server pointedly ignored the hybrid, not wanting to serve her or else too frightened to make conversation with her due to the rebellious ferals that were making their presence and name all too infamous as of late. “Are you going to order?”

Moki smiled softly at the hybrid’s choice of book. A mixed race child being accepted by a man who is not the child’s father…Did the hybrid feel a similar pull to a man who wasn’t a hybrid, or did she simply enjoy the message of acceptance in the short story? Either way it was a sweet and enjoyable tale, if only for the fact that Sherlock Holmes was wholly wrong about the cause of Ms. Effie’s mysterious visits to the cottage.

“The Yellow Face is a quaint novel, good for a short read on a rainy day.” He conceded, “but I highly doubt that Mr. Munro would have accepted such a child at that point in time. A story like that would probably meet a more pessimistic end in real life.”

The scientist picked up his tea and took another sip from it. He paid no attention to his pastry; it no longer held any interest. However, the hybrid in front of him had his full interest. It was not very often that he met one that could read and discuss literature—it occurred to him that she could be dangerous given the chance. As he had always assumed hybrids were smarter than people gave them credit for, and the proof of it was sitting directly in front of him.

"Where are my manners? I never got your name."

Moki paused for a second, unsure if he should answer truthfully. But what real damage could it do? Well, she would know that he was a Silverhollow and thus know where to find him and what his habits were…But she seemed harmless enough.

“Moki Sorrenson.” The scientist replied. He shortened his name as a precaution, but really how many Moki’s were there in the city? “What brought you to the café?”

More to the point, why was there a feral in the shop where he had pointedly seen other hybrids turned away? Was there something special about this one or was she simply more feisty and assertive of her rights—however limited they were—than all the other hybrids he had encountered? Moki stared at her carefully as he pondered over what circumstances could have created such an intelligent hybrid, and wondered if she had any friends who were as smart as she.

"I wanted to go out for breakfast but a lot of restaurants…Well, I just don't approve of sla- Pet labor."

Moki nodded slightly his head bobbing up and down softly as he quietly stirred the remainder of his tea. He had caught the quick substitution of what he assumed was going to be slave to pet, and it amused him slightly. He couldn’t blame her for calling it slave labor—nearly every pet he’d met would agree with her—yet to him it wasn’t a matter of slave or free labor. Work was work and besides, well, that was the way the world worked. Like any society there was the working class and that working class would inevitably find (or create) a class below them to torment and work for them. Pity for the hybrids that they should be that class.

The human remained quiet for a moment, pensive and pondering over his response. He did not want to offend the hybrid and cause her to leave; he quite enjoyed her company. What could he say that wouldn’t cause an argument to break out in the café?

His spoon continued its ghostly circular course in his tea cup never colliding with the sides or bottom, just steadily travelling in a circle. Finally Moki replied, “Pet labor is unfortunate but you’ll be hard-pressed to find a place that doesn’t use them. More difficult than making actual x-ray glasses…I assume.” He ended with a small, innocent smile. Taking hold of his fork he cut into the pastry he had left sitting on his side of the table and discovered with dismay that it had grown cold during the time he had been ignoring it. He placed his fork down and continued, “I assume you are a free hybrid? What do you do to maintain yourself?”

A detective. Moki thought with intrigue as he listened to the hybrid speak. It wasn’t often that he met a hybrid that had an actual occupation that didn’t make him or her completely subservient to a human; usually the hybrids he met were house servants, errand boys, or simply pets. There was no doubt about it; Moki had stumbled upon a pleasant oddity.

“The Silverhollow Anarchist Case…” The man mused aloud. He’d heard about that case—how could he not? It was all anyone could whisper about for a long time. As people were working on projects or walking about the halls there was a constant drone of “did you hear…” or “shhh you shouldn’t speak of such matters…”that annoyed Moki to no end; he had had no interest in the case. Well, minimal interest.

The human smiled almost imperceptibly in amusement; to think this was the person mentioned in solving the case. “That was quite a conundrum you solved.” He complimented. “A hybrid as a detective…I must say that is quite…unexpected. How did you stumble upon such an occupation? Are you well known among the hybrids and Metal-Men?”

The scientist’s eyes drifted away from the conversation and to his surroundings. Despite their conversation being rather engaging he had noticed that the café’s staff were gazing rather abhorrently at Rebecca; no doubt they wanted compensation—groveling gratitude perhaps—for having let her enter the shop and take up precious space that could be used for “better” customers. With an inward sigh Moki wondered if this was one of the hardships that free hybrids faced on a daily basis. Were free hybrids better or worse off then when they lived under the oppressive boot of humans?

Did it matter?

“It seems your presence here is causing quite a stir.” Moki remarked. “Is it like this wherever you go?” Reaching into his pocket he took out his wallet—a simple black leather organizer with a silver raven emblem in the middle—and took out some money for his and Rebecca’s meal. “Should we move our conversation elsewhere after you finish your meal?”