tibetanmethod | (no subject)

(no subject)

Heidi is working the night shift tonight, as she has been for the last several weeks. Norma Jennings is in Brazil, and that means that Shelly -- Norma's second in command at the Double R Diner -- needs to be around during the day.

She looks up as the bell on the door jingles; Cooper is holding it open for Moiraine. He gestures to a booth on the lefthand side, and they take a seat.

When Heidi makes her way over, Cooper and Moiraine find out that today is a special on cherry pie, since cherries are in season. Also, there is peanut butter.

Cooper leans forward and says to Moiraine, very confidentially, "I recommend the cherry."

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"Well," he says, mild, "neither did I." This with a slight smile. He's not looking at her, of course -- eyes on the road.

Silence remains, for a time. Moiraine turns to look out the window at the town as they continue on their way.

"I shall hope that you will not hold it against her."

His head turns, quickly, briefly. "Why should I?"

She shrugs, slightly. The Aes Sedai is still looking out the window, although she can see him out of the corner of her eye.

"It might be that only you could say."

"People respond differently in high-pressure situations." Cooper edges the car off the paved road, and onto a dirt road. "She's a friend of yours?"

"She is," Moiraine replies -- and it may be notable, to one who knows her, that there is no hesitation in her quiet response.

"A good friend, I think."

"Then I hope her knuckles have recovered from the onslaught," Cooper says, courteously, and puts the car in park.

It's a large, wooden building off to the right, with the stylized outline of a gun done in red neon on the outside. The gun moves, firing. To the right, two words: BANG BANG.

"This is the Roadhouse."

Moiraine stares at the neon gun and then turns to Cooper with a very odd expression on her face.

"... the Roadhouse."

"Yes," he says, eyebrows raised a little.

A beat, and then a faint smile.

"Very well."

"What is it?"

She shakes her head slightly, still smiling.

"It looks to be an interesting place."

"It's a very interesting place," Cooper says, calmly, and gets out of the car. "All kinds of things happen in here."

As they walk inside: "It's not like the Bookhouse."

"No," she says, as she accompanies him through the door and looks around the room. "It is not; nor is it Milliways, however."

Moiraine's demeanor is perfectly tranquil, in fact, and perhaps more than a little curious.

The room is large, and open, and there's a screen up on the stage, and lush red curtains behind the screen. Chairs have been placed in the room -- fifteen or so rows, half-taken up.

The credits of a short documentary are rolling; George Wolchezk, the principal of Twin Peaks High School, informs the crowd that there will be a seven-minute break between this documentary and the next one, which should last about twenty-three minutes, and then there'll be an eleven-minute break, and then the main event.

"I guess we get to see one after all," Cooper says.

"So it would appear," she agrees -- but there is a spark of interest in the dark eyes. "I must admit, I think, that I am curious as to what such a film will entail."

She gestures towards a row near the back, one with several empty chairs.

"Should we be seated?"

They take two seats, but once he sits down and takes off his coat, Cooper is up again.

He returns with two boxes of popcorn. "It's traditional," he says, low, as he hands one to Moiraine.

She looks at the box of popcorn, then at him, and a faint smile curves her lips.

"Very well -- if it is traditional."

The lights dim, and a familiar -- a very familiar -- gravel-strewn rumble comes over the sound system.

"The first lumber documentary per se was a three minute film entitled, 'Our Amazing Forests...'"

The voice is that of Sheriff Harry S. Truman.

Huh, Cooper would say, except he doesn't talk during movies.

The credits at the beginning confirm it: Harry is the narrator, but the director is Bobby Briggs, and the documentary about lumber documentaries -- a meta-documentary? -- is produced under the auspices of the Twin Peaks High School A/V Department.

"From these humble beginnings, the genre grew by leaps and bounds. By 1977, local historians agree, we had entered the 'Golden Age' of lumber documentaries with Alexandria Martell's 'From Acorn to Credenza: How Your Hometown Furnishes America (And Fights Communism)'..."

Twenty years and more of training in such matters allows her to keep a perfectly straight face, and even to look politely attentive.

Moiraine might even be taking mental notes. Light help Harry Truman.

...training in which matters? Lumber matters?

Still. Cooper, by all accounts, seems to find it fascinating.

When the lights come back up, and the applause (the enthusiastic applause) dies down, Cooper remarks, "I didn't know Harry'd done that. It must have been pretty recently."

"It would seem that he has hidden talents," she murmurs. "Harry Truman is a complex man."

"Yes," says Cooper, and it's said absently. Noticeably absently.

He's thinking about Josie Packard.

She slants a sideways glance at him, but does not ask. Not here.

The lights go down again, and the credits roll: The Philadelphia Story. Cary Grant, and Katherine Hepburn -- two of Cooper's favorites. When the lights come up, Cooper's eyes aren't on the screen.

They're on the woman by the door, who's looking straight at him.

The Log Lady. Without her log.

She crooks a finger at him, and then slips out the door into the night.

"Moiraine," Cooper says, quietly, "I think we may have a social call to make."