The scorching heat has been borderline unbearable, but at least the fires have been largely contained-- at least around the National Park. The Homestead had been cleared several days ago and Lola had wasted no time in returning and settling in.
There were patches on the roof that had caught fire from embers, but Eddie the Skald from the Sept of Forgotten Questions had been mindful of the property, out of respect for the Hawkes family (he grew up with Lola and Maria, after all) and mashed out any fires that would try to start up.
All the same, though, repairs had to be made.
Lola had just finished the last patch-up on the roof when Hector was arriving. He would find her climbing down a ladder propped up on the shady side of the house in the afternoon's slanted light. She was dressed in a pair of shorts, sturdy boots that were probably broiling her feet within them, a white cotton T-shirt that was hemmed just above her navel, and this attire was topped off with a straw wide-brimmed to keep the sun off her face and neck. Her hair was braided in a circular path to make a crown of plaits, and to keep her hair resolutely off her neck and shoulders. The whole attire was for ventilation, to keep herself from baking in the sun while she worked.
Feet touched ground, and Lola stooped immediately to grab up the utility water skin that she'd left on the ground. The water was a bit warm, but she drank it greedily anyways.
Hector Ghosh
This is how he and the rest of the pack have always shown up when they've been in town: out of nowhere, and then often, until something takes them away again.
Every other time though they've been many. Four or five of them existing in a harmony that never made any sense because their makeup never made any sense. When they followed Coyote they didn't make sense and when they followed Fog they didn't make sense but it still worked. Maria was always happy with her packmates. Maybe that was the only thing that made sense about it. For everything else they worked together and they treated each others' Kin like they were their own blood.
Lola and Hector share blood only insofar as their tribal allegiance goes. Their skin turns different shades of brown in the sun and he hasn't called Maria his sister in front of Lola yet but she could see the way they acted around each other when they would build bonfires out in the middle of the fields or when they'd sit around the living room shooting the shit until real late at night. They ran with Furies and Fianna because Furies and Fianna treat their Kin like equals.
Doesn't mean they understand each other but he's given her space the same as she gave him space. Grieving isn't a thing that ends all at once. She can see when she becomes aware of him that he's testing the waters.
He comes down the driveway up towards the house, Timberlands scuffed to hell. His jeans are a dark wash to better conceal stains. His Black Sabbath t-shirt is older than he is. He has his long hair tied back and carries a beat-to-hell Eastpak.
"Lo-la!" he calls when he's about ten yards from her. Gone is the grief-angry wolf grinding his own teeth to dust. "I brought you a present. C'mere."
Lola Hawkes
Grieving is an individual process. Typically when a family member dies you surround yourself with the family that remains and grieve together. You share memories of the person who is gone and keep them alive in story and song for that day before sending them away to join the rest of those gone in the afterlife. When their mother had gone, Maria and Lola had flanked their stricken father and supported him, at one point even physically. When their father died a few months later, the girls stood solemnly side by side, and later that night they drank until they would laugh again. Then, a few days later, they fought and yelled because Maria was leaving with her pack and Lola wouldn't come with.
Now, though, there is no family left to stand by. There were cousins in the cities that would come when called, but Lola hadn't spread the news just yet. She was still mourning, but privately. During the day she was straight-faced and hard working. She kept busy to keep herself from getting inside of her own head. At night she would have a nightcap and lay in her bed listening to an empty house, childishly harboring hope that she would hear a door open and sneakers stamping dirt onto the entry mat. When the sound wouldn't come, she would cry quietly and bitterly into her pillow until she slept.
Hector called her name several yards away, while he was still walking up the pockmarked and lumpy gravel driveway, and claimed that he brought her a present. Lola looked up, squinting through the heat of the afternoon to watch Hector approach for a moment. Then she lifted her hat enough to wipe her forehead with her wrist and walked to meet him at the edge of the shade that the house provided-- going out to stand and talk in the sun was senseless, neither of them needed to gamble any further with heat stroke.
When he was closer, Lola held out the half-empty water skin to offer him a drink.
"A present small enough to fit in a pocket. Either it's jewelry or it's jay-- either way, thank you."
Hector Ghosh
As he draws closer she can see the extent of the sweat soaked into his clothing. His hair has a damp sheen even yanked back away from his skin and his t-shirt is charcoal gray but that doesn't hide the patches of saltwater etched beneath his arms and across his sternum. Bare arms and unshaved face glow with perspiration. He doesn't stand much taller than Lola does but he's lost most of the baby fat that carried over after his Rite of Passage and he threatens to grow another inch or two before he hits her age. Roaming is turning him raw-boned.
Close enough to offer the skin she can smell the journey on him, the bright loud smack of his sweat. He swipes the back of his hand across his brow and accepts the water with an "Oh, man, you're the best." Only takes enough to wet the inside of his mouth before it goes back to her.
"It takes all the fun out of it if you <i>guess</i>," he says, but he's never been able to lie. He's still practically vibrating with the effort of not unloading his offerings in one flurry as they stand in the shade. Hefts the bookbag hanging onto one shoulder: "And for the record, I also brought firewater. That didn't fit in my pocket." He gestures up to the roof, the ladder led up to it not escaping his notice. "Are you just fixing the roof, or are you moved in now?"
Lola Hawkes
"Oh, I've been moved in."
The answer is simple and solid, much like the rest of her. When Hector took only one drink and tried to pass the water skin back to her, Lola turned her hand so her palm was tucked in, away from him. Instead she pushed the offered water back toward him with the back of her hand. "Drink some more, that's a hell of a walk in this heat. There's plenty more water inside, don't worry about using it all up."
He smelled like salt and musk in the way that dusty, sweaty human bodies always did in conditions like this. Lola herself smelled quite the same, but with her own individual scent laced into the sweat. She lifted her hat away from her head in order to swipe sweat from her brow with the back of her wrist-- this was a motion she would repeat frequently.
The Galliard shifted about, hefting his backpack strap higher up onto one shoulder. The Kinfolk lifted dark eyebrows and gestured to the front door of the log house with a jerk of her thumb.
"Firewater, huh? Let's bring it and ourselves inside. It's shady and there's an A/C unit." Enforcing the suggestion, she walked on those heavy work boots to the front porch and the door contained beyond it. As she walked, she continued conversation, perhaps a ploy to stop any 'no, I'm just here for two minutes' protests. "How're you settling in to the Sept? And Tamsin too?"
Hector Ghosh
Says something about the life he's lived since he first learned he could grow to more than twice his normal size and pick up a car and throw it without breaking a sweat that he is now pouring out the stuff and only takes what he thinks he needs from what she offers him. She bids him drink more and he lifts up his brows and then quaffs down enough to wet his throat then. Enough to wet his belly. Not enough to make him sick but enough to replenish what he's lost. No train and no bus comes this far out. He doesn't drive.
She saw his learner's permit once when they were all baked and telling embarrassing stories and Glen thrust a finger at Hector and proclaimed him to have the most ridiculous license photo in the history of license photos bring the evidence forth young Cliath that the others might see. He hasn't aged much since he was 16. Was a little fuller in the face and his hair was shorter and fluffier. Far too photogenic for taking time out of his life outside of school to stand in line at the DMV. Never did pass that driver's test. Still doesn't know how to get an automatic vehicle out of Park.
They go inside then and he's grateful for the suggestion that he does not have to make it himself. He seems almost nervous. This is the first time he's been here without Willow or Glen, without Tamsin or Corey. Without Maria. Like he would have just dumped what he came here to give her and then run off again if Lola hadn't manned up for the both of them.
"Dude," he says as they mount the steps and step into the coolness beyond the sun, "I wasn't even planning to stick around the city sept but the first time I ever went over there to introduce myself one of the tricksters was like <i>Ahoy there, New Kid! Go with this ugly-ass Gnawer and figure out what happened to my kinsman!</i> and we had to take his motorcycle to get over to where they said the kinsman was staying. You ever been on a motorcycle before? It was bad <i>ass</i>."
He'd said the last time they saw each other that he would tell her the story of her sister's demise the way he would have told it to the Warders. Seems as though he's going to tell her every story the way he would tell it to the Warders, or at least in enough detail that she does not feel coddled or protected. He knows his way into the kitchen and once there he slings off his pack and sets it on the table and goes to the sink to splash water on his face and neck and arms.
There was a time when he would have stripped off his t-shirt in a heartbeat but he doesn't do that today.
"Anyway we went over there and we could both tell something was wrong before we even opened the door but the old lady who answered the door gave us static so we went back out and up the fire escape and the Gnawer kicked the door open. Turns out they were both Wretched. They'd sacrificed the kinsman we went to look for. We found pieces of him scattered around the apartment. And when we brought the younger one back to the Sept to question her all we got was a bunch of brainwashed rambling. So... the church we're looking for is in the city somewhere, but, uh..."
Sufficiently cleansed of sweat and with most of the excess water sluiced back into the sink he turns back to the pack and unzips it. First he clunks the bottle of bourbon onto the table and then he finds the paper bag meant to be distinguish itself as a gift for he's stuck a shiny red dollar-store bow on it and then he sets it in front of her.
"I wanted you to know what's going on just in case they've stretched out past the city."
Lola Hawkes
Whatever nerves might jangle in the Galliard's stringy body apparently went unnoticed by the Kinfolk. Lola had always been a straightforward kind of person, even back when she was a teenager when Hector had met her first. She very much embraced and embodied the moon she was born under, and continued to do so even after she found out she was actually a Kinfolk at the age of sixteen. She'd come up believing she would be a warrior, and the strong-headed girl couldn't rewire her own mentality to anything but.
So she stayed fit and healthy, and she continued to train along the Sept's Ahrouns in whatever form they would allow her to. She wasn't an Amazon by any means-- Lola was on the slightly taller side of average at 5'7". She was a bit broader at the shoulder, but this was balanced by the width of her hips as well. She was strong and healthy-- not masculine by any means, but solid like a stone wall all the same.
And, as was the case with many others of her moon (that's how she framed it in her mind-- it was her moon just as much as it was theirs), she could be a touch dim toward the sensibilities of those around her. Hector was uncomfortable to some degree being in the house with his dead packmate's little sister, conflicted perhaps by the promise that he had made the Ragabash before she departed and what that could encompass now. Lola just leaned back against the edge of the kitchen table and picked up the bottle of bourbon to inspect the label. With an approving purse of her lips and nod of her head.
"So there's still some Kinslayers at large there in the heart of Denver, and they're masquerading as a religious entity." Her nose wrinkled, but smoothed quickly when the bow-adorned bag was set on the kitchen counter between Hector and herself. With curiosity splashed across her broad featured face. She moved away from the table and approached the kitchen counter, and swung a leg up over one of four barstools that lined the side of the kitchen counter shared with the dining room. "I haven't noticed anything out here, nothing like that. Do you guys have any reason to think they'd come this close to the Caern?"
While waiting for his answer, she tugged loose the bow and crumpled the bag down toward the counter to see what was inside.
Hector Ghosh
Now that he's decided to drip dry Hector leans against the counter by the sink. A half-a-grin slinks across his face when his choice of booze is met with approval. He's only been able to legally purchase the stuff for a few months now. His stomach has the holding practice of a college student though. Glen and Tamsin know how to party.
Knew. Glen knew how to party.
Looking inside the bag Lola'll find what she thought he'd brought her--a small baggie of pot and a pipe to smoke it in and a book of matches from a dispensary in Denver. And then a copy of a small trade paperback novel, the spine cracked like the husk of an ear of corn and the edges of the pages gone yellow-brown from so many thumbings-through. Its significance isn't obvious at a glance or even after thumbing through it.
"No," he says, "not really a reason. But better to give you a head's up now and not come to you in a month telling you it's worse than we thought, yeah?"
And at the bottom of the bag: a necklace. A leather thong from which dangles a small wooden whistle, no thicker than a wafer but not quite so easily cracked. It's pretty but not all that it seems.
"Oh, that's called a kin-fetch. I made it. If you ever get into some shit and I'm not here, just break it and the spirit will fly out and come get me. But, uh... after we figure out what's going on with the church I want to stay out here more. Not, you know, here-here, I don't want to put you out. At Forgotten Questions. Can't really help out around here if I'm in the city all the time, right?"
Maria would have started in hard with the ribbing by now.
Lola Hawkes
What was revealed within the bag was met with a smile that spread more easily than you'd expect from any first impression the young woman made.
It would catch something in Hector's soul, just the tiniest bit, because she smiled precisely like her sister. Sure, her mouth was a touch broader and her lips notably bigger than Maria's, but the way their upper lips thinned to show teeth and how the apples of their cheeks stood out was just the same. Maria'd use that expression to break tension and draw humor. Lola just used it in earnest. Dispensary grade green was a happy thing, especially after how much stress the past two weeks had brought. The baggie was set aside on the counter, and the blue-and-white glass pipe gently joined. The book was glanced at, the title read, but when Hector pointed out the necklace this is where the Kinfolk looked.
He explained what it did, and Lola turned the little wooden whistle over in her hand a few times. It was given a curious sniff before she brought the leather string up about her neck and tied a secure knot at the base of her neck.
"Thank you." The sentiment was sincere, even if she was contemplating how effective he could be in a fight. Sure, he was a Garou, so he had that advantage right out the gate, but how much did he really know about battle? She wouldn't doubt that she'd be more capable than a number of True Born if she had their claws instead of them. That thought was quickly chased from her mind. Any help from a True Born should be accepted, because they would always be able to strike harder, heal faster, and move quicker than she could hope. Hands returned to the book to flip through the first few pages, seeking significance in some hand-written note or signature within.
"If that's what you prefer. But you and the pack have stayed here before-- you're not unwelcome now that Maria's gone. You're still her pack, with or without her."
Hector Ghosh
And he about laughs when she sniffs the whistle, his teeth flashing white for a moment like he's imagining it smelling like the pot whose odor wafts up like a bag of dropped flour. The treatment of the new thing is more lupine than human but then if he's been paying attention he will have noticed that she was treated more lupine than human growing up. They thought she would join their ranks one day.
Doesn't mean she can't break someone like Hector in half but that's only so long as he doesn't shift. In his human skin he's barely four inches taller than her and he's got the gawky build of someone who grew faster than their metabolism could adjust to. If he were to sit on her lap she would barely notice the weight for he can't have more than twenty pounds on her.
Maria used to remind him of how easily her sister could kick his ass and he never argued with her.
"Okay," he says, to the matter of whether he's welcome to stay here or not. Like that settles it.
He pushes away from the sink and grabs two glasses out of the cupboard and sits down across the table from her. The novel is in the magical realism genre, written by a Latin American author, in Spanish. The copy is untranslated.
"We were in a used bookstore in Saskatchewan and Maria bought that for me as a joke. I don't speak Spanish. Unless swearing counts. Does swearing count?"
Lola Hawkes
"Swearing counts in certain places. Like restaurant kitchens and roadside bars."
Hector didn't put up a fight when she insisted he was welcome in the house. He may still opt to stay at the Caern itself, taking up what amenities it had to offer its members and passers through, but so long as he didn't put up an argument about whether or not it would be proper for him to feel welcome in this empty-feeling house it didn't much matter. In that moment he agreed with her, so no argument was to be had. He turned about to find glasses in a cupboard nearby the sink, and Lola removed the hat from her head and tossed it back onto the kitchen table to join the bottle of bourbon.
The pages were flipped through, then the book was flipped over and the first paragraph of the summary on the back was skimmed over before the book was set aside. Lola would read-- of course she would, you didn't get cable channels out this far and her family never bothered to pay for satellite television. Any news they needed they could get by radio or by word of mouth. There was a DVD player and some DVDs to go with it available, but they were dusty and rarely used. You couldn't bring them with you when you were patrolling the Bawn's edge, after all. By circumstance more than anything else, Lola's most common form of entertainment was paperback.
"Thanks for this, too. For all of it, really." She scuffed her nose with the back of her wrist, then gathered up the weed and pipe and tucked them both back into the bag before rolling it up securely. Eyes flicked to the clock on the wall -- It was only about 4:00pm, and the sun was far from setting. The house was cool because the A/C had been on, albeit running gently, just enough to make the place bearable but not enough to hike up the electric bill too severely. Regulating temperatures in houses like this could get costly if you got careless.
"Can I ask what prompted you to come bearing gifts...? I appreciate it-- and intend to break in the pipe with you and Tasmin, if she's coming around at any point too, but I'm just left to wonder why? Usually when people present you with presents it's because they're bribing you or buttering you up."
Hector Ghosh
If he wanted to play at being civilized he would have rummaged around in the freezer for ice cubes but he never learned how to drink whiskey on the rocks. It was usually straight out of the bottle if it wasn't poured as a shot for the purposes of toasting and he always did prefer to lie on the grass at night and smoke. He has very strong opinions concerning the merits of a pipe versus a blunt but his bottom line has always been that there is no good reason to taint Gaia's grassy gifts with strawberry flavoring.
Not quitting time by Western standards but the roof is done. He'd made sure to ask before they stepped inside. Anywhere else he's ever rolled up his sleeves to work, they've stayed outside until the sun had set. It helped to keep cooling costs down.
But then she's forging on to the matter of the visit and he lifts his eyebrows at the preamble. He's peeled the aluminum from the head of the bottle and unscrewing it when she continues on, rambling a bit like he does when he starts to get nervous, and he must have grown far too relaxed after realizing that Lola doesn't want him gone just because her sister's spirit has been sent off to the Homelands because he blurts out the actual reason he's here with so much stuff.
"Nah man it's nothing that nefarious, I just wanted you to know I--"
If there's a vocal equivalent to brakes being slammed on, he comes close: he grimaces and makes an <i>ehh</i> noise before returning to the task of pouring drinks.
"--I mean, yeah. Yeah, it's just... hospitality. Had a run in with the Fianna, I don't know if you know them, the Whites, they got that dude ranch out there--" Vague that-a-way gesturing. "--somewhere and Tamsin I guess told him she and I might need the place but this was before we picked up Jack... we have a new guy, Jack, he's wolf-born and badass, you'll like him. Anyway Tamsin kept saying <i>we should stay at Calden's we should stay at Calden's</i> and I was like <i>no way the library's air conditioned and has really nice hand soap</i> but she got me out there but lo-and-behold she'd told Jack about the place and Jack and this Shadow Lord came over all unannounced and Calden got pissed off because he wasn't expecting them and like, how the hell were we going to expect them, Jack doesn't have a phone, I'm surprised he has opposable thumbs..."
Right. Drinks. He slides hers across the table but doesn't just bolt his down.
"Tamsin's still at her kinsman's place and Jack went back to the city. But just in case they do that again. Totally a preemptive apology for how shitty I am at this whole pack-leading thing."
Lola Hawkes
Gears grind in the middle of Hector's explanation, and Lola's eyebrows hopped up with suspicion. But partway through hitting him with a skeptical stare she was taken away by the story about this White fellow and how he was upset because a pack descended upon him without warning. The bourbon was poured into the glasses-- straight, no rocks, and most days she would be just fine with that. Not today, though, it was too goddamn hot for that.
She stood up and circled around to the fridge and fished an ice cube tray out of the freezer. She came back to the counter, twisting the plastic tray so the ice cubes would crack free from their molds. She joined Hector at his side of the counter, aiding in preparation of the beverages by definitively clunking two cubes in each of the short glasses. She was taking hers on the rocks, and apparently he was too.
"Don't apologize for something that hasn't happened. That just means you know it shouldn't happen but intend to let it happen anyways." These were the stern words of a teacher-- possibly even stolen away from a mentor she'd had as a preteen when she and everyone around her were still firmly convicted in their belief that she would be an Ahroun. They were molding her into a leader in battle, and so she had learned to lead not just by example in battle, but by behavior off the battlefield as well.
With ice deposited in the glasses, Lola returned the ice tray to the freezer.
"The pack's still got my sister's spirit with them-- you and Tasmin, anyways. I can't count this Jack guy to that number, he never even knew her. But he's yours none the less, and you're all welcome on The Homestead. I just appreciate some warning before having the house filled up. Respect the Territory of Another and all that."
Hector Ghosh
And she speaks wisdom. Does not see through the haze of his attempt at lying enough to tell what lurks behind the attempt itself. The shadow of the thing but not the shape of it. To apologize in advance would negate the point of apologizing through the presence of foresight and he nods at this.
"That's like a temporal paradox," he says, swirling the glass so the liquor washes over the ice. It cracks in the glass and he waits for her to return. To tell him what she thinks of the situation.
"Of course. But I can just make Jack sleep out on the porch. He smells half the time anyway."
He lifts his glass to toast and that's maybe possibly when she sees the fact that he's glad to see her, that he feels guilt at being glad, that that Rage inside of him stoked up because two of their lot, their surrogate family, died not because they were outnumbered but because of what he told her in the car. It was bullshit but Hector's bullshit usually has truth to it. Bullshit makes him stop and think about what he's proposing.
"I just realized I don't know any toasts that don't have the word 'fuck' in them," he says, staring off into the distance like this is a ponderous epiphany he's just shouldered. Shakes it off and lifts his glass again and says, "Whatever. Here's to kicking the Wyrm in the face."
Lola Hawkes
"Jack'll probably sleep wherever he's comfortable. If he's Wolf-born, it probably would be on the porch."
Lola came back to the kitchen island, but rather than sitting on the stool across from Hector or standing directly beside him she stood at the end of the counter instead. She leaned forward, bare midriff pressing on the cool countertop's edge as she did so, and braced one forearm on the counter underneath her to support her weight as she leaned. The other arm reached out so her hand could wrap around the glass intended for her. Ice shifted, cracked with the warmth of the bourbon, and after admitting he didn't know many toasts Hector came up with a simple one that everyone could agree on.
His Kin, by way of Tribe and Pack, tapped the mouth of her glass against his. This gesture, like most others about her, was lazily competent -- he was correct in his observation that she was more lupine than many other Kinfolk, a direct result of being raised with the wrong impression since she was old enough to begin making language.
"To our victory and continuation."
A small drink was taken-- she didn't chug or shoot bourbon on the rocks, but instead savored the cool in her mouth followed by the warm in her throat and belly, and enjoyed how velvety the drink was despite its burn. She didn't set the glass down, but instead held it with her fingertips clutching the rim of the glass from above. Her wrist was loose, and the glass dangled but didn't seem in danger of slipping. Her hands were sure, much like the rest of her.
"Of course," she continued the original thought that they'd been on, "I'd have to actually meet this Jack before promising him shelter. If he's a fuck then I don't care who he's packed with-- he stays out of my home."
Then, after a beat of thought, she asked: "So, what help can I give to you guys with this church-cult situation that's happening?"
He should have known the question would come. Of course she would want to see some action.
He should have known the question would come. Of course she would want to see some action.
Hector Ghosh
So they toast and they drink and neither one of them drinks to get drunk. Moving through the heat of the day saps a body. Most desert creatures learn to find shade and stick to it. They are not in the desert but they are in the thick of a summer that's gone preposterous in its heat for the damage humans have done to their home.
Sat down the end of the island bar as he is Hector has the look of one for whom sitting is a luxury and sitting still is an exercise in endurance. Tightness worms its way through the muscles in his shoulders and she can hear if she can't actually see his foot jostling beneath the lip of the counter.
He perks up at the sound of her voice and his eyes slide from their pointless point in space to find her face again. Even in direct sunlight his eyes hold to their darkness. They're a color brown seen in fertile soil after a good rain. Even when he's drunk or upset, they're warm. He rests his chin on the hand not responsible for his glass and laughs spark-brief at her employment of the word 'fuck' to set parameters for the exclusion of the lupus male from her home.
"Fair enough," he says, and takes another sip.
Then they're back to the meat of the matter. Something is happening in the city and he would have to be a complete idiot to think she would be content to know this and not want to help. His eyebrows lift.
"You want to help?" he asks before he sits upright again. "Al<i>right</i>, <i>Lo</i>la, combating the Wyrm where it <i>dwells!</i>" He settles down because it occurs to them that he doesn't have a fucking clue where it's dwelling, precisely. "Well we killed this one Fomor who used to be a lady named Carlita. I guess she was an ex-con who went through this program called rEEntry. Little r, capital E, capital E, n-t-r-y. I can write it down for you. Anyway, we killed her, and we captured her daughter, Dorlene, who was...insane. Just really warped. They both went to this place called Church of the Covenant, which was opened about seven years ago by this couple, Opal and Carlos Black? They were both pastors. Opal died about two years ago after the church opened and Carlos and Christina started going apeshit in 2011 opening up all these community outreach programs. rEEntry was one of them. They've got another one for troubled youth, sort of a boot camp situation."
He takes a sip of his drink and thinks.
"That didn't answer your question."
Lola Hawkes
All of the information that the Galliard had to share, the Kinfolk took in hungrily. He shared his information in conversational format-- they were catching up, he was chattering about something new that was happening in town. That was the tone that was carried. She, however, had a relatively more stern expression on her face while she soaked up what he had to say. She was quite invested in this Church of the Covenant, and nodding when appropriate to show she understood what he'd said.
There were plenty of other ways where the pair were different, aside from the obvious call-outs of gender and Blood.
Where Hector struggled to be still and his foot wiggled and jostled under the counter, Lola leaned almost languidly, one-hundred percent comfortable in her own home.
While elements to his gaze were warm, like fresh-tilled late spring earth, Lola's stare tended to carry more intensity to it -- hot like fire instead of warm like a stone in the sun.
While elements to his gaze were warm, like fresh-tilled late spring earth, Lola's stare tended to carry more intensity to it -- hot like fire instead of warm like a stone in the sun.
They were plenty similar in other ways, though. They were both friendly to one another, any awkward moments that Hector might have summoned up (I just wanted you to know -- ehhhh, I mean, hospitality, yeah.) were smoothed over and left behind. They shared a drink casually, neither slamming back the liquor in the way that an upsettingly high number of other Garou or Kinfolk might. They didn't drink to numb or forget, they simply drank to enjoy.
Hector and Lola never failed to get along in any big way. The didn't have huge disagreements, and had been found holed up on the hillside behind the house with one or two other packmates before, passing a rolled joint or pocket-sized pipe about and laughing over nothing. They got along just fine, but they were only now demonstrating this without Hornet's Nest behaving as a conduit between them.
That didn't answer your question.
This sparked a sharp looking smirk, and she chuckled a little and took another slow, shallow drink from her cup. "You're right-- although you answered like five that would've come after.
"I don't like going into the city much, but if it's to keep something from making its way out to the Caern then I'm sure not unwilling. I assume you guys already have Kinfolk doing what research they can? Denver's a big city, I know there's gotta be a few Glasswalker Kinfolk that can pull up all of the information there is to be found on this organization. They could give us names, faces, vehicles, locations and agendas. We should be using that."
See that? She didn't even figure herself in to the equation of conducting research-- that was Kinfolk work, and Lola still slipped and struggled when including herself among that number entirely.
Hector Ghosh
"I'll have to check with Avery. -- she's one of Falcon's, a lawgiver." Something occurs to him as he sits at the counter and swirls the ice in his drink that makes him laugh a truncated version of that deep-throated nerd-laugh he hasn't outgrown yet. "Oh, man, I saw her with that Calden guy I told you about when Tamsin and Jack and I were out hunting Wretched. Holding hands and shit. I think she's poaching. What a <i>baller</i>."
Focus, Hector.
"Anyway she has--" Ahem. "--pretty healthy relationships with the local kinfolk, it looks like. I can wheedle her for information next time I see her. But the information isn't exactly Pentex-level hidden. All you really have to do is ask the Google. Not that anybody's asked me, but if anybody were to ask me, I'd say we go scout out the freaking... the church. The one on Colfax. Their base of operations."
Probably nobody's asked him because he's the alpha of a pack whose totem spirit is an entity of obfuscation and he ought to have been the first person to suggest this course of action. This occurs to him after he's already said it and he scowls like he missed a rudimentary question on a final exam.
"Shit. Alright. So that's Step Two."
He rubs his brow with the hand that had been propping up his chin and for once doesn't voice the first half-cooked thought that shoots through his brain.
"You got wheels, right?"
Lola Hawkes
Eyebrows lifted when Hector spoke of a Silver Fang courting a Fianna Kinfolk. "Really, now? I thought they could only fuck their own cousins." There was a tap of fingertips against the edge of her glass, which she now settled on the countertop rather than just holding onto it for the time being. "Does Tasmin know about this? Have you mentioned it to the Kinsman's ward?" It's not that Lola was personally invested in the romantic lives of Avery Chase and Calden White. It's just that she was a Traditionalist (in ways) and tribal unity/loyalty was something that she stuck to. She had an oddly Garou approach to 'Kinfolk Rights', despite being Kinfolk herself.
He went on to mention that most of the information could be found on Google, and that was dismissed with a shake of her head and a wave of her hand. "I don't own a computer, much less do I have internet out here. The only way we could get it is by satellites and shit, and that's expensive, from what my cousins tell me anyways. There's no need for it, there are plenty of other people that can be doing that research instead of me. I'm better for more practical help than that."
He asked if she had wheels, and she nodded with another small, slow sip of her drink. "I've got the truck-- the same one I picked you up in. I've also got my bike, which we could load into the back of the truck if need be. There's a four-wheeler in the shed, too, in case that could be of use. I mainly just use it for patrols, though."
Hector Ghosh
His laughter shuts off the second he realizes she doesn't find this nearly as entertaining as he does.
This was not a world he was born into and the last four years the rest of their tribe has watched Hector struggle to find his sea legs. Rough enough that he didn't know his mother was Kinfolk. His mother didn't know she was Kinfolk. The state didn't know she was Kinfolk when she went into the foster care system. All of that funneled down into the boy finding himself slapped upside the head with more than one epiphany when the cub-seekers took him from California to Arizona and dropped him in front of an elder.
She's heard that story. When he's drunk Hector's hyperactivity increases and he can do little more than laugh and play-fight with whoever happens to be around before inevitably hitting a wall and finding someone who will let him use their lap for a pillow. Stoned though he forgets about the bullshit and his hangups and just talks. Oftentimes his stories have to do with stupid shit like the plot of a comic book he's been reading or how he feels about some speculative fiction film's casting choices but she gets things like this sometimes: that he doesn't know who he is, that he's learning, that he falls on his ass more times than others lift him up as a paragon of behavior for his moon or his people.
That he tries earns him more respect than anything else. He's earnest. Old enough to know better about a lot of his behavior, but it's not like he was raised knowing what lay ahead of him. His father was a cardiologist. His mother caught literature at SJSU. He didn't know shit before and now he's considered honorable and wise by Cliath standards.
"I'll tell Tamsin," he says and his face and voice go sombre so sudden Lola might not realize he's also stopped tapping his foot.
And then they move on:
"So, if we end up scouting the place, I might need you to be around for, you know. Helping us get out of Dodge with a quickness. I don't know what we're going to find in there but if you could maybe sit outside with a rifle, that'd be good, too."
Lola Hawkes
The Kinfolk walked an odd line between serious and laid back, and the harness that kept her there was comfort. She was serious about affairs related to the Nation, and took her place within it to heart-- or, well, her perceived place within it anyways. If anyone bothered to try telling her to stop looking for trouble, to leave the defense of the Caern to the Garou, to worry more about finding a job and settling down to have a few kids...
Suffice to say, they were definitely barking up the wrong tree.
The good news was that the whole Caern already knew better, and Lola had no plans of relocating.
The good news was that the whole Caern already knew better, and Lola had no plans of relocating.
Hector said he'd talk to the Fianna about her Kinsman, and they moved from that topic to the Church and its goings on. It was suggested that she be a getaway driver just in case shit hit the fan. Lola nodded to this, her mouth a flat line of solemnness.
"I can be there for transport and backup."
From there the conversation would flow naturally. The evening would go one of two ways.
1.) Hector would leave before too long, with other business to tend to
2.) He would stick around, and when the sun began to dip its way behind the mountains they would smoke and talk the night away
2.) He would stick around, and when the sun began to dip its way behind the mountains they would smoke and talk the night away
Either way, the night ended with an extra link to hold the relationship between the two Uktena together now that the bridge that once connected it was gone, and there was a plan for scouting set in motion as well.
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