Wednesday morning was no different from the last. Lola woke not long after the sun and had breakfast and coffee. She dressed for the cool rains by wearing a jacket and jeans instead of her usual summer attire-- shorts and flannel shirts-- and kept a wide-brimmed hat on her head to prevent raindrops from falling into her eyes and dripping down her face. She didn't take the dirtbike out today, because it had a habit of getting its tires sucked into mudholes when it rained.
Somewhere around eleven a.m., when she felt most Garou would have sufficient time to sleep off their exploits and adventures from the night prior, she fished her cellphone out of her backpack and sought out a ridge where she was high enough to pick up a signal from the nearest tower.
The clouds broke for the moment, the first wave of rain passed and gone off east, continuing into the mountains. There was a second wave on the western horizon, though, darker and heavier than the first. She took her hat off and shook the rain from it, and did the same for her jacket. Both were laid out on top of a particularly large slab of stone to dry in the sun while the sun was out, and she turned her attention to her phone instead.
With one hand on her hip and the other navigating the little mobile device, she skimmed through her contacts list until getting to her relatively limited 'C' section. One of three names was picked out, and the phone was placed to her ear.
When it finished ringing and picked up, she'd say evenly:
"Corey? It's Lola Hawkes. Don't hang up, we need to talk."
Corey Seger
The first time Lola met Corey Seger he and Tamsin had just joined the pack. Must have been two or three years ago. Willow was still alive and they did not follow Coyote anymore. They followed Fog and Hector kept making fun of Corey as they sat around the table at dinner that night. Hector made fun of everyone and Lola could see why: her sister was fond of playing with his hair and tugging at his shirt and claiming if the busking thing stopped working out he could just sell shampoo. Maybe model underwear.
And Corey sat and watched it all and disappeared occasionally for his Rage burned hotter than the rest of theirs did and the outdoors didn't exactly call to him the way it called to his Uktena or Fianna packmates but outside he could find a signal on his Android and feel like he could breathe again. They knew he was from Texas and his mother was a high-ranked Philodox of Cockroach and he was not unprepared for the life of a warrior as were Tamsin and Hector.
The last time Lola saw Corey he was the pack's alpha. Willow had been dead for well over six moons and Maria and Glen were not long for this world but they did not know it. Despite the weight of Willow's loss spirits were high and they drank to her memory and when Hector and Corey got into a scuffle by the fire later that night it was all in jest. The others laughed when Corey pinned Hector to the ground and yelled WHAT NOW MOTHERFUCKER and Hector screamed and gibbered and the others laughed because what the hell else were they supposed to do. Those two were like children. Arms around each others shoulders when they got back up and you would have thought to look at them that they could weather something like the death of half their pack for how close they were.
That ridge Lola goes to now is the same ridge Corey would go to when he wanted to find solace in digital escape.
Wherever he's gone his signal is clear and the phone rings three times before he answers. He has to still have her stored in his contact list. He has to debate whether he's going to let it go to voicemail and never talk to her again. Maybe she doubts the number still belongs to him. People change numbers like underwear these days, devices lost or stolen or damaged and contracts expired and --
In the silence after the connection she hears: Oh, shit.
"Lola," he says when he doesn't hang up. "Hi. What's going on?"
Lola Hawkes
Tension was high in the Kinswoman's chest and shoulders while the phone rang. She waited to hear if it went to a disconnected message, or if an unfamiliar voice answered and said that she had the wrong number. She was already thinking ahead if that were to be the case. If he decided to avoid her calls she would seek him out another way. She would find a Theurge, get them to help her with a talen so that she could track Corey's exact location. She knew his names, both his Christian and Gaian ones, and she was sure that would be enough for a Theurge to put a pinpoint on him and help Lola to find him.
Thankfully the line picked up, and a familiar voice that she hadn't heard in quite some time asked her what was going on. She wouldn't need to go hunting.
He can tell that her temper wants to flare up when he casually asks what's going on.
"I'll tell--," she started in a rush, all passion and anger, but she tamps it down quickly, clears her throat, and starts again in a more level tone (although that anger still sizzled under the surface, and he could tell by how restrained her voice clearly had to be). "Plenty. But that's not what I'm calling for. I think you know damn well what I'm calling for, Corey. We need to talk about what happened."
Corey Seger
Physical distance and technology keep the threat of frenzy out of her face but she can still hear a crackle over the connection that has nothing to do with the devices they're using or the storms rolling through the Rocky Mountain states.
Three moons passed since her sister and her sister's packmate died and he must have thought she was calling to tell him her tribesman had gotten himself killed too. Hector had no place else to go. He would have gone back to The Homestead even if he were alone. Someone had to tell Lola her sister was dead.
"What's he been telling you?" Corey asks, hard.
Lola Hawkes
"That you ran off," is Lola's simple answer. He can hear bitterness there, a hint of betrayal on her Kinsman's behalf. Perhaps even on her sister's behalf. Maria certainly would be shaking her head and pressing her lips to give that disappointed school teacher look she was so good at.
"Details aren't important, I don't think. Maybe they chased you off, maybe grief did? I don't know, and it ain't my business to distinguish who's side of the story is most right. I was born under the Full Moon, not the Half Moon, after all." She says it like it matters to a Kinfolk. She had a habit of making statements like that and waiting for Garou to challenge the authenticity of them. Or, at least, she used to when she was more antagonistic and in her late teens.
"I need you to tell me now. That's why I called."
Corey Seger
"Tell you what?"
In the background comes the sharp clicking of a computer keyboard and then the clapping of a piece of hardware as he closes it. No other noise that she can discern. Microphones have evolved to pick up what's right in front of them and leave out all but road noises and coffeehouse and barroom clattering. Maybe in the silences between his words she can hear music but so far as she can tell he's alone.
"Lola, he's a fucking Galliard. Don't act like you don't know how this works, whatever comes out of his mouth is as close to the truth as you're going to get. What do you want me to say, huh? We got in a fight and I left. What more is there to say?"
Lola Hawkes
"He's a damn fine Galliard, first of all. Not just a 'fucking Galliard'. Him and Tamsin both. And, yeah, they're both here."
Corey won't get much background noise from Lola. Her reception wasn't wonderful, and occasionally her voice would come across quieter because of that, but beyond that there was only the sound of Lola's voice on her line. He probably knew exactly where she was. Lola didn't travel much, after all.
"But that don't change the fact that they were both impacted by you leaving, and that kinda skews the story some. I'm not asking you to tell me what happened with Maria and Glen and the battle that happened-- that story I trust from them. It's the part where you leave them in the fucking dust that I'm a bit fuzzy. You see, that part of the story hasn't been told straight because it keeps getting choked off and skewed by what I'm sure are some really justified opinions on the matter.
"And that is what I want you to tell me. Your side of what happened after that battle. Why you left. 'Cause Corey? I don't know if anyone's told you this yet, but that's fucked us over."
Us, not them.
Corey Seger
Give him this much: he doesn't make excuses for why he hasn't tried to track down his former brother and sister. He was a Fostern before that battle and the things the Galliards said about that battle stripped him of renown. She can hear the dead air where a lesser Garou would have stammered out bullshit about Tamsin not having a phone and Hector refusing to answer his. He could have tracked them down. He could have found them at the Caern where Hector would have gone because they knew each other well enough to know exactly where they would be even now.
Hector knows Corey would have gone back to Houston because it's a straight-south shot from Winnipeg and his mother was a Guardian of their Sept. But Hector also didn't say Corey's name for nearly three months. Both times he said it he nearly lost his shit. Doesn't matter. Lola could have found him without too much effort.
"I don't want to talk about this over the phone," he says.
Lola Hawkes
There is zero hesitation when Lola answers: "Then we'll talk about it in person."
Beat.
"Where are you, anyways?" This last question, it should be noted, has significantly less hostility in it than anything else she's said so far. She sounds like the Lola that he remembers being around-- invested in her sister's packmates, involved with them and participating in their circle-talks around the campfire in her backyard. She isn't accusing right now, she just wants to know where he is. It's almost like asking how he's doing, given the shift in tone when she asked.
But no, she hasn't asked him how he is. Not yet. Just where. Presumably so that she can come to him.
Corey Seger
"Home. In Houston."
Most likely recovering from having his ears boxed by his mother, but he doesn't say that. He clears his throat forceful and loud to signify a change in the conversation's direction. He has to realize the next thing she's going to suggest is that she come on out there herself or that he come up to Denver and neither of those things are exactly a brilliant idea.
He cuts her off at the pass:
"You wanna talk? Meet me in Vegas at the Super 8. I'm gonna need to kill about a dozen fucking leeches before I talk about Hector."
Lola Hawkes
She expected that there was a chance he would be back down in Texas, where he came from. After a tragedy as severe as a pack being torn asunder and consumed by death it only made sense to return to friendly and familiar ground. That's what Hector and Tamsin had done, after all, although Hector used the excuse that he'd promised Maria he would take care of her younger sister (as though Lola actually needed taking care of). She figured there was also a chance he would have gone to some big city that was completely new where he could bury himself and start over. She was pleased, though, that he didn't answer with Miami or something similarly far East.
He suggested Vegas instead of Oklahoma or Arizona or something that made more sense. She didn't argue the logic, she wouldn't push him to change locations. She could make it to Las Vegas with no real trouble.
She did challenge him on one thing, though:
"The Super 8? This is Las Vegas you're talking, how many fucking Super 8's do you think there are?"
Corey Seger
And he flips open his laptop to give the Uktena woman an address, typing faster than he can talk:
"I know there're like, three fucking Super 8s, and I also know all the ones that aren't on the Strip are fucking dumps and your sister would kill the shit out of me if I took you to the one on Vegas Boulevard. 4250 Koval Lane, I'm booking it right now."
He doesn't call her a smart-ass the way he would have if they had talked at all in the last three months. The way he would have if he were still leading Hector and Tamsin. She isn't anything to him anymore and he has no room to tease her and so he doesn't. A few more heavy keystrokes and then the clapping sound again.
"Alright. Check-in's tomorrow. You wanna come, great. You don't, fine. But don't fucking bring him, Lola, I swear..."
So Hector isn't the only one who's still raw and angry over how they parted ways.
Lola Hawkes
With nothing but the sound of clackity-clack in the background, Corey was able to provide Lola with an address and book the room all at once. He cautioned her, however, not to bring Hector. The Ahroun can almost hear the almost-Ahroun rolling her eyes on the other line.
When Corey entered the room, everyone noticed-- consciously or otherwise. Humans stood nearer to one another-- a young man wrapped his arm around his new wife's shoulders, a mother picked up her toddler and secured him to her hip, and a trio hastened their conversation and moved it outside onto the Strip instead. Even the woman behind the counter sought duties in the doorway behind her. While Lola Lola seemed to be the only person not anxious to escape the room, she was affected by the active electric coil of Rage that the short, stocky man poured into the atmosphere. She stopped leaning casually against the pillar and stood more straight instead, drawing herself up to her full height.
She was on the taller side of average for a woman, but that only put her at one scant inch above Corey. Currently, with the thick soles of his boots and the flat bottoms of the sandals she wore, he found himself an extra inch above her instead today. As he came near, Lola didn't greet him with a hug because that would be too personal, too friendly. She didn't greet him with a handshake either because that would be too cold and formal. So instead she jerked her chin up a degree or two in greeting.
"There you are," were the first words she said to him. She wasn't grinding her teeth or shooting daggers at him. While tension tickled prickly fingers on her back and shoulders and hips, she maintained a fairly neutral demeanor.
"Why you picked this fucking scab is beyond me, but we're here. We going to that room you booked, or out for lunch?"
"Well duh. I'm not a fool. I'm out on patrol, no pen or anything-- will you text me that address please?"
There's an abbreviated 'see you tomorrow' sort of goodbye, and the call ends.
--------------------------
It's quarter after noon, and Lola is standing in the lobby of the Super 8 Motel. She had tried sitting in one of the large red leather chairs, but found it uncomfortable to lean back, as the seat was an odd length in the cushion. Instead she leaned back against one of several slender pillars that were stationed strategically throughout the entrance room. She was dressed in a pair of sandals with black straps that wrapped up onto her ankles, a pair of white shorts made to appear all the brighter against the brown skin of her legs, and a black tank-top that fit loose and comfortable, with the bottom half fringed so that her flat stomach was somewhat visible. She had a pair of sunglasses pushed up onto her head, and her dense black hair was left down to hang straight around her shoulders.
She was clearly waiting for someone, something. The wrinkle to the bridge of her nose and slight displeased curl to her upper lip suggested that she was quite displeased with her situation, but it just made it look like she smelled something awful.
Yesterday, as soon as she was off the phone with Corey, she'd dialed another number-- this one to a cousin that managed The Homestead's financial resources. A brief conversation was conducted, and with reasoning that was more vague than the cousin would appreciate, a round-trip ticket was booked to leave Thursday in the early hours and return Friday night.
The plane ride this morning was uncomfortable, to say the absolute least. Lola was surly going through security, anxious at the terminal, and wound tight as a wire through the duration of the flight. She'd chipped two fingernails biting them into the arm of the seat during the landing, and found some free shuttle from the airport to the Strip once she was on solid ground again.
And I bitched about Denver, was all she was able to think.
Corey Seger
Hector is back to texting her whenever something funny happens in front of him or whenever he does something he thinks would make her shake her head. Whatever exploits he got into after their patrol went unmentioned but the morning of her call to Corey, Lola received a picture of a house further north buried underneath so many stuffed animals and action figures one could barely make out that a house did indeed rest underneath all of the affixed toys. Even the fence out front teemed with adornments. It came with the caption "WTF... Must walk faster..." and nothing else.
When she gets off the plane another picture awaits her. Someone has left a golf cart unattended wherever the hell he is.
"Heh heh heh," is all that text says.
He has no idea where she's going or who she's going to see. That's probably just as well.
---
And Las Vegas is just as hot as Denver though they are a mile lower and seem to have about a million more people crammed inside the city limits. From the sky she can see the grid of the city and the flatness of the land surrounding it and even from so high up the entire thing seems to gleam. Like nothing organic lives within. On the ground it isn't any better for all the orange-leather tans and the inflated unmoving breasts and the hair gone the color and consistency of straw.
She can practically smell the cocaine and personal lubricant in the air. These people live lives of loud desperation and Gaia abandoned them ages ago.
No one pays any attention to her as Lola sits in the lobby to await her sister's former alpha and soon as Corey hauls open the front door and lets himself into the air conditioning the atmosphere itself changes. The humans milling around as they prepare to head out to the casinos or come back from brunch begin to look around and cluster closer together. More like small mammals or game fowl than people. Even as an inexperienced Cliath Corey had felt as tense and uncertain as Hector does now, nearing Fostern as the Uktena is.
Three months after the deaths of his two packmates he feels like a downed electrical wire sparking against the pavement, all but writhing with the unchecked energy.
He hasn't grown at all in the time since she last saw him but he still carries himself like a military commando. Wears sturdy black steel-toed boots and sturdy carpenter's jeans and a black t-shirt, sunglasses that he takes off once he's in through the vestibule. No jewelry and no watch. As much as two male Garou can differ, Corey is the opposite of Hector: well-groomed, fair skin, fair hair, pale eyes, thick musculature, confidence keeping stride with his temper. He is very short but he would win whatever fight anyone could possibly start with him.
When Corey conquers the threshold he scans the room. Finds Lola without difficulty and crosses to her.
Lola Hawkes
The texts that Hector sends are answered as usual. The one with the house was answered with a 'That's creepy as fuck', and the golf cart was answered with 'Happy trails and don't die!'.
No, she didn't tell him where she was going or who she was going to see. She was only going to be absent for two days, and she doubted he would be swinging by The Homestead in that time given the state of crisis the Spire Sept was in, and his dedication to helping keep the city under control while the City Wolves did what they could to recover from their losses. Even if he did, she would probably just say that she was away and leave it there. Thankfully, no text or phone call came through to inquire about her whereabouts, or to invite her out for another patrol. That was one hurdle she didn't need to leap right now.
Corey Seger
That jerk of her chin is met with an incline of Corey's and then he crosses his arms over his chest. No intention of hugging her or shaking her hand even if she had attempted to do so on her own. Their distance would have persisted even if he had come back to Denver with his brother and sister. For being one of the urrah he has fairly strict views when it comes to physical contact. Always has. Part of it was his Rage and part of it was the propriety expected when Garou interact with Kinfolk.
His posture is defensive and he makes no attempt to hide it. With his feet planted he is prepared for an ambush or an attack from behind but he also looks as if conversing is going to be akin to pulling teeth. They're standing in the lobby of a cheap motel and people are staring at them and Corey looks like he wants to laugh when Lola calls this place a fucking scab.
Of course it's a fucking scab. Crossing the Gauntlet here would be like punching through metal.
"I had some shit I had to take care of, is why I picked this fucking scab," he says. "My cousin owns a place down the street a ways. If you came all the way out here just to fucking interrogate me I might as well buy you lunch."
Lola Hawkes
"Oh, interrogate is such a strong word."
They had tequila, but Lola wanted water to go along with it. This was more because she was thirsty than because she felt any strong need to pace the level of intoxication she found this night-- or even afternoon, for all she cared. She sipped her water and helped herself to some bread, which she dabbed in the oil dish before nibbling on herself.
When she was finished chewing and washing the dry snack down with water, she answered the distanced friend's question.
"It was about an hour and a half long flight, not no five hours. And no-- on both counts." She narrowed her eyes at him here, like she was adding a 'you asshole' with her gaze, but continued seamlessly. "I'm not here for the shit he's already told me. I'm here for what he left out-- the part where you left and they came back to Forgotten Questions. All he told me was a sentence, if even that. Shit, he grinds his molars to powder just getting your name out, and that doesn't happen often either.
"Corey, what happened?"
Instead, she appeared solemn, with those dark and expressive eyebrows knitted at the middle and similarly dark, expressive eyes boring into him. She'd glance away just long enough to pour herself a shot, but did not refill Corey's shot glass while she had the bottle in pouring position. Instead she set it back on the table, in the middle, but nearer to the wall of the booth.
"Yeah, these are the details he left out."
She'd take her shot, grimace a bit with the burn of it in her mouth, smack her tongue against the back of her teeth, then reach for her glass of water (already half-empty-- she'd virtually chugged the first half once she received it).
"So how long was he gone? And what happened when you found him again?"
If she was pissed off to find out that Hector couldn't even be bothered to attend her sister's Gathering, it doesn't show save for a hardened, more business-like edge to her eyes. Oh, don't worry, she'd be glazing that over with inebriation soon enough.
Corey came across as stand off-ish, but that's what such a burden of Rage would do to you. The fact that his body language reinforced the impression certainly wouldn't help his cause were he to argue otherwise, though. He stood with his arms folded over a well-built chest, feet apart, prepared for war. That could be because he didn't trust that Lola hadn't brought Hector and Tamsin, or maybe some other mean thugs that she was friends with from her home Sept. Or it could be because that's what he was used to. Life as an Ahroun meant life seeking Battle and War, and being forever ready should either show you even the faintest hint of rearing up.
Lola met this open defensiveness with a bit of a smirk. She meant it to be friendly, playful, joshing in that sharp way that she and Corey would once upon a time ago. Now, though the Rage combined with the circumstances under which they were meeting had an edge to the expression that was tense, a bit uncomfortable. She held her own, though, that was for sure. There were bound to be one or two damsels back in Houston that Corey could think of who avoided his eyes or ducked their heads when around him. Lola was built from tougher stuff than that.
So she would stand still, face him directly, and refuse to break a sweat. "Business, I get that." This was her way of defusing her complaint about his choice in location. If he had business here, she would respect that. He wouldn't hear that particular complaint again (which wasn't to say she wouldn't bitch about the city in general, however). "I just wanna talk. If I know what went down and get... y'know, both sides of the story? Maybe I can help some more."
She meant help Hector, of course, but since she didn't say so specifically then her expressed desire to help could be construed however Corey might hear it.
"But if that offer for lunch is on the table...," and she nodded her head past his shoulder, toward the door. She would be happy to get out of this lobby, smelling strongly of floor cleaner and air freshener as it did. She anticipated a grimace to see the buildings reaching so high as to boldly attempt to tickle clouds, but it would be better than the bland tones and flat ceiling above.
Corey Seger
Despite his stature and despite the force of the blow that knocked him down from his station the Glass Walker still holds himself like a Gaian prepared for not only war but for leading others into that war. As Lola concedes his reason for choosing this shit hole of all the shit holes in the western United States and goes on to explain what exactly she hopes to accomplish here his eyebrows lift.
Full Moons have a reputation for earnestness if not outright inability to lie whether it has been earned by their own behavior or not. Corey is not one of those Full Moons. He knew what he was and what he would become long before his First Change and other than that initial elevation of his brows Lola can glean no more from the expression than that he is skeptical of what Lola could possibly do to help in this situation.
If Hector and Tamsin were still his packmates that undoubtedly would have been one of the first questions out of his mouth. He did not go off on a quest to absolve himself and then return though. He broke off from both of them and if he cared about their fates he had done a fine job of concealing his concern.
"I don't joke about lunch," Corey says.
They walk across the terrible worn-down carpet and past the glistening fake potted plants and out through the glass lobby doors. Outside the lobby the air is not much better but the space between them and the humans is greater and even with cars rushing past and neon signs flashing even in the daytime and all those voices and machines arguing with each other behind closed doors it's easier for Corey to hold himself free when they're outside.
He walks like all of his power is in his chest. It isn't the swagger of one attempting to project a front of ferocity with nothing to give it heft. This is how he walks for the strength in his form and he will never grow any taller for he is done growing but one day he will have the rank and the renown and the respect to overcome his short stature. That he will survive was never a doubt any of them had had. But they had also thought Maria and Glen would live forever for their cunning and Tamsin would be safe for her fog-eyed gaze able to look back so easily.
The fact that Hector is still alive must come as some shock to Corey even as it has only been confirmed by absence of other information.
So they walk down the street to a brick-faced building set sharing space with a two-bit attorney's office and a liquor store. Big blank thing with tinted windows and hours that claim it doesn't open until four o'clock. He leads Lola around the side of the building and in through a side door. They go through the kitchen where men young and old do not quail when Corey walks past. They stiffen, sure. His Rage affects Kinfolk even if they're used to it.
"¡Oye, Juan!" he calls to the biggest guy in the room. "¿Dónde está mi primo?"
"En la oficina," says Juan and jerks his chin towards Lola. "¿Quien es?"
"Una familiar de Uktena. Se llama Lola. No te precupes."
"¿Comeís?"
"Si podemos."
"¡Claro!"
(Translation:
"Hey, Juan! Where's my cousin?"
"In the office! Who's that?"
"One of Uktena's Kin. Her name's Lola. Don't worry."
"You guys eating?"
"If we can."
"Of course!")
A burst of activity then: the establishment doesn't open for hours but the two are shepherded to a booth in a corner and the place looks more like a nightclub than a restaurant but it won't look like anything until the doors unlock and people come in. The decor is sparse and meant to be scene under black lights or pulsing multicolored lights. She can see an empty DJ booth in one corner. They're given bread and oil and garlic to tide them over until Juan or whoever is doing prep work for the night can slap something together for them and whatever they want to drink.
It will end up being tequila unless Lola has any objections. They are going to be talking about the death of his pack and the fight that killed his relationship with his best friend, after all.
Once they're settled and the train of people has stopped interrupting them and they have alcohol in front of them Corey looks at her level across the table and says, "Alright. You spent, what, five hours on a plane to come out here and hear a shittier version of a story someone you think is a damn fine Galliard already told you? Are you fucking with me?"
Lola Hawkes
Corey was skeptical as to Lola's reason for coming, her statement of what she wanted. This showed only in a small motion of the eyebrows and nothing more. Then he was advising her almost gravely that he didn't joke about food, and they were on their way.
As soon as Lola stepped out into the open air, the oppressive dry heat hit her bare skin and made her feel like her very hair might catch fire. She scowled and dropped her sunglasses to cover her eyes, and found her stride beside the Ahroun. He knew where they were going, Lola wasn't quite so sure. She appreciated the wide berth that Corey's Rage gave them, because it allowed her to wrinkle her nose distastefully as she looked toward the tall, tall buildings that framed one of the most famous stretches of road on the planet. She hated it desperately, and wished she could evensee the mountain range that stretched lazily to the west of the city. These mountains were nothing compared to those in Colorado, that was sure, but she would so much rather be out there on the red rocks than here on the gray pavement, surrounded by dyed glass and neon light (yes, even in the daytime).
She'd stay quiet and a little sullen as they found the place that his cousin owned and made their way inside. She understood the conversation between Corey and Juan easily, and nodded her head in greeting when Corey introduced her (or more, gave her an identity for the man to recognize her by). It was only once they were settled in the booth that she was content to speak again.As soon as Lola stepped out into the open air, the oppressive dry heat hit her bare skin and made her feel like her very hair might catch fire. She scowled and dropped her sunglasses to cover her eyes, and found her stride beside the Ahroun. He knew where they were going, Lola wasn't quite so sure. She appreciated the wide berth that Corey's Rage gave them, because it allowed her to wrinkle her nose distastefully as she looked toward the tall, tall buildings that framed one of the most famous stretches of road on the planet. She hated it desperately, and wished she could evensee the mountain range that stretched lazily to the west of the city. These mountains were nothing compared to those in Colorado, that was sure, but she would so much rather be out there on the red rocks than here on the gray pavement, surrounded by dyed glass and neon light (yes, even in the daytime).
They had tequila, but Lola wanted water to go along with it. This was more because she was thirsty than because she felt any strong need to pace the level of intoxication she found this night-- or even afternoon, for all she cared. She sipped her water and helped herself to some bread, which she dabbed in the oil dish before nibbling on herself.
When she was finished chewing and washing the dry snack down with water, she answered the distanced friend's question.
Corey Seger
Corey rolls his eyes at the assertion that Hector can barely bring himself to say his name anymore. Would have thought this detail had to be an exaggeration but for the fact that Lola doesn't exaggerate. But for the fact that Hector deals with things he doesn't want to talk about by just not talking about them and when a Galliard does not talk about something it may as well not exist.
The rest of the pack came from long histories and old Septs and their mentors were valiant and honorable Garou. They could imagine but not entirely grasp the isolation and the pain that their Galliards experienced even when it came to discussing their families.
So Hector wants to keep the details of what sent them scattering to himself. That's just fucking fantastic. The Ahroun pulls one of the glasses closer and pours a shot of tequila into it.
"Where do you want me to start?" he asks and takes the shot. Doesn't even register the heat or bite of the alcohol. "The part where your sister and your boyfriend tried to tell me going into the Umbra was a bad idea? Spoiler alert: they were right." He pours another shot but doesn't take it just yet. "Or how about the part where your fucking boyfriend missed their fucking Gathering because Tamsin and I couldn't find him for two fucking days afterwards?" He starts to take the shot but then stops. "Oh, did he not tell you that? This is good. This is really good. Get a load of this."
He throws back the shot and sets down the glass harder than he means to.
"Yeah, so we're north of the border. It happens. Willow and Maria had Wendigo allies that they'd check in on occasionally. They fucking loved Glen and Tamsin. Really fucking loved me. Nobody even wanted to look at Tamsin or me afterwards because what does Whitey know about sending people off at a Wendigo Sept?"
He pours another shot.
"They wouldn't talk to anyone besides Hector. Thought Hector would do the goddamn Gathering instead of the Galliards from the fucking Wendigo Sept but nooooo, Hector gets into one of his Don Quixote moods and goes gallivanting off without telling anyone where he's fucking going. Only reason we knew he was still alive was because of Fog. So that was fun."
Down it goes.
Lola Hawkes
Corey was pounding through the shots at a high rate of speed. He'd spoken perhaps a paragraph and a half worth of words, and already the third shot was gone. Lola hadn't even had one.
Perhaps because she didn't want to be the only sober asshole at this table, or maybe even in some flimsily masked effort to keep Corey from passing out and/or throwing up within the next thirty minutes, Lola stuck her hand out across the table once the tequila bottle was released (and if not released, she'd wait for his grip on it to slack enough) and yank it across to her side of the booth. She listened to what he had to say, and didn't interrupt even to correct him each time he called Hector her boyfriend.She'd take her shot, grimace a bit with the burn of it in her mouth, smack her tongue against the back of her teeth, then reach for her glass of water (already half-empty-- she'd virtually chugged the first half once she received it).
Corey Seger
She takes away the bottle and Corey decides to let the half-cup of booze settle in his stomach. Doesn't rankle at her decision. It's for the best. In a few moments he'll start to feel the inebriation creep through his body and all he's had to soak it up is a few hunks of bread.
Never mind that he was packed with two Fianna for nearly three years. His tolerance is high for the strength of his build and the paces through which he'd put his body but he's in his human skin and they're talking about something that's liable to upset both of them.
They're off to a great start already. Corey doesn't have to stretch his imagination too far to think of how he would feel if he learned that one of his sister's packmates had ditched out on the rite meant to return her to their Homeland. He lets Lola have the bottle and her shut-down countenance.
"He took off the day before the Gathering and didn't come back until the day after. I asked him where the fuck he'd been for two days and he didn't answer me. So I shoved him. Not hard, I wasn't trying to hurt him, but he fucking... he used to get like that and he wouldn't answer unless you got his attention. Then he got in my face, asking what did it even matter if he didn't conduct their Gathering, it wasn't like they were going to fucking remember..."
He drinks his own water for the first time since they sat down and blows out a breath.
"It was his fucking responsibility, it was his duty, he's a fucking Galliard. It was his fucking pack. I told him all that, and he just..." Corey laughs, the sort of laugh that says he would remember this until the day he died. "He went off me. And you know how he is. He can't lie for shit. I know now he was just saying all this shit because he was... whatever. But when he was in my face saying shit like well it was your pack too and that didn't stop you from... I lost it. I hit him."
Lola Hawkes
By now Corey's Rage had to be circulating the table like a dense cloud, settled in and rife with the electric currents of lightning and thunder. It stemmed from his very core, and engulfed Lola along the way. Even Kinfolk would be cautious to approach. Humans would dig their heels in and refuse-- some may even escape the vicinity as quickly as they could without drawing too much attention to themselves. Mercifully, the business was closed and the pair had the floor all to themselves, so Corey could Rage and steam and slam shots and Lola didn't need to fret for consequences.
Yet, anyways.
The more he spoke, the more grim Lola's expression became. Soon her mouth was a thin line, her eyes shadowed with some swirling, confused mix of hurt and insult and anger. It's all muted, though, pushed to the back. She didn't want to have an outburst or take sides in this spat that turned into a fight that came to blows and broke up a pack. She couldn't help, though, but grit her teeth against the emotion that wanted to come forward as curses and rhetorical questions. He could see how tight her jaw was, set forward just a little.
She nodded when he said he hit him, and she ground out a quiet addition of: "Can't say I wouldn't have done the same."
He was letting the alcohol soak into his blood stream from where it sat in his stomach. There was a good chance it would hit him hard, but if it came to that Lola could goad him into shifting-- into changing to Glabro and burning the alcohol off with the Change. She's had to do this with others around the campfire before, and didn't worry for Corey's ability to take care of himself. For herself, though, she needed to be cautious. She waffled for a moment on whether a second shot so soon would be a good idea or not.
Some stranger did their Gathering, though. The Galliards didn't, and Hector wasn't even there.
So she poured a second shot after all, and downed it quickly. She bared her teeth to the air against the burn, sucking air in quietly between them, and then asked on a slightly rasped exhale: "Let me ask this: How come you're so pissed at Hector for not doing the Gathering, but not Tamsin? She's a fucking Galliard and it was her fucking pack too. Why wasn't it her responsibility?"
Corey Seger
Both of the males saw their Rage lift up after the loss of their brother and sister. Tamsin has a purer temper than her alpha but she has always been like that. Even before she had had her First Change the Fian would have been inclined to hit Hector for the way he behaves. The fact that he does things like grabbing his sister by the head and kissing her on the mouth because she deals the killing blow to a throbbing Hutt Monster serving as the usher for Banes to travel between this world and the next--
That's a story for another time.
Point is even when she first met Corey he was a furious and excitable young man. Each time he came to the Homestead with the rest of his pack though he seemed to shoulder his Rage and his responsibility easier. Like a boy becoming a soldier after repeated hoisting of a rifle atop all the rest of his gear. His Rage screams like wind rushing along a mountaintop. The potential to bring down an avalanche not necessarily an inevitability.
He has a lot more support and a lot more people in positions of authority around him willing to cuff him when he acts up than certain other survivors of this particular pack's demise have. All Tamsin and Hector really have are each other. The Elders of Forgotten Questions would give them shelter if they sought it out but those at Cold Crescent barely know they exist.
Corey laughs at the question but he finds no humor in it.
"You'd have to have one of them explain what was like being there," he says. "Fucking hostile, man. I'd've rather lost them in fucking Mexico, at least then we'd be worrying about fucking leeches or, like..."
That's the sound of his blood alcohol content reaching its apex.
"That Garou we were tracking was part of the Wendigo Sept. We had to bring her back with our own dead. After they got the bodies back it was like... I'm not even making this up, they would not talk to me or Tamsin. Hector was the only one the Wendigo wanted anything to do with and even then it was like... dude, this is why I got so fucking mad at him. He stepped it up fucking talking to them, and negotiating letting me and Tamsin be there, because they were gonna run us the fuck out anyway, and fucking... you know? Like he did all of that, and made the arrangements to have them cremated there, and whatever, and then he just fucked off for two days. They weren't going to let Tamsin perform the rite. They let us attend but they thought we'd muck up the land or something if we... I don't even know. It was fucked up. And then he came back and wouldn't tell me why he left or what the fuck and then he got in my face..."
He kills his glass of water.
Lola Hawkes
Lola sipped at her water too and pushed the bottle away for now. She didn't drink alcohol very often, because she knew for a fact that making a habit of drinking alone was a path too risky to let herself slip down. That wasn't to say that she was opposed to drinking heavily on the occasions that she did find reason to imbibe, and people to be around to imbibe with. What it does say, however, is that she didn't believe herself to be capable of three shots sitting here at this table and being pleased with the results later.
No, she'd sit and let the two in her belly do their work for now. The change in Corey's speech pattern was apparent, and served as a warning for her to slow her roll.
He expressed what they were out doing, and that the Wendigo were ready to chase the white kids off their land. Would have, too, were it not for Hector talking them down. Her face folded into a scowl, but she'd let him keep talking, wouldn't interrupt. She was here for his voice and words, after all, so to interrupt the man mid-story would be detrimental to her own cause.
When he was done, though, while he gulped down his water, Lola spat her words out: "Fucking Little Brother. It's good to keep relations with them, but I don't have the patience to keep guiding them along. Maria was better at shit like that. I can't believe they were playing the 'oh no, palefaces!' game, and with packmates none the less." She sounded genuinely angry at this-- outraged, even. Like to think of a Sept of people barring Tamsin and Corey from seeing their packmates into the next world put a fire in her chest that could only burn itself, for it hadn't the strength to go anywhere else.
She grit her teeth together again and slid her empty shot glass around on the tabletop with one finger for a few moments. Then, when she'd had time to calm herself some, she continued.
"I can figure why he left. Or take a guess at it, anyways. Most obvious answer would be he was grieving. I ain't saying he was right, leaving like he did, when he did. But I don't think the 'why' needs to be explained there."
Another pause, more abbreviated this time, then she looked up away from the shot glass she was toying around with and stared Corey in the face. Her own cheeks were growing rosy while the alcohol seeped into her system.
"Look. It was a terrible fucking tragedy. No, I'm being serious, it was! Losing Willow hadn't even had time to heal up all proper before Glen and Maria went too. Men, Women, Wolves, no one would handle that well, and shouldn't be expected to either. You guys... You had to put that grief and rage somewhere." She tapped a closed fist to her chest for emphasis when she said the word 'rage'. "Sad news is that Hector gave you and Tamsin both a damn fine fucking reason to be pissed at him. Hell, I'm pissed at him, and I don't really know what I'm gonna say about it when I get back home.
"But fuck, Corey, was it really so bad, what he did, to just up and leave like that?"
Corey Seger
"Listen..."
That's the whole reason she came out here. She wanted to hear details of a story of which she knows very little because the Galliard who served as a catalyst for the events described here doesn't want to fucking talk about it and has gotten away with not talking about it because they have been busy and he had done a good enough job of carrying on as if Winnipeg were little more than a speck in his rearview mirror until the night he lashed out at her for apologizing.
Corey knows nothing of that. He assumes, as the rest of the Nation assumes, that the two Uktena are joined at the hip.
But he also flops back in the booth and sighs a sigh that speaks not of impending doom but of fraternal aggravation. His relationship with Hector is nothing that can ever be repaired and yet explaining that is not coming easy.
"I loved him, alright? And yeah, sitting here right now, it wasn't that fucking bad. But it wasn't like I hit him and he fell down and that was the end of it. If he'd stayed the fuck down and like... Lola, I broke his fucking jaw. It knocked him on his ass. If he was smart he would've stayed down but he wouldn't stay down. He got back up and fucking... all I really remember is Tamsin screaming at us to stop. And like... it wasn't like I was the only one doing any fucking damage. He broke some of my goddamn ribs, Lola. Fucking... he's way stronger than he looks. I'm not even trying to say..."
Another sigh, and he reaches for the bottle again.
"None of us were thinking clearly. Alright? But he didn't stay down until I broke his goddamn arm. I was like... I gotta get out of here. I can't lead him. You know? Maybe I should've taken time to cool off, but I didn't. And maybe I should've tracked them down later, but it... I think this was for the best. I really can't lead him. I'm not saying shit about him being a good Galliard. He's... they both are, they're fucking amazing. But the only reason I was leading them in the first place was there were fucking five of us, and it worked better that way. Then there were fucking three of us, and what was I supposed to do if he wouldn't stay the fuck down? I didn't even know where he was for two days. I couldn't do shit with him."
Lola Hawkes
It made sense that he would assume Lola and Hector were joined so closely. After all, there was little doubt that he could know the fondness Hector had for her. Every logic dictated that the pair would become a duo, and that before too long they'd set to their duty as a couple within the Nation and start having children. After all, they were a man and a woman, both straight, of the same tribe, and they got along famously. Why wouldn't they? It just made sense.
Lola seemed to be tired of arguing against that point for now. She was content to let people think what they wanted-- it prevented her from needing to worry about suitors for the time being at least, and even if she couldn't find the spark within her to be romantic with the Galliard, that didn't mean that she couldn't love him anyways. She would let people think what they wanted, and if that meant that her name and skills could help be the hot air to his balloon and help support his rising reputation, then that was all the more reason to let the assumption keep on spinning.
So Corey was under the impression that Lola had come here for her lover, to make him better, to reunite the two or perhaps even avenge what she felt to be the wrongs that Corey had done to her man and sister's pack alike. Yet, she countered that assumption simply by not attacking him.
He knew Lola, knew her well enough to know that while she was certainly capable of lying (although if you asked her, it was more about bluffing than anything else) she didn't do it very often. She was a very forward young woman, and always had been. She spoke her mind, she didn't hold her thoughts or emotions back, and while that has resulted in many a foot in her mouth that habit never broke. There was no reason to think it would have changed in the past half of a year from when they last met either.
Rather than being on the offensive with him, she seemed content to just hear his story, share her thoughts, pluck at details, and soak it all in. She wasn't sure what she'd been expecting to hear, but he could guess that it wasn't what he had to say. Otherwise she probably wouldn't be nearly so still and quiet on the topic as she was.
"Well, I'll have you know he's turning into a fine leader. We just had this operation-- went in, killed some fucked-up monster with a face in its belly along with its attack dogs. It was me and him and some Shadow Lord fella that was tagging along on the patrol that night. And Hector? He didn't hesitate. And when he gave an order, he gave it with conviction." She practically glowed with pride there, although that glow was probably exaggerated greatly by the alcohol that made her skin feel warm. "And he hits like a fucking beast.
"So, I ain't surprised he fought back. But man, Corey, you sound like a parent that doesn't know what to do with their teenager. I mean, I've never parented a teen before, so I don't know if you'resupposed to let them go off on their own when they stop seein' your authority. Really, I don't." She licked her lips thoughtfully and watched Corey reach for the bottle. She might have considered stopping him, but it would have only been for a moment and was ultimately decided against.
"....It just feels empty without ya. The pack, that is. I mean, Willow and Glen and Maria-- of course Maria. It's not at all the same without them. But there's, like, a vacuum or something. Hector? He's... I don't know. He's torn up. All twisted inside, and I feel like so much of it is because of the fight you two had and what all built up to it, and he's wracked with guilt over letting his packmates die but it's more than that." She was rambling but didn't realize it, because at least the rambling was getting somewhere. "It's eating him up, man, and I can't help him with that. I don't know how."
Corey Seger
He drags the bottle closer but then doesn't do a thing with it. Not so much wanting to keep pounding back the shots as feeling as though he manages to do something with the silence and the stillness on his end as he sits and listens to Lola talk about his former packmate. As she talks lunch arrives and he glances away only to thank the Kinfolk who brings it out. But Corey doesn't take his eyes off of her to tear into his food.
That Rage she was so aware of sat at the table like a third occupant. Perched on its haunches like a monster waiting for an opportunity to strike. Criticism of his handling of Hector's anger and his impetuousness hit at that Rage like lashes from a barker's whip and though Corey tightens his teeth and stares at her with a seething and sharp gaze he does not release it. No threat of frenzy in a man who has grown into his fury. Small as he is it's a part of him and he does not fight against it like it is a foreign body that has invaded his own.
"You know what?" he asks. "I'm not torn up by a goddamn thing. I gotta live with knowing I made a bad call and people I loved died. And I can sit here and say that I did and yeah, I got some atoning to do. Nothing I can do is going to bring them back. Breaking off from Fog and coming back to Houston was the worst thing I could have done to Tamsin and Hector, and I am sorry for that. I really am. It was... I overreacted. But I don't walk around feeling sorry for myself all the time... no, I don't feel sorry for myself ever, and I can talk about it. I did talk about it. My girlfriend didn't have to come eight hundred fucking miles to ask Hector what happened."
Lola Hawkes
"No no no," Lola shook her head and adjusted her posture. She had, up to this point, been sitting in the booth like a normal adult would, with her feet on the floor and legs under the table. When she shifted about, though, she drew her legs up onto the bench seat along with her and folded them off to the side, toward the wall rather than sticking out of the booth. Food was delivered, and Lola gave a quick 'Thank you' before snapping a hair elastic from her wrist and tying her hair back so it would stay out of her face and food while she ate.
She'd take a good couple of bites of whatever it was that was on her plate-- she hadn't been picky or expressed care for what it was that she was going to be served. Lola knew what it was to enjoy good cooking, but that didn't mean she wasn't a bit utilitarian about her meals in the meantime.
"I ain't asking you to be sorry for yourself," she finally continued, washing down what she'd eaten so far with another drink of water. "I'm just telling you that he does. And that it's weighing him down. I'm not sure if that's gonna, y'know, harden him and shape him and make him into a big old badass, or if it's gonna tear him down, weaken his foundation, and eventually destroy him. I tried to get him to go talk to a Theurge, y'know? I'm kinda worried that he's getting depressed and coming near to circling the big black pit of The H-Word."
Another bite, chewed and mostly swallowed before she kept on talking.
"But he won't. He barely talks to me about it-- only has twice, and one was a fuckin' outburst, man. Outta nowhere."
She sighed and rubbed at her closed eyes with forefinger and thumb for a second, then leaned back in her seat. "Tamsin's doing what she can, I'm sure, but I don't think he's opening up for her either. I just thought that maybe if I could find out more about what happened I could.... Confront him, maybe? Drag him outta that dark place kicking and screaming and biting the whole way?" She frowned, and locked dark eyes with Corey's pale ones again. "Is that wrong? Will that do more harm than good, do ya think? You two broke up now, I get that, but you guys were like this--" and she indicates by entwining the index and middle fingers of one hand-- "so you probably at least know if that'd help or harm. 'Cause I sure don't."
Corey Seger
And they were like that: two young men saddled with Rage that would temper them into warriors yet buoyed by senses of humor that let them get on well with people like Maria and Glen, who pulled pranks and told jokes and could find gleaming bits amidst all the shit they slogged through for their lives were an unending war now.
Corey always just sort of tolerated the Ragabashes. They knew enough not to rankle him too deeply but he would laugh. They were gentler with him than they were with Hector. Hector could withstand the teasing and the ass-kicking and the physical side of Maria's playfulness. Whenever anyone could find Hector though odds were he was off with Corey somewhere. They were like two separate fucking worlds colliding and that tickled the rest of them to no end.
So he is over what happened. He has started to move on with his life. He has healed from his own losses and can sleep at night knowing Tamsin and Hector are out there largely unsupervised and alone. Now Lola gives him an update and Corey stops eating long enough to rub his face with a hand and stare at her through canted fingers.
"Lola," he says, briefly addressing his plate of food so he can stab it with a fork, "Hector isn't any different than other Gaian. Yeah, he's a little fucked up because of what went down during his fostering. And okay, the fact that he's Lost doesn't help. But all he really wants to do is run around in the woods like a barbarian and bathe in the blood of the Wyrm and make little baby Gaians and that's about it. We're not complicated animals. If he's out in the woods and killing monsters and getting laid and he's still..."
He pours himself another shot and takes it.
"He's Garou, Lola. Whatever you have to do to stop him from going down that road, you aren't gonna break him."
Lola Hawkes
"Well, I don't know about the getting laid part. If that's happening, he sure ain't told me."
There's no tone here. No snark, no bitterness, nothing negative at all. Rather, it is a side-note. Perhaps her way of establishing 'no, we're not an item' without outright insisting that he wasn't her boyfriend every single time Corey referred to him that way. For the first time since he'd answered the phone, though, Corey called her by her name, addressed her directly and personally. For some reason that, those simple two syllables, relaxed her. She was soothed into listening without processing the information through a filter that was stressed, on edge, and a mite bit defensive for the Ahroun had come across as being on the offensive up until this point.
She took his advise to heart, and nodded. When he poured himself a shot, she slid her small shot glass over for him to top her off as well.
Fuck it, this is Vegas after all.
Assuming he complies, she'd take the next shot, then push her plate of food forward. Arms would stretch over her head, pulling her shirt upward and flashing more of that strong abdomen through the tasseled cuts in the fabric. Then she'd fold those similarly strong arms behind her head and lean back into the seat. Eyebrows would lift as she regarded him, and as though she were trying to start a new conversation entirely with no segue at all...
"Well, there's that. ....Wanna go out and do something?"
Corey Seger
isn't exactly rolling in extended family either. The Homestead was a large piece of land and the house was always meant to have guests and children in it.
She sees no judgment in his near-colorless blue eyes and when she shoves her glass across the table towards him he considers her a moment before pouring her another.
Isn't like they're driving anywhere.
"Thought you'd never fucking ask," he says. "Let me talk to my cousin real quick and then we can book."
He gets up from the booth and walks across the empty and lifeless nightclub at a quick and assured pace that belies his inebriation but not his rising station. He will pass his next Fostern challenge and from there it is only a matter of time before his girlfriend becomes his mate and he becomes the father of another Gaian or Kinfolk. His path has always been laid out for him and all he has to do is walk it.
Lola is alone for less than fifteen minutes and then Corey is back again. He snatches the bottle of tequila off the table and aims it at the front door like he's lifting a lantern.
"Lesgo," he says.
Lola Hawkes
Let's go, he said.
So away they went.
The day would pass by as a tequila-soaked blur, and it didn't take long for them to fall back into the same rhythms that they held with one another before any of this Parting of Ways business occurred. Even with all of that oppressive Rage, Corey had always been a 'good kid', as far as Lola was concerned. She liked him. She liked his fire and how he found a way to be level in spite of it, so she found it easy to be around him. Before long they were having conversations about everything besides what they talked about in the nightclub. They shared battle stories, and reminisced fun anecdotes that tip-toed around the packmates that were lost and left Hector out of the picture as much as possible, because that sore spot had been prodded enough for one day.
They watched people at the Bellagio. They went in and did a couple laps around the gardens. They paused and watched a show in front of Treasure Island where people dressed up and sang and danced on the pirate ship out front. At one point, passing before a bar, Lola peeked in and spotted the news playing on television, showing a story on the floods in Denver. This doused her mood some, gave her cause to worry, and she had to take a break to make a phone call to someone back at Forgotten Questions and make sure the Homestead was alright. It was, but her gravel road leading up the hill out to her house had largely washed away. That was fine, just so long as the home was standing and the lands weren't too ravaged.
Around five at night the tequila in their bellies and all of the walking had worn them out. They went back to the Super 8 and crashed in their separate beds, fully dressed, for a nap.
Some two and a half hours later they'd come to. Lola had awoken prior to Corey and was sitting cross-legged on the foot of her bed, reading some pamphlet for things to do. She'd point and suggest they go see what the Stratosphere was like.
Between the southern end of the Strip and the Stratosphere at the northern end, there was a stretch of sidewalk that wasn't near so heavily populated. Here buildings were under repair, squat strip malls and liquor stores and tattoo shops were in varying states of grime and disrepair. There was an empty lot where a building was demolished, and a new one was planned to be built before the economy crashed and now it was just empty and full of gravel and litter. On the other side of this fence there was quiet mayhem to be found.
Corey smelled something through the booze on himself and the Kinfolk that accompanied him tonight. Upon peeking through a tear in the plastic that was tied to the chainlink, he'd find a pair of pale-skinned women hunched down over a couple of men who were slumped down, laying on the ground propped up in the arms of those women, legs twitching and hands loosely gripping at the hair and arms of the women.
"Leeches!" Lola would declare under her breath when Corey gestured for her to come look as well.
And so, the pair would find a way through and dive into battle with a fervor-- Corey, for he had a place to dump all of that Rage, and Lola for she finally got a chance to punish this hellhole for existing.
Corey Seger
A pair of bloodsuckers are no match for a Fostern Ahroun and an Uktena markswoman. Never mind that they have never truly fought together beyond occasionally picking off Fomori that wandered too close to the Homestead during trips back to Forgotten Questions. They spent the day together and she knew how Corey would fight because she knew how Full Moons fought. Corey did not fight to protect her but fought to put down the bloodsuckers as quickly as he could.
They're in a city. He does not fight in his birth form but in Glabro, using a combat knife concealed in his boot, faster than he looks as if he ought to be able to move for being as stocky as he is.
The pair are joined by a third and stronger leech but in the end it was Corey and Lola left standing, she unscathed but for abrasions on her knees where one of them had knocked her down and he clawed across the shoulder by a hissing talon-wielding she-demon. By the time he shifts back to his human skin the cut has shrunk into a scar.
No corpses to clean up for relieving the beasts of their heads reduces their bodies to ash. Their victims may yet survive but will remember nothing. A hospital nearby gains two new patients this night, the Glass Walker and the Uktena dumping them at the edge of the glowing ED doors before running off into the night again, the bottle of tequila sloshing where Corey had wedged it into the waistband of his jeans.
On the walk back to the Super 8 Corey extricated the bottle from its holding place and uncorked it before offering it to Lola.
"One time," he says, "your sister and Heck were working over this thing that looked human until it turned towards you. Had a fucking sideways-opening mouth and like, a million fucking teeth. They weren't having any luck so they called for backup and Tamsin and I came running in... she got there like, literally right before I did. Took its head off in one swipe." Here he starts laughing, the memory of it is enough to make him bust up like he's seeing it for the first time. "Oh, my god, Lola, her face... she was just like DID I DO THAT?!"
Lola Hawkes
The fight was an interesting one for Lola, because she didn't have her gun. You see, you couldn't travel with things like that, and Lola didn't check any bags. She just brought a backpack as a carry-on, stuffed with a change of clothes and not a lot more. However, she wasn't helpless without a weapon. Corey had his knife, and Lola was wielding a long metal bar that was supposed to be part of a fence but had been dismantled for one reason or another some time ago.
She wasn't nearly so comfortable with the metal bar as Corey was with his knife, that was for certain, but a mix of that and some very mean kicks helped her keep from being bitten or clawed or torn apart. There was a wonderful sense of catharsis when one of the two original vampires was knocked down, hissing at Lola with fangs bared, and Lola answered by stomping hard on the woman's neck, pinning her back down to the ground.
All in all, the battle was a success. Corey was already healed, and Lola had washed the blood from her scraped knees with two quick splashes of the tequila (fuck, that hurts!) and picked the pebbles loose. Happy with a victory under their belts, the pair walked back up the strip together, swapping stories once more. The bottle of tequila was offered, and Lola laughed and accepted it. Her cheeks were red again, flushed with the satisfaction of their fight and again with the rising content of alcohol in her bloodstream.
"Oh, I can see it," she told him with a chuckle, and tipped her head back to take a swig straight from the bottle. One-two quick swallows, and she passed it back. One hand jammed into the pocket of her white shorts, now dusty with real dust and vampire ash alike from the fight. The other hand swept through her hair, fingers combing it away from her face then stopping at the back of her skull to toss the dense black mass about freely.
"Man, sounds like when Eddie first fought side-by-side with me. We were, like, fuckin' seventeen and he'd just had his Change, right? He was fighting this gnarly toad-looking thing, and it had this wicked barbed tongue. This thing tongue-lashed at him, right? Well, Eddie catches the tongue 'round his forearm like it's a goddamn whip and jerks hard. Pulled the thing and it came flying toward him, and he headbutted it to death. Seriously. Bust that thing's skull wide open with his own. Then he stood there looking stupid like he couldn't remember what happened."
She laughed appreciatively and continued. "I'd done fine with my gun, of course, but I remember still how I just fuckin' burned with jealousy, wishing I could've shifted and been just as cool."
Corey Seger
"That still fucking blows my mind, man. Are they sure you're never going to Change?"
He doesn't sound hopeful or truly disbelieving. This isn't anything he can understand. Just like he can't understand how Tamsin was bred true but her parents were oblivious to their status as Kinfolk and knew nothing of her nature or how Hector managed to become so far removed from his last Gaian ancestor. All it takes is one wayward Kinfolk. Tamsin's forebears were rebellious and Hector's great-grandfather was a drunk and a womanizer and a Navajo-born spirit-talker.
They can trace Lola's lineage back through the centuries and tie it to the land and someone made a mistake somewhere. It happens even in a people and a culture so heavily invested in their relations with the spirits.
They're sure she's never going to change.
"Well... I mean, you're not seventeen anymore. You can hold your own in a fight, and that's fucking awesome. I don't know how you do it though. Forgotten Questions is so traditional compared to a lot of other Septs. We were at Sept of the Green once, you wouldn't believe what they let the Kinfolk get away with out there. Colorado though? They have to drop their monocles in their drinks every time you kill something or, like, don't show up to the Caern with a baby on your hip."
Lola Hawkes
"Yeah, they're sure." Two years ago she'd sound depressed over the fact, or alternately enraged by it, depending on the mood she was caught in when the question would've been asked. Now, though, she's simply accepting of the fact. She'd resolved on her twenty-first birthday that moping about what couldn't be did no one good, especially not herself. With her mother and father gone and her sister out of the house, wallowing in self-pity and bitter resentment had her tense and unhealthy. Her relationship with the forest rangers was known to be a terrible, volatile thing. She'd take her stress out on them, confront them and start conflicts at any given turn. Nowadays she abided by more of a 'you stay out of my hair and I'll stay out of yours' mindset.
"I went out and got myself another opinion than the old spirit-talker that broke the news. I'm Kin, that's for damn sure."
Her hand was held out to request the bottle again. Her speech didn't slur when she was drunk, Corey would begin to learn. However, a Central American flavor would spice her words. She learned Spanish simultaneously with English, and while she spoke English with no obvious accent while sober, it seemed alcohol thought it would be funny to give her one when she drank.
"Aw, no, not Forgotten Questions. ...Well, I don't know. Maybe they would if I weren't from the family I am. Y'know, the Hawkes family's been guarding the Sept for a damn long time. They know that's our duty, so they don't argue against me protectin' the Bawn along with the Guardians. If I were to go and try and join a pack or a Moot, though? They'd probably throw a tissy then."
Assuming the bottle was handed over, she'd take another quick swig before continuing. "And the baby'll come soon enough. Just gotta find the man suited for the job. I ain't forgetting my duties as a Kinfolk, knowin' that's what I am now. I'm just doing more 'cause I learned how, and 'cause it's what I want."
"Yeah, they're sure." Two years ago she'd sound depressed over the fact, or alternately enraged by it, depending on the mood she was caught in when the question would've been asked. Now, though, she's simply accepting of the fact. She'd resolved on her twenty-first birthday that moping about what couldn't be did no one good, especially not herself. With her mother and father gone and her sister out of the house, wallowing in self-pity and bitter resentment had her tense and unhealthy. Her relationship with the forest rangers was known to be a terrible, volatile thing. She'd take her stress out on them, confront them and start conflicts at any given turn. Nowadays she abided by more of a 'you stay out of my hair and I'll stay out of yours' mindset.
"I went out and got myself another opinion than the old spirit-talker that broke the news. I'm Kin, that's for damn sure."
Her hand was held out to request the bottle again. Her speech didn't slur when she was drunk, Corey would begin to learn. However, a Central American flavor would spice her words. She learned Spanish simultaneously with English, and while she spoke English with no obvious accent while sober, it seemed alcohol thought it would be funny to give her one when she drank.
"Aw, no, not Forgotten Questions. ...Well, I don't know. Maybe they would if I weren't from the family I am. Y'know, the Hawkes family's been guarding the Sept for a damn long time. They know that's our duty, so they don't argue against me protectin' the Bawn along with the Guardians. If I were to go and try and join a pack or a Moot, though? They'd probably throw a tissy then."
Assuming the bottle was handed over, she'd take another quick swig before continuing. "And the baby'll come soon enough. Just gotta find the man suited for the job. I ain't forgetting my duties as a Kinfolk, knowin' that's what I am now. I'm just doing more 'cause I learned how, and 'cause it's what I want."
Corey Seger
Corey takes big boastful swigs off of the bottle as they walk for he burned off his inebriation as he fought in his near-man form and now they are edging dangerously close to discussing the pack he abandoned. Bringing up Tamsin led to Lola discussing her hangups about never having Changed and they are now circling the situation back at Forgotten Questions.
And he's been there and knows of the land even if he doesn't know the land the way that Lola and Maria know the land. He knows its history and what it means to the Hawkes family and he can't entirely grasp why she would want to be alone until she's sure she's found the right person with whom to procreate but the fact is he'd kept his eyes open and he'd watched.
As easy as their friendship had been it had never been tinged with the same sort of starry-eyed idiocy that came over Hector whenever they would leave. Lola never saw her sister catch Hector staring off after they'd left and then flicking him or clapping his cheeks. She only learned of the Mexican Rancher myth because Hector had clued her in in begrudging acceptance that she didn't want him. The Mexican Rancher myth started because Maria and Glen liked to tease Hector. Hector was a good sport.
He doesn't want to think about Hector but when she says she's got to find the man suited for the job of bringing a baby into the world Corey pulls a face like none of this is making any sense.
Takes a shot like that's going to make it make any more sense.
"Hang on," he says. "You came out here, and got my side of things, and you and Hector aren't..."
He blows out an alcohol-hot breath and gives her back the bottle.
Lola Hawkes
"No, we aren't. And I'm pretty sure I've told you that, like, twice now. It's your own damn fault for not believing me if you're bein' surprised by that now."
He looked confused, blew a breath that smelled so strongly of tequila as he was drinking to catch up now. The bottle was passed back, and for this moment Lola just held onto it rather than taking any more shots. She wasn't weaving while she walked, but she could feel the world swimming in her peripherals and her joints did feel a lot looser than they did before. Her belly and blood all felt warm, and her head was a bit clouded, but in a way that made her mood happier. It was nice to learn that she wasn't a violent drunk, at least.
"Aw, Corey," she'd say with a grin, and sling an arm around his shoulders. Her hand clapped at the shoulder opposite from her. "I came out here 'cause I care about him and his well-being, not because I'm banging him. Ain't you figured out yet? Love doesn't have to drip from your dick-tip, viste."
She'd let go of him promptly enough and hook her thumb in her shorts pocket. They were soon approaching the Super 8, the sign lit the way amid the bright neon and flashing video signs that were plastered wherever there was space to make room for a new one. "He's near and dear to me, but not in that way. We ain't romantic. The...." she snapped her fingers, hunting for the word, then landed on it, but again in the wrong language. "..chispa-- the spark, it isn't there. And I ain't gonna try to force it to be, 'cause that sounds like a fine way to ruin a relationship and run someone away."
Corey Seger
She doesn't have to reach up to get her arm to fit around his shoulders and with his Rage depleted and his pride blunted by alcohol and reignited trust in and of her Corey does not stiffen or shrug her off. He sighs a sigh of protracted understanding and reaches up to clap her shoulder from underneath. Would have turned into a side-hug if she had not let him go so quickly because they're at the stage of drunkenness where hugging and staggering run into each other.
The lights of their motel glow but so do the lights of all the casinos and the porn stores and the restaurants and the casinos and the other motels and the car parks and the casinos. All around them the night throbs with energy and desperation and his fingertips are going numb and he does not reach for the bottle again.
"Fuck," he says. "No wonder he's depressed."
It's meant to be a joke. Full Moons are not known for their senses of humor. Corey scrubs his face and sighs. Plants his hands on his hips like he's looking out over their futures.
"I should talk to him. Just go back with you in the morning and... no, I'm serious! If he's that bad, I should be the one to talk to him."
Lola Hawkes
Some mix of long talks, alcohol, and the bond that forms when you kill the Wyrm together had Corey and Lola coming to be chummy once again. He didn't try to escape her arm when she'd put it around him, and probably would have been content to just keep the side hug going were it not for how she had retracted herself from him right away. Trying to keep balance while the shift-and-sway of his stride moved under her arm was difficult, so she didn't make any efforts to keep it up. She didn't want them to be those drunk assholes that fell into a fountain or some shit like that.
His joke was met with a shake of her head but not much more. She didn't like to think that she'd burned him too badly when she'd told Hector she couldn't feel romance for him. She had apologized and he'd hated that, so to feel guilty over the matter would help no one. She'd just want to keep apologizing, and she may even try to change it. But, well, that's how divorce and domestic violence rates skyrocketed, wasn't it? Trying to force yourself to be in a relationship with someone that you couldn't feel passionate for?
But then he was planting his fists on his hips and insisting that he should come back with her and talk to Hector. Lola shook her head again, this time more insistently, and tucked her hair back behind her ears. "No, no you shouldn't! He is that bad, but man, he needs to come around to it first. That's what I thought too, y'know? That you just showing up one day would be the best thing to happen for the Pack entirely. But he's just so... Angry and hurt, y'know? I think you'd just get a repeat of what happened last time. Maybe even worse? I don't know."
She stopped walking and turned around to face him completely. He had his hands on his hips. Lola folded hers across her chest, under her bust, and appraised him tipsily.
"...Though man, I do wish you could. Come back, I mean. I've missed the shit outta ya. Didn't even realize it 'til comin' down here, though."
Corey Seger
"What, you think I haven't missed you?"
And he could have included Tamsin and Hector here but he's drunk and she's drunk and she's only talking about him. Weaving down the sidewalk they both start to realize they should at least pretend like they can walk in a straight line as they approach civilization and she's still holding onto the bottle of tequila and it's almost empty anyway. They have to go back to their room and the topic of the Fianna Galliard and the Uktena Galliard and Harano and the fact that Glen and Maria are dead and their ashes in Winnipeg and the fact that Willow is dead and they never found her fucking body all of that looms in front of him and without any alcohol it's just like fuck it.
There's a liquor store right next door to the Super 8.
"Hold that thought."
He ducks into the liquor store long enough to grab another bottle of alcohol. If she comes in with him they have to act normal together. Stand close together and talk quiet so that they don't bellow their thoughts to the entire store, laugh because it's funny to whisper in public, and the cashier asks for Corey's ID because look at him, he's 5'5" and isn't exactly babyfaced but he's short and white and he's going to be carded for the rest of his life. He has a Texas driver's license. He gives it up without a fight.
Out into the night again they go back to the Super 8 and even though his Rage is gone people give them a wide berth. He keeps a hand on Lola's elbow to steer her towards the elevator because she hasn't been to the room yet and maybe he just wants to have his hand on her elbow. He isn't unsure of himself like Hector is. Hector never knows where to put his hands and thinks that punching a girl on the shoulder or patting her head is an appropriate way to express affection.
Corey puts his hand on her elbow and as they wait for the elevator he makes himself put his hand into his pocket because it doesn't matter what Lola says. Three months is not a long enough period of time to undo three years. He knows Hector and he knows he's in love with Lola. If he were his alpha still he would have done more to convince Lola that Hector is a good guy, he's just depressed, give him a chance, maybe loving him will pull him out of it.
But he's not his alpha and even if he goes back to Denver to talk to him that wouldn't be the point of it. Point of going back would be to pull Hector out of the nosedive he's in.
So they take the elevator back to their room and they end up sitting on the beds across from each other and killing the Cuervo and opening another bottle.
Fade to black.
Lola Hawkes
Of course, Lola will tail along with him into the liquor store. She knew that Las Vegas was a haven for the Wyrm-- evidenced in that they were able to find and kill a trio of Vampires along the edge of the strip with no one bothering to take notice or ask questions. She didn't like this place-- she outright hated it, and subjected herself to more alcohol than she would have ever let herself drink just to cope with the place. To be left outside, open and exposed to the Strip on her own, sounded like the worst idea ever. She worried that someone would try to slap the meat of her long, strong thigh in passing and she would end up throwing him into the snarled traffic that forever clogs the street.
So she accompanied him inside. They stood close, whispered and laughed. Corey had to show his ID, and Lola didn't. She looked appropriately of age and wasn't the one buying anyways.
Back at the Super 8, he held her elbow to take her to the elevator. She'd jostle with him like she did when the pack was whole and around the campfire behind her house, nudging with shoulder and hip here or there. They'd settle on their respective beds, legs in the shared space between the mattresses, cracking open another bottle because fuck it, said the both of them.
----------------------
They'd neglected to close the blackout curtains that night, so Lola was roused by the light on her eyelids. She crunched up her face, squeezed her eyes more tightly closed to block out the light because she was oh so tired and didn't want to lift her head, because she knew doing so would make the world spin and cause her stomach to rebel against her. But squeezing her eyes closed made her head throb in warning, so she relaxed them instead. One eye opened and spied the alarm clock on the night stand: 7:24am. She groaned, closed that eye, and tried to doze back off.
But then she realized that this wasn't the bed that she'd claimed for herself. She was facing the wrong wall. She then realized that there was a body beside her in the same bed. Her head was resting on a shoulder, and there was an arm pinned under her body, wrapped under her neck and along her front, fingers curled somewhere near her stomach.
Oh no, she thought. She moved her arm, rubbed at her face, then turned her head and lifted the covers enough to peek underneath. Her concerns were confirmed when she discovered nudity, and plenty of it, under the comforter.
Corey was still asleep, and on his back as he was it shouldn't be too difficult to disengage herself from him. So Lola propped herself up on her elbow, moving slowly, but even the slightest bit of elevation caused the hangover to come rushing forward. Her head pounded, her stomach turned over itself and sideways to boot, and the way her skin chilled and her throat flexed told her she had about ten seconds to find somewhere suitable to puke.
So, unfortunately, the gentle disengaging wound up not being an option. Lola hurried out of bed and into the bathroom, and smacked the door closed behind her before the sounds of retching filled the tile and wallpaper room.
Corey Seger
Corey was still asleep but not for much longer than it took for Lola to pick her head up off of his shoulder and realize that her change in position was telling her brain that everything was in flux and she needed to eject the cause of this situation. He stirred beneath her and took a deep breath as wakefulness came for him. No such violent reaction to the hangover. His head is pounding and his mouth tastes like a sock and he can't remember most of what happened last night but he doesn't shoot out of bed to vomit.
Whatever happens while she's in the bathroom goes without her recognizance. When she comes back out, if she comes back out, she will find that Corey had climbed out from between the sheets and closed the curtains so Helios would not slice through their eyeballs and bury arrows in their brains.
The room has the bare minimum of amenities. A 4-cup coffee maker and packets of coffee and little filters and Styrofoam cups. A bar secured with a lock. They did not open it last night but they can see they went out for ice at some point and the second bottle of alcohol that they procured sits on the beside table with less than one-third of its contents left in the bottom. A condom wrapper beside it.
When he hears the door open Corey breathes a rough and seasick breath and turns from his place at the windows. His eyes are bleary but if the apocalypse broke out right now he could shift up to his war form and repair the damage his liver could not stave off and he would keep them safe for however long it took the Wyrm to consume the world.
"Hey," he says when she comes back out. "How you feeling?"
Lola Hawkes
Lola didn't pause to examine the contents of what came out in the toilet. A lot of it was the liquor she'd killed off last night, and it smelled just as strong coming up as it felt going down. She flushed twice through the ordeal, and after about seven minutes or so, when she was sure the heaving had abated, she rinsed her mouth and brushed her teeth with the toothbrush and toothpaste she'd unpacked into the bathroom when they'd returned to the hotel for a nap yesterday in the early evening. Happy that at least her teeth and tongue had been scrubbed and tasted more like mint than sour mash, she paused to realize her predicament in not having thought to bring clothes with her into the bathroom.
So, when the door opened and she emerged into the rectangular motel room they'd slept in that night, Lola was wrapped up in a towel. Her hair was tangled up from what a mix of drunken sex and sleep. One hand was over her stomach, the other was clasped where the towel tucked into itself, ensuring it didn't slip loose and fall off.
"Oh, thank god," she rasped out roughly to see that the curtains had been drawn. This way she didn't need to squint, as doing so made her head ache worse. She did a brief inventory of the room-- the alcohol bottle, the clothes on the floor, the sheets were messed up on not just the bed they slept in, but the other one too (and that made her kind of upset that she couldn't remember any of what happened-- if it was good enough for two beds, that is).
"I feel rough as fuck," she advised him when he asked, and went to where her backpack was leaning against the wall between the beds to pull free a change of clothes. While stooped down, retrieving clothing from her backpack, she spied the condom wrapper and breathed out another: "Oh, thank god."
A shirt, a pair of shorts, and some underwear were balled up and held near her chest, and she rose again to look over at Corey. For the first time in this morning she really looked at him, tried to place the expression on his face and gauge how he was doing. Eyes flitted from his face to the coffee maker, then back again. Her weight shifted between her bare feet and she ran her tongue against the back of her teeth before saying: "So, I think it goes without saying that this goes without saying...."
Corey Seger
While she was in the bathroom the Ahroun found the boxer shorts he had been wearing at the time of their shared descent into anterograde amnesia and stepped back into them.
Without even seeing each other they operate under the agreement that what they did here was to remain between the two of them. It would not lead to anything. Corey will be going back to Houston and to his woman and she will be going back to the Homestead and to the tribesman who needs her. Were they not beyond drunk this would not have happened but the same as he integrated the deaths of his packmates and his hasty retreat from their totem bond does Corey integrate this into his schema of things he's done.
So he stands still and he turns to look at her and he takes in her thankfulness for the state of things. The presence of the condom wrapper. It goes without saying that this goes without saying.
"Uh," he says. "Yeah."
And it's obvious he's in just as much physical pain as she is. Punishment for too much drink. But he is not guilt-ridden or riddled with regret. Corey picks his way across the room so he can fill the coffee urn with water in the bathroom sink and pull together his thoughts. Comes back to empty the urn into the coffee maker's reservoir and empty the cheap grounds into a filter and put the filter into the basket. Clap it shut gentle so as not to strike their ears and hit the button that will turn it on. They'll find over-the-counter pharmaceuticals in the bathroom. Not enough to harm oneself but enough to take away two people's headaches.
Once the coffee maker starts to gurgle he clears his throat and winces and comes back to the bed he'd been on when all of this started. Gives her time to dress herself and decide she's ready to have a conversation before he speaks again.
"What time's your flight leave?" he asks.
Lola Hawkes
They adjust themselves with the morning. Corey had been just in boxer shorts, but that was acceptable cover. A towel simply was not. So as he went about filling up the coffee urn in the bathroom Lola pulled her underpants on with the towel still about her, then moved into the bathroom once he was done to dress.
By the time she comes back out Corey's sitting on the edge of the bed that was supposed to be his but ended up theirs. He might still just be in boxers (or he might not), but she was in a pair of denim shorts and a 3/4 sleeved tee, gray at the body and red at the sleeves. She'd brushed her hair out, but wrapped it into a tight bun at the back of her head rather than washing it just yet. She didn't go to sit across from him on the bed, but instead she remained standing and hovered near the coffee maker while it did its job. She'd already taken the anti-headache medication in the bathroom (thank you, Las Vegas), and had held out her hand when she'd passed Corey to hand him the pills that she'd brought out for him.
You know, just in case he wanted them.
"At twelve thirty-five. Or that's what the ticket says anyways." Her voice still croaked, but it was definitely better than when she'd first tried to speak. She rubbed at her face and eyes again, and asked from under her hand: "How long are you staying?"
Corey Seger
He accepts the small packet of aspirin with a small hand that does not shake and gives Lola a smile in spite of the hangover. Across the room the coffee maker gurgles as it spits up the extraction born of coffee grounds and near-boiling water. The smell of the stuff fills the room and it is one of the only smells known to not cause nausea in humans recovering from a hangover.
Though he accepts it Corey does not tear into it.
How long is he staying.
"Well," he says, "I was pretty drunk last night. So I don't know what all we decided or what you're expecting." A groan-tinged sigh. "Jesus, I'm never drinking with you again. How is it possible to feel this bad and not be dead?" He opens the aspirin's paper cocoon as he works his way to a conclusion. "I meant it. If you think it'll help, I'll come out to Denver and I'll talk to Hector. Otherwise I'm checking out at twelve and I'm going back to Houston."
Lola Hawkes
I was pretty drunk last night.
Lola laughed at this exact moment, interjecting just enough for her to go: "Oh, you too, huh?" There's no ill nature in the comment. More than anything, she seems to be trying to find amusement in their situation. Yeah, they got shit-hammered. Yeah, they wound up making incredibly poor choices that they wouldn't have made otherwise. Neither of them remember a whole lot-- Lola certainly has no idea who advanced upon whom or how it was exactly that they wound up entwined with one another last night. There was a condom wrapper as evidence of the deed, but no proof that the condom stayed a part of the picture, or that they'd only gone for one round. They both could have reason to worry, but what good would that do to anyone?
So, instead, they made more casual conversation. They didn't focus on what had happened and simply left it in the sweaty sheets of the motel room. He made a comment about never drinking with her again, then asked if she thought it would help if he came out to Denver.
"I wish it would help, man. I'd love to see you come back."
The coffee pot gave a final sputter, and Lola glanced back to it, distracted and interrupted, then turned and set about to pouring two styrofoam cups of the cheap coffee. "I don't know if he's ready for it, though. I think that he's gonna need that, one day. You might too, who knows? I just don't think the time is now, not when he's still volatile like this and at his worst. He might need to do some self resolving before." She crossed the room and sat on the bed beside Corey, her hip a few inches from his. One coffee cup was held in her left hand, the other in her right, and the one in her right was passed over to him.
"You seem to be doing well. He needs to get to this same point, where you are, like you did first. Then I think he'll be ready to make those amends."
Corey Seger
Corey takes the coffee and sighs with the warmth of it come through the styrofoam into his fingers.
He can remember what it was like to go home after the Gathering and the fight with his packbrother and have to explain to his Sept and his tribe and the woman who cared for him what happened up there. Why he had not come home with even the dregs of the pack they had met so many times before. The Sept of Forgotten Questions was not the only place that Celduin would stop off at when they were between legs of their journey. They stopped at the Fianna Sept in the Great Lakes where Glen was from and they stopped at the Black Fury Sept in Europe where Willow was from and they stopped at the Glass Walker Sept in Texas where Corey was from. Their families became each others' families. Tamsin still goes to Glen's Sept to visit his sister and her husband and their babies.
Hector only has Lola now and it is Hector and Lola who Corey thinks of as he holds onto his coffee. It steams but the coffee maker was inexpensively manufactured and the water is not hot enough to burn. He puts the aspirin into his mouth and slugs it back with a swallow of coffee and does not tell Lola that he only got through his anger and his grief and his self-doubt because a woman who had only been a friend to him before all of that became his lover.
Enough jokes transpired before they lay with each other last night that Corey knows not to vocalize that to her again.
"Okay," he says. "But if he doesn't? If he gets worse? I want you to call me. I..." Another pain-heavy sigh and he blinks like the blinking will take the pain out of his head. "Just because we fell apart doesn't mean I don't still love him. I really don't know what I'd do if I didn't get a chance to see him before he did something stupid. You know? So if you think he's gonna do something stupid. That's all I'm asking."
Lola Hawkes
The pack would visit each other's home Septs. Lola had never been. She didn't like to venture away from Forgotten Questions for too long. She's only been inside the building that housed the Spire Sept once before, because she hated the place on principle and avoided it if she could. She expected, in the current state of things, that she couldn't keep up the resolve to not revisit for much longer, and she would not be so stubborn as to let that distaste for the city's Sept of the Cold Crescent to keep her from lending her hand to the cause.
She didn't know much of the Fianna that Tamsin still visited, except for Nora and the occasional phone calls they had to stay in touch. She'd never been to Corey's Sept, or to Europe. or to the Great Lakes. All she knew was that this place, Forgotten Questions, was where Hector had retreated after the tragedy of his pack falling apart. Not anywhere else, but there. That was something to think on.
Corey had accepted the coffee and asked her to call him if Hector took a turn for the worse. He said that he still loved him, and that he needed to be able to see him before he did something stupid. They both knew he was talking about self-harm, more likely than not by flinging himself at foes that would no doubt overwhelm, but possibly by other means. He might bait some Ahroun with a wicked temper, or goodness knows what else. He wanted to be able to talk him down, to have the chance to try if things started to take that turn.
Sadly, they might have already, bit by bit, started to gear up to turn toward that path. Lola wasn't aware enough to realize that yet-- she thought he was being a good leader with a good plan along Federal, not that he was throwing himself at the two-faced beast head first because it was the most dangerous option alone.
"I will," she told him. "And he still loves you too. Even told me so."
And as she said this, she moved an arm around behind Corey so she could place her free hand on top of his head and bring it over to hers. She'd rest her temple to his, and would sit like that for whatever time Corey would participate before straightening back up.
They'd finish their coffee, Lola would jam all of her belongings in her backpack, and she would be on her way. Hardly phased by what transpired last night, she would hug him tight and muss his hair when they parted. He still had her number, she still had his. She would stay in touch with him and keep him in on the loop as to how their mutually loved Uktena was fairing.
For now, though, they would part ways, and Lola would go home to a flooded land that was still only promising to get worse.
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