Lola Hawkes
The last few days have been cold, but
tonight was positively frigid. On the mountain peaks in the distance
snow is evident, sprinkling the mountainsides white and coating the tops
completely. The sun went down approximately an hour ago, and along
with it went the warmth out of the night.
Lola was out patroling,
though, because that was her default in life. Typically she may have
gone home earlier, but she's remembering to switch up her patrol shifts
from time to time-- evil liked to seep across the land when the sun
wasn't there to burn it away, after all. This was when it was most
important to maintain the land, check the borders, and be sure that all
was secure and safe and normal.
Lola could be found walking alone,
a solo dot following a shallow creek bed, long since dried up and
turned to dust and grass. She had a backpack on her back and was
dressed in jeans tucked into boots and a tan canvas jacket. She had
brown leather gloves to keep her hands warm, and wore her hair tied into
a pair of braids that fell over her shoulders, securing it from being
tossed about by wind and suffering the static pull that came from the
black knit cap that she had on top of her head, pulled down over her
ears.
Her cheeks and nose were red from the cold wind that blew into her face, but she didn't lag or struggle.
Much.
When
she did, it was about when Javed happened to spot her from wherever his
wanderings had taken him. A knee threatened to buckle when she took a
step up out of the three-foot deep creek bed, and her stance wavered and
she had to catch herself with both hands to keep from smacking her face
into the cold hard earth in front of her. This seems a wake-up call to
her, a reminder that she has to rest (though she's been doing so more
recently than she's needed to in the past, and this bothered her without
raising much alarm).
So he would watch as the Kinswoman took a
step back, looked about the creek bed in which she stood, then found a
petrified old log to rest on. The backpack was slung off her shoulders
and let to fall to the ground near her feet when she sat herself down on
that log, stripped her hands from her gloves, and breathed into them so
she could rub some warmth back into her face.
Javed Anubis-Sight
There's
one thing it's going to take Javed some time to adjust to, it's the
cold. He's not completely unused to it; he has traveled many places
and that includes some spots in northern Europe. But he was born in and
spent most of his life in the desert, and he remains more used to the
heat than the chill of such a night.
When he has free time (which
is basically when he is off from his patrols of Cold Crescent), he likes
coming to Forgotten Questions. The wilderness is familiar to him,
welcoming. It's nothing like what he grew up in to the surface but that
general sense of the Wyld and those giant granite formations...there is
something familiar and comforting to him. And so he is walking along
in that same set of clothes that he's always found in; the loose pants,
the heavy jacket under the tank top and the heavy, worn boots.
He
pauses as he walks along and notices Lola in the creek bed. He doesn't
recognize her of course, even though they've fought alongside each
other. It's dark and...well, he doesn't recognize anyone. But he
doesn't need to in order to see what she's doing, where she's having
trouble. And he hesitates there, curious to see how she will handle it.
There's
a little sideways tilt to his head as he observes quietly for the
moment. Luna hides her face and so it is a more relaxed Javed who
approaches. Not that he ever comes off as "relaxed," but neither is he
usually on the verge of frenzy. He has fought very hard to allow his
honor to keep him in check. He makes no attempt to be stealthy as he
approaches, nodding his head to the kinswoman.
"Good evening," he
says in that gravelly, accented tone. "Forgive me if I assume wrong,
but you appeared to be in some distress. May I aid you?"
It's not an implication that she needs help, and nothing in his tone suggests that. It is merely an offer.
Lola Hawkes
From
somewhere up on the short little ledge of the creek wall came a voice.
Before that came the sound of boots and breathing, though, so Lola
wasn't surprised in the least. She didn't reach for the revolvers that
she no doubt kept under her jacket. Hell, she didn't even startle.
But
she did drop her hands away from her face to look up to the figure in
the dark that was addressing her. His voice was familiar to a point,
but not immediately recognizable. The accent and gravel struck chords
of memory more than anything else.
"Ah, Javed," she greeted him.
She'd bothered to remember his name, because he was a Warrior and she'd
seen him fight well and heard him speak at the Warmoots. He might not
remember her, but that was fine. She didn't necessarily expect him to
be returning the favor, not just yet at least.
Where some may have
risen to their feet to greet a newcomer, Lola did no such thing. But
she did tuck her gloves away into her coat pockets and shake her head to
his question. "Ah, no, not distressed. Just needed a breather is
all." Without hesitating she waved a hand, the motion rolling out
toward him and then back in to herself a couple of times-- come hither, if you will.
"You're welcome to sit a spell too. I've got some jerky and water left still that I was about to use up, but I can split."
Javed Anubis-Sight
The
Ahroun smiles politely when she makes the offer for him to sit and
share some of her provisions and moves to step into the creek bed. He
moves with the ease of a natural predator, one geared deeply toward
combat though of course there's nothing directed about that at the
moment. It is only the kinfolk here and while Javed does not know them
yet, if there is a threat from a kinfolk within the Sept he has a lot of
other problems to worry about.
"I will sit, thank you. And thank
you for your gracious offer, but I have eaten already. And I am glad
to hear that you are not unwell." He pauses before he sits down and a
brief, apologetic look hits his face. It's not begging or shameful,
simple a concession to the woman for the inconvenience in the fact that
he is about to ask her to indulge his failings as a metis.
"I must
ask your forgiveness, but if we have met before, I do not know you. It
is the failing of my parents and this my birth that I am unable to
associate an individual's facial features with their identity." Some
day, perhaps, he can identify Lola in other ways after they've known
each other longer. The way she dresses, the styling of her hair. The
cadence and tone of her voice or the way that she moves. These are all
fingerprints to a person, but they are fingerprints that take time to
learn.
Lola Hawkes
Javed turned down her offer to
share food and water, but did take her up on the offer to join her for a
sit. If he thought she may be offended by his rejecting the supplies
from her pack, he's shown otherwise. Lola just shrugged one shoulder
and leaned forward, tugging the water from her pack instead of worrying
about the deer jerky that was tucked away amid other supplies-- a red
first-aid bag jammed into the bottom of the pack, some clean rags, and
binoculars can be spied through the open lip of the bag.
"Suit
yourself," was her answer to him saying he'd already eaten. The lid to
the reusable water bottle (a big plastic blue thing) was unscrewed and
curled into her palm for the time being. She took a few deep drinks
from the water bottle, not realizing how thirsty she was until the water
hit her lips. While she drank, he looked at her with a furrow to his
brow that suggested apology. As she finished and took the water bottle
from her mouth, he launched into explanation.
Her eyebrows hopped
up when he explained that he was a Metis, and his Curse was that he
would never remember a person's face-- that he couldn't distinguish one
face from another very effectively and match them to persons that he'd
met before. She didn't appear judgmental necessarily. Simply
surprised.
If she was going to think less of him for being a
Metis, that was tucked away where he couldn't see. Instead she held the
container of water in his direction as a silent offer -- hey, he'd said
he'd eaten, not that he was already full of fluids, after all.
"We
have. We've fought together, and we've been at the last two Warmoots
together too." Regardless of whether he accepts or denies the offer to
share water, she'll still stick her right hand out for a shake. "I'm
Lola Hawkes. Of the Uktena." But he already knows that, her blood
swims prominent and distinct in her veins. "I never would've guessed on
my own that you're a Metis. You lucked out with that birthcurse,
there. Could've had a unicorn horn sprouting out of your forehead, or
no genitals at all like this person I'd heard was floating around the
Sept for a week or two before moving on."
It's probably rude to
talk about birth defects with someone who suffers them. It's probably
worse to tell them how lucky they are. Lola doesn't seem to realize
either of these things, not in the least, because her tone is honest and
genuine, if a bit gruff. She seems tough, not unwilling to punch him
in the teeth if he crossed her wrong, but that doesn't mean that she's
unfriendly by default.
Javed Anubis-Sight
"Ah, yes. Miss Hawkes." He still says Miss
because the difference between Miss and Ms. is difficult to catch with
foreign ears and he does not fall in what could be called a cultured
aspect. Any nobility others may or may not see in him has been learned,
not born. "I remember. A pleasure to meet with you again."
He
does take the offered water container and takes a miniscule amount of
water, enough to wet his throat, before passing it back gratefully and
moving to settle down next to her.
"I suppose luck is a matter of
who you speak to." He says it amicably, with a look that is not a smile
but a calm acceptance. There are indeed many that might take offense
to being told that they are lucky that their deformity is more mental
than physical, or lucky in any manner. A metis' curse is a something
that by and large defines them, both in how they view they view the
world and how the world views them. It is difficult to hear that you're
lucky in any way; it is akin to being told you're very lucky, you only came out of the car crash as a paraplegic and not a vegetable.
Javed, for his part, may or may not take offense. Either way he
neither shows it nor takes it out on Lola. For one, the curse is his to
bear and not theirs; he does not expect anyone to feel bad for him. He
bears it with dignity and that is his burden. For another, he knows
that she simply has a different perspective, which does not fall in line
with his.
"I do not know how the others feel the weight of their
failings. But in some ways, I am certain it is easier for me than it
would be for others."
Lola Hawkes
The open space
on the log beside her is occupied after Javed's had a chance to wet his
teeth and throat with water from her blue plastic container-- he sat
only after passing the bottle back to her. Lola seemed pleased that
he'd accepted the gesture of water, if nothing more, and took another
deep drink before putting it back in the pack, which remained open by
her feet.
It's difficult to say how many Kinfolk Javed's actually
dealt with in his time. From the number of those that he's been near,
though, many would shiver and tense to be near him. Not for his dead
eye, or stoic manner even. Rather, it was for the Rage that burned and
rumbled inside of him like a great volcano waiting, biding time until it
could errupt. Though the moon was vacant from the sky (making the
night that much darker), it still set, a strong force to be reckoned
with. Most Kinfolk would shy away from him, scoot further to the edge
of the log or even stand and find an excuse to put distance between
themselves and the threatening body that had come too close.
Lola
did no such thing. If the brunt of his Rage set her spine a'jangling
and her nerves on alert, she did a fantastic job of squashing the
sensation until it was dead. She prided herself on having grown up like
an Ahroun herself. She knew how to hit, how to wrestle, how to pin.
She knew weak spots, she knew spots that were almost a guaranteed win
every time. She specialized in killing. When the devastating news that
she would never Change sank in, Lola refused to hang up her Warrior hat
and resign to a life less interesting.
She learned to shoot
instead. She learned to stand tall alongside her cousins and brothers
and lend her strength to theirs. Rage flashed around her like wildfires
in almost every battle she's been in, and she's been in so many that
she stopped counting before she even turned 20.
Javed sat beside her, and she didn't as much as scoot her hip away from his.
"I'm
sure they feel it differently. I'm sure it weighs different on each
and everyone of them, and sometimes it's enough for them to buckle, but
other times-- thankfully, more times than not, they figure out how to
carry that weight along with their own.
"You're, what, a Fostern?
That's a fuckin' accomplishment, man. People spit on ya, born like you
are, I know 'cause I've seen it. They're quick to judge. But you've
come above that. I can tell-- I've watched, and I haven't seen anyone
so much as give you the stink eye."
"Pokes-the-Mind's Eye"
He
was trodding through mud with a look of annoyance on his face. Milton
was Urrah, and that much was made apparent by his manner of dress,
sweater vest with shirt and tie underneath, eye glasses, a pair of black
dress pants, and a pair of loafers, comfortable, functional, but not
exactly suited to the wilderness.
He was grumbling to himself as
he trod through the mud, because the occasional puddle would get his
feet wet, and who in the fuck wants to get their feet wet? It ruins the
whole spiritual experience of one's visit to one of the garou's sacred
places! But for some reason the garou loved shit like this! Rolling
around in mud, eatin' roadkill, getting infections and dying from
them... Some shit like that! Milton, however, Milton was urrah through
and through and the luxuries of modern life were a part of who he was.
So his visit out here, while important, was not one he was carrying out
with all that much enthusiasm!
He saw a pair up ahead and his
frown lifted, slowly, into a smile, because as much as he might not care
for rolling around in mud, and getting thorns in his feet, and plowing
corn and all that other shit his rural cousins loved, he actually did
love people! Talking to them, talking at them, annoying the piss out of
them... Whatever! So long as he was dealing with them, he could usually
handle almost any situation. So that is the direction his feet took him,
and his smile was written brilliantly on his face.
Milton was
clean cut, scrawny, and not exactly the terrifying and dangerous thing
that people would expect of the Garou, but he carried himself with a
sense of pride that either had to be supreme overconfidence, or the
knowledge that he was no mere man... Or... And this is probably the most
probable, a combination of them both.
"S'up?" He asks as he comes
upon them a smile presented to both Javed and the woman, his chin
lifting a little in their presence, he stood tall as if he was trying to
look cool in the presence of two new people! Cause you only get one
chance to make a new impression, and he sure as fuck doesn't want these
people thinking he's a math geek! So instead he's decided to be the
mysterious stranger this time! Yeah! Lots of cool poses, and saying
almost nothing! People love that guy!
Javed Anubis-Sight
He
does, of course, take note of the way that Lola has no negative
reaction. She is not the only one to have done so, but it is rather a
rarity. Truth be told, Javed does not have as much interaction with kin
as you might expect from a Strider who travelled halfway across the
world. It is by his own choice though, for reasons seeded deep within
him. But he also (now that he knows who she is) remembers what this
woman sitting next to him was capable of. That is something that is
rather rare among kinfolk; not the ability to fight, but the steel to
handle themselves against the kinds of things that may give many Cliaths
pause.
"I am," he says in response to her question about being a
Fostern, and he inclines his head graciously at her assessment of the
acheivement. "And indeed...the people of Forgotten Questions and Cold
Crescent have honored me with their respect for rank. It is not always
thus; I have seen it in some places where even those who have attained
Fostern are viewed by some as little more than cubs."
There is
perhaps a brief rumble in his voice there. It's not anger, really.
Displaying such in the presence of kinfolk is anaethema, unless it needs
to be shown for battle. It isn't even frustration so much as
disapproval that traditions have been lost in some places within the
world.
"But it is not here, and I consider myself quite honored to
find a place and pack here among the residents of Denver and its
surroundings."
He looks up when the newcomer arrives, his sole eye
settling on the Garou that approaches. The two could scarcely be more
different in visage and manner from initial impressions. And of course,
Javed doesn't know him but for the metis that doesn't mean much. He
looks Milton over for a moment and then nods his head politely.
"Good evening."
Lola Hawkes
Lola's
expression was usually a neutral one, which defaulted to looking harder
than she probably intended it. She had dark, expressive eyebrows and
didn't wear any make-up to pretty her face. When you were used to
seeing women with make-up, that made her appear harsh. The fact that
she wasn't bubbly and smily in her nature just cemented that
misconception.
...well, okay, it's not a misconception really.
She is absolutely harsh. If you've seen her in a confrontation of any
sort, or even a mild disagreement, that shows like a beacon. But here,
relaxed, with nothing to be mad at and no one to fight, she's not so
confrontational.
Or she wasn't, at least, until a new and utterly
unfamiliar face showed itself over the top of the creek bed ridge. Lola
looked up, expression shifting to something immediately defensive. She
drew snap-judgments, and while that wasn't the kindest habit to have it
persisted none the less.
"Hey," was her answer to his greeting,
chimed in soon after Javed's. While he'd left it at a greeting alone,
Lola started to zip up her backpack and continued on with:
"You're looking lost, friend. Need directions back to a road?"
"Pokes-the-Mind's Eye"
Javed
greets him first and he nods in response. "Thanks." He says without
getting too talkatave about the greeting. He could already feel his
knuckles turning white as he balled his hands into fists trying not to
get too talkative with these strangers! This shit is way harder than he
thought it was gonna be!
He looks Lola over, once, maybe twice,
the glance was anything but subtle, he wasn't the best at subtle and
let's face it Lola was pretty damn good looking woman! So are you gonna
hold it against a young man for... Well... Being a young man?
She
mentions being lost and he shakes his head. "Naw, I'm not lost, I get
the feeling I am exactly where I need to be." He says while fighting the
urge to smile suddenly. That's it Milton say cryptic shit like that! No
woman can resist a man who says cryptic shit! She'll be eating outta
the palm of your hand in no time!
He looks around, then back to
the pair. "So this place is kinda dead tonight. Is it always like this?"
If you wanna be cool you gotta say things cool people say, and he knows
from years of movie watching that this is something cool people always
say, and to be quite honest this place WAS kinda dead. Shouldn't there
be more Garou dancing around the fire, and smearing strange shit all
over their faces, beatin' on crappy sounding leather drums? You know...
Rural Garou stuff! They love that kinda shit, at least that's how he
understands it!
Javed Anubis-Sight
His
attention shifts to Lola and her reaction; he notes her frown and her
defensive posture. It's someone they don't know then, and the metis
turns a more direct gaze on Milton, looking him over far more
appraisingly. He doesn't look like much, this newcomer, but they all
know that means little among their world who is trying to be bold and
make an impression.
Lola asks him if he's lost, and the other
responds by giving Lola a onceover and throwing out a cryptic response.
The first of those doesn't draw a much more than a slight frown from
him, for a couple of reason. First, she is not his kinfolk and as such
ogling was not something that pleased Javed--especially when it's
someone who's proven themselves in battle (of course, Milton didn't know
that)--it was not an act that was his to take offense at. And second
(and persuant to the first)...if Lola took offense, Javed had an idea
that she would handle it on her own.
The cryptic response from
Milton, on the other hand, draws a deeper frown. The metis is as direct
as most within his Auspice...polite, but direct. Being enigmatic gives
him reason to be suspicious and he looks Milton over once more.
"In
this specific vicinity immediately around us, I cannot say. I have
only sat here this once. You are a newcomer, perhaps?" He's watching
the other closely, though he's certainly not hostile at the moment.
Lola Hawkes
While Lola wasn't particularly accustomed to the advances of young Garou (because
most of them just fucking knew better by now, she was a constant
presence about the Bawn and has been for so many of her years),
that didn't mean that she was blind to them. Milton, this young man
with his smart attire and glasses and muddy dress shoes, had glanced
between her and Javed, then gave her an extra, longer glance before
putting on airs.
Lola watched him for a minute, her expression
flat as can be, then looked to Javed. Found the Fostern's good eye,
held it for a second, then rolled her own two (unabashed, not trying to hide this from the poor Ragabash that had not much idea what tree he was beginning to bark up) and rose from the log by pushing her hands on the tops of her knees.
The
zipped-up backpack was tossed up onto her back again, arms slipped
through the shoulder straps, and she climbed up out of the shallow creek
bed, this time without any buckling of knees or odd bouts of
exhaustion.
"Well, I don't know about exactly," she said to the
young Garou and pulled herself up to stand in front of him, with a
couple of feet of space between herself and him. Javed said he couldn't
say, but Lola nodded her head to the Strider and spoke up to share what
information she had instead.
"It's a Bawn. It's pretty big. If
you're looking for the Garou--" Yes, she had a damn fine idea of what he
was. Why else would he be out here, approaching them, at this time of
night? "then you'll want to head that direction." And she points
west. "That's the Sept proper, and that's where you'll find anyone that
isn't running patrols or living elsewhere."
From that point, she
directed her words so that they were for the two Garou and not just one
over the other. "I'm going to be heading home now. It's only going to
get colder and darker tonight."
Farewells would be made, the one
for Javed significantly more invested in by the Kinfolk. She knew this
man, he had her respect and she felt that she got the same, to a degree
at least, from him. For Milton, the stranger who was out of place here
in the sticks that she'd caught with his eyes lingering on her face,
hair and chest, the farewell was less personal. He got a nod and a
brief, strong shake of the hand as well as her name: "Lola, by the
way. I protect this Sept." As though it's her job alone, that's how
she says it.
Quickly because she'd set her mind to it and was
ready to go, Lola would walk away, hands on her shoulder straps, headed
wherever 'home' may be.
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