Stagsmen - 11.10.2013 [Calden]

Lola Hawkes

These days, since clocks were all switched back an hour, the sun was setting astoundingly earlier than it feels like it was doing three weeks ago.  Lola had set out in the truck when the sun seemed still high and proud in the sky, but by the time her vehicle bumped and jarred its way along the gravel road that led up to the ranch that Calden White lived on the sun was already trying to make love with the western horizon.  The sky to the east was going dusky purple, and though up above it was still blue, and to the west it was still blue, the clouds were starting to tinge orange and pink and it would only be another hour before dusk truly set in.

Because it isn't that dark yet, though, there are no headlights to bounce and bound over property and buildings when she comes upon the ranch.  She's cautious about which bend to take in the gravel road-- she doesn't quite know where to park the truck.  This is told by the slow crunch of gravel under her tires, and how she's crawling forward thoughtfully before cranking her wheel and parking half on gravel and half in the grass up against the flanking side of the barn.  She wasn't an invited guest, so she didn't want to park in the driveway itself.

Lola didn't live on a farm or a ranch, but she did go to school with a bunch of kids in a rural community, so she understood some simple facts about making a living working off your land-- one basic simple fact was that if it wasn't well past dinner or time for your head to hit the pillow, chances were that you'd be out working instead of up in the house.  This is why Lola checks the barn before the house proper.

She finds a door and creaks it open to peer inside at first, and then step inside completely when she's confident that she's found a working body (she can hear someone even if she may not immediately spot them inside of the large building).  She's wearing a natural wool colored knit cap on top of her head and over her ears, with her hair in twin braids that originate from behind her ears and lay in front of her shoulders.  She wears dark washed jeans tucked into hiking boots, and a mustard yellow sweater pulled on overtop of what appears to be a yellow-blue-plaid flannel shirt, judging by the cuffs and collar that appear from under the sweater itself.

"Hello?," is how she calls out, as most people would.  Asking for an answer so she can identify the voice and see if she recognizes it, as well as get a better pin on where this person was within the dusty barn.


Calden White

Lola has been by the White ranch once.  She can't quite be said to be familiar with the place, but at least she knows how to get there.  She knows which roads to take, where to turn.  She knows where the house -- the surprisingly large, well-constructed house -- sits atop its low bluff, large windows facing the sprawl of the land.  She knows, too, where the accessory buildings are clustered near but not quite adjacent to the house: the barn and the chicken coop and the calving shed and standalone garage.

That's where she heads.  Not up the low hill to the house, but to that cluster of working buildings.  The road here is paved, and the drive up to the house is paved, but the path to the barn is gravel and dirt.  Her tires crunch to a stop.  The main doors of the barn open away from her, but she finds a back door and lets herself into a dim, high-ceiling interior that smells of straw and working animals.

She can hear voices -- two voices, men, conversing under the occasional scratch and jingle and creak of horses being unsaddled, rubbed down, put into their stalls.  When she calls out, the voices pause for a surprised moment.

Then one of the voices -- Calden's, if she recognizes it -- calls back: "Hello!  How can we help you?"


Lola Hawkes

One day Lola will actually recognize Calden's voice, if she has her way and this acquaintence knits into a stronger, sturdier alliance.  At this time, though, all she can go off of is the age and health and gender that the voice has.  It sounds strong and young and deep and male, so she figures it's probably Calden and heads toward it.

The two men will hear her boots crunching on the packed dirt and raw cement where each or either lie, as she walks through to find the stalls and the source of the voice.  Her hands are tucked into the back pockets of her pants.  When she does eventually come into sight her expression is a blank neutral slate, with eyebrows appearing a little heavy because they're so dark and usually hunkered down in a ghost of a frown.  Her mouth doesn't look like it smiles much either.

"It's Lola Hawkes come calling for Calden White," she explains, her voice a gruff and no-nonsense thing that carries through to the men.  When she does spy them she'll pause, make brief eye contact with both, then jerk her chin upward in an acknowledging sort of greeting before redirecting her course to approach.

"Had a question for ya," she'll follow up, her voice less calling and searching, more direct now.


Calden White

Well, it turns out the two men are walking toward her too, so they meet somewhere in the middle: around the corner of the big tractor lurking in the back of the barn, not quite out to the stalls yet where the working horses are stabled.  It's Calden all right, looking tall and russet-haired and cowboy-Fianna-ish as he does: a shearling jacket keeping him warm, rough work gloves stuffed in the back pocket of his jeans.  No hat.  Yes bandanna around the neck, though, as though maybe he just wasn't quite stereotypical enough without it.  Seeing Lola, he smiles.

"Miss Hawkes.  Well, you're a little ways out of your home turf."

The other voice, it turns out, belongs to Calden's distant cousin and employee.  Dark-haired, lean-faced, a few years younger than Calden, the other man swipes his battered stetson off his head in a thoughtless gesture and sticks his hand out.

"Miss," he says, offering her a gruff little nod, a firm pump of the hand.  "Name's Ian White."

"Miss Hawkes is kin to the Uktena," Calden explains.  "Her family's old and well-respected around these parts.  Almost," this is a bit of gentle ribbing, "as old and well-respected as ours.  Ian's my cousin, Lola.  Our grandfathers were brothers.  He works the cattle with me."

She has a question.  Calden quirks an eyebrow.  "Yeah, let's hear it."


Lola Hawkes

When Lola comes upon the two men, Calden is given only the first two seconds of her attention before it turns upon the younger, swarthier of the two men.  Calden might expect that she'd be checking his cousin out, because he was of course a strong ranch hand and clearly a part of the Nation, and probably closer in age to Lola than Calden himself was.  But there is no potential or consideration of that note in her eyes when she surveys the unfamiliar man.  Instead it looks more like she's sizing him up as though they'd stepped into a ring with one another.  She's gauging if she could knock him out with one hit or if it would take a few more.

Thankfully it doesn't come to that, though, because the man removes his hat and sticks out his hand and introduces himself as Ian.  When near enough to meet and stop walking, Lola accepts the hand and shakes.  Her grip is firm but not overcompensating-- just a little too tight, too hasty though.  She shakes his hand roughly before dropping her hands to her sides and returning her attention to Calden.   The ribbing as to whether the Hawkes or White family is older or more established is met with a wry smirk that only barely touched at her eyes and curved only one side of her lips.

"Güero, the Uktena have been here so much longer than your Tribe of Bards can even hope to claim."  He can pick from the tone that she's only returning the gesture, although since this is Lola we're talking about some of that pride is probably rooted in truth.

But, to business:

"A couple of other Kinfolk from the area, myself included, received letters summoning us out under.... uncomfortable circumstances a couple days back.  From a woman who knew personal shit about our lives and families-- in particular, the families that Change.  I'm curious to know if you got one of these too, and if you were just smart enough to stay away from the summons if that's the case."


Calden White

"She's got you there," Ian comments, the corner of his mouth curling.  The ranch hand tucks his hat back on, as though that was obviously where it belongs.

Then Lola brings up the letter.  Calden looks mystified.  He exchanges a glance with Ian, who shrugs, shakes his head.  Turning back, he answers, "No.  Neither of us got anything of the sort.  I don't think my dad did either, or he would've probably griped about it to me.  You haven't heard Jimmy or Paul talk about something like that, have you?"

"Nope," Ian replies.  "Pretty sure if Jimmy got fanmail from a girl we'd all hear about it."

"Did you go out to meet this mystery woman?" Calden asks Lola.


Lola Hawkes

"Well of course I did,"

She'd just called him smart enough to stay behind, but then turned around and expressed that she did precisely that as though it was obvious that she would have.  There's a certain fire to her eyes and coals in her throat when she talks about it.  Already, from when she had first arrived and joked about whose tribe belonged here the longest to now when she was talking about mystery letters, the Kinswoman's shoulders had gone tight and her hands at her sides had started to curl into loose fists.

Calden will remember very much that Lola was a passionate and testy thing, unafraid to speak with force to her voice, unwilling to mask her thoughts or opinions for the comfort of those around her.

"The letter I got was talking about my personal life, and it showed up on my front porch.  I keep a good eye on my property, and others do for me too.  I don't like that this bitch knows as much about me and mine as she does, so I went to find her."

Something about the tone suggests that she wanted to lay more than just eyes and words upon this woman.  Lola grinds her teeth for a second, rubbing molars against one another to release some of this tension, but at least she has the good decency not to leave the other Kinfolk hanging as to what happened when she went to meet this woman.

"There were three others there besides me-- This Shadow Lord Kinswoman, a Glass Walker Kinswoman, and some other Kinsman that I've never met before-- not sure what his tribe is, don't know his name even.  But they all got letters strongly suggestive enough to lure them out into the city for a stranger, too.  And this woman rolls up saying that she thinks her sister got bitten by a Werewolf and that she's turning and that she needs our help."

Her nose crinkles-- she looks disgusted, like she's ready to physically spit, but decides against it out of respect and decency.  "Wants us to meet up with her next Friday to actually see her sister.  The whole thing reeks to me."

Beat.

"....But, you say you didn't get a letter.  Maybe you're livin' too far north for her?"  Although that begs the question why she was willing to venture out so close to the Bawn to reach Lola, and run the danger of encountering so many other Werewolves along the way.


Calden White

"Of course you did," Calden echoes, wry.

While Lola relates the events, Calden returns to what he's doing, communicating his intentions to his cousin with quick glances, small gestures.  The two men have obviously known each other a long time.  Know each other, and their work, well.  They work together with a sort of mindless synchronicity, putting their animals up for the night.

By the time Lola finishes, Calden is closing the door on the stall.  He gives the gelding an affectionate rub on the nose, then steps away while his cousins sees to its feed.  "Come on," he says to Lola, an invitation of sorts delivered in two syllables and a house-ward nod.  "We'll talk inside.

"Maybe," he adds, regarding why he never got a letter.  "Or maybe I didn't seem like the type to take the bait.  I assume the Shadow Lord Kinswoman was Eva Illeshazy?"


Lola Hawkes

They worked while Lola talked, and if she wasn't so wrapped up and distracted by the tale that she was telling she probably would have shown just a bit more interest in what the men were doing.  She had occasionally considered a horse, or a cow, or a goat, or a few chickens.  Something to assist with self sufficiency.  But every time the thought flickers across her mind it's stopped partway and smashed back like a tennis ball returned to the other side of the court.

She lived entirely too close to the Bawn, and during the Moots she could hear the howls with ease.  She knew that the Revels could occasionally lead to couples or even packs of wolves continuing their run through the night.  She knew that it would just be a waste of money to raise a cow for eight months only to have someone whose face she knew come and kill it in a fit of wild energy and passions.

She may ask about horses or livestock later.  She might consider ways to lock them up when the Moot goes on so that the danger is less present.  For now, though, she bids Ian farewell and moves to walk along at Calden's side, to his left, because he'd said that they would talk inside.

"She was.  The Glass Walker was named Sam-- I don't know her last name, but I know her brother is named Reese."  I know this because he's the 'not-so-secret' gay lover of a member of the pack that keeps me.  I still don't know how I feel about that situation as a whole.

"Where I'm torn," she confesses to the older and more leveled out Kinfolk, "is how this cabrona managed to find this personal shit out about me and mine, and how that equals out with her utter, blatant ignorance as to what Werewolves actually are.  It doesn't add up, and it's got me all tense and itching to put it to a simple end."

Calden can probably guess what she's getting at when she says 'simple end'.


Calden White

"I've met Sam," Calden says, "and her brother.  And Lola," he stops -- they're halfway up the path to his house, and this is where he turns and faces her, serious-faced, "you can't just execute people because they annoy you.  Morality aside, that'll get you thrown in jail."

He starts walking again.  Dusk comes early these days.  Already the shadows are long; the west-facing windows of that large house on the hill are glinting.  Calden is leading Lola to the back of the house, which opens out to three stories; which boasts a broad hardwood deck and vast windows looking out over the land.  The bottom floor is a basement on the front end of the house, but back here, Lola can see what looks like a guest suite and a game room through the glass doors.  He takes her up the outdoors stairs to the deck, though, and enters the main floor through the back.

"Maybe she's a lost kin who's good at digging up information.  What kind of personal shit are we talking about, anyway?"


Lola Hawkes

They pause long enough for Calden to level a very serious look at Lola and express that it's not okay to execute people.  She scoffs openly, hardly afraid of being reprimanded.  "Okay, first of all, it ain't because she annoys me.  It's because she's an outright threat.  And I lost count on the number of enemy lives I've claimed that ain't landed me in jail yet."  Naturally she has to have the last word on the subject, but at least she didn't get all hackles up and defensive to the matter.  Instead, she was dismissive.  Yeah, whatever, you go on not taking up arms and I'll keep on keeping us safe at night thank you very much.

As they approach the house, Lola's eyes lift up to the architecture in front of her and stay upon in a way that happens when people who are unfamiliar with large structures do when presented with such things.  Lola lives in a modest log house, two stories tall but only because the top story is a large loft/attic space with a couple of afterthought walls to make an extra room.  Her hands exit her pockets to go for a railing when they head up the stairs of the back deck, to what would constitute the 'main' or 'middle' level.

He suggests that she could be a lost Kin, and Lola scrubbed at the back of her neck thoughtfully.  When they entered the house her words were slower than before because she was preoccupied with taking in the surroundings that she had stepped into.

"Shit personal enough that I've told a single person about it, and that's all," and this is probably all the information he's going to get on the matter, because clearly it's not something that she's keen on talking about.  "I doubt the Lost Kin theory-- she was adamant about the fact that her sister got bitten and then started developing what she calls 'other symptoms'.  Hector thinks she could be from a family of wolf hunters, good at tracking but not sure of what she's actually tracking anymore-- information passed through generations gets muted and diluted after time, after all.  I'm guessing her sister might've been infected by a Fomor or some such shit, if it's actually changes being caused by a bite wound.

"What the fuck is up with you opulent motherfuckers anyways?  Jesus, do you actually entertain crowds of thirty in this goddamn room?"  If it helps, she sounds impressed instead of mad at the display of wealth.


Calden White

And instead of being offended, Calden laughs under his breath.  "Like I said," he says, "we've been here a long time, generation after generation building on the same foundation -- literally and figuratively.  And the organic foods fad has been damn good business."

The sliding doors onto the deck aren't locked.  Calden pulls it open, ushering Lola in ahead of him.  The architecture of the house is simple, wide-open: a great room centering the entirety of the structure, with kitchen and dining to one side, bedrooms to the other.  Staircases up and down.

"Can I get you a drink?" Calden asks, closing the door and sealing out the chill.  Central heating's on inside, albeit turned low enough that there's room for a fire in that massive hearth dominating the great room.  "And -- a family of hunters isn't exactly the best news for us.  But if she's as confused as she sounds, there's a chance we can make an ally out of her.  Dancers are wolves too, technically.

"I just don't think putting a gun to her head and pulling the trigger is necessarily the answer."


Lola Hawkes

Lola lets herself be ushered inside.  It's a sliding door, but even if it wasn't and if it had hinges and if Calden had offered to hold that door for her she wouldn't refuse the gesture.  She clearly considered herself strong and capable (and had a track record to support it), but that didn't make her the kind of woman who 'don't need no man to treat her differently from anyone else'.  She knows manners when she sees them, and knows enough to at least act in accordance with them.  When it suits her, anyways.

Inside she stares around at the great room, but doesn't make any motion to sit.  She's delivered her message, and is engaged in the conversation she has at current, but she frankly isn't sure how long this particular thread of topic will last, and she doesn't know where the conversation could turn afterwards.  She doubts they'd start talking about families, immediate or generational, or swapping recipes.  She's uncomfortable in social settings unless she has a task at hand or a message to deliver.  This is why she was so easy to approach and engage at first, but why she looks reluctant to settle in and make herself comfortable.

At the offer for a drink, she nods and looks around for what looks like it could be the kitchen, and upon spying a piece of room that houses stainless steel from around the corner she starts to approach, figuring Calden would start walking there anyways.  If someone straight up served her a drink she'd have to start yelling about how Fianna aren't Silver Fangs and Silver Fangs shouldn't be served upon anyways.

"Milk, if that's alright," she asks, surprisingly politely enough in tacking on the 'if that's alright'.  She doesn't bother to pull off the sweater over her head, though it's no doubt warmer inside the house than it is outside.  Instead she pushes the sleeves up to her elbows and calls it good.

"Oh, I ain't gonna just do that much.  I'm gonna find out what she and her sister are, what's going on with her sister, and how she found out the information she did.  Then I'm gonna use that information to figure out whether they need to be gotten rid of completely.  If not, I am gonna beat the shit out of that woman for tapping into my life, though."

Clearly that just plumb doesn't fly in the world that Lola Hawkes lives in.


Calden White

Calden is, in fact, moving toward that gleaming stainless-steel kitchen of his.  The affluence of the White family is unmistakable here.  The bulk of their wealth is tied up in land and property and beef, but there's enough spare that they've built themselves this sprawling alpine-influenced manor.  They've outfitted it with sturdy, quality things; never quite flashy, but solid and expensive and built to last.

"Of course it's all right," Calden tosses over his shoulder, opening the fridge, laughing a little.  "Why wouldn't it be?"

Milk, then.  A glass bottle, unmarked.  If Lola suspects it comes from a local cow -- perhaps Calden keeps some milk cows in the barn, or perhaps one of his neighbors runs a dairy -- she would be right.  When he gets a glass down from the cupboard and pours, the liquid is thick, nearly cream.  No non-fat here, to be sure.

He holds the glass out to her.  Replaces the bottle; pours himself a glass of apple cider.  "Well," he answers, "let me know how it turns out.  And if you need help.  I'm not as well-connected as Miss Illeshazy, but I do know some people.

"You're not in a hurry to go back south, are you?  We're going to have dinner here in a while.  You should stay the night in the guest room and head back in the morning."


Lola Hawkes

Lola may enter the kitchen first, but Calden's close behind and he actually knows where he's going.  He chuckles at how she'd presented the request for milk and asked her why she'd think it wouldn't be alright, and though the question might be a tiny bit rhetorical she answers anyways with an honest shrug.  "Dunno, I just know milk tends to be more expensive, but I should've figured that wouldn't really be an issue here."

She doesn't look to him while she's talking, but instead is continuing her path of scoping out each new room that she enters.  While Calden's at the fridge she's studying a flat steel surface on one of the counters, trying to decide it if it's supposed to be a cutting board (because that's a wonderful way to fuck up your knives) or if it's actually a grill top built into the counter.  She'll assume it's the latter even before locating knobs to operate the thing, because in a house of a rancher she could imagine that they served steaks and other slabs of beef quite a lot.

The glass of milk is extended to her, and Lola's attention is pulled back to the taller, broader, older man and what he offers.  She'll wander back through the lines of counters to meet him at the fridge and accepts the glass from his hand.  The milk is lifted in an imitation of a cheers gesture, really intended to be a thank you instead, and she takes two big gulps.

There isn't milk at her house anymore, and if there ever is it's a small container of soy more often than not.  This stuff is a treat instead of a staple as far as she's concerned.

She swipes the milk from her upper lip with a quick lick, then casts a surprised look back up at Calden when he invites her to stay.  She has to take pause, and glances out a window to see night casting its early way over the land.  She's still looking out that way when she gives a distracted answer:  "Ahhh...  Well, yeah, it is a lengthy damn drive.  Alright, sure."  She blinks, remembers her manners, and looks back to Calden.  It's almost humorous how serious she appears to be when she follows up with:  "Thank you," and how it sounds almost like a footnote that she nearly forgot to add.

"But, uh, yeah.  I'll let you know what happens.  Eva--" she's probably not pronouncing it the same way that the owner of that name does, but Lola doesn't seem the type to care.  Hector's lucky that he walked away from his family history with such an easy last name, otherwise he'd have to fight to get Lola to ever learn how to say 'Prabhup da'.  "--suggested we bring a Crescent Moon with us, but this broad-- calls herself 'Nina'-- insisted we not bring any of Them with us."

She sighs now, and seems worn out by the situation instead of enraged with it.  This is how this cycle tends to go-- she gets all worked up, full of indignance and fire, but then realizes after talking or working through the situation that she has nothing to go off of and can't do much about it right now, and she gets resigned and bothered and uncomfortable instead.  "Just makes it seem all the more like a trap to me."


Calden White

Amusement crosses Calden's face.  "Most people asking a Fianna for a drink expect scotch or the like," he says.  "Compared to that, I don't think you need to worry about milk being pricier than water.

"And," he adds, "it does seem a little suspicious when someone you don't know -- who knows a lot about you -- specifically asks you to accompany her somewhere without backup.  If you think she's worth the benefit of the doubt, explain your misgivings to her.  Demand to meet somewhere neutral.  Or, hell.  Ask her what exactly she expects you to be able to do for her.

"Eva's got a good head on her shoulders.  Whatever she suggests, I'd take seriously."


Lola Hawkes

Lola's attentively listening to Calden while he talks, even if she doesn't seem like it immediately.  She's taken up post leaning back against one of the kitchen counters, weight balanced between feet, rump, and the free palm that lays flat on the counter top behind her.  The other hand is holding the milk glass up so that she can take another drink, and she's wiping her lip with the side of the same hand holding the glass this time around instead of licking her lips clear.

It's clear she was paying mind when she answers, though.

"She didn't exactly leave us a number.  Just an address and a time and date to meet again.  I went and scoped the address out, and it's just some damn strip mall with nothing going on.  She's clever enough-- though I know that that Sam gal went slinking after her when she left-- she might've caught a vehicle or something, I don't know."  Lola's bad at communcation, that's quite clear.  After all, she did make a hell of a drive out to have this conversation with a Kinsman she wanted to impress enough to be a friend and ally (even though she kept picking debates that edged up against being fights with him) when she could have just dropped him a phone call instead.

"She ain't really much for negotiations I'm not thinking-- my letter ended with a note that said: 'Don't make me come to you.'  Whatever heaven she believes in best help her if she tries, 'cause I'll tell you now I'd lay her out without batting an eyelash if she did, and that's if Celduin didn't get to her first."

To the point that he has about Eva....

"She does, I respect her.  She's seen plenty, she's got good resources and strings for pulling, and she's a smart lady.  But I wanna pull as much information out of her before I potentially cast her off to another place--" she says this with a waving motion of the hand and glass together, off toward the window she'd been glancing out before.  Again, her meaning is clear.  "--and if she catches wind that we're not abiding by her conditions then my chance to find out how she knows what she does goes out the window.

"But....," and the tone is full of compromise and consideration, or as full of such things as Lola's voice is probably capable of being, "if she can find a Crescent Moon good enough to mask herself and hang back and let us do the actual work, then it couldn't hurt."

She'd leave the task of finding a Theurge to the others-- Lola was surronded by a pack of Galliards.


Calden White

Don't make me come to you.  The sound Calden makes is midway between laugh and snort.  "Charming," he comments.  Takes a sip of his apple cider while Lola continues.

"Charlotte does good work, no question," he says, regarding Crescent Moons.  "There's also an entire pack of nothing but Theurges, I think.  I'm sure one of them could help you out.  Though you do make a good point: if you're trying to suss this Nina out, and if she really does have some supernatural ability to tell wolf from man, then you run the risk of driving her underground.

"I don't know."  That's how he sums it up, shrugging.  "It's a tough situation and in the end you're going to have to make the call you think is right.  You and everyone else stuck in it.  But like I said, if I can help, don't hesitate to ask."

The cattleman sets his half-drunk cider on the kitchen island, then, straightening up from where he too leans against the counter.  "Come on," he says.  "I'll show you the guest room downstairs.  You can settle in a bit, wash up if you want.

"My cousins usually have dinner with us on the weekends.  You can meet the other two, Jimmy and Paul.  After dinner maybe we'll play a game or two of poker if you want.  Share some tall tales, drink some scotch."  The corners of his eyes crinkle; he grins.  "Typical Stagsmen behavior, you know the drill."


Lola Hawkes

The pack of Theurges is pointed out, along with a name that Lola has to struggle to place a face and identity to-- some Silver Fang (she thinks, she's been told or it's been overheard) that she hasn't ever seen outside of a Moot.  But then Calden agrees with her point-- she could sabatoge herself if she actively brings a Theurge to the party.  He says it's her call at the end, and Lola nods, contemplating her glass of milk while providing her thoughts on the matter, perhaps the final ones for the moment given how Calden was setting his cup down and changing his posture from rested to ready for movement.

"Way I see it is if we do bring anyone along they need to be good at shadowing us, not letting her know that they're there along with us.  And maybe that person isn't actually a Theurge, but just someone who can Sense like they do, y'know...?"

But that's all business, and now Calden's ready to transition into friendlier, more casual turf.  He offers to show her to the guest room, and she nods and carries her glass of milk along with her because she's not finished with it, but is apparently both unwilling to abandon it in the kitchen and unaware that other people might not like food outside of the kitching and dining space.  As they go, he explains that she'll meet other cousins and they'll play poker and drink.  She just grins at him, and though the expression seems a little tight at the edges at least it's genuine.  She'll loosen up, just give her some time to settle in.

"I hope to high hell that dinner is some kind of beef," she adds as he shows her to her room.

She'll send a text message to Hector while given a moment to 'settle in', explaining that she'll be back to The Homestead tomorrow.  She'll then shake hands all around to anyone she's introduced to, and each time she meets a new person she's throwing up a bit of a brash front and trying to impress, but that loosens up each time it happens, especially if a familiar party (Calden) remains nearby.

She'll play poker and maybe even win a round or two, but she won't drink, and if she's pressed the humor will leak out of her face and voice and she'll state again, slower and more clearly that she doesn't want any and leaves it plain and simple as that.  If that hiccup does occur it's smoothed over quickly and easily and she's back to enjoying the game.

She'll sleep soundly, and that night she'll extend an offer to lend a hand to help with morning chores before she goes.  If the offer is accepted she'll flash for a moment with excitement but manage not to make a fuss about it.  If declined, she accepts that without a fight.

Either way she's gone the next morning, and she parts on much friendlier terms (smiles, waves, farewells and jibes) than what Calden probably would have expected given his previous experience with observing how the Uktena Kinfolk operates.

[[ Follow Up Note:  Lola's offer to help with morning chores was accepted.  She rose bright eyed and bushy tailed with the herd of Stagsmen in the morning and helped to bottle-feed some weakling calves and collect eggs from chicken coops.  She was smiling, joking, and biding individual farewells when she left after the sun had further crested to announce the day. ]]