Lola Hawkes
Santa Fe was a popular part of town,
pretty and eccentric and full of art and culture as it was. This was a
part of Anthony Tirado's success-- he'd opened his first tattoo parlor
here, and between location, catering to his demographic, and a damn fine
hand in art, he was able to open two more parlors around the area as
well. He could make enough money to support his out-of-city cousins on
this business.
It's this very tattoo parlor, the one that started
it all, that Lola Hawkes is hanging out in front of. Behind her the
shop is wedged between two other buildings, other businesses leased
out-- a salon and a market store, to be precise. The shop front was
brick and classic, but the awnings over the window were black and the
sign over the door was tall and wood and black as well, the letters in a
tall jarring white font declaring the place to be: LA LUNA SONRIENTE
TATTOO. Out front there were a ramshackle collection of chairs
collected on either side of the purple-painted door. In one of these
chairs sat Lola, recognizable by some for different reasons.
She
wasn't here getting inked, not as far as anyone could see at least.
Dressed for the warm weather, she had on a short-sleeved and
short-hemmed dress of thin white-and-black stripes, a light gray
cardigan left unbuttoned over top that, and a straw hat atop her head to
keep the sun off her. Granted, the sun was quite behind the mountains
by this point, but it hadn't been when she'd come out this way.
She
was conversing with a tall and very thin man who was getting an octopus
tattooed across his chest-- he was here getting the color filled in and
sat in a plaid button-up shirt left undone. Her expression was
skeptical but relaxed-- the kid wasn't bothering her any so she was
content to share the cooling night air with him. If he had it his way
they would've shared a hit off his small false cigarette pipe, but she'd
hit him with strong skeptical 'Are you kidding me?' and he shrugged it
off (apparently it helped his sister's pregnancy, but whatever).
Around
the time that the Uktena kinfolk may fall into Samantha Evans's line of
sight is the time that the door opens and the tall skinny boy gets
called back inside. He bumped fists with Lola and she told him not to
cry too hard when he walked back inside.
Sam Evans
The
evening is young and pleasant and Sam Evans is walking alone, and like
any typical Glass Walker she's holding a cell phone in her hand which
she is looking at intently as her thumb works its way swiftly across the
lower half of the device. That doesn't mean she's not aware of her
surroundings. The kinswoman neatly side-steps a couple headed in her
direction and pauses when someone practically bounds down the steps of
an upper floor gallery into her. She glances up briefly to shoot the
person a look. That look spurs the young woman - a girl,
really, out with a group of her friends for who knows what reason - to
apologize. Then it's back to the screen for at least a few more steps.
Steps
which are made in a pair of mid-calf combat boots. The rest of her
outfit consists of shorts and a black t-shirt with a huge skull over the
front (the Punisher emblem for those in the know) worn beneath a red
plaid flannel shirt converted into a long vest. Her hair is down but
tucked behind her ears to reveal the piercings that run from lobe up
along the outer cartilage of both ears. Stabbed through her right lobe
is a thick black spike. There's a messenger bag slung across her body,
the pouch resting against her left hip.
Suddenly she sighs, all
the air in her lungs pushed out in a single exhale as she slides the
phone into the hip pocket of those denim shorts. Which is when she
looks up and sees Lola Hawkes sitting outside of a tattoo parlor. Huh.
Increasing speed, she heads for a woman she only properly met about a
week and a half ago.
"Lola, hey!" she calls, one corner of her mouth tugging upward in a crooked grin.
Lola Hawkes
Lola
really didn't look the type to be hanging out in front of a tattoo
parlor, except for the tough exterior one would suppose. Her attire
didn't suit the crowd, and the long bare length of her legs left out in
the air by the length of her dress didn't have a lick of ink on them.
Her hair was twisted into a dense braid that sat on one shoulder, and
her stomach was big enough to take up much real estate into her lap when
she sat upright as she was doing now.
When Lola's name was called
she had been leaning down to retrieve a water bottle from where it was
sitting on the ground under her chair. She looked surprised and alert
to hear her name, and glanced about with an intent and severe gaze until
she found Sam's face and figure coming her way. A face and identity
matched to the call, Lola relaxed and leaned back into her chair. One
hand lifted in a greeting, but she didn't verbally call back across the
distance. Instead, she opted to take a drink of her water.
When Sam was nearer, near enough for speaking anyways, Lola answered.
"Sam,
right?" She's not as good at names, but it's probably confirmed one
way or another that she's correct. Lola'd continue, unabashed by her
own lack of proficiency with remembering names (they stuck with her
after a few times). "How's the evening treating ya?" Eyes cut up
toward the sky, brief, then back down to the Glasswalker. "Secure, I
hope." The moon was full, and their peoples tempers did run quite high
on nights like this, after all.
It's worth noting that Lola Hawkes
didn't smile to greet Samantha Evans, crooked or otherwise. Her mouth
was a straight line, neutral as can be. She didn't seem unfriendly
necessarily, though. This was her friendly face.
Sam Evans
To
look at the pair of them, it'd be easy to make a lot of assumptions
about them. That Samantha is younger, perhaps, because of her height or
because of her attire, or the difference between her demeanor and
Lola's. Lola is friendly, but a reserved sort of friendly. At least
she's not scowling, though probably a scowl wouldn't deter Sam. They
survived an ordeal together, of course Sam's at least going to stop by
to say hello.
Lola's gaze cuts upward, Sam's stays on the woman in
the straw hat. She doesn't need to look up to know what night it is.
She was up part of last night watching the eclipse, after all. "About
as secure as it can get," she says with a one-shouldered shrug. Then
she looks at the sign for the parlor and back to Lola. "Are you waiting
to get inked or waiting on someone getting inked?"
Lola Hawkes
The
question was an authentic one, and it earned Sam a relaxed, comfortable
looking shrug and shake of her head before she gestured toward the
purple wooden door with a hitched thumb. "Nah, my cousin Anthony owns
the place. I'm waitin' up on him to finish a session, then we're headed
out."
She took another drink of her water then went on to clarify: "It's hot as fuck in there. Nice night out here, though."
Another
pause, this time for her to glance up the street and wrinkle the bridge
of her nose up some. She was a woman of the rural wilds, after all.
'Nice' was a comparative thing between city blocks and the stretching
land she called her own. "Well, neverminding the obvious."
She'd
next gesture to one of the remaining chairs (there were plenty left to
choose from) in front of the shop with a sweep of her water bottle
before she leaned sideways (not forward, leaning forward was a goddamn
ordeal) to set the bottle back down on the cement. "If you're stayin'
around you might as well sit."
Eva
Nor
is Éva the sort to hang around in front of a tattoo parlor, and
assuredly she is not hanging around anywhere. She is on the street
however; half a block away, emerging from a non-descript glass door
sandwiched between a headshop and a coffee shop, which must assuredly
lead to some sort of generic offices tucked away on the second floor.
The
door is closing behind her; she turns around and catches it with the
flat of her hand. A stranger comes out behind her: a shaggy-haired man
with sharp features and beaten-up leather jacket walks out behind her.
He says something to her.
She lifts her chin, and cants her head in response, listening.
A
beat passes and she shakes her head. He slips past her, turns one day
down the sidewalk. Éva goes the other, a briefcase head lightly in
hand, heels a clipped beat against the sidewalk. Sam and Lola draw her
gaze; which is dark and impassive.
Her gaze and the faintest hint of acknowledgment. No more.
She walks on.
Erich
Well well WELL.
Sam
and Lola are not the only ones to witness Eva Illeshazy coming out of a
tattoo parlor. There is also Erich, who is coming out of -- good god,
is he coming out of that vegan-friendly, gluten-free, all-organic,
paleo-diet cafe? Yes, yes he is. He is coming out of it and his eyes
are lighting up and he is about to ask Eva what tattoo she got and
where, how scandalous, except then
some shaggyhaired dude
walks out after her. And now Erich's all high-alert,
hounding-scenting-rabbit, standing very straight with his eyes keen and
his head tipped just so, about a hair short of sniffing the air. Who is
that? Why is he with Eva? Is it a threat? IS IT A BOOTY CALL, GROSS.
But then they part ways, and Erich relaxes minutely, his head turning
as he follows the disappearing form of his kinswoman
(ridiculous
to think of her like that, really, like maybe he could and should take
care of her better than she could take care of herself when the woman is
like forty years old with three kids and a full-time, high-paying,
respected career)
until she, in fact, disappears. Hmm. Odd odd
odd. He mental-shrugs. He pops the lid off his hot chocolate and he
blows across the steamy surface. Sips.
Sam Evans
Sam
does confirm that Lola has the correct name for her. She's better with
names, probably for a lot of reasons, but mostly it's training. And
working in public relations once upon a time. She doesn't fault Lola
for having to ask, doesn't mind it at all, actually. They only saw each
other really the one time (the other times were almost too brief to
count, and they didn't include names given), so far anyway.
"Oh,
nice," says Sam, because that does sound nice. Going out with family
after a day of sweating it out over a chair with a tattoo needle in
hand, and whatever it is that Lola does with her days. Sam makes no
assumptions about what the kinswoman does with her time, since she
herself has so many hobbies and work-related and family things on her
own plate, and they don't ever seem terribly connected.
"What
are-" she starts, but a rock guitar riff (that sounds an awful lot like
the award-winning song from a recent Disney musical) issues from her
pocket. Holding up her finger to Lola, she says, "Hang on a sec I need
to take this."
She turns away briefly to answer the call, and what
she hears causes her brow to furrow and her mouth to twist. She nods
her head even though obviously the only witness to the motion is Lola
and the other people on the street, but she adds an, "Uh huh. Hm.
Okay. Yeah, I know. Thanks, George, see you soon."
Ending the
call, she slides the phone back into her pocket and returns her
attention to Lola, her expression apologetic. "I'd love to, but my kid
needs me. Rain check?" She would have given Lola her number after the
Shorty Lu's incident, and gotten some means of contact her in return
hopefully. If not, Lola would definitely have her number. She heads
off in search of her car, saying, "Enjoy your evening. Stay safe!" as
she goes.
Lola Hawkes
A question began, but
ended just as quick, interrupted by a ringing phone. Lola didn't look
put off, but simply tipped her head to one side so her neck would pop
before simply sitting still, casting eyes about while listening to
Samantha take her phone call. In this interim of time the distinguished
Shadow Lord woman, Eva, caught her eye. There was a moment where they
nodded to one another, then the woman was on her way. Up the sidewalk a
ways there was Erich the Shadow Lord Ahroun, sipping something from a
cup and looking like a lion scoping out the plain before him (he
couldn't help it, it was just the nature of Garou to appear as such).
Attention
was brought back by Sam explaining that she had to be on her way. All
that she got in answer was a bit of a 'Hmm', a hum of affirmation and
understanding, followed by: "See you around."
Then the Glass Walker was on her way.
This
left Lola to sit, staked out in front of the tattoo parlor as though
she was anchored there, like she belonged there. Something about it
spoke of a guard dog's behavior, though motherhood in the making did a
fair job of counteracting that.
If Erich looked her way she would
wave. Otherwise she would simply keep an eye on the Garou where he was
and let him have his night. She didn't have any business to talk, and
she remembered the last time they attempted to speak politics when the
moon was heavy as it was.
Melantha Argyris
They
walk out of the weird cafe. Erich, and then a second or two later,
Melantha, in jeans and hoodie and sneakers, following his gaze. She
sees Eva, sees Erich go all abuzz with energy about it, all curiosity
and so forth, but she doesn't think much of it. Eva is a lawyer,
right? Maybe she has a reason. Or.
She's holding Erich's hand, fingers laced loosely and comfortably, and she notices Lola, who is like, seriously
pregnant at the moment. She blinks, also slightly recognizing the
shorter woman hurrying off. Erich may or may not be looking that way.
But Melantha is. And a second later, Erich will be, because Erich is
being tugged slightly, is seeing Melantha give a nod in Lola's
direction.
Erich
Erich is tugged along. Erich, naturally, looks to see where they're going. Erich sees Lola! He waves back.
And then they kinda catch up to Lola, and Lola is ginormous,
and Erich kinda stares at her belly for a while before coming up with
the same question she's been asked ten thousand bijillion times:
"When are you due?"
Lola Hawkes
Some
odd number of weeks or so ago, Lola may have still gnashed teeth at the
question. That was back when she'd initially started showing and the
question was still new. She'd gotten tired of answering truthfully
because then the questions of 'what, how do you not know?' would come,
but she was too stubborn and proud a creature to just curve her spine to
what was expected and make up a date to recite to people either. So,
her patience to the question has improved, and the answer she'd settled
on telling people when they approached was precisely what she had to
offer Erich and Melantha (whose interlaced fingers were stared at openly
as they approached, but not for too very long because soon she was
looking up into faces instead).
"Summer." She glanced to Erich when she answered, then glanced down at her stomach to follow his eyes. It's true, she was
big. Third trimester, they would probably believe her if she said
'anytime' big. Except people who worked within doctors offices or those
who were simply around people bringing babies into the world often for
other reasons knew that women still got plenty bigger than that. If
Lola and Hector's calculations were right she still had plenty (not
enough never enough) time left.
Still, she folded her hands to
rest them at the shelf made by that stomach and added: "Hopefully,
anyway." And, to swing the subject: "What are you two up to?" There's
a hint-note of curious suspicion there, but she was a Uktena after
all. They all had their way of being drawn to curiosities and secrets
and mysteries like moths to flames.
Melantha Argyris
'Summer',
Lola says, and Melantha just nods, looking her over, thoughtful.
"June, maybe," she says, without really thinking of it, without really
thinking it's a 'thing'. It's a guess. Her eyes are a bit pink on the
lower lids; did she weep recently? Not much. No splotches. No
puffiness. Then again, girls like her always cry pretty, don't they?
Her
eyes come back up; the kid will keep til the kid stops keeping. She
doesn't balk at the question, just sips her chai. They both have paper
cups. Compostable, biodegradable cups. "Just got some food over
there," she points with her cup at the cafe across the way. "What about
you?"
Erich
"That's still a really long time,"
Erich says, unenviously. "I guess less so if it's June, but. It could
be a really long time.
"And yeah, we were getting some food. They
have chicken. It's not all granola. I hear the granola is good
though. I didn't get any, I can't eat that stuff." And then echoing
without quite realizing he's echoing: "What about you?"
Lola Hawkes
Melantha's
answer was considered with a nod. That's about what Lola was figuring
too. Erich's expressing how long of a time it was until June came
around was met with a flat stare. The Kinswoman's lips pressed
together, her brows flexed down some, and she half-scowled half just
flatly stared at the Ahroun for a second before stating in a tone as dry
and flat as the look she'd given him: "Yeah. It sure is."
But
she isn't one to scold someone for their lack of sensitivity. Instead
she moves to other topics, other thoughts. She's distracted by
something about the pair. Not that they are together, they ran in a
pack together (though if you asked Lola and her traditional roots there
wasn't any sense or reason to have a Kinfolk actually added to the ranks
of a pack, not when they couldn't go all the places the wolves could
go, but again nobody asked her). She was curious about Melantha's
crying eyes, and about Erich's rambling about granola.
Soon enough
she decides the pair of them are probably stoned, and she had no qualms
with that. Found it a damn fine idea, given the moon's blooded face
last night and the continued swell to full tonight. To answer the
question that both had posed to her, in their way:
"My cousin runs
the shop." Of course, she's referring to the one she's set up in front
of. "Waitin' up on him." Simply put, but most things that she had to
speak to tended to be. She moved her hands, pressing the left palm to
the side of her stomach (a kick or flip had made her uncomfortable),
then she reached down for her water bottle before grabbing the back of
her chair and pushing herself up to her feet. Though balance and range
of motion were impacted, she was still able to get her ass up out of a
chair unhindered. Being built for nothing but the physical in the first
place helped.
"Things've been quiet, it seems. Good time for
it." Her voice was low enough that their conversation could be skipped
and missed by any that passed by. The other chairs were empty, they
weren't crowded by pedestrians. So Lola twisted the lid off the bottle,
took a drink, and added: "Storm always follows the calm, though. Just
hoping it gives another two months before it does."
A raised eyebrow, then, and this question is directed more at Erich: "Anythin' been goin' on at the Spire?"
Melantha Argyris
Lola's
little 'half' scowl and 'half' flat stare at Erich just being Erich,
before that dry bit of snark, already has Melantha's back up. She may
not be one to scold, but she sure doesn't play her cards close to her
vest, either. Melantha's just staring at her, holding Erich's hand in
one and holding her chai in the other, and she stares unabashedly while
Lola breezily judges them in the back of her mind.
Melantha is still staring at her as Lola rises. Her brow quirks at the storm always follows the calm comment. She asks Erich a question. Melantha's the one who answers.
"Not much," she counters. "Anything going on at the old rock quarry?"
Erich
Erich just looks confused.
Lola Hawkes
"Nothing worth reporting, especially."
Whatever
stiffness may have gone into Melantha's spine went unnoticed, must
have, for Lola didn't bat a lash at it, didn't refocus that semi-scowl
onto the other Kinfolk instead. Her expression had relaxed once more
and she tucked her free hand into a cardigan pocket, the one holding the
water bottle tapped out a rhythm with the mostly empty container
lightly against the bare skin above her knee.
"Like I said--
quiet. Hector and I ran across some unpleasants out hunting few weeks
back, but they were quick business. No whispers from the East or West
about Our Old Friends either. Just... no pulse."
Clearly she's
more focused on her distrust and suspicion of things being relaxed and
easy. Lola was made from the same iron that greatswords and spearheads
were born of, and in a War as great as theirs a lack of movement on the
field only made her wary. It couldn't occur to her to just be thankful
instead, it seems.
Erich
Finally the penny drops.
"Oh -- you guys are talking about Lola's place and the Cold Crescent?
I didn't know you lived in a rock quarry. And man, tell people to stop
calling it the Spire. It's like... not a spire! That makes me think
of pointy things. I still don't know who Our Old Friends are supposed
to be.
"But anyway, it's actually not that quiet. Or it is? But there's some action going on in. Uh. Dreams."
Yeah, that sounded insane.
"I
mean," he adds, "some of us have been having just these repeating
dreams. I mean repeating, night after night. Gradually moving forward a
little every night? But really, really slowly. And so far no one
really knows what it's about yet, though -- but we all seem to kinda be
in the same dream. Really far apart? But in the same ... like ...
universe."
Lola Hawkes
Then, Erich mentions
something about dreams. That catches Lola's attention. She neverminds
his correcting her about whether it should be called a Spire or not, and
neverminds that he didn't know who the old friends were either. She
was over the old news, on to the new. Considering what detail he'd
given about the dreams.
"Huh." It's all she has to say at first, but a few more seconds of thought and she pressed on.
"Tamsin
mentioned something like that. Had trouble with her hands-- said they
felt old, brittle, something like that. I told her she should seek a
Dream Walker, one of the Galliards that has the gift to see into the
dreams. You looked into one of them yourself?"
Melantha Argyris
Nope.
Nope. No, Erich, see, Melantha was making an underhanded point about
-- oh, nevermind. She just looks at him, sort of wry and fond, shaking
her head and sipping her chai. He goes on to tell Lola that it's not so
quiet, which Melantha had actually wanted to come over her and ask Lola
in the first place, but Lola... well.
Her eyebrows go up. "Erich was just talking about that inside."
Erich
"Yeah!
We totally talked to Tamsin. We were gonna go find a Galliard or a
Theurge or something too. Do you know any good ones?"
Lola Hawkes
"Knew a great Theurge. Know a great couple of Galliards, but they're all pretty young yet."
Her mother, and Celduin. This is who she's referring to.
She
may have gone on further, but the shop door opened up and a dark
complected man stepped out, pulling a hat on and finishing some farewell
over his shoulder as he went. His hair was black and stuck out at
angles that suggested need of a haircut under the hat. He wore jeans
and a black T-shirt and his arms were sleeves of colorful design. The
fact that Lola glanced over to him and lifted her eyebrows in question
suggested this was probably the person she was waiting for.
He
looked curiously at Melantha and Erich both, nodded his greeting to
them, and asked if Lola was ready to go. She was. So she bade the pair
farewell: "If you learn anything, let her know huh?" It was kind of a
Take care of Tamsin for me in tone-- the concern for the Fianna was there, folded in to the surly demeanor that the woman kept.
Soon,
though, she was on her way with a Kinfolk that Erich could sense had
only the faintest hum of Uktena heritage in him-- it ran much stronger
in Lola by grace of her mother's blood. They spoke as they walked,
bouncing comfortably between Spanish and English as they pleased.
Sounded like they were going for food.
Erich
"I'll let you know too," Erich calls after Lola as she departs. "Well, if I see you again soon."
And he turns to Melantha, raising his eyebrows. "Home?"
Melantha Argyris
Melantha
just nods to Erich, smiles. "Home." As they turn, she looks back,
nodding to Lola. "Night, Lola." Gives a little wave with her
chai-drinkin' hand, and the kinfolk part, going opposite directions.
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