Lola Hawkes
Even though it was the first day of the
month of December, which is supposed to be the doorway into a long,
cold, dark winter, the Uktena pair had awoken that morning to bright
blue skies, fluffy clouds, and enough sun to make the top of your head
and shoulders warm. It was in the fifties, and sweaters would suffice.
No need for that big winter cape that Lola wears when it's frigid.
Over
the past week or so the number of naps that Lola's found herself
falling into has decreased. Though she still smells everything with the
similar sensitivity of a wolf (but only in obnoxious ways), the
queasiness has since quelled as well. She was out chopping up wood with
Hector when he suggested that they get away from the house and the
typical patrol paths. They could go out for a hike along one of the
beaten down trails, like a normal Colorado couple. Lola was bemused,
and found herself not only unable to argue with the idea, but actually
pleased with it.
So, about two hours later it's close to noon and
the big rusty white truck that Lola drives is parked in a small dirt lot
at the bottom of a trailhead. Lola's been running warmer than typical,
thanks to the way your body works while pregnant, so she's left her
canvas jacket in the car. Instead she's dressed in the one pair of
maternity jeans that she has procured, for over the past two weeks her
stomach has swollen enough that even her loose jeans don't want to
button anymore. Over this she wears a comfortable brown sweatshirt with
an almost scarf-like bunching of fabric around the neck rather than a
hood. The sweater isn't loose, but fits comfortably. Over the past
week or so her stomach has gotten to a point where it's impossible to
mistake that she's pregnant if she's wearing fitted clothes, but in this
sweater it's still possible that she's just rocking a little extra
weight about the middle.
She has a backpack on her back, both
straps about her shoulders, and is wearing a ball cap with her ponytail
looped through the back. The trail that she'd selected for them is out
in the woods, so that their path is surrounded by trees and rocks. It's
approximately two miles deep into the woods, and after about half of a
mile it curves and starts to hug a shallow, rocky stream.
At this
point in time, they're just getting to the place where the trail curves
and meets the stream. Lola suggests that they pause here, not to sit,
but so that she can turn the backpack to Hector and ask: "Would'ja get
the water bottle out?"
While he's probably complying and digging
about through a backpack stuffed with rags, a first aid kit, a hunting
knife in its sheathe, and a secured thermos of soup, Lola stands with
her hands on the straps and watches a couple not too different from them
(aside from birthright and skin tone) hesitating further up the trail,
not particularly wanting to come down close to the man that feels like
he may snap and stab them.
"I told'ja that I made up with Erich,
didn't I?" She'd neglected to mention it to him directly, but Hector
may have heard this through the rumor mill by now.
Hector Ghosh
"Gee, I dunno, did you?"
Like
Hector can't remember something someone told him yesterday. Or five
years ago. The male has been gifted the ability to recall anything he
wants from whenever he wants and to recall it perfectly. He knows that
she didn't tell him. That he had to hear about it from someone who was
hanging around the Caern and feeling in a gossiping mood that day.
But
he is always in a gossiping mood. He wants to know what's going on
because it's his job to know what's going on. Someone did tell him. She
can almost hear him smiling that smile that says he thinks he's
hilarious as he zips up her pack again and hands the water bottle to her
over her shoulder.
He leans over the pack to press his lips to
her temple. Puts his hands on her hips. It's somewhat awkward with the
pack pressed between them. The pack he has been carrying isn't even his.
He found it up in the loft.
If they linger here long enough the skittish humans will continue on their way and stop looking back at them.
"Erich's
a good Ahroun. I mean, he's completely insane, but I've followed him
into some nasty situations and come out okay. You know? I'm glad you
guys made up."
Lola Hawkes
He fires back with a
'gee I dunno did you?', and Lola responds by rolling one shoulder in a
shrug and reaching back for the water bottle when she hears him zipping
the pack back up. Truth be told she didn't quite remember. She was
just trying to make conversation, was all.
The water bottle gets
its lid screwed off and Lola was about to take a drink, but paused as
Hector had leaned in from behind to kiss at her temple under the fabric
of the cap she wore and place his hands at her hips. This was awkward
with the backpack in the way-- typically if she was feeling like
reciprocating the affection she would lean back into him and hold her
face to the side of his and be still with him for a minute. Since the
backpack prevented that she instead just tipped her head toward his
mouth some and shifted her hips enough that one could press further into
his palm.
She tends to avoid sharing their relationship with
strangers, but that seems to apply more when they're around other Garou
and Kinfolk. Humans don't much seem to register on her radar. So the
couple that are uncomfortably shifting up the trail from them are
ignored utterly, and eventually they decide to go off the trail, cross
the creek, and move along the other side of it to get past them. Lola
turned to face Hector again, moving away from his hands in doing so, and
watched the couple with a half-amused smirk before she drank from the
water bottle.
A quarter of its contents are gone before she
finishes, and with a swipe of her mouth with the back of one hand she
offers the bottle to Hector next.
"Well, I thought about it and
figured that I'd said shit that didn't need saying. I mean, he's still a
fuckin' bitch for losing his shit at the ceremony, but there's no sense
in telling him that. Truthfully, I didn't know how well it would go. I
figured I'd try and say sorry and if he wouldn't accept it then fuck
him, and I'd leave it there. But he was alright-- said he was impressed
that I bothered to come apologize in the first place. So we're back on
good grounds.
"Went and saw Javed and met his packmate, that
Silver Fang, too. Eddie told me they claimed turf just north of the
Bawn, so I checked it out."
Look at you, Lola, being a regular socialite.
Hector Ghosh
Figures
Hector wouldn't want to take his hands off her once he put them there.
If one can call it a problem he has had this problem since they began
sharing a bed. That he loves her and desires her wasn't ever anything
anyone doubted. Even the Skald could tell.
So she turns to him and
since they're standing still and talking of positive things he's
watching her face with eyes that are stupid with the love he has for her
and he's petting her hair off her brow. Though the day is warm Hector
has only admitted it by virtue of leaving his gloves and hat in the car.
Leaving his outerwear in the car and wearing his sweatshirt with the
hood down.
He's acclimating to the shitty weather.
"Look at you," he says, "cavorting with the upper crust. What was it like? Is everything blinged out?"
The
forecast isn't calling for snow until Tuesday but the sky overhead is
beginning to darken and rapidly. As if night is falling.
Lola Hawkes
As
is the case whenever someone with long hair wears a ball cap, strands
like to fall loose and dangle around the face anyways. Hector's looking
at her with the puppy-dog stupid-in-love stare that he keeps when
they're just being together-- not out around people, not talking
business or politics, just existing simultaneously. Lola's face
defaults to a hard setting of strength and stone, but in times like this
it's softer, warmer, more alight. She smiles her small (but not shy,
never shy) smile back when he tucks some loose black hair back up under
the brim of her cap and chuckles at his comment.
"Yes and no. It
was all sleek and clean in there, but it's a new house. You wouldn't
believe the spread, though. She invited me in to have food and
conversation, and goes to the fridge and pulls out these pre-prepared
trays of, like..... snacks, I guess. Meat spread and cheeses on
crackers and cut up vegetables and shit. Like one of those fancy
parties where people in suits carry trays of this stuff to you."
She means to say hors d'oeuvres, but doesn't have the word for it. For some reason that one never made it into her vocabulary.
She
might have been about to say something else, but Hector's face casts a
shadow all of a sudden. Lola blinked and tipped her head back up to
check the sky through the trees above. The weather on the radio she
keeps in the kitchen said that there would be clear skies and warm
weather, but that would change in the middle of the week. When they'd
gotten out of the car the only clouds in sight were fluffy white ones
scattered here or there.
When she looked up, she saw that it
wasn't cloud cover blocking out the sun, but rather the sky itself was
darkening as though the sun had gone behind the mountain ridge already.
Her brow furrowed, and she reached into her pants pocket to check the
time on the front screen of her outdated little flip-phone.
"....The
hell...?" She asks this outloud, cautiously, and with a frown on her
face she shows the front of the phone to Hector, who has no doubt
noticed the change of light by now too. The time on the phone reads
12:28pm.
Hector Ghosh
Correction: the time on the
phone read 12:28pm when she looked at it the first time but then the
minutes began to rocket upward from 28 to 35 to 52. The hour dropped
from 12 to 11 to 10. As Hector looks at it the numbers keep on dropping.
And
he had started to say something about the spread Avery had prepared for
them but then a frown claimed his words as the darkness deepened. Now
his eyes lift from the phone's face that he might stare around at the
world around them. His nostrils flare. Lola cannot tell exactly when his
senses sharpen themselves but she can see his posture change. He holds
himself more like an upright monster than a hyperactive young man.
"I don't know," he says. "Hold onto my hand, I don't wanna lose you."
[perc + occult: sense wyrm? -2 diff because heightened senses.]
Dice: 6 d10 TN4 (3, 3, 7, 8, 8, 10) ( success x 4 )
Lola Hawkes
The
expression on Lola's face while she watches the numbers on the phone
shift and change is difficult to put into words. Her brow knits
heavily, her eyes widen, and her lips part like she's going to vocalize
her confusion and concern but she doesn't quite know how to. It takes
Hector's telling her to hold onto his hand for her to pull her eyes away
from the screen of her phone, and when she looks at him her expression
is worried and confused, but not scared. Lola hasn't shown fear easily
before, and she sure isn't going to start now, even though she's never
seen time flip itself around like this before.
Her lips press
together and she nods sternly. Quick as a lick she slips the phone back
into her pocket, no longer wanting to lose herself in watching to see
where the numbers go. She tosses the pack off her back and drops it on
the ground in front of her. One hand wraps itself up in Hector's,
fingers interlacing and locking with his. Her grip is firm without
being crushing, and he can feel the tension going all the way up her arm
from her hand alone.
She leans forward, though, the other hand
working to grope about in the back pocket of the backpack, pulling loose
the handgun that she'd stashed away. She never leaves home without
some sort of way to defend herself, and this is what she opts for now.
Gun
in hand, she straightens up and looks around, standing near to Hector,
scoping the landscape around them rather than the skies now, trying to
spy anything that may come slinking out of the trees toward them.
[Perception 3 + Alertness 2]
Dice: 5 d10 TN7 (3, 4, 4, 5, 6) ( fail )
Lola Hawkes
[Reroll, that was pitiful.]
Dice: 5 d10 TN8 (1, 7, 8, 8, 9) ( success x 3 )
Hector Ghosh
[ignore this]
Dice: 8 d10 TN5 (1, 2, 3, 6, 7, 7, 8, 8) ( success x 5 )
Hector Ghosh
[ahaha. ahaha. hah.]
Dice: 5 d10 TN10 (2, 3, 7, 7, 7) ( fail )
Hector Ghosh
In
the darkness they find each others' hands. Hector's is warm and
calloused and strong and it clasps to hers instead of knitting them
together. Not as if he's dragging her along but to give her guidance and
strength as they continue onward.
His intention appears to be to lead them back down to the truck and to get the hell out of here.
Somewhere
in the distance not so far from where the other two hikers once were
although it's hard to tell now because the clouds have covered up the
sliver-thin moon and the stars but somewhere off behind them Lola can
hear the sound of something hitting something else.
And then the sound of someone falling.
And then the sound of something chewing.
And then a scream. A high-pitched pain-drenched end-of-the-world scream.
"It
doesn't feel corrupt," Hector says. He sounds worried. More than that
he sounds if his insides feel as if they've turned to water. Ice-sweat
doesn't slick his palms but for someone who has seen some dark corners
of the Umbra it is rare that Hector does not recognize something when he
encounters it. "I don't think it's Grandfather Serpent. It reeks, though, do you--"
Just
before he cuts off Lola feels the vertigo of someone grabbing her by
the back of the neck and forcing her over a chasm though no one grabs
her and the ground is still solid beneath her feet. That internal
yawning sensation though. If this were a film it would make a sound.
All
she has right now is sound because the dark around them is so complete
and when the sensation starts to fade something hits Hector. He grunts
as the impact knocks the air from his lungs and the impact goes through
him so hard Lola feels it jolt his arm. His hand lets go of her hand and
he falls to the ground.
Lola Hawkes
They begin
making their way back down the trail, down the way they came, and Lola
snatches her backpack up and tosses it onto her back again, this time
with only one strap securing it. She wasn't going to release Hector's
hand to get the other strap on, and he probably wasn't going to let go
of her even if she wanted to anyways. Security of a first aid kit and
knife wasn't worth that risk, not in circumstances like this.
While
the world goes dark, noises reach her ears even though she can't see
much. There's a falling and crunch-crunch chewing, and her hand grasps
Hector's more firmly. Then the scream, and her muscles spasm tight, but
she doesn't startle or yelp or look afraid as much as she just looks
more serious, storm-cloudy, and worried.
Hector says that it
doesn't feel corrupt, and Lola growls out between clenched teeth: "It
doesn't have to be of the Wyrm to mean us harm." This is a fact that he
knows just as well as she does, and that's why they keep going. He's
in the middle of telling her that it smells terrible when the world goes
dark and feels like it's going to tip, even though nothing has touched
her and she's still holding Hector's hand.
Her feet stumble to a
stop and she stands bolt upright, muscles locked and still and
struggling to maintain reality though her head swims and dizziness
threatens to spill her sideways, backwards, or maybe even completely
updside-down. She's never been to a halloween amusement house, but the
sensation is not unlike walking through those tunnels that spin
black-light splashes around you. It's like that, but ten times worse.
The
sensation fades, and Lola shakes her head and pushes the wrist of the
hand holding the gun against her forehead to try and clear it. Then
there's a 'whump!' noise and Hector tenses, then goes limp to
the ground beside her like a rag doll. Lola's stomach twists
uncomfortably and she blinks hard and rapidly to clear her mind and
eyes. "Hector! Shit!"
When she's able, she crouches
down beside him and inspects him for damage. Did something hit his
head? Was he bleeding? What the hell happened to him? This analysis
is something that she only allots a few seconds for before she's
flipping the safety off her gun and looking around with wide, wild eyes
for the culprit. Her lips are peeled back from her teeth, and she
positively snarls into the darkness around her.
"Stand the fuck up and show yourself!"
Lola Hawkes
[Perception 3 + Investigation 1: Spending WP, this is important]
Dice: 4 d10 TN8 (4, 6, 8, 10) ( success x 3 ) [WP]
Hector Ghosh
As
close as she is Lola does not have to wrack her brain to draw a
connection between the impact and the fall. Her imagination may do as it
will. But before she crouches down beside Hector she hears a small wet
writhing sound near where he landed and then she hears that crunching
chewing sound faint earlier for the distance between them and the other
two hikers.
Her hands find him prone in the grass and as they
grope to find an explanation for what happened the sound abates. Unlike
the human Hector does not shriek as it does to him whatever it is it's
doing. Lola finds a long thick tubular thing attached to the back of his
neck.
Though she no doubt snatches it from his body Lola feels it
deflate if she tightens her grip on it. It leaves its skin in her hand.
Her mate was right. It does reek.
Stand the fuck up and show yourself!
Hector
makes a strangled noise where he lies on the ground and then he starts
to laugh. The thing hijacking his body has a voice thicker than his and
if Lola is willing to stretch her imagination she can convince herself
that it makes him sound as if he's been gargling with gravel but that
would imply that it sounds like him at all. This does not sound like her
mate.
It starts to stand the fuck up.
Lola Hawkes
Her
inspection of Hector had to be done mostly with hands-- all she could
see was Hector's shape prone in the grass, crumpled where he fell.
She'd felt his chest and pressed fingers to his throat. Lola was
surprisingly well trained when it came to first aid. If she had a
better way with people and any desire to leave The Homestead and start
earning a living, she'd make one hell of an EMT. But she didn't want to
go save people that had choked on chicken bones or stopped breathing
under the weights of their own obese chests. She learned this to be of
use on the battle field, to know what to do when someone gets part of
their belly blown open or takes shrapnel to the neck.
Still, the
basics are there, and she knows he's alive because he's breathing and
his pulse is there. While she was inspecting his neck she found
something slimy, like an oversized leach, attached to the back of it,
under his hair. Her eyes widened, her jaw clenched, but she said
nothing about it. No one was listening anyways. She instead wrapped
her bare hand around the slimy thing, biting her short fingernails into
it to keep her grip, and yanked it free. It deflated, and she tossed it
on the ground and adjusted her position to crush it under her boot.
When
she'd turned and yelled for whatever it was that was doing this to show
itself, the only response she got came from the man on the ground
beside her. He started to laugh... if you could call it that. The
noise was wet and rocky and deep and unlike anything she'd heard from
him before-- even the strangled noises of Rage boiling over and trying
to seize control.
Lola blinked, surprised, and felt her heart
seize in her chest. There's a cold dread that wraps over her like a
damp quilt in the middle of winter.
I can't kill this enemy, she realizes.
Hector's
body begins to stand up, and Lola tosses the backpack off her back and
is quick to climb on top of Hector before whatever's controling him
manages to find his feet completely. She's going to try and pin him to
the ground and keep him down there. The gun is left on the ground,
within a few inches of the discarded pack.
Lola Hawkes
[Strength 3 + Athletics 3]
Dice: 6 d10 TN6 (2, 4, 8, 9, 10, 10) ( success x 4 )
Hector Ghosh
[monster!hector's str + athletics]
Dice: 8 d10 TN10 (1, 1, 3, 5, 6, 6, 9, 10) ( success x 1 )
Hector Ghosh
The
yawning sensation comes for her again. Off in the distance comes the
sound of splintering bones and splattering blood. Another shriek follows
it but this one is grief-warped. This is the closest Lola will ever
come to blindness without permanently losing her eyesight. That alone is
explanation enough for the vertigo.
That and the fact that she
climbs onto the back of someone four inches taller than her in his human
skin. It's a minor blessing that he stays in that skin. Lola has seen
him when he takes on his war form. Even his dire wolf form would be
impossible to kill.
It isn't impossible to kill him in his human
skin but homid Garou can shrug off bullets. This is what gave birth to
the myth that werewolves cannot be destroyed with anything other than
silver bullets. They are not immortal. They're just tough.
And
Lola cannot bring herself to shoot the thing out of him because it's
wearing her man's skin. So she pins it to the ground. It goes down with
another grunt of lost air that sounds nothing like Hector's voice and
then it lies still a moment. She can hear it working Hector's jaws and
gnashing Hector's teeth. Tasting Hector's blood.
Beneath her Lola can feel the thing move Hector's hand towards where she left the gun.
Lola Hawkes
Lola
managed to knock the legs out from under Hector's body and caused him
to topple onto the ground again. She was virtually blind, the darkness
was so thick and palpable, but her hands groped and managed to find his
rib cage, his shoulders. From there she was familiar enough with his
body to know his proportions and where she would need to be to keep him
down. So she clambered on top of him, swung a leg over his waist and
set her weight down square on his stomach. He tried to struggle, to
dislodge her, but Lola was strong and capable and he was kept firm to
the ground.
She put her forearm on his collarbone and leaned her
weight forward to keep his chest and shoulders down. She can hear the
clack-clash of teeth coming from his head, but for a moment she's
distracted when another scream cuts through the night-dense air around
her. She twisted her head, trying in vain to see what was happening
even though she already knew that her eyes could find nothing, no matter
how they struggled.
Panic tried to squeeze at her heart, tried to
force a noise that was small and wretched from her throat, but Lola was
a proud thing and wouldn't let whatever was out there causing this have
the satisfaction, especially not if it could hear her through Hector's
ears.
His arm moved, hand groping off to the side where her gun
had been discarded. "Oh, no you don't," she growled and moved the arm
that wasn't pinning his chest down to snatch at his arm, to try and drag
it back. If she's successful in this struggle she'll have his arm down
at his side, clamped there and held in place with her knee.
While she's struggling, she's trying to reach Hector through whatever it is that's possessing him.
"Hector, Jesus fuck, snap out of it. Please, come on, push through! I don't wanna bash your head open, come on!"
Hector Ghosh
[come on heck]
Dice: 5 d10 TN9 (1, 2, 5, 7, 8) ( fail )
Hector Ghosh
For
a moment it feels as if Hector hears her. Doesn't sound like it. It
sounds as if the thing inside of him is enjoying this. The violence and
the threat of violence and the weight of her healthy hot-blooded fertile
body atop this meat sack it's inhabiting.
But the body stills.
She cannot see his face in the dark to know what his eyes look like
right now. No light to glint off of the corneas and let her know if
they're open or closed. If they're rolled back in his head or bloodshot.
It stills and it listens to her and a ripple courses through her mate's
spine. Like he is fighting it.
Then a laugh comes out of his
throat thicker than before. She can smell blood on his breath and the
metal smack of it is louder than anything she's heard tonight. With her
hand on his wrist she can feel the heat as it leeches out of his body
into the ground. With her forearm on his chest she can feel that he
isn't breathing like a normal person would be breathing.
She can't feel a heartbeat in his chest.
Do it, says the voice. She can feel it in her mind more than hear it.
Lola Hawkes
For
a moment, and only that, the writhing and thrashing under her stills.
She's still trying in vain to see, her eyes are aimed where she knows
his face would be and the pupils are as wide as they can go without
chemical influence, trying desperately to take in light that she already
knows isn't there. There's a chew-chew in the distance, floating in
the air like spider webs, and she's certain that whatever it was that
hit Hector has already found the hikers that were out enjoying the day
along with them. She's tense, worried that they're going to spring on
her.
Well, not too worried, really. Those people she's not afraid to kill. It's Hector's well being that she's invested in.
That
stillness passes quick enough, though, and the wet-gravel laugh comes
again. Lola lets out a shuddering breath, something between frustration
and the budding beginning of despair, and she leans forward on his
body. Her weight doesn't shift off of him by any means, she's still
able to hold him down, but the small round firmness of her stomach
presses into his and she touches her forehead to her own forearm. The
cap had come off during the struggle, was on the ground not too far from
everything else she's discarded.
His skin is growing cold, his
heartbeat isn't thumping in his chest anymore although she's certain it
should be like a jackhammer. And there's a voice in her head that's
urging her, trying to pull her toward violence. She grinds her teeth
against it and shakes her head, forehead still against her arm. She
wished desperately that there was a Theurge there with her, to peel back
the layers and find this thing and chase it off, but there's no one
else but them and the other fallen hikers out there in the trees.
What do I do? What do I do? Get a fucking grip, that's what you do.
"I
ain't doing shit," she mutters to the voice in her head, to the thing
in Hector's. Just holding him here is accomplishing nothing, so she
takes a chance and removes her arm from his chest. Her hands seek the
sides of his face instead and upon finding it hold it firm, fingers
avoiding clamping teeth. She shifts her weight on top of him, stretches
her body up his further and touches her brow to his now instead. His
breath is metallic like blood, he's probably bitten up his tongue and
cheeks, but she tries anyways.
"This is your chance, Hector. You push through or I'm knockin' ya out and dragging your ass back to the truck. Come on, help me."
Hector Ghosh
[hectorrrrr?]
Dice: 5 d10 TN8 (1, 5, 7, 9, 9) ( success x 2 )
Hector Ghosh
[ignore this]
Dice: 8 d10 TN6 (2, 3, 3, 4, 8, 8, 8, 9) ( success x 4 )
Lola Hawkes
[Stamina 4]
Dice: 4 d10 TN6 (4, 8, 9, 10) ( success x 3 )
Hector Ghosh
[rage check, +1 because reasons]
Dice: 6 d10 TN7 (2, 4, 4, 4, 4, 8) ( success x 1 )
Hector Ghosh
If
Hector were gone she would know it. She would not know it as fierce and
fast as Tamsin and Thomas and Jack would know it. They would feel it
like a bullet to the gut. Like something burst inside of them. When he
dropped to the ground in the Umbra and lay still for a few seconds while
his spirit railed against the trip back to the Homelands Tamsin and
Thomas felt it. They panicked. They did not know what to do. They were
far away and did not know where he was. Tamsin thought he was with Lola.
He wouldn't do anything stupid if he was with Lola.
Something has
blotted the sun out of their eyes. Made them think it was night. That
time had ceased to be a relevant thing. Something plucked off two hikers
and took over Hector's body faster than it took Lola to realize she
could not bring herself to shoot him.
Their baby is not big enough
for them to feel her yet. They do not know if she is even a she. Hector
calls her a she. Neither do they know if she is Kin or True. If she
will scream to be so near his Rage or if his heartbeat will calm her.
Lola's
belly presses against his. His teeth show themselves in the dark and
that rank blood smell comes out of his throat again. A sigh without
breath. Her anguish could nourish it. It wants to hear her scream the
way the hiker screamed when her lover burst apart in front of her.
It
gets nothing from her steeling herself against the impossible and
grabbing her mate's cold face. Small solace that it is his face she
finds and not the face of an unfamiliar or a monster. No warmth in it
though. This is what his face would feel like if he were dead. The blood
oozing out of his mouth, over her thumbs, is still warm.
She begs
him. The thing pushes that awful dead-breath at her again. Then Hector
twitches underneath her. Snuffles and exhales through his nose. Hits her
with blood-spray as it catches the breath and rides it out of his
airway. He arches his back not to get her off of him but like to get
this thing out of him and she can hear him grit his teeth so he won't
scream but there's only so much he can do.
It went in through the back of his neck.
Lola
recognizes the sound it makes as it leaves: cracking bones and
splattering viscera. He doesn't have time to scream and he's still alive
she knows he is his blood is hot when it sprays her in the face and it
spurts out of him with every beat of his heart after that but that sound
is the sound that killed the hiker in the distance.
The thing
doesn't feel like a leech when it rushes away through the space between
their bodies. It feels like smoke. Huge and hot and hungry still.
That
yawning sensation hits her again and she feels it acute and hard this
time. Feels it in her stomach. She weathers it like she has weathered so
many other things but she has to steel herself against it.
Beneath
her Hector trembles from the stun of what happened and he chokes and
coughs around his blood and his hands grab hold of her elbows. She can
see the outline of his body. The sky is lightening but everything is
blue-black for the slowness of its lightening
Footsteps in the
sodden dead leaves. Something is behind her and Hector is trying to
speak but he can't. She can feel the tension in him though. The panic
and the flare-up of his Rage. He wants to get up. He wants to kill this
goddamned thing. If he takes another hit he's going to walk out of here
with another battle scar if he walks out of here at all.
Lola Hawkes
The
struggle that takes place is a vicious one, and contained within the
non-existant space between their two bodies. Lola stayed on top of
Hector, legs on either side of his waist, belly and chest pressed to his
and her face up beside his. This is very similar to a position they'll
take in bed when tossing about sweat-slicked between the sheets, but
there's nothing heated or lusty about this. It's wanting, but not
wanton. She wants Hector, but only because she wants him back.
He
coughs and he struggles and there's a crunching noise of bones snapping
and grinding. His spine arches, presses him nearer against her, and
blood sprays from his mouth and hits her face. It gets in
wide-searching eyes that were unprepared so she has to squeeze them
closed, and coats her lips, but she doesn't care. She's not worried for
poisons that may lay there, she's just trying to brace him and get him
through this, encouraging him to come forward with low urging whispers
against the side of his face, with hands that move from his cheeks into
his hair and tremble there, wanting to feel the warmth rush back into
his scalp.
Then there's a burst of dense heat that comes from his
face, not the slug that had burrowed through his neck but some tangible
smokey substance instead. Then he's holding onto her arms and trembling
and snarling, but his body is worn and half-broken. Lola makes a noise
of relief, animal sounding and a cousin of a sob but not quite there
yet.
Then, crunching behind her. Lola's nerves are strung tight
like an over-tuned piano wire waiting to snap, and the sound of
something approaching behind her triggers a response that is as beastial
as the man that lay beneath her. The sky was lightening, her head was
still dizzy and muscles still sore from that vertigo sensation that
tried to rattle her bones and burst her skull, but had failed for this
Kinfolk is wrought from iron and blood.
Whatever it was that came
up behind her was sprung upon without a second thought. She didn't even
stop to sweep the blood from her stinging eyes and register the fact
that she could see properly again. She'd ask questions only after this
thing was no longer a threat.
[Init! Dex 3 + Wits 3 + ....]
Dice: 1 d10 TN6 (5) ( fail )
Hector Ghosh
So:
Lola springs to her feet the moment she realizes something she can
actually attack has coalesced out of the darkness. The sky continues to
lighten as the creature's hold lessens but as it lessens its hold it
gains its own body.
Hector left his medicine bag in the truck.
Sometimes Hector does not make intelligent decisions. In this instance
it proves to have been an unintentionally intelligent decision. It would
have smashed when he hit the ground earlier and then he would really be
in a world of hurt. But it means he has to lie there and let Lola kill
this creature on her own.
His ego is going to be more bruised by the end of this than he is now.
The
sky is dawn-bright when the creature appears to her as a sexless pale
thing. Bloodless pale. Pink eyes and white hair pale. Big enough it
could take on a wolf without quailing. When Lola runs at it it bares
teeth like razors and hisses at her.
If it can't get her to scream it'll find another way to feed from her.
[+7]
Hector Ghosh
Dice: 1 d10 TN6 (7) ( success x 1 )
Lola Hawkes
[Oh hell it's going first. Gonna try something new and go on the defense!
Splitting Actions: Dodge, go for gun]
Hector Ghosh
[action: chomp lola!]
Dice: 6 d10 TN6 (3, 4, 4, 6, 7, 8) ( success x 3 )
Lola Hawkes
[Dodge: Dexterity 3 + Athletics 3, -2 dice for split, spending WP last minute!]
Dice: 4 d10 TN6 (5, 7, 7, 10) ( success x 4 ) [WP]
Hector Ghosh
The
creature launches itself at her as Lola launches herself at it. Its
teeth would have caught her neck if she had not woven out of its way.
Pregnancy has not yet proven to be a terrible burden to her and it does
not start today. She shoots away from it and goes back for the gun.
On
the ground Hector gives up trying to stand. It isn't that he thinks
she's got this and doesn't need help but that will be a way to save face
later when he tells the story. As she runs back away from the thing he
knows she's going for the gun and not for him.
The Galliard grimaces and pushes the gun across the dirt closer to her. She nabs it up and whirls to face the creature.
It's right behind her.
Lola Hawkes
[Round Two: Fight!]
Dice: 1 d10 TN6 (9) ( success x 1 )
Hector Ghosh
+7!
Dice: 1 d10 TN6 (5) ( fail )
Lola Hawkes
Lola
had burst forward before registering what it was that she was
attacking. The figure was a bit blurred, but impossible to mistake as
anything but inhuman. She sees a wash of bloodless pale skin on a
humanoid being that would be large enough to grapple with a wolf with
bare hands-- probably hovering somewhere between six and seven feet
tall. There are pink eyes and sharp teeth that flash, and Lola's weight
hasn't changed enough that it makes it difficult for her to move
quickly and maneuver as she's so used to doing.
That thing opens
its mouth and lunges at her teeth first, its face flying quickly toward
her own. Lola's heels dig into the dirt and she bends at the waist,
dipping and ducking under the leech-looking thing's extended torso.
With her boots still ground into the dirt she launched herself back,
back to where she left Hector, back to her pack, to the gun that has
saved her life and the lives of others many times before.
Hector
was struggling to get up, and Lola's eyes flashed at him. She wanted to
yell at him to stay down, but this wasn't the time, and she had other
things to worry about. She was thankful when he found the gun for her
and slid it toward her, so she wouldn't have to fumble and hunt on her
own. She stooped down to snatch up the gun, and was thankful that the
safety was already off.
The woman wouldn't fall to her knees to
gather it up, or twist herself prone on her back to get a better shot.
She kept her feet on the ground and lifted the gun, lining up a shot
with center mass and pulling the trigger twice-- blam blam.
[Spltting Actions: Two Shots. WP on second shot
Shot 1: Dexterity 3 + Firearms 3, -1 dice for split Diff 4 for Close Range]
Dice: 4 d10 TN4 (2, 3, 6, 8) ( success x 2 )
Lola Hawkes
[Damage 1: Base 6 for Heavy Revolver, +1 Suxx]
Dice: 7 d10 TN6 (1, 2, 5, 5, 7, 8, 9) ( success x 3 )
Hector Ghosh
[yeah okay you can soak lethal i guess]
Dice: 2 d10 TN8 (1, 5) ( fail )
Hector Ghosh
[Gaia is like "bitch no you can't"]
Lola Hawkes
[Second Shot: Dexterity 3 + Firearms 3, -3 split, Diff 4 for Close Range, spending WP]
Dice: 3 d10 TN4 (7, 7, 10) ( success x 4 ) [WP]
Lola Hawkes
[Damage 2: Base 6 + 3 Suxx]
Dice: 9 d10 TN6 (3, 7, 7, 7, 7, 8, 8, 8, 9) ( success x 8 )
Hector Ghosh
[lolllll]
Dice: 2 d10 TN8 (9, 9) ( success x 2 )
Hector Ghosh
Two
shots ring out at the edge of the woods. This close to a hiking trail
the person caught discharging the weapon would be in all sorts of legal
hot water if the park ranger weren't missing. If the two hikers who were
around earlier hadn't gone missing too.
They don't have time to
investigate the ranger base or the hikers' fates whether or not they'd
want to. The sky is bright as it was the segment of an hour ago before
talk of buried grudges and amnesty between tribes was occluded by
darkness.
The creature rises up before her. Lola cocks back the
hammer and blasts a round into its chest. Wisps of smoke not born of the
barrel leave out its front and back and it leaks tendrils of darkness
out through its milk-white shell. She cocks the hammer again and when
she shoots it a second time its head does not blast brain and blood onto
the trees behind it.
The entire body sublimates into smoke that
moves up through the air like ink and a chorus of hell-fettered screams
bursts underneath the gunfire. That swell of vertigo comes at her one
last time weaker than its first lashing. It's gone.
One bird chirps. Then another.
"Fuck!" Hector says from his place on the ground.
Lola Hawkes
BLAM
The
first bullet drove through what would be a left pectoral muscle on a
creature more developed, less sexless and sleek and amphibious looking.
Smoke drifted from the wound instead of blood, and Lola didn't take
time to stop and ask questions. She cocked the hammer back and fired
again.
BLAM
This time the bullet flies
true, strikes the thing in the head, and it would be the kind of shot
that sent the back of a skull flying in pieces into the creek nearby,
that splashed blood in a wide and gruesome arc across the land behind.
Rather than blood and gristle flying free, though, the entire body
dissolves before it even has a chance to fall to the ground from the
force of the killing blow. Screams and smoke waft up into the air, and
then the sky is blue and the air is clear and warm once more.
From the ground where Hector had fallen, a curse is let loose.
A bird chirps tentatively, and its partner answers it back.
All clear? they ask.
All clear, they confirm.
Lola's
hands don't shake often, but today they do when the revolver is
lowered. They shake badly enough that the gun slips and hits the
ground, but thankfully does not discharge upon doing so. She stares in a
semi-stunned state at the place where the thing had been standing, and
her bronze-brown face takes on an ashen cast. Her feet move, finally,
shuffling at first, but then a quick three-four steps are taken to move
her off the side of the trail. One hand grasps the trunk of a tree as
she leans forward and empties the contents of her stomach, lunch that
they'd had before leaving, onto the black dirt between some bushes.
Hector Ghosh
The beauty of the swear he chose is that most of its power is in the lips and teeth. He only needs his throat to end the word. The concussive force of its last phoneme is swallowed up by the wound where Hector's throat was a few moments ago.
Whatever it was that took him over burst out beneath his Adam's apple. Looks like something went at his throat with a chainsaw. No artistry in its escape. He evicted it by force of will alone and as he lies on the ground struggling to breathe and process what just happened to them the birds are singing and the sun is shining and the stream is trickling in the distance.
His woman does not come back to him but rushes off to vomit into the bushes instead. She glared at him so he would not get up as she fired shots into the corporeal nightmare. As he lies there he hears her empty her stomach and the sound of it hurts him near as bad as the wound does.
Lola can hear him snuffling wet through his mouth and coughing to clear his throat. Blood has pumped down the front of his sweatshirt so that the gray material has turned rust-red. He is not shaking or shivering anymore but he's in a fair amount of pain. If he had to run right now he would be slowed by the force of it. Staggering instead of running.
And it occurs to him that he doesn't remember what happened between the darkness falling and coming to with Lola sitting astride him like they'd been making love instead of fighting a monster out of him. He knows something was inside of him and it came out through his neck.
That's what sends a shiver through him. Not the injury itself or the pain but the thought of what caused it. He doesn't want to lie here anymore. Hector rolls onto his stomach and pushes himself to his hands and knees. Blood splashes the ground. He coughs. Everything fucking hurts, not just his throat.
"L--" The beauty of his woman's name. He has to spit his own blood to clear his throat. If he has never needed her before he does right now. "Lola?"
Lola Hawkes
At least she didn't have to hit her knees. Lola reassured herself with that, the one handle of pride that she's still able to cling to, much as she grasps the bark of the tree trunk with her left hatnd while bracing her right hand on her knee. There's a sickening splatting noise that comes with throwing up, and Hector has to listen to her retching and dry heaving for a dozen seconds longer before her panting breathing starts to even our, with one little gasp for air tucked in somewhere in the middle.
Behind her, Hector rolls himself off his back and onto his knee and coughs and splatters blood from his throat with his struggle. She wipes her mouth with the back of her hand, which in turn is wiped onto her pant leg, and twists to look under her left arm. That she finds Hector half-gargling her name behind her creases a scowl of concern and strain and rage, livid and hot and terrible across her face.
She's exhausted, spent, burnt out emotionally from the ordeal they just went through. She couldn't quite wrap her mind around what just happened. It wasn't a Fomori, and Hector had already told her that it wasn't of the Wyrm so she knew that this wasn't a Bane or anything of that sort. She didn't know of any spirits that were able to force their way through skin and possess a Garou. She knew how difficult it was to fix a Bane into a Garou, and that those created Abominations. There was a reason that Abominations were as rare as they were-- she knew that something shouldn't be able to take Hector over, and by transferring physically into him through a leech no less.
That the sky had gone black and time had folded in upon itself couldn't even be considered yet. She had to push that to the side or she may break right then and there.
Lola turned away from the tree and the edge of the trail and walked back to Hector. Her steps are slow and deliberate, and her face is still ashen as she comes to kneel beside him. He can clearly see how her hands shake, for it is so abnormal, they are always so steady and sure after all. She braces one hand on his flank at first, as she would were he wearing his Wolf skin instead of his Man body, and as she pats him there she tells him, simply: "Shut up. Stop talking." Her voice is a thin, strained thing, but at least she still means exactly what she says and says exactly what she means.
The hand that isn't touching him goes to the pack again, and this time it pulls out two of the rags that she'd packed along with her. These are shaken out, then folded together to create a dense rectangular mass of fabric. She turns back to Hector and guides his body to move as she needs it to. She takes his left hand from the ground, dusts the debris of dirt and crushed leaves from it, and places the rags in his hand. She then guides his hand to his throat and places it there, puts her hand over his and forces firm pressure-- not enough to choke, but as much as is needed for a wound like that. Her eyes are hard, even though the hand over his trembles, and she ducks her head to enforce eye contact when she tells him: "Hold it, and hold it tight. I'm getting you to the truck. Stand up."
She'll then swing the pack up over one shoulder and position herself to tuck a shoulder under his and guide him up to his feet.
Hector Ghosh
It is a good thing no spirit ever blessed him with the gift of ignoring his injuries. The pain of his wound means he does not argue with her when Lola comes to his side and kneels with him in the dirt and tells him to shut up. Brusque but he doesn't flinch with the harshness of her speech.
If she did not love him and he did not love her they would not be here right now. They are tore-up and spent and terrified but at least they're alive. At least she can put a hand on his back and shaking though they both are Lola knows that the touch settles him. His Rage is hot and high now but he's stronger than he used to be. It does not overwhelm him.
So he leans back into her hand and ends up falling on his ass in the dirt. Tries to tuck himself in against her side to seek and give comfort but they need to get the hell out of here. Lola finds clean cloth to press to his gushing neck and Hector lets her move his hand to hold it there.
Up they go. Hector does not have to lean on her but they want to move and they want to move fast. That shoulder latches onto her and he starts to snarl but the noise hurts him. It turns into a sharp whine high in his throat.
It takes them fifteen minutes to make it back down the trail to where they parked the car. Maybe longer. He shakes with the same uncertain anger that makes her shake but his is tinged with Rage and the void where his experience ought to be. And he's staggering like a drunk. Like he's dizzy off of something potent. These days he cannot drink at all because his scar runs deep. His tolerance is shot. He would get drunk off of one shot of alcohol.
He holds it together until they get to the truck and then he stumbles and nearly falls. That's the thing that makes him make this godawful noise like he's fighting something off. Given what they just went through it could mean the thing got him again. It's nothing physical or mystical. He's overwhelmed. He's bleeding everywhere. Something happened and he doesn't remember most of it. This sucks. But he does not fall apart or throw a tantrum or burst into a frenzy.
With one hand on his throat and one hand on Lola's shoulder the kinswoman has to be the one to get the truck door open. At least Hector is still here with her. He does what he can to help but he knows better by now than to get in her way when she's set on a path.
Lola Hawkes
Not too long ago Hector probably thought that the only type of person that would be able to take Lola as a mate would be someone whose strength and experience could double or triple her own. She seemed the kind of Kinfolk that could only be tamed by an Adren Ahroun, or something similar. Were it not for the purity of her blood and how deep her family line runs with the Water Serpent, it would make perfect sense if she were traded off to the Get of Fenris tribe. She was made of the sort of iron that they needed, and showed no fear and balked at no challenge.
But it's a fortunate thing that she's found Hector. His youth and inexperience in comparison with that unknown, imaginary contender was what helped her grow. That they tested one another's patience, that they leaned so heavily on each other, that's what made them stronger. He was overtaken where an Adren would have no doubt batted the challenge away and left no work for Lola to do. That Hector was fallen meant that Lola had instead stepped up and fought. She would be stronger for this. That Hector was able to push the entity from his bones by sheer force of will, forceful enough that it burst through the very flesh of his throat, would make him stronger as well.
They were stronger for one another.
But it sure doesn't hurt that she's physically strong in body already, and this is what is important in her helping him down that trail at double-pace compared to how they'd come up. He's hurt seriously, and the blood that stains the front of his shirt is unmistakable. It's beginning to seep through the rag at his throat as well. He doesn't make her carry him, but she still keeps a shoulder against him, her flank to his, and supports what weight he gives her while ushering him back to the truck.
To his credit, he keeps up well. To hers, she doesn't show him that the force of his Rage is unlike anything she's ever experienced from him. She's never left a situation by his side as drained as she is now, and though his Rage is like standing and staring an unfamiliar beast with hunger and rot on its breath right in the open maw, she does not quake or shy from him. There's no time for that, and this is certainly not the place. The Rage conflicted with what her heart and mind told her-- that Hector was where comfort was, and this would bother her deeply if she had time to contemplate it. But instead she maintains grim quiet save for the occasional urgent couple of words when he lags or stumbles.
They get down to the trail head, the truck parked a few spaces from another car that won't be driven by the same people that brought it there ever again, and it's here that Hector almost collapses. Lola has to stop and bend her knees and flex the dense muscles in her thighs and calves to keep him supported, but she manages to keep him on his feet and mutter: "We're here. We're gonna get you healed. Hector, come on, get in." Her voice is still thin and strained, but all the same she pulls open the heavy metal door on the passenger side and helps support Hector on his way up into the passenger seat. When he's there, she stands in the doorway looking like she may be sick again. But rather than throwing up she grasps the door and truck frame in either hand and stares up at him with a haggard look on her face. She's worried, clearly, about the blood loss.
"You need to shift. Regenerate what you're still losing. I'll drive us to a Theurge."
Hector Ghosh
"No--"
That word sounds like it comes out the wound in his throat instead of making it to his mouth. Blood makes it to his mouth. She can hear the wetness of his speech as it burbles against the dressing and see the pain lash at him as it vibrates through his vocal cords.
Hector flinches at his own lapse in judgment and tamps down on the urge to growl though he does end up banging the back of his head against the truck's rear window as tenses up with pain. Doesn't shout fuck! again but it's in his muscles and in the harshness of his breathing when the tension goes out of him again.
No Theurge. No driving. No idea what the 'no' is for but Hector retrieves his little medicine bag from where he left it on the floor of the passenger side of the truck and fumbles out a healing gourd with one hand. Leaves his hand pressed hard against the dressing as he crushes the gourd with his hand.
Huge gasp when the water-spirit leaves its binding and wraps itself around him. Takes away the hurt and the injury causing the hurt and seals up his throat so he can breathe again and talk again. He gulps air like he's had his head held under water all this time and it's a whooping desperate noise he makes for several seconds afterwards.
"That SUCKED!" he says. Still breathless as he stares at her from across the bench seat. She's standing outside the truck and he's never seen her wear that expression. Even when she was in the hospital. The exhaustion in her sobers him. "I'm... are you okay?"
Lola Hawkes
He says no and blood bubbles and drips from his lips when he does so. Her jaw clenches again, to the point that it will no doubt ache when she remembers to feel pain, but she's stationary and solid in the doorway of the truck. She'll watch as he hits his head against the glass pane of the back window that hugs the truck bench, as he growls and seizes his muscles while dealing with the pain, but she doesn't move or cast her eyes away because it's too awful to watch. The only time she breaks her gaze from him is to glance through the windshield and behind her to make sure that no one is coming to see what the fuss is. As she was born believing she would be, Lola is a sentry, a line of defense that refuses to be passed.
When he leans forward her attention is drawn to him again, and some of the tension written into her shoulders changes-- it doesn't go away, she doesn't relax, but there is relief there none the less. At least Hector would be okay.
She'll watch while the gourd crushes to his throat and water joins the blood in dousing the rag and front of his shirt. That gasp of air, to her, sounds like a breath of life confirming that someone you thought was dead is alive after all. She swallows hard and eases up her grip on the truck frame and door.
Are you okay?
Lola doesn't say anything to confirm whether she's alright or not. She doesn't like being in the habit of lying to him, so she won't tell him that she's just fine. She isn't. She's shaken beyond anything she's felt before-- even when she's had Crinos hands wrapped about her throat and body and maws snarling hot breath into her face. Even when Hector had come back with blood coming from his eyes and nose and ears because he had actually died. She's not had her world tipped around like this since she was told she would be Kinfolk and not Garou-- and even that was based in reality, it was just a difficult pill to swallow.
So, instead of lying, she moves her hands from the metal of the truck and instead places her left hand on the rough fabric of the truck seat that Hector sat at, about where the lumbar would be. Her right hand holds onto his knee that is closest to her, and she lays her head on his thigh. For the height that the lift places the truck at, she doesn't need to bend down to accomplish this-- it's an easy position that doesn't require stooping or bending. Here, he'll feel her shudder hard and hear it in her exhaled breath.
"What was that?" She asks him after a few seconds of just being still like this with her eyes left unfocused on the glove box.
Hector Ghosh
He doesn't remember that he fell down hard in the darkness and left Lola standing on the path without any idea what was happening. That when he fell and that thing overtook him it swallowed up his mind as well as his body. If he had stayed in control of himself he could have told her what he thought was going on.
And he doesn't remember how she had to wrestle him to the ground to keep him from fighting her. If the creature that took him over knew his body came with different settings it had not availed itself of them. That it had to share space with Gaia's fury must have bought them some time.
If their positions were reversed Hector would not have known what to do either. As much as he cherishes and uses the advice she gives him and the perspective she adds when he's considering problems plaguing the Nation Lola and he are equals in his mind. They have held their roles for the same amount of time and in their human skins they fight just as hard in combat. She's a certain shot even when she's so rattled she's barely staving off emptying her stomach.
Even though he could have survived a gunshot to blast the thing out of him Lola could not bring herself to do it. She felt the rumbling of another consciousness in her man's body and felt him grow cold as he tried and failed to fight it. Her voice was the anchor that kept him from going away from her forever.
And he doesn't remember.
She stands firm and immovable outside the truck as he recovers. In time his gasping slows to panting and he starts to wipe his skin clean of the blood and the dirt. So much blood he looks as if he bathed in it. Most of it caught in his sweatshirt.
Lola rests her head on his thigh. It quiets the last of his jangling energy. Hector looks down at her and the chasm between parts he remembers crows up at him as he gazes into it. His right hand is clean. He rests it on her head where she lost the baseball cap and eases his fingers through her hair.
"I don't know," he says. Does not sound worried by it now that the darkness has gone. "It didn't have a scent. I could smell death on it, but I couldn't smell <i>it</i>, you know? Might've been a vengeful Wyldling. They can mess with how you see things sometimes."
Or something the Garou have not encountered before that tore a hole between its part of the Deep Umbra and the Realm and let itself through. Lola is shaking though. Drained like he's never seen her drained. He doesn't want to scare her so he keeps that supposition to himself.
"Babe, the last thing I remember is I was holding your hand and... telling you the same thing I just told you. When I came to--"
He came to with her atop him. Her voice pleading him back up into the darkness. Something inside of him tearing its way out again. That wasn't when he came to his senses. That was when he came back from wherever that thing had buried him.
"--it was light out again. How long was I out?"
Lola Hawkes
How long was I out?
The question hangs unanswered for a moment, and Lola is still with her head rested on her mate's leg. Her cap was snatched up and shoved hastily into the back of her jeans (that stretchy waistband came in handy for something, at least). The gun was picked up and shoved into her back pocket, where it still was, covered only by the length of the sweatshirt that she wore. She had the forethought to put the safety back on, at least. She's heard too many stories about idiots shooting themselves in the hip, leg, groin, or ass because they tried to pocket a gun without remembering the safety.
The shaking hands had stilled for they could now rest and had no tasks ahead of them. Hector's throat wasn't a fountain of blood any longer. The gourd had done its job in mending the tear in his flesh and, one assumed, replenishing his supply of lost blood. His fingers threaded through her hair-- her ponytail had largely fallen out from the struggle and the elastic had hastily been jerked out of her hair when she found it to be more of an inconvenience than help on their way down the trail. She considered the question, recapped the mayhem in her mind, and finally provided him with the best guess she could provide.
"Probably about seven to ten minutes, I think. It felt fast, but time was doing what it pleased."
Her voice is still thin and tired, but it was at least more calmed, steadier than it was previously.
"You'd said that you smelled something bad and everything went dark. I felt like someone was trying to throw me off a building-- gravity flipped itself around in my head, and you dropped like a sack of bricks. I found this... slug thing attached to the back of your neck and yanked it off, but I guess it already deposited that thing in you. You--..." she struggled for a second trying to separate Hector from that thing that inhabited his body in her mind. This was the reason she wouldn't use the gun on him. "--it started to take you over, started to laugh and stand up. So I pinned it down-- it tried to make you reach for my gun but I kept ya down. It wanted me to hurt you, but we fought and we won. You banished that thing-- it burst outta your throat in this gush of hot air and blood, and I guess found a physical body for me to fight it in instead, since you weren't letting it use yours anymore."
She's no Galliard, but she tells the story as she remembers it. More details will likely come when time has passed. Tomorrow she'll be able to tell a better story, when she isn't still shaken from the experience. For now, though, she moves her hand from his knee and settles it overtop of his own. She's still like this for a second, and hefts a deep sigh before saying in a low, quiet voice.
"We should go."
Hector Ghosh
Hearing Lola fill in the dead space where his recollection cuts out is akin to listening to details of a blackout. Though he remembers nothing and cannot force himself to remember anything a slow trickling of shame comes into him at the thought that he had tried to attack her.
It. It used his body to try and attack her.
A hard shiver goes through his body.
Later they can talk about what happened and speculate on what the thing actually might have been. With the portal in the basement of Cold Crescent and his own knowledge of the fact that some things in the universe do not actually belong to the Triat there is room for them to learn from this. But as Hector calms after that long trek back to the truck and the healing he so rarely endures because he so rarely weathers such bad injuries he starts to realize Lola is not full of swagger and celebration as she tends to be after they survive a hunt.
The thing left no body. It turned to smoke and vanished. Lola's hand rests overtop his and she cannot see him frown and cant his head at her. They should go.
Now that the danger has passed the park is peaceful again. Birds chirp around them. Nothing of civilization but the rush of traffic in the distance. Hector slides his hand from beneath hers and hooks it beneath her chin to lift her face from his leg. Slides himself down out of the truck so they're standing together beside the truck.
He'd asked if she was okay already. She isn't injured. He still has streaks of blood on the palm of his left hand and his face and neck are splattered in gore. All he wants to do before he takes her home is look at her.
It doesn't occur to him that his Rage is impacting her as it would not on another day. No cognizance of how drained she is or how hot it burns in him.
"I'm so glad you were here," he says.
That bloody hand rests on her hip while the clean right hand moves over her face. Fingertips graze her brow and cheek, thumb smooths dirt and tears she never shed from her cheekbone. It travels down her neck and across her collarbone. As he reads the beat of her heart through her breastbone and clothing Hector draws a deep breath. His eyes shadow the trail paved by his hand already.
Hector rests his temple against hers and slides the pack off her shoulder and onto the floorboard behind her. His arm wraps around her lower back and guides her in against him. A sigh leaves his unscarred throat when the top of her belly meets the base of his and he locks his other arm around her upper back, wrist to her shoulder blade so he does not smear his blood across her back.
"I'll drive. You should rest."
Lola Hawkes
It's been witnessed before by both of them throughout their lives in the Nation-- when a Kinfolk cannot withstand the brunt of a Garou nearby. They all react differently, in their own ways, but the sum of the response is always to either try and put distance or to tremble and grow ill if they refuse to space themselves from the Rage that beats against them.
Lola is no normal Kinfolk, though. She withstands Rage like other Kinfolk cannot and do not. She doesn't bend or break to anything-- hell, he saw it while he was still trying to push his way out of the bleary red-with-pain-and-Rage state that he awoke in. His woman didn't stop to question the beast behind her, but upon hearing steps on the ground she'd spun about and thrown herself into the fray anyways. She hadn't even bothered to make a grab for the gun first-- that had been a second thought at best, and one that had saved her life, possibly both of theirs tonight.
So even though his Rage threatens to burn the air from her lungs before she has a chance to pull the oxygen from it into her bloodstream, she doesn't pull away from him. When he lifts her head from his leg and slides out of the truck to join her, she doesn't back away to give him space. When he touches her face she doesn't cringe, and when he wraps her into a hug she doesn't whimper in fear. Lola's too proud a creature for any of that, and trusts Hector too much to let the force of him terrify her (or to let that show, at least). She'd promised him that she didn't worry that he would do her harm, and she intended to make that abundantly clear even here and now.
All the same, though, when he wraps her up in his arms and holds her close, a shudder wracks through her body, caused by a suppressed urge to rip herself away from him and find air to breathe once more. In defiance of her own instinct she pushes her face into the front of his shoulder and nods it there when he says that he will drive, and she should rest.
"Good," she tells him. "I want sleep more now than ever."
His blood has dried onto her face, she didn't bother to wipe it away apart from what was needed to clear her eyes, nostrils, and mouth. Some of it flakes onto his sweater during her time wrapped up in him. When he releases her, Lola slips around him and climbs into the passenger side of the truck. She'll be quiet all the way home, and nod off with her head against the passenger window. It will take her until later that evening to find a shaky confidence once more. By tomorrow morning, though, she'll be right as rain.
Hector Ghosh
If Hector were a more ignorant creature he would have made nothing of the stiffness in her form when he presses himself to her. That Rage grown up in him is not driving him to horrible violent thing. The moon is thin enough to cut through that. It gives him a violence though. Appetites he is still learning how to control.
He grows stronger with each month he fights along side her. Each month he shares his life with her and wakes up in bed next to her and sets about the task of readying their home for their child both of them grow stronger. Lola holds esteem in the Nation that she did not have before the summer. Hector is almost ready to call himself a Fostern.
As he grows into his experience and his stature Hector has learned to stop and read a situation before he barrels into it. This will help him to read people as well as he reads history. It helps him tell that Lola is wary of that monstrousness in him. That she's exhausted.
That it scares her when he realizes she does not want him near her and a shudder of suppressed anger courses through him. He lets go of her and his nostrils flare when she climbs into the passenger seat. Alone in the sunlight and the clear air with his blood sticky and pungent on him Hector decides he doesn't want to wear it anymore. He peels it inside out and over his head. Wipes his face and hands with it. Pitches it hard into the back of the truck like the thing itself has offended him.
Lola hears the impact through the frame of the truck's bed. He burned his excess Rage to throw it but that won't help them on the ride home. The Rage Luna gives him on bright nights burns at her. She sleeps but she sleeps curled up against the door. Hector buckles his seatbelt so the human lawgivers will not pull them over and he drives with the radio off and his mouth shut.
He keeps his hands to himself the entire way home.
When they reach the end of the drive he kills the engine but does not get out of the truck. The journey back to the Homestead forced him shut off his mind so he could focus on not speeding or colliding with anyone else. As the engine ticks in the cold he gnaws a thumbnail and stares through the windshield and lets the weight of what just happened settle on him. Then he gets over it. Takes the keys out of the ignition and lets himself out of the truck.
"I'm gonna get in the shower," he says over the top of the truck as he shuts the door. His boots crunch the gravel as he walks towards the front door. "Are you super freaked out, or can I... I mean I can sleep on the couch if you are. I won't take it personal."
Lola Hawkes
What sleep she caught in the truck was restless and intermittent. When Hector glances to check on her, the seldom moments that he might, he'll find her knees turned toward the door, shoulder tucked against it and arms curled around her torso and chin tucked down. There's a soft frown creased on her face when she's actually unconscious, and a harder one when she's half-awake but keeping her eyes closed anyways.
Thankfully, the trip from the hiking trails outside of Boulder back to the Homestead is a shorter one than driving all the way from Denver proper. Time slips by, and Lola comes to with the truck rocking on its squeaking suspension over dirt ruts carved into the earth to make a haphazard 'driveway' up to the shed that sits beside/behind the house. By the time Hector jerks the gears and pushes the parking break into place so that he may kill the engine, Lola is already upright. While the engine ticked quietly, settling from running for so long, Lola dragged her fingers through her hair and scrubbed at her forehead and worked to pull herself together.
She'd hoped that dozing during the drive would help replenish her, but she felt just as worn as before.
Her head turns like she's going to say something, but the keys jangle and Hector is climbing down out of the truck. The Kinswoman grasped at the fabric of her pants, just above the knees, squeezing nad wringing the denim for a moment in a fleeting second of frustration. What the hell is wrong with you?, she was asking herself. This was an unfamiliar situation to be in. Hector's Rage has never burned her before, even while he was bellowing with it under the light of the full moon.
The moment passes, she hefts a sigh, and Lola climbs down out of the truck as well. She's trailing about seven feet behind Hector or so when he called over his shoulder, asking if he should sleep on the couch. Lola's steps paused and a spasm of guilt crossed over her face, gone just as fast as it had arrived. It was replaced by a worn resolve, like rock that has been half-eroded by centuries of river water and rains. She'll double the pace to catch up to him, though her motions are stiff and she can't do anything to change that.
"Don't encourage this bullshit by catering to it. I've... I don't know what the fuck's going on, I know you're pickin' up on it. But there's no fuckin' reason for it. You're not going to anything to me, I know that for a damn fact, so don't hide away and shelter me from somethin' I've got no reason to be tense about. I'm just.... worn. I guess."
She doesn't reach out to stop him, doesn't put a hand on his arm or shirt to pull him back and stop him from walking away. But she does catch up to his side to walk by his elbow, even though her heart hops once-twice-thrice before finding its rhythm once more.
Hector Ghosh
"Yeah, well, I don't know about you..."
When they reach the front door Hector opens it and holds it for her but he can do little about the fact that an unpleasantness comes into his stomach when he sees the way she keeps a sort of distance from him. How she doesn't want to have her hands on him now.
And she's seen him do impersonations of human girls before. Glen and Corey were fond of hitting the bars when they would roll into town. Boulder was full of vacationing young co-eds with morals made looser by alcohol and they would go there all the time to hit the bars. The party scene in Littleton wasn't anything to write home about and they avoided Denver because Corey and Hector started too many bar fights when they went out in cities.
But Corey and Hector scared a certain caliber of human. He liked to bare his teeth and tense up like he'd been hit by a downed electric wire when imitating what the average girl was like.
Lola is not at all like those empty-headed high-voiced tittering stupid college girls that Corey liked to push Hector towards when they would go out. If Hector wanted to get laid he went to a library. That's where all the smart girls went. That's how Corey met his mate. They were in the goddamn library. Just so happened she was Kinfolk.
Anyway. Hector lets her go in ahead of him. Stripped out of his sweatshirt she can see the low halo of blood oozed into his undershirt and smell the sweat dried on his arms. The muscles in his upper body. She's right to be afraid of him but they'd been over this before. How she trusts him.
As he walks from the front door to the bathroom he continues ranting. It's clear he's going straight for the bathroom.
"... but I'm not a huge fan of forcing myself on people when they don't want me around. I just... I'm freaked out."
If she does not follow him his voice grows distant but he does not close the door. It bounces off the walls once he reaches it and she can hear him lean against the sink and start to undo his laces.
"Alright? I'm the one..." A boot hits the tile. "You know what? Never mind. In here talking to myself like some kind of freaking lunatic..."
Thunk.
Lola Hawkes
The tension that rides on her mate's shoulders, the edge and grind that she can feel to his teeth without needing to see them or watch him actually clench his jaw has Lola uncomfortable and bothered, and the sensation mingled unpleasantly with the stiff-spine cold-sweat discomfort that the Rage that lives in his bones was causing her as well. Still, she won't hold her breath when she passes by him as he holds the door open, and she is very conscious of her body language when she passes him as well. She doesn't touch at her stomach, because she knows that the gesture might come across as protective and sting at his heart. She doesn't shift her stride to give him a wider berth while he holds the door open, but she doesn't brush familiarly against him either.
She's stooped down near the door, unlacing her boots, when Hector strides past and into the bathroom. Lola's got one hand on the wall to help with balance, the other working the laces, and she looks up at his back while he walks past, still talking as he goes.
She's been frowning since he came back too, and the expression didn't seem close to relaxing any time soon. That she was getting his back and a solid understanding of how her discomfort with his presence was impacting him did anything but help soften the scowl. But it isn't an angry look near so much as it's pained-- guilty, bothered, unsure, tired.
He's thumping about and talking to himself and the bathroom tiles, thumping boots onto the floor. As he trails off accusing himself of sounding like a lunatic, Lola appears standing in the hall, just outside the doorway. A shoulder brushes against the door frame, but she doesn't stand solidly in the doorway like she's going to make a door of herself, not as she usually does if she's going to trap him there and make conversations happen. Her arms are wrapped about her lower rip cage and her expression is inwardly disgusted now. Apologetic without understanding how to be with her words.
"I...," She starts, and fails. She doesn't understand completely what is different about today from other days that they come back from battle, bloodied and exhausted. She'll blame it on the fact that they couldn't call this thing the Wyrm, on the fact that she was up against an opponent that she couldn't actually hurt, on the fact that Hector's throat had burst and tried to bleed him out while she half-staggered half-carried him down a hiking trail to the truck.
"I want you around, Hector. I don't know what's happening here...," and she makes a tight circular motion in front of her chest before folding her arms again. "But...," and, again, words fail.
So she settles for a sigh and hanging her head a little, just for a minute, before saying in a low voice.
"I love you."
It sounds like surrender.
"I'm laying back down."
Hector Ghosh
Of all the things he struggles with the most these days the thing that causes him the most grief is the fact that he does not know how to internalize the good things that he's done in his short time in the Nation. Doesn't mean he dwells on all the bad things he's done or that have happened. Just means he doesn't feel like he's earned anything.
It's basic psychology and the young man is still young by human standards. By Garou standards he has learned his way around and he knows right from wrong and he knows his auspice role and he knows it well. His cohorts know when he hears about something he will craft an entertaining if not stirring tale exalting those who took part in the story.
They see him with Lola and some folks can't figure out how on earth that happened. Lola is so wild and rough. An untamed creature that did not want to be tamed. Some folks see them together and they think it makes sense. Most folks don't. Hector is not with her because he worries about what folks think.
His mess of a head is what kept him from being with her sooner but they had to learn this on their own. They have to learn a lot of things on their own. How to deal with the discomfort of his Rage butted up against her exhaustion is one of those things because he will have to deal with the discomfort of his Rage butting up against their children's fragile and untempered spines.
Hector doesn't know how to be a parent any more than he knows how to be a lover or a life-mate. Any more than he knew how to be a Galliard or a Cub. He doesn't know shit but he's stronger and smarter than he gives himself credit for being.
It does lash at him that Lola was not comforted by his presence. In the past she has held him when he was moments earlier bleeding and screaming and moments from frenzying. In the past she has not had to fight so hard to protect him or herself.
He's trying to cut her some slack. Look: he does not turn on the shower so he will have something to do besides stand and bear witness to her uncertainty. With his feet bare and his shirt off and his hair down Hector stands blood-stained and dark-eyed but alive. He listens to her.
And then he shows off the fact that one of the first things he learned how to do during their conjoined guitar-and-Spanish lessons was roll his r's. Even in the midst of this he's trying to keep them from spiraling into despair.
"Mi amor, mi amor, I'm not angry at you," he says. His voice is soft but not saccharine and a flicker of what wants to be a reassuring smile comes across his face but Hector does not want to show her his teeth. "It's okay. We're okay. You saved both of our asses today and you're pregnant as hell. If you weren't worn out I'd be scared of you."
He wants to go to her more than he wants anything else right now but Hector makes himself stay where he is.
"I'll be in in a few minutes."
Lola Hawkes
Look at him, trying.
Look at them, trying together.
Hector doesn't lash his anger at her for not knowing how to handle it. He's better able to break down the reasons behind his fury than he used to be, to segment them and make reason of them to some degree and prevent himself from shouting and pushing away until he's better able to understand it. And even when he doesn't completely understand what has him riled up, or why Lola is being the way she is that gets him there in the first place, he's still much better about setting that aside, taking a breath, and giving the leeway that they need from time to time.
Lola, in return, does not snap her teeth at her own frustration and vent it at Hector. A year ago if she were in this same exact position she would be pacing angrily and yelling that she can't help how tight her chest feels and that she hates it precisely as much as he probably does but there's nothing that they can do so he should just get the hell over it. She doesn't remove herself from the house to wait for that temper to pass and her resolve to build itself up again. Another lesson in being a good Kinfolk is knowing to weather the storm: when and how both.
So Hector stands with his lengthy hair down about his face, with blood on his bare chest and sweat salting his skin. He smiles without flashing teeth that seem so much more dangerous and worrisome to her today and reassures her that he's not angry. He brushes his words up with humor, and even if it the jokes themselves don't lighten the mood automatically the fact that he's making the effort and showing that he won't be holding a grudge against her helps immensely.
So it's Lola's turn to help.
He wants very much to go to her, she can see it in how his weight shifts forward but his shoulders and chest stay back anyways, how his hands stay at his sides instead of reaching toward her but are disciplined in doing so. Lola helps by bridging that gap for him. She has to take a breath and square her shoulders, steel herself for what she's about to do, but her motions are smooth and certain and her steps are slow, but they do not hesitate when she walks into the bathroom and reaches up. Perhaps it's how weary she is, but her smile is softer than it's been when she looks up at him. There's no doubt that there's pride there when she reaches up to touch the side of his face, hand cupping his jaw and cheek. She could have physically blasted the thing within him out of its host, but he had forced it out himself and not put that burden upon her.
She leans up and kisses his mouth, and while her lips are soft they're still and not opening to encourage heat or passion. It's a gesture of love, plain and simple.
"Alright," she says after leaning back again.
She doesn't have to tell him that she loves him a second time, she doesn't have to bid him any kind of farewell. She steps backwards for a few short slides of her stocking feet on the tile floor, but remembers what point she's trying to make and deliberately gives him her back (see? i trust you) when she exits the bathroom.
He'll find her on top of the bed's quilt and comforter with the hoodie discarded but the rest of her clothes still on when he's done with his shower.
Hector Ghosh
Once in their lives has he yelled at her the way his Rage stokes him to yell at everyone all of the time. If it stokes at him now his intelligence and his love for her tamp it down but it is never an easy thing. Only something that becomes easier with time and practice. Even the tricksters among them feel that raw-nerve tension in them when it comes for them the first time. The tricksters among them are blessed with the least of it that they may test the rest of them and walk among the humans and be teachers in way even the oral traditions do not paint them as teachers.
The ghosts of his dead packmates do not haunt him or visit him at times like this. When he thinks of them it is a subconscious thing. Nearly six moons have gone since Glen and Maria fell in Winnipeg and Corey walked away from him and Tamsin. Twelve almost, a full year, since something grabbed up Willow in the Umbra and the kind-faced gentle-souled creature so strange and so much like a spirit herself disappeared. It would be an easy bit of recovery if they could tell themselves Willow had just gone to be with her brethren. That she was never really body at all.
No point thinking of what life would be like if Glen and Maria were still alive and Corey still leading. He knows because he lived three years with them that they would be traveling and screwing around and solving problems at each Sept they visited before leaving again. That he may have grown himself or grown distant from them. But Glen and Maria were wanderers and wanderers do not gain renown in the Nation's eyes. Their people value loyalty as much as they value valor and wisdom.
Yet he knows what Maria would think if she could see this. How her pride would glow knowing her sister was finding her strength not in the Change but in being the daughter and the sister and the mate of monsters.
It's the same pride that lights Hector when she comes toward him and brings her shaky hand to his face. Hard to separate the Rage from the male but she cannot do that any more than she could separate that thing from her man by leveling a weapon at him. She had to call out to him that he would know she was still there. Help me, she had to say.
His eyes close with the comfort of her hand on him and he bows his head to meet her mouth when it finds his. Their throats are raw from acid and blood both but that is not why he does not seek to deepen the kiss.
As he told her, as he promised, Hector showers. He brushes his teeth under the rushing water and he shampoos his hair. Shaves off his beard for the first time in three moons. Goes down to tend to the furnace. They need it glowing but not roaring. The weather will soon turn on them again.
When he comes to her twenty minutes after she leaves the bathroom he comes to her quietly and wearing a t-shirt and a pair of boxers that he grabbed down from a shelf over the washing machine.
He does not stare at her as he crosses to the bed to climb on behind her. She feels him hesitate before he lies down and molds himself to her. An arm cradles her shoulders and locks a pair of their hands together over her heart. The other comes overtop her hip that his hand may find the swell of her belly.
His Rage is hot at her back and it is no easy thing to sleep with a monster's arms around her. Few things in their lives are easy. But they rest together and he breathes slow and easy. If anything came through the door to attack them they would end it together.
The fighting is done this day and Hector holds Lola until she falls asleep.
Sunday, December 8, 2013
Welcome to the Neighborhood - 11.29.2013 [Avery, Javed, Calden]
Avery Chase
Avery had the land surveyed and purchased shortly after she moved to Denver and introduced herself to the garou and spirits of Forgotten Questions. That was back in late spring. It is now verging on true winter, even if some days the temperature reaches the low sixties still before snapping into sub-freezing chills, and she is finally prepared to bring others to this newest, latest domicile. It took some time, after all, to find the right architect and contractors and builders, and the right decorators, and the right landscapers. It took some revisions to the original plans when she and Javed joined each other as a pack, because she wanted it to be a place that would just as easily suit his demeanor and needs as her own. Then she wanted more trees, taller ones, and then they built a garage some distance from the house itself, almost completely out of view from the windows and breezeway that connect the two structures.
Now, months later and at the tail end of the year, Avery finds Javed and tells him that she requests the honor and pleasure of his company for an afternoon and evening, if he would like to travel south with her to -- as she puts it -- their other home. She also says, with perhaps some fluttering nervousness beneath her smile, that she would like to introduce him to someone. Ruby, of course, is more than welcome to come, since as Javed's student Avery wants her to feel comfortable going there.
--
5921 Silverthorn Run is not as remote as it could be. There are other houses and plots of land within view along the rolling foothills. They are not far north of the caern, however, and more than a few of those nearby homes are occupied by other garou and their kin. Not all; that is part of why a very large plot of land holds only a very small house, and why the landscapers brought in all those trees, all that extra foliage that was not there before. It bears the illusion of remoteness, and standing outside on the deck, one cannot hear one's neighbors. One can barely even hear passing cars, seldom as that happens.
Avery picked up Javed -- and perhaps Ruby, if she wanted to attend -- to come down here. The person she wants him to meet, she says, will be meeting them there.
--
Calden's invitation was a little less vague. She'd told him about Javed, gleefully and delightedly, as soon as they were packed, but this is the first she's really spoken of him since. Just: I want you to meet each other. Just and I want you to see the house.
--
Now she pulls up, not in the Tesla but in a white Juke identical to the one that she gave to a Shadow Lord kinswoman in Vegas. She likes it. It is not so fast nor even as luxurious as the Tesla or any of her other automobiles, but that is why she drives it out to places like the caern or on road trips. Pulling into the driveway, she looks for Calden's truck, wondering if he's beat them there or not. She's dressed in jeans that are 'skinny' but not skin-tight, a pair of grey leather boots that end just above her ankles, and a deep blue v-necked cable-knit sweater. Her hair is in a single loose braid over her shoulder, and there's a pair of rose-gold bangles on her wrist. She doesn't reach for her coat when she gets out of the car, even if it's a bit chilly.
The house is really... not much to look at. Stacked boxes. Sort of a rust-colored exterior. A bunch of windows, a deck, and a breezeway in between the two upper levels of the separate structures. On one end of the long part of the house there are stairs going down, but Avery doesn't go to that entrance, walking instead towards the deck. That is, unless Calden is waiting for them.
Javed Anubis-Sight
The metis was told by Avery, back when they first agreed to be packmates, that she had a home that was in the works that they would both be able to stay at. He has not seen it yet, but Avery has always been happy to tell him about the progress and the Ahroun has happy to hear her talk of it. Not that he is dissatisfied with his living situation as it stands; while some may look at his moving from squatting location to squatting location with a wrinkled nose, Javed has found that it fits his needs nicely in the interim and he has had no complaints.
When Avery requests his company to travel and finally see the home, she receives that mild inclination of his head and a half-flicker of an acceding smile, along with the response that he would be honored. The declaration that she would like to introduce him to someone gets a little sideways cock of his head...not questioning, but intrigued. It is her undercurrent of anxiety which draws it but of course he doesn't call attention because they do not ask about those things, these Falcons. And again, he says he would be honored.
And so they drive. Or rather, Avery drives and Javed rides in the car. The metis has many skills related to travel, not motorized vehicle operation is not one of them and he would not risk one of her vehicles by giving it a try. His feet have done him fine and while he is not hesitant around cars, driving is not a skill he feels is necessary at this time.
He is watching out the windshield as they approach the grounds. He watches also when they drive there too of course; he enjoys the country side and while he doesn't drive, he does have quite the love of trips. When the building comes into view, it's humble exterior obviously does not draw his disapproval. He is not ostentatious nor does he have the need for ostentatious things. Much the contrary, he gets his hint of what may be (for him) a smile. And that's as much a sign of approval as anything. He slips out of the car, taking a moment there to breathe in the air of outside the city, and moves to follow Avery.
Calden White
Unlike Javed, Calden had no idea this house was in the works. He has little idea what is going on with Avery's properties, only that she seems to have entirely more of it than any person could possibly need. Not that Calden has any right to judge there. The invitation was received with surprise and delight and agreement; the address was exchanged, and the date and time was set.
Calden does not, in fact, beat them there. He is only minutes behind, though, and by serendipity pulls up as Javed and Avery are walking up to the house. He has a new truck, since the one before was totalled by something quite out of this world. The new one is, like the ones that came before, a heavy-duty Chevrolet Silverado 3500-series with a double-axle in the back. It is dark, it is robust, and it's actually quite luxurious inside: cream-colored leather upholstery and decent enough sound insulation that he could listen to his audiobooks comfortably on the ride over. The engine has the distinctive chop of diesel, and when he kills it a new hush falls over Avery's woodland home.
The door opens. Avery's gentleman caller climbs out of his truck, shutting the door behind him. He is wearing boots, of course, though these are serious working shoes: no tooling on the leather, and a heavier, blunter toe. He is wearing jeans and he is wearing a heavy shearling coat, and the only way he could look more like a cowboy is if he also had a hat. And a bandanna. And spurs. And a horse.
None of which he's brought today. Which isn't to say he might not own these things, but: at least he doesn't make a complete stereotype of himself. He smiles and waves as he approaches, looking up at the house. Some things are all about first impressions, gut reactions -- one might argue the very fact that he and Avery are Together (tm) now was based in first impressions and gut reactions -- and his impressions and reactions toward her latest house are immediate and strong and positive. He likes the simple exterior. He likes the innovative, modern-rustic styling; the ample glass and the unostentatious wood, the stacked-box shape of it, the fact that it is really two houses linked by a glassy corridor.
"I like it here," he says as he approaches Avery and her packmate, smiling. "I like the house, too. Hi," and he wraps an arm around her shoulders, kisses her on the cheek, then lets go and extends his hand to her packmate instead. "Hi," he says again, "Calden White. I guess you're Javed."
Avery Chase
They hear the engine long before they make it to the deck, and Avery turns around when she hears the car turning into her driveway. Suddenly she tightens up, beaming, clasping her hands in front of her chest. "Oh, he's here!" she says, which is not so far off what she said when Falcon was summoned to bind her to her packmate.
Calden, really, does not look like he belongs with Avery any more than Javed does. Maybe if he showed up wearing a tuxedo and bearing flowers, with a retinue of his own servants, then it would make sense. But then, Avery hardly surrounds herself with solely Silver Fangs and their society-bred ilk. She is packed to an Army-jacket-wearing Silent Strider with one blanked-out eye and blissfully in love with a cowboy, and one of her favorite people on earth is a pink-haired, bird-like Theurge. Avery is not a misfit. Avery is not an outsider. Avery chooses, nonetheless, to surround herself with the strangest sort of people, people you would think would be beneath her.
People she is ever so honored, day after day, to call her friends.
--
Avery at least has the decorum not to bolt across the land's sloping terrain and leap into Calden's arms, but the vibration of her energy beside Javed suggests it's not far from her heart to do so. She stops walking towards the deck, and walks down instead, meeting Calden with Javed about halfway up to the house. He says, instantly, that he likes it here. He moves to wrap his arm around her and she hesitates but allows it, turns her cheek toward him as he kisses it, and then moves away. She gives Calden a Look, introducing himself like that, that's not how these things are done, really, but she lets it slide.
No, wait, she doesn't: "You have no idea how introductions are done, do you?" she says, huffily, though there's not much truth in it. She looks to Javed. "Javed, this is my very dear friend and suitor, Mr. Calden White. Calden, I'd like you to meet Javed Anubis-Sight, my packmate." Smiling, she adds: "Javed, Calden is kin to the Fianna and runs an absolutely wonderful ranch up north. Calden, Javed is an ahroun and Silent Strider who recently began instructing a cub of his auspice and tribe."
Now thoroughly pleased with herself, she clasps her hands in front of herself again and nods towards the house. "Would the two of you like a tour?"
Javed Anubis-Sight
Javed turns his attention when Avery does in response to the sound of the car approaching. He is neither tensed nor wary; Avery did tell him that he was going to meet someone, after all. That he doesn't know who this person is does not bother him for he has trust in his packmate, a trust deeper than any which just about any individual living or dead, on or in the planet, has.
The Philodox's pleasure at seeing the approaching truck brings a new look of curiosity to his face and he folds his hands together just under his breastbone, waiting and watching. There is, of course, a look of appraisal when Calden gets out of his truck. Despite only having a single functional eye (at least, functional in the way most people would understand), he has learned to be good at making quick assessments both tactical and otherwise. He doesn't always understand some of humanity's ways, and thus the ways of people in the Nation that emulate them. But he's always working on it.
His expression remains calm and curious when Calden slips his arm around Avery, kisses her cheek. It clearly makes immediate insinuations about their relationship to each other, but Javed has learned not to rely on assumptions unless he has to (and here and now is not a time, he knows, when he will have to). So he merely waits calmly, watching the two, and then focusing on Calden when he puts his hand out.
There is a slight pause there, because he has a very good idea that Avery will not leave introductions left at the wayside. And of course, she does not. She introduces them both and Javed reaches out, takes the offered hand with his own. His other hand comes forth and rests over both clasped appendages and he inclines his head and shoulders slightly in greeting.
"Mister White. I am most honored to make your acquaintance." It can't be said as the most pleasant of greetings, but Javed doesn't do warm as a rule. It is instead deeply respectful.
The handshake passes and he lets go, looking to Avery with a nod. "I would like that very much indeed."
Calden White
"I know exactly how introductions are done," Calden replies, "at least amongst the mighty tribe of Stag: by a roaring fire, over whisky, and preferably after someone's eye has been properly blackened. Since we have no fire, no scotch and no black eyes in sight, I suppose we'll have to settle for your version."
And he smiles at Javed, broadly, taking the Ahroun's hand. "Javed Anubis-Sight. I've heard excellent things about you. It's a pleasure."
Their respective greetings differ a little: from Calden, a firm, thoroughly American handshake. From Javed, something a little more unusual. Less shaking, more clasping. When their hands separate, Calden turns toward his very dear friend and suit-ee, that smile of his irrepressibly and unmistakably affectionate.
"I think you might never forgive me if I said no," he says, a certain spark in his eye, "so yes. I would love a tour."
Avery Chase
Avery does not mention to Javed so much as a word about the fact that her suitor is of another tribe. Perhaps, modern and progressive as she is, she still thinks nothing of the Silver Fangs taking their lovers from among the best of what their loyal tribes have to offer. Perhaps, modern and progressive as she is, she would tear out someone's throat if they suggested that kin are territory to be argued over. She doesn't speak of it, and Javed does not ask, even though he can smell the kinsman's blood as soon as he sees him.
Calden, for his part, can likely see instantly the appeal a garou like Javed has for Avery. His reserved demeanor, his manners, his steady calm, even the lack of immediate warmth. Calden, who has seen Avery descend into madness, seen how vulnerable she can be, would know right away why Avery would not be turned off by a packmate who errs on the side of stoic and polite, and in fact would be grateful for it.
Avery just says pff! to Calden's ideas of proper introductions, waving a hand at him. She starts to head up the land to the house, coming at it from roughly the east side. The stairs at the end of the long arm point south, but she goes to the deck instead, entering the other side. They find themselves in a cozy sitting room, with two warm leather couches and a low coffee table. There is a built-in bar there, and the doors to the deck let in western light. There are curtains that can be pulled across that almost total wall of glass, but they are open now. There is a bit of a mountain view there, though probably better upstairs.
"This room," Avery is saying, holding the door for two of her favorite gentlemen, "is perhaps best compared to a parlor, for the greeting of guests and general entrances. The bar," she says, indicating it against the wall, "would be, I think, a wonderful spot for the collection of trophies and storage for talens and talen-creation materials, with perhaps a few refreshments." She looks at Calden. "Javed does not partake in alcohol, so even if others are imbibing scotch, any black eyes he gives or receives will be given or received in sobriety."
Smiling, she strolls through the little hallway, indicating the stairs they'll ascend in a few moments. The bathroom on their left is simple, its tiling steel grey and white and clear with accents of pale blue. It receives sunlight from a high window, and the shower, though just a stall, is roomy.
"And this," Avery says, showing them past the bathroom to the bedroom at the southern tip of the house's long arm, "is Javed's room."
Javed's room is very, very plain. The walls are a subdued color. The bed is queen-sized and the dove-grey duvet thick and warm. There is a desk against the wall with a single chair, and several draws built-in, the desk's surface an extension of a low chest of drawers. One entire wall of the room is taken up by broad glass doors going down a small set of stairs to a little unfinished courtyard: the ground is a bit clearer, the grass tamped down, a couple of fallen logs off to the side. Of course there are curtains to shade that room, to give privacy and darkness, and the doors are a bit recessed, giving Javed a small porch atop those stairs and giving the room some shade as well.
"We did not decorate, really," Avery says, as they glance around. "I wanted you to feel free to add any personal touches or lack thereof that you might like. The southern sun is diffused a bit by the trees, but it will be one of the warmer spots in the house, I think. The exterior was planned with flagstones and seating and perhaps a fountain, but I thought you might like to use the ground as a training space. It's very hidden from the road; a car would have to enter the driveway to have a view, and you would have ample time to hear and change forms if necessary."
She smiles. "I do hope you like it," she says quietly, "but please tell me if there is anything you would like added or taken away, changed or improved upon. It will be done. I know you may not spend most of your time here, especially with the work to be done at Cold Crescent, but it is my dear hope that you will see this as... a den. It is our territory."
Javed Anubis-Sight
Avery does not mention Calden's Fianna lineage and, though Calden brings it up himself, Javed neither asks of gives any indication that he has an opinion on what it should be. There are many reasons for this, but utmost among them is one simple, overriding one: he meticulously does not insert his opinions on mating situations. That is not his place as a metis; it is up to others to make that judgment call and of all people, it is Avery's opinion which is foremost to him. She chooses who she wishes and she need never fear that, should any situation somehow come up, he would have her back.
He lets her guide them along, allowing Calden to go first and then following behind. He is as observant as a one-eyed man can be, using that single orb to take in as much as he can while they move along. He will have more opportunity to take in further details after the fact; unlike people's faces, he can commit the details of these buildings to memory and he will surely do so soon enough.
He nods a little bit at Avery's assessment of the rooms as they make their way through. A brief tilt of his head is given to Calden at the mention by the Silver Fang that he obstains from drinking. "I find that they mean all the more when delivered of a clear mind." It's a touch of humor, though said in his deadpan tone so it could be difficult to tell how serious he is for someone like Calden who just met him.
He slips inside the bedroom Avery has designated as his, looking about with his hands at his sides. He pauses there, closes his eyes, takes a deep breath inward. After a moment, he opens it and nods to Avery. "It is exactly what I would require." He gives her one of those rare smiles; she even considered the fact that he is used to warmer climates, and it is deeply appreciated. "I am sure at some point I will add my own touches, but at the moment it has everything that I could possibly require."
He folds his hands again, bowing his head to his packmate. "Thank you. As always, you do me a great honor."
Calden White
Calden is a son of Stag. It is unmistakable, carved into his bones. Though the purity of his blood is middling at best, the scent of that primal, potent totem lingers about him. Gives him that touch of russet in his hair; that touch of green in his eyes.
For all that, though, it appears his comment about brawls and booze was a tongue-in-cheek nod to the stereotype, nothing more. He doesn't look shocked or offended to learn that Javed doesn't drink. "There's something to be said for being pleasantly fuzzy-minded," he says, "but it's usually best to err on the side of sobriety."
They move into the house. Avery shows them the space that serves as a parlor; the bar that Calden makes a mental note to donate a few bottles to. Then Javed's room, as spare and spartan as the man himself. Calden, his hands laced behind his back, looks a touch wistful. Must be nice, he thinks, to live in such close quarters with those you are closest to. He can't remember the last time his brothers were all under one roof together. His mother is ten years in the grave. And his father -- well; their relationship is strained at best, their love shot through with tension.
And Avery. Not so long ago they had a conversation about distances; the time they did or didn't have. As she is explaining to Javed that they could decorate as they liked, he could use the outside space to train, this is our territory, Calden is rather ashamed to feel something almost like a pang of envy. To cover it, he shifts his stance, slips his hands into his pockets, angles his head toward the stairs.
"And upstairs?"
Lola Hawkes
Over a shared lunch of a soup thermos and sandwiches with a red-haired Skald yesterday, Lola was informed that the two-man pack that was made of the local Ahroun Silent Strider and Philodox Silver Fang had claimed turf not too far from here. A house up north from Roxborough, along the mountain bench. They'd mused back and forth a little-- Eddie didn't have much information and Lola was curious why a Garou so dedicated to keeping the Spire Sept up and running would claim turf so far away from it. So she pulled what information she could (he didn't know why they were there but he had an address-- because of fucking course he did), laid a few friendly slap-punches in a back-and-forth manner with the Get of Fenris, then parted from him to continue her own personal patrols while he returned to his duties at the Caern.
The sun was working its way rapidly west across the southern end of the sky-- still bright enough to light the land, but skirting closer to the tops of mountains none the less. Therefore, no headlights were needed, so they didn't cut through windows and announce her approach. That's fine, though, it was quiet out here, and tires crunching on driveway would do it. If not that, the house that she pulled up to had windows plenty, so the big rusty white truck that bounced along on poor suspension would easily be spied.
The woman behind the wheel was dark of skin and hair both, and frown lines were still smoothing from her forehead. She'd missed the driveway and had to turn around, and while she'd been driving this truck since her license became valid it was still a pain in the ass to turn the beast around. There was no such thing as a 'U' turn, only the five-point turn that she managed to make on a thankfully clear road before doubling back, finding the driveway this time, and pulling on in.
The woman that steps out is dressed in a tan canvas jacket, much like those that construction workers or ranch hands will wear while working, zipped up to her throat. She had a gray beanie cap on her head, and her jeans were tucked into calf-height brown boots that were scuffed at the toes and worn at the heels. She glanced about, at the trees and the property that surrounded, before surveying the front of the house and approaching.
At the front door she'll hunt for a doorbell and ring it if she finds it. If not, a solid rapping of knuckles on the front door will suffice.
Avery Chase
Avery can only grin at Javed's joke -- deadpan as it is, as most of his humor -- about black eyes. That, if nothing else, helps hint to Calden that Javed's wit is rather dry. She hangs back at the entry to the room, Javed the first to walk inside, and beams when he breathes deep of its air, glows brighter when he says it is exactly what he would require. So formal, that, but for Javed, it's almost gushing. Avery looks like she is about to ascend to the moon on those words alone.
He bows, and she inclines her head, her smile softening. Later on, exploring the room, Javed will find clothing in the drawers: pairs of jeans and even some slacks, some with many pockets and some with few. He will find a pair of decent boots and a pair of sneakers and a pair of rather nice shoes. He will find shirts, everything from undershirts to button-downs to sweaters. He will find, in fact, that Avery pays meticulous attention to cut and size and has essentially provided him with a complete wardrobe, and that there is a range of cheap but sturdy all the way to refined. At least one of the sweaters will be cashmere, and in a deep wine color that compliments his hair and skin tone. He will find that the bathroom is outfitted with soft, dark blue towels and toiletries of every sort, including his choice of disposable, electric, straight, and safety razors, plus a mug of glycerine soap and a boar-bristle brush.
None of that matters now. They head back out of the narrow hallway, and Avery brushes against Calden as she passes, as though she sensed some pang in him... or, more likely, simply wanted the contact. She takes them up the stairs, the walls hung sparsely but thoughtfully with very large prints of some of John Fielder's photography of the state's more beautiful vistas. They are all signed, of course.
"Now, the upstairs is full of the common areas to the pack," she says, rising above the low white walls around the stairway. It's an open area, with the living room to one side and the kitchen to the other. The table is rectangular, seating six, and the living room has a fireplace and more seating, as well as a flatscreen that could be hidden behind folding panels. The kitchen's cabinets are vivid red, the surfaces white and stainless in mix. "Cooking, dining, relaxing. And this way," she goes on, heading past the kitchen towards the bridge between the structures, "is my suite."
They cross the bridge, which is open but sided by railings, and Avery is reaching for the handles to the sliding doors when all three of them hear the rumble of an engine not passing by, but coming along the little road from the main thoroughfare and into Avery's land. This place is quiet enough, protected enough by its distance from the road and its trees, that the engine itself is enough of a warning.
The change that comes over her is instant, when she hears that. She is straight-backed, turning her head hawklike towards the driveway. Calden has not seen her like this at her penthouse, nor at her family's house in Polo Club. Javed has not seen her like that except in battle: aware, alert, but there is an element of guardianship here that might not be seen elsewhere. She watches as Lola's truck comes down the driveway, parking. They can see the truck from where they stand on the bridge between the two structures, and Lola can see the little white Juke and the dark, brand-new Silverado as soon as she puts her truck in park.
Avery does not know the truck, and only vaguely knows who the woman is, but she does know who she is. She steps in front of Calden and Javed on the bridge, hands on the railing, as Lola gets out of the truck and walks a few feet from it. It is unlikely that Lola misses the three of them up there, long before she gets to the deck itself, or any of the entrances.
And from above, she calls out, very politely but not exactly warmly:
"May I help you?"
Javed Anubis-Sight
Javed is as observant of a man as a one-eyed individual can be, but that qualifier is a signficant limitation. And Javed is busy being enamored with his new room (because let's be honest, folks...for Javed, this is an expression of being enamored) so he does not note the wistful look on Calden's face. Although even if he did, he would not be likely to bring it to light right here and now, because that would not be appropriate in this situation. Javed and Avery are very clear about the delineations of their pack, and not pressing on each other's thoughts in undesired ways is an important part of that. Javed would extend the same courtesy to Calden, had he noticed.
Instead the kinfolk asks about the upstairs, and Javed listens, taking note. He then follows on the tour. Later he will find the clothes and he will be taken aback. Not in a bad way; far from it. But it is a deeply foreign concept to the man, who has for the whole of his existance had only one set of clothing at a time. This will take some getting used to for him. But it is not unwelcome, just unknown.
His ears perk up at the sound of that approaching vehicle, and his attention immediately shifts to Avery. It is their territory but she is more knowledgable about it at the moment, and who may be approaching. And of course, he cannot rely on his vision to give the identity of the woman who approaches. He picks up on the breeding, of course, but as always, this is no sure thing. There are other Uktena about. And so he uses Avery as a guide to go off of, and when she becomes more alert so does he, letting his packmate ask the greeting question.
Calden White
Calden knows how Avery is about public displays of affection, and even were she not polite about such things he would be. They were both raised to be courteous, to be respectful of others, to understand that courtesy and respect toward others were, in fact, ways to respect yourself.
So: she brushes against him. And his hand touches her back briefly. But there are no other overt gestures, no egregious displays; nothing of the sort. He heads upstairs behind Avery, beside Javed, making a bit of small talk about the weather and the traffic until they're on the second floor.
"I like the layout," he comments, meaning it -- and of course he would; his own home has its own not-quite-standard layout. "It's interesting, having the living room and the kitchen a story up from the main entrance. And those cabinets are amazing."
It's a short trip outside to get to Avery's suite. Privately, Calden thinks this might be a little impractical. It'd certainly make breakfast in bed a challenging proposition. He considers how difficult it might be to encase the entire walkway in glass, and while he's doing that
they're stepping outside
and Avery is sharpening as someone else, an unexpected fourth party, arrives. The Philodox steps before her packmates, right to the edge of the walkway to call down. Calden takes a step forward to look over the edge too, his broad shoulders relaxing as he recognizes the woman.
"Oh, it's Lola Hawkes," he says, largely for Avery's benefit. He raises a hand to wave down to the newcomer, "She's one of the Uktena kin. Her family's a bit like the Whites. Landowners and kin, been around these parts for years."
Lola Hawkes
As it turns out, Lola doesn't get near enough to the front door to know if there's a doorbell there or not. Bodies are spied on a bridge that connects the house to what she would assume to be a shed or a guest suite or something like that. Lola's house was rough, a log thing with enough space to house a loft upstairs and a couple of bedrooms, but simple. Between Thomas and Calden's homes, Lola was a mite surprised to see that something lived in by a Silver Fang was as simple looking as it was, but given the windows on the top floor and the fact that, well, a Silver Fang lives there, she imagined the interior would be another story entirely.
She'd paused and redirected her route when she saw bodies up on the bridge, and with her hands jammed into her coat pockets she'd circled around to stand before the bridge-- not quite close enough to have to crane her neck too much to look up, but at least near enough that a raised voice would do; no shouting necessary.
Javed is recognized for there aren't many men who resemble him about, and Lola expected that she would likely find him about here after all. She didn't immediately recognize Calden for she didn't really think to see him here. Though Avery had never really been spoken to before, she's been seen at a Warmoot or two prior to this day, and beautiful blond women of such regality are difficult to mistake after meeting once, even if it wasn't a formal meeting. The Philodox is recognized instantly.
She asks how she can help, and Lola rolls her shoulders and calls back: "Was just comin' to welcome you to the neighborhood. And, if Javed's here, say hey and touch base." The third person, the man in the cowboy hat, waved to her. Lola looked at him a little more closely, and her brows furrowed some (though the expression is impossible to read from this distance, really), but she lifted a hand from her pocket and waved back anyways. There's only the tiniest thread of uncertainty, caution, or something-else when she greets him too. "Hey, Calden."
Avery Chase
Lola Hawkes, Calden announces, for both Avery's benefit and Javed's. Avery's tension, calm but present, eases a bit as the cowboy waves to the Uktena. Avery smiles, and she waves down to Lola as well. She did know the woman on sight, though perhaps not by name and still does not know her intent. This is Javed's territory and Calden was invited, but Lola's presence here keeps Avery's mild tension alive. There must be a reason, and Avery hopes it is not as dire as she suspects it might be.
Oh, she does hope this is simply a social call, and they aren't going to have to interrupt their tour to go demon-hunting. Though that would provide them with some trophies to clean up and display downstairs.
--
to welcome you to the neighborhood
And just like that, instantly, Avery's face breaks into a bright, open smile. She lifts her hands from the railing, pressing her palms together. "Oh, that's so thoughtful of you. Neighbors!"
You can tell what glee that thought gives her. Avery waves towards the longer structure of the house. "Come in the middle door," she tells Lola. "We'll be right down." Turning to the gentlemen with her she adds: "I hope you don't mind; surely we can continue the rest of the tour later, but we have a guest!"
We. And in she goes, traipsing down the stairs to the room she called a 'parlor' earlier, swinging the door open to the deck to greet Ms. Hawkes. It is not a large building, and from what Lola can see through all the glass, the interior is actually rather cozy, the couches soft and leather and comfy-looking, the wood pale and clean, the landscape filled with privacy-giving trees. Everything smells alive and outdoorsy. Certainly not what one might expect from a Silver Fang whose monogram is four initials, but then: one might not expect her to be packed with a metis Strider or hanging around a cowboy, either. No matter.
"Welcome!" she says to Lola, instantly, beaming at her. "Come, come in. Make yourself comfortable." There is, of course, a coatrack beside the door, an elegant and simple steel thing on three legs. It is probably from Ikea. "Would you like anything to drink?"
Javed Anubis-Sight
Avery has concerns that, on their first visit to the house as a group, they may find Lola bringing a demon hunt to their door. Javed has other concerns, considering how his last conversation with Lola went. He did not catch the worst brunt of Lola's anger of course, but he is well aware how little the Uktena thinks of re-opening the Cold Crescent. And while he is resolute and not afraid to discuss the issue, it would not have been his first choice for a conversation at this moment.
"Thank you," he says, more quietly, to Calden for identifying Lola before he--well, he does not wave. Waving is something to be done as a signal when you cannot communicate in a verbal manner. So instead he speaks out in that gravelly, accented baritone. "Good afternoon, Ms. Hawkes."
Avery's excitement may not exactly be reflected in Javed, but that is simply because Javed is not the excitable sort. And besides, she is correct; they have a guest and there is a certain level of hospitality that is expected. And so he nods to the Silver Fang amicably. "Of course not."
And this is how he finds himself walking aloing with her, back downstairs to help his packmate meet Lola. "A pleasure to see you as always," he says with his ever calm, ever even expression.
Calden White
A guest. Their first guest! Avery is beside herself with delight. Following her down the stairs, Calden bows his head to hide a grin.
And then she's opening the door -- the middle one -- and inviting Lola Hawkes inside. Calden, who is in fact not wearing a cowboy hat today (and likely less recognizable to Lola for it), smiles at her over Avery's shoulder. He has his arms folded casually over his chest, hands tucked under his biceps; unravels one now to shake Lola's hand by way of hello.
"Live in the area, do you?"
Lola Hawkes
The joy that is cast through the air from one story of the house down to the lower was noticed, certainly, but not acknowledged in any outward way by the gruff looking woman who stood on the dirt and grass of what could constitute a yard. She's called a neighbor and advised to go meet them at the middle door. Though Avery was smiling brightly, though Calden was waving and a friendly entity as well (neverminding the last time that she'd seen Javed and the note she'd left that encounter on), Lola did not seem to be able to share the enthusiasm-- or at least, she couldn't be bothered too. She just nodded clearly and shifted her weight to move.
Javed's greeting has her pausing for a moment, long enough to give the man born under the same moon she'd originally been promised to a good solid eye-to-eye kind of stare (no hostility, though, just a matter of 'I see you and you see me') before lifting one hand to hail him and moving toward the door that she'd been invited to.
When the door is opened to reveal Avery, Javed, and Calden all three, Lola looks blandly surprised. When she finds that Avery is beaming and inviting her in and offering her a drink, and all so genuinely on top of that, the Kinfolk's dark and expressive eyebrows crawl higher on her forehead, and that bland surprise turns to something more genuine. Clearly, she's left bewildered by the enthusiastic show of hospitality. It has her hesitating before stepping over the threshold and unzipping her jacket. "Ah, thanks," she told Avery uncertainly. "I'm alright for now--" to the drink, followed by another: "but thank you."
The coat she's wearing is shed to reveal a green camisole that covers the tops of her legs, and there's a loose brown long-sleeved shirt overtop of that. Javed gets a nod, but not unlike him smiles don't necessarily come easy or by default to the Uktena. The greeting seems friendly enough all the same. "Of course, Javed. Good to see ya." Hope I didn't make too big of an ass out of myself last time, she thinks about saying, but decides she doesn't want to share the story with Calden and doesn't want to pick up that argument when she's trying to make friendly.
For Calden, the only physical greeting, and because he initiates it. The hand he offered is clapped with her own, and the shake she gives is as solid and stern as the rest of her. "Sort of. Hell of a lot closer here than your ranch, anyways."
Then, to the room in general, but deferring to Avery by default because this is the woman she's meeting for the first time, and the one who had addressed her first. "Heard that this pack set up turf out here. Had me wonderin' and wantin' to come see what's up-- I mean, aren't you guys posted out in the city?"
Avery Chase
Lola is certainly too young to be seen as gruff. Javed! Now there's a gruff-looking sort, and he's certainly not really gruff, and Calden keeps saying his father is rough and gruff but Avery truly can't find it in him, so Calden must just be to close to the problem. Avery, for what it's worth, has enough enthusiasm and congeniality to make up for Javed's stoicism and Lola's... Lola-ness, and Calden is at least friendly and neighborly and Javed is always polite and mannerly, so really, she thinks the scales are tipped rather strongly in her direction.
There are no servants here to swoop in and take Lola's coat and hat, though naturally if there were servants here, you probably wouldn't have noticed them until they were needed (or they're not very adept servants at all). Avery herself is offering to take that jacket as it's unzipped, hanging it on the coatrack as the door is closed behind the Uktena, and her hat as well if Lola removes the beanie.
"Oh, doesn't he live just ridiculously far away?" Avery says to Lola at the mention of Calden's ranch. The tone is one almost of conspiracy, joint exasperation with the distance. "It's wonderful land, though. I chased an elk there!" she adds brightly, not mentioning that she leapt over Calden's truck in its pursuit, took it down, and ripped it into delectable pieces in front of him until her belly was swollen with meat and blood and she was satisfied enough to take notice of the kinsman. But hey! Chasing elk! Fun!
That moment of friendliness, that suggestion that she and Lola are in on something together, that Calden is so rude to live so far away, is followed a few moments later by a gentle touch of Avery's shoulder against Calden's arm as she passes by him. It's a subtle thing, but if Lola were yet -- after seeing Calden here at all, after Avery's very clear statement about having spent time on his land -- wondering how these two know one another, there is enough quiet intimacy in that brushing touch to fill in some of the blanks.
Avery smiles at Lola, cocking her head. "Well, that is where my home and kinfolk are, and where my pack most often hunts. But the caern is here, and the moots, so we are here regularly enough to warrant a domicile. Besides, Javed did not want to impose himself on my family's house, and I would be remiss if I didn't provide a sanctuary for my pack when wanted or needed." She spreads her hands happily to indicate the house. "And so."
Her hands lower again, gracefully, to her sides. "Naturally we will not always be present, and perhaps not even the majority of the time, but all of Gaia's creatures who have not fallen from their purpose deserve a safe place to lay their heads. This will be one of ours."
Calden White
Calden can't remember if he's disclosed the nature of his relationship with Avery to Lola. He knows he's mentioned her -- used her as a counterexample to Lola's own story of i thought i was one thing but i was another -- but he's not sure he's actually spelled it out. He doesn't think he has. Discretion is a part of his nature; it's a piece of what he considers common courtesy.
Still, it's not like either of them is trying to hide it. The signs are there: the casual contact, the way his head turns to follow Avery sometimes. The look in his eyes when he sees her so happy, which transduces into a warmth that simmers all the way through the smile he turns on the Javed and Lola.
"It's hardly my fault my ancestors decided to put roots down so far north," he says. "But at least up there all I have to worry about are rainstorms and flash floods."
Javed Anubis-Sight
Calden and Avery make small talk, as is perfectly appropriate. This is good, as it is not one of Javed's better skills. The man may have his moments wherein he is well-spoken, but he simply never developed a gift for discussing matters that are not of a greater import. That, of course, is not to say that being friendly and polite is not important, or that matters of socialization for the sake of camaraderie does not have value. It is simply somewhere that he is a bit lacking and thus he is grateful for his packmate and her suitor's ability to engage Lola in this manner.
Lola brings up the matter of the pack living this far out when they are based within the city, and Avery does an excellent job of explaining the matter. Javed, for his part, has his own reasons that are in addition to what Avery has to say. "Indeed. And of my part aside from that...while we are primarily operating within the confines of the city and remain steadfast in those plans, Ms. Hawkes...I grew up even less urban than this, and my people have a tendancy to move often. It is my hope that, with a variance of venues, I shall not fall prey to the wanderlust inflicted on my tribe for the fact that we do not have a homeland to call our own."
It is said without moroseness or even melacholy, really. It is simply a matter of fact. While all Silent Striders feel the loss of their ancestral homeland of Khem, there is something to be said for the fact that you cannot understand a loss that you never had in the first place. And with Javed's reserved demeanor, any sadness he may feel about it is deep enough within to not be visible on the surface.
Calden White
[VERY BELATED EMPATHY]
Dice: 5 d10 TN6 (1, 4, 10, 10, 10) ( success x 3 )
Lola Hawkes
'Gruff' might not be the most appropriate word for Lola's apparent and abundant youth. And yet it's not too far off. She doesn't look mean or angry, necessarily, but she still doesn't smile, not even in a crinkle of the eyes or a softening of that still semi-surprised expression that she wore. Avery had offered to take the jacket that Lola had shrugged off, but the Kinswoman doesn't abide. She manages not to be rude about it, doesn't refuse the gesture with a defensive jerk of the shoulder or block of the body. She's just seamless in continuing the action of shrugging the coat off and turning into a reach for the nearby coatrack.
When her arms lower from depositing the coat she tugs the loose hem of her over shirt. Something about that gesture is purposeful, a mite self-conscious, but soon enough her thumbs hitch into her pockets and her eyes lay on Avery to hear her out.
Yes, Calden lives impossibly far away, but the ranch is great. Our work is in the city, but for Moots and other duties it's worth having the land.
Javed started speaking next, explaining that a change in location helped with the wanderlust that grew in the bones of his people much like the prying curiosity that was fostered in her ancestors as well. While he's explaining this her eyes cut quickly, sharply, to Avery and Calden, catching the friendly brush and the way that the Kinsman's eyes trailed along after the Philodox, the fondness of the expression there. Lola's brow furrowed and lips pressed together, but she was quick to cut her gaze elsewhere, to pretend that she was instead frowning at a picture on the wall while she worked to smooth the look from her face.
We're not here to start fights, girl. Come on, now.
It's all too easy for Calden to know what that look, what that earlier tone was all stemming from, though. She had clear disapproval for the cross-tribal affection being displayed modestly, but casually and openly none the less before her. But, at the same time, he's able to see that she's at least trying to swallow it down, making a (poor, apparently) effort to mask it.
Another tug at the bottom of her shirt, and she's talking to Javed because it was better to distract herself with him than to linger on the physical reflection of a rumor she'd heard a while ago anyways. "I won't lie to you, Javed, I was beginning to wonder how much longer 'till your feet would find the road. Longest I think I've seen a Strider keep around is a year and a half...?"
Avery Chase
The refusal to be helped, the frown that Lola can't quite keep off her face -- oh, Avery notices. The fact that Lola is prickly and self-conscious isn't a secret, even on their first meeting outside of a warmoot. But Avery does not pry. Avery does not look even so deeply as Calden does, and misses that barely-hidden disapproval.
She does not miss, however, what Lola says to Javed. Her head tips. She smiles. "You've known many Striders?"
Calden White
Disapproval. That's what that something was. Calden sees it, notes it; doesn't shy from it, but says nothing of it. Truth be told he can't even blame Lola for it. She's an old-fashioned, opinionated creature, and there are many of them out here near Forgotten Questions. On some level, he's almost surprised that this is the first time someone's looked at him, looked at Avery, made the connection and disliked it.
Then again: they're discreet. They're private about their private lives. The number of Garou and kin who know could probably be counted on two hands, if not one.
At any rate, Lola says nothing of it either. She turns the attention on Javed instead. Makes one of those typically Lola comments: blunt, a little socially insensitive. Something about Avery's smile looks perhaps a little edged to Calden.
"Well, there are a lot of wanderers in Owl's tribe," he's doing his best here, "and a lot of drunkards in Stag's. But it's probably not fair to tar everyone with the same brush."
Javed Anubis-Sight
Javed and Lola are surprisingly alike in many ways. Their habits toward self-reliance, their generally serious demeanors. They are not the first people that you would find within a high-class social setting. But there is a reason for this; Gaia made them for other purposes. They both come with their own challenges toward accomplishing that purpose, of course. But even in those challenges, there is similarity: the desire to rise above those challenges and be more than others have thought they could be.
Lola suggests that she was expecting him to find his way elsewhere eventually, and the Strider is not offended. It is a common assumption, and not an inaccurate one for an outsider to understand. It is commonly known that the tribe wanders, of course. It is even known, to some degree, why they do. But there is something that is rather less spoken of, and that many within the Tribe to not acknowledge, at least to each other. Wandering is not always something to be desired by the Children of Owl. Far from it. Their wanderlust could be better described as a wandering curse. Javed knows deeply what it means to want to stay somewhere and not be able to. This is not his first Sept.
He gives a light shake of his head in response to Lola's words, even though she didn't ask a question that would be answerable by assent or dismissal. "I plan to go nowhere, Ms. Hawkes. There is much room within the city and the more Wyld-oriented outreachings for me to wander within. I have found that a greater purpose and a sense of duty to pack, Sept and city is a weight that I shall gladly allow to hold me down and keep my feet from pointing away for too long."
Lola Hawkes
Avery asks brightly if Lola's known many striders, but there's a new manner about her when she does, like someone tightened a bolt just a half-a-twist more to the right than before. Calden's eyes hopped from her to Lola, and he'd expressed a stereotype of his own tribe and tried to difuse by saying that not everyone operated the same.
Lola cleared her throat quietly and lifted her chin so it was a clean 90 degree angle from the floor beneath her. She responded to perceived tensions like they were small challenges, and her posture reflected this, but her tone of voice is at least casual and even when she answers Avery. Hell, she even goes so far as to dismissively bounce her right shoulder in a half of a shrug. "Not personally. I've seen a few pass through the Caern over the years, though."
For Calden, a glance and a raise of eyebrows. She may have said something to clarify herself to him, but Javed's deep voice picks up and he has Lola's attention once more.
When all's done she's looking uncomfortable. Not to any extreme, not nearly how Javed had seen her at the park the other weekend, or how she had been with Calden when they were having sandwiches and meeting formally for the first time, when he'd had the conversation about birthright and its pros and cons and perceptions(delusions). But she's still got a defensive straightness to her spine, and she's working her jaw in small ways behind closed lips until the air is still enough for her to speak.
"I ain't sayin' that I think it's a surefire thing you'll go off, man. Just wanna get that straight. But I think it's fair to wonder." And worry, is the unspoken part, but that'd be too much to say aloud. "I'll be glad to see ya stay, though."
Avery Chase
"Mm," is Avery's only response to the answer Lola gives to her question. If she, like Calden, senses some coldness to Avery that wasn't there before, perhaps it can be waved away, understood as overcompensatory defensiveness of her packmate. But Avery has never shown that before, even if only Javed would know that.
That said, she watches Lola, seeing that self-consciousness and tension appear again, the discomfort washing over her, and Avery just feels wretched then, even as Lola's spine stays rigid with defensiveness. Oh no, that isn't right at all. Not in her home. Not a guest. Avery shakes her head gently.
"No. I don't think any of us think that you were saying such a thing, Ms. Hawkes," she says, her brows stitching together for a moment. "But not all things it is fair to wonder to oneself are similarly fair to wonder aloud. We do our minds and honor a disservice when we do not give ourselves adequate time for contemplation, and weigh what we wonder against what we know for sure."
She doesn't add: we do those around us a greater disservice, too, because she doesn't think she needs to. She just dismisses it thereafter, turning sideways to offer Lola a path to the stairs. "Even should Javed depart from us, it is not something he would need to explain to me, and not something he should have to defend to anyone else. We must have faith in the strong among us. Faith, at very least, that they will always be there when they are needed." She smiles. She means it. "And Javed is very strong indeed. I have heard similar things said of you, when your name is mentioned: that whatever else is wondered of you, you are there when you are needed. And that is high praise, no matter the source."
That gesture, that stepping aside to clear a path, was not for no reason. With her smile, Avery adds: "You should join us for a snack. We were in the middle of a tour, and you're more than welcome, though it's a short one." That bit is wry, her eyes twinkling. The house is small, after all.
Calden White
If someone were to ask Calden, right now, why he feels the way he does for Avery, he'd point out what just happened. He'd point out how Lola had put her foot in her mouth, and how the others had reacted to it, and how she'd felt defensive, and how Avery,
instead of rubbing it in, instead of lording over Lola's misstep, instead of being exactly the sort of over-entitled arrogant royal one might well expect a woman of her breeding and background to be,
felt bad for her. Felt compassion. Felt driven to go out of her way to forgive, and to teach, and to uplift, and to welcome.
That. That's what he'd point to, right here and now. It changes though, hour to hour, minute to minute. His adoration is a light; his perception of it, a many-faceted prism.
--
"It's a pretty good one though," Calden puts in, smiling, and by doing so shows that he too wants to welcome Lola into this den. "Charming tour guide. Worth the admission price. Oh," he looks at Avery with a spark of sudden dismay, "I should have thought to bring steaks."
Javed Anubis-Sight
Javed notes Lola's discomfort; that is the kind of behavior that crosses species lines. He has an easier time with those kinds of reactions. He does not, perhaps, understand why though. It is one of those moments wherein he doesn't get that his rebuttal may have come off like reproach, when it was instead simply a blunt correction.
And thus, Lola clarifies defensively, and Avery smoothes it out. This is where Avery excels but Javed is less good. And he knows it, and he bares to shame in that fact. It is how things should be. They learn from each other how best to complement each other's roles in both Nation and Pack. And seeing how Avery soothes the situation...this is a learning experience for him.
"By all means, Ms. Hawkes." He nods. "Please do join us."
Lola Hawkes
The woman of fair hair and similarly bright words speaks up again, interjects into a situation that Lola was beginning to feel slide out from under her, like the beginning slow crawl of the land that had slipped below her boots a couple months back and left her stranded on a rock in the storm. She could feel but could not help the tension leaking into her muscles, but was quick to have her attention pulled to Avery when she spoke up.
Though her posture does not immediately relax, it's quite clear that Lola is doing more than just listening to what Avery is saying, but she's focusing on hearing it as well. Lola came up with a rough-housing set of agemate cubs, being knocked in line by mentors and teachers and her older sister from time to time as well. She knew some base tenants of how to behave, and one of the major ones (bolded and underlined in the rulebook) was respecting the territory of another. She was still by default perceiving this more as Avery's territory than Javed's (perhaps because she was not convinced that Javed would not be temporary, perhaps because she knew it was Avery's money that paid for the place, perhaps even simply because Avery had invited her through the door, had greeted her first, and that was perceived as dominance asserted), so she deferred to the Silver Fang and minded her words.
She's telling you to think about what you say before letting it fall out of your mouth. Doesn't that just sound familiar?
Yeah, she answered herself in her mind, but there's no reason to linger on it. We're moving on.
So Lola's shoulders rounded a little more and she glanced between the two men there as well, from Ahroun to Kinfolk, before tipping her chin back and scratching at her throat roughly with blunt, unpainted fingernails. "Alright." She'll go on the tour, she'll have the snacks.
For Calden's offer of steak, she addresses him directly again, for the time being willing to swallow back whatever disapproval it was that he had so clearly read on her face and in her spine just a minute ago. "You should've-- I'd've eaten the hell out of some steak."
Avery Chase
Calden is remorseful. He brought neither steaks nor scotch. Avery turns to him, blinking once or twice, taking on an expression of affront and patience comingled. "Well, I don't see how I can help you if you fail to think ahead, Mr. White," she says archly, teasingly, following it with a smile that contains any and all of the warmth that has been lacking in other interactions.
The truth is, this is Calden and Javed's first meeting, and her comportment with each of them is very different. Her demeanor with newcomers and visitors is, too, wholly different, and Avery is not so perfect that she isn't trying to find a happy middle ground with the three of them and how to behave: to be a little warmer, to not be too familiar, to show her appreciation for restraint, to offer comfort to someone who traveled here just to say hello to new neighbors, to bear in mind her last conversation with Calden and how he might be feeling, to not push too hard with Javed, to control the animal instinct to viciously, ruthlessly defend her pack and her territory against even the hint of offense -- oh! It would make one's head spin.
Good thing there's nosh upstairs.
--
She looks so pleased that Lola will stay, and leads them all up the stairs again while Lola is chastising Calden for not bringing steaks. Avery's steps are light, even in those little boots of hers, taking them back up to the living room and dining room and kitchen with its glossy red counters. She shows them all across the bridge and into her suite, though perhaps it means something that she doesn't open the door to her bedroom. Down the stairs there is a guest bedroom with two twin beds, a guest bathroom, but they go back upstairs again for food. There, she is the one to suggest that Calden build a fire, saying something about how it just seems right that a man with a dozen hearths in his own home be the one to christen the hearth in this one, and perhaps she's right: perhaps there is some luck, some blessing, in having a Fianna build your home's first fire. There is dry wood on the bridge between the two structures, long matches beside the fireplace.
Avery is also the one to open the fridge and begin pulling out trays of canapes: herbed avocado on thin slices of crusty bread. Rare slices of tenderloin shaved and topped with diced tomatoes and basil. Cucumber slices with goat cheese, chives, and tiny periwinkle-blue borage blossoms. Prosciutto rolled tightly around Julienne-cut pear and bites of bleu cheese. Minted watermelon cubes. Russet potatoes the size and shape of golf balls roasted and filled with dollops of sour cream. Chilled pavlova cups bearing crescents of kiwi and sugar-frosted raspberries. Triangles of toast smeared with roquefort and a single walnut and leaf of parsley. Every shelf of the fridge is taken up by these trays, and though the bites are small, there is enough food for three times as many people. Those tenderloin and tomato bites are not quite a full steak on someone's plate, but there is enough red meat and carbs available to make it worth one's while.
Sparkling water. And perhaps it's a nod to Javed that there is not even alcohol being served just now, though Avery has not refrained entirely from partaking in his presence. This is his first meal in this den, though; she will not have him excluded from anything. And there is a sense of ritual to this, too, when she brings the food out as Calden is building a fire. There is a sanctity over it, with the sunset glimpsed over the not-so-distant mountains, casting the room in a golden glow.
The laws among their people are sacred. The laws of hospitality, however, transcend all nations, all tribes. The woman who paid for and designed the house serves, and the first person she serves is the unexpected guest. They are a test of one's hospitality, a blessing to the house and perhaps how they are treated is an omen for the peace or lack thereof that one will find there. Whether that is on her mind or not, Avery smiles at Lola when she offers her a plate filled with tenderloin and prosciutto and potatoes and watermelon and a glass of sparkling water that is so clear and clean that it glints in the dying light. She has a similar smile, but a more knowing one, as she invites Calden, pointing out something she thinks he'll like. And it is meaningful that she and Javed choose their food last.
It would be different, if they were different. But there is nothing to prove by demanding the first share of what is so readily available to them both. There is only what they can show to their guests, as the four of them sit gathered around a hearth to eat together. And that is enough, maybe, to be able to show. To share. It has been enough, after all, for people of all cultures for eons:
to sit together, and share a fire and a meal.
Avery had the land surveyed and purchased shortly after she moved to Denver and introduced herself to the garou and spirits of Forgotten Questions. That was back in late spring. It is now verging on true winter, even if some days the temperature reaches the low sixties still before snapping into sub-freezing chills, and she is finally prepared to bring others to this newest, latest domicile. It took some time, after all, to find the right architect and contractors and builders, and the right decorators, and the right landscapers. It took some revisions to the original plans when she and Javed joined each other as a pack, because she wanted it to be a place that would just as easily suit his demeanor and needs as her own. Then she wanted more trees, taller ones, and then they built a garage some distance from the house itself, almost completely out of view from the windows and breezeway that connect the two structures.
Now, months later and at the tail end of the year, Avery finds Javed and tells him that she requests the honor and pleasure of his company for an afternoon and evening, if he would like to travel south with her to -- as she puts it -- their other home. She also says, with perhaps some fluttering nervousness beneath her smile, that she would like to introduce him to someone. Ruby, of course, is more than welcome to come, since as Javed's student Avery wants her to feel comfortable going there.
--
5921 Silverthorn Run is not as remote as it could be. There are other houses and plots of land within view along the rolling foothills. They are not far north of the caern, however, and more than a few of those nearby homes are occupied by other garou and their kin. Not all; that is part of why a very large plot of land holds only a very small house, and why the landscapers brought in all those trees, all that extra foliage that was not there before. It bears the illusion of remoteness, and standing outside on the deck, one cannot hear one's neighbors. One can barely even hear passing cars, seldom as that happens.
Avery picked up Javed -- and perhaps Ruby, if she wanted to attend -- to come down here. The person she wants him to meet, she says, will be meeting them there.
--
Calden's invitation was a little less vague. She'd told him about Javed, gleefully and delightedly, as soon as they were packed, but this is the first she's really spoken of him since. Just: I want you to meet each other. Just and I want you to see the house.
--
Now she pulls up, not in the Tesla but in a white Juke identical to the one that she gave to a Shadow Lord kinswoman in Vegas. She likes it. It is not so fast nor even as luxurious as the Tesla or any of her other automobiles, but that is why she drives it out to places like the caern or on road trips. Pulling into the driveway, she looks for Calden's truck, wondering if he's beat them there or not. She's dressed in jeans that are 'skinny' but not skin-tight, a pair of grey leather boots that end just above her ankles, and a deep blue v-necked cable-knit sweater. Her hair is in a single loose braid over her shoulder, and there's a pair of rose-gold bangles on her wrist. She doesn't reach for her coat when she gets out of the car, even if it's a bit chilly.
The house is really... not much to look at. Stacked boxes. Sort of a rust-colored exterior. A bunch of windows, a deck, and a breezeway in between the two upper levels of the separate structures. On one end of the long part of the house there are stairs going down, but Avery doesn't go to that entrance, walking instead towards the deck. That is, unless Calden is waiting for them.
Javed Anubis-Sight
The metis was told by Avery, back when they first agreed to be packmates, that she had a home that was in the works that they would both be able to stay at. He has not seen it yet, but Avery has always been happy to tell him about the progress and the Ahroun has happy to hear her talk of it. Not that he is dissatisfied with his living situation as it stands; while some may look at his moving from squatting location to squatting location with a wrinkled nose, Javed has found that it fits his needs nicely in the interim and he has had no complaints.
When Avery requests his company to travel and finally see the home, she receives that mild inclination of his head and a half-flicker of an acceding smile, along with the response that he would be honored. The declaration that she would like to introduce him to someone gets a little sideways cock of his head...not questioning, but intrigued. It is her undercurrent of anxiety which draws it but of course he doesn't call attention because they do not ask about those things, these Falcons. And again, he says he would be honored.
And so they drive. Or rather, Avery drives and Javed rides in the car. The metis has many skills related to travel, not motorized vehicle operation is not one of them and he would not risk one of her vehicles by giving it a try. His feet have done him fine and while he is not hesitant around cars, driving is not a skill he feels is necessary at this time.
He is watching out the windshield as they approach the grounds. He watches also when they drive there too of course; he enjoys the country side and while he doesn't drive, he does have quite the love of trips. When the building comes into view, it's humble exterior obviously does not draw his disapproval. He is not ostentatious nor does he have the need for ostentatious things. Much the contrary, he gets his hint of what may be (for him) a smile. And that's as much a sign of approval as anything. He slips out of the car, taking a moment there to breathe in the air of outside the city, and moves to follow Avery.
Calden White
Unlike Javed, Calden had no idea this house was in the works. He has little idea what is going on with Avery's properties, only that she seems to have entirely more of it than any person could possibly need. Not that Calden has any right to judge there. The invitation was received with surprise and delight and agreement; the address was exchanged, and the date and time was set.
Calden does not, in fact, beat them there. He is only minutes behind, though, and by serendipity pulls up as Javed and Avery are walking up to the house. He has a new truck, since the one before was totalled by something quite out of this world. The new one is, like the ones that came before, a heavy-duty Chevrolet Silverado 3500-series with a double-axle in the back. It is dark, it is robust, and it's actually quite luxurious inside: cream-colored leather upholstery and decent enough sound insulation that he could listen to his audiobooks comfortably on the ride over. The engine has the distinctive chop of diesel, and when he kills it a new hush falls over Avery's woodland home.
The door opens. Avery's gentleman caller climbs out of his truck, shutting the door behind him. He is wearing boots, of course, though these are serious working shoes: no tooling on the leather, and a heavier, blunter toe. He is wearing jeans and he is wearing a heavy shearling coat, and the only way he could look more like a cowboy is if he also had a hat. And a bandanna. And spurs. And a horse.
None of which he's brought today. Which isn't to say he might not own these things, but: at least he doesn't make a complete stereotype of himself. He smiles and waves as he approaches, looking up at the house. Some things are all about first impressions, gut reactions -- one might argue the very fact that he and Avery are Together (tm) now was based in first impressions and gut reactions -- and his impressions and reactions toward her latest house are immediate and strong and positive. He likes the simple exterior. He likes the innovative, modern-rustic styling; the ample glass and the unostentatious wood, the stacked-box shape of it, the fact that it is really two houses linked by a glassy corridor.
"I like it here," he says as he approaches Avery and her packmate, smiling. "I like the house, too. Hi," and he wraps an arm around her shoulders, kisses her on the cheek, then lets go and extends his hand to her packmate instead. "Hi," he says again, "Calden White. I guess you're Javed."
Avery Chase
They hear the engine long before they make it to the deck, and Avery turns around when she hears the car turning into her driveway. Suddenly she tightens up, beaming, clasping her hands in front of her chest. "Oh, he's here!" she says, which is not so far off what she said when Falcon was summoned to bind her to her packmate.
Calden, really, does not look like he belongs with Avery any more than Javed does. Maybe if he showed up wearing a tuxedo and bearing flowers, with a retinue of his own servants, then it would make sense. But then, Avery hardly surrounds herself with solely Silver Fangs and their society-bred ilk. She is packed to an Army-jacket-wearing Silent Strider with one blanked-out eye and blissfully in love with a cowboy, and one of her favorite people on earth is a pink-haired, bird-like Theurge. Avery is not a misfit. Avery is not an outsider. Avery chooses, nonetheless, to surround herself with the strangest sort of people, people you would think would be beneath her.
People she is ever so honored, day after day, to call her friends.
--
Avery at least has the decorum not to bolt across the land's sloping terrain and leap into Calden's arms, but the vibration of her energy beside Javed suggests it's not far from her heart to do so. She stops walking towards the deck, and walks down instead, meeting Calden with Javed about halfway up to the house. He says, instantly, that he likes it here. He moves to wrap his arm around her and she hesitates but allows it, turns her cheek toward him as he kisses it, and then moves away. She gives Calden a Look, introducing himself like that, that's not how these things are done, really, but she lets it slide.
No, wait, she doesn't: "You have no idea how introductions are done, do you?" she says, huffily, though there's not much truth in it. She looks to Javed. "Javed, this is my very dear friend and suitor, Mr. Calden White. Calden, I'd like you to meet Javed Anubis-Sight, my packmate." Smiling, she adds: "Javed, Calden is kin to the Fianna and runs an absolutely wonderful ranch up north. Calden, Javed is an ahroun and Silent Strider who recently began instructing a cub of his auspice and tribe."
Now thoroughly pleased with herself, she clasps her hands in front of herself again and nods towards the house. "Would the two of you like a tour?"
Javed Anubis-Sight
Javed turns his attention when Avery does in response to the sound of the car approaching. He is neither tensed nor wary; Avery did tell him that he was going to meet someone, after all. That he doesn't know who this person is does not bother him for he has trust in his packmate, a trust deeper than any which just about any individual living or dead, on or in the planet, has.
The Philodox's pleasure at seeing the approaching truck brings a new look of curiosity to his face and he folds his hands together just under his breastbone, waiting and watching. There is, of course, a look of appraisal when Calden gets out of his truck. Despite only having a single functional eye (at least, functional in the way most people would understand), he has learned to be good at making quick assessments both tactical and otherwise. He doesn't always understand some of humanity's ways, and thus the ways of people in the Nation that emulate them. But he's always working on it.
His expression remains calm and curious when Calden slips his arm around Avery, kisses her cheek. It clearly makes immediate insinuations about their relationship to each other, but Javed has learned not to rely on assumptions unless he has to (and here and now is not a time, he knows, when he will have to). So he merely waits calmly, watching the two, and then focusing on Calden when he puts his hand out.
There is a slight pause there, because he has a very good idea that Avery will not leave introductions left at the wayside. And of course, she does not. She introduces them both and Javed reaches out, takes the offered hand with his own. His other hand comes forth and rests over both clasped appendages and he inclines his head and shoulders slightly in greeting.
"Mister White. I am most honored to make your acquaintance." It can't be said as the most pleasant of greetings, but Javed doesn't do warm as a rule. It is instead deeply respectful.
The handshake passes and he lets go, looking to Avery with a nod. "I would like that very much indeed."
Calden White
"I know exactly how introductions are done," Calden replies, "at least amongst the mighty tribe of Stag: by a roaring fire, over whisky, and preferably after someone's eye has been properly blackened. Since we have no fire, no scotch and no black eyes in sight, I suppose we'll have to settle for your version."
And he smiles at Javed, broadly, taking the Ahroun's hand. "Javed Anubis-Sight. I've heard excellent things about you. It's a pleasure."
Their respective greetings differ a little: from Calden, a firm, thoroughly American handshake. From Javed, something a little more unusual. Less shaking, more clasping. When their hands separate, Calden turns toward his very dear friend and suit-ee, that smile of his irrepressibly and unmistakably affectionate.
"I think you might never forgive me if I said no," he says, a certain spark in his eye, "so yes. I would love a tour."
Avery Chase
Avery does not mention to Javed so much as a word about the fact that her suitor is of another tribe. Perhaps, modern and progressive as she is, she still thinks nothing of the Silver Fangs taking their lovers from among the best of what their loyal tribes have to offer. Perhaps, modern and progressive as she is, she would tear out someone's throat if they suggested that kin are territory to be argued over. She doesn't speak of it, and Javed does not ask, even though he can smell the kinsman's blood as soon as he sees him.
Calden, for his part, can likely see instantly the appeal a garou like Javed has for Avery. His reserved demeanor, his manners, his steady calm, even the lack of immediate warmth. Calden, who has seen Avery descend into madness, seen how vulnerable she can be, would know right away why Avery would not be turned off by a packmate who errs on the side of stoic and polite, and in fact would be grateful for it.
Avery just says pff! to Calden's ideas of proper introductions, waving a hand at him. She starts to head up the land to the house, coming at it from roughly the east side. The stairs at the end of the long arm point south, but she goes to the deck instead, entering the other side. They find themselves in a cozy sitting room, with two warm leather couches and a low coffee table. There is a built-in bar there, and the doors to the deck let in western light. There are curtains that can be pulled across that almost total wall of glass, but they are open now. There is a bit of a mountain view there, though probably better upstairs.
"This room," Avery is saying, holding the door for two of her favorite gentlemen, "is perhaps best compared to a parlor, for the greeting of guests and general entrances. The bar," she says, indicating it against the wall, "would be, I think, a wonderful spot for the collection of trophies and storage for talens and talen-creation materials, with perhaps a few refreshments." She looks at Calden. "Javed does not partake in alcohol, so even if others are imbibing scotch, any black eyes he gives or receives will be given or received in sobriety."
Smiling, she strolls through the little hallway, indicating the stairs they'll ascend in a few moments. The bathroom on their left is simple, its tiling steel grey and white and clear with accents of pale blue. It receives sunlight from a high window, and the shower, though just a stall, is roomy.
"And this," Avery says, showing them past the bathroom to the bedroom at the southern tip of the house's long arm, "is Javed's room."
Javed's room is very, very plain. The walls are a subdued color. The bed is queen-sized and the dove-grey duvet thick and warm. There is a desk against the wall with a single chair, and several draws built-in, the desk's surface an extension of a low chest of drawers. One entire wall of the room is taken up by broad glass doors going down a small set of stairs to a little unfinished courtyard: the ground is a bit clearer, the grass tamped down, a couple of fallen logs off to the side. Of course there are curtains to shade that room, to give privacy and darkness, and the doors are a bit recessed, giving Javed a small porch atop those stairs and giving the room some shade as well.
"We did not decorate, really," Avery says, as they glance around. "I wanted you to feel free to add any personal touches or lack thereof that you might like. The southern sun is diffused a bit by the trees, but it will be one of the warmer spots in the house, I think. The exterior was planned with flagstones and seating and perhaps a fountain, but I thought you might like to use the ground as a training space. It's very hidden from the road; a car would have to enter the driveway to have a view, and you would have ample time to hear and change forms if necessary."
She smiles. "I do hope you like it," she says quietly, "but please tell me if there is anything you would like added or taken away, changed or improved upon. It will be done. I know you may not spend most of your time here, especially with the work to be done at Cold Crescent, but it is my dear hope that you will see this as... a den. It is our territory."
Javed Anubis-Sight
Avery does not mention Calden's Fianna lineage and, though Calden brings it up himself, Javed neither asks of gives any indication that he has an opinion on what it should be. There are many reasons for this, but utmost among them is one simple, overriding one: he meticulously does not insert his opinions on mating situations. That is not his place as a metis; it is up to others to make that judgment call and of all people, it is Avery's opinion which is foremost to him. She chooses who she wishes and she need never fear that, should any situation somehow come up, he would have her back.
He lets her guide them along, allowing Calden to go first and then following behind. He is as observant as a one-eyed man can be, using that single orb to take in as much as he can while they move along. He will have more opportunity to take in further details after the fact; unlike people's faces, he can commit the details of these buildings to memory and he will surely do so soon enough.
He nods a little bit at Avery's assessment of the rooms as they make their way through. A brief tilt of his head is given to Calden at the mention by the Silver Fang that he obstains from drinking. "I find that they mean all the more when delivered of a clear mind." It's a touch of humor, though said in his deadpan tone so it could be difficult to tell how serious he is for someone like Calden who just met him.
He slips inside the bedroom Avery has designated as his, looking about with his hands at his sides. He pauses there, closes his eyes, takes a deep breath inward. After a moment, he opens it and nods to Avery. "It is exactly what I would require." He gives her one of those rare smiles; she even considered the fact that he is used to warmer climates, and it is deeply appreciated. "I am sure at some point I will add my own touches, but at the moment it has everything that I could possibly require."
He folds his hands again, bowing his head to his packmate. "Thank you. As always, you do me a great honor."
Calden White
Calden is a son of Stag. It is unmistakable, carved into his bones. Though the purity of his blood is middling at best, the scent of that primal, potent totem lingers about him. Gives him that touch of russet in his hair; that touch of green in his eyes.
For all that, though, it appears his comment about brawls and booze was a tongue-in-cheek nod to the stereotype, nothing more. He doesn't look shocked or offended to learn that Javed doesn't drink. "There's something to be said for being pleasantly fuzzy-minded," he says, "but it's usually best to err on the side of sobriety."
They move into the house. Avery shows them the space that serves as a parlor; the bar that Calden makes a mental note to donate a few bottles to. Then Javed's room, as spare and spartan as the man himself. Calden, his hands laced behind his back, looks a touch wistful. Must be nice, he thinks, to live in such close quarters with those you are closest to. He can't remember the last time his brothers were all under one roof together. His mother is ten years in the grave. And his father -- well; their relationship is strained at best, their love shot through with tension.
And Avery. Not so long ago they had a conversation about distances; the time they did or didn't have. As she is explaining to Javed that they could decorate as they liked, he could use the outside space to train, this is our territory, Calden is rather ashamed to feel something almost like a pang of envy. To cover it, he shifts his stance, slips his hands into his pockets, angles his head toward the stairs.
"And upstairs?"
Lola Hawkes
Over a shared lunch of a soup thermos and sandwiches with a red-haired Skald yesterday, Lola was informed that the two-man pack that was made of the local Ahroun Silent Strider and Philodox Silver Fang had claimed turf not too far from here. A house up north from Roxborough, along the mountain bench. They'd mused back and forth a little-- Eddie didn't have much information and Lola was curious why a Garou so dedicated to keeping the Spire Sept up and running would claim turf so far away from it. So she pulled what information she could (he didn't know why they were there but he had an address-- because of fucking course he did), laid a few friendly slap-punches in a back-and-forth manner with the Get of Fenris, then parted from him to continue her own personal patrols while he returned to his duties at the Caern.
The sun was working its way rapidly west across the southern end of the sky-- still bright enough to light the land, but skirting closer to the tops of mountains none the less. Therefore, no headlights were needed, so they didn't cut through windows and announce her approach. That's fine, though, it was quiet out here, and tires crunching on driveway would do it. If not that, the house that she pulled up to had windows plenty, so the big rusty white truck that bounced along on poor suspension would easily be spied.
The woman behind the wheel was dark of skin and hair both, and frown lines were still smoothing from her forehead. She'd missed the driveway and had to turn around, and while she'd been driving this truck since her license became valid it was still a pain in the ass to turn the beast around. There was no such thing as a 'U' turn, only the five-point turn that she managed to make on a thankfully clear road before doubling back, finding the driveway this time, and pulling on in.
The woman that steps out is dressed in a tan canvas jacket, much like those that construction workers or ranch hands will wear while working, zipped up to her throat. She had a gray beanie cap on her head, and her jeans were tucked into calf-height brown boots that were scuffed at the toes and worn at the heels. She glanced about, at the trees and the property that surrounded, before surveying the front of the house and approaching.
At the front door she'll hunt for a doorbell and ring it if she finds it. If not, a solid rapping of knuckles on the front door will suffice.
Avery Chase
Avery can only grin at Javed's joke -- deadpan as it is, as most of his humor -- about black eyes. That, if nothing else, helps hint to Calden that Javed's wit is rather dry. She hangs back at the entry to the room, Javed the first to walk inside, and beams when he breathes deep of its air, glows brighter when he says it is exactly what he would require. So formal, that, but for Javed, it's almost gushing. Avery looks like she is about to ascend to the moon on those words alone.
He bows, and she inclines her head, her smile softening. Later on, exploring the room, Javed will find clothing in the drawers: pairs of jeans and even some slacks, some with many pockets and some with few. He will find a pair of decent boots and a pair of sneakers and a pair of rather nice shoes. He will find shirts, everything from undershirts to button-downs to sweaters. He will find, in fact, that Avery pays meticulous attention to cut and size and has essentially provided him with a complete wardrobe, and that there is a range of cheap but sturdy all the way to refined. At least one of the sweaters will be cashmere, and in a deep wine color that compliments his hair and skin tone. He will find that the bathroom is outfitted with soft, dark blue towels and toiletries of every sort, including his choice of disposable, electric, straight, and safety razors, plus a mug of glycerine soap and a boar-bristle brush.
None of that matters now. They head back out of the narrow hallway, and Avery brushes against Calden as she passes, as though she sensed some pang in him... or, more likely, simply wanted the contact. She takes them up the stairs, the walls hung sparsely but thoughtfully with very large prints of some of John Fielder's photography of the state's more beautiful vistas. They are all signed, of course.
"Now, the upstairs is full of the common areas to the pack," she says, rising above the low white walls around the stairway. It's an open area, with the living room to one side and the kitchen to the other. The table is rectangular, seating six, and the living room has a fireplace and more seating, as well as a flatscreen that could be hidden behind folding panels. The kitchen's cabinets are vivid red, the surfaces white and stainless in mix. "Cooking, dining, relaxing. And this way," she goes on, heading past the kitchen towards the bridge between the structures, "is my suite."
They cross the bridge, which is open but sided by railings, and Avery is reaching for the handles to the sliding doors when all three of them hear the rumble of an engine not passing by, but coming along the little road from the main thoroughfare and into Avery's land. This place is quiet enough, protected enough by its distance from the road and its trees, that the engine itself is enough of a warning.
The change that comes over her is instant, when she hears that. She is straight-backed, turning her head hawklike towards the driveway. Calden has not seen her like this at her penthouse, nor at her family's house in Polo Club. Javed has not seen her like that except in battle: aware, alert, but there is an element of guardianship here that might not be seen elsewhere. She watches as Lola's truck comes down the driveway, parking. They can see the truck from where they stand on the bridge between the two structures, and Lola can see the little white Juke and the dark, brand-new Silverado as soon as she puts her truck in park.
Avery does not know the truck, and only vaguely knows who the woman is, but she does know who she is. She steps in front of Calden and Javed on the bridge, hands on the railing, as Lola gets out of the truck and walks a few feet from it. It is unlikely that Lola misses the three of them up there, long before she gets to the deck itself, or any of the entrances.
And from above, she calls out, very politely but not exactly warmly:
"May I help you?"
Javed Anubis-Sight
Javed is as observant of a man as a one-eyed individual can be, but that qualifier is a signficant limitation. And Javed is busy being enamored with his new room (because let's be honest, folks...for Javed, this is an expression of being enamored) so he does not note the wistful look on Calden's face. Although even if he did, he would not be likely to bring it to light right here and now, because that would not be appropriate in this situation. Javed and Avery are very clear about the delineations of their pack, and not pressing on each other's thoughts in undesired ways is an important part of that. Javed would extend the same courtesy to Calden, had he noticed.
Instead the kinfolk asks about the upstairs, and Javed listens, taking note. He then follows on the tour. Later he will find the clothes and he will be taken aback. Not in a bad way; far from it. But it is a deeply foreign concept to the man, who has for the whole of his existance had only one set of clothing at a time. This will take some getting used to for him. But it is not unwelcome, just unknown.
His ears perk up at the sound of that approaching vehicle, and his attention immediately shifts to Avery. It is their territory but she is more knowledgable about it at the moment, and who may be approaching. And of course, he cannot rely on his vision to give the identity of the woman who approaches. He picks up on the breeding, of course, but as always, this is no sure thing. There are other Uktena about. And so he uses Avery as a guide to go off of, and when she becomes more alert so does he, letting his packmate ask the greeting question.
Calden White
Calden knows how Avery is about public displays of affection, and even were she not polite about such things he would be. They were both raised to be courteous, to be respectful of others, to understand that courtesy and respect toward others were, in fact, ways to respect yourself.
So: she brushes against him. And his hand touches her back briefly. But there are no other overt gestures, no egregious displays; nothing of the sort. He heads upstairs behind Avery, beside Javed, making a bit of small talk about the weather and the traffic until they're on the second floor.
"I like the layout," he comments, meaning it -- and of course he would; his own home has its own not-quite-standard layout. "It's interesting, having the living room and the kitchen a story up from the main entrance. And those cabinets are amazing."
It's a short trip outside to get to Avery's suite. Privately, Calden thinks this might be a little impractical. It'd certainly make breakfast in bed a challenging proposition. He considers how difficult it might be to encase the entire walkway in glass, and while he's doing that
they're stepping outside
and Avery is sharpening as someone else, an unexpected fourth party, arrives. The Philodox steps before her packmates, right to the edge of the walkway to call down. Calden takes a step forward to look over the edge too, his broad shoulders relaxing as he recognizes the woman.
"Oh, it's Lola Hawkes," he says, largely for Avery's benefit. He raises a hand to wave down to the newcomer, "She's one of the Uktena kin. Her family's a bit like the Whites. Landowners and kin, been around these parts for years."
Lola Hawkes
As it turns out, Lola doesn't get near enough to the front door to know if there's a doorbell there or not. Bodies are spied on a bridge that connects the house to what she would assume to be a shed or a guest suite or something like that. Lola's house was rough, a log thing with enough space to house a loft upstairs and a couple of bedrooms, but simple. Between Thomas and Calden's homes, Lola was a mite surprised to see that something lived in by a Silver Fang was as simple looking as it was, but given the windows on the top floor and the fact that, well, a Silver Fang lives there, she imagined the interior would be another story entirely.
She'd paused and redirected her route when she saw bodies up on the bridge, and with her hands jammed into her coat pockets she'd circled around to stand before the bridge-- not quite close enough to have to crane her neck too much to look up, but at least near enough that a raised voice would do; no shouting necessary.
Javed is recognized for there aren't many men who resemble him about, and Lola expected that she would likely find him about here after all. She didn't immediately recognize Calden for she didn't really think to see him here. Though Avery had never really been spoken to before, she's been seen at a Warmoot or two prior to this day, and beautiful blond women of such regality are difficult to mistake after meeting once, even if it wasn't a formal meeting. The Philodox is recognized instantly.
She asks how she can help, and Lola rolls her shoulders and calls back: "Was just comin' to welcome you to the neighborhood. And, if Javed's here, say hey and touch base." The third person, the man in the cowboy hat, waved to her. Lola looked at him a little more closely, and her brows furrowed some (though the expression is impossible to read from this distance, really), but she lifted a hand from her pocket and waved back anyways. There's only the tiniest thread of uncertainty, caution, or something-else when she greets him too. "Hey, Calden."
Avery Chase
Lola Hawkes, Calden announces, for both Avery's benefit and Javed's. Avery's tension, calm but present, eases a bit as the cowboy waves to the Uktena. Avery smiles, and she waves down to Lola as well. She did know the woman on sight, though perhaps not by name and still does not know her intent. This is Javed's territory and Calden was invited, but Lola's presence here keeps Avery's mild tension alive. There must be a reason, and Avery hopes it is not as dire as she suspects it might be.
Oh, she does hope this is simply a social call, and they aren't going to have to interrupt their tour to go demon-hunting. Though that would provide them with some trophies to clean up and display downstairs.
--
to welcome you to the neighborhood
And just like that, instantly, Avery's face breaks into a bright, open smile. She lifts her hands from the railing, pressing her palms together. "Oh, that's so thoughtful of you. Neighbors!"
You can tell what glee that thought gives her. Avery waves towards the longer structure of the house. "Come in the middle door," she tells Lola. "We'll be right down." Turning to the gentlemen with her she adds: "I hope you don't mind; surely we can continue the rest of the tour later, but we have a guest!"
We. And in she goes, traipsing down the stairs to the room she called a 'parlor' earlier, swinging the door open to the deck to greet Ms. Hawkes. It is not a large building, and from what Lola can see through all the glass, the interior is actually rather cozy, the couches soft and leather and comfy-looking, the wood pale and clean, the landscape filled with privacy-giving trees. Everything smells alive and outdoorsy. Certainly not what one might expect from a Silver Fang whose monogram is four initials, but then: one might not expect her to be packed with a metis Strider or hanging around a cowboy, either. No matter.
"Welcome!" she says to Lola, instantly, beaming at her. "Come, come in. Make yourself comfortable." There is, of course, a coatrack beside the door, an elegant and simple steel thing on three legs. It is probably from Ikea. "Would you like anything to drink?"
Javed Anubis-Sight
Avery has concerns that, on their first visit to the house as a group, they may find Lola bringing a demon hunt to their door. Javed has other concerns, considering how his last conversation with Lola went. He did not catch the worst brunt of Lola's anger of course, but he is well aware how little the Uktena thinks of re-opening the Cold Crescent. And while he is resolute and not afraid to discuss the issue, it would not have been his first choice for a conversation at this moment.
"Thank you," he says, more quietly, to Calden for identifying Lola before he--well, he does not wave. Waving is something to be done as a signal when you cannot communicate in a verbal manner. So instead he speaks out in that gravelly, accented baritone. "Good afternoon, Ms. Hawkes."
Avery's excitement may not exactly be reflected in Javed, but that is simply because Javed is not the excitable sort. And besides, she is correct; they have a guest and there is a certain level of hospitality that is expected. And so he nods to the Silver Fang amicably. "Of course not."
And this is how he finds himself walking aloing with her, back downstairs to help his packmate meet Lola. "A pleasure to see you as always," he says with his ever calm, ever even expression.
Calden White
A guest. Their first guest! Avery is beside herself with delight. Following her down the stairs, Calden bows his head to hide a grin.
And then she's opening the door -- the middle one -- and inviting Lola Hawkes inside. Calden, who is in fact not wearing a cowboy hat today (and likely less recognizable to Lola for it), smiles at her over Avery's shoulder. He has his arms folded casually over his chest, hands tucked under his biceps; unravels one now to shake Lola's hand by way of hello.
"Live in the area, do you?"
Lola Hawkes
The joy that is cast through the air from one story of the house down to the lower was noticed, certainly, but not acknowledged in any outward way by the gruff looking woman who stood on the dirt and grass of what could constitute a yard. She's called a neighbor and advised to go meet them at the middle door. Though Avery was smiling brightly, though Calden was waving and a friendly entity as well (neverminding the last time that she'd seen Javed and the note she'd left that encounter on), Lola did not seem to be able to share the enthusiasm-- or at least, she couldn't be bothered too. She just nodded clearly and shifted her weight to move.
Javed's greeting has her pausing for a moment, long enough to give the man born under the same moon she'd originally been promised to a good solid eye-to-eye kind of stare (no hostility, though, just a matter of 'I see you and you see me') before lifting one hand to hail him and moving toward the door that she'd been invited to.
When the door is opened to reveal Avery, Javed, and Calden all three, Lola looks blandly surprised. When she finds that Avery is beaming and inviting her in and offering her a drink, and all so genuinely on top of that, the Kinfolk's dark and expressive eyebrows crawl higher on her forehead, and that bland surprise turns to something more genuine. Clearly, she's left bewildered by the enthusiastic show of hospitality. It has her hesitating before stepping over the threshold and unzipping her jacket. "Ah, thanks," she told Avery uncertainly. "I'm alright for now--" to the drink, followed by another: "but thank you."
The coat she's wearing is shed to reveal a green camisole that covers the tops of her legs, and there's a loose brown long-sleeved shirt overtop of that. Javed gets a nod, but not unlike him smiles don't necessarily come easy or by default to the Uktena. The greeting seems friendly enough all the same. "Of course, Javed. Good to see ya." Hope I didn't make too big of an ass out of myself last time, she thinks about saying, but decides she doesn't want to share the story with Calden and doesn't want to pick up that argument when she's trying to make friendly.
For Calden, the only physical greeting, and because he initiates it. The hand he offered is clapped with her own, and the shake she gives is as solid and stern as the rest of her. "Sort of. Hell of a lot closer here than your ranch, anyways."
Then, to the room in general, but deferring to Avery by default because this is the woman she's meeting for the first time, and the one who had addressed her first. "Heard that this pack set up turf out here. Had me wonderin' and wantin' to come see what's up-- I mean, aren't you guys posted out in the city?"
Avery Chase
Lola is certainly too young to be seen as gruff. Javed! Now there's a gruff-looking sort, and he's certainly not really gruff, and Calden keeps saying his father is rough and gruff but Avery truly can't find it in him, so Calden must just be to close to the problem. Avery, for what it's worth, has enough enthusiasm and congeniality to make up for Javed's stoicism and Lola's... Lola-ness, and Calden is at least friendly and neighborly and Javed is always polite and mannerly, so really, she thinks the scales are tipped rather strongly in her direction.
There are no servants here to swoop in and take Lola's coat and hat, though naturally if there were servants here, you probably wouldn't have noticed them until they were needed (or they're not very adept servants at all). Avery herself is offering to take that jacket as it's unzipped, hanging it on the coatrack as the door is closed behind the Uktena, and her hat as well if Lola removes the beanie.
"Oh, doesn't he live just ridiculously far away?" Avery says to Lola at the mention of Calden's ranch. The tone is one almost of conspiracy, joint exasperation with the distance. "It's wonderful land, though. I chased an elk there!" she adds brightly, not mentioning that she leapt over Calden's truck in its pursuit, took it down, and ripped it into delectable pieces in front of him until her belly was swollen with meat and blood and she was satisfied enough to take notice of the kinsman. But hey! Chasing elk! Fun!
That moment of friendliness, that suggestion that she and Lola are in on something together, that Calden is so rude to live so far away, is followed a few moments later by a gentle touch of Avery's shoulder against Calden's arm as she passes by him. It's a subtle thing, but if Lola were yet -- after seeing Calden here at all, after Avery's very clear statement about having spent time on his land -- wondering how these two know one another, there is enough quiet intimacy in that brushing touch to fill in some of the blanks.
Avery smiles at Lola, cocking her head. "Well, that is where my home and kinfolk are, and where my pack most often hunts. But the caern is here, and the moots, so we are here regularly enough to warrant a domicile. Besides, Javed did not want to impose himself on my family's house, and I would be remiss if I didn't provide a sanctuary for my pack when wanted or needed." She spreads her hands happily to indicate the house. "And so."
Her hands lower again, gracefully, to her sides. "Naturally we will not always be present, and perhaps not even the majority of the time, but all of Gaia's creatures who have not fallen from their purpose deserve a safe place to lay their heads. This will be one of ours."
Calden White
Calden can't remember if he's disclosed the nature of his relationship with Avery to Lola. He knows he's mentioned her -- used her as a counterexample to Lola's own story of i thought i was one thing but i was another -- but he's not sure he's actually spelled it out. He doesn't think he has. Discretion is a part of his nature; it's a piece of what he considers common courtesy.
Still, it's not like either of them is trying to hide it. The signs are there: the casual contact, the way his head turns to follow Avery sometimes. The look in his eyes when he sees her so happy, which transduces into a warmth that simmers all the way through the smile he turns on the Javed and Lola.
"It's hardly my fault my ancestors decided to put roots down so far north," he says. "But at least up there all I have to worry about are rainstorms and flash floods."
Javed Anubis-Sight
Calden and Avery make small talk, as is perfectly appropriate. This is good, as it is not one of Javed's better skills. The man may have his moments wherein he is well-spoken, but he simply never developed a gift for discussing matters that are not of a greater import. That, of course, is not to say that being friendly and polite is not important, or that matters of socialization for the sake of camaraderie does not have value. It is simply somewhere that he is a bit lacking and thus he is grateful for his packmate and her suitor's ability to engage Lola in this manner.
Lola brings up the matter of the pack living this far out when they are based within the city, and Avery does an excellent job of explaining the matter. Javed, for his part, has his own reasons that are in addition to what Avery has to say. "Indeed. And of my part aside from that...while we are primarily operating within the confines of the city and remain steadfast in those plans, Ms. Hawkes...I grew up even less urban than this, and my people have a tendancy to move often. It is my hope that, with a variance of venues, I shall not fall prey to the wanderlust inflicted on my tribe for the fact that we do not have a homeland to call our own."
It is said without moroseness or even melacholy, really. It is simply a matter of fact. While all Silent Striders feel the loss of their ancestral homeland of Khem, there is something to be said for the fact that you cannot understand a loss that you never had in the first place. And with Javed's reserved demeanor, any sadness he may feel about it is deep enough within to not be visible on the surface.
Calden White
[VERY BELATED EMPATHY]
Dice: 5 d10 TN6 (1, 4, 10, 10, 10) ( success x 3 )
Lola Hawkes
'Gruff' might not be the most appropriate word for Lola's apparent and abundant youth. And yet it's not too far off. She doesn't look mean or angry, necessarily, but she still doesn't smile, not even in a crinkle of the eyes or a softening of that still semi-surprised expression that she wore. Avery had offered to take the jacket that Lola had shrugged off, but the Kinswoman doesn't abide. She manages not to be rude about it, doesn't refuse the gesture with a defensive jerk of the shoulder or block of the body. She's just seamless in continuing the action of shrugging the coat off and turning into a reach for the nearby coatrack.
When her arms lower from depositing the coat she tugs the loose hem of her over shirt. Something about that gesture is purposeful, a mite self-conscious, but soon enough her thumbs hitch into her pockets and her eyes lay on Avery to hear her out.
Yes, Calden lives impossibly far away, but the ranch is great. Our work is in the city, but for Moots and other duties it's worth having the land.
Javed started speaking next, explaining that a change in location helped with the wanderlust that grew in the bones of his people much like the prying curiosity that was fostered in her ancestors as well. While he's explaining this her eyes cut quickly, sharply, to Avery and Calden, catching the friendly brush and the way that the Kinsman's eyes trailed along after the Philodox, the fondness of the expression there. Lola's brow furrowed and lips pressed together, but she was quick to cut her gaze elsewhere, to pretend that she was instead frowning at a picture on the wall while she worked to smooth the look from her face.
We're not here to start fights, girl. Come on, now.
It's all too easy for Calden to know what that look, what that earlier tone was all stemming from, though. She had clear disapproval for the cross-tribal affection being displayed modestly, but casually and openly none the less before her. But, at the same time, he's able to see that she's at least trying to swallow it down, making a (poor, apparently) effort to mask it.
Another tug at the bottom of her shirt, and she's talking to Javed because it was better to distract herself with him than to linger on the physical reflection of a rumor she'd heard a while ago anyways. "I won't lie to you, Javed, I was beginning to wonder how much longer 'till your feet would find the road. Longest I think I've seen a Strider keep around is a year and a half...?"
Avery Chase
The refusal to be helped, the frown that Lola can't quite keep off her face -- oh, Avery notices. The fact that Lola is prickly and self-conscious isn't a secret, even on their first meeting outside of a warmoot. But Avery does not pry. Avery does not look even so deeply as Calden does, and misses that barely-hidden disapproval.
She does not miss, however, what Lola says to Javed. Her head tips. She smiles. "You've known many Striders?"
Calden White
Disapproval. That's what that something was. Calden sees it, notes it; doesn't shy from it, but says nothing of it. Truth be told he can't even blame Lola for it. She's an old-fashioned, opinionated creature, and there are many of them out here near Forgotten Questions. On some level, he's almost surprised that this is the first time someone's looked at him, looked at Avery, made the connection and disliked it.
Then again: they're discreet. They're private about their private lives. The number of Garou and kin who know could probably be counted on two hands, if not one.
At any rate, Lola says nothing of it either. She turns the attention on Javed instead. Makes one of those typically Lola comments: blunt, a little socially insensitive. Something about Avery's smile looks perhaps a little edged to Calden.
"Well, there are a lot of wanderers in Owl's tribe," he's doing his best here, "and a lot of drunkards in Stag's. But it's probably not fair to tar everyone with the same brush."
Javed Anubis-Sight
Javed and Lola are surprisingly alike in many ways. Their habits toward self-reliance, their generally serious demeanors. They are not the first people that you would find within a high-class social setting. But there is a reason for this; Gaia made them for other purposes. They both come with their own challenges toward accomplishing that purpose, of course. But even in those challenges, there is similarity: the desire to rise above those challenges and be more than others have thought they could be.
Lola suggests that she was expecting him to find his way elsewhere eventually, and the Strider is not offended. It is a common assumption, and not an inaccurate one for an outsider to understand. It is commonly known that the tribe wanders, of course. It is even known, to some degree, why they do. But there is something that is rather less spoken of, and that many within the Tribe to not acknowledge, at least to each other. Wandering is not always something to be desired by the Children of Owl. Far from it. Their wanderlust could be better described as a wandering curse. Javed knows deeply what it means to want to stay somewhere and not be able to. This is not his first Sept.
He gives a light shake of his head in response to Lola's words, even though she didn't ask a question that would be answerable by assent or dismissal. "I plan to go nowhere, Ms. Hawkes. There is much room within the city and the more Wyld-oriented outreachings for me to wander within. I have found that a greater purpose and a sense of duty to pack, Sept and city is a weight that I shall gladly allow to hold me down and keep my feet from pointing away for too long."
Lola Hawkes
Avery asks brightly if Lola's known many striders, but there's a new manner about her when she does, like someone tightened a bolt just a half-a-twist more to the right than before. Calden's eyes hopped from her to Lola, and he'd expressed a stereotype of his own tribe and tried to difuse by saying that not everyone operated the same.
Lola cleared her throat quietly and lifted her chin so it was a clean 90 degree angle from the floor beneath her. She responded to perceived tensions like they were small challenges, and her posture reflected this, but her tone of voice is at least casual and even when she answers Avery. Hell, she even goes so far as to dismissively bounce her right shoulder in a half of a shrug. "Not personally. I've seen a few pass through the Caern over the years, though."
For Calden, a glance and a raise of eyebrows. She may have said something to clarify herself to him, but Javed's deep voice picks up and he has Lola's attention once more.
When all's done she's looking uncomfortable. Not to any extreme, not nearly how Javed had seen her at the park the other weekend, or how she had been with Calden when they were having sandwiches and meeting formally for the first time, when he'd had the conversation about birthright and its pros and cons and perceptions(delusions). But she's still got a defensive straightness to her spine, and she's working her jaw in small ways behind closed lips until the air is still enough for her to speak.
"I ain't sayin' that I think it's a surefire thing you'll go off, man. Just wanna get that straight. But I think it's fair to wonder." And worry, is the unspoken part, but that'd be too much to say aloud. "I'll be glad to see ya stay, though."
Avery Chase
"Mm," is Avery's only response to the answer Lola gives to her question. If she, like Calden, senses some coldness to Avery that wasn't there before, perhaps it can be waved away, understood as overcompensatory defensiveness of her packmate. But Avery has never shown that before, even if only Javed would know that.
That said, she watches Lola, seeing that self-consciousness and tension appear again, the discomfort washing over her, and Avery just feels wretched then, even as Lola's spine stays rigid with defensiveness. Oh no, that isn't right at all. Not in her home. Not a guest. Avery shakes her head gently.
"No. I don't think any of us think that you were saying such a thing, Ms. Hawkes," she says, her brows stitching together for a moment. "But not all things it is fair to wonder to oneself are similarly fair to wonder aloud. We do our minds and honor a disservice when we do not give ourselves adequate time for contemplation, and weigh what we wonder against what we know for sure."
She doesn't add: we do those around us a greater disservice, too, because she doesn't think she needs to. She just dismisses it thereafter, turning sideways to offer Lola a path to the stairs. "Even should Javed depart from us, it is not something he would need to explain to me, and not something he should have to defend to anyone else. We must have faith in the strong among us. Faith, at very least, that they will always be there when they are needed." She smiles. She means it. "And Javed is very strong indeed. I have heard similar things said of you, when your name is mentioned: that whatever else is wondered of you, you are there when you are needed. And that is high praise, no matter the source."
That gesture, that stepping aside to clear a path, was not for no reason. With her smile, Avery adds: "You should join us for a snack. We were in the middle of a tour, and you're more than welcome, though it's a short one." That bit is wry, her eyes twinkling. The house is small, after all.
Calden White
If someone were to ask Calden, right now, why he feels the way he does for Avery, he'd point out what just happened. He'd point out how Lola had put her foot in her mouth, and how the others had reacted to it, and how she'd felt defensive, and how Avery,
instead of rubbing it in, instead of lording over Lola's misstep, instead of being exactly the sort of over-entitled arrogant royal one might well expect a woman of her breeding and background to be,
felt bad for her. Felt compassion. Felt driven to go out of her way to forgive, and to teach, and to uplift, and to welcome.
That. That's what he'd point to, right here and now. It changes though, hour to hour, minute to minute. His adoration is a light; his perception of it, a many-faceted prism.
--
"It's a pretty good one though," Calden puts in, smiling, and by doing so shows that he too wants to welcome Lola into this den. "Charming tour guide. Worth the admission price. Oh," he looks at Avery with a spark of sudden dismay, "I should have thought to bring steaks."
Javed Anubis-Sight
Javed notes Lola's discomfort; that is the kind of behavior that crosses species lines. He has an easier time with those kinds of reactions. He does not, perhaps, understand why though. It is one of those moments wherein he doesn't get that his rebuttal may have come off like reproach, when it was instead simply a blunt correction.
And thus, Lola clarifies defensively, and Avery smoothes it out. This is where Avery excels but Javed is less good. And he knows it, and he bares to shame in that fact. It is how things should be. They learn from each other how best to complement each other's roles in both Nation and Pack. And seeing how Avery soothes the situation...this is a learning experience for him.
"By all means, Ms. Hawkes." He nods. "Please do join us."
Lola Hawkes
The woman of fair hair and similarly bright words speaks up again, interjects into a situation that Lola was beginning to feel slide out from under her, like the beginning slow crawl of the land that had slipped below her boots a couple months back and left her stranded on a rock in the storm. She could feel but could not help the tension leaking into her muscles, but was quick to have her attention pulled to Avery when she spoke up.
Though her posture does not immediately relax, it's quite clear that Lola is doing more than just listening to what Avery is saying, but she's focusing on hearing it as well. Lola came up with a rough-housing set of agemate cubs, being knocked in line by mentors and teachers and her older sister from time to time as well. She knew some base tenants of how to behave, and one of the major ones (bolded and underlined in the rulebook) was respecting the territory of another. She was still by default perceiving this more as Avery's territory than Javed's (perhaps because she was not convinced that Javed would not be temporary, perhaps because she knew it was Avery's money that paid for the place, perhaps even simply because Avery had invited her through the door, had greeted her first, and that was perceived as dominance asserted), so she deferred to the Silver Fang and minded her words.
She's telling you to think about what you say before letting it fall out of your mouth. Doesn't that just sound familiar?
Yeah, she answered herself in her mind, but there's no reason to linger on it. We're moving on.
So Lola's shoulders rounded a little more and she glanced between the two men there as well, from Ahroun to Kinfolk, before tipping her chin back and scratching at her throat roughly with blunt, unpainted fingernails. "Alright." She'll go on the tour, she'll have the snacks.
For Calden's offer of steak, she addresses him directly again, for the time being willing to swallow back whatever disapproval it was that he had so clearly read on her face and in her spine just a minute ago. "You should've-- I'd've eaten the hell out of some steak."
Avery Chase
Calden is remorseful. He brought neither steaks nor scotch. Avery turns to him, blinking once or twice, taking on an expression of affront and patience comingled. "Well, I don't see how I can help you if you fail to think ahead, Mr. White," she says archly, teasingly, following it with a smile that contains any and all of the warmth that has been lacking in other interactions.
The truth is, this is Calden and Javed's first meeting, and her comportment with each of them is very different. Her demeanor with newcomers and visitors is, too, wholly different, and Avery is not so perfect that she isn't trying to find a happy middle ground with the three of them and how to behave: to be a little warmer, to not be too familiar, to show her appreciation for restraint, to offer comfort to someone who traveled here just to say hello to new neighbors, to bear in mind her last conversation with Calden and how he might be feeling, to not push too hard with Javed, to control the animal instinct to viciously, ruthlessly defend her pack and her territory against even the hint of offense -- oh! It would make one's head spin.
Good thing there's nosh upstairs.
--
She looks so pleased that Lola will stay, and leads them all up the stairs again while Lola is chastising Calden for not bringing steaks. Avery's steps are light, even in those little boots of hers, taking them back up to the living room and dining room and kitchen with its glossy red counters. She shows them all across the bridge and into her suite, though perhaps it means something that she doesn't open the door to her bedroom. Down the stairs there is a guest bedroom with two twin beds, a guest bathroom, but they go back upstairs again for food. There, she is the one to suggest that Calden build a fire, saying something about how it just seems right that a man with a dozen hearths in his own home be the one to christen the hearth in this one, and perhaps she's right: perhaps there is some luck, some blessing, in having a Fianna build your home's first fire. There is dry wood on the bridge between the two structures, long matches beside the fireplace.
Avery is also the one to open the fridge and begin pulling out trays of canapes: herbed avocado on thin slices of crusty bread. Rare slices of tenderloin shaved and topped with diced tomatoes and basil. Cucumber slices with goat cheese, chives, and tiny periwinkle-blue borage blossoms. Prosciutto rolled tightly around Julienne-cut pear and bites of bleu cheese. Minted watermelon cubes. Russet potatoes the size and shape of golf balls roasted and filled with dollops of sour cream. Chilled pavlova cups bearing crescents of kiwi and sugar-frosted raspberries. Triangles of toast smeared with roquefort and a single walnut and leaf of parsley. Every shelf of the fridge is taken up by these trays, and though the bites are small, there is enough food for three times as many people. Those tenderloin and tomato bites are not quite a full steak on someone's plate, but there is enough red meat and carbs available to make it worth one's while.
Sparkling water. And perhaps it's a nod to Javed that there is not even alcohol being served just now, though Avery has not refrained entirely from partaking in his presence. This is his first meal in this den, though; she will not have him excluded from anything. And there is a sense of ritual to this, too, when she brings the food out as Calden is building a fire. There is a sanctity over it, with the sunset glimpsed over the not-so-distant mountains, casting the room in a golden glow.
The laws among their people are sacred. The laws of hospitality, however, transcend all nations, all tribes. The woman who paid for and designed the house serves, and the first person she serves is the unexpected guest. They are a test of one's hospitality, a blessing to the house and perhaps how they are treated is an omen for the peace or lack thereof that one will find there. Whether that is on her mind or not, Avery smiles at Lola when she offers her a plate filled with tenderloin and prosciutto and potatoes and watermelon and a glass of sparkling water that is so clear and clean that it glints in the dying light. She has a similar smile, but a more knowing one, as she invites Calden, pointing out something she thinks he'll like. And it is meaningful that she and Javed choose their food last.
It would be different, if they were different. But there is nothing to prove by demanding the first share of what is so readily available to them both. There is only what they can show to their guests, as the four of them sit gathered around a hearth to eat together. And that is enough, maybe, to be able to show. To share. It has been enough, after all, for people of all cultures for eons:
to sit together, and share a fire and a meal.
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