the hunt
"I'll overhunt the land if I keep going out into our woods. The day's nice. I'm headed up into the mountains."
This
was the sentence that had alarms ringing in Hector's mind. When Lola
said up the mountains, she no doubt meant it. He could just picture all
of the worst accidents possible if she were to go on her own. She'd
been stranded on a cliffside once before, he couldn't doubt that it
could happen again, especially now that she had extra weight and
limitations to account for. Hector opted to climb into the Subaru and
come along with her.
By the time they'd parked the car at the foot
of a seldom-used hiking trail and started up into the trees and grass
and rock the sun was well on its way to the top of the sky, and the air
was beginning to warm. It was supposed to get quite near to the
seventies in Denver today, with few clouds in the sky, with the altitude
being higher the further up the mountainside they climbed, the chill of
early spring still lingered.
It was now coming close to noon, and
while they hadn't yet bagged any large game Lola had managed to pick
off a plump hare that was dozing in a patch of sun that broke through
the trees. Either she or Hector would be carrying it along with them as
they walked. Lola was dressed in one of the few pairs of maternity
jeans that she possessed, with the cuffs tucked into her boots. She
wore a fitted gray long-sleeved shirt, no sweater or coat despite the
chill, for her temperature ran quite warm anymore. She even had the
sleeves of her shirt pushed up to the elbows as they worked their way up
an incline and continued on.
Lola with her bow and arrows, Hector with whatever it is he's using-- maybe just his teeth, why not?
"I
don't want to come out all this ways just to bring home one rabbit. I
came through here last year, and there's an old field up this way. Deer
graze in it a lot, we can set up there for a while."
Echoes of the Lost
Hector
had started to prove himself to be prone to Harano even before they
learned they were going to have a baby. It isn't that he is weak and
cannot handle pressure or the darkness the Uktena learn to live with
from an early age. It's that Hector just so soon as he arrived in Denver
began throwing himself at every challenge that arose. He had never had
to shoulder responsibility before and within a matter of months he had a
pack and a pregnant mate and the fate of a sept and the future of his
people strapped to his back.
So no one is all that surprised that
Lola Hawkes' pregnancy has him going quickly gray and stretched as taut
as the string on the bow that he made for her.
She wanted to go up
into the mountains and normally Hector would have thought that was a
great idea. But it was his great idea that had them going up to the
mountains early in December when the land turned dark and something came
out of the dark to take him over. Lola had had to knock him to the
ground and beg him to come back to himself. They never talked about
this. It was something that happened and something they overcame and
that was all they needed to know.
But Hector thought about that
day when she said she was going up to the mountains and his eyes went
straight to the baby in her belly and before he even opened his mouth
Lola knew he was going with her.
Every scenario in his mind these days
ends with her going into labor with no one around. They're still in that
blood-chilling no man's land where if the baby came out now it would
not survive and Lola might not either and the fact that Lola has the
reputation she does means his anxiety is not unfounded. Not even a
little.
This is why no one is all that surprised.
So they're
walking. Lola killed a hare and Hector is carrying it because she has
been carrying their child all this time. She doesn't want to just bring
home one rabbit. His eyes go to the baby again and then he snorts.
"Alright," he says. Puts a hand at the small of Lola's back as the incline steepens. "Let's go kill us a deer."
the hunt
Lola
[Perception 3 + Alertness 2]
Dice: 5 d10 TN6 (1, 2, 4, 7, 10) ( success x 2 )
Echoes of the Lost
[perc + alert: "worst uktena ever" specialty]
Dice: 5 d10 TN6 (3, 6, 8, 9, 10) ( success x 4 )
the hunt
Hector's
hand has been on and off Lola's back and hip and shoulder throughout
their hike across the mountainside. She is a sturdy woman, always has
been. She's been known by the wolves her and Hector's age as having
left what was supposed to be her future packmates panting in the dust,
needing a rest for a few minutes while she impatiently heckled them to
keep moving. But circumstances being what they were, she didn't huff
and puff going up an incline like this but she did slow, and the hand at
her back helped encourage an even speed. It kept her balanced, on
track, so she didn't proudly refuse him.
That didn't happen much anymore in general, really.
"Before
all this I would've just put us up in one of the trees, but...." She
shrugged, and turned her head to cast a grin back to Hector. Cracking
humor about the pregnancy was her go to effort for easing Hector's
worries about it. Was it effective or well thought out a strategy? No,
not remotely. But she would still squeeze his hand reassuringly when
he stared at her fretfully, brows drawn like they often were.
She
may have continued on, but they both heard something. They probably
both stopped, too-- Lola did at least, standing stock still and upright
to better listen to what she was hearing.
Voices.
She
couldn't make anything out besides that there were voices making
language, quiet and incomprehensible. Hector's ear, much more keen
today, was able to pick up on:
"Shut tha fuck up. You clumsy fuck, how I got stuck with you I don't even..."
It sounded strained and small, like it was coming from someone who was
cartoonishly miniature. Perhaps a dwarf. The answering sounded like it
might be coming from a rock monster, for how deep and heavy and
rumbling the voice answering back was. "So mean..." It sounded sad, wounded by the cruelty of the other.
Echoes of the Lost
The
frequency with which Hector awakens from a nightmare hasn't increased.
It's just that Lola sleeps so lightly now. She awakens at least a couple
times during the night to empty her bladder. When Hector starts out of
sleep and tries to roll over to reclaim it she notices. They don't
happen more than once every few weeks and they do more often when the
moon is near to bursting.
He doesn't like talking about the
nightmares that have to do with the pregnancy and the baby but he'll
tell her that. He doesn't want to talk about it. He just puts a hand
over her midsection and kisses the back of her neck and goes back to
sleep.
Coming up on the crest of the incline now his hand is meant
to help her muscles. He knows so much more about human anatomy and
physiology than he did before. Knows all of the muscles in the pelvic
girdle and their names and how the weight of pregnancy will stretch them
and leave them prone to tearing. Though his medicine bag is at one hip
and the hunting knife is at the other Hector does not want to have to
use either of them today.
He did not want to have to ask his
parents for help either and yet he called home last week. Asked his
mother if she will come out to help when the baby's born. Rina's doctor
was slow to agree to wean her off of the antidepressants and the
anxiolytics but he did agree. They have been weaning her off of them
since January. When she spoke to her son last month some life had
returned to her voice. Hector had her on speakerphone because he was
busy fixing the sink in the kitchen. But he did call. He did ask. Rina
won't be out until the first week in May but at least he knows he has
help coming.
When they hear the sound in the distance Hector
breaths in sharp and puts the hand not supporting her back over her
belly. Lola can see his attention sharpen. His nostrils flare as he
scents the air in his human skin and his hand moves with the baby. Like
to reassure her. He doesn't believe he's going to be a good father but
everyone else knows he is.
"Shh," he says. Not to the baby but to Lola. In a whisper: "Don't move."
the hunt
When
Cassandra had visited in the month of March, Lola had been diplomatic
(for her), but firm in her conclusion that she would be fine with no one
but Hector nearby to support her in birthing their child. She did not
yell or lash out in reflexive self-defense when Cassandra had tried to
get her to reconsider, and she wasn't icy or purposefully evasive for
the rest of the time that the eldest Ghosh sibling had visited. Even
when Tamsin had come by later to explain that Hector shouldn't even be
around in the first place, Lola patiently shook her head and disagreed.
Had conceded to consider at most but didn't really mean it.
Lola
didn't listen, but Hector did. And, thankfully, Lola would listen to
Hector at least long enough to hear him out. He was worried. He didn't
want to take chances. He named five new gray hairs for her, then said
he wanted to reach out to his mother. She had frowned upon the idea at
first, did not initially agree. But, some days and a few conversations
later, she was in agreement. They'd called Rina, she suspected the baby
would come as soon as May (and all expression had drained from Lola's
face at that conclusion) and that she would simply spend the month with
them to be safe.
This was part of why Lola wanted to go out
hunting. She wanted to freely get away and do these things and stretch
her limbs while she had the chance. She was concerned about how the
dynamic of freedom and respect of space would exist still with a parent
of her generation back in the house.
Hector was right to be
protective and suspicious and come along with. He heard voices, strange
and upset. They were probably about 30 feet away, forward and to the
left up the mountainside. Probably somewhere up above where the land
leveled out more. He moved his hand to rest overtop of Lola's stomach,
which over the past month had changed from being obviously pregnant to
now being heavily so. She already looked uncomfortable, and the baby
moved with health and vigor. Even under Hector's palm and the sudden
stop the baby rolled. The shielding hand followed. Lola stilled, not
too proud to stop Hector from shifting to stand protectively before her.
He
urged her not to move, and she was silent. Her feet were perfectly
still-- her arms were not, though. She was moving one to reach toward
her quiver for an arrow. Slow, careful.
In the meantime, up ahead, the low and hushed voices continued for Hector to make-out and Lola only to kind of hear.
"--otherwise we're screwed, you got it? Yeah?" -- "Yea...." -- "Alright. Now eat quick and quiet, we got a job to do."
Echoes of the Lost
Hector
doesn't go pale with what he hears but he has been in a state of
heightened anxiety ever since the flank-attack of the book's information
and his mother's approximation confirming that they are in the third
trimester. Not constantly pale. Most of the time Hector is within
earshot of Lola and can relax a little.
Now he's standing right
next to her and he doesn't look like he's going to faint from the stress
of this. He scents the air again and then his hand leaves her back.
"Stay here." Still in a low voice. Not in a Stay Out Of This voice. Just a Stay Back voice. "I'm gonna check it out."
Him and Fog. They are nearly always together.
Echoes of the Lost
[dex + stealth: SO STEALTHY. +1 because fog.]
Dice: 6 d10 TN6 (3, 4, 5, 7, 9, 9) ( success x 3 )
the hunt
Jethro
[Perception 2 + Alertness 1]
Dice: 3 d10 TN6 (1, 7, 10) ( success x 2 )
the hunt
Matthew
[Perception 3 + Alertness 3]
Dice: 6 d10 TN6 (4, 5, 5, 7, 8, 10) ( success x 3 )
the hunt
Stay
here, he says. There was a time that Lola would have utterly
disregarded this. She did once before with Javed, a Fostern Ahroun who
had a better idea of how to handle battle than anyone else. He'd told
her to stay back and had threatened to wrap a metal car around her to
keep her put if she didn't listen. She'd nearly spat in his face then,
and barely didn't thanks to battlefield respect.
Around that time she would have scoffed and continued alongside Hector. For now, though, she listened and stayed back.
But
with an arrow now gently-quietly loosed from the quiver, she aligned
the ancient ammunition in its weapon and held the two together and
ready. Just in case.
Meanwhile, Hector continues on ahead,
leaving Lola back to protect herself and their unborn while he scoped
things out. He was quiet and careful, moved steady and slow and soft
like the rolling mist of his Totem would. His feet were sure of where
they stepped, cautious of old discards of dead leaves and twigs unveiled
from snows that have finally melted with the passing of winter.
He
gets to where the incline flattens out into a gentler plane. Through
the trees, up ahead by a couple dozen feet, he can see three shapes.
One is a dead deer, on its side. The other two are drastically
different, one about the size of a gorilla and not to different in build
from this angle, but with angry red skin instead of fur. Its head was
hidden, as it was leaned forward eating from the deer's belly.
Initially
only the small flurry of matted gray movement at the thing's side
indicated the existence of another, but all at once it stilled and stood
up, the motion very similar to a meerkat whose guard was triggered. It
had a flat face with a wide sharp mouth, and bright yellow eyes even
from this distance for they too were large and wide -- kind of like a
junkyard cheshire cat. It was about four feet tall and covered in gray
fur, with a T-shirt and jeans clinging in rags anyways. Red blood
smeared greasy down it's mouth and chin and onto the collar of its
shirt.
"Shh-shh-shutup. I think I heard something."
Echoes of the Lost
[sense wyrm! -1 diff because fog.]
Dice: 7 d10 TN5 (2, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 9) ( success x 3 )
Echoes of the Lost
One
day Lola isn't going to be pregnant and she can run off into battle
just as fast as she pleases and Hector won't exactly be thrilled by the
prospects but he'll respect that that is what she was born and raised to
do. That she is willing to do it even if her eagerness scares him
sometimes. That was what attracted him to her in the first place once he
got past her feral nature and the fear he felt that she might relieve
him of a part of his body if provoked.
If anything ever happened
to her Hector believes he would not live long after. Look at his dreams.
Just before he wakes up he's covered in blood and screaming not
terrified screams but war screams. Spiral screams. The sort of screams
that means he's eaten of dead flesh and bathed in the blood of the
packmates he's killed.
Hector is stronger than he gives himself
credit for. But he still doesn't relish the thought that Lola has a
better chance of dying in combat than he does.
He creeps up to the top of the incline and what he sees doesn't make his jaw drop but it does give him a what the fuck pause. Okay. Two corrupted creatures eating a deer. Must be another beautiful day in Denver.
The little one thinks it heard something.
Hector springs to his feet and makes as much noise as he can as he goes tearing ass the thirty feet back towards Lola.
the hunt
Somewhere
twenty feet ahead of them, a man with a wild mane of hair sprang up
with an explosion of sound and started running away. The fuzzy little
thing with the sharp smile and the scolding mean voice pointed and
called out to its companion: "Go after him!"
The big red thing,
like a human man with muscles swollen impossibly and hands and feet gone
large and square looked up. He had no hair for his head or body
anymore, and wore only a pair of roughly stitched canvas pants. He too
had blood on his mouth and chest, but this was less apparent especially
from a distance. He picked up what looked like a very simple polearm
(no, shit, it's a harvesting scythe from someone's shed-- who even uses
those things anymore??), rose to his feet, and started barreling after
Hector. Slow and heavy, but probably very hard to slow down.
The
little gray thing took off after Hector as well, but it was much
faster. Hector ran fast on his long legs, and this thing was able to
keep up even though it was much closer to the ground. It galloped on
all fours through the brush.
When Hector came over the edge and
back down the incline, he'd find that Lola had positioned herself
standing braced against a tree that was growing upright out of the
hillside-- using it to balance herself so she could focus more on her
aim. The arrow in her bow was drawn tight, but she wasn't so
trigger-fingered that it flew at Hector when he burst over the edge.
She'd wait for the next.
the hunt
[Inits!]
the hunt
Lola
[Dexterity 3 + Wits 3 + ?]
Dice: 1 d10 TN6 (9) ( success x 1 )
the hunt
Jethro
[Dexterity 3 + Wits 2]
Dice: 1 d10 TN6 (5) ( fail )
the hunt
Matthew
[Dexterity 4 + Wits 3 + ?]
Dice: 1 d10 TN6 (6) ( success x 1 )
Echoes of the Lost
[oh crap +7]
Dice: 1 d10 TN6 (9) ( success x 1 )
the hunt
Declare in Reverse Order!
Hector - 16
Lola - 15
Matthew - 13
Jethro - 10
Jethro: Scythe at Hector
Matthew: Claws at Hector
the hunt
Lola: Shoot arrow at Jethro! Called shot-- throat [WP]
Echoes of the Lost
-1R: snap-shift to crinos
1:
R1:
R2: claw Jethro, switching to Matthew if he goes down
Echoes of the Lost
[dex + brawl: CLAW]
Dice: 8 d10 TN6 (1, 2, 2, 3, 4, 4, 6, 6) ( success x 2 )
Echoes of the Lost
[+1]
Dice: 9 d10 TN6 (1, 2, 2, 2, 2, 5, 8, 9, 10) ( success x 3 )
the hunt
Jethro
[Soak]
Dice: 4 d10 TN6 (1, 6, 8, 9) ( success x 3 )
the hunt
Lola
[Dexterity 3 + Athletics 3, diff 8 for called shot]
Dice: 6 d10 TN8 (1, 3, 5, 6, 9, 9) ( success x 3 ) [WP]
the hunt
Lola
[Damage (Lethal): Base 5 + 2 suxx, + 2 called shot bonus]
Dice: 9 d10 TN6 (2, 2, 2, 3, 3, 3, 5, 5, 9) ( success x 1 )
the hunt
Jethro
[Puny Human! Soak]
Dice: 4 d10 TN6 (2, 5, 9, 10) ( success x 2 )
the hunt
Most
Wolves would bolt in the direction opposite the Kinfolk after drawing
the attention of the enemy onto themselves. Hector could tell they were
of the Wyrm. He was seasoned, and he was knowledgeable-- Uktena have
always been of the philosophy that the best way to defeat the enemy is
to understand it. He could recognize Fomori when he saw them. He knew
they had to be put down, so he lured them in.
Lola Hawkes was no
ordinary Kinfolk. Her name carried with it the weight of capability in
battle. Hector could doom himself to death by taking off to fight these
things on his own. Leading them back to Lola, practiced with her bow,
was to lead them into a trap.
Over the crest of the hill Hector
leaped and traveled a few more feet before erupting into his Crinos
body, a wolf whose pelt was all the colors of one whose blood had
mingled over generations. He waited for the first sign of movement from
the big red one, knowing the giant muscled thing with the long-armed
blade weapon to be the biggest threat, and flashed claws as soon as he
saw him.
Unfortunately, the claws only barely scratched skin. The
beast was resistant even to supernatural elements, like the claws of a
Garou. His eyes, painfully human looking and drastically blue in
contrast to the color of the skin around them, looked down at the
werewolf on the hillside below him and frowned as though his feelings
were hurt and not his skin.
The same look was cast toward Lola
when an arrow whistled in through the trees and shadows and hit him in
the neck. Hit-- not struck. By some freak twist of timing and luck
he'd turned his head and shifted his stance in just a way that the arrow
merely deflected off the thick muscle of his neck rather than piercing.
It
was at this point that the fuzzy little gray one could be noticed
standing at the top of the hill a few feet from its partner, one clawed
hand (wicked, hooked black things) on the trunk of a tree. He looked in
alarm at Hector, surprised more than zealed to battle, and then shifted
his attention instead down to Lola, further down the hillside.
Eyes
lit up. That cheshire smile went sharper, wider, curling impossibly so
that the little monster's mouth seemed to reach his tufted ears.
He turned toward Hector and inhaled impossibly deep.
[Changing Actions -- Roar of the Wyrm: Charisma 3 + Intimidation 2, +1 diff]
Dice: 5 d10 TN7 (3, 7, 9, 9, 10) ( success x 4 )
Echoes of the Lost
[resist?]
Dice: 6 d10 TN6 (3, 4, 5, 5, 6, 6) ( success x 2 )
the hunt
Lola
[Willpower 5]
Dice: 5 d10 TN6 (1, 2, 3, 8, 9) ( success x 2 )
the hunt
Jethro
[Scythe -- Dexterity 3 + Melee 2]
Dice: 5 d10 TN7 (3, 4, 5, 8, 9) ( success x 2 )
the hunt
Jethro
[Damage (Lethal): Strength 4 + 3 Weapon Bonus + 1 Suxx]
Dice: 8 d10 TN6 (1, 2, 4, 5, 5, 8, 10, 10) ( success x 3 )
Echoes of the Lost
[did a window just blow open?]
Dice: 6 d10 TN6 (1, 3, 5, 7, 7, 10) ( success x 3 )
Echoes of the Lost
BEAST MODE TIME
R1: claw Jethro
Dice: 8 d10 TN6 (1, 2, 3, 6, 6, 7, 8, 9) ( success x 5 )
Echoes of the Lost
[+4]
Dice: 12 d10 TN6 (1, 1, 3, 3, 3, 5, 7, 7, 8, 9, 10, 10) ( success x 6 )
the hunt
Jethro
[So mean... Soak!]
Dice: 4 d10 TN6 (1, 4, 6, 9) ( success x 2 )
Echoes of the Lost
R2: SO MEAN -2 diff to hit because he's stunned :(
Dice: 8 d10 TN4 (1, 2, 4, 5, 7, 9, 9, 10) ( success x 6 )
Echoes of the Lost
[+5]
Dice: 13 d10 TN6 (1, 3, 3, 3, 4, 6, 6, 6, 8, 8, 8, 10, 10) ( success x 8 )
the hunt
Jethro
[Lawl]
Dice: 4 d10 TN6 (2, 4, 9, 9) ( success x 2 )
the hunt
[Jethro is deceased!]
the hunt
Round 2!
Matthew
[Init: Dex 4 + Wits 3 + ?]
Dice: 1 d10 TN6 (8) ( success x 1 )
Echoes of the Lost
[R-R-R-REROLL +8]
Dice: 1 d10 TN6 (2) ( fail )
the hunt
Lola
[Init: Dex 3 + Wits 3 +?]
Dice: 1 d10 TN6 (2) ( fail )
the hunt
Round 2! Fight! (Declare in reverse order)
Matthew - 15
Hector - 10
Lola - 8
Lola: Splitting Actions -- Reload, then Fire Arrow!
Echoes of the Lost
1: sweep Matthew's legs
R1:
R2: claw time
the hunt
Matthew
[Jaw Lock on Lola: Dexterity 4 + Brawl 2 -- Be my hostage, I don't wanna die!]
Dice: 6 d10 TN7 (1, 3, 3, 3, 7, 10) ( success x 3 ) [WP]
Echoes of the Lost
dex + athletics: WOOSH WE'RE NOT GOING TO THE HOSPITAL TODAY
Dice: 7 d10 TN6 (1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 5, 7) ( success x 1 )
the hunt
Matthew
Holly Shit, You Jawlocked A Werewolf: Strength 3 + Athletics 3]
Dice: 6 d10 TN6 (3, 4, 5, 5, 6, 10) ( success x 2 )
Echoes of the Lost
lololol
Dice: 9 d10 TN6 (1, 2, 3, 4, 4, 8, 9, 9, 10) ( success x 4 )
Echoes of the Lost
[frenzy check just for shits and/or giggles]
Dice: 5 d10 TN7 (1, 3, 3, 5, 8) ( success x 1 )
the hunt
Matthew
[Well, failing that... Damage (Aggravated): Strength 3 + 2 Suxx + 1 Bite]
Dice: 6 d10 TN6 (1, 3, 5, 6, 6, 9) ( success x 3 )
Echoes of the Lost
[ow!!]
Dice: 6 d10 TN6 (2, 4, 7, 8, 9, 9) ( success x 4 )
the hunt
Lola
Automatic Action: Reload!
Split Action: Dexterity 3 + Athetlics 3, -3 split]
Dice: 3 d10 TN6 (4, 7, 8) ( success x 3 ) [WP]
the hunt
Lola
Damage (Lethal): Base 5 + 2 suxx]
Dice: 7 d10 TN6 (1, 3, 3, 4, 4, 5, 6) ( success x 1 )
the hunt
Matthew
Soak!
Dice: 3 d10 TN6 (4, 9, 10) ( success x 2 )
Echoes of the Lost
BEAST MODE
R1: claw!
Dice: 8 d10 TN6 (5, 6, 6, 7, 7, 8, 9, 10) ( success x 7 )
Echoes of the Lost
[+6]
Dice: 14 d10 TN6 (1, 2, 2, 2, 3, 3, 4, 5, 6, 6, 7, 9, 10, 10) ( success x 6 )
the hunt
Matthew
Stunned. The poor man never got to soak Aggravated.
Echoes of the Lost
R2: claw -2 diff because the furry little bastard is stunned
Dice: 8 d10 TN4 (1, 2, 5, 5, 6, 7, 9, 10) ( success x 6 )
Echoes of the Lost
[+5]
Dice: 13 d10 TN6 (1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 7, 7, 7, 8, 8, 9, 9, 10) ( success x 8 )
the hunt
Battle
used to drag out over days, sometimes even weeks. This was back in the
old days, when people were afforded armies. When the Veil didn't need
to be so heavy, so much like iron, that their battles could not scope
such space. They had to start shifting into the Umbra. And then the
armies shrank. And shrank.
Then Battles stopped, replaced instead
by a long drought of holding and defending lands rather than really
trying to reclaim those lost.
This was no battle, not really. It was more of a skirmish, and that is why it ended so quickly.
That, and Hector Ghosh.
His
mate, despite her desire to be and renown as a battlemaiden, was not
yet effective enough with the bow to have been of any use. This battle
was won by Hector's claws. The man with red skin and pitiful blue eyes
was laid down, his belly opened and insides spilled by a few hard rakes
of Hector's claws.
The little gray furry one in the tattered and
bloodstained pants and clothes looked in a panic. He looked over to
Lola and glanced briefly to Hector again, then lunged for the Kinfolk.
Hector saw what was happening-- the little fuck was going to try to
threaten his woman and child to barter his own escape. Echoes of the
Lost would have none of that, and he threw himself in the creature's
path instead. Wide, intelligent yellow eyes locked on Hector's in a
panic-- not mad, astoundingly, not sick, but full of cruel reason
instead. He tried to bury his teeth into Hector's throat when he
realized he couldn't outmuscle the wolf even for a second, but the
Uktena Galliard's pelt and skin were tough. He was just so much bigger
than this tiny, dense little monster.
Again, two quick slashes of
his claws. He'd ripped the poor thing to bits. Into thirds, mostly,
but those pieces weren't especially intact and it's never quite that
clean.
Birds were still crying and stirring and fleeing, but they
were high in the sky and further across the trees now, quieter and
distant. Lola was too taken away by what she'd just seen Hector do to
be mad at herself for her own ineffectiveness. She stepped forward and
touched the side of Hector's back, looking over the scene.
"God damn."
Echoes of the Lost
Lola
knows he would have thrown himself between danger and her even if she
weren't heavily pregnant. She's still learning how to use the bow he
crafted for her and she cannot shrug off injuries the way that Garou
can. Cannot let hits roll away the way water rolls off of a fowl's back.
Yet
the fact remains that if he had not thrown himself at the creatures her
shots would not have been effective. They had no stopping power. This
is something Lola is going to have to practice. Hector might joke one
day that if she's going to be pregnant another time or four she can't be
shooting guns all the time anyway. Bad for the baby's ears.
Overhead
the winged creatures of the mountains take to the sky and Echoes of the
Lost stands with his claws dripping blood and his eyes flashing like to
try and find the next target. In his war form he loses his reason and
his mercy.
So he stands like this and he listens and he smells.
Lets his woman touch his flank and it centers him. Lets him know there's
nothing else out there he has to worry about and then he shrinks back
down into his human skin. Clothing dedicated did not rip and his rings
and necklaces are all still there but his hands are stained with the
blood of the creatures he killed.
And he stood right in front of
her the whole time and knows she was not hurt but he wheels around
anyway to get a good look at her. Doesn't put his hands on her because
they're filthy but he looks at her he with his Rage near-spent and she
more tired than she was when they got up here. No blood on his chest.
Some sprayed across his face.
"You okay?" he asks.
the hunt
There's
a moment, while Lola stands with her fingers in Hector's fur looking at
the aftermath, that she seems to be glimpsing back to the ancient
purpose of Kinfolk. Being able to lay that human hand against the
Werewolf's fur, or alternately being able to rub your wolf flank against
the shivering naked side of a wolf-turned-man. To bring back from the
battle and refocus from the fight.
Hector shrank back down, fur
retreated into clothing and Lola dropped her hand and moved a step
back. Her eyes already started hunting for her arrows-- may as well
retrieve them, no need to be wasteful. When he turned around to look
her over, hands out like he wanted to touch and check tangibly as well
but was too mindful of the mess of blood and viscera that he'd be
smearing all over her clothes and cheeks if he tried.
"I'm fine,"
she assured him. He knew that already, and to look her over the same
was confirmed. The only blood she had on her was small amounts from
being too near when Hector as ripping once-sly-now-dead Matthew apart.
He looked exhausted and she sounded much the same when she gestured to the scene left behind.
"Can't just leave this. I suppose there's gotta be a cave or cliff or something around here."
Echoes of the Lost
If
he were a spirit-talker he could summon scavengers to come and pick the
bones clean before casting them into the water. As it is their corpses
reek of corruption. As their spirits drift off into the Umbra he has to
stop and wonder if they're going to come back. That's always something
he worries about when he worries about Fomori. Most of them die Bane and
host both when the body dies but you hear stories.
All they have
are stories. One day their race will be extinct and all of their stories
will die along with them but until then warriors who fought a thousand
years ago live on. In a thousand years maybe he and Lola will still be
alive. He would be happy for a thousand days. For time enough to carve
out a life with the woman who isn't afraid to stand beside him when he's
eight feet tall and breathing heavy enough to kill the next thing come
into his sight.
He walks forward and starts to gather up the pieces.
"I
got it," he says. "Unless you want one of the arms. I don't think the
book said anything about not picking up severed monster arms."
the hunt
There
are always stories of what happens when something dies. The darker,
more paranoid stories-- the ones that they really did have to worry
about, were the ones concerning what happened when the enemy died.
There were whispers of the spirits of Fomori continuing on in the Umbra
or perhaps moving on to possess something different. There were known
things, phantasms, that were precisely that-- wicked spirits of slain
Fomori still latching on to man-made things and animating them to
fight. Not unlike the spirit that Hector invited back to the Cold
Crescent building, but far more wicked.
For this, they can only hope that the death was full as it often is.
Hector
offered her the task of carrying lightweight limbs, like arms, and Lola
just smirked and started to help gather up parts. They'd find a
crumbling short cliff with gravel and rocks accumulated from many
rockslides over time. This would be a good place to hide evidence from
hikers. They certainly couldn't transport these things in the Forester,
after all.
To help explain the blood on them, Lola suggested they
bring back the deer that the two monsters had been eating. It would be
useless to them, of course. They wouldn't eat from the same carcass
that Wyrm beasts had torn into earlier. Lola was too proud to play
hyena to a Fomor's lion. Good thing, too, because about a quarter of
the way home they were pulled over because some trooper decided they
needed to see Lola's hunting license (and yes, she's bothered to get
one).
Once home, either Hector or Lola will drag out the burning
barrel and break down the deer carcass for disposal. No sense in
leaving tainted meat on their land.
Saturday, April 5, 2014
Persuasive - 3.18.2014 [Tamsin]
Lola Hawkes
Since her adventures chasing old Fianna Kinfolk that had gotten lost on their retirement exploits, Lola has largely stayed around the Homestead. For all of the worrying and hand wringing that had gone on about how the Kinswoman was bound to continue throwing herself into peril's way despite the fact that she was carrying a child, Lola has been laying low for the past month easily with no incident.
In fact, for Tamsin to visit, she would have to come out to The Homestead. On this mid-week afternoon, with the sun hanging to the west and beginning its descent but still a good two or three hours until it was gone, Lola Hawkes could be found working on the garden she had built last fall in the back of the house. Spring was trying to spring early, and soon it would be time to plant, so she was out back tilling and arranging rows and making sure that the wire that made up the fence was secure to its posts.
Though bright and sunny, the day was still a little chilly, so Lola worked in long skirts and a long-sleeved shirt that stretched tightly over her stomach and chest. Though she didn't have any way to know this for certain herself, what with her stubborn refusal to do so much as even employ a midwife, this week Lola's pregnancy entered its third trimester. To look at her, it would be easy to believe that fact.
Despite this, though, Lola worked with sweat touching her brow and the sleeves of her shirt pushed up to her elbows. Up on the back porch, a little portable boombox played music that only did a halfway effective job of traveling to the garden.
Tamsin
Tamsin doesn't mind coming out to The Homestead. After all: Tamsin likely still crashes there occasionally, a nomad. Musician. Easy to explain to those who haven't a clue that way, not that anyone would ever wonder at the Hawkes-Ghosh household. Pack: she wants to be near to Hector. Pack: she wants to be near to Hector and Hector's child and Lola and Lola has something of Maria in some of her gestures which Tamsin notices sometimes and never remarks upon because there is no reason to remark upon it. Tamsin: when Hector finished making (or when he finishes making she will) the fucking crib finally went to jump in it and 'test' it out. Because that's how you know. Today when Tamsin comes by it's after hitching a ride with another Fianna - let's name this other-Fianna "Errantry" (even though Tamsin's player rather wants to use that for a Fianna Ragabash now that is not an NPC) - and Lola can hear the slam of a door and the sound of a truck making-off.
Then: Tamsin. Tamsin, who'd chopped her hair off to shoulder-length a month or so ago, make-upless and carrying her guitar case plus a smaller case that also looks vaguely guitar-shaped except it's a ukulele and it was a gift from a hipster guy who came to see her play and she's not telling Hector about that because he's annoying. Tamsin doesn't bother putting her instruments down before circling the little house following that boombox and look it's Lola in the garden:
"Hey Lola!" Tamsin interrupts, cheerfully. "You wanna try some fucking fantastic apple pumpkin bread?"
Lola: she looks fat. Tamsin: will not be saying that aloud but her gaze can't help getting pulled in by Lola's belly. Damn, how much longer? Maybe there's a spirit who'll know.
Tamsin
[This is going to be amusing. Tamsin totally tried to knit the baby some cute wolf hat thing. Dex + Crafts. DIFF: 8, because fancy knitting is hard.]
Dice: 4 d10 TN8 (5, 6, 9, 10) ( success x 2 )
Lola Hawkes
When Tamsin comes around to the back of the house she'll find Lola stooped forward with one elbow braced on her thigh and knee to help support balance and distribute weight (otherwise her back would suffer), working a spade into the dirt with her free hand. The call that interrupted the music -- something forgettable and largely difficult to make out due to poor sound quality on the old boom box -- drew the Kinfolk's attention, and she straightened up to greet the Galliard.
Hector wasn't anywhere in sight, but he had his placed to be and duties to maintain. He hasn't been around the Cold Crescent Sept nearly so much these days, though. Rumor has it he may be pulling his efforts on that place after his botched mission in the basement, and that he's putting his full support behind Forgotten Questions instead. Most of the time that rumor is quashed reminders that he probably just wants to be near to home when his first child is born.
Initially, all Tamsin got was an upward jerk of the chin in greeting. Then Lola tossed the spade down in the dirt and wiped the sweat off her forehead with the back of her bare forearm. Dirt was smudged on arms and face both, though not excessively.
She didn't speak up until after she'd moved across from the garden to the back porch so she could turn the music machine off completely. Once that was done Lola scrubbed her hands on the clothing over her hips and looked back over to Tamsin. She wasn't the smiling sort, but Tamsin knew her well enough to figure that even if she wasn't grinning from ear to ear, Lola was still in a good mood and receptive to visitors.
"Who made it for you?" Came the answer to the offer for apple pumpkin bread. "Or did you find a kitchen to use and make it yourself?" Either way, she waved her hand to gesture Tamsin over, invite her toward the house and the back porch. "Of course I want to try it. Come on over."
Tamsin
"The fucking manager at the fucking Larimer Lounge," Tamsin says, and there is something pleased (shyly) beneath the cursing, because Tamsin is beginning to be recognized -- just occasionally, just every now and then, by People. Music Scene People. She sets the guitar case down on the back porch and the ukulele case too, then unsnaps the guitar case, because of course that is where she was keeping the bread and assorted other items. The bread is very smooshed, very smooshed indeed, but it is still pumpkin apple bread. Belatedly, Tamsin makes a face: "Make it myself, ugh, bread is hard. Um well not like stale hard, not THIS bread anyway, you know what I mean, um," and right. The bread gets put down on that little table that Lola has out there and Tamsin begins to unwrap it. "I brought a baby hat over too which I made myself and it looks," she pauses, frowns at her hands, pulling them back from the saran-wrap and bread, flexing them and rubbing a thumb into the crease. The frown was a momentary thing, though, because it's back to pride, yo:
"Made myself and it looks pretty good. Um, I think. I think it should have a name. Like, the hat, not the baby. The baby's gonna be named whatever the baby's gonna be named, but you remember that Galadriel is off-limits, right? You look, um, pretty today. How are you?"
Lola Hawkes
If Lola were a more civilized person, she would have gone back inside for a bread knife and some napkins. Instead she was accustomed to sharing food and meals with packmates, what was supposed to be future packmates, and friends without such amenities. Ripping chunks from a loaf of bread has worked well enough before, and after a while you got pretty good at tearing evenly without destroying the loaf.
Besides, from the looks of the loaf, it had already taken some damage on the way over in the guitar case. So Lola stood at the side of the wire patio table with its matching wire chairs, watching patiently while Tamsin unwrapped the plastic wrap and set the bread loaf up on the table. Lola would wait to be provided with her portion-- she knew that garden dirt was deep in her fingers and nails. She wouldn't dirty the gift from the Larimer Lounge manager.
"The baby already has a name-- didn't Hector tell you?" Lola set dark chocolate-earth brown eyes upon Tamsin and raised her eyebrows, but seemed pleased (in her own way) to share the information herself instead. "We chose Raksha."
Tamsin said Lola looked pretty, and that was fair enough a compliment to give. Lola seldom dressed up and didn't bother with make-up, and today was no different. Her skirt was a burnt orange and her shirt was black, her hair was piled up on top of her head. She was pretty in that she looked strong and healthy and full of life. The compliment was taken with a rolling shrug of one shoulder before being set aside for the inquiry about her well being instead.
"I'm doing fine. Better than Hector, he's been nervous enough to finally finish the damn crib. Though I heard you figured that out already." Lola, apparently, heard about Tamsin leaping around inside of the crib, and the tone in which she mentioned this had just the smallest key of warning. She wasn't mad, as the crib was still intact, but the way she looked at Tamsin in that moment was a clear warning: Don't break our shit, in particular don't break shit that we need.
But, moving on...
"Thanks for the hat. Hector'll probably give it a better name than I could. Or more interesting one anyways. You're doing alright? Your Kin all are too?"
Tamsin
"Nope, he keeps telling me he's going to take Galadriel and Eowyn and that you said it's totally okay," Tamsin says, frowning, and she seems actually worried. Perhaps that worry is why she hasn't seen through Hector's ploy, so Lola revealing the real name causes the moss-eyed Fianna thing to bite her lip and then grin hard enough to hurt her cheeks. The grin becomes a smirk, remembering the incident with the crib: Lola's look of warning passes by unnoticed in the dreamy haze of heh heh.
The Fianna tears off a hunk of the bread (it's moist, and Lola can see the chunks of apple inside, pumpkin seeds impressed on the top) and hands it to Lola - or is going to before she realizes that maybe something should be set down on the table so the bread doesn't pick up dust. She winds up just pushing the saran wrap/bread over toward the Uktena kin.
"Yeah," Tamsin says, and then frowns down at the table. "I... um... It's weird, Lola. Like... do I look strange to you?"
Tamsin lofts her chin, sits up straight.
"Like is there anything off? Or do... My hands look okay, right?"
She holds her hands out, palm and fingers up.
Lola Hawkes
[Intelligence 3 + Medicine 2: I don't know, Tamsin, are you okay?]
Dice: 5 d10 TN6 (1, 1, 2, 4, 5) ( fail )
Lola Hawkes
The discussion about what Hector was insisting he would use for names was dismissed with a shake of her head. Lola was a practical woman, and much to Hector's chagrin she still hadn't finished the trilogy (though she was mostly done with the first book now, thank you very much, and has listened to him read much of The Hobbit to her stomach at night so she knew that story as well).
Lola watched the loaf of bread slide her way and looked down at her dirty hands, then pressed her lips together but excused herself simply with a: "I'll be right back, hang on." Then she would disappear into the house just long enough to wash her hands in the kitchen sink and re-secure her hair in a knot up at the top of her head. When she came back out her hands were clean and the stray hairs that had fallen at the top of her neck and to frame her face were pulled back once more.
Once clean again, she tore herself a piece of bread and ate it, happy for the food, while Tamsin sat and held out her hands, fingers up, to ask Lola if everything looked okay.
Lola blinked, and leaned forward to examine Tamsin's hands, apparently missing it if Tamsin were trying to lead her into some kind of a build up for a joke or a story or a hypothetical. She must have had dirt and sweat in her eye still, or the fetus had sucked up too many nutrients for her brain to give enough of a shit to actually process the Fianna's hands, but whatever it was she saw it had Lola wrinkling her nose at the bridge and straightening up. She kept looking at Tamsin's hands, then reached for the loaf of bread and ripped off another small chunk for herself to eat before announcing:
"Got one hell of a quiver happening. Did you just walk away from something I should know about?"
Tamsin
Tamsin looks stricken and pulls her hands back, bending her head to examine them herself for quivers. Puts them in her lap right after, head still down. Head down enough that she rests her chin on the table, scootching the chair she'd sat herself in while Lola went inside to wash her hands back. She tucks her hands under her thighs.
"I had this," Tamsin begins to say, and then: dreamily. "I keep thinking about ... doors and, I don't know. I had a dream and all today and all yesterday every time I've picked up the guitar or the ukulele that Heinrich gave me right it feels like... I feel a handle cracking in my hand, like the neck of them is cracking, like it's just breaking. Like a fairy curse, except it's really not that bad just... It's weird. Maybe I'm being sensitive and shit."
"How are your dreams lately? You been sleeping all right or is little Raksha kicking your bladder to pieces?"
Lola Hawkes
The quivering hands were left aside. Tamsin wasn't worried for them so Lola wouldn't be concerned either. They were tucked under thighs and forgotten anyways. Lola finished eating her second slice of bread before dusting her hands and folding her arms across the top of her protruding stomach. She remained standing, apparently more comfortable on the soles of her work boots than seated.
What Tamsin had to say about her dreams had Lola creasing her brow and shaking her head. "I'm not a dreamspeaker. Never learned the craft, or how to read 'em. Way I figure, a dream is just a dream until someone or something is making it anything but. To find out if it's the latter, you'd need a Theurge." She paused, thoughtful, then added: "Or a really experienced Galliard. I've heard of some that can walk through dreams and examine them from within."
As for her own sleep, Tamsin earned another shrug and a small, almost reluctant ghost of a grin. It was more of a relaxing around the mouth and corners of the eyes really than a true smile, but we knew what she meant.
"Dreams are here or there. They've been strange, but they're supposed to be. And the baby--" Hector would say 'she' in this place. Lola still refused to assign a gender without seeing hard evidence first. Like she was refusing to set an expectation so she couldn't be thrown off if it turned out wrong.
"I'm up 'bout twice a night, but still sleeping okay besides that. Better now that Hector's sister's gone back to her home." Lola looked stressed, but in a relieved and maybe somewhat sympathetic way. It was the kind of look that anyone had when the in-laws finally went home and left you to live in peace.
Tamsin
"Yeah! I can't wait to learn how to do that!" Tamsin says, perking up a little. There's something still yet a bit dreamy or distant behind the enthusiasm for Gifts she does not yet have and the old smoulder-simmer burn of Rage re: Theurges fucking upstarts trying to fucking say they've got all the godamned lore but oooh we're mystical oooh we know it all oooh fuck Theurges.
She listens with attention to Lola's talk of dreams and sleep, though, sitting up and putting her elbow on the table, cupping her chin (don't you feel the splinter-crack, Tamsin? [she does, and shivers]) in her hand and reaching for a chunk of pumpkin-apple bread.
"Aw, you didn't like her?" she asks, all curiously: and ready to fucking gossip. Tamsin is a galliard, and she is not the quiet kind.
Is there a quiet kind of galliard?
Academic question.
Lola Hawkes
"Oh, I like her alright. But she's human, see."
As though that alone should say it all. Tamsin can imagine the stress that would come from hiding all things Werewolf in a house that has stood for and been inhabited exclusively by generations of them. Lola moved her hand to press at the side of her stomach, in response to the baby moving or stretching somehow, then reached for the loaf of bread to rip herself another chunk.
"That just meant there's a lot we couldn't tell her, you know? And she had to visit on the fucking gibbous and full moons, so Hector was hardly helpful with easing the mood."
Munch.
"She's a doctor, so she had some strong opinions about my not going to a doctor or midwife or anything."
Tamsin
"Is Hector ever helpful with 'easing the mood'?" Tamsin says, with another smirk. Tamsin and Hector: they act like siblings, don't they, and part of that is never letting up, huh? But they aren't siblings. They're pack. Pack's different. The smirk's a little more absent than it could otherwise be. "But yeah. I get it. Jesus, should've asked me to come up with a reason for her to come some other time. I'm pretty fucking good at that."
And Tamsin is: persuasive, when she wants to be. A cheater, too, with Gifts up her sleeve and no moral compunction about using them to give her that sweet-talking Fianna-tongue an edge.
Blink. "But uh, are you really ... Like um, you were serious? You're really not gonna have a midwife or something?"
Lola Hawkes
The question posed was one that Lola's heard more than once in the past few months. She recognized the tone, the caution and uncertain social steps around being so bold as to ask in the first place. So the Kinfolk stared blandly at Tamsin for a few seconds, then she sighed and pulled out a chair to sit, which she had to do a touch differently now to accommodate for weight and size.
"It's nothing that I want anyone else around for. It's personal, you know? I don't need some stranger to deal with, telling me what I already know. Hector'll be there with healing talens if we need them."
She was frowning inactively, a thoughtless crease between her eyebrows. She took her time nibbling this piece of bread, picking a seed from the top and nibbling it.
"Can't be that unheard of. Not among our people."
Tamsin
[Whoa wait what.]
Dice: 5 d10 TN6 (1, 3, 4, 4, 8) ( success x 1 )
Tamsin
[Manipulation + Subterfuge. >.>]
Dice: 7 d10 TN6 (1, 3, 5, 8, 9, 9, 10) ( success x 4 )
Tamsin
The stag-girl, Fianna-darling-of-a-thing, she listens thoughtfully and
If this were a true and accurate representation of her thoughts on the matter, Lola would say Hector'll be there with healing talens if we need--
And Tamsin would go, "WHOA. Wait. Shut the hell up, Hector's gonna-- No way. You're fucking kidding me, that is the stupidest thing I've ever heard this side of -- let's go -- fucking -- lick the Pit in Cold Crescent's basement."
And they would fight. And Lola would be mad. And Tamsin would regret her outburst but she would be mad too.
But Tamsin has a modicum of restraint, too. And she loves Lola. And she is also a sneaky trickster of a thing, a liar. The lyingest liar ever. So what actually happens is:
The stag-girl, Fianna-darling-of-a-thing, she listens thoughtfully and her eyebrows draw together a bit and she taps her fingers against the table, but offers: "I know some tales that mention a kinwoman giving birth, unattended. But it's usually a footnote, obviously. And um, like, kind of an illustration of how epicly bad the other shit is. And there are no stories that aren't tragedies about Galliards or Ahroun trying to help deliver a kid. Especially when those Galliards or Ahrouns, like, almost frenzy just when some dude looks wrong at their girlfriend, well, 'mate', just saying."
That is much better Tamsin than what you were gonna say.
"I mean um... Yeah, I get wanting to do it alone. That sounds cool to me. Well, not to me, fuck that, I want drugs... although I guess I would probably not get them? Good thing I'm barely getting laid right now huh?" A grin. 'Barely,' eh?
"But I dunno. Healing talens are sacred. Women are fucking awesome and way better at healing and shit than men. Shouldn't have to have those on stand-by, but like... a midwife in the other room in case the baby's gotta get... Turned around or, eh, I don't know, I just know TV childbirth problems. Anyway you should totally have some kin birth-mother chick waiting in the other room just in case. That's not having a stranger around yammering at you, you know?"
Lola Hawkes
[Perception + Empathy: Yeah, sure, it's all about statistics, is it?]
Dice: 5 d10 TN6 (3, 6, 7, 8, 10) ( success x 4 )
Lola Hawkes
To give credit where credit is due, Tamsin raises very good points. Doing her part, Lola listens and doesn't interrupt. She lets the Galliard take the floor and speak, leans back in the wire chair and works on rolling the sleeves of her shirt back down to her wrists once more. Sitting still against the cool metal chairs reminded her of the true temperature and had her wanting less skin bared to the chill springtime air.
But, for how well she's listening and hearing and nodding along where it's appropriate, Lola's still watching Tamsin with a look to her that suggests she's noticed something. Like when you see somebody hiding in an alleyway and don't know yet whether you should blow their cover to the cop looking determinedly about on the corner nearby.
When she's finished, Lola huffed and popped another pumpkin seed in her mouth.
Then she asks, pointedly: "Are you gonna try and tell Hector to be anyplace but here when the baby comes?" A pause, a beat, and then she furrows her brow and presses the matter just one step further, as though reaching out and drawing a definitive line in the dirt to mark her stance: "You gonna tell me that I shouldn't let him be around?"
Lola shook her head then and took another proper bite from the hunk of bread in her hand.
"I just ain't sold on what some midwife Kinswoman's gonna be doin' for me that I'm not gonna be able to do for myself."
Tamsin
Is Tamsin going to tell Hector to be anyplace but here when the bay comes? Is Tamsin going to tell Lola that she shouldn't let him be around?
"Yes," Tamsin says. Not angry, not agitated; just: Yes. Dear god, yes.
"And um, I dunno. Probably nothing, really. I know lots of women who managed to do it on their own -- well kind of their own. Well, you know Glen's sister, yeah? Nora? Apparently when their mom had Nora, she was all on her lonesome. Just excused herself from dinner, right? Because everybody was at dinner. Then went upstairs and called a theurge to say: It's time. By the time the theurge got there, she was soft-shoeing it down the stairs, baby Nora in her arms. Nora told me this in contrast with her own experience of course."
Tamsin smiles again, but it's a small little smile, like she's not yet to the point of grinning.
"I guess what I'm saying is probably nothing, but it's good to have. Like matches in case your electricity goes and it's an emergency or whatever. You will probably just excuse yourself from dinner, drop a cool note on the phone like b-dubs come on over but wait on the porch and then you'd come out all cool as you please baby wrapped up in its awesome hat that I made and a blanket."
"Speaking of dinner... You want me to cook something tonight? I kinda feel challenged on account of this bread."
Lola Hawkes
Two years ago Lola would have fought Tamsin much harder on this, and any other matter. She was confrontational in every circumstance, with a chip on her shoulder and this idea that she had so much more to prove of herself since she turned out to be a Kinfolk instead of True Born after all. She would have gnashed teeth and gotten up in arms about how she knew what she was doing and didn't need anyone telling her otherwise.
Now, though, she did not bare teeth and go up in arms. Much had changed over the course of two years. She'd lost her sister and watched her Sept reel and twist under the assault of a Black Spiral pack for the second time in recent history, as well as nearly lost her own life and limb both in combat.
Maybe it was experience that tempered her. Maybe she was just too tired to put up much of an argument. Whatever the reason, Lola just eyeballed Tamsin from across the table for a few long seconds before asking: "If I agree to at least consider the option, can we lay the matter to rest? I've fought about this enough last week already."
As for dinner: "If you want to cook tonight, I'd be thankful to you for that. Hector shouldn't be gone for much longer, so you can probably put him to work helping if you hold off on starting for another hour or so."
Tamsin
Tamsin nods. She flexes her hands again; can't help another look at them, like - are you quivering? No; why do I feel that way? and that look bleeds into the way she regards the garden for a moment, mossy eyes catching here, and then there, and perhaps Tamsin is high. Her pupils are large (she is not high).
"We don't need to discuss it any more tonight or anything, yeah, totally," Tamsin says. "Um, I mean, I pretty much said it all. I do support you wanting to do it on your own, you know? Just like, blah blah, emergency back-up on the porch, blah blah blah."
"Um," cutting herself off from more blah blah blahs, more re-enacting of their own conversation: "Awesome. I will cook the best thing I can um think of to cook with what you've got and I think I might have like ... beans. In my bag. Something. Fritos! I can make a frito casserole!" She grins: it's a sharp, sizzle of a dark thing.
"Wanna hear a song I've been working on? Or--like, well, if you need to work in the garden some more I can play it from here, or ..."
As if Tamsin was suddenly conscious that she had indeed interrupted.
Lola Hawkes
"I'll think about it."
And that's precisely where Lola lets the conversation end-- Tamsin wraps up with summarizing what she's trying to say, and Lola simply expresses once again that she will consider the option. She makes no promises, but she didn't wind up gnashing teeth and spitting venom, so this could be chalked up to a win.
"There's some deer steak and a few plucked quail that I managed to catch in the fridge. You could cook them up with your beans." Lola scuffed at her nose with the back of her wrist, then rose from her chair. "The Fritos you and Hector can share after he gets you to smoke a bowl with him." Her tone doesn't suggest that she's mad at the idea-- she's simply assigning the Fritos a better place to be than utilized in her kitchen.
The song, Lola would request to hear while she worked on the garden. If Tamsin felt guilty enough watching a pregnant woman do back-bending work alone, then Lola would tell her exactly where she could find a second pair of gardening gloves. It wouldn't be the first time Lola's talked her into working on this project with her, after all.
Since her adventures chasing old Fianna Kinfolk that had gotten lost on their retirement exploits, Lola has largely stayed around the Homestead. For all of the worrying and hand wringing that had gone on about how the Kinswoman was bound to continue throwing herself into peril's way despite the fact that she was carrying a child, Lola has been laying low for the past month easily with no incident.
In fact, for Tamsin to visit, she would have to come out to The Homestead. On this mid-week afternoon, with the sun hanging to the west and beginning its descent but still a good two or three hours until it was gone, Lola Hawkes could be found working on the garden she had built last fall in the back of the house. Spring was trying to spring early, and soon it would be time to plant, so she was out back tilling and arranging rows and making sure that the wire that made up the fence was secure to its posts.
Though bright and sunny, the day was still a little chilly, so Lola worked in long skirts and a long-sleeved shirt that stretched tightly over her stomach and chest. Though she didn't have any way to know this for certain herself, what with her stubborn refusal to do so much as even employ a midwife, this week Lola's pregnancy entered its third trimester. To look at her, it would be easy to believe that fact.
Despite this, though, Lola worked with sweat touching her brow and the sleeves of her shirt pushed up to her elbows. Up on the back porch, a little portable boombox played music that only did a halfway effective job of traveling to the garden.
Tamsin
Tamsin doesn't mind coming out to The Homestead. After all: Tamsin likely still crashes there occasionally, a nomad. Musician. Easy to explain to those who haven't a clue that way, not that anyone would ever wonder at the Hawkes-Ghosh household. Pack: she wants to be near to Hector. Pack: she wants to be near to Hector and Hector's child and Lola and Lola has something of Maria in some of her gestures which Tamsin notices sometimes and never remarks upon because there is no reason to remark upon it. Tamsin: when Hector finished making (or when he finishes making she will) the fucking crib finally went to jump in it and 'test' it out. Because that's how you know. Today when Tamsin comes by it's after hitching a ride with another Fianna - let's name this other-Fianna "Errantry" (even though Tamsin's player rather wants to use that for a Fianna Ragabash now that is not an NPC) - and Lola can hear the slam of a door and the sound of a truck making-off.
Then: Tamsin. Tamsin, who'd chopped her hair off to shoulder-length a month or so ago, make-upless and carrying her guitar case plus a smaller case that also looks vaguely guitar-shaped except it's a ukulele and it was a gift from a hipster guy who came to see her play and she's not telling Hector about that because he's annoying. Tamsin doesn't bother putting her instruments down before circling the little house following that boombox and look it's Lola in the garden:
"Hey Lola!" Tamsin interrupts, cheerfully. "You wanna try some fucking fantastic apple pumpkin bread?"
Lola: she looks fat. Tamsin: will not be saying that aloud but her gaze can't help getting pulled in by Lola's belly. Damn, how much longer? Maybe there's a spirit who'll know.
Tamsin
[This is going to be amusing. Tamsin totally tried to knit the baby some cute wolf hat thing. Dex + Crafts. DIFF: 8, because fancy knitting is hard.]
Dice: 4 d10 TN8 (5, 6, 9, 10) ( success x 2 )
Lola Hawkes
When Tamsin comes around to the back of the house she'll find Lola stooped forward with one elbow braced on her thigh and knee to help support balance and distribute weight (otherwise her back would suffer), working a spade into the dirt with her free hand. The call that interrupted the music -- something forgettable and largely difficult to make out due to poor sound quality on the old boom box -- drew the Kinfolk's attention, and she straightened up to greet the Galliard.
Hector wasn't anywhere in sight, but he had his placed to be and duties to maintain. He hasn't been around the Cold Crescent Sept nearly so much these days, though. Rumor has it he may be pulling his efforts on that place after his botched mission in the basement, and that he's putting his full support behind Forgotten Questions instead. Most of the time that rumor is quashed reminders that he probably just wants to be near to home when his first child is born.
Initially, all Tamsin got was an upward jerk of the chin in greeting. Then Lola tossed the spade down in the dirt and wiped the sweat off her forehead with the back of her bare forearm. Dirt was smudged on arms and face both, though not excessively.
She didn't speak up until after she'd moved across from the garden to the back porch so she could turn the music machine off completely. Once that was done Lola scrubbed her hands on the clothing over her hips and looked back over to Tamsin. She wasn't the smiling sort, but Tamsin knew her well enough to figure that even if she wasn't grinning from ear to ear, Lola was still in a good mood and receptive to visitors.
"Who made it for you?" Came the answer to the offer for apple pumpkin bread. "Or did you find a kitchen to use and make it yourself?" Either way, she waved her hand to gesture Tamsin over, invite her toward the house and the back porch. "Of course I want to try it. Come on over."
Tamsin
"The fucking manager at the fucking Larimer Lounge," Tamsin says, and there is something pleased (shyly) beneath the cursing, because Tamsin is beginning to be recognized -- just occasionally, just every now and then, by People. Music Scene People. She sets the guitar case down on the back porch and the ukulele case too, then unsnaps the guitar case, because of course that is where she was keeping the bread and assorted other items. The bread is very smooshed, very smooshed indeed, but it is still pumpkin apple bread. Belatedly, Tamsin makes a face: "Make it myself, ugh, bread is hard. Um well not like stale hard, not THIS bread anyway, you know what I mean, um," and right. The bread gets put down on that little table that Lola has out there and Tamsin begins to unwrap it. "I brought a baby hat over too which I made myself and it looks," she pauses, frowns at her hands, pulling them back from the saran-wrap and bread, flexing them and rubbing a thumb into the crease. The frown was a momentary thing, though, because it's back to pride, yo:
"Made myself and it looks pretty good. Um, I think. I think it should have a name. Like, the hat, not the baby. The baby's gonna be named whatever the baby's gonna be named, but you remember that Galadriel is off-limits, right? You look, um, pretty today. How are you?"
Lola Hawkes
If Lola were a more civilized person, she would have gone back inside for a bread knife and some napkins. Instead she was accustomed to sharing food and meals with packmates, what was supposed to be future packmates, and friends without such amenities. Ripping chunks from a loaf of bread has worked well enough before, and after a while you got pretty good at tearing evenly without destroying the loaf.
Besides, from the looks of the loaf, it had already taken some damage on the way over in the guitar case. So Lola stood at the side of the wire patio table with its matching wire chairs, watching patiently while Tamsin unwrapped the plastic wrap and set the bread loaf up on the table. Lola would wait to be provided with her portion-- she knew that garden dirt was deep in her fingers and nails. She wouldn't dirty the gift from the Larimer Lounge manager.
"The baby already has a name-- didn't Hector tell you?" Lola set dark chocolate-earth brown eyes upon Tamsin and raised her eyebrows, but seemed pleased (in her own way) to share the information herself instead. "We chose Raksha."
Tamsin said Lola looked pretty, and that was fair enough a compliment to give. Lola seldom dressed up and didn't bother with make-up, and today was no different. Her skirt was a burnt orange and her shirt was black, her hair was piled up on top of her head. She was pretty in that she looked strong and healthy and full of life. The compliment was taken with a rolling shrug of one shoulder before being set aside for the inquiry about her well being instead.
"I'm doing fine. Better than Hector, he's been nervous enough to finally finish the damn crib. Though I heard you figured that out already." Lola, apparently, heard about Tamsin leaping around inside of the crib, and the tone in which she mentioned this had just the smallest key of warning. She wasn't mad, as the crib was still intact, but the way she looked at Tamsin in that moment was a clear warning: Don't break our shit, in particular don't break shit that we need.
But, moving on...
"Thanks for the hat. Hector'll probably give it a better name than I could. Or more interesting one anyways. You're doing alright? Your Kin all are too?"
Tamsin
"Nope, he keeps telling me he's going to take Galadriel and Eowyn and that you said it's totally okay," Tamsin says, frowning, and she seems actually worried. Perhaps that worry is why she hasn't seen through Hector's ploy, so Lola revealing the real name causes the moss-eyed Fianna thing to bite her lip and then grin hard enough to hurt her cheeks. The grin becomes a smirk, remembering the incident with the crib: Lola's look of warning passes by unnoticed in the dreamy haze of heh heh.
The Fianna tears off a hunk of the bread (it's moist, and Lola can see the chunks of apple inside, pumpkin seeds impressed on the top) and hands it to Lola - or is going to before she realizes that maybe something should be set down on the table so the bread doesn't pick up dust. She winds up just pushing the saran wrap/bread over toward the Uktena kin.
"Yeah," Tamsin says, and then frowns down at the table. "I... um... It's weird, Lola. Like... do I look strange to you?"
Tamsin lofts her chin, sits up straight.
"Like is there anything off? Or do... My hands look okay, right?"
She holds her hands out, palm and fingers up.
Lola Hawkes
[Intelligence 3 + Medicine 2: I don't know, Tamsin, are you okay?]
Dice: 5 d10 TN6 (1, 1, 2, 4, 5) ( fail )
Lola Hawkes
The discussion about what Hector was insisting he would use for names was dismissed with a shake of her head. Lola was a practical woman, and much to Hector's chagrin she still hadn't finished the trilogy (though she was mostly done with the first book now, thank you very much, and has listened to him read much of The Hobbit to her stomach at night so she knew that story as well).
Lola watched the loaf of bread slide her way and looked down at her dirty hands, then pressed her lips together but excused herself simply with a: "I'll be right back, hang on." Then she would disappear into the house just long enough to wash her hands in the kitchen sink and re-secure her hair in a knot up at the top of her head. When she came back out her hands were clean and the stray hairs that had fallen at the top of her neck and to frame her face were pulled back once more.
Once clean again, she tore herself a piece of bread and ate it, happy for the food, while Tamsin sat and held out her hands, fingers up, to ask Lola if everything looked okay.
Lola blinked, and leaned forward to examine Tamsin's hands, apparently missing it if Tamsin were trying to lead her into some kind of a build up for a joke or a story or a hypothetical. She must have had dirt and sweat in her eye still, or the fetus had sucked up too many nutrients for her brain to give enough of a shit to actually process the Fianna's hands, but whatever it was she saw it had Lola wrinkling her nose at the bridge and straightening up. She kept looking at Tamsin's hands, then reached for the loaf of bread and ripped off another small chunk for herself to eat before announcing:
"Got one hell of a quiver happening. Did you just walk away from something I should know about?"
Tamsin
Tamsin looks stricken and pulls her hands back, bending her head to examine them herself for quivers. Puts them in her lap right after, head still down. Head down enough that she rests her chin on the table, scootching the chair she'd sat herself in while Lola went inside to wash her hands back. She tucks her hands under her thighs.
"I had this," Tamsin begins to say, and then: dreamily. "I keep thinking about ... doors and, I don't know. I had a dream and all today and all yesterday every time I've picked up the guitar or the ukulele that Heinrich gave me right it feels like... I feel a handle cracking in my hand, like the neck of them is cracking, like it's just breaking. Like a fairy curse, except it's really not that bad just... It's weird. Maybe I'm being sensitive and shit."
"How are your dreams lately? You been sleeping all right or is little Raksha kicking your bladder to pieces?"
Lola Hawkes
The quivering hands were left aside. Tamsin wasn't worried for them so Lola wouldn't be concerned either. They were tucked under thighs and forgotten anyways. Lola finished eating her second slice of bread before dusting her hands and folding her arms across the top of her protruding stomach. She remained standing, apparently more comfortable on the soles of her work boots than seated.
What Tamsin had to say about her dreams had Lola creasing her brow and shaking her head. "I'm not a dreamspeaker. Never learned the craft, or how to read 'em. Way I figure, a dream is just a dream until someone or something is making it anything but. To find out if it's the latter, you'd need a Theurge." She paused, thoughtful, then added: "Or a really experienced Galliard. I've heard of some that can walk through dreams and examine them from within."
As for her own sleep, Tamsin earned another shrug and a small, almost reluctant ghost of a grin. It was more of a relaxing around the mouth and corners of the eyes really than a true smile, but we knew what she meant.
"Dreams are here or there. They've been strange, but they're supposed to be. And the baby--" Hector would say 'she' in this place. Lola still refused to assign a gender without seeing hard evidence first. Like she was refusing to set an expectation so she couldn't be thrown off if it turned out wrong.
"I'm up 'bout twice a night, but still sleeping okay besides that. Better now that Hector's sister's gone back to her home." Lola looked stressed, but in a relieved and maybe somewhat sympathetic way. It was the kind of look that anyone had when the in-laws finally went home and left you to live in peace.
Tamsin
"Yeah! I can't wait to learn how to do that!" Tamsin says, perking up a little. There's something still yet a bit dreamy or distant behind the enthusiasm for Gifts she does not yet have and the old smoulder-simmer burn of Rage re: Theurges fucking upstarts trying to fucking say they've got all the godamned lore but oooh we're mystical oooh we know it all oooh fuck Theurges.
She listens with attention to Lola's talk of dreams and sleep, though, sitting up and putting her elbow on the table, cupping her chin (don't you feel the splinter-crack, Tamsin? [she does, and shivers]) in her hand and reaching for a chunk of pumpkin-apple bread.
"Aw, you didn't like her?" she asks, all curiously: and ready to fucking gossip. Tamsin is a galliard, and she is not the quiet kind.
Is there a quiet kind of galliard?
Academic question.
Lola Hawkes
"Oh, I like her alright. But she's human, see."
As though that alone should say it all. Tamsin can imagine the stress that would come from hiding all things Werewolf in a house that has stood for and been inhabited exclusively by generations of them. Lola moved her hand to press at the side of her stomach, in response to the baby moving or stretching somehow, then reached for the loaf of bread to rip herself another chunk.
"That just meant there's a lot we couldn't tell her, you know? And she had to visit on the fucking gibbous and full moons, so Hector was hardly helpful with easing the mood."
Munch.
"She's a doctor, so she had some strong opinions about my not going to a doctor or midwife or anything."
Tamsin
"Is Hector ever helpful with 'easing the mood'?" Tamsin says, with another smirk. Tamsin and Hector: they act like siblings, don't they, and part of that is never letting up, huh? But they aren't siblings. They're pack. Pack's different. The smirk's a little more absent than it could otherwise be. "But yeah. I get it. Jesus, should've asked me to come up with a reason for her to come some other time. I'm pretty fucking good at that."
And Tamsin is: persuasive, when she wants to be. A cheater, too, with Gifts up her sleeve and no moral compunction about using them to give her that sweet-talking Fianna-tongue an edge.
Blink. "But uh, are you really ... Like um, you were serious? You're really not gonna have a midwife or something?"
Lola Hawkes
The question posed was one that Lola's heard more than once in the past few months. She recognized the tone, the caution and uncertain social steps around being so bold as to ask in the first place. So the Kinfolk stared blandly at Tamsin for a few seconds, then she sighed and pulled out a chair to sit, which she had to do a touch differently now to accommodate for weight and size.
"It's nothing that I want anyone else around for. It's personal, you know? I don't need some stranger to deal with, telling me what I already know. Hector'll be there with healing talens if we need them."
She was frowning inactively, a thoughtless crease between her eyebrows. She took her time nibbling this piece of bread, picking a seed from the top and nibbling it.
"Can't be that unheard of. Not among our people."
Tamsin
[Whoa wait what.]
Dice: 5 d10 TN6 (1, 3, 4, 4, 8) ( success x 1 )
Tamsin
[Manipulation + Subterfuge. >.>]
Dice: 7 d10 TN6 (1, 3, 5, 8, 9, 9, 10) ( success x 4 )
Tamsin
The stag-girl, Fianna-darling-of-a-thing, she listens thoughtfully and
If this were a true and accurate representation of her thoughts on the matter, Lola would say Hector'll be there with healing talens if we need--
And Tamsin would go, "WHOA. Wait. Shut the hell up, Hector's gonna-- No way. You're fucking kidding me, that is the stupidest thing I've ever heard this side of -- let's go -- fucking -- lick the Pit in Cold Crescent's basement."
And they would fight. And Lola would be mad. And Tamsin would regret her outburst but she would be mad too.
But Tamsin has a modicum of restraint, too. And she loves Lola. And she is also a sneaky trickster of a thing, a liar. The lyingest liar ever. So what actually happens is:
The stag-girl, Fianna-darling-of-a-thing, she listens thoughtfully and her eyebrows draw together a bit and she taps her fingers against the table, but offers: "I know some tales that mention a kinwoman giving birth, unattended. But it's usually a footnote, obviously. And um, like, kind of an illustration of how epicly bad the other shit is. And there are no stories that aren't tragedies about Galliards or Ahroun trying to help deliver a kid. Especially when those Galliards or Ahrouns, like, almost frenzy just when some dude looks wrong at their girlfriend, well, 'mate', just saying."
That is much better Tamsin than what you were gonna say.
"I mean um... Yeah, I get wanting to do it alone. That sounds cool to me. Well, not to me, fuck that, I want drugs... although I guess I would probably not get them? Good thing I'm barely getting laid right now huh?" A grin. 'Barely,' eh?
"But I dunno. Healing talens are sacred. Women are fucking awesome and way better at healing and shit than men. Shouldn't have to have those on stand-by, but like... a midwife in the other room in case the baby's gotta get... Turned around or, eh, I don't know, I just know TV childbirth problems. Anyway you should totally have some kin birth-mother chick waiting in the other room just in case. That's not having a stranger around yammering at you, you know?"
Lola Hawkes
[Perception + Empathy: Yeah, sure, it's all about statistics, is it?]
Dice: 5 d10 TN6 (3, 6, 7, 8, 10) ( success x 4 )
Lola Hawkes
To give credit where credit is due, Tamsin raises very good points. Doing her part, Lola listens and doesn't interrupt. She lets the Galliard take the floor and speak, leans back in the wire chair and works on rolling the sleeves of her shirt back down to her wrists once more. Sitting still against the cool metal chairs reminded her of the true temperature and had her wanting less skin bared to the chill springtime air.
But, for how well she's listening and hearing and nodding along where it's appropriate, Lola's still watching Tamsin with a look to her that suggests she's noticed something. Like when you see somebody hiding in an alleyway and don't know yet whether you should blow their cover to the cop looking determinedly about on the corner nearby.
When she's finished, Lola huffed and popped another pumpkin seed in her mouth.
Then she asks, pointedly: "Are you gonna try and tell Hector to be anyplace but here when the baby comes?" A pause, a beat, and then she furrows her brow and presses the matter just one step further, as though reaching out and drawing a definitive line in the dirt to mark her stance: "You gonna tell me that I shouldn't let him be around?"
Lola shook her head then and took another proper bite from the hunk of bread in her hand.
"I just ain't sold on what some midwife Kinswoman's gonna be doin' for me that I'm not gonna be able to do for myself."
Tamsin
Is Tamsin going to tell Hector to be anyplace but here when the bay comes? Is Tamsin going to tell Lola that she shouldn't let him be around?
"Yes," Tamsin says. Not angry, not agitated; just: Yes. Dear god, yes.
"And um, I dunno. Probably nothing, really. I know lots of women who managed to do it on their own -- well kind of their own. Well, you know Glen's sister, yeah? Nora? Apparently when their mom had Nora, she was all on her lonesome. Just excused herself from dinner, right? Because everybody was at dinner. Then went upstairs and called a theurge to say: It's time. By the time the theurge got there, she was soft-shoeing it down the stairs, baby Nora in her arms. Nora told me this in contrast with her own experience of course."
Tamsin smiles again, but it's a small little smile, like she's not yet to the point of grinning.
"I guess what I'm saying is probably nothing, but it's good to have. Like matches in case your electricity goes and it's an emergency or whatever. You will probably just excuse yourself from dinner, drop a cool note on the phone like b-dubs come on over but wait on the porch and then you'd come out all cool as you please baby wrapped up in its awesome hat that I made and a blanket."
"Speaking of dinner... You want me to cook something tonight? I kinda feel challenged on account of this bread."
Lola Hawkes
Two years ago Lola would have fought Tamsin much harder on this, and any other matter. She was confrontational in every circumstance, with a chip on her shoulder and this idea that she had so much more to prove of herself since she turned out to be a Kinfolk instead of True Born after all. She would have gnashed teeth and gotten up in arms about how she knew what she was doing and didn't need anyone telling her otherwise.
Now, though, she did not bare teeth and go up in arms. Much had changed over the course of two years. She'd lost her sister and watched her Sept reel and twist under the assault of a Black Spiral pack for the second time in recent history, as well as nearly lost her own life and limb both in combat.
Maybe it was experience that tempered her. Maybe she was just too tired to put up much of an argument. Whatever the reason, Lola just eyeballed Tamsin from across the table for a few long seconds before asking: "If I agree to at least consider the option, can we lay the matter to rest? I've fought about this enough last week already."
As for dinner: "If you want to cook tonight, I'd be thankful to you for that. Hector shouldn't be gone for much longer, so you can probably put him to work helping if you hold off on starting for another hour or so."
Tamsin
Tamsin nods. She flexes her hands again; can't help another look at them, like - are you quivering? No; why do I feel that way? and that look bleeds into the way she regards the garden for a moment, mossy eyes catching here, and then there, and perhaps Tamsin is high. Her pupils are large (she is not high).
"We don't need to discuss it any more tonight or anything, yeah, totally," Tamsin says. "Um, I mean, I pretty much said it all. I do support you wanting to do it on your own, you know? Just like, blah blah, emergency back-up on the porch, blah blah blah."
"Um," cutting herself off from more blah blah blahs, more re-enacting of their own conversation: "Awesome. I will cook the best thing I can um think of to cook with what you've got and I think I might have like ... beans. In my bag. Something. Fritos! I can make a frito casserole!" She grins: it's a sharp, sizzle of a dark thing.
"Wanna hear a song I've been working on? Or--like, well, if you need to work in the garden some more I can play it from here, or ..."
As if Tamsin was suddenly conscious that she had indeed interrupted.
Lola Hawkes
"I'll think about it."
And that's precisely where Lola lets the conversation end-- Tamsin wraps up with summarizing what she's trying to say, and Lola simply expresses once again that she will consider the option. She makes no promises, but she didn't wind up gnashing teeth and spitting venom, so this could be chalked up to a win.
"There's some deer steak and a few plucked quail that I managed to catch in the fridge. You could cook them up with your beans." Lola scuffed at her nose with the back of her wrist, then rose from her chair. "The Fritos you and Hector can share after he gets you to smoke a bowl with him." Her tone doesn't suggest that she's mad at the idea-- she's simply assigning the Fritos a better place to be than utilized in her kitchen.
The song, Lola would request to hear while she worked on the garden. If Tamsin felt guilty enough watching a pregnant woman do back-bending work alone, then Lola would tell her exactly where she could find a second pair of gardening gloves. It wouldn't be the first time Lola's talked her into working on this project with her, after all.
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