Lola Hawkes
Last week Lola had been away from home, living out of a shoddy motel in downtown Denver. This had been because of the call of War. She had gone to be present for the War Moot, and she had stayed to help with the patrols because, as she understood it, the Gauntlet had become shaky and repercussions were being felt across the city from the tragedy at the Spire Sept. She had participated in patrols, she had walked the streets and watched for trouble. She had participated in the discovery of a massive flock of carrion spirits that had bled over from the other side, and stood watch while Hector and Keisha had cleansed the area until the spirits were gone from the place, sent back where they belonged.
Last Friday night she had gotten to use her rifle. Hector had texted her an address and called for back-up, and she had come running. The battle was glorious. All involved, including herself, had walked away unscathed, and their victory had been flawless and how they had worked together had been fluid. It was a good night.
Until she and Hector went back to the motel room. Until they talked about what they had, what they were supposed to have, their duties to the Nation, and the loss of his pack. The night had been a full one, and the next morning Lola had packed up the clothes and hygiene kit she'd brought into the city and left.
They'd talked, and she decided that she would return to The Homestead. She hated the city, it made her skin feel grimey all of the time and it made her feel cramped and trapped. She was worried deep in her heart for the security of Forgotten Questions, as she was quite convinced that everything that was happening at Cold Crescent was intended to be a diversion. She believed that the Spiral Pack actually wanted Forgotten Questions, because that was where the real Caern was after all.
This past week Lola has been on her own, back in her routine, recovering from the time in the city and stretching her legs and breathing the clean air again. She patroled the lands more diligently than she has in the recent months because of the heightened danger level. Today she was out on foot, dressed in a pair of jean shorts that rode high on long, strong legs and hiking boots that protected her ankles. She had on a tank top with an opened up plaid long-sleeve shirt on overtop (the plaid in hues of blue and yellow). The sleeves of the overshirt were unbuttoned, the ends of the front of the shirt tied together at the bottom rather in place of buttons.
She wore a baseball cap, a faded old beige thing, with her hair in a ponytail and pulled out the back. It helped to keep the sun out of her eyes. She couldn't just carry her rifle around because then the Rangers would get pissy at her, but you could rest assured that the pistol for which she had a legal concealed carry permit was kept in its holster at her left side, under the overshirt.
Earlier in the day she had encountered her favorite Skald, Eddie, and they split the lunch she had packed in her backpack. After about two hours of hanging together they parted ways. Now, at about seven thirty in the evening, Lola stood at the top of some short, stubby hill with sparse grass and plenty of dust. She was looking out over the Bawn, to the West, watching the sun's location in the sky and gaguing how long it will take for it to set.
This was an image that was as much a part of the landscape here as the coyotes howl was to the night air. A Hawkes has been standing sentry for close to as long as the Sept has been here.
Tamsin
Tamsin Hall. Cinder Song. Furious Lament. Tamsin: hadn't been around, but she'd already heard some of what went down at the Moot of Two Septs. Her response had been wide-eyed shock. And that shock'd just compounded, as other tales came fast and strong: of her tribal mates corruption and so on and so forth. Wasn't gone for that long, but just long enough. And maybe some of the stories she's heard, maybe that's why she has taken herself out've the city and off to Forgotten Questions, talk to even more galliards, touch base with even more tales, and eventually (yeah) track down that elusive Lola Hawkes.
It's not that difficult. There are stones for that; questing ones.
And this isn't like the time at Jackass Hill Park when Tamsin was determined to sneak up on Lola and Hector and bean the latter in the head with her cellphone (that plan did not go well, did it?), and she doesn't hide her approach, doesn't seem to have fog turning the crunch of her footsteps on pebbles and dirt and dust into something that's a whisper or even less, just:
A girl standing sentry over the Bawn, silhouetted by the West, and a girl-who-is-a-wolf-who-is-a-spirit traipsing up a steep incline toward her, questioning:
"Lola?"
Lola Hawkes
The call of her own name pulled Lola out of whatever trance she slipped into while watching the land. Patrols worked in shifts for Lola-- she would walk around the length of the Bawn, or at least the Eastern side of it if nothing more, and periodically she would find places with good vantage points so she could watch the landscape for unfamiliar movement, or things that shouldn't belong. When she watched so much land all at the same time, it was easy to let your vision slip and focus on the middle distance and to allow your mind to wander.
It's difficult to say where it had landed exactly when she was interrupted, but Lola looked a little surprised without being startled or immediately defensive. Dark eyes hunted for the source of the call and located Tamsin at the bottom of the hill, working her way up the ridge to join her.
Lola smiled, the expression a genuine but closed-lipped thing, and lifted a hand to wave.
That same hand adjusted the bill of her cap, and when Tamsin was a bit nearer, close enough that she could talk without having to holler, Lola greeted her.
"Tamsin. Hey." Eyes raked the landscape behind her, then came back to the Fianna. "No pack today?"
Tamsin
Tamsin smiles, too. Her smile isn't shy around Lola. Not usually, though there's something shy at the edges, something that wants to shy, something that does not care that Tamsin is a wolf-girl, girl-wolf, does not care that Tamsin is full of rage, a glittering and glistering hollowing-out creature of war, and there is something solemn to the smile too. Tamsin: she can be so serious it's easy to forget that the next moment she'll be cursing worse than a wannabe pre-teen rapper and ready for mischief.
She'd lifted a hand to wave as well as her voice [human gestures are easy; they're echoes] and the hand drops back to the top of her head after a wave; she puts a bit of extra energy into her scramble up, sneakers slipping enough to send a cascade of pebbles running downward, and then she lopes until she's at Miss Hawkes' side.
Then she lifts her shoulders riseandfall riseandfall quick and pretends to pant, tongue lolling out. Ends it with another smile, this one more shy but also slyer, like she's going to elbow Lola in the ribs, and then laugh with embarrassment at the silly joke:
"Hey!" Happy. Then more even-keeled: "And naw. I tried to tempt Jack out, but he had some stuff to do, and Hector's being more of a cunt-pimple than usual about 'no interruptions while I read this chapter.' But um, honestly I kind of wanted to just poke around myself a bit anyway and and find you and oh Nora says hello and reminds me to remind you that you are welcome to visit and she gave me something for you too. It's just a picture of Maria she thought you might like."
"How are you?"
Lola Hawkes
As the Galliard reaches her side, the Uktena that should have been an Ahroun greets her by reaching out and clapping her on the side of her shoulder a couple of times. Lola's movements were, as always, a strong and confident thing. In the city she moved stiffly, like she was looking for a fight and on a razor's edge temperamentally. Here, though, on her land, within the bounds of what she felt to be her territory for how she protected it with her life and the lives of her predecessors, it was different. She was like a wolf on its turf, self-assured and full of vitality.
Hector was being a wet noodle, Jack was busy as well, so it was just Tamsin tonight. Lola nodded, accepting this information at face value and not appearing to look thrilled or disappointed by it.
Nora said hello and had a picture of Maria that Tamsin was supposed to share with her. Lola's dark eyebrows jumped up on her face to show interest. "Huh! I'll need to see that. And get a number to call her at to tell her thank you. Or I can get one of the Theurges to send a messenger-- whatever's actually gonna reach her."
Tamsin wanted to know how Lola was doing, and she answered that with a shrug and by looking back out on the stretch of Bawn that she was keeping watch over. "Eh. I'm okay. My nerves are frayed from waiting, though. Hector's supposed to keep me posted on what's being organized within the City as far as attacks and investigations go, so I can lend my help. I'm waiting for the Spirals to start sniffing around out here, too." She scowled a little, for a moment, when she griped about: "The goddamn Rangers won't let me carry my rifle, though, so I'll be a fair bit fucked if they decide to show up when I can only keep my pistol."
Then, she glanced back to the Fianna. "How about you? Where've you been?"
Tamsin
Lola claps Tamsin on the side of the shoulder and Tamsin bites the inside of her lip, the right side, this habitual thing, and then goes in for the hug. Because Tamsin, while not a hugger, does hug. Lola should've been an Ahroun. Would've been a better Ahroun than Celduin got, perhaps. Or maybe she'd be less Lola if she'd actually changed. Tamsin doesn't know: she can't think too much about it because whenever she does there's a deep-seeded slow-burn of what if and guilt. Like if she could somehow make it right and give Lola what she got by mistake. Lost cub, never was supposed to Change, was supposed to have a boring, mundane life and all that b.s.
"I can give you a number," she says, and after the hug that was (or the hug that wasn't) she'd sort of locked her knees in order to go up on her tiptoes and reach into her jacket pocket (it gets cold at night and she was expecting to be out late and later), pull out that photograph promised. It's folded, but one of those long ones-- kodak, so taken with actual film not printed out on a computer, probably one hour developed at a drug store. There's penciled writing on the back. Gravely: "It seems poor to bother a spirit when a phone'll do just as well, though then again some of the younger theurges could probably use the practice in deal-making. The first night I arrived at Nora's,"
and look. Tamsin is obviously a galliard. How people react to this depends on the person. Among kinsmen and kinswomen, it is often with a smile and a headshake and an 'oh, Tamsin,' which thankfully she never catches or thinks is condescending. She tells stories in casual conversation because she has to but also because it is who she is.
And this story also gives Lola some of her answers. Where've you been,"at the Sept of the Flooded Birch, there was a fresh rite-passaged Shadow Lord, son of Thunder proud of who he is, just-named Devil's Bargain, so damned proud of the name. He must've been fourteen, fifteen, and perhaps too fresh; he had that too-determined look, you know? The one that says I'll burn out soon unless I figure out what I am doing," and here she grins, because Tamsin is not above some tribal rivalry, though the grin fades:
"So there he was, that first night I arrived, and he said clearly, Don't you get it, Wonder's Fall? I'm a cliath now. You're asking when you should be telling. You're telling when you should be dealing. You want that flood-spirit to well up in Serenity's Limit Swift Justice's faucet next time they turn the tap? You're just being wishy-washy. You've gotta show it who's boss.
"Up he goes to that spirit and starts to lay down the law.
"Fine. That's their way; they law-lay-down.
"But you know what he forgets to say? He forgets to say: when they turn the water on. He forgets to say: stop. He forgets to detail just what Serenity's Limit's faucet is: is it at their house? Is it where-ever they're turning the spigot? And this is a flood spirit."
Pause.
Pause.
Pause.
"Next thing you know, Serenity's Limit's apartment is flooding and flooding and they call the landlord and when they can't get ahold of the landlord - one of ours, while they are not - they call the damned police. And the flood spirit's like, welp, can't deliver my message here - oh!
"Oh hey! Serenity's Limit's turning on a faucet now!"
"And then the local Y gets flooded out, too."
"And some muckity muck's bigwig daughter: slips in the water. Breaks her leg. Mundies on the scene before mother's touch can be used so now she's grumpy as Hell, spoiled rotten too: and the moral is? Maybe some of the younger theurges need some practice."
"But phone number, that's still safe."
And now, she holds that picture out.
Lola Hawkes
Of course Lola accepted the hug. She came across as something of a bruiser at first introduction when meeting new people. She could be imposing, how she held her shoulders square and strong and how she held her chin high and how her eyes blazed with life. She was of average height, but always seemed much taller because of how big of a presence she was.
Tamsin met her when she was still a teenager, although on the end of those years rather than smack in the middle of them. Lola hadn't quite finished growing by that point, though she was close to done. She had been more surly, faster to boil over with her temper and more sensitive to insult. A couple of years, the loss of her parents and living truly alone had helped to temper that and grow her into more of an adult. She was still quite young, in the scheme of things, but Lola Hawkes was now a far more tempered creature. Accepting her fate helped with that.
So the hug was accepted, returned with strong lean arms partly shrouded in flannel wrapped about Tamsin's arms and behind her back to do so. When they parted, the Galliard held out a picture and told a story about where she'd been.
The story ended, and Lola was grinning broadly, now with white teeth showing. She chuckled, but it was a low and quiet thing that manifested more in how her shoulders and chest moved than in actual vocalizations.
"Sounds like he got his ass whupped at the end of the day," she said of the fresh-faced Cliath. "And like he learned a lesson about being literal and thorough."
The extended picture was accepted and unfolded to be examined. After a second she would flip it over, read the writing on the back, then return her gaze to the picture itself once more, squinting through the dying light to pick out detail.
Tamsin
"He did. He was told he could not speak to anything that was flesh instead of spirit-stuff 'til the moon was crescent again, then given a long list of tasks to accomplish that involved speaking. Last I saw of Devil's Bargain, he was in an Office Max, looking to buy some notebooks. We'll see what happens to him," and Tamsin shrugs.
The writing says one damned ballsy girl two unlucky suckers 2007 Maria
It's a picture of Maria, yes. But a younger Maria than the Maria who died, a Maria with long hair whipping in the wind- though not whipping, no. Whipped; a torrent around her; a snarl-halo, crouching on the edge of a rock, wearing a poncho and grinning at the camera her eyes alive holding in both hands what looks at first like a weird pale papery pumpkin but is in actuality a hornet's nest and if you look down from there you can see a couple of familiar faces, blurred because they were apparently moving quickly.
Lola Hawkes
The picture draws a fond grin on Lola's face, recognition of the scene and the perfect humor found in all elements of the prank (ha, Hornet's Nest, get it?) striking her a little sentimental. Lola didn't appear sad, though. While the news of her sister's demise was still relatively recent, Lola apparently sped through the grieving process because it didn't pain her to see her sister's face the same it had looked when she left The Homestead to go adventuring with her new pack. She didn't get misty eyed or introspective for the subject.
Lola had plenty of time alone, which gave her enough time to herself to work through the tears, the anger, the frustration, the loss. She had cried-- oh yes. She had wailed at the moon because she couldn't howl. She had gone running across the land until she was too tired to think or feel and could fall asleep dreamless in her bed, because she wasn't able to run on four feet until the dawn broke and sleep where she landed.
She didn't ask for a shoulder to cry on or arms to wrap her up and help her through the process. That simply wasn't her way. Lola, for the most part, was a solitary creature, though she certainly welcomed what remained of Celduin whenever they were around. Tamsin knew just as well as Hector that The Homestead had an open invitation to the pack, and that the door was unlocked for them even if she wasn't home herself.
"That's perfect," Lola said, finally, and folded the picture up in the same fashion it had been when it was delivered. It was then slipped into the back pocket of snug denim shorts, held there for safe-keeping until she was able to get home and find a place for that picture to be.
She would frame it, certainly. Probably hang it up in the living room along with a pattern of pictures of family members that have been there for longer than Lola's been alive. Her thumbs hooked into her belt loops when her hands were free of the picture, and Lola's gaze leveled on Tamsin once more. When there was nothing else on the table for immediate discussion, you could leave it to the Ahroun-Kin to bring up business instead.
"So, I'm sure you've heard what's happened at the Spire Sept. Are you gonna be joining Hector to give efforts to them? I'd assume so. Things can't be too far from erupting."
Tamsin
Tamsin nods as if of course. As if the question was just a leading question, and no question at all; perhaps it is. To Tamsin, it is not a question of joining Hector; no matter how often she yells at him, or sulks, or challenges his authority, tries to beat him up, he is the alpha, and Tamsin took those lessons she was taught and abides by them as strictly as she can bring herself to abide.
"Yes. From what I understand we have no victory right now, and no glimpse of victory, only a loss of Champions and Guardians, a hole where both should be." Look how easily she says we. They're all a we, to Tamsin.
"What are your thoughts on the whole mess? Were you at that war moot Eric held?"
Lola Hawkes
"I was," came the answer. The good humor faded out of Lola's face, although that didn't necessarily mean that her mood in general was declining. This was business, this was War, and this was exactly what held Lola's interest. While she would never be able to join her brothers in some battles, she still made every effort to contribute where she could. She was a killer shot, and between all of the weapons she owned (rifle, shotgun, and pistols were a staple here) it was believed that she could probably lay a full grown Garou to the grave if she ever went batshit and turned on someone.
She could fight beside Garou, has done so in the past, but she wasn't an idiot, and she knew that she had other duties-- specifically, to the land of her family and ensuring that their legacy did not die with her. She wouldn't go into death traps just yet, and she couldn't go across into the World of Spirits to join in the battles there. Where she couldn't join, she liked to make up by providing advice and perspective instead. She was far from quiet at the War Moot, and had provided good food for thought for the Ahrouns and War Packs to take into consideration.
So, of course, when the subject of the turmoil in their land came up, Lola was all business, and her whole heart and mind was thrown into the subject.
After a brief glance about, she gestured to the ground in an invitation for Tamsin to join her, then bent her knees and sat on the ground. Her hands were on the bare earth behind her, helping hold balance so she could lean back some. Her feet were square, knees in the air and left comfortably open even though she was wearing shorts. Out here, who cared about senses of modesty anyways?
"I think Beloved Horror is a force of nature. I don't think they're just Spirals-- I think they've dappled with something deep and dark and evolved into some Spirit-Spiral abominations. I think that's why they can't be beat, and why their leader can do shit like stop vans with his bare human-formed hand.
"I think that they're dreadful smart. I think I don't trust the Cub that we have at Forgotton Questions right now, and I think the newborn they retrieved from that one battle shouldn't be left alone with one of our Kin. I think it should be disposed of-- it's not worth the risk, and I don't trust it at all.
"I also think that all of the horror they're laying on the City is just a distraction, and soon--" she nodded her head toward the beauty of the landscape in front of them-- "they will come for this, their real goal."
Tamsin
Tamsin doesn't have trouble treating Lola like she'd treat another garou, just one who happens to not Change. Tamsin has trouble, only sometimes, when she is reminded of what it means to be a traditionalist, and what place kinfolk have, and how she should react to them.
"I agree. At least the child should've been sent far, far away, been given a new spiritual name -- if that's even possible. Must be possible. Must be a way," Tamsin says, "to make it truly lost."
"And I wouldn't trust the Cub, but I believe it Just and Necessary to give her this chance."
Tamsin did flop down; not right away, but after a second, while Lola was still talking about Spirit-Spiral abominations, while those words were on her lips. And the flop was a little daintier than you'd expect, smoothing the back of her ratty tat jeans down before she circles loosely her knees with her arms, one leg stretched out a little further than the other so her shoe and ankle are right next to Lola.
"What I wish I knew is the story of the first time the Beloved Horror and Forgotten Questions met."
Lola Hawkes
Lola nodded to what Tamsin had to contribute to the topic. She agreed that the baby and the Cub were dangerous, but she understood why they weren't killed, why they were given a chance. Lola understood the reasoning as well, she simply didn't agree that the reasons were strong enough to stand against the weight of consequence that they carried with.
The Fianna's foot and ankle came to rest near to Lola's, and the Kinswoman did nothing to prevent this or adjust afterwards to regain personal space. Lola has essentially integrated herself into the pack as a respected sort of Little Sister. She would hang out with them whenever Maria brought them back to visit, to touch base with her family and her Homeland, and during those occasions Lola would talk the night away with Tamsin, get stoned and watch stars with Hector, and wrestle with Corey. She was comfortable with Celduin, and would do nothing to make them feel otherwise.
"I'll tell you," Lola offered to Tamsin, and followed it with a small side-long grin. "I'm no Galliard, but I can try.
"Last spring this pack came around the city. They laid regular attacks on packs and patrols, made the Spire Sept real tight and nervous. There was twelve of them then, a big sprawling pack more like hyenas than wolves. They had a thing with disembowling their victims then, too. I remember stories of intestines decorating trees like Christmastime garland, and how they'd been taunted by some eating hearts like they were apples.
"I've never been clear on why it stopped, though. I don't remember there being any big grandiose final battle, or anything that resolutely drove them back and stopped the attacks. They just kinda... petered out one day, I suppose, although that doesn't seem right."
The Kinswoman frowned apologetically.
"That would probably be better found out from someone who was actually there. I was here, protecting The Homestead. I didn't go into the city for any of that, and I don't really communicate with anyone there very strongly either. What I know I learned from the Guardians here at Forgotten Questions."
Tamsin
Tamsin nods: "Exactly so. I don't think the truth of what they are and what they want is necessarily to be found in that tale. But I think the way to the truth might be found there. You never know: it used to be a pack of mosty-Metis, didn't it? I wonder if somewhere down the line there wasn't someone like -- like Champion of Honor. Someone pure -- who walked that Spiral and the Spiral just twisted him or her up into the dark inverse of hating this place. Like: maybe there's a fucked-up twisted-ass homecoming at the heart of their hungry devastation and why it is they are the beloved horror. Or want to be."
A pause, and then this mirror-grin thing, small, touches her eyes, and now she's leaning forward to touch her shoes' toes with her fingertips,
"And for someone who isn't a galliard, the hearts as apples image is pretty tight."
Lola Hawkes
"I don't know...," Lola sounded doubtful of Tamsin's theory, and the way her brow creased a little in the middle showed it.
"I can't give you a list of those the City Sept lost, so it's possible that one of them is pulling the strings? But this feels.... I don't know." The frown got heavier, and she struggled to put the feeling of dread and certainty (and that certainty made the dread more dreadful) into words and reason. She managed, or at least came close enough to continue.
"Deeper. Maybe even older than anything like that. I mean, this Sept is still a young thing, and the kind of power that we're seeing here? The kind of deep, infiltrating devestation? It's gotta be more than just a vendetta. I'm convinced that Forgotton Questions is the prize, and the rest is just strategy."
The compliment paid to her use of imagry was answered with a half-proud half-bashful grin that spread on Lola's heart shaped face, and she moved a hand to cup it like she was holding an invisible apple-organ. "Thanks. I thought it would be a good touch.
"But it's also true as fuck. You know how they reappeared here this year, right? Took some poor Metis bastard and piked him. Then decorated the parking garage surrounding him with human bodies-- multiple ones-- broken up into parts. It was gruesome as hell, and one bold goddamn statement for saying 'We're Back!'
"And apparently this cub we're sheltering, she's the one that actually did all of that. And they think that she can be turned back around." The Kinswoman snorted skeptically. "My fuckin' foot, that'll happen. I bet money that she's going down in whatever Big Battle this comes to."
Tamsin
"I'm not talking about the City Sept," Tamsin says, not insistent, but sure-footed - it isn't certainty; just ease when it comes to calculating different odds. Her eyes are narrowed in contemplation. "But this one. The City Sept sprung from this one, didn't it? Go far enough back, don't both Septs share a history? They share a common enemy because we all share the common enemy. But this specific enemy is, um, well old. And deep. I believe that, too. But what's older and deeper than blood or uncertain inheritances. Maybe there's a question that was forgotten which could undo the whole mess. Maybe we need to figure out the questions we're not asking about what they are."
Tamsin nods, when Lola talks about the more recent skirmish -- a spare smile that does not touch her serious and still-narrowed eyes at her snort.
"Jack was there when the one monster - " she calls them monsters. Because to her that is what they are. " - stopped the van, one-handed. He was there keeping that cub from being took. He was there - " a pause. " - and he died. But Raspberry Sky brought him back."
"People can be brought back," she says, although sadly: "There are true stories of it. There are just," and here, she sighs, "easier stories of those who can't quite shake whatever fucked-up unholy shit they get into their souls."
"But - " intense, simmering: "People can be brought back."
Tamsin pokes Lola's foot. "So don't bet your foot. Or money. Though I wouldn't bet money on her living past a Big Battle. I don't know. Sometimes it seems like the only sure redemption is when death's come around."
Lola Hawkes
And so Lola learned a story about Jack, the awesome Bone Gnawer guy that drives a motorcycle and had charmed the Alpha so thoroughly that the Wolf was invited into the pack post haste. Lola knew that he was Wolf-born, and so was quite curious to meet him. She had a wolf-born cousin or uncle out there on her mother's side, she knew that for sure, but the Hawkes family was one of Duty, and would not leave posts for things like family reunions. If Lola were to ever meet this relative, it would be due to that Hawkes-related Wolf venturing to Forgotten Questions with a purpose.
She learned that Jack was there that night, when the Spiral had stopped the van with nothing but his hand. That was something that she would definitely want to talk to him about, to hear his story and ask him questions. Not only was he there, but he fought hard enough that he died for the cause of his mission.
"What moon was he again?" Philodox, would be the answer.Lola would nod, and the story would continue. Tamsin advised, using the story of Jack as a device to do so, that Lola allow chance for redemption, because often times Death was what it took to summon it. When it mattered most.
The two women would talk like this, posing questions both thought provoking and purposeful to one another and sharing thoughts on one anothers' responses. This summoned up a refreshing sort of release. It was what made the mind happy and the heart accomplished, to have intellectual discussion-- summoning of thought and idea for Tamsin's Gibbous-moon sake, and purposeful to the events at hand, for the sake of the Warrior Kinswoman.
The sun would set sometime, though, and Lola would stand and dust the rocks and dirt from her shorts and the backs of her legs. She'd advise that she was going to go home, have dinner, and go to bed. Tamsin, come with me, she'd invite. Have dinner and rest. Be on your way in the morning.
If the offer were accepted, then so it would be.
