Sweeping branches of evergreen pines form a sort of natural roof overshadowing most of this clearing. In the center is a fire pit with several old logs polished from use for seats. A separate stack of firewood is discreetly piled up at the base of an old spruce, protected from the damp by a tarp. At the edge of the clearing and extending back a bit into the woods resides a rough wooden structure with a slate tile roof. A stone slab rests off to one side of the clearing in a place of some prominence. Nestled in among the pines are a few hardy perennials--red alder, quaking aspen, and a big leaf maple or two--that, come spring, will create a profusion of color in the clearing.
A faint trail leads off to the east, and a bit north.
The room is fairly large, once the home of all the library's materials that fell under the heading of 700: Arts. Nearly all were taken along in the move to the new library, although a few particularly tatty specimens appear to have been left behind on one of the remaining bookshelves, of which there are several. One other is also still actually being used for its original purpose, bearing a collection of rather newer books in varying condition. Another seems to have become an ersatz dresser, with neatly folded clothing on the shelves and a towel hanging over one corner to dry. A wheeled suitcase seems to be acting as a drinks cabinet next to a desk and a pair of rickety chairs; most of the other furniture has been removed or shoved against a wall, out of the way, including a stained and lumpy twin mattress sitting on its short end. It's a corner room, and there are two many-paned, arch-topped windows in each of the outer walls. On one side, a queen-size mattress in much better repair is laid on the floor between them, with pillows and linens on it suggesting it sees regular use.
Compact is the word for him: wiry, maybe 5'6" in his beat-up black combat boots, with a sense of compressed energy and imminence like a coiled spring -- or a cocked gun. Never quite still for long, balance flowing through the balls of his feet. There's a striking intensity to his narrow blue-green eyes, the colour contrasting with his fair skin and spiky copper hair; just below the left is what at first appears to be a faint mole, but closer inspection reveals as a small, long-healed scar. His features are appealing, with high cheekbones and a good jawline, but it's the confident mien and roguish smile that most often seem to draw people in.
He's in a well-worn biker jacket of the traditional sort, all fairly closely fit black leather and silvery zippers and snaps. Beneath it, he's got nicely-fitting dark indigo jeans with a plain white tank, its ribbed cotton skimming close enough to hint at the musculature beneath. Over that, he's wearing a long-sleeved, navy blue shirt, unbuttoned; judging by the white-on-red number patches on the left arm, the flag patch on the right shoulder, and the round fleur-de-lis patch to the left of the collar, it was once part of someone's Scout uniform... probably not his. Okay, the 'Boy Scouts of the USA' patch over the right pocket's a hint, too. There's a couple leather-and-bead bracelets on one wrist and a length of ball-chain disappearing beneath his collar; his nails were apparently painted black some time ago, since they're starting to show chips. Late teens, most likely, and when he speaks it's in a mellifluous, southern-accented baritone voice.
This is a young woman of average height or a little above, maybe 5'6 or 5'7, who looks to be somewhere in her early twenties in age. She has olive skin, shoulder length dark brown hair that's almost always pulled back into a simple, tight ponytail, and even darker brown eyes that look black from any distance when they aren't catching the light. She is neither ugly nor particularly pretty, and there's a certain haggardness to her features, a sharpness defined less by genetics and more by hard living. Her build is athletic, of a sort; not the sort you see on track fields, but the sort you find among young soldiers in distant countries, or refugees that are used to moving at a moment's notice and from which reality demands a certain sort of fitness or death.
Her clothing isn't ragged, but it does tend to be rather frayed around the edges. She wears faded jeans and old but sturdy sneakers with decent treads, a variety of cheap shirts, a long sleeved button-up shirt when the wind is up, and oftentimes has a light jacket tied about her waist, as if she wanted to be prepared just in case. Her hands are well calloused, both on the palm, fingertips, and knuckles. Oftentimes she wears a very well used pair of fingerless gloves, though often these appear to have been made fingerless after the fact.
Shaggy brown hair and darker brown eyes frames this young boy's face. Justin has a slightly tanned complexion with a hint of Puerto Rican from his mother's side, Caucasian from his father's. He has a fairly lanky build that could use a bit of bulking upas he is built like a high school track runner. He wears loose fitted 'destroyed' blue jeans, simple tank tops, and worn down sneakers that are about five months in need of replacement, and during the cold, a thick green military jacket from his Grandpa. He looks like your average, ordinary American young teen that plays outside and is fairly active. Tall at five foot ten, he is a few inches higher than most his age for now.
Thick honey-blonde hair, styled in a poofy set of curls, rings this pretty blue-eyed young woman's head. She's in her late teens, and her hair's currently left down, though it's occasionally pinned up. She stands about five and a half feet tall, and is a little on the thin side of things, though not to an extreme. She dresses mostly in informal styles, from ripped jeans and tank tops to the occasional sundress.
Currently, she wears the former, her black tank top emblazoned with a large sequined red heart, and her jeans so ripped as to be nearly indecent. About half of the heart's sequins are missing. Her feet are clad in red strappy lightly-heeled sandals that have seen better days. She wears little in the way of jewelry, just a black wooden bracelet, a stainless steel and rhinestone mood ring, and (probably fake) gold earrings. When she speaks, a fairly thick Southern accent is evident.
Stocky and large, the gray wolf is among the heavier of his kind. His muzzle is brutish and short, placed among unforgiving features. His coat is overly thick, bearing winter's thickness in the heat of summer, and appears not of a piece, but to have been assembled in a patchwork fashion, with scars joining the patchwork. His right leg is mangled, missing much of its muscle, and heavily scarred, but still able to bear his weight.
This short, skinny white kid is only a few inches over five feet tall and looks to be around twelve or thirteen years old. His straight black hair is cut in a basic, functional style that requires little maintenance -- super-short on the back and sides and only slightly longer on top. He's got a thin face with a beaky nose, thick eyebrows, and dark brown eyes. He's not a bad-looking kid, quite the opposite, but there's still something about him that makes most normal people uneasy, a feeling of potential violence, of predatory intensity.
He's typically dressed in jeans and t-shirt and sneakers, typical casual kid-wear, with a grey hooded jacket for outdoors. Apart from the footwear, his clothing is all a little bit too big on him, but one might imagine that he'll grow into it in a year or so.
Slug's frame is tall and lanky, somewhere in the neighborhood of six feet tall and just under two hundred pounds... But it's hard to really pin down the particulars. His semi-loose, dull orange hoodie hides much of his body and breaks up his frame, hiding the outline of his body. The hood is almost always up, and he takes pains to use it to obfuscate as much of his face as possible... And it isn't hard to see why. The right side of this young man's tan face has been torn up something awful. Deep troughs of keloid tissue run from just beneath his wild red bangs, across his high cheek, and terminate somewhere on his slender, stubbled jaw. It's hard to tell when he's got his yellow sunglasses on, but not both of his blue eyes move. It's likely the right one is severely damaged in some way, or false.
Beneath the hoodie's neckline, one might get a flash of the white tank beneath, especially on a hot day. The zipper on his hoodie has been rubbed with grit and dirt to take the shine out of it, and so has every other bit of metal on him, from hoodie right on down to his black zip-up boots. His jeans are significantly tighter than his hoodie, and often stained with something or another. On his hands he wears a pair of black fingerless gloves, something cheap and throw-away.
Thane isn't a man who's appearance stands out much. He's caucasian of skin tone with a faint swarthiness should he stay out in the sun long enough to catch a tan. His bones are pronounced, giving him the appearance of leanness despite having a solid, even musculature that speaks of someone who's gained his athleticism through rounded activity versus focused weight training. His hair is a tawny brown in most lights and usually kept in a short style. Often, there's a good day's growth of beard on his face which seems to hide small nicks and old scars. His eyes are a mid-tone blue, often held under pensive brows.
There is a look to him, the weight of something undefined. It's like looking into the eyes of a man who has seen terrible things and was never quite was the same after. It's even more haunting considering his blind right eye is couched in scars like an attack from a bear.
Usually, he's casually dressed but cleans up when the need calls. He's never seen among the normal public in anything but long sleeves regardless of the weather, underneath showing massive scarring on on his forearms. They don't seem to restrict movement, but the oddly darkened scars are numerous like lightning bolts across his skin. Another deep slice runs at the upper portion of his abdomen.
In his Hispo form, Watcher's coywolf heritage is far less noticeable. He's far bigger than a wolf and dwarfs a coyote, resembling some primitive creature or an oversized hybrid of wolf, dog, and bear. As a whole, though, he still physically resembles his coyote heritage more than his wolf as a whole. He's smaller and leaner than most Hispo, with the longer ears and a lighter build. He's got a thick coat, though, and it lends him a bit of false bulk that usually makes him just look a bit shabby. His muzzle is a bit broader though not so heavy as a wolf, though in Hispo it hardly matters. Those jaws are massive, his paws and claws even more so. Overall, he's a tawny grey-ticked coloration with a darker saddle. His undersides are lighter and he has yellow eyes.
Thane is there as he always is come time for moot, though this time there's no loitering in a lawn chair. He's in Homid and the poor bastard's hair is still a fabulous shade of sparkling pink. He's not standing as rigid and vaguely impatient like he usually is. In fact he looks relaxed and maybe even a bit chill. Not far from the fire a plank of wood's been laid between a few of the logs and on top there's an assortment of baked goods - muffins, cookies, cupcakes, brownies. And a cooler on ice of assorted sodas. They appear to be sealed, so at least they might not be poisoned.
Salem arrives in wolf form, though shifts back to homid as soon as he's past the trees (and at least he's not /in/ the trees this time). He raises an eyebrow at Thane's appearance, even moreso at the Shadow Lord's posture and assortment of sugary goodness. "Sept bake sale?"
Heading into the compound is Justin, who has his hair slicked back, and he is wearing a button down shirt and a pair of khakis. Instead of worn down sneakers, he has on a pair of shined shoes. "Good evening gentleman." The coyote alpha says as he offers a polite smile to the pair of Adren. "I see you have brought some delicious treats tonight. My, they appear tasty. Are they for the community?"
Three-Mountains is bolting at full speed through the trees and comes crashing through all a'huffing and puffing and wheezing. Is he late?! He looks around frantically only to see folks are just gathering. His posture slumps in a mix of relief and tiredness. He plods over to a likely looking spot and flops himself down to pant and catch his breath. The Uktena is looking even more scruffy than usual and his coat's adorned with a dirt and bits of leaves and twigs. He entirely ignores the buffet of sweets.
Thane looks to Salem with a frighteningly pleasant looking smile. "Well, let's be honest, Salem. It's rare that I'm not at least some degree of an asshole. So consider this a peace offering of sorts." He says with a gesture towards the laid out baked goods. "Besides, we've all had some trying times. The last I'd checked most everyone finds some sense of a truce over desserts unless there's only one cookie left."
Snakepatcher ponderously paces out of the trees and takes his time to select a suitable spot.
Felix strolls along just behind Justin, hand in hand with Lilah, and looking... well, pretty normally Felix-y, all in all. The usual saunter's back, although he does give Thane a quick, assessing look as he gets him in view. And then the food, which gets a raised eyebrow. "Well, that looks tasty," he says, "...you didn't make 'em yourself, did you?" This is a fascinating possibility.
Salem considers the Shadow Lord for a moment or three, then shrugs. "Truce it is." He helps himself to a can of Coke and takes a seat on one of the log 'benches around the fire pit.
"If I'd've known there'd be treats, I'd've brought some taters," Lilah comments thoughtfully, and smiles politely to Thane. Per her usual, she doesn't really meet many people's gazes, though Felix is an exception to the rule. Tonight she's wearing a blue sundress and cowboy boots, rather than what's in my desc. I'm laaaaazy. She doesn't reach for any of the food, but she doesn't eye it warily, either.
Three-Mountains jerks his head up as Snakepatcher arrives and he erupts up onto his paws and all but skips over to him. They're here they're here! He cavorts gleefully around where the Ahroun settles.
Black-Light enters by his lonesome, not with the Gnawers. The Gnawer comes in from the ridge, all black fur and muscle, the Crinos' claws scraping at the earth for traction. It walks like a Hispo until it reaches the bottom of the ravine, then stands erect, an over-sized cigar caught between two pointy choppers. The Garou's lips are ill-suited for smoking, but he manages. Salem gets notice and a nod, the Gnawers get the same, and then Black-Light ambles on over to one of the nose-bleed seats and settles on his haunches.
Salem grins a little at the sight of his packmate and raises his Coke can to the Gnawer in greeting.
"Feel free to help yourselves with my apologies for my less than sensitive leadership." Thane says and glances then towards Felix and Justin. He doesn't look like he's about to kill them either. "No no, baking isn't a skill I ever picked up. I'm being nice. Giving the sept food poisoning wouldn't help that." He waits for the sept to gather before saying, "So just some news for those who are not currently present. As some may have heard, Excelsior has ended their time as a pack. Also, I heard we have a new Fostern as of last night as Samantha of the Wendigo passed her challenge to Briari of the Glass Walkers. Thank you Salem and Felix for assisting. Now, in the nature of this moot, does anyone have any challenges to issue?"
Felix makes up for Lilah's lack of treat-taking by snagging two cookies, a brownie, and a cupcake, along with one of the sodas -- that first, tucked into a pocket, and the others balanced carefully in his free hand. He colonizes the closest log to where Three-Mountains originally flopped down, and gets comfortable, giving most of the assembled quick grins and chin-lifts of greeting. Thane gets a small mock-bow in acknowledgement of the thanks, and then the Galliard settles back comfortably to munch a brownie and check for any challengers leaping up.
"Was a pleasure," says Salem mildly in response to the thanks. He cracks open the Coke and takes a swig.
Snakepatcher has barely begun to debate the virtues of this spot over that spot, and gets in only one turn around and a couple of sniffs before he's accosted by an enthusiastic Galliard. What--? He looks around with sudden alarm, checking for invaders. He looks to the left. He looks to the right. He looks up. Failing to find Dancers dropping from the trees, but instead an assortment of the Sept's Garou gathering, he acknowledges Three-Mountain's observation. They are here. We are here.
Lilah takes her seat beside Felix, grinning as she sees just how much food he's taking. She can't seem to help but look amused. She leans over as though to kiss his cheek, and instead mutters, "Hope you're sharin' that brownie at least." Though for whatever reason, she seems mildly embarrassed at the same time. She gives a faint smile, and settles in to look and see if there are any challenges.
Black-Light perks up at the mention of the news by Thane. The monster's cigar flares when he hears the appeal for challenges, but after a moment where it looks like he may speak, the Ragabash lapses into silence. A thin haze of smoke gathers around his head, lingering like a dark cloud.
No Dancers falling from the trees...but a rather distinct lupine shape stalks into the compound from the bushes, one with ears a little too long, and telltale patagia, and what looks like...metal claws and teeth. Ghost-in-the-Machine's mood is easily read even for lupus, and it's sour and agitated at best.
Three-Mountains is wagging his tail with enough force to set the rest of him wriggling as he tells Snakepatcher there's no danger. Pups! Pups are here and he needs to come see them. The Galliard's about to go on but the words of the Alpha bring his head and ears swiveling around with a blink. Realizing that was a cue, he tells the elder Uktena he'll be back and then jogs over towards the center of the gathering. He holds his head and tail high as he searches the crowd. He settles his gaze on Black-Light then and says with a surprising certainty from the normally submissive Uktena, ~I have fought, I have learned, I have honored our laws. I am not a pup anymore. Black-Light-rhya, I challenge you for the rank of Fostern.~
"Coyotes moving up in the world," Salem murmurs to nobody in particular. He spots Ghost and gets up, fetching a couple of muffins and another Coke and taking them over to the odd-looking wolf.
Felix looks to Lilah, arching a brow and trying to look less amused than he actually manages before he breaks the brownie in more-or-less half and hands her the as-yet-unbitten piece. He looks rather pleased at catching his packmate's remarks to Snakepatcher, and even more so at the challenge, which gets a whistle of approval.
Lilah clears her throat, still looking a bit embarrassed, and stuffs a bite of the brownie in her mouth, chewing quietly. Of course, this is slightly interrupted as she sees Three-Mountains come up. She may not know what he's said, but since it's challenge time, she probably gets the gist. She shouts, mouth still half-full of brownie, "Woooooo, go Three-Mountains!" Immediately after, she lowers her gaze and goes back to quietly chewing her brownie. Weirdo.
Thane looks over as Ghost makes her arrival but the Shadow Lord (still sparkly pink of hair) only offers a smile that actually seems pleasant. There's not a sneer or scowl or even regretful restraint. Nope. Just a smile, a nod of his head, and then he's looking back towards the challenge that's been issued.
Black-Light sits unphased by the challenge, unflinching, so stoic and still it might appear that his cigar might have more than tobacco in it- or that he didn't hear Watcher. After a few beats, the Gnawer scratches himself somewhere only moderately indecent, exhales a great smokey sigh, and nods. ~Accepted,~ he rumbles, his eyelids sagging, as if suddenly too heavy to hold open.
Ghost-in-the-Machine eyes the pink-haired Shadow Lord very, very carefully as he looks toward her, then turns her attention more toward Salem's approach. Her slightly too-long ears ease back a little, then splay to either side as a bit of her sourness evaporates. After a moment, she makes a seemingly reluctant shift to homid, where...the lupus form's black eyes remain, no whites or distinct irises to be seen. "Hey," she mutters toward the Walker.
"Hey," Salem says back to Ghost, holding out the second Coke to her. He glances briefly over toward Black-Light and grins a little.
Three-Mountains squares his posture and stiffens his stance in preparation as his challenge is accepted. Then he waits, eyes watching Black-Light even as it seems like the Gnawer is more interested in sleeping. There's the faintest, uncertain backwards tip of his ears but the Uktena holds his ground.
Snakepatcher's ears snap up sharply. Pups! Good tidings! He sticks out his chest proudly as he watches the Galliard's challenge.
Ghost accepts the Coke with a nod that's almost more of a duck, and a muttered thanks.
Felix gives a small, approving nod at the acceptance of the challenge, and silently offers Lilah the soda from his pocket. There seems be one he brought hanging out in his other jacket pocket anyhow.
Lilah takes a sip of the soda, and this time when she takes another bite of brownie, it's a more manageable one. She's got her eyes on Three-Mountains and Black-Light, watching their body language to try and figure out what's going on.
Black-Light has some time to think, or maybe he just spaces out again. It's hard to tell with those Chimera types, and their propensity to sometimes play at being Theurges. Black fur and black air around him, the embers of his cigar flaring and fading look almost like an airplane warning light on a skyscraper in the night sky. ~Galliard,~ he begins. ~Galliards wear many masks. Leaders. Warriors. Singer of songs, tellers of tales, messengers,~ Black-Light puffs. ~They remind us of the old ways, our history, our triumphs, our failures, and most importantly- of hope. You,~ Black-Light waves a finger at Three-Mountains, doing a decent impersonation of an impertinent grandmother. ~You, wolf-born and Pure One, have seen two of your people wither and die- but still you fight on, knowing that even if we may win the battle, things may already be far too late for your Tribe or your wolf-kin to survive.~ He takes his cigar from his muzzle, regards the end, and dribbles the ash on a patch of barren earth, regarding it. ~Tell us, Galliard, where you find the hope, the inspiration, the /will/ to continue in the face of such desolation. Make us feel that same fire in us that fuels you.~
Salem takes a seat next to Ghost, handing her a muffin to go with her Coke as he listens to challenger and challenged. That little crooked grin never quite leaves his face.
Ghost accepts the muffin as well, and settles in. Black-Light, and then Three-Mountains, are regarded with a clear amount of interest, despite whatever's fouling her mood.
Three-Mountains stands there in his Hispo form, listening closely to the words the Gnawer elder speaks. When the terms are laid out the Uktena slowly sits down. He doesn't take long as all to speak. ~I adapt. I live in the world I was born in. I am not just wolf but coyote, one who's kin are not dying. I learned to survive in the scab because my mother knew how, and her kin. I do not live much like others of my tribe. I live in the places I need to be, not to hunt deer but leeches. The old ways are good but even a wolf must learn to hunt new prey to survive. My tribe may die. My breed may die. I am here Now. We are here Now. Human-borns look too much to the future. We will all die. Our bodies die. Our spirits are reborn but maybe not in the life we had before. Our tribes now are not what they were once. The Garou are not what we were once. We die but it is because we change. We become something new. I trust in Gaia to put me where I need to be even if I don't understand why. Right now I am here. Don't fear what isn't. Don't fear what may be. Don't cling to what was. Now is the time to fight. Now is the time to live. Be who Gaia has made you. If my tribe, my breed dies then it is for a reason but not because I gave up. In memory, in action, in living we are remembered and Gaia will never forget us. Even if we die, what we leave behind continues. That is enough for me.~
Black-Light listens with a still, somewhat distant air about him, though his ears remain upright and pointed in Three-Mountains' direction, and the Hispo is kept in his line of sight, even when he looks away now and again. When the Galliard is finished, the Gnawer Elder doesn't react. Instead, he merely sits, silent, his senses tuned to the sentiment of the crowd.
Salem listens to the young Uktena's speech while plucking pieces off his muffin to eat. When Watcher's finished, he nods a little.
Justin lets out a loud whoop from the sidelines, then takes a sip off his own coke. "That's my dude!"
"I've never known a Lupus that waxed poetic." Thane says with a quiet chuckle, "Sobering and moderately scolding to bring the apes down to earth. As expected." The pink-haired Lord points out in observation as he shifts his stance and grimaces faintly. "Not to be rude, of course. Apologies if that sounded harsh."
Snakepatcher listens intently to the challenge and response. He tips his muzzle up in a fortifying howl.
Felix nods agreement several times through his packmate's answer, grinning when the Uktena finishes and whistling again, this time louder with the aid of fingers. It works reasonably well with Justin's whoop.
Ghost scratches her jaw, narrow eyed.
Lilah leans forward in her seat, watching Three-Mountains and Black-Light in rapt silence. Every motion they make is followed by her gaze, and when Black-Light sits, she shifts her attention to Felix. "Did--" she starts to ask, but then Justin's whooping, and there's howling, so she lifts a fist and calls out, "Woooooo!" She listens to Thane, and then gets a broad grin. She whoops as well, and attempts that 'wolf' whistle like Felix, but it comes out as a loud breath only. Clearly she needs to learn this trick.
Black-Light waits for things to quiet down a bit, then he raises his paw, pad out, fingers splayed. When there's something approaching silence, the Gnawer says, in a low, somber voice, ~The Wheel will turn.~ Then he plants one foot on the ground, braces a paw on his knee, and stands, taking his cigar out of his mouth. Slowly, and with a far more laborous gait than he should have for someone so young, he siddles up to Three-Mountains and spits on the tip of his cigar. It sizzles and dampens, whereupon he sticks the tip of one claw into the ashes. With a few deft strokes of his claw, he writes the symbol for Fostern in ash upon the Galliard's forehead, and clears his throat. ~Galliard,~ he says. ~Wolf. Uktena.~ He pauses, regards the Garou around him. ~And now, Fostern. I name you Song-of-Ashes.~
Snakepatcher howls again, this time jubilantly.
Three-Mountains stands there stoic and still as a statue as Black-Light brands him Fostern. Only once his new name is given does the Lupus throw back his head and let out a loud, raucous howl of celebration.
Thane doesn't shift his forms but does heartily clap his hands together. "Well done, Song-of-Ashes. Two Fostern in two days! It's nice to see the young Garou of the sept moving up in the world. Does anyone have any other business or concerns they wish to bring forward?"
Justin looks pretty stoked at the news, offering up a proud smile to his best friend. "Congratulations! I knew you could do it old chap."
Black-Light simply looks tired, though there is a smudge of a smile somewhere on his muzzle. The Gnawer Elder looks up at Thane, back at the wolf in front of him, then trudges back to his spot and sits.
Felix whoops at the official pronouncement, beaming at the new Fostern, and lifts his drink in a toast to him.
~Thank you, Black-Light!~ Song-of-Ashes howls after the Gnawer elder before he turns to finally join his pack, though it's with enough enthusiasm and bouncing and jostling to risk knocking them over until he gets to Lilah to greet her. And there he just sits down nice as you please and rests his forehead against her shoulder with a greeting thump of his tail.
"That's a real nice name, Song-of-Ashes," Lilah tells the 'rou in question, and is also positively beaming. She whoops a couple more times, and then kisses Felix's cheek excitedly. When Song-of-Ashes comes over, he gets a good scritch, and Lilah leans back a bit to whisper something to him once he's good and settled.
"Like I said, Coyotes moving up in the world," Salem says mildly. He lifts his Coke toward the new Fostern in a congratulatory way.
Black-Light simply waves off the thanks, and regards the remains of his cigar, getting that Theurge-a-like look that takes him from time to time.
"Going...going..." Thane says as his eyes pass over the gathered Garou. "Nothing? Last call? Then feel free to finish off the snacks and go enjoy the rest of your evening. Thank you all for coming."
Salem snags a couple of cookies and a second can of Coke before slipping back off into the woods.
Felix gives the erstwhile Three-Mountains a hug and a sound ruffling in retaliation for nearly getting knocked backward off the log, and glances over when Lilah whispers to Song-of-Ashes, half-smiling at whatever it is he catches. Once it seems clear everything's complete, he rises, stretching, and finishes off the last cookie from his original haul. Handily, this frees him to aid in the suggestion of finishing off what still remains there, too.
Lilah is looking pleased with life at the moment, and she even 'steals' a cupcake once there are few people left. Or maybe she's helping Felix loot. It's hard to tell, with her, at least until she takes a small bite of her spoils. She breaks off a large piece, offering it over to Song-of-Ashes, and if he doesn't seem interested, she'll eat that, too.
On the way home, Lilah eats her cupcake happily, and presses the Galliard for all the details about tonight that she missed. She wants to know SoA's speech and the challenge, she wants to know who said what, etc. She seems in especially good spirits tonight, and swings their hands between them as they walk the last bit to the Library. He's probably just gotten done telling her the last bits of what was lost in translation, and she kisses his cheek as a polite thank you. "I didn't know Three-- I mean, Song o' Ashes could be so eloquent," she's saying as they reach their room. "I feel ashamed, not realizin' 'fore now. Guess I didn't take 'nough time to find out, an' that's on me." She's speaking matter-of-factly, not seeming particularly upset at her oversight.
Felix is happy to -- somewhat belatedly -- translate the proceedings for Lilah as they head home. He's got a fair amount of what remained of the baked goods and soda, and takes the majority of it to the fridge, though another cupcake and a couple of the brownies come along as he turns for the stairs, along with another of his Cokes. "Well, bein' fair, he ain't usually that talkative," he tells her, "...an' a lot of the time even then he's talkin' languages you don't speak." A slight pause, and he adds, "Oh -- an' when he came in, what he was tellin' Reggie's that the pups're born."
Lilah seems content with her cupcake as she finishes it off, but then she ends up ducking back to grab one of the sodas. The non-Coke sodas, mind. "A'right, that's true. Mostly, he don't say stuff I can understand, you got that right. I like hangin' out with 'im, even so." She pauses as well at the news, and replies, "Well, congrats to him, then. I'mma have to tell 'im so." Where usually, she might merely smile and go quiet, lost in thought, now she suddenly admits, "I still dunno how t'feel 'bout that. How 'bout you?"
Felix pushes the door to their room closed behind him with a foot, and heads toward their mattress, which is still the most comfortable spot in the place. He pauses at her question, looking over to her, "...about his pups gettin' born?"
Lilah pauses as well when he does, and then mutely nods her head... right before contradicting herself and saying, "'bout ours not. Yet, anyway. Or... I dunno how ya feel about any of it. I dunno how *I* feel 'bout it, so I dunno why I 'spect you to." She frowns, shaking her head, and she honestly seems more frustrated at something about what she's just said than the topic of conversation itself for a change. Following after him toward the mattress, she lowers her gaze and takes a seat, shrugging. "I'm excited for 'im. He's excited, I'm excited." That said, she takes a drink of her soda and manages a smile.
Felix sighs and drops down onto the mattress beside her, setting the food down aside and wriggling to lie with his head in her lap, as he usually does when she reads. "I dunno how I feel 'bout it either," he says; there's a small pause in which he's probably hoping that counts as truthfully answering what was asked -- technically she specifically asked about just feelings, right? -- but apparently it does not, since he continues, looking reluctant and slightly frustrated himself. "I want kids, I like that idea. I know I'm s'posed to but even if I wasn't, it'd still be pretty cool. An' you'd prolly be a really good mother, too, an' I reckon we'd make good kids, but I don't like makin' you do shit you don't really wanna, mostly, an' like I said before, then you'd prolly be busy all the time an' I wouldn't get to do shit with you much. Ain't like I'd get bored to death or nothin', there's plenty of other folks to do shit with, but I like you best. But also I don't like thinkin' maybe ain't everythin' workin' right. I mean thinkin' about it, you'd think =someone=-- but on the other hand I guess it ain't like I'd necessarily know..." He winces slightly, but maybe Coyote takes pity or maybe that just hits enough detail to qualify as the truth, because he manages to shut up about there, and adds a bit less enthusiastically than he likely would have otherwise, "Anyway. I'm excited for him too. An' lookin' forward to seein' 'em, 'cause, c'mon, puppies."
Lilah strokes his hair as soon as his head is in her lap, as she often does, and is quiet as he works out what to say, or rather, what Coyote will *let* him say. She winces back at his slight wince, though she manages not to interrupt. Barely. Her hand continues trailing through his hair, quite calmly, as she replies in a soft voice, "'m sorry I asked. Not cuz o' anythin' you said, but cuz... it ain't right. T'take advantage an' ask what you don't wanna answer." She could leave it there, but maybe Coyote won't let her, because she suddenly adds, "I wish I didn't have to ask. I don't mean you volunteerin', because if you wanna keep things close to yer chest, that's yer right, I mean-- I mean, I hate havin' to blurt out every stupid thing I think or wonder, an' I *know* you know how I feel right now, even if we don't work the same way, 'xactly." She purses her lips, but apparently there's more, and it comes out in a rush: "I really am excited for 'im. An' I wanna meet 'is pups, an' I'll even help watch 'em sometimes, and when it comes to us, I know what I'm about. I know what people 'spect, an'-- an' if you want kids, then I want 'em too. I ain't... I ain't gonna refuse, an' I ain't gonna complain." Pause. "'Cept sometimes, long's this bullshit Coyote caused hangs around." She manages a small but good-natured smile, at that. She rubs at her forehead for a moment, and then her fingers are back in his hair, massaging his scalp now. Not that she's 'allowed' to stop talking there. Before she can be 'done', she has to add, "I know it don't change nothin'... cuz it ain't like we ain't been doin' our part. But I'll... I dunno. Do that rhythm method thing, that could help. Trackin' that stuff."
Felix reaches up to tug on one of her curls, looking unusually close to apologetic nonetheless -- maybe for saying things to her, maybe for the whole situation. "...yeah, I reckon I've got an idea how you feel," he agrees. "Ain't your fault you gotta ask. An' you don't hafta do that, the trackin' thing, 'less you want to." He looks up at her for a moment, as if he were going to continue, but doesn't, closing his eyes and rubbing his head against her hand a little.
Lilah smiles softly down at him when he tugs on her hair, and her nails lightly scritch over his skin as her fingers trace designs in his hair. Lilah tilts her head closer to his hand, and listens to what he has to say in silence. When he looks up at her like that, and then doesn't speak, he surely knows what's coming as he closes his eyes. He may or may not catch her own wince as she asks, "What were ya gonna say?" Pause. "Sorry. You don't gotta answer that," she mumbles, attempting to backpedal on the question. The tracking bit is not commented on, at least for now.
Yeah, Felix probably knew it was coming; that twitch of his forehead is practically bracing for it. "Yeah, I do," he sighs, and cracks one eye to be able to watch her, warily. "Didn't ask: What'd you do if it turned out I did have a kid?" 'Already' seems like the obvious interpretation, but might not be the only one.
He may have known her question was coming, but Lilah seems utterly taken aback by his; clearly, that wasn't where her thoughts were taking her this time, despite her wince earlier. She blinks, twice, and then tilts her head to think it over, watching him as she ponders the question. Time passes. It's only about a half-minute, maybe less, but it probably feels like more. Still, even while she's thinking, her hands never stop petting his head, running over his skin gently. When she speaks, it's to say, "I don't rightly know." Which is kind of a first, and seems to surprise her as well. It takes her a brief moment to collect her thoughts, and then she murmurs, "I reckon any kid o' yours'd end up a kid o' mine. But that's prolly not what you're wonderin'." She pauses for only an instant before going on, "If... if the kid's from before me, I wouldn't even be too fussed about it, I don't reckon. Ain't like you gotta behave even 'fore you meet someone. I know I'm the peculiar one, there." She does pause in rubbing his scalp there, but he'll soon find it's so she can slide back to rest on the mattress, his head now on her chest, if he cooperates. Once they're resettled in whatever configuration he assists with, she's back to touching him, rubbing her thumb over his forehead. "If it were after, I don't reckon there's nothin' I could do about it." Simple as that. "There ain't no point in gettin' upset over shit ya can't change. Your kids'd be my kids." Pause. "Unless, I guess, whoever she is'd wanna keep the kid, an' then I guess that wouldn't be the way."
Felix's eyes open a little bit farther to watch her think, and he stays quiet while she does. When she moves, his brow furrows again, though it's quick enough that her intention becomes clear. He cooperates, though once they're settled again he twists more onto his side, so that he can still see her. When she finishes, it's his turn to think silently for a few seconds, and then he sits up enough to lean over and kiss her. It's a gentle, tender one, unhurried.
Lilah's more than content to kiss him back, her body relaxing against his as their lips meet. She does nothing to deepen or hurry that kiss either, her free hand moving to stroke over his back as it lingers. She shows no signs of wanting to hurry that kiss whatsoever, herself.