Lá Bealtaine [open thread, come one come all]

[mnemosyne]

"You're looking well, Emmett." Éva does not speak until she is at least in Emmett Metzger's peripheral vision. The crowd is too boisterous and lively for there to be other tells that might alert him to her presence - the soft footfall on the tender spring grass, the faint creak of her leather jacket. Perhaps even the hint of perfume in the air around her. It is a Tuesday night and unlike so many of the kin who have come here tonight, she does not live by the rhythms of the seasons, but by the artificial downstroke of a professional work week. Tomorrow is Wednesday, and she will be up at five a.m. to go running in the early light.

If her schedule allows, she will take Elise to school. The girl yawning sleep from her eyes, still glowing from the very adult pleasure of staying up so late the night before. The festivities, the strangers, the down-home exoticism of the Beltane rite on a wholly American farm. Andris will not start kindergarten until next year, so Ellie will have her mother to herself for those twenty minutes.

Here is something: she is not insincere in the remark, though perhaps she means, Good to see you out of the house. Or perhaps she does not have the same opinion that Helga and his barber do about the length of his hair. Maybe she thinks it suits him.

Her voice is quiet and crisp and low. She does not ask after his brother. And as she draws abreast of him, she puts a companionable hand on his shoulder. It is not a human gesture. The contact lasts a second or two, no more and is instinctual - animal - awareness, acknowledgment of presence, not reassurance or anything so damn patronizing.

"Have you met Cate. Catherine, correct?" a winging glance between the lovely, wild looking girl with her legs drawn up, chewing her thumb, stubbornly quiet, who answers shouts of her name with no more than a polite smile, and the bearded Fenrir. The Shadow Lord continues, supplying further explanation, "The Careys' niece."

The girl has no particular reason to remember Éva, who is uninterestingly Adult. Merely somewhat apart from the rest. Another face is a constantly shifting crowd of new acquaintances, all of whom seem to remember Nora, Bridie, Catherine, Cate, few of whom are memorable to her, yet. They are not wolves, but they are wolf-blooded: the girl, the man, the woman. "This is Emmett Metzger."

Then Éva excuses herself, quietly, leaving the two to capitalize on the introduction or not as they will. She was not waiting for the home brew - just passing by for the moment. Headed for the coolers full of spring water and juices set out for the children present.

No matter the insistence of the hosts, she is not drinking tonight. It is not just that she prefers a different sort of burn in the back of the throat than home-brewed ales and ciders, whatever sort of corn or rye-liquor the Fianna of Colorado brew up year to year. Her daughter is here. There are wolves about, and music threading around the bonfire with the driving beat of a racing heart.

In circumstances like these, the Shadow Lord will remain perfectly, entirely sober.

[Making a few assumptions even though we've not played out any retro-scenes yet! But I thought it worked, if not FPM me and let me know and I will edit. OTHER PEOPLE JUMP IN.]