10-14-2013, 11:17 AM
Not today, Kinfolk is a refrain heard, in one form or another, frequently when it comes to Fern. But some days when the moon isn't so full and the twitchy young ahroun cub is a little less twitchy, she has been known to go walking with Sam Evans, while guardians watch from a distance or the penumbra, making sure she doesn't snap. She doesn't seem, on those days when she's safe to see, like she's liable to snap. She mostly asks about the world, and what Sam does, and how she spends her days, and she doesn't have much to share on her part but that's why, in fact, she's asking.
It helps. As much as anything can help her.
--
The Sept of the Cold Crescent feels strangely empty. It's not, not by a long shot, but the absence of almost all of the elders of this sept can be felt in the very air. The elevator doors slide open with a whisper in their tracks and let her out into one of the more residential floors, where it is not hard to find Hosea.
Hosea is angry. Hosea, whose easy demeanor makes him a perfect fit for the job he does, is no stranger to frustration or wrath. In fact, of the three brothers who make up Head of Security, Den Father, and Warder of Cold Crescent, it's laid-back Hosea who is the most kneejerk defensive of their widely varied skin tones and completely different surnames. Granted, they're all equally likely to tear you a new one if you say anything not-so-nice about their mother, but Hosea doesn't even like answering questions about their family ties.
Today, thankfully, that is so far outside of Sam's purpose or even Sam's knowledge that it isn't going to come up. All the same, when she finds the Den Father, it's obvious that he's not in the best of moods. And why not? The moot is coming soon. The elders all around his brother have been dragged off to Forgotten Questions without answers, without anything, and he keeps wondering when Warning Threshold is going to be taken.
There are very few kids here. Hosea has been fostering some of the younger ones, who are few to begin with, among other families. There are a couple of grouchy-looking pre-teens in what has occasionally been a nursery, playing a video game and occasionally getting rough with each other, their arguments -- even playing co-op, for god's sake -- sometimes getting physical. Before Sam even gets in there, she's coming in on the tail end of yet another That is ENOUGH by Hosea, followed by a brief lecture about privileges and how they can be revoked in favor of work details.
The pre-teens are so obviously on the verge of their changes that it explains why they're not at school. Why they're here. Why, this close to a full moon, they're trying to kill each other over games.
He turns to Sam, exhaling, giving her a nod of hello as the kids go back to choosing their avatars. "I don't know," Hosea mutters, coming up to Sam, this his greeting of choice: "Maybe I should just break down and let them play a fight game. Not sure if it would stoke their tempers or sate them."
Maybe she gives advice, her thoughts on the matter. But eventually, she does have to get down to business, and asks about the baby's mother. Hosea looks pained.
"Cindy," he says quietly. "We found out her name, or at least one she'll answer to. She was pretty much catatonic after she got here," which Sam already knew, "but it didn't get much better. Sometimes she talks about having a baby, and asks where the baby is." He speaks quietly, to the side, so the kids don't overhear, and shakes his head. "At first we were just telling her he wasn't here, and she'd accept that. A while ago I tried telling her that someone else is his mother now, and all she did was nod."
He winces, a quick grimace. "Then she cried. While nodding." He glances out the door, then at Sam. "She actually came back up here when it re-opened. I think the work the Theurges did actually had some kind of affect on her, too. She seems to be getting better. More coherent, more awake. She doesn't ask where the baby is anymore, but... I think she still thinks about him." His brow furrows. "You know I'd tell you -- call you or let you know somehow -- if I was worried she'd come after either of you. You trust that, right?"
It helps. As much as anything can help her.
--
The Sept of the Cold Crescent feels strangely empty. It's not, not by a long shot, but the absence of almost all of the elders of this sept can be felt in the very air. The elevator doors slide open with a whisper in their tracks and let her out into one of the more residential floors, where it is not hard to find Hosea.
Hosea is angry. Hosea, whose easy demeanor makes him a perfect fit for the job he does, is no stranger to frustration or wrath. In fact, of the three brothers who make up Head of Security, Den Father, and Warder of Cold Crescent, it's laid-back Hosea who is the most kneejerk defensive of their widely varied skin tones and completely different surnames. Granted, they're all equally likely to tear you a new one if you say anything not-so-nice about their mother, but Hosea doesn't even like answering questions about their family ties.
Today, thankfully, that is so far outside of Sam's purpose or even Sam's knowledge that it isn't going to come up. All the same, when she finds the Den Father, it's obvious that he's not in the best of moods. And why not? The moot is coming soon. The elders all around his brother have been dragged off to Forgotten Questions without answers, without anything, and he keeps wondering when Warning Threshold is going to be taken.
There are very few kids here. Hosea has been fostering some of the younger ones, who are few to begin with, among other families. There are a couple of grouchy-looking pre-teens in what has occasionally been a nursery, playing a video game and occasionally getting rough with each other, their arguments -- even playing co-op, for god's sake -- sometimes getting physical. Before Sam even gets in there, she's coming in on the tail end of yet another That is ENOUGH by Hosea, followed by a brief lecture about privileges and how they can be revoked in favor of work details.
The pre-teens are so obviously on the verge of their changes that it explains why they're not at school. Why they're here. Why, this close to a full moon, they're trying to kill each other over games.
He turns to Sam, exhaling, giving her a nod of hello as the kids go back to choosing their avatars. "I don't know," Hosea mutters, coming up to Sam, this his greeting of choice: "Maybe I should just break down and let them play a fight game. Not sure if it would stoke their tempers or sate them."
Maybe she gives advice, her thoughts on the matter. But eventually, she does have to get down to business, and asks about the baby's mother. Hosea looks pained.
"Cindy," he says quietly. "We found out her name, or at least one she'll answer to. She was pretty much catatonic after she got here," which Sam already knew, "but it didn't get much better. Sometimes she talks about having a baby, and asks where the baby is." He speaks quietly, to the side, so the kids don't overhear, and shakes his head. "At first we were just telling her he wasn't here, and she'd accept that. A while ago I tried telling her that someone else is his mother now, and all she did was nod."
He winces, a quick grimace. "Then she cried. While nodding." He glances out the door, then at Sam. "She actually came back up here when it re-opened. I think the work the Theurges did actually had some kind of affect on her, too. She seems to be getting better. More coherent, more awake. She doesn't ask where the baby is anymore, but... I think she still thinks about him." His brow furrows. "You know I'd tell you -- call you or let you know somehow -- if I was worried she'd come after either of you. You trust that, right?"
my whole life is thunder.