Lá Bealtaine [open thread, come one come all]

[Damon]

"Haggis," Calden says, "is -- "

(and this is when some devil clearly alights on his shoulder)

" -- pretty delicious, actually. But I'm morally opposed to eating it. There are so few haggii left in Scotland, after all." He's straightfaced. Regretful, even, as he picks up a sturdy paper plate and begins filling it with selections from the potluck. "Either of you ever see one in a zoo? Really lovely little critters. Very unique."

[Roll: 3 d10 TN6 (2, 6, 10) ( success x 2 ) VALID
Roll: 1 d10 TN6 (10) ( success x 1 ) VALID

... total 3 succ on a manip+subt roll! sorry about the double-roll, forgot my Good Ol' Boy die. AND IT WAS UNWITNESSED DUE TO 1AM. you'll just have to trust me.]

[matt]

Éva is at his side before it registers. A drawn up corner of his mouth echoes with familiarity and he casts her a sidelong glance as if to say, you think so? "No, I haven't met Cate yet." Emmett gives Nora a smile of gratitude and lifts the glass she just gave him in an extra added thanks. "You should go have a little fun Catherine, I'm sure the Carey's won't mind." His smile slides wide at her before he turns and makes his way toward where Sarah is rescuing Éva from the talkative man and his glass of booze. He's got his own less potent glass of spirits in one hand while the other curves around the eagles head handle of his cane. Emmett left Colorado not exactly whole, but not near as broken as he was returned to it. But there doesn't seem to be shame or pride in the lack of ability in his leg. It just is what it is and that seems to be about as much attention as he's willing to pay it at that moment.

"How have you been Éva?" He asks once she's got a bottle of water (or juice) in her hand. "How's life?" The question is broad and sweeping and could encompass anything and everything that she could possible be involved in. And, truth be told, he seems genuinely interested in her response. Even if it is simply as dull as work's killing me or the kids are great, even I can't complain would keep his attention. Not the sort to stare, Emmett keeps his eyes off Éva. He doesn't look at her a whole lot, not even when she speaks to him. His eyes are roaming constantly over the people dancing and the singing and playing music. The couples already making their way for the tents on the back half of the property. The trees that loom all around this festive gathering.

But most of all they seem to always find the fire. The way it balls up and leaps and illuminates as if imbued with a fierce yellow sun. Amber tongues eat away at the wood, only to be fed more by the elder Carey. Wide ribbons of flame and twinkles of embers lap at the starry sky as if in time to the beat of the music. It momentarily brings a sickness to his belly the way the sight of fire always does.

After a moment his eyes tear away from the fire and scan the lay of the Carey land until they find Ellie playing with a monster of a dog who wants nothing more than to have its belly rubbed and its ears scratched. "Looks like Ellie's made a new friend."

[CourtCat]

Someone told Sam, which means someone probably told Reese (he hadn't been kidding when he said he never learned to answer to anything else, or not to answer to that, but most people don't know if it's a first name or a last name they're calling) and the siblings (who actually don't look that much alike - a passing resemblance, perhaps, but that's about it) arrive together despite any confusion or uncertainty that may (or may not) still exist between them. He gives polite greeting and introduction, of course, and adds some (homemade) guacamole and chips to the expanding buffet.

Like his sister, he exudes a certain charm though in his case, it's an infectious air of confidence (that does occasionally turn to cockiness, it's true, but [probably] not here and now) that buoys him through the crowd, sometimes at Sam's side, sometimes not. He's friendly and easy going, a good listener, and takes a plate of miscellaneous munchies to a likely spot for amused people watching.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Goodness only knows who told Étaín about this gathering, or how she knew when and where to show up - for someone who has had very little contact with Garou or kin (that she knows of), the veterinarian has a way of hearing things. She sparkles and shines with an easy smile and cheerful laughter and her offering to the gathering (bottles of rich, dark, strong beer - a literal offering, perhaps) and a basket full of flower-and-green circlets for those who want them - she is, of course, already wearing one and cheerfully places one on the head of anyone who looks the least bit interested in such. They smell [are] fresh and green, comprised of rowan and hawthorn as well as whatever early wildflowers the Fianna kin could find. And they are, in fact, wild - as is this young woman, a bit, who shows more signs of her ancestry and namesake(s) than she knows.

[errin]

Calden seems like a nice enough guy. There's something about him, some subtle air that makes people want to trust and confide in him, even though they probably shouldn't. It's enough to throw off Sam's knowledge of haggis. Not that she knows any more about it than Keisha, in fact she probably knows a little less.

She looks up at him, confused. Even in her hiking boots with their little bit of lift, she's more than half a foot shorter than even the Child of Gaia on her other side, which makes her who knows how much shorter than the rancher. If it weren't for an air of maturity - and not to mention the numerous piercings that adorn her ears and the make-up that draws greater attention to her eyes - she'd be mistaken for one of the children running around the site. Perhaps she already has been.

"I thought it was weird sheep parts pudding. Sarah made it sound like hot dogs," the words come out in a tone most use to describe their feelings on taxes or holidays spent with in-laws, "but, I don't see anything that looks like hot dogs." Leaning forward a little, she peers around Calden to see what he puts onto his plate, perhaps hoping for clues.

[Damon]

"No, haggis is just haggis." Calden gets a scoop of a nice potato salad, then sets his plate down to carve himself some roast beef. "Well, they're related to sheep and goats, but they're not. They're a little bit smaller, and they're only found in Scotland. I think they might have found some fossilized ancestors of haggii in France?" -- he glances at Keisha, as if to confirm. "But these days they're pretty much confined to the Scottish highlands."

He sets down the carving knife, sucks a dollop of sauce off his thumb, picks up his plate. When he looks at Sam, there's a distinct twinkle in his eye.

"The distinguishing feature," he deadpans, "is that the legs on one side of their body is always shorter than the legs on the other. Because they're evolutionarily adapted to running about on mountainsides, see. But that's also why they're dying out. Because the right-legged ones can only run with their left sides to the mountain, and vice versa. It makes it very hard for them to escape from predators, and it cuts down a haggis's chances of finding a mate by half."

[mnemosyne]

That sidelong glance (you think so?) from Emmett has Éva lifting her chin in a quiet sort of challenge. Her mouth is still curved from it when her dark eyes return to the young Fian who addresses her, politely, as Miz. "Call me Éva," she invites or instructs, tipping her dark head to the girl and Emmett as she drifts away.

A grateful gleam for Sarah Carey as she shoos away the old man chewing her ear off about right-of-ways and deeds and surveyors and misdeeds of this century and the last and the one before that. Sarah offers a safe place in her home for Ellie whenever the girl gets tired, and Éva thanks her, graciously. Does not say that tomorrow is a school day, and they will slip out before the night gets raucous. That would be rude, and Éva will not be rude to her hostess.

By the time Emmett finds her again, Éva is holding her bottle of spring water in her right hand, uncapping it with her left. The bottle is dripping wet from the slurry of melting ice in the coolers. She wipes her damp palms on the thighs of her jeans, leaving dark marks on the denim, and cuts Emmett a half-glance, taking in his profile as he takes in the spectacle of the bonfire. They are far enough away from it that the heat is no more than a suggestion, but close enough to hear the roar.

"Well," she returns, her voice low-pitched but distinct. Distinctive. Her dark eyes slide away from his profile, here and lace through the crowd, the familiar faces distorted by the dusk, the movement of the flames, the individual decisions to let fucking go and - " - and well enough."

The edge of her half-smile hooks wry. Emmett will not see it, but he may hear the slightly irreverent edge of it in her quiet voice. "Last week I had the questionable pleasure of squeezing in a business trip to Williston, North Dakota. I can't say that I recommend it, unless you're an oil company executive or a stripper." She tips back the bottle and swallows a mouthful of water.

There is a conversational equilibrium here. Both Emmett and Éva watch the crowd more than they glance at each other. She stands flanking him rather than facing him, but her eyes cut here and there to his profile - the full beard, the too-long hair curling over his collar, and so they do now. Her head is canted toward him, tipped upward, dark hair still coiled into a crisply professional chignon. No more than a lock or two out of place, even at this hour, with a cool wind rising over the fields to taunt the flames.

There's Ellie, playing with a short-haired, black-furred dog the size of a young bear, which is rolling around on its spine, delighting the children. Emmett comments that the girl has made a new friend. Éva makes a soft sound at the back of her throat, a quiet hmmph, full of an affection so dark and depthless that - for a sure and breathless moment - it changes everything about her. The careful distance of her stance, the easy solemnity of her half-smile, the air of reserve that infuses the air around her all dissolve into something else, entire - deep and savage and primal.

"So she is. Poor Ellie. She didn't know whether to be thrilled or scandalized that she's being allowed to stay up two hours later than her bedtime on a school night. I think she compromised and settled for a combination of the two."

While they watch, a rumor ripples through the small knot of children about flower-crowns and three girls (two red-headed Carey-relatives, and dark-haired Ellie) jump up and peel off with a few others through the crowd. The dog lopes in their wake, big shaggy paws and a big shaggy head, delighted to distraction by this new game of running! places!

"What about you?" As the children move through the crowd. That edge again, mildly sardonic, layered over something deeper and richer and private. Interest, or concern perhaps, though a quiet sort that does not feel intrusive or hectoring. "I am glad to see you. How are you?"

[errin]

Sam makes a face, clearly still unsure if she should be believing what this guy's saying. She looks down, one hand slipping into a pocket of her jeans - seeking her phone, no doubt, with its Wikipedia app, or maybe hoping to use her phone-a-friend. Then he mentions fossilized haggii in France. Her head comes up a beat later, and her confusion snaps instantly to amusement.

"Okay, now I'm pretty sure you're pulling my leg. And you still haven't told me which it is. Endangered species or not, it's already dead." Placing her plate over her heart, she tilts her head, blinking up at him. "Are you really going to let its death go to waste? And," she turns to the Garou if she's remained nearby through all of this, "you're really going to dismiss it without even trying it first? Unless you're a vegetarian, of course, in which case I completely understand."

[matt]

Éva knows the Metzger boys. She knows Tom through her deceased mate. She knows Emmett as an afterthought (This is my packmate Hated-By-the-Wyrm, oh and that's his brother...what's your name again?). Emmett is smaller than his older sibling by 30%, though they share the same color of hair and the shape of their eyes. The same color of skin. Tom's nose is too far out of shape from being broken repeatedly to tell if there's any similarity there, but not many have studied either Metzger close enough to notice that small nuance. That Emmett is present can only mean that Tom is not. They don't run together, these two, and Eva would know that better than anyone besides Sarah and Aiden Carey.

His eyes that had been lowered lift to track the dark streaks on her jeans before turning away again and watching the children scatter to find out about these flower crowns they've heard tell of. He smiles, dips his chin toward his chest and listens intently to what it is she's saying. He shouldn't go to Williston North Dakota unless he's one of two things - of which he's neither. Duly noted, says the nod that he gives her.

"I'll bet good money she's feeling pretty grown up ." A corner of his mouth tugs upward. Eventually, when she says that she really is glad to see him, his gray eyes sweep over her face noting the delicacy of her features and the way they seem crafted expertly down to the shape of her brow and edge of her jaw before looking away again.

"Are you?" Emmett is smiling, not full or wide or ear to ear, but smiling genuinely so that it ends up in a one sided grin. "I'm glad to see you too, Éva. You really do look great. And so does Ellie." He says with a nod toward the pack of girls who are following an auburn haired teen female toward the picnic table with the flower crowns. Of all the children, Ellie is the most striking. Maybe it's her dark hair against the pale crown of a floral arrangement.

How are you, she asks, "I'm doing ok." Is his response. "The ranch is doing pretty good, the help seems stable....just hoping the weather holds." His replies are generic, the sort you give the cashier at the grocer when they ask how you are. But one more glance back at Eva's face and Emmett is laughing and looking away at the girls and the flowers and then the fire.

"That sounded ...ridiculous." Shaking his head he takes a drink of whatever it is that Nora gave him. "I'm doing pretty good." then, "Really." His gaze darts back to her face and he's wearing a wry grin to match her own.

[Samael]

Keisha looks back and forth between Calden and Sam, keeping quiet for the moment. She can't keep a smile off of her face; the girl doesn't have the greatest poker face on the planet, it would seem. When Calden looks to her to play along, she just gives a shrug that could conceivably be interpreted as "I don't know, you must be right"...or, possibly, "Keep me out of your teasing of the poor woman."

The smile turns into a wide grin when Sam reaches for a phone and then expresses her skepticism. She takes a lean on her staff and throws Calden a pseudo-apologetic shrug. "Good effort there, but I think this one's too smart for that. That was just mean, for the record." Her amused expression downplays any potential bite in the words.

When Sam asks her about the food, she nods. "You got me...I'm a vegan. And even if I felt like breaking that particular vow, I'd look for something a bit more appetizing than haggis." She extends her hand, first to Sam and then Calden. "I'm Keisha. Nice to meet you guys."

[Damon]

Sam is pretty sure her leg is getting pulled. There's a tiny smile hiding in the corner of Calden's mouth now. "I neither confirm nor deny that suspicion," he says gravely, and then puts his hand out as well.

"Calden White." His hand is big, his palm work-roughed, his grip solid. "Nice to meet you two. I live up north, but my family and the Careys have some sort of esoteric fifth cousin twice-removed-type connection. That's my father there," he nods at the white-haired man who bears an unmistakable resemblance to him, "and those are my cousins Jim, Ian and Paul."

Jim and Ian have wasted no time at all. They're crowding around a very pretty young woman, barely stopping short of shoving and jostling each other to talk to her. Paul, on the other hand, has produced a harmonica from somewhere and is doing his best to harmonize with a pair of guitarists.

"Actually, I think Ian's actually my nephew. Or maybe my uncle." Calden shrugs and picks up his plate again. He snags a large plastic mug from the end of the table and holds it under the spigot of one of the kegs, glancing at his new friends for help. "Give me a hand here?"