[Joss Lehrer] After she finished talking with Moira, and she had to get back to work, Joss bounced out of the greenhouse hooked her arm in Joes, and grinned up at him.
“I? Am STARVING. Come on, dinner’s on me. What are you in the mood for?”
And that is how they ended up in her van, who’s name is Althea, headed in search of food.
[Joe Holst] At first the bullish kid seems loathe to leave. Not one for subtlety, his thick neck remains cranked around for a few steps.. but it is a token of respect that he doesn’t resist.. just.. takes those first couple of steps a little slower.
At first Joe had been chatty. More talkative. But slowly, over time even the garishness of the van had been forgotten in favor of chewing his gum with a slow, thoughtful deliberation that is reflected in his eyes.. shining like furnaces against his boots. The Modi was thinking.
[Joe Holst] “Burgah’s fine wit me. I ant real picky.”
[Joss Lehrer] She nods, and soon enough, they’re pulling into the parking lot of a little cafe buried somewhere in the Green. It’s seedy, the food is greasy, the service shitty, and it’s absolutely her favorite Dive for an evening burger. It’s not very full, and they’ll have all the privacy they want with the force of his glare, their rage, and the burn of Fenrir deep in their very blood.
She doesn’t ask him what he’s thinking about, doesn’t force him to talk, not until they’re settled in the small corner table that allows them the view of the whole little restaurant, while still allowing them the privacy to speak without interruption. “Penny for your thoughts…”
[Joe Holst] Joe’s order is brief, and he snorts and cuts a hand through the air when offered a menu. “Da big boygah. Everytin’ onnit, rare.”
Once the woman leaves, Joe shrugs out of his jacket and crosses his forearms on the fomica table. As he levers the weight of his upper body over his elbows, muscle writhes and twitches under his skin like snakes turning against each other. Chill blue eyes are harsh, and level with Joss’ face with the sort of intensity that is not a surprise in any modi.. but in Joe carries a hint of the Zealot. One who may believe too hard. He twitches a nod and leans foreward to speak.
“Dat Child o’ Gaia leads yoah pack right? Da one what looks like a Silvah Fang?”
[Joe Holst] “Like, Ahmean ’til da big man comes back an all.”
[Joss Lehrer] Her order is just brief – she’s a little girl, she can’t possibly eat much, right? Wrong. She nods to Joe’s order, and adds “Same thing, medium, with a chocolate shake. Thank you.”
Then she watches him. She’s settled into her seat, with one foot tucked under the opposite knee, her foot left free to swing as she watches him, quietly. He’s the one who believes too hard, who wants so much, who hopes and strives and is desperate to do right. He is what every Modi strives to be, fresh out of the gate, wet behind the ears.
She laughs softly and nods. “Evan, you mean, and yes, he is. Why do you ask?”
[Joe Holst] “I need ta know how a challenge feh Moira would be answer’d, yeah?” He narrows his eyes a bit, bright gaze skating towards the window.. it lingers there, then slides back to Joss’ face. “Ahmean, if yoah whole pack claims ‘er, what- does th’ whole pack answer a challenge?”
[Joss Lehrer] “Are you planning on challenging for her, then?” A brow arches, slightly.
[Joe Holst] Joe takes a swallow from the glass and sets it back with a clack as he opens his mouth.. then closes it again.. Something in Joss’ face takes him by surprise. Slowly, Joe’s thick neck ratchet’s back- the boy gains a touch of height without flashing so much as a hint of throat. Offense roars red and angry across his skin before he answers.
“Know what Ah’m plannin’? I’m plannin’ on makin’ shuwah someone so strong in da blood of owah tribe goes tew a Fenrir mate, one day. In da shoyt term, I intend to meet anyone what intends ta steal one of owah kin from da tribe an’ open ‘is guts tew da sky. Da blood o’ my people is sacred- an’ I mean ta know what happens if some piece uh shit Untermenschen comes ta try an take ‘er jus’ because da big guy’s not heah. So ah yew gonna answer me, oah shouldt I tawk ta Evan den?”
[Joss Lehrer] She reaches out a hand and slides it over his hand, her touch warm, soothing as she leans forward. “Do not be so quick to take offense, Joe. This is me you are talking too, and I’ve never so much as had a harsh word for you – and I haven’t started now. So get your hackles down, and let’s continue this talk civilly, alright?”
She tips her head, slightly, and watches him, her gaze direct, until she’s sure he’s listening to what she’s saying, not assuming. Then, softly. “The blood of our tribe, our people is sacred, yes. We have no intention of allowing Moira to be poached with by a lessor tribe, no more than you do. As Eagle Kin, if one challenges, they will deal with the Alpha. Trust me, Evan is no push over, and in matters of Tribe, he will ask my advice on such matters. We will not allow our Kinfolk to go to some inferior suitor. As Jarl, you of course have final say – I would not usurp you’re leadership. I only ask that should something like that occur, that we do not simply deal with the blood in question, but with concern to Moira’s feelings as well.”
A pause, and a smile. “And as is tradition, if I disagreed with you’re assessment, I would challenge you myself. I my smile, but you know full well I am every bit as Fenrir as you.”
[Joe Holst] A deep exhale flares Joe’s nostrils for a moment. He seems to give a bit for Joss herself.. but whatever perceived enemy lurks before his mind’s eye looms large and implacable. A thing only a Sword would face appropriately. Frustration tears across Joe’s features, but he does not take his hand back. Instead, he covers hers with his own. For the most part it is comradely- but also the instinct toward protection. An insistence.
“Deah’s too many variables, an’ stuff. Tew many t’ings… Godi…” He shakes his head, solemn, and fixed upon some decision. “Generations of us. Whole like.. famblies.. we’d gib up if we lost dat one. We’ah Fenrir. Da only real Children of Great Fenris. Dem uddah’s is like.. jus’ smoke.. Jus.. stuff feh us ta make use of.” He shakes his head more insistently now, perhaps building up steam. “Ah’m gonna tawk ta Evan. Make damn shuwah. An’ I might challenge ta be ‘er Wardah. Cuz I’m a Sword. An’ she aint goin nowheah ‘less its ovah my twitchin’ ass. I jus’ can’t Godi. Deah not enough of us as it is.” Heartfelt, and with the Zealous gleam of the primitive, deepwoods racists the Swords breed.
“Ah hope yew won’ take offense. But Ah mean feh Moira ta stay Fenrir at least ’till Silencerhya comes back.” He clears his throat a bit. “Jus’ ta be her protectah, mind. I aint claimin’ no mate uh nuttin’. Not till wiser Get ah heah ta tell me ‘no’ if its called feh.”
[Joe Holst] ((Edit: ‘not ’till a wiser Get is boss so’s dey can tell me ‘no’ if dey need tew.’))
[Joss Lehrer] Others might flinch from his touch, but she does no such thing. He holds her hand, he speaks earnestly, and she listens. She truly listens, as well as any Skald does before he tells stories, as well as a Godi learning a new trick, a ragabash who spies. She listens with her whole being, heart and soul, and she smiles.
“She will remain Fenrir. I have no intention of allowing it to be otherwise, Joe. I am not taking offense, and if you think I am incapable of warding one of our own effectively, than you have every right to challenge Evan and myself to be her ward. I know few others who would do so with such conviction, though I do wonder why you find me so unsuitable a protector of our line…” she waves it off before he would protest it.
“Moira has been Eagle kin for a very long time and will remain so. I only seek to protect our own, just as you.”
[Joe Holst] For a moment, it seems he has an answer to that question- but the waitress’ timing proves useful to keep Joe’s facist mores at bay for a while. The broad shouldered youth leans back long enough for the plate to clatter to a stop before him, and he immediately jams a fry into his mouth and chews… well.. with what manners one would expect.
[Joss Lehrer] She leans back as well, letting the plate be set before her, before she glances up at him, a soft chuckle preceding the question. “Is it because I am Godi, or because I am female… I know it cannot be because I am Fostern.”
She seems genuinely curious – and not really offended. Interested in the answer, and how the Modi thinks…
[Joe Holst] Joe meets her gaze evenly. Eyes level. Not defiant- certain. A thing far more dangerous. Rushing stone rather than fire that can burn out. He nods once, and offers a short question. “Yoah conditions. To da challengah. If dey woyn’t Fenrir, would yew make da challenge to da deaf?” Broad, murderous hands settle to either side of his plate, but the modi is entirely still, and waits.
[Joss Lehrer] “To the death? No. Despite them being of inferior tribe and blood, in these times we have need of every claw in battle, to protect Maelstrom. We are but few of those born true in Chicago. To deny Gaia every warrior to come to her protection is to fail the Mother herself.”
She shakes her head, slightly. “Were our warriors, our lines, our fellow sept mates many in number and strong – perhaps it would be different. But we are not, and it is not. We have need of every warrior.”
[Joe Holst] Joe nods once, raises an hand and points it toward her. The result of conviction. Constant drilling. His determination the result of a Sword fostering.. and casually murderous.
“If dats not bullshit, why can owah Rite of Passage kill owah cubs? Th’ insistence that we need every hand woyks only tew a point. If da Rite of Passage is import’nt enough ta kill one cub, why is it not as import’nt ta make shuwah moah generations ah born ta replace dem ‘at fall? Dat’s unclean t’inkin. Sumpfin owah strong kin who spend tew much time away from deah tribe staht ta bahlieve. Lose one True, like us, an’ yew lose one warri’ah. Loose one kin bred like dat one? Yew loose generations of warri’ahs. Why’s dat not woyth layin’ down one True Born life?”
[Joss Lehrer] “How many true are being born these days, Joe? How many breedings are giving birth to more than halfblood, no matter the line of Warriors and Kings that sing in their blood? HOW MANY, War-Handed? The numbers fall, they dwindle, and it is not for lack of trying, of conceiving, of breeding.”
She sits back, and studies him. “I have mourned many a cub lost in their Rite of Passage in our tribe. We value strength, and only the strong survive. However, there is no guarantee that Moira would breed true, even with the most virile of our Warriors to put a child within her belly. How many can she safely breed without her body failing? How many can she replace if she dies in childbirth? There are many more questions than answers – and the loss of one trueborn does not nullify the what-if’s that must be answered in order to gain your generations of warriors.”
[Joe Holst] Joe nods. When her voice rises, he doesn’t even flinch. No cracks appear in his demeanor. His conditioning- brainwashing, some would call it, was driven into his unhandsome head with far more vitriol, and often left him crouching in a spreading pool of his own blood.
“Less an’ less, Godi. Less and less, alla time.” Joe pauses.. giving fallen brothers he would never know a moment to swirl between the two of them before he continues. “Deah’s no guarantee- but deah IS a guarantee dat she’s moah likely ta bring True inta dis woyld. An’ since deah is less and less alla time, its even moah important dat any what come from her be Fenrir. Let da smoke tribes go ta deah own. Let dem take and nurture deah own kin. Let dem keep demselves from owahs undah pain of deaf- cuz we need moah Fenrir a whole lot moah den we need moah…” He waves a hand vaguely at the window. “Whatevah th’ fuck.” Joe chews briefly, swallows, then continues.
“Ah’m only askin’ any what come feh my kin ta dew wha’ I would dew. Lay down deah lives feh dem. IF deah not willing ta dew dat? Prove deah good enough? Den dey can slink off wit’ deah tail between deah legs an’ try takin’ sumpfin a bit moah deah own measure o’ purity. Quit tryin’ ta borrow strenf’ from us, an’ go an’ be strong on deah own. We have ta lead da nation now. Dat don’t mean da same t’ing as carryin’ dem fuckwits.”
[Joss Lehrer] “Yes, yet none of that? Bears the need to have someone fight to the death. I would see them slink away. I would see them live to fight. I would not see them sully the blood of our line.”
She chuckles softly. “Our belief is the same, though the wording may differ, the intensity of my desire to see her mated to one of our own matches yours. I would not allow her to be poached, Joe. She is Eagle Kin. I would lay down my life for her, just as surely as you would.”
[Joe Holst] To this, Joe’s mouth screws into a sardonic frown. “Yew asked me a question. Dat’s yoah answer.” He raises his eyebrows and nods once, then tucks into his burger. “T’anks feh da foodt, Ma.”
[Joss Lehrer] She nods, accepting that for the answer she asked for. He digs into his food, and calls her Ma…
and she laughs – and resists calling him ‘kid’ – barely.
“Anytime, Joe.”
And she, too, bends to her meal, matching him bite for bite.