[Kora] The night is cold, crisp and clear, cold enough that breath comes out like smoke. The moon dwindles rapidly, just a sliver of light far in the west. Dressed in her usual jeans and t-shirt, with a fitted men's thermal underneath the t-shirt and a warm, hooded jacket over it, Kora turns and walks through the front gate, taking the steps leading toward the portico two at a time. There are closed rooms deeper in the church complex, the remains of the priests' apartments that Roman has been fixing up with salvaged plumbing and other modest luxuries. It is easier to den, there, easier to warm the space and keep it warm. Now, though, the chill in the air is a small price to pay for the strange glory of the cathedral' interior, the way the stained glass glows with the city's reflected lights.
With a faint, mental nudge that says - Dinner's ready - Kora turns on a space heater near the tables and coolers that serve as kitchen and dining room, and begins unpacking her goodies from a cloth bag. Two thermoses, one of soup, one of hot chocolate, sandwiches, and half-an-apple pie - that's dinner.
[Roman Turner] He'd felt her presence through the Bond. Felt as Kora drew closer to the Pack House. Her nudge came and a faint stirring answered her. He could be quiet when he tried, but this time his boots scuffed when he hit the ground outside. This time he deliberately smacked his hands together, cleaning dust from them as he came through the back. His stetson was held loosely in one hand, used for brushing his jeans off as he approached her. Like her, he was in jeans, though he wore a jean jacket over a plan gray tee.
"I weren't expecting ya. Mighty kind of ya to bring supper."
[Kora] "We're pack, Roman." Kora says, by way of explanation, writing off his mighty-kind-of-ya as if it were the ordinary, natural thing to do. There's a certain stillness in the Church, lit from above, where the light spills in from the city through the old stained glass windows, shadowed from below. The glow of the space heater and the fitful light from an electric lantern on the rickety salvaged tables are the only bans against the darkness here.
She smiles, this half-smile, quiet, lingering, as her attention fixes on him, remains there. She finishes pouring out a cup of soup, grabs a sandwich, and pulls up one of those plastic lawn chairs, spreading out her meal in front of her, sitting close to the warm glow of the heater. When he has picked out what he wants and settled down to dinner, she says, "We need to talk." Quiet. Then: "I heard you puked on Trent's shoes."
[Roman Turner] He'd grabbed a sandwich and had just sat on the floor with his knees up and a cup of soup between his feet. Right in the process of lifting that sandwich to his mouth when Kora mentioned Trent. He froze for just a second before taking a bite and chewing, then came back with.
"Why didn't you tell us? Why send him?"
[Kora] "I didn't send him, Roman." Kora returns, quietly. The space around them is vast, full of drifting shadows, but they know every inch of it. She reaches out, drags another one of the lawn chairs closer and props her booted feet on it, making a table of her lap as she eats.
"He went to the doc on his own, figuring she might know a bit more about - " Kora doesn't really have a language for it, so she shakes her head ruefully. " - being true-born and in the family way, as you said. Told me you sort of snuck up on him. I pointed out you were a Ragabash. Sneaking's in the blood. And if your reaction to the thought of it is puking on my mate's shoes, well - do you have to ask why I hadn't told you yet? You would've known soon enough."
Maybe when she started showing.
[Roman Turner] "You don't trust me."
Four little words, the food forgotten now. Instead there was stillness.
[Kora] Kora closes her eyes and swallows hard, her own meal forgotten in a heartbeat, too. "That isn't it, Roman. That's not it at all. If I didn't trust you I would never go into battle with you at my back. I wouldn't've have asked you to pack with me if I didn't trust you. Jesus, Roman - " she breathes out, this silverflash of temper underneath, turning and then disappearing beneath still waters.
"I didn't think of it. I wasn't hiding it from you. I just didn't - think it was relevant, not yet. And I had to get used to the idea first. And I was - " Abruptly she shakes her head, swallows as if she had something sour in her mouth, in the back of her throat.
[Roman Turner] "Pack Miss Kora."
He spoke soft as silk sliding across virgin flesh.
"Pack is in some ways stronger, more than family, mates and tribes. Pack is complete trust in each other. It's beyond words. It's like part of your essence. Ya don't even have to like each other to find that place inside where ya know ya would die for the other. Yet something so important, so precious, so spritual..."
He shook his head and sighed, his words softer still.
"I had to overhear because that belonging and trust weren't there."
His voice lifted slightly, becoming formal again with a stiffening of his spine.
"I'll get Mister Trent a new pair of them leather slippers he wears."
[Kora] "I know what pack means, Roman." Kora stands up, abrupt enough that she upends both her chair and her meal, feeling suddenly and surely nauseated by Roman's sinous tone, the accusations that are written underneath every word. There's this flare of temper, sharp and hot that goes through her light lightning.
"I know what it feels like to lose a pack, and I know what it feels like to lose a packmate, that instant when the bond is severed and you hold your breath, waiting for them to return. I felt that when you died, and when you came back.
"And I pulled you unconscious out of the river while poison was working its way through my body, while I was puking green bile, struggling to fucking heal you in case the poison was stronger than I was. That's what pack is, and If that hasn't proved to you who I am and what we are then nothing else will.
"This doesn't change any of that. It's - " Abruptly, she breathes out sharply, cutting him a searing look out of the corner of her eyes. Then abruptly changes tack. "Trent doesn't care about his shoes. He was angry that you were so disgusted by the idea you threw up on him. An apology will do just fine."
[Roman Turner] "I will not apologize further. I did that night, I won't again because he has it in his head I was disgusted. And I reckon ya don't feel like I was grateful for your help in combat or ya wouldn't throw that in my face as defense for not sharing."
He too rose to his feet, smooth as water flowing over stones to face her.
"I got sick because I found out from spying that my Alpha is carrying a precious child and she didn't tell me. I got sick because I could of lost so much more than my life in combat, and I would of been the last to know. Trust. If ya trusted me, ya'd tell me, not make me find out like a beggar asking for crumbs to survive on."
[Kora] "I wasn't throwing it in your face, Roman." Kora says, quietly, looking away from him now. Her features are still, sharp in the shadows of the building, the pale curve of her cheek and the sharp line of her jaw. Her hair is pulled back from her distinctive features, twisted behind her head, and her eyes are closed, this line of guilty tension lingering there, evident in her jaw, in the touch of her pulse. "It hasn't been easy for me to come to terms with it. And I didn't know what the fuck to say. Or when to say it. Or how."
A ghost of a smile, sick underneath. "Believe it or not, my vaunted ancestors had no advice on the matter. I'm sorry." Softer, this, a minute, winging look back in his direction. " - forget you heard it from him. Let's start over. Let me tell you."
[Roman Turner] He moved like grease through a goose. He was a Child of Gaia; a very forgiving Tribe compared to the Fenrir. Whether she wanted it or not, his arms wrapped around her like a vise as his face buried in the nap of her neck in a wash of warm moist breath.
"You're my family Miss Kora. I couldn't be happier for ya. It's a precious rare gift ya carry and I'm honored ya decided to trust me with your gift."
[Kora] "Roman," her arms are wide; she's not exactly hugging the young Ragabash back. Instead, she holds her arms open a bit, then settles her palm on the back of his head, closing her eyes. Her voice is low, and thrums between their bodies, barely piercing the silence around them. " - it doesn't change anything. I'm not sick. You're not to put yourself in undue danger to defend me. You know that - right?"
[Roman Turner] He rubbed his cheek against her's in a move a small child might share with it's mother, but more a move that was pure wolf. Leaving his scent behind on Kora while gathering her's on himself where it blended with his senses to bring that feeling of everything was good, safe, Pack. Then he gave her a quick kiss on the cheek and stepped back with a well trained.
"Yessum."
[Kora] "Hey - " she returns when he lets go, his scent on her skn, the tension bleeding out of her, this sort of relief worming through her body, under her skin. She moves, hip-centered, bumping her body against his in that animal way they have. "You don't have to apologize to Trent, or get him new shoes. Just sit down with him. Have a beer, and tell him what you told me."
With a faint, mental nudge that says - Dinner's ready - Kora turns on a space heater near the tables and coolers that serve as kitchen and dining room, and begins unpacking her goodies from a cloth bag. Two thermoses, one of soup, one of hot chocolate, sandwiches, and half-an-apple pie - that's dinner.
[Roman Turner] He'd felt her presence through the Bond. Felt as Kora drew closer to the Pack House. Her nudge came and a faint stirring answered her. He could be quiet when he tried, but this time his boots scuffed when he hit the ground outside. This time he deliberately smacked his hands together, cleaning dust from them as he came through the back. His stetson was held loosely in one hand, used for brushing his jeans off as he approached her. Like her, he was in jeans, though he wore a jean jacket over a plan gray tee.
"I weren't expecting ya. Mighty kind of ya to bring supper."
[Kora] "We're pack, Roman." Kora says, by way of explanation, writing off his mighty-kind-of-ya as if it were the ordinary, natural thing to do. There's a certain stillness in the Church, lit from above, where the light spills in from the city through the old stained glass windows, shadowed from below. The glow of the space heater and the fitful light from an electric lantern on the rickety salvaged tables are the only bans against the darkness here.
She smiles, this half-smile, quiet, lingering, as her attention fixes on him, remains there. She finishes pouring out a cup of soup, grabs a sandwich, and pulls up one of those plastic lawn chairs, spreading out her meal in front of her, sitting close to the warm glow of the heater. When he has picked out what he wants and settled down to dinner, she says, "We need to talk." Quiet. Then: "I heard you puked on Trent's shoes."
[Roman Turner] He'd grabbed a sandwich and had just sat on the floor with his knees up and a cup of soup between his feet. Right in the process of lifting that sandwich to his mouth when Kora mentioned Trent. He froze for just a second before taking a bite and chewing, then came back with.
"Why didn't you tell us? Why send him?"
[Kora] "I didn't send him, Roman." Kora returns, quietly. The space around them is vast, full of drifting shadows, but they know every inch of it. She reaches out, drags another one of the lawn chairs closer and props her booted feet on it, making a table of her lap as she eats.
"He went to the doc on his own, figuring she might know a bit more about - " Kora doesn't really have a language for it, so she shakes her head ruefully. " - being true-born and in the family way, as you said. Told me you sort of snuck up on him. I pointed out you were a Ragabash. Sneaking's in the blood. And if your reaction to the thought of it is puking on my mate's shoes, well - do you have to ask why I hadn't told you yet? You would've known soon enough."
Maybe when she started showing.
[Roman Turner] "You don't trust me."
Four little words, the food forgotten now. Instead there was stillness.
[Kora] Kora closes her eyes and swallows hard, her own meal forgotten in a heartbeat, too. "That isn't it, Roman. That's not it at all. If I didn't trust you I would never go into battle with you at my back. I wouldn't've have asked you to pack with me if I didn't trust you. Jesus, Roman - " she breathes out, this silverflash of temper underneath, turning and then disappearing beneath still waters.
"I didn't think of it. I wasn't hiding it from you. I just didn't - think it was relevant, not yet. And I had to get used to the idea first. And I was - " Abruptly she shakes her head, swallows as if she had something sour in her mouth, in the back of her throat.
[Roman Turner] "Pack Miss Kora."
He spoke soft as silk sliding across virgin flesh.
"Pack is in some ways stronger, more than family, mates and tribes. Pack is complete trust in each other. It's beyond words. It's like part of your essence. Ya don't even have to like each other to find that place inside where ya know ya would die for the other. Yet something so important, so precious, so spritual..."
He shook his head and sighed, his words softer still.
"I had to overhear because that belonging and trust weren't there."
His voice lifted slightly, becoming formal again with a stiffening of his spine.
"I'll get Mister Trent a new pair of them leather slippers he wears."
[Kora] "I know what pack means, Roman." Kora stands up, abrupt enough that she upends both her chair and her meal, feeling suddenly and surely nauseated by Roman's sinous tone, the accusations that are written underneath every word. There's this flare of temper, sharp and hot that goes through her light lightning.
"I know what it feels like to lose a pack, and I know what it feels like to lose a packmate, that instant when the bond is severed and you hold your breath, waiting for them to return. I felt that when you died, and when you came back.
"And I pulled you unconscious out of the river while poison was working its way through my body, while I was puking green bile, struggling to fucking heal you in case the poison was stronger than I was. That's what pack is, and If that hasn't proved to you who I am and what we are then nothing else will.
"This doesn't change any of that. It's - " Abruptly, she breathes out sharply, cutting him a searing look out of the corner of her eyes. Then abruptly changes tack. "Trent doesn't care about his shoes. He was angry that you were so disgusted by the idea you threw up on him. An apology will do just fine."
[Roman Turner] "I will not apologize further. I did that night, I won't again because he has it in his head I was disgusted. And I reckon ya don't feel like I was grateful for your help in combat or ya wouldn't throw that in my face as defense for not sharing."
He too rose to his feet, smooth as water flowing over stones to face her.
"I got sick because I found out from spying that my Alpha is carrying a precious child and she didn't tell me. I got sick because I could of lost so much more than my life in combat, and I would of been the last to know. Trust. If ya trusted me, ya'd tell me, not make me find out like a beggar asking for crumbs to survive on."
[Kora] "I wasn't throwing it in your face, Roman." Kora says, quietly, looking away from him now. Her features are still, sharp in the shadows of the building, the pale curve of her cheek and the sharp line of her jaw. Her hair is pulled back from her distinctive features, twisted behind her head, and her eyes are closed, this line of guilty tension lingering there, evident in her jaw, in the touch of her pulse. "It hasn't been easy for me to come to terms with it. And I didn't know what the fuck to say. Or when to say it. Or how."
A ghost of a smile, sick underneath. "Believe it or not, my vaunted ancestors had no advice on the matter. I'm sorry." Softer, this, a minute, winging look back in his direction. " - forget you heard it from him. Let's start over. Let me tell you."
[Roman Turner] He moved like grease through a goose. He was a Child of Gaia; a very forgiving Tribe compared to the Fenrir. Whether she wanted it or not, his arms wrapped around her like a vise as his face buried in the nap of her neck in a wash of warm moist breath.
"You're my family Miss Kora. I couldn't be happier for ya. It's a precious rare gift ya carry and I'm honored ya decided to trust me with your gift."
[Kora] "Roman," her arms are wide; she's not exactly hugging the young Ragabash back. Instead, she holds her arms open a bit, then settles her palm on the back of his head, closing her eyes. Her voice is low, and thrums between their bodies, barely piercing the silence around them. " - it doesn't change anything. I'm not sick. You're not to put yourself in undue danger to defend me. You know that - right?"
[Roman Turner] He rubbed his cheek against her's in a move a small child might share with it's mother, but more a move that was pure wolf. Leaving his scent behind on Kora while gathering her's on himself where it blended with his senses to bring that feeling of everything was good, safe, Pack. Then he gave her a quick kiss on the cheek and stepped back with a well trained.
"Yessum."
[Kora] "Hey - " she returns when he lets go, his scent on her skn, the tension bleeding out of her, this sort of relief worming through her body, under her skin. She moves, hip-centered, bumping her body against his in that animal way they have. "You don't have to apologize to Trent, or get him new shoes. Just sit down with him. Have a beer, and tell him what you told me."
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