Not Feeling Very Thankful


huruma3_icon.gif ryans3_icon.gif

Scene Title Not Feeling Very Thankful
Synopsis Even though Ryans is avoiding the holiday dinner, Huruma brings the food to him.
Date November 25, 2010

Pollepel Island


Benajmin is not much of a fan of them and hasn't been since pretty much his wife died. This year is a particularly unpleasant one, so the idea of celebrating seems to grate at his nerves. So while everyone was gathering for a meager turkey dinner and to give thanks, the ex-agent bowed out citing a need to keep an eye out.

He's not feeling particularly thankful.

While he knows his oldest doesn't approve, it's the situation with Delia that sours her to the idea of being thankful, because despite all that he's thankful for, he'd give up most of it to have his daughter whole again.

It's dark, as the sun sets early this time of year and while not much in the way of patrolling is needed, Ryans is there. Sitting on the edge of an outcropping of rocks under the bare boughs of a tree. All he has is the view of lights across the water, with the occasional light of a patrol boat passing. He's still a little chilled with breath misting with each breath, despite being bundled for the cold.

Huruma has never been a part of any sort of American winter holiday like this one, and apparently she is not terribly interested in starting a tradition. It's nothing personal, it just does not seem the time to do so. Christmas and New Years are not totally out, but that's a month away. Maybe it would be nice, or maybe Huruma would go crazy doing it. Either way, today is not her day to start. It is, however, a perfect day(night) to interfere with someone's brooding- that she goes a little out of her way to do just that is accurate.

When the scuff of boots comes around somewhere behind him, there's no need to worry about who it is; at the very least, it's someone he knows, even if not someone his subconscious hopes for. Or perhaps that is somewhat inaccurate, and brooding deserves company.

"Namshukuru… buti joto na-" Huruma murmurs as she stalks up along the rocks towards Benjamin. She doesn't ask to sit down, she just does, right beside him, despite the chilly seat and the huff of white air that is brisk in her lungs. A fur lined coat, winter boots, thick jeans whose cuffs look sogged. "-na chakula." In her gloves are a pair of shallow plastic containers with lids on, forks just under the translucent red covers.

"You must eat, even when dour."

While they are not showing on his face — not that she can really see it anyhow — Huruma knows too well what they are at that moment. Worry and a touch of bitterness, as well as a desire for solitude, mingle within the older man. Maybe it's the knowledge that she knows what he's feeling, that has him not looking at her right away. There is many things he's could stay in an attempt to drive her away, like 'I'm not hungry'. But in truth?

He was.

So he doesn't scowl at her when she sits, but nether does he exactly give her a warm greeting… he's neutral about it, though there is a part of him touched by the gesture. Just don't mention it to him, as he'll deny it. Empath or not.

"Abby put you up to it?" He asks gruffly, finally glancing her way.

Huruma can feel the more intricate things with lesser effort, the more time she spends near him; frankly, she has never been around him for so long, and for her ability it seems to have paid off. Familiarity is one thing, but when she can correctly begin to guess those tiny reactions, it means something. If only that she knows him better than he realizes.

"No, no." Huruma's lips purse into a small frown, and she offers the one container to him. It's still warm food. "We are some of th'biggest an'meanest people here, I know you need t'eat like one." If he's going to be protecting anyone. he has to make sure to take care of himself first. An unsavory truth. Unless he's about to shoo her off, Huruma stays there, legs bowed at the knees, her boots angling into her thigh.

"But it was my thought, not Abigail's favor."

There is a moment of hesitation, before Ryans reaches over to take the container with furrowed brows. "Thank you," he says quietly, holding it in both hands for a long moment, seemingly lost in thought.

"Mary was a good cook, but her turkey's were always so dry… not that I ever told her," he muses softly. Fingers finally work to pry off the lid, mist rising from the contents. Huruma might not want to hear about the dead woman that seems to rule the ex-agent's thoughts still, but she'll just have to endure. "Always tried my best to be around for the holidays."

Huruma likely doesn't, but yes, she endures; for him, and for just for the sake of knowing more than she did a moment ago. It seems the two of them will have their own little holiday out here- Huruma feels the need to wait for him to start before she does. Meager rations- but hell, it's turkey, potatoes, and cranberry sauce, at the very least. It was certainly the first cranberry sauce that she's seen in the shape of a can, when she was trolling the kitchen. Odd thing.

"I've never had any, really." Any holidays- New Years is more universal- but none of those ones in Norman Rockwell paintings. "Dry turkey is a small price t'pay f'bringing joy, I suppose that is th'point, right? Huruma tilts her head to look at him. It is a real question, not rhetoric.

"I suppose," Ryans offers blandly, taking a bite of the turkey, brows furrow and he adds, "Though I think dry turkey might be normal." Guess he thinks the turkey is dry.

Next bit of turkey is dunked with the potatoes, before disappearing into his mouth. "You don't really seem the type that could sit around the tree in a happy family setting," Ben comments, but it isn't meant to sound cruel, his emotions will show that. It's just a simple fact. "But then, I'm not sure I could do so easily anymore myself. Not much joy in the holidays this year.

"Especially if Delia is lost in dreamland." And there is the root of his inability to join the others for Thanksgiving. His youngest isn't around. "I have no idea how to help her this time," and Huruma can tell just how much he hates that.
"I'm Kenyan, only th'missionaries had Christmas. I remember m'sister thinking it was cute, but nobody else wanted anything t'do with it." Huruma doesn't argue with him about the family setting; he's right, she's not the type. At least she can appreciate the food, for the first time. Even though she only has the dish of it, she can tell that if this were a regular holiday? This kind of food would make her feel three-hundred pounds heavier.

Don't cry into your potatoes- that is the sort of expression she gives him next. "She has more people looking out for her than not- likely wherever her mind is, too. Those people- they find each other, I think. We will keep her body safe. That is th'most we can do, right now." From the sound of it, Huruma seems just as unpleasant in thinking about not being able to help Delia. "I try t'think about her b'fore I sleep." Though she isn't certain of it that is how it works, that's all she can figure to do otherwise.

If he saw her expression, he'd give her a flat on in return. He's not going to cry, men don't — okay never mind. Still… the potatoes are safe. "You would think that sort of knowledge would be a comfort." It's not, but far. Ryans' fork stabs a few more bits, lips pressed into a fine line.

Ben hates sitting there on the island, holed up, not knowing. "I think you and I need to take one of the hunting trips… or patrols." He glances at her out of the corner of his eye. "Can you ride a horse?"

"Deer season, nobody would think twice if we moved in on woodlands." It might help him to know those things about Delia's able kin- maybe not immediately, out here- but perhaps he will let himself latch onto it later. Huruma can hope. For the interim, she is content to ply herself with potatoes. "A horse…" Oh, yes, those horses. She heard something, but somehow didn't get drafted. "Is it like riding a camel?" A pause.

"No, no, I'm kidding, I know how t'ride a horse. I did. I don'see how it is no'like a bicycle…"

"Good." Ryans says firmly, with a short nod, her humor gets a glimmer of amusement, but he doesn't really show it. "I'm sure we can do a little hunting while on patrol." Two birds with one stone so to speak. Getting off the island and stretching their legs would be a good thing.

"And at least I won't be the only one relearning how to ride," he states around a mouthful of potatoes. "So if we both get bucked off, we'll know not to tease the other, cause karma can be a bitch."

"I knew people with horses growing up, but they always seemed…like dogs with giraffe legs." If that's one way to put it. Huruma may or may not prefer camels. "I don'like dogs, much." And for a brief period, Huruma is left to wonder who will be the first one to fall off the horse. Or otherwise screw it up. She wants to put money on Benjamin, but really- she can't be completely sure.

"I haven't been able t'do any real hunting for ages." People don't count, but Huruma isn't going to just say that. "I miss big game, sometimes."

"I had an uncle. He had a ranch and Mom sent me there often when she needed a break." Sometime it's hard to remember that the stoic and quiet man sitting there was not an easy child. A child that drove his mother crazy riding Harley's and shaving his head to a short mohawk.

Amazing what a hard life will do to a person.

"I'll make the arrangements and put us on the list, maybe." Ryans comments blandly. "I'm also debating a trip to the city, to check in on Delia." He at least knows where she is being kept. "Maybe ease some of my worry."

"I would like that." It would get them out of the castle and moving around. They do have lots of limbs to stretch, compared to most. The entire 'cabin fever' thing could be an issue- the two of them are not necessarily made to sit still forever.

Huruma has heard bits and pieces about the younger Benjamin; she's probably not too sure what to think about them, and his admission that his mother 'needed a break' is the icing on that cake. He had to have been a riot, right? "Mine just turned m'out when they needed a break. Never went back." It's a hard knock life. "I don'know where Delia is, do you? Did Jaiden hide her? It might help, yes."

"I know," Ben confirms but doesn't give up the answer right away. "And I am pretty sure it was Jaiden that took her to where she can be cared for while — " He pauses as he tries to find the right word, but finally settles for, " — she's on walk-a-bout in peoples dreams."

He's silent for a long moment, last bit of his meal forked into his mouth, before he says, "I had to find out from Abby after the fact she was already gone." Huruma can feel irritation and anger when he says that. Ryans glances at her, even as he presses the lid back on his dish. "Not happy about that."

"I can tell." In quite a few ways, after all. Huruma has the same appetite, she's almost done with hers too. It was enough. But birds, rabbits, cheap meat? It is increasingly obvious that they can't do this forever. They need something bigger. Even if Eileen and everyone else doesn't give the okay for taking the horses, Huruma has the feeling she may end up going off by herself if she needs to. But she'll have to bring back the whole animal, lest anyone think she- you know- found another source of meat cuts.

Thankfully, American Whitetails are not much bigger than small game where she first learned. The snow will help tenfold.

"So she lost her tether?" Huruma asks quietly, eyes moving to consider something invisible between them. A thought, fleeting as it is. All of this has Huruma more concerned, and though not painfully obvious- it is there. If now were a time for her Grandmother to come snooping around, this is it. Blasted old woman.

"Seems that way," Ryans affirms softly, setting the container next to him gently. "Sounds like she may be showing up in peoples dreams as well, so…" he trails off with a shake of his head.

"I should ask…" he starts after a moment, looking to her now, eyes studying the dark woman, or what he can see of her in the darkness. "How are you holding up? I know being here is not your normal way and I know there has not been much here for you."

What is he trying to say?

Ryans glances away and offers a rather reluctant, "But it does mean a lot that you have stuck around, just in case." Eyes narrow at the twinkle of lights in the distant as he picks his words carefully. "Especially, since I know these are not really your people."

The fork, with its last bit of food, disappears into Huruma's mouth, and the retreating tines as she pulls it back draw divets into her lower lip. She was listening, not quite watching him, with her mind nearly elsewhere. Something about what he muses draws her back to what he's saying, and her eyes peer neutrally back at him through the dim light offered by the moon. He is fortunate to have enough tact to be able to choose his words carefully, or they could have toppled something.

She does not look sure of what he's trying to say, exactly, and the neutral look turns mildly inquisitive.

"I'ave had less…" It's not about there not being anything here for her, is it? Not really. Huruma's voice is quiet, as if she's summoning a secret. "At this point, th'people here are just as well mine… I haven't always been here for them like th'coyotes, or th'houses…" Now, it's her turn to choose words carefully. "Yet, they've welcomed me anyway. They need me. Appreciate me. Are grateful for me. That is different than having m'hold a gun, having m'run around f'some vague cause."

Funny, that all she seemed to need was faith put into her. A little funny, at least.

There is a soft chuckle from the old man, head shaking a little. "Good. Cause I think they really do." Ryans honestly believes it. "And right now, they need to protection. Especially since this isn't what they were created for… so someone has to have the spine to do what needs doing."

Pushing a hand against the rock, Ryans pushes himself off the rock. He stretches, arching his back some, before sliding the strap of his rifle onto his shoulder. "I am going to do a check along the shores of the island." Not that it would take long, but…

That wasn't so bad of an admission, was it? Huruma possibly thought it was more serious than a chuckle and a stretch. She tilts her head up to watch him a moment, glancing back across the water before following him to stand upright. Her hands rub at the seat of her pants, that plastic dish under one elbow against her coat. "That was cold." And uncomfortable. Seems she endured more than the conversation. Huruma glances at Ryans when he decides what he needs to do next, looking past him towards the castle.

"May I come along?" She doesn't need to go- it is either that or wander back inside for the same old.

Following her gaze to the castle, Ryans seems hesitant and a touch thoughtful. Maybe a part of him is seeking solitude again in the darkness and the cold of the night. However, he can't help glancing back at Huruma, blue eyes studying her for a long moment before he gives a small nod.


Creatures of solitude at times need a little companionship. Lone wolves can't always be alone. So with a short jerk of his head, that says 'come on,' Ryans turns away and starts to pick his way through the darkness.

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