2022-05-08 - First Salmon Ceremony

(TXT to Mikaere) Jules : So still on for Saturday? I asked my roommates if they wanted to go but they're busy so looks like its just us

(TXT to Jules) Mikaere : Ok! I’m looking forward to it, so yes. Still on. 🙂

(TXT to Mikaere) Jules : Ok cool! Fish don't start biting until it warms up so stuff won't start until early afternoon. Pick you up around 1?

(TXT to Jules) Mikaere : Perfect. Do I need to bring anything?

(TXT to Jules) Mikaere : I’ll be at the boat. Kinda keeping my distance from Ava’s at the moment.

(TXT to Mikaere) Jules : Just yourself. I'm gonna bring some cookies but that's it.

(TXT to Mikaere) Jules : Why what's up with Ava?

(TXT to Jules) Mikaere : Ok if you’re sure.

(TXT to Jules) Mikaere : Uh.... little blue baby. It’s a long story. Literal baby though.

(TXT to Mikaere) Jules : Ooookay. Do I wanna know?

(TXT to Mikaere) Jules : Who am I kidding of course I want to know. But stories are better in person so save it for the drive on Sat

(TXT to Jules) Mikaere : Ha. Yeah, good plan. See you then!

Saturday dawns foggy and gray, but the morning shows signs of it burning off by midday. By the time Jules shows up at the docks (a half-hour late, with texted apologies -- cookie issues), it's turning into one of those rare sunny spring days when everyone piles outdoors to take advantage of the good weather. Perfect for a barbecue.

Jules is apparently taking advantage of it too, since she shows up wearing a dress, black and knee-length with a flirty flared skirt and a low-cut sweetheart neckline. It's all dressed down with a leather jacket and leather sandals, the type that are good for walking instead of daintily picking one's way along on kitten heels. Still, it's a dress, and Jules is doing her damndest to look confident about her choice of outfit and the fact that she might actually be wearing eyeliner. Nothing heavy; it's still Jules, just a version that doesn't look like she's about to go on a hike. She gets out of her car to go find Mikaere and greet him properly instead of just honking, texting while she's at it: Hey sorry I'm late I'm here.

Late doesn't much seem to bother Mikaere, who's reply to that text is tossed off without a second thought: no probs!. There's plenty to do around the marina, after all, and the weather is increasingly nice to do it in; by the time Jules arrives, the Kiwi has even gone so far as to pull a pair of sunglasses out of his pocket, and properly embrace the weather.

Jules' second text finds him aboard Wā Kāinga, but ready to go: it means he's able to meet Jules partway between car and boat, and pause satisfyingly as he sees her: wow. "You look-- amazing. I've never seen you in a dress before, have I?"

Happily, it seems he has something in his wardrobe that isn't cargo shorts or sweats, and has given some thought to what one wears to a traditional cultural celebration. His usual shorts have been replaced with fawn-coloured chinos; his usual t-shirt with a black short-sleeved shirt decorated with bright flowers.

Mental note: thank Ariadne later.

Almost every woman wants to stop someone in their tracks at least once, and Jules breaks into a pleased grin when she's met with the compliment. The smile stays as she approaches, pulling sideways in a way that's just a little smug. If she's self-conscious, it isn't showing now. "No, you haven't, because I don't usually wear them. You look good yourself, you know." Apparently she intends to walk right up and kiss him hello -- warmly, perhaps a little lingeringly -- before turning heel to head back to her car.

"I've got your shirt in the car, by the way," she says along the way, comfortably falling into conversation. "I finally did laundry. How's it going? Sounds like you've had an interesting week. What's the story with Ava having a blue baby?"

Does Mikaere's grin broaden, just a little, when Jules admits she doesn't usually wear dresses? Maybe. Possibly. Yes-- a little. He's probably conscious enough that it's not necessarily just for his benefit, but that doesn't mean it's not a lovely thing, to get to lean down to kiss the wearer of the dress, and let his hands slide down her shoulders with the apparent intention of slipping around her waist.

The bullet hole he finds along the way gets filed away, presumably, because when he draws back, falling into step alongside Jules, it's not the first thing he comments on. "Oh, I'm getting that back, am I? I wasn't sure. Ava, uh... found a blue baby growing in her Greenhouse, last weekend." Beat. "I mean, she was growing supernatural fruits of some kind, I'm not sure of the details, so it was bound to grow something weird, but, uh-- baby. Blue baby. Growing. In the greenhouse."

"I mean, I don't have to give it back," Jules replies. She might pursue that line of teasing further were it not for, you know, blue baby.

No comments until they're in the car, safely buckled in and engine turning over. Then, as she pulls out of the parking lot and hits the road, Jules spares a glance to the man in the passenger's seat. "I take it you don't feel like volunteering to change its diapers and feed it formula. What does it eat, anyway, if it grew in a greenhouse?" More importantly, "What's she going to do with it?"

"All good questions," answers the man in the passenger's seat, who stretches out his long legs in front of him and holds on to the seatbelt in a way that suggests he's not altogether used to being passenger and not driver-- and equally, that it may have been some time since he was last in a car. "And questions I don't have an answer to. I was sent out to buy baby supplies on the first day," look at his grimace, "and to be honest, I've been trying to avoid being involved since. I'm not ready for parenthood."

"That's fair." No judgment here.

Jules puts on a pair of sunglasses sitting there in the console once they're underway. She drives like she means business, although her old Toyota model keeps some of that in check. But she's got places to be, and she's already running late, and she knows these roads well enough to zip along. She'd probably take ten or fifteen regardless. It might be sexy, if it were a convertible and not an old sedan that's seen better days and has dust in the corners that a vacuum can't catch.

"So," she says, changing the subject. "Anything you want to know about where we're going? Or what to expect? I think I already told you about how the ceremony works, and other than that it's basically a big party."

They're driving on the wrong side of the road, but Mikaere is dealing-- mostly-- with that sensation of wrongness (his foot may occasionally twitch, as if he's aiming for the brake, or the accelerator, but that's largely beside the point).

"I think I'm prepared. I also think I don't need to be wholly prepared, because I'm going to learn as I see, right? I'm not expected to know everything. So no, I think I'm good. I'm looking forward to it, Jules." He casts a glance sidelong at her, gaze tracking back towards her arm.

"You going to tell me why your jacket has a bullet hole in it, though?"

Jules just smiles, bright and happy. She's clearly in a good mood, which isn't just because they're headed to a picnic.

Mikaere's question has her glancing away from the road just long enough to eye the ripped sleeve he's talking about. "Well, first of all, it isn't mine," Jules replies, gaze returning to the road. "It's Ravn's. So you'd have to ask him how he got the bullet hole." As for why she has it? Jules almost lets that dangle, but she does in fact go on to say, "I made a bet with Della. She didn't think I could get him to let me borrow it, since he's basically never seen without it. And now she owes me dinner."

Mikaere's immediate nod seems to suggest the bullet hole's provenance actually makes sense to him-- though it's followed by an immediate glance towards Jules that is quizzical: not concerned, not threatened, but surprised, though that fades pretty quickly as Jules explains. He laughs, then, and shakes his head. "Fancy dinner? Make her pay up."

He adds, then, musingly, "Probably when he was shot up by a gang who thought he was the chief of pol-- mm, maybe not. I think that was through the lung, from what he said. Another time, then, maybe."

Another time. Look at that face, that so-very-not-thrilled face.

"Oh hell yes. Isn't there a fancy restaurant in the casino? Maybe I'll make her take me there." When Jules cashes in, she plans to cash in big. As for Ravn and his wounds, Jules just lifts her brow and shakes her head.

Taholah's roughly an hour away; forty-fiveish, the way Jules makes the drive. A wood sign welcomes them onto the reservation, at which point Jules begins heeding the posted speed limits. She's headed through town to the river, where the town ends. Quinault Pride Seafood is right there, a green industrial building that, as Jules says, is one of the largest employers in this small, humble town. Next to it, there's a tiny triangle of green with a few picnic tables which calls itself a park. There's another small parklet a little further on, and the road goes straight along the river until it comes to a turn. Hang a left, and it's back into housing and the occasional shop. Straight, it becomes a gravel-and-sand path along the spit between ocean and river, which curves towards the opposite shore to the north side and ends in a small beach. This seems to be where the main action is, although people have staked out spots all along the grassy bank to set up folding chairs and small grills; the festive spirit is fully evident. Jules takes the first parking spot she can find off to the side. From there, they'll have to walk.

Jules doesn't bother to lock the vehicle when she gets out and retrieves the tupperware of cookies from the backseat. "Here we are," she announces -- and look, there's already someone who's tossing her wave from across the street. Small town, close-knit community indeed. "I was thinking, head down to the beach? I think my grandparents are down there already. My grandma's been elected as one of the elder representatives this year."

The scenery along the way may not be especially interesting, but it's all new to Mikaere-- though not so entrancing that he can't keep up a conversation along the way.

Taholah, though: that is interesting. He straightens, almost imperceptibly, those brown eyes of his tracking their way through the sights they pass; his brain, listening intently.

"So this is where you grew up," is his musing remark, made with a grin aimed towards his companion as he extracts himself from the car. "I'm trying to imagine tiny Jules. Yes, let's head for the beach. I mean-- you're in charge. But that seems like the place to be, ay? That must be a point of pride for your grandmother. I imagine it's an honour, to be so chosen? Do you want me to carry the cookies?"

"Mmhmm. Tiny Jules was a wild child." The same might be said of Jules today, and she seems to know it, given the way she grins back across the hood of the car. "Sure, you can carry them," she agrees, passing the tupperware over. It gives her an extra hand to start texting, presumably to her family members.

"Yeah, my grandpa is really proud of her," she says with a smile. The texts are off into the great cellular void, and she sticks her phone back in the pocket of her borrowed jacket. "My brother should be around here somewhere, but he's probably off with his friends."

The beach is packed, with onlookers seated on huge driftwood logs. The action is on the inward side, along with the far end of the spit. That's where Jules points once it comes into view. "See that platform out over the water? That's a fishing platform. Might not be able to see it from here, but they've been building salmon weirs. They're, like, traps in the water. The fish can swim in, but they have a hard time getting out, especially as the tide goes out. There's a weir all across the mouth of the river now." Maybe Mikaere can see the wood poles sticking up from the water, given his height. "They'll use hoop nets to catch the salmon and pull them up. It takes a lot of strength, and being picked to try to land the first one is a big deal." Note the crowd of young men gathered around, waiting their turn. That's where Jules' brother is. As is her ex-boyfriend, about which Jules says nothing at all.

Mikaere's answering grin is pleased, in its way: he's not objecting to wild child Jules, adult or tiny varietal. He accepts the tupperware, carrying it in both hands for ease.

He cranes his neck to get a better look, off into the distance, as they cross towards the beach, that little bob of his chin confirming that he's listening to the explanations, and thoughtful in his consideration of them. "Poor salmon," he says, though it's light, and far from disapproval: that's just the way it is. You don't overfish, but that doesn't mean you don't fish at all. People got to eat.

"I bet," he adds, laughing. "And I imagine being picked first, and getting it landed is an even bigger deal. Do the women engage in that as well, or does it mostly just tend to be the men?"

“Traditionally just men, and it’s still mostly guys, especially since they wind up being the ones in the fishing industry. But it’s mixed. I tried a couple times.”

Jules pauses once to say hello to a woman about her age who looks like she has her hands full with a toddler determined to head into the water. Otherwise, beyond a few nods here and there, everyone’s attention is on the platform and the ceremony about to get underway.

Three older folk ascend to the fishing platform, all in some form of ceremonial garb. A tasseled black and red blanket is around the shoulders of the man about to make the announcements; the two women are both wearing wide-brimmed cedar hats, and one holds a hand drum. The other woman is likewise blanketed around the shoulders, like a cape, with a stylized bird and salmon in red on a black background.

“See the guy with the brown hair on the left? That’s my brother, Alex.” As she points him out, Jules quickens her step. “The woman the cloak is my grandma. They’re about to start.”

Not far off, an older man stands up from his camping chair to beckon them over. “Hi Grandpa,” Jules says, greeting him with a quick kiss on the cheek.

“You just made it,” he replies, and introductions will have to wait, though he does hold out one calloused hand to Mikaere. Then several sharp raps from the drum cut through the noise, hushing the onlookers. It begins.

The man with the bullhorn solemnly recounts how Salmon is a creature of two worlds, leaving the safety of the rivers while still young to grow and learn, as all young must. Salmon grows strong and fast in the great waters of the ocean, journeying far and wide, outwitting Seal and Orca if she is sharp-witted. And then, eventually, Salmon returns to the place of her birth, exhausted from her travels, and struggles against the inexorable flow of the outward bound rivers in one last great struggle. She lays her eggs there before dying, blessing the young with the nourishment of her great body and nourishing the People who depend on her for their life as well. “We remember. We honor our Salmon kin, and we protect the rivers we share so they can always come home,” the man declares in closing, lowering the bullhorn and passing it along. Jules’ grandmother takes it next to announce which youth will have the honor of pulling the first salmon from the river to feed the tribe. It’s Alex Black.

At the point, Jules whirls towards her grandfather, eyes wide and delighted. “You didn’t tell me!”

Charlie laughs, eyes crinkling in amusement and accentuating the wrinkles of his weather-worn face. “Why do you think your grandmother insisted on participating this year?” Now he introduces himself, in the midst of the clamor; the former silence of the listeners is now cut by whoops and applause. “Charlie Black. Jules said she wanted to bring friends this year. Glad you could make it.”

"Wow, we really are just in time." Mikaere's impressed, and though his long stride makes it easier for him to keep up with Jules without hastening it, he matches her easily enough, even as his gaze tracks through the crowd to find the identified individuals: Jules' brother, her grandmother, and, in turn, her grandfather as well. He steps forward without hesitation (tupperware moving to his off-hand) to take that hand, shaking it with one of his own, rather more work-worn than it might have been a year ago; his grip's firm, but not overly so.

It's also quick, because the last thing he wants to do is get in the way of the ceremony that is, after all, the reason they came up here today. He's very quiet, and very still, throughout-- though Jules' delighted exclamation absolutely draws his attention, and he grins, watching grandfather and granddaughter have their moment.

"Mikaere Hastings," he adds, then. "Good to meet you, Mr Black. I'm glad to be here; glad to share this with you all. Jules has talked a lot about it. It's fascinating, to see where my culture and yours is similar, and where it's different."

"Charlie," Jules' grandfather says firmly. "Just Charlie."

Out at the end of the spit, Alex is being buffeted by friendly blows to his shoulder and back as he climbs up to join the three elders representing the Quinault Nation this year. The third woman, the one with the drum, intones a prayer over Jules' younger brother referencing the gifts of the Creator and respect for the mutual dependence of all living things. Then Alex is handed a massive hoop-net, and he heads to the end of the platform to look for fish stuck in the weir.

"We were hoping your mother would come," Charlie tells Jules meanwhile. "Ada called to let her know and ask her if she'd come out."

Jules stays very still with this revelation. It isn't met with the same kind of happiness that her brother received. "I didn't know you were inviting her," she answers, tone even.

"Well, Ada thought you might not come if we told you," her grandfather replies gently. "It was never very likely that she'd come out, and we wanted you to be here."

He changes the subject then, leaving Jules to her thoughts and gesturing towards the cooler that's sitting in the cold sand. "Help yourself," he tells Mikaere. "It'll probably be awhile now. We have iced tea, Coke and root beer, beer-beer. Oh, and Ada's wine coolers." Charlie opens the cooler himself to pluck out a bottle of beer for himself, a middle-of-the-road ale. "And what culture would that be?" Charlie's a friendly man, bright-eyed, smiling, and happy to engage their guest in conversation. He doesn't draw attention to the way that Jules is now quietly watching her brother, even though she can't see much from here, and the small frown that suggests she's working through a moodier emotion.

"Charlie," repeats Mikaere, smiling broadly. It's the correction he was hoping for, by the sound of his voice, the easy warmth in his expression.

The exchange between Jules and her grandfather could be awkward for Mikaere, the interloper, the non-family member, but he's easy: he keeps his attention idly focused upon the youngest member of the Black family, watching the ceremony rather than interfering with the family drama. At another time, if he were in a different position, he might offer Jules a more physical gesture of comfort and reassurance; not this time.

"So it's not an easy task, then, getting that first fish," he concludes, turning back towards Charlie. "I'm from New Zealand-- my ma's Māori, so that's the culture I was raised in, for the most part. Jules, do you want something?" That last question is softer, perhaps the verbal equivalent of the reassuring gesture he's not currently willing to offer. He helps himself to a Coke, bypassing the alcohol for something softer, and finally seems to remember to set down the tupperware of cookies.

"Not at all," Charlie confirms as he pops the top of his bottle and stows the cap in his pocket. "For one, those suckers are strong. Also gotta hope that there's fish in the weir. They'll really start coming upstream in full force in a couple weeks as it gets warmer, but this kicks off the season. So does this register more along the lines of similarities or differences?"

A roar goes up from the onlookers closest to the platform, though it quickly turns into good-natured groans of disappointment, along with a few shouts of encouragement for the young man up there trying to net the first salmon. Jules huffs out a laugh before she looks over to Mikaere for his offer; she's recovered, or at least tucked her other thoughts down out of sight. It's a good day. Jules is going to have a good day. "Iced tea, please." There's a couple reusable plastic glasses tucked into the cooler for just this purpose, along with the cool thermos of the homemade brew. "I'm gonna steal a cookie while I'm at it."

Poor Alex! Disappointing, if probably not surprising, in the scheme of things.

Mikaere's gaze lingers on Jules for a moment, not quite expressing outright concern, but equally, not wholly hiding a hint of it. But he grins at her, acknowledging her request with an easy nod, and pours out the tea as requested. This gets handed over to Jules, and the cookies proffered readily; so helpful!

To Charlie; "No, I imagine that all makes a difference. So Alex," name remembered, well done, "won't feel too bad about missing his first attempt. This-- the actual focus is different, but there are elements that are the same. The sense of community and belonging; bringing people together for something important. In a way, maybe that's universal, but I think it comes out more deeply in traditional things like this."

The cookies are freshly baked oatmeal-chocolate chip-walnut. The recipe's Una's, but the technique is Jules', so they're perhaps a little misshapen. But they still taste good. Jules snags one, granting Mikaere a quick smile (all good here, see?). Charlie nabs a cookie while the tupperware lid is off, too.

"I think you're probably right," the older man agrees. "Alex will bag one eventually. He'll stay out there until he does. And if someone happens to drop a hatchery salmon in the water when he's not looking..." Once more, his grin lights up his expression, deepening the lines of his face.

All is quiet by the platform, now. They're settling in to wait. Some of those gathered around to watch wander off to go find their own coolers and beverages.

Mikaere claims a cookie, too, then settles down to sit cross-legged on the ground, coke and cookie in hand. Is the cookie misshapen? He doesn't notice if so.

His grin, and the laugh that accompanies it, is bright. "Sneaky," he says. "But absolutely something that would happen in ma's family too, in this kind of situation. Not immediately, but... eventually. Has all this changed much, in the time you've been participating, Charlie?"

As promised, Mikaere's an easy person to have in a casual setting like this-- happy to talk, happy to ask questions, happy to engage.

"Not too much," Charlie replies, settling back into his chair. "I think more people come out now than they used to. But everyone likes an excuse to go sit on the beach for a day."

Jules kicks off her sandals and wiggles her bare feet in the sand. There's another camping chair stationed right there, and she plops her butt down in it, apparently minding the fact that she's wearing a dress. She doesn't stay seated for long, though, because another clamor goes up from those who are watching the epic battle of man vs. fish up close. There was a salmon, and Alex tried to net it...and it pulled him straight into the river. "Oh I've got to see this," she declares with a wickedly bright grin. "Come on." Charlie lets loose a laugh and waves them off. "You go on, I'll hold down the fort."

"At home, we'd--" Mikaere doesn't get further than that, because the clamour has gone up, and his attention follows Jules'. He laughs-- not without a wince, mind-- and begins climbing back to his feet. His, "You're sure?" for Charlie doesn't seem to expect an answer in the negative, and Jules' enthusiasm is hard not to be carried away with.

"Is this one of those occasions when you play sympathetic big sister, or mocking?" he wants to know, teasingly.

"Go on," Charlie repeats, happy to settle back with his beer and raid the cookie jar--err, tupperware.

Jules grins over her shoulder; she's already started heading in that direction, confident that Mikaere will catch up with her in a few long strides. "Oh, definitely mocking," she answers him. "You kidding? I'm never letting him live this down." Nor will Alex's friends, who are beside themselves with laughter and calling out good-natured teases to the young man now bobbing about with his net.

And so they head right into the thick of things. There are definitely people who know Jules among this lot, glancing at her with recognition and glancing, too, at her companion. A couple people even give a brief, 'Hey,' and one man goes so far as to yell out to Alex, "Hey Alex, your sister's here to save you!"

And her ex? He's there, but not about to confront Jules this publicly. He and a few of his friends separate from the crowd to head off to wherever they've stationed themselves. If Jules notices, she doesn't care; her priority is teasing her little brother. "You sure you're old enough to handle that net?"

And Mikaere does catch her up, first with long strides to cut down the distance between them, and then with shorter, to keep pace with her. He does glance back over his shoulder to grin at Charlie, but it's not a lingering thing: Jules-- and the water, and all that comes with it-- has most of his attention. "That sounds like me and my siblings. No judgement." Nope: only amusement.

He's content enough, in this crowd of people who know Jules, but don't know him; those who glance his way get an even smile. If Mikaere notices the group separating from the others, he doesn't comment on it either. Instead, he positions himself a healthy distance away from Jules, and digs his hands into the pockets of his chinos, looking down at Alex through the darkened plastic of his sunglasses. "Did you catch it?" he wants to know, gesturing towards the net.

In response to all the teasing, Alex just holds the empty net up in the air. "You wanna come in here and try?" he calls back to his sister on the shore, making as if he's going to cast the net in her direction and pull her in. Jules skips back and out of reach, grinning, going so far as to playfully duck behind Mikaere as a shield. So much for keeping his distance.

Instead of trying to snare his sister, the young man in the water ends up making a grab for a fish, more or less throwing himself sideways to try to hook the net around it. He's already soaking, after all. He ends up floundering about.

Laughingly, Mikaere lifts both arms as if to make an even bigger wall: look at him, protecting petite Jules from her monstrous brother and the evil water. So gallant!

The laughter continues, though-- and rather diminishes the pose-- as Alex begins flailing around in his attempt to hunt down the fish. "You'll scare all the others away, won't you?" he wonders, easily. "That's it, no salmon for anyone."

"So sad, I guess we all should go home now," Jules agrees, coming to stand alongside Mikaere once her brother turns his attention elsewhere. There's a light touch of her fingers at his lower back while she's 'hiding,' a stolen opportunity.

Alex, meanwhile, finally manages to put his hoop net to good use. He's in too deep to really get much purchase, but he has managed to hook it around a salmon -- and keep it around the fish as he starts backing up towards the shore, gently pulling the net after him and creating just enough tow that the salmon can't easily slip around the edges and escape. It's a near thing -- these fish are big and powerful -- but he manages. A cheer goes up as he starts walking backwards up out of the water, and soon enough others are throwing out hands to clap him on his very wet back.

"So sad," agrees Mikaere. He's even more circumspect: now would be such a good time to bump his hand against hers, or even his hip against hers, but he's good, and holds his stance. Both arms have dropped back to his sides now, anyway.

Further comments are held back as it becomes clear Alex has hooked his salmon; he even holds his breath, mostly, while waiting to see whether the salmon will stay in the net. Success brings a broader grin to the Kiwi's face, and he applauds along with the others. "Well done!" And more quietly, to Jules, "So that's the first salmon of the season?"

"Mmhmm," Jules affirms, joining in the applause. She's grinning at her brother, no longer teasing, as he makes his way back up to the platform to ceremonially present the salmon to the elder trio who have been watching from there this whole time. The man holds it up by the gills so everyone can see, and then right then and there, kneels to gut it. He makes quick work of it, clearly practiced, and returns the entrails to the river. Then they tromp off to grill it over an open fire, which is already crackling away.

"It's everyone's turn now," Jules says, and indeed, some of those around them are picking up other nets laid off to the side of the fishing platform so they can have a go at snaring more salmon. Others are heading back to their own sites on the beach, while some simply stand around chatting and laughing.

Jules' grandmother is headed their way now, still clad in her heavy cloak. "Hi honey," she says to Jules, who steps up to greet her with a hug. Ada Black turns her dark eyes on Mikaere then, looking out from beneath the brim of her cedar hat. "And who might this be?" There's a little lift to her tone, a curiosity that extends beyond simply sharing introductions. Her own aura is a steady glow, for those who see such things in that manner, a light of presence that's neither faint nor heavy-handed.

Mikaere's interest in the proceedings rapidly shifts, at the approach of Ada. His sunglasses are plucked from his nose, folded and hung from the top pocket of his shirt so that he can greet her with proper eye contact. His chin lifts, though his gaze deliberately drops to meet hers; he offers his hand. "Mikaere Hastings," he says, by way of introduction. "And you must be Mrs Black. It's good to meet you."

That he's aware of her glow is unmistakable, given that subtle tip of his chin in acknowledgement that has nothing to do with the rest of the introduction.

"Call me Ada." For a moment, as the older woman considers Mikaere, he might feel how the weight of her gaze goes beyond that of a usual grandmother, even one protective of her granddaughter. She's nosing about to see just how Mikaere's feeling in this moment, and she doesn't try to hide it from him. Those that Glimmer know their own, and if he senses how Grandma Black is lightly probing, what of it? Surely it's her right as a parental figure.

"Welcome," she says peaceably, shaking his hand. "It's always nice when Jules brings friends home with her." Ada doesn't linger to chat; the cloak is heavy and hot. "I need to take this off and put it somewhere safe," she says, excusing herself. "See you both in a bit."

Technically, Mikaere could put-- keep-- his mental walls up, and probably keep Ada out. He doesn't; that's not the message he'd want to send in any case, and besides, what's the harm? He's feeling peaceful and content, perhaps even outright happy, and that's perhaps confirmed by the spark of warmth in his expression as he meets Ada's gaze.

"It's good to see where she comes from," he says, acknowledging Ada's need to depart with another nod.

His comment trails after her, offered openly, albeit to Ada alone: I mean nothing but well by your granddaughter, if that's the question. Ada.

He glances back at Jules; smiles at her.

I hadn't asked, comes Ada's amused answer, floating behind her as she heads for the path that will take her up to town. But that's good to hear. See that you keep it that way.

As Ada walks away, Jules turns back to Mikaere, tilting her head as she looks up at him. "You wanna go for a walk?" she suggests. "Or we can wait around for fish. That first one isn't for us, but there'll be more as more gets caught." The river's packed with youth who want to try their hand, both on the fishing platform and elsewhere.

No, is Mikaere's equally amused answer. But I am nothing if not upfront.

It might be possible to see that look in Mikaere's eyes as he sends that thought away: ever so slightly distracted, just for a moment, though he blinks it away in order to grin down at Jules. "Let's go for a walk," he agrees. "Show me some more of where you grew up?"

It all goes over Jules' head. Perhaps she suspects that there's more passing between Mikaere and her grandmother than meets the eye, given the way her brow quirks, but she has no proof of it and says nothing.

"Let's go to the beach." The real beach, the one ocean-side, not just this curved strip facing the river. Jules already has her sandals off, so she sticks to the sandier portion closer to the water, avoiding the rocks and sharp shells that pile up further up. She leads the way, at at least for now, they're relatively alone despite the festive atmosphere. "So what do you think?" Jules asks, eyebrows arching with the question.

"Lead the way," says Mikaere, allowing Jules to do just that. He pauses a few paces in to remove his own shoes: he, too, will stick closer to the water, even going so far as to let a low, rolling wave rise as far as his feet though not further, not unless he rolls up his pants as well.

"I liked the ceremony. Maybe it's not the one your people would've had, hundreds of years ago, but it's still yours; it matters. I like your grandparents, too. Do you miss living here?"

Jules is content to walk along without further attempt at physical contact, arms loose at her sides. Even for this relatively warm day, there's a breeze coming off the ocean, and Jules keeps her borrowed jacket on.

"Yes and no," she replies, glancing his way. "I like being here for stuff like this. I like visiting my family. But I'm happy where I am right now, too. It's so small here, it can get a little stifling. I like being somewhere new, meeting new people, doing new things."

"For you," Mikaere supposes, not surprised but certainly putting things together, "Gray Harbor is a large town. It's all relative, isn't it? It's good that you can get the best of both, being close enough to visit without being too close. It reminds me a lot of where my ma's family is from. Where everyone knows you, even when you're the kid of someone who left years ago, only visiting every summer."

"That's exactly what it's like," Jules replies. "I know Gray Harbor is still small in the big scope of things, but it's big enough for me right now." She walks along in companionable silence for a time, seemingly content to let that stretch out between them, punctured by the screams of gulls and small children. The ocean lulls her into peace.

It can't last.

Farther along, there's a cluster of young men drinking, sitting on driftwood and swinging their feet. And sure enough, one detaches himself from the group and starts their way. And when she sees him, Jules' manner shifts. She abruptly turns around. "Let's start back." It's not really a suggestion.

From behind her comes the call: "Hey Jules!"

The peace is nice. The beach-- well, it's not a New Zealand volcanic sand beach, but it's nice; it feels enough like home for Mikaere to relax into it.

He's perceptive enough not only to notice the shift in Jules' manner but also to immediately link it to the person approaching them. He turns to accompany her, shoes clutched tightly in his outer hand, while the other hovers between him and Jules. It doesn't reach for her hand, but maybe for a moment it might look like it's a possibility. "Okay," he says, ignoring the voice from behind them.

"Jules!" The man drawing nearer calls her name a second time, now sounding exasperated.

Jules does not respond. Not yet. She's taking the high road, here. Instead, she looks up at Mikaere, no longer smiling, and just says, "I apologize in advance."

Just in time for the man who's jogging to catch up to say, "Jesus, Jules, you're good at walking away."

Mikaere shakes his head: don't apologise. Not for this. Not for him.

He turns, as the footsteps get nearer and nearer. There's a point at which it's hard to ignore the approach altogether, and the man's words? They bring a hardness to the Kiwi's expression, still visible as, with raised eyebrows he stares at Joe-the-fuckwit. One look, and then he's glancing back at Jules. "Come on," he says. "Let's go."

Jules just lets out a sigh and rakes a hand through her hair. She also stops cold when she's addressed, expression frozen. She turns, sizing up the man who's come to stop just behind them. He's stocky, with black hair curling towards his chin and collarbones. Taller than Jules, shorter than Mikaere. The sneering curl of his lip makes his face eminently punchable.

"Joe, you're drunk," Jules states flatly. "We're not going to do this." There's a spare tip of her chin for Mikaere when he speaks, and Jules is all set to turn and keep walking.

Except Joe, who is definitely drunk, has to go and say, "Doing what? Because you've already humiliated me in front of my friends, showing up like this." Like this involves a gesture that indicates Mikaere.

"Seriously?"

It's not an act, the way Mikaere stares at Joe, this time.

"I'm humiliating you, with my very presence?"

This isn't the Kiwi's fight, as much as he might like to punch that eminently punchable face, as much as the fingers of his free hand curl up into a fist already. The words just pop out, though, in surprise and bewilderment, and a sharp, biting look of disapproval.

"You're embarrassing your own goddamn self." There it goes. That was Jules' composure. Goodbye. It has flown the coop.

"Excuse me," she says far too calmly to Mikaere. Then Jules marches right up to Joe, grabs him by the arm, and drags him away several steps. Joe clearly knows her well enough to look a little alarmed, even though this is probably exactly what he intended, or at least what he should have expected.

"First of all, this is my hometown and I can visit whenever I want with whoever I want," Jules snaps out. She's not bothering to lower her voice. If they're doing this, then she doesn't care who hears, and that's all on Joe. She pulls him to a stop and shoves his finger at his chest. "Second, don't you dare talk about humiliation. Don't you fucking dare. How's your girlfriend up in Alaska, Joe? Have you cheated on her yet? Or maybe she doesn't give a fuck because she's busy sleeping her way around Juneau. And if that's the case, then good for her. I hope she's having fun. Third--" Joe opens his mouth to speak and Jules just barrels along, not giving him a chance to get in a word edgewise. "--THIRD, when the fuck are you going to get it through your thick skull that we're done? Because if you didn't get it when I moved out and didn't get it when I left town and didn't get it when I told you to stop calling me, then I don't know what else I can do to make it clear."

Jules pauses then, face awash in anger and cheeks flushed. Joe's looking embarrassed now, though he can't help but mumble out, "Jesus, you don't have to be such a bitch about it," at which point Jules plants her hands on his chest and gives him a hard shove.

"You do not get to speak to me like that," she fumes as he stumbles, and then she turns around to march back the way she came. Are people staring? Probably. Jules has got her chin up, jaw set, and when she reaches Mikaere she just grabs his arm and pulls him along with her. "Come on."

She's excused. Mikaere watches her go, and though she won't see it now anymore than she did last time, he's wearing the same expression he did when she chased after the lobster man, that first night they met: she may not be composed, but he is impressed.

Is it a little awkward, waiting along the shore while Jules yells at her ex? Possibly. If so, you wouldn't know it to look at him: he glances up, vaguely considering the group further down the beach; he even goes so far as to smile at them, all bright and friendly and unfazed by the scene going on a few paces away. Can he hear every word? Of course he can. Is he watching? Nope.

Despite that attention he's paying, he's still taken a little by surprise by the grabbing of his arm-- though he's quick enough to respond after that, stride immediately lengthening to match hers. It might be tempting to glance back at Joe, to stick his tongue out or something equally childish, but he refrains.

Instead, he waits until they're a face paces away and says, "That was amazing. Not that you had to do it, but how you did do it."

Jules does not immediately let go. Her grip is probably a little harder than it should be, communicating all that rage that's still simmering away. "Thanks, I think," she answers while still glowering away at the shoreline before them. "Sorry you had to see that."

She deliberately lets out a long, steady breath in an effort to calm herself down. Her grip loosens now, though she hasn’t let go. “So that’s my baggage.”

His kingdom for another hand: to be able to let go of his shoes so that he can put a hand on top of Jules' and reassure her, somehow. But he has shoes in one hand, and his other is powerless unless it decides to dislodge her grip-- which it does not. Instead, he turns his head side-long and attempts to meet her gaze. "You don't have to be sorry; he should be, but not you. We've all got baggage. It's what makes us human: a lifetime of decisions, good and bad, that lead us to where we are today, ready to make another lifetime's worth of decisions, good and bad."

Jules takes another deep, cleansing breath and finally lets go. Or rather, her fingers slip down Mikaere’s forearm to loosely clasp his hand instead and give a quick squeeze. “Yeah. That’s true,” she allows, looking at him long enough to catch his eye and try on a small smile. “Still wish you hadn’t had to see that. And it’s ridiculous that I’m even having a fight like that with someone I broke up with almost a year ago. That should be part of what a breakup is—no more fights, no more dealing with someone else’s shit.”

Mikaere squeezes back and now, with a decent enough amount of distance between them and Joe's group, he draws his feet to a halt, angling himself so that he can face Jules more directly. "It is ridiculous," he agrees. "Especially after that long. You... move on. Avoid each other, if that's what you need to do to move on, and just... focus on different things. He shouldn't have acted like that, but that's not on you."

Beat. "I'd offer to beat him up, except I'm pretty sure you're the last person who needs that kind of offer. You're fine. He's an asshole."

So Jules stops too and doesn’t yet let her hand fall away. “Well, I am not letting that ruin my day,” she says decisively, squaring her shoulders and drawing herself up tall—to all of 5’5”, that is. “He’s not worth it, and he doesn’t get to have that kind of power of me.” The anymore is unspoken.

"He does not," agrees Mikaere, firmly, and with a grin. "You took the power back. You kicked him to the kerb, and now you get to walk away from him all over again, because he's still a jackass, and you know it. C'mon. You want to find somewhere else to walk, or shall we go find your family?"

“Let’s go back and see if there’s any salmon ready for us,” Jules decides, visibly brightening. Yes, she probably puts some effort into it, but it is the first local salmon of the season.

Back at base camp, there will indeed be salmon. They’re welcomed back with a “just in time!”and shuffles to rearrange chairs. Alex is even there, wet-haired but in fresh clothes, because he knows better than to entirely desert family time and earn Grandma Black’s disapproval.

Speaking of Ada— she seems to know that something’s up. It doesn’t take a mind reader to figure out when a child you’ve raised has recently been upset, even if Jules is all smiles now. When her, “everything okay, hon?” is just met with blithe reassurance, it’s time to turn that look on Mikaere, eyebrows raised.

Mikaere didn't just have an unpleasant encounter with his ex, and even if he did, he's got that kind of casual assurance that makes it easy to pretend everything is fine: he's perfectly warm and friendly and cheerful as he rejoins the family, introducing himself to Alex properly, and reclaiming the unfinished coke from earlier (because you don't just waste these things).

He's not watching Jules more than usual, not physically and not with mental eyes, either, but Ada? Her eyebrow draws the faintest of nods from the Kiwi, who turns his attention to sipping at his drink as he sends a mental door-knock in her direction. She's fine, he reassures her. Her ex, not me. She'll be okay.

Oh, him, is all Ada has to say to that, her expression momentarily matching the dismissive disgust of her non-verbal response. I have half a mind to send snakes into his bed, since he’s such a snake himself. She isn’t inclined to say more; it’s not her story to tell, after all.

Instead, Ada starts passing out paper plates and tells Alex to go get their share of salmon from one of the communal firepits now going. And while he does that, Ada leans down to pick up the tall woven basket she’s brought with her. “Jules, I have something for you,” she says, immediately earning her granddaughter’s attention. “I think it’s time I passed this on.” That’s when she draws out a small carved box. The original colors have faded, but it’s been lovingly restored and painted anew so that the red and black stand out sharply. “This belonged to my grandfather.”

Mikaere's mental snort by way of reply is approving, but that's where he leaves it: it's probably already unfair that he's explained even this much, and he knows it.

His gaze turns from Ava to her granddaughter as the basket comes out, and then flicks back towards the contents of the basket itself. Clearly, he doesn't know what the box is (aside from beautiful), but it's not hard to guess that it is important-- even beyond its obvious age. Jules' reaction, therefore, draws his attention too: eyes shifting towards her so that he can watch what she does.

"It's beautiful," he murmurs.

“Your grandfather?” Ada nods at the question. Clearly this is an ancestral figure of some importance, given the way Jules refers to him, respectful of a man she’s never met.

“Yes. This was his. Maybe his father’s before him. I don’t know. What I do know is that what it contains is powerful.” Jules hasn’t lifted the lid yet, so she does now, until Ada says, “Wait. Don’t open it here. It isn’t something to show in public. I can’t tell what it does, but maybe you’ll be able to learn.”

When Jules looks questioning, dutifully lowering the lid before she can catch more than a glimpse of what’s inside, her grandmother continues, “You will be stronger than me.” It almost sounds like a prophecy. “And it seems like you have some powerful friends.” Now, her attention includes Mikaere, whom she includes with a small nod.

"More than one," murmurs Mikaere, unwilling to interrupt the moment between Ada and Jules, but nonetheless acknowledging the reference to him.

But yes, a powerful friend is exactly what he is.

Jules’ fingers are just itching to open the bentwood box, and it’s clear from her expression, the mingled excitement and curiosity. It’s a good thing Alex is returning now with the salmon, forestalling any sneak peeks.

Charlie Black has been quiet through this all, peacefully watching the interactions. He does, however, lean towards Mikaere in the lull to softly tell him, “Ada’s grandfather was a shaman.” Charlie doesn’t glow, has no Glimmer, but it seems that he knows something about those with power, and he respects it.

Those itching fingers get a grin-- or rather, Jules does, even if she's not looking at him-- from Mikaere, who can clearly guess how anticipatory she is to actually open. But he's easy in raising a hand to welcome Alex back, and otherwise settling back: nothing to see.

Though. His head does turn as Charlie leans in, and his quick nod answers the explanation; his expression thoughtful. "Tohunga," he murmurs. "That's what we would call it. My ma-- but that's different." Charlie gets an exploratory glance, now, as the tall Kiwi considers him. The lack of glow, and yet, the easy knowledge-- it's interesting. He smiles.

"How is it different?" Charlie's genuinely interested, and now Jules' attention is drawn that way too, listening in.

She can't resist greeting her brother with a small tease, though: "Took you long enough. Fall in the river again?" Alex, who can't be but a few years younger, reverts right back to sibling behavior and sticks out his tongue at her. He flips her off, too, once he's passed the large platter of steaming salmon to Ada to parcel out. Ada promptly swats his hand. She saw that.

Mikaere hesitates, glancing at Ada and the salmon, but there's time enough to share the answer to Charlie's question, and he's not unwilling to talk.

"Tohunga is, yes, our equivalent of a Shaman, I think. It's not just religious, though: Māori culture effectively recognises experts in all fields as tohunga. You can be a tohunga of the arts, for instance, or of healing, or tā moko, our sacred tattoos. These days, we also have tohunga of te reo-- that is, the language, because we're still rebuilding the cultural knowledge of it, even though it has increasingly become part of New Zealand life. But they're all spiritual leaders, too, in their different ways. My ma, she's both healer and tohunga wetereo, a linguist."

"Ah." Charlie nods at the explanation, listening intently. "That's good, that you've retained your own language. Jules might have told you that there aren't any native speakers left here, though we keep what we can alive." He demonstrates it, even, with a phrase that clearly translates as thank you when Ada passes him a plate. He in turn promptly passes it along to Mikaere as the guest.

"You're from New Zealand?" Alex pipes up now after grabbing a beer from the cooler. "That's so cool. Are the girls hot? They gotta be, out on the beach in their bikinis." He's too far away for Jules to smack, so she just rolls her eyes. The smacking is left to Ada, who taps Alex none-too-lightly on the back of his head with her open palm.

"We nearly lost it," admits Mikaere, accepting the plate with a murmur of thanks. "For a long time, it looked like we would. But-- it's now one of our official languages, even, and even the Pākehā-- that is, the Kiwis of European descent-- tend to use some phrases, now. It's a tragic thing, losing the old ways."

He grins, though, for Alex's question. "New Zealand's not Australia," he points out. "I mean, we still have beaches, but the climate's more similar to this-- no snow, at least as far north as where I'm from, but not usually hot. Otherwise, though, I think we have about as many hot girls as you'd get here, they just speak with what you, I think, would call an accent." Like his.

"Girls with accents are hot," Alex declares, grinning. The tap on his head and the look he's receiving from Jules now don't deter him at all.

Charlie valiantly attempts to steer conversation away from twenty-something-year-old boy hormones, saying, "The Lummi have done the best at keeping their language alive, I think. They're still fairly far away." He leans down to start tracing a rough map in the sand with a conveniently located piece of driftwood. "Here we are," he says, marking an x on the triangle that represents the Olympic Peninsula. "The Lummi are up here." Past the Strait and the islands, all the way up by Bellingham and the Canadian border. "Of course, we say that our language is only sleeping," he says with a wink, putting down the stick and picking up his fork instead. "Not dead."

"We all have an accent to someone," Mikaere points out, evenly. He's not even glancing at Jules as he says it.

He leans in, the better to see Charlie's map, nodding thoughtfully as he pieces together his own mental positioning. "I like that," he says, as he reaches for his own fork. "Sleeping, not dead. I wonder if it's possible to wake it again. We were lucky, at home, in that all the Māori speak the same language, or very close to, though granted, we're a small country. This," he adds, after chewing his first bite, "is absolutely delicious. Jules did tell me it would be."

"I look forward to the day you actually grow up, Alex," Jules mutters at her brother, who just keeps grinning back, cheeky as all get-out.

To which Ada dryly adds, "Don't we all."

Charlie chuckles. Is it the ribbing of his grandson, the verdict on the fish, or both? "It's always best when it's straight from the river," he says proudly. "Glad you like it." It's a mark in Mikaere's favor.

"Next time," Jules says, between her own first bites, "I'm bringing a cooler so you can fill it up for me." Her earlier mood has cleared, here in the circle of her family. She looks fond as she leans over to tell Mikaere, "He will never stop if you give him half a chance."

"Most things are best fresh," agrees Mikaere, with a smile for Charlie. "At home, we'd cook it all in the ground: meat and root vegetables and anything else, cooked with heated rocks in the earth. I miss that. I should try it over the summer, ay, Jules?"

Her words earn another grin. The Kiwi seems comfortable here. Perhaps it's simply being amidst a family again; perhaps it's something else, or a whole combination of things.

"So what do you do, Alex? I don't think Jules mentioned."

“Absolutely,” Jules says in heartfelt agreement. “I think the traditional way here is to use hot rocks too, right grandma?”

Ada nods and expands. “Our baskets and our boxes were used for cooking. They’re water-tight, so put some water in, add rocks from the fire, and you can broil or steam your food.”

Alex has settled down, no longer as seemingly eager to get a rise out of his older sister. “Work at the seafood processing plant,” he answers. At least he doesn’t do it with his mouth full. “Like Grandpa used to.”

This, this makes Mikaere grin. "See, something else we have in common," he says. "Despite being thousands and thousands of miles apart. Not that it's surprising: you use what you've got. We call it hāngī." Haang-ee.

Alex's answer earns an easy nod. "I guess a lot of people around here do that? I know Jules said she worked in the hatchery. It's a big business. Congratulations on netting your salmon, by the way."

“Thanks.” At the end of the day, Alex doesn’t care about getting dunked in the river; the catch is what matters. “There’s a trick to using those nets,” he says, to which Jules quickly chimes in, “Which you clearly are still learning.” It earns a chuckle from her grandfather.

“Most people out here either work in the fishing industry or the tourist industry,” Alex says then. “There’s a casino and beach resort town, and then more tourist stuff out at the lake.”

“Where I started my hike,” Jules fills in. “Lake Quinault. It’s on the edge of the park.”

Her family seems to know something about this hike, because they aren’t directing questions to Jules about it. Instead, Alex has a question in return for Mikaere: “So how’d you end up in Gray Harbor? That’s a long way from New Zealand.”

Mikaere's grin coincides with Jules' tease of her brother; he's otherwise thoughtful, listening with interest to what the family has to say. "Ah," he says. "Right, of course."

"A very long way," he agrees. "Especially by sail boat, which is how I arrived. I went out to trace the footsteps of my ancestors, back to the islands from whence we came, once upon a time. And then I started heading north, because... I could. And then a storm blew me off course, and I ended up in Gray Harbor." Magic. Semi-literally.

"And now it looks like I'm staying, at least for a while."

No one pries into that. Not even Alex, though he might be tempted to. Certainly not Jules.

Instead, Ada says, "I'm glad you're making friends down in Gray Harbor, honey. And feel like bringing them bringing them with you when we visit. I'm surprised at how international Gray Harbor seems to be -- though maybe that's just your friend group."

"Ravn came up with me last time," Jules fills in Mikaere. She's careful with his name, like the proper pronunciation is important to get right. It's likely the same when she says Mikaere's name, not that he would have heard it. "He was so happy I invited him, he was basically jumping for joy."

"Ah, Ravn." Mikaere, too, gets the pronunciation right; with a name like his, it probably matters all the more to be specific about these things. "He would be. I imagine he'd've found today fascinating, too. He's a good man, I think. Jules has some great friends, in Gray Harbor."

This latter is for her family, and said in a way that suggests he's not specifically referring to himself. "Have you been to visit?"

"I'm sure he would have," Jules agrees. But Ravn didn't get the invitation this time, and Jules isn't going to look guilty about it.

"Not yet," Ada answers. And then Charlie, with a twinkle in his eye, finishes the response. "We're just waiting on Jules here to invite us."

Jules promptly rolls her eyes, saying, "Of course you're invited, geez. Una and Della want to have you over for dinner. Just tell me when, and we'll work it out." Her plate is empty now, there on her lap. No bones; they've already been removed, back where the salmon is being cooked, to be returned to the river. "I'll go rinse these, if you're all done," she offers, and her family is happy to oblige, passing along their own empty plates as she gets up. "Normally we'd offer seconds," Jules tells Mikaere then, "but not today, when the point is to share with everybody. No one's going to have more than their share."

That gets a laugh from Mikaere, and no apology: he has no shame at having prompted that invitation. His plate gets handed back with an easy gesture, a nod acknowledging Jules' explanation. "That makes sense. Sharing. Everyone gets some; no one goes without. I like that."

He leans back, now, taking another swig from the coke that he's been slowly working his way through the entire time they've been here. "You've met Della and Una, then," he adds, towards Ada and Charlie. "They seem like good people."

So Jules skips off (not literally) to wash the plates, leaving Mikaere alone for a few minutes with her family.

"Yes, they came up with Jules last time," Ada says with a nod, settling back with her wine cooler. Don't tell her it's déclassé; she'll drink what she wants to drink and finds tasty, thank you very much. "Jules seems to have settled in well, and she seems happy. Which makes us happy for her, too. Maybe Alex will feel like it's his turn to go to college, next." It's a gentle remark; Ada's not the type to push either of her grandchildren, all too aware of their boundaries, but the wish is there.

"She seems to be building herself a community," agrees Mikaere, with an easy smile. "I know she says getting used to being a student again has had its moments of challenge, but I'm not sure there's anything she can't do, if she puts her mind to it. And I know she likes having a plan for where she wants to be." He looks fond, but not excessively so.

That honor is for Ada, who is clearly pleased and proud. Compliments from this man that Jules has brought to the picnic today certainly earn him points in his favor, too.

"She's stubborn like her grandmother," says Charlie, who reaches over to pat his wife's knee. This is a compliment, too.

Jules is back just a moment later, packing away the rinsed plates in her grandmother's basket. "Were you talking about me?" she asks, playfully suspicious. Charlie gives her a wide-eyed, innocent look that is patently see-through. "Now, would we do that?"

It's a family that enjoys each other's company, that much is evident. Of course, eventually Alex will wander off to hang with his friends, but not without a hug for Jules before he goes. And eventually, Jules will determine, "I suppose we should start heading back," with an eye to where the sun is in the sky.

Mikaere can neither confirm nor deny that they were talking about Jules; he just grins, laughs, and accepts another drink at some point-- also non-alcoholic. If Jules is staying sober, for purposes of driving, so is he. That he genuinely enjoys himself is difficult to miss; still, his nod, when Jules suggests it is time to go, is even. "Don't want to be heading back too late," he agrees.

"But it's been a pleasure. Charlie. Ada. I've really enjoyed myself, today."

"Come back anytime," Ada replies with a smile. Charlie rises to shake Mikaere's hand one more time, while Jules asks her grandmother, "You sure you don't want any help packing up?"

"You go on, we're going to stay a bit longer. Besides, we've got Alex. See you soon." Ada kisses her granddaughter on both cheeks. She'll do the same when bidding Mikaere farewell, too.

Then it's just them, picking their way back towards the road, sand supplanted by stone and then gravel. Jules has her grandmother's gift in her hands, though she's being good, refraining from opening it here. "What do you think?" she asks instead.

"Thank you," murmurs Mikaere, accepting the kiss on both cheeks with a bright smile. He gives Ada's hand a squeeze, and then they're off.

His feet are dry, if sandy; enough so that he puts his shoes back on for the walk back, glancing side-long at Jules as he carries the cookie tupperware and matches his stride with hers. "They're great people," he says. "I meant what I said: I really did enjoy getting to meet them, and to experience this."

"Good," Jules just says. She's quite determined not to linger on 'so now you've met my family.' "It was a good day." Except for, you know, her drunk and ill-mannered ex, but Jules isn't mentioning that either.

"I have no idea what this is," she says instead, lifting the box to eyeball it even as she keeps walking. "I'm opening it as soon as we get to the car."

"It's beautiful," says Mikaere. "Whatever it is. Old. You don't want to look at it properly in private? Or am I permitted to see, then?"

His grin is a light one, not quite teasing, but not quite not.

"The car counts as private," Jules determines. "I think my grandma just didn't want me to open it on the beach where everyone could see. Which makes me think that it might be ceremonial." She glances alongside at him. "I guess you can be there," she replies in a similar way, a tease that isn't. "She did say something about powerful friends helping me figure it out."

"That's fair," he agrees. "And... I imagine, not in front of your brother, too."

He grins at Jules, meeting her gaze. "Well, I'll do what I can. Sounding board, if nothing more than that. Whatever you need."

Jules hadn't thought of that, given the way she suddenly looks thoughtful. "Yeah, maybe not. Alex grew up with the same stories as me, but..." She trails off with a shrug.

"I mean, it's really just that I don't have the patience to drive back an hour without having a look," she says instead with a grin. "Come on." The car's not far. It's slightly stuffy inside, thanks to sitting in the sun, even though it's not exactly hot yet.

"But he's not like us," he agrees, evenly. "And differently to the way that your grandfather is not like us."

Her grin, though, that makes him grin, and lengthen his stride to reach the car all the quicker.

The windows get wound down, and his shoes carefully divested of sand (again); then, climbing in he stretches out in the seat and turns his attention towards Jules. Well?

"My grandpa still believes that there's stuff out there that can't be explained. That certain people have some degree of tamanous--our word for whatever it is that we do," Jules explains as she gets in the driver's side. "Alex is like me. I didn't believe it until I actually saw it for myself."

If there's more to that story, it'll have to wait, because Jules is gently lifting the lid of the bentwood box now. It's secured with little leather thongs, which have most likely been replaced and aren't original. Inside, this is what she finds and carefully lifts out: an elongated carving that just barely fits in the box. It's clearly human, with a handle of sorts at the base wrapped with much older leather. It's old, whatever it is. Jules turns it over a couple times before offering it to Mikaere. "Definitely ceremonial," she says quietly.

Mikaere's nod is an easy one. "I figured," he says, not much louder than a murmur.

But for now: the box, and what it contains. "Oh wow. Yes, that seems to fit. But related to what?" He hesitates before accepting it, fingertips brushing over the carving; his exhale is a sharp one.

Ada wasn't lying: this object radiates power. Jules doesn't seem to sense it, as respectful as she is when handling it. But when Mikaere touches it, the object sings.

"I don't know," Jules is saying. "I mean, I know that traditionally, stuff like whistles and rattles were used in ceremonies. Someone like my great-great grandfather would have owned that. He might have had to hide it, because native traditions were frowned upon at that time." To put it mildly. "People said that people with tamanous, like a shaman, had items that held power."

There's that sharp exhale from Mikaere as he touches the carving, and a little frown forms in the crease of his brow.

"It makes sense," he agrees. "Objects imbued with power, somehow. Why not? When we have power. The fact that they had to hide it... that makes this all the more precious. Exceptional, even. That it survived."

He ought to hand it back. He doesn't, not immediately: he's focusing hard.

There's a tangle of emotions attached to this object; the box too, but here is where they truly focus.

Excitement, rising up with the beating of drums.

Desire, hot and animalistic. Not lust, exactly, given how it is accompanied with flashes of blood ribboning on dark bodies. The desire that comes with frenzy.

And fear. This rises up too, like tendrils of smoke winding their way to the steep ceiling of a longhouse.

"Frenzy," he murmurs. "And fear. Excitement. This-- there's so much feeling still attached to it. I wonder if your grandmother felt it. If she can."

Whatever is emanating from the object in Mikaere's hands is strong. It's as if there's something in the item trying to impress those emotions in his mind -- to take over his mind, possess it and drive him into the mental state attached to this item.

"Yeah?" Jules leans a little closer, gaze going between Mikaere and the thing he holds. "I don't know. Maybe."

Mikaere takes a shuddering breath, fighting back against the power wielded by the object. He doesn't let go, and instead closes his eyes, probing further: what else can it show him?

"Hang on," he says, through gritted teeth. There's sweat, dripping down his forehead.

"What?" Jules' eyes, now, are open wide with alarm.

Whatever is in this object does not like being bested, and it lashes out with a flare of energy before it yields. Yield it does, grudgingly:

First, the item is made. Brown hands carefully handle it, scraping away curls of wood to reveal the figure within. For the handler, this is how it is: he does not make the item, he sets it free.

Then, the binding. A struggle, a power struggle, similar to the one that Mikaere has just experienced, but longer, more protracted, as the wielder sits naked in a sweat lodge, staring through the steam rising from the hot rocks dropped in cool water. The steam takes shape. Something is in the smoke, and it is that something that is eventually tamed and forced to inhabit the wood carving.

That something has not acted now in a long time, and it is hungry for action.

A long exhale, then. More sweat. And finally, Mikaere offers the carving blindly back to Jules, opening his eyes only once it is out of his hands again. "I saw... there's absolutely power in it. Captured and tamed, somehow, inside. It's been lying dormant, waiting for someone to wield it-- I think?-- again; it's eager and ready. It wanted to control me."

His eyes refocus upon the carving. "I don't know how you wield it, though. I also don't know how you make sure it doesn't wield you."

Whatever is in the carving doesn't grab at Jules the same way. At least, not yet. Mikaere has woken it, though, and maybe Jules senses something, because she hastily puts it back in the box.

"Is that the sort of thing you can find out?" she asks. She's concerned -- she's noticed the sweat break out -- but it doesn't stop her from asking.

"Maybe," says Mikaere, gaze lingering upon the carving until it is safely in the box and out of sight. He wipes the sweat away from his brow, and attempts to relax his face again-- his shoulders, too. "I could try again, maybe. Dig further, get a feel. I just don't want to end up getting lost in it. Not now, though. There's only so much I can do before I'm likely to get a headache," or worse, "and I don't want to give it any advantage."

"Doing that sort of thing in a car probably isn't the best place for it anyway," Jules says by way of agreement. She peers at the object for a second longer before letting the lid drop back down. She twists to put the box on the backseat. "I wonder if there's some kind of precautions we could take," she muses further as she starts the car and pulls out of the parking space.

"Are you okay?" she thinks to ask then, glancing at Mikaere and away from the road for a second. "Do you want me to stop for water or Gatorade or something?"

"I'm not sure," admits Mikaere, with a wrinkle of his brow that is now more thoughtful than anything else. "But we can give it some thought. No-- I'm okay. I need to definitely not use any more power today, but I'm okay."

"Okay." Jules accepts his self-assessment at face value. She's quiet as she drives out of town, leaving Taholah behind. What does one say, after all, after awakening a spirit that wants to possess you?

Mikaere's silent, watching the side of the road as they went their way back towards Gray Harbor. There's a tension to his shoulder, still (again?); he's distracted, maybe, hyper-aware of the powerful artefact sitting in the seat behind them.

"Stay with me tonight?" It's a fair distance down the road before he asks the question, and though he's aiming for casual, there's a note of something in his voice, something that suggests something is lingering in his thoughts, even now. Not the spirit itself; not that. But some remnant, perhaps, real or imaginary.

It’s certainly eerie, driving back with the knowledge that the object in the backseat is humming with power, even when it’s safely put back in its box.

Maybe that’s why Jules is less inclined to speak on the drive home than she was on their way to Taholah, leaving Mikaere alone to his thoughts without any attempt to tease them out.

She glances over at him with the question. Does she hear it, whatever it may be? From the way her gaze lingers until it’s drawn back to the road, the answer is likely yes. “Okay.”

"Okay," says Mikaere, on another exhale. Maybe it's all just in his head-- probably it is, and he knows it. But there's safety in numbers, in company, and hopefully that'll be enough to keep the dreams-- lower-case d-- away.

And maybe also not, because there are absolutely 4am jogs in his near future, in an attempt to shake away the remnants and clear his head.