[SE] Haul out the holly

Boreal set the toy down gently in front of Pip, pale eyes intent on the fuzzy noodle. She gave a bob of her head, nosing the tough, braided rag rope towards her friend and snorted in delight when Pip pounced on it. Normally she insisted that Tal or Sasha hold the other end, but she was just as happy to have a draconic playmate to tug-tug with, and she modulated her strength with Pip just as she did with the tiny ursur cub that was Alys's companion.

Hair was for keeping his ears and neck warm and beyond that something to wash thoroughly but quickly, brush hurriedly, and otherwise fight to keep out of his eyes. The entire concept of split ends had bypassed Tal entirely once he'd apprenticed as a courier to his aunt, running the dogsled delivery route on the Tundra and Sea of Glass in the years before the War. He squinted at the hair that Koa showed him and then tilted his head to peer at the Dragoon's sleek and shiny coif, comparing the two with the light of understanding dawning in his eyes.

All that was missing was a big, black, phallic obelisk-- oh wait, the Hollowed Grounds still had one of those!

Tal wasn't exactly an eager student, but he wasn't a reluctant one at least. His scowl was one of intense thought as he poured their drinks - Koa might have been pleased to note a splash of whiskey that turned the honeyed tea into a hot toddy - and he even asked a few questions to clear up a couple points of confusion.

As they relaxed at the kitchen table with Tal's new regimen at the courier's elbow he snorted in amused disbelief and sipped his steaming drink. "I dunno that I've done anythin' bad enough t'deserve that," he protested teasingly. "I'll leave the gentlemannin' t'the professionals! Though I'd prob'ly make a piss-poor Dragoon." He shrugged, only half-joking himself. "My da died a Deepfrost Shield, protectin' Halo from a cultist attack. I was too scrawny a brat t'follow in his footsteps... an' dragoonin' is a lot o' followin' someone else's orders, yeah?" Being up before dawn, practicing marching, and being expected to run towards trouble instead of away from it? Sounded suspiciously like hero-stuff, and Tal had never pretended to be one of those!

He is pleased by the splash of whiskey, rewarding Tal with a satisfied "Mmmm," from deep within his chest. It's comfortable here, almost enough for Koa's vigilance to ease, the edge of the last few seasons dulled by cozy camaraderie.

"I'm sorry for your loss." A father gone, shoes to fill - the Dragoon can relate. "My Ma was a Dragoon," he offers softly, a sympathetic trauma exchange. "One of the best. Died during the war." Sincere and somber, Koa raises his mug to faintly clink with Tal's, an act of respect for everyone who isn't with them now.

He's quick to perk back up, of course, because who wants to dwell on those half-closed wounds? Certainly not Koa, the sweetest and least emotionally evolved himbo you ever did see. "But that's even more reason to give something like the Dragoons a try! And, yeah, it's a lot of discipline and order following, but I dunno.... I like having directions, y'know? Knowing what's expected of me, and what I'm meant to do." He rolls his shoulders in a shrug, not at all embarrassed by this lack of self-direction.

Tal sipped at his own drink and gave Koa a companionable nod, appreciating his friend's empathy all the more because Koa understood. After a moment's hesitation he reached over to give the Dragoon's forearm a brief squeeze of shared trauma before retreating back to his own side of the small table, wrapping both hands around his mug to warm them.

But even though Tal was prone to morose wallowing on his own, Koa's irrepressible perkiness didn't let him succumb to the nostalgia of those they'd lost. Dragging the courier along on a conversational journey to Dragoon HQ, he soon had Tal's nose wrinkled up in suspicion and a flicker of a friendly grin. He might not be excited about the whole Dragooning idea, but he was definitely pleased to be asked...

"I mean, I guess I could see it," he agreed uncertainly to having other people giving him directions, but knowing it was important to people like his da. "Not sayin' it's impossible... but I'm not in one place very often. Worked too hard t'build up th'courier business to give it all up now. So I dunno how much trainin' I could do with everyone in Stormbreak. An', uh... the Dragoon's are... they're kinda... they gotta do what Stormbreak's leader tells 'em t'do, right?" He shifted uneasily and took another swallow of his fortified tea, grimacing as he almost burned his tongue on the too-big drink.

Koa's in his element, bright with whiskey and his passion for the Dragoons... when it all comes crashing down. One moment he's ready to anoint Tal as a newly minted Dragoon, like it or not; the next he's letting his cup clunk back onto the table, a flash of anger in those copper eyes. Not for Talyson, of course, but for a situation Koa still hasn't fully figured out how to reconcile in his mind.

"The Dragoons serve Stormbreak," he clarifies tersely, the words strained as they work past his tight throat. "And the people of Stormbreak. And when the leader also serves those people, then yes, we listen to them. But when they don't..." He trails off with a pointed shrug, glaring at his cup.

And then he deflates, shoulders slumping, a sail bereft of righteous wind. "At least I hope so," Koa murmurs, more to himself than the Courier across from him, his thumb rubbing uneasily against the porcelain mug as he frowns into fading steam.

Tal wasn't against being minted - he was a fan of the flavor in cookies and cocoa - as long as Koa didn't expect him to salute anyone and the only ones who tried to give him orders were his friend and Anju. But that was the unfortunate rub right there: the Dragoons served Stormbreak, and Stormbreak answered to Dahlia. Which meant the Family, whatever and whoever that was.

He wasn't worried about Koa being mad at him, luckily. As the other man tensed up, Tal took a drink of his hot toddy to hide his apologetic grimace at bringing the uncomfortable point up. "Well, I'm glad t'hear it," he said quietly. "I mean, I dunno... I don't think I could stick around here, either, if th'Family got their claws into King's End." dun Dun DUN.

He set his mug down more gently, freeing a hand to rub at the back of his neck as his thoughts were inevitably drawn to Stormbreak's previous ruler. "I... I've been lookin' for Soh ever since I realized she was missin'." Which had taken far too long for him to figure out, and he winced in self-recrimination. "An' I asked Mort 'imself if... well. Anyways, he said she was still alive, at least a couple weeks ago. But whatever that Dahlia's done with 'er, I can't find her. I've been combin' th'Greatwood in case she ended up there. But so far no luck."