Disclaimer: I do not own the Teen Titans.
Coyote – Chapter 8
Raven wandered into the room at the end of the hall in the long, low house on strengthening legs. Sensing generations of bare feet that had worn paths into the wooden floor, she absently fingered the soft drawstring purse tied to her belt loop. A gift from Karen to hold her "walking around" money, it bounced off her thigh as she walked. Old Bill followed on her heels, his ears perking up. She reached down to scratch him between the eyes, and the dog grunted contentedly. She found Karen there, bent over a small table with a disassembled rifle and a bottle of Hoppe's. The air smelled of Arsenal's favorite cologne – gun oil.
"C'mon in, sweetie," Karen called to her. "Looks like Old Bill has a new best friend. Just getting in the day's chores. This may not be an actual working ranch, but I've still got to keep the place up, and it keeps me on my toes. Monday's laundry day. Tuesday I clean the stables. Wednesday's, I walk the fence lines. Looking for varmints. Coyotes and foxes. And Thursday," she continued as she ran a wire brush down the barrel of the firearm, "is the day I clean my guns."
Raven's eyes widened at the rifle's presence as she tugged at the stiff collar of her new denim shirt, complete with embroidered daisies on the front pocket. While she was not completely ignorant of such weapons, thanks to Roy, they were not exactly her area of expertise. Azarathian pacifism and ammunition did not mix very well. She watched Karen's easy movement as she cleaned it, as if she had always known how to handle such things. Her arms were bare for once; her black tank top tucked down into the top of the fatigues that she wore as she worked around the ranch. A tattoo on her left arm winked at the young empath. A long dragon, inked in lavender and green with a gray mist wound about it, snaked down Karen's arm.
Karen caught her staring at the image. "Got this one before I married Charlie. I get it re-inked every few years or so. It's my favorite, anyway."
Raven merely replied, "Nice work." Raven's fingers brushed the small of her own back, remembering the image etched in her own skin.
There's a story behind this lady, she thought. Not the one I got the impression of when I borrowed her clothes the first time we were here. This one is far more intriguing.
She explored the walls of the room, away from the rifle, which were covered with various pieces of desert-themed artwork, painted in the scarlets and tans that she was becoming attached to. One in particular drew her to it: two women, their faces stricken with grief, hovering over a deeply wounded man whose mouth was drawn into a yawning 'O'. One woman was hacking off handfuls of her hair with a knife. She fixed her eyes on the image for many long minutes, getting so close that her nose almost touched the glass of the frame.
She pointed to the painting. "Karen, what is happening in this picture?"
Charlie's words snuck up behind her from the door. "That, Dawn Child, is called 'Death Song.' One of our local artists did that one for me." She turned around to face him as he leaned against the door frame. He lounged in a faded pair of jeans and a soft blue and gray flannel shirt. "The dying man is singing his death song, his last words, maybe a prayer, to the women standing over him. The one lady is cutting her hair to mourn and to honor him."
She tilted her head at the image once again, drinking in the small details of their costume, the wrinkles in the man's hands, the flash of the knife as it sliced through strands of hair. "Is such a thing common amongst your...our...people?"
"Used to be, in the old tradition."
She traced the outline of the frame with a wary fingertip. She remembered a similar frame in Charles's study. "You make our grandfather sound very...traditional. Did Thunder Horse have a death song?"
The air in the room lost its brightness for a moment, and the odor of smoldering tar mingled with the scent of the Hoppe's. She watched Karen out of the corner of her eye. Karen's eyes locked on to Charles's for just a moment. Then she returned her focus to the firearm, wiping gun oil down the barrel more vigorously than before. She swore under her breath. Charlie backed away from the door to the room and padded back down the hall, out of sight. Several ragged breaths later, Karen finally answered.
"He never got the chance."
(break)(break)
A/N: For those of you not familiar with Roy Harper: Roy Harper is a member of the Outsiders (Nightwing and Starfire's current group). He used to be Speedy on the old Titans' team. Back then he was pretty much just an archer. Now he uses a whole array of weapons. I can only assume that since the Outsiders and Titans cross-over so often, Raven would at least be somewhat familiar with some of his weapons.