singin' & swayin'

Majdalā hadn't been to the lake in ages! Not because she hadn't enjoyed it, or had no time off, she was just....busy. Earning money, saving it. But the reality of the world is that you have to enjoy yourself, too, so that's what she was doing.

And that's why she had a little bag, a chair, and was ready to enjoy some sunshine......at least until she stopped, surveying the area.

Cruella wrinkled her nose, arms crossing in front of her chest. "There's a tremendously wide beach area for you to go darling. I really don't think it's quite so difficult." Granted some spaces weren't that good, either too much sun or rocks or what have you.

But that simply was not Cruella's problem. At least the woman had moved out of her space a bit. "Thank you for moving."

Maj waits for the woman to say something...anything. When it doesn’t come, and all she gets is a wrinkled nose and crossed arms, a little furrow appears between her brows.

"Oh, ah, well no. S'pose it ain't, ma'am," she offers, a quietness to her voice, now, no longer as friendly. "But yer welcome. I –"

Majdalā pauses, looking the woman over, the fact that she's, well, alone. And she wonders.

Boomer dusts his hands off, leans on the cooler, and Majdalā can't help but shake her head. She knew exactly why Miss Dottie Bergstrom was chatting his ear off 'bout missing those parties, but far be it from her to clue him in on it.

"Well, honey, 'm sure there was a real good reaaon," she says instead. "Every think yer momma mighta missed yah, too?" And for all Majdalā knew, she had.

While she'd never formally met Mrs. Winche, Maj had heard plenty about her.

Opening her mouth to say just that she was, Boomer cuts her off, scratching at his jaw, telling her how actually he should be the one to pull. She just laughs, shakes her head, and says "alright."

With a jerk of the strap he let it loose of the cooler and threw them over the top of it. "Phew! Not bad aye!"

His smile lit up his face as he looked to Maj by the back of the dolly. "You did me good!"

Holding out a hand he went to grab the apparatus and lean it back to move the cooler to the stand. "Grab that produce basket will ya!" He winked.

"I know my mums missed me but what am I supposed to do aye? Just tell the station I've got a garden party to attend with the old hens?!"

The creaking coming from both Boomer's old truck and the cooler was a mite concerning, but Maj did what she was told and held the dolly steady.

The thunk from the cooler landing rocked her back on her heels for her trouble, but they'd done it! AND no one had gotten hurt.

Boomer holds out a hand so Maj swings the handle of the dolly around, handing it off before she hikes herself up into the bed to grab said produce basket. "Think yah jus' wanted tah watch me jump around," she grumbles, though there's no heat in it, as she pops back off to the ground with a huff.

At the question, Maj grins wide and bats her eyes at him. "Or yah can tell 'em yah got a date with lil' ol' me. Already toldja I'll be yer excuse if yah wanna go see yer momma an' not get teased."

And she had. If anyone knew the importance of family, or the lack thereof, it was Maj.

Hidden Canyon had been a staple in Swynlake for decades, long before Hugo and his pill of a father had taken the place over. Their produce had been a selling star, the kind that gave an income in harsh times.

But, even good things came to a dry patch, and that dry patch had gone hand in hand with Hugo Slade's own. With Hue gone, getting the help he needed, the place felt....different. Not bad, just...off.

And if Majdalā could feel it, she knew someone like Boomer could, too.

Which was why she was here, decked out in her best work jeans, some scuffed up work boots, and a ball cap and tee, hair pulled back through the back in a tail.

When she rounds out to the street with the stalls, Maj spins Boomer in the back of his rickety old truck, trying to lug that cooler down off the back all by his lonesome.

Maj shakes her head, muttering about stubborn men as she picks up her pace. "Got stuck in th' beginnin' crowds, Boom. Hold yah horses, darlin'."

Swerving around to the side, toward the dolly he pointed to, Maj maneuvers it into place at the end of thr tail gate, steadying it before she rounds over to the side to help guide the damn thing to the ground.

"I havn't been round too long. Had to circle about for some parking." Nodding over to a crowd of older women clustered by the potted plants for sale. "Dottie Bergstrom over there was chatting my ear off. Somthin' about how I missed my mamas last garden party."

Boomer shook his head and smiled. Duty called most of the time but he had been a staple at his mother events since he was a young boy so no doubt his friends missed him.

"You ready for me to push though darlin. Its not too heavy. Or wait." Boomer scratched his jawline. "I think I better pull you just hold tight!"

Hopping down off the back of the farm truck he wrapped the straps around his hands and pulled. "Hold tight!"

Boomer dusts his hands off, leans on the cooler, and Majdalā can't help but shake her head. She knew exactly why Miss Dottie Bergstrom was chatting his ear off 'bout missing those parties, but far be it from her to clue him in on it.

"Well, honey, 'm sure there was a real good reaaon," she says instead. "Every think yer momma mighta missed yah, too?" And for all Majdalā knew, she had.

While she'd never formally met Mrs. Winche, Maj had heard plenty about her.

Opening her mouth to say just that she was, Boomer cuts her off, scratching at his jaw, telling her how actually he should be the one to pull. She just laughs, shakes her head, and says "alright."

And now when she was lounging by the lake in her bikini on the lounger she had brought with her with umbrella also at the ready and someone was blocking her light? Well something would have to be done about that. "Gerald-" she started and then frowned. Right. Cruella had already instructed Gerald to go take Nefertiti to get her nails trimmed. Drat.

She straightened up and frowned at the person. "Hey you. Would you get out of the way darling? You're obstructing the charming view."

Majdalā hadn't been to the lake in ages! Not because she hadn't enjoyed it, or had no time off, she was just....busy. Earning money, saving it. But the reality of the world is that you have to enjoy yourself, too, so that's what she was doing.

And that's why she had a little bag, a chair, and was ready to enjoy some sunshine......at least until she stopped, surveying the area.

She wasn’t the only one looking for something to wear, evidently. Hera looked up from where she had been parsing through the formalwear, accidentally making eye contact. “Looking for promwear?” She guessed. “Have you picked a dream to dress for? I’m not sure I even know where to begin.”

Majdalā couldn't honestly believe it was prom season in Swynlake already! It always snuck up on her, really, and this year she'd never really thought she'd go. But, then she and Boomer had gotten to talking and, well, she'd found herself a date.

So, here she was! It was always such a weird thing, looking for formal wear in town. So little of it Maj found to her tastes, or even something she'd be comfortable in. But she had hope, especially because the theme was so loose this year.

Flicking a dress to the side with a wrinkle of her nose and a little sigh, Majdalā glances up, only to make eye contact with a stunning redhead across from her. And, yes, alright. She stops. She stares.

Then, she realizes she's being spoke to.

Shaking herself free, Majdalā grins brightly and nods. "Sure am, though 'm fixin' tah throw in th' towel at this point," she murmurs, shaking her head. Her hair was in a bun, but a few tendrils had escaped, and she blows one from her face with a littke huff.

“The truth is though, growing up in Saudi Arabia, I never looked at pursuing music professionally as something that was in the realm of the possible. It was a dream that was confined to me and my hairbrush in my room.”

Not that it was any different now - but with all the legal documents settled and he knew his buddy was in good hands; Boomer wanted to get things back on track. That meant getting Hidden Canyon Ranch back in the mix of things and now that it was summer time - the Farmers Market was a top priority.

The bed of the farm truck was stacked as high as it would go. Baskets of cabbages and lettuce. Bunches of zucchini and tomatoes stacked high in crates. Then freshly wrapped packages of this seasons freshest beef. Along with the giant cooler they always kept things in. The old truck bed creaked as he dropped down the tailgate. Hopping up he grunted as he pulled at the cooler pulling it to the edge. It wasn't too heavy - but he didn't want to drop it off the back without some help.\

Lucky for him he called one of the best. Sweet sweet Maj - always there to help him when he needed it. Wiping some sweat from his brow he looked down the side walk and saw her - "Aye! Took ya long enough!" Boomer joked. "You mind grabbing that dolly and bring it right there." His large hand pointed just behind the truck.

Hidden Canyon had been a staple in Swynlake for decades, long before Hugo and his pill of a father had taken the place over. Their produce had been a selling star, the kind that gave an income in harsh times.

But, even good things came to a dry patch, and that dry patch had gone hand in hand with Hugo Slade's own. With Hue gone, getting the help he needed, the place felt....different. Not bad, just...off.

And if Majdalā could feel it, she knew someone like Boomer could, too.

Which was why she was here, decked out in her best work jeans, some scuffed up work boots, and a ball cap and tee, hair pulled back through the back in a tail.

When she rounds out to the street with the stalls, Maj spins Boomer in the back of his rickety old truck, trying to lug that cooler down off the back all by his lonesome.

Maj shakes her head, muttering about stubborn men as she picks up her pace. "Got stuck in th' beginnin' crowds, Boom. Hold yah horses, darlin'."

Swerving around to the side, toward the dolly he pointed to, Maj maneuvers it into place at the end of thr tail gate, steadying it before she rounds over to the side to help guide the damn thing to the ground.

"Yeah. Her exact words," Majdalā confirms, nodding along with his words, "an' laughed her lil' hind end off when I fell, too." It was a fond memory, though, the kind thatmade her smile. Even if she was a little sad by that memory, of what she remembered of her Granny, it made her happy, too.

But she knows he's right, and she says as much as she siddles up to the horse and gives the mare another scratch before she moves out of the way. Once she was mounted up, it'd be easier to get to know her.

Not having enough room for a horse was a hard thing, so that was nice that she had had somewhere to go and ride. "Glad you got th' chance t' do it. I think everyone should get th' chance t' ride at least once."

He finished saddling up the horse and gave everything a once over before saying, "Alrigh', Penelope's all set t' go, so feel free t' head on out whenever you want."

"Hopin' an' prayin', but it didn't quite get there," she agrees, grinning still, and sshakes her head. The reminiscing was a good thing; it no longer felt sad to talk about her Granny. She wasn't gone but it...sometimes felt like it.

At his comment about riding she nods, and then thanks him, patting the mare on the side of her neck while she shifted underneath her. It was clear the horse wanted to be off, and Maj was right alongside her.

The smile means, hopefully, that this is a good turn of conversation. One that, if anything, they can work with.

Her own grin answers the other woman's and Majdalā nods, lacing her fingers together in her lap. "I agree with her. Sounds like a smart lady." And, Maj thinks, that's probably where Isabela got it from; that was how she struck you: smart, put together, kind.

Majdalā does always wonder, though, how much of it weighs on someone.

Was that in the way that Isabela's abuela raised her? As another maternal figure. The matriarch of the family? Never far? Always in charge of everything?

Or had something happened to Majdala's parents?

It would be bad manners to pry, unless Maj brought it up herself. So, Isabela shut down that line of thought. There were many things that the other woman could've meant by her statement.

"I could only imagine. My abuela is one of my favorite people in the whole world." In fact, sometimes, Isabela felt like Abuela was truly her best friend. The kind of friend that always wanted the best for you and pushed you towards it.

"She lives with me and the rest of my family at Casita. I'm sure you've probably seen her. Always bustling about during parties."

I could only imagine. My abuela is one of my favorite people in the whole world.

Maj smiles at that answer. She likes that, and says that she's glad Isabela has that. "My Granny is, well, not tah get intah all o' it: she's my grandma an' my momma. So, we're close, an' bein' here sometimes makes me homesick somethin' fierce."

And that was honest to God the truth. There were so many days where she thought about packing it up and packing it in, going back home. That sometimes she didn't really have...anyone really here.

A smile curls around Majdalā's mouth at the comment and she nods, taking his word for it. It had been such a long time since she had been around a horse. Sometimes she simply just...forgot that they were really that easy. That simple.

She's glad, too, that he seems to take her joke at face value, laughing and shaking his head as he goes to get her the saddle. Maj just gets herself acquainted with her horse, talking lowly to the mare as she scratches her on the forelock and nose.

Looking up when he comes back, Majdalā nods along with him as he talks. "My granny asked me tah try it once. That was th' one time it did. Felt flat on my butt an' never went back. 'S too uncomfortable. Never feel like I get a good enough seat."

"She prob'ly thought you should know how t' use more'n one kind," he guessed, "Which is a good idea, but not every kind is gonna work for everyone. 'M sure there's plenty o' people over here who been raised usin' an' English one an' couldn't do a Western one. I've seen some real good riders over here, so obviously they've jus' gotten th' hang o' it in ways that we haven't."

He smiled at hearing she had been riding since a very young age. He had done the same, after all. "Tennessee, eh? Never went there m'self, but I did some business wit' breeders from there. They had some darn good horses for sure."

"Yeah. Her exact words," Majdalā confirms, nodding along with his words, "an' laughed her lil' hind end off when I fell, too." It was a fond memory, though, the kind thatmade her smile. Even if she was a little sad by that memory, of what she remembered of her Granny, it made her happy, too.

But she knows he's right, and she says as much as she siddles up to the horse and gives the mare another scratch before she moves out of the way. Once she was mounted up, it'd be easier to get to know her.

Majdalā sees something - someone - out of the corner of her eye, but they whip around her too fast to follow as he head comes up. She laughs, though, when she sees it's Buster, grins at his little bow.

Tapping her fingers on the counter she was leaning against, she cocks her head to the side to take him all in, grin ticking up higher on one side.

"Yah ran real quick. Appreciate it, honey," she hums, tone lilting with her accent, the words sincere even with the teasing quality they always seemed to have.

At his question, she shrugs her shoulders, steps away from the counter to pop her hip into his leg. "Bit o' both. Inspired by Miss Patsy's I Fall to Pieces."

It was Majdala's favorite of hers.

The smile stayed crooked but Buster couldn't offer one in any other way.

"I stay busy." His head shook. "Every day I think I will have less to do but the moon is up before I get back to my place." Lately his days had been filled with procuing and item for Wolf and well...the garage was busy but he did hit the gambling tables from time to time. "You working up a storm or what?" His brow rose. "You might be the only person I don't see around...and yes darlin' I notice."

"Lucky guess," she chirps back, words whip-quick at the tip of her tongue as she grins, head tilting as she watches him get comfortable. "An' 'cause she's always been one o' mine."

Say what you would about Buster – particularly how he didn't fit a certain mold, which Majdalā happens to like, very much – but his music tastes were impeccable.

When he says he's been busy, Maj nods. She understands. "Gotta find time, honey. We both do, unfortunately," she murmurs, runnjng a hand over her hair with a little nose wrinkle, a shake of her head.

You working up a storm or what?

A huff, and she nods again. "Somethin' like that. Been workin' extra to –" The rest of his sentence catches up to her, and Majdalā studies him for a moment, surprise laced in the look.

She spins hair around a finger, thinking about what she's going to share, and how much.

"'M tryin' tah start a business, maybe. I don't...I don't think I'll ever be able tah get on a stage again. Jus'...too much I remember that hurt too much, but 's kinda lonely jus'...exisitin'. So –"

There was something about paying attention when other spoke but selective hearing was a thing - and he was very guilty of that. Very.

At his expense though he knew he’d remember if Maj ever mentioned anything about not getting on the actual stage again. Right? Right?! Then she said she was lonely.

Pressing his lips together he heard her out and then winded out a head shake. “No wait a minute darlin. You sound like you’ve got a lot going on.”

Buster could understand dealing with a big thing like a business and then a small every day thing but it sounded like she had a lot weighing heavy on those shoulders of hers.

Yet she carried it with a shrug. Incredible.

“Wait slow down and back it up. A business?” Buster leaned forward to really look down in her eyes. “We will start there then get to that lonely part.”

Buster at least has the decency to hear her out. It's not always what she expects, but Maj was never one to label a person, whether they look st act or talk the way someone should. She never had; why should someone else?

At the question, really the comment before that, Majdalā lets out a breath, nods slowly, and presses her lips together. Thinking about what she wants to say, how much, and not blurting it all out.

"My Granny's sick. Has been, for a while." Majdalā hates that she sounds small, then, and tired, but she grins anyway. "I've visited. Been sendin' money for her care every month. Got her up in a facility but –"

She pauses, but doesn't want to shrug. She doesn't want to shrug it all off either.

"– she's th' only family I got. My momma left me on her doorstep when I was a baby an' never looked back. Always jus' been us, so when I left tah sing it was hard. Was jus' a kid when I started, nineteen."

Dark eyes flit to Buster's face, then, and take in his expression. The concern, maybe. Again, she weighs what she has to say, and how she wants to say it.

Then he had a family that was taken from him.

So he felt for her but also didn’t have a memory to attach it to. Only thing he really understood was loss.

“Well darlin…” he said clearing his throat. Truthfully he didn’t know what to do when people started to get upset. Should pats and a cigarette offer was about all he had to offer.

“I think aside from her not doin’ well she’d be happy with whatever ya got yourself into.” Wasn’t that was Grand Mums did. Fawn over their grand babies and brag about them to other old birds. “You don’t want to sour the time ya got left or your business dreams or whatever it is you’ve got going on.”

His eyes shifted back and forth as he let out an awkward grumble.

“Why don’t you make one of those videos to send her so it’s like she’s got ya there or somethin.”

Well darlin' starts off strong. The look on his face makes her grin, snort, and Majdalā finds the tension in her shoulders start to ease a bit, a knotted ball of Something in her chest easing ever-so-slightly. Maybe it was the simple act of telling someone. She didn't know. But it was a secret she'd been holding onto for a real long time.

"Yah sound a lil' like an old bird yourself, grumblin' like that," she teases, a grin lighting up her face for a second.

Then, Maj tilts her head and thinks about it. What he says, what he's actually doing: offering a solution. Buster isn't offering condolences, not really, and he isn't placating her.

That choice to tell someone and have it be Buster, she thinks, had been settled square with that realization alone.

"Think your right though, honey. I should send her somethin', maybe start a weekly one, since I ain't able tah get out there all th' time. 'S jus'...hard. An' last time I tried tah tell someone 'bout it, before I was here, well, that's how I ended up here."

Leaning back he just closed his eyes. There was no reason to be this way with her of all people. Maj would never really judge him - a kick in the ass sure but she would never really leave him for his wrongdoings. Or at least Chief thought so. "I just can't get right. No matter how hard I try!"

They are one in the same.

Majdalā rolls her eyes. "Maybe. Never said they weren't, Hue. I jus' like when yah ain't all swagger. If it ain't an act with me, then it sure seems it with everyone else." And, quite frankly, he worried her.

Had done ever since his accident, really, and even after they'd lost a little touch. But he would always be her friend.

"Yah know why I call yah Hugo? 'Cause yah never once made me feel like I could be anyone but Majdalā. Not once. Not even when people like yer daddy or those frat boys that always hung around th' circut use tah say shit tah me. So no. Yah might not be puttin' on an act, but that's what I choose tah remember 'boutcha."

Hugo wasn't the better version. Chief wasn't that bad one.

Hugo was simply who he was, for better or worse. And it was a shame he could never see that.

She says as much, a sad little smile on her face as she shakes her head, stepping forward to run a hand through his hair, patting him on the side of the face. "Tryin' ain't doin', honey. An' from where 'm standin'? Yah ain't exactly doin' much save actin' sorry fer yerself. Go ahead an' be mad all yah like, but I ain't gonna let one o' my favorite people make excuses fer their behavior, good or bad as it can be."

This wasn’t just about names. Chief was who he was and it always had been. Hugo was just what was written on a piece of paper and his holiday stocking. “I get it.” He said to keep the conversation about that short.

“Plus you know I wasn’t going to let anyone give you a hard time.” His eyes were still closed as his head leaned back against the wall behind him. “They ain’t got no right - plus those boys were like groupies and would do whatever I said.” A small smile cracked at the corner of his lips. “Or they did something because they thought I’d think it was funny.”

One eye popped open as he looked over to Maj - “…saying shit to you never made the cut. You know that.”

Chief would always do anything for her. Which is why this moment cut him deep. This was too raw and he was too scuffed up.

Then she said it. The same shite Elsa, Jake, Ralph, and even Boomer were sayin - he is just feeling sorry for himself.

“Hey.” He bit back eyes opening now. “I’m not always feeling sorry for myself! Shit is hard. I can’t get fucking right and every time I say something all I get is it all turned back on me. I know I’ve made some mistakes but what about everything else.”

Everything else was a mystery - chief never told anyone about the weight on his shoulders.

The short response makes Majdalā's brow furrow, but she doesn't say anything. As irritating as he was, as maddening as he coukd be, Hugo was her friend first.

She cares about him, even if he acted like the back end of a mule sometimes.

"Yeah, well. It still happened," she murmurs, shrugging a shoulder. It'd been a long time ago, but he didn't get to just not think it didn't happen. "An' 's alright, long time ago. I knew yah didn't ever think it was fine. Still don't," she adds, giving him a little smile.

Then, he's adds again. He's being nice about it but what Majdalā said bothers him, clearly.

Aw, thank you, that's so sweet.

Majdalā grins back, inclining her head in the briefest of nods. She can't decide if the tone's a bit off or not - and maybe it is, but she doesn't exactly mind.

"'s somethin' my granny always taught me to do, for new friends, new neighbors, new coworkers," she explains, fingers reaching up to smooth down over her scarf, half headdress and half hair tie.

Even if they weren't close, it was something safe and warm and reminded her of home.

"Yeah, no. I totally understand. Thank you for coming by! I'm doing well. Getting used to everything, but as my abuela says: you can do anything you put your mind to."

Isabela wasn't sure how much she believed her abuela about that, but that was neither here nor there. It was just nice to connect.

"Are you close with your granny?" Isabela asked curiously as she unwrapped the plate of food. "This smells delicious."

The smile means, hopefully, that this is a good turn of conversation. One that, if anything, they can work with.

Her own grin answers the other woman's and Majdalā nods, lacing her fingers together in her lap. "I agree with her. Sounds like a smart lady." And, Maj thinks, that's probably where Isabela got it from; that was how she struck you: smart, put together, kind.

Majdalā does always wonder, though, how much of it weighs on someone.

Majdalā sees something - someone - out of the corner of her eye, but they whip around her too fast to follow as he head comes up. She laughs, though, when she sees it's Buster, grins at his little bow.

Tapping her fingers on the counter she was leaning against, she cocks her head to the side to take him all in, grin ticking up higher on one side.

"Yah ran real quick. Appreciate it, honey," she hums, tone lilting with her accent, the words sincere even with the teasing quality they always seemed to have.

At his question, she shrugs her shoulders, steps away from the counter to pop her hip into his leg. "Bit o' both. Inspired by Miss Patsy's I Fall to Pieces."

It was Majdala's favorite of hers.

The smile stayed crooked but Buster couldn't offer one in any other way.

"I stay busy." His head shook. "Every day I think I will have less to do but the moon is up before I get back to my place." Lately his days had been filled with procuing and item for Wolf and well...the garage was busy but he did hit the gambling tables from time to time. "You working up a storm or what?" His brow rose. "You might be the only person I don't see around...and yes darlin' I notice."

"Lucky guess," she chirps back, words whip-quick at the tip of her tongue as she grins, head tilting as she watches him get comfortable. "An' 'cause she's always been one o' mine."

Say what you would about Buster – particularly how he didn't fit a certain mold, which Majdalā happens to like, very much – but his music tastes were impeccable.

When he says he's been busy, Maj nods. She understands. "Gotta find time, honey. We both do, unfortunately," she murmurs, runnjng a hand over her hair with a little nose wrinkle, a shake of her head.

You working up a storm or what?

A huff, and she nods again. "Somethin' like that. Been workin' extra to –" The rest of his sentence catches up to her, and Majdalā studies him for a moment, surprise laced in the look.

She spins hair around a finger, thinking about what she's going to share, and how much.

"'M tryin' tah start a business, maybe. I don't...I don't think I'll ever be able tah get on a stage again. Jus'...too much I remember that hurt too much, but 's kinda lonely jus'...exisitin'. So –"

There was something about paying attention when other spoke but selective hearing was a thing - and he was very guilty of that. Very.

At his expense though he knew he’d remember if Maj ever mentioned anything about not getting on the actual stage again. Right? Right?! Then she said she was lonely.

Pressing his lips together he heard her out and then winded out a head shake. “No wait a minute darlin. You sound like you’ve got a lot going on.”

Buster could understand dealing with a big thing like a business and then a small every day thing but it sounded like she had a lot weighing heavy on those shoulders of hers.

Yet she carried it with a shrug. Incredible.

“Wait slow down and back it up. A business?” Buster leaned forward to really look down in her eyes. “We will start there then get to that lonely part.”

Buster at least has the decency to hear her out. It's not always what she expects, but Maj was never one to label a person, whether they look st act or talk the way someone should. She never had; why should someone else?

At the question, really the comment before that, Majdalā lets out a breath, nods slowly, and presses her lips together. Thinking about what she wants to say, how much, and not blurting it all out.

"My Granny's sick. Has been, for a while." Majdalā hates that she sounds small, then, and tired, but she grins anyway. "I've visited. Been sendin' money for her care every month. Got her up in a facility but –"

She pauses, but doesn't want to shrug. She doesn't want to shrug it all off either.

"– she's th' only family I got. My momma left me on her doorstep when I was a baby an' never looked back. Always jus' been us, so when I left tah sing it was hard. Was jus' a kid when I started, nineteen."

Dark eyes flit to Buster's face, then, and take in his expression. The concern, maybe. Again, she weighs what she has to say, and how she wants to say it.

Majdalā laughs at the big man's comment, leaning a hip against the fence in thr same moment she props a boot on the lowest rung, leaning in to scratch the mare between her ears.

"Clearly huh? Well, I think she might jus' like these head scratches." His next comment (and scoff) earns a bit of a giggle and Maj turns to look at him, arching a brow.

"Dunno, yah look th' English type, all board stiff like," she continues, tone light, almost teasing. "Lord knows I ain't. Sooner sit on a piece o' wood than ride English." And that was the honest truth. It wasn't awful, really, but that was just her preference, what she'd grown with.

Her assessment of his appearance made him laugh, the idea of him even looking remotely stiff simply too funny. "Ah, you guessed my secret! 'M really a stiff ol' English type." He continued to chuckle as he went to get the saddle and brought it back to get Penelope ready. "No seriously, I couldn't do it either. I been ridin' Western for so long that it was a real shock t' th' system when I did try usin' an English one. Jus' once, never ag'in."

As he got the saddle onto Penelope, he asked, "So where 'zactly did you get your ridin' experience, if you don' mind me askin'? 'Cause I can tell you come from somewhere in my nape o' th' neck. For me, it was Colorado mainly." And pretty much everywhere else in the West.

A smile curls around Majdalā's mouth at the comment and she nods, taking his word for it. It had been such a long time since she had been around a horse. Sometimes she simply just...forgot that they were really that easy. That simple.

She's glad, too, that he seems to take her joke at face value, laughing and shaking his head as he goes to get her the saddle. Maj just gets herself acquainted with her horse, talking lowly to the mare as she scratches her on the forelock and nose.

Looking up when he comes back, Majdalā nods along with him as he talks. "My granny asked me tah try it once. That was th' one time it did. Felt flat on my butt an' never went back. 'S too uncomfortable. Never feel like I get a good enough seat."

Leaning back he just closed his eyes. There was no reason to be this way with her of all people. Maj would never really judge him - a kick in the ass sure but she would never really leave him for his wrongdoings. Or at least Chief thought so. "I just can't get right. No matter how hard I try!"

They are one in the same.

Majdalā rolls her eyes. "Maybe. Never said they weren't, Hue. I jus' like when yah ain't all swagger. If it ain't an act with me, then it sure seems it with everyone else." And, quite frankly, he worried her.

Had done ever since his accident, really, and even after they'd lost a little touch. But he would always be her friend.

"Yah know why I call yah Hugo? 'Cause yah never once made me feel like I could be anyone but Majdalā. Not once. Not even when people like yer daddy or those frat boys that always hung around th' circut use tah say shit tah me. So no. Yah might not be puttin' on an act, but that's what I choose tah remember 'boutcha."

Hugo wasn't the better version. Chief wasn't that bad one.

Hugo was simply who he was, for better or worse. And it was a shame he could never see that.

She says as much, a sad little smile on her face as she shakes her head, stepping forward to run a hand through his hair, patting him on the side of the face. "Tryin' ain't doin', honey. An' from where 'm standin'? Yah ain't exactly doin' much save actin' sorry fer yerself. Go ahead an' be mad all yah like, but I ain't gonna let one o' my favorite people make excuses fer their behavior, good or bad as it can be."

It was a little surprising, considering she and Majdalā weren't necessarily that close, but then again: Isabela wasn't really that close with anyone. She had her friends, of course, but most of them she kept at a distance anyway. Outside of her family, there weren't many people she trusted to show her true self.

But, she tried to cultivate a warm atmosphere around her. A pleasant one. That drew people in, like bees to a flower.

"Why don't you sit down? I don't have any meetings this afternoon, so my schedule is pretty clear. I was about to take my lunch break anyway."

Aw, thank you, that's so sweet.

Majdalā grins back, inclining her head in the briefest of nods. She can't decide if the tone's a bit off or not - and maybe it is, but she doesn't exactly mind.

"'s somethin' my granny always taught me to do, for new friends, new neighbors, new coworkers," she explains, fingers reaching up to smooth down over her scarf, half headdress and half hair tie.

Even if they weren't close, it was something safe and warm and reminded her of home.