There’s a lot to unload in the rush of words that came out of Willa, and Noa stops herself short of waving off the apology near the end. It’s not necessary, but it’s not unwelcome either. Some of what she said Noa can relate to and some of it she can’t. Most especially not knowing where to fit into life at the Dog Park. Noa’s always had her place, always been well practiced in it, long before she ever stepped foot into the state of Texas. MC’s at their core all run the same, even if they don’t always look the same.
“This place ain’t a cakewalk,” Noa starts first and foremost, doesn’t elaborate and use fifteen words when five will do. She isn’t necessarily even looking to reassure Willa, because coddling would be more than unecessary with the kind of woman Willa Davidson is. “And it doesn’t always make sense that the ones wearing cuts get the most authority, I’ll admit to that. But it’s the way we work.” Noa offers a little shrug as punctuation.
“Most of the time a message like yours goes up, we assume you were given authority somewhere along the way. Derek just ain’t been here in awhile, so he got hot under the collar.” And Noa doesn’t doubt that aside from Rodeo and Bishop he might’ve heard a thing or two from Vic also. “But you didn’t misstep any. Probably ain’t been making as bad of an impression as you might think either.” If she had Noa thinks she would have heard more than just the complaining of bitches. “I ain’t been told really, but I suspect you fall somewhere near me in the mess of ranks, being that you got enough history with Bishop to make him slap someone down the way he did. But I could draw you up a diagram if it would help,” she finishes with an attempt to add levity to the conversation.