Flint Madden (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
flint_garou) wrote2012-02-03 02:45 pm
flint_garou) wrote2012-02-03 02:45 pm
Entry tags:
Not the best moon for this lesson.
Why is she so damn enthusiastic.
3 February, 2012
The moon is in the waxing Gibbous (Galliard) Moon phase (76% full).
Flint currently perches on the table of the breakroom, cross-legged and with no care that he's sitting on a surface not meant for sitting on. The boy sings, for the moment wordlessly, the melody drifting in and out unrecognisible.
Riley doesn't just stumble into the break room with a disruptive quip and an accusation about slices of cake this time. The Ragabash pauses out in the hallway, out of sight of the breakroom proper, and leans his back against the wall, head craned slightly to one side as he takes a moment to listen in on the song.
Cheese Doodle skulks her way along the hall, seemingly oblivious to the odd behaviour out of the newest walker. She pauses at the door to the breakroom, before heading in. The wolf doesn't even acknowledge Riley or Flint. No, the fridge is all that exists in her sad, sad life.
It sounds to be a ballad — Blue-Sky's Triumph, in fact — except that the melody is fading in and out, as if the boy doesn't quite know the song that he's singing, but is making the insistent and stubborn attempt to try anyway. This continues for several minutes longer, before the cub looks, notices Doodle entering. "Hi Doodle-rhya," he offers, jumping down off the table after a moment with a slight thunk.
Cheese Doodle bumps the Fridge open with her head. It takes some doing, basically butting the thing until she can get her head wedged into the crack and push it the rest of the way. When she does, she puts her paws on a shelf and peers in, listlessly. Flint? What Flint?
Riley lets his gaze skirt over toward the lupus as she approaches from the opposite direction that he's just come from, and blinks her way. When she slinks right into the breakroom, he puffs an inaudible little sigh and leans himself off of his wall of choice and follows after her into the breakroom, giving Flint a nod of greeting. "Got some pipes to ya, kid." Doodle's tail-end is given a thoughtful look for a moment before he stumps himself on words. He heads her off at the fridge, giving her back a gentle poke. "Hey, dood. You want a sandwich?"
"Thanks," Flint mutters quietly, watching the exchange between the other two Walkers.
Cheese Doodle stands obliviously in the middle of the fridge, staring at the contents, before Riley's poke seems to nudge her out of her reverie. Maybe misunderstanding the question from the Ragabash, she gets out of his way, hopping down from the Fridge.
Riley throws a helpless look over his shoulder as Doodle doesn't reply in any meaningful way, and clears his throat. "Yeah, well. I'm making sandwiches." He opens the drawer that contains lunch meat and cheeses, and tosses a few kinds over on the countertop, throwing down three plates. Not looking at Doodle, it's difficult to communicate. So he talks to Flint instead, "It's nice. Haven't gotten to listen to a Galliard go at it in a while. Don't be afraid to sing something new-school." His nose wrinkles, "Imposing restrictions on Katy Perry, though."
Cheese Doodle's eyes search up and down Riley, before she seems to notice the number of plates. The Fostern dutifully gets out of the way, heading on over to some place to sit down. Cub makes nice noises, she vaguely affirms.
Flint looks over at Riley, nods, and watches Doodle as well. "Thank you," he affirms, echoing that in his posture as much as he actually can. Then, brow furrows in thought. "What about Linkin' Park?" he asks Riley.
Riley slathers mayonnaise on the bread, slaps down a random assortment of meats and cheeses, and everyone is left with two sandwiches on their plate, a mysterious grab-bag of bologna, salami, ham, turkey, provolone, and cheddar, depending. He all but forces everyone's plate upon them, putting Flint directly into his hand and not taking no for an answer. Doodle's is set in front of her, and Riley folds his legs, sitting down and putting his own plate right next to it. He twitches at Flint's suggestion, "Newer stuff is fine, but if you start crawling in your skin, you get a wound that may not heal." His attention sways to Doodle. "Hey, sad wolf. No one is mad."
Cheese Doodle sniffs at the sandwich while the two others talk music, making no effort to hide her utter lack of comprehension for a change. Pop culture references that aren't TV related plus English equals an oblivious Cheese Doodle. She starts to turn her head to lick at the sandwich, checking it out, when Riley talks to her. She looks apologetic at Riley, ears laying back. It was a bad fit. I would have just made the totem angry, later.
Flint laughs, a little, at Riley's twitch. "Metallica?" That's the next suggestion, and it's pretty obvious where Flint's taste in more modern music lies. But hey, at least it isn't Katy Perry.
Riley sits back, taking a large chomp of his sandwich and shrugs his shoulders, casting a glance Flint's way to make sure Doodle knows she needs not concern herself with these words in particular. "Metallica's fine. You should totally sing Ecstasy of Gold." This bring a self-amused grin briefly to his features. He offers a hand tentatively forward to lay it between Cheese Doodle's ears, asking simply, "Why?"
Cheese Doodle's ears twitch a bit, but mostly stay where they are. I'm not really good with the high stuff. Jumping and Flying and Being Fast. I'm better at umbra and computers and things. She gives Riley yet another very apologetic look, as if to say 'sorry'.
Flint picks up his own sandwich, taking an enthusiastic bite from it no matter the mix of contents. As the cub eats, he hums. Not what Riley suggested, however, but Metallica's Nothing Else Matters.
Riley gives Flint something of a look, but is apparently not offended enough to stop the cub. He gives Doodle's head a gentle scritch, and then stands, snags some utensils from a drawer and plops back down, giving Doodle's sandwich a few swift vivisections so she doesn't have to awkwardly rip it apart if she wants to eat. He seems to be in thought for a moment, but finally asks, "Would cockroach be angry at me if I jumped and climbed?"
Cheese Doodle licks her nose, getting up a bit in doing so. She investigates the sandwich a moment. Roach probably won't, she ventures, though not with any great conviction. Eventually, looking up from the sandwich: I can teach you something? To say sorry. I learned it from spirits.
After several bars of the song, just enough really that it's clear that the cub manages to have a nice voice, a bright and clear young soprano, even when humming around food, it fades. Flint's focus shifts to the sandwich, although he may well be paying attention to the conversation, given as he watches Cheese Doodle.
Riley pauses and looks momentarily frustrated about something before he takes a few knelt steps away from his plate and snaps effortlessly over to Lupus, making for quite a lanky-looking black wolf. Evac peers at Cheese Doodle for a long moment, then shakes his head. Cheese doesn't need to say it is sorry, not ever. This one thinks that the totem would not be shamed by anything she did, because she is awesome—but following the wrong totem is a not good thing. These are not angry, and don't want you to be sad. This one hopes you're okay with still hanging out. This one isn't the best at talking like this, but hopes she gets what this one is saying. This one likes Cheese a lot, cheer up. Eat sandwich.
Cheese Doodle hesitantly waves her tail from side to side, before bumping into Riley. Okay, she says, a little less uncomfortably. Settling down, she does just what he suggests, and starts gnawing on meaty goodness. If you want to learn it later, though.
Evac bobs his head in a human-emoted nod. Yes. This one would learn.
Cheese Doodle chews exaggeratedly, before tipping her head back to swallow. Okay! Let's talk later, OK? I need to remember how the spirit explained it to me.
Flint finishes his sandwich with that teenaged enthusiasm, and gets back down from where he'd half sat on the table, peering at Cheese Doodle and Evac, before he shifts down to lupus, sprawls out on the floor a little bit away from them. There. The cub's ears perk, tail wags a tiny bit.
The lanky black wolf is banished away even more swiftly than it had been brought forward, and Riley leans forward to snag his sandwich up. It's not like he means to snub poor Flint, he just wants to eat his sandwich with hands. Hands are nice. He reaches over to floof the cub's fur with a swift ruffle of his hand to show that he's not intentionally avoiding him or anything. "Been awhile since I stretched my lupus and Hispo legs, not much chance in New York City."
Cheese Doodle quickly polishes off the sandwich, packing it down in what must be record speed. Hungry like a wolf indeed! She licks the plate clean, before starting to head Flint-ward. She seems a tad surprised to see him in Lupus.
Tail wags. Again. All-In-Stride seems to take absolutely no offense by Riley's desire to eat with hands. Ears perk towards Cheese Doodle, and the cub offers a very tentative sniff and more proper greeting.
Cheese Doodle sniffs back at Flint, though not really enthusiastically, and she doesn't go for the crotch. She does sniff his behind momentarily, though. Some habits can't be broken. Why are you in lupus?
Tail presses close to his legs for a moment, though otherwise All-In-Stride tolerates the sniffing very, very well, and then the cub stretches, paws out in front and behind him. Because he can. The cub tries to spend some time in this form. It seemed like a good idea, right now. Then, his ears splay as his attention goes to Cheese Doodle a little more. Why? Should he not be?
Cheese Doodle cocks her head to the side, before giving him a flat negative. It's fine. Just, most human cubs and cliaths aren't. They're better in their own form. I'm awesome in homid, but I might be better in Lupus.
Riley is just eating his sandwich, but he leeeeeans over to give a corrective bump with his knuckle between the top of the cub's ears, muttering around his sandwich, "Where did you get it in your head that everyone that's your higher-up is out to bite you, is what I wanna know, kid. You're home, feel free to ease up a little. Not a lot, a little."
Cheese Doodle doesn't bite often!, she supplies oh so helpfully. Only if you really have it coming.
Tongue lolls out in amusement, and the cub pushes himself to his feet, getting up and moving over to nudge Riley's ankle with one paw, playfully and in acknowledgement of the Ragabash's words. He does like practising four feet, though. He is not as good at it, but that is what practise is for.
Riley wriggles his foot back and forth as it's batted at, leaning his head back as he works on a gargantuanly large bite of sandwich. He talks around it, of course. Very polite. Refined. "Mmhmm. Practicing is good, right? We could give you more gun practice! Except let's not."
It's called Lupus! Cheese Doodle helpfully supplies. The mention of guns gets Cheese Doodle all excited, though. Gun? Where?!
All-in-Stride pauses in the middle of batting Riley's ankle some more, paw left in place as Riley brings up that particular lesson. Ears splay at the topic, in fact. It's not something that the cub is particularly eager about, being shot by guns. Then he releases Riley's ankle, turns instead with the same playfulness and a tailwag on Cheese Doodle. Lupus. Yes. The slightly unfamiliar concept gets repeated a few times.
Riley's lips twist in obvious amusement, at the picture of one excited lupus and another unhappy-looking one. "Don't want to get shot again? Really?" He seems unsurprised! He pauses and gestures to the closet, "But… as for guns, there's a few new ones in the closet there. I'm doing my best to shore up our armory a little bit in my spare time. Good for Kin in case of emergency, and good for us if we need some variety in our personal arsenals. Nothing too impressive yet, but I'm keeping my eyes out. I'd really like to get us some higher quality stuff, but… you're… probably only catching half of this, huh?" He stops himself to peer at Doodle. "Guns in the closet. Shotgun, strong pistol, weak pistol. Trying to find more."
Cheese Doodle perks up quickly, and begins jumping in a small circle. Oooh! I want to shoot the cub! I want to! Let's practice more!
Ears splay again, and All-In-Stride's tail moves back to hug one leg again. That lesson is in his birth form, he notes. At that point, the cub looks over at Riley. Being shot was not that bad. But the part before being allowed to shift hurt.
Riley reaches over and bobs Doodle on the head this time, rolling his eyes, "You can shoot the guns all you want, but no shooting the cubs. Or me." He pauses and then brightly announces, "You can shoot Chris, if you see him!"
Cheese Doodle wrinkles her nose, bristling a smidgeon when Riley instructs her. If Mouse tells me not to, I won't, she says, her posture none-so-subtly shifting to a push back against the perceived attempt at dominance from Riley.
All-in-Stride looks between Cheese Doodle, and Riley, and then moves over, putting Riley between himself and the philodox. The cub's tail still hugs his leg, head low and almost to the ground. As for the interchange between the two Fostern, he simply does not have anything to add.
Riley puffs an audible sigh, and lazily flops down on his back, briefly pawing the air as though to indicate more clearly that he's exposing his belly. Perceptions of dominance are really the last of his concerns. From his back, Riley takes another bite of sandwich and flips his cell phone open, dialing. "Hey, Chief, got a sec?"
Cheese Doodle seems placated, and licks her nose. When she walks back over to the plate, she does so with a slightly higher posture, pleased at her status in the world.
All-in-Stride is wary, now, slinking over and around the table towards the more open and empty space of the breakroom.
Riley murmurs into the phone, "'Doodle wants to know if it's cool if she gives Flint another shooting lesson. She seems… very enthusiastic about it, in fact." He pauses, and seems uncertain for a moment. "I hadn't asked."
Cheese Doodle's ears perk when she hears her name mentioned, and spins about to look at Riley with great interest.
Riley can be seen to immediately palm his face, letting his fingertips drag slowly down, and gives Flint a bit of a look as he unenthusiastically replies, "Alright. I'll, uh. Tell her." He glances then to Doodle, "She said Basement or Woods, and you're cleaning up. And not to mess up the walls."
All-in-Stride just lays down, as close to the floor as he can manage, tail curled around him. Not exactly what he wanted to hear.
It's Christmas, the 4th of July, and her Birthday all rolled into one. Doodle is ecstatic. Running around in an excited circle, she quickly shifts to homid, and waves for the cub to come enthusiastically. "Pasemant!"
All-in-Stride doesn't move, in fact, aside from to tuck his tail closer to him.
Riley shoves the rest of his sandwich in his mouth and pushes himself up to his feet, a slightly sour look at the phone, then glances over to All-in-Stride. He wanders over and rests a hand on his shoulder. "This is important. It sucks, but you'll be getting shot a lot." He pauses, and glances to Doodle, "Hey, guess what, dood. You can shoot me, too."
Clarice seems even more excited at this idea. "Soot effryone!" She says, excitedly. And then notices the cub not sharing her excitement. A frown comes. She gestures a little more insistently. "Come!"
All-in-Stride knows it is important. Yes. The cub also seems to take some assurance from Riley's hand, turning to shove his nose at the Ragabash's hand for a moment, before backing up a little, shifting up into homid. "At least let me get clothes that aren't dedicated?" he asks, sounding almost plaintive. "These ones actually fit me."
Riley looks relieved when Flint doesn't obstinately refuse to move. He arches a brow at the request and gives a shake of his head, "I'll grab you a towel on the way down or something if you want, but you gotta get over the body issue thing, too at some point. Go on, now. Downstairs."
Clarice, when she sees actual progress is being made, almost gleefully hops to go retrieve a gun, and scamper down to the basement. She waits for the others to come down, the gun in hand. She grins from ear to ear, like this is the highlight of her day.
Riley casually carries along the corresponding clip to the gun, which had been divorced from it. He turns an exasperated look down at the clip full of .45 caliber ammunition, mumbling, "You just grabbed the biggest gun you saw, didn't you?" There's a hint of amusement in his tone, at least. Flint is clapped on the shoulder, "You want to go first or second?"
Flint tromps down the stairs to the basement, pretty much shedding clothing items into his hand as he goes, and by the bottom of the stairs the cub simply stands in boxers and an a-shirt. "These fit me," the cub explains. "I don't want them ruined. It took Kavi-rhya a while to find ones that would fit." And in fact, Flint is skinny, not quite stick skinny, but nonetheless. His clothing is set in a pile by the stairs, and he looks to Riley. "How long do I need to wait before I can shift, this time?" the boy asks.
Clarice, seeing a cockroach scurry on by, distracts herself for a moment by taking some opened cat food on a table and setting it on the floor for the insect with huge grin spread across her face. She seems to take all the talking as a sign that Flint is ready, and when she stands up, points the gun at him and pulls the trigger. A loud click sounds, potentially giving the unsuspecting a start, but there's no sharp 'pop' of gunfire. No bullets, after all.
Arching his brows up, Riley murmurs, "If you don't want them ruined, you should probably take them off." He sounds puzzled that he has to clarify this fact. Despite his mention of bringing a towel, he never actually got around to doing it. Imagine that. The click of the weapon has Riley looking up, brow furrowing. He casually turns his back for a moment, rapidly emptying the bullets from the clip and then popping two back in. Because it just seems like a Good Idea. "However long you think you can. That's the point. We're not testing you, you're testing yourself. Now get yourself ready. I imagine we only have til' she loads that thing." He tosses the clip to Clarice, pocketing the other eight rounds of ammunition in his coat pocket and then starting to strip down.
Flint ducks a nod to Riley. "'Kay," the boy responds, pulling off the a-shirt and throwing it into the pile. Best not get blood on it, either, though it's more easily replaced than the rest of his clothing. His ribs are still easily visible even in this form, and then he takes a few steps further into the room, watching the Philodox. Steeling himself.
Riley doesn't want to roll about with bloodied boxers, and strips all the way down without batting an eyelash, though he does comment to Doodle, "Don't shoot anything important."
Riley adds, "Please."
She doesn't give him that long. Doodle catches the clip, and slips it in. Immediately, she she raises the gun again and almost instantly fires, mid-way through Flint taking off his shirt. The shirt is safe. Flint's knee, not so much.
"Fuck," Flint mutters, vehemently, as he loses his footing, his other leg going out to compensate. Shirt is thrown aside as he just stands there on his uninjured leg, grimacing in pain. But on the other hand, he seems to be dealing with it. For now.
Riley winces at the echoing crack of the gun, and then turns his attention curiously to see where he's been hit, and is rewarded by seeing the grisly mess that is Flint's knee. "Don't put any weight on that," Riley advises. "And don't look at it."
Clarice seems thrilled about this, while the others are chagrined. She all but forces the gun into Riley's hands, before taking off her top like the others. "Don' tase me bro!" she says, excitedly. Who taught her that?
Unfortunately, upon being told not to look at it, that's exactly the first thing that Flint does, look down at his knee and see what it currently look likes. No weight is put upon it, though, and the galliard cub just remains stone still, except to look over at the philodox. "Birth form," he mutters, mustering a faint grin. And then, a louder exclamation of pain than the first one. "FUCK."
Riley peers down at the gun in that's been pushed into his hand, and isn't able to resist cracking an extremely inappropriate smile and chuckling under his breath, "You're crazy, dood. I like it." He ejects the clip, ducks to his pants pocket and grabs another bullet, and feeds it into the clip. Now there's two in there, again. He sets his gun at his hip, "Draw!" he shouts to Doodle, and then flips the barrel up, cleanly clipping the Fostern in the upper arm.
"FUCKING!" Doodle cries, involuntarily. It makes a bit of a mess, with bits of blood splattering about. She stamps her feet a few times, but unlike the Walker cub, the wound stops bleeding almost immediately.
Mouse shouts from upstairs, "Fat moon, Doodle!"
That's it. That is as long as Flint can deal with this, especially with the fact that Doodle is lucky, in homid, and heals. The boy shifts up to glabro first, remaining still and in place, albeit snarling and not exactly happy with things. The moment that he can put weight on his leg, though, he does, with a bit of annoyance, and shifts again for the warform in his frustration, moving towards the stairs, clothes grabbed on his way up and out.
The door from the basement opens, perhaps more loudly than usual, and when the earlier procession through the lobby had been Clarice, then Flint, then Riley, it is only Flint who emerges, a low snarl still in the back of the cub's throat. In the warform, decidedly grumpy, his clothing clutched in one hand. He pauses, though, upon seeing Mouse and Keir, ducks his head.
Keir looks mildly interested at that. "City-spirits? For —your new caern spirits, or are they just making themselves kno—" And then, up tromps Flint, and he tips his head that way just a little, though he doesn't face him fully. "—known." He waits, though he clearly senses the presence of another.
"The latter," Mouse says, eyeing Flint's arrival. "Though they're trying to make deals with us. —Flint, glabro. And introduce yourself, if you would."
All-in-Stride snarls, though it is not at Mouse. It's just in general. The cub's just upset, it would seem. At the request, however, he gives a long and honest try to shift back to the requested form, and then looks up. Instead, however, he makes his way towards across from Mouse, widely skirting both Keir and the Walker Elder, and sits down on the floor. ~Not calm enough,~ the boy responds, apologetic in tones.
"So make yourself calm," the ahroun says, simply. "Rage is part of a state of being. Accept it, let it burn, but don't let it dictate." Then he pauses. "But it is not my place. I am Keir, once of the Sept of the Green, once of the Beast Courts. Faith-Leads-The-Sightless, fostern and metis and watched over by the Lady Chimera."
"And," Mouse says, as if adding on to Keir's words, "It is far too fat a moon for you to sit in that form. You're not going to feel calmer until you shift down."
This time, the boy shifts down, though only to the requested Glabro. One hand goes out to poke, very tentatively, at the newly healed area of his knee, and then he looks up, at both Keir and Mouse. "Flint," the cub states. "Called Takes-It-All-In-Stride, Galliard cub." He pauses, his free hand still forming into an involuntary fist for a moment. "Glass Walker." Another pause, and the cub looks over at Mouse. "Sorry, Mouse-rhya," he mutters.
Keir bobs his head once. "Good to meet you, Flint." And, his head cocks a little, though he's not 'looking' in Flint's precise direction. "You were the one being shot, I assume?"
Mouse waves her hand at Flint. "It's fine, just keep in mind that you're a lot pissier in crinos even on the best of days. Right now it's your moon."
Flint pokes his knee apparently wrong, because it's followed immediately by a low whine, though Flint does seem like he's relatively content to sit on the floor of the lobby, right now. "Yes," he says. It seems to be an acknowledgement of both the question, and the Elder's statement.
"Hm," the Stargazer muses, and then: "The city-spirits. What kind of deals are they trying to make?"
Mouse nods at the cub before looking back to Keir. "Working relationships. We do stuff for them, they do stuff for us. One of them wants to preserve the city the way it was. Get the people in touch with the city's history, and so on, and make sure the Caern and the city stay where they've always been. That's Jeb. He's kind've big on stasis and history. The other one wants progress, and the future, and our help clearing out Wyrm infestations, with a promise not to, to use her words, 'impede' her. She's offered to find and help secure us a place to recharge once the Caern is gone."
As the two talk, Flint remains seated where he is, turning after a moment with some grumbling to look at the half-bundle of clothing that was put down next to him. Then there's as much of a snarl as he can manage in his current form, as frustration returns upon inspection, that the shirt and jeans both got several large tears in them. Probably from being grabbed by an angry crinos cub.
"Contradicting each other," the ahroun muses. "Interesting, but it puts this place at a bit of an—ah, a quandary, yeah?" A wry half-smile at that. "History and future. Both have their place, but it's hard getting them to agree to that, I'd wager." The grumbles of the cub are heard, and he hehs. "Troubles?"
"Yeah," Mouse says, tone rueful. "We're going to meet with the second one, Claire, fairly soon. But I doubt they're likely to agree to work together." She reaches up and rakes fingers through her hair. "How about I go get a room set up for you? It's been a damn long day."
"Clothing torn," Flint grumbles, almost petulantly, gathering the torn garments. The rage that tenses in the cub's shoulders can also be heard in his voice. "The other set doesn't fit so great."
"Indeed," the Stargazer sighs. "And yes, that'd be good. I should get settled tonight, myself." To Flint: "Well. I'm sure you can find some that does."
"Be back with the key in a few," Mouse says, before heading for the stairs.
Flint gathers the clothing all the way, and then gets up, moving until he's a few feet directly in front of Keir. "Eventually," he agrees, a smile audible in his voice. "It was nice to meet you, Keirs," the cub adds, reaching up to rub a hand at his brow. "I should. I should go upstairs and go to sleep."
Keir gives a nod, and then again to Flint. "You as well. Sleep well, Flint."
"Thank you, Keir-rhya," Flint responds, and then the sound of heavy footfalls can be heard, as well as the telltale 'ding' of the elevator several moments later, leaving the Ahroun to wait for the Walker Elder's return in relative peace. If that definition includes the noise from the basement.
3 February, 2012
The moon is in the waxing Gibbous (Galliard) Moon phase (76% full).
Flint currently perches on the table of the breakroom, cross-legged and with no care that he's sitting on a surface not meant for sitting on. The boy sings, for the moment wordlessly, the melody drifting in and out unrecognisible.
Riley doesn't just stumble into the break room with a disruptive quip and an accusation about slices of cake this time. The Ragabash pauses out in the hallway, out of sight of the breakroom proper, and leans his back against the wall, head craned slightly to one side as he takes a moment to listen in on the song.
Cheese Doodle skulks her way along the hall, seemingly oblivious to the odd behaviour out of the newest walker. She pauses at the door to the breakroom, before heading in. The wolf doesn't even acknowledge Riley or Flint. No, the fridge is all that exists in her sad, sad life.
It sounds to be a ballad — Blue-Sky's Triumph, in fact — except that the melody is fading in and out, as if the boy doesn't quite know the song that he's singing, but is making the insistent and stubborn attempt to try anyway. This continues for several minutes longer, before the cub looks, notices Doodle entering. "Hi Doodle-rhya," he offers, jumping down off the table after a moment with a slight thunk.
Cheese Doodle bumps the Fridge open with her head. It takes some doing, basically butting the thing until she can get her head wedged into the crack and push it the rest of the way. When she does, she puts her paws on a shelf and peers in, listlessly. Flint? What Flint?
Riley lets his gaze skirt over toward the lupus as she approaches from the opposite direction that he's just come from, and blinks her way. When she slinks right into the breakroom, he puffs an inaudible little sigh and leans himself off of his wall of choice and follows after her into the breakroom, giving Flint a nod of greeting. "Got some pipes to ya, kid." Doodle's tail-end is given a thoughtful look for a moment before he stumps himself on words. He heads her off at the fridge, giving her back a gentle poke. "Hey, dood. You want a sandwich?"
"Thanks," Flint mutters quietly, watching the exchange between the other two Walkers.
Cheese Doodle stands obliviously in the middle of the fridge, staring at the contents, before Riley's poke seems to nudge her out of her reverie. Maybe misunderstanding the question from the Ragabash, she gets out of his way, hopping down from the Fridge.
Riley throws a helpless look over his shoulder as Doodle doesn't reply in any meaningful way, and clears his throat. "Yeah, well. I'm making sandwiches." He opens the drawer that contains lunch meat and cheeses, and tosses a few kinds over on the countertop, throwing down three plates. Not looking at Doodle, it's difficult to communicate. So he talks to Flint instead, "It's nice. Haven't gotten to listen to a Galliard go at it in a while. Don't be afraid to sing something new-school." His nose wrinkles, "Imposing restrictions on Katy Perry, though."
Cheese Doodle's eyes search up and down Riley, before she seems to notice the number of plates. The Fostern dutifully gets out of the way, heading on over to some place to sit down. Cub makes nice noises, she vaguely affirms.
Flint looks over at Riley, nods, and watches Doodle as well. "Thank you," he affirms, echoing that in his posture as much as he actually can. Then, brow furrows in thought. "What about Linkin' Park?" he asks Riley.
Riley slathers mayonnaise on the bread, slaps down a random assortment of meats and cheeses, and everyone is left with two sandwiches on their plate, a mysterious grab-bag of bologna, salami, ham, turkey, provolone, and cheddar, depending. He all but forces everyone's plate upon them, putting Flint directly into his hand and not taking no for an answer. Doodle's is set in front of her, and Riley folds his legs, sitting down and putting his own plate right next to it. He twitches at Flint's suggestion, "Newer stuff is fine, but if you start crawling in your skin, you get a wound that may not heal." His attention sways to Doodle. "Hey, sad wolf. No one is mad."
Cheese Doodle sniffs at the sandwich while the two others talk music, making no effort to hide her utter lack of comprehension for a change. Pop culture references that aren't TV related plus English equals an oblivious Cheese Doodle. She starts to turn her head to lick at the sandwich, checking it out, when Riley talks to her. She looks apologetic at Riley, ears laying back. It was a bad fit. I would have just made the totem angry, later.
Flint laughs, a little, at Riley's twitch. "Metallica?" That's the next suggestion, and it's pretty obvious where Flint's taste in more modern music lies. But hey, at least it isn't Katy Perry.
Riley sits back, taking a large chomp of his sandwich and shrugs his shoulders, casting a glance Flint's way to make sure Doodle knows she needs not concern herself with these words in particular. "Metallica's fine. You should totally sing Ecstasy of Gold." This bring a self-amused grin briefly to his features. He offers a hand tentatively forward to lay it between Cheese Doodle's ears, asking simply, "Why?"
Cheese Doodle's ears twitch a bit, but mostly stay where they are. I'm not really good with the high stuff. Jumping and Flying and Being Fast. I'm better at umbra and computers and things. She gives Riley yet another very apologetic look, as if to say 'sorry'.
Flint picks up his own sandwich, taking an enthusiastic bite from it no matter the mix of contents. As the cub eats, he hums. Not what Riley suggested, however, but Metallica's Nothing Else Matters.
Riley gives Flint something of a look, but is apparently not offended enough to stop the cub. He gives Doodle's head a gentle scritch, and then stands, snags some utensils from a drawer and plops back down, giving Doodle's sandwich a few swift vivisections so she doesn't have to awkwardly rip it apart if she wants to eat. He seems to be in thought for a moment, but finally asks, "Would cockroach be angry at me if I jumped and climbed?"
Cheese Doodle licks her nose, getting up a bit in doing so. She investigates the sandwich a moment. Roach probably won't, she ventures, though not with any great conviction. Eventually, looking up from the sandwich: I can teach you something? To say sorry. I learned it from spirits.
After several bars of the song, just enough really that it's clear that the cub manages to have a nice voice, a bright and clear young soprano, even when humming around food, it fades. Flint's focus shifts to the sandwich, although he may well be paying attention to the conversation, given as he watches Cheese Doodle.
Riley pauses and looks momentarily frustrated about something before he takes a few knelt steps away from his plate and snaps effortlessly over to Lupus, making for quite a lanky-looking black wolf. Evac peers at Cheese Doodle for a long moment, then shakes his head. Cheese doesn't need to say it is sorry, not ever. This one thinks that the totem would not be shamed by anything she did, because she is awesome—but following the wrong totem is a not good thing. These are not angry, and don't want you to be sad. This one hopes you're okay with still hanging out. This one isn't the best at talking like this, but hopes she gets what this one is saying. This one likes Cheese a lot, cheer up. Eat sandwich.
Cheese Doodle hesitantly waves her tail from side to side, before bumping into Riley. Okay, she says, a little less uncomfortably. Settling down, she does just what he suggests, and starts gnawing on meaty goodness. If you want to learn it later, though.
Evac bobs his head in a human-emoted nod. Yes. This one would learn.
Cheese Doodle chews exaggeratedly, before tipping her head back to swallow. Okay! Let's talk later, OK? I need to remember how the spirit explained it to me.
Flint finishes his sandwich with that teenaged enthusiasm, and gets back down from where he'd half sat on the table, peering at Cheese Doodle and Evac, before he shifts down to lupus, sprawls out on the floor a little bit away from them. There. The cub's ears perk, tail wags a tiny bit.
The lanky black wolf is banished away even more swiftly than it had been brought forward, and Riley leans forward to snag his sandwich up. It's not like he means to snub poor Flint, he just wants to eat his sandwich with hands. Hands are nice. He reaches over to floof the cub's fur with a swift ruffle of his hand to show that he's not intentionally avoiding him or anything. "Been awhile since I stretched my lupus and Hispo legs, not much chance in New York City."
Cheese Doodle quickly polishes off the sandwich, packing it down in what must be record speed. Hungry like a wolf indeed! She licks the plate clean, before starting to head Flint-ward. She seems a tad surprised to see him in Lupus.
Tail wags. Again. All-In-Stride seems to take absolutely no offense by Riley's desire to eat with hands. Ears perk towards Cheese Doodle, and the cub offers a very tentative sniff and more proper greeting.
Cheese Doodle sniffs back at Flint, though not really enthusiastically, and she doesn't go for the crotch. She does sniff his behind momentarily, though. Some habits can't be broken. Why are you in lupus?
Tail presses close to his legs for a moment, though otherwise All-In-Stride tolerates the sniffing very, very well, and then the cub stretches, paws out in front and behind him. Because he can. The cub tries to spend some time in this form. It seemed like a good idea, right now. Then, his ears splay as his attention goes to Cheese Doodle a little more. Why? Should he not be?
Cheese Doodle cocks her head to the side, before giving him a flat negative. It's fine. Just, most human cubs and cliaths aren't. They're better in their own form. I'm awesome in homid, but I might be better in Lupus.
Riley is just eating his sandwich, but he leeeeeans over to give a corrective bump with his knuckle between the top of the cub's ears, muttering around his sandwich, "Where did you get it in your head that everyone that's your higher-up is out to bite you, is what I wanna know, kid. You're home, feel free to ease up a little. Not a lot, a little."
Cheese Doodle doesn't bite often!, she supplies oh so helpfully. Only if you really have it coming.
Tongue lolls out in amusement, and the cub pushes himself to his feet, getting up and moving over to nudge Riley's ankle with one paw, playfully and in acknowledgement of the Ragabash's words. He does like practising four feet, though. He is not as good at it, but that is what practise is for.
Riley wriggles his foot back and forth as it's batted at, leaning his head back as he works on a gargantuanly large bite of sandwich. He talks around it, of course. Very polite. Refined. "Mmhmm. Practicing is good, right? We could give you more gun practice! Except let's not."
It's called Lupus! Cheese Doodle helpfully supplies. The mention of guns gets Cheese Doodle all excited, though. Gun? Where?!
All-in-Stride pauses in the middle of batting Riley's ankle some more, paw left in place as Riley brings up that particular lesson. Ears splay at the topic, in fact. It's not something that the cub is particularly eager about, being shot by guns. Then he releases Riley's ankle, turns instead with the same playfulness and a tailwag on Cheese Doodle. Lupus. Yes. The slightly unfamiliar concept gets repeated a few times.
Riley's lips twist in obvious amusement, at the picture of one excited lupus and another unhappy-looking one. "Don't want to get shot again? Really?" He seems unsurprised! He pauses and gestures to the closet, "But… as for guns, there's a few new ones in the closet there. I'm doing my best to shore up our armory a little bit in my spare time. Good for Kin in case of emergency, and good for us if we need some variety in our personal arsenals. Nothing too impressive yet, but I'm keeping my eyes out. I'd really like to get us some higher quality stuff, but… you're… probably only catching half of this, huh?" He stops himself to peer at Doodle. "Guns in the closet. Shotgun, strong pistol, weak pistol. Trying to find more."
Cheese Doodle perks up quickly, and begins jumping in a small circle. Oooh! I want to shoot the cub! I want to! Let's practice more!
Ears splay again, and All-In-Stride's tail moves back to hug one leg again. That lesson is in his birth form, he notes. At that point, the cub looks over at Riley. Being shot was not that bad. But the part before being allowed to shift hurt.
Riley reaches over and bobs Doodle on the head this time, rolling his eyes, "You can shoot the guns all you want, but no shooting the cubs. Or me." He pauses and then brightly announces, "You can shoot Chris, if you see him!"
Cheese Doodle wrinkles her nose, bristling a smidgeon when Riley instructs her. If Mouse tells me not to, I won't, she says, her posture none-so-subtly shifting to a push back against the perceived attempt at dominance from Riley.
All-in-Stride looks between Cheese Doodle, and Riley, and then moves over, putting Riley between himself and the philodox. The cub's tail still hugs his leg, head low and almost to the ground. As for the interchange between the two Fostern, he simply does not have anything to add.
Riley puffs an audible sigh, and lazily flops down on his back, briefly pawing the air as though to indicate more clearly that he's exposing his belly. Perceptions of dominance are really the last of his concerns. From his back, Riley takes another bite of sandwich and flips his cell phone open, dialing. "Hey, Chief, got a sec?"
Cheese Doodle seems placated, and licks her nose. When she walks back over to the plate, she does so with a slightly higher posture, pleased at her status in the world.
All-in-Stride is wary, now, slinking over and around the table towards the more open and empty space of the breakroom.
Riley murmurs into the phone, "'Doodle wants to know if it's cool if she gives Flint another shooting lesson. She seems… very enthusiastic about it, in fact." He pauses, and seems uncertain for a moment. "I hadn't asked."
Cheese Doodle's ears perk when she hears her name mentioned, and spins about to look at Riley with great interest.
Riley can be seen to immediately palm his face, letting his fingertips drag slowly down, and gives Flint a bit of a look as he unenthusiastically replies, "Alright. I'll, uh. Tell her." He glances then to Doodle, "She said Basement or Woods, and you're cleaning up. And not to mess up the walls."
All-in-Stride just lays down, as close to the floor as he can manage, tail curled around him. Not exactly what he wanted to hear.
It's Christmas, the 4th of July, and her Birthday all rolled into one. Doodle is ecstatic. Running around in an excited circle, she quickly shifts to homid, and waves for the cub to come enthusiastically. "Pasemant!"
All-in-Stride doesn't move, in fact, aside from to tuck his tail closer to him.
Riley shoves the rest of his sandwich in his mouth and pushes himself up to his feet, a slightly sour look at the phone, then glances over to All-in-Stride. He wanders over and rests a hand on his shoulder. "This is important. It sucks, but you'll be getting shot a lot." He pauses, and glances to Doodle, "Hey, guess what, dood. You can shoot me, too."
Clarice seems even more excited at this idea. "Soot effryone!" She says, excitedly. And then notices the cub not sharing her excitement. A frown comes. She gestures a little more insistently. "Come!"
All-in-Stride knows it is important. Yes. The cub also seems to take some assurance from Riley's hand, turning to shove his nose at the Ragabash's hand for a moment, before backing up a little, shifting up into homid. "At least let me get clothes that aren't dedicated?" he asks, sounding almost plaintive. "These ones actually fit me."
Riley looks relieved when Flint doesn't obstinately refuse to move. He arches a brow at the request and gives a shake of his head, "I'll grab you a towel on the way down or something if you want, but you gotta get over the body issue thing, too at some point. Go on, now. Downstairs."
Clarice, when she sees actual progress is being made, almost gleefully hops to go retrieve a gun, and scamper down to the basement. She waits for the others to come down, the gun in hand. She grins from ear to ear, like this is the highlight of her day.
Riley casually carries along the corresponding clip to the gun, which had been divorced from it. He turns an exasperated look down at the clip full of .45 caliber ammunition, mumbling, "You just grabbed the biggest gun you saw, didn't you?" There's a hint of amusement in his tone, at least. Flint is clapped on the shoulder, "You want to go first or second?"
Flint tromps down the stairs to the basement, pretty much shedding clothing items into his hand as he goes, and by the bottom of the stairs the cub simply stands in boxers and an a-shirt. "These fit me," the cub explains. "I don't want them ruined. It took Kavi-rhya a while to find ones that would fit." And in fact, Flint is skinny, not quite stick skinny, but nonetheless. His clothing is set in a pile by the stairs, and he looks to Riley. "How long do I need to wait before I can shift, this time?" the boy asks.
Clarice, seeing a cockroach scurry on by, distracts herself for a moment by taking some opened cat food on a table and setting it on the floor for the insect with huge grin spread across her face. She seems to take all the talking as a sign that Flint is ready, and when she stands up, points the gun at him and pulls the trigger. A loud click sounds, potentially giving the unsuspecting a start, but there's no sharp 'pop' of gunfire. No bullets, after all.
Arching his brows up, Riley murmurs, "If you don't want them ruined, you should probably take them off." He sounds puzzled that he has to clarify this fact. Despite his mention of bringing a towel, he never actually got around to doing it. Imagine that. The click of the weapon has Riley looking up, brow furrowing. He casually turns his back for a moment, rapidly emptying the bullets from the clip and then popping two back in. Because it just seems like a Good Idea. "However long you think you can. That's the point. We're not testing you, you're testing yourself. Now get yourself ready. I imagine we only have til' she loads that thing." He tosses the clip to Clarice, pocketing the other eight rounds of ammunition in his coat pocket and then starting to strip down.
Flint ducks a nod to Riley. "'Kay," the boy responds, pulling off the a-shirt and throwing it into the pile. Best not get blood on it, either, though it's more easily replaced than the rest of his clothing. His ribs are still easily visible even in this form, and then he takes a few steps further into the room, watching the Philodox. Steeling himself.
Riley doesn't want to roll about with bloodied boxers, and strips all the way down without batting an eyelash, though he does comment to Doodle, "Don't shoot anything important."
Riley adds, "Please."
She doesn't give him that long. Doodle catches the clip, and slips it in. Immediately, she she raises the gun again and almost instantly fires, mid-way through Flint taking off his shirt. The shirt is safe. Flint's knee, not so much.
"Fuck," Flint mutters, vehemently, as he loses his footing, his other leg going out to compensate. Shirt is thrown aside as he just stands there on his uninjured leg, grimacing in pain. But on the other hand, he seems to be dealing with it. For now.
Riley winces at the echoing crack of the gun, and then turns his attention curiously to see where he's been hit, and is rewarded by seeing the grisly mess that is Flint's knee. "Don't put any weight on that," Riley advises. "And don't look at it."
Clarice seems thrilled about this, while the others are chagrined. She all but forces the gun into Riley's hands, before taking off her top like the others. "Don' tase me bro!" she says, excitedly. Who taught her that?
Unfortunately, upon being told not to look at it, that's exactly the first thing that Flint does, look down at his knee and see what it currently look likes. No weight is put upon it, though, and the galliard cub just remains stone still, except to look over at the philodox. "Birth form," he mutters, mustering a faint grin. And then, a louder exclamation of pain than the first one. "FUCK."
Riley peers down at the gun in that's been pushed into his hand, and isn't able to resist cracking an extremely inappropriate smile and chuckling under his breath, "You're crazy, dood. I like it." He ejects the clip, ducks to his pants pocket and grabs another bullet, and feeds it into the clip. Now there's two in there, again. He sets his gun at his hip, "Draw!" he shouts to Doodle, and then flips the barrel up, cleanly clipping the Fostern in the upper arm.
"FUCKING!" Doodle cries, involuntarily. It makes a bit of a mess, with bits of blood splattering about. She stamps her feet a few times, but unlike the Walker cub, the wound stops bleeding almost immediately.
Mouse shouts from upstairs, "Fat moon, Doodle!"
That's it. That is as long as Flint can deal with this, especially with the fact that Doodle is lucky, in homid, and heals. The boy shifts up to glabro first, remaining still and in place, albeit snarling and not exactly happy with things. The moment that he can put weight on his leg, though, he does, with a bit of annoyance, and shifts again for the warform in his frustration, moving towards the stairs, clothes grabbed on his way up and out.
The door from the basement opens, perhaps more loudly than usual, and when the earlier procession through the lobby had been Clarice, then Flint, then Riley, it is only Flint who emerges, a low snarl still in the back of the cub's throat. In the warform, decidedly grumpy, his clothing clutched in one hand. He pauses, though, upon seeing Mouse and Keir, ducks his head.
Keir looks mildly interested at that. "City-spirits? For —your new caern spirits, or are they just making themselves kno—" And then, up tromps Flint, and he tips his head that way just a little, though he doesn't face him fully. "—known." He waits, though he clearly senses the presence of another.
"The latter," Mouse says, eyeing Flint's arrival. "Though they're trying to make deals with us. —Flint, glabro. And introduce yourself, if you would."
All-in-Stride snarls, though it is not at Mouse. It's just in general. The cub's just upset, it would seem. At the request, however, he gives a long and honest try to shift back to the requested form, and then looks up. Instead, however, he makes his way towards across from Mouse, widely skirting both Keir and the Walker Elder, and sits down on the floor. ~Not calm enough,~ the boy responds, apologetic in tones.
"So make yourself calm," the ahroun says, simply. "Rage is part of a state of being. Accept it, let it burn, but don't let it dictate." Then he pauses. "But it is not my place. I am Keir, once of the Sept of the Green, once of the Beast Courts. Faith-Leads-The-Sightless, fostern and metis and watched over by the Lady Chimera."
"And," Mouse says, as if adding on to Keir's words, "It is far too fat a moon for you to sit in that form. You're not going to feel calmer until you shift down."
This time, the boy shifts down, though only to the requested Glabro. One hand goes out to poke, very tentatively, at the newly healed area of his knee, and then he looks up, at both Keir and Mouse. "Flint," the cub states. "Called Takes-It-All-In-Stride, Galliard cub." He pauses, his free hand still forming into an involuntary fist for a moment. "Glass Walker." Another pause, and the cub looks over at Mouse. "Sorry, Mouse-rhya," he mutters.
Keir bobs his head once. "Good to meet you, Flint." And, his head cocks a little, though he's not 'looking' in Flint's precise direction. "You were the one being shot, I assume?"
Mouse waves her hand at Flint. "It's fine, just keep in mind that you're a lot pissier in crinos even on the best of days. Right now it's your moon."
Flint pokes his knee apparently wrong, because it's followed immediately by a low whine, though Flint does seem like he's relatively content to sit on the floor of the lobby, right now. "Yes," he says. It seems to be an acknowledgement of both the question, and the Elder's statement.
"Hm," the Stargazer muses, and then: "The city-spirits. What kind of deals are they trying to make?"
Mouse nods at the cub before looking back to Keir. "Working relationships. We do stuff for them, they do stuff for us. One of them wants to preserve the city the way it was. Get the people in touch with the city's history, and so on, and make sure the Caern and the city stay where they've always been. That's Jeb. He's kind've big on stasis and history. The other one wants progress, and the future, and our help clearing out Wyrm infestations, with a promise not to, to use her words, 'impede' her. She's offered to find and help secure us a place to recharge once the Caern is gone."
As the two talk, Flint remains seated where he is, turning after a moment with some grumbling to look at the half-bundle of clothing that was put down next to him. Then there's as much of a snarl as he can manage in his current form, as frustration returns upon inspection, that the shirt and jeans both got several large tears in them. Probably from being grabbed by an angry crinos cub.
"Contradicting each other," the ahroun muses. "Interesting, but it puts this place at a bit of an—ah, a quandary, yeah?" A wry half-smile at that. "History and future. Both have their place, but it's hard getting them to agree to that, I'd wager." The grumbles of the cub are heard, and he hehs. "Troubles?"
"Yeah," Mouse says, tone rueful. "We're going to meet with the second one, Claire, fairly soon. But I doubt they're likely to agree to work together." She reaches up and rakes fingers through her hair. "How about I go get a room set up for you? It's been a damn long day."
"Clothing torn," Flint grumbles, almost petulantly, gathering the torn garments. The rage that tenses in the cub's shoulders can also be heard in his voice. "The other set doesn't fit so great."
"Indeed," the Stargazer sighs. "And yes, that'd be good. I should get settled tonight, myself." To Flint: "Well. I'm sure you can find some that does."
"Be back with the key in a few," Mouse says, before heading for the stairs.
Flint gathers the clothing all the way, and then gets up, moving until he's a few feet directly in front of Keir. "Eventually," he agrees, a smile audible in his voice. "It was nice to meet you, Keirs," the cub adds, reaching up to rub a hand at his brow. "I should. I should go upstairs and go to sleep."
Keir gives a nod, and then again to Flint. "You as well. Sleep well, Flint."
"Thank you, Keir-rhya," Flint responds, and then the sound of heavy footfalls can be heard, as well as the telltale 'ding' of the elevator several moments later, leaving the Ahroun to wait for the Walker Elder's return in relative peace. If that definition includes the noise from the basement.