Er.

[flint_garou]

Doing laundry isn't supposed to end up with arguments.
26 February, 2012
The moon is in the waxing Crescent (Theurge) Moon phase (32% full).

The smell of freshly brewed coffee drifts from the laundry room, not strong enough to fill the whole of the lobby or climb the stairs, but tempting enough for any who enters to feel tempted. A light in the laundry also hints that the maker of such tantalizing is still lurking about. The occasional thump of a knee against a washer or dryer helps, as well.

Laundry becomes a much more frequent chore when you only have one set of clothing that's dedicated, and prefer to wear it clean, or at least somewhat so. And Flint's particular about that, which would be why the cub's making his way down to the laundry room, loose sweats and a teeshirt and his jacket on over those, a smaller laundry basket held in front of him. He pauses at the doorway to the laundry room, then, looking about.

Besides coffee brewing, a still injured Devon stands in front of the dryer folding his own laundry. He looks up when Flint enters, brows lifting slightly. "Sup," he asks stacking a couple of folded shirts on top of each other.

"Not much," Flint says, then more to himself, "oh good, washer's open." The boy first goes to dump his laundry into it, and then fetches detergent and starts the machine going, all in silence before turning to Devon. "You?"

"Despite being chewed up," Devon says in a lilt to add question. He grins and shakes his head a little. "Pretty good. Fantastic actually. Like I could run a marathon right now." One shoulders pulls upward into a shrug as he starts to fold a pair of jeans.

Flint starts to get a quizzical look on his face, that gets only more so when Devon starts talking about running a marathon. "Could dun mean should," he offers, with a faint half-grin to indicate that he's teasing.

Devon places the folded jeans on the pile, looking as though he's actually considering such a thing as running a marathon right then. "Probably right," he decides after a moment. "Better if it were a triathlon." He pauses, then looks at Flint. "Think it'd be veil breachy if I entered the Iron Man?"

Brows furrow now, with the sort of 'what the hell are you on' look given to the cliath as the cub moves over to get a cup, and coffee. "No triathlons either, I dun think," Flint says. "After all, it'd interfere with healing if you did that now. You said you're all chewed up." Another grin, to hide the slightly worried expression.

"Yeah, some craziness going on out in the woodsy area." Devon's lips purse and pull off toward one side, hand lifting to touch the bite marks just visible around his collar. "Probably enough that I jogged most of the way here. Still feel like I could keep going, but I really had to do laundry."

Coffee acquired, Flint leans back against the counter, hands wrapped around the cup for the moment. This time, the look that he fixes on Devon is less 'what the hell', more just either studying or staring off into space in that direction. The cub's distracted by something, so it's hard to tell. "And still could dun mean should. Rest and all that, you know?"

"I can rest when I'm dead," Devon declares. He grabs a cup for himself and fills it with coffee, though he doesn't seem too interested in actually drinking it. "Maybe I'll go out again. Once my clothes are put away."

Flint mutters something, inaudible mostly, 'finesurewhatever'. "What's got into you, Devon-rhya?" the cub answers. "You don't rest, you keep going around injured and not letting yourself heal, you end up dead sooner when you run into the next thing that's gonna chew you up." The cub's attention turns back to his cup of coffee after he's said that.

Devon looks at Flint, face pulling into a frown. "Nothing's gotten into me," he answers, setting his cup down on the dryer to free his hands so he can match socks. "And I rest. Just not feeling like it today."

The cub's brows furrow, but he shrugs it off. "Something's got into you," Flint counters, rolling his eyes a little. "But whatever, if you say so."

"You got a problem, Flint?" Devon half turns, setting a pair of folded socks down beside his pile of clean clothing. "You accusing me of something?"

"Nope. No problem, and not accusing you of anything. Was just saying that with the 'rest when you're dead' rhetoric and all, you seem a little off," the cub answers levelly, shrugging. "But whatever, it's prolly nothing… unless it isn't?" The last question is a little more accusative than what Flint's said before, hands wrapping around the cup to nearly white-knuckled as the boy sips his coffee.

Devon doesn't answer right away. He studies Flint in silence, a hardness edging into his own expression. He gathers his clothing, unfolded socks and all. When he turns for the doorway he stops and looks at the cub again, getting close enough to be within the younger boy's personal space though he's of a height with the other. "Nothing wrong with me," he states levelly. "I feel great, and there's nothing wrong with that."

Flint doesn't look up to look at Devon, doesn't straighten from leaning against the counter, but his cup of coffee is set down next to him when the cliath gets into his personal space. "So the question's why you feel so great when you're all chewed up and prolly oughtn't," the cub throws out there. "So, why? What'd you do?"

"Why shouldn't I feel great," Devon counters. "Why should I feel like crap? Why do you automatically assume I did something? Maybe I just feel good because I got tired of feeling like shit."

There's a long moment, but Flint's focus has shifted from listening to Devon to listening to whatever internal conversation has been drifting in and out, and he's silent a long moment, nodding to himself. 'No.' A pause. 'Maybe.' A third pause. 'Finewhatever.'

Devon frowns somewhat more before he pushes past Flint, shoulder to shoulder typical of teenagers. "Finewhatever yourself," he states. "Told you, I'm fine."

Flint whirls to follow after Devon. "Or maybe you got tired of feeling like shit and so you went and found something to make you feel better," the boy states, not quite snapping, moving to place himself in Devon's path again. The younger boy's quick enough on his feet to block Devon from leaving the laundry room.

"What the…" Devon looks at Flint like he's totally lost his marbles. And maybe a touch nervous, covering it with quizzical anger. "Yeah. Found something to make myself feel better. Went out and treated myself to breakfast then hit up Edgewood for some nature time. Fresh air clears the mind, you know? Followed that up with practicing some of the techniques the Warder taught me, then came back here."

Flint doesn't actually look up, but does nod. "Right," he says, mostly acceptance in the cub's tone. "What'd you do in nature time, scientifically study more bawn mushrooms?" It's phrased mostly as a joke, complete with a grin, but Flint doesn't get out of the way, either.

Devon's brows rise again, practically to his hairline. "What, you my nanny now? Think you're so high and mighty that I need to answer to you, cub?" He laughs, a scoffing sound, and pushes himself past Flint again.

"I'm just curious," Flint retorts, not quite letting himself be pushed past very easily, though lesser weight means he eventually gets pushed to stumble backwards as Devon continues. "I think you did something and I still think you're off a bit, but if it makes you feel good? Fine."

"To ease your 'curiosity'," the Ahroun says, "no. I didn't partake in any mushrooms on the Bawn. Nor did I see any Gaians and bum a hit off them. I feel fine, nothing wrong with feeling fine and if you think I did something or think I'm off, then go run off and tattle to one of the elders."

Flint shrugs, moving back into the laundry room. "Suit yourself." The cub starts humming a little under his breath, sounds like the Eagles. "Ain't gonna tell anything, 's up to you what you do anyway. High off your ass is one thing, an' this ain't it." That said, the cub makes his way back to the abandoned cup of coffee.

"You're so smart, what do you think it is?" Devon doesn't linger near the door, however, crossing the lobby to the seating area where he sets his clothing on the seat of a chair.

"Don't know, don't care," Flint calls out in between bars of whatever he's humming. "If you wanted me to know, you'd've told me."

Devon returns to the doorway, arms folding over his chest in typical fashion. "There's nothing to tell, Flint," he says levelly. "Why would you think there was? Why couldn't you just take it for a good thing that I was in a good mood? Instead you gotta shit all over it, act like there's something wrong."

Flint raises his shoulders in a shrug. "Sorry, Devon-rhya," the boy says, loudly enough to carry to the doorway but not much more. "Didn't mean to ruin your good mood. I'll go wait for my laundry somewhere else."

"So infuriating," the Ahroun mutters. "Seriously, kid. You gotta live a little or you'll worry yourself into an early grave. Find a Gaian and ask them for joint if you're too afraid to try the mushrooms or fruit. Find a kinswoman or kinsman and hook up. Something."

Flint makes an utterly, totally disgusted face at the last thing that Devon says, childish really. "I uh." For the moment, the cub has absolutely nothing to say in response.

Devon looks at Flint, first without much expression which turns into a laugh. "There's a whole lot out there, Flint. And you're missing it by staying here or at Edgewood and not experiencing anything. Sure, some of it's dangerous, but some of it's not. And it's fine to be cautious, but really. You have to live too."

Flint rolls his eyes a little. "Bawnfruit?" he mutters, as if this is an explanation for the Ahroun's downright odd behaviour.

Devon rolls his eyes this time, sighing. "I got to put my laundry away." He turns to go back into the lobby and collect his clothing. "Lighten up, Flint. Before you get gray hairs."

Flint puts his coffee down, sticking his tongue out at the Ahroun's back. "Yeah, sure, Devon-rhya," the boy mutters. Flint moves to move his own laundry from washer to dryer now, letting Devon depart in silence.