Flint Madden (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
flint_garou) wrote2012-03-13 03:30 pm
flint_garou) wrote2012-03-13 03:30 pm
Project.
This is turning into a really crap day.
13 March, 2012
The moon is in the waning Gibbous (Galliard) Moon phase (62% full).
The door to the bunkroom is currently open into the hallway, and Flint's visible, kicked back and trying to relax on the lower bunk that he now claims as his, cigarette in one hand and clear tension in the hunch of his shoulders.
Kevin peers into the bunkroom from the corridor. "Do you have to smoke with the door open?" he grumbles at the younger garou. "I can smell it right down the hallway."
Flint winces, immediately stubbing out the cigarette into an ashtray he's acquired. "Sorry, Kevin-rhya," the boy offers, the half cigarette and ashtray set aside and slightly under the bed as Flint pushes himself to sitting up.
Kevin seems slightly taken aback to have his request obeyed so meekly. "You could have just closed the door, you know," he points out. "What's new, pussycat?"
Flint blinks a few times. "So I could," the galliard notes, as if it really just didn't occur to him. "Not so much. Got… recognised while I. When I was out yesterday, in the park." The boy runs fingers through his hair. "Supposedly, friend of Nick's that's not going to do anything about it. But." This doesn't make Flint any less grumpy, it would seem.
Kevin gives Flint a sharp glance. "Nick. Who the hell is Nick? I know the name from somewhere…"
The boy grumbles, reaches under the bed to pull out the set aside cigarette, and relights it, a cheap plastic lighter tossed back aside afterwards. "Kin. Ask Mouse-rhya, she." Pause, and Flint manages to sit up crosslegged, now. "PI, used to be a cop." Another pause, and a shrug that doesn't fall nearly to relaxed, before the teenager starts to steady his breathing in a slow pattern. "Nick… Dalton, I think."
"Oh, right. Him," Kevin nods a couple of times. "I remember him now. Never really spoken to him. Bit of a weirdo, I got the impression. Like the rest of us aren't." His nose wrinkles as Flint relights his cigarette but he doesn't complain again.
If nothing else, Flint does angle the blowing of smoke and the cigarette away from Kevin. Not that it helps much, but it's an attempt, and then the cliath sighs. "And now I need to get a haircut, or something," Flint adds, not sounding too pleased by the prospect. Free hand runs through his hair, which is just past shoulder length now. "Damn it."
"You could dye it," Kevin suggests, trying to be helpful. "Even punk yourself up some. People never look at punks and goths. I mean, they do look, but they never see the person. They can never describe them any further than saying 'he was a punk' or 'she was a goth'."
"Could, yeah. Or cut it a bit, and dye it," Flint muses, taking a drag from the cigarette and scooting on the bed to lean backwards against the wall. "I dunno. Need to figure out. Something so, so when I go out I don't get recognised. Again." Pause. "After all, now that, now that I can go out I'm not just about to sit here all day." This, despite the galliard's apparent bad mood, gets a wide grin thrown in Kevin's direction.
"Can go out…?" Kevin frowns for a moment until the penny drops inside his head. "Oh, does that mean you passed your test? It's over already? You're one of us, gabba gabba?"
Flint nods once. "What, you missed all the post-its in. In the breakroom?" Flint grins. "I did. I. I'm making a memorial because, we're probably going to lose the burial mounds. When the wasps come."
"I glanced in and saw them," Kevin says, "but the only one I read was the one that threatened you with death if you moved any, so I left them alone. What're you going to do?"
"Oh. Yeah, I…" the words trail off as Flint abruptly gets up, walking not towards Kevin, but towards the window, and then turning back towards the ragabash, a bit of a shrug, and an apologetic look on his face. "Sorry," he mutters, before continuing. "It. It's easier to show. But." Pause, and the slightly grumpy cliath gives up on words for a moment.
"Well, if you want to show me?" Kevin seems to be trying, like Flint, to suppress a grouchy mood, and not entirely succeeding.
Flint crosses back over to the bunkbed and pulls out a backpack, and a sketchbook, and pages through the sketchbook to find a drawing, before offering it over towards Kevin. "Here," he says. The sketch shows the wall of the breakroom over the computers, but where there is empty wall save for post it notes at the moment, in the sketch the space is taken up by a cityscape in light pencil notes, and something on the wall, a drawing of the memorial. The shapes reflect the city, although they're clearly organic with an eye to how they'll be formed by woodcarving. Glyphs for Glass Walker, Cockroach, honour, glory, and remembrance are prominent in the design, and a light blue pencil clouds the individual areas. "I. It's. Out of wood, and some other found materials, and." The sketch spans both sides of the open sketchbook, and the amount of thought and downright passion that's gone into the creation of it thus far is evident.
Kevin stares at the sketchbook for some considerable time, as if giving it full and deep consideration. "You're an artist," is his conclusion. "Wow. I never knew."
The teen flushes a little, ducking his head to stare at his feet. "I. Thanks. I don't… mostly I can just draw stuff so, so I know what I'm making." A pause, and Flint digs around in his backpack again rather than take back the sketchbook, coming out with a small cutting board, of approximately five inches by seven inches long, made from a light-coloured wood, and there are two simple diagonal stripes of cherry that bisect the board, which looks other than that to be a seamless piece. It's small enough to be made from scraps, pretty much, and hasn't yet been finished, but the workmanship is clearly there. "And. I guess. I never brought it up until this, because. Back, before, no one really. And." A shrug, and the small cutting board is offered for Kevin to look at, too.
Kevin picks up the cutting board as well and turns it over and over in his hands. "You did this? All yourself?"
Flint nods, stepping back a bit and puffing at the cigarette. "Yeah." The assent is quiet, unassuming. "I. I did. The other day, down in Ishmael-rhya's workshop, just. To get a feel for doing stuff, again."
Poking her head in from the skyscraper-painted hallway, Nieve spies Kevin in here, and sidles all the way in. "Aft'noon," she greets the pair amiably, though her attention is more for the no-moon, checking out his eyes from across here.
Kevin looks back at Nieve. He's shed his shades, and his eyes appear normal, though they're well shaded by his usual tangled mop of hair. "Oh, heya. Look at what Flint's made. I didn't know he was good with his hands." He holds up the cutting board for Nieve to see.
Flint offers a faint half grin, stifled a little by the tension and unease that the young galliard has, and the vestiges of a bad mood that have been partially banished by focus on his project.
Studying the cutting board as it is held up, Nieve admits, "Dunno much 'bout woodworkin', but that looks pretty good." Flint gets a smile, then she asides to Kevin, "D'you know if Chris got fixed? Ain't heard."
"Far as I know. Least, he's pink again and not purple," Kevin responds. "I haven't stripped him naked to check all his scars are back…"
"Thanks," Flint murmurs quietly to Nieve, leaning against the post of the bed and tucking the sketchbook carefully away into his backpack.
"Good." Nieve nods to Kevin, then smiles at both and ducks out again. DrivebyNieve.
Kevin passes the board back to Flint as well. "How long do you think this project will take you?"
Flint shrugs as he takes the cutting board, putting it back in his bag with just as much care as he'd shown for the sketchbook. "I'm not sure," the cliath says. "Not too long, I. It'll be done before Memorial Day. Right now, I'm just. I'm working on getting materials." The boy rummages in his jacket, which is on the bed, coming out with the pack of cigarettes and a lighter, and shoving them into his sweatshirt. "I. I'm gonna go smoke up on the roof. Just." Pause, before Flint speaks again, settling on, "Sorry you caught me on a crap day." as an explanation.
"We all have 'em. Don't fret," counsels Kevin. "See ya later."
13 March, 2012
The moon is in the waning Gibbous (Galliard) Moon phase (62% full).
The door to the bunkroom is currently open into the hallway, and Flint's visible, kicked back and trying to relax on the lower bunk that he now claims as his, cigarette in one hand and clear tension in the hunch of his shoulders.
Kevin peers into the bunkroom from the corridor. "Do you have to smoke with the door open?" he grumbles at the younger garou. "I can smell it right down the hallway."
Flint winces, immediately stubbing out the cigarette into an ashtray he's acquired. "Sorry, Kevin-rhya," the boy offers, the half cigarette and ashtray set aside and slightly under the bed as Flint pushes himself to sitting up.
Kevin seems slightly taken aback to have his request obeyed so meekly. "You could have just closed the door, you know," he points out. "What's new, pussycat?"
Flint blinks a few times. "So I could," the galliard notes, as if it really just didn't occur to him. "Not so much. Got… recognised while I. When I was out yesterday, in the park." The boy runs fingers through his hair. "Supposedly, friend of Nick's that's not going to do anything about it. But." This doesn't make Flint any less grumpy, it would seem.
Kevin gives Flint a sharp glance. "Nick. Who the hell is Nick? I know the name from somewhere…"
The boy grumbles, reaches under the bed to pull out the set aside cigarette, and relights it, a cheap plastic lighter tossed back aside afterwards. "Kin. Ask Mouse-rhya, she." Pause, and Flint manages to sit up crosslegged, now. "PI, used to be a cop." Another pause, and a shrug that doesn't fall nearly to relaxed, before the teenager starts to steady his breathing in a slow pattern. "Nick… Dalton, I think."
"Oh, right. Him," Kevin nods a couple of times. "I remember him now. Never really spoken to him. Bit of a weirdo, I got the impression. Like the rest of us aren't." His nose wrinkles as Flint relights his cigarette but he doesn't complain again.
If nothing else, Flint does angle the blowing of smoke and the cigarette away from Kevin. Not that it helps much, but it's an attempt, and then the cliath sighs. "And now I need to get a haircut, or something," Flint adds, not sounding too pleased by the prospect. Free hand runs through his hair, which is just past shoulder length now. "Damn it."
"You could dye it," Kevin suggests, trying to be helpful. "Even punk yourself up some. People never look at punks and goths. I mean, they do look, but they never see the person. They can never describe them any further than saying 'he was a punk' or 'she was a goth'."
"Could, yeah. Or cut it a bit, and dye it," Flint muses, taking a drag from the cigarette and scooting on the bed to lean backwards against the wall. "I dunno. Need to figure out. Something so, so when I go out I don't get recognised. Again." Pause. "After all, now that, now that I can go out I'm not just about to sit here all day." This, despite the galliard's apparent bad mood, gets a wide grin thrown in Kevin's direction.
"Can go out…?" Kevin frowns for a moment until the penny drops inside his head. "Oh, does that mean you passed your test? It's over already? You're one of us, gabba gabba?"
Flint nods once. "What, you missed all the post-its in. In the breakroom?" Flint grins. "I did. I. I'm making a memorial because, we're probably going to lose the burial mounds. When the wasps come."
"I glanced in and saw them," Kevin says, "but the only one I read was the one that threatened you with death if you moved any, so I left them alone. What're you going to do?"
"Oh. Yeah, I…" the words trail off as Flint abruptly gets up, walking not towards Kevin, but towards the window, and then turning back towards the ragabash, a bit of a shrug, and an apologetic look on his face. "Sorry," he mutters, before continuing. "It. It's easier to show. But." Pause, and the slightly grumpy cliath gives up on words for a moment.
"Well, if you want to show me?" Kevin seems to be trying, like Flint, to suppress a grouchy mood, and not entirely succeeding.
Flint crosses back over to the bunkbed and pulls out a backpack, and a sketchbook, and pages through the sketchbook to find a drawing, before offering it over towards Kevin. "Here," he says. The sketch shows the wall of the breakroom over the computers, but where there is empty wall save for post it notes at the moment, in the sketch the space is taken up by a cityscape in light pencil notes, and something on the wall, a drawing of the memorial. The shapes reflect the city, although they're clearly organic with an eye to how they'll be formed by woodcarving. Glyphs for Glass Walker, Cockroach, honour, glory, and remembrance are prominent in the design, and a light blue pencil clouds the individual areas. "I. It's. Out of wood, and some other found materials, and." The sketch spans both sides of the open sketchbook, and the amount of thought and downright passion that's gone into the creation of it thus far is evident.
Kevin stares at the sketchbook for some considerable time, as if giving it full and deep consideration. "You're an artist," is his conclusion. "Wow. I never knew."
The teen flushes a little, ducking his head to stare at his feet. "I. Thanks. I don't… mostly I can just draw stuff so, so I know what I'm making." A pause, and Flint digs around in his backpack again rather than take back the sketchbook, coming out with a small cutting board, of approximately five inches by seven inches long, made from a light-coloured wood, and there are two simple diagonal stripes of cherry that bisect the board, which looks other than that to be a seamless piece. It's small enough to be made from scraps, pretty much, and hasn't yet been finished, but the workmanship is clearly there. "And. I guess. I never brought it up until this, because. Back, before, no one really. And." A shrug, and the small cutting board is offered for Kevin to look at, too.
Kevin picks up the cutting board as well and turns it over and over in his hands. "You did this? All yourself?"
Flint nods, stepping back a bit and puffing at the cigarette. "Yeah." The assent is quiet, unassuming. "I. I did. The other day, down in Ishmael-rhya's workshop, just. To get a feel for doing stuff, again."
Poking her head in from the skyscraper-painted hallway, Nieve spies Kevin in here, and sidles all the way in. "Aft'noon," she greets the pair amiably, though her attention is more for the no-moon, checking out his eyes from across here.
Kevin looks back at Nieve. He's shed his shades, and his eyes appear normal, though they're well shaded by his usual tangled mop of hair. "Oh, heya. Look at what Flint's made. I didn't know he was good with his hands." He holds up the cutting board for Nieve to see.
Flint offers a faint half grin, stifled a little by the tension and unease that the young galliard has, and the vestiges of a bad mood that have been partially banished by focus on his project.
Studying the cutting board as it is held up, Nieve admits, "Dunno much 'bout woodworkin', but that looks pretty good." Flint gets a smile, then she asides to Kevin, "D'you know if Chris got fixed? Ain't heard."
"Far as I know. Least, he's pink again and not purple," Kevin responds. "I haven't stripped him naked to check all his scars are back…"
"Thanks," Flint murmurs quietly to Nieve, leaning against the post of the bed and tucking the sketchbook carefully away into his backpack.
"Good." Nieve nods to Kevin, then smiles at both and ducks out again. DrivebyNieve.
Kevin passes the board back to Flint as well. "How long do you think this project will take you?"
Flint shrugs as he takes the cutting board, putting it back in his bag with just as much care as he'd shown for the sketchbook. "I'm not sure," the cliath says. "Not too long, I. It'll be done before Memorial Day. Right now, I'm just. I'm working on getting materials." The boy rummages in his jacket, which is on the bed, coming out with the pack of cigarettes and a lighter, and shoving them into his sweatshirt. "I. I'm gonna go smoke up on the roof. Just." Pause, before Flint speaks again, settling on, "Sorry you caught me on a crap day." as an explanation.
"We all have 'em. Don't fret," counsels Kevin. "See ya later."