Flint Madden (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
flint_garou) wrote2012-03-14 07:45 pm
flint_garou) wrote2012-03-14 07:45 pm
Entry tags:
Oh dear. Oh. Dear.
Time to find out what happened.
14 March, 2012
Currently the moon is in the waning Half (Philodox) Moon phase (54% full).
Flint's made himself scarce today, gone out despite the rain and the wet. And so, the galliard looks up, flashing a faint scowl at the security camera as he lets himself back into the lobby, door shutting relatively quietly behind him. Keys are shoved into the pocket of the heavy winter coat and exchanged for the half-crumpled pack of cigarettes, though for the moment, Flint actually looks up from looking at his feet, watching where he's going as he heads rather aimlessly towards the laundry room.
With a distinct thump, something slams against the front door of the tenement building—fortunately, that's why locks exist, so that whatever drugged-out homeless person can't just stumble their way into the heart of the tribe's affairs. The rain has picked up in recent minutes, and perhaps that's why the sound of rustling keys isn't as distinct as it should be against the torrent of rain. It persists long enough, though, that it becomes clear that someone is rifling through keys, and failing very handily at managing to just unlock the door. Finally, the sound of the key scraping successfully into the deadbolt, and then a half-turn. Another half-turn, and the door creaks open. Riley stumbles a few steps forward, her breath audible from just about anywhere in the large open entryway. Her fingers immediately drag her cell phone from her pocket, her hands visibly trembling as she dials a number, just standing right inside with the door wide open behind her, trembling.
Flint turns on his heel, looking over at Riley, and then the pack of cigarettes is shoved back into his pocket, half forgotten. There's a scowl that seems to be etched into the teen's face right now, though, and quietly without any comment, he turns and moves to close the door behind Riley, lest she let in the weather. And then Flint just looks at the Ragabash, scowl turning more into a furrow of brow.
The fostern scarcely even seems to notice Flint's approach. It's met with a brief little skirt of her eyes from phone to Cliath and then right back as she hoarsely whispers into the phone, "I-I'm good. I'm home, and… still…" Flint, not the recipient of the call gets to see Riley's head sagging to one side if he looks over, but it's not until the teen is roughly closing the door and turning to face Riley's back that he gets the full brunt of understanding. Even through the ragabash's long winter coat, it's clear something is very wrong. First off, the fact that the back side is saturated with blood from the middle of her back downward, generous droplets of it already beginning to patter on the floor. She closes the phone without properly saying goodbye, and starts to slowly work her way toward the stairs. "Flint, I… I need a theurge."
Brow furrows further when Flint actually sees what's going on, and then the Galliard sighs, heavy. "Fuck," the teenager mutters, moving to Riley's side should she need help, and digging his phone out from his pocket and flipping it open. One of the quick-dial buttons is almost pressed, before Flint purses his lips. "No, Mouse'rhya's gone, wait. Nieve." Then there's another pause, and Flint looks over at Riley even as he's dialing for the theurge, anxious.
Nieve sounds sleepy. "Si whozit?"
Riley casts a fatigued look toward the staircase once again and gives an immediate shake of her head, "N-no point going up there, I guess. Just… find someone. This keeps going, I'm gonna have to close it, and I don't… I don't wanna do that. I don't… know what's going on back there." A half-laugh that ends up sounding more hysterical and unhinged than anything else, and she starts to unzip her coat, fingers keeping up their jerking, sporadic motion. With a grimace, she slowly eases her way out of the arms of her coat.
Flint moves to hold the phone between his chin and his shoulder. "It's Flint." The boy sounds rather urgent. "Are you— are you at home? Riley's hurt, and." A half a beat of pause and Flint continues. "In the lobby." Even as Flint speaks, he's moving to help Riley over to a seat, as well.
"Si, down in a sec." *click*
Riley manages, with Flint's assistance, to stumble over to the couch and sit upon it, hunched forward with her coat hanging over her like a drape now that her arms have been liberated from their sleeves. With gravity working against it now, it's disgustingly obvious that the coat is not simply laying on her back, but part of it is sucking slightly into her back, an indent the size of a softball. That's a charming sight. "Someone… something jumped me in… an alley?" She sounds uncertain, "I… everything's all fucked up, I can't remember how I even got out there. How, or why. I…"
The galliard snaps the phone shut, shoving it back into his pocket. "Nieve-rhya's coming down," Flint says to try and be reassuring, a grimace as he looks at the state of her injuries, audible in his voice as the teen swallows hard.
Riley contents herself with leaning forward, her arms folding over her stomach as she distractedly bounces a knee, trying to force a grin onto her features, which seems to be a default reaction to adversity. "Mouse's…" She takes a steadying breath, "… kill me for bleeding all over the couch." Yeah, she lost a word in there somewhere, but she seems to be feeling too out of sorts to care very much. "Was…on the roof, thinking I might get trashed later, and…" She cranes her head upward for a moment and frowns, "…I… there's nothing."
Flint furrows his brow a little further. "When were you up on the roof?" the boy asks, gently. "I'll go up later and see if. Maybe I can hear anything of what happened, but first, Nieve's gonna be down soon, okay?" Flint glances at the stairwell door, still anxious. "Not that the roof's empty. But I can. I can still try."
Cue Nieve coming down the stairs two by two, in a vest top and panties—looks like she was napping or something. Jeans don't matter when somebody needs healing, and we're all family here, right? it is directly to Riley that she heads, wincing in faint sympathy for the sucking wound on her back. "A'right girl, hold still a second…"
"I don't know. A… an hour ago? More? I… time's all messed up, I can't remember. Do me a … favor." Riley's gaze is hard on the floor as she draws in a shuddery breath, "Tell me how it looks. I only… it hurts, and it feels like I was stabbed. I didn't fuck with it." She cringes a little as she eaaaaases the coat off to the side, expression tightening some as the bit of fabric that had been pressed into the wound drags itself free. The wound is, for lack of a better word, nauseating. There's a jagged hole in the middle of the girl's back, and the wound itself is hideously dirty, dirt and detritus wedged inside of the wicked, gaping hole. Bone is exposed. Organs are exposed. It's a wonder that there's no hole on the other side of the girl. What's also a wonder is the fact that her liver isn't in the way. Oh. Oh, that's because it's not there. There's just a ragged mess of viscera where it ought to be attached.
Flint looks over at Nieve, rocking back on his heels. "There's a first aid kit in the laundry room," Flint says, before he's off in that direction and back with the kit itself at not quite a run. It takes a few minutes, but the cliath is quick on his feet.
Riley gives a little laugh at the reaction, but cuts it short when she realizes that just about everything she does makes it hurt more. She whispers, "…nobody's telling me how it looks." The corner of her mouth quirks half-heartedly up. She distractedly glances over her shoulder to tiredly regard Nieve, lifting a hand to waggle a few fingers in her direction. "Oh… heeeeey. S'you again. H-hey." She doesn't seem to be keeping up particularly well. Idiot's doubtless lost a lot of blood from stubbornly staying in breed since at least the time when she unlocked the front door.
"Take Glabro," Nieve instructs Riley abruptly, as she sets her hands on the other woman's shoulders and leans back, taking a deep breath and invoking the mercy of Gaia, whispering ancient and half-impossible entreaty to the mother.
Flint just hangs back at the far edge of the couch, depositing the first-aid kit should it end up being necessary, and then looking at the mess of a bloody trail. "Right," Flint says, mostly to himself as he turns back for the laundry room, though concerned glances over his shoulder look towards Nieve and Riley frequently. "Suppose I might as well start cleaning up, too."
Shifting while already wounded isn't fun. That's really the crux of the matter. Riley squints her eyes closed as she snaps up to Glabro. Best is to do it quick, like ripping off a band-aid. Her eyes very slowly reopen as she grasps at her knees. "Sorry, man. Didn't mean… to bleed so much." She starts to feel the warmth of Nieve's ministrations, and reflexively gives a little noise of relief. "Oh, thank the gods."
"I'm sorry I can't do more," Nieve apologises, removing her hands from Riley's person, and then coming around to help the no-moon sit. "It's bad. Don't return to Breed for a few days, lest it not heal properly," she suggests softly.
Riley mutters, "Hate Glabro. Feels so clumsy and gross." Still, it's clear that Nieve's work has helped significantly. The wound has closed a great deal, and it's stopped pouring blood so much as weeping it at a languid pace. Riley sucks in a breath and stubbornly gains her footing, wobbling a moment but otherwise looking in control of herself. "Need to check… when I left the roof. Maybe I can piece together what the hell happened."
Flint looks up from cleaning. "Riley, I'll check. I'll check in a few," the cliath says, a worried look offered over. "I can listen for what went on, okay?"
"No. You're not going back up there until you're healed," Nieve informs the Fostern mildly. "Let Flint check…" she adds, then glances over towards the cliath. "Be careful, be stealthy," she notes. "Let's get you to your room, where you can bleed as much as you like," she adds to Riley now, inserting herself under one of the ragabash's arms, shoulder-supporting.
Riley gives a little growl of indignation, but ultimately allows Nieve to support her as they make their way to the room Riley's been using to sleep in. Unsurprisingly, the woman nearly immediately falls into bed, but at least not before throwing a towel down.
14 March, 2012
Currently the moon is in the waning Half (Philodox) Moon phase (54% full).
Flint's made himself scarce today, gone out despite the rain and the wet. And so, the galliard looks up, flashing a faint scowl at the security camera as he lets himself back into the lobby, door shutting relatively quietly behind him. Keys are shoved into the pocket of the heavy winter coat and exchanged for the half-crumpled pack of cigarettes, though for the moment, Flint actually looks up from looking at his feet, watching where he's going as he heads rather aimlessly towards the laundry room.
With a distinct thump, something slams against the front door of the tenement building—fortunately, that's why locks exist, so that whatever drugged-out homeless person can't just stumble their way into the heart of the tribe's affairs. The rain has picked up in recent minutes, and perhaps that's why the sound of rustling keys isn't as distinct as it should be against the torrent of rain. It persists long enough, though, that it becomes clear that someone is rifling through keys, and failing very handily at managing to just unlock the door. Finally, the sound of the key scraping successfully into the deadbolt, and then a half-turn. Another half-turn, and the door creaks open. Riley stumbles a few steps forward, her breath audible from just about anywhere in the large open entryway. Her fingers immediately drag her cell phone from her pocket, her hands visibly trembling as she dials a number, just standing right inside with the door wide open behind her, trembling.
Flint turns on his heel, looking over at Riley, and then the pack of cigarettes is shoved back into his pocket, half forgotten. There's a scowl that seems to be etched into the teen's face right now, though, and quietly without any comment, he turns and moves to close the door behind Riley, lest she let in the weather. And then Flint just looks at the Ragabash, scowl turning more into a furrow of brow.
The fostern scarcely even seems to notice Flint's approach. It's met with a brief little skirt of her eyes from phone to Cliath and then right back as she hoarsely whispers into the phone, "I-I'm good. I'm home, and… still…" Flint, not the recipient of the call gets to see Riley's head sagging to one side if he looks over, but it's not until the teen is roughly closing the door and turning to face Riley's back that he gets the full brunt of understanding. Even through the ragabash's long winter coat, it's clear something is very wrong. First off, the fact that the back side is saturated with blood from the middle of her back downward, generous droplets of it already beginning to patter on the floor. She closes the phone without properly saying goodbye, and starts to slowly work her way toward the stairs. "Flint, I… I need a theurge."
Brow furrows further when Flint actually sees what's going on, and then the Galliard sighs, heavy. "Fuck," the teenager mutters, moving to Riley's side should she need help, and digging his phone out from his pocket and flipping it open. One of the quick-dial buttons is almost pressed, before Flint purses his lips. "No, Mouse'rhya's gone, wait. Nieve." Then there's another pause, and Flint looks over at Riley even as he's dialing for the theurge, anxious.
Nieve sounds sleepy. "Si whozit?"
Riley casts a fatigued look toward the staircase once again and gives an immediate shake of her head, "N-no point going up there, I guess. Just… find someone. This keeps going, I'm gonna have to close it, and I don't… I don't wanna do that. I don't… know what's going on back there." A half-laugh that ends up sounding more hysterical and unhinged than anything else, and she starts to unzip her coat, fingers keeping up their jerking, sporadic motion. With a grimace, she slowly eases her way out of the arms of her coat.
Flint moves to hold the phone between his chin and his shoulder. "It's Flint." The boy sounds rather urgent. "Are you— are you at home? Riley's hurt, and." A half a beat of pause and Flint continues. "In the lobby." Even as Flint speaks, he's moving to help Riley over to a seat, as well.
"Si, down in a sec." *click*
Riley manages, with Flint's assistance, to stumble over to the couch and sit upon it, hunched forward with her coat hanging over her like a drape now that her arms have been liberated from their sleeves. With gravity working against it now, it's disgustingly obvious that the coat is not simply laying on her back, but part of it is sucking slightly into her back, an indent the size of a softball. That's a charming sight. "Someone… something jumped me in… an alley?" She sounds uncertain, "I… everything's all fucked up, I can't remember how I even got out there. How, or why. I…"
The galliard snaps the phone shut, shoving it back into his pocket. "Nieve-rhya's coming down," Flint says to try and be reassuring, a grimace as he looks at the state of her injuries, audible in his voice as the teen swallows hard.
Riley contents herself with leaning forward, her arms folding over her stomach as she distractedly bounces a knee, trying to force a grin onto her features, which seems to be a default reaction to adversity. "Mouse's…" She takes a steadying breath, "… kill me for bleeding all over the couch." Yeah, she lost a word in there somewhere, but she seems to be feeling too out of sorts to care very much. "Was…on the roof, thinking I might get trashed later, and…" She cranes her head upward for a moment and frowns, "…I… there's nothing."
Flint furrows his brow a little further. "When were you up on the roof?" the boy asks, gently. "I'll go up later and see if. Maybe I can hear anything of what happened, but first, Nieve's gonna be down soon, okay?" Flint glances at the stairwell door, still anxious. "Not that the roof's empty. But I can. I can still try."
Cue Nieve coming down the stairs two by two, in a vest top and panties—looks like she was napping or something. Jeans don't matter when somebody needs healing, and we're all family here, right? it is directly to Riley that she heads, wincing in faint sympathy for the sucking wound on her back. "A'right girl, hold still a second…"
"I don't know. A… an hour ago? More? I… time's all messed up, I can't remember. Do me a … favor." Riley's gaze is hard on the floor as she draws in a shuddery breath, "Tell me how it looks. I only… it hurts, and it feels like I was stabbed. I didn't fuck with it." She cringes a little as she eaaaaases the coat off to the side, expression tightening some as the bit of fabric that had been pressed into the wound drags itself free. The wound is, for lack of a better word, nauseating. There's a jagged hole in the middle of the girl's back, and the wound itself is hideously dirty, dirt and detritus wedged inside of the wicked, gaping hole. Bone is exposed. Organs are exposed. It's a wonder that there's no hole on the other side of the girl. What's also a wonder is the fact that her liver isn't in the way. Oh. Oh, that's because it's not there. There's just a ragged mess of viscera where it ought to be attached.
Flint looks over at Nieve, rocking back on his heels. "There's a first aid kit in the laundry room," Flint says, before he's off in that direction and back with the kit itself at not quite a run. It takes a few minutes, but the cliath is quick on his feet.
Riley gives a little laugh at the reaction, but cuts it short when she realizes that just about everything she does makes it hurt more. She whispers, "…nobody's telling me how it looks." The corner of her mouth quirks half-heartedly up. She distractedly glances over her shoulder to tiredly regard Nieve, lifting a hand to waggle a few fingers in her direction. "Oh… heeeeey. S'you again. H-hey." She doesn't seem to be keeping up particularly well. Idiot's doubtless lost a lot of blood from stubbornly staying in breed since at least the time when she unlocked the front door.
"Take Glabro," Nieve instructs Riley abruptly, as she sets her hands on the other woman's shoulders and leans back, taking a deep breath and invoking the mercy of Gaia, whispering ancient and half-impossible entreaty to the mother.
Flint just hangs back at the far edge of the couch, depositing the first-aid kit should it end up being necessary, and then looking at the mess of a bloody trail. "Right," Flint says, mostly to himself as he turns back for the laundry room, though concerned glances over his shoulder look towards Nieve and Riley frequently. "Suppose I might as well start cleaning up, too."
Shifting while already wounded isn't fun. That's really the crux of the matter. Riley squints her eyes closed as she snaps up to Glabro. Best is to do it quick, like ripping off a band-aid. Her eyes very slowly reopen as she grasps at her knees. "Sorry, man. Didn't mean… to bleed so much." She starts to feel the warmth of Nieve's ministrations, and reflexively gives a little noise of relief. "Oh, thank the gods."
"I'm sorry I can't do more," Nieve apologises, removing her hands from Riley's person, and then coming around to help the no-moon sit. "It's bad. Don't return to Breed for a few days, lest it not heal properly," she suggests softly.
Riley mutters, "Hate Glabro. Feels so clumsy and gross." Still, it's clear that Nieve's work has helped significantly. The wound has closed a great deal, and it's stopped pouring blood so much as weeping it at a languid pace. Riley sucks in a breath and stubbornly gains her footing, wobbling a moment but otherwise looking in control of herself. "Need to check… when I left the roof. Maybe I can piece together what the hell happened."
Flint looks up from cleaning. "Riley, I'll check. I'll check in a few," the cliath says, a worried look offered over. "I can listen for what went on, okay?"
"No. You're not going back up there until you're healed," Nieve informs the Fostern mildly. "Let Flint check…" she adds, then glances over towards the cliath. "Be careful, be stealthy," she notes. "Let's get you to your room, where you can bleed as much as you like," she adds to Riley now, inserting herself under one of the ragabash's arms, shoulder-supporting.
Riley gives a little growl of indignation, but ultimately allows Nieve to support her as they make their way to the room Riley's been using to sleep in. Unsurprisingly, the woman nearly immediately falls into bed, but at least not before throwing a towel down.