Flint Madden (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
flint_garou) wrote2012-01-03 12:00 pm
flint_garou) wrote2012-01-03 12:00 pm
Fieldtrip!
At Edgewood …
3 January, 2012
The moon is in the waxing Gibbous (Galliard) Moon phase (64% full).
No car in the driveway to give away there's anyone around. But a couple of lights on inside the old house could be clue enough. Especially when, from the kitchen comes the voice of an adolescent male. "So basically just be polite," the voice explains, a little grudgingly. "Don't leave the house without me, since no one's given you clearance to go onto the bawn alone."
"I will, Devon-rhya," comes the answer, with the tone that it's been said several times. "I know." Another pause. "Thank you," Flint adds, a little quieter.
It's not long before there's a muffled scrabbling of claws on the porch outside, an annoyed grunt of a large mammal, and then silence a moment before the sliding glass door pulls open. In walks Nik, dugging burrs off of his clothing. A perturbed look is on his face, and he scrubs his hands together to warm them. He catches sight of those already in the room and nods in greeting, taking a moment to warm up.
"Yeah," Devon answers absently, head shaking at the thanks. He's leaning against the counter, picking prickles and stickers from his shirt. That shake turns his head toward the door, watching with pinched brows as the door opens and a stranger comes into the house. He straightens when Nik nods, and a quick flick of his gaze angles off to Flint to check that the cub is still nearby before he speaks with a simple, "Hey."
Flint hasn't gone far since then. The cub looks from Devon, to the newcomer, with a brief nod, before going back to picking off the few remaining burrs from the jacket in his hands.
Nik regards the pair with interest, tugging his jacket off and draping it over a counter. "Either of you remember how to introduce yourselves?" He asks with a teasing smirk, crossing his scarred arms over his chest. He peers especially at the quiet one. "Bit shrimpy," he observes, despite his height. "At least tell me one of you is a Shadow Lord."
"Devon," the older boy replies, arms folding over his chest. "Formally Red-Hands-Wields-the-Knife. Cliath Ahroun, Glass Walker." His head tips slightly, brows arching again in askance. "Neither of us're Shadow Lords, though who're you?"
Flint looks up again, the jacket draped across his arm once it is free of burrs and thorns. "Flint," he says, straightening up a bit when he's called shrimpy, a glance over to Devon for a moment. "Called Takes-It-All-In-Stride. Galliard cub, Glass Walker."
Nik grins a little at the responses. "Shrimpy, but perhaps not wimps." He holds out his hand to the Cliath. "Nikolai Thunder's-Hunter-of-the-Heart, Shadow Lord. Fostern No-Moon, former tribal Alpha. Nice ta meetcha." He glances at Flint. "How's the kid coping?"
Devon's eyes flick toward the hand then up to Nik again, a touch more respectful. One hand drops to his side while the other extends to take the Fostern's extended hand. "A pleasure, Nik-rhya," he replies, casting a glance toward Flint. "Well enough, I suppose. Hasn't tried running away, so I think he'll do alright."
Stomping can be heard outside the back door just before Owen makes his way inside, depositing his boots once again by the door. He looks tusseled up, like here's been in a fight, but there's a sort of shit-eaten grin on his face that seems to counter the former. He makes his way across the kitchen without further fanfare.
Flint gives Devon what might be a grin, and might be a glare. It's really hard to tell, and it fades back into a neutral expression quickly, before Flint ducks a nod and sets his jacket down, turning to investigate the refrigerator and get himself some juice.
Nik glances up at the sudden reappearance of Owen, giving the Get another nod in greeting. "Well, All-in-Stride, how good are you at playin' out your auspice? How about we crack open some sodas and hear how you ended up part of our society? I could use a good story to get my mind off the burrs in my ears."
Devon's eyes slant a look toward the new arrival, a small dip of his head mirroring the Ragabash's nod to Owen. His hands go into his pockets, shoulders lifting a little.
Owen nearly runs into, and possibly over, Flint, the both of them headed towards the same thing in the kitchen. "Whoa there, kleine Kerl!" he breaks into German, blinking a little.
Flint ducks his head and looks down at the floor. "I'm sorry," he says, quiet, shaking himself off with no real worry, then yielding so that Owen can get to the fridge first. A faint grin breaks out, as he looks towards both Devon and Nik. "Sure, I s'pose," he gives in answer, with his look falling back on Devon as if for at least a little reassurance.
Nik smirks in satisfaction. Jacey's jar with bramble bits is withdraw from an inner pocket of his jacket. Then he's drifting to the livingroom to try and resurrect the fire he'd started earlier. The jar is set on the floor, and newspaper crumpled and set aflame. "Red-Hand, you're playing babysitter?"
"Something like that," Devon answers, glancing toward the cub. He tips his head toward the living area, not so much as reassurance but invitation to follow. "Kid wanted out and I couldn't come up with a reason not to bring him somewhere that wasn't the city."
Owen seems to measure the kid up a little, eyes squiting, even leaning forward a touch. "What, we're changing in gradeschool now?" he asks to no one in particular before shrugging and finishing his way to the freezer, getting an icetray out to take to the sink.
Flint waits, grabbing himself a cup of juice before going over to the living room. "I was in high school," he says, over his shoulders in Owen's direction, before finding a place on a couch near the fireplace. "Not that it matters." Another look at Devon, this time more of a grin, before he looks back at the Shadow Lord. "I was … kinfetched, and going pretty much anywhere but home, when Kavi-rhya and Devon-rhya found me." The grin fades a little. "Or more, I ran into Devon while they were looking for me, because I wasn't watching where I was going." A glance towards the kitchen, and the near-miss encounter with Owen.
Nik gets to his feet, dusting off his hands and he regards the once-more blazing fireplace. Then he resumes his perch on the couch, settling in to listen while he fishes in his pockets for a cigarette. He smirks at Owen's snipe. "Did ya know?" He asks the cub.
Devon glances at Owen, affecting a small grin at the comment. "Don't let'em get to you, Flint. They were our age once, a long time ago." He continues through the living room toward the library, pausing once to glance at the cub. "I'll be in here, if you need anything, but you remember what I told you. Mouse and Kavi'll have my hide for a rug if you screw up. And it'll be worse for you."
Owen huffs as he fills a glass with ice and then water from the tap. "I was born already a great…" He stops, looks up for a moment out the window, and the back over his shoulder as he closes the tap. "'Devon-rhya'?"
Nik leans forward, giving Flint a dead serious expression. As Owen objects, the Shadow Lord merely nods solemnly. "We don't tell the Glass Walkers everything… but it's true. All the other tribes are born into their ranks, and the Glass Walkers have to start from square one." He leans back, lacing his fingers behind his head. "True story." Man is it hard to tell if he thinks he's telling the truth.
Devon shakes his head to Nik's claim, looking straight at Flint. "You remember what you're taught, not what these guys tell you," he says with a slight grin. His expression humbles when he looks to Owen, head tipping into another nod. "Yeah, came back successful from my Rite of Passage a couple days ago. Name's Red-Hands-Wields-the-Knife. If you'll excuse me, Owen-rhya, Nik-rhya. Gotta research some on plant life."
Flint just nods as Devon admonishes him, offering a grin. "Yes, Devon-rhya. I know, I know," he says, before his gaze goes back to Nick, head tilted to the side. The cub obviously disbelieves, not to mention Devon's second statement. "I didn't know," he says, going back to Nik's earlier question rather than the later statement. "My dad died when I was little, so. I don't remember him, or when he was around." A pause. "We had just moved into town a few days before … before everything happened."
"Not what these guys tell you," Owen repeats, frowning a little. "Who's gonna tell this pup how to kill a man with an egg beater?" He returns to his glass of icewater and downs it.
Nik smirks a little at Flint. "Lucky you, huh? Last I heard from the Glass Walkers was that they were shooting silver bullets at each other in their own safehouse. Was quite a while ago, though. I'm sure you'll change everything for the better, right?" He peers narrowly at the cub. "Generation of hope and all. So your dad was the Walker. Where's your mother?"
"Not important, really," Flint responds. It's not the touchy subject it had been several days ago, but there's a telltale shift in his posture and in how the cub's hands rest on his knees, and a faint grimace when he does answer further.
"Barely remembered I exist anyway. Better this than what I came from. Before we moved here, we'd lived in so many … places," he says, amending the original word choice hastily, "that I lost count, lost count of the times she yelled." A pause. "Et cetera." The last two words make it clear enough that that's the last the boy's really willing to say on the matter, as he glances towards the kitchen. "I dunno, I just might listen to that," he calls out to Owen, a grin showing on his face again. "Creative use for an eggbeater."
Owen refills his glass and downs that one as well before answering back. "It's all in the wrist." He sets the glass in the sink and wipes his mouth on a forearm, muttering lightly to himself that maybe he'll wake up tomorrow without a headache after all.
Nik steeples his fingers, his legs outstretched and crossed at the ankles, as relaxed as a ragabash can look in the presence of heavy-moons. He seems to be listening more to what Flint isn't saying, rather than is. Owen gets a sidelong glance and a lift of a pierced brow, and the Lord purses his lips a little in thought. "Perhaps you guys should show me a thing or two in the… angry arts," he observes. "My place has a very satisfying workout room in the loft."
Flint shakes his head, a jerk towards the library that Devon had disappeared into given by means of explanation. "'d like to keep my hide," he says, grinning a bit more. "Besides, the fire's warm." This obviously being an important concept to the boy.
Owen turns back tot he others briefly. "Now don't kill him or nothing." He heads back towards the rear door to fetch his boots.
Nik shrugs, finally seeking his cigarettes and settling one between his lips. "Suite yourself. Bought the place for the other Shadow Lords to use, but as you can see…" He lights the cigarette and spreads his arms to indicate the room, the Bawn, the city. "We're no longer plentiful."
Flint grins a bit. "Thanks, though," the cub does add, with a dip of his head before paying attention to the glass of juice in his hands, and scooting himself a bit closer to the fireplace. "Last lived in Oakland, before here," he says. "Down in the Bay area, in California. It's cold here." Indeed, the cub may be by the fire, but he has his jacket on again anyway. Loosely and unzipped, it has the effect of looking even more oversized to the boy's slight frame.
Nik raises his brows. "No shit. I'm from LA, myself. Sept there used to be Steel Angel, till they went under." He regards the boy again as he takes another long drag of his cigarette. "Wonder if your dad had connections there. But you're right, it's fuckin' frosty out."
Flint shakes his head. "Was born in Portland," he says. "Oregon. It's where my dad was from. I think. We started moving right after he died, and from then on, well." He shrugs. There's no love lost in the boy's words about his mother, it's obvious. "But we lived in LA for a bit, when I was real little. With my aunt. And mostly in California after that. It's really cold here, comparatively."
Nik nods. "Shame. Woulda been nice to know someone else from there. At least by-proxy." He shakes his head with a sigh. "Well… whatever. Tell me what they've taught you so far. The Litany, I assume. How to introduce yourself, obviously. But being a Galliard, you'll learn much more than that. What'd they tell you about the other tribes?"
"Kavi-rhya has been focusing on the history of our own tribe at the moment," Flint says, a rather graceful and easy enough deflection of the question, in most aspects. "And history in the more general sense for the moment. The history of the caern, and such." A pause. "We've gone over a little about the rest of the tribes, but not very much over all."
Nik chuckles, flicking the remnants of his cigarette into the fire. "I'd get on that. One of the bigger problems our Sept has are the tribes being far too caught up in themselves. If the Glass Walkers were suddenly reduced to a few members, would you be able to function still? Get out there, coming here's a start. Train with the Get. Study with the Silver Fangs, if they'll let ya." He pushes to his feet. "Come to me if you want to learn a Rite."
Flint just raises his eyebrows a little, whatever healthy sense of disbelief that Devon had encouraged definitely present, yet still respectful as the cub nods. "Thank you for building the fire, Nik-rhya," he says. It's obvious the boy intends to at least stay by it and tend it for a while. Until Devon says it's time to go back, if he's allowed to. "Guess I'll seeya around."
Nik regards Flint another moment at the thanks, eyes squinted slightly as if it wasn't quite what Nik had expected thanks for. "Mm hm," the Shadow Lord mumbles, throwing his jacket on and heading back out the door he'd come in, shifting as he does so. Obviously to important business.
3 January, 2012
The moon is in the waxing Gibbous (Galliard) Moon phase (64% full).
No car in the driveway to give away there's anyone around. But a couple of lights on inside the old house could be clue enough. Especially when, from the kitchen comes the voice of an adolescent male. "So basically just be polite," the voice explains, a little grudgingly. "Don't leave the house without me, since no one's given you clearance to go onto the bawn alone."
"I will, Devon-rhya," comes the answer, with the tone that it's been said several times. "I know." Another pause. "Thank you," Flint adds, a little quieter.
It's not long before there's a muffled scrabbling of claws on the porch outside, an annoyed grunt of a large mammal, and then silence a moment before the sliding glass door pulls open. In walks Nik, dugging burrs off of his clothing. A perturbed look is on his face, and he scrubs his hands together to warm them. He catches sight of those already in the room and nods in greeting, taking a moment to warm up.
"Yeah," Devon answers absently, head shaking at the thanks. He's leaning against the counter, picking prickles and stickers from his shirt. That shake turns his head toward the door, watching with pinched brows as the door opens and a stranger comes into the house. He straightens when Nik nods, and a quick flick of his gaze angles off to Flint to check that the cub is still nearby before he speaks with a simple, "Hey."
Flint hasn't gone far since then. The cub looks from Devon, to the newcomer, with a brief nod, before going back to picking off the few remaining burrs from the jacket in his hands.
Nik regards the pair with interest, tugging his jacket off and draping it over a counter. "Either of you remember how to introduce yourselves?" He asks with a teasing smirk, crossing his scarred arms over his chest. He peers especially at the quiet one. "Bit shrimpy," he observes, despite his height. "At least tell me one of you is a Shadow Lord."
"Devon," the older boy replies, arms folding over his chest. "Formally Red-Hands-Wields-the-Knife. Cliath Ahroun, Glass Walker." His head tips slightly, brows arching again in askance. "Neither of us're Shadow Lords, though who're you?"
Flint looks up again, the jacket draped across his arm once it is free of burrs and thorns. "Flint," he says, straightening up a bit when he's called shrimpy, a glance over to Devon for a moment. "Called Takes-It-All-In-Stride. Galliard cub, Glass Walker."
Nik grins a little at the responses. "Shrimpy, but perhaps not wimps." He holds out his hand to the Cliath. "Nikolai Thunder's-Hunter-of-the-Heart, Shadow Lord. Fostern No-Moon, former tribal Alpha. Nice ta meetcha." He glances at Flint. "How's the kid coping?"
Devon's eyes flick toward the hand then up to Nik again, a touch more respectful. One hand drops to his side while the other extends to take the Fostern's extended hand. "A pleasure, Nik-rhya," he replies, casting a glance toward Flint. "Well enough, I suppose. Hasn't tried running away, so I think he'll do alright."
Stomping can be heard outside the back door just before Owen makes his way inside, depositing his boots once again by the door. He looks tusseled up, like here's been in a fight, but there's a sort of shit-eaten grin on his face that seems to counter the former. He makes his way across the kitchen without further fanfare.
Flint gives Devon what might be a grin, and might be a glare. It's really hard to tell, and it fades back into a neutral expression quickly, before Flint ducks a nod and sets his jacket down, turning to investigate the refrigerator and get himself some juice.
Nik glances up at the sudden reappearance of Owen, giving the Get another nod in greeting. "Well, All-in-Stride, how good are you at playin' out your auspice? How about we crack open some sodas and hear how you ended up part of our society? I could use a good story to get my mind off the burrs in my ears."
Devon's eyes slant a look toward the new arrival, a small dip of his head mirroring the Ragabash's nod to Owen. His hands go into his pockets, shoulders lifting a little.
Owen nearly runs into, and possibly over, Flint, the both of them headed towards the same thing in the kitchen. "Whoa there, kleine Kerl!" he breaks into German, blinking a little.
Flint ducks his head and looks down at the floor. "I'm sorry," he says, quiet, shaking himself off with no real worry, then yielding so that Owen can get to the fridge first. A faint grin breaks out, as he looks towards both Devon and Nik. "Sure, I s'pose," he gives in answer, with his look falling back on Devon as if for at least a little reassurance.
Nik smirks in satisfaction. Jacey's jar with bramble bits is withdraw from an inner pocket of his jacket. Then he's drifting to the livingroom to try and resurrect the fire he'd started earlier. The jar is set on the floor, and newspaper crumpled and set aflame. "Red-Hand, you're playing babysitter?"
"Something like that," Devon answers, glancing toward the cub. He tips his head toward the living area, not so much as reassurance but invitation to follow. "Kid wanted out and I couldn't come up with a reason not to bring him somewhere that wasn't the city."
Owen seems to measure the kid up a little, eyes squiting, even leaning forward a touch. "What, we're changing in gradeschool now?" he asks to no one in particular before shrugging and finishing his way to the freezer, getting an icetray out to take to the sink.
Flint waits, grabbing himself a cup of juice before going over to the living room. "I was in high school," he says, over his shoulders in Owen's direction, before finding a place on a couch near the fireplace. "Not that it matters." Another look at Devon, this time more of a grin, before he looks back at the Shadow Lord. "I was … kinfetched, and going pretty much anywhere but home, when Kavi-rhya and Devon-rhya found me." The grin fades a little. "Or more, I ran into Devon while they were looking for me, because I wasn't watching where I was going." A glance towards the kitchen, and the near-miss encounter with Owen.
Nik gets to his feet, dusting off his hands and he regards the once-more blazing fireplace. Then he resumes his perch on the couch, settling in to listen while he fishes in his pockets for a cigarette. He smirks at Owen's snipe. "Did ya know?" He asks the cub.
Devon glances at Owen, affecting a small grin at the comment. "Don't let'em get to you, Flint. They were our age once, a long time ago." He continues through the living room toward the library, pausing once to glance at the cub. "I'll be in here, if you need anything, but you remember what I told you. Mouse and Kavi'll have my hide for a rug if you screw up. And it'll be worse for you."
Owen huffs as he fills a glass with ice and then water from the tap. "I was born already a great…" He stops, looks up for a moment out the window, and the back over his shoulder as he closes the tap. "'Devon-rhya'?"
Nik leans forward, giving Flint a dead serious expression. As Owen objects, the Shadow Lord merely nods solemnly. "We don't tell the Glass Walkers everything… but it's true. All the other tribes are born into their ranks, and the Glass Walkers have to start from square one." He leans back, lacing his fingers behind his head. "True story." Man is it hard to tell if he thinks he's telling the truth.
Devon shakes his head to Nik's claim, looking straight at Flint. "You remember what you're taught, not what these guys tell you," he says with a slight grin. His expression humbles when he looks to Owen, head tipping into another nod. "Yeah, came back successful from my Rite of Passage a couple days ago. Name's Red-Hands-Wields-the-Knife. If you'll excuse me, Owen-rhya, Nik-rhya. Gotta research some on plant life."
Flint just nods as Devon admonishes him, offering a grin. "Yes, Devon-rhya. I know, I know," he says, before his gaze goes back to Nick, head tilted to the side. The cub obviously disbelieves, not to mention Devon's second statement. "I didn't know," he says, going back to Nik's earlier question rather than the later statement. "My dad died when I was little, so. I don't remember him, or when he was around." A pause. "We had just moved into town a few days before … before everything happened."
"Not what these guys tell you," Owen repeats, frowning a little. "Who's gonna tell this pup how to kill a man with an egg beater?" He returns to his glass of icewater and downs it.
Nik smirks a little at Flint. "Lucky you, huh? Last I heard from the Glass Walkers was that they were shooting silver bullets at each other in their own safehouse. Was quite a while ago, though. I'm sure you'll change everything for the better, right?" He peers narrowly at the cub. "Generation of hope and all. So your dad was the Walker. Where's your mother?"
"Not important, really," Flint responds. It's not the touchy subject it had been several days ago, but there's a telltale shift in his posture and in how the cub's hands rest on his knees, and a faint grimace when he does answer further.
"Barely remembered I exist anyway. Better this than what I came from. Before we moved here, we'd lived in so many … places," he says, amending the original word choice hastily, "that I lost count, lost count of the times she yelled." A pause. "Et cetera." The last two words make it clear enough that that's the last the boy's really willing to say on the matter, as he glances towards the kitchen. "I dunno, I just might listen to that," he calls out to Owen, a grin showing on his face again. "Creative use for an eggbeater."
Owen refills his glass and downs that one as well before answering back. "It's all in the wrist." He sets the glass in the sink and wipes his mouth on a forearm, muttering lightly to himself that maybe he'll wake up tomorrow without a headache after all.
Nik steeples his fingers, his legs outstretched and crossed at the ankles, as relaxed as a ragabash can look in the presence of heavy-moons. He seems to be listening more to what Flint isn't saying, rather than is. Owen gets a sidelong glance and a lift of a pierced brow, and the Lord purses his lips a little in thought. "Perhaps you guys should show me a thing or two in the… angry arts," he observes. "My place has a very satisfying workout room in the loft."
Flint shakes his head, a jerk towards the library that Devon had disappeared into given by means of explanation. "'d like to keep my hide," he says, grinning a bit more. "Besides, the fire's warm." This obviously being an important concept to the boy.
Owen turns back tot he others briefly. "Now don't kill him or nothing." He heads back towards the rear door to fetch his boots.
Nik shrugs, finally seeking his cigarettes and settling one between his lips. "Suite yourself. Bought the place for the other Shadow Lords to use, but as you can see…" He lights the cigarette and spreads his arms to indicate the room, the Bawn, the city. "We're no longer plentiful."
Flint grins a bit. "Thanks, though," the cub does add, with a dip of his head before paying attention to the glass of juice in his hands, and scooting himself a bit closer to the fireplace. "Last lived in Oakland, before here," he says. "Down in the Bay area, in California. It's cold here." Indeed, the cub may be by the fire, but he has his jacket on again anyway. Loosely and unzipped, it has the effect of looking even more oversized to the boy's slight frame.
Nik raises his brows. "No shit. I'm from LA, myself. Sept there used to be Steel Angel, till they went under." He regards the boy again as he takes another long drag of his cigarette. "Wonder if your dad had connections there. But you're right, it's fuckin' frosty out."
Flint shakes his head. "Was born in Portland," he says. "Oregon. It's where my dad was from. I think. We started moving right after he died, and from then on, well." He shrugs. There's no love lost in the boy's words about his mother, it's obvious. "But we lived in LA for a bit, when I was real little. With my aunt. And mostly in California after that. It's really cold here, comparatively."
Nik nods. "Shame. Woulda been nice to know someone else from there. At least by-proxy." He shakes his head with a sigh. "Well… whatever. Tell me what they've taught you so far. The Litany, I assume. How to introduce yourself, obviously. But being a Galliard, you'll learn much more than that. What'd they tell you about the other tribes?"
"Kavi-rhya has been focusing on the history of our own tribe at the moment," Flint says, a rather graceful and easy enough deflection of the question, in most aspects. "And history in the more general sense for the moment. The history of the caern, and such." A pause. "We've gone over a little about the rest of the tribes, but not very much over all."
Nik chuckles, flicking the remnants of his cigarette into the fire. "I'd get on that. One of the bigger problems our Sept has are the tribes being far too caught up in themselves. If the Glass Walkers were suddenly reduced to a few members, would you be able to function still? Get out there, coming here's a start. Train with the Get. Study with the Silver Fangs, if they'll let ya." He pushes to his feet. "Come to me if you want to learn a Rite."
Flint just raises his eyebrows a little, whatever healthy sense of disbelief that Devon had encouraged definitely present, yet still respectful as the cub nods. "Thank you for building the fire, Nik-rhya," he says. It's obvious the boy intends to at least stay by it and tend it for a while. Until Devon says it's time to go back, if he's allowed to. "Guess I'll seeya around."
Nik regards Flint another moment at the thanks, eyes squinted slightly as if it wasn't quite what Nik had expected thanks for. "Mm hm," the Shadow Lord mumbles, throwing his jacket on and heading back out the door he'd come in, shifting as he does so. Obviously to important business.