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flint_garouWith all this Garou stuff, never thought I'd get to get a job. It makes good sense, though.
10 May, 2012
The moon is in the waning Gibbous (Galliard) Moon phase (70% full).
Flint is early, making his way up to the balcony garden area after having been told where to find Holland at the moment. The Walker Galliard is preceded by the faint sound of humming, a distinctly old ballad rather than anything more modern. He's dressed in a nice pair of jeans and a sweater today, though his backpack's still slung over one shoulder and decidedly more shabby than the rest of his clothing. Upon spying both Val and Holland, the teen pauses in mid-step and straightens, quieting as he nods greeting. "Hi. I. I'm not interrupting, am… am I?" A quick glance between Val and Holland, and Flint looks down at his feet.
Holland shakes his head. "Just business partners. My family does have some ties to the Chavezes, though." As a third person makes himself known, there's a smile of greeting for him. "Not interrupting at all. You must be Flint. I've already told the attendant at the cafe to expect you, so if you'd like a cup of coffee or something to eat, feel free to help yourself."
"Afraid I'm not real familiar with that name. The Chavezes, that is," Val says, as she greets Flint, by wriggling the fingers on her right hand in his direction. "Hey there kiddo and no, not interrupting. I just decided to drop in and get a look at things from a different angle."
Flint nods, and grins. "Hi Val, hi Holland-rhya. Yes. I— I am. Thank you," the teen says, moving to set down his backpack at one of the benches. Then with a nod, the teen wanders back towards the cafe, returning several minutes later with a cup of coffee clasped in both hands.
Holland takes a sip of his own coffee before moving to take a seat on one of the benches. If he's surprised that Val and Flint know each other, it doesn't show, though he does say, "Ah. So it seems I won't have to introduce the two of you, then."
Val's lips twitch, as she watches Flint move off. "Naw. I know Flint and he's gotten over the cop thing. Made all sorts of grumpy faces at me, the first time I ran across him. Then again, I pegged him as a face I'd seen on the missing kids' board. Anyway, speaking of work, I really should get back to it. Gimmie a call if you need anything," Val says, as she pulls out a business card and places it in Holland's hand. The card lists her name and occupation, as a homicide detective in the SCPD. "I'll just let myself out. Have a good morning," she says pleasantly, then walks across the garden rooftop, to an area that's rather close to the edge and hidden from casual view. She doesn't return.
Flint raises his brows at Val. "Mostly gotten over," he mutters, making a face that's a very good approximation of those earlier grumpy faces. Careful observation would note that one of the young Galliard's hands has balled into a fist, the other hand threatens to crush the coffee cup, but he just as quickly takes several deep breaths and relaxes, offering Holland a small smile. "Anyway, um. Hi. Properly, and all. Flint, named Carves-the-Requiem-for-Cockroach's-Children, cliath Galliard."
Holland accepts the card from Val, giving it a look before it goes into a small case that he retrieves from his front jacket pocket. He raises a brow as she steps out of sight and then doesn't return. "Not one of us, then, I take it. There's no mirror over there, and wolves aren't very good climbers." Then, addressing Flint and his introduction, he replies with his own. "Holland Altimari, called Forges the Steel Bond, Fostern Philodox and representative of the Sept of the Mountain Fortress in Colorado Springs. A pleasure to meet you."
Flint glances in Val's direction, and raises his brows in what might be a smirk, if that expression were also tinged with moon-borne annoyance. "She's a. A Corax," the galliard offers, in explanation. "Very. Very nice to meet you." Coffee is set down on the bench, and then Flint sits. "I'd have come, come by. Uh. Sooner. But I've been rather…" brow furrows as the teen searches through words under his breath, "occupied, on a project."
Holland says, "Interesting. That explains how she got up here, then." He nods to the explanation. "No apologies necessary. I had to fly back home for a little while, anyway, to take care of a little situation that cropped up at the last minute, and Ishmael has told me a little bit about the memorial."
Flint nods. "Yeah. Right now I'm at the, the last stages and small details on it," he says, falling silent and there are several more deep breaths, the teen not finding it as easy to push away the irritation from Val's comment as he'd obviously like. "It's a, a very nice place you've got here," he eventually says, quiet.
Holland says. "Well, it's here for you and the rest of the tribe to benefit from." He considers a moment, and then asks, "What do you see yourself doing, long-term? You look a little young to just get a day job here, but that doesn't mean that Terminus can't do you some good."
Flint picks up his cup of coffee and takes several long sips from it, nodding. "I. I'm mostly right now, working on the project and on, getting a— my— pack together, finding more projects to do after I finish the memorial, too. Not so sure about, longer-term," Flint says.
Holland nods. "Packing is something I'll have to be looking into before long, myself, but then, I still need to discuss chiminage to the sept, first. Between the tribal elder being away and getting called back home, I haven't had a chance to take care of that. Speaking of which, is she back as yet?"
The topic brought up doesn't seem to do much for Flint's tension level staying down, and there's an obvious discomfort in the tension in his shoulders, and the shortness with which he shakes his head. "No, Mouse-rhya isn't. Isn't back yet. And, Salem-rhya's away, temporarily, so."
Holland says, "Both of them are still gone? That's turning into quite the lengthy set of trips. Ah, well." He shakes his head. Not oblivious to the Galliard's discomfiture, he changes the subject by asking, "Do you have a date yet for the unveiling of the memorial?"
Flint looks up, and shakes his head. "Not yet, though I'm. I. Hoping for somewhere near Memorial Day, I. I think," Flint responds. "Depends on schedules, and everything, is what we're thinking."
Holland replies, "Fitting. If there's anything I can do to help, other than just being there, let me know."
Flint smiles. "Thank you," the galliard says. "I. I appreciate it and I'll let you… let you know." The stutter and hesitation does seem to be Flint's normal speech, rather than anything of nervousness, and there's a smile as the teen looks around at the garden. "The garden up here is. Is really nice."
Holland says, "It is, isn't it? I'm not much of one for spending time in the deep woods, admittedly, but places like this…this is what the city should be. Nature and steel flourishing side by side, with all the comforts of home near at hand."
Flint nods. "I. I'll go out to the woods, on. Sometimes. More if my packmate's out there," Flint says, with a faint grin. "But I— I like this sort better, green places that. Surrounded by the city, yes." The backpack is pulled over with one foot, and a sketchbook drawn out and a pencil, before Flint's flipping through to a blank page.
Holland glances at the sketchbook, considering, and asks, "Before you get started, may I see some of what you've done already?"
Flint sets the pencil on the bench next to him and nods. "Sure. It. It's mostly technical drawings, for. Ideas for the memorial, specifics on, what cutting for a cutting board, or. Or a box. Trying to figure out a dining room set, such. I. Not really, anything much." Nonetheless for all of his diminishing of his own artistic ability, Flint pages through the sketchbook until he comes to one of the concept pieces for the memorial, although not the full drawing but rather a detail view, and an idea for a chess set is also pointed out and shown. The sketchbook is definitely well-loved in the manner of a prized possession, for the teen.
Holland examines each page that he's shown, nodding, though he offers little in the way of comments. What he does instead is ask, "How are you around ordinary people? You typically able to work with them without too much trouble?"
Flint returns to the blank page of his sketchbook, and considers the fostern's question as he lays down a few faint lines in pencil. "Small moons," he allows, "I'm okay. Other times, it gets a. A little less so, more. More dicey."
Holland asks, "You interested in a little formal training and some work experience? A part-time summer internship would be a start, if you're looking to build some credentials to use that skill of yours professionally. We could put you in with one of the graphic designers in marketing."
Runes looks up and over at the other Glass Walker, a moment, and nods, a faint smile. "I. I'm most interested in, in woodworking," he admits, "but, yes?" The answer is given quietly, tentative, and dragging the backpack towards him, and without looking, Flint digs in it to come out with a small oak and copper box, approximately five inches square, which is offered over for Holland's inspection. There're no visible seams in the piece, and both the lid and the box itself are banded with inlaid copper. "This sort of stuff, right. Right now. Furniture too, but we hadn't gotten to, to that," with an obvious pause, "in woodshop yet."
Holland says, "Good. Give me a bit to get the internship set up officially, and we'll go from there." He accepts the box, taking some time to examine it closely before offering it back. "Very nice. There's not a lot I can do to help with the woodworking directly, but you might be able to use the money for supplies or classes, at least."
Runes looks at Holland a moment, and then grins as he takes the box back, tucking it carefully into his backpack. "That'd," and Flint nods emphatically, several times, rather than trust words that don't seem to be working so well at the moment.
Holland claps the Cliath on the shoulder, offering him a warm smile. "If you'd like to stay up here and draw, you'd be more than welcome to. I should probably be getting back to work, myself. Before I go, though, what's your cell number?" He also offers his own to Flint.
The Galliard pulls out an iPhone, quickly and easily rattling off his cell number. "Thanks, Holland-rhya," Flint says. "See you around?" That done, the teen looks down at the sketchbook, beginning to draw in earnest.
10 May, 2012
The moon is in the waning Gibbous (Galliard) Moon phase (70% full).
Flint is early, making his way up to the balcony garden area after having been told where to find Holland at the moment. The Walker Galliard is preceded by the faint sound of humming, a distinctly old ballad rather than anything more modern. He's dressed in a nice pair of jeans and a sweater today, though his backpack's still slung over one shoulder and decidedly more shabby than the rest of his clothing. Upon spying both Val and Holland, the teen pauses in mid-step and straightens, quieting as he nods greeting. "Hi. I. I'm not interrupting, am… am I?" A quick glance between Val and Holland, and Flint looks down at his feet.
Holland shakes his head. "Just business partners. My family does have some ties to the Chavezes, though." As a third person makes himself known, there's a smile of greeting for him. "Not interrupting at all. You must be Flint. I've already told the attendant at the cafe to expect you, so if you'd like a cup of coffee or something to eat, feel free to help yourself."
"Afraid I'm not real familiar with that name. The Chavezes, that is," Val says, as she greets Flint, by wriggling the fingers on her right hand in his direction. "Hey there kiddo and no, not interrupting. I just decided to drop in and get a look at things from a different angle."
Flint nods, and grins. "Hi Val, hi Holland-rhya. Yes. I— I am. Thank you," the teen says, moving to set down his backpack at one of the benches. Then with a nod, the teen wanders back towards the cafe, returning several minutes later with a cup of coffee clasped in both hands.
Holland takes a sip of his own coffee before moving to take a seat on one of the benches. If he's surprised that Val and Flint know each other, it doesn't show, though he does say, "Ah. So it seems I won't have to introduce the two of you, then."
Val's lips twitch, as she watches Flint move off. "Naw. I know Flint and he's gotten over the cop thing. Made all sorts of grumpy faces at me, the first time I ran across him. Then again, I pegged him as a face I'd seen on the missing kids' board. Anyway, speaking of work, I really should get back to it. Gimmie a call if you need anything," Val says, as she pulls out a business card and places it in Holland's hand. The card lists her name and occupation, as a homicide detective in the SCPD. "I'll just let myself out. Have a good morning," she says pleasantly, then walks across the garden rooftop, to an area that's rather close to the edge and hidden from casual view. She doesn't return.
Flint raises his brows at Val. "Mostly gotten over," he mutters, making a face that's a very good approximation of those earlier grumpy faces. Careful observation would note that one of the young Galliard's hands has balled into a fist, the other hand threatens to crush the coffee cup, but he just as quickly takes several deep breaths and relaxes, offering Holland a small smile. "Anyway, um. Hi. Properly, and all. Flint, named Carves-the-Requiem-for-Cockroach's-Children, cliath Galliard."
Holland accepts the card from Val, giving it a look before it goes into a small case that he retrieves from his front jacket pocket. He raises a brow as she steps out of sight and then doesn't return. "Not one of us, then, I take it. There's no mirror over there, and wolves aren't very good climbers." Then, addressing Flint and his introduction, he replies with his own. "Holland Altimari, called Forges the Steel Bond, Fostern Philodox and representative of the Sept of the Mountain Fortress in Colorado Springs. A pleasure to meet you."
Flint glances in Val's direction, and raises his brows in what might be a smirk, if that expression were also tinged with moon-borne annoyance. "She's a. A Corax," the galliard offers, in explanation. "Very. Very nice to meet you." Coffee is set down on the bench, and then Flint sits. "I'd have come, come by. Uh. Sooner. But I've been rather…" brow furrows as the teen searches through words under his breath, "occupied, on a project."
Holland says, "Interesting. That explains how she got up here, then." He nods to the explanation. "No apologies necessary. I had to fly back home for a little while, anyway, to take care of a little situation that cropped up at the last minute, and Ishmael has told me a little bit about the memorial."
Flint nods. "Yeah. Right now I'm at the, the last stages and small details on it," he says, falling silent and there are several more deep breaths, the teen not finding it as easy to push away the irritation from Val's comment as he'd obviously like. "It's a, a very nice place you've got here," he eventually says, quiet.
Holland says. "Well, it's here for you and the rest of the tribe to benefit from." He considers a moment, and then asks, "What do you see yourself doing, long-term? You look a little young to just get a day job here, but that doesn't mean that Terminus can't do you some good."
Flint picks up his cup of coffee and takes several long sips from it, nodding. "I. I'm mostly right now, working on the project and on, getting a— my— pack together, finding more projects to do after I finish the memorial, too. Not so sure about, longer-term," Flint says.
Holland nods. "Packing is something I'll have to be looking into before long, myself, but then, I still need to discuss chiminage to the sept, first. Between the tribal elder being away and getting called back home, I haven't had a chance to take care of that. Speaking of which, is she back as yet?"
The topic brought up doesn't seem to do much for Flint's tension level staying down, and there's an obvious discomfort in the tension in his shoulders, and the shortness with which he shakes his head. "No, Mouse-rhya isn't. Isn't back yet. And, Salem-rhya's away, temporarily, so."
Holland says, "Both of them are still gone? That's turning into quite the lengthy set of trips. Ah, well." He shakes his head. Not oblivious to the Galliard's discomfiture, he changes the subject by asking, "Do you have a date yet for the unveiling of the memorial?"
Flint looks up, and shakes his head. "Not yet, though I'm. I. Hoping for somewhere near Memorial Day, I. I think," Flint responds. "Depends on schedules, and everything, is what we're thinking."
Holland replies, "Fitting. If there's anything I can do to help, other than just being there, let me know."
Flint smiles. "Thank you," the galliard says. "I. I appreciate it and I'll let you… let you know." The stutter and hesitation does seem to be Flint's normal speech, rather than anything of nervousness, and there's a smile as the teen looks around at the garden. "The garden up here is. Is really nice."
Holland says, "It is, isn't it? I'm not much of one for spending time in the deep woods, admittedly, but places like this…this is what the city should be. Nature and steel flourishing side by side, with all the comforts of home near at hand."
Flint nods. "I. I'll go out to the woods, on. Sometimes. More if my packmate's out there," Flint says, with a faint grin. "But I— I like this sort better, green places that. Surrounded by the city, yes." The backpack is pulled over with one foot, and a sketchbook drawn out and a pencil, before Flint's flipping through to a blank page.
Holland glances at the sketchbook, considering, and asks, "Before you get started, may I see some of what you've done already?"
Flint sets the pencil on the bench next to him and nods. "Sure. It. It's mostly technical drawings, for. Ideas for the memorial, specifics on, what cutting for a cutting board, or. Or a box. Trying to figure out a dining room set, such. I. Not really, anything much." Nonetheless for all of his diminishing of his own artistic ability, Flint pages through the sketchbook until he comes to one of the concept pieces for the memorial, although not the full drawing but rather a detail view, and an idea for a chess set is also pointed out and shown. The sketchbook is definitely well-loved in the manner of a prized possession, for the teen.
Holland examines each page that he's shown, nodding, though he offers little in the way of comments. What he does instead is ask, "How are you around ordinary people? You typically able to work with them without too much trouble?"
Flint returns to the blank page of his sketchbook, and considers the fostern's question as he lays down a few faint lines in pencil. "Small moons," he allows, "I'm okay. Other times, it gets a. A little less so, more. More dicey."
Holland asks, "You interested in a little formal training and some work experience? A part-time summer internship would be a start, if you're looking to build some credentials to use that skill of yours professionally. We could put you in with one of the graphic designers in marketing."
Runes looks up and over at the other Glass Walker, a moment, and nods, a faint smile. "I. I'm most interested in, in woodworking," he admits, "but, yes?" The answer is given quietly, tentative, and dragging the backpack towards him, and without looking, Flint digs in it to come out with a small oak and copper box, approximately five inches square, which is offered over for Holland's inspection. There're no visible seams in the piece, and both the lid and the box itself are banded with inlaid copper. "This sort of stuff, right. Right now. Furniture too, but we hadn't gotten to, to that," with an obvious pause, "in woodshop yet."
Holland says, "Good. Give me a bit to get the internship set up officially, and we'll go from there." He accepts the box, taking some time to examine it closely before offering it back. "Very nice. There's not a lot I can do to help with the woodworking directly, but you might be able to use the money for supplies or classes, at least."
Runes looks at Holland a moment, and then grins as he takes the box back, tucking it carefully into his backpack. "That'd," and Flint nods emphatically, several times, rather than trust words that don't seem to be working so well at the moment.
Holland claps the Cliath on the shoulder, offering him a warm smile. "If you'd like to stay up here and draw, you'd be more than welcome to. I should probably be getting back to work, myself. Before I go, though, what's your cell number?" He also offers his own to Flint.
The Galliard pulls out an iPhone, quickly and easily rattling off his cell number. "Thanks, Holland-rhya," Flint says. "See you around?" That done, the teen looks down at the sketchbook, beginning to draw in earnest.