Flint Madden (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
flint_garou) wrote2012-06-19 10:33 am
flint_garou) wrote2012-06-19 10:33 am
I'm not a fuckng thirteen-year-old!
Meeting Chit-Chat, and more with the crazy Gaia-damned cub.
19 June, 2012
The moon is in the waxing New (Ragabash) Moon phase (1% full).
Flint is curled on the couch after a fairly late breakfast, attention diverted from his surroundings to his iPhone, and occasionally his sketchbook. The galliard isn't even actually facing the door to the breakroom, right now.
Kevin pushes the breakroom door open, peering inside as if looking for someone. When he sees Flint, he steps inside, and clears his throat noisily.
It's enough that Flint pulls his headphones out of his ears, sets his phone down in his lap, and turns around, then straightens a little abruptly at the sight of the ragabash. "Hi Kevin-rhya," Flint calls out.
Kevin walks slowly into the room. "Hey, Flint. Good job on those things," he says, waving a hand at the memorial plaques. "Got a few moments to talk?"
Flint shoves his phone carefully into the pocket of his sweatshirt, then more carefully closes and puts away his sketchbook in a similar manner. "Sure," he responds. "I… yeah. And thanks." The cliath sits up, swinging his legs over the side of the couch so that he no longer takes up so much of the space.
Kevin doesn't sit down, but leans against the top of one of the chairs, hands gripping the rail. "Seen anything of Devon lately, for one thing?" he enquires.
A moment of pause, and a brief headshake, and Flint furrows his brows. "No." The response isn't quite petulant, but close. "Last time, last time I did, he just. Brushed past me, without talking to. To me." Another pause. "Sorry."
"Don't apologise," says Kevin mildly. "I was wondering, because I've not seen him either. Then again I've hardly been around much myself… However," he goes on, "I'm hoping you've seen at least something of Ky or Alexandra lately?"
Flint nods, and then grins, first a little, then widely. "Yes," Flint affirms, a little fidgety for a moment. "'Course I have."
Into the breakroom comes a Nieve, yawning her head off. From the look of her she hasn't slept much, and there's the faint smell of weed lingering in the air around her. "Morn'n."
"Would you and your packmates," Kevin asks, in the manner of one choosing his words carefully, "have any knowledge upon the subject of giant rats? … Morning, Nieve," he adds, turning to watch her enter, and wrinkling his nose slightly at the scent that clings to her.
"Morning Nieve-rhya," Flint offers, and nods at Kevin. "Sewer rats, yes." In fact, it's something that Flint's been spreading word of, although quietly and mostly, the past few days have been taken up with other things. "Ky got a letter," he adds. "And a map, of… of the sewers, out in the Industrial sector. We. Kavi-rhya said we should take the flamethrower."
"Into a c'nfined space full'a flammable gas?" Nieve eyes Flint sidelong. "No thanks. Hola Kevin—how's it goin'?" She slips into the room, heading for the kitchen for some edibles.
"Ehhh… okay, I guess," Kevin responds to Nieve. "Yes, flamethrowers in a sewer strikes me as a way bad idea. These rats, though. Are they just rats?" It's plain from the way he phrases it that Kevin has grounds to believe they're not.
Flint raises his eyebrows, nods acknowledgement. "We… the ones Lex saw, were forty pounds, or. Or bigger, a little. The letter said some stuff about them," he says, chewing on his lower lip while he pauses, then gets up and paces to the kitchen. "More aggressive, don't like bright lights. Also, foot-long, acid-producing slugs. Salt," Flint says, moving to get himself a glass of water.
"So, more like small dogs," Nieve observes, beginning to fix herself a sandwich. "Salt an' disco lights, but not fire. Not n'less everyone goin' has Master of Fire on standby."
Flint nods, no argument given towards that. "It… right," he acknowledges, pauses, and looks at Nieve. "You ever… ever heard of the 'Sewer Queen'?" Flint makes air quotes. "The letter Ky got was, was signed that."
"Soun's like a low-budget movie title," Nieve remarks with a briefly amused sound, cutting her sandwich into quarters. She's stuffed just about every kind of meat the fridge holds into there, and comes over to plop down and eat it in company.
Flint chews on his lower lip, and there's a moment where the young galliard looks a bit distant. "Guess not," he mutters, then yawns. Seems he hasn't gotten terribly much sleep either.
"Why, y'think it's someone livin' in the sewers?" Nieve wonders, beginning to munch on her sandwich—and because she's a nice woman most of the time, she picks up one of the quarters and offers it over to the cliath.
The teen furrows his brows a little and shrugs, but the offer of a sandwich quarter is met with a grin, Flint moving over to take it. "Dunno," he says. "Thanks." And then there's a long moment where Flint's attention is taken up by the sandwich quarter, a careful slow deliberance to the eating. "'d like to. To know," he adds, in between bites.
"I'm guessin' there weren't anythin' so handy as a cellphone number or forwardin' address on th' letter?" Nieve asks, chomping her way through sandwich quarters between words.
Flint shakes his head, shrugs his shoulders. "Nope. Homeless guy, delivered it over to. To… to the Vault," Flint explains. "Didn't see it, it given to him." The galliard shrugs, moves back over to the couch now.
"Soun's like it might be worth askin' the Gnawers if they can track down who did the deliverin'," Nieve suggests, finishing her sandwich and sighing contently.
The cliath finishes off his sandwich quarter, and his glass of water, and nods. "Yeah. Should, soon," Flint agrees, quiet.
"So what's new w'you, anyhow? T' memorial looks good," Nieve nods, nodding towards the back wall. Rising, she returns her plate to the kitchenette, swapping it for a glass of water.
Flint purses his lips, a moment. "Pack," he explains, the more neutral expression dawning into a wide smile. "Lex, and Ky. Unfettered, under Merlin."
"Yeah? S'good," Nieve acknowledges with a similar smile. "Ain't nothin' quite like pack, t'be fair. Not family, not friends, not nothin'."
Flint nods. "Yeah. Now I… I see what that means," Flint says, grinning. "Sure, I. I half-remembered, but that's nothing, compared to." The galliard glances around the room, then curls back into the couch a little.
"S'true. An' though I've been packless for long periods, ain't never feels quite right as when you've got pack," Nieve acknowledges. "Though it weren't too difficult in th' Web. Kinda dif'rent there."
Flint grins a little bit. "Yeah?" he asks, craning his head to look at the theurge, in the inquisitive and listening posture that's common for the teen.
"Bein' in the digital web ain't like bein' in the rest of the Umbra," Nieve explains quietly, scratching her cheek briefly. "It's… almost more like playin' a computer game, 'cept if you die, you die."
The galliard nods, shifting to turn towards Nieve. "Sounds… neat," Flint says. "I. I dunno. But it sounds neat."
"Kinda," Nieve acknowledges, then finishes her mug of juice. "I'll tell y'the story if y'like, now or later."
Flint leans on the arm of the couch, glancing past Nieve to the door of the breakroom, and then back to Nieve. "I'd like that. Whenever. Whenever you want, don't… if you've got something more. More important, don't worry about. About it," Flint says.
Ex can be heard before she's seen, as she stomps down the hallway from the cubroom in a heavy manner that's likely entirely deliberate. When she appears in the breakroom doorway, her eyes are narrowed, with lines to suggest a serious lack of sleep. One sleeve on her new-ish hoodie is bunchier than it should be. She eyes those in the room carefully as she scoots toward the kitchen, and the refrigerator.
"There's always somethin' more important,—until you die, an' the story ain't been told," Nieve admits to Flint with a rueful smile. Then she glances up as Ex comes in, offering the cub a brief smile. "Mornin'. There's pizza, lasagna an' cold meat in the fridge if y'want somethin," she notes.
"Whenever is. Is good for, you, Nieve-rhya," Flint repeats, looking over at Ex and nodding greeting.
Ex pulls the fridge door open without acknowledging any of the greetings. It takes her only a few moments before she pulls out the pizza—the whole thing, mind—and sets it on the counter.
"Maybe it's time f'you to tell another story, Flint," Nieve suggests then, watching Ex go about her foraging. "Somethin' primal. I'unno how much you've told our guest already, but."
Flint turns his head towards Nieve. "Not as much as. None of the songs," Flint says, frowning a little.
Ex says, without turning around—she appears to be carefully inspecting the food—"Kavi can summon a big fucking monster that talks."
"We're all gifted, in one way or another, once we pass cubhood," Nieve tells Ex with a small smile. "Kavi's gifts relate to communication, to inspiring, to finding allies. Mine arn't so showy, but I can demonstrate for you if you like."
Flint purses his lips, looking back at the cub, but quiet for the moment.
Ex turns around to eye Nieve at this offer. She has a piece of cold pizza in hand, and she takes an unwisely large bite from it. The Theurge gets a jerk of her chin.
"If you'd step away from the counter?" Nieve asks, waiting to see if Ex does so—either way, she lifts her hand and points to the kitchen cabinets and drawers. Calling on her control of the smallest machines, she silently asks the drawer sliders to slide, the door hinges to open, the switches for the power sockets to move up and down.
Flint cranes his head to look at where Nieve's pointing, after a moment, and grins.
Ex jerks around and stares at the moving cabinetry, her mouth full of pizza, and her scarred cheeks slightly puffed. Her eyebrows visibly raise.
Nieve then carefully asks them all to close, slide back and stop dancing, to give the cub a little time to re-compose herself. She doesn't say anything, instead just considers Ex thoughtfully.
Flint stares at the cabinetry for a moment longer, and looks to Nieve. "Kavi was. Was telling me about that Gift," the cliath says, quietly.
Ex focuses on chewing her food, slowly at that, as she eyes the previously moving kitchen implements with deep suspicion. It'll probably take her a little longer to clear her mouth enough to say anything.
"They won't move on their own, I promise," Nieve tells Ex patiently, before nodding sidelong to Flint. "It's useful. Situational, I guess. Can use it to type if you're busy eatin' pizza, for example." Oh, such a dry and teasing example.
Flint continues to look at the cabinetry, and then looks at Nieve. "That's cool," he eventually says. "I… Kavi-rhya is teaching me Dedication, and I. I'm teaching Kavi-rhya the. The… the Artwork rite. If… at some point, would… could you teach me that, Nieve-rhya?" The request takes quite a while for Flint to articulate, wary glances towards Ex every once in a while.
Ex folds the crust of her pizza and shoves the entire thing into her mouth. Chew, chew, chew. One eye narrows a little further as she watches the other two talk.
"The gift?" Nieve nods. "Prob'ly. We'll talk about it when you're done learnin' Dedication," she affirms to the cliath, before turning her gaze back to Ex. "S'decent pizza. Garcia's, if y'ever been there. Anyhow—y'got any questions while we're all here?"
Flint grins at Nieve, a little bit, then settles back on the couch once more.
Ex finally swallows the last of her pizza slice. "Your mural's creepy," she says, voice hoarse, as she jerks a thumb back toward the doorway. "Keep seeing things in it."
Flint tilts his head to one side, and looks at Ex. "The one in the hall? Or?" He points at the mural that forms the backdrop for the memorial.
Ex's gaze flicks to the memorial behind the computers, and her eyes narrow again. "That's creepy too," she confirms.
Flint turns towards the memorial, and nods. "Ishmael painted the. The hallway. Long… long before I got here," Flint says, and then points at the memorial. "I… I made that. It remembers werewolves of our tribe, who've died. Fighting the Wyrm, and such."
Ex looks at Flint, and her nose wrinkles. "Werewolves of what fighting the what? Who died?"
"Werewolf society is split up broadly along family lines. We call them tribes," Nieve explains in brief. "And they died fighting the Wyrm—the spirit of all that is corrupt or dying. It has many pawns, many minions. Some lesser, some strong enough to kill a pack of hunting werewolves. Or, as we call ourselves, Garou."
Flint shoots Nieve a fairly grateful look when she pipes up. "That," he says, very quietly.
Ex runs her fingernails over her forehead before she reaches over for another slice of pizza. She takes a bite with deliberate slowness, watching both Walkers carefully.
"Flint an' I are both Glass Walkers, so's Kavi. Moros, he's a Black Fury. There's a bunch of families, the who an' what ain't so much important as knowin' they're there. S'more like a dif'rence in philosophy," Nieve finishes. "All of us 'cept one, we fight the wyrm, to try an' stop the world bein' such a shitty place. The one who don't… they're bad juju, an' they're the ones I said before who'd love to find you."
"Fucking weird," Ex mutters around her pizza. "If you're the god damned X-Men, where's your fucking jet?"
"I'd love a jet," Nieve ventures wistfully, then smiles just a little bit. "Ain't got no jet, sadly. Nor yellow spandex, thank fuck. Got the claws, got the attitude, got… gifts, like I said. One day, you might too, if you stick at it."
Ex swallows her bite, and sticks her tongue out the side of her mouth, with appropriate sound effect. "Pbth. No. I'm learning control, like you all keep saying. Then I'm out."
"What, bein' a Jedi ain't enough to tempt you?" Nieve enquires, sounding thoughtful. "What would it take t'get you t'want to learn the rest, Ex?"
Ex's right shoulder lifts, and falls. "Being a Jedi didn't help the others." She takes another bite of pizza, but she's watching Nieve and Flint now; she never quite fully looks away from either of them.
"Others?" Flint asks, quietly.
"Were they experienced like us?" Nieve asks. "Or raw recruits like y'self?" She rises, beginning to poke around the room. Then, "Flint, y'got a bit of wood spare I can use?"
"Fuck if I know," Ex mutters, once again around a mouthful. "And I'm not a fucking recruit." She jerks her chin toward the memorial wall. "Didn't fucking help them either, did it?"
Flint looks over at the wall. "They might have died," the young galliard says, "but. But those times? Except. Those times, we won." He waves at the names. "I… if you want, some point. I'll tell you the stories, their stories." The theurge gets a nod, and Flint pulls a half-carved small block of two by four, offers it to her. "This work?" There's the beginning impressions of a flower growing out of the wood.
"They were soldiers," Nieve replies simply. "So are we. Dyin', it happens." She shakes her head at Flint, then. "No. Somethin' you don't mind not gettin' back. Just a small bit," she clarifies.
"See?" the cub swallows, and takes another bite of pizza. "Pretty big fucking downside to being a Jedi X-Man in the creepy werewolf cult."
Flint pulls out his switchblade from his pocket, and proceeds to carve a thin sliver of the wood off, offering it to Nieve. "I. I messed up, anyway," he explains.
"S'true," Nieve agrees. "Only problem is, whichever way you choose, it's gonna happen. You choose us, you choose them—or, you choose neither an' get killed simply for bein' one," she finishes, taking the finger-sized piece of wood and nodding her thanks to the cliath.
Ex scowls. "I choose being me. Why the fuck do I wanna go die in a creepy cult war fighting evil spirits?" She adds, "Kavi's monster was fucking big. And it had wings. It could fly."
Flint furrows his brow. "You met Kavi's… Fidelity's pack totem?" Flint asks, putting the pieces together.
"Yep. If you really care for things summoned, there's others. S'a bit showy for my taste, though—I tend not t' ask th' spirits to come by just to make a demonstration," Nieve muses. Lifting her hand, she begins to touch the lump of wood—petting it almost, like it were a small animal. And then it is—or at least, the sculpture of one, a particularly lifelike if rather small chameleon. This is set aside on the table, almost incidently.
"Yep." Ex swings around to face them more directly, and leans against the kitchen counter. Another bite of pizza. "Skokiaan. It talked. Seemed kind've nice. Scratched me up when I asked. Creepy smile though." Her eyes flick, briefly, toward the suddenly shaped wood. Her chewing gets a little slower.
Pack> Ky says, "Not totally trusted yet, but the gang's mostly accepted me. Nothing unusual to report back."
Flint nods at Ex, but then Flint's getting up, turning mostly away from the other two, with a distracted look on his face.
Pack> Flint says, "Be careful."
Pack> Ky says, "By the way, either of you know anyone that wants to buy some pot?"
"Sphinx spirit, if I r'member rightly." Nieve cocks her head slightly, then digs out her cellphone to send a text, a tiny little smile present as she does so. "Never met 'er personally. Fancy meetin' another spirit?"
Ex's chewing speed slows to an absolute crawl. "Uh." She swallows. "Why?"
"I've got a spirit friend who hangs around sometimes," Nieve murmurs. "S'not as big or clawy as a sphinx, m'fraid. You'll prob'ly laugh, when he gets here." She doesn't seem self-concious despite her words, though there's no sign of anything arriving immediately.
Ex starts to take another bite, but pauses with the half-eaten pizza slice partway to her mouth. "Do you all have fucking spirits?" A beat. "Are you Jedi X-Men Pokemon masters or some shit?"
"We don't all have spirits, no." Nieve shakes her head, dreadlocks swaying. "But, they're allies an' occasionally friends. I've been with this one six years now. He's a personal friend, as 'posed to Skokiaan, who is the friend of a whole pack."
Flint is distracted for a long moment, and then turns back to Ex and Nieve. "Right," he says, quietly.
Ex's nose wrinkles. "Don't make it appear right in front of me. Over there, with you two."
"I don't make it do anythin'. Still, it ain't dangerous," Nieve ventures. There's a flash of colour more or less above her, and a large butterfly fizzles into being. By large, we're talking probably twice the size of letter paper—and it's brightly coloured. Very specifically, the wings are blue and green on one side, and red and yellow on the other.
"It is a Pokemon," Ex exclaims, with a light snort. "It's a butterfly-a-chu." She sets her pizza down and leans forward, head angling up to peer at the materialized spirit.
Flint gets up from the couch, at this, moving over to the kitchen, but there's a pause, and he glances to the butterfly, with a nod of greeting, and unhidden wonder.
"His name is Chit-Chat. He's an MSN butterfly," Nieve explains. The spirit flaps a little more then lands on the back of a chair, wings outspread to be admired. "He can talk, just not while he's materialised."
Text from an unknown number: Hungry. Got sugar?
Ex rolls her eyes ceilingward and covers her face with her hands. "Fucking Microsoft has spirits? Fucking Microsoft?"
There's a buzzing and then a sound that sounds like the R2D2 sounds, from Flint's pocket, and he pulls out his phone as he gets into the kitchen, blinking a few times. "Um…" is all he manages, though he looks through the cabinets obligingly.
"It's a bit more complicated'n that," Nieve muses. "Maybe his ancestors were tied to Microsoft—he ain't, he's just a butterfly who likes text. He's evolved from that. Same as Cellular Sparrows, Firefoxes, Thunderbirds. They're related, but not to th' software any more."
Text: Sugar sugar sugar sugar!
"No," Ex says flatly, as she lowers her hands. "You are making that shit up. That is fucking stupid." She slides another step or so closer, and reaches out a finger to poke at one of the colorful wings.
"Here, let him talk t'you." Nieve offers her cellphone over to Ex. "He'll text you, if he's got somethin' t'say." The butterfly darts back away from the poking, taking flight again to somewhere higher up.
The R2D2 sounds go again, and Flint looks at his phone, and looks over at Chit-Chat, and then looks at Nieve. "Sugar?" he asks. A moment later of fussing around the kitchen, Flint returns with a glass of juice, and a bunch of cookies and gummy bears on a plate. "Here, Chit-Chat. Sugar."
Ex takes the cellphone between her fingers, gingerly, and with a look of distaste on her features. Her eyes move from it to Nieve several times.
The spirit moves to settle on the edge of the glass of juice, wings fanning again.
Flint startles, ever so slightly, when the spirit lands on the glass of juice, and there's a moment of his mouth hanging open, before he looks down at the butterfly. "Alright. You, that. That's sugar too, I guess." Though this has Flint diverting back to the kitchen to carefully get a second glass of juice for himself.
Ex frowns at the cellphone screen, then looks up at the butterfly spirit. "You're kind've duuuuuumb," she tells it, and then says into the phone speaker, "Duuuuuumb."
The Theurge smiles a little bit as her companion gets comfortable with his juice, sitting back simply to watch.
Kevin's eyebrow rises, Spocklike, as he espies Ex, and more to the point, espies Ex scoping him out. "Hello, hello," he says. "Who do we have here?" His grouchy look evaporates as he walks into the room, eyes on the newcomer.
Flint actually laughs at the butterfly, a faint grin as it fades out, and then he takes his glass of juice back to the couch. "Hi again Kevin-rhya. Kevin, this is Ex. Or Rogue. She's a cub."
Ex reaches back and retrieves her slice of half eaten pizza from the counter (the rest of said pizza has been set out as well, but it looks cold), without taking her eyes off of Kevin. Rather than say anything herself, she gives him a wary, narrow-eyed looking over.
Kevin says, "Is that why Rina's lurking down the hall instead of coming in here with everyone else?" Kevin drawls. "Well, hi, Rogue. I'm Kevin. You must be the one I was hearing about."
Flint just nods, settling back onto the couch and keeping a bit of an eye on the cub.
"I'm not a recruit," Ex says abruptly, as if to stave off assumptions. "They're making me stay here so I can learn control and shit." She eyes Kevin a little more, and mutters, "Least you aren't a fucking thirteen-year-old."
"No," Kevin agrees, with something of a smile. "No, no I am not." There's definitely something non-local about his voice, though it's hard to place his accent for sure. "I was once, though. How old're you?"
Ex gives a rough shrug. "Dunno." She glances toward Flint. "Older than that." She looks like she may be early twenties. Certainly no older, and not much younger.
Flint looks at Ex, then back away, and rolls his eyes.
Kevin turns to Flint. "Do we know—" he begins, then pauses, and very deliberately turns back to Ex. "Do we know," he says again, "what your auspice is yet… if you know what that means? I used to hate it when people talked about me in front of me, when I was a cub," he adds by way of explanation.
Ex gives Kevin a blank look. "A what?"
Flint shakes his head. "No," he responds, not quite abruptly. "Doesn't know. Her birthday."
"Shame," Kevin says. "Okey-doke. What do you know, then, Rogue? About why you're here, I mean?" He sits on the arm of an empty chair, swinging his long legs back and forth, but his focus remains on Ex.
Ex snaps at Flint, with sudden heat, "I know my fucking birthday!" Her left shoulder jerks. "But I'm not telling you assholes. Fuck no." She turns narrowed eyes on Kevin. "So I can learn control and not kill people when I'm pissed. Nobody'll let me leave until then."
"Well it. It would help if. If you did tell us," Flint mutters.
Rina comes in, one gun and one knife in the open—no jacket, in the privacy of the building—and heads for the kitchen to get a drink. "Hey, Kev," she offers. "We should talk."
Kevin can't resist a slight chuckle at that outburst, though it doesn't seem to be meant in a mocking way at Ex; more an indulgent one. "That's one way of putting it," he agrees. "I take it, then, you've already killed someone when you were pissed? Or come close to it?" He asides to Flint, "Possibly… but she's a bit old for that, to only just pop?…"
"Yeah," Ex says, her tone turning derisive, and not losing any of its prior heat, "I bet it would help. But you aren't fucking getting it. No birthday. No fucking questions." Her eyes flick to Rina as she enters, then to Kevin. She inhales slowly. "…Yeah. A few. Maybe some more. Fucking animal, right here."
Riley follows shortly after Rina, her hands lazily tucked into her coat pockets. She leans simply against the side of the door, being unsociable.
Flint pushes to his feet, glances to Rina, then to Kevin and Riley, and turns and heads out of the breakroom. The cliath evidently doesn't go far, but he does go.
19 June, 2012
The moon is in the waxing New (Ragabash) Moon phase (1% full).
Flint is curled on the couch after a fairly late breakfast, attention diverted from his surroundings to his iPhone, and occasionally his sketchbook. The galliard isn't even actually facing the door to the breakroom, right now.
Kevin pushes the breakroom door open, peering inside as if looking for someone. When he sees Flint, he steps inside, and clears his throat noisily.
It's enough that Flint pulls his headphones out of his ears, sets his phone down in his lap, and turns around, then straightens a little abruptly at the sight of the ragabash. "Hi Kevin-rhya," Flint calls out.
Kevin walks slowly into the room. "Hey, Flint. Good job on those things," he says, waving a hand at the memorial plaques. "Got a few moments to talk?"
Flint shoves his phone carefully into the pocket of his sweatshirt, then more carefully closes and puts away his sketchbook in a similar manner. "Sure," he responds. "I… yeah. And thanks." The cliath sits up, swinging his legs over the side of the couch so that he no longer takes up so much of the space.
Kevin doesn't sit down, but leans against the top of one of the chairs, hands gripping the rail. "Seen anything of Devon lately, for one thing?" he enquires.
A moment of pause, and a brief headshake, and Flint furrows his brows. "No." The response isn't quite petulant, but close. "Last time, last time I did, he just. Brushed past me, without talking to. To me." Another pause. "Sorry."
"Don't apologise," says Kevin mildly. "I was wondering, because I've not seen him either. Then again I've hardly been around much myself… However," he goes on, "I'm hoping you've seen at least something of Ky or Alexandra lately?"
Flint nods, and then grins, first a little, then widely. "Yes," Flint affirms, a little fidgety for a moment. "'Course I have."
Into the breakroom comes a Nieve, yawning her head off. From the look of her she hasn't slept much, and there's the faint smell of weed lingering in the air around her. "Morn'n."
"Would you and your packmates," Kevin asks, in the manner of one choosing his words carefully, "have any knowledge upon the subject of giant rats? … Morning, Nieve," he adds, turning to watch her enter, and wrinkling his nose slightly at the scent that clings to her.
"Morning Nieve-rhya," Flint offers, and nods at Kevin. "Sewer rats, yes." In fact, it's something that Flint's been spreading word of, although quietly and mostly, the past few days have been taken up with other things. "Ky got a letter," he adds. "And a map, of… of the sewers, out in the Industrial sector. We. Kavi-rhya said we should take the flamethrower."
"Into a c'nfined space full'a flammable gas?" Nieve eyes Flint sidelong. "No thanks. Hola Kevin—how's it goin'?" She slips into the room, heading for the kitchen for some edibles.
"Ehhh… okay, I guess," Kevin responds to Nieve. "Yes, flamethrowers in a sewer strikes me as a way bad idea. These rats, though. Are they just rats?" It's plain from the way he phrases it that Kevin has grounds to believe they're not.
Flint raises his eyebrows, nods acknowledgement. "We… the ones Lex saw, were forty pounds, or. Or bigger, a little. The letter said some stuff about them," he says, chewing on his lower lip while he pauses, then gets up and paces to the kitchen. "More aggressive, don't like bright lights. Also, foot-long, acid-producing slugs. Salt," Flint says, moving to get himself a glass of water.
"So, more like small dogs," Nieve observes, beginning to fix herself a sandwich. "Salt an' disco lights, but not fire. Not n'less everyone goin' has Master of Fire on standby."
Flint nods, no argument given towards that. "It… right," he acknowledges, pauses, and looks at Nieve. "You ever… ever heard of the 'Sewer Queen'?" Flint makes air quotes. "The letter Ky got was, was signed that."
"Soun's like a low-budget movie title," Nieve remarks with a briefly amused sound, cutting her sandwich into quarters. She's stuffed just about every kind of meat the fridge holds into there, and comes over to plop down and eat it in company.
Flint chews on his lower lip, and there's a moment where the young galliard looks a bit distant. "Guess not," he mutters, then yawns. Seems he hasn't gotten terribly much sleep either.
"Why, y'think it's someone livin' in the sewers?" Nieve wonders, beginning to munch on her sandwich—and because she's a nice woman most of the time, she picks up one of the quarters and offers it over to the cliath.
The teen furrows his brows a little and shrugs, but the offer of a sandwich quarter is met with a grin, Flint moving over to take it. "Dunno," he says. "Thanks." And then there's a long moment where Flint's attention is taken up by the sandwich quarter, a careful slow deliberance to the eating. "'d like to. To know," he adds, in between bites.
"I'm guessin' there weren't anythin' so handy as a cellphone number or forwardin' address on th' letter?" Nieve asks, chomping her way through sandwich quarters between words.
Flint shakes his head, shrugs his shoulders. "Nope. Homeless guy, delivered it over to. To… to the Vault," Flint explains. "Didn't see it, it given to him." The galliard shrugs, moves back over to the couch now.
"Soun's like it might be worth askin' the Gnawers if they can track down who did the deliverin'," Nieve suggests, finishing her sandwich and sighing contently.
The cliath finishes off his sandwich quarter, and his glass of water, and nods. "Yeah. Should, soon," Flint agrees, quiet.
"So what's new w'you, anyhow? T' memorial looks good," Nieve nods, nodding towards the back wall. Rising, she returns her plate to the kitchenette, swapping it for a glass of water.
Flint purses his lips, a moment. "Pack," he explains, the more neutral expression dawning into a wide smile. "Lex, and Ky. Unfettered, under Merlin."
"Yeah? S'good," Nieve acknowledges with a similar smile. "Ain't nothin' quite like pack, t'be fair. Not family, not friends, not nothin'."
Flint nods. "Yeah. Now I… I see what that means," Flint says, grinning. "Sure, I. I half-remembered, but that's nothing, compared to." The galliard glances around the room, then curls back into the couch a little.
"S'true. An' though I've been packless for long periods, ain't never feels quite right as when you've got pack," Nieve acknowledges. "Though it weren't too difficult in th' Web. Kinda dif'rent there."
Flint grins a little bit. "Yeah?" he asks, craning his head to look at the theurge, in the inquisitive and listening posture that's common for the teen.
"Bein' in the digital web ain't like bein' in the rest of the Umbra," Nieve explains quietly, scratching her cheek briefly. "It's… almost more like playin' a computer game, 'cept if you die, you die."
The galliard nods, shifting to turn towards Nieve. "Sounds… neat," Flint says. "I. I dunno. But it sounds neat."
"Kinda," Nieve acknowledges, then finishes her mug of juice. "I'll tell y'the story if y'like, now or later."
Flint leans on the arm of the couch, glancing past Nieve to the door of the breakroom, and then back to Nieve. "I'd like that. Whenever. Whenever you want, don't… if you've got something more. More important, don't worry about. About it," Flint says.
Ex can be heard before she's seen, as she stomps down the hallway from the cubroom in a heavy manner that's likely entirely deliberate. When she appears in the breakroom doorway, her eyes are narrowed, with lines to suggest a serious lack of sleep. One sleeve on her new-ish hoodie is bunchier than it should be. She eyes those in the room carefully as she scoots toward the kitchen, and the refrigerator.
"There's always somethin' more important,—until you die, an' the story ain't been told," Nieve admits to Flint with a rueful smile. Then she glances up as Ex comes in, offering the cub a brief smile. "Mornin'. There's pizza, lasagna an' cold meat in the fridge if y'want somethin," she notes.
"Whenever is. Is good for, you, Nieve-rhya," Flint repeats, looking over at Ex and nodding greeting.
Ex pulls the fridge door open without acknowledging any of the greetings. It takes her only a few moments before she pulls out the pizza—the whole thing, mind—and sets it on the counter.
"Maybe it's time f'you to tell another story, Flint," Nieve suggests then, watching Ex go about her foraging. "Somethin' primal. I'unno how much you've told our guest already, but."
Flint turns his head towards Nieve. "Not as much as. None of the songs," Flint says, frowning a little.
Ex says, without turning around—she appears to be carefully inspecting the food—"Kavi can summon a big fucking monster that talks."
"We're all gifted, in one way or another, once we pass cubhood," Nieve tells Ex with a small smile. "Kavi's gifts relate to communication, to inspiring, to finding allies. Mine arn't so showy, but I can demonstrate for you if you like."
Flint purses his lips, looking back at the cub, but quiet for the moment.
Ex turns around to eye Nieve at this offer. She has a piece of cold pizza in hand, and she takes an unwisely large bite from it. The Theurge gets a jerk of her chin.
"If you'd step away from the counter?" Nieve asks, waiting to see if Ex does so—either way, she lifts her hand and points to the kitchen cabinets and drawers. Calling on her control of the smallest machines, she silently asks the drawer sliders to slide, the door hinges to open, the switches for the power sockets to move up and down.
Flint cranes his head to look at where Nieve's pointing, after a moment, and grins.
Ex jerks around and stares at the moving cabinetry, her mouth full of pizza, and her scarred cheeks slightly puffed. Her eyebrows visibly raise.
Nieve then carefully asks them all to close, slide back and stop dancing, to give the cub a little time to re-compose herself. She doesn't say anything, instead just considers Ex thoughtfully.
Flint stares at the cabinetry for a moment longer, and looks to Nieve. "Kavi was. Was telling me about that Gift," the cliath says, quietly.
Ex focuses on chewing her food, slowly at that, as she eyes the previously moving kitchen implements with deep suspicion. It'll probably take her a little longer to clear her mouth enough to say anything.
"They won't move on their own, I promise," Nieve tells Ex patiently, before nodding sidelong to Flint. "It's useful. Situational, I guess. Can use it to type if you're busy eatin' pizza, for example." Oh, such a dry and teasing example.
Flint continues to look at the cabinetry, and then looks at Nieve. "That's cool," he eventually says. "I… Kavi-rhya is teaching me Dedication, and I. I'm teaching Kavi-rhya the. The… the Artwork rite. If… at some point, would… could you teach me that, Nieve-rhya?" The request takes quite a while for Flint to articulate, wary glances towards Ex every once in a while.
Ex folds the crust of her pizza and shoves the entire thing into her mouth. Chew, chew, chew. One eye narrows a little further as she watches the other two talk.
"The gift?" Nieve nods. "Prob'ly. We'll talk about it when you're done learnin' Dedication," she affirms to the cliath, before turning her gaze back to Ex. "S'decent pizza. Garcia's, if y'ever been there. Anyhow—y'got any questions while we're all here?"
Flint grins at Nieve, a little bit, then settles back on the couch once more.
Ex finally swallows the last of her pizza slice. "Your mural's creepy," she says, voice hoarse, as she jerks a thumb back toward the doorway. "Keep seeing things in it."
Flint tilts his head to one side, and looks at Ex. "The one in the hall? Or?" He points at the mural that forms the backdrop for the memorial.
Ex's gaze flicks to the memorial behind the computers, and her eyes narrow again. "That's creepy too," she confirms.
Flint turns towards the memorial, and nods. "Ishmael painted the. The hallway. Long… long before I got here," Flint says, and then points at the memorial. "I… I made that. It remembers werewolves of our tribe, who've died. Fighting the Wyrm, and such."
Ex looks at Flint, and her nose wrinkles. "Werewolves of what fighting the what? Who died?"
"Werewolf society is split up broadly along family lines. We call them tribes," Nieve explains in brief. "And they died fighting the Wyrm—the spirit of all that is corrupt or dying. It has many pawns, many minions. Some lesser, some strong enough to kill a pack of hunting werewolves. Or, as we call ourselves, Garou."
Flint shoots Nieve a fairly grateful look when she pipes up. "That," he says, very quietly.
Ex runs her fingernails over her forehead before she reaches over for another slice of pizza. She takes a bite with deliberate slowness, watching both Walkers carefully.
"Flint an' I are both Glass Walkers, so's Kavi. Moros, he's a Black Fury. There's a bunch of families, the who an' what ain't so much important as knowin' they're there. S'more like a dif'rence in philosophy," Nieve finishes. "All of us 'cept one, we fight the wyrm, to try an' stop the world bein' such a shitty place. The one who don't… they're bad juju, an' they're the ones I said before who'd love to find you."
"Fucking weird," Ex mutters around her pizza. "If you're the god damned X-Men, where's your fucking jet?"
"I'd love a jet," Nieve ventures wistfully, then smiles just a little bit. "Ain't got no jet, sadly. Nor yellow spandex, thank fuck. Got the claws, got the attitude, got… gifts, like I said. One day, you might too, if you stick at it."
Ex swallows her bite, and sticks her tongue out the side of her mouth, with appropriate sound effect. "Pbth. No. I'm learning control, like you all keep saying. Then I'm out."
"What, bein' a Jedi ain't enough to tempt you?" Nieve enquires, sounding thoughtful. "What would it take t'get you t'want to learn the rest, Ex?"
Ex's right shoulder lifts, and falls. "Being a Jedi didn't help the others." She takes another bite of pizza, but she's watching Nieve and Flint now; she never quite fully looks away from either of them.
"Others?" Flint asks, quietly.
"Were they experienced like us?" Nieve asks. "Or raw recruits like y'self?" She rises, beginning to poke around the room. Then, "Flint, y'got a bit of wood spare I can use?"
"Fuck if I know," Ex mutters, once again around a mouthful. "And I'm not a fucking recruit." She jerks her chin toward the memorial wall. "Didn't fucking help them either, did it?"
Flint looks over at the wall. "They might have died," the young galliard says, "but. But those times? Except. Those times, we won." He waves at the names. "I… if you want, some point. I'll tell you the stories, their stories." The theurge gets a nod, and Flint pulls a half-carved small block of two by four, offers it to her. "This work?" There's the beginning impressions of a flower growing out of the wood.
"They were soldiers," Nieve replies simply. "So are we. Dyin', it happens." She shakes her head at Flint, then. "No. Somethin' you don't mind not gettin' back. Just a small bit," she clarifies.
"See?" the cub swallows, and takes another bite of pizza. "Pretty big fucking downside to being a Jedi X-Man in the creepy werewolf cult."
Flint pulls out his switchblade from his pocket, and proceeds to carve a thin sliver of the wood off, offering it to Nieve. "I. I messed up, anyway," he explains.
"S'true," Nieve agrees. "Only problem is, whichever way you choose, it's gonna happen. You choose us, you choose them—or, you choose neither an' get killed simply for bein' one," she finishes, taking the finger-sized piece of wood and nodding her thanks to the cliath.
Ex scowls. "I choose being me. Why the fuck do I wanna go die in a creepy cult war fighting evil spirits?" She adds, "Kavi's monster was fucking big. And it had wings. It could fly."
Flint furrows his brow. "You met Kavi's… Fidelity's pack totem?" Flint asks, putting the pieces together.
"Yep. If you really care for things summoned, there's others. S'a bit showy for my taste, though—I tend not t' ask th' spirits to come by just to make a demonstration," Nieve muses. Lifting her hand, she begins to touch the lump of wood—petting it almost, like it were a small animal. And then it is—or at least, the sculpture of one, a particularly lifelike if rather small chameleon. This is set aside on the table, almost incidently.
"Yep." Ex swings around to face them more directly, and leans against the kitchen counter. Another bite of pizza. "Skokiaan. It talked. Seemed kind've nice. Scratched me up when I asked. Creepy smile though." Her eyes flick, briefly, toward the suddenly shaped wood. Her chewing gets a little slower.
Pack> Ky says, "Not totally trusted yet, but the gang's mostly accepted me. Nothing unusual to report back."
Flint nods at Ex, but then Flint's getting up, turning mostly away from the other two, with a distracted look on his face.
Pack> Flint says, "Be careful."
Pack> Ky says, "By the way, either of you know anyone that wants to buy some pot?"
"Sphinx spirit, if I r'member rightly." Nieve cocks her head slightly, then digs out her cellphone to send a text, a tiny little smile present as she does so. "Never met 'er personally. Fancy meetin' another spirit?"
Ex's chewing speed slows to an absolute crawl. "Uh." She swallows. "Why?"
"I've got a spirit friend who hangs around sometimes," Nieve murmurs. "S'not as big or clawy as a sphinx, m'fraid. You'll prob'ly laugh, when he gets here." She doesn't seem self-concious despite her words, though there's no sign of anything arriving immediately.
Ex starts to take another bite, but pauses with the half-eaten pizza slice partway to her mouth. "Do you all have fucking spirits?" A beat. "Are you Jedi X-Men Pokemon masters or some shit?"
"We don't all have spirits, no." Nieve shakes her head, dreadlocks swaying. "But, they're allies an' occasionally friends. I've been with this one six years now. He's a personal friend, as 'posed to Skokiaan, who is the friend of a whole pack."
Flint is distracted for a long moment, and then turns back to Ex and Nieve. "Right," he says, quietly.
Ex's nose wrinkles. "Don't make it appear right in front of me. Over there, with you two."
"I don't make it do anythin'. Still, it ain't dangerous," Nieve ventures. There's a flash of colour more or less above her, and a large butterfly fizzles into being. By large, we're talking probably twice the size of letter paper—and it's brightly coloured. Very specifically, the wings are blue and green on one side, and red and yellow on the other.
"It is a Pokemon," Ex exclaims, with a light snort. "It's a butterfly-a-chu." She sets her pizza down and leans forward, head angling up to peer at the materialized spirit.
Flint gets up from the couch, at this, moving over to the kitchen, but there's a pause, and he glances to the butterfly, with a nod of greeting, and unhidden wonder.
"His name is Chit-Chat. He's an MSN butterfly," Nieve explains. The spirit flaps a little more then lands on the back of a chair, wings outspread to be admired. "He can talk, just not while he's materialised."
Text from an unknown number: Hungry. Got sugar?
Ex rolls her eyes ceilingward and covers her face with her hands. "Fucking Microsoft has spirits? Fucking Microsoft?"
There's a buzzing and then a sound that sounds like the R2D2 sounds, from Flint's pocket, and he pulls out his phone as he gets into the kitchen, blinking a few times. "Um…" is all he manages, though he looks through the cabinets obligingly.
"It's a bit more complicated'n that," Nieve muses. "Maybe his ancestors were tied to Microsoft—he ain't, he's just a butterfly who likes text. He's evolved from that. Same as Cellular Sparrows, Firefoxes, Thunderbirds. They're related, but not to th' software any more."
Text: Sugar sugar sugar sugar!
"No," Ex says flatly, as she lowers her hands. "You are making that shit up. That is fucking stupid." She slides another step or so closer, and reaches out a finger to poke at one of the colorful wings.
"Here, let him talk t'you." Nieve offers her cellphone over to Ex. "He'll text you, if he's got somethin' t'say." The butterfly darts back away from the poking, taking flight again to somewhere higher up.
The R2D2 sounds go again, and Flint looks at his phone, and looks over at Chit-Chat, and then looks at Nieve. "Sugar?" he asks. A moment later of fussing around the kitchen, Flint returns with a glass of juice, and a bunch of cookies and gummy bears on a plate. "Here, Chit-Chat. Sugar."
Ex takes the cellphone between her fingers, gingerly, and with a look of distaste on her features. Her eyes move from it to Nieve several times.
The spirit moves to settle on the edge of the glass of juice, wings fanning again.
Flint startles, ever so slightly, when the spirit lands on the glass of juice, and there's a moment of his mouth hanging open, before he looks down at the butterfly. "Alright. You, that. That's sugar too, I guess." Though this has Flint diverting back to the kitchen to carefully get a second glass of juice for himself.
Ex frowns at the cellphone screen, then looks up at the butterfly spirit. "You're kind've duuuuuumb," she tells it, and then says into the phone speaker, "Duuuuuumb."
The Theurge smiles a little bit as her companion gets comfortable with his juice, sitting back simply to watch.
Kevin's eyebrow rises, Spocklike, as he espies Ex, and more to the point, espies Ex scoping him out. "Hello, hello," he says. "Who do we have here?" His grouchy look evaporates as he walks into the room, eyes on the newcomer.
Flint actually laughs at the butterfly, a faint grin as it fades out, and then he takes his glass of juice back to the couch. "Hi again Kevin-rhya. Kevin, this is Ex. Or Rogue. She's a cub."
Ex reaches back and retrieves her slice of half eaten pizza from the counter (the rest of said pizza has been set out as well, but it looks cold), without taking her eyes off of Kevin. Rather than say anything herself, she gives him a wary, narrow-eyed looking over.
Kevin says, "Is that why Rina's lurking down the hall instead of coming in here with everyone else?" Kevin drawls. "Well, hi, Rogue. I'm Kevin. You must be the one I was hearing about."
Flint just nods, settling back onto the couch and keeping a bit of an eye on the cub.
"I'm not a recruit," Ex says abruptly, as if to stave off assumptions. "They're making me stay here so I can learn control and shit." She eyes Kevin a little more, and mutters, "Least you aren't a fucking thirteen-year-old."
"No," Kevin agrees, with something of a smile. "No, no I am not." There's definitely something non-local about his voice, though it's hard to place his accent for sure. "I was once, though. How old're you?"
Ex gives a rough shrug. "Dunno." She glances toward Flint. "Older than that." She looks like she may be early twenties. Certainly no older, and not much younger.
Flint looks at Ex, then back away, and rolls his eyes.
Kevin turns to Flint. "Do we know—" he begins, then pauses, and very deliberately turns back to Ex. "Do we know," he says again, "what your auspice is yet… if you know what that means? I used to hate it when people talked about me in front of me, when I was a cub," he adds by way of explanation.
Ex gives Kevin a blank look. "A what?"
Flint shakes his head. "No," he responds, not quite abruptly. "Doesn't know. Her birthday."
"Shame," Kevin says. "Okey-doke. What do you know, then, Rogue? About why you're here, I mean?" He sits on the arm of an empty chair, swinging his long legs back and forth, but his focus remains on Ex.
Ex snaps at Flint, with sudden heat, "I know my fucking birthday!" Her left shoulder jerks. "But I'm not telling you assholes. Fuck no." She turns narrowed eyes on Kevin. "So I can learn control and not kill people when I'm pissed. Nobody'll let me leave until then."
"Well it. It would help if. If you did tell us," Flint mutters.
Rina comes in, one gun and one knife in the open—no jacket, in the privacy of the building—and heads for the kitchen to get a drink. "Hey, Kev," she offers. "We should talk."
Kevin can't resist a slight chuckle at that outburst, though it doesn't seem to be meant in a mocking way at Ex; more an indulgent one. "That's one way of putting it," he agrees. "I take it, then, you've already killed someone when you were pissed? Or come close to it?" He asides to Flint, "Possibly… but she's a bit old for that, to only just pop?…"
"Yeah," Ex says, her tone turning derisive, and not losing any of its prior heat, "I bet it would help. But you aren't fucking getting it. No birthday. No fucking questions." Her eyes flick to Rina as she enters, then to Kevin. She inhales slowly. "…Yeah. A few. Maybe some more. Fucking animal, right here."
Riley follows shortly after Rina, her hands lazily tucked into her coat pockets. She leans simply against the side of the door, being unsociable.
Flint pushes to his feet, glances to Rina, then to Kevin and Riley, and turns and heads out of the breakroom. The cliath evidently doesn't go far, but he does go.