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flint_garouIt's not real, it's not real, now can I get back to bed?
2 July, 2012
The moon is in the waxing Full (Ahroun) Moon phase (92% full).
It's true that the tenement never sleeps, but there are hours when most people are sleeping. Hours when quiet settles in and the inhabitants seek out their beds or homes or the club several buildings away. Often, it's an ideal time to creep out for a late night snack. Which was Devon's intention, slipping out of Nieve's apartment and into the breakroom. He'd been in there, illuminated by the glow of the computer monitors and light from the microwave for several long moments, staring at the slowly turning food as it heats within the microwave. But the relative silence is broken by a sudden yell and the sound of something breaking. Or several somethings, thrown objects and more yelling.
Some people aren't sleeping, and there's the sound of footsteps down the hall. Footsteps that are trying to be heavy and aren't, until Flint shows up in the doorway to see what's going on.
A soda can strikes against the doorframe just seconds before Flint appears, followed by Devon's voice nearly snarling, "Go away!" And the sight that first greets the Galliard is a mild mess, a couple of broken pieces of dinnerware, several flung bits of silverware. And the Ahroun himself sitting on the floor, pressed against a wall, trembling though it seems rather far from anger. One arm is drawn protectively over his head while the other hand gropes for something else to use as a weapon.
Flint shifts up to glabro and takes a few steps into the breakroom instead. "Devon," the galliard states. "H-hey. Hey. Come on, Devon."
There's no response. Nothing immediate. Devon's groping stalls, not for lack of any projectiles, but outside influence breaking through. His posture shifts, remaining defensive, but with both hands grasping his head, head and shoulders curling over his knees.
There's a moment of pause, and then Flint takes another few steps, slowly, until he can crouch in front of Devon. "Hey, Dev." The words are level, and slow, and deliberate, and with the additional touch of Persuasion. "Look at me, Devon. I. Please? Talk to me."
"You said it was safe here," Devon says quietly, voice shaking nearly as much as he. Fingers curl into his hair, knuckles turning white. "How'd they get in here if it's safe?"
Flint sets on hand on the other cliath's shoulder. "Look at me, not at. Not at them." The fact that Flint can't see any monsters isn't mentioned, doesn't creep into tone of voice. "Come on, Devon. Breathe, just breathe for now and. And. It's gonna be okay."
"How'd they get in here," Devon asks again. He pries his head up from his own grip to look at Flint, expression nearly begging understanding from the Galliard. "They were here. They were here and …I couldn't fight them, they wouldn't leave."
There's no understanding to be found, but there is worry and concern that lines Flint's face as he shifts back down to homid. "Come on, Devon. Let's. You wanna go sit on the couch? They're not here, they're gone now."
Devon pulls his head back down, forehead pressing into his knees. "They were here," he points out. "I saw them. I heard them." He takes in a shuddering breath and shakes his head. "No. Just… need to be here, where…" His back is to the wall.
"Devon, look at me," Flint says, effort being put into the calmness and level tone now. "I'm gonna, clean this up, okay? I. I won't let them get you, they're gone now, breathe. Just breathe for a bit."
Devon looks up again, that searching, near begging look returning and focused on the Galliard. "They were here."
Flint rests his hand on Devon's arm for a moment longer before moving to pick up the fragments of dishes, carefully, the silverware that's been thrown going in the sink. It's done in silence. "They're gone now," Flint repeats. "We'll figure this out. I. Okay?" Flint first crouches, then sits, next to Devon, one hand on the bigger teen's shoulder. "You're safe now," Flint insists. "No monsters here."
"They're here," Devon insists quietly. His head lowers again, mouth pressed to his knees, tucked behind his arms. Deeper traces of just how tired the Ahroun is shows through, likely he's hardly slept even since being returned home. He watches Flint in silence for a long moment, before focusing his attention onto an inconsequential point on the floor.
Flint moves to take up most of Devon's field of vision, crouching. "Come on, Devon. Promise, swear to god. There's. There's nothing here, they're not here."
Devon's eyes squeeze closed, arms pulling further around in effort to hide his face. Some. "They were there. They're here."
Flint settles down to wait, and he waits patiently, before shaking his head. "C'mon, Dev," he says. "Let's get you back to Nieve-rhya. You need. You need sleep. And rest. And."
Devon draws in a shaky breath, eventually nodding as he lets it out. He stands, unfolding himself to head for the doorway with hesitant steps, as if his monsters may be waiting just beyond the doorway.
Flint moves to Devon's side, not touching him but leading him nonetheless, and the same concern and worry is evident on the young galliard's face, but it's unvoiced thought, for now.
2 July, 2012
The moon is in the waxing Full (Ahroun) Moon phase (92% full).
It's true that the tenement never sleeps, but there are hours when most people are sleeping. Hours when quiet settles in and the inhabitants seek out their beds or homes or the club several buildings away. Often, it's an ideal time to creep out for a late night snack. Which was Devon's intention, slipping out of Nieve's apartment and into the breakroom. He'd been in there, illuminated by the glow of the computer monitors and light from the microwave for several long moments, staring at the slowly turning food as it heats within the microwave. But the relative silence is broken by a sudden yell and the sound of something breaking. Or several somethings, thrown objects and more yelling.
Some people aren't sleeping, and there's the sound of footsteps down the hall. Footsteps that are trying to be heavy and aren't, until Flint shows up in the doorway to see what's going on.
A soda can strikes against the doorframe just seconds before Flint appears, followed by Devon's voice nearly snarling, "Go away!" And the sight that first greets the Galliard is a mild mess, a couple of broken pieces of dinnerware, several flung bits of silverware. And the Ahroun himself sitting on the floor, pressed against a wall, trembling though it seems rather far from anger. One arm is drawn protectively over his head while the other hand gropes for something else to use as a weapon.
Flint shifts up to glabro and takes a few steps into the breakroom instead. "Devon," the galliard states. "H-hey. Hey. Come on, Devon."
There's no response. Nothing immediate. Devon's groping stalls, not for lack of any projectiles, but outside influence breaking through. His posture shifts, remaining defensive, but with both hands grasping his head, head and shoulders curling over his knees.
There's a moment of pause, and then Flint takes another few steps, slowly, until he can crouch in front of Devon. "Hey, Dev." The words are level, and slow, and deliberate, and with the additional touch of Persuasion. "Look at me, Devon. I. Please? Talk to me."
"You said it was safe here," Devon says quietly, voice shaking nearly as much as he. Fingers curl into his hair, knuckles turning white. "How'd they get in here if it's safe?"
Flint sets on hand on the other cliath's shoulder. "Look at me, not at. Not at them." The fact that Flint can't see any monsters isn't mentioned, doesn't creep into tone of voice. "Come on, Devon. Breathe, just breathe for now and. And. It's gonna be okay."
"How'd they get in here," Devon asks again. He pries his head up from his own grip to look at Flint, expression nearly begging understanding from the Galliard. "They were here. They were here and …I couldn't fight them, they wouldn't leave."
There's no understanding to be found, but there is worry and concern that lines Flint's face as he shifts back down to homid. "Come on, Devon. Let's. You wanna go sit on the couch? They're not here, they're gone now."
Devon pulls his head back down, forehead pressing into his knees. "They were here," he points out. "I saw them. I heard them." He takes in a shuddering breath and shakes his head. "No. Just… need to be here, where…" His back is to the wall.
"Devon, look at me," Flint says, effort being put into the calmness and level tone now. "I'm gonna, clean this up, okay? I. I won't let them get you, they're gone now, breathe. Just breathe for a bit."
Devon looks up again, that searching, near begging look returning and focused on the Galliard. "They were here."
Flint rests his hand on Devon's arm for a moment longer before moving to pick up the fragments of dishes, carefully, the silverware that's been thrown going in the sink. It's done in silence. "They're gone now," Flint repeats. "We'll figure this out. I. Okay?" Flint first crouches, then sits, next to Devon, one hand on the bigger teen's shoulder. "You're safe now," Flint insists. "No monsters here."
"They're here," Devon insists quietly. His head lowers again, mouth pressed to his knees, tucked behind his arms. Deeper traces of just how tired the Ahroun is shows through, likely he's hardly slept even since being returned home. He watches Flint in silence for a long moment, before focusing his attention onto an inconsequential point on the floor.
Flint moves to take up most of Devon's field of vision, crouching. "Come on, Devon. Promise, swear to god. There's. There's nothing here, they're not here."
Devon's eyes squeeze closed, arms pulling further around in effort to hide his face. Some. "They were there. They're here."
Flint settles down to wait, and he waits patiently, before shaking his head. "C'mon, Dev," he says. "Let's get you back to Nieve-rhya. You need. You need sleep. And rest. And."
Devon draws in a shaky breath, eventually nodding as he lets it out. He stands, unfolding himself to head for the doorway with hesitant steps, as if his monsters may be waiting just beyond the doorway.
Flint moves to Devon's side, not touching him but leading him nonetheless, and the same concern and worry is evident on the young galliard's face, but it's unvoiced thought, for now.