Worse off than the door.
Thursday, 12 July 2012 10:24![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
flint_garouWhat happened to the door?
12 July, 2012
The moon is in the waning Half (Philodox) Moon phase (43% full).
The door to Flint's apartment is closed, or as closed as it can be, but it's definitely at odds with the rest of the apartments on the fifth floor of the tenement, for now. No sound, or not much comes from inside of the apartment, but there's a light on inside.
There's sounds of someone walking down the hallway. Soft footsteps, not loud like someone larger. But not soft like someone trying to be sneaky. Just someone who naturally walks softly. As the footfalls pass by the door, there's an uttered, "Damn." Hesitation. Followed by a somewhat wary question. "Ev—everyone okay in there?" Caution underscores the question, as if the speaker might bolt in a heartbeat if need be.
Flint's response is more of a grunt, the harshness of glabro audible in tone. "'sokay?" he offers, and the tone is a little detached, drifting. "Come in?"
Nicodemus very tentatively pushes the battered door open, left hand sliding over the damaged portions as if in explorative appreciation for the physical force that must have been behind whatever broke it. He peeks inside. "What happened to the door?" It seems the obvious question to ask.
The better question might also be 'what happened to Flint'. The cliath lays on the mattress in glabro, and though the blanket's been pulled up neatly around him, it's clear that he's about as badly off as the door, if not worse. Healing, barely-healed wounds are over his face, and his right shoulder where visible is bandaged. The bandages continue down onto his chest, there's no bother with a shirt at the moment given the state of things. "Door," he repeats, that same drifting quality to the words. "'ll be replaced, it. It's fine. It. Can't lock, now." Which seems to be a good thing, by the tone.
Nicodemus gets a slightly better look at Flint. "Jesus. You look worse off than the door. You okay? Need anything?"
Flint musters a smile, turning ever so slightly to face Nick. "Just need, rest, I'll. I'm, okay," Flint says. The cliath pauses, then points—with his less injured arm—to the minifridge. "There's a. There's, some, fruit. Grapes, in there," he says, half asks. "Could you?"
"No problem." Nick moves to the minifridge, collects the grapes, places them on a nearby paper plate that looks to be clean, and brings them over to Flint. "Need a fresh glass of ice water or something?" His eyes glance to the back of the door, assessing that the damage came from outside the room rather than inside. "It's safe, right?"
Flint gestures to next to him for where to put the grapes. "It's fine," Flint responds. There's no offer of explanation for the door, or Flint's injuries. "It'll be sorted out, Kavi-rhya and Rina will sort it out." He picks up a few pieces of the fruit, and close enough, it's easy to see that there's a pleasant—perhaps necessary—fog between the teen and his interaction with the world.
"Good. I was worried when I first saw the door that someone'd broken in and there was trouble afoot." Nick glances around the room's minimalist furnishings. "Reminds me of my dorm at college—except nicer. Oh, hey," he says, as if just remembering something. "Do you know where I might find Devon?"
There's a silly, almost incredulous laugh. "No, just. It. It was," Flint doesn't offer a full explanation for a moment. "Ex locked it, Kavi-rhya and Rina, needed, to get in," he explains. "Last night." There's a weak attempt to move, to sit up, and Flint sighs. "Not supposed to move right now."
Nicodemus hmms, thinking to himself, before responding. "She values her privacy and probably just needed some breathing space for a little bit," he assumes of Ex's motives for locking herself in Flint's room. "No idea where Devon's at?"
"My space," Flint grumbles. "She shouldn't have. Cub should have, needs to listen. She. Tried, pushed, because I'm hurt and couldn't," he says. Which would explain why Kavi and Rina needed to get into Flint's apartment in such a hurry. And then there's a shake of his head, breathing slowing back to the relaxed of the effect of the drugs. "Try, asking. Ask, Holland-rhya."
Nicodemus tips his head slightly to one side, trying to make sense of Flint-speak. His right hand, out of sight, makes a subtle gesture towards the prone, drug-addled, injured young garou. Mind magic begins subtly facilitating Flint's ability—and inclination—to speak. "You were in here when Ex locked the door?" He doesn't seem to think this is too big a deal. "I haven't met Holland-rhya before. Do you know where I can find him?"
The cliath's breathing is, still, even and steady, and he pushes the plate a little to one side now that about half the grapes have been eaten. "Where else'd I be?" Flint says, a little more smoothly than usual. "Rina said, not to try to move yet. I was resting, except. Awake again, and Ex locked the door so mom couldn't get back in when she, said she'd come back." Even with the circumstances, that brings a baring of teeth and brief rising of rage and Flint changes the subject, and less than usual notice of the words he says. "Holland-rhya's with Terminus, I think his email is somewhere, in. In the breakroom."
Nicodemus seems to pick up on there being something not right about the situation with Flint and Ex being in a locked room together. "So you were upset that she was in your room—your territory—without your permission and when you couldn't make her leave?" While he's got Flint in a more communicative state, he also asks, "Can I get you else that would make you more comfortable?"
"Told her to leave and she didn't, wouldn't shut up instead and," Flint says, looking up at Nick, "she wouldn't shut up, and, rest. Could not rest, couldn't… and mom and Kavi-rhya helped get so I can rest, and, yeah." The young galliard purses his lips, picks up another few pieces of fruit, tentatively eating. It's the first food he's managed since being brought back to the tenement. That done, Flint points, to a section of kitchen counter, set up as a bookshelf. "Asimov? One of the Asimov books." Of which there are several in the small collection of science fiction and fantasy novels.
Nicodemus listens attentively to Flint's explanations, looking more and more unnerved as Flint continues to share information with him—verbally and empathically. Finally, looking a little unnerved himself, he stands and crosses the room to collect the science fiction book Flint's requested. "You know," he says to the young Walker as he returns to the side of Flint's mattress. "This is a good book." He's apparently already read it himself. The paperback is placed near one of Flint's hands. "You've still obviously got some kind of pain medicine or something similar in you, which might make it hard to read or comprehend what you're reading. It's probably going to make it hard to focus. I'll bet," he claims levelly and persuasively, "the book will be even better after you've had a nap."
12 July, 2012
The moon is in the waning Half (Philodox) Moon phase (43% full).
The door to Flint's apartment is closed, or as closed as it can be, but it's definitely at odds with the rest of the apartments on the fifth floor of the tenement, for now. No sound, or not much comes from inside of the apartment, but there's a light on inside.
There's sounds of someone walking down the hallway. Soft footsteps, not loud like someone larger. But not soft like someone trying to be sneaky. Just someone who naturally walks softly. As the footfalls pass by the door, there's an uttered, "Damn." Hesitation. Followed by a somewhat wary question. "Ev—everyone okay in there?" Caution underscores the question, as if the speaker might bolt in a heartbeat if need be.
Flint's response is more of a grunt, the harshness of glabro audible in tone. "'sokay?" he offers, and the tone is a little detached, drifting. "Come in?"
Nicodemus very tentatively pushes the battered door open, left hand sliding over the damaged portions as if in explorative appreciation for the physical force that must have been behind whatever broke it. He peeks inside. "What happened to the door?" It seems the obvious question to ask.
The better question might also be 'what happened to Flint'. The cliath lays on the mattress in glabro, and though the blanket's been pulled up neatly around him, it's clear that he's about as badly off as the door, if not worse. Healing, barely-healed wounds are over his face, and his right shoulder where visible is bandaged. The bandages continue down onto his chest, there's no bother with a shirt at the moment given the state of things. "Door," he repeats, that same drifting quality to the words. "'ll be replaced, it. It's fine. It. Can't lock, now." Which seems to be a good thing, by the tone.
Nicodemus gets a slightly better look at Flint. "Jesus. You look worse off than the door. You okay? Need anything?"
Flint musters a smile, turning ever so slightly to face Nick. "Just need, rest, I'll. I'm, okay," Flint says. The cliath pauses, then points—with his less injured arm—to the minifridge. "There's a. There's, some, fruit. Grapes, in there," he says, half asks. "Could you?"
"No problem." Nick moves to the minifridge, collects the grapes, places them on a nearby paper plate that looks to be clean, and brings them over to Flint. "Need a fresh glass of ice water or something?" His eyes glance to the back of the door, assessing that the damage came from outside the room rather than inside. "It's safe, right?"
Flint gestures to next to him for where to put the grapes. "It's fine," Flint responds. There's no offer of explanation for the door, or Flint's injuries. "It'll be sorted out, Kavi-rhya and Rina will sort it out." He picks up a few pieces of the fruit, and close enough, it's easy to see that there's a pleasant—perhaps necessary—fog between the teen and his interaction with the world.
"Good. I was worried when I first saw the door that someone'd broken in and there was trouble afoot." Nick glances around the room's minimalist furnishings. "Reminds me of my dorm at college—except nicer. Oh, hey," he says, as if just remembering something. "Do you know where I might find Devon?"
There's a silly, almost incredulous laugh. "No, just. It. It was," Flint doesn't offer a full explanation for a moment. "Ex locked it, Kavi-rhya and Rina, needed, to get in," he explains. "Last night." There's a weak attempt to move, to sit up, and Flint sighs. "Not supposed to move right now."
Nicodemus hmms, thinking to himself, before responding. "She values her privacy and probably just needed some breathing space for a little bit," he assumes of Ex's motives for locking herself in Flint's room. "No idea where Devon's at?"
"My space," Flint grumbles. "She shouldn't have. Cub should have, needs to listen. She. Tried, pushed, because I'm hurt and couldn't," he says. Which would explain why Kavi and Rina needed to get into Flint's apartment in such a hurry. And then there's a shake of his head, breathing slowing back to the relaxed of the effect of the drugs. "Try, asking. Ask, Holland-rhya."
Nicodemus tips his head slightly to one side, trying to make sense of Flint-speak. His right hand, out of sight, makes a subtle gesture towards the prone, drug-addled, injured young garou. Mind magic begins subtly facilitating Flint's ability—and inclination—to speak. "You were in here when Ex locked the door?" He doesn't seem to think this is too big a deal. "I haven't met Holland-rhya before. Do you know where I can find him?"
The cliath's breathing is, still, even and steady, and he pushes the plate a little to one side now that about half the grapes have been eaten. "Where else'd I be?" Flint says, a little more smoothly than usual. "Rina said, not to try to move yet. I was resting, except. Awake again, and Ex locked the door so mom couldn't get back in when she, said she'd come back." Even with the circumstances, that brings a baring of teeth and brief rising of rage and Flint changes the subject, and less than usual notice of the words he says. "Holland-rhya's with Terminus, I think his email is somewhere, in. In the breakroom."
Nicodemus seems to pick up on there being something not right about the situation with Flint and Ex being in a locked room together. "So you were upset that she was in your room—your territory—without your permission and when you couldn't make her leave?" While he's got Flint in a more communicative state, he also asks, "Can I get you else that would make you more comfortable?"
"Told her to leave and she didn't, wouldn't shut up instead and," Flint says, looking up at Nick, "she wouldn't shut up, and, rest. Could not rest, couldn't… and mom and Kavi-rhya helped get so I can rest, and, yeah." The young galliard purses his lips, picks up another few pieces of fruit, tentatively eating. It's the first food he's managed since being brought back to the tenement. That done, Flint points, to a section of kitchen counter, set up as a bookshelf. "Asimov? One of the Asimov books." Of which there are several in the small collection of science fiction and fantasy novels.
Nicodemus listens attentively to Flint's explanations, looking more and more unnerved as Flint continues to share information with him—verbally and empathically. Finally, looking a little unnerved himself, he stands and crosses the room to collect the science fiction book Flint's requested. "You know," he says to the young Walker as he returns to the side of Flint's mattress. "This is a good book." He's apparently already read it himself. The paperback is placed near one of Flint's hands. "You've still obviously got some kind of pain medicine or something similar in you, which might make it hard to read or comprehend what you're reading. It's probably going to make it hard to focus. I'll bet," he claims levelly and persuasively, "the book will be even better after you've had a nap."