Video games and broken doors.
Sunday, 22 July 2012 13:16![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
flint_garouI got angry. I didn't mean to.
22 July, 2012
The moon is in the waxing Crescent (Theurge) Moon phase (25% full).
Early afternoon finds Flint in the breakroom, on the couch, Mario Kart racing on pause and controller in his lap. There's an occasional glance towards the door, Rina having stepped out momentarily, but in general the cliath hasn't been left alone and to his own devices very long at all for the past day and then some. For the moment, Flint's patient, curled up on the couch and humming the music from the video game to himself, but the teen looks tired. Very tired, and a little jumpy.
There's an uneven beat to footsteps coming up into the fifth floor, and soon enough the door's pushed open and the tenement's resident grump heads in. He's sans jacket, but the extraordinarily faded AC/DC t-shirt he's got on has a few dirty patches and his forearms are slicked with grease. His leg is apparently pretty stiff, as the limp is a bit more pronounced than usual, but he at least seems mostly satisfied. "Yo," he grunts at the teen occupying the couch, though he's mostly aimed for the fridge. Mm, booze.
Rina slips out of the bathroom, and takes in the new arrival with a glance to Flint. "Hey, Fallout," she offers. She, too, looks a bit tired.
Flint raises his brows, then furrows them, then nods greeting hastily. The humming ceases, and Flint watches for a moment. Then, the teen pulls his knees to his chest, distracted from either the game onscreen or the others in the room.
Jack plucks a beer out of the fridge, shuts it, and then scowls at it as the fridge creaks back open. "Th'shit?" he grumbles, and then shoves at it for a minute until it actually shuts. "Hey," he replies to Rina as he plunks down the beer on the counter, opening a drawer and searching fruitlessly for something or another. "'sup?"
"Not much, you?" Rina comes over. "What'd'y'need?"
Flint's attention turns back to Jack, watching, and there's a visible wince and an audible mumble of 'damnit' at the creaking of the fridge, along with other muttering that's less intelligible.
"Bottle opener," Jack replies, going in his pocket for his keys. There's an old battered Ford key and a couple nondescript apartment keys, and! a plain steel bottle opener keychain, and once it's open he eyes Flint, a brow arched a fraction. "What?"
Rina laughs a little, wryly. "He's still feeling shitty about the broken door," she murmurs. A bit louder, she offers, "You want a drink, Flint?"
Flint watches the door of the fridge and then wraps hands around opposite arms as he sits there, knees to chest. "Sure," he responds. "Thanks mom." The boy's voice is quiet, the same tiredness evident in his voice as in his posture.
Rina moves easily through the kitchen, getting down two glasses and pulling a couple of bottles from the fridge. She pours a mixture of seltzer and a couple of different fruit juices, over some crushed ice from the dispenser.
That other brow joins the first in being arched up. Jack parks himself against the counter, taking a long swig off the beer. "What'd y'do to th'door?"
"The… th-the fridge door," Flint says. "Got. I got, angry." The words are hesitant, a little. "I. I di'n't mean, mean to."
Rina lets out a slow breath, and takes the drinks over to Flint. "'S'aright," she says easily. "Happens a whole lot, around here, y'know? Shit gets broken all the fuckin' time."
Jack looks at Flint for a moment, glances at Rina, and then opens the door again and inspects the hinges. "Yea, that's fucked," he says, but he's clearly not exactly invested in the state of the fridge. It's closed again. "Should probably pull one've th'ones out of the apartments that ain't bein' used and shove it up here." This is, however, clearly not an 'I should' sort of statement. "So what got you pissed enough t'abuse the appliances, anyhow?"
Flint takes the drink with that same compliance that he's been showing, rather than any actual enthusiasm as he takes a sip. "Words," Flint responds, brow furrowing and a hint of distress entering the tone. "Not… not important any— anymore."
Rina's brow furrows, and she looks over to Fallout. "You get to meet Ex, yet?"
Jack watches Flint for a moment more, and then shakes his head when he glances back to Rina. "Nope. Heard about it." That's quite dry, as though there's an undertext of 'and who didn't hear?' "Figured I ain't even touchin' that. I ain't good with th' cubs who ain't had shit happen to 'em."
Rina glances over to him. "Probably a good call. She needs, ah." A sip of soda. "Careful handling."
Flint takes another few sips of the juice and sets it down on the coffee table. One hand loops around his arm, not gently at all. "Fuck words," Flint adds, tone a little… off.
"Yea," Jack replies, though his eyes cut back to Flint. He takes a swallow of the beer, and then looks back to Rina with a questioning brow cocked and a scarce tip of the neck of the beer toward the boy on the couch.
Rina glances back to the man, a touch of worry in her eyes—a tightness in her expression that speaks of her concern for the young Cliath. "Just been a lot goin' on," she says quietly.
Flint's breathing steadies a bit, and he settles back in the couch, again.
"Ain't it always," the adren grumbles. "Anythin' of the variety I should know about?"
"Mostly just the cub," Rina murmurs. "Though there's some… suspicion goin' around about a girl, maybe a vamp, messin' with people's heads. Maybe leech, or sorc, or somethin' else… we don't know." She returns her attention to the TV screen. "Rematch?" she asks, glancing over to the boy.
Flint looks at Rina with a little more concern on his face, then looks down at his arms. "Can I have, my. My?" The question is asked, the first time he's asked today.
"Maybe tomorrow, hon," Rina says quietly, flipping through options on the TV screen.
Jack's eyes narrow a bit in thought, and then nods. "I'll ask around," he says, and then straightens up. "Anyhow," he says, catching the exchange between them, "I'm headin' back. Catch you two around."
Rina looks over her shoulder. "Walk safe, yeah? And look out for teenage girls."
Flint takes a deep breath in. "Rose tried, help," Flint says, barely above a whisper, and then another breath in. "Can I… I. Don't, not going to use it. Just. Want it, back." The adren gets a half-nod, a tired gaze.
Jack eyes Flint a moment more, and then clearly just doesn't want to ask, as he salutes Rina with the bottle in acknowledgement and limps out.
22 July, 2012
The moon is in the waxing Crescent (Theurge) Moon phase (25% full).
Early afternoon finds Flint in the breakroom, on the couch, Mario Kart racing on pause and controller in his lap. There's an occasional glance towards the door, Rina having stepped out momentarily, but in general the cliath hasn't been left alone and to his own devices very long at all for the past day and then some. For the moment, Flint's patient, curled up on the couch and humming the music from the video game to himself, but the teen looks tired. Very tired, and a little jumpy.
There's an uneven beat to footsteps coming up into the fifth floor, and soon enough the door's pushed open and the tenement's resident grump heads in. He's sans jacket, but the extraordinarily faded AC/DC t-shirt he's got on has a few dirty patches and his forearms are slicked with grease. His leg is apparently pretty stiff, as the limp is a bit more pronounced than usual, but he at least seems mostly satisfied. "Yo," he grunts at the teen occupying the couch, though he's mostly aimed for the fridge. Mm, booze.
Rina slips out of the bathroom, and takes in the new arrival with a glance to Flint. "Hey, Fallout," she offers. She, too, looks a bit tired.
Flint raises his brows, then furrows them, then nods greeting hastily. The humming ceases, and Flint watches for a moment. Then, the teen pulls his knees to his chest, distracted from either the game onscreen or the others in the room.
Jack plucks a beer out of the fridge, shuts it, and then scowls at it as the fridge creaks back open. "Th'shit?" he grumbles, and then shoves at it for a minute until it actually shuts. "Hey," he replies to Rina as he plunks down the beer on the counter, opening a drawer and searching fruitlessly for something or another. "'sup?"
"Not much, you?" Rina comes over. "What'd'y'need?"
Flint's attention turns back to Jack, watching, and there's a visible wince and an audible mumble of 'damnit' at the creaking of the fridge, along with other muttering that's less intelligible.
"Bottle opener," Jack replies, going in his pocket for his keys. There's an old battered Ford key and a couple nondescript apartment keys, and! a plain steel bottle opener keychain, and once it's open he eyes Flint, a brow arched a fraction. "What?"
Rina laughs a little, wryly. "He's still feeling shitty about the broken door," she murmurs. A bit louder, she offers, "You want a drink, Flint?"
Flint watches the door of the fridge and then wraps hands around opposite arms as he sits there, knees to chest. "Sure," he responds. "Thanks mom." The boy's voice is quiet, the same tiredness evident in his voice as in his posture.
Rina moves easily through the kitchen, getting down two glasses and pulling a couple of bottles from the fridge. She pours a mixture of seltzer and a couple of different fruit juices, over some crushed ice from the dispenser.
That other brow joins the first in being arched up. Jack parks himself against the counter, taking a long swig off the beer. "What'd y'do to th'door?"
"The… th-the fridge door," Flint says. "Got. I got, angry." The words are hesitant, a little. "I. I di'n't mean, mean to."
Rina lets out a slow breath, and takes the drinks over to Flint. "'S'aright," she says easily. "Happens a whole lot, around here, y'know? Shit gets broken all the fuckin' time."
Jack looks at Flint for a moment, glances at Rina, and then opens the door again and inspects the hinges. "Yea, that's fucked," he says, but he's clearly not exactly invested in the state of the fridge. It's closed again. "Should probably pull one've th'ones out of the apartments that ain't bein' used and shove it up here." This is, however, clearly not an 'I should' sort of statement. "So what got you pissed enough t'abuse the appliances, anyhow?"
Flint takes the drink with that same compliance that he's been showing, rather than any actual enthusiasm as he takes a sip. "Words," Flint responds, brow furrowing and a hint of distress entering the tone. "Not… not important any— anymore."
Rina's brow furrows, and she looks over to Fallout. "You get to meet Ex, yet?"
Jack watches Flint for a moment more, and then shakes his head when he glances back to Rina. "Nope. Heard about it." That's quite dry, as though there's an undertext of 'and who didn't hear?' "Figured I ain't even touchin' that. I ain't good with th' cubs who ain't had shit happen to 'em."
Rina glances over to him. "Probably a good call. She needs, ah." A sip of soda. "Careful handling."
Flint takes another few sips of the juice and sets it down on the coffee table. One hand loops around his arm, not gently at all. "Fuck words," Flint adds, tone a little… off.
"Yea," Jack replies, though his eyes cut back to Flint. He takes a swallow of the beer, and then looks back to Rina with a questioning brow cocked and a scarce tip of the neck of the beer toward the boy on the couch.
Rina glances back to the man, a touch of worry in her eyes—a tightness in her expression that speaks of her concern for the young Cliath. "Just been a lot goin' on," she says quietly.
Flint's breathing steadies a bit, and he settles back in the couch, again.
"Ain't it always," the adren grumbles. "Anythin' of the variety I should know about?"
"Mostly just the cub," Rina murmurs. "Though there's some… suspicion goin' around about a girl, maybe a vamp, messin' with people's heads. Maybe leech, or sorc, or somethin' else… we don't know." She returns her attention to the TV screen. "Rematch?" she asks, glancing over to the boy.
Flint looks at Rina with a little more concern on his face, then looks down at his arms. "Can I have, my. My?" The question is asked, the first time he's asked today.
"Maybe tomorrow, hon," Rina says quietly, flipping through options on the TV screen.
Jack's eyes narrow a bit in thought, and then nods. "I'll ask around," he says, and then straightens up. "Anyhow," he says, catching the exchange between them, "I'm headin' back. Catch you two around."
Rina looks over her shoulder. "Walk safe, yeah? And look out for teenage girls."
Flint takes a deep breath in. "Rose tried, help," Flint says, barely above a whisper, and then another breath in. "Can I… I. Don't, not going to use it. Just. Want it, back." The adren gets a half-nod, a tired gaze.
Jack eyes Flint a moment more, and then clearly just doesn't want to ask, as he salutes Rina with the bottle in acknowledgement and limps out.