Reminders.
Sunday, 29 July 2012 23:49![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
flint_garouTo remind everyone. That Quartz could heal… and it's a needed reminder right now.
29 July, 2012
The moon is in the waxing Gibbous (Galliard) Moon phase (75% full).
Norman rarely comes to the city after dark, although he's not unknown to some of the city-spirits. Arriving at the Tenement at such an hour, however, is all but unheard of. He's all but unheard of to some of the Walkers, too, so whether he's let in as he buzzes, well, that's to be seen.
This evening, it would seem that Flint isn't the only Walker on duty, though whoever lets Norman in remains in the office, behind the shut door, simply pressing the button to release the lock. Meanwhile, Flint stands in the doorway of the laundry room in his pyjamas, loose grey cotton pants, and an equally loose and oversized teeshirt that drapes over bony shoulders. He more hastily turns to angle his left side back into the laundry room and out of sight as the door opens.
Whether it's the growing moon or too much coffee or simply the time of day (or, rather, night), the Get seems… different. More energised. More strung out. His gaze darts around the lobby before stopping on the Walker. "Only you around?" he asks, in his often abrupt way.
Flint glances from Norman, to the closed door of the office, and back to Norman. "More-less," Flint responds, with a nod of greeting for the Get. The young galliard is definitely on the strung out end tonight, tension riding evident on his shoulders and in the furrow of his brow. He ducks into the laundry room and comes out with his sweatshirt on, sleeves clutched down. "Mostly me."
"Had a favour to ask," Norman asks. He probably noticed Flint's behaviour, from the way his eyes have travelled, this way and that, but he doesn't react overmuch. Perhaps a slight sharpening of interest. "Got time?"
Flint smiles, a little, grip on his sleeves loosening, and dips a quick nod. "Sure," he says, moving over for the seating area. "If as long as doesn't involve… leaving, the. Tenement." The condition isn't added until Flint's seated, at which point the cliath looks down and at his lap, away from the adren, and doesn't look up again yet.
"You're stuck here?" Norman spends a few moments picking a seat, choosing a darker coloured one. "I'm pretty much stuck out of town for now. But. I've got Chiminage to do. To Quartz. Which is why I'm here now." His hair isn't wet now, but it has the look to it as though it has been, and has dried since. He smells, too, of sweat. He sheds his coat, leaving him in a long-sleeved T that is probably grey because it's way too old to have remained whatever colour it was to start with.
The young galliard swallows and nods at the first question. "Can't leave," Flint affirms, and his gaze still doesn't go to Norman, but to the door. "And I promised I'd not try to without, proper. 'Less I was with someone wh-who, knew." There's a moment tensing in Flint's posture, then breathing, slow and deep, that eases it. "Tell me about, about Quartz? Please? I. If I can help, I. I will."
There's a slightly raised eyebrow at the first part, but no more curiosity than that from Norman. No dismissiveness. Just an acceptance of Flint's words. The Get tucks his hands between his knees. "I never managed to learn Mother's Touch," he says. "I… always failed. Reasons. But, there's not many people know it here. And… there's more reasons. The spirits… have, helped. So. I asked Quartz. To teach me. Instead of another Garou. And, Quartz agreed. But, I have to give Chiminage. And, I'll need help. Because… I'm not good with humans." The last word could be 'vermin', from his tone of voice. He reaches for the discarded coat and starts pulling something from the pocket.
Flint nods, slowly, finally glancing over at Norman as he talks. "What's the, Chiminage, then?" Flint asks quietly. "I. Depends on the, humans, and the moon, and all? But, also, maybe I can, see. Who else around here could help, too." Gaze goes to his lap, fidgeting with his sleeves, and then back to Norman. "And, I can go out, if. With someone," he adds, upper lip tugging between his teeth.
"That's what the spirit asked. For me to get other Garou to help," Norman says, nodding. "And they can ask kin." He finishes pulling out his pocket contents—a plastic bag full of chips of crystal. Quartz, in various colours. "The spirit said to remind everyone. That Quartz could heal. Even some humans know that. Not as strong for them. Like a raindrop instead of a lake?" He pulls out a sliver of crystal, holding it out towards Flint. "So. I thought. Maybe… printing some cards? With a bit about it, make it look, uh, like a proper shop thing. And put a bit of crystal on it. And then give them away. To the humans. And. Tell people. Garou." He tilts his head in a thought. "Can use the crystals for Dance of Lights too. If you hang them up in the wind so they catch the light."
The galliard's attention is perked, sleeves still pulled down tightly, but tension otherwise forgotten as he listens. Then, he reaches, accepting the crystal, left handed and entirely oblivious now that the bandage shows when his sleeve rides up. Flint turns it over in his hand, looking at it, and nods again. "Yes," he murmurs. "Could. The store, Target, usually has. Can buy the cards to print, we have a printer, here, scanner too. And can, there are small envelopes, could put the paper, and the crystal, in so they don't get separated, so that they're easier to. To… to hand out. Can…" Flint pauses. "No sketchbook down here, but. I. I can, totally help, help with, make the cards, and such. And, the park, a few other places, and the. Regan Hope, could give them out, there, too." Another glance towards the door, and then back to Norman, once Flint finally finishes the mental brainstorming aloud.
Norman relaxes slightly. "That would help a lot," he says, thankfulness evident in his tone of voice. His eyes flick once to the bandage, a trace of question, perhaps recognition, there. He doesn't comment, and moves to hand over the whole bag. His hands are already scarred up, seemingly a picture of glyphs and runes and other symbols. When his sleeve in turn pulls back, offering the bag, the scarring extends higher, mingled with fresh lines, a canvas of scarification and scabs. He seems oblivious to that, and he tugs a grubby fold of paper from his pants pocket with the other hand. "I made some notes."
Flint glances in turn to the adren's arm, briefly and nodding, taking the bag of crystals and turning it over, and over, looking at them and nodding. His breathing steadies, too, the reminder in general helping the young galliard. "I'm happy to," Flint says, settling to sit a little more relaxed. "I've been… going a little nuts stuck here. But and. If you can, go with me, I'll. Be happy to, go out and, do that part some, giving them out some, too if… though I." Flint's gaze turns to the distracted, inner dialogue. "I can't go to the Regan Hope centre, right. Right now," he says, a tone softer. "Or the women's shelter. Not with, the. Vampire. I'm, not safe and I. Can't bring that down on, others."
Norman's lip curls into a snarl. "Draugr," he spits, imbuing the word with Rage. "I saw the note. Your picture, too? I mean, you drew it? You… want Hraidar to stay around, maybe? I can ask him. If you like. My raven-spirit friend? It's not like… having someone in your face all the time. Not like a Garou. It's… easier. Less… itchy. Even if he does play tricks. Just, keep the quartz out of his sight. He likes shineys. And he knows. About, people playing tricks and messing with people's heads. He's a Hrafn. A trickster-spirit."
"My drawing," Flint says, pointing vaguely over at one of the two. "I. Drew it, I… was out running, one night, and I… I can't sense the wyrm, or. Anything that would have told me that. She was a, a leech." There's anger, rage, a feeling of personal failure there, but it's quiet and contained. The crystal Norman held is turned over in Flint's left hand, his right moves to grip at the bandages and twist just a little bit. "And she… got off on, making me, hurt myself worse than I… had been planning to. And she. She took advantage, and toyed with, and. Her blood, with mine, got it, in my mouth." There's a strange quality to Flint's voice, between utter revulsion and the faintest hint still of desire, for something that he's talking about. "And, it's. That's why, Kavi-rhya says I can't, go out without, another Garou."
"Blood." Norman's single word has many layers and meanings. Then he picks up again in a lighter tone. "It's up to you. If you want. Hraidar, I mean. And if it'll help, I could make some Talens. To help sense, what people… want?" he searches for the word, and finally finds it. "Intent? Not like the Gifts. True Form or Sense Wyrm. The spirits already gave those, they don't usually like giving them again. Although I could try to explain, that it's a moon that doesn't know those who needs them. Maybe you could help with Chiminage for that too? And, thank you, for the Quartz. That'll be a big help."
Flint nods, and his fingers turn the quartz in his hand over and over. "Thank you," Flint responds. "I… having Hraidar for company? It, I think it would help, and, make me, feel… safer," the teen responds. "If, Hraidar would. And, I. Yeah, that would be, useful. I. I could, help with, could use more things to do and, keep busy. Intent, would, help too. Would. Warning, and all." There's a very tense but nonetheless genuine smile, then. "And, thank you. I… I needed the reminder, about Quartz, too. I think, it'll. It'll be good, to remind people that."
"I… needed it too. I'm… not good. At healing. But I've been getting better," the Adren admits. "It's… why I could never learn, before, I think. Mother's Touch. It was… healing would be a weakness? And I'm Get. We're not supposed to give in to weakness. But. I guess. If a bone's set crooked. You have to break it first to get it to heal right. I should get back. I'll talk to Hraidar."
Flint bows his head in a nod. "I. I'll have, a sketch and a draft for the card for the, quartz," the young galliard says. "Sometime, soon. Getting… better? And the. The getting there, the along the way, that's. What's important. I. I'll, see you around?"
29 July, 2012
The moon is in the waxing Gibbous (Galliard) Moon phase (75% full).
Norman rarely comes to the city after dark, although he's not unknown to some of the city-spirits. Arriving at the Tenement at such an hour, however, is all but unheard of. He's all but unheard of to some of the Walkers, too, so whether he's let in as he buzzes, well, that's to be seen.
This evening, it would seem that Flint isn't the only Walker on duty, though whoever lets Norman in remains in the office, behind the shut door, simply pressing the button to release the lock. Meanwhile, Flint stands in the doorway of the laundry room in his pyjamas, loose grey cotton pants, and an equally loose and oversized teeshirt that drapes over bony shoulders. He more hastily turns to angle his left side back into the laundry room and out of sight as the door opens.
Whether it's the growing moon or too much coffee or simply the time of day (or, rather, night), the Get seems… different. More energised. More strung out. His gaze darts around the lobby before stopping on the Walker. "Only you around?" he asks, in his often abrupt way.
Flint glances from Norman, to the closed door of the office, and back to Norman. "More-less," Flint responds, with a nod of greeting for the Get. The young galliard is definitely on the strung out end tonight, tension riding evident on his shoulders and in the furrow of his brow. He ducks into the laundry room and comes out with his sweatshirt on, sleeves clutched down. "Mostly me."
"Had a favour to ask," Norman asks. He probably noticed Flint's behaviour, from the way his eyes have travelled, this way and that, but he doesn't react overmuch. Perhaps a slight sharpening of interest. "Got time?"
Flint smiles, a little, grip on his sleeves loosening, and dips a quick nod. "Sure," he says, moving over for the seating area. "If as long as doesn't involve… leaving, the. Tenement." The condition isn't added until Flint's seated, at which point the cliath looks down and at his lap, away from the adren, and doesn't look up again yet.
"You're stuck here?" Norman spends a few moments picking a seat, choosing a darker coloured one. "I'm pretty much stuck out of town for now. But. I've got Chiminage to do. To Quartz. Which is why I'm here now." His hair isn't wet now, but it has the look to it as though it has been, and has dried since. He smells, too, of sweat. He sheds his coat, leaving him in a long-sleeved T that is probably grey because it's way too old to have remained whatever colour it was to start with.
The young galliard swallows and nods at the first question. "Can't leave," Flint affirms, and his gaze still doesn't go to Norman, but to the door. "And I promised I'd not try to without, proper. 'Less I was with someone wh-who, knew." There's a moment tensing in Flint's posture, then breathing, slow and deep, that eases it. "Tell me about, about Quartz? Please? I. If I can help, I. I will."
There's a slightly raised eyebrow at the first part, but no more curiosity than that from Norman. No dismissiveness. Just an acceptance of Flint's words. The Get tucks his hands between his knees. "I never managed to learn Mother's Touch," he says. "I… always failed. Reasons. But, there's not many people know it here. And… there's more reasons. The spirits… have, helped. So. I asked Quartz. To teach me. Instead of another Garou. And, Quartz agreed. But, I have to give Chiminage. And, I'll need help. Because… I'm not good with humans." The last word could be 'vermin', from his tone of voice. He reaches for the discarded coat and starts pulling something from the pocket.
Flint nods, slowly, finally glancing over at Norman as he talks. "What's the, Chiminage, then?" Flint asks quietly. "I. Depends on the, humans, and the moon, and all? But, also, maybe I can, see. Who else around here could help, too." Gaze goes to his lap, fidgeting with his sleeves, and then back to Norman. "And, I can go out, if. With someone," he adds, upper lip tugging between his teeth.
"That's what the spirit asked. For me to get other Garou to help," Norman says, nodding. "And they can ask kin." He finishes pulling out his pocket contents—a plastic bag full of chips of crystal. Quartz, in various colours. "The spirit said to remind everyone. That Quartz could heal. Even some humans know that. Not as strong for them. Like a raindrop instead of a lake?" He pulls out a sliver of crystal, holding it out towards Flint. "So. I thought. Maybe… printing some cards? With a bit about it, make it look, uh, like a proper shop thing. And put a bit of crystal on it. And then give them away. To the humans. And. Tell people. Garou." He tilts his head in a thought. "Can use the crystals for Dance of Lights too. If you hang them up in the wind so they catch the light."
The galliard's attention is perked, sleeves still pulled down tightly, but tension otherwise forgotten as he listens. Then, he reaches, accepting the crystal, left handed and entirely oblivious now that the bandage shows when his sleeve rides up. Flint turns it over in his hand, looking at it, and nods again. "Yes," he murmurs. "Could. The store, Target, usually has. Can buy the cards to print, we have a printer, here, scanner too. And can, there are small envelopes, could put the paper, and the crystal, in so they don't get separated, so that they're easier to. To… to hand out. Can…" Flint pauses. "No sketchbook down here, but. I. I can, totally help, help with, make the cards, and such. And, the park, a few other places, and the. Regan Hope, could give them out, there, too." Another glance towards the door, and then back to Norman, once Flint finally finishes the mental brainstorming aloud.
Norman relaxes slightly. "That would help a lot," he says, thankfulness evident in his tone of voice. His eyes flick once to the bandage, a trace of question, perhaps recognition, there. He doesn't comment, and moves to hand over the whole bag. His hands are already scarred up, seemingly a picture of glyphs and runes and other symbols. When his sleeve in turn pulls back, offering the bag, the scarring extends higher, mingled with fresh lines, a canvas of scarification and scabs. He seems oblivious to that, and he tugs a grubby fold of paper from his pants pocket with the other hand. "I made some notes."
Flint glances in turn to the adren's arm, briefly and nodding, taking the bag of crystals and turning it over, and over, looking at them and nodding. His breathing steadies, too, the reminder in general helping the young galliard. "I'm happy to," Flint says, settling to sit a little more relaxed. "I've been… going a little nuts stuck here. But and. If you can, go with me, I'll. Be happy to, go out and, do that part some, giving them out some, too if… though I." Flint's gaze turns to the distracted, inner dialogue. "I can't go to the Regan Hope centre, right. Right now," he says, a tone softer. "Or the women's shelter. Not with, the. Vampire. I'm, not safe and I. Can't bring that down on, others."
Norman's lip curls into a snarl. "Draugr," he spits, imbuing the word with Rage. "I saw the note. Your picture, too? I mean, you drew it? You… want Hraidar to stay around, maybe? I can ask him. If you like. My raven-spirit friend? It's not like… having someone in your face all the time. Not like a Garou. It's… easier. Less… itchy. Even if he does play tricks. Just, keep the quartz out of his sight. He likes shineys. And he knows. About, people playing tricks and messing with people's heads. He's a Hrafn. A trickster-spirit."
"My drawing," Flint says, pointing vaguely over at one of the two. "I. Drew it, I… was out running, one night, and I… I can't sense the wyrm, or. Anything that would have told me that. She was a, a leech." There's anger, rage, a feeling of personal failure there, but it's quiet and contained. The crystal Norman held is turned over in Flint's left hand, his right moves to grip at the bandages and twist just a little bit. "And she… got off on, making me, hurt myself worse than I… had been planning to. And she. She took advantage, and toyed with, and. Her blood, with mine, got it, in my mouth." There's a strange quality to Flint's voice, between utter revulsion and the faintest hint still of desire, for something that he's talking about. "And, it's. That's why, Kavi-rhya says I can't, go out without, another Garou."
"Blood." Norman's single word has many layers and meanings. Then he picks up again in a lighter tone. "It's up to you. If you want. Hraidar, I mean. And if it'll help, I could make some Talens. To help sense, what people… want?" he searches for the word, and finally finds it. "Intent? Not like the Gifts. True Form or Sense Wyrm. The spirits already gave those, they don't usually like giving them again. Although I could try to explain, that it's a moon that doesn't know those who needs them. Maybe you could help with Chiminage for that too? And, thank you, for the Quartz. That'll be a big help."
Flint nods, and his fingers turn the quartz in his hand over and over. "Thank you," Flint responds. "I… having Hraidar for company? It, I think it would help, and, make me, feel… safer," the teen responds. "If, Hraidar would. And, I. Yeah, that would be, useful. I. I could, help with, could use more things to do and, keep busy. Intent, would, help too. Would. Warning, and all." There's a very tense but nonetheless genuine smile, then. "And, thank you. I… I needed the reminder, about Quartz, too. I think, it'll. It'll be good, to remind people that."
"I… needed it too. I'm… not good. At healing. But I've been getting better," the Adren admits. "It's… why I could never learn, before, I think. Mother's Touch. It was… healing would be a weakness? And I'm Get. We're not supposed to give in to weakness. But. I guess. If a bone's set crooked. You have to break it first to get it to heal right. I should get back. I'll talk to Hraidar."
Flint bows his head in a nod. "I. I'll have, a sketch and a draft for the card for the, quartz," the young galliard says. "Sometime, soon. Getting… better? And the. The getting there, the along the way, that's. What's important. I. I'll, see you around?"