It's hard.
Wednesday, 1 August 2012 12:09![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
flint_garouBut it's for the best.
1 August, 2012
The moon is in the waxing Full (Ahroun) Moon phase (93% full).
Flint's at the dining room table in the breakroom, having taken over about a quarter of it between eating lunch and what he's working on. He's got a standard piece of printer paper with some inking pens on top of it to one side, set next to a plastic bag full of quartz crystals of various colours, and a package of those little red good-luck gift envelopes, just over the size of a folded in quarters sheet of paper. The cliath is in short sleeves, and left arm still bandaged, but oblivious to the fact, and as he slowly picks at the bowl of pasta in front of him, his left hand clenches tightly around… something.
The Theurge comes in, looking faintly sleepy. She's been absent last night, and apparently has only just woken up from whatever it was she was out doing. To the breakroom, and she reaches for cawfee.
Flint picks at his food a moment longer. It's almost uncharacteristic, the lack of enthusiasm he's had for food the past week, though he does look a little better overall. Less preoccupied, more in the present, and eventually, Nieve gets a little wave of greeting in between bites.
"Requiem," Nieve greets, fixing something dark and sugary for herself, then coming over to occupy a chair. She's not entirely awake yet. "Did I see you'd left th' Tenement on the video a while back?"
Flint fidgets with what he's got in his left hand, a fragment of rose quartz less than an inch long, smaller around than his pinky finger, and he nods. "Kavi-rhya and Rina know," he offers. "It. It was, before the, oath. Before I knew that she's a leech, before I knew that she was just, toying with me because she, could." The boy pauses, takes a deep breath in. "I… I haven't left, since."
"Good. Don't go out alone." Nieve sounds grumpy as well as sleepy, most uncharacteristic of her. Then again, the moon is full.
The cliath fidgets with the crystal a little more. "I. I promised," Flint repeats. "I promised I wouldn't." There's more than a hint of strain in the words, a glance to the door.
"I know it's hard. Believe me, I know. But it's for the best." Nieve sounds faintly sympathetic, amidst all the grump. "My tribemates in St Louis had to tie me down, the first couple times. Literally restrain me."
Flint raises his brows very slightly, and gives a tiny, small nod, returning to picking at his food. "It sucks," Flint murmurs. "It's. She, toyed with me," and anger and rage leak into the tense, California-accented words, practically radiating off the galliard in a wave for a moment before he calms enough to speak more. "Want to go kill her, and… make her hurt. Or, let her… doing things helps, the. The promise helps. But I also just, just want, fresh air."
"Weren't a vampire, for me. But th' premise is th' same," Nieve replies, gulping down her lukewarm sugary coffee with a grimace. Apparently she still doesn't like coffee. "Wanna go out for a short walk?"
Fork is immediately dropped into the bowl, and Flint pushes to his feet, nodding. Bowl is carried to the kitchen, covered with plastic wrap, name scrawled in sharpie before he returns it to the fridge. "Yeah. I, I would, thanks Nieve-rhya. Just a second," and Flint turns to the table, neatening the things he has out, and also going through the bag of crystals until he comes out with a small clear quartz and offers it to the adren. "For, for. A reminder. That quartz can heal," he explains. "I'm helping Norman-rhya with, chiminage to Quartz."
"Yeah?" Nieve prompts, rising as well. "Tell me 'bout it?" She takes the crystal and sniffs it, then loops it into one of the metal spirals adorning her dreadlocks.
Flint nods and there's a faint, tense smile, as Flint finishes gathering things, setting them aside and out of the way for now. The paper is a draft of a flyer, it would seem, the word 'quartz' visible in ornate blackletter across the top third. "Quartz, it…" there's effort into the words, but they seem to calm the boy a little, "helps, with when you need to, to 'move on'. It helps with, healing in general, and focus, and relief from pain." He's speaking as much to himself as he is to the adren, it seems, words quiet.
"An' is it helpin' you?" Nieve asks, heading out once the cliath is ready, descending to the foyer and out through the front doors.
Flint runs his thumb over the stone in his hands. "It's helping," Flint agrees, with a nod. "It, it's helping me hold on, and not, lose track." When they're outside, his mood brightens a bit more, though he sticks close to Nieve, not more than a few feet from her at any point.
Nicodemus is seated on the merry go round, and Thomas is standing nearby. The two are chatting, left alone by most of the other few and far between occupants of the park, who also seem to be interested in being left alone today. Except for that aging hooker over on the northwestern side of the park. She'd probably like company. "What if the dream—vision—whathaveyou. What if it's basically saying 'tell me where to stop?' But no one knows how to tell it to stop?"
"Then someone'd better figure it out," Thomas replies, his eyes faintly narrowing. "Unfortunately, this ain't my area of expertise, generally. Me, I was just thinking of picking up the nests and dropping them over the the occupied forest. Sort've a 'stay there, dammit' response."
Into the park comes a walking pair. Nieve and Flint, amicably ambling along as it were. "M'glad it's helpin'," the older Walker is telling her cliath companion, seeming to be a little sleepy and grouchy if her body language and expression is anything to go by.
Flint smiles and grins, gaze flicking over the park. He hums cheerfully enough to himself, then looks over to Nicodemus and Thomas, offering them a distracted wave of greeting. "Me too," Flint responds. "Thanks." He looks towards the direction of the fountain, and mutters something, almost a curseword. "Oh. I forgot the, bread to. To feed the ducks. Tomorrow, maybe?"
Nicodemus considers Thomas' suggestion. "That sounds pretty reasonable to me, but I haven't the faintest—and it seems like the Jacobs ought to be the rocket scientists with thi…." He cuts himself off as he notices the two garou who just entered the park. "Speak of the devils and they shall appear." He raises a hand in a wave towards the newcomers.
Thomas slants a look toward the entering Garou, and lifts his own hand, though his greeting is, perhaps, a little more cautious than the Walker kin's. "They are," he says quietly, to Nick. "Or at least, their Theurges are. Usually. When they ain't being morons."
The devils, such as they are, meander over Nicodemus' way as he hails. "Mornin' Nick," Nieve greets. Thomas gets a brief nod. "Just takin' some air with Flint. An— no. Ducks ain't comin' nowhere near us two, homeboy. Not t'day, not t'morrow."
Flint looks over at Nieve and simply nods acceptance. "Was supposed to, for. For a talen, to feed the ducks, some point," he says, but it's not argument, just explanation. The cliath fidgets with the crystal in his hands, still, shrugs his shoulders very quietly. "Not long like or anything, just take the old bread and scatter it, for. For them."
Nicodemus just grabs and goes with it. He looks around, checking that there's no chance of being overheard and no one paying the group any attention, and then straight-out asks Nieve. "Have you heard about Flint's dream? Vision? And the words to it? And contrasted that with the spreading of the wasps out in Kent Crossing? What if the…you full-blooded types… are being asked to say 'stop' at some point to the stuff out there? And what happens when hunting season cranks up in a couple months and hunters start seeing weird shit or going missing?" It's less of an accusation and more of a 'have you thought of' series of questions. "Thomas and I were just discussing it, and it's way above our paygrades."
Thomas's attention shifts back to Nick at his storm of questions, and then to Nieve for her answer.
"No." Nieve shifts her gaze across to the cliath in question. "He ain't told me 'bout it. But, I've had dreams of my own. Crystals, shrivelling bodies, colours and wings." She fixes her attention on Flint. "Tell me th' dream?"
Flint nods, brow furrowing. "Was in a tree on a swing, and was, all different. There's a. I drew it, in my room? It's. On the wall. And, a girl, a woman… Chimera maybe?" Flint says, "said something, and then, wasp sounds, buzzing when I. Woke up. She, said, 'There is no wrong, there is n-no right, there is only dark and bright. I did not come, I d-did not… go, I cannot change but only show. You cannot win, you cannot lose, but… where to stop, that you can choose.'"
Nicodemus spreads his hands and looks to Nieve to see what she can make of that. "It's a little disturbing."
Thomas crosses his arms over his chest, and frowns. Again he looks to Nieve.
The Theurge is saying the same words as Flint, by the end. "But where to stop? That you can choose." She shakes her head slightly. "Rainbows and wings and clothes that purr," she sighs faintly, then looks towards Thomas. "I don't think we've bin' introduced?"
Flint looks at Nieve and nods. "Parts of dream the same, parts… different. Weird. Kevin's dream was, like mine. Devon's was totally different, a woman, and a baby…"
Nicodemus huhs at this apparently new-to-him information. "I'm going to head over to Edgewood to ask the folks out there what their dreams were, but it's going to have to wait until the moon is a little more conducive to me not making an inadvertent faux pas and…." He shrugs, as if the rest is self explanatory. "Sorry." He cuts it short so Thomas can introduce himself to Nieve, and pays close attention to what he says.
Thomas tips his hat to Nieve. "Thomas Lee, ma'am. Uktena kinfolk and so on. Think I'm with Dalton on this one; it does seem like you've got to find some way to tell our friends out there where to stop."
"Mmn. T'be fair, we usually leave th' rural to those that know it better," Nieve points out, quite frankly. "We're urrah, remember?" Yes, her grumpy side is in full swing today. "Don't go over to Edgewood for a week or so," she asides to Nick. "S'not safe."
Flint starts to get a little more fidgety as he stands there, veering off to make a bit of a circle around Nieve. He doesn't get further than ten feet from his tribesmate, though.
"Regular not safe or extra special not safe because something is happening out there?" Nick asks of Nieve, casting a quizzical eye towards Flint. "Curfew lifted finally?" He sounds as if this is a good thing.
Thomas's lips thin, and he scratches at his beard rather fiercely for a moment. "All do respect, ma'am, you're still Wolves, and you're definitely the Wolves most keen on keeping regular old folk from figuring out it's a bigger, more diverse world than they believe. Short of that, people are gonna start dying if that mess out there keeps leaking outward. I think that goes a bit beyond Urrah and Rural, and whatever other cutesie names folk have come up with to draw lines in the sand with."
"All due respect, Thomas of the Uktena, but I've been tryin' to hold my family together these last couple of weeks. Normally I'd agree with you, an' I don't have any issue helpin' out the country folk. But where are they, exactly? Where are your folk, and their younger brothers, and the more wyld ones? We of the city can't do everything, there ain't enough of us," Nieve replies, quite soberly and quite plainly. "If you in your wisdom can find some shortcut I'm missin', then I'm happy t'listen."
If the cliath hears Nick's question, it's evidenced only by the way that Flint james his fists into his pockets. He settles on a bench a little ways off, wholly within Nieve's easy line of sight, knees to his chest.
Nicodemus purses his lips and keeps his mouth shut, letting Nieve and Thomas sort things out.
Thomas waves a hand toward the river. "Out there, living on the edges of it, patrolling it, trying to keep it in. I ain't saying go do every damn thing yourself, ma'am. What I am saying is this ain't the time to start dragging out the bitterness, warranted or otherwise. And what I'm saying is that someone ought to be thinking on a solution. Me'n Dalton are talking it over, but this ain't our expertise area. Now, I figure that's exactly what you're doing, and probably what a lot of my folk out there are doing. It'd be helpful if you were all doing it together though, wouldn't it?"
There's a slow, calculated look around from Nieve. Her voice lowers. "What I'm doin'? Is fixin' my cliath—both of them,—an' tryin' to figure out where the hell one've my Fostern is, while the other two an' my fellow Adren do their best t'keep tabs on the city an' stop it eruptin'. I've talked to elementals more primal than' fire an' water—an' debated philisophy, fought wars an' bartered for motes of memory from spirits who don't even know what Garou are to replenish a freakin' Bastet relic so that we get Luna's Heart back to help protect this part of the city. I'm stretched thin, Thomas of the Uktena. Bitterness an' bickerin' ain't even the problem. So I ask again; you've given this some thought. What more can I do?"
Flint is far enough off, although not entirely far away, as to not hear the conversation, and Flint seems to be setting about with enjoying the fresh air, fidgeting with a small rose quartz in his hands.
Nicodemus decides to intervene as gently as he can. "I think what Thomas is saying is that the city people need to be communicating with the woods people—if they aren't already—at least on this issue."
Thomas smiles, and it's not at all a pleasant expression, even if it comes with some easing of his own tension. "Delegate?" He nods at Nick's words. "That's what I'm saying. Communicating and coordinating. As for the rest, your Fostern's in Wolfhome, ma'am, and his pack seem to be all about the wait and see. I ain't remotely thrilled, but it's Wolfhome."
"Great. You two are good at communicatin' and coordinatin'. Nick, you're our liaison on this issue. Gather up all the dream stories, share them with Thomas—who can then share them with the woods folk. Sound good? Good." Nieve makes that decision right now. "If anyone gets resistant about talkin' dreamstuff, tell 'em it's on my say so." That's to Nick specifically, she isn't presuming to speak for the non-cityfolk.
Nicodemus hesitates a moment, then nods to Nieve. "Okay. I was trying to gather up dreams for Flint once the moon was a little more favorable for talking with people. So I'll just be working for the Walkers in general on this issue instead of just helping out Flint? I can do that. Do you have a contact list for all the relevant people living in the city? Or know someone who might?"
Thomas snorts, but he looks far more amused than irritated. "I more had one or two of your Galliards in mind, but fair's fair if that's how you want it."
Flint tilts his head towards the conversation again, and there's an increase in fidgeting until Flint finally gets up, walking slowly around in a loop to rejoin Nieve, but not getting close enough to include himself in the conversation.
The dreadlocked woman turns her gaze back to Thomas; there's nothing amused there. "If you don't think kinfolk should be included in the work, Thomas of the Uktena, then say so. Flint is in no position to communicate with your brethren, an' Kavi is huntin' vampires, both for vengeance an' to fulfill a promise to Owl. I was serious when I said we were stretched thin. Now, if all you want to do is bitch about how my Tribe is run, then please, save it for the smaller moons. Maybe then we won't be so busy tryin' to hold shit together."
Nicodemus edges half a step back, apparently a little nervous about the adren's tone and/or demeanor—even if it doesn't seem like it's directed at him. He's clearly quite aware of how dangerous an angered garou can be.
"I'd appreciate it, ma'am," Thomas says smoothly, "If you didn't read fifty different things into every word out of my mouth. I mean what I say, and no more. I ain't here to bitch at you; as you'll remember, I was standing here already when you came around." If he's angled himself so that he's a little between Nick and the other two, that's surely pure coincidence. He didn't move very much, after all. "If you're all too busy," he flicks a pointed look at Flint, "Well, then you're all too busy, ain't nothing I can do about it. Wasn't my intent to get you defensive, we were just interested in whether or not you'd looked into it."
Nicodemus amends Thomas' last statement. "Not so much looked into, but had thought about or made possible connections that might merit looking into. Or maybe if you had other ideas as to what we could do to help out?"
The cliath tenses, a few steps taken past Nieve and then towards the Uktena kin and eyes a good bit wider than usual. His chin juts up and there's a fair amount of rage behind the look that Thomas gets shot, before Flint manages to take a deep breath, looking down at the ground, stone-still and just barely containing himself, and that with a lot of visible effort.
Nieve regards Thomas, as he shifts ever-so slightly. Brow quirks. Nicodemus also gets a look, and the Adren very deliberately takes a step backwards. "Neither of you are in any danger from me," she states stiffly, almost woodenly. "Now please, do as I have asked. You are right, this does need attention—but when the wolves are spread so thin over the city we're like a pea-sized blob of peanut butter on an oversized slice of toast… you get the idea. That's why we need you. Report to me when you can, Nick…" she trails off, turning towards Flint and moving to stand besides him very quickly. Decidedly not human quickness. Just as well nobody's looking.
Thomas's attention shifts to Flint, and he stands a little straighter. "Go home," he tells the younger Walker, in a tone that's rather less warm, and rather more authoritative. He doesn't raise his voice, but there's a sense in there that hints at unspoken authority. Bizarre, coming from an ordinary kinfolk.
Nicodemus takes not a half step back this time, but several steps back from the group—and Flint in particular. He opens his mouth to say something, but then closes it: less attention drawn to him that way. He looks ready to bolt at the drop of a hat.
Flint nods, and there's a sense of that control starting to break, explosive and another step forward towards the Uktena kin, before he simply freezes in place, gaze caught with Thomas's now.
"Both of you, go." That's to the two kinfolk. "Now." Nieve brooks no argument there, and moves to stand between Flint and the pair of supposedly squishy ones. "Flint, listen to my voice. Hold it together. You're strong. Keep it together." While she speaks, one arm lifts, as if to drape over his shoulder amicably. She's his friend, right? Not to mention his boss. One hand touches the back of his neck—and then there's a sharp jab at a certain spot. Clearly she's had to do this before.
Thomas sighs, holding Flint's gaze, but when Nieve moves, so does he; he certainly allows her to get between them, but he slides just enough to the side as to maintain eye contact, right up until she jabs him. Then he steps back. Quickly.
Nicodemus wastes zero time in following Nieve's suggestion/command, whatever it was. In fact, he left Thomas behind. He makes his way out of the park and back towards the city—and more people.
There's a sense of the boy's continually losing struggle for control even as he's caught in place by whatever Thomas is doing. There's no movement in response to Nieve, or Nieve's words, just heavy, ragged breathing, and then Flint crumples against her, falling unconscious with the blow.
Nieve's arms curl around the cliath as he crumples, supporting his weight. It's just a hug, right? To any onlookers, at least. She rests her head against his for a moment, waiting for his system to register there's no serious imbalance in his blood pressure, and to wake him up. "Go, Thomas."
Thomas tips his hat to Nieve, and then turns to jog after Nicodemus. He seems quite content with leaving now.
Flint doesn't weigh terribly much, either, easy enough to support for the minute that it takes him to come to again. His breathing is still ragged, but there's no more of the immediate sense of rage, and he pulls away from Nieve slightly, gaze down.
"Let's go home." That's all Nieve says, and turns to escort Flint back to the tenement.
Flint nods, not fighting the guidance in the right direction, quiet and only dragging his feet a few time as they go.
Nicodemus seems to have disappeared into the growing evening traffic.
1 August, 2012
The moon is in the waxing Full (Ahroun) Moon phase (93% full).
Flint's at the dining room table in the breakroom, having taken over about a quarter of it between eating lunch and what he's working on. He's got a standard piece of printer paper with some inking pens on top of it to one side, set next to a plastic bag full of quartz crystals of various colours, and a package of those little red good-luck gift envelopes, just over the size of a folded in quarters sheet of paper. The cliath is in short sleeves, and left arm still bandaged, but oblivious to the fact, and as he slowly picks at the bowl of pasta in front of him, his left hand clenches tightly around… something.
The Theurge comes in, looking faintly sleepy. She's been absent last night, and apparently has only just woken up from whatever it was she was out doing. To the breakroom, and she reaches for cawfee.
Flint picks at his food a moment longer. It's almost uncharacteristic, the lack of enthusiasm he's had for food the past week, though he does look a little better overall. Less preoccupied, more in the present, and eventually, Nieve gets a little wave of greeting in between bites.
"Requiem," Nieve greets, fixing something dark and sugary for herself, then coming over to occupy a chair. She's not entirely awake yet. "Did I see you'd left th' Tenement on the video a while back?"
Flint fidgets with what he's got in his left hand, a fragment of rose quartz less than an inch long, smaller around than his pinky finger, and he nods. "Kavi-rhya and Rina know," he offers. "It. It was, before the, oath. Before I knew that she's a leech, before I knew that she was just, toying with me because she, could." The boy pauses, takes a deep breath in. "I… I haven't left, since."
"Good. Don't go out alone." Nieve sounds grumpy as well as sleepy, most uncharacteristic of her. Then again, the moon is full.
The cliath fidgets with the crystal a little more. "I. I promised," Flint repeats. "I promised I wouldn't." There's more than a hint of strain in the words, a glance to the door.
"I know it's hard. Believe me, I know. But it's for the best." Nieve sounds faintly sympathetic, amidst all the grump. "My tribemates in St Louis had to tie me down, the first couple times. Literally restrain me."
Flint raises his brows very slightly, and gives a tiny, small nod, returning to picking at his food. "It sucks," Flint murmurs. "It's. She, toyed with me," and anger and rage leak into the tense, California-accented words, practically radiating off the galliard in a wave for a moment before he calms enough to speak more. "Want to go kill her, and… make her hurt. Or, let her… doing things helps, the. The promise helps. But I also just, just want, fresh air."
"Weren't a vampire, for me. But th' premise is th' same," Nieve replies, gulping down her lukewarm sugary coffee with a grimace. Apparently she still doesn't like coffee. "Wanna go out for a short walk?"
Fork is immediately dropped into the bowl, and Flint pushes to his feet, nodding. Bowl is carried to the kitchen, covered with plastic wrap, name scrawled in sharpie before he returns it to the fridge. "Yeah. I, I would, thanks Nieve-rhya. Just a second," and Flint turns to the table, neatening the things he has out, and also going through the bag of crystals until he comes out with a small clear quartz and offers it to the adren. "For, for. A reminder. That quartz can heal," he explains. "I'm helping Norman-rhya with, chiminage to Quartz."
"Yeah?" Nieve prompts, rising as well. "Tell me 'bout it?" She takes the crystal and sniffs it, then loops it into one of the metal spirals adorning her dreadlocks.
Flint nods and there's a faint, tense smile, as Flint finishes gathering things, setting them aside and out of the way for now. The paper is a draft of a flyer, it would seem, the word 'quartz' visible in ornate blackletter across the top third. "Quartz, it…" there's effort into the words, but they seem to calm the boy a little, "helps, with when you need to, to 'move on'. It helps with, healing in general, and focus, and relief from pain." He's speaking as much to himself as he is to the adren, it seems, words quiet.
"An' is it helpin' you?" Nieve asks, heading out once the cliath is ready, descending to the foyer and out through the front doors.
Flint runs his thumb over the stone in his hands. "It's helping," Flint agrees, with a nod. "It, it's helping me hold on, and not, lose track." When they're outside, his mood brightens a bit more, though he sticks close to Nieve, not more than a few feet from her at any point.
Nicodemus is seated on the merry go round, and Thomas is standing nearby. The two are chatting, left alone by most of the other few and far between occupants of the park, who also seem to be interested in being left alone today. Except for that aging hooker over on the northwestern side of the park. She'd probably like company. "What if the dream—vision—whathaveyou. What if it's basically saying 'tell me where to stop?' But no one knows how to tell it to stop?"
"Then someone'd better figure it out," Thomas replies, his eyes faintly narrowing. "Unfortunately, this ain't my area of expertise, generally. Me, I was just thinking of picking up the nests and dropping them over the the occupied forest. Sort've a 'stay there, dammit' response."
Into the park comes a walking pair. Nieve and Flint, amicably ambling along as it were. "M'glad it's helpin'," the older Walker is telling her cliath companion, seeming to be a little sleepy and grouchy if her body language and expression is anything to go by.
Flint smiles and grins, gaze flicking over the park. He hums cheerfully enough to himself, then looks over to Nicodemus and Thomas, offering them a distracted wave of greeting. "Me too," Flint responds. "Thanks." He looks towards the direction of the fountain, and mutters something, almost a curseword. "Oh. I forgot the, bread to. To feed the ducks. Tomorrow, maybe?"
Nicodemus considers Thomas' suggestion. "That sounds pretty reasonable to me, but I haven't the faintest—and it seems like the Jacobs ought to be the rocket scientists with thi…." He cuts himself off as he notices the two garou who just entered the park. "Speak of the devils and they shall appear." He raises a hand in a wave towards the newcomers.
Thomas slants a look toward the entering Garou, and lifts his own hand, though his greeting is, perhaps, a little more cautious than the Walker kin's. "They are," he says quietly, to Nick. "Or at least, their Theurges are. Usually. When they ain't being morons."
The devils, such as they are, meander over Nicodemus' way as he hails. "Mornin' Nick," Nieve greets. Thomas gets a brief nod. "Just takin' some air with Flint. An— no. Ducks ain't comin' nowhere near us two, homeboy. Not t'day, not t'morrow."
Flint looks over at Nieve and simply nods acceptance. "Was supposed to, for. For a talen, to feed the ducks, some point," he says, but it's not argument, just explanation. The cliath fidgets with the crystal in his hands, still, shrugs his shoulders very quietly. "Not long like or anything, just take the old bread and scatter it, for. For them."
Nicodemus just grabs and goes with it. He looks around, checking that there's no chance of being overheard and no one paying the group any attention, and then straight-out asks Nieve. "Have you heard about Flint's dream? Vision? And the words to it? And contrasted that with the spreading of the wasps out in Kent Crossing? What if the…you full-blooded types… are being asked to say 'stop' at some point to the stuff out there? And what happens when hunting season cranks up in a couple months and hunters start seeing weird shit or going missing?" It's less of an accusation and more of a 'have you thought of' series of questions. "Thomas and I were just discussing it, and it's way above our paygrades."
Thomas's attention shifts back to Nick at his storm of questions, and then to Nieve for her answer.
"No." Nieve shifts her gaze across to the cliath in question. "He ain't told me 'bout it. But, I've had dreams of my own. Crystals, shrivelling bodies, colours and wings." She fixes her attention on Flint. "Tell me th' dream?"
Flint nods, brow furrowing. "Was in a tree on a swing, and was, all different. There's a. I drew it, in my room? It's. On the wall. And, a girl, a woman… Chimera maybe?" Flint says, "said something, and then, wasp sounds, buzzing when I. Woke up. She, said, 'There is no wrong, there is n-no right, there is only dark and bright. I did not come, I d-did not… go, I cannot change but only show. You cannot win, you cannot lose, but… where to stop, that you can choose.'"
Nicodemus spreads his hands and looks to Nieve to see what she can make of that. "It's a little disturbing."
Thomas crosses his arms over his chest, and frowns. Again he looks to Nieve.
The Theurge is saying the same words as Flint, by the end. "But where to stop? That you can choose." She shakes her head slightly. "Rainbows and wings and clothes that purr," she sighs faintly, then looks towards Thomas. "I don't think we've bin' introduced?"
Flint looks at Nieve and nods. "Parts of dream the same, parts… different. Weird. Kevin's dream was, like mine. Devon's was totally different, a woman, and a baby…"
Nicodemus huhs at this apparently new-to-him information. "I'm going to head over to Edgewood to ask the folks out there what their dreams were, but it's going to have to wait until the moon is a little more conducive to me not making an inadvertent faux pas and…." He shrugs, as if the rest is self explanatory. "Sorry." He cuts it short so Thomas can introduce himself to Nieve, and pays close attention to what he says.
Thomas tips his hat to Nieve. "Thomas Lee, ma'am. Uktena kinfolk and so on. Think I'm with Dalton on this one; it does seem like you've got to find some way to tell our friends out there where to stop."
"Mmn. T'be fair, we usually leave th' rural to those that know it better," Nieve points out, quite frankly. "We're urrah, remember?" Yes, her grumpy side is in full swing today. "Don't go over to Edgewood for a week or so," she asides to Nick. "S'not safe."
Flint starts to get a little more fidgety as he stands there, veering off to make a bit of a circle around Nieve. He doesn't get further than ten feet from his tribesmate, though.
"Regular not safe or extra special not safe because something is happening out there?" Nick asks of Nieve, casting a quizzical eye towards Flint. "Curfew lifted finally?" He sounds as if this is a good thing.
Thomas's lips thin, and he scratches at his beard rather fiercely for a moment. "All do respect, ma'am, you're still Wolves, and you're definitely the Wolves most keen on keeping regular old folk from figuring out it's a bigger, more diverse world than they believe. Short of that, people are gonna start dying if that mess out there keeps leaking outward. I think that goes a bit beyond Urrah and Rural, and whatever other cutesie names folk have come up with to draw lines in the sand with."
"All due respect, Thomas of the Uktena, but I've been tryin' to hold my family together these last couple of weeks. Normally I'd agree with you, an' I don't have any issue helpin' out the country folk. But where are they, exactly? Where are your folk, and their younger brothers, and the more wyld ones? We of the city can't do everything, there ain't enough of us," Nieve replies, quite soberly and quite plainly. "If you in your wisdom can find some shortcut I'm missin', then I'm happy t'listen."
If the cliath hears Nick's question, it's evidenced only by the way that Flint james his fists into his pockets. He settles on a bench a little ways off, wholly within Nieve's easy line of sight, knees to his chest.
Nicodemus purses his lips and keeps his mouth shut, letting Nieve and Thomas sort things out.
Thomas waves a hand toward the river. "Out there, living on the edges of it, patrolling it, trying to keep it in. I ain't saying go do every damn thing yourself, ma'am. What I am saying is this ain't the time to start dragging out the bitterness, warranted or otherwise. And what I'm saying is that someone ought to be thinking on a solution. Me'n Dalton are talking it over, but this ain't our expertise area. Now, I figure that's exactly what you're doing, and probably what a lot of my folk out there are doing. It'd be helpful if you were all doing it together though, wouldn't it?"
There's a slow, calculated look around from Nieve. Her voice lowers. "What I'm doin'? Is fixin' my cliath—both of them,—an' tryin' to figure out where the hell one've my Fostern is, while the other two an' my fellow Adren do their best t'keep tabs on the city an' stop it eruptin'. I've talked to elementals more primal than' fire an' water—an' debated philisophy, fought wars an' bartered for motes of memory from spirits who don't even know what Garou are to replenish a freakin' Bastet relic so that we get Luna's Heart back to help protect this part of the city. I'm stretched thin, Thomas of the Uktena. Bitterness an' bickerin' ain't even the problem. So I ask again; you've given this some thought. What more can I do?"
Flint is far enough off, although not entirely far away, as to not hear the conversation, and Flint seems to be setting about with enjoying the fresh air, fidgeting with a small rose quartz in his hands.
Nicodemus decides to intervene as gently as he can. "I think what Thomas is saying is that the city people need to be communicating with the woods people—if they aren't already—at least on this issue."
Thomas smiles, and it's not at all a pleasant expression, even if it comes with some easing of his own tension. "Delegate?" He nods at Nick's words. "That's what I'm saying. Communicating and coordinating. As for the rest, your Fostern's in Wolfhome, ma'am, and his pack seem to be all about the wait and see. I ain't remotely thrilled, but it's Wolfhome."
"Great. You two are good at communicatin' and coordinatin'. Nick, you're our liaison on this issue. Gather up all the dream stories, share them with Thomas—who can then share them with the woods folk. Sound good? Good." Nieve makes that decision right now. "If anyone gets resistant about talkin' dreamstuff, tell 'em it's on my say so." That's to Nick specifically, she isn't presuming to speak for the non-cityfolk.
Nicodemus hesitates a moment, then nods to Nieve. "Okay. I was trying to gather up dreams for Flint once the moon was a little more favorable for talking with people. So I'll just be working for the Walkers in general on this issue instead of just helping out Flint? I can do that. Do you have a contact list for all the relevant people living in the city? Or know someone who might?"
Thomas snorts, but he looks far more amused than irritated. "I more had one or two of your Galliards in mind, but fair's fair if that's how you want it."
Flint tilts his head towards the conversation again, and there's an increase in fidgeting until Flint finally gets up, walking slowly around in a loop to rejoin Nieve, but not getting close enough to include himself in the conversation.
The dreadlocked woman turns her gaze back to Thomas; there's nothing amused there. "If you don't think kinfolk should be included in the work, Thomas of the Uktena, then say so. Flint is in no position to communicate with your brethren, an' Kavi is huntin' vampires, both for vengeance an' to fulfill a promise to Owl. I was serious when I said we were stretched thin. Now, if all you want to do is bitch about how my Tribe is run, then please, save it for the smaller moons. Maybe then we won't be so busy tryin' to hold shit together."
Nicodemus edges half a step back, apparently a little nervous about the adren's tone and/or demeanor—even if it doesn't seem like it's directed at him. He's clearly quite aware of how dangerous an angered garou can be.
"I'd appreciate it, ma'am," Thomas says smoothly, "If you didn't read fifty different things into every word out of my mouth. I mean what I say, and no more. I ain't here to bitch at you; as you'll remember, I was standing here already when you came around." If he's angled himself so that he's a little between Nick and the other two, that's surely pure coincidence. He didn't move very much, after all. "If you're all too busy," he flicks a pointed look at Flint, "Well, then you're all too busy, ain't nothing I can do about it. Wasn't my intent to get you defensive, we were just interested in whether or not you'd looked into it."
Nicodemus amends Thomas' last statement. "Not so much looked into, but had thought about or made possible connections that might merit looking into. Or maybe if you had other ideas as to what we could do to help out?"
The cliath tenses, a few steps taken past Nieve and then towards the Uktena kin and eyes a good bit wider than usual. His chin juts up and there's a fair amount of rage behind the look that Thomas gets shot, before Flint manages to take a deep breath, looking down at the ground, stone-still and just barely containing himself, and that with a lot of visible effort.
Nieve regards Thomas, as he shifts ever-so slightly. Brow quirks. Nicodemus also gets a look, and the Adren very deliberately takes a step backwards. "Neither of you are in any danger from me," she states stiffly, almost woodenly. "Now please, do as I have asked. You are right, this does need attention—but when the wolves are spread so thin over the city we're like a pea-sized blob of peanut butter on an oversized slice of toast… you get the idea. That's why we need you. Report to me when you can, Nick…" she trails off, turning towards Flint and moving to stand besides him very quickly. Decidedly not human quickness. Just as well nobody's looking.
Thomas's attention shifts to Flint, and he stands a little straighter. "Go home," he tells the younger Walker, in a tone that's rather less warm, and rather more authoritative. He doesn't raise his voice, but there's a sense in there that hints at unspoken authority. Bizarre, coming from an ordinary kinfolk.
Nicodemus takes not a half step back this time, but several steps back from the group—and Flint in particular. He opens his mouth to say something, but then closes it: less attention drawn to him that way. He looks ready to bolt at the drop of a hat.
Flint nods, and there's a sense of that control starting to break, explosive and another step forward towards the Uktena kin, before he simply freezes in place, gaze caught with Thomas's now.
"Both of you, go." That's to the two kinfolk. "Now." Nieve brooks no argument there, and moves to stand between Flint and the pair of supposedly squishy ones. "Flint, listen to my voice. Hold it together. You're strong. Keep it together." While she speaks, one arm lifts, as if to drape over his shoulder amicably. She's his friend, right? Not to mention his boss. One hand touches the back of his neck—and then there's a sharp jab at a certain spot. Clearly she's had to do this before.
Thomas sighs, holding Flint's gaze, but when Nieve moves, so does he; he certainly allows her to get between them, but he slides just enough to the side as to maintain eye contact, right up until she jabs him. Then he steps back. Quickly.
Nicodemus wastes zero time in following Nieve's suggestion/command, whatever it was. In fact, he left Thomas behind. He makes his way out of the park and back towards the city—and more people.
There's a sense of the boy's continually losing struggle for control even as he's caught in place by whatever Thomas is doing. There's no movement in response to Nieve, or Nieve's words, just heavy, ragged breathing, and then Flint crumples against her, falling unconscious with the blow.
Nieve's arms curl around the cliath as he crumples, supporting his weight. It's just a hug, right? To any onlookers, at least. She rests her head against his for a moment, waiting for his system to register there's no serious imbalance in his blood pressure, and to wake him up. "Go, Thomas."
Thomas tips his hat to Nieve, and then turns to jog after Nicodemus. He seems quite content with leaving now.
Flint doesn't weigh terribly much, either, easy enough to support for the minute that it takes him to come to again. His breathing is still ragged, but there's no more of the immediate sense of rage, and he pulls away from Nieve slightly, gaze down.
"Let's go home." That's all Nieve says, and turns to escort Flint back to the tenement.
Flint nods, not fighting the guidance in the right direction, quiet and only dragging his feet a few time as they go.
Nicodemus seems to have disappeared into the growing evening traffic.