Flint Madden (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
flint_garou) wrote2012-08-14 11:27 am
flint_garou) wrote2012-08-14 11:27 am
Entry tags:
Chicken-and-egg.
Norman-rhya's help with the talen is. Is good. It will help. It has to …
14 August, 2012
The moon is in the waning New (Ragabash) Moon phase (19% full).
Which is safer, walking in the Realm or the Umbra? It's rather a chicken-and-egg question, and it's the time of day that decides the answer—daytime is all well and good in the Park itself, but a daytime jaunt through the Umbral city is not, otherwise, a sensible option. The mundane humans tend to steer clear of the two Garou anyway, eyeing them and hurrying aside as though they are both about to start smashing windows, slashing tyres and threatening people with offensive weapons regardless of their outward appearance. The trip is otherwise, thankfully, without incident, and they can find a secluded spot in the meadow and slip across the Gauntlet. Hraidar is waiting on the other side, and Norman wastes no time adopting the more defensive Hispo form as soon as he has finished crossing over.
The typical spirits can be spotted in the light of Luna's Face: a raccoon-spirit, a few bird-spirits, a cat-spirit lurking about towards the road, an electricity-spirit cracking along the line that, in the physical realm, marks the path of a power cable. Norman gives greetings to those spirits close by, and starts padding towards the river.
The cliath sticks to his birth form even after they've crossed over to the Umbra, though it takes him some time to do so even in the relatively easier area of the city gauntlet of Harbor Park. Flint follows close enough to the Get, a bit of a bounce in his step at getting to be out and about in the first place. The entire Umbral glade is observed with faint awe and a grin.
The Get seems considerably more comfortable and relaxed once in the Umbra. Compared to his usual demeanour, anyway. Standing next to your averagely relaxed individual, he would still be on the edgy and watchful side. There is a short conversation with Hraidar as they move towards the river, one-sided to Flint's hearing but plainly enough about ducks and their locations. Then there IS the duck. Not just one duck, in fact, but a whole gaggle of them, the spirit-ducks just as sociable as their Realmside cousins, and just as incluned to jostle for the best position when a potential food-source comes into view. ~Sun-Tail, Slug-Bane, greetings,~ the Hispo offers, getting a chorus of squacks in return.
Flint nods to the ducks, politely, still sticking fairly close to the hispo. The teen's jumpy, but working on keeping it contained.
With an air of poorly-concealed weariness, Norman shifts to Glabro. This seems to be so he can access his pockets. He pulls out a bag of crumbs, scattering them, along with Gnosis, for the small flock. The gesture leaves him even more visibly tired, an exhaustion of spirit rather than any purely physical condition. "Have you got the ring?" he asks the Walker in a voice full of gravel and sandpaper.
Once more the Walker nods, and fidgeting a bit, from one pocket pulls out the piece of silk, with the ring strung on a leather cord inside of it. The silk's folded back into the pocket of his sweatshirt, sleeves idly pulled down over bandages that seem to have become the normal for Flint. "Here is," he murmurs.
Norman eyes the bandages with a strange mix of comprehension and confusion as he takes the ring and draws out a thin rope of what looks like waterweed and some narrow stem bearing thorns. The fresh marks on his own arms are plain to see below the level of the scratty more-or-less longsleeved T. Some are clearly ritual. Others are methodical but decidedly not. They fade somewhat beneath a disordered cover of fur as he takes warform and bows formally to the duck-spirits ~All is as we agreed.~ He loops one end of his rope through the ring, then crouches so that he can mark out a symbol on the dirt, formed partly of the line of the rope, and partly of the marks of his claws: the Glyph of Binding. The other end falls free.
One duck steps forwards, a drab bird with mottled brown feathers and a calm expression. She quacks once, and Norman nods. Then she pecks at the free end of the rope. There's a moment that looks as if it would need a really good special-effects budget, as the duck-spirit, the rope and the glyph all sear together and contract into themselves. The ring flares once, and then fades back into pretty much as it seemed before. ~It is done,~ the Godi says, and holds out the ring for Flint to take back. ~You may spend some of your spirit, and ask the ring to tell you the true intent of one you do not trust. You will understand from the colour of the ring what that is. The ring will change colour on its own if someone very close nearby wishes you ill intent, as long as you have a little of your spirit to give it the power to do so. Three times, and only three. Duck asks also that you try to avoid breaking up any, um. Romances. And help any new ones you see. I told her it probably wouldn't be relevant,~ he adds apologetically.
Flint watches the entire process with clear interest, and when it is done, nods. "Yeah," he says, quietly. The ring is replaced on the leather cord that it had come off of, and Flint drapes it for the moment around his neck. "Thank you, for this. I. I appreciate it," he says quietly. "And, it. Uhhh. Yeah, probably, won't. I mean, the only thing around is. Mom, and Kavi-rhya." And Flint's tone indicates his own discomfort with the subject quite clearly.
"Put it where you can see it," Norman says, almost an order, as he shifts back down to Glabro. "No good, if you can't see it, if it changes. Right? On a finger. It'll stay with you, when you cross the Gauntlet and when you shift. It's part spirit itself. And. Duck's… kind of a. Romantic." The word sounds foreign to his mouth, and he seems about as comfortable as the other Garou.
The galliard nods immediately, then takes the cord off, and then puts it on the index finger of his left hand, the finger it had originally been bought to fit, and nods at Norman. "Ah," Flint says, nodding. "There, that. That makes, sense. It. I… guess it takes all kinds," he says. There's finally a slight bit of easing in the boy's manner as he fidgets with looping hands about one wrist, though he's still twitchy and anxious.
"Let's go fight something," the Get says, looking across the park to the north. "Once it's dark. I know a place. I need a good fight."
Flint wraps his arms around his chest and bares his teeth slightly. "That sounds, good. I. I do, too. Haven't gotten to, anything since," the boy says, before abruptly shifting down to lupus to make a small circle around the Get, almost playful.
Oath-Ring slips down into Lupus too, unexpectedly playful himself (although it's a little like watching a stern and creaky headmaster trying to play with a toddler). Let's run? his tail waves, and he darts off towards the fountain, scattering insect-spirits in his wake.
Requiem play-bows, then runs after, bounding to keep up and at one point play-tackling the adren. For the moment and time being, it's all play in the manner of wolves, something that seems to relax the cliath some.
14 August, 2012
The moon is in the waning New (Ragabash) Moon phase (19% full).
Which is safer, walking in the Realm or the Umbra? It's rather a chicken-and-egg question, and it's the time of day that decides the answer—daytime is all well and good in the Park itself, but a daytime jaunt through the Umbral city is not, otherwise, a sensible option. The mundane humans tend to steer clear of the two Garou anyway, eyeing them and hurrying aside as though they are both about to start smashing windows, slashing tyres and threatening people with offensive weapons regardless of their outward appearance. The trip is otherwise, thankfully, without incident, and they can find a secluded spot in the meadow and slip across the Gauntlet. Hraidar is waiting on the other side, and Norman wastes no time adopting the more defensive Hispo form as soon as he has finished crossing over.
The typical spirits can be spotted in the light of Luna's Face: a raccoon-spirit, a few bird-spirits, a cat-spirit lurking about towards the road, an electricity-spirit cracking along the line that, in the physical realm, marks the path of a power cable. Norman gives greetings to those spirits close by, and starts padding towards the river.
The cliath sticks to his birth form even after they've crossed over to the Umbra, though it takes him some time to do so even in the relatively easier area of the city gauntlet of Harbor Park. Flint follows close enough to the Get, a bit of a bounce in his step at getting to be out and about in the first place. The entire Umbral glade is observed with faint awe and a grin.
The Get seems considerably more comfortable and relaxed once in the Umbra. Compared to his usual demeanour, anyway. Standing next to your averagely relaxed individual, he would still be on the edgy and watchful side. There is a short conversation with Hraidar as they move towards the river, one-sided to Flint's hearing but plainly enough about ducks and their locations. Then there IS the duck. Not just one duck, in fact, but a whole gaggle of them, the spirit-ducks just as sociable as their Realmside cousins, and just as incluned to jostle for the best position when a potential food-source comes into view. ~Sun-Tail, Slug-Bane, greetings,~ the Hispo offers, getting a chorus of squacks in return.
Flint nods to the ducks, politely, still sticking fairly close to the hispo. The teen's jumpy, but working on keeping it contained.
With an air of poorly-concealed weariness, Norman shifts to Glabro. This seems to be so he can access his pockets. He pulls out a bag of crumbs, scattering them, along with Gnosis, for the small flock. The gesture leaves him even more visibly tired, an exhaustion of spirit rather than any purely physical condition. "Have you got the ring?" he asks the Walker in a voice full of gravel and sandpaper.
Once more the Walker nods, and fidgeting a bit, from one pocket pulls out the piece of silk, with the ring strung on a leather cord inside of it. The silk's folded back into the pocket of his sweatshirt, sleeves idly pulled down over bandages that seem to have become the normal for Flint. "Here is," he murmurs.
Norman eyes the bandages with a strange mix of comprehension and confusion as he takes the ring and draws out a thin rope of what looks like waterweed and some narrow stem bearing thorns. The fresh marks on his own arms are plain to see below the level of the scratty more-or-less longsleeved T. Some are clearly ritual. Others are methodical but decidedly not. They fade somewhat beneath a disordered cover of fur as he takes warform and bows formally to the duck-spirits ~All is as we agreed.~ He loops one end of his rope through the ring, then crouches so that he can mark out a symbol on the dirt, formed partly of the line of the rope, and partly of the marks of his claws: the Glyph of Binding. The other end falls free.
One duck steps forwards, a drab bird with mottled brown feathers and a calm expression. She quacks once, and Norman nods. Then she pecks at the free end of the rope. There's a moment that looks as if it would need a really good special-effects budget, as the duck-spirit, the rope and the glyph all sear together and contract into themselves. The ring flares once, and then fades back into pretty much as it seemed before. ~It is done,~ the Godi says, and holds out the ring for Flint to take back. ~You may spend some of your spirit, and ask the ring to tell you the true intent of one you do not trust. You will understand from the colour of the ring what that is. The ring will change colour on its own if someone very close nearby wishes you ill intent, as long as you have a little of your spirit to give it the power to do so. Three times, and only three. Duck asks also that you try to avoid breaking up any, um. Romances. And help any new ones you see. I told her it probably wouldn't be relevant,~ he adds apologetically.
Flint watches the entire process with clear interest, and when it is done, nods. "Yeah," he says, quietly. The ring is replaced on the leather cord that it had come off of, and Flint drapes it for the moment around his neck. "Thank you, for this. I. I appreciate it," he says quietly. "And, it. Uhhh. Yeah, probably, won't. I mean, the only thing around is. Mom, and Kavi-rhya." And Flint's tone indicates his own discomfort with the subject quite clearly.
"Put it where you can see it," Norman says, almost an order, as he shifts back down to Glabro. "No good, if you can't see it, if it changes. Right? On a finger. It'll stay with you, when you cross the Gauntlet and when you shift. It's part spirit itself. And. Duck's… kind of a. Romantic." The word sounds foreign to his mouth, and he seems about as comfortable as the other Garou.
The galliard nods immediately, then takes the cord off, and then puts it on the index finger of his left hand, the finger it had originally been bought to fit, and nods at Norman. "Ah," Flint says, nodding. "There, that. That makes, sense. It. I… guess it takes all kinds," he says. There's finally a slight bit of easing in the boy's manner as he fidgets with looping hands about one wrist, though he's still twitchy and anxious.
"Let's go fight something," the Get says, looking across the park to the north. "Once it's dark. I know a place. I need a good fight."
Flint wraps his arms around his chest and bares his teeth slightly. "That sounds, good. I. I do, too. Haven't gotten to, anything since," the boy says, before abruptly shifting down to lupus to make a small circle around the Get, almost playful.
Oath-Ring slips down into Lupus too, unexpectedly playful himself (although it's a little like watching a stern and creaky headmaster trying to play with a toddler). Let's run? his tail waves, and he darts off towards the fountain, scattering insect-spirits in his wake.
Requiem play-bows, then runs after, bounding to keep up and at one point play-tackling the adren. For the moment and time being, it's all play in the manner of wolves, something that seems to relax the cliath some.