Direct orders.

[flint_garou]

You should probably just lock him up. It ain't gonna matter what you tell him. He'll go whether he wants to or not.

26 August, 2012
The moon is in the waxing Gibbous (Galliard) Moon phase (63% full).

Lefty can't help the little cackle that escapes. "Yeah, but you fucking got it. And we're here to help with the rest." She finally sets the Theurge down and brushes her off, playfully. A look is thrown to the laptop, and the Gnawer remembers what she said. "How much have you caught up?" she asks, tentatively.

Mouse wets her lower lip. "Ah. Nick's last email?" She adds, after a moment, "Most of it. I skimmed a little."

Lefty grunts. "All I know form Dalton is that he was collecting some of the dreams we've been having. I gave him mine. If there's more," she shrugs, then says, "I know there's a vampire situation Kavi's dealing with. But I haven't been much help to him." She looks genuinely sorry. "Personally, I came over because of a new cub. She had no fetch, so I'm… doing due diligence and letting each tribe know that they can come talk to her. Even though I've claimed her. Was gonna tell Kavi, but, now…" she grins again, taking in the disheveled Mouse with another laugh. "You really look like a fucking ranger."

The rumbling of the elevator approaching comes, and when Flint exits, he's dressed in jeans, sweatshirt, backpack slung over his shoulder. But the teen looks even less connected to reality than usual, and there's a good amount of startlement when he sees Lefty and Mouse in the lobby. There's only the barest of smiles that follows. And it gives him pause, halfway towards the door. "Mouse-rhya, Lefty-rhya." And then Flint actually moves for the door with more purpose.

Mouse nods at what Lefty says, but Flint's arrival provides a considerable distraction. "'Scuse me a moment," she says to her pack alpha, that faint smile remaining for a moment before fading away. She disentangles herself from Lefty, turns toward Flint, and then rather suddenly there's a lanky, deformed crinos grabbing at the back of his shirt, in an attempt to lift him right off the ground.

Lefty looks between the two Walkers, nodding an absent greeting to Flint before offering a quiet, "Sure," even after Mouse has already turned towards Flint. She remains back, just watching.

Flint still doesn't weigh terribly much, and his shirt effectively lifts his feet off the ground as he twists and kicks, trying to get free, then just as abruptly stops struggling. "Lemme go," he says, just above a whisper, pleading in his voice, determination in the set of his jaw. "Going to go, go kill her get it over with and kill her."

~Oh?~ First-Strike rumbles, still holding the young Galliard aloft. ~Do you know where she is?~

Lefty's eyes widen further, her brows lifted high. She glances around to see if anyone else is around, and then looks back to watch Mouse. "Wow," she mutters to herself, specifically placing herself in front of the door for some reason.

Flint starts to kick again, ineffectively as it may be, and shakes his head. He doesn't speak louder, when he responds. "N-no. Kill her, can. I can. I'll find her," he says, and there's no confidence in his voice. "I will."

First-Strike echoes that first word. ~No. So what you actually mean to say is, you're going to go wander the streets aimlessly against explicit orders from your superior. Who has, I hear, been looking for this same vampire for weeks.~ She turns sharply, strides several steps back toward the center of the lobby, and drops Flint onto one of the armchairs. She's not trying to hurt him, but she's not delicate about it. ~Do you have some secret method of finding her that Kavi doesn't have access to?~

Lefty remains by the door, watching. Her gaze shifts between elder and cliath.

Flint scrambles to his feet the moment he's dropped into the armchair, not looking up at the Walker elder, or across at the Gnawer. "I need to, to go find her, want to, need," Flint manages, as much coherence as he possibly can, but he's shaking, and sweating, and paler than his usual pale. "She'll. If I. If I go out there, I'll find her. I found her, before."

First-Strike makes a fist, raises it, and brings it down on Flint's shoulder. Not hard, but definitely heavily. Thud. ~Sit.~

Lefty winces, making a 'Oooh, shouldn't have tried that, kid', face. She shakes her head.

Flint is knocked back to the chair, and gets to his feet just as quickly again. His head shakes swiftly, and he takes a step, to the side, still clearly focused on leaving. "Need to, need it, need that, like before," he says, again insistent. "Please." The last word's nearly begging.

This time, Mouse grabs Flint by the front of his shirt. She lifts him up and plants him heavily back into the chair, with a large crinos hand pressing heavily against his chest. ~If you want blood so badly,~ she says, her voice icy cold, ~I can always feed you some of your own. Otherwise, I suggest that when I tell you to do something, you do. It. Is that clear, Requiem?~

Lefty looks again, back and forth between the two Walkers. She steps forward then, calling out, "Mouse." Drawing a heavy breath, and looking like she might speak from experience. "If… if he drank from her, then you should probably just lock him up. It ain't gonna matter what you tell him. He'll go whether he wants to or not."

Even pressed into sitting as he is, Flint's struggling, trying to get back up. Even as he nods, and arms wrap around his chest, hands clawing at his own forearms, at bare skin underneath the arms of his sweatshirt, like enough of it will bring him back to coherence and get himself under control. "Promised," he agrees, aloud. "Make it stop, just want to make it stop, need, kill her." The young galliard's eyes are too wide, whites of them showing, teeth bared.

~Deal with it,~ First-Strike says, no sympathy visible. ~How long ago was this?~ One ear tips in Lefty's direction. ~Should I do that? Stick you in a cell until you can control yourself?~

Lefty, having made her suggestion, returns to just being an observer.

Flint continues to struggle, to try and get up, until he finally slumps into the chair. His arms are scratched from fingernails now, a few faint trickles of blood that Flint looks down on with visible and evident fascination as he shakes his head. "Last month. End of last month." A little more volume creeps into his voice, but it's detached, as he starts actually speaking. "Twice. Then, Nieve did, a Cleansing, then. Then it got, bad. I. I tried," he says, pleading again. "I promised. I promised Kavi." There's guilt, there, too, and his shoulders slumped. "I. I tried, deal, but I can't. I'm not…" he shakes his head again, then eventually. nods. "Yes, Mouse-rhya," he agrees, quietly.

Only at the agreement does First-Strike remove the restricting hand, though she doesn't actually back off and give Flint any kind of space. ~Listen to me,~ she says flatly. ~You are a rited Garou, you are part of my tribe, and therefore you can. You are not doing this out of any promise. You are doing this because Kavi, and now I, are ordering you to, and because it would be a stupid waste for you to go off, get truly tied to this bitch, and then end up dead. So you will stay in this building until your withdrawal is over, you will obey those orders, and you will make yourself useful in any way you can while you are otherwise unable to be trusted outside. You are not a child any longer and disobeying us does not mean we just give you a spanking and a stern talking to. Now, is that clear? Don't speak, just nod your head.~

Lefty watches, her expression shifting as she takes in Mouse. There's a curious wonder in it, and a thoughtfulness.

The teen nods, and through digging his fingernails into his arms, enough that it draws blood again, sits through Mouse talking. He even nods, but agreement or no agreement, the boy just starts to scramble to his feet, trying to push past Mouse once he's standing, clearly still going for the door.

First-Strike's cold, calm demeanor doesn't change as she snatches Flint up again, lifts him, then tosses him, underhanded, right across the lobby, in the direction of the elevator, and the stairs. ~Nope.~

Lefty winces again. She walks towards Mouse, her eyes on the sprawled cliath. "I don't think you have a choice, anymore." Is all she says.

Flint rolls as he lands, badly, but it doesn't seem to deter him from getting to his feet, arms around himself, and once again, the boy's feet carry him towards the door. "Let me go," is the whispered, barely audible plea, and this time the pace for the door is at a run.

First-Strike steps in front of him, which makes for a rather sudden, furry impact. And speaking of impacts, this time her hand doesn't reach to grab and throw him, but rather grab and conk him over the back of the head.

Lefty winces as the crinos finally lays the smackdown and puts the other Walker out. She moves to help, now, going to pick up one side of Flint to carry him off… wherever. Absently, and rather too nonchalantly, she says to Mouse, "By the way. We may need to make a trip to Boston." A beat. "To steal a baby."

The sudden impact of running into the Walker elder instead of anything else, and Flint's eyes go wide, but the blow then comes before the rest of what clearly would have been a frenzy kicks in, and Flint crumples, unconscious for the time being, landing in a heap on the floor.

First-Strike sighs as Flint goes down, and momentarily closes her eyes. Momentarily. Then she shoots Lefty the most baffled, exasperated look possible. ~What?~

Lefty waves off the look halfheartedly. "I'll explain later, over a cup of coffee," she says, not quite grinning. Looking back down at Flint, she says, "Apparently this vampire thing is worse than I thought."

First-Strike picks up Flint's opposite side and starts for the basement stairs without shifting down. ~Do you know how very badly I need to hit something? If she knows what's good for her, she won't show up around here.~

Lefty snorts at that. "Sorry, I'm not volunteering." She drags the cliath along, and after a moment's thought, she offers, "Salem would, I bet. Either way, though, we really should go find and kill this bitch. If you give me the 411, I'll find her."

First-Strike shakes her head. ~I really don't know much more than you do. Kavi would know. And if need be, I can probably make a deal to locate her.~ Down the stairs, into the basement apartment. She drops her half of Flint onto the couch. ~We held "Jorge" here, remember? So I think with the regular watch in the lobby, and making sure we get rid of everything reflective…~

Lefty drops her half unceremoniously on the couch. "Yeah, " she says, moving to help gather whatever's most obvious. "But if you want or need me to track her down, just say the word."

The boy remains exactly as he's been laid down on the couch, not stirring or moving yet. His backpack's half-on, half-off, looking rather like an uncomfortable pillow.

First-Strike shrinks back down to homid, where she looks rather weary—but far more interesting is that she has to take a moment to tuck that new pendant of hers back under her shirt. Then she goes to root unceremoniously through the backpack. "Consider the word given." Pause. "Uh, as in 'please'. Not 'make it so'."

"I was gonna go with make it so," the Gnawer says. "Because it's just more fun." She lets Mouse go through Flint's backpack while simply watching from the other side of the room.

There's a knife in the backpack, one of the larger kitchen knives, and a small handgun. As well, Mouse would recognise the well-worn and well-loved sketchbook that the galliard started before his rite of passage, with papers tucked in amongst it, and a second one rubber-banded to it, as well as several pencils. And several pieces of broken mirror glass, as well, one sticking out of the sketchbook as a bookmark. There's also several pieces of pizza in a ziplock bag, and a sandwich, and a carefully wrapped paper bag that clanks, revealing itself to be two bottles of beer.

Mouse confiscates the knife, the gun, the mirror glass shards, the lighter (but not the cigarettes), and then pauses to ponder over the plastic bags. "It is," she agrees, "but that sounds too much like giving an order."

Lefty's smirk is playful, even fond. "You keep all this up and you'll outrank me soon and then it will be orders."

Mouse blanches at that. "It doesn't have to be," she mutters. It sounds like she's talking more to herself than the Gnawer.

Low sounds of discomfort come from Flint, then, and half-unconscious still, the galliard reaches to try and reclaim his backpack, pulling into a fetal position.

Mouse sharply flicks the reaching hand. "Nope. Stay there."

Lefty seems inclined to leave the kid, and she heads for the door. "Come on. I'll buy you that coffee," she offers.

Flint's eyes open, and he reaches for the backpack again. Or rather, it looks more like Flint's going for where Mouse's put the knife, for the moment, as opposed to the backpack.

This time, Mouse full-on slaps the hand. "Nope," she says again, not quite so casually. "Stay." And then she gathers up the confiscated materials, and heads off after Lefty.

Flint curls into the fetal position on the couch and takes a deep breath in, settling down and moving his sketchbook to his lap, though he's too shaky to focus on it.