The moon does no favours.

[flint_garou]

3 September, 2012
The moon is in the waning Full (Ahroun) Moon phase (82% full).

There's audible noise from the basement. What had been singing turned into a sound more like a frustrated and muffled yell.

Being the first down, Riley's also the first to talk. Stomping her way down the stairs, she calls, "Flint, could you keep the damn theatricalities to a minimum?"

"I'd like to hear about it sometime, just in case I ever end up there… Though I'd probably be dead." Slug admits, head tilting to the side. When Riley's companion comes close, the Gnawer seems to grow weary, but not overtly worried about her proximity. He just eyes her, then follows them down the stairs. "I was thinking of asking it what it wants to tell me."

Ruffling a hand through her pink hair, Baukhain follows after Riley, rather close even, and tip-toes to peer over the taller girl's shoulder to try and get a look at Flint. She speaks to Slug without looking at him. "One thing I can tell you is don't go talking to it expecting anything, and you won't be disappointed."

Flint is at the far wall of the basement apartment, standing, head buried against his sweatshirt, probably what muffled the yell. He shakes his head, turns around, and seems outright startled by the sight of Riley in a dress. His shoulders slump. "I-I. I'm sorry, I didn't mean to," he responds.

"Bauk's right on that count," Riley breezes, "And I'll tell you what you want to know in a sec, Slug." As they make their way down into Flint's 'apartment', she pauses in the doorway. Lifting her hand to clear her throat, Riley walks on past the startled look from Flint, folding her arms, and drumming manicured nails against the arm of her coat. She wrinkles her brow for a moment before sighing, dropping the annoyed look, "Yeah, man. I know. Not quite clean yet?"

Slug smirks in a wry sort of way and sits on the stairs behind the others. "I learned to expect nothing a long time ago." Slug watches the interaction between Riley and Flint with interest, though he does keep glancing in the direction of Bauk.

Baukhain visibly slumps when Flint apologizes. She adopts an exaggerated pout and buzzes her lips like a horse with a sigh. "This is far less exciting in real life than it was in my head when you told me what was down here. Snoooore. Wait, what's that smell?" She sniffs the air a moment and then raises an arm, sniffs. "Whoa, travel does not agree with me. Rye-Rye, which apartment is yours again? I think I oughta hose down before I meet any more of your friends."

Flint shudders. "Better'n yesterday, or the… the day before," he says, and then temper catches him, and the teen kicks the coffee table with the force of rage behind it, sending it across the floor slightly.

Pursing her lips momentarily, Riley flicks her attention to Baukhain, "Upstairs, just take the stairs up a few flight and you'll end up on the—" The sound of the coffee table shoving its way across the floor has her snapping her attention back to Flint. There's a flicker of irritation in her eyes, "Look, I know you're not happy about being down here, but surely you understand the reasoning. It's for your own sake, so just… that? Don't." She snaps her attention back to Baukhain. "Anyway, upstairs, third door on the right."

"Don't forget to scrub behind your ears." Slug helpfully suggests in a dry tone, waving to Bauk. He soon lapses back into silence, not wanting to interrupt.

Baukhain is up on her tip toes again watching the coffee table skitter and THUD to a stop. She glances at Flint again, curiosity renewed. At Riley's directions, however, she nods and moves to the stairs again. "I might see if there's anything I can do about Doctor Jekyll and Mister Sparta in there after I get some rest. Laters, kidlets." Up the stairs she goes!

Flint watches as the woman goes up the stairs, and he looks at the coffee table. And at the sketchbooks and papers that have scattered everywhere on the floor, and then there's a clear force of will to not do further violence to something, to calm himself down enough to breathe. "I-know-I-know-I-know!" he says, far too urgently, before he moves to right the table, moving deliberately and slowly.

The sketchpads are regarded as a whole, but Riley doesn't pause to scoop one of them up. Her eyes are kept more or less entirely upon Flint now that Baukhain isn't down here. She takes a long breath and lets it out slow. "Look, the moon's not doing any of us any favors right now, but there's sure as hell no reason to wind yourself up just because you can't leave. This was a long time coming, man. If the place were being run by anyone but Salem and Kavi, you'd have been down here a fucking month ago."

The cliath gets the table upright, then bends to lean his head against it, and Flint just nods. Then he reaches, grabbing one of the sketchbooks, then the other, and a handful of papers. "Cooped up," he responds. "Hate it down here. And, laptop. Phone." He sighs, again. "Can't wind down."

"Well, you're going to have to find a way to wind down that doesn't involve flinging furniture everywhere." Riley casts a look around the apartment and frowns. "Not that this place hasn't had worse, but that sort of thing reverberates when you're screaming and carrying on like a child that's been grounded." The younger Garou is regarded levelly. "Draw. Pace. Do pushups or something. Just keep your mind off of things until the moon stops being fat. For fuck's sake, just have a fap or something. But if you do, please wait until I leave."

"Get him a punching bag and some weights or something." Slug suggests, piping up after a long period of silence. "You probably have some laying around the building somewhere."

Flint busies himself with the papers, trying to neaten them with hands that shake a little, though not as much as a few weeks ago. At the last suggestion from Riley, however, the cliath just up and stares at the Walker fostern, like she said that the moon was made of cheese or something like that. "Yes, Riley," he responds. "Something to hit might. Might help."

Flicking her tongue momentarily over her teeth, Riley takes a step back as her advice seems to be at least being considered. Minus that blank stare, which concerns her on an entirely different level. The boy is met with a suspicious look from the corner of her eyes, but she turns to Slug, dropping the thought where it formed. "A punching bag would be good. I don't know how long one of those has a life expectancy of in a room with a Garou, but yeah, I think we have one. Keep an eye on him real fast, yeah?" She doesn't wait for an agreement, just ascends the stairs.

Slug sits right where he is without moving, staring down at Flint from his perch. After Riley's gone, the Gnawer rolls his shoulders. "Can't imagine you'll be down here too much longer."

The cliath continues to neaten the sketches, tucking most of them into one of the first sketchbook, and then sets them on the couch instead of the coffee table. Then, Flint starts pacing, and nods. "I. I, yeah. I'm. Feeling, better, kind of. More than, I. I was." Which gets a renewed round of pacing, and the floor getting kicked lightly.

"It's one of those things that you have to be sure about." Slug says, reaching into his pocket for a cigarette. The Gnawer strikes one up, then snaps his lighter shut. "Mouse knows you're a liability to the Tribe until you're all clean."

Flint looks at the lighter, and nods. "I. I know, too," he admits, pulling out a pack of cigarettes from his jeans, and a small packet of matches that someone has given him at some point, and lighting the cigarette. "I know." This seems to distress the galliard as much as anything else has, and he sighs.

"Also." Slug pipes up, clearing his throat. "This is probably part of a test for Mouse to see what you're made of. I wouldn't be surprised if she's watching… In one way or another. Thinking. Deciding. So, y'know… The more dignity you got as you ride though this, the better."

Looks like the search didn't take very long. Thump, thump, thump. The sound of heavy weight on the stairs down heralds the arrival of Evac in Crinos form, a punching bag in one hand and a large plastic base slung over her shoulder. She drops the plastic base in the center of the room to the sound of sand settling inside of it. Then with a single motion she slides the punching bag itself overtop of the base, shifting back to homid when that's accomplished, taking a steadying breath. "Pfeh. I hate Crinos on the fat moons." She gives her handiwork a look. "There. Just don't smash it up in Crinos or something, or you'll be trapped in here again, only sandier."

Flint sets the cigarette in his teeth, too much tension and too big a moon, and Flint looks to Riley, and the punching bag, and there's a grateful nod. "Thanks. Yeah, no. Not crinos," he agrees. It sounds like the cliath doesn't even want to think about being in crinos at the moment. He turns back to Slug, and nods. "I'm trying to. Just," there's a shrug that follows. "Trying to cope."

Slug stands up when Riley comes down the stairs, and moves over to stand on the furthest side. When the Crinos passes, he settles back in, not looking too alarmed by the passing war beast. "Try blowing off some steam." He offers, sparing a curious glance in Riley's direction. "Not a lot of advice either of us can really offer, I guess."

Riley's advice is repetitive and rather terse. "Sketch. Pace. Work out. Hit the bag thing. Sketch something racy. Have a fap. Don't think about the moon, don't think about why you're down here, and don't wreck the punching bag." She kneads her fingers against the bridge of her nose.

It's the same sort of blank stare that Riley gets as a response, at the suggestion of 'sketch something racy' and 'have a fap', Flint's expression very much odd. Or perhaps looking at the ragabash like she has cooties. The pack of cigarettes, and matches, are set atop the sketchbook, and Flint takes a deep drag from it.

Riley immediately quirks a brow again, but doesn't pursue questioning.

"They can only keep you down here for so long." Slug assures Flint, rising up to his feet. "At least you can use it as an opportunity, y'know. Getting used to seeing in the dark'n stuff."

Flint nods, and goes to retrieve his sweatshirt from where it fell to the floor, from where it had been used to muffle frustrations. "Yeah." There's a pause, and Flint looks to Riley, a moment. "Sorry. About, about that," he reiterates, hands encircling opposite wrists as the teen is idle. "But, thanks."

The lapse in time sees Riley still peering at Flint with slightly squinted eyes, that brow still arched. She opens her mouth, squints, and closes it. Whatever she'd been about to say is tucked away for another time. She gives a slight shrug of her shoulders then, "…You're alright. Just try to keep the noise down. The quieter you are down here, the more compelled Mouse'll be to let you out of here, anyway. Don't self-sabotage."

Slug turns and starts to drift back up the stairs, walking so lightly that his feet barely make a sound upon the steps.

The boy nods again, the entire gesture making him look small, or that might just be the fact that the shirt he's wearing is still oversized and Flint's still skinny, even though there's some muscle on that now. Conversation time, however, is clearly over, because Flint drifts over to circle and inspect the punching bag, then carefully sets his hands into fists, sending a fairly heavy punch at the bag. Which seems to beat punching the wall, which it looks like Flint's also done at some point. "Okay," he acknowledges, punching it again before going to find where the ashtray had gotten to when the table got upended.

Riley gives a bob of her head, "G'night." With that, she ascends the stairs as well.