Specifics.
Friday, 7 September 2012 18:15![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
flint_garouBecause if you weaken yourself enough that you aren't an effective member of your tribe, I will ask one of the Jacks to kick your ass until the inclination seems less appealing.
7 September, 2012
The moon is in the waning Half (Philodox) Moon phase (55% full).
Flint's settled on the couch, with an actual novel in his lap. He's facing away from the door, and away from the stairs. His sweatshirt is draped as a blanket, but the sleeves of his shirt are rolled up, from longsleeve to somewhere in between. The coffee table has his sketchbooks, and a water bottle, neither of which have his attention at the moment.
Mouse pushes the door open without knocking. "I've heard you're feeling better." Someone gets right to the point.
The book is shut and dropped in his lap, and Flint scoots to sit up a bit, in the corner of the couch as he is. "Hi, Mouse-rhya," he calls out. The fact that he remains seated is perhaps also telling. "I… I am. Mostly, just. Now I have, too much time to… to think. I." He pauses, and adds. "I'm sorry."
Mouse narrows one eye. "What exactly," she says slowly, "do you mean by 'mostly'?"
Flint tilts his head, so that he can look towards Mouse. "I feel better, and such," he says, "but things that. That— were there, b-before. Before the vampire, are still there. Now." He shakes his head a little, then looks down. At his lap, more specifically at his arms.
Mouse crosses her arms. "Specifics, Flint. What things?"
The cliath takes a deep breath in. "Words," Flint offers. "Broken words, feelings, things that. Sometimes there's too much and the world doesn't slow down, sometimes. Sometimes things help, make the world slow down. It's. I'm okay, though." There's another pause.
Then Flint continues. "But I never meant to. To hurt, anyone else," he manages, a pitch quieter than before.
Mouse is silent for a moment. "…I really don't know what you're talking about. Your feelings are hurt? Is there any reason I shouldn't kick your ass back upstairs and put you back on the active roster?"
Flint furrows his brow and wrinkles his nose. "Words," he repeats, more of a curseword. "I…" There's another pause, and Flint tilts his head to one side. "Cutting is a maladaptive— c-coping mechanism," he states, very slowly, the bigger word with a pause after it. "That— and, reasons why, all of that, are still there. They were, that's what. The first time, the vampire. It's what, she. Magnifying glass that made everything, crazy." He pauses, takes a deep breath. "And it's, what, why I. The second time, why I was, when. Rina had my knife, because I. Safe— wasn't safe."
Mouse stares at Flint for a long moment, her eyes hard, nothing softening in her expression. "Why the fuck—" she starts, but then she cuts herself off. "It doesn't matter. Listen, Flint. You're going to leave this room. I'm going to put you back on the roster. You are going to leave this Tenement with a partner until the vampire is dead, but that does not give you an excuse to neglect your duties, so get buddy-making. And you are not going to cut, because if you weaken yourself enough that you aren't an effective member of your tribe, I will ask one of the Jacks to kick your ass until the inclination seems less appealing. Understand? You're an adult. You deal with shit. Cub time is over."
Flint nods, though his gaze drops to his wrists and arms, and mechanically, he rolls down his sleeves. And there's a grimace, at the last part, though no less acceptance of what Mouse has said. "I shifted eventually," he mumbles, eyes squinting his shut. "It helps when. Nothing else, when. To deal."
"No," Mouse says, in a tone that brooks no argument, "It does not. Do you know why it does not, Flint?"
Flint flinches at the tone, and turns to fully face the Walker Elder. He shakes his head, silent.
"Because if you do," Mouse says, in the same tone, "The Jacks are going to kick your ass. So it doesn't help, except in getting an ass-kicking. And I don't think I need to point out that getting your ass kicked isn't a good enough excuse to neglect your tribal and auspice responsibilities either, right? Because it isn't. And having a kicked ass while having to patrol would be a bit of a downer. So it doesn't actually help, does it?"
There is a nod from the cliath, at this point. "No, Mouse-rhya," Flint agrees. "Okay." Lips purse. "I. I understand."
"Good." Mouse gives a business-like nod. "Now get out of here already. Remember, buddy-system. And put Kavi and I on speed dial, while you're at it. If she's stupid enough to show up around you again, we'll happily take the opportunity to nail her mind screwing corpse to the wall." She turns for the stairs.
Flint swings his legs over the couch. "I. Mouse-rhya, my phone, back, is it? In my room?" This is asked even as he starts to neaten his sketchbook and things into his backpack.
"Yep," Mouse says, without even turning around. Up the stairs she goes.
7 September, 2012
The moon is in the waning Half (Philodox) Moon phase (55% full).
Flint's settled on the couch, with an actual novel in his lap. He's facing away from the door, and away from the stairs. His sweatshirt is draped as a blanket, but the sleeves of his shirt are rolled up, from longsleeve to somewhere in between. The coffee table has his sketchbooks, and a water bottle, neither of which have his attention at the moment.
Mouse pushes the door open without knocking. "I've heard you're feeling better." Someone gets right to the point.
The book is shut and dropped in his lap, and Flint scoots to sit up a bit, in the corner of the couch as he is. "Hi, Mouse-rhya," he calls out. The fact that he remains seated is perhaps also telling. "I… I am. Mostly, just. Now I have, too much time to… to think. I." He pauses, and adds. "I'm sorry."
Mouse narrows one eye. "What exactly," she says slowly, "do you mean by 'mostly'?"
Flint tilts his head, so that he can look towards Mouse. "I feel better, and such," he says, "but things that. That— were there, b-before. Before the vampire, are still there. Now." He shakes his head a little, then looks down. At his lap, more specifically at his arms.
Mouse crosses her arms. "Specifics, Flint. What things?"
The cliath takes a deep breath in. "Words," Flint offers. "Broken words, feelings, things that. Sometimes there's too much and the world doesn't slow down, sometimes. Sometimes things help, make the world slow down. It's. I'm okay, though." There's another pause.
Then Flint continues. "But I never meant to. To hurt, anyone else," he manages, a pitch quieter than before.
Mouse is silent for a moment. "…I really don't know what you're talking about. Your feelings are hurt? Is there any reason I shouldn't kick your ass back upstairs and put you back on the active roster?"
Flint furrows his brow and wrinkles his nose. "Words," he repeats, more of a curseword. "I…" There's another pause, and Flint tilts his head to one side. "Cutting is a maladaptive— c-coping mechanism," he states, very slowly, the bigger word with a pause after it. "That— and, reasons why, all of that, are still there. They were, that's what. The first time, the vampire. It's what, she. Magnifying glass that made everything, crazy." He pauses, takes a deep breath. "And it's, what, why I. The second time, why I was, when. Rina had my knife, because I. Safe— wasn't safe."
Mouse stares at Flint for a long moment, her eyes hard, nothing softening in her expression. "Why the fuck—" she starts, but then she cuts herself off. "It doesn't matter. Listen, Flint. You're going to leave this room. I'm going to put you back on the roster. You are going to leave this Tenement with a partner until the vampire is dead, but that does not give you an excuse to neglect your duties, so get buddy-making. And you are not going to cut, because if you weaken yourself enough that you aren't an effective member of your tribe, I will ask one of the Jacks to kick your ass until the inclination seems less appealing. Understand? You're an adult. You deal with shit. Cub time is over."
Flint nods, though his gaze drops to his wrists and arms, and mechanically, he rolls down his sleeves. And there's a grimace, at the last part, though no less acceptance of what Mouse has said. "I shifted eventually," he mumbles, eyes squinting his shut. "It helps when. Nothing else, when. To deal."
"No," Mouse says, in a tone that brooks no argument, "It does not. Do you know why it does not, Flint?"
Flint flinches at the tone, and turns to fully face the Walker Elder. He shakes his head, silent.
"Because if you do," Mouse says, in the same tone, "The Jacks are going to kick your ass. So it doesn't help, except in getting an ass-kicking. And I don't think I need to point out that getting your ass kicked isn't a good enough excuse to neglect your tribal and auspice responsibilities either, right? Because it isn't. And having a kicked ass while having to patrol would be a bit of a downer. So it doesn't actually help, does it?"
There is a nod from the cliath, at this point. "No, Mouse-rhya," Flint agrees. "Okay." Lips purse. "I. I understand."
"Good." Mouse gives a business-like nod. "Now get out of here already. Remember, buddy-system. And put Kavi and I on speed dial, while you're at it. If she's stupid enough to show up around you again, we'll happily take the opportunity to nail her mind screwing corpse to the wall." She turns for the stairs.
Flint swings his legs over the couch. "I. Mouse-rhya, my phone, back, is it? In my room?" This is asked even as he starts to neaten his sketchbook and things into his backpack.
"Yep," Mouse says, without even turning around. Up the stairs she goes.