![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
flint_garouIt's a problem because now you've gone and involved everyone with it. So now, you need to find some other outlet.
15 September, 2012
The moon is in the waning New (Ragabash) Moon phase (1% full).
There's a video game going in the breakroom at the moment, and then an exuberant, half-coherent sound of exultation, that cuts off. Flint and Nicodemus are seated on the couch, playing Mario, and the galliard eyes the kin, a little bit. "You let me win, again," he accuses, though the tone marks the words as joking. And it's not that Flint's bad at the video game, either, a lot of effort going into that win. "Didn't you."
"There's a very important lesson to be learned midway through 'Star Wars: A New Hope,'" Nick claims matter-of-factly. There's a pause before the reveal. "Let the wookie win." The faux-kin grins at the young Glass Walker.
Flint pouts, slightly. He seems to be in moderately good spirits today, at least cheerful overall, and not quite as withdrawn as he can be on the bigger moons. The response just gets a shake of his head, and he looks at Nick again. "If you're, gonna, l-let me win?" Flint says, "Make it, a. A little harder for me, okay? Small moon. It's, it's fine. Today's fine."
The door to the breakroom opens and Jack limps in, angled for the kitchen. The game on the screen is eyed, and then Flint and Nicodemus. Flint gets the philodox's attention, though. "Grats on gettin' your get outta jail card," he says in a bit of a drawl as he heads to the fridge.
Nicodemus says "Evening, Jack." It's a pretty generic greeting. "How're things going?"
Flint finishes pressing a few buttons on the controller until the game is at a pause-screen so it won't advance to the next part, then sets the controller in his lap and tucks his hands into the pockets of his sweatshirts, leaning back onto the couch. "Hi Jack-rhya," the boy offers, nodding.
"A'ight," Jack answers, predictably pulling a beer out of the fridge. "Not too busy. Been workin' on my own shit. You?" The fridge door is shut, and he heads toward the couch that the pair are sitting on.
"Holding things together after a bat-shit crazy shared vision with Mouse, Riley, a volcano, bears, and a giant nest of wasps," Nick says, trying to make that sound as if it might be fairly routine. Or a lame attempt at a joke.
Flint pulls one hand from his pockets to look at his forehead. "Riley didn't say you were, there too," he says, directed to Nick, and then glances once to the Adren.
Jack's attention is partially pulled away from Flint for a moment by that. "What? There was another one've those things? Thought that'd stopped months ago." And, upon reaching the couch, he holds a hand out. "Talked to Mouse. Lemme see your arms." It's bland for the most part right now, but it isn't so much a request.
Nicodemus asides to Flint, "Mouse thinks it was because I'd been research the visions and because I'd watched her do a ritual, so…" He trails off as he catches wind of Jack's tone. Uh oh.
Flint looks at Jack for a moment, and then looks down, and there's a swift shake of his head as though Flint might maybe balk at what he's told. A pause follows, and then verbal acknowledgement. "Yes, Jack-rhya." Flint moves the controller from his lap, and shrugs out of his sweatshirt. Underneath, the teen's wearing short sleeves, and several areas of each forearm, on each side, bear small, round burns, cigarette burns likely. Sweatshirt off, Flint sits on the edge of the couch, arms in his lap.
"Kin've been in 'em before," the philodox replies to Nicodemus with a shrug. "This Silver Fang kin's been in one I've had." Jack takes a swallow of the beer as he watches, and there's absolutely no change in his expression—there's no anger, disappointment, or frustration. He just rolls his eyes. "Yeah, figured. Salem talked t'you yet?"
Nicodemus nods to Jack, indicating he heard the man's response to him, but he otherwise remains still and quiet. It's like flashing back to a childhood moment when you're next to a friend who's about to get reamed for doing something, and you're left standing there hoping that you don't get blamed because of proxy. He manages to—ever so subtly—lean about an inch away from the cliath sharing the couch with him. He probably doesn't even realize he did it.
The galliard is rather quick to pull his sweatshirt back on, and then Flint looks up at Jack, and shakes his head. "I haven't seem Salem-rhya yet, Jack-rhya. I… d' I need to?" That asked, Flint chews his lower lip, looks down and away from Jack, though he keeps glancing towards the Adren rather than look away entirely.
"No. Just checking t'make sure he hadn't got t'you first." He glances sidelong to Nicodemus, then back to Flint. "Y'know what this means, right?"
Nicodemus apparently doesn't know what Jack means, but he hazards a very tentative guess. "I should leave?"
Flint remains sitting on the edge of the couch and glances back towards the philodox. There's a single nod of acknowledgement, and though Flint looks like he'd very much like to bolt, he doesn't.
Mouse can be heard before she's seen, coming from the direction of her apartment. The Walker elder looks frazzled, with bags under her eyes, and is moving at a somewhat stiff gait.
Jack just looks suddenly very tired, and he eyes Nicodemus. "If y'want to." Either way, he doesn't look like he's going to grab Flint and beat him right this second. He starts to say something to Flint, but Mouse catches his attention first. "Mouse."
Nicodemus vacates the couch anyway, but lingers in the room as Mouse appears. He makes a mildly pained face at her: perhaps for her appearance or perhaps for the tensions he's feeling in the breakroom between Jack and Flint. "Hey," he says to her, subdued, in greeting.
Flint shifts to sitting up a bit more, such that his feet are at least on the floor and under him. When Mouse enters the room, though, his shoulders slump after he nods greeting, and attention returns to waiting for whatever comes next to happen.
"Hey," Mouse says to Nick in return, though she seems to have caught the mood as well. "…What's …going on?"
Jack looks at Mouse, and then looks back to Flint. He doesn't explain for him; he just says, "Show her."
Nicodemus lingers near Mouse, looking a little nervous, and remaining silent as the tribe's garou resolve some tension-infused issue.
The mistress of poor timing herself, Riley is just rousing from a much-needed nap, this time uninterrupted by troubled spirit-dreams. Decked out in pajama pants and an oversized tank-top, the ragabash strays toward her natural first stop of the fridge to get herself something to eat—her brows loft at the unexpectedly occupied breakroom, but she soldiers right on to her destination, mumbling a simple, "Mornin'."
Flint bites down on his lower lip. "Yes Jack-rhya," Flint says, nodding and seeming ever the more uncomfortable. Nonetheless, he rises to his feet and remains by the couch, pulling off his sweatshirt and this time tying it around his waist. Underneath the sweatshirt he has short sleeves, and both arms bear small, round burns, upper and lower side of the forearm, such that it would be hard to mistake them for anything aside from deliberate. He turns to face Mouse, gaze lowered to the floor.
Mouse's teeth show briefly. "Jesus Christ, Flint." She sounds more tired than irritable, though that's there too. "You've got a real problem with the word 'no', don't you? Shift to glabro." She looks over at Nicodemus. "You doing okay?"
Riley naturally sneaks a peek over at the point of conversation, brows furrowing momentarily. Nonetheless, she continues to drag out the gallon of skim milk in the fridge and deposits it on the countertop, scrounging about for a bowl. There's time for dramatic conversations once her stomach no longer feels like a growling abyss.
Nicodemus asides to Mouse, "Okay, I guess. So long as I don't let my subconscious dwell on Mitzi's death." He sighs, probably because he's now re-seeing the cub being ripped to shreds in his mind.
Jack just eyes Flint for a moment or two, but then returns his attention to Nicodemus. His brows arch. "Someone died? Shit." And then, finally, "'sup, Riley."
Flint opens his mouth to say something, closes it, and then takes glabro as instructed, though it does little for the appearance of the burn marks on his arms. And it means that he can more easily dig his fingernails into his palms, a little. And then he glances past the others present, towards the door, though his attention doesn't remain there long.
"Stop that," Mouse says. Her volume doesn't raise, but her voice does become sharper. "Okay, this wasn't a problem when I left. Is this some remaining thing from the vampire, or has something actually happened?" While she's obviously occupied with Flint, Nick gets a faint nod, and a light hand on his shoulder.
Riley looks up, offering a distracted wave of her hand as she pulls down a box of Cinnamon Toast Crunch from one of the cupboards—she may be in her twenties, but damned if she's not going to eat like a gradeschooler. The cereal gives a cheerful tinkling sound as it falls into the porcelain bowl, and shortly thereafter Riley douses it with milk. She then hops lightly up onto the countertop, crossing her legs and dragging the cereal bowl into her lap, digging in while keeping her attention on Flint. One could almost substitute cereal for popcorn at this point.
Jack just rolls his eyes at Flint. "Now," he deadpans, "It's an attention thing." He takes a swallow off his beer, sets it on the table. "I got permission t'haul him outta here for a few minutes or y'wanna hear him out?"
Nicodemus focuses his attention back to the events unfolding in the breakroom with renewed vigor. He looks from Jack to Mouse, waiting for the response she'll give.
"Not," Flint counters the philodox. "Was a thing before the vampire, t-though. Was a thing, a long time ago, too…" There's a pause, and Flint continues. "It helps, it makes things slow, slow down, words and— sometimes, nothing else, works." The cliath glances across at Riley, for a moment. "The vampire just, messed with it."
"It was not a problem," Mouse stresses, "before I left. So what you're telling me is that nothing but the vampire has changed." She holds up a hand to Jack, in the classic 'wait' gesture. "What 'things'?"
Jack seems content with this, and merely plucks up his beer again and rocks his weight off his bad leg.
Flint takes a breath in, and then breathes out, slowly, then repeats the process. "It… it isn't a problem," he mutters. "Wasn't a problem when I, had. The memorial. To. To focus on, to build. Not then. But. A few times, when I, was a cub. Just not so much that… anyone else, had to know. I'd… shift, sooner after. When I, ran away, when, that. Too." Flint chews on his lower lip. "Everything," he insists. "Makes everything, slow down, one thing at a time. Ancestors and, words, sentences, all everyone ever hears is broken fucking words." The more agitated that this discussion makes the cliath, the less coherent his explanation becomes.
Mouse closes her eyes for a moment, and gives her head a tiny little shake before opening them again. Her words are measured, even if she can't quite hide the exasperation. "You're doing this because of how you talk?"
Flint furrows his brows and digs his nails into the palm of his hands, again, and shakes his head. "Not, of how. Because of why how. Sometimes, making everything slow down, helps," Flint responds.
Jack just looks rather unimpressed. "Dude," he says, "Get th'fuck over it." That sounds more disgruntled than his previous words, and a little bit disgusted.
Nicodemus watches silently and as unobtrusively as possible, trying to make sense of what's transpiring within the breakroom. Jack is standing near Flint over by the couch. Riley is perched on the kitchen countertop eating a bowl of cereal. Mouse is standing nearish the doorway with Nick not too far away. There's an air of tension and frustration, largely centered on Flint and, to a lesser extent, Mouse and Jack.
Mouse's voice takes on a warning tone. "I told you to stop it." There's a flicker of something, not quite connected to her words, a brief as a blink moment of pure, undiluted anger in her expression, which vanishes as soon as it appears. "It's a problem because now you've gone and involved everyone with it. So now, you need to find some other outlet." Jack gets a nod, somewhat sharper than she probably intended.
Flint starts to pull his sweatshirt on. Oversized as it is for the galliard in homid, it works just fine in glabro, and then he shoves his hands back into his pockets, nodding silent acknowledgement of Mouse's words.
The sound of footsteps and multiple people conversing quietly as they approach can be heard out in the hall, and not long after that, a group of the tribe's Terminus members approach the door, though the conversation has halted by the time they come inside, given some of what they're hearing. Holland, Devon, and Carmen enter the room, though the Fostern Philodox gives Mouse a glance, making sure that more people aren't going to be in the way.
Jack finishes off the beer with a bit of a wince at the end, and then starts toward the door. "C'mon," he says gruffly to the galliard. "To th'basement." Nothing at all in his posture or voice hints toward him enjoying what's coming. The rest of the people are acknowledged, but he's not waiting to chat.
Flint follows after Jack, watching the Adren and not making eye contact with anyone else as they come in. The galliard's shoulders are slumped, expression thoughtful.
OOC, we went with not RPing out the next part, so:
Jack pages: So, basically: Jack takes Flint into the basement, and doesn't really wait around. He has him shift down to homid. It's five times of beating him down to the point he can't get up, making him shift to heal, and then doing it again. If he frenzies, he's put down, and when he wakes up that round he frenzied on didn't count. And Jack clearly, clearly does not enjoy one iota of it.
Jack pages: And next time, he tells him it'll be 10 rounds.
Well, now that the tension's abated, in comes the harbinger of it. Jack heads back in, looking distinctly tired. And, he's got blood on his hands. Not enough to warrant concern, and some may or may not be his, but either way, there you have it. The adren doesn't pause to greet anyone; he heads straight to the kitchen to start washing it off. Every motion is very deliberate and methodical, and he seems rather dour.
"I…" Nick aborts whatever he was about to add, then just says "Yeah," to Carmen. His gaze tracks Jack as he passes through the room, frowning slightly at the bloodied hands.
Holland looks a little surprised by that. "I imagine that must have hit her tribal elder hard. I'd thought Garou could only be pulled physically into the Dream Realm when they went to sleep in the Umbra." He shakes his head. "Mine was just a dream—it was as though I was one type of insect, then another—ant, bee, and then wasp, I believe." Then, to Riley, he replies, "I did, yes. Have her cubs already been checked?"
"I haven't spoken to her tribal elder," Mouse says. "I was told it was probably Jacinta. I don't even know for sure. —And that," she says, in response to Riley, "Hasn't helped matters. If you bunch are looking for something to do, taking care of a new lupus cub is certainly something I'd appreciate. I need to find out who let her run loose and chew their ears off."
"Think one of the spirits…" Devon cuts himself off when Riley then Jack returns. He frowns slightly more, for a bit longer, then looks away again. Whatever he'd been saying left unfinished.
"No," Riley succinctly states. "The time wasn't right. Besides, I didn't exactly get off on the right foot with her." The ragabash makes her way over to the couch, flopping down on it and crossing her legs. "…Shocking, I know." She squints at Mouse's statement. "Chew… what? When?"
Jack finishes washing his hands, and then pulls a paper towel down to dry them. This is thrown away, and he then pulls out a cigarette and lights it, still not addressing anyone directly.
Carmen watches as Jack reenters the breakroom. The bloody hands really doesn't surprise her very much, which probably means that she has known about Garou long enough to be somewhat desensitized. "To those I have not met, I'm Carmen Lopez. Glass Walker Kinfolk from Los Angeles," she goes on to introduce herself to the unfamiliar faces.
Mouse jabs a finger in Riley's direction. "You guys found her wandering the streets, right? That means some idiot dropped the ball. A kin-fetched Glass Walker lupus cub? Living like a stray dog where anyone could run her over or shoot her or haul her off to get put down? Someone screwed up somewhere."
Holland says "That was another thing I was going to bring up—I have facilities for cubs at Silver Oaks, should you ever have need of them. The vault in the basement is climate controlled, so it can secure a cub that's a flight risk, if it comes down to it. Lupus are so rare in our tribe that it never occurred to me to plan proper accommodations for them, though." He glances back to Devon. "One of the spirits?"
Not overly long thereafter, Flint comes back to the breakroom. In homid, the cliath looks somewhat worse for the wear, tired, but perhaps more grounded than when he'd trailed after the philodox and left. He's also showered, hair still wet, and in clean clothing, longsleeves, and with some bruises visible that he didn't stay in glabro long enough to heal the past time. He moves carefully, a nod to Mouse as he comes back into the room and then skirts the rest of the gathering, going over towards the couch, where his sketchbook and a novel have long been set aside. Overall, Flint's silent. The only other person he glances to once is Jack, brows furrowing a bit.
"Jack Moore," the philodox in the kitchen says in response to Carmen, gruff and from around the cigarette. "Fallout. Adren. Philodox. Walker." He considers her a moment, though. "Friend've mine's in LA. You know a Quentin? Galliard?"
Riley turns a decidedly bitter look to Mouse, "Watch the finger, chief. I was on a different plane of existence when we picked up fuzzy. As for her kinfetch? The thing only just went off today." Her arms fold in mild irritation, but it doesn't stop her from turning a distracted look to Carmen. "Riley Larson. Glass Walker Ragabash. Fostern." It's not intentionally chilly, but the ragabash does seem rather distracted.
Nicodemus offers to Mouse, "Kevin, Aaron, and I found her starving on the streets over near Garcia's. She didn't look like she belonged living in an alleyway. I even tried talking to her initially, thinking that she might be a garou in lupus form. Kevin thought to bring her back here because… Well. You don't leave stray wolves out on the streets." He belatedly adds, a little quieter, "They don't fare too well in apartments, either. But at least they get fed."
"Could…" But then Flint's entering and Devon closes his mouth again. Briefer this time, though when he continues it's not likely to travel further than Holland's hearing. "The spirits've pulled them into the dream."
Mouse looks suddenly, abruptly annoyed. "Shift," she orders Flint, sharper than before. "You're a Garou and a god-damned Glass Walker, you're expected to behave like it. Now, if you need something to focus on other than yourself, there's no end to potential chores around here, on top of your other duties. Furthermore, I need Galliards. I want the Sept's Ragabash to start coordinating with Lefty, so we can get Caern scouting missions started immediately. I also need to get into contact with Silvertip and Jacinta. Whoever Mitzi's elder was, if that was her name, needs to be informed of what happened, and I particularly need to speak with Silvertip, so if he could set a meeting time and place, that'd be grand." Her attention shifts back to Nick, and she nods. "Like Holland said, Glass Walker lupus are painfully rare. When we actually manage one, we don't just turn them out to fend for themselves."
Carmen thinks for a moment and then shakes her head. "I don't think so," she replies. "Might be a familiar face but Steel Angel is a pretty large Sept." She smiles at Jack and then nods her head to Riley, "Nice to meet you both." Then the kinfolk is silent for a few moments, "Perhaps then the Terminus is better equipped for housing our other kin?" she asks. "I wouldn't mind helping out in the chores of taking care of them."
Flint grumbles under his breath as he shifts up to glabro. "Mitzi?" he questions, recognition of the name clear in his voice. "Mitzi. Weasel-Follows-Omens, Ahroun. Lost cub, claimed for the Uktena by Little Silvertip-rhya." This, the cliath provides, while going for the couch to gather the sketchbook and book.
"Yea, true," Jack replies to Carmen, and he just sounds tired, and he gets another beer out. To Mouse: "Doodle's around, ain't she? She could probably help. She gets what it was like." Obviously.
Holland nods to Devon. "That would be my guess as well, I just didn't know it was possible." To Mouse, he asks, "Do you need me to get some contractors out to Silver Oaks about securing part of the yard for the wolves? Wolves aren't getting over the wall, so once we can trust the cub not to run, it would at least give them more freedom of movement than they'd have in an apartment here. Assuming you're wanting to keep them in the city, at least."
Mouse turns on Flint. "Well she's dead," she tells him. Flat. Icy. She lets that hang in the air for a moment. "Wasps ripped her to pieces twice in a single moment. Because she wasn't listening to me." Mouse says, after a moment, as an aside to Holland, "That would be great, yes."
Devon drops his arms enough to shove his hands into his pockets. "Should mention the plants, too," he says, still to Holland.
Riley leans her head back against the couch, lightly bouncing a foot and puffing a sigh. For the moment, it seems, she has nothing to contribute.
Flint tilts his head to one side and screws his eyes shut for a moment, just nodding. Sketchbook is tucked inside of his sweatshirt, and then Flint edges around the breakroom towards the kitchenette area, still not meeting gazes, and keeping himself on the edge of the conversation.
Nicodemus crosses the room, weaving his way to the fridge. Jack's apparently prompted him to retrieve a beer for himself. He holds a second one up and waves it around towards the adults—a gesture that clearly signals 'can I get you one?' "Mouse?" He interjects. "Speaking of freedom of movement, things are progressing well with getting that 'disposable' cargo van registered under a fictitious shell corporation—so there won't be anything linking it back here or to a member of the tribe."
Carmen has little to contribute at this time either. She shoves her hands into her pockets and listens to the conversation until she does have something to say. When Nicodemus mentions the van, she says, "Cool!"
Jack looks grim for a moment, and then gets out of the kitchen so more people can get in without standing in a cloud of cigarette smoke.
Mouse shakes her head at the offer of beer. "Thanks, wouldn't do anything for me." The news of the van, however, is met with at least a little relief. "Good. That sounds good."
"Good point," Holland replies to Devon. "Fill Mouse in on what happened to you with the plants, because that's a good argument for keeping any of our cubs as far away from the former bawn as possible. Especially a cub with cubs of her own." Then, looking over at Nick, he raises his hand in a silent request for one of the beers.
Flint seems to mostly be using the kitchen as a route to the door, though not quite making it all the way there. Attention is paid to the overall conversation, but Flint doesn't seem eager to stick around this evening.
Devon's mouth opens then closes again as his gaze slides over to Mouse. "The plants are migrating away from the bawn," he says, a trifle more loudly. Maybe not enough to reach all corners of the room, but possibly clear enough for the elder to hear. "Last one I ran into was large enough to eat me in warform, and it tried to."
Nicodemus heads back across the room, dropping off a beer with Holland, and going over to loiter with Carmen. "I camped overnight by the cave on the Walker's wilderness property and hiked all around the valley the next day. Didn't see any intrusion by crazy plants then, but that was…" He stops to think. "Just shy of three weeks ago."
Carmen looks at Devon and blinks in surprise. She mouths, "Oh shit." and then covers her mouth with her hand. Slowly she uncovers her mouth to say, "Well… Looks like my field trip out to the Edgewood has been delayed for a little longer."
Mouse's teeth show again. "This is fucking insane." She jerks her gaze toward Flint. "Sit the fuck down."
Holland adds, "They're apparently able to move on their own and able to hide themselves well enough for an ambush. Devon was attacked along Sunrise Road, not even close to the woodline. But if one nearly killed an Ahroun, I don't count it particularly safe for me, much less a cub." He offers Nick a thanks for the beer, then thinks a moment before shaking his head, and asking him, "Don't remember where the wilderness territory is off the top of my head. How close is it to the bawn?"
Flint scowls at the floor, and then just nods. He moves across the breakroom, to sit at one of the computers. He angles the chair so that he's able to watch and participate in the conversation, but takes out his sketchbook. Not a pencil, though, but he does page through his sketchbook.
Nicodemus lifts a shoulder in response to Holland's question, indicating he doesn't precisely know where the bawn is in that vicinity.
Riley flicks her attention back over to Flint, a hand lifting to rub at the bridge of her nose for a moment. The ragabash's brows arch further at Holland's statement, which sees her crossing her arms up behind her head, "While I'd take issue with the part of that statement that paints Ahroun as less prone to an early, messy death, I think this thing's ultimately a secondary concern. We get the Caern back, and the rest clicks into place. Why spread ourselves thin trying to weed the hedges? Precautionary measures, sure, but I'd hate to waste active missions fighting plants." She shrugs her shoulders. "Just my two cents."
Carmen has no input in the current conversation so she pretty much keeps to herself. She glances at Flint for a moment but then returns her gaze towards whoever is talking.
"Wasn't for any lack of trying on my part," Devon points out. "The thing could have swallowed me whole, while in warform. The insides were acid and it had spines and creepers that kept me from just climbing out. And it's not like I was warned like so many other crazy things we run into. No sound or whatever, just suddenly this thing closing around me."
"Quit your fucking scowling," Mouse tells Flint, her voice still edged. "Listen to what's being said, because I expect you to spread that information too. —I don't know if it's occurred to anyone," she says, and this seems to be a more general statement, "But this situation has officially entered life and death territory. I need you to be on top of your game, because you can't just count on me being there to tell you all the time. —Devon. Owen, Phoebe, and Alexandra were the Ahrouns that were a part of this thing last night. See if you can't meet with them, and share everything you know about this new plant. Owen was itching for something to fight, and while, yes, the Caern is priority, it's not going to help anything if those things start wandering into populated areas."
"Yes, Mouse-rhya," Flint says, barely above under his breath. He is clearly listening, he just has no desire to participate in the conversation. Flint adds something, a moment later. "My packmates fought, walking plants things, near the WalMart. Luckily, no one saw, no one saw anything for, didn't make the news, anything. But." Flint takes a breath, "They're already in, areas that. People."
Nicodemus pays attention to the conversations going on in the room, but pulls his cell phone out and taps away at it: texting. "Walmart?" he grimaces. "Damn. They are spreading."
"Don't know who you two are," Devon says, looking first at Riley and then Jack, "but if you feel fine enough to ignore the plants, then great. Let your cubs and kinfolk go running around and find themselves in one of them since they're such a non-priority." His gaze ticks over to Mouse and he nods slightly. "I'll find them. Planning to go looking for more plants anyway, given the last one was just off the road to Edgewood."
"That would be a nightmare," Carmen pipes up. "What would someone have to say about a carnivorous plant eating their dog?" She catches herself rambling off the thoughts in her head and immediately apologizes. "Sorry, I know this is a serious situation." Then, she looks over at Flint when he mentions that they are already near the city. "Is there anything to harm these things?"
"I need to see to some things." Mouse stands. "Nick, you want me to write you a check? Or if you have account numbers handy, I can transfer you some money."
Very slowly, Riley gestures to herself while looking hard at Devon. "Ri-ley." She points toward the Adren. "Jaaaaack. And you can fucking check yourself."
Irritation clearly ticks over at that comment, and Jack cuts a sharp look to Devon. "Jack. Fallout. Adren Walker Philodox." He looks to Riley, then back to Devon. "Cuttin' down a few fuckin' plants that are in th'woods ain't going to do shit for this problem because it's a bigger fuckin' problem than we can solve by going at it with claws and shit. Take out th'ones that get out've bounds. But for now, it'd be a waste of fuckin' resources, time, and manpower that could've gone towards solvin' the problem as a whole."
Nicodemus says to Mouse, "I'll e-mail you an account number to transfer funds to. I promise it won't go to a disposed Nigerian official."
"Whatever," Devon answers to Riley. With zero recognition for who the Ragabash is. "I still don't know you. And this plant wasn't in the fucking woods." That's directed at Jack, and like Riley, no recognition there either. "Or did you miss the part of it being right off the road. And did I say anything about traipsing through the woods? Brought it up because it's important to know. Next time I'll just keep it to myself and let the rest of you find out the hard way."
Mouse makes her way toward the door, eyes the arguing Walkers, and then gives Nick a look, with a slightly raised eyebrow. "You sure you don't want it now?"
Carmen just frowns, although she does offer Mouse a friendly wave.
"Are you—" Jack's jaw tightens, presses the beer bottle against his forehead, and grumbles something that's audible to whoever's listening that sounds awfully like, "We've got a fuckin' army of Seans" before just saying, "A'ight. Deal with it however you feel like dealin' with it, just don't get yourself fuckin' murdered."
Nicodemus pushes off the wall. "Yeah, I could go get it now." He goes to follow Mouse out, offering a generalized wave as he departs.
Flint pulls a pencil from his pocket and scribbles something on a blank page of sketchbook, then looks up at Mouse. "I'll, let Ky know if he and Nik can, coordinate with Lefty, for. Scouting. Anything else I, need to, spread news quickly?" he asks, before the Walker elder leaves.
Holland looks first to the Ahroun. "Easy, Devon." Then, to Riley, "We still don't know what the issue with his memory is, but talking to him like he's an idiot certainly isn't going to help. I can assure you of that much." Then, looking to Jack, "Whether we decide to fight them or how isn't my call—but it should very much play a factor in how cautious we tell our kin to be and where we put our cub, and that is the main reason I wanted him to bring it up."
Carmen waves to Nicodemus. "Later, Nick." she says.
"Ky was there," Mouse says over her shoulder, without looking back. "Ask him."
Riley eases up to her feet, briefly rubbing an ache from her shoulder. When Mouse slips out of the room, the ragabash eases her shoulders back in a momentary roll. It's obvious that what Holland launches into gets tuned out, because the scrawny girl in the black dress meanders right on over to where Devon is firing his mouth off, smiles, and extends her hand. "My name's Riley Larson. Glass Walker Ragabash. Fostern. I don't like your tone." She pops up to Glabro and belts the Ahroun in the face. Call it the auspice moon, or call it an accumulation of stress, but she clearly is at her wits' end.
Flint nods absently, and then settles in the chair, though he scoots a bit away from Riley's temper, and from Devon.
Jack looks to Holland. "I ain't got a problem with that. I got a problem with—" And then, Riley! Jack looks vaguely amused, but he still starts over toward them, after setting the beer bottle down. "Riley, knock it off."
Two hits happen, one involving Riley's glabro-sized fist hitting Devon in the face, and then the Ahroun himself hitting the wall behind him. He grabs for something to be used as leverage, fingers finding weak purchase against the wall but enough to keep his legs from going out from under him. "Well," he says, straightening, one eye squinting against the bruising already forming. "I don't like Garou spouting off like my reports and concerns are pointless. Especially Garou that I don't know."
"Devon," Flint snaps out, looking up. "She said Fostern," he points out, a little more levelly, and then looks down at his sketchbook. "Fallout-rhya, may I be excused for, the night?"
Carmen crosses her arms over her chest. At least that is up to the point when Riley throws a punch at Devon's face. If you ever seen a kinwolf with a fox sort of reaction, Carmen has one now as she looks about ready to bolt from the room if things get too out of control.
The fuming ragabash follows Devon's trajectory and helps him up to his feet with a jerk of his shirt collar and a vice-grip of her fingers. She gets in nice and close to the Cliath. "If you'd pull your head out of your own asshole for just half a fucking second, you'd have heard that I never called it pointless. Yeah. Called it secondary. Something we don't have the resources for. In a perfect world, I'd love to save all the lives we can, but we don't have that fucking luxury. But you know?" She gives a stale laugh, "It's okay to disagree." She jerks her grip once and gives him a non-too-gentle shake, baring her teeth. "But don't you ever belittle my opinion again. Don't you ever fucking belittle Jack's." She jerks her head back and mashes her forehead into Devon's face, growling low. "Now you know me."
"Yea," Jack says to Flint. "Take care've yourself. Seriously." Then it's back to Riley and Devon, and the philodox physically plants a hand on each of their shoulders to push them apart. "Stop," he says, the word a growl. "Riley's got a point," he says shortly to Devon. And then, to them both, "But this ain't th'time to be having pissing contests. Respect rank. Thanks for info. Now knock it th'fuck off."
Holland shakes his head. "Different septs," he mutters to himself with a scowl. With Jack already having stepped in, though, Holland moves over to put a hand on Devon's shoulder. "Well, this went well. And I obviously should have let you listen to the advice that I gave you, not so long back. So you have my apologies for that."
Devon becomes almost a dead weight in Riley's grasp and it takes a moment before he can find his legs again. One hand grips the Ragabash's wrist until he's sturdy enough to pull his shirt free, mostly with the help of Jack's action. "Fine," he says more quietly. "I apologize for my lack of respect." Jerking his shirt straight he looks at Holland. "Can we leave now?"
Flint nods once to Jack, leaving with no further attention to the interaction, save for one glance over his shoulder.
15 September, 2012
The moon is in the waning New (Ragabash) Moon phase (1% full).
There's a video game going in the breakroom at the moment, and then an exuberant, half-coherent sound of exultation, that cuts off. Flint and Nicodemus are seated on the couch, playing Mario, and the galliard eyes the kin, a little bit. "You let me win, again," he accuses, though the tone marks the words as joking. And it's not that Flint's bad at the video game, either, a lot of effort going into that win. "Didn't you."
"There's a very important lesson to be learned midway through 'Star Wars: A New Hope,'" Nick claims matter-of-factly. There's a pause before the reveal. "Let the wookie win." The faux-kin grins at the young Glass Walker.
Flint pouts, slightly. He seems to be in moderately good spirits today, at least cheerful overall, and not quite as withdrawn as he can be on the bigger moons. The response just gets a shake of his head, and he looks at Nick again. "If you're, gonna, l-let me win?" Flint says, "Make it, a. A little harder for me, okay? Small moon. It's, it's fine. Today's fine."
The door to the breakroom opens and Jack limps in, angled for the kitchen. The game on the screen is eyed, and then Flint and Nicodemus. Flint gets the philodox's attention, though. "Grats on gettin' your get outta jail card," he says in a bit of a drawl as he heads to the fridge.
Nicodemus says "Evening, Jack." It's a pretty generic greeting. "How're things going?"
Flint finishes pressing a few buttons on the controller until the game is at a pause-screen so it won't advance to the next part, then sets the controller in his lap and tucks his hands into the pockets of his sweatshirts, leaning back onto the couch. "Hi Jack-rhya," the boy offers, nodding.
"A'ight," Jack answers, predictably pulling a beer out of the fridge. "Not too busy. Been workin' on my own shit. You?" The fridge door is shut, and he heads toward the couch that the pair are sitting on.
"Holding things together after a bat-shit crazy shared vision with Mouse, Riley, a volcano, bears, and a giant nest of wasps," Nick says, trying to make that sound as if it might be fairly routine. Or a lame attempt at a joke.
Flint pulls one hand from his pockets to look at his forehead. "Riley didn't say you were, there too," he says, directed to Nick, and then glances once to the Adren.
Jack's attention is partially pulled away from Flint for a moment by that. "What? There was another one've those things? Thought that'd stopped months ago." And, upon reaching the couch, he holds a hand out. "Talked to Mouse. Lemme see your arms." It's bland for the most part right now, but it isn't so much a request.
Nicodemus asides to Flint, "Mouse thinks it was because I'd been research the visions and because I'd watched her do a ritual, so…" He trails off as he catches wind of Jack's tone. Uh oh.
Flint looks at Jack for a moment, and then looks down, and there's a swift shake of his head as though Flint might maybe balk at what he's told. A pause follows, and then verbal acknowledgement. "Yes, Jack-rhya." Flint moves the controller from his lap, and shrugs out of his sweatshirt. Underneath, the teen's wearing short sleeves, and several areas of each forearm, on each side, bear small, round burns, cigarette burns likely. Sweatshirt off, Flint sits on the edge of the couch, arms in his lap.
"Kin've been in 'em before," the philodox replies to Nicodemus with a shrug. "This Silver Fang kin's been in one I've had." Jack takes a swallow of the beer as he watches, and there's absolutely no change in his expression—there's no anger, disappointment, or frustration. He just rolls his eyes. "Yeah, figured. Salem talked t'you yet?"
Nicodemus nods to Jack, indicating he heard the man's response to him, but he otherwise remains still and quiet. It's like flashing back to a childhood moment when you're next to a friend who's about to get reamed for doing something, and you're left standing there hoping that you don't get blamed because of proxy. He manages to—ever so subtly—lean about an inch away from the cliath sharing the couch with him. He probably doesn't even realize he did it.
The galliard is rather quick to pull his sweatshirt back on, and then Flint looks up at Jack, and shakes his head. "I haven't seem Salem-rhya yet, Jack-rhya. I… d' I need to?" That asked, Flint chews his lower lip, looks down and away from Jack, though he keeps glancing towards the Adren rather than look away entirely.
"No. Just checking t'make sure he hadn't got t'you first." He glances sidelong to Nicodemus, then back to Flint. "Y'know what this means, right?"
Nicodemus apparently doesn't know what Jack means, but he hazards a very tentative guess. "I should leave?"
Flint remains sitting on the edge of the couch and glances back towards the philodox. There's a single nod of acknowledgement, and though Flint looks like he'd very much like to bolt, he doesn't.
Mouse can be heard before she's seen, coming from the direction of her apartment. The Walker elder looks frazzled, with bags under her eyes, and is moving at a somewhat stiff gait.
Jack just looks suddenly very tired, and he eyes Nicodemus. "If y'want to." Either way, he doesn't look like he's going to grab Flint and beat him right this second. He starts to say something to Flint, but Mouse catches his attention first. "Mouse."
Nicodemus vacates the couch anyway, but lingers in the room as Mouse appears. He makes a mildly pained face at her: perhaps for her appearance or perhaps for the tensions he's feeling in the breakroom between Jack and Flint. "Hey," he says to her, subdued, in greeting.
Flint shifts to sitting up a bit more, such that his feet are at least on the floor and under him. When Mouse enters the room, though, his shoulders slump after he nods greeting, and attention returns to waiting for whatever comes next to happen.
"Hey," Mouse says to Nick in return, though she seems to have caught the mood as well. "…What's …going on?"
Jack looks at Mouse, and then looks back to Flint. He doesn't explain for him; he just says, "Show her."
Nicodemus lingers near Mouse, looking a little nervous, and remaining silent as the tribe's garou resolve some tension-infused issue.
The mistress of poor timing herself, Riley is just rousing from a much-needed nap, this time uninterrupted by troubled spirit-dreams. Decked out in pajama pants and an oversized tank-top, the ragabash strays toward her natural first stop of the fridge to get herself something to eat—her brows loft at the unexpectedly occupied breakroom, but she soldiers right on to her destination, mumbling a simple, "Mornin'."
Flint bites down on his lower lip. "Yes Jack-rhya," Flint says, nodding and seeming ever the more uncomfortable. Nonetheless, he rises to his feet and remains by the couch, pulling off his sweatshirt and this time tying it around his waist. Underneath the sweatshirt he has short sleeves, and both arms bear small, round burns, upper and lower side of the forearm, such that it would be hard to mistake them for anything aside from deliberate. He turns to face Mouse, gaze lowered to the floor.
Mouse's teeth show briefly. "Jesus Christ, Flint." She sounds more tired than irritable, though that's there too. "You've got a real problem with the word 'no', don't you? Shift to glabro." She looks over at Nicodemus. "You doing okay?"
Riley naturally sneaks a peek over at the point of conversation, brows furrowing momentarily. Nonetheless, she continues to drag out the gallon of skim milk in the fridge and deposits it on the countertop, scrounging about for a bowl. There's time for dramatic conversations once her stomach no longer feels like a growling abyss.
Nicodemus asides to Mouse, "Okay, I guess. So long as I don't let my subconscious dwell on Mitzi's death." He sighs, probably because he's now re-seeing the cub being ripped to shreds in his mind.
Jack just eyes Flint for a moment or two, but then returns his attention to Nicodemus. His brows arch. "Someone died? Shit." And then, finally, "'sup, Riley."
Flint opens his mouth to say something, closes it, and then takes glabro as instructed, though it does little for the appearance of the burn marks on his arms. And it means that he can more easily dig his fingernails into his palms, a little. And then he glances past the others present, towards the door, though his attention doesn't remain there long.
"Stop that," Mouse says. Her volume doesn't raise, but her voice does become sharper. "Okay, this wasn't a problem when I left. Is this some remaining thing from the vampire, or has something actually happened?" While she's obviously occupied with Flint, Nick gets a faint nod, and a light hand on his shoulder.
Riley looks up, offering a distracted wave of her hand as she pulls down a box of Cinnamon Toast Crunch from one of the cupboards—she may be in her twenties, but damned if she's not going to eat like a gradeschooler. The cereal gives a cheerful tinkling sound as it falls into the porcelain bowl, and shortly thereafter Riley douses it with milk. She then hops lightly up onto the countertop, crossing her legs and dragging the cereal bowl into her lap, digging in while keeping her attention on Flint. One could almost substitute cereal for popcorn at this point.
Jack just rolls his eyes at Flint. "Now," he deadpans, "It's an attention thing." He takes a swallow off his beer, sets it on the table. "I got permission t'haul him outta here for a few minutes or y'wanna hear him out?"
Nicodemus focuses his attention back to the events unfolding in the breakroom with renewed vigor. He looks from Jack to Mouse, waiting for the response she'll give.
"Not," Flint counters the philodox. "Was a thing before the vampire, t-though. Was a thing, a long time ago, too…" There's a pause, and Flint continues. "It helps, it makes things slow, slow down, words and— sometimes, nothing else, works." The cliath glances across at Riley, for a moment. "The vampire just, messed with it."
"It was not a problem," Mouse stresses, "before I left. So what you're telling me is that nothing but the vampire has changed." She holds up a hand to Jack, in the classic 'wait' gesture. "What 'things'?"
Jack seems content with this, and merely plucks up his beer again and rocks his weight off his bad leg.
Flint takes a breath in, and then breathes out, slowly, then repeats the process. "It… it isn't a problem," he mutters. "Wasn't a problem when I, had. The memorial. To. To focus on, to build. Not then. But. A few times, when I, was a cub. Just not so much that… anyone else, had to know. I'd… shift, sooner after. When I, ran away, when, that. Too." Flint chews on his lower lip. "Everything," he insists. "Makes everything, slow down, one thing at a time. Ancestors and, words, sentences, all everyone ever hears is broken fucking words." The more agitated that this discussion makes the cliath, the less coherent his explanation becomes.
Mouse closes her eyes for a moment, and gives her head a tiny little shake before opening them again. Her words are measured, even if she can't quite hide the exasperation. "You're doing this because of how you talk?"
Flint furrows his brows and digs his nails into the palm of his hands, again, and shakes his head. "Not, of how. Because of why how. Sometimes, making everything slow down, helps," Flint responds.
Jack just looks rather unimpressed. "Dude," he says, "Get th'fuck over it." That sounds more disgruntled than his previous words, and a little bit disgusted.
Nicodemus watches silently and as unobtrusively as possible, trying to make sense of what's transpiring within the breakroom. Jack is standing near Flint over by the couch. Riley is perched on the kitchen countertop eating a bowl of cereal. Mouse is standing nearish the doorway with Nick not too far away. There's an air of tension and frustration, largely centered on Flint and, to a lesser extent, Mouse and Jack.
Mouse's voice takes on a warning tone. "I told you to stop it." There's a flicker of something, not quite connected to her words, a brief as a blink moment of pure, undiluted anger in her expression, which vanishes as soon as it appears. "It's a problem because now you've gone and involved everyone with it. So now, you need to find some other outlet." Jack gets a nod, somewhat sharper than she probably intended.
Flint starts to pull his sweatshirt on. Oversized as it is for the galliard in homid, it works just fine in glabro, and then he shoves his hands back into his pockets, nodding silent acknowledgement of Mouse's words.
The sound of footsteps and multiple people conversing quietly as they approach can be heard out in the hall, and not long after that, a group of the tribe's Terminus members approach the door, though the conversation has halted by the time they come inside, given some of what they're hearing. Holland, Devon, and Carmen enter the room, though the Fostern Philodox gives Mouse a glance, making sure that more people aren't going to be in the way.
Jack finishes off the beer with a bit of a wince at the end, and then starts toward the door. "C'mon," he says gruffly to the galliard. "To th'basement." Nothing at all in his posture or voice hints toward him enjoying what's coming. The rest of the people are acknowledged, but he's not waiting to chat.
Flint follows after Jack, watching the Adren and not making eye contact with anyone else as they come in. The galliard's shoulders are slumped, expression thoughtful.
OOC, we went with not RPing out the next part, so:
Jack pages: So, basically: Jack takes Flint into the basement, and doesn't really wait around. He has him shift down to homid. It's five times of beating him down to the point he can't get up, making him shift to heal, and then doing it again. If he frenzies, he's put down, and when he wakes up that round he frenzied on didn't count. And Jack clearly, clearly does not enjoy one iota of it.
Jack pages: And next time, he tells him it'll be 10 rounds.
Well, now that the tension's abated, in comes the harbinger of it. Jack heads back in, looking distinctly tired. And, he's got blood on his hands. Not enough to warrant concern, and some may or may not be his, but either way, there you have it. The adren doesn't pause to greet anyone; he heads straight to the kitchen to start washing it off. Every motion is very deliberate and methodical, and he seems rather dour.
"I…" Nick aborts whatever he was about to add, then just says "Yeah," to Carmen. His gaze tracks Jack as he passes through the room, frowning slightly at the bloodied hands.
Holland looks a little surprised by that. "I imagine that must have hit her tribal elder hard. I'd thought Garou could only be pulled physically into the Dream Realm when they went to sleep in the Umbra." He shakes his head. "Mine was just a dream—it was as though I was one type of insect, then another—ant, bee, and then wasp, I believe." Then, to Riley, he replies, "I did, yes. Have her cubs already been checked?"
"I haven't spoken to her tribal elder," Mouse says. "I was told it was probably Jacinta. I don't even know for sure. —And that," she says, in response to Riley, "Hasn't helped matters. If you bunch are looking for something to do, taking care of a new lupus cub is certainly something I'd appreciate. I need to find out who let her run loose and chew their ears off."
"Think one of the spirits…" Devon cuts himself off when Riley then Jack returns. He frowns slightly more, for a bit longer, then looks away again. Whatever he'd been saying left unfinished.
"No," Riley succinctly states. "The time wasn't right. Besides, I didn't exactly get off on the right foot with her." The ragabash makes her way over to the couch, flopping down on it and crossing her legs. "…Shocking, I know." She squints at Mouse's statement. "Chew… what? When?"
Jack finishes washing his hands, and then pulls a paper towel down to dry them. This is thrown away, and he then pulls out a cigarette and lights it, still not addressing anyone directly.
Carmen watches as Jack reenters the breakroom. The bloody hands really doesn't surprise her very much, which probably means that she has known about Garou long enough to be somewhat desensitized. "To those I have not met, I'm Carmen Lopez. Glass Walker Kinfolk from Los Angeles," she goes on to introduce herself to the unfamiliar faces.
Mouse jabs a finger in Riley's direction. "You guys found her wandering the streets, right? That means some idiot dropped the ball. A kin-fetched Glass Walker lupus cub? Living like a stray dog where anyone could run her over or shoot her or haul her off to get put down? Someone screwed up somewhere."
Holland says "That was another thing I was going to bring up—I have facilities for cubs at Silver Oaks, should you ever have need of them. The vault in the basement is climate controlled, so it can secure a cub that's a flight risk, if it comes down to it. Lupus are so rare in our tribe that it never occurred to me to plan proper accommodations for them, though." He glances back to Devon. "One of the spirits?"
Not overly long thereafter, Flint comes back to the breakroom. In homid, the cliath looks somewhat worse for the wear, tired, but perhaps more grounded than when he'd trailed after the philodox and left. He's also showered, hair still wet, and in clean clothing, longsleeves, and with some bruises visible that he didn't stay in glabro long enough to heal the past time. He moves carefully, a nod to Mouse as he comes back into the room and then skirts the rest of the gathering, going over towards the couch, where his sketchbook and a novel have long been set aside. Overall, Flint's silent. The only other person he glances to once is Jack, brows furrowing a bit.
"Jack Moore," the philodox in the kitchen says in response to Carmen, gruff and from around the cigarette. "Fallout. Adren. Philodox. Walker." He considers her a moment, though. "Friend've mine's in LA. You know a Quentin? Galliard?"
Riley turns a decidedly bitter look to Mouse, "Watch the finger, chief. I was on a different plane of existence when we picked up fuzzy. As for her kinfetch? The thing only just went off today." Her arms fold in mild irritation, but it doesn't stop her from turning a distracted look to Carmen. "Riley Larson. Glass Walker Ragabash. Fostern." It's not intentionally chilly, but the ragabash does seem rather distracted.
Nicodemus offers to Mouse, "Kevin, Aaron, and I found her starving on the streets over near Garcia's. She didn't look like she belonged living in an alleyway. I even tried talking to her initially, thinking that she might be a garou in lupus form. Kevin thought to bring her back here because… Well. You don't leave stray wolves out on the streets." He belatedly adds, a little quieter, "They don't fare too well in apartments, either. But at least they get fed."
"Could…" But then Flint's entering and Devon closes his mouth again. Briefer this time, though when he continues it's not likely to travel further than Holland's hearing. "The spirits've pulled them into the dream."
Mouse looks suddenly, abruptly annoyed. "Shift," she orders Flint, sharper than before. "You're a Garou and a god-damned Glass Walker, you're expected to behave like it. Now, if you need something to focus on other than yourself, there's no end to potential chores around here, on top of your other duties. Furthermore, I need Galliards. I want the Sept's Ragabash to start coordinating with Lefty, so we can get Caern scouting missions started immediately. I also need to get into contact with Silvertip and Jacinta. Whoever Mitzi's elder was, if that was her name, needs to be informed of what happened, and I particularly need to speak with Silvertip, so if he could set a meeting time and place, that'd be grand." Her attention shifts back to Nick, and she nods. "Like Holland said, Glass Walker lupus are painfully rare. When we actually manage one, we don't just turn them out to fend for themselves."
Carmen thinks for a moment and then shakes her head. "I don't think so," she replies. "Might be a familiar face but Steel Angel is a pretty large Sept." She smiles at Jack and then nods her head to Riley, "Nice to meet you both." Then the kinfolk is silent for a few moments, "Perhaps then the Terminus is better equipped for housing our other kin?" she asks. "I wouldn't mind helping out in the chores of taking care of them."
Flint grumbles under his breath as he shifts up to glabro. "Mitzi?" he questions, recognition of the name clear in his voice. "Mitzi. Weasel-Follows-Omens, Ahroun. Lost cub, claimed for the Uktena by Little Silvertip-rhya." This, the cliath provides, while going for the couch to gather the sketchbook and book.
"Yea, true," Jack replies to Carmen, and he just sounds tired, and he gets another beer out. To Mouse: "Doodle's around, ain't she? She could probably help. She gets what it was like." Obviously.
Holland nods to Devon. "That would be my guess as well, I just didn't know it was possible." To Mouse, he asks, "Do you need me to get some contractors out to Silver Oaks about securing part of the yard for the wolves? Wolves aren't getting over the wall, so once we can trust the cub not to run, it would at least give them more freedom of movement than they'd have in an apartment here. Assuming you're wanting to keep them in the city, at least."
Mouse turns on Flint. "Well she's dead," she tells him. Flat. Icy. She lets that hang in the air for a moment. "Wasps ripped her to pieces twice in a single moment. Because she wasn't listening to me." Mouse says, after a moment, as an aside to Holland, "That would be great, yes."
Devon drops his arms enough to shove his hands into his pockets. "Should mention the plants, too," he says, still to Holland.
Riley leans her head back against the couch, lightly bouncing a foot and puffing a sigh. For the moment, it seems, she has nothing to contribute.
Flint tilts his head to one side and screws his eyes shut for a moment, just nodding. Sketchbook is tucked inside of his sweatshirt, and then Flint edges around the breakroom towards the kitchenette area, still not meeting gazes, and keeping himself on the edge of the conversation.
Nicodemus crosses the room, weaving his way to the fridge. Jack's apparently prompted him to retrieve a beer for himself. He holds a second one up and waves it around towards the adults—a gesture that clearly signals 'can I get you one?' "Mouse?" He interjects. "Speaking of freedom of movement, things are progressing well with getting that 'disposable' cargo van registered under a fictitious shell corporation—so there won't be anything linking it back here or to a member of the tribe."
Carmen has little to contribute at this time either. She shoves her hands into her pockets and listens to the conversation until she does have something to say. When Nicodemus mentions the van, she says, "Cool!"
Jack looks grim for a moment, and then gets out of the kitchen so more people can get in without standing in a cloud of cigarette smoke.
Mouse shakes her head at the offer of beer. "Thanks, wouldn't do anything for me." The news of the van, however, is met with at least a little relief. "Good. That sounds good."
"Good point," Holland replies to Devon. "Fill Mouse in on what happened to you with the plants, because that's a good argument for keeping any of our cubs as far away from the former bawn as possible. Especially a cub with cubs of her own." Then, looking over at Nick, he raises his hand in a silent request for one of the beers.
Flint seems to mostly be using the kitchen as a route to the door, though not quite making it all the way there. Attention is paid to the overall conversation, but Flint doesn't seem eager to stick around this evening.
Devon's mouth opens then closes again as his gaze slides over to Mouse. "The plants are migrating away from the bawn," he says, a trifle more loudly. Maybe not enough to reach all corners of the room, but possibly clear enough for the elder to hear. "Last one I ran into was large enough to eat me in warform, and it tried to."
Nicodemus heads back across the room, dropping off a beer with Holland, and going over to loiter with Carmen. "I camped overnight by the cave on the Walker's wilderness property and hiked all around the valley the next day. Didn't see any intrusion by crazy plants then, but that was…" He stops to think. "Just shy of three weeks ago."
Carmen looks at Devon and blinks in surprise. She mouths, "Oh shit." and then covers her mouth with her hand. Slowly she uncovers her mouth to say, "Well… Looks like my field trip out to the Edgewood has been delayed for a little longer."
Mouse's teeth show again. "This is fucking insane." She jerks her gaze toward Flint. "Sit the fuck down."
Holland adds, "They're apparently able to move on their own and able to hide themselves well enough for an ambush. Devon was attacked along Sunrise Road, not even close to the woodline. But if one nearly killed an Ahroun, I don't count it particularly safe for me, much less a cub." He offers Nick a thanks for the beer, then thinks a moment before shaking his head, and asking him, "Don't remember where the wilderness territory is off the top of my head. How close is it to the bawn?"
Flint scowls at the floor, and then just nods. He moves across the breakroom, to sit at one of the computers. He angles the chair so that he's able to watch and participate in the conversation, but takes out his sketchbook. Not a pencil, though, but he does page through his sketchbook.
Nicodemus lifts a shoulder in response to Holland's question, indicating he doesn't precisely know where the bawn is in that vicinity.
Riley flicks her attention back over to Flint, a hand lifting to rub at the bridge of her nose for a moment. The ragabash's brows arch further at Holland's statement, which sees her crossing her arms up behind her head, "While I'd take issue with the part of that statement that paints Ahroun as less prone to an early, messy death, I think this thing's ultimately a secondary concern. We get the Caern back, and the rest clicks into place. Why spread ourselves thin trying to weed the hedges? Precautionary measures, sure, but I'd hate to waste active missions fighting plants." She shrugs her shoulders. "Just my two cents."
Carmen has no input in the current conversation so she pretty much keeps to herself. She glances at Flint for a moment but then returns her gaze towards whoever is talking.
"Wasn't for any lack of trying on my part," Devon points out. "The thing could have swallowed me whole, while in warform. The insides were acid and it had spines and creepers that kept me from just climbing out. And it's not like I was warned like so many other crazy things we run into. No sound or whatever, just suddenly this thing closing around me."
"Quit your fucking scowling," Mouse tells Flint, her voice still edged. "Listen to what's being said, because I expect you to spread that information too. —I don't know if it's occurred to anyone," she says, and this seems to be a more general statement, "But this situation has officially entered life and death territory. I need you to be on top of your game, because you can't just count on me being there to tell you all the time. —Devon. Owen, Phoebe, and Alexandra were the Ahrouns that were a part of this thing last night. See if you can't meet with them, and share everything you know about this new plant. Owen was itching for something to fight, and while, yes, the Caern is priority, it's not going to help anything if those things start wandering into populated areas."
"Yes, Mouse-rhya," Flint says, barely above under his breath. He is clearly listening, he just has no desire to participate in the conversation. Flint adds something, a moment later. "My packmates fought, walking plants things, near the WalMart. Luckily, no one saw, no one saw anything for, didn't make the news, anything. But." Flint takes a breath, "They're already in, areas that. People."
Nicodemus pays attention to the conversations going on in the room, but pulls his cell phone out and taps away at it: texting. "Walmart?" he grimaces. "Damn. They are spreading."
"Don't know who you two are," Devon says, looking first at Riley and then Jack, "but if you feel fine enough to ignore the plants, then great. Let your cubs and kinfolk go running around and find themselves in one of them since they're such a non-priority." His gaze ticks over to Mouse and he nods slightly. "I'll find them. Planning to go looking for more plants anyway, given the last one was just off the road to Edgewood."
"That would be a nightmare," Carmen pipes up. "What would someone have to say about a carnivorous plant eating their dog?" She catches herself rambling off the thoughts in her head and immediately apologizes. "Sorry, I know this is a serious situation." Then, she looks over at Flint when he mentions that they are already near the city. "Is there anything to harm these things?"
"I need to see to some things." Mouse stands. "Nick, you want me to write you a check? Or if you have account numbers handy, I can transfer you some money."
Very slowly, Riley gestures to herself while looking hard at Devon. "Ri-ley." She points toward the Adren. "Jaaaaack. And you can fucking check yourself."
Irritation clearly ticks over at that comment, and Jack cuts a sharp look to Devon. "Jack. Fallout. Adren Walker Philodox." He looks to Riley, then back to Devon. "Cuttin' down a few fuckin' plants that are in th'woods ain't going to do shit for this problem because it's a bigger fuckin' problem than we can solve by going at it with claws and shit. Take out th'ones that get out've bounds. But for now, it'd be a waste of fuckin' resources, time, and manpower that could've gone towards solvin' the problem as a whole."
Nicodemus says to Mouse, "I'll e-mail you an account number to transfer funds to. I promise it won't go to a disposed Nigerian official."
"Whatever," Devon answers to Riley. With zero recognition for who the Ragabash is. "I still don't know you. And this plant wasn't in the fucking woods." That's directed at Jack, and like Riley, no recognition there either. "Or did you miss the part of it being right off the road. And did I say anything about traipsing through the woods? Brought it up because it's important to know. Next time I'll just keep it to myself and let the rest of you find out the hard way."
Mouse makes her way toward the door, eyes the arguing Walkers, and then gives Nick a look, with a slightly raised eyebrow. "You sure you don't want it now?"
Carmen just frowns, although she does offer Mouse a friendly wave.
"Are you—" Jack's jaw tightens, presses the beer bottle against his forehead, and grumbles something that's audible to whoever's listening that sounds awfully like, "We've got a fuckin' army of Seans" before just saying, "A'ight. Deal with it however you feel like dealin' with it, just don't get yourself fuckin' murdered."
Nicodemus pushes off the wall. "Yeah, I could go get it now." He goes to follow Mouse out, offering a generalized wave as he departs.
Flint pulls a pencil from his pocket and scribbles something on a blank page of sketchbook, then looks up at Mouse. "I'll, let Ky know if he and Nik can, coordinate with Lefty, for. Scouting. Anything else I, need to, spread news quickly?" he asks, before the Walker elder leaves.
Holland looks first to the Ahroun. "Easy, Devon." Then, to Riley, "We still don't know what the issue with his memory is, but talking to him like he's an idiot certainly isn't going to help. I can assure you of that much." Then, looking to Jack, "Whether we decide to fight them or how isn't my call—but it should very much play a factor in how cautious we tell our kin to be and where we put our cub, and that is the main reason I wanted him to bring it up."
Carmen waves to Nicodemus. "Later, Nick." she says.
"Ky was there," Mouse says over her shoulder, without looking back. "Ask him."
Riley eases up to her feet, briefly rubbing an ache from her shoulder. When Mouse slips out of the room, the ragabash eases her shoulders back in a momentary roll. It's obvious that what Holland launches into gets tuned out, because the scrawny girl in the black dress meanders right on over to where Devon is firing his mouth off, smiles, and extends her hand. "My name's Riley Larson. Glass Walker Ragabash. Fostern. I don't like your tone." She pops up to Glabro and belts the Ahroun in the face. Call it the auspice moon, or call it an accumulation of stress, but she clearly is at her wits' end.
Flint nods absently, and then settles in the chair, though he scoots a bit away from Riley's temper, and from Devon.
Jack looks to Holland. "I ain't got a problem with that. I got a problem with—" And then, Riley! Jack looks vaguely amused, but he still starts over toward them, after setting the beer bottle down. "Riley, knock it off."
Two hits happen, one involving Riley's glabro-sized fist hitting Devon in the face, and then the Ahroun himself hitting the wall behind him. He grabs for something to be used as leverage, fingers finding weak purchase against the wall but enough to keep his legs from going out from under him. "Well," he says, straightening, one eye squinting against the bruising already forming. "I don't like Garou spouting off like my reports and concerns are pointless. Especially Garou that I don't know."
"Devon," Flint snaps out, looking up. "She said Fostern," he points out, a little more levelly, and then looks down at his sketchbook. "Fallout-rhya, may I be excused for, the night?"
Carmen crosses her arms over her chest. At least that is up to the point when Riley throws a punch at Devon's face. If you ever seen a kinwolf with a fox sort of reaction, Carmen has one now as she looks about ready to bolt from the room if things get too out of control.
The fuming ragabash follows Devon's trajectory and helps him up to his feet with a jerk of his shirt collar and a vice-grip of her fingers. She gets in nice and close to the Cliath. "If you'd pull your head out of your own asshole for just half a fucking second, you'd have heard that I never called it pointless. Yeah. Called it secondary. Something we don't have the resources for. In a perfect world, I'd love to save all the lives we can, but we don't have that fucking luxury. But you know?" She gives a stale laugh, "It's okay to disagree." She jerks her grip once and gives him a non-too-gentle shake, baring her teeth. "But don't you ever belittle my opinion again. Don't you ever fucking belittle Jack's." She jerks her head back and mashes her forehead into Devon's face, growling low. "Now you know me."
"Yea," Jack says to Flint. "Take care've yourself. Seriously." Then it's back to Riley and Devon, and the philodox physically plants a hand on each of their shoulders to push them apart. "Stop," he says, the word a growl. "Riley's got a point," he says shortly to Devon. And then, to them both, "But this ain't th'time to be having pissing contests. Respect rank. Thanks for info. Now knock it th'fuck off."
Holland shakes his head. "Different septs," he mutters to himself with a scowl. With Jack already having stepped in, though, Holland moves over to put a hand on Devon's shoulder. "Well, this went well. And I obviously should have let you listen to the advice that I gave you, not so long back. So you have my apologies for that."
Devon becomes almost a dead weight in Riley's grasp and it takes a moment before he can find his legs again. One hand grips the Ragabash's wrist until he's sturdy enough to pull his shirt free, mostly with the help of Jack's action. "Fine," he says more quietly. "I apologize for my lack of respect." Jerking his shirt straight he looks at Holland. "Can we leave now?"
Flint nods once to Jack, leaving with no further attention to the interaction, save for one glance over his shoulder.