Infighting.
Thursday, 12 January 2012 11:50![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
flint_garouNot between tribemates
12 January, 2012
The moon is in the waning Gibbous (Galliard) Moon phase (75% full).
It's approaching noon and Slug is sitting by himself in the lobby, with his side against the wall. He's sitting in one of the corners where he can watch the front door, throwing a tennis ball at the wall. He bounces it off the floor and into the wall itself, then back into his hand, repeating the same pattern over and over again.
The elevator dings, and the doors open to Flint coming out into the lobby, bearing a fairly sized book, and a mug of some sort of hot beverage. "Hi," he calls out, before he takes more than a step or two into the lobby, announcing his presence before making his way over to one of the other couches. A deep nod from the cub acknowledges Slug, but nothing more, as he puts the mug and book down on the coffee table before folding himself into sitting cross-legged on the couch.
"Hi." Slug calls back without turning his head, his voice possessing a certain undercurrent of general anger or spite. It doesn't seem directed at Flint, though. The Ragabash keeps tossing his ball and catching it with his left hand, never missing a beat. "Last night was busy. I guess you got to see your first newbie pop."
Flint nods again, more of an answer this time than just the general. "Yeah," he answers, shoulders going up and down in a long shrug. The mug of what smells like tea is picked up and cradled carefully if awkwardly in his hands, but in the presence of company, the book left where the cub set it, and ignored. A careful glance, this time far more observing and such, is given to Slug. "I'm not really afraid of cold or anything," he says, with a bit of an unabashed grin, "just. I lived in California a while, and I'm not used to it up here yet."
"I lived in California for a while, the north and the south. Stayed in San Francisco for a while. There is a Sept there, The Sept of the Steel Angel." Slug catches his ball one last time, then sets it down in his lap. "When an Elder asks for something, something reasonable, you should do it. Even if you don't want to, you just do it. I don't say this to lecture you, or correct you, but because it will save you a lot of grief."
Flint nods again. "Yeah," he says. "And it was reasonable, I know." His head hangs, gaze in his lap, before an ever so faint smile is offered to Slug. "Thanks. I'm still … getting used to all of this," the boy admits, quietly.
"Most of us are. It's hard to say that you ever really get used to it, unless you're a Metis or a Lupus. Many Homids lack the sort of mentality that they have." Slug picks himself up off the floor and stretches out, tossing his head from side to side.
Flint seems reassured, somewhat, by the words, finally taking a sip of tea from the cup in his hands. "Yeah," Flint eventually settles on, with a nod that takes his gaze back to the tea, his book, his lap. "It's just so different. I like it here, in general, but different nonetheless."
"What Auspice are you? If you've told me, I've forgotten." Slug looks around the room, then drags a hand through his hair. "You have a bottle of water or a fountain or something near the lobby?"
Perhaps on cue, the buzzer sounds inside. A glance at the monitor shows Devon standing outside, carrying with him a couple of promising looking bags.
Flint nods, brows furrowing for a second in thought before he sets the cup of tea on the table. "Galliard. I… think I might have, but there were a lot of people in the lobby at the time?" He shrugs, pushing himself to his feet. "I think there're some water bottles in the laundry room," Flint says, "with the hotplate and all." The cub diverts his path from where he'd been headed, though, pushing the door open for Devon.
Slug purses his lips at the mention of the cub's auspice. "Not such a bad thing to be. You tell stories, relay information. Sometimes you lead. All told, it could be worse. You could be a Philodox, or an Ahroun… " He trails off, his attention turning to Devon when the door opens. Then to the bags. "Hey. How you doing? Carrying the moon's weight alright?"
"I'm fine," Devon answers as he steps over the threshold. Flint is all but ignored, passed by without a glance. "Brought burgers and Coke," he continues, holding up the bags as he crosses the room. They're offered to Slug first, after a fashion, being set on the table closest to the Ragabash.
Flint closes the door, Devon's back given an uneasy glance once he's past. The cub pushes the door shut once more after a moment, taking the long way around the lobby back to the seating area. His cup of tea is picked up off the table again, before he folds himself onto a couch.
"I couldn't ever really go outside when the moon was full. People know it. Know what you're feeling, moreso than usual." Slug wanders over a bit closer, close enough to reach into one of the bags and take out a soda and a burger for himself. "But thanks. I can cook for myself, but I'm not allowed in your kitchens… And I don't have any food."
Devon shrugs slightly as he reaches into a bag, pulling out a Coke for himself. "Try to keep my distance when I go out, so I don't make people too anxious. Doesn't feel right to hide inside all the time, and I'm careful." He tips his head toward the bag with the burgers. "Besides, I get tired of left overs. Wanted something that'd been cooked today and not just reheated."
Flint takes a sip from the cup of tea, again. The cub's fallen quiet since Devon's entrance, overall, even in posture and body language.
"Most of this food is frozen and reheated." Slug points out with bemused cynicism. "Bring me some fresh food and I'll cook you some things whenever you like. I can make eggrolls from scratch." Slug roots around inside the bag after Devon grabs a burger, picking out another. This one is placed on the table near Flint. Immediately afterward, Slug takes a good long pull from his soda. "Love the caffeine more than the taste." He confesses with a dreamy sigh.
"These aren't from some fast food joint," Devon counters, brows lifting slightly though he's got a faint grin to his expression. "Local place, makes everything fresh. —Except maybe the cheese. Think they use those plastic wrapped things." His gaze drops down to the burger pushed toward Flint, expression going neutral, though he says nothing of it. "I'll take you up on that, though. Eggrolls? I'm going to check with Mouse on getting my own room, so I'd have a kitchen to invite you to use."
"Thank you," Flint says, when he catches sight of the burger. The statement is directed to Slug and Devon both, for the most part, although a vaguely grateful glance is given to Slug, before the tea is set down in favour of picking up and slowly unwrapping the burger.
"I stand corrected. But yeah, fresh food is generally better. Nothing wrong with other kinds of foods though, if you know how to jazz it up. The good thing about fast food is that it has so many preservatives in it. It stays good for a while after they toss the food, so you can pick out the good stuff when the places close down at night. The best is when you find one of those KFC family meals that someone didn't pick up or whatever." Slug's eyebrows waggle, and then he takes a big greasy bite of his burger. "I'm glad to cook for anyone, so long as I get some."
"First of the kill," Devon states quietly, dipping his head toward Slug. He steps through the seating area, dropping into a chair with his Coke. Settling in with a slight slouch, he cracks open the can, though his gaze rests on the table. "That girl settle in alright?"
Flint sets the unwrapped burger in his lap in favour of the tea, still keeping a corner of his gaze on Devon. Other than that, though, the cub seems fairly content to have bowed out of the conversation.
"I guess. Mouse is a little angry at me because I made a promise for her, and… Some other things, but she'll get over it. She intends to claim the girl, unless something is wrong with her." Slug takes another big bite. "I'm hoping that I get a chance to train her. It's been a long time since I had a student. Maybe I'll even get to train him, too." He says, nodding at Flint.
Devon's gaze flicks toward Flint, brows pinching together into a frown. "Mouse's already decided to claim her," he asks, rather than speak up regarding the present cub. His attention turns back to Slug. "That was pretty fast. They find out what Auspice she is?"
Flint looks down at his lap further, brows echoing in a slight furrow, before he picks up the burger, taking several small bites in a row.
"Nope. Me and Mouse were… Well. We were having a very, very loud conversation, about other things." Slug finally sits down, perching himself on the edge of the closest sofa. "That's the way it is. Tribes generally claim the cubs they find, unless they suck."
"Not always how it is." Devon looks down at his soda can, turning it enough to accommodate sipping. "I got found by Rina and the Fianna elder and dropped off here because it was closest. Spent a week locked in a room alone then put up in the bunk room. Probably three weeks total before Mouse decided to keep me." His shoulders lift a little, shrugging.
"Until she told you she was keeping you. She likely won't tell the girl for about the same period of time." Slug sets his burger down on the table to take up his soda for a quick gulp. "If Mouse hesitated, she hesitated not because of anything you did, but because you're an Ahroun. No Walker Ahrouns to train you. That's a problem."
Devon draws up another shrug as he takes a drink from his Coke. "I guess," he says after, looking up at Slug. "Not that it matters anymore. Cockroach accepted me, and now there's a Walker Ahroun around."
"You don't think Mouse likes you, or something like that?" Slug asks quite directly, sipping at his cola afterwards. He uses his off hand to fish a few pickles and onions off the burger, popping them into his mouth. "Who's the new Ahroun?"
"No, nothing like that," Devon says. "Just thought it was fast that Mouse decided already. I hadn't even met her 'til the night she decided to keep me. And I don't know of any other Ahroun here, just me."
"Ooooh, right. You meant yourself. Sorry, it sort of slipped my mind." Slug puts a hand on his temple, his brows lifting as a look of exasperation comes over his face. "I wouldn't read too much into anything Mouse does. She isn't subtle, often she just forgets or she's preoccupied. When she thinks something, she tells you rather directly."
Flint looks up from his half-finished burger, settling it in his hands while he listens. Doesn't say anything, just listens.
"I'm starting to understand that about her," Devon replies as he nods. He looks back down at his Coke and takes another drink.
"So, what are you going to do with yourself now that you're a Cliath?" Slug asks, licking a bit of ketchup off his lips.
Flint picks up the burger to take another few bites from it, shifting to sit crosslegged on the couch as he does so. Maybe to watch the conversation more easily. Every so often the burger is set aside for the mostly empty mug of tea.
Devon casts a glance in Flint's direction, that frown fractionally returning. "Been splitting my time between trying to understand the brambles and training with a couple of the Get. Started looking what I want to do as far as a pack might be."
"The Get are very direct in their combat, overpowering. I don't think I've met one that really appreciated finesse, or the value of a good sneak attack. But they are good at the combat style they choose, it's very… Suited, to them." Slug takes a few big bites out of his burger, chewing it thoroughly before swallowing. "Given any thought to what packs you want to join?"
Flint tilts his head a little, though his gaze falls in his lap once more. Regardless of his lack of participation, it can't be said that the cub isn't paying attention.
"Yeah, shows in how they spar." Devon grins faintly, shrugging. "Mostly just training with them for the workout. Trying to keep up with Emma's tough." He pauses, considering the question. "Not sure what I'm really looking for yet. Or if I'd rather find some like-minded werewolves and come up with our own. Might be the easier thing to do." Another pause follows as he further regards the cub. "Taking notes?"
"Well, what would you say is a like minded werewolf? What is it that you think when you go into a battle? What is it that you want to be, and what Totems have you thought of?" Slug asks, smirking just a bit when the Ahroun turns to address the cub. "Maybe he's got something on his mind. Or maybe he just doesn't want to interrupt the people he thinks are above him."
Flint pauses when he's addressed, finishing the bite of burger he was in the middle of before setting the last bit of it down on the table. A nod is given to Slug, slowly. "Just listening," Flint says, "and didn't want to interrupt or anything." Fingers drum on his leg for a moment, before he reaches for the remains of his burger.
Devon lets out a short exhale, head shaking. "Honestly," he says as he turns back to Slug. "I don't know what I think. I guess… mainly just get the job done, worry about what I did after." His scarred hand flexes slightly, fingers tightening briefly around his soda can. "Haven't honestly been in any real battle, nothing I can claim anyway. Few fomori, one which was partnered with a Dancer which a Fostern had taken care of. And the Ghoul I removed."
"Dancers are annoying. When I was your age, I hadn't really fought much either. A Vampire, a few Fomori. I did more damage to myself than the enemy did to me… But, you've also faced Dancers far sooner than I did." Slug reaches across the table and gives the cub a gentle tap on his upper arm. "Just say whatever. I don't get mad at people for saying what they think, especially not cubs." He leans back in his seat after that, groaning faintly, a look of consideration on his face. "No ideas? For me, the thing that was most important in battle was coming out alive. I've killed… Shit, I don't know. Few hundred things? People, fomori, monsters, spirits. Lots of shit."
Flint nods a few times, another faint grin to Slug. "'Kay." Though, whatever the boy had been thinking of is either forgotten or he's decided it's not important enough to say regardless. The now empty paper from the burger is smoothed out, folded, unfolded, folded again.
"Wasn't me that fought the Dancer," Devon says again as he watches Flint, frown forming slowly. "I fought the fomori. The ghoul was part of my rite of passage. —Guy I killed last night was to clean up evidence of that girl's first change. —Holy shit, Flint." The break in thought comes after watching the cub fidget with his wrapper more than just once. "Say what's on your mind or… do something constructive. Jeez."
"Even if you didn't fight something directly, you still came face to face with it. That's saying something." Slug rises up to his feet and hooks his thumb over his shoulder, still holding the remains of his burger in his hand. "I'm going to to the can, but I'll be back in like. Five minutes. Ten if I haven't had enough fiber in my diet." With that, the Ragabash turns on his heel and starts off towards the bathroom.
Flint looks up at Devon, frowns briefly, the wrapper set down and aside underneath the empty mug in favour of the book, which gets set in his lap. "Sorry," he mutters, paging through until he comes to a scrap of newspaper folded up as a bookmark about a third of the way through. There's a wary scrap of attention spared for anything but the book, but a page turns, and then another.
"Nice," Devon asides sarcastically as Slug excuses himself. His attention remains on the cub, frown deepening when Flint does nothing more than bury himself in a book yet again. "You think you're some special case? Or just planning on being a cub for the rest of your life so you don't have to do any of the hard work? Every time I see you, you got your face in a book and yourself huddled on a couch or in bed."
Flint turns the page. "I'm reading because I already dealt with all the chores in the kitchen and breakroom, and finished my laundry, plus what Mouse-rhya had me do," Flint responds, tense. The boy falls silent, finger trailing along every so often to mark his place on the page. "And because no one here aside from you seems to have any problem with me reading in my spare time."
"What about learning," Devon counters. "Big huzzah, you finished things you should do anyway, that all of us here take part in. So it's not like cleaning the break room or the bunk room is really all that hard to manage. You ever take 'your spare time' to practice any of the things you're going to need to know to complete your rite of passage? Or you think you're just going to be handheld through that, pass it off to someone else because you don't really want to go out there again?"
Flint keeps his gaze on his lap, though there's a moment where the grip on the book tightens. "And who's to say I'm not going over some of my lessons while I read," Flint responds, with a noticeable increase in volume and frustration.
Slug comes wandering back down the hallway with his hands dripping water, leaving a trail of droplets on the otherwise spotless floor behind him. He doesn't say anything yet, merely listening as he approaches.
"Call me crazy," the Ahroun says pointing toward the book in Flint's hands. "But I've read a lot of books, and not /one/ of them ever said anything about the Litany, or the Triat, or the Creeds." He pauses, standing to put his empty soda can into a recycling bin. "And I admit to being a multi-tasker, but that's bullshit if you think I'll believe you're working on anything that'll help you become Cliath every time you're lazing around and reading."
Flint turns the page again. Devon's words are acknowledged with nothing more than a shrug, and silence.
"There isn't much to practice, when it comes to the Triat. They're just names to remember, general themes. You, me, him? Even the Alpha of the Sept? None of us can really change the forces of the world. It's like an ant trying to stop a foot from stepping on it." Slug comes to a stop near the Walkers, his hands tucking into his pockets. "The Litany? A lot of that is 'Don't be a shithead'. There are more practical things to learn. Things that Garou will forget to show cubs, things they deem unimportant."
Devon makes a sound, derisive and scoffing. "Figured. Nothing more than a self-centered, lazy little punk who expects everyone and anyone to bend over backward and wipe his ass for him." He glances toward Slug when the Fostern begins speaking, jaw tightening slightly. "Who said anything about changing it? He's a Galliard, he should be learning it. He should be learning the histories and his role in our society, and all he seems to do is 'chores in the kitchen and break room' and read in his 'spare time'." He pauses, then adds, "Oh. And apparently learn all this stuff about our world in these books from the human world."
Flint tenses. "The hell is your problem," Flint says to Devon, the tone frustrated, hurt. The book is dropped on the couch next to the cub, though he seems to be gathering himself to simply remove himself from the situation rather than anything else.
Slug reaches across the back of the couch and sets one hand on both their shoulders, applying just enough weight that his touch can be felt. "M'kay. I don't like to do this, 'cause I really hated it when people did it to me when I was a cub. But, I'm a Fostern. I outrank the both of you. So! Both of you sit there, don't move, don't talk, and don't piss each other off for the next minute or so while I saw what I want to say. Kay?" His tone is that of minor exasperation, but not anger, and he tries to make it seem as though he isn't talking down to them.
If not for Slug's words, Devon might have spoken once again. As it is, his lips thin, muscles along his jaw working, but he holds his own silence, looking elsewhere for the moment.
Flint stills from the half-thought process of getting up at the touch on his shoulder, and simply nods, gaze settling in his lap.
Slug lets go of their shoulders and walks around to stand in front of them, brushing the bags and other debris just off to the side. "I've been a Garou since I was about thirteen, and I'm… Eighteen? Nineteen now? Six years. I've seen a lot. I've heard a lot. I've made more mistakes than the two of you have made put together, and I'm sure I'll make a lot more. But here is what I know. These little grudges, or whatever? They can't exist between family. Not between Tribemates. The fractures develop into deep divides that weaken the Glass Walkers as a whole. You—" Slug turns to Devon, reaching out to give his shoulder a tap. "You're an Ahroun. Ahrouns don't just fight, piss on that. They lead. If you feel he isn't doing as he should, don't just ride his ass. Teach him. He's not just a cub. He's your cub. Your student. If he doesn't know something he should, it is your duty to show him. If he is weak, it is your duty to make him strong." He then turns to Flint, giving his shoulder a tap with the same finger. "It is your duty as a Galliard to sing the songs that bring Garou together. To inspire them to battle. To make them weep for the dead. You should be asking every Garou you can for stories, especially the Galliards."
Devon's eyes slant toward Slug when his shoulder is tapped, face a mask of neutrality despite the tension still clenched in his jaws. His gaze ticks briefly to Flint, then returns to the Fostern. "I think I need to go out," he says, tone implying there's more he'd like to say, but now isn't the time. "I'll see you around, Slug-rhya." Another glance goes toward the cub, though he doesn't hang around to wait for a dismissal from the Ragabash or hear what Flint might have to say, turning and letting himself out the door.
Flint watches the Ahroun go, before looking up at Slug, the expression neutral but grateful nonetheless. There's a long moment of silence after a nod, as the boy figures out words. "Thanks. I…" A pause. "Why does he think it's so wrong to read a book every so often? It's not all I do, not even close, nor are the chores. It's like…" The cub picks up the book, hugging it to his chest regardless. "He's never actually here or involved, during lessons, so he doesn't see them? And I tend to… work on Galliard stuff when I'm by myself and no one else's there, or with Kavi-rhya."
"Well… I can't say I was actively sticking up for you, so much as I was trying to get him to realize something. You can't bootstrap your way into knowledge." Slug picks his mostly empty soda up off the table and takes a swig. "So he should be teaching you to fight. Taking you to see people. Not all the time, but, y'know. Maybe he had a hard time as a cub? And he sees you laying around, and it pisses him off? There is probably a reason for it."
"Still, thank you," Flint says. "I dunno." He pauses, shifting the topic slightly. "About what you said earlier. If it's okay with Mouse-rhya and Kavi-rhya, I'd like it if you could teach me at some point, Slug-rhya. I would." It's obvious that no matter how much time the cub may spend with his nose in a book, he has a passion for learning.
Slug reaches out and places his hand on top of the cub's head, scruffling up his hair for just a second or two. There is a far away look on his face, but it doesn't linger upon his features very long. "If you want. What I know is usually better for Ahrouns or Ragabashes, but some things, everyone should know."
Flint grins, not ducking away, though he does shake the stray strand of hair out of his face after it's been mussed. "Thanks, Slug-Rhya. I should… find somewhere to blow off a bit of steam, I think," the cub says, eventually, though there's not any real decisiveness in his voice as to what that is.
"Take a shower. A long, long hot one. Or exercise for a bit and then give it a whirl." Slug tips his head at the cub, then snatches the bag off the table and gives it to him. "Put this in the fridge upstairs, too."
Flint nods, the bag settled on his arm before the boy gets up to pick up the empty mug. "Alright." Shoulders roll carefully, and he looks up at Slug. "Seeya around, then?" the cub asks, though he doesn't quite wait for an answer. A glance goes towards the elevator, and then the boy makes his way towards the stairs, silent.
12 January, 2012
The moon is in the waning Gibbous (Galliard) Moon phase (75% full).
It's approaching noon and Slug is sitting by himself in the lobby, with his side against the wall. He's sitting in one of the corners where he can watch the front door, throwing a tennis ball at the wall. He bounces it off the floor and into the wall itself, then back into his hand, repeating the same pattern over and over again.
The elevator dings, and the doors open to Flint coming out into the lobby, bearing a fairly sized book, and a mug of some sort of hot beverage. "Hi," he calls out, before he takes more than a step or two into the lobby, announcing his presence before making his way over to one of the other couches. A deep nod from the cub acknowledges Slug, but nothing more, as he puts the mug and book down on the coffee table before folding himself into sitting cross-legged on the couch.
"Hi." Slug calls back without turning his head, his voice possessing a certain undercurrent of general anger or spite. It doesn't seem directed at Flint, though. The Ragabash keeps tossing his ball and catching it with his left hand, never missing a beat. "Last night was busy. I guess you got to see your first newbie pop."
Flint nods again, more of an answer this time than just the general. "Yeah," he answers, shoulders going up and down in a long shrug. The mug of what smells like tea is picked up and cradled carefully if awkwardly in his hands, but in the presence of company, the book left where the cub set it, and ignored. A careful glance, this time far more observing and such, is given to Slug. "I'm not really afraid of cold or anything," he says, with a bit of an unabashed grin, "just. I lived in California a while, and I'm not used to it up here yet."
"I lived in California for a while, the north and the south. Stayed in San Francisco for a while. There is a Sept there, The Sept of the Steel Angel." Slug catches his ball one last time, then sets it down in his lap. "When an Elder asks for something, something reasonable, you should do it. Even if you don't want to, you just do it. I don't say this to lecture you, or correct you, but because it will save you a lot of grief."
Flint nods again. "Yeah," he says. "And it was reasonable, I know." His head hangs, gaze in his lap, before an ever so faint smile is offered to Slug. "Thanks. I'm still … getting used to all of this," the boy admits, quietly.
"Most of us are. It's hard to say that you ever really get used to it, unless you're a Metis or a Lupus. Many Homids lack the sort of mentality that they have." Slug picks himself up off the floor and stretches out, tossing his head from side to side.
Flint seems reassured, somewhat, by the words, finally taking a sip of tea from the cup in his hands. "Yeah," Flint eventually settles on, with a nod that takes his gaze back to the tea, his book, his lap. "It's just so different. I like it here, in general, but different nonetheless."
"What Auspice are you? If you've told me, I've forgotten." Slug looks around the room, then drags a hand through his hair. "You have a bottle of water or a fountain or something near the lobby?"
Perhaps on cue, the buzzer sounds inside. A glance at the monitor shows Devon standing outside, carrying with him a couple of promising looking bags.
Flint nods, brows furrowing for a second in thought before he sets the cup of tea on the table. "Galliard. I… think I might have, but there were a lot of people in the lobby at the time?" He shrugs, pushing himself to his feet. "I think there're some water bottles in the laundry room," Flint says, "with the hotplate and all." The cub diverts his path from where he'd been headed, though, pushing the door open for Devon.
Slug purses his lips at the mention of the cub's auspice. "Not such a bad thing to be. You tell stories, relay information. Sometimes you lead. All told, it could be worse. You could be a Philodox, or an Ahroun… " He trails off, his attention turning to Devon when the door opens. Then to the bags. "Hey. How you doing? Carrying the moon's weight alright?"
"I'm fine," Devon answers as he steps over the threshold. Flint is all but ignored, passed by without a glance. "Brought burgers and Coke," he continues, holding up the bags as he crosses the room. They're offered to Slug first, after a fashion, being set on the table closest to the Ragabash.
Flint closes the door, Devon's back given an uneasy glance once he's past. The cub pushes the door shut once more after a moment, taking the long way around the lobby back to the seating area. His cup of tea is picked up off the table again, before he folds himself onto a couch.
"I couldn't ever really go outside when the moon was full. People know it. Know what you're feeling, moreso than usual." Slug wanders over a bit closer, close enough to reach into one of the bags and take out a soda and a burger for himself. "But thanks. I can cook for myself, but I'm not allowed in your kitchens… And I don't have any food."
Devon shrugs slightly as he reaches into a bag, pulling out a Coke for himself. "Try to keep my distance when I go out, so I don't make people too anxious. Doesn't feel right to hide inside all the time, and I'm careful." He tips his head toward the bag with the burgers. "Besides, I get tired of left overs. Wanted something that'd been cooked today and not just reheated."
Flint takes a sip from the cup of tea, again. The cub's fallen quiet since Devon's entrance, overall, even in posture and body language.
"Most of this food is frozen and reheated." Slug points out with bemused cynicism. "Bring me some fresh food and I'll cook you some things whenever you like. I can make eggrolls from scratch." Slug roots around inside the bag after Devon grabs a burger, picking out another. This one is placed on the table near Flint. Immediately afterward, Slug takes a good long pull from his soda. "Love the caffeine more than the taste." He confesses with a dreamy sigh.
"These aren't from some fast food joint," Devon counters, brows lifting slightly though he's got a faint grin to his expression. "Local place, makes everything fresh. —Except maybe the cheese. Think they use those plastic wrapped things." His gaze drops down to the burger pushed toward Flint, expression going neutral, though he says nothing of it. "I'll take you up on that, though. Eggrolls? I'm going to check with Mouse on getting my own room, so I'd have a kitchen to invite you to use."
"Thank you," Flint says, when he catches sight of the burger. The statement is directed to Slug and Devon both, for the most part, although a vaguely grateful glance is given to Slug, before the tea is set down in favour of picking up and slowly unwrapping the burger.
"I stand corrected. But yeah, fresh food is generally better. Nothing wrong with other kinds of foods though, if you know how to jazz it up. The good thing about fast food is that it has so many preservatives in it. It stays good for a while after they toss the food, so you can pick out the good stuff when the places close down at night. The best is when you find one of those KFC family meals that someone didn't pick up or whatever." Slug's eyebrows waggle, and then he takes a big greasy bite of his burger. "I'm glad to cook for anyone, so long as I get some."
"First of the kill," Devon states quietly, dipping his head toward Slug. He steps through the seating area, dropping into a chair with his Coke. Settling in with a slight slouch, he cracks open the can, though his gaze rests on the table. "That girl settle in alright?"
Flint sets the unwrapped burger in his lap in favour of the tea, still keeping a corner of his gaze on Devon. Other than that, though, the cub seems fairly content to have bowed out of the conversation.
"I guess. Mouse is a little angry at me because I made a promise for her, and… Some other things, but she'll get over it. She intends to claim the girl, unless something is wrong with her." Slug takes another big bite. "I'm hoping that I get a chance to train her. It's been a long time since I had a student. Maybe I'll even get to train him, too." He says, nodding at Flint.
Devon's gaze flicks toward Flint, brows pinching together into a frown. "Mouse's already decided to claim her," he asks, rather than speak up regarding the present cub. His attention turns back to Slug. "That was pretty fast. They find out what Auspice she is?"
Flint looks down at his lap further, brows echoing in a slight furrow, before he picks up the burger, taking several small bites in a row.
"Nope. Me and Mouse were… Well. We were having a very, very loud conversation, about other things." Slug finally sits down, perching himself on the edge of the closest sofa. "That's the way it is. Tribes generally claim the cubs they find, unless they suck."
"Not always how it is." Devon looks down at his soda can, turning it enough to accommodate sipping. "I got found by Rina and the Fianna elder and dropped off here because it was closest. Spent a week locked in a room alone then put up in the bunk room. Probably three weeks total before Mouse decided to keep me." His shoulders lift a little, shrugging.
"Until she told you she was keeping you. She likely won't tell the girl for about the same period of time." Slug sets his burger down on the table to take up his soda for a quick gulp. "If Mouse hesitated, she hesitated not because of anything you did, but because you're an Ahroun. No Walker Ahrouns to train you. That's a problem."
Devon draws up another shrug as he takes a drink from his Coke. "I guess," he says after, looking up at Slug. "Not that it matters anymore. Cockroach accepted me, and now there's a Walker Ahroun around."
"You don't think Mouse likes you, or something like that?" Slug asks quite directly, sipping at his cola afterwards. He uses his off hand to fish a few pickles and onions off the burger, popping them into his mouth. "Who's the new Ahroun?"
"No, nothing like that," Devon says. "Just thought it was fast that Mouse decided already. I hadn't even met her 'til the night she decided to keep me. And I don't know of any other Ahroun here, just me."
"Ooooh, right. You meant yourself. Sorry, it sort of slipped my mind." Slug puts a hand on his temple, his brows lifting as a look of exasperation comes over his face. "I wouldn't read too much into anything Mouse does. She isn't subtle, often she just forgets or she's preoccupied. When she thinks something, she tells you rather directly."
Flint looks up from his half-finished burger, settling it in his hands while he listens. Doesn't say anything, just listens.
"I'm starting to understand that about her," Devon replies as he nods. He looks back down at his Coke and takes another drink.
"So, what are you going to do with yourself now that you're a Cliath?" Slug asks, licking a bit of ketchup off his lips.
Flint picks up the burger to take another few bites from it, shifting to sit crosslegged on the couch as he does so. Maybe to watch the conversation more easily. Every so often the burger is set aside for the mostly empty mug of tea.
Devon casts a glance in Flint's direction, that frown fractionally returning. "Been splitting my time between trying to understand the brambles and training with a couple of the Get. Started looking what I want to do as far as a pack might be."
"The Get are very direct in their combat, overpowering. I don't think I've met one that really appreciated finesse, or the value of a good sneak attack. But they are good at the combat style they choose, it's very… Suited, to them." Slug takes a few big bites out of his burger, chewing it thoroughly before swallowing. "Given any thought to what packs you want to join?"
Flint tilts his head a little, though his gaze falls in his lap once more. Regardless of his lack of participation, it can't be said that the cub isn't paying attention.
"Yeah, shows in how they spar." Devon grins faintly, shrugging. "Mostly just training with them for the workout. Trying to keep up with Emma's tough." He pauses, considering the question. "Not sure what I'm really looking for yet. Or if I'd rather find some like-minded werewolves and come up with our own. Might be the easier thing to do." Another pause follows as he further regards the cub. "Taking notes?"
"Well, what would you say is a like minded werewolf? What is it that you think when you go into a battle? What is it that you want to be, and what Totems have you thought of?" Slug asks, smirking just a bit when the Ahroun turns to address the cub. "Maybe he's got something on his mind. Or maybe he just doesn't want to interrupt the people he thinks are above him."
Flint pauses when he's addressed, finishing the bite of burger he was in the middle of before setting the last bit of it down on the table. A nod is given to Slug, slowly. "Just listening," Flint says, "and didn't want to interrupt or anything." Fingers drum on his leg for a moment, before he reaches for the remains of his burger.
Devon lets out a short exhale, head shaking. "Honestly," he says as he turns back to Slug. "I don't know what I think. I guess… mainly just get the job done, worry about what I did after." His scarred hand flexes slightly, fingers tightening briefly around his soda can. "Haven't honestly been in any real battle, nothing I can claim anyway. Few fomori, one which was partnered with a Dancer which a Fostern had taken care of. And the Ghoul I removed."
"Dancers are annoying. When I was your age, I hadn't really fought much either. A Vampire, a few Fomori. I did more damage to myself than the enemy did to me… But, you've also faced Dancers far sooner than I did." Slug reaches across the table and gives the cub a gentle tap on his upper arm. "Just say whatever. I don't get mad at people for saying what they think, especially not cubs." He leans back in his seat after that, groaning faintly, a look of consideration on his face. "No ideas? For me, the thing that was most important in battle was coming out alive. I've killed… Shit, I don't know. Few hundred things? People, fomori, monsters, spirits. Lots of shit."
Flint nods a few times, another faint grin to Slug. "'Kay." Though, whatever the boy had been thinking of is either forgotten or he's decided it's not important enough to say regardless. The now empty paper from the burger is smoothed out, folded, unfolded, folded again.
"Wasn't me that fought the Dancer," Devon says again as he watches Flint, frown forming slowly. "I fought the fomori. The ghoul was part of my rite of passage. —Guy I killed last night was to clean up evidence of that girl's first change. —Holy shit, Flint." The break in thought comes after watching the cub fidget with his wrapper more than just once. "Say what's on your mind or… do something constructive. Jeez."
"Even if you didn't fight something directly, you still came face to face with it. That's saying something." Slug rises up to his feet and hooks his thumb over his shoulder, still holding the remains of his burger in his hand. "I'm going to to the can, but I'll be back in like. Five minutes. Ten if I haven't had enough fiber in my diet." With that, the Ragabash turns on his heel and starts off towards the bathroom.
Flint looks up at Devon, frowns briefly, the wrapper set down and aside underneath the empty mug in favour of the book, which gets set in his lap. "Sorry," he mutters, paging through until he comes to a scrap of newspaper folded up as a bookmark about a third of the way through. There's a wary scrap of attention spared for anything but the book, but a page turns, and then another.
"Nice," Devon asides sarcastically as Slug excuses himself. His attention remains on the cub, frown deepening when Flint does nothing more than bury himself in a book yet again. "You think you're some special case? Or just planning on being a cub for the rest of your life so you don't have to do any of the hard work? Every time I see you, you got your face in a book and yourself huddled on a couch or in bed."
Flint turns the page. "I'm reading because I already dealt with all the chores in the kitchen and breakroom, and finished my laundry, plus what Mouse-rhya had me do," Flint responds, tense. The boy falls silent, finger trailing along every so often to mark his place on the page. "And because no one here aside from you seems to have any problem with me reading in my spare time."
"What about learning," Devon counters. "Big huzzah, you finished things you should do anyway, that all of us here take part in. So it's not like cleaning the break room or the bunk room is really all that hard to manage. You ever take 'your spare time' to practice any of the things you're going to need to know to complete your rite of passage? Or you think you're just going to be handheld through that, pass it off to someone else because you don't really want to go out there again?"
Flint keeps his gaze on his lap, though there's a moment where the grip on the book tightens. "And who's to say I'm not going over some of my lessons while I read," Flint responds, with a noticeable increase in volume and frustration.
Slug comes wandering back down the hallway with his hands dripping water, leaving a trail of droplets on the otherwise spotless floor behind him. He doesn't say anything yet, merely listening as he approaches.
"Call me crazy," the Ahroun says pointing toward the book in Flint's hands. "But I've read a lot of books, and not /one/ of them ever said anything about the Litany, or the Triat, or the Creeds." He pauses, standing to put his empty soda can into a recycling bin. "And I admit to being a multi-tasker, but that's bullshit if you think I'll believe you're working on anything that'll help you become Cliath every time you're lazing around and reading."
Flint turns the page again. Devon's words are acknowledged with nothing more than a shrug, and silence.
"There isn't much to practice, when it comes to the Triat. They're just names to remember, general themes. You, me, him? Even the Alpha of the Sept? None of us can really change the forces of the world. It's like an ant trying to stop a foot from stepping on it." Slug comes to a stop near the Walkers, his hands tucking into his pockets. "The Litany? A lot of that is 'Don't be a shithead'. There are more practical things to learn. Things that Garou will forget to show cubs, things they deem unimportant."
Devon makes a sound, derisive and scoffing. "Figured. Nothing more than a self-centered, lazy little punk who expects everyone and anyone to bend over backward and wipe his ass for him." He glances toward Slug when the Fostern begins speaking, jaw tightening slightly. "Who said anything about changing it? He's a Galliard, he should be learning it. He should be learning the histories and his role in our society, and all he seems to do is 'chores in the kitchen and break room' and read in his 'spare time'." He pauses, then adds, "Oh. And apparently learn all this stuff about our world in these books from the human world."
Flint tenses. "The hell is your problem," Flint says to Devon, the tone frustrated, hurt. The book is dropped on the couch next to the cub, though he seems to be gathering himself to simply remove himself from the situation rather than anything else.
Slug reaches across the back of the couch and sets one hand on both their shoulders, applying just enough weight that his touch can be felt. "M'kay. I don't like to do this, 'cause I really hated it when people did it to me when I was a cub. But, I'm a Fostern. I outrank the both of you. So! Both of you sit there, don't move, don't talk, and don't piss each other off for the next minute or so while I saw what I want to say. Kay?" His tone is that of minor exasperation, but not anger, and he tries to make it seem as though he isn't talking down to them.
If not for Slug's words, Devon might have spoken once again. As it is, his lips thin, muscles along his jaw working, but he holds his own silence, looking elsewhere for the moment.
Flint stills from the half-thought process of getting up at the touch on his shoulder, and simply nods, gaze settling in his lap.
Slug lets go of their shoulders and walks around to stand in front of them, brushing the bags and other debris just off to the side. "I've been a Garou since I was about thirteen, and I'm… Eighteen? Nineteen now? Six years. I've seen a lot. I've heard a lot. I've made more mistakes than the two of you have made put together, and I'm sure I'll make a lot more. But here is what I know. These little grudges, or whatever? They can't exist between family. Not between Tribemates. The fractures develop into deep divides that weaken the Glass Walkers as a whole. You—" Slug turns to Devon, reaching out to give his shoulder a tap. "You're an Ahroun. Ahrouns don't just fight, piss on that. They lead. If you feel he isn't doing as he should, don't just ride his ass. Teach him. He's not just a cub. He's your cub. Your student. If he doesn't know something he should, it is your duty to show him. If he is weak, it is your duty to make him strong." He then turns to Flint, giving his shoulder a tap with the same finger. "It is your duty as a Galliard to sing the songs that bring Garou together. To inspire them to battle. To make them weep for the dead. You should be asking every Garou you can for stories, especially the Galliards."
Devon's eyes slant toward Slug when his shoulder is tapped, face a mask of neutrality despite the tension still clenched in his jaws. His gaze ticks briefly to Flint, then returns to the Fostern. "I think I need to go out," he says, tone implying there's more he'd like to say, but now isn't the time. "I'll see you around, Slug-rhya." Another glance goes toward the cub, though he doesn't hang around to wait for a dismissal from the Ragabash or hear what Flint might have to say, turning and letting himself out the door.
Flint watches the Ahroun go, before looking up at Slug, the expression neutral but grateful nonetheless. There's a long moment of silence after a nod, as the boy figures out words. "Thanks. I…" A pause. "Why does he think it's so wrong to read a book every so often? It's not all I do, not even close, nor are the chores. It's like…" The cub picks up the book, hugging it to his chest regardless. "He's never actually here or involved, during lessons, so he doesn't see them? And I tend to… work on Galliard stuff when I'm by myself and no one else's there, or with Kavi-rhya."
"Well… I can't say I was actively sticking up for you, so much as I was trying to get him to realize something. You can't bootstrap your way into knowledge." Slug picks his mostly empty soda up off the table and takes a swig. "So he should be teaching you to fight. Taking you to see people. Not all the time, but, y'know. Maybe he had a hard time as a cub? And he sees you laying around, and it pisses him off? There is probably a reason for it."
"Still, thank you," Flint says. "I dunno." He pauses, shifting the topic slightly. "About what you said earlier. If it's okay with Mouse-rhya and Kavi-rhya, I'd like it if you could teach me at some point, Slug-rhya. I would." It's obvious that no matter how much time the cub may spend with his nose in a book, he has a passion for learning.
Slug reaches out and places his hand on top of the cub's head, scruffling up his hair for just a second or two. There is a far away look on his face, but it doesn't linger upon his features very long. "If you want. What I know is usually better for Ahrouns or Ragabashes, but some things, everyone should know."
Flint grins, not ducking away, though he does shake the stray strand of hair out of his face after it's been mussed. "Thanks, Slug-Rhya. I should… find somewhere to blow off a bit of steam, I think," the cub says, eventually, though there's not any real decisiveness in his voice as to what that is.
"Take a shower. A long, long hot one. Or exercise for a bit and then give it a whirl." Slug tips his head at the cub, then snatches the bag off the table and gives it to him. "Put this in the fridge upstairs, too."
Flint nods, the bag settled on his arm before the boy gets up to pick up the empty mug. "Alright." Shoulders roll carefully, and he looks up at Slug. "Seeya around, then?" the cub asks, though he doesn't quite wait for an answer. A glance goes towards the elevator, and then the boy makes his way towards the stairs, silent.