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flint_garouGlyphs and video games.
12 September, 2012
The moon is in the waning Crescent (Theurge) Moon phase (22% full).
On the couch in the breakroom, Flint's curled up with a book, and a large mug that seems to have coffee in it, and a blanket. Even indoors, he's got his sweatshirt on, an that seems to be how he's passing the afternoon, reading. Although it seems that there's a Mario game paused on the screen of the television, mid-level, as well, and the television has long since been muted.
*Ding!* goes the elevator in the hallway. Nick strolls out of the vertically mobile room with a Michael's shopping bag in one hand and a 12-pack case of Mountain Dew Throwback in the other. He pauses in the breakroom's entryway to peer in and make sure there's no crazy (and dangerous) werewolf antics going on. "Brought you those sketch pads, Flint." He steps inside, bringing the bag over and holding it out for Flint's inspection.
No antics, just Flint, his book, coffee, and video game, and a faintly lingering smell of cigarette smoke explained by the ashtray, pack of cigarettes, and lighter on the coffee table. The galliard looks up at Nicodemus, setting the book aside in order to take the bag, head tilting to peer inside. And that brings a faint grin to his face. "Woo," Flint cheers, not loudly, but enthusiastically nonetheless. "Thanks. It. I… appreciate not having to, to go to the store." The pencils are looked over, and Flint looks up at Nick. "Awesome, thanks. This'll, be good for. For preliminary sketching before I, go to the set of drawing pencils and the, the ink pen."
Nicodemus waves a hand at the mechanical pencils. "I figured those might be useful, as a lot of the engineering students over at SCCU used to use them for drafting concepts on paper." He pauses, "Though that was back when I went through the program, and I imagine they all use computers nowadays. Still," he continues talking as he goes to put the sodas in the fridge. "I imagine it's nice to be able to do thin lines of a given thickness while doing sketches. And I didn't see you using any yesterday, so…" He aborts any further discussion. "You really do seem to be doing a whole lot better."
Flint nods, setting the sketchbooks and pencils in the bag and that next to him on the couch. "Better," he agrees, and then shrugs his shoulders, picking up the coffee. "Feeling better, too. Better more, if I… don't think about it, too much."
Nicodemus raises both hands, index fingers pointed out, and then simultaneously directs both of them towards the flatscreen TV. A very pointed way of gesturing how the subject has just been changed. "I see you're playing Mario. Or someone was and paused it and left?"
A long sip of his coffee. "I was," Flint says. "I went back to, to reading." The book that Flint has is picked up and turned so that the kin can see what it is Flint's reading, a slightly battered and well-loved copy of Gaiman's American Gods. "Beat the level twice but, I. I can't get the, the third star on it, so I'll. Try again, later."
Nicodemus nods his approval at the book Flint's reading. "That's one of his best books." He settles onto the arm of the couch opposite you, glancing briefly at Mario frozen in time, then back to Flint. "Question. The garou have a system of glyphs they use for writing. Is it forbidden for kin to be able to become literate with them? Or are we just limited to tribal glyphs so we can recognize allies and territories?"
The question gets a furrow of brow, but it's not displeasure with the question, merely a long amount of thought, and Flint seems distant, shakes his head at something, and then refocuses on Nicodemus. "It, no reason not to. I. They don't all correspond to, to English. They correspond to Mother's Tongue, but. Sometimes kin even learn to, understand, Mother's Tongue, in the. In the forms, and learn to. Read lupus, a little, more or less. I, I don't know if, there'd. A reason, not to." Flint sets the coffee and book aside, and goes over to the printer, taking a stack of about five sheets of paper from it, and a marker that's nearby, before returning to the couch and coffee table.
"I figure it might be something where maybe garou might want to talk about kin in front of them without the kin knowing what all is being said," Nick hypothesizes. "Or, if there… You guys don't actually keep written records or books, do you?"
Flint looks at Nicodemus as if the kinsman might be the one who is a little bit crazy. "We? We, the. The tribe, or the. Nation?" The boy shakes his head. "I don't, know about other tribes. We. We keep, some things on the computers, though. Depends what. Other things, that's why." Tone tightens, slightly, "Why galliards exist." And then Flint takes the first piece of paper, uncaps the marker, and at the top of it draws two glyphs that are more familiar: Glass Walker, and Cockroach. If nothing else familiar for how frequently they appear in the memorial on the wall. Beneath it, he draws out the glyphs for the auspices, from new to full.
Nicodemus moves closer, watching as the glyphs get drawn. "That one is the one for the Glass Walkers," he states, recognizing it immediately. "I made a little one out of twigs and a rock laid on the ground outside my Winnebago. I doubt anyone would notice it unless they knew what they were looking for. The others?" Nick lifts a shoulder. "I don't know."
Flint nods, and bends over the paper. Underneath the tribal glyph, he writes the English, though for all that the glyphs are neat, the teen's handwriting resembles chickenscratch. "Cockroach," Flint says of the next one. "Ragabash, Theurge, Philodox, Galliard, Ahroun." Another moment of thought passes, but then Flint shrugs it off, and writes three more glyphs at the bottom. "Honor. Wisdom. Glory." The full sheet is handed to Nicodemus. "They, they. Look different if, claws not. A pen. But, best that, can do at. Sometime, if. Small moon, at Edgewood, I can, show you otherwise? I'm, better at them with a pen, though."
Nicodemus accepts the piece of paper and examines it, memorizing it, as you speak. "I can see how the strokes seem to favor how the wrist and claws would… Yeah, these glyphs were never designed to be written by pens or pencils." Of the offer to go out to Edgewood, he inquires, "That wouldn't be an imposition, would it?" He hesitates before adding on, "You guys are kind of scary when you get big and fuzzy—even when you don't mean to be."
"Less imposition if, you drove, or, could. Give me a ride there," Flint tells Nicodemus, a faint grin on his face. Then there's a bit of a pause. "I was, thinking. Use, lupus to show the glyphs, smaller, but. Not crinos." Idly at some point, Flint tugs one sleeve down, from where it shows what look like burn marks and a few partially healed shallow cuts. "Markers are, easier than pens." Flint picks up another sheet of paper, and spends a moment writing out the glyphs for the other twelve tribes, naming them as he goes, and labelling them. There's a pause, and Flint leaves significant space, before drawing a few glyphs that look less pleasant. "Dancers. Wyrm. Bane."
"I can give you a lift out there, no problem at all." Nick then hedges his words a little. "Provided I'm not at work or wrapped up in something and—generally—if I can get a little advance notice." He scrutinizes the new glyphs and wrinkles his nose. "The shapes alone seem to be unpleasant. Discordant."
Flint nods, handing that sheet of paper over to Nicodemus as well, but not picking up another one yet. Instead, he seems to be thinking about what other glyphs to put, and then he nods again. "But, good to, see them, know what to recognise." The glyphs for the directions follow, as well as simple things, kin, danger, safe, Earth, tree, sky, friend, pack, rage, and when Flint finishes the third page, it's handed to Nick, and Flint gets a bit of a look on his face. "I can, if. Go over those again, if I. Went too fast?" he asks.
Nicodemus seems to have no problem keeping up with the flow of information you're putting out. At all. In fact, Flint might even be going a little slow for him. He starts on the first page, placing his finger on each glyph, and then recalling the word associated with it. "Full moon. Gibbous moon. Half moon." He mixes things up and out of order, flipping through pages and going back and forth between them. "… Kin. Wyrm. Tree. Glass Walker tribal symbol. Pack. Black Spiral Dancer tribal symbol. Cockroach." He looks to you. "Did I miss any? And are they traditionally arranged left to right, top to bottom? Or is it like Arabic where it's left to right? Or," he extrapolates, "is it more context dependent? Like vertical on a tree, or progressive along a path?"
The cliath idly shakes his head. "I… I don't know. It. It's not, directional, or anything, and sometimes. You, can add one glyph, to another, and the concepts. Make a, make a third." This said, Flint neatens the remaining paper and marker, setting them aside. Flint seems pleased that Nicodemus has kept up, as well.
Nicodemus opens his mouth in an 'ooooh.' "Superimposed glyphs upon one another, layering them to link concepts and ideas. Like…" He picks up two pieces of paper, places one over the other, and aligns the Glass Walker tribal glyph with the pack glyph, then holds them up so the light shines through the papers to make a hybridized glyph. "Pack of Glass Walkers." He looks to Flint. "That's pretty damn cool, and very versatile."
Flint tilts his head to one side. "Kind of. Not entirely, more. The words are, more conceptual. And a lot, sometimes…" He pauses and considers what to say to Nicodemus, for a while. "Packs are mixed," he points out. "Garou of, different tribes. Not all the same tribe. But, if you took, earth, plus the glyph, water." And Flint does get out another piece of paper, "they make, 'rain'. They glyphs, 'howl' and 'story' have the same basic, shape, see?" He draws the basic shape out once more, on a new line, and it turns into another glyph familiar from the memorial. "Take, that base, build on it, again, and, you get 'in memory', or… 'remembered'."
Nicodemus seems to have noticed and/or remembered the glyph on the wall. "Or 'memoriam?'" he suggests, motioning towards the mural and the appropriate glyph therein. "There's a lot of subtext embedded within these glyphs. Like, the word 'cast' in English—written one way—but it could mean a a bunch of actors, a brace for a broken limb, throwing an object, an act with a fishing rod, expelling a demon—casting out, fortune telling, molding something, cast away as in a shipwreck…" Nick looks to Flint. "The devil is really in the details with this language form. There'd be no way to learn it without someone giving cultural contexts and clues."
Flint laughs, slightly. "It. Except, there's. The glyphs are definite," Flint explains to Nicodemus. "They, mean the thing they mean. No context or, or g-guessing about it, like English. But, you. I… it's easier to explain in relative to Mother's Tongue. But, that's for another day." The boy silences, then gestures to the screen. "There's, two-player?" he offers of the video game to Nicodemus, then proceeding to play several rounds of the game. At which Flint is quite passably good at, though not great.
12 September, 2012
The moon is in the waning Crescent (Theurge) Moon phase (22% full).
On the couch in the breakroom, Flint's curled up with a book, and a large mug that seems to have coffee in it, and a blanket. Even indoors, he's got his sweatshirt on, an that seems to be how he's passing the afternoon, reading. Although it seems that there's a Mario game paused on the screen of the television, mid-level, as well, and the television has long since been muted.
*Ding!* goes the elevator in the hallway. Nick strolls out of the vertically mobile room with a Michael's shopping bag in one hand and a 12-pack case of Mountain Dew Throwback in the other. He pauses in the breakroom's entryway to peer in and make sure there's no crazy (and dangerous) werewolf antics going on. "Brought you those sketch pads, Flint." He steps inside, bringing the bag over and holding it out for Flint's inspection.
No antics, just Flint, his book, coffee, and video game, and a faintly lingering smell of cigarette smoke explained by the ashtray, pack of cigarettes, and lighter on the coffee table. The galliard looks up at Nicodemus, setting the book aside in order to take the bag, head tilting to peer inside. And that brings a faint grin to his face. "Woo," Flint cheers, not loudly, but enthusiastically nonetheless. "Thanks. It. I… appreciate not having to, to go to the store." The pencils are looked over, and Flint looks up at Nick. "Awesome, thanks. This'll, be good for. For preliminary sketching before I, go to the set of drawing pencils and the, the ink pen."
Nicodemus waves a hand at the mechanical pencils. "I figured those might be useful, as a lot of the engineering students over at SCCU used to use them for drafting concepts on paper." He pauses, "Though that was back when I went through the program, and I imagine they all use computers nowadays. Still," he continues talking as he goes to put the sodas in the fridge. "I imagine it's nice to be able to do thin lines of a given thickness while doing sketches. And I didn't see you using any yesterday, so…" He aborts any further discussion. "You really do seem to be doing a whole lot better."
Flint nods, setting the sketchbooks and pencils in the bag and that next to him on the couch. "Better," he agrees, and then shrugs his shoulders, picking up the coffee. "Feeling better, too. Better more, if I… don't think about it, too much."
Nicodemus raises both hands, index fingers pointed out, and then simultaneously directs both of them towards the flatscreen TV. A very pointed way of gesturing how the subject has just been changed. "I see you're playing Mario. Or someone was and paused it and left?"
A long sip of his coffee. "I was," Flint says. "I went back to, to reading." The book that Flint has is picked up and turned so that the kin can see what it is Flint's reading, a slightly battered and well-loved copy of Gaiman's American Gods. "Beat the level twice but, I. I can't get the, the third star on it, so I'll. Try again, later."
Nicodemus nods his approval at the book Flint's reading. "That's one of his best books." He settles onto the arm of the couch opposite you, glancing briefly at Mario frozen in time, then back to Flint. "Question. The garou have a system of glyphs they use for writing. Is it forbidden for kin to be able to become literate with them? Or are we just limited to tribal glyphs so we can recognize allies and territories?"
The question gets a furrow of brow, but it's not displeasure with the question, merely a long amount of thought, and Flint seems distant, shakes his head at something, and then refocuses on Nicodemus. "It, no reason not to. I. They don't all correspond to, to English. They correspond to Mother's Tongue, but. Sometimes kin even learn to, understand, Mother's Tongue, in the. In the forms, and learn to. Read lupus, a little, more or less. I, I don't know if, there'd. A reason, not to." Flint sets the coffee and book aside, and goes over to the printer, taking a stack of about five sheets of paper from it, and a marker that's nearby, before returning to the couch and coffee table.
"I figure it might be something where maybe garou might want to talk about kin in front of them without the kin knowing what all is being said," Nick hypothesizes. "Or, if there… You guys don't actually keep written records or books, do you?"
Flint looks at Nicodemus as if the kinsman might be the one who is a little bit crazy. "We? We, the. The tribe, or the. Nation?" The boy shakes his head. "I don't, know about other tribes. We. We keep, some things on the computers, though. Depends what. Other things, that's why." Tone tightens, slightly, "Why galliards exist." And then Flint takes the first piece of paper, uncaps the marker, and at the top of it draws two glyphs that are more familiar: Glass Walker, and Cockroach. If nothing else familiar for how frequently they appear in the memorial on the wall. Beneath it, he draws out the glyphs for the auspices, from new to full.
Nicodemus moves closer, watching as the glyphs get drawn. "That one is the one for the Glass Walkers," he states, recognizing it immediately. "I made a little one out of twigs and a rock laid on the ground outside my Winnebago. I doubt anyone would notice it unless they knew what they were looking for. The others?" Nick lifts a shoulder. "I don't know."
Flint nods, and bends over the paper. Underneath the tribal glyph, he writes the English, though for all that the glyphs are neat, the teen's handwriting resembles chickenscratch. "Cockroach," Flint says of the next one. "Ragabash, Theurge, Philodox, Galliard, Ahroun." Another moment of thought passes, but then Flint shrugs it off, and writes three more glyphs at the bottom. "Honor. Wisdom. Glory." The full sheet is handed to Nicodemus. "They, they. Look different if, claws not. A pen. But, best that, can do at. Sometime, if. Small moon, at Edgewood, I can, show you otherwise? I'm, better at them with a pen, though."
Nicodemus accepts the piece of paper and examines it, memorizing it, as you speak. "I can see how the strokes seem to favor how the wrist and claws would… Yeah, these glyphs were never designed to be written by pens or pencils." Of the offer to go out to Edgewood, he inquires, "That wouldn't be an imposition, would it?" He hesitates before adding on, "You guys are kind of scary when you get big and fuzzy—even when you don't mean to be."
"Less imposition if, you drove, or, could. Give me a ride there," Flint tells Nicodemus, a faint grin on his face. Then there's a bit of a pause. "I was, thinking. Use, lupus to show the glyphs, smaller, but. Not crinos." Idly at some point, Flint tugs one sleeve down, from where it shows what look like burn marks and a few partially healed shallow cuts. "Markers are, easier than pens." Flint picks up another sheet of paper, and spends a moment writing out the glyphs for the other twelve tribes, naming them as he goes, and labelling them. There's a pause, and Flint leaves significant space, before drawing a few glyphs that look less pleasant. "Dancers. Wyrm. Bane."
"I can give you a lift out there, no problem at all." Nick then hedges his words a little. "Provided I'm not at work or wrapped up in something and—generally—if I can get a little advance notice." He scrutinizes the new glyphs and wrinkles his nose. "The shapes alone seem to be unpleasant. Discordant."
Flint nods, handing that sheet of paper over to Nicodemus as well, but not picking up another one yet. Instead, he seems to be thinking about what other glyphs to put, and then he nods again. "But, good to, see them, know what to recognise." The glyphs for the directions follow, as well as simple things, kin, danger, safe, Earth, tree, sky, friend, pack, rage, and when Flint finishes the third page, it's handed to Nick, and Flint gets a bit of a look on his face. "I can, if. Go over those again, if I. Went too fast?" he asks.
Nicodemus seems to have no problem keeping up with the flow of information you're putting out. At all. In fact, Flint might even be going a little slow for him. He starts on the first page, placing his finger on each glyph, and then recalling the word associated with it. "Full moon. Gibbous moon. Half moon." He mixes things up and out of order, flipping through pages and going back and forth between them. "… Kin. Wyrm. Tree. Glass Walker tribal symbol. Pack. Black Spiral Dancer tribal symbol. Cockroach." He looks to you. "Did I miss any? And are they traditionally arranged left to right, top to bottom? Or is it like Arabic where it's left to right? Or," he extrapolates, "is it more context dependent? Like vertical on a tree, or progressive along a path?"
The cliath idly shakes his head. "I… I don't know. It. It's not, directional, or anything, and sometimes. You, can add one glyph, to another, and the concepts. Make a, make a third." This said, Flint neatens the remaining paper and marker, setting them aside. Flint seems pleased that Nicodemus has kept up, as well.
Nicodemus opens his mouth in an 'ooooh.' "Superimposed glyphs upon one another, layering them to link concepts and ideas. Like…" He picks up two pieces of paper, places one over the other, and aligns the Glass Walker tribal glyph with the pack glyph, then holds them up so the light shines through the papers to make a hybridized glyph. "Pack of Glass Walkers." He looks to Flint. "That's pretty damn cool, and very versatile."
Flint tilts his head to one side. "Kind of. Not entirely, more. The words are, more conceptual. And a lot, sometimes…" He pauses and considers what to say to Nicodemus, for a while. "Packs are mixed," he points out. "Garou of, different tribes. Not all the same tribe. But, if you took, earth, plus the glyph, water." And Flint does get out another piece of paper, "they make, 'rain'. They glyphs, 'howl' and 'story' have the same basic, shape, see?" He draws the basic shape out once more, on a new line, and it turns into another glyph familiar from the memorial. "Take, that base, build on it, again, and, you get 'in memory', or… 'remembered'."
Nicodemus seems to have noticed and/or remembered the glyph on the wall. "Or 'memoriam?'" he suggests, motioning towards the mural and the appropriate glyph therein. "There's a lot of subtext embedded within these glyphs. Like, the word 'cast' in English—written one way—but it could mean a a bunch of actors, a brace for a broken limb, throwing an object, an act with a fishing rod, expelling a demon—casting out, fortune telling, molding something, cast away as in a shipwreck…" Nick looks to Flint. "The devil is really in the details with this language form. There'd be no way to learn it without someone giving cultural contexts and clues."
Flint laughs, slightly. "It. Except, there's. The glyphs are definite," Flint explains to Nicodemus. "They, mean the thing they mean. No context or, or g-guessing about it, like English. But, you. I… it's easier to explain in relative to Mother's Tongue. But, that's for another day." The boy silences, then gestures to the screen. "There's, two-player?" he offers of the video game to Nicodemus, then proceeding to play several rounds of the game. At which Flint is quite passably good at, though not great.