On four feet.
Friday, 13 January 2012 11:00![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
flint_garouPlay. Learn. Time on four feet makes happy.
13 January, 2012
The moon is in the waning Gibbous (Galliard) Moon phase (69% full).
The front door creaks open, admitting a slight teenager into the downstairs of Edgewood House. A moment later, jacket shed in the mudroom, and then Flint emerges into the main room, humming quietly to himself in between steps. The tune is vaguely catchy, repetitive.
Rori is sitting on the floor, legs crossed, rifling through a large camping backpack and muttering under her breath quietly. Dark red hair, striking blue eyes, freckles, scar from temple to chin that looks like she almost lost an eye. There's a cadence to her muttering. Foreign.
Flint pauses, mid-step in stride to the kitchen, moving over to be in plain sight instead. There's a certain tension to the boy's posture, though also a certain amount of control and carefulness. "Hi," he says, waiting for a pause in the rummaging before he speaks. "'m Flint. Takes-It-All-In-Stride, Galliard cub of the Glass Walkers." That said, he leans back against the arm of a couch.
Rori looks up quickly, observes the cub and then growls softly. "Is this city overrun by Galliards?" She sighs and shakes her head. "Rori Murphy, Danger Magnet, ahroun cliath of the Fianna. Cleared for the bawn, working on chim. New. Yeah."
Flint shrugs, very quietly. "I dunno," he answers. "Rather…" the cub pauses, shoulders falling. "New in town myself, and all." The words are a compromise perhaps from what he originally went to say. "Yeah." Awkward silence.
Rori pulls an MRE from her backpack and offers it. "Food?" She goes back to digging. "Last time my brother packs my pack. Books, magazines. What crap is this?"
Flint suppresses his laughter, but the amusement on the cub's face is still somewhat obvious. "No, though thank you!" he responds, at the offer of the food. "Had breakfast, before I came over here." Flint drops to a crouch. "Maybe he thought you'd want reading material? Not that we have a lack of it, here." A jerk of his head is given in the general direction of the library. "I dunno, I'm not good at packing myself," the boy admits, "so."
Rori throws the magazines onto a table. "He's trying to make me more girly. Jerk. And the pack is mostly for crap in the forest. I curl up in fur most of the time, but Shelby said hunting was restricted so I have to have whiskey and MREs in a pack." A pause. "Hey, say I ran into a kin, what's the procedure for making sure they're clean and safe and .. crap?"
Brows furrow in thought for a long moment. "I'm sorry, I don't… I don't know," the boy admits. "You'd have to ask… someone else." The cub offers another shrug, falling silent.
Rori nods, not seeming to mind. "It's ok. I'll leave Elliot a text. If I can find my phone. It's in here somewhere."
"That would probably be best," Flint says, eventually settling to sit cross-legged on the floor. "A lot of the time, I'm over in the city," an unabashed grin, Urrah after all, "so, there's a lot of things I don't know, out here."
Rori pulls out a piece of jerky and starts to gnaw on it, looking back up at Flint again. "Yeah. You're a Walker. I spend more time on four feet than two. Hey, feel like giving a girl a tour? Where the safe places are the crap like that?"
Flint's expression brightens for a moment, before falling again. "I would if I could!" he responds. "'m Sorry. I'll have to ask Mouse-rhya or Kavi-rhya at some point, first, supposed to spend the day here today." The cub nods. "Obviously," a jerk of his head towards their surroundings, which causes some of his hair to fall into his face. "Here. And the Walker house is in the city, and all, but I need permission before…" his words trail off.
Rori gives a little shrug. "Is ok. Cub and all. Maybe we can get approval for you to wander with me sometimes. Spent some time out in the nowhere on four. Got a thing or two I could teach."
Flint nods, a faint grin working onto his face, but more showing in his eyes. "'d like that," is the assent he settles on. "I don't spend… that much time, in the wolf. It… goes through clothing." Something the cub keeps meaning to bring up, though today's set of secondhand clothing, jeans and a long sleeve shirt, seem to fit fairly well.
Rori blinks at him. "Man, just have something dedicated. I don't usually care. Only matters when it's cold."
Flint returns the look with a slightly confused one of his own. "'s always cold here," is the response, though that's not really what it appears the cub is confused about.
Rori looks back at him steadily. "What? You're looking at me funny. Spit it out."
Flint squints for a moment, as if trying to shake the confused look off of his face. "Dedicated?" It would seem that's something no one's bothered to mention to the cub before.
Rori stares back and then grins. "Yeah, get someone with the rite to make stuff like clothes stick with you. Stays with shift and slipping sideways. Not unlimited though. Only so high as your connection to the spirit world."
Flint nods, the confused look actually fading this time, as the boy tucks the information away. "Sounds useful. Mostly, besides the cold," the cub says, "it's just that I feel bad, about it going through clothing, since th' Walkers have been so good to me about that and all. And there's so little that fits properly to start." The grin on his face might be just a little self-deprecating, but.
Rori laughs. "Yeah, you don't want to know how many times I'd show up at my brother's house, starkers and looking for clothes in the rain." Her accent is Irish, and thick.
Flint grins a little bit more. "Yeah, little harder to get away with wandering around like that in a city," Flint says. "Though luckily, they keep a good lot of spare clothes upstairs, here, and all."
Rori grins, looking up. "Good. I'm likely to need them here and there. It's a long walk to the city in the cold."
Flint stares at Rori for a moment. "People drive from here to the city," he says, as if the fact should be obvious.
Rori looks back. "Yeah? Maybe I should get a skateboard or something. I'm a horrible driver. Crash a lot. Besides, ain't nowhere I need to be that fast."
Flint nods, slowly. "Or just find someone going from one to the other, if and when you need to go to the city," Flint says. "Enough folk go back and forth. Or live in the city. It's not really even a short drive." The cub shrugs. "But that might be because I've got a short span for sitting still."
Rori grins. "I keep a stash of clothes near the city, too. Shift, run your ass off, then get dressed again there. Cover lot of territory that way."
Flint looks slight wistful. "Yeah," he says, with a shrug. "I bet." The obvious implications being, mostly, that the boy's not allowed to go off by himself, though it doesn't seem to bother him that much.
Rori tilts her head at him. "You want time on four feet, we can see if your elders will accept me as supervision. Not Walker, but experienced enough."
"Thanks," the cub says, after a long and thoughtful pause. "I'll be sure to ask… Mouse-rhya gives me a ride out here sometimes, and such, so." Another shrug. "And nothing against being on four feet in the back yard, either," Flint adds. "Though, it's not th' bawn or anything, but." A grin appears on Flint's face. "Which means, no brambles."
Rori stares back at him in confusion. "What's up with the brambles?"
Flint tilts his head to one side, stretching somewhat. "They appeared, after…" brows furrow, "gah. After something, a Rite I think? I'm fuzzy on the details, sorry. But, one of my Elders said they're Wyld, more or less, and."
Rori stares back, blinking. "Huh. In the bawn? I'll have to keep an eye out."
Flint nods. "In the bawn. Thicker near the caern, and such," the boy continues. "A lot of people are looking into it, trying to find out what's up."
Rori tilts her head, considering and then nods. "Sure. Sounds good. Not like I'm help with that unless you want me to claw some out of the way. I'm full moon, not crescent."
Flint holds his hands up, palm forward and grinning, before he pushes himself to his feet, a jerk of his head towards the kitchen, and thusly the back door. "I dunno much, just what I hear," the cub says. "And the strange dream, but. That's just a puzzle."
Rori looks confused. "Elliot, he told me to let someone know if I have a dream, but that's all I've heard. Something strange going on?" Cubs are a font of information and Rori doesn't hesitate to glean.
"If you do have any dreams," Flint says, "find Tim-rhya. He's a Strider." With that, the cub does make his way towards the kitchen and the back door, making motions for Rori to follow.
Rori nods, getting up and leaves her backpack to follow the cub curiously. "Alright."
By the time Rori follows, there is a pile of clothing left outside the back door, and the cub has shifted to lupus, sprawled slightly on a bit of the grass of the back yard. Ears perk, pleased with himself.
Rori stops just outside the back door and laughs. "You want to play on four, eh? Alright." She strips down with no sense of modesty and then fades into a much furrier version. Stretching out each leg on it's own, then her spine, it's obvious this woman is much more comfortable on four feet.
All-in-Stride pushes his forepaws out in front of him, before getting back up from sprawled, an indication that he needs the practise. Head bows slightly towards the ground in acknowledgement as the cub nears the Ahroun. This way, not cold, he adds.
Danger Magnet sits back on her haunches, tilting her head, ears shift slightly. Feet not comfortable. Run. Feel. Move.
Luckily, the rear yard is large, and well suited to this sort of thing, with plenty of space to run. And taking off at a run, though one that is back and forth with glances towards the Ahroun, is what the cub does, every so often pausing dead still to sort out the scents on the air, or ears shifting to sort out even the most basic sounds.
Danger Magnet pads out into the center of the yard to watch. The marks, scars, scrapes cover her body, visible while in fur, patches where fur won't grow. She tilts her head in approval. Play. Cubs learn through play. Bit longer. Then chase.
All-in-Stride tilts his attention to something on the ground, for a moment, paw pushing the piece of rope around before it loses his attention, and long loping strides that are starting to seem much more comfortable brings him back to a circle around Danger Magnet. Chase. Play?
Danger Magnet bends forward in a play bow, something common with cubs, not so much with the elders. She gives a friendly low whine in warning and then launches after the younger cub with surprising agility and speed.
All-in-Stride spares a backwards glance in excited surprise, leaping forward and over a few obstacles to give her something to chase, towards one of the edges of the yard before he makes a wide loop back in the other direction. Fun.
Danger Magnet is fast and sure on her feet, she gets almost to him, but lets him escape, or nudges him to keep going. She's not looking to win, she's looking to get him used to how he moves in this form.
All-in-Stride is almost, almost as awkward on four feet as on two, though through the length of play, his movements get more certain. Ears perk, listening for Danger Magnet behind him, as he runs, at a full run and finding joy in running, back towards the longer side of the meadow once again, around or simply over the small plants that dot the yard.
Danger Magnet gives him something to run from, sometimes even suddenly appearing in front of him and growling a playful warning to get him to turn and run again. She pushes, keeping him running until his legs likely ache and then drops onto the grass, tongue lolling out in amusement. Play. Learn. Fun.
All-in-Stride stretches his paws and legs out, rolling over in the grass several times in a row, then rolling in the other direction, even so much as taking a tentative bite from one of the larger blades of grass, deciding that it tastes bad, just like two-leg green food does. Fun, he agrees.
Danger Magnet stretches out on her belly on the ground and watches the cub play. Feet more sure? Time on four, makes happy. See?
Lot more. All-in-Stride expresses his assent thoughtfully, settling lower onto the ground and licking a forepaw after stretching it out in front of him, tail swishing back and forth happily. The cub's curiosity extends to everything around him, though subdued now as he is content to lay in the sun.
Danger Magnet lays nearby on her belly, watching the cub explore. Raccoon. East. Track to tree. Show me.
Javid eases the back door open as quietly as possible. He only pushes it enough that he can squeeze through. Once this is done, he wraps his arms about his waist, brown eyes flickering across the yard and eventually settling on the two wolves.
All-in-Stride sits up on his haunches at the instruction, a quiet chuff of assent as he turns, several times around trying to sort out the scent, before he gets it. Many scents. There! Nose to the ground, the cub pads towards the set of trees in question, pausing when he loses the scent again, trying to pick it up.
Danger Magnet seems to know Javid because she doesn't react to his presence other than a greeting. Important. Know what nose brings. She wuffs toward Javid. Play?
In answer, the boy shuts the door behind him and shifts down into lupus. Tail wagging, the slender jackal bounds off of the back porch into the grass.
All-in-Stride hesitates a moment, circling several of the trees before setting his paw on the tree that the raccoon has long since fled up into. That tree. Up. There's a certain whine of dismay, desire to chase the racoon, before cub turns back towards Danger Magnet, quite certain, head lowering in greeting to the newcomer as he trots back over towards the pair.
Getting back to her feet, Danger Magnet trots over to the cub, inspecting his decision and then twists her ears in approval. Scent here, what is? She sniffs something else several feet away. Javid is inspected as he approaches.
Mourns-The-Living has perhaps taken play literally as he is alternating between rushing the pair, and 'sneaking' up on them with his belly pressed into the ground and his tail flattened behind him.
All-in-Stride tilts his head, moving forward to try and pick up the scent that Danger Magnet has indicated. Don't know, the cub whines, though there's several attempts to figure it out. Bird? When Mourns-The-Living gets close enough, the cub turns about, launching himself forward to nudge the jackal in the shoulder, playful.
Danger Magnet's tail waves out behind her like a flag, black-tipped. She's a scarred, beat up wolf. Closer. She instructs. Scent around. Is type like other bird known?
Mourns-The-Living leaps sideways trying unsuccessfully to get out of the way of the nudge. He sniffs in Danger Magnet's general direction once he has landed back on his feet, his mood turning serious. Pay attention.
All-in-Stride turns about once again, tail swishing some as the cub scents the air. And then scents the air more. Scent not like bird. So, not bird? The conclusion is reached before the cub looks over at Danger Magnet, initial guess discarded.
Danger Magnet sits back on her haunches, licking her teeth. What scent most like? She flips her tail at Mourns.
Mourns-The-Living settles down on his belly, content to watch the lesson as it plays out, for now.
All-in-Stride noses at the air a moment. Like, not quite like raccoon. The cub's ears set forward in determination, silent for a long moment, Don't know. The cub lowers his head to his paws, annoyed with himself.
Danger Magnet reaches out with one paw and tears her claws through the scent. Again. Fresher. Feline.
The cub's tail swishes back and forth, ears forward in acknowledgement, as he follows the scent that the Ahroun has pointed out for him. Feline. Now, he will remember. Another scent is picked up, and he pokes it with his nose. That one. That one is a bird.
The jackal's eyes flicker from right to left, following something, then snap back down. His left ear twitches.
Danger Magnet dips her head. Go. Find another bird. I'm hungry. She gets up and starts to trot back toward the house, tail waving out behind her.
All-in-Stride pauses, licking a forepaw for a moment, before tracking a scent towards the edge of the yard once again, the cub working to find through both scent and sound where the birds in the yard are. Which turns once again into exploring, before his attention flicks back to the jackal, and a calmer pace crosses the distance back. Head bows to the ground as the cub introduces himself, as All-in-Stride, gibbous moon cub of the Glass Walkers, and then there's another play-nudge.
Mourns-The-Living chuffs amusement at the 'fleeing' Danger Magnet. Why does Danger Magnet not eat the bird? Question asked, he attends to the cub introducing itself. Once All-In-Stride has completed his introduction, Mourns starts his own. This one is Mourns-The-Living, gibbous moon of Owl's Tribe and Cliath. Tag?
Danger Magnet flicks her tail back and forth. Told to save game for born on four feet. She sits on the porch steps, watching the kids.
All-in-Stride flicks his tail a few time, before nosing Mourns-The-Living in the shoulder again. You're it! The assent to the game is clear as the cub backs up, then takes off at a full and slightly awkward run across the meadow, quite recovered from the earlier game of chase with the Ahroun.
Mourns-The-Living darts after the cub as soon as he takes off with the awkwardish run of his, somehow managing to not catch him, just barely, despite being only a tail's length behind.
All-in-Stride veers into a turn long before the treeline, ears flicked to catch the sounds of the cliath's pursuit. Tail swishes excitedly behind him occasionally, and when he lags a pace and is caught, the cub rolls over in the grass, batting a paw out before getting up to pursue Mourns-the-Living in the other direction.
Almost as soon as the cub has tumbled and been tagged, the Strider is leaping over the cub and turning so he can make a dash for the porch. With his tail stuck out straight behind him, Mourns seems to almost fly across the grass.
All-in-Stride takes off at a run again after the jackal, not at all dismayed despite the several lengths of distance between them. Several disappear as the cub catches most of the way up, ears pricking forward in excitement.
Almost half way there and the Strider suddenly changes direction, angling left towards the truck of a nearby tree.
Danger Magnet sits quietly on her haunches and watches the play, lips pulled back in a wolfie smile.
All-in-Stride veers wider in his own turn, nearly head on tail to follow the other gibbous moon, but still giving chase. Fun. The assertion is reflected in the cub's entire posture as he runs.
The distance between the Garou and the tree diminishes quickly. Too quickly, apparently, for the Strider who dodges to the right at the last minute only to smack head first into the tree.
All-in-Stride skids to a halt, all paws in front of him, shaking himself off when he's at a standstill. The cub narrowly misses the tree, padding the steps over to nose at the Strider at far less speed. Okay? A low whine and concern accompanies the question. Trees are hard.
Danger Magnet watches the collision with some amusement, giving an indelicate snort. Young ones. Knock yourself silly?
Mourns-The-Living slips his paws over his head, covering his eyes more than the bump on his head. That was embarrassing.
All-in-Stride noses one of the jackal's paws gently once, before backing up, reassurance that the cub, at least, is not going to remember this in particular. Then the cub settles, half leaning against the tree and twisting around to groom an area of his back.
Mourns-The-Living releases his eyes so that he can see the cub. An angry snort passes through his nose and wafts away in the chill air.
Danger Magnet yawns widely. Challenge? See if either can take me on? She looks almost bored.
All-in-Stride looks from the jackal, to Danger Magnet on the porch, and back again, then up to the fading of the sun in the sky. Both of us against you. Ears perk up as the cub looks back to Mourns-The-Living, a twitch of a question as to whether the cub's suggestion is amenable to the other gibbous moon.
Mourns-The-Living barely lifts his head. No, this one's head is still turning. His paws come back up to cover his eyes. This one will watch.
Danger Magnet strides back into the grass and sits back again, tongue lolling out. Come get. See if can beat.
All-in-Stride chuffs assent, a little concern for the jackal, but does not push the issue. The cub sets his ears forward, play-bow before he takes off at breakneck speed towards Danger Magnet, confidence that was not there at the morning's start there now. Can get.
Danger Magnet launches forward as the cub does and meets him in the middle, teeth digging into his ruff to pull him off balance.
All-in-Stride makes a high pitched sound of surprise, one paw reaching out to try and drag Danger Magnet off balance with him, as the cub sees how it is going to be. Ears perk all the way forward to attention.
Mourns-The-Living scoots about, turning so he can do what he said he was going to do. Unfortunately, the wee jackal finds himself, quiet suddenly, asleep.
Danger Magnet rolls, tossing the young one over her shoulder, rolls free and then launches again, wrestling playfully with the young one.
All-in-Stride rolls with the landing, tongue lolling for a moment, enthusiastic in his attempts to wrestle. Which are even more awkward than the original attempts to run. Mostly by instinct, and learning as he goes. The second time, the cub is able to wriggle from underneath in order to attempt to gain a little advantage.
Danger Magnet bats the cub around with amused paws. She seems amused at his eagerness, but bats him back and lets him come back for more.
All-in-Stride seems to know, even, that he's not actually going to succeed, but the cub is obviously having fun. Eventually, he flops belly-up on the grass, tongue lolling and once again exhausted, paws stretched out in both directions. He adds, haltingly, that the full-moon of his tribe and him fought, with words, and there's no one else to play with on four legs.
Danger Magnet drops back on her belly watching. Walkers not in touch with four feet. Fight with things, not teeth. Teeth very useful. Claws strong. She watches his exhaustion with amusement. After change, did not walk in two feet for month.
All-in-Stride considers for a moment. Things, teeth, claws, all good, he decides. The cub likes four feet, more now that he has spent longer time in it, though he liked it before, too. Words, names, those hurt. Slug-rhya said, those are bad between tribemates.
Danger Magnet thinks about it for awhile and then rolls back onto her paws. She stands quietly. Watch. Words not only bad. Watch. Her posture turns totally disinterested, dismissive. It's directed at the cub, even though she's pointedly not looking at him. The feeling offered is that he doesn't matter, beneath notice.
All-in-Stride rolls onto his stomach, head on his paws as he watches, then nods, the homid gesture odd but obvious as to the cub's understanding. Words not only bad, he agrees, not getting up all the way. There is a low whine, the cub desiring reassurance that it's not really the way she feels, even though he knows that.
Danger Magnet drops back onto four feet and licks his muzzle in reassurance. Now again. Watch. She stands a foot from him, four feet spreads solidly, hackles rise and tail bushes out. Teeth are bared, a low growl rolls out.
All-in-Stride pushes his head lower to the ground in submission, paws to the side, ears splayed, instinctive, though there's a tilt of his head to one side in understanding of the lesson as well.
Danger Magnet drops the posture and bites at his muzzle in a soothing gesture. No words. Message sent. Careful of body. Careful of words. Understood?
All-in-Stride licks Danger Magnet once, the cub calm and ears forward again. Yes. Paws are set under his chin as he thinks. Body language on two legs, can be just as bad, messages sent. Need to be just as careful.
Danger Magnet tilts her ears in approval, sits back on haunches. Help? Will teach if can. Fight. Rites. Gifts. Share to make whole stronger.
All-in-Stride sits up more, tail wagging slightly, and indicates that he will ask permission of his elders, though he thinks that they might agree. If not, when he is Cliath. That the cub would like that. He likes learning.
Danger Magnet stretches back up again into the form on two legs and walks over to get dressed. "C'mon. I'm hungry still. Can you cook?"
All-in-Stride makes his way to the porch, scrabbling up the few steps, tail wagging. There is a pause as he sniffs at the pile of his own clothing curiously, before shifting back to his birth form and pulling his pants on. "Yeah, at least a bit," the cub says. "I've been learning." He sounds proud of himself, though not overly so. Shirt is pulled on over his head, righted to be front way front, followed by sweatshirt being tied around his waist. "And there's a lot of food here. Pasta sound good?"
Rori groans as she heads into the house. "Sounds like music to my ears. They keep booze around here, too? I'd even drink the piss they call American beer."
Flint ducks into the house after he's tugged his sleeves down, wiping his feet on the doormat before moving over to the refrigerator. "There's a few beers in here, I think," he says, with some confused adolescence in there, a lack of understanding of why people drink alcohol, but he gets one out for Rori nonetheless, handing it to her before going and pouring himself juice. Then, triumphantly, he returns to the refrigerator and comes out with a large container of pasta. "Apparently someone already made pasta recently," he says, setting it on the counter.
Rori slides into a seat, opening the beer and making a face. "Oh, holy shit, how do you Americans call this beer? It's shyte." She does lean over to look at the pasta, though.
"I don't know," the cub responds, laughing a bit. "I never had any inclination to try it." A couple of cabinets are opened before Flint actually finds the plates, and pasta, then sauce, are both dished out, and the plates are one at a time heated in the microwave.
Rori lets the cub feed her, amused and quietly grateful. When his car comes to get him, she fades silently into the forest, moving much on two feet like she does on four.
13 January, 2012
The moon is in the waning Gibbous (Galliard) Moon phase (69% full).
The front door creaks open, admitting a slight teenager into the downstairs of Edgewood House. A moment later, jacket shed in the mudroom, and then Flint emerges into the main room, humming quietly to himself in between steps. The tune is vaguely catchy, repetitive.
Rori is sitting on the floor, legs crossed, rifling through a large camping backpack and muttering under her breath quietly. Dark red hair, striking blue eyes, freckles, scar from temple to chin that looks like she almost lost an eye. There's a cadence to her muttering. Foreign.
Flint pauses, mid-step in stride to the kitchen, moving over to be in plain sight instead. There's a certain tension to the boy's posture, though also a certain amount of control and carefulness. "Hi," he says, waiting for a pause in the rummaging before he speaks. "'m Flint. Takes-It-All-In-Stride, Galliard cub of the Glass Walkers." That said, he leans back against the arm of a couch.
Rori looks up quickly, observes the cub and then growls softly. "Is this city overrun by Galliards?" She sighs and shakes her head. "Rori Murphy, Danger Magnet, ahroun cliath of the Fianna. Cleared for the bawn, working on chim. New. Yeah."
Flint shrugs, very quietly. "I dunno," he answers. "Rather…" the cub pauses, shoulders falling. "New in town myself, and all." The words are a compromise perhaps from what he originally went to say. "Yeah." Awkward silence.
Rori pulls an MRE from her backpack and offers it. "Food?" She goes back to digging. "Last time my brother packs my pack. Books, magazines. What crap is this?"
Flint suppresses his laughter, but the amusement on the cub's face is still somewhat obvious. "No, though thank you!" he responds, at the offer of the food. "Had breakfast, before I came over here." Flint drops to a crouch. "Maybe he thought you'd want reading material? Not that we have a lack of it, here." A jerk of his head is given in the general direction of the library. "I dunno, I'm not good at packing myself," the boy admits, "so."
Rori throws the magazines onto a table. "He's trying to make me more girly. Jerk. And the pack is mostly for crap in the forest. I curl up in fur most of the time, but Shelby said hunting was restricted so I have to have whiskey and MREs in a pack." A pause. "Hey, say I ran into a kin, what's the procedure for making sure they're clean and safe and .. crap?"
Brows furrow in thought for a long moment. "I'm sorry, I don't… I don't know," the boy admits. "You'd have to ask… someone else." The cub offers another shrug, falling silent.
Rori nods, not seeming to mind. "It's ok. I'll leave Elliot a text. If I can find my phone. It's in here somewhere."
"That would probably be best," Flint says, eventually settling to sit cross-legged on the floor. "A lot of the time, I'm over in the city," an unabashed grin, Urrah after all, "so, there's a lot of things I don't know, out here."
Rori pulls out a piece of jerky and starts to gnaw on it, looking back up at Flint again. "Yeah. You're a Walker. I spend more time on four feet than two. Hey, feel like giving a girl a tour? Where the safe places are the crap like that?"
Flint's expression brightens for a moment, before falling again. "I would if I could!" he responds. "'m Sorry. I'll have to ask Mouse-rhya or Kavi-rhya at some point, first, supposed to spend the day here today." The cub nods. "Obviously," a jerk of his head towards their surroundings, which causes some of his hair to fall into his face. "Here. And the Walker house is in the city, and all, but I need permission before…" his words trail off.
Rori gives a little shrug. "Is ok. Cub and all. Maybe we can get approval for you to wander with me sometimes. Spent some time out in the nowhere on four. Got a thing or two I could teach."
Flint nods, a faint grin working onto his face, but more showing in his eyes. "'d like that," is the assent he settles on. "I don't spend… that much time, in the wolf. It… goes through clothing." Something the cub keeps meaning to bring up, though today's set of secondhand clothing, jeans and a long sleeve shirt, seem to fit fairly well.
Rori blinks at him. "Man, just have something dedicated. I don't usually care. Only matters when it's cold."
Flint returns the look with a slightly confused one of his own. "'s always cold here," is the response, though that's not really what it appears the cub is confused about.
Rori looks back at him steadily. "What? You're looking at me funny. Spit it out."
Flint squints for a moment, as if trying to shake the confused look off of his face. "Dedicated?" It would seem that's something no one's bothered to mention to the cub before.
Rori stares back and then grins. "Yeah, get someone with the rite to make stuff like clothes stick with you. Stays with shift and slipping sideways. Not unlimited though. Only so high as your connection to the spirit world."
Flint nods, the confused look actually fading this time, as the boy tucks the information away. "Sounds useful. Mostly, besides the cold," the cub says, "it's just that I feel bad, about it going through clothing, since th' Walkers have been so good to me about that and all. And there's so little that fits properly to start." The grin on his face might be just a little self-deprecating, but.
Rori laughs. "Yeah, you don't want to know how many times I'd show up at my brother's house, starkers and looking for clothes in the rain." Her accent is Irish, and thick.
Flint grins a little bit more. "Yeah, little harder to get away with wandering around like that in a city," Flint says. "Though luckily, they keep a good lot of spare clothes upstairs, here, and all."
Rori grins, looking up. "Good. I'm likely to need them here and there. It's a long walk to the city in the cold."
Flint stares at Rori for a moment. "People drive from here to the city," he says, as if the fact should be obvious.
Rori looks back. "Yeah? Maybe I should get a skateboard or something. I'm a horrible driver. Crash a lot. Besides, ain't nowhere I need to be that fast."
Flint nods, slowly. "Or just find someone going from one to the other, if and when you need to go to the city," Flint says. "Enough folk go back and forth. Or live in the city. It's not really even a short drive." The cub shrugs. "But that might be because I've got a short span for sitting still."
Rori grins. "I keep a stash of clothes near the city, too. Shift, run your ass off, then get dressed again there. Cover lot of territory that way."
Flint looks slight wistful. "Yeah," he says, with a shrug. "I bet." The obvious implications being, mostly, that the boy's not allowed to go off by himself, though it doesn't seem to bother him that much.
Rori tilts her head at him. "You want time on four feet, we can see if your elders will accept me as supervision. Not Walker, but experienced enough."
"Thanks," the cub says, after a long and thoughtful pause. "I'll be sure to ask… Mouse-rhya gives me a ride out here sometimes, and such, so." Another shrug. "And nothing against being on four feet in the back yard, either," Flint adds. "Though, it's not th' bawn or anything, but." A grin appears on Flint's face. "Which means, no brambles."
Rori stares back at him in confusion. "What's up with the brambles?"
Flint tilts his head to one side, stretching somewhat. "They appeared, after…" brows furrow, "gah. After something, a Rite I think? I'm fuzzy on the details, sorry. But, one of my Elders said they're Wyld, more or less, and."
Rori stares back, blinking. "Huh. In the bawn? I'll have to keep an eye out."
Flint nods. "In the bawn. Thicker near the caern, and such," the boy continues. "A lot of people are looking into it, trying to find out what's up."
Rori tilts her head, considering and then nods. "Sure. Sounds good. Not like I'm help with that unless you want me to claw some out of the way. I'm full moon, not crescent."
Flint holds his hands up, palm forward and grinning, before he pushes himself to his feet, a jerk of his head towards the kitchen, and thusly the back door. "I dunno much, just what I hear," the cub says. "And the strange dream, but. That's just a puzzle."
Rori looks confused. "Elliot, he told me to let someone know if I have a dream, but that's all I've heard. Something strange going on?" Cubs are a font of information and Rori doesn't hesitate to glean.
"If you do have any dreams," Flint says, "find Tim-rhya. He's a Strider." With that, the cub does make his way towards the kitchen and the back door, making motions for Rori to follow.
Rori nods, getting up and leaves her backpack to follow the cub curiously. "Alright."
By the time Rori follows, there is a pile of clothing left outside the back door, and the cub has shifted to lupus, sprawled slightly on a bit of the grass of the back yard. Ears perk, pleased with himself.
Rori stops just outside the back door and laughs. "You want to play on four, eh? Alright." She strips down with no sense of modesty and then fades into a much furrier version. Stretching out each leg on it's own, then her spine, it's obvious this woman is much more comfortable on four feet.
All-in-Stride pushes his forepaws out in front of him, before getting back up from sprawled, an indication that he needs the practise. Head bows slightly towards the ground in acknowledgement as the cub nears the Ahroun. This way, not cold, he adds.
Danger Magnet sits back on her haunches, tilting her head, ears shift slightly. Feet not comfortable. Run. Feel. Move.
Luckily, the rear yard is large, and well suited to this sort of thing, with plenty of space to run. And taking off at a run, though one that is back and forth with glances towards the Ahroun, is what the cub does, every so often pausing dead still to sort out the scents on the air, or ears shifting to sort out even the most basic sounds.
Danger Magnet pads out into the center of the yard to watch. The marks, scars, scrapes cover her body, visible while in fur, patches where fur won't grow. She tilts her head in approval. Play. Cubs learn through play. Bit longer. Then chase.
All-in-Stride tilts his attention to something on the ground, for a moment, paw pushing the piece of rope around before it loses his attention, and long loping strides that are starting to seem much more comfortable brings him back to a circle around Danger Magnet. Chase. Play?
Danger Magnet bends forward in a play bow, something common with cubs, not so much with the elders. She gives a friendly low whine in warning and then launches after the younger cub with surprising agility and speed.
All-in-Stride spares a backwards glance in excited surprise, leaping forward and over a few obstacles to give her something to chase, towards one of the edges of the yard before he makes a wide loop back in the other direction. Fun.
Danger Magnet is fast and sure on her feet, she gets almost to him, but lets him escape, or nudges him to keep going. She's not looking to win, she's looking to get him used to how he moves in this form.
All-in-Stride is almost, almost as awkward on four feet as on two, though through the length of play, his movements get more certain. Ears perk, listening for Danger Magnet behind him, as he runs, at a full run and finding joy in running, back towards the longer side of the meadow once again, around or simply over the small plants that dot the yard.
Danger Magnet gives him something to run from, sometimes even suddenly appearing in front of him and growling a playful warning to get him to turn and run again. She pushes, keeping him running until his legs likely ache and then drops onto the grass, tongue lolling out in amusement. Play. Learn. Fun.
All-in-Stride stretches his paws and legs out, rolling over in the grass several times in a row, then rolling in the other direction, even so much as taking a tentative bite from one of the larger blades of grass, deciding that it tastes bad, just like two-leg green food does. Fun, he agrees.
Danger Magnet stretches out on her belly on the ground and watches the cub play. Feet more sure? Time on four, makes happy. See?
Lot more. All-in-Stride expresses his assent thoughtfully, settling lower onto the ground and licking a forepaw after stretching it out in front of him, tail swishing back and forth happily. The cub's curiosity extends to everything around him, though subdued now as he is content to lay in the sun.
Danger Magnet lays nearby on her belly, watching the cub explore. Raccoon. East. Track to tree. Show me.
Javid eases the back door open as quietly as possible. He only pushes it enough that he can squeeze through. Once this is done, he wraps his arms about his waist, brown eyes flickering across the yard and eventually settling on the two wolves.
All-in-Stride sits up on his haunches at the instruction, a quiet chuff of assent as he turns, several times around trying to sort out the scent, before he gets it. Many scents. There! Nose to the ground, the cub pads towards the set of trees in question, pausing when he loses the scent again, trying to pick it up.
Danger Magnet seems to know Javid because she doesn't react to his presence other than a greeting. Important. Know what nose brings. She wuffs toward Javid. Play?
In answer, the boy shuts the door behind him and shifts down into lupus. Tail wagging, the slender jackal bounds off of the back porch into the grass.
All-in-Stride hesitates a moment, circling several of the trees before setting his paw on the tree that the raccoon has long since fled up into. That tree. Up. There's a certain whine of dismay, desire to chase the racoon, before cub turns back towards Danger Magnet, quite certain, head lowering in greeting to the newcomer as he trots back over towards the pair.
Getting back to her feet, Danger Magnet trots over to the cub, inspecting his decision and then twists her ears in approval. Scent here, what is? She sniffs something else several feet away. Javid is inspected as he approaches.
Mourns-The-Living has perhaps taken play literally as he is alternating between rushing the pair, and 'sneaking' up on them with his belly pressed into the ground and his tail flattened behind him.
All-in-Stride tilts his head, moving forward to try and pick up the scent that Danger Magnet has indicated. Don't know, the cub whines, though there's several attempts to figure it out. Bird? When Mourns-The-Living gets close enough, the cub turns about, launching himself forward to nudge the jackal in the shoulder, playful.
Danger Magnet's tail waves out behind her like a flag, black-tipped. She's a scarred, beat up wolf. Closer. She instructs. Scent around. Is type like other bird known?
Mourns-The-Living leaps sideways trying unsuccessfully to get out of the way of the nudge. He sniffs in Danger Magnet's general direction once he has landed back on his feet, his mood turning serious. Pay attention.
All-in-Stride turns about once again, tail swishing some as the cub scents the air. And then scents the air more. Scent not like bird. So, not bird? The conclusion is reached before the cub looks over at Danger Magnet, initial guess discarded.
Danger Magnet sits back on her haunches, licking her teeth. What scent most like? She flips her tail at Mourns.
Mourns-The-Living settles down on his belly, content to watch the lesson as it plays out, for now.
All-in-Stride noses at the air a moment. Like, not quite like raccoon. The cub's ears set forward in determination, silent for a long moment, Don't know. The cub lowers his head to his paws, annoyed with himself.
Danger Magnet reaches out with one paw and tears her claws through the scent. Again. Fresher. Feline.
The cub's tail swishes back and forth, ears forward in acknowledgement, as he follows the scent that the Ahroun has pointed out for him. Feline. Now, he will remember. Another scent is picked up, and he pokes it with his nose. That one. That one is a bird.
The jackal's eyes flicker from right to left, following something, then snap back down. His left ear twitches.
Danger Magnet dips her head. Go. Find another bird. I'm hungry. She gets up and starts to trot back toward the house, tail waving out behind her.
All-in-Stride pauses, licking a forepaw for a moment, before tracking a scent towards the edge of the yard once again, the cub working to find through both scent and sound where the birds in the yard are. Which turns once again into exploring, before his attention flicks back to the jackal, and a calmer pace crosses the distance back. Head bows to the ground as the cub introduces himself, as All-in-Stride, gibbous moon cub of the Glass Walkers, and then there's another play-nudge.
Mourns-The-Living chuffs amusement at the 'fleeing' Danger Magnet. Why does Danger Magnet not eat the bird? Question asked, he attends to the cub introducing itself. Once All-In-Stride has completed his introduction, Mourns starts his own. This one is Mourns-The-Living, gibbous moon of Owl's Tribe and Cliath. Tag?
Danger Magnet flicks her tail back and forth. Told to save game for born on four feet. She sits on the porch steps, watching the kids.
All-in-Stride flicks his tail a few time, before nosing Mourns-The-Living in the shoulder again. You're it! The assent to the game is clear as the cub backs up, then takes off at a full and slightly awkward run across the meadow, quite recovered from the earlier game of chase with the Ahroun.
Mourns-The-Living darts after the cub as soon as he takes off with the awkwardish run of his, somehow managing to not catch him, just barely, despite being only a tail's length behind.
All-in-Stride veers into a turn long before the treeline, ears flicked to catch the sounds of the cliath's pursuit. Tail swishes excitedly behind him occasionally, and when he lags a pace and is caught, the cub rolls over in the grass, batting a paw out before getting up to pursue Mourns-the-Living in the other direction.
Almost as soon as the cub has tumbled and been tagged, the Strider is leaping over the cub and turning so he can make a dash for the porch. With his tail stuck out straight behind him, Mourns seems to almost fly across the grass.
All-in-Stride takes off at a run again after the jackal, not at all dismayed despite the several lengths of distance between them. Several disappear as the cub catches most of the way up, ears pricking forward in excitement.
Almost half way there and the Strider suddenly changes direction, angling left towards the truck of a nearby tree.
Danger Magnet sits quietly on her haunches and watches the play, lips pulled back in a wolfie smile.
All-in-Stride veers wider in his own turn, nearly head on tail to follow the other gibbous moon, but still giving chase. Fun. The assertion is reflected in the cub's entire posture as he runs.
The distance between the Garou and the tree diminishes quickly. Too quickly, apparently, for the Strider who dodges to the right at the last minute only to smack head first into the tree.
All-in-Stride skids to a halt, all paws in front of him, shaking himself off when he's at a standstill. The cub narrowly misses the tree, padding the steps over to nose at the Strider at far less speed. Okay? A low whine and concern accompanies the question. Trees are hard.
Danger Magnet watches the collision with some amusement, giving an indelicate snort. Young ones. Knock yourself silly?
Mourns-The-Living slips his paws over his head, covering his eyes more than the bump on his head. That was embarrassing.
All-in-Stride noses one of the jackal's paws gently once, before backing up, reassurance that the cub, at least, is not going to remember this in particular. Then the cub settles, half leaning against the tree and twisting around to groom an area of his back.
Mourns-The-Living releases his eyes so that he can see the cub. An angry snort passes through his nose and wafts away in the chill air.
Danger Magnet yawns widely. Challenge? See if either can take me on? She looks almost bored.
All-in-Stride looks from the jackal, to Danger Magnet on the porch, and back again, then up to the fading of the sun in the sky. Both of us against you. Ears perk up as the cub looks back to Mourns-The-Living, a twitch of a question as to whether the cub's suggestion is amenable to the other gibbous moon.
Mourns-The-Living barely lifts his head. No, this one's head is still turning. His paws come back up to cover his eyes. This one will watch.
Danger Magnet strides back into the grass and sits back again, tongue lolling out. Come get. See if can beat.
All-in-Stride chuffs assent, a little concern for the jackal, but does not push the issue. The cub sets his ears forward, play-bow before he takes off at breakneck speed towards Danger Magnet, confidence that was not there at the morning's start there now. Can get.
Danger Magnet launches forward as the cub does and meets him in the middle, teeth digging into his ruff to pull him off balance.
All-in-Stride makes a high pitched sound of surprise, one paw reaching out to try and drag Danger Magnet off balance with him, as the cub sees how it is going to be. Ears perk all the way forward to attention.
Mourns-The-Living scoots about, turning so he can do what he said he was going to do. Unfortunately, the wee jackal finds himself, quiet suddenly, asleep.
Danger Magnet rolls, tossing the young one over her shoulder, rolls free and then launches again, wrestling playfully with the young one.
All-in-Stride rolls with the landing, tongue lolling for a moment, enthusiastic in his attempts to wrestle. Which are even more awkward than the original attempts to run. Mostly by instinct, and learning as he goes. The second time, the cub is able to wriggle from underneath in order to attempt to gain a little advantage.
Danger Magnet bats the cub around with amused paws. She seems amused at his eagerness, but bats him back and lets him come back for more.
All-in-Stride seems to know, even, that he's not actually going to succeed, but the cub is obviously having fun. Eventually, he flops belly-up on the grass, tongue lolling and once again exhausted, paws stretched out in both directions. He adds, haltingly, that the full-moon of his tribe and him fought, with words, and there's no one else to play with on four legs.
Danger Magnet drops back on her belly watching. Walkers not in touch with four feet. Fight with things, not teeth. Teeth very useful. Claws strong. She watches his exhaustion with amusement. After change, did not walk in two feet for month.
All-in-Stride considers for a moment. Things, teeth, claws, all good, he decides. The cub likes four feet, more now that he has spent longer time in it, though he liked it before, too. Words, names, those hurt. Slug-rhya said, those are bad between tribemates.
Danger Magnet thinks about it for awhile and then rolls back onto her paws. She stands quietly. Watch. Words not only bad. Watch. Her posture turns totally disinterested, dismissive. It's directed at the cub, even though she's pointedly not looking at him. The feeling offered is that he doesn't matter, beneath notice.
All-in-Stride rolls onto his stomach, head on his paws as he watches, then nods, the homid gesture odd but obvious as to the cub's understanding. Words not only bad, he agrees, not getting up all the way. There is a low whine, the cub desiring reassurance that it's not really the way she feels, even though he knows that.
Danger Magnet drops back onto four feet and licks his muzzle in reassurance. Now again. Watch. She stands a foot from him, four feet spreads solidly, hackles rise and tail bushes out. Teeth are bared, a low growl rolls out.
All-in-Stride pushes his head lower to the ground in submission, paws to the side, ears splayed, instinctive, though there's a tilt of his head to one side in understanding of the lesson as well.
Danger Magnet drops the posture and bites at his muzzle in a soothing gesture. No words. Message sent. Careful of body. Careful of words. Understood?
All-in-Stride licks Danger Magnet once, the cub calm and ears forward again. Yes. Paws are set under his chin as he thinks. Body language on two legs, can be just as bad, messages sent. Need to be just as careful.
Danger Magnet tilts her ears in approval, sits back on haunches. Help? Will teach if can. Fight. Rites. Gifts. Share to make whole stronger.
All-in-Stride sits up more, tail wagging slightly, and indicates that he will ask permission of his elders, though he thinks that they might agree. If not, when he is Cliath. That the cub would like that. He likes learning.
Danger Magnet stretches back up again into the form on two legs and walks over to get dressed. "C'mon. I'm hungry still. Can you cook?"
All-in-Stride makes his way to the porch, scrabbling up the few steps, tail wagging. There is a pause as he sniffs at the pile of his own clothing curiously, before shifting back to his birth form and pulling his pants on. "Yeah, at least a bit," the cub says. "I've been learning." He sounds proud of himself, though not overly so. Shirt is pulled on over his head, righted to be front way front, followed by sweatshirt being tied around his waist. "And there's a lot of food here. Pasta sound good?"
Rori groans as she heads into the house. "Sounds like music to my ears. They keep booze around here, too? I'd even drink the piss they call American beer."
Flint ducks into the house after he's tugged his sleeves down, wiping his feet on the doormat before moving over to the refrigerator. "There's a few beers in here, I think," he says, with some confused adolescence in there, a lack of understanding of why people drink alcohol, but he gets one out for Rori nonetheless, handing it to her before going and pouring himself juice. Then, triumphantly, he returns to the refrigerator and comes out with a large container of pasta. "Apparently someone already made pasta recently," he says, setting it on the counter.
Rori slides into a seat, opening the beer and making a face. "Oh, holy shit, how do you Americans call this beer? It's shyte." She does lean over to look at the pasta, though.
"I don't know," the cub responds, laughing a bit. "I never had any inclination to try it." A couple of cabinets are opened before Flint actually finds the plates, and pasta, then sauce, are both dished out, and the plates are one at a time heated in the microwave.
Rori lets the cub feed her, amused and quietly grateful. When his car comes to get him, she fades silently into the forest, moving much on two feet like she does on four.