Flint Madden (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
flint_garou) wrote2012-10-12 01:38 pm
flint_garou) wrote2012-10-12 01:38 pm
Entry tags:
More at Edgewood.
12 October 2012
The moon is in the waning New (Ragabash) Moon phase (19% full).
Slug has chosen to spend the rainy afternoon squirreled away in the barn with nothing for company but an old radio. The Gnawer is laid out across the weight bench and appears to be in the middle of a set, judging by the sweat that he's worked up. He's belting out the reps to a steady rhythm, occasionally humming along with radio for a second or two.
Someone else has clearly spent part of the rainy afternoon out in the rain. The door from the garage to meadow is scrabbled at for a moment and then opens, and a younger wolf slinks in, along the wall and shaking himself off for the moment, before he shifts up to homid, equally drenched, and muddy. "Hey," Flint offers, in an in-between moment where he's not interrupting.
Slug sets the weights back into the rack a few seconds after Flint enters. He's just sitting up by the time he shifts into Homid. He drags a hand through his sweaty hair, then waves. "Hey." He greets, sounding a little tired. "Didn't think I'd see you this far from the tenement. How's it going? Feeling any better?"
Flint purses his lips and shrugs his shoulders. "Come out here occasionally," Flint responds, looking around until he finds a towel to start to dry himself off with. "The woods are nice. Went for a run. Can do that out here, sometimes. I'm doing better, I think." The cliath shrugs his shoulders and moves further into the garage once he's managed so that he's not going to be tracking mud anywhere. "Lefty-rhya and Kavi-rhya still haven't managed to find it. But I'm okay-ish, enough."
"Thinking about it isn't going to do you much good." Slug offers, then gets up to find a towel of his own. He settles for a dirty t-shirt that someone's left lying about. After a brief rub down, he tosses it aside and sits back down on the bench. "Leech aside, it's good to see you're doing better than you were the last time I saw you."
The Walker nods. "Yeah. I know," Flint admits with a bit of a shrug, shoulders settling and then he moves over to half-lean against the ladder to the loft. "Moon's smaller. That helps. I finished building a new table to replace the one that got messed up in all the mess… still need to do the chairs. That… that helps, too. But. Turning chair legs's kinda boring."
"So find something that isn't. Go for a run, go to a club, go to an arcade or a movie. Do something with the time you have." Slug shrugs his shoulders and looks up at the ceiling. "Anything's better than doing something boring, or something you don't want to do. You've only got so many hours or days left, you should enjoy as many as you can."
Flint huffs, shakes his head. "Need to finish the chairs, sooner than later," the cliath explains. "Being as it's my fault they all got broken in the first place. I don't mind doing it. I just… needed to get out of the city a while. I'll finish, when I go back."
"So what'd you come out here to do, then?" Slug asks, looking around at the exercise equipment and the old radio. "Just to clear your head and get some space between you and the tenement?"
Another nod follows. "Been out here since yesterday. Get to see my packmate, get to get some space," Flint says. "Lex spends, most of her times out. The woods, and all. So… this way I can keep up with, people, news, out here and in the city. Do my job, much as I can." Flint starts stretching his legs out, settling into a partial lunge.
"Packs are good for keeping your head together. When you're all alone, it's hard to hold all the pieces in one place." Slug turns and lays back out on the weight bench, then seizes the bar and lifts it off the rack. "Trying." He brings the weight down and up again, easing into another set. "To get someone I know to join one."
"Pack is good," Flint agrees easily. "Right. We're meant to, and all." The boy uses the ladder for balance and settles into the opposite lunge, stretching out from after his lunge. "We—Unfettered—are kinda spread out, a bit. Right now. I wish we weren't. But it works, for the time being."
"Kinda fitting that a pack of that name—" Slug pauses between pumps to speak, ending each sentence with an inhale or exhale. "Should be all scattered around. Mine is too, but birds are kinda like that."
Flint grins. "Yeah, they kinda are," Flint agrees, continuing his stretches. "I mean. We'd like territory? It's just… not a priority. The caern, everything else. That is." The cliath pauses, and half-tacks on in explanation, a smile audible in his voice at the subject of his pack, in general. "We're packed under Merlin. Bigwing is pretty great. We didn't know too much when we went into it, but Merlin is… perfect, really."
"Peregrine, here. We lost a packmate that didn't like her when she showed up… Or me. I think." Slug speeds up his exercise to finish off the last remnants of his set, then plops the bar right back into the rack with a thunk of metal upon metal. "They were a pack before I joined them, really. I've known them since they were cubs."
The Glass Walker nods, and tilts his head, clearly listening to some other opinion entirely ad furrowing his brow, and then nodding again. "That happens," is all that Flint actually comes up with, along with a slightly bemused look. "Wish it was relevant and coherent sometimes," he comments to himself. "It was just me and Lex and Ky, so. And Lex and I were cubs together, some."
"Well, packs are like people. They grow and change, have adventures, y'know. Stuff." Slug rises up off the bench and moves over to a neat pile where he's gathered his things and picks through his pants pockets until he finds his cellphone. He checks it for messages, then turns to face Flint. "Maybe sometime you could meet up with Ish and tell him about the territory you guys run in."
Flint considers this and nods. "Yeah. I don't get to Terminus much, even less than I get to out here," the boy admits. "Been wanting to talk to Ishmael-rhya, but he's busy, don't usually… want to bother him, and all." There's a faint huff, and a sigh. "But he helped me figure it out when things were stupid when I was a cub, too. So." There's a wistful, verging on annoyed note. "And I'm getting it figured out but at the same time, Mouse-rhya's displeased, and Kavi-rhya's displeased, and…" it's clear that the approval of his elders means a lot to the cliath, and moreso when it's lacking. The expression turns to a frown.
"Just go see him sometime. He pretends to be a loner, but he secretly loves it when people pay attention to him." Slug smirks and shakes his head, then uses his cellphone to send a short text. "Most of us screwed up in some way when we were cubs or cliaths. The best way to find out who you are as a Garou is to stop paying attention to everyone else and just do what you feel. Sometimes it's right, sometimes it's wrong, but you learn."
The Walker nods at the advice, leaning against the ladder now that he's done stretching and cooling down from his run, and tugs at the muddy sleeves of his sweatshirt until they're a bit lower. "Hard, that," Flint comments. "I can't get away from what, Garou in my head think," he explains, with a faint grimace. "I just want things, normal again. I want the Caern back, and all that."
"You can't. But you can try. Other people can be a great boon, or a great pain in the ass. It's important to know which are which, and to listen to the helpful people without relying on them like a crutch." Slug gathers his clothes up into his arms and tosses his head towards the door. "I'm going to go do some laundry. You're welcome to come if you wanna continue the chat there."
Flint peers down at his muddy clothing. "I should get this stuff in the wash too," he remarks. "There in a bit. Going to grab some spares from upstairs." With which the cliath scrambles up the ladder, rather athletically.
"I'll be waiting in the laundry room." Slug calls to the Cliath, watching him climb up into the loft. He steps out into the rain and walks across the field at a leisurely rate, making a beeline right for the laundry room.
It doesn't take too long before Flint appears in the laundry room. Spare clothing, sadly, is fairly ill-fitting on the cliath's wiry frame, which seems to be a mix of 'underfed' and muscle. But the Galliard's also clean, no more mud, ad his muddy clothing in a paper bag as he enters the laundry room. "And without letting the. Pain in the ass, people. Things, drag you down," Flint eventually remarks, picking up on the same strain of conversation as before without as much as a hitch.
Slug is sitting on top of the dryer in a pair of shorts he's borrowed from the pile of dirty clothes that are strewn about the area. The Gnawer has thrown everything, including what he was wearing, right into the machine. The only things left out are his weapons, the kevlar, and his phone. "Pretty much." He responds, giving the dryer a thump with his foot. "Just drop everything in and add a cap of whatever stuff you want. Don't think the mud will make that much of a difference."
Flint raises his brows at the Gnawer and then apparently silences whatever internal commentary, and the cliath mutters, shifting weight from one foot to the other and favouring his right side for a moment as he dumps all the clothing in the paper bag into the wash, going about and putting soap in, and then closing the machine and starting it. Once he's done that, Flint pulls a switchblade from his pocket, plain steel, and fidgets with it, flipping it open and shut. "Figuring out the two, that's the hard part," the cliath remarks, and shrugs. "Any news or progress about the scouting mission, into the caern?" he asks the ragabash.
Slug shakes his head. "Everyone's still getting ready. I guess that Talens are being made, Gifts are being taught, and prayers are being said. It'll be a rough mission, but I'm guessing that we'll pull through. Every Ragabash that's any good is going, so people'll be able to work together all nice'n neat. One of my packmate's a Ragabash, so, I'll have some company on the mission. After we find out what's what…" Slug looks down at the humming washing machine. "Guess we'll be going in."
Flint nods. "Ky's ragabash," Flint says. "But yeah. He hadn't heard, much other than that. I'm still waiting on, the. Bunch of us, are going to go clear the way. For when it actually gets stolen. Norman-rhya's organising it." Teeth bare in a slightly feral smile. "But yeah. Waiting and prayers." The subject significantly sobers the younger Garou, and he eventually looks away and down at the floor.
"We're going to be fine. Like I said, everyone's got their shit together… And most of them seem to be fast runners, if something goes terribly wrong." Slug gives Flint a nudge with his foot, then smiles at the Walker, seeming to be not all that concerned about what happens. "But it'd be nice to know there were some heavy hitters lurking in the background to help out if things go sideways.
The galliard nods again. "It'll all work out," he agrees. "Nothing's going to go sideways, to start with." This seems to be as much as Flint really wants to contemplate that particular subject, and he stretches his arms out above his head with another grumble. "Stupid rain. Ow." Which seems to be mostly perfunctory as Flint then finds an empty patch of floor to sit down on, cross-legged.
Slug raises his eyebrow at the Walker, then leans in to take a better look at him. He hums out a short tune as he examines him, then snaps his fingers and asks. "What's bothering you? Big patch of scar tissue, or a bone that never healed up right? Usually seems to be one or the other that bothers people on them cold rainy days."
"It's from the Great Hunt," Flint responds, nodding and sighing, ending up with his right leg stretched out in front of him instead of wholly cross-legged. "Scar. Hurts sometimes, if it's cold, or I move really wrong."
Slug picks up a dirty towel off the floor, then walks out of the room towards the kitchen. "Stay here a sec!" He calls over his shoulder. When the Gnawer returns a few minutes later, he's holding the same dirty towel in his hand, but it appears to be steaming. He drops it on the floor away from Flint, then sits down makes a gimme gesture at Flint. "Gimme your leg and show me where."
Flint shifts where he's sitting, so that his right hip, and traces the scar through the cotton sweatpants. From his hip, around a bit, and down the outside of his thigh about a handspan, and up, the Walker seems to know the exact through memory. "There," he explains.
"If you're wearing underwear, take your pants off. Or, y'know. Down. I don't care which." Slug turns away from Flint and lays out one of the dry towels upon the floor, then lays the steaming hot towel across it's outer side.
Flint obeys, and is, in fact, wearing undergarments. The teen seems to have fairly little personal modesty or awareness in this area, and the edges of the battlescar, nasty and jagged, can be seen on his hip and thigh.
Slug picks up the towels and leans over, carefully wrapping them around the scarred area the best he can. It doesn't take him very long, and when he's finished, the Gnawer surveys his work and nods approvingly. "Try not to touch the wet towel for a while. It's hot as hell. This compress thing should warm up all the nasty stuff in there, and that should make it less… Uh. Suck."
Flint takes a breath in and nods, another deep breath. "Yeah," he acknowledges, clearly feeling the heat from the compress, and then manages a slightly more easy sitting position. "Thanks," he offers the Fostern. "I should remember this, since. It's going to be a bunch colder, I remember last winter and it was cold, 'fore Kavi-rhya and Mouse-rhya found me." The teen grins a little, ruefully.
Slug leans back against the wall and rests the side of his head against the washing machine. "Guessing you were out on the streets, or just not in a good place? People that have the money for rent or apartments that don't bleed heat tend to… Well. They notice a lot less than people that wear two sets of clothes to survive."
The cliath is very, very quiet for a little while. "Yeah," he eventually acknowledges again. "Both, really. An' unprepared, wasn't used t' somewhere with winter at that, an' I. I. Didn't, not, didn't know enough to survive up here compared, versus, wh-where I was from." Flint purses his lips. Speech has slipped back to both the stumbling and hesitation, and a touch of a street cant, with an East Bay accent to those who'd recognise it. "Didn't come from any silver spoon, metaphorical like. Took me a while, as a cub, t'adjust. Kaz-rhya joked if I wasn't sure I was, one'f Rat's tribe, disguised as a Glass Walker, when we used t', to. Go get food."
"My apartment was cold where I lived, but I had plenty of blankets so I slept good at night. I know a lot of people didn't have blankets or food, but… They adapted. They overcame. It's the will of a human to survive." Slug rolls his shoulders, head banging against the side of the washing machine. "Looking at all the people that live on the streets should be evidence of that. Shame you weren't in our Tribe. Coulda been fun, y'know."
Flint nods. "I was sleeping at the park, or th' shelter, 'cause I didn' want, to. To go back to where I'd been," he says. And then there's a huff, and a grin. "Yeah, well. Kavi-rhya an' Mouse-rhya found me. And I had a kinfetch, so my dad must not have been—" Flint shakes his head and shuts his mouth on the subject, then, tension roiling through his frame until the cliath is again calm and under control, perhaps by focusing on the heat from the towel.
"If it makes you feel any better, I never knew who my dad was. Can't say that was a bad thing, all in all." Slug murmurs after the Garou has a few minutes to calm down. When the washer stops, Slug gets up and hauls everything into the dryer, then sets it, and perches himself on top.
The cliath purses his lips and nods. "My dad left 'fore I, remember," Flint explains, with a shrug. "So yeah. I dunno, I just." There's a roll of his shoulders, the tension easing back down and away wholly, as much as the young galliard's ever relaxed. "But. I spent a bunch of time at, the Library, when I was a cub. With Kaz-rhya, and all. Should, more. When I want to get away from the Tenement but don't, necessarily want to come out here. Which happens, here's a few days trip, for me."
"There are lots of stuff that need to be done around the library. Lefty would probably like the help." Slug offers, grinning a bit. "I know that it would probably get your mind off of everything if you ended up working hard every night, and, y'know. Falling asleep nice'n sound with a job well done."
Flint nods. "Yeah. And Lefty-rhya's got, a lot right now. I'l make sure an' go by, and. See what I can do, as to, to help out," the galliard says. "Do me good to get out, not just on, when I'm on patrols."
Slug shifts off the dryer and stands up, stretching out a yawn. "Yeah. Staying cooped up in the Tenement ain't gonna do you no good." He takes a few steps towards the door, then tips his head at the Galliard. "I'm gonna go take a shower to get all this sweat off'a me. You alright?"
Flint leans back to lay down on the floor, "I'll give you a shout if, laundry finishes," the boy says, with a grin. "Think I'll just lay here a while." Regardless of the fact that he's in the middle of the laundry room floor.
Slug wriggles his fingers at Flint, then slinks out into the living room. "Have a good nap." He calls as he drifts out and heads upstairs.
The moon is in the waning New (Ragabash) Moon phase (19% full).
Slug has chosen to spend the rainy afternoon squirreled away in the barn with nothing for company but an old radio. The Gnawer is laid out across the weight bench and appears to be in the middle of a set, judging by the sweat that he's worked up. He's belting out the reps to a steady rhythm, occasionally humming along with radio for a second or two.
Someone else has clearly spent part of the rainy afternoon out in the rain. The door from the garage to meadow is scrabbled at for a moment and then opens, and a younger wolf slinks in, along the wall and shaking himself off for the moment, before he shifts up to homid, equally drenched, and muddy. "Hey," Flint offers, in an in-between moment where he's not interrupting.
Slug sets the weights back into the rack a few seconds after Flint enters. He's just sitting up by the time he shifts into Homid. He drags a hand through his sweaty hair, then waves. "Hey." He greets, sounding a little tired. "Didn't think I'd see you this far from the tenement. How's it going? Feeling any better?"
Flint purses his lips and shrugs his shoulders. "Come out here occasionally," Flint responds, looking around until he finds a towel to start to dry himself off with. "The woods are nice. Went for a run. Can do that out here, sometimes. I'm doing better, I think." The cliath shrugs his shoulders and moves further into the garage once he's managed so that he's not going to be tracking mud anywhere. "Lefty-rhya and Kavi-rhya still haven't managed to find it. But I'm okay-ish, enough."
"Thinking about it isn't going to do you much good." Slug offers, then gets up to find a towel of his own. He settles for a dirty t-shirt that someone's left lying about. After a brief rub down, he tosses it aside and sits back down on the bench. "Leech aside, it's good to see you're doing better than you were the last time I saw you."
The Walker nods. "Yeah. I know," Flint admits with a bit of a shrug, shoulders settling and then he moves over to half-lean against the ladder to the loft. "Moon's smaller. That helps. I finished building a new table to replace the one that got messed up in all the mess… still need to do the chairs. That… that helps, too. But. Turning chair legs's kinda boring."
"So find something that isn't. Go for a run, go to a club, go to an arcade or a movie. Do something with the time you have." Slug shrugs his shoulders and looks up at the ceiling. "Anything's better than doing something boring, or something you don't want to do. You've only got so many hours or days left, you should enjoy as many as you can."
Flint huffs, shakes his head. "Need to finish the chairs, sooner than later," the cliath explains. "Being as it's my fault they all got broken in the first place. I don't mind doing it. I just… needed to get out of the city a while. I'll finish, when I go back."
"So what'd you come out here to do, then?" Slug asks, looking around at the exercise equipment and the old radio. "Just to clear your head and get some space between you and the tenement?"
Another nod follows. "Been out here since yesterday. Get to see my packmate, get to get some space," Flint says. "Lex spends, most of her times out. The woods, and all. So… this way I can keep up with, people, news, out here and in the city. Do my job, much as I can." Flint starts stretching his legs out, settling into a partial lunge.
"Packs are good for keeping your head together. When you're all alone, it's hard to hold all the pieces in one place." Slug turns and lays back out on the weight bench, then seizes the bar and lifts it off the rack. "Trying." He brings the weight down and up again, easing into another set. "To get someone I know to join one."
"Pack is good," Flint agrees easily. "Right. We're meant to, and all." The boy uses the ladder for balance and settles into the opposite lunge, stretching out from after his lunge. "We—Unfettered—are kinda spread out, a bit. Right now. I wish we weren't. But it works, for the time being."
"Kinda fitting that a pack of that name—" Slug pauses between pumps to speak, ending each sentence with an inhale or exhale. "Should be all scattered around. Mine is too, but birds are kinda like that."
Flint grins. "Yeah, they kinda are," Flint agrees, continuing his stretches. "I mean. We'd like territory? It's just… not a priority. The caern, everything else. That is." The cliath pauses, and half-tacks on in explanation, a smile audible in his voice at the subject of his pack, in general. "We're packed under Merlin. Bigwing is pretty great. We didn't know too much when we went into it, but Merlin is… perfect, really."
"Peregrine, here. We lost a packmate that didn't like her when she showed up… Or me. I think." Slug speeds up his exercise to finish off the last remnants of his set, then plops the bar right back into the rack with a thunk of metal upon metal. "They were a pack before I joined them, really. I've known them since they were cubs."
The Glass Walker nods, and tilts his head, clearly listening to some other opinion entirely ad furrowing his brow, and then nodding again. "That happens," is all that Flint actually comes up with, along with a slightly bemused look. "Wish it was relevant and coherent sometimes," he comments to himself. "It was just me and Lex and Ky, so. And Lex and I were cubs together, some."
"Well, packs are like people. They grow and change, have adventures, y'know. Stuff." Slug rises up off the bench and moves over to a neat pile where he's gathered his things and picks through his pants pockets until he finds his cellphone. He checks it for messages, then turns to face Flint. "Maybe sometime you could meet up with Ish and tell him about the territory you guys run in."
Flint considers this and nods. "Yeah. I don't get to Terminus much, even less than I get to out here," the boy admits. "Been wanting to talk to Ishmael-rhya, but he's busy, don't usually… want to bother him, and all." There's a faint huff, and a sigh. "But he helped me figure it out when things were stupid when I was a cub, too. So." There's a wistful, verging on annoyed note. "And I'm getting it figured out but at the same time, Mouse-rhya's displeased, and Kavi-rhya's displeased, and…" it's clear that the approval of his elders means a lot to the cliath, and moreso when it's lacking. The expression turns to a frown.
"Just go see him sometime. He pretends to be a loner, but he secretly loves it when people pay attention to him." Slug smirks and shakes his head, then uses his cellphone to send a short text. "Most of us screwed up in some way when we were cubs or cliaths. The best way to find out who you are as a Garou is to stop paying attention to everyone else and just do what you feel. Sometimes it's right, sometimes it's wrong, but you learn."
The Walker nods at the advice, leaning against the ladder now that he's done stretching and cooling down from his run, and tugs at the muddy sleeves of his sweatshirt until they're a bit lower. "Hard, that," Flint comments. "I can't get away from what, Garou in my head think," he explains, with a faint grimace. "I just want things, normal again. I want the Caern back, and all that."
"You can't. But you can try. Other people can be a great boon, or a great pain in the ass. It's important to know which are which, and to listen to the helpful people without relying on them like a crutch." Slug gathers his clothes up into his arms and tosses his head towards the door. "I'm going to go do some laundry. You're welcome to come if you wanna continue the chat there."
Flint peers down at his muddy clothing. "I should get this stuff in the wash too," he remarks. "There in a bit. Going to grab some spares from upstairs." With which the cliath scrambles up the ladder, rather athletically.
"I'll be waiting in the laundry room." Slug calls to the Cliath, watching him climb up into the loft. He steps out into the rain and walks across the field at a leisurely rate, making a beeline right for the laundry room.
It doesn't take too long before Flint appears in the laundry room. Spare clothing, sadly, is fairly ill-fitting on the cliath's wiry frame, which seems to be a mix of 'underfed' and muscle. But the Galliard's also clean, no more mud, ad his muddy clothing in a paper bag as he enters the laundry room. "And without letting the. Pain in the ass, people. Things, drag you down," Flint eventually remarks, picking up on the same strain of conversation as before without as much as a hitch.
Slug is sitting on top of the dryer in a pair of shorts he's borrowed from the pile of dirty clothes that are strewn about the area. The Gnawer has thrown everything, including what he was wearing, right into the machine. The only things left out are his weapons, the kevlar, and his phone. "Pretty much." He responds, giving the dryer a thump with his foot. "Just drop everything in and add a cap of whatever stuff you want. Don't think the mud will make that much of a difference."
Flint raises his brows at the Gnawer and then apparently silences whatever internal commentary, and the cliath mutters, shifting weight from one foot to the other and favouring his right side for a moment as he dumps all the clothing in the paper bag into the wash, going about and putting soap in, and then closing the machine and starting it. Once he's done that, Flint pulls a switchblade from his pocket, plain steel, and fidgets with it, flipping it open and shut. "Figuring out the two, that's the hard part," the cliath remarks, and shrugs. "Any news or progress about the scouting mission, into the caern?" he asks the ragabash.
Slug shakes his head. "Everyone's still getting ready. I guess that Talens are being made, Gifts are being taught, and prayers are being said. It'll be a rough mission, but I'm guessing that we'll pull through. Every Ragabash that's any good is going, so people'll be able to work together all nice'n neat. One of my packmate's a Ragabash, so, I'll have some company on the mission. After we find out what's what…" Slug looks down at the humming washing machine. "Guess we'll be going in."
Flint nods. "Ky's ragabash," Flint says. "But yeah. He hadn't heard, much other than that. I'm still waiting on, the. Bunch of us, are going to go clear the way. For when it actually gets stolen. Norman-rhya's organising it." Teeth bare in a slightly feral smile. "But yeah. Waiting and prayers." The subject significantly sobers the younger Garou, and he eventually looks away and down at the floor.
"We're going to be fine. Like I said, everyone's got their shit together… And most of them seem to be fast runners, if something goes terribly wrong." Slug gives Flint a nudge with his foot, then smiles at the Walker, seeming to be not all that concerned about what happens. "But it'd be nice to know there were some heavy hitters lurking in the background to help out if things go sideways.
The galliard nods again. "It'll all work out," he agrees. "Nothing's going to go sideways, to start with." This seems to be as much as Flint really wants to contemplate that particular subject, and he stretches his arms out above his head with another grumble. "Stupid rain. Ow." Which seems to be mostly perfunctory as Flint then finds an empty patch of floor to sit down on, cross-legged.
Slug raises his eyebrow at the Walker, then leans in to take a better look at him. He hums out a short tune as he examines him, then snaps his fingers and asks. "What's bothering you? Big patch of scar tissue, or a bone that never healed up right? Usually seems to be one or the other that bothers people on them cold rainy days."
"It's from the Great Hunt," Flint responds, nodding and sighing, ending up with his right leg stretched out in front of him instead of wholly cross-legged. "Scar. Hurts sometimes, if it's cold, or I move really wrong."
Slug picks up a dirty towel off the floor, then walks out of the room towards the kitchen. "Stay here a sec!" He calls over his shoulder. When the Gnawer returns a few minutes later, he's holding the same dirty towel in his hand, but it appears to be steaming. He drops it on the floor away from Flint, then sits down makes a gimme gesture at Flint. "Gimme your leg and show me where."
Flint shifts where he's sitting, so that his right hip, and traces the scar through the cotton sweatpants. From his hip, around a bit, and down the outside of his thigh about a handspan, and up, the Walker seems to know the exact through memory. "There," he explains.
"If you're wearing underwear, take your pants off. Or, y'know. Down. I don't care which." Slug turns away from Flint and lays out one of the dry towels upon the floor, then lays the steaming hot towel across it's outer side.
Flint obeys, and is, in fact, wearing undergarments. The teen seems to have fairly little personal modesty or awareness in this area, and the edges of the battlescar, nasty and jagged, can be seen on his hip and thigh.
Slug picks up the towels and leans over, carefully wrapping them around the scarred area the best he can. It doesn't take him very long, and when he's finished, the Gnawer surveys his work and nods approvingly. "Try not to touch the wet towel for a while. It's hot as hell. This compress thing should warm up all the nasty stuff in there, and that should make it less… Uh. Suck."
Flint takes a breath in and nods, another deep breath. "Yeah," he acknowledges, clearly feeling the heat from the compress, and then manages a slightly more easy sitting position. "Thanks," he offers the Fostern. "I should remember this, since. It's going to be a bunch colder, I remember last winter and it was cold, 'fore Kavi-rhya and Mouse-rhya found me." The teen grins a little, ruefully.
Slug leans back against the wall and rests the side of his head against the washing machine. "Guessing you were out on the streets, or just not in a good place? People that have the money for rent or apartments that don't bleed heat tend to… Well. They notice a lot less than people that wear two sets of clothes to survive."
The cliath is very, very quiet for a little while. "Yeah," he eventually acknowledges again. "Both, really. An' unprepared, wasn't used t' somewhere with winter at that, an' I. I. Didn't, not, didn't know enough to survive up here compared, versus, wh-where I was from." Flint purses his lips. Speech has slipped back to both the stumbling and hesitation, and a touch of a street cant, with an East Bay accent to those who'd recognise it. "Didn't come from any silver spoon, metaphorical like. Took me a while, as a cub, t'adjust. Kaz-rhya joked if I wasn't sure I was, one'f Rat's tribe, disguised as a Glass Walker, when we used t', to. Go get food."
"My apartment was cold where I lived, but I had plenty of blankets so I slept good at night. I know a lot of people didn't have blankets or food, but… They adapted. They overcame. It's the will of a human to survive." Slug rolls his shoulders, head banging against the side of the washing machine. "Looking at all the people that live on the streets should be evidence of that. Shame you weren't in our Tribe. Coulda been fun, y'know."
Flint nods. "I was sleeping at the park, or th' shelter, 'cause I didn' want, to. To go back to where I'd been," he says. And then there's a huff, and a grin. "Yeah, well. Kavi-rhya an' Mouse-rhya found me. And I had a kinfetch, so my dad must not have been—" Flint shakes his head and shuts his mouth on the subject, then, tension roiling through his frame until the cliath is again calm and under control, perhaps by focusing on the heat from the towel.
"If it makes you feel any better, I never knew who my dad was. Can't say that was a bad thing, all in all." Slug murmurs after the Garou has a few minutes to calm down. When the washer stops, Slug gets up and hauls everything into the dryer, then sets it, and perches himself on top.
The cliath purses his lips and nods. "My dad left 'fore I, remember," Flint explains, with a shrug. "So yeah. I dunno, I just." There's a roll of his shoulders, the tension easing back down and away wholly, as much as the young galliard's ever relaxed. "But. I spent a bunch of time at, the Library, when I was a cub. With Kaz-rhya, and all. Should, more. When I want to get away from the Tenement but don't, necessarily want to come out here. Which happens, here's a few days trip, for me."
"There are lots of stuff that need to be done around the library. Lefty would probably like the help." Slug offers, grinning a bit. "I know that it would probably get your mind off of everything if you ended up working hard every night, and, y'know. Falling asleep nice'n sound with a job well done."
Flint nods. "Yeah. And Lefty-rhya's got, a lot right now. I'l make sure an' go by, and. See what I can do, as to, to help out," the galliard says. "Do me good to get out, not just on, when I'm on patrols."
Slug shifts off the dryer and stands up, stretching out a yawn. "Yeah. Staying cooped up in the Tenement ain't gonna do you no good." He takes a few steps towards the door, then tips his head at the Galliard. "I'm gonna go take a shower to get all this sweat off'a me. You alright?"
Flint leans back to lay down on the floor, "I'll give you a shout if, laundry finishes," the boy says, with a grin. "Think I'll just lay here a while." Regardless of the fact that he's in the middle of the laundry room floor.
Slug wriggles his fingers at Flint, then slinks out into the living room. "Have a good nap." He calls as he drifts out and heads upstairs.