Flint Madden (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
flint_garou) wrote2012-10-24 06:52 pm
flint_garou) wrote2012-10-24 06:52 pm
Entry tags:
More thoughts.
Why ask me?
24 October, 2012
The moon is in the waxing Gibbous (Galliard) Moon phase (63% full).
The music from the workshop doesn't quite leak into the hallway. Mostly because the workshop's soundproofed. But inside, it's fairly loud at the moment between the industrial metal, and the belt sander. The galliard's focus is entirely on the pieces he's working on.
With the noise and the focus, it's possible that Devon's presence might even go unnoticed. The blue-scaled Ahroun doesn't bother with knocking, but lets himself in. A small glance is directed toward the source of activity, but rather than interrupt, he angles toward a tool chest.
Flint finishes one pass with the belt sander, and then a second, and then the tool whirrs off. Flint turns around, blinks, and then seems almost relieved. The remote for the sound is used to turn it down to where Flint can be heard without raising his voice once he starts the sander again. "Hey, Devon."
Devon turns his head toward Flint as he pulls open a drawer. "Hey," he answers. "Sorry, won't be long. Nieve apartment's got a loose knob…" He trails off and turns back to the drawer, poking aside a couple of choices before finding a screwdriver to suit his task.
Tentatively, the galliard offers a grin and shakes his head. "Is… it's fine," Flint assures, finishing one more go over what looks to be a shelf, then setting the sander off and then down to go sit on a folding chair. There's another pause, the tension of the moon evident, but not acted upon more than Flint running his hand through his hair.
"I'll make sure it's put away when I'm done," Devon says, not to anyone in particular. He pushes the draw closed after finding a suitable screwdriver. Another flicker of a glance is directed toward Flint as he makes his way toward the door and the hallway behind it.
Flint rubs his forehead for a moment, and then pipes up, rather than let Devon get away with so little interaction. "Um. Hey. Devon?" It sounds like Flint's got a question, but then Flint turns away, paces slightly. "If not for the thing with the Wyld and the scales and all…" The silence is awkward, and Flint takes another breath, asks the question in the general direction of the wall and mumbled more than said aloud. "Do you think about… like. Girls, sometimes, and… stuff?"
Devon pauses, nearly half way to to the door, and turns to look at Flint. "…What?" While he heard Flint, the question is seriously, if a little flat. And lacking any certainty to it. Caught off guard. "Uh… Well… Sometimes, I guess…"
Flint nods absently and then goes back to the piece he was working on. "Oh. Okay." Flint pauses, nods again, then starts the belt sander up.
Devon hesitates slightly, looking for a long moment like he might take the reply and run. "…Why," he asks instead, returning his attention to Flint. "Especially why ask me?"
Flint puts the powertool down again rather than returning to his work, choosing not to talk over it. Or use it for destructive purposes, though from the expression on the galliard's face, that crosses his mind. He swallows and shakes his head. "Stuff Salem-rhya said this morning," Flint says in response.
Devon nods slowly, like the statement makes perfect sense. And in a way, it probably does. "My dad gave me that talk a last year," he says, picking an inconsequential point to look at while he talks. "It… was weird. And… I don't know. Before I left for school. Maybe he thought… Something. I… girls don't… They…" For all his brilliance, words to explain himself fail, leaving the Ahroun grasping for something suitable.
Flint seems to relax just a little bit. "Yeah. It was, that talk," Flint says—just figuring out the vocabulary for something, clearly—and then shakes his head, reaches over for a nearby water bottle. "Except that… I. Really I, don't even, like. The… entire thing, I don't. There's no." Flint pauses. "Even thinking about it I don't want to do, any of. That. And it's not like I want to do it with, guys, or anything. I just. Anyway." The galliard looks down at the floor, for the time being, brows furrowed.
"Yeah," Devon agrees. Sort of. "I can't… Um… Maybe you should just …start as friends?" He follows his suggestion with a shrug. "I… can't really… no experience with dating or… anything." He pauses, briefly, then adds, "Maybe you should talk to Kavi. Instead."
Flint shakes his head, very swiftly this time, and makes a bit of a face. "That's the thing," Flint says. "I don't want to. It. I. Don't… care, or. Think about it, or. Anything. And I. It… just, made me think about not thinking about it for a bit. I. I should finish the stuff on, the. Bookshelf for today."
"Then don't do it," Devon replies, shrugging slightly. "Nothing says you have to want anything. Just… I'm not who you should go to if you have more questions." He hesitates a beat, then turns again for the door.
Flint doesn't ask further questions, his brow furrowing a bit, but then he crosses over towards another toolbox to find a piece of sandpaper, returning to the task at hand.
24 October, 2012
The moon is in the waxing Gibbous (Galliard) Moon phase (63% full).
The music from the workshop doesn't quite leak into the hallway. Mostly because the workshop's soundproofed. But inside, it's fairly loud at the moment between the industrial metal, and the belt sander. The galliard's focus is entirely on the pieces he's working on.
With the noise and the focus, it's possible that Devon's presence might even go unnoticed. The blue-scaled Ahroun doesn't bother with knocking, but lets himself in. A small glance is directed toward the source of activity, but rather than interrupt, he angles toward a tool chest.
Flint finishes one pass with the belt sander, and then a second, and then the tool whirrs off. Flint turns around, blinks, and then seems almost relieved. The remote for the sound is used to turn it down to where Flint can be heard without raising his voice once he starts the sander again. "Hey, Devon."
Devon turns his head toward Flint as he pulls open a drawer. "Hey," he answers. "Sorry, won't be long. Nieve apartment's got a loose knob…" He trails off and turns back to the drawer, poking aside a couple of choices before finding a screwdriver to suit his task.
Tentatively, the galliard offers a grin and shakes his head. "Is… it's fine," Flint assures, finishing one more go over what looks to be a shelf, then setting the sander off and then down to go sit on a folding chair. There's another pause, the tension of the moon evident, but not acted upon more than Flint running his hand through his hair.
"I'll make sure it's put away when I'm done," Devon says, not to anyone in particular. He pushes the draw closed after finding a suitable screwdriver. Another flicker of a glance is directed toward Flint as he makes his way toward the door and the hallway behind it.
Flint rubs his forehead for a moment, and then pipes up, rather than let Devon get away with so little interaction. "Um. Hey. Devon?" It sounds like Flint's got a question, but then Flint turns away, paces slightly. "If not for the thing with the Wyld and the scales and all…" The silence is awkward, and Flint takes another breath, asks the question in the general direction of the wall and mumbled more than said aloud. "Do you think about… like. Girls, sometimes, and… stuff?"
Devon pauses, nearly half way to to the door, and turns to look at Flint. "…What?" While he heard Flint, the question is seriously, if a little flat. And lacking any certainty to it. Caught off guard. "Uh… Well… Sometimes, I guess…"
Flint nods absently and then goes back to the piece he was working on. "Oh. Okay." Flint pauses, nods again, then starts the belt sander up.
Devon hesitates slightly, looking for a long moment like he might take the reply and run. "…Why," he asks instead, returning his attention to Flint. "Especially why ask me?"
Flint puts the powertool down again rather than returning to his work, choosing not to talk over it. Or use it for destructive purposes, though from the expression on the galliard's face, that crosses his mind. He swallows and shakes his head. "Stuff Salem-rhya said this morning," Flint says in response.
Devon nods slowly, like the statement makes perfect sense. And in a way, it probably does. "My dad gave me that talk a last year," he says, picking an inconsequential point to look at while he talks. "It… was weird. And… I don't know. Before I left for school. Maybe he thought… Something. I… girls don't… They…" For all his brilliance, words to explain himself fail, leaving the Ahroun grasping for something suitable.
Flint seems to relax just a little bit. "Yeah. It was, that talk," Flint says—just figuring out the vocabulary for something, clearly—and then shakes his head, reaches over for a nearby water bottle. "Except that… I. Really I, don't even, like. The… entire thing, I don't. There's no." Flint pauses. "Even thinking about it I don't want to do, any of. That. And it's not like I want to do it with, guys, or anything. I just. Anyway." The galliard looks down at the floor, for the time being, brows furrowed.
"Yeah," Devon agrees. Sort of. "I can't… Um… Maybe you should just …start as friends?" He follows his suggestion with a shrug. "I… can't really… no experience with dating or… anything." He pauses, briefly, then adds, "Maybe you should talk to Kavi. Instead."
Flint shakes his head, very swiftly this time, and makes a bit of a face. "That's the thing," Flint says. "I don't want to. It. I. Don't… care, or. Think about it, or. Anything. And I. It… just, made me think about not thinking about it for a bit. I. I should finish the stuff on, the. Bookshelf for today."
"Then don't do it," Devon replies, shrugging slightly. "Nothing says you have to want anything. Just… I'm not who you should go to if you have more questions." He hesitates a beat, then turns again for the door.
Flint doesn't ask further questions, his brow furrowing a bit, but then he crosses over towards another toolbox to find a piece of sandpaper, returning to the task at hand.