Under enough stress.
Saturday, 14 January 2012 19:00![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
flint_garouNot always the right time.
14 January, 2012
The moon is in the waning Gibbous (Galliard) Moon phase (62% full).
It's been a long day already, and it hasn't been all that long since Devon's returned home. Footfalls on the stairs announce his approach, coming closer and with a vaguely tiredness to his cadence. There's only a slight pause when he reaches the doorway, nothing remarkable, then he quietly pushes through and immediately turns for his bunk.
Not necessarily noticeable from the doorframe, there's movement in the bunk above, and the faint lilt of humming. When Devon nears, the cub sits up, looking down over the side a bit, a nod of greeting offered. The humming abruptly stops, as well.
Devon's eyes lift at the movement, and again he pauses. Seeing Flint, he sighs and kneels down beside his bed. "Don't worry," he says, bending down a little further to look beneath his bunk. "I'm not staying long." A backpack is drawn out and the Ahroun lifts off the floor enough to sit on his mattress.
There is vague muttering from the bunk above, as Flint retreats from sight a moment. Not for long, though, before Flint is climbing down from the top bunk. There's a glance given to Devon, before Flint just sits back down in part of the empty floorspace. "Don't just go again on my account," the boy says, more than half asking. "I..." the words trail off, followed by a shrug.
From the thin space between the wall and his mattress, a laptop is pulled free. By the time the cub has reached the floor, Devon is sliding the computer into his backpack. He's quiet, not ignoring Flint but focused on his own tasks for the moment. His cell phone is pulled out of his pocket, the battery level checked. "You..." he says prompting, pushing the phone back into his pocket.
Flint brings a palm up to rub at his face. Whatever frustration there is, it seems like the cub is frustrated with himself, rather than with Devon, before Flint shakes his head. "'s nothing, I guess. Just, I mean it, don't just go right away again if it's just because of me." The words come a little more haltingly than usual, and then there's a glance to the Cliath. Wary. Apologetic.
The zipper is pulled, closing the laptop inside the bag. "It's a lot of things," Devon states flatly. He stands again, pulling his pack onto a shoulder. However, he still doesn't leave right way, instead moving to the kitchenette. "But since everyone's under enough stress, they don't need me here adding to it."
Flint frowns, brow furrowing. A long moment passes silent, before Flint looks back up at Devon. "No," Flint responds, "you are not adding to it, being here." A knee is pulled up to his chest, and the cub shows no signs of trying to stop Devon if the Ahroun does decide to go.
"Whatever," Devon says quietly. A cupboard is pulled open, a single pack poptarts retrieved and pushed into the smaller pocket on his pack. "You heard Kavi last night, Slug the day before that. Better for everyone if I go stay at Edgewood or somewhere."
"Neither of them said that," Flint responds, stubbornly. "Nor meant that. And, it's been as much my fault," the cub adds, "for. For not understanding, or even trying to."
"What's to understand," Devon asks quietly. He goes on to cross the room and go into the bathroom, still with his pack hanging from his shoulder. "You're the perfect cub, the perfect Garou who apparently comes from some fantastically shitty home. I'm just a fuck up causing contention and strife in the house." There's some rummaging about as he speaks, a hunt for his toothbrush and shower stuff, which are also dumped into the backpack before he emerges again.
Flint has pushed himself to his feet by the time Devon comes back out, arms crossed in faint annoyance, and though he's not directly blocking the door, the cub is in the most direct path of travel. "You're not a fuck up, and I'm sure as hell not perfect," he retorts.
"Hell of a lot closer to perfect than I'll ever be," Devon counters quietly. "Seems like they already treat you like you're Gaia's gift to something. Like there's some handle with care label on you. I'm just a fuck up whom nobody takes seriously and is only vaguely tolerated here and useful because I go do the work no one else wants to do."
Flint listens, quiet, watching the Cliath, and one hand goes up as Flint rubs at his forehead again. There's a nod, acknowledgement that the cub actually hears the words being said. "You're not a fuck up," Flint repeats, stubbornly. "Don't go, please?" The phrasing of it as a question, this time. "At least, not yet." The cub moves to sit back down on the floor.
“Why do you care,” Devon asks, as always blunt. “Afraid you’ll have to pick up the slack I leave behind? That you’ll have to go out now, help clean up a mess instead of passing the buck off to someone else?” He sighs and shakes his head, turning for the door.
"If you'd prefer I don't care, I can certainly do that," Flint responds, picking himself back up halfway through sitting down to get in the way of the door. "Or, you know, I could care, because there's more bothering you, and …" words trail off again, followed by a shrug. "But suit yourself."
“There’s nothing bothering me,” Devon practically shouts. A pause follows, then more quietly he amends to, “I’m fine. I just got the clue to know I’m not wanted here. You’re not the only one who thinks it.” His eyes lift when Flint moves to block the door again, a hard stare leveled at the cub though no further move is made to leave, for the moment.
The boy flinches, a little, under the stare, but doesn't move out of the doorway. Instead, he leans against the doorframe, looking down. "I have something to say, if you'll hear it," he starts. "Please don't prompt me when I pause to think, that doesn't help. I am …" a pause, and he looks up at Devon, "not exactly good at speaking up for myself, in case you hadn't noticed." Flint waits for this to be acknowledged, before continuing.
Devon’s jaw tightens at the request, muscles standing out though his throat bobs with a swallow. Without speaking, he nods for the younger boy to continue.
"Thank you," Flint says, quiet, hands coming out of his pockets again to fold his arms across his chest. "One." The cub swallows, a long pause while he looks at his feet. "It was wrong, of me, to just, not go outside, put that on you. I am sorry, and I don't know how better to say it so you'll get that I get it was wrong of me, Devon-rhya." Flint looks up at Devon again after this, a nod indicating that his first point is done with.
There are still no words coming from Devon, though his gaze remains unwavering on the cub. It’s clear he’s listening, evident that what Flint is saying is being taken in, thought over.
Another moment of pause follows, before the cub continues. "So, two … I care. I care … regardless, and no, I don't have a particularly good reason why, but it's not for the reasons you put out. I just do, okay? And if you're fine, that's cool, but …" the shrug the boy gives indicates how well he believes that statement. "And three. No wait, nevermind. No three." A small smile is offered to Devon, concern more than anything else. "But, you said it was 'a lot of things', and if you want to talk about it or something, before you just storm off …" another pause. "I'll listen."
“You don’t want to know about it,” Devon says, without any vehemence. Literally, it could be translated into him not wanting to talk about it. He pulls his pack higher onto his shoulder. “I’ve got to go,” he continues, stepping up to the doorway. He pushes past Flint, non-confrontational, and turns for the stairs.
Flint follows out into the hallway, though behind Devon by a few steps. "Wait, damn it," he calls out, mostly quiet and voice kept down so that it's for Devon's hearing only. "Seriously." Hands shove into his pockets again, and the boy sidesteps around the Ahroun, to face him. "What I want is for you to not storm out like that. It … bothers me, okay? More than you yelling at me did, even. I do not want you to just go, okay?" It's a lot of words in a row for the cub, and he falls silent again.
“Look, Flint.” Devon frowns for a long moment, not at the younger boy but toward the stairs. “I don’t want to talk about it. Not now. I don’t want to be here right now.” Again, there’s no force behind the words, but the set of the Ahroun’s posture implies that he’s not going to stand around and argue any further. “We can talk later. Or whatever. Tonight I’m staying somewhere else.”
The cub steps out of the way, nodding slowly at what's been said. "Alright, then. I'm around. Don't exactly go anywhere much," Flint says, partially a joke. "Seeya. Don't… be too hard on yourself, okay?" Hands shove into his pockets as he leans against the wall of the hallway.
There isn’t any response, save for the smallest nod of his head. Devon steps past Flint and into the stairwell. His steps can be heard moving downward, slowly fading before being hidden entirely by the door five stories below.
14 January, 2012
The moon is in the waning Gibbous (Galliard) Moon phase (62% full).
It's been a long day already, and it hasn't been all that long since Devon's returned home. Footfalls on the stairs announce his approach, coming closer and with a vaguely tiredness to his cadence. There's only a slight pause when he reaches the doorway, nothing remarkable, then he quietly pushes through and immediately turns for his bunk.
Not necessarily noticeable from the doorframe, there's movement in the bunk above, and the faint lilt of humming. When Devon nears, the cub sits up, looking down over the side a bit, a nod of greeting offered. The humming abruptly stops, as well.
Devon's eyes lift at the movement, and again he pauses. Seeing Flint, he sighs and kneels down beside his bed. "Don't worry," he says, bending down a little further to look beneath his bunk. "I'm not staying long." A backpack is drawn out and the Ahroun lifts off the floor enough to sit on his mattress.
There is vague muttering from the bunk above, as Flint retreats from sight a moment. Not for long, though, before Flint is climbing down from the top bunk. There's a glance given to Devon, before Flint just sits back down in part of the empty floorspace. "Don't just go again on my account," the boy says, more than half asking. "I..." the words trail off, followed by a shrug.
From the thin space between the wall and his mattress, a laptop is pulled free. By the time the cub has reached the floor, Devon is sliding the computer into his backpack. He's quiet, not ignoring Flint but focused on his own tasks for the moment. His cell phone is pulled out of his pocket, the battery level checked. "You..." he says prompting, pushing the phone back into his pocket.
Flint brings a palm up to rub at his face. Whatever frustration there is, it seems like the cub is frustrated with himself, rather than with Devon, before Flint shakes his head. "'s nothing, I guess. Just, I mean it, don't just go right away again if it's just because of me." The words come a little more haltingly than usual, and then there's a glance to the Cliath. Wary. Apologetic.
The zipper is pulled, closing the laptop inside the bag. "It's a lot of things," Devon states flatly. He stands again, pulling his pack onto a shoulder. However, he still doesn't leave right way, instead moving to the kitchenette. "But since everyone's under enough stress, they don't need me here adding to it."
Flint frowns, brow furrowing. A long moment passes silent, before Flint looks back up at Devon. "No," Flint responds, "you are not adding to it, being here." A knee is pulled up to his chest, and the cub shows no signs of trying to stop Devon if the Ahroun does decide to go.
"Whatever," Devon says quietly. A cupboard is pulled open, a single pack poptarts retrieved and pushed into the smaller pocket on his pack. "You heard Kavi last night, Slug the day before that. Better for everyone if I go stay at Edgewood or somewhere."
"Neither of them said that," Flint responds, stubbornly. "Nor meant that. And, it's been as much my fault," the cub adds, "for. For not understanding, or even trying to."
"What's to understand," Devon asks quietly. He goes on to cross the room and go into the bathroom, still with his pack hanging from his shoulder. "You're the perfect cub, the perfect Garou who apparently comes from some fantastically shitty home. I'm just a fuck up causing contention and strife in the house." There's some rummaging about as he speaks, a hunt for his toothbrush and shower stuff, which are also dumped into the backpack before he emerges again.
Flint has pushed himself to his feet by the time Devon comes back out, arms crossed in faint annoyance, and though he's not directly blocking the door, the cub is in the most direct path of travel. "You're not a fuck up, and I'm sure as hell not perfect," he retorts.
"Hell of a lot closer to perfect than I'll ever be," Devon counters quietly. "Seems like they already treat you like you're Gaia's gift to something. Like there's some handle with care label on you. I'm just a fuck up whom nobody takes seriously and is only vaguely tolerated here and useful because I go do the work no one else wants to do."
Flint listens, quiet, watching the Cliath, and one hand goes up as Flint rubs at his forehead again. There's a nod, acknowledgement that the cub actually hears the words being said. "You're not a fuck up," Flint repeats, stubbornly. "Don't go, please?" The phrasing of it as a question, this time. "At least, not yet." The cub moves to sit back down on the floor.
“Why do you care,” Devon asks, as always blunt. “Afraid you’ll have to pick up the slack I leave behind? That you’ll have to go out now, help clean up a mess instead of passing the buck off to someone else?” He sighs and shakes his head, turning for the door.
"If you'd prefer I don't care, I can certainly do that," Flint responds, picking himself back up halfway through sitting down to get in the way of the door. "Or, you know, I could care, because there's more bothering you, and …" words trail off again, followed by a shrug. "But suit yourself."
“There’s nothing bothering me,” Devon practically shouts. A pause follows, then more quietly he amends to, “I’m fine. I just got the clue to know I’m not wanted here. You’re not the only one who thinks it.” His eyes lift when Flint moves to block the door again, a hard stare leveled at the cub though no further move is made to leave, for the moment.
The boy flinches, a little, under the stare, but doesn't move out of the doorway. Instead, he leans against the doorframe, looking down. "I have something to say, if you'll hear it," he starts. "Please don't prompt me when I pause to think, that doesn't help. I am …" a pause, and he looks up at Devon, "not exactly good at speaking up for myself, in case you hadn't noticed." Flint waits for this to be acknowledged, before continuing.
Devon’s jaw tightens at the request, muscles standing out though his throat bobs with a swallow. Without speaking, he nods for the younger boy to continue.
"Thank you," Flint says, quiet, hands coming out of his pockets again to fold his arms across his chest. "One." The cub swallows, a long pause while he looks at his feet. "It was wrong, of me, to just, not go outside, put that on you. I am sorry, and I don't know how better to say it so you'll get that I get it was wrong of me, Devon-rhya." Flint looks up at Devon again after this, a nod indicating that his first point is done with.
There are still no words coming from Devon, though his gaze remains unwavering on the cub. It’s clear he’s listening, evident that what Flint is saying is being taken in, thought over.
Another moment of pause follows, before the cub continues. "So, two … I care. I care … regardless, and no, I don't have a particularly good reason why, but it's not for the reasons you put out. I just do, okay? And if you're fine, that's cool, but …" the shrug the boy gives indicates how well he believes that statement. "And three. No wait, nevermind. No three." A small smile is offered to Devon, concern more than anything else. "But, you said it was 'a lot of things', and if you want to talk about it or something, before you just storm off …" another pause. "I'll listen."
“You don’t want to know about it,” Devon says, without any vehemence. Literally, it could be translated into him not wanting to talk about it. He pulls his pack higher onto his shoulder. “I’ve got to go,” he continues, stepping up to the doorway. He pushes past Flint, non-confrontational, and turns for the stairs.
Flint follows out into the hallway, though behind Devon by a few steps. "Wait, damn it," he calls out, mostly quiet and voice kept down so that it's for Devon's hearing only. "Seriously." Hands shove into his pockets again, and the boy sidesteps around the Ahroun, to face him. "What I want is for you to not storm out like that. It … bothers me, okay? More than you yelling at me did, even. I do not want you to just go, okay?" It's a lot of words in a row for the cub, and he falls silent again.
“Look, Flint.” Devon frowns for a long moment, not at the younger boy but toward the stairs. “I don’t want to talk about it. Not now. I don’t want to be here right now.” Again, there’s no force behind the words, but the set of the Ahroun’s posture implies that he’s not going to stand around and argue any further. “We can talk later. Or whatever. Tonight I’m staying somewhere else.”
The cub steps out of the way, nodding slowly at what's been said. "Alright, then. I'm around. Don't exactly go anywhere much," Flint says, partially a joke. "Seeya. Don't… be too hard on yourself, okay?" Hands shove into his pockets as he leans against the wall of the hallway.
There isn’t any response, save for the smallest nod of his head. Devon steps past Flint and into the stairwell. His steps can be heard moving downward, slowly fading before being hidden entirely by the door five stories below.