Out to Edgewood.
Monday, 17 December 2012 10:00![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
flint_garouAre you keeping track?
17 December, 2012
The moon is in the waxing Crescent (Theurge) Moon phase (27% full).
When they get to Edgewood, Flint doesn't actually waste time—or words—getting inside, even the short distance between Nick's car and the front door. It's raining, which doesn't give Flint any additional inclination to stay outdoors. The teen pulls sweatshirt and jacket and hat around himself, oversized as they are, shoulders his backpack, and crosses the distance and up the steps until they get into the mudroom. There, though, Flint both waits for the Walker kin, and starts to wipe mud and dirt from his shoes and the cuffs of his pants so that he doesn't track it in.
Nicodemus takes a little more time exiting his Porsche Cayenne. He grabs an umbrella from behind the driver's seat and deploys it as he leaves the vehicle. Umbrella angled against the wind, he walks to the front porch, choosing to avoid the muddy patches along the way. His oversized greatcoat appears to be mildly waterproof too, as it easily sheds the rain and shields him from the cold and wet. Once on the porch, he goes through the rituals designed to keep the outdoors outdoors instead of tracked through the house. "Cats and dogs," he comments with a wry smile to Flint as he finishes up.
Flint shivers, perhaps a little bit over-dramatically, as he hangs his coat up, and re-shoulders his backpack, which is packed as an overnight bag right now. "Uh-uh. Hate rain," Flint informs the kin, proceeding into the living room. "Cold in general." Flint sits down on the couch and rakes his fingers through slightly dampened hair, pulling it back into a ponytail… and then clearly realising that he doesn't have a tie for it, so just letting it down.
Nicodemus doesn't seem bothered at all by the cold or wet. "Live here all your life: you get used to it." He crosses the front room and enters the kitchen. "What's your poison? Coffee or hot chocolate?" Noises indicate he's pulling out mugs and other things.
"Coffee," Flint answers, quickly enough as he settles into the couch, and then shakes his head. "Suppose," he continues. "Suppose I'll get used to it, eventually, but… haven't, yet."
A battered and quite wet white wolf limps determinedly up to the back door; only when it reaches this modest bit of cover does it change back into human form, a very chilled-looking Silver Fang with rain-slicked hair but reasonably dry clothes (at least on the outside). Sewall lets himself in, fumbling the doorknob a bit, and hobbles toward the front. "Anyone home?"
Nicodemus' voice comes from the other room. "I'm doing hot chocolate. Want me to try making an improvised mocha for you?" For some reason he seems to think Flint might actually want something chocolatey instead of straight up coffee. The mage pokes his head out of the kitchen at Sewall's arrival. "Coffee, hot chocolate, or experimental mocha?"
Flint tilts his head at Nick, and then shakes it. "Just coffee," Flint answers, and then Sewall is greeted with a polite nod. "Good morning, Sewall-yuf. How're… h… how're you?" There's a distracted muttered mumble for a second, and then Flint settles into the corner of the couch to not take up room, and pulls out his sketchbook, flipping through it to a blank page.
Sewall blinks owlishly at Nick for a moment, his expression a little bemused, then says, "I'll have coffee too. Thank you." He limps the rest of the way into the front room and toward an armchair. "I'm fine," he says to Flint, despite the fact that it's clear the walk in the winter rain, even in wolf form, has taken quite a lot out of him today. "Keeping… busy."
"No one likes hot chocolate anymore," Nick mock-complains before disappearing again into the kitchen. Noises pertaining to brewing coffee and someone messing about on the stove can be heard.
Flint idly fidgets with the wire binding of the sketchbook, and nods to Sewall. "Yeah. Keeping busy is pretty much… always, so." That said, the Walker shrugs partway out of his sweatshirt now that they're indoors.
"Hot chocolate is far more likely to put me to sleep," Sewall says, answering the faux-complaint in a fairly pedantic, humorless sort of way. He pushes wet hair back from his forehead, doing nothing to improve the too-long bowlcut but at least getting the longer strands out of the way of his glasses. To Flint, he asks, "How's your pack?"
Nicodemus keeps busy in the kitchen, doing his thing.
"Hot chocolate is for bedtime," Flint agrees, though there's a hint of childishness to the overall statement from the teen, and then he shrugs his shoulders. "Good," the galliard answers. "Doing good, keeping busy. With things other than vampires."
Sewall shifts his weight in the armchair, getting comfortable—or as comfortable as he can. Most of his attention remains on Flint, however. "Such as?"
Flint continues to fidget with the sketchbook every so often, but most of his attention is on answering. Or at least, as much of most of Flint's attention as ever is on anything. "There're still, some. Problems with the sewers in the Industrial Sector. Rats, about this," Flint holds his hands apart, indicating a rat that's… the size of a small wolf. "And acid slugs about a foot long. We found a few nests, but. N-not, anything conclusive, we're working on it. Other than that, patrols. The usual."
"Are you keeping maps of the parts of the sewers you've explored?" asks Sewall. "Or at least annotating a copy of the city's maps?"
Beneath the Christmas tree—easily missed in the commotion—a small gray wolf is curled, sleeping, nose hidden by her tail. It's unknown how long she's been listening but at the mention of things in the sewers, a *hmmph* can be heard as she lets out an chuff, uncurling from the nest of blankets against the wall and trotting out into the room, shifting to her two-legged form with a blur. "Mornin' everyone…" She glances from face to face in the house. "Sounds like the city's a lot of fun now, don't it…"
Flint glances at Charlene in a bit of… surprise, apparently, before refocusing on Sewall's question. "Both, and I have both memorised to keep all our copies up to date," the Walker responds. There's a pause, and he continues. "It's… odd, actually. Back at the beginning of, the. Rats being a problem, some homeless guy dropped a whole bunch of stuff including maps of the sewers, and the sector—with nests marked—off at the Vault. We started with that, have been going from there." Focus swings back to Charlene. "Hi, Charlene-rhya."
Sewall barely glances at Charlene, his focus so intently on Flint. His eyes narrow behind the thick-framed glasses. "'Some homeless guy'?"
Charlene has been sleeping but, somehow, looks just fine standing there after shifting. The smell of coffee beckons, the Fury weaving around the menfolk to get her own cup before adding her bit to the conversation. "A homeless guy just happened to have this information and just decided to hand it over? Seems like we're bein' as exterminators and cleaning up someone else's mess." Sip. "Not that we wouldn't do it anyway, just… sounds like we're bein' used." She lifts her cup. "Hey there, Flint."
Nicodemus exits from the kitchen with three mugs of coffee, bringing one to Flint and one to Sewall, one to Charlene. "If some homeless guy just randomly drops off a bunch of sewer maps—with the nests of mutant rats marked on them—on the doorstep of the Shadow Lord's place in town." He shrugs as he makes his way back into the kitchen. "That's a bit too much of a coincidence to be attributable to random happenstance. The Shadow Lords got made by someone—or something. But maybe it's not hostile," he speculates. "Otherwise, why risk the exposure and chance being killed by the garou? Maybe it's some kind of a… a nervous ally who knows about the garou's reputation?"
Flint wraps his hands around the cup of coffee. "Guy was… too drunk to remember who had him go there," Flint says, words careful and not without a hint of annoyance. "We looked. Still, that's no excuse not to. To deal with the problem. And, we knew about them, before, they. Escaped the sewers a few times, early… summer?" Time is one thing that Flint doesn't have a good grip on. "Thing is, both nests we fought, there was a big rat, as well as the 'smaller' ones. Big, size of a… crinos. Bigger, twelve feet head to base of tail."
Sewall accepts the coffee from Nick with a mutter of thanks and wraps both hands around the warm mug. "Ratkin or simply fomor?" One finger taps idly against the side of the mug. "And did you see any rat-kings?"
Charlene sips her coffee, listening.
"Rat-kings…" Flint trails off, brows furrowing for a long moment. "Rat-kings…" Another pause, and then he shakes his head. "Don't know. And no." The Walker pauses, then adds, "Note was signed, as such. 'The Sewer Queen'. Whatever the hell, that means."
Nicodemus hmms, listening, but not really having anything further to contribute.
Sewall's lips compress into a thin line at Flint's answer, a flicker of irritation (or perhaps scorn) passing briefly across his broad face. He takes another sip of coffee to mask it. "So, the drunk was a messenger, and your, ah, Vault as you call it is known by some unknown person or persons. Probably female, or identifying as female, as most men won't bother to obfuscate their gender. Likely not a rat-shifter, unless the whole thing was a failed trap, since their hatred of Garou is well-known and I can't imagine them, excuse the pun, ratting out their own kind, even Wyrm-tainted specimens. Which leaves, what? Vampire, sorcerer, some other kind of shifter?"
Nicodemus takes a sip from his hot chocolate as a variety of possibilities are brought up. He hazards to offer another possibility. "Perhaps it's some kind of ragabash joke that doesn't yet make any sense? Or maybe a Ronin ragabash not affiliated with the sept?" He seems to fully realize he's grasping at straws as he makes these suggestions, and his body language and inflections intentionally broadcast that fact.
Another sip of coffee goes into Charlene, the Fury standing a little straighter as caffeine soaks into her cells, waking her. "Whatever the reason, any cleaning crews that hit the sewers will need to be extremely careful or, even better, go back and check previously cleared spots to see what else has moved in now that the rats are gone."
Flint's chin sets, stubbornly and a slight bit of his own irritation, or simply that there's no ground given at the moment. But instead of further response, Flint sips his coffee. Nicodemus's grasping at straws gets a grumble. Only Charlene seems to get a decent response from Flint, and nod. "Both. It leaves us with cleaning that needs to get done, regardless of how we found out."
"Well, yes, of course," says the Fang, with a touch of the impatient lecturer. "But, were I you, I wouldn't neglect the mystery of the source. Even if it's nothing more than a sympathetic Ronin." He raises eyebrows at Flint. "You have, of course, made evacuation plans for your, ah, Vault, yes?"
"I'm pretty sure evacuation plans are mandatory for their vault." Charlene adds after a moment. "I'll give them that much credit."
"Might be good to check with the Shadow Lords to confirm that they do," Nick suggests.
Charlene snickers. "And they'd let a secret like that out? They'd never live down the stigma of letting that kind of information out without a price."
There's no lack of annoyance in the look that Flint gives to Sewall, though there's not quite challenge in it. "Like I'd know," is the eventual sarcastic comment. "Not my anything."
Sewall's eyes are flat and cold as he regards Flint. "Your packmates," he says in a tone that brooks no argument. "Take responsibility for them. Their well-being is your well-being. Their safety your safety. Not to mention the fact that if any tribal safehouse is compromised, the Sept as a whole suffers."
"Boys, boys… enough now." Charlene gives them both a playful look before gesturing with her cup. "Lesson has been transmitted and understood, I think, and Flint is a guy with a decent head on his shoulders, so I'm sure this is known and well understood." She lifts her cup and takes a sip, giving Flint a bit of a smile.
Nicodemus hangs back near the doorway leading to and from the kitchen, physically keeping himself out of the way of the garou. Likewise, he keeps his mouth firmly shut as things get a little heated. Still, there's an approving nod towards Charlene as she attempts to defuse things.
Flint's jaw sets, not giving any in posture or manner. "Of course," is what he says, though perhaps something more out of anger was going to be said before Charlene interrupted. "Speaking of keeping busy, I… was hoping, out here, would run into you, Charlene-rhya." Aside from a continual faint glare just verging on the safe edge of challenge, Sewall is ignored and no longer addressed.
Sewall's lip gives a bit of a scornful curl. Having made his say, though, he lets Flint change the subject and doesn't push the previous topic. Instead, his gaze goes sidelong toward Nicodemus. He looks thoughtful for a moment, then offers the kinfolk an overly cool, overly formal, but nonetheless sincere-sounding apology. "I apologize if I've unnerved you with that display."
Thankful for the subject change, Charlene's attention turns to Flint. "What'cha need with a girl like me, Flint?"
Nicodemus thins his lips and nods his head at Sewall. "Got my attention, is all," he claims, as if it were not that big of a deal. He glances from Flint to Charlene, curious.
Flint glances at the Walker kin, and then takes a few breaths to calm himself. "Well…" He takes another breath in composing himself, speaks slowly, but clearly. "I'm looking to learn gifts and rites and more things of our auspice, and such. So." There's a slightly hopeful glance flicked to Charlene, in stark contrast to the irritation of a few minutes ago.
Sewall, satisfied that he's done his part toward the kin, lapses into silence for the moment (that, and to savor his coffee).
"Well." Charlene finishes her cup, setting it down on a handy table with a clunk. "I know a few that you may not and don't mind sharin' as long as you teach it to someone who needs it, kinda like I do too. Any particular one you're lookin' for? Only one specific t' Galliard that I know is Beast Speech. Wouldn't mind learnin' a few m'self."
Nicodemus seems intrigued by the conversation the two galliards are having: he takes care to do nothing that might interrupt it.
Flint purses his lips, this topic in general seeming much more of something he wants talk about than the earlier one, as well. "That's the one I know too," he admits, "but. Rites, anything I don't already know, anything you'd like to teach, and anything I. That I-I can, in return." Slowly, the Glass Walker continues, listing off rites one by one. "Artwork, Breath of Gaia, Dance of Lights, Prayer for the Prey, Bone Rhythms, Remembrance, the Moot Rite, and Dedication."
"Well, most of the rites I have are fairly well known, Flint," Charlene says. "Any of 'em that you can use, I'll teach. Unveiled Glen, Feed the Earth, Dedication, Contrition, Greet the Moon and, the one I wish I didn't know—Gathering for the Departed."
Nicodemus stays silent, taking mental notes as he sips from his mug of hot chocolate.
Sewall sets down his coffee—almost but not quite finished—and excuses himself, collecting his cane and using its support to hobble, with difficulty, up the stairs.
The younger Galliard nods again, watching Sewall depart and then visibly relaxes a slight bit, tension easing from the set of his jaw. "Thanks," he tells Charlene, nodding. "I'd, like that. Contrition, or Greet the Moon, or both, and. If there's any of the ones, I know are common enough but," then Flint quiets, nodding. "Eventually, I… Gathering, too." Flint glances at some corner, and then mutters a soft 'huh'. "Well, yes, but… But I hope we don't need that one, any time, a-any time, soon."
"Greet the moon's easy. Contrition—a little more involved, but it's good to know if you get on the bad side of a Spirit sometime. When my first pack dissolved due to…well…people just leaving, I was left holding the bag, so I learned it to keep Panther happy. Not with just me, but with the sept in general." Charlene relaxes slightly, sitting in one of the couches scattered around. "Just figure out a time and we'll exchange rites."
Nicodemus eases down onto one of the seats separate from the garou and with a readily available exit nearby. "Beast Speech," he says to the galliards. "Lets you talk with animals? How does that work? Is it worthwhile? They're not… terribly intelligent."
Flint nods to Charlene, listening. "I'm out here for a few days, barring some. Some sort of, emergency requiring me, back i-in, the city. Probably, so, yeah." That seems to settle the issue of time, and the cliath turns attention to Nicodemus. "It can be, u-useful. I. Once, when. There were some skull pigs, Lex and Nik and some others and I found, when. Just otherwise, out. I used Beast Speech then, combined with Persuasion. Stop, bought us, a bit of time in the fight. Used it, other times, too."
"You'd be correct in that regard." Charlene answers with a grin. "Most normal animals just look at you funny, but sometimes you can get a little information out of 'em. Nothing really earth-shattering, but they can tell you if a man came by, or where the humans fish a lot—things like that. Good for having a literal grass-roots information network, as long as you know the questions to ask."
"Skull pigs," Nick says, mulling the words over as he speaks them. "I was talking to Val, and she said that Skull Pigs… There used to be were-boars. They fell. Made a deal with the devil, so to speak, thinking that they would gain strength and be able to defend themselves and the Gurahl from the garou during the War of Rage. Driven into a corner, they doomed themselves. The skull pigs are what's left." A beat. "Seems kind of weird to have one' head hanging like a trophy on the wall out in the garage."
"Reminders," Flint tells Nicodemus, wrapping his hands around the empty coffee cup to still the fidgeting. There's no increase of volume from the teen, but something in the conviction that Flint speaks with brooks no argument and no 'civilisation' of what is or isn't on the wall. "We need reminders, of bad things as. As well as good. Words… are not always enough."
Charlene sits in her spot and nods. "It is rather like a hunter, putting the head of a particularly troublesome bit of prey on the wall to remind him of the chase. Of what was given up. Of the triumphs and tragedies. If anyone died, that skull is a memorial to their fall. If any scars were given, they can point to that skull and say 'The scar here? That gave it to me before it fell in battle.'. A teaching tool at least. A bastion of honor at best."
Nicodemus offers hesitantly, "Maybe a morality lesson, too." He sighs. "Sorry for bringing it up. Refills?" he asks of the two galliards as he stands and offers to replenish coffee.
Flint hands over the coffee cup, willingly enough. "We need reminders," Flint says again, quietly, after he's done so. "Whether it's, the skull, or the Burial Mounds, or the memorial I built. These things are. In that, they remind us of what was." A brief grin, and then Flint glances at Charlene, sitting up and settling back a bit, both at once. "For my Rite of Passage, I was tasked with going to the Burial Mounds. With learning the stories of each of my tribemates remembered there. I learned some of the others a-as well. And I built a memorial, that's on the wall, upstairs in the. In the breakroom, in the tenement, after learning these things. So that while we don't have… the bawn, the Burial Mounds, we still have, we still remember."
"An appropriate rite of passage." Charlene murmurs softly, holding out her cup for Nicodemus to take with him. "No refill for me—just throw it in the sink, and I'll get to it later."
Nicodemus collects mugs, adding, "It is a rather nice mural." He disappears into the kitchen, refilling one cup and washing up the other—no leaving things around in the sink. This leaves the two garou alone briefly.
Flint pulls out an iPhone from one pocket, taps it a few times to get to a photo gallery, and then offers it over to Charlene. On the gallery are photos of the memorial itself in question. "So, yeah. I… want to learn Gathering, some point, maybe not the first thing, but remembering… is important," the cliath says, still quiet.
Charlene takes the offered iPhone, zooming in with simple gestures on different pictures, different areas, focusing on the details, her eyes crinkling as she memorizes. Finally, when she hands the phone back she simply nods. "Photos don't do it justice," is her simple declaration.
Nicodemus returns and offers Flint his refreshed coffee. He's also managed to refill his own hot chocolate in the process. He settles wordlessly back down into the seat he'd claimed earlier.
Flint tucks his phone back into his pocket, and nods to Charlene. "Come see it, sometime," he invites the other Galliard, with no sense of extra pride or anything but humility about the accomplishment of the memorial. "Thanks," is added to Nick, Flint taking the refilled cup of coffee and blowing gently across the surface before taking a sip.
The quiet is a bit comforting, with the only sound coming from the breeze outside. Charlene, within easy reach of a guitar, leans over and grabs it, strumming her fingers over the strings idly before playing a quiet song. "I'll come up and see it next time I get an invite to the city and an invite into the tenement. I'm sure it's got a little reconstruction going on after all of the stuff that happened there.
Nicodemus watches Charlene as she plays the guitar idly. "I wonder if there's enough music-playing galliards to start up a band? Or do galliards typically just do solos because of conflicting styles?"
Flint glances at Nicodemus, and shrugs his shoulders, listening and focusing on his coffee. "'Course," the cliath asides to Charlene. "There's some, but still. When you're in the city, let me… let me know?"
"Dunno." Charlene admits after a moment. "Flint, here, is the only Galliard I know off the top of my head. We've got a new girl at the fury house named Eugene that I'm going to take under my wing…" Charlene's fingers blur for a second or two as she plays a complicated stretch of notes. "Really any band, I think, would be okay. Be a hell of a show on full moons."
Nicodemus wrinkles his brow. "You'd think, statistically, that there'd be more galliards around. I wonder why there's this vacuum. You don't see that with ahrouns or theurges. At least, that seems to be the majority of people I know."
Flint glances at Charlene. "Kavi-rhya plays guitar, and, other instruments. Kaz went to Portland, again… Whisper-rhya plays violin. I don't play, anything." To Nicodemus, the younger galliard just shrugs. "There are what there are. Grumbling about statistics, doesn't… change anything."
Charlene snerks. "If we do this, you'll play bass. You learn three chords over and over again, and you can make mistakes and no one'll notice. That or cowbell."
Nicodemus remains silent and lets the two galliards talk about music and bands.
There's a huff and a grin to Charlene. "I can sing," Flint says, sipping his coffee. "I just, get distracted if. Playing, is the thing. Can sing. Pitch perfect, all that. Was kind of… it was… it was hard at first, when I was a cub. Before being Garou, music was something that was mine, that I hid. That was dis… dis-discouraged, if people found out. And now…" another brief smile. "Now, all this."
Charlene has heard that people with a stutter can sing fairly well, even with a stutter, and it's nice that Flint proves it. "Okay, you can be the dynamic front man. Can you pull off smouldering, yet not care about how you look with a dash of sexy?"
The younger galliard looks at Charlene like she sprouted an extra limb out from somewhere, crinkles his nose into an expression of 'that has cooties', and with barely a nod to each Charlene and Nicodemus, grabs his backpack, and almost darts for the stairs.
17 December, 2012
The moon is in the waxing Crescent (Theurge) Moon phase (27% full).
When they get to Edgewood, Flint doesn't actually waste time—or words—getting inside, even the short distance between Nick's car and the front door. It's raining, which doesn't give Flint any additional inclination to stay outdoors. The teen pulls sweatshirt and jacket and hat around himself, oversized as they are, shoulders his backpack, and crosses the distance and up the steps until they get into the mudroom. There, though, Flint both waits for the Walker kin, and starts to wipe mud and dirt from his shoes and the cuffs of his pants so that he doesn't track it in.
Nicodemus takes a little more time exiting his Porsche Cayenne. He grabs an umbrella from behind the driver's seat and deploys it as he leaves the vehicle. Umbrella angled against the wind, he walks to the front porch, choosing to avoid the muddy patches along the way. His oversized greatcoat appears to be mildly waterproof too, as it easily sheds the rain and shields him from the cold and wet. Once on the porch, he goes through the rituals designed to keep the outdoors outdoors instead of tracked through the house. "Cats and dogs," he comments with a wry smile to Flint as he finishes up.
Flint shivers, perhaps a little bit over-dramatically, as he hangs his coat up, and re-shoulders his backpack, which is packed as an overnight bag right now. "Uh-uh. Hate rain," Flint informs the kin, proceeding into the living room. "Cold in general." Flint sits down on the couch and rakes his fingers through slightly dampened hair, pulling it back into a ponytail… and then clearly realising that he doesn't have a tie for it, so just letting it down.
Nicodemus doesn't seem bothered at all by the cold or wet. "Live here all your life: you get used to it." He crosses the front room and enters the kitchen. "What's your poison? Coffee or hot chocolate?" Noises indicate he's pulling out mugs and other things.
"Coffee," Flint answers, quickly enough as he settles into the couch, and then shakes his head. "Suppose," he continues. "Suppose I'll get used to it, eventually, but… haven't, yet."
A battered and quite wet white wolf limps determinedly up to the back door; only when it reaches this modest bit of cover does it change back into human form, a very chilled-looking Silver Fang with rain-slicked hair but reasonably dry clothes (at least on the outside). Sewall lets himself in, fumbling the doorknob a bit, and hobbles toward the front. "Anyone home?"
Nicodemus' voice comes from the other room. "I'm doing hot chocolate. Want me to try making an improvised mocha for you?" For some reason he seems to think Flint might actually want something chocolatey instead of straight up coffee. The mage pokes his head out of the kitchen at Sewall's arrival. "Coffee, hot chocolate, or experimental mocha?"
Flint tilts his head at Nick, and then shakes it. "Just coffee," Flint answers, and then Sewall is greeted with a polite nod. "Good morning, Sewall-yuf. How're… h… how're you?" There's a distracted muttered mumble for a second, and then Flint settles into the corner of the couch to not take up room, and pulls out his sketchbook, flipping through it to a blank page.
Sewall blinks owlishly at Nick for a moment, his expression a little bemused, then says, "I'll have coffee too. Thank you." He limps the rest of the way into the front room and toward an armchair. "I'm fine," he says to Flint, despite the fact that it's clear the walk in the winter rain, even in wolf form, has taken quite a lot out of him today. "Keeping… busy."
"No one likes hot chocolate anymore," Nick mock-complains before disappearing again into the kitchen. Noises pertaining to brewing coffee and someone messing about on the stove can be heard.
Flint idly fidgets with the wire binding of the sketchbook, and nods to Sewall. "Yeah. Keeping busy is pretty much… always, so." That said, the Walker shrugs partway out of his sweatshirt now that they're indoors.
"Hot chocolate is far more likely to put me to sleep," Sewall says, answering the faux-complaint in a fairly pedantic, humorless sort of way. He pushes wet hair back from his forehead, doing nothing to improve the too-long bowlcut but at least getting the longer strands out of the way of his glasses. To Flint, he asks, "How's your pack?"
Nicodemus keeps busy in the kitchen, doing his thing.
"Hot chocolate is for bedtime," Flint agrees, though there's a hint of childishness to the overall statement from the teen, and then he shrugs his shoulders. "Good," the galliard answers. "Doing good, keeping busy. With things other than vampires."
Sewall shifts his weight in the armchair, getting comfortable—or as comfortable as he can. Most of his attention remains on Flint, however. "Such as?"
Flint continues to fidget with the sketchbook every so often, but most of his attention is on answering. Or at least, as much of most of Flint's attention as ever is on anything. "There're still, some. Problems with the sewers in the Industrial Sector. Rats, about this," Flint holds his hands apart, indicating a rat that's… the size of a small wolf. "And acid slugs about a foot long. We found a few nests, but. N-not, anything conclusive, we're working on it. Other than that, patrols. The usual."
"Are you keeping maps of the parts of the sewers you've explored?" asks Sewall. "Or at least annotating a copy of the city's maps?"
Beneath the Christmas tree—easily missed in the commotion—a small gray wolf is curled, sleeping, nose hidden by her tail. It's unknown how long she's been listening but at the mention of things in the sewers, a *hmmph* can be heard as she lets out an chuff, uncurling from the nest of blankets against the wall and trotting out into the room, shifting to her two-legged form with a blur. "Mornin' everyone…" She glances from face to face in the house. "Sounds like the city's a lot of fun now, don't it…"
Flint glances at Charlene in a bit of… surprise, apparently, before refocusing on Sewall's question. "Both, and I have both memorised to keep all our copies up to date," the Walker responds. There's a pause, and he continues. "It's… odd, actually. Back at the beginning of, the. Rats being a problem, some homeless guy dropped a whole bunch of stuff including maps of the sewers, and the sector—with nests marked—off at the Vault. We started with that, have been going from there." Focus swings back to Charlene. "Hi, Charlene-rhya."
Sewall barely glances at Charlene, his focus so intently on Flint. His eyes narrow behind the thick-framed glasses. "'Some homeless guy'?"
Charlene has been sleeping but, somehow, looks just fine standing there after shifting. The smell of coffee beckons, the Fury weaving around the menfolk to get her own cup before adding her bit to the conversation. "A homeless guy just happened to have this information and just decided to hand it over? Seems like we're bein' as exterminators and cleaning up someone else's mess." Sip. "Not that we wouldn't do it anyway, just… sounds like we're bein' used." She lifts her cup. "Hey there, Flint."
Nicodemus exits from the kitchen with three mugs of coffee, bringing one to Flint and one to Sewall, one to Charlene. "If some homeless guy just randomly drops off a bunch of sewer maps—with the nests of mutant rats marked on them—on the doorstep of the Shadow Lord's place in town." He shrugs as he makes his way back into the kitchen. "That's a bit too much of a coincidence to be attributable to random happenstance. The Shadow Lords got made by someone—or something. But maybe it's not hostile," he speculates. "Otherwise, why risk the exposure and chance being killed by the garou? Maybe it's some kind of a… a nervous ally who knows about the garou's reputation?"
Flint wraps his hands around the cup of coffee. "Guy was… too drunk to remember who had him go there," Flint says, words careful and not without a hint of annoyance. "We looked. Still, that's no excuse not to. To deal with the problem. And, we knew about them, before, they. Escaped the sewers a few times, early… summer?" Time is one thing that Flint doesn't have a good grip on. "Thing is, both nests we fought, there was a big rat, as well as the 'smaller' ones. Big, size of a… crinos. Bigger, twelve feet head to base of tail."
Sewall accepts the coffee from Nick with a mutter of thanks and wraps both hands around the warm mug. "Ratkin or simply fomor?" One finger taps idly against the side of the mug. "And did you see any rat-kings?"
Charlene sips her coffee, listening.
"Rat-kings…" Flint trails off, brows furrowing for a long moment. "Rat-kings…" Another pause, and then he shakes his head. "Don't know. And no." The Walker pauses, then adds, "Note was signed, as such. 'The Sewer Queen'. Whatever the hell, that means."
Nicodemus hmms, listening, but not really having anything further to contribute.
Sewall's lips compress into a thin line at Flint's answer, a flicker of irritation (or perhaps scorn) passing briefly across his broad face. He takes another sip of coffee to mask it. "So, the drunk was a messenger, and your, ah, Vault as you call it is known by some unknown person or persons. Probably female, or identifying as female, as most men won't bother to obfuscate their gender. Likely not a rat-shifter, unless the whole thing was a failed trap, since their hatred of Garou is well-known and I can't imagine them, excuse the pun, ratting out their own kind, even Wyrm-tainted specimens. Which leaves, what? Vampire, sorcerer, some other kind of shifter?"
Nicodemus takes a sip from his hot chocolate as a variety of possibilities are brought up. He hazards to offer another possibility. "Perhaps it's some kind of ragabash joke that doesn't yet make any sense? Or maybe a Ronin ragabash not affiliated with the sept?" He seems to fully realize he's grasping at straws as he makes these suggestions, and his body language and inflections intentionally broadcast that fact.
Another sip of coffee goes into Charlene, the Fury standing a little straighter as caffeine soaks into her cells, waking her. "Whatever the reason, any cleaning crews that hit the sewers will need to be extremely careful or, even better, go back and check previously cleared spots to see what else has moved in now that the rats are gone."
Flint's chin sets, stubbornly and a slight bit of his own irritation, or simply that there's no ground given at the moment. But instead of further response, Flint sips his coffee. Nicodemus's grasping at straws gets a grumble. Only Charlene seems to get a decent response from Flint, and nod. "Both. It leaves us with cleaning that needs to get done, regardless of how we found out."
"Well, yes, of course," says the Fang, with a touch of the impatient lecturer. "But, were I you, I wouldn't neglect the mystery of the source. Even if it's nothing more than a sympathetic Ronin." He raises eyebrows at Flint. "You have, of course, made evacuation plans for your, ah, Vault, yes?"
"I'm pretty sure evacuation plans are mandatory for their vault." Charlene adds after a moment. "I'll give them that much credit."
"Might be good to check with the Shadow Lords to confirm that they do," Nick suggests.
Charlene snickers. "And they'd let a secret like that out? They'd never live down the stigma of letting that kind of information out without a price."
There's no lack of annoyance in the look that Flint gives to Sewall, though there's not quite challenge in it. "Like I'd know," is the eventual sarcastic comment. "Not my anything."
Sewall's eyes are flat and cold as he regards Flint. "Your packmates," he says in a tone that brooks no argument. "Take responsibility for them. Their well-being is your well-being. Their safety your safety. Not to mention the fact that if any tribal safehouse is compromised, the Sept as a whole suffers."
"Boys, boys… enough now." Charlene gives them both a playful look before gesturing with her cup. "Lesson has been transmitted and understood, I think, and Flint is a guy with a decent head on his shoulders, so I'm sure this is known and well understood." She lifts her cup and takes a sip, giving Flint a bit of a smile.
Nicodemus hangs back near the doorway leading to and from the kitchen, physically keeping himself out of the way of the garou. Likewise, he keeps his mouth firmly shut as things get a little heated. Still, there's an approving nod towards Charlene as she attempts to defuse things.
Flint's jaw sets, not giving any in posture or manner. "Of course," is what he says, though perhaps something more out of anger was going to be said before Charlene interrupted. "Speaking of keeping busy, I… was hoping, out here, would run into you, Charlene-rhya." Aside from a continual faint glare just verging on the safe edge of challenge, Sewall is ignored and no longer addressed.
Sewall's lip gives a bit of a scornful curl. Having made his say, though, he lets Flint change the subject and doesn't push the previous topic. Instead, his gaze goes sidelong toward Nicodemus. He looks thoughtful for a moment, then offers the kinfolk an overly cool, overly formal, but nonetheless sincere-sounding apology. "I apologize if I've unnerved you with that display."
Thankful for the subject change, Charlene's attention turns to Flint. "What'cha need with a girl like me, Flint?"
Nicodemus thins his lips and nods his head at Sewall. "Got my attention, is all," he claims, as if it were not that big of a deal. He glances from Flint to Charlene, curious.
Flint glances at the Walker kin, and then takes a few breaths to calm himself. "Well…" He takes another breath in composing himself, speaks slowly, but clearly. "I'm looking to learn gifts and rites and more things of our auspice, and such. So." There's a slightly hopeful glance flicked to Charlene, in stark contrast to the irritation of a few minutes ago.
Sewall, satisfied that he's done his part toward the kin, lapses into silence for the moment (that, and to savor his coffee).
"Well." Charlene finishes her cup, setting it down on a handy table with a clunk. "I know a few that you may not and don't mind sharin' as long as you teach it to someone who needs it, kinda like I do too. Any particular one you're lookin' for? Only one specific t' Galliard that I know is Beast Speech. Wouldn't mind learnin' a few m'self."
Nicodemus seems intrigued by the conversation the two galliards are having: he takes care to do nothing that might interrupt it.
Flint purses his lips, this topic in general seeming much more of something he wants talk about than the earlier one, as well. "That's the one I know too," he admits, "but. Rites, anything I don't already know, anything you'd like to teach, and anything I. That I-I can, in return." Slowly, the Glass Walker continues, listing off rites one by one. "Artwork, Breath of Gaia, Dance of Lights, Prayer for the Prey, Bone Rhythms, Remembrance, the Moot Rite, and Dedication."
"Well, most of the rites I have are fairly well known, Flint," Charlene says. "Any of 'em that you can use, I'll teach. Unveiled Glen, Feed the Earth, Dedication, Contrition, Greet the Moon and, the one I wish I didn't know—Gathering for the Departed."
Nicodemus stays silent, taking mental notes as he sips from his mug of hot chocolate.
Sewall sets down his coffee—almost but not quite finished—and excuses himself, collecting his cane and using its support to hobble, with difficulty, up the stairs.
The younger Galliard nods again, watching Sewall depart and then visibly relaxes a slight bit, tension easing from the set of his jaw. "Thanks," he tells Charlene, nodding. "I'd, like that. Contrition, or Greet the Moon, or both, and. If there's any of the ones, I know are common enough but," then Flint quiets, nodding. "Eventually, I… Gathering, too." Flint glances at some corner, and then mutters a soft 'huh'. "Well, yes, but… But I hope we don't need that one, any time, a-any time, soon."
"Greet the moon's easy. Contrition—a little more involved, but it's good to know if you get on the bad side of a Spirit sometime. When my first pack dissolved due to…well…people just leaving, I was left holding the bag, so I learned it to keep Panther happy. Not with just me, but with the sept in general." Charlene relaxes slightly, sitting in one of the couches scattered around. "Just figure out a time and we'll exchange rites."
Nicodemus eases down onto one of the seats separate from the garou and with a readily available exit nearby. "Beast Speech," he says to the galliards. "Lets you talk with animals? How does that work? Is it worthwhile? They're not… terribly intelligent."
Flint nods to Charlene, listening. "I'm out here for a few days, barring some. Some sort of, emergency requiring me, back i-in, the city. Probably, so, yeah." That seems to settle the issue of time, and the cliath turns attention to Nicodemus. "It can be, u-useful. I. Once, when. There were some skull pigs, Lex and Nik and some others and I found, when. Just otherwise, out. I used Beast Speech then, combined with Persuasion. Stop, bought us, a bit of time in the fight. Used it, other times, too."
"You'd be correct in that regard." Charlene answers with a grin. "Most normal animals just look at you funny, but sometimes you can get a little information out of 'em. Nothing really earth-shattering, but they can tell you if a man came by, or where the humans fish a lot—things like that. Good for having a literal grass-roots information network, as long as you know the questions to ask."
"Skull pigs," Nick says, mulling the words over as he speaks them. "I was talking to Val, and she said that Skull Pigs… There used to be were-boars. They fell. Made a deal with the devil, so to speak, thinking that they would gain strength and be able to defend themselves and the Gurahl from the garou during the War of Rage. Driven into a corner, they doomed themselves. The skull pigs are what's left." A beat. "Seems kind of weird to have one' head hanging like a trophy on the wall out in the garage."
"Reminders," Flint tells Nicodemus, wrapping his hands around the empty coffee cup to still the fidgeting. There's no increase of volume from the teen, but something in the conviction that Flint speaks with brooks no argument and no 'civilisation' of what is or isn't on the wall. "We need reminders, of bad things as. As well as good. Words… are not always enough."
Charlene sits in her spot and nods. "It is rather like a hunter, putting the head of a particularly troublesome bit of prey on the wall to remind him of the chase. Of what was given up. Of the triumphs and tragedies. If anyone died, that skull is a memorial to their fall. If any scars were given, they can point to that skull and say 'The scar here? That gave it to me before it fell in battle.'. A teaching tool at least. A bastion of honor at best."
Nicodemus offers hesitantly, "Maybe a morality lesson, too." He sighs. "Sorry for bringing it up. Refills?" he asks of the two galliards as he stands and offers to replenish coffee.
Flint hands over the coffee cup, willingly enough. "We need reminders," Flint says again, quietly, after he's done so. "Whether it's, the skull, or the Burial Mounds, or the memorial I built. These things are. In that, they remind us of what was." A brief grin, and then Flint glances at Charlene, sitting up and settling back a bit, both at once. "For my Rite of Passage, I was tasked with going to the Burial Mounds. With learning the stories of each of my tribemates remembered there. I learned some of the others a-as well. And I built a memorial, that's on the wall, upstairs in the. In the breakroom, in the tenement, after learning these things. So that while we don't have… the bawn, the Burial Mounds, we still have, we still remember."
"An appropriate rite of passage." Charlene murmurs softly, holding out her cup for Nicodemus to take with him. "No refill for me—just throw it in the sink, and I'll get to it later."
Nicodemus collects mugs, adding, "It is a rather nice mural." He disappears into the kitchen, refilling one cup and washing up the other—no leaving things around in the sink. This leaves the two garou alone briefly.
Flint pulls out an iPhone from one pocket, taps it a few times to get to a photo gallery, and then offers it over to Charlene. On the gallery are photos of the memorial itself in question. "So, yeah. I… want to learn Gathering, some point, maybe not the first thing, but remembering… is important," the cliath says, still quiet.
Charlene takes the offered iPhone, zooming in with simple gestures on different pictures, different areas, focusing on the details, her eyes crinkling as she memorizes. Finally, when she hands the phone back she simply nods. "Photos don't do it justice," is her simple declaration.
Nicodemus returns and offers Flint his refreshed coffee. He's also managed to refill his own hot chocolate in the process. He settles wordlessly back down into the seat he'd claimed earlier.
Flint tucks his phone back into his pocket, and nods to Charlene. "Come see it, sometime," he invites the other Galliard, with no sense of extra pride or anything but humility about the accomplishment of the memorial. "Thanks," is added to Nick, Flint taking the refilled cup of coffee and blowing gently across the surface before taking a sip.
The quiet is a bit comforting, with the only sound coming from the breeze outside. Charlene, within easy reach of a guitar, leans over and grabs it, strumming her fingers over the strings idly before playing a quiet song. "I'll come up and see it next time I get an invite to the city and an invite into the tenement. I'm sure it's got a little reconstruction going on after all of the stuff that happened there.
Nicodemus watches Charlene as she plays the guitar idly. "I wonder if there's enough music-playing galliards to start up a band? Or do galliards typically just do solos because of conflicting styles?"
Flint glances at Nicodemus, and shrugs his shoulders, listening and focusing on his coffee. "'Course," the cliath asides to Charlene. "There's some, but still. When you're in the city, let me… let me know?"
"Dunno." Charlene admits after a moment. "Flint, here, is the only Galliard I know off the top of my head. We've got a new girl at the fury house named Eugene that I'm going to take under my wing…" Charlene's fingers blur for a second or two as she plays a complicated stretch of notes. "Really any band, I think, would be okay. Be a hell of a show on full moons."
Nicodemus wrinkles his brow. "You'd think, statistically, that there'd be more galliards around. I wonder why there's this vacuum. You don't see that with ahrouns or theurges. At least, that seems to be the majority of people I know."
Flint glances at Charlene. "Kavi-rhya plays guitar, and, other instruments. Kaz went to Portland, again… Whisper-rhya plays violin. I don't play, anything." To Nicodemus, the younger galliard just shrugs. "There are what there are. Grumbling about statistics, doesn't… change anything."
Charlene snerks. "If we do this, you'll play bass. You learn three chords over and over again, and you can make mistakes and no one'll notice. That or cowbell."
Nicodemus remains silent and lets the two galliards talk about music and bands.
There's a huff and a grin to Charlene. "I can sing," Flint says, sipping his coffee. "I just, get distracted if. Playing, is the thing. Can sing. Pitch perfect, all that. Was kind of… it was… it was hard at first, when I was a cub. Before being Garou, music was something that was mine, that I hid. That was dis… dis-discouraged, if people found out. And now…" another brief smile. "Now, all this."
Charlene has heard that people with a stutter can sing fairly well, even with a stutter, and it's nice that Flint proves it. "Okay, you can be the dynamic front man. Can you pull off smouldering, yet not care about how you look with a dash of sexy?"
The younger galliard looks at Charlene like she sprouted an extra limb out from somewhere, crinkles his nose into an expression of 'that has cooties', and with barely a nod to each Charlene and Nicodemus, grabs his backpack, and almost darts for the stairs.