Improvement
Dec. 31st, 2012 08:00 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
kiananlogsMonday, 31 December 2012
The moon is in the waning Gibbous (Galliard) Moon phase (77% full).
It is around 8 am, and Nieve is where she had promised she would be, as she has been for the past couple of days, as has Flint. This time is slightly different; as well as cockroaches and breakfast, there is a candle. A large candle, slender and tapered, standing perhaps 3' tall and 3" across, lit. It smells faintly of cinnamon.
Flint comes down the stairs, still in houseclothes, loose jeans and—a slight change—a short-sleeved shirt that's only a little bit big, socks, sweatshirt tied around his waist. There's still a comb in his hand and the cliath is working on waking up as he shuffles down the stairs, running the comb through shower-wet hair. "Morning, Nieve-rhya," he says, a sleepy mumble.
"Requiem. How're you doin'?" Nieve asks, as she has done for the last four days in a row. "Tell me 'bout your day."
Flint shoves the comb into his pocket and moves over to sit on the floor nearby Nieve. "Not much. I. Cleaned my room, cleaned the breakroom, cleaned the workshop, yesterday," he says, chewing his lower lip for a moment. "It… It feels like busy-things, and I took a shower, and read, and ran the stairs for an hour. But she— no, it," the galliard corrects himself, "'s still out there."
"Yep." Nieve nods at the Galliard. "But we're gonna focus on more'n that. How's the drinkin' and cuttin'?" she prompts, getting right to the heart of the matter, as she is wont to do.
The Adren nods, a hint of approval in her eyes. "Good. One day at a time." She sits back, head tilting now. "Tell me what'll be concernin' you today. Problems, plans, an' all."
Flint watches the candle flame for a moment, though not wholly distracted from the question. "I cleaned most things yesterday," Flint says, chewing on his lip. "Might clean the hall. And the workshop more. I'm… working on some small jewelry boxes. For the store that Mr. Dalton found. And cutting boards, but the glue won't be dry enough today, so. Maybe video games. Or… if I get a ride over to the library, Lefty-rhya had another wall I could, take down."
"I'll drive you over that way if you want, in a bit," Nieve murmurs. "I got your Christmas present, by the way. Ain't much, but." A small box, roughly wrapped in leftover christmas paper, is offered to the cliath.
There's a faint smile that Nieve's rewarded with, fleeting, but equally surprised, and he reaches out to take the box, turning it over in his hands a few times and then ever-so-carefully undoing the wrapping paper. "Thank you," Flint says as he's doing so. There's a clear note of warmth in his voice, if a bit guarded. "It's New Years, too, isn't it?" Someone doesn't keep track of time in the outside world very much on the big moons.
"Yeah. Ain't never been much of a fan of end of year shit," Nieve acknowledges, looking away to the candle flame. The box is just a bit of cardboard, maybe six by eight inches, and it holds some polaroid pictures of wood. Yes, wood. Planks of wood— not new, more like wood you would get from ancient doors and panelling from a reclamation yard, even a few feet worth of oak beam that most likely came from a ship before being used as roof supports. There are also some cans, cans of wood stain in a variety of colours. "S'all in storage f'now. Figure better f'you t'go an' get the bits you want rather'n tryin' to store 'em here."
Surprised, and perhaps pleased, Flint's jaw quite visibly drops a little as he trails his fingers over the pictures of the wood— clearly, these things have plans already, and clearly are appreciated. "Oh, wow. This is." The cliath is speechless a bit, and nods. "Year ago today was down here, 'cause it was. When, Kavi-rhya and. Mouse-rhya, and Devon. Found me. That… feels like forever ago."
"Happy Christmas, Requiem," Nieve bids quietly. "You've come a long way. And you'll go further, f'you can kick this with me. Focus on what's real."
Flint carefully looks through the pictures, and then neatens them in the box, setting it into his lap, and nods. "Thank you," he responds, quietly, before starting to reach for some of the assembled breakfast. "Yeah. Want to get to run more than just stairs, and such," Flint muses, but it's not a real complaint. Even the few days of checking in, even with the big moon, has shown some improvement.
The Theurge nods. "A'right. Y'can help me do my rounds," she tells Flint cheerfully, before pushing up to her feet and leaning over to blow the candle out.
The moon is in the waning Gibbous (Galliard) Moon phase (77% full).
It is around 8 am, and Nieve is where she had promised she would be, as she has been for the past couple of days, as has Flint. This time is slightly different; as well as cockroaches and breakfast, there is a candle. A large candle, slender and tapered, standing perhaps 3' tall and 3" across, lit. It smells faintly of cinnamon.
Flint comes down the stairs, still in houseclothes, loose jeans and—a slight change—a short-sleeved shirt that's only a little bit big, socks, sweatshirt tied around his waist. There's still a comb in his hand and the cliath is working on waking up as he shuffles down the stairs, running the comb through shower-wet hair. "Morning, Nieve-rhya," he says, a sleepy mumble.
"Requiem. How're you doin'?" Nieve asks, as she has done for the last four days in a row. "Tell me 'bout your day."
Flint shoves the comb into his pocket and moves over to sit on the floor nearby Nieve. "Not much. I. Cleaned my room, cleaned the breakroom, cleaned the workshop, yesterday," he says, chewing his lower lip for a moment. "It… It feels like busy-things, and I took a shower, and read, and ran the stairs for an hour. But she— no, it," the galliard corrects himself, "'s still out there."
"Yep." Nieve nods at the Galliard. "But we're gonna focus on more'n that. How's the drinkin' and cuttin'?" she prompts, getting right to the heart of the matter, as she is wont to do.
The Adren nods, a hint of approval in her eyes. "Good. One day at a time." She sits back, head tilting now. "Tell me what'll be concernin' you today. Problems, plans, an' all."
Flint watches the candle flame for a moment, though not wholly distracted from the question. "I cleaned most things yesterday," Flint says, chewing on his lip. "Might clean the hall. And the workshop more. I'm… working on some small jewelry boxes. For the store that Mr. Dalton found. And cutting boards, but the glue won't be dry enough today, so. Maybe video games. Or… if I get a ride over to the library, Lefty-rhya had another wall I could, take down."
"I'll drive you over that way if you want, in a bit," Nieve murmurs. "I got your Christmas present, by the way. Ain't much, but." A small box, roughly wrapped in leftover christmas paper, is offered to the cliath.
There's a faint smile that Nieve's rewarded with, fleeting, but equally surprised, and he reaches out to take the box, turning it over in his hands a few times and then ever-so-carefully undoing the wrapping paper. "Thank you," Flint says as he's doing so. There's a clear note of warmth in his voice, if a bit guarded. "It's New Years, too, isn't it?" Someone doesn't keep track of time in the outside world very much on the big moons.
"Yeah. Ain't never been much of a fan of end of year shit," Nieve acknowledges, looking away to the candle flame. The box is just a bit of cardboard, maybe six by eight inches, and it holds some polaroid pictures of wood. Yes, wood. Planks of wood— not new, more like wood you would get from ancient doors and panelling from a reclamation yard, even a few feet worth of oak beam that most likely came from a ship before being used as roof supports. There are also some cans, cans of wood stain in a variety of colours. "S'all in storage f'now. Figure better f'you t'go an' get the bits you want rather'n tryin' to store 'em here."
Surprised, and perhaps pleased, Flint's jaw quite visibly drops a little as he trails his fingers over the pictures of the wood— clearly, these things have plans already, and clearly are appreciated. "Oh, wow. This is." The cliath is speechless a bit, and nods. "Year ago today was down here, 'cause it was. When, Kavi-rhya and. Mouse-rhya, and Devon. Found me. That… feels like forever ago."
"Happy Christmas, Requiem," Nieve bids quietly. "You've come a long way. And you'll go further, f'you can kick this with me. Focus on what's real."
Flint carefully looks through the pictures, and then neatens them in the box, setting it into his lap, and nods. "Thank you," he responds, quietly, before starting to reach for some of the assembled breakfast. "Yeah. Want to get to run more than just stairs, and such," Flint muses, but it's not a real complaint. Even the few days of checking in, even with the big moon, has shown some improvement.
The Theurge nods. "A'right. Y'can help me do my rounds," she tells Flint cheerfully, before pushing up to her feet and leaning over to blow the candle out.