Mouse said not to eat those.

[kiananlogs]

Monday, 30 January 2012
The moon is in the waxing Half (Philodox) Moon phase (48% full).

As part of her exploration of this new Sept, with its new bawn and new Caern, Whisper has made her way to Edgewood. Perhaps out of respect to the chill she's wearing a scarf around her neck and lower half of her face, and is currently poking around the ground floor, humming to herself.

The front door to Edgewood swings open, and there's the faint hint of muttered conversation from the mudroom, before the door swings shut again. Though two voices happened to be in the conversation, only one figure makes way into the living room of Edgewood. Flint pulls his jacket and sweatshirt and the bright knitted cap off before he's three steps in, draping them over his arm for the moment, looking around until he spots Whisper— the source of the humming, if the look of interest on the cub's face is any indication. "Hi," the boy calls out, ducking a deep nod in greeting.

"Good morning," Whisper greets the cub, hand dropping from where she'd been touching a large dent in the wall— no doubt some cub's temper in the past. She turns towards Flint, offering a nod in return. "Please, don't let me disturb whatever you came to do," she adds.

Flint shakes his head with a faint grin, crossing through the living room. "Nothing in particular really," Flint says. The boy pauses, though, several steps away from Whisper, another nod. "Flint, Takes-It-All-In-Stride," he says quietly, "Galliard cub of the Glass Walkers."

"Ahh." Whisper sounds pleased. "Whisper, also called Tiny-Needle-Spears-The-Heart or River-Songs-Entwined, moondancer of the winged serpent— ranked Fostern, and born of Garou." She turns as Flint moves, to keep her attention on him.

The backdoor creaks as someone comes in from that direction. No call is made just yet, and it sounds like the fridge is being raided.

The cub's nod lasts a moment longer than the first nod of greeting, in deference to Whisper, before he looks over towards the door to the kitchen again at the sound, and then grins, very slightly. Another few steps are taken towards the kitchen, though Flint doesn't make it all the way to the doorway to the other room yet.

Attention drawn by the sound of someone in the kitchen, Whisper follows the cub in that direction, just as curious about who might be pilfering snacks.

Only her butt can be seen as she bends into the fridge. "Where's the fucking cheese, oh come on." As she backs out, her head catches the ledge of the upper freezer and she lets out another curse. Finally she just steps back and flips the door closed, turning then to see her audience. "No cheese."

Flint pauses, nodding a little when he sees just who it is in the kitchen. "Hi, Emma-rhya," the cub offers, moving over to lean against the kitchen table. "Don't suppose there were any of the hotdogs or rolls left?" Another faint grin as the boy admits to what is perhaps the real reasoning for getting to the kitchen.

"Emma-rhya," Whisper echoes from behind her scarf a moment after Flint, apparently knowing the Get already, albeit not very well. She peers into the kitchen with curiosity, looking around the room as if wondering what kind of cubs and Garou have used it. Nosy Uktena.

Emma shrugs, "I was just looking for cheese for a grilled cheese sandwich. You'll have to poke in their for yourself Flint." She moves to the counter and hops up on it, letting her feet dangle as a heavier sigh escapes her. "Anyone else here? In front or upstairs?"

The front door opens painfully slowly, the hinges actually voicing a protest as though being abused. Once the door has thudded lightly into the stop, the opening created is filled with the tall and lanky, if slightly slouched silhouette belonging to Devon. The teen spends a long moment staring, not at the living area beyond the mudroom but at the door, as if it committed some heinous faux pas, before stepping into the entryway properly and nudging the door closed. Dressed in his usual ensemble of clothing choices, complete with a backpack hanging off one shoulder, he could pass for your typical high school student. If your typical high school student had spent days walking and crawling through the woods.

Flint tilts his head at the sound of the door, before crossing over to the refrigerator, the cub nearly disappearing inside of it once it's opened. "Someone, dunno about upstairs, just got here myself." The boy shrugs, a gesture that's half-visible, spending a few long moments digging through the fridge before emerging, a triumphant expression on his face, and three rolls and a hotdog in one hand, and a second hotdog in his other hand, already partially eaten.

Leaning back from the kitchen, Whisper now looks curiously in the direction of the front door. Checking that her scarf is in place around the lower half of her face, she lifts a hand to greet Devon, along with a cheerful, "Howdy."

Emma turns to see who else is showing up, but doesn't give up her counter space. "Yo Devon. Where the hell you been? Playing soldier or something?"

Devon's gaze moves from the doorway to Whisper, and then to Emma whose question earns a choked off chuckle. "In the woods," he answers, moving into the common room. His pack is placed on a seat with great care, as though he were moving something highly volatile, or an infant prone to waking over the slightest of unwelcomed movements. "The flowers are beautiful."

Flint busies himself with stuffing his face with the hotdog, and masking the half-incredulous look that Devon's words earn. "Really," he manages, quite level and serious. "You ate the fruit, didn't you."

From Whisper, Devon gets a curious look— but then so does the bag. She peers at it, head cocking first left and then right, much like a hound who wants to inspect something but knows they shouldn't. Wonder how long she'll resist.

Emma looks between Devon and Flint. "Ate what fruit? What are you two talking about?" The insistency in the question does not suggest it is rhetorical.

"Yeah," Devon admits, having the grace to look a little sheepish until his expression turns gravely serious. "But that was days ago. Are there any Cheetos stashed away in there?" He moves away from the chair and toward the kitchen, nodding to Emma and Whisper in turn. "'Sup?"

"The fruit on the bawn," Flint explains to Emma, though the boy's brow furrows. "Days ago?" he asks the other Glass Walker, moving over to one of the cabinets and pulling out a small snack-sized bag of the requested snack, and tossing it to Devon. Then the boy shrugs, attention turning back to the rest of the food that he had gotten out of the fridge.

"What do you mean fruit? And…" she looks at the boy more closely. "You're wasted. Why not just shift and sober up?"

"What's in the bag?" Whisper asks Devon— that being 'sup for her. Also, for politeness, she offers her introduction. "I'm Whisper, also called Tiny-Needle-Spears-The-Heart and River-Songs-Entwined, Fostern moondancer of the Uktena peoples, born of Garou."

"Am not," Devon answers, casting a look at Emma as though she might threaten to touch him with something unpleasant. The Cheetos are caught after a near fumble, his attention having drifted to Whisper. "Devon, Red-Hands, Cliath Ahroun, Glass Walker, not wasted." There's a pause, before a laugh nearly escapes. "There's the most delicious fruit on the Bawn, growing in the brambles. And the brightest mushrooms. They look like Skittles but they explode."

Flint looks at Devon, brow furrowing further, before the cub's gaze goes to Emma, a nod as if acknowledging that she is definitely right. "Devon-rhya," the cub starts, a long pause, and then he just shakes his head.

Emma' frowns. "You're stoned. You make Cheech look sober right now. Geezus." She moves toward the bag then, apparently intent to look in on it herself.

"Stoned on bawn mushrooms?" Whisper wonders, cocking her head at Devon again, then looking to the bag. "Is that what you were being so careful with?" With all the head-movement, her scarf slips down a bit, revealing a forked tongue as she speaks. Well, she did say she was Metis.

Devon barely has time to ask who Cheech is before he's twisting to save his pack from infiltration. "No," he calls out quietly, lengthening the word to last a couple of seconds. "You have to be careful or they'll explode." And for all the slightly glazed look, obviously not-all-there demeanor, he's dead serious about his pack. "I am studying them but if you… Woah, shit!" The last comes from the younger Ahroun after catching a glimpse of Whisper's tongue.

Flint frowns at this exchange, moving off towards the other side of the kitchen and digging a phone out of his pocket, then quickly punching in a number. The cub gives the Get Ahroun a sort of look as he does so, as if to keep Devon distracted while Flint makes the call.

From afar, Mouse takes a while to answer her phone. Ring, ring, ring, ring. She picks up right before it hits voicemail. "Yeah?" Her voice sounds a little rough.

A moment later, Flint turns to the wall, the phone call having been answered. "Mouse-rhya?" the words are very quiet, nearly alarmed. "I'll… text you, okay?" That said, the boy hangs up the phone, quickly punching out a text message instead.

Devon stoned on bawn mushrooms. At Edgewood. Please come?

Text can't really convey things like sighing, but if it could, Mouse probably would be. Is he in a safe place? the first message asks.

It doesn't take very long for Flint to respond, again. Inside, at Edgewood. Emma Heart of Fire and Whisper also both here. Yes, safe.

Backing away from Devon as he talks about things exploding, Whisper quickly adjusts her scarf so it's covering her mouth again. "It's rude to stare, Cliath," she notes, though doesn't seem unduly offended.

Effects wear off in an hour or so, maybe longer. I can come, but he'll probably be fine by the time I get there.

Another text message follows. Devon has more mushrooms in his backpack. Please come.

This time, the reply is very succinct. Wtf?

Flint continues to punch text messages into his phone, although the cub keeps a wary eye on the situation. 160 characters can only do so much, though the tone of alarm in the boy's voice earlier would seem to continue into the text. He brought bawn mushrooms back with him. -Please- come?

IS HE INSANE? She even took the time to make it all caps. Get rid of those now. Coming.

And then, for good measure, Get rid right now.

And then, Don't touch. Throw backpack into woods.

Emma' had just grabbed hold of that bag, all teacher finding a hidden note like… when the warning comes out. As the bag is yanked, Emma actually slides with its momentum, given the news of repercussions, in hope of creating less jostle. It might not be too unlike a volatile explosive that will go off if it tips too much really. Still, between the warning, the Whoa Shit, and everything else, reaction time is suffering. It's almost cartoon like as she tries to wobble toward the door with a curse.

There's another response a moment later. Too late, Emma Heart of Fire jostled bag, I think.

fucks sake. Get away from them. Leave house if necc. driving now.

"Oh my god," Devon replies, craning his neck to catch another look at Whisper's tongue. "Does it talk? Can you make it do things?" He's distracted just enough to give Emma time to grab his backpack. Her motion catches his notice, though, and then, with a 'told you so' grin, he says just that in complete deadpan. "Well, now you've gone and done it."

Ah. Somebody had to go and shake the baby. Well, Whisper is less interested in doing tongue-tricks for Devon than she is making sure people don't get hurt by the exploding mushroom. So, she reaches over to grab Flint's arm while he's busy texting, to haul the cub into the kitchen with her and hopefully against some solid furniture— the oak sideboard should do it.

Flint lets himself be hauled, before in turn deciding that the sideboard isn't far enough, and that beyond the kitchen and towards the small utility room off of it, pulling the older Galliard with him in turn. Apparently the text messages are done, because the boy shoves the phone into his pocket, pulling his shirt up and over his face to breathe through. "Mouse-rhya," he says, to Whisper, though it's pitched so that Devon and Emma can both hear it, "our Elder, is coming. On her way."

So so so close. The Get is beyond agile, dancing her way across the kitchen like The Nutcracker were her dayjob. Still, the back door is closed and in trying to get it open… well fate likes to laugh at the hero sometimes. The door opens part way and Emma makes to rush the bag outside— but just as she's about at the point of launching it out of harms way the door jams, opens no further, and that epic toss is halted by impact between door and Get body. SWHPOOF!

"BOOM," Devon calls out when Emma crashes into, hoisting his bag of Cheetos into the air. A beat later, he runs into the kitchen after her, hands scrabbling and reaching for his backpack. "Are you okay in there," he cries. "Please don't die!"

"Boom." Whisper does not sound unimpressed by the stoned Ahroun's comment, poking her head out from the utility room, though keeping Flint shielded with her body in case it does explode properly. "By explode, did you mean explode? Or just make a mushroom mess?" she demands of the Cliath.

Flint makes a bit of an attempt to see past Whisper, though not much of one. Instead, after a moment, the boy peers at the phone in his pocket, and at the general direction of the driveway in front of the house, as if that will somehow make the distance between the Tenement and Edgewood shorter.

The Get Ahroun lays sprawled on top of the bag, arms wide and body motionless. One might expect the words, Anyone get hit? to follow, but the young woman just lies there, frozen. The only movement at all is the rapid rising and falling of her back as she breathes… "Please, please tell me, they were stored inside of something?"

Devon tugs at the pack to get it away from Emma. "I'm sorry," he pleads with the bag, not the Get. "We'll get pizza after this, I promise!" He pauses long enough to direct a doleful look at Emma. "Of course they were. And now you've crushed them!"

"Cover your nose and mouth," Whisper instructs Flint—she's already got a scarf around her neck and the lower part of her face, so she tightens this before approaching Emma and the squashed bag of mushrooms. "Emma-rhya. Are you hurt?" Devon just gets a dirty look.

Flint pulls his shirt up over his face again, carefully, and rather than approach either Emma or Devon, Flint makes his way to the doorway between the kitchen and the living room, leaning on the doorjamb idly. Perhaps so that he can keep an eye on the windows that show the driveway. The cub is maybe just a tiny bit antsy.

Emma' gives a faint nod, "Think so. Nothing is itching my nose, so… I think I'm clean." Devon's tugging gets a scowl, "Give me a minute or so help me god, I will end your trip in a most unpleasant way! Leave it!" Given that the bag is half under her, it's not a foolish request. Very carefully she stands up, looking down at her shirt to see if there's any evidence of spore-mess on her. Once up, the bag is free to be snatched away by whoever wants it, and whatever dirty look was given to her by Devon, a far less hallucinogenic glare is given to the Cliath. That would make one high Ahroun, and one very irritated Ahroun.

Devon looks at Emma, then his pack. Back again to the elder Ahroun in a double take. His hands don't release the pack, but the tugging ceases until the get is up again. He gathers up the bag like a long-lost friend, hugging it tightly and opening it just enough to peer inside where surely, the mushrooms have been smushed. A second later, the backpack is zippered shut and a wary look is passed back to Emma. "…'Sup."

"Good." Whisper eyes Devon with some misgivings, then looks towards Flint. "It looks as if the mushroom has been contained. You should be safe to come back in." She doesn't remove the scarf from her face, though.

Flint nods to Whisper's words, and makes his way only a little bit into the kitchen. Not very far, though, and not to where the boy loses his view of the front, though his gaze swings back to Whisper and to Devon.

There's a screech of tires, and Flint can see a four door Toyota sedan pulling up to the front of the house. Mouse's car, however unremarkable at is. Someone made good time, and she doesn't park at all straight.

The moon, even without being overly full, combined with the antics of a high Devon, have riled Emma up fairly quickly. She takes two hard steps toward him, eyes glaring at the boy. "You should take those someplace not in the house where we all come to take a breather. And if you can't study them without making yourself completely useless… then I'm not sure I see the point in studying them at all until you get around that."

"It would've been fine if you hadn't crushed it," Devon counters, hurt. He doesn't try to meet the other's gaze, still hugging his backpack tightly as though worried it might escape again. "And you might see the point. If you say it with a French accent."

"Please, take the mushrooms out of here, where they won't be crushed," Whisper voices to the Cliath, then turns at the sound of hollywood wheels, glancing to Flint to read how he's responding—h appy?

Relieved would be more like it, and the cub stands up a little straighter, holding up one finger in a 'wait' gesture, with all the surety that he can summon, head jerked towards the front door for Emma and Whisper's benefit. Flint moves to be visible from the living room in the doorway to the kitchen, as well, though not blocking the way.

Mouse takes a long few seconds to get out of the car, and when she does, there's a decided line of strain in her left cheek and that side of her jaw. Her sunglasses are on, and she moves toward the front door with a harried, stiff gait.

Emma is having to focus her attention on calming down, and thankfully, Whisper is there to oversee the youngin's so to speak. Her eyes close and then a hand comes up to rub at her temples. "I've no patience for that kid right now. None."

Devon pats his pack, casting another wary look at Emma. He backs away from her, some part of him still given to knowing when full moon Garou need space. He turns after a couple of steps and stops short when he sees Flint and Whisper.

Frowning behind her scarf, Whisper steps directly up towards Devon, motioning for him to go towards the kitchen door. "Take the bag outside," she repeats firmly. "Leave it there. Now, please." Sure, it's a polite request, but it's also… yes, an order.

Flint disappears into the living room, quickly moving across to the mudroom, getting the door for the Walker Elder. "Kitchen and out back, Mouse-rhya," the boy then says.

Mouse gives Flint the faintest of nods, though, since he opens the door for her, her pace doesn't slow at all. She immediately heads that way. One hand yanks her sunglasses off, revealing those clearly inhuman yellow eyes of hers.

Emma looks to Whisper with a look of thanks, and then eyes Devon as he, hopefully, obeys the polite order. "Flint…" she realizes then that the boy is not in there. "Where'd he go now?"

Devon gives Whisper a look that plainly says he doesn't want to. "But it's cold outside," he protests quietly just as movement from the front catches his attention. "Oh, shit," he says, sounding soberly serious despite a faint giggle nearly escaping. He backs up, sidling past table and chairs until his back presses into the door. And for the first time, that glazed look might actually be dissipating.

Devon is definitely Mouse's target, as she stalks right past everyone else as if they weren't even there—
though Whisper gets the briefest of glances— and right up to the Walker Ahroun. "Give me the backpack." Her voice is thin, cold, and decidedly not making the sentence a request. The strain's there too, just under the surface. Her expression, on the other hand, apart from the tight muscles in her cheek, is smooth and unreadable.

Apparently, that's where Flint went, because he follows several paces behind Mouse into the kitchen, a half-nod of apology to Emma and Whisper both. The boy's brow furrows, hands shoved in his pockets, but his attention is definitely on his tribemates.

This is where it is Whisper's turn to step out of the way, deferring to Mouse as she takes control of the situation, and hopefully the cliath with the bag. The Uktena moves to stand with Flint, shaking her head slightly to indicate she doesn't mind whatever he's apologising for.

Emma looks between them all, eyes flitting from one to the next to the next. Her voice is quiet as she gives a polite heads up on her departure—ok well, polite for her given her current mood. "I'm bailing for now. Whisper. Thanks." Then she's slipping out the front, less occupied door, looking more than a little agitated.

Devon might want to do as told, on some level, and give up his bag. Mouse's tone and demeanor causes him to hold all the more tightly to the backpack and freeze but for a tipping of his head to fully expose his throat.

Mouse holds out one hand, covered in those thin, spidery scars that seem to be all over her exposed skin, and repeats, in the same tone, "Give me the backpack, Red-Hands." Her unnatural eyes find his. "Now."

Flint takes a half step back, next to the Uktena galliard, and glances up at her, before his attention shifts back towards Devon and Mouse.

One of Whisper's hands lifts to rest on Flint's arm— reassuring maybe, or protecting. From what? Who knows. Her eyes remain mostly on Mouse and Devon, though do skim the room now and then to make sure nothing else is happening unnoticed.

"Please don't eat me," Devon asks, his voice just above a whisper. He keeps his chin back, knees bending so he lowers slightly, placing him below Mouse's head level. His grip loosens some, the handle of the backpack flopping out toward his elder.

Mouse reaches out to take that handle— a firm grip once she touches it, though her movements are careful and ginger. "I'm not going to eat you," she says in the same tone, as if this were a perfectly valid worry. "But you need to let go of the backpack now. And tell me why you brought these."

The cub seems to relax a half a bit at the hand on his arm, simply watching for the moment. Flint waits, a little, and then he ducks out of the touch, moving over to retrieve several bottles of water from the refrigerator, and unobtrusively putting them on the counter near Mouse.

Head tilting a little, Whisper eyes Devon. What an odd request. She tightens her scarf about her neck and mouth again, seeming more thoughtful than annoyed now.

Devon's grip falls away from the bag once Mouse has the handle, though he still seems convinced the Theurge is going to turn him into a snack. "To study them. And the fruits. And flowers." His reply is so simple, though a tiny hitch of a laugh sneaks out after and he looks terrified by the slip.

Mouse holds the bag away from herself, as though it was full of something very very distasteful. "That's not a bad idea in theory, but it seems to have become one in practice, yeah?" She jerks her chin to the side, indicating Devon should move. "I'm going to get rid of these. Next time, you should wear a mask. And don't bring them off the Bawn if you can help it, and if you can't, then they need to be very thoroughly contained. They're nastily Wyld tainted."

Flint retreats back to standing next to the other Galliard as Mouse talks, the boy simply watching again.

The Uktena remains silent, keeping her hand on Flint's arm and observing the interplay between Adren and Cliath.

Devon crabs along the wall when Mouse moves closer, teeth pressing into his lower lip. "I tried to keep them contained," he says, unspoken protest in his voice as his pack is taken away. "And the fruit was good. Not tainted at all."

Mouse pauses with one hand half reaching to the doorknob. "…Did you eat the fruit?"

There is a long sigh from the cub, and then Flint's gaze fixes on Devon, very steadily.

Again with the standing and watching. Sometimes being a Galliard is all about watching things unfold. Whisper does exactly that.

"…Maybe," Devon replies. He slides himself further along the wall and away from the door, glancing for the first time in a while toward Flint and Whisper. "It was really good, we should market it."

"Jesus fucking Christ," Mouse says. It's in the same tone as everything else, and so the exclamation probably sounds amazingly flat and out of place. "Devon, go lie down on the couch. I'll be back in a few to drive you home. Flint, stay with him. Devon, if you feel sick or any weirder than you already do, you tell Flint."

Flint snaps at a bit of attention when he's addressed, a nod to the Elder given. "Devon said he ate it a few days ago," the boy ventures, before the majority of his gaze drops down to his feet.

Devon sulks briefly, looking balefully at the couch before hedging that direction. His sulk cuts off to a scowl at Flint, mouthing 'tattle tale' in all his superior maturity to the cub. But he does as told, mostly, laying down on the couch and going stock still, hands folded on his chest. Like a corpse.

Releasing Flint's arm and motioning for him to go and babysit the Cliath, Whisper turns all of her attention on Mouse now, waiting for the Walker elder to be done with her younger tribemates before saying anything herself.

Mouse stares at Flint for a moment. "…Okay, find out how long he's been like this. I'll be right back." She pulls the door open, though Whisper does get a second, much longer look.

"Yes'm," Flint acknowledges, leaning against one of the other couches and looking at Devon. Very, very levelly for all of the fact that the Ahroun is Cliath, though the cub's gaze still darts to his feet every so often. "So?" The question is posed. "This just the mushrooms, or…"

"Would you like me to remain here or come with you?" Whisper asks Mouse simply. There probably isn't time for an introduction before the Walker elder leaves to do whatever it is she's about to do, so the Uktena puts the more important words to voice.

"Here," Mouse says. "Better it's just me if I mishandle this. I'm not going far. I'll be right back." And with a sharp glance toward the front room, she pushes the door open more fully, and hurries out, with the backpack still held away from her.

Devon pries one eye open to look at Flint. "So," he counters in the same tone as the cub. "Just the mushrooms. They look like Skittles, but their rainbow isn't tasty. I was collecting some to find out more about them."

That seems to be all that Flint needs to know about Devon's current state, because after that, though the Cliath is watched with part of the boy's attention, Flint glances back towards the kitchen and towards Whisper, offering the other Galliard a very faint smile.

Remaining here, observing cub and cliath to make sure they stay put as told, Whisper stands by the door, holding it open for Mouse's return in a minute or two. Flint's faint smile is returned with a nod - a smile from the Uktena wouldn't get very far after all, given the scarf covering her mouth.

Devon sticks his tongue out at Flint before sinking back into his 'dead' appearance.

Definitely all that Flint needs to know. The cub sighs, arms crossing in front of him. "Not going to find out anything while he's still like this," he mutters, mostly an observation. Instead of trying further, though, the boy begins to sing, soft and wordlessly, the melody belonging one of the many songs about Gaia and the duty of the Garou.

There is a slightly approving nod now from Whisper to Flint; she hums a little bit of the tune now and then, though mostly keeps her eye out for the Return of the Mouse.

"Screw you," Devon says quietly, without opening his eyes. "I'm brilliant and full of useful information."

The cub pauses in the middle of the melody. "You're high as a kite," he retorts, before picking up the song again without missing a beat.

It is likely several such exchanges happen; Whisper listens but does not comment, and when she spies Mouse returning, opens the door wider for the other Metis, then closes it behind.

Mouse returns presently, entirely minus the backpack, and looking as though she's managed to avoid mushroom disaster. "Sorry," she says to Whisper, once she's inside again. "We haven't met. Mouse, First-Strike, Adren Theurge and Glass Walker elder. Also metis." Her voice is less controlled now, more harried.

"Whisper, also called Tiny-Needle-Spears-The-Heart or River-Songs-Entwined, Fostern moondancer of the Uktena peoples, born of Garou," Whisper replies, bowing her head politely to Mouse— and also tugging down the scarf covering her mouth so that her deformity, the forked snake's tongue, is obvious.

"My point proven," Flint mutters, and there's a definite hint of alertness and readiness in the boy's current posture, as if watching for Devon to just try funny business. However, when Mouse returns, the humming/singing fades, and stops, Flint turning and paying partial attention to the Walker Elder.

Mouse studies the tongue for a moment, though not overlong. As for her own deformity, her eyes are clearly obvious— yellow and black, a wolf's eyes, not human ones, though the outward shape is how it should be. They could pass for very eccentric contacts, if need be. There's no sign of anything else in this form. "Nice to meet you," she says, sounding just a little less harried now. "Sorry about this."

Devon opens an eye to squint at Flint again. "What happened to those Cheetos," he asks suspiciously. "Or are there Oreos? I could seriously eat an entire package of Oreos right now."

"You dropped them," Flint says matter-of-factly. "And no, I'm not getting you more, sorry," the cub adds. "And no, there are no Oreos. Water, yes, though." It seems, from the boy's attitude, that this isn't his first time around the block with someone being high and out of their senses.

"No problem," Whisper replies mildly, glancing to Flint and Devon again briefly. "I am here as a teacher of cubs in general, as well as lore and ritual. At a more appropriate time, I would like to speak with you about permission to teach the Walker cubs." A nod towards the one in the room.

Mouse regards Whisper with a different sort of interest then. "At a more appropriate time," she agrees. "We have a very good Galliard, though. What would you teach them?" As she asks, she's already moving toward the front room, still a little stiffly.

Devon props himself up onto an elbow when Flint answers. "Dropped them," he echoes before flipping himself over the back of the couch and scrambling toward the kitchen to retrieve those crunchy corn puffed bits. "It ain't easy, bein' cheesy…"

"Galliards are complimentary, rather than exclusive. One Galliard is good, two is better," the Uktena offers with a small smile before pulling her scarf back into place. "I will go into detail about that later, Mouse-rhya. For now, my number is on the pinboard here; if you get a moment please do let me know."

Flint glances towards Mouse, following Devon into the kitchen. "I said water," the boy says, with more than a hint of annoyance in his voice as he gets in Devon's way a bit, shoving a water bottle at the Ahroun instead. "You don't need Cheetos, you need water."

Mouse nods at Whisper, and thus, nearly runs into Devon. The cliath gets a sudden dark look of temper. "I told you to lie down."

Devon fixes Flint with a look, clearly stating that the cub is overstepping himself. It's quelled when he nearly runs into Mouse, a quick backpedal of shoes pushing him toward the sitting area again as he looks at the elder. "Just trying to get a snack," he hastens to explain, "Flint's being unhelpful."

The look on Flint's face most clearly states that he isn't being unhelpful. The fact that he's offering out a water bottle in Devon's direction even supports the cub's point, though Flint bows his head slightly, half-looking towards Mouse-rhya. "Told him water, he won't listen," the boy says.

Mouse points at the offered bottle, and then Devon. "Water," she says, in that 'no arguments will be brooked' tone. "We're going back to the tenement. You can eat there."

"Can't tell me what to do," Devon says to Flint, though he takes the bottle of water. Mouse is cast a far more wary look before he heads for the door, opening the bottle as he walks.

Flint doesn't actually contradict the statement, but it's quite clear that the cub recognises that Devon might not be the most capable of decision making right now. Instead, there's just a glance at Mouse, before Flint grabs sweatshirt and jacket from a chair and follows Devon at several paces.

"Nope," Mouse says. Flippant. "But I can." She moves toward the car, expecting her tribemates to follow. Keys are produced. Beep beep goes the car alarm being turned off, and then the click of the door locks. "We'll get you a mask, and then, later, you can go study the mushrooms. Once this wears off."

Devon follows, whether he actually wants to or not is unknown. He drains half the bottle of water in several gulps, stopping only to take a breath and look at the cub again. "She can," he states in echo of Mouse, tipping his head toward the elder before he slides into the back seat.

Flint simply nods, moving to sit in the front passenger seat, one knee half pulled to his chest. "I know," the cub states, plainly, pulling the door shut after he's gotten into the car.

Mouse slides in herself and then, wordlessly, starts up the car, and pulls out. Unlike her reckless arrival, this time she's following traffic rules.

Devon finishes the rest of his water as the car gets into motion. Sitting slouched in the back seat, he's otherwise quiet and intent on watching the leftover droplets within his now empty water bottle.

Flint looks over at Mouse, a moment, straightening in his seat, then ducking a long, slow nod. "Thank you, Mouse-rhya," the cub says, about as quietly as one can and still be heard over the noise of a car.

Mouse says nothing. In fact, she says nothing for the entire trip home, which, being a fair enough drive, is quite a lot of silence. She stops at every stoplight and obeys every traffic sign— she doesn't even speed. It's like she's doing penance for her blatant rule-breaking from earlier. Eventually, however, she pulls up into her usual space behind the Tenement. No one's taken it, but that's not surprising. Most people aren't keen to park cars in this neighborhood.

It's a long drive, and long enough for Devon to get over whatever traces of the spores had been left with him. The water helped with cleansing things. His eyes lift when the car finally stops, looking to the front then out the side window, wordless.

Flint has been silent for the entire ride back to the Tenement as well, minus even the usual humming. The cub waits for Mouse to be fully parked, before undoing the seatbelt and nodding, mostly to himself.

Mouse maintains that awkward silence all the way into the building, into the elevator— she definitely eschews the stairs today— and up to the fifth floor, where she leads both cub and cliath into the breakroom, and indicates the couch. "Sack out there, Devon, until you're sure your head's clear. And just to be safe, I don't want you heading back out to the woods until Salem's seen you. Alright?" She does not actually explain why Salem needs to see him.

"Why's Salem need to see me," Devon asks with a sigh. He strips off his jacket and sets it on the floor beside the couch before sinking onto it. "Nothing wrong with me except feeling a little fuzzy. Like allergies or something." He doesn't look toward Flint or Mouse, slouching on the couch until his head sinks below the backrest.

Flint remains silent, before crossing over to the kitchen area and towards the cabinet, pulling down two glasses before looking over at Mouse. "Water, Mouse-rhya?" the boy asks, quiet. "Or… anything?"

"No," Mouse says to Flint; a little too quickly, really. "Not for me. Thanks." And then to Devon, "Because I want to make sure there's nothing wrong with you other than a fuzzy head. We have no idea what that fruit does. Salem can tell if you're out of balance. And then if you're not, you can head out and try again with the proper equipment. But the Wyld isn't something to toy around with."

"The only thing off balance about that fruit," Devon says quietly, folding his hands in his lap, "is that it tasted absolutely perfect. Sweet, juice, ripe. I felt fulfilled in a way regular food doesn't. I wasn't hungry after."

Flint goes about getting two glasses of water, with a nod to Mouse, and one of them is then placed on the coffee table in front of Devon. Wordlessly, in fact, before the cub moves back over to the table and leans against it.

Mouse says, a little thinly, "My point. And you don't know that. It came from an extremely Wyld-tainted plant that will, imminently, overrun our Caern. So, uh, delicious or not? I don't want you eating any more of that. And you're going to stay here until Salem can clear you. Taint is taint. It's not good for us in any flavor, even if it tastes good."

Devon glances to one side, trying to catch a glimpse of Mouse as she talks without actually turning to face her. "Yes ma'am," he says, nearing a sulk and returning his attention to staring ahead at the not-turned-on television.

Flint raises a brow in a half question, before reaching into his pocket, pulling out the cell phone, flipping it open, then shut again, turning to look at Mouse. "Kavi-rhya said to give this back to either you or him when I got back here," the boy says. "So."

Riley, being himself, just happens to be wandering the fifth floor hall and catches snippets of conversation from the break room. Something he hears makes him lift a brow, and he ducks his head in. "Either someone just said 'taint' a bunch of times, or someone's playing Dragon Age." He gives a slow scan of the room, giving a sullen shake of his head. "No one's ever playing Dragon Age. Poor Taint."

Mouse starts to reach for it, but then seems to think better of things. "Keep it for Kavi. I don't want him to have to come get it from me later." She nods at Devon, and then, as Riley arrives, her eyebrows arch. There's a thin trace of humor, barely there and gone. "I've played Dragon Age." So there. "Glad you're here, I've got something for your pack to do."

Devon raises a hand up just enough to be seen over the back of the couch and gives a wave to Riley. "Taint," he confirms. "Mouse-rhya thinks I'm out of whack because I ate one of the fruits on the Bawn. Now I get to go meet with Mister Salem."

Flint nods, the cell phone flipped shut and shoved back into his pocket. "'kay," Flint says, then looking over at Devon. The furrow of brow would indicate that the cub thinks something is off with the Ahroun's behaviour, though nothing's voiced.

Riley's brows lift at Mouse's admission, and manages to look momentarily pleased, something which isn't all that difficult while grinning at your own joke. He points to Mouse, "Ah. Then you have mastered your taint." At the mention of a task, he cranes his head to the side, and Devon's information earns him a slow headtilt from Riley. "Did… it at least taste good, I hope?"

"Precautions," Mouse says. "I don't know, that's why we're going to find out. And Mister Salem is coming here." She lifts a finger. "Be careful around electronics until then. You never know." And then, to Riley, amusement flares and dies, ever so brief. "In fact, I have master my Taint. Val talked to me the other day. There's apparently a burgeoning," she used the word 'burgeoning', "serial killer in town, and she knows for sure it's him, but the cops can't pin any information on him. She's asked us to make him quietly disappear, and given me all the necessary information. Think your pack's up to making that happen? This needs to be quiet and clean."

Devon turns enough to look at Riley, a shadow of a grin touching his expression. "Like the best thing I ever ate," he answers before a warier look angles toward Mouse. "Yes ma'am," he mumbles, sinking back onto the couch and again facing the blank television.

Flint leans against the table, picking up the glass of water he'd ignored up until now, in both hands. Several small sips are taken from it, and the cub simply listens.

This is the perfect opportunity for a preachy talk on the preservation of human life! Assassination is Wrong. Unfortunately, that opportunity slips by with a whimper, and Riley just gives a slow nod of his head. "If you can assure me that the information is completely solid, then… well, that's that, I suppose. I'll talk to the guys about it. Any reason to suspect that there's anything more at work, are we just talking about a particularly bad case of humanity?"

Mouse taps the side of her head. "Corax. They've got a neat and equally gross ability to…see the last things a dead person saw, I guess. By eating their eyes. Ravens, yeah? Anyway, yes, I asked her. One of his victims saw her killer while he was stabbing her." She pauses, pensive. "It sounds like just a regular human, but don't go unprepared. Even regular humans can be dangerous. Quick, clean, quiet. The tribe has a place for body disposal— did I take you there before? I can give you the keys."

"Can I get up and find some lunch," Devon asks quietly. "Promise, I'll wash my hands before I touch anything, and I'll make sure I'm properly grounded before I work any electronics."

Riley's smile is visibly strained, which doesn't seem inappropriate given the subject matter. The fostern sucks at his back molars for a moment before finally shaking his head, "Can't say I've ever had the pleasure, but I'll take the keys. One never knows."

Mouse nods at Devon again. "Yes. And I'm paranoid." She says this like it's news. "Wyld is Wyld. It's better to be safe." To Riley, "I'll have a key, directions, and all the information Val gave me for you tomorrow." Not tonight, apparently. "…I need to see to something now. Please don't come find me tonight, any of you, unless it's another emergency. I'll have my phone if it's something less." And then she moves for the door.

"Great," Devon says as he pulls himself up from the couch. He heads for the sink to wash his hands, to make good his promise before finding food.

"Yes Mouse-rhya," Flint says, hands shoving into his pockets after he sets the cup back down on the table. A half grin is offered to Riley, Flint twisting to face the ragabash.

Riley gives Mouse a pointed look after that comment, and flips his own phone out, waggling it. "Yeah, well. Likewise, Chief. Feel free to call if you get the munchies." He pockets his phone again, frowning around the kitchen. It's been better stocked. Flint is given a little look, and the cogs are almost seen turning in Riley's head. "…Sooo, speaking about food."

Mouse waves and heads out into the hall. Perhaps surprisingly, perhaps not, she does not enter the elevator. Or the stairwell. She keeps going down the hall, toward her apartment.

Devon uses his elbow to turn off the water, looking over his shoulder at Riley and Flint. "Rina bring anything by lately," he asks, taking a second to dry his hands. "Or …pizza? We could go out for some." Not that he looks too hopeful for that second idea, being under house arrest and all.

Flint looks at Riley. "There's some ziti and some lasagna in the freezer," the cub says, "but… pizza does sound good." He looks over at Devon, offers the Ahroun a grin. "We'll bring some back, right Riley-rhya?"

Riley gives an apologetic shake of his head to Devon, "Pizza, huh? If you're heart-set on it, but unless I heard wrong back there, you're hanging out until the scary old guy comes and pokes your taint." His lips give a casual twist upward. Flint's suggestion of bringing some back gets a thoughtful look, then the Fostern peers over to Flint, expression hardening. "Cub. Go get the Pizza." He manages to hold that for a moment, before amending, "With me. My treat."

Down at the end of the hall, a door opens and closes. Presumably, Mouse's door. Urgent business, yes.

Flint sort of shrinks under Riley's gaze, for a moment, before nodding. "I'm not allowed out by myself period, y'know," the boy says, grabbing sweatshirt off of the back of the chair where it's been left.

Devon sighs and nods, casting a Look toward the hall. "This sucks," he mutters, turning back for the couch. Hands jam into his pockets before he drops back onto his seat. "Not tainted, not going to get tainted either. Can you bring back some Coke, too? With the pizza?"

Somehow, the ragabash manages to not turn the request into a Scarface reference, giving a sympathetic little bob of his head, "You got it, man. Any topping preference?" He works the zipper back up on his coat, and saddles alongside Flint, casting an amused grin the cub's direction. "I caught that, yeah." He chuckles.