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I've holed myself up in my sanctum for the past few days. No contact with anyone. Just me, a vial of wasp venom to examine, and my thoughts about Sunday night and Flint's death.
I know garou have a high mortality rate. I didn't really care at all when Riley killed the Red Talon that'd been sneaking into the city and killing families. She meant nothing to me. I didn't really care when I learned that Riot had died. I knew her, but I knew she was nothing but a rage-filled, self-righteous bully reveling in her new-found power.
Flint, though? I knew him, and--despite his many flaws--he had potential. And he seemed to be getting a better handle on things these past few months. Sure, he was frustrated, headstrong, and arrogant; but what teenager isn't when they're trying to establish their sense of self--and self-worth--while surrounded by people far more skilled and accomplished.
He had a real gift for woodworking, though. Not exactly a common skill, these days. I wouldn't be surprised if he was the best in the entire sept at it.
He'd been teaching me how to decipher garou glyphs. I think he thought of them as more art than writing. I'd stopped dropping by for lessons after the incident with him crippling Mouse. I'd subconsciously despised him for about a month afterwards before I recognized what I was doing and worked to not let that hate fester and grow--like it had been.
Healing takes time: just the other week I was thinking about dropping in when the moon was thinner to resume our lessons. Now? There's no more time.
It's the first time I've ever had a "tribemate" die: It won't be the last, either. Flint's death, I think, just made probability a reality.
It hurts. He.... They....
My "real" family has been shattered for decades. The Glass Walkers are the family I never had before. I know that now. And even though I have no siblings by blood.... I think this is what it must feel like to lose a slightly wayward, problematic little brother with anger management issues--right as he was starting to get his shit together.
Tomorrow morning, I'm going over to the store. The one where I convinced the owner to sell Flint's carved wooden chests on commission. And I'm going to buy all of them up and give them back to the Glass Walkers.
Maybe Kavi will add him to the mural that Flint worked so hard crafting as a memorial.
Goddammit, kid. God damn it.
I know garou have a high mortality rate. I didn't really care at all when Riley killed the Red Talon that'd been sneaking into the city and killing families. She meant nothing to me. I didn't really care when I learned that Riot had died. I knew her, but I knew she was nothing but a rage-filled, self-righteous bully reveling in her new-found power.
Flint, though? I knew him, and--despite his many flaws--he had potential. And he seemed to be getting a better handle on things these past few months. Sure, he was frustrated, headstrong, and arrogant; but what teenager isn't when they're trying to establish their sense of self--and self-worth--while surrounded by people far more skilled and accomplished.
He had a real gift for woodworking, though. Not exactly a common skill, these days. I wouldn't be surprised if he was the best in the entire sept at it.
He'd been teaching me how to decipher garou glyphs. I think he thought of them as more art than writing. I'd stopped dropping by for lessons after the incident with him crippling Mouse. I'd subconsciously despised him for about a month afterwards before I recognized what I was doing and worked to not let that hate fester and grow--like it had been.
Healing takes time: just the other week I was thinking about dropping in when the moon was thinner to resume our lessons. Now? There's no more time.
It's the first time I've ever had a "tribemate" die: It won't be the last, either. Flint's death, I think, just made probability a reality.
It hurts. He.... They....
My "real" family has been shattered for decades. The Glass Walkers are the family I never had before. I know that now. And even though I have no siblings by blood.... I think this is what it must feel like to lose a slightly wayward, problematic little brother with anger management issues--right as he was starting to get his shit together.
Tomorrow morning, I'm going over to the store. The one where I convinced the owner to sell Flint's carved wooden chests on commission. And I'm going to buy all of them up and give them back to the Glass Walkers.
Maybe Kavi will add him to the mural that Flint worked so hard crafting as a memorial.
Goddammit, kid. God damn it.
