Thomas McNair (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
loyalpup) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
ataraxionlogs2014-01-26 02:45 pm
loyalpup) wrote in ataraxionlogs2014-01-26 02:45 pm
Entry tags:
Howl
CHARACTERS: Tom and You
LOCATION: Gardens -- Level Two
WARNINGS: Werewolf Logic
SUMMARY: Tom decides to change in the gardens. What could go wrong?
It's a familiar pain. Bones break and his skin stretches and pulls until it feels as though it will tear away. His heart stops as his organs reshape themselves to support this familiar form. It's a pain that has been with Tom for as long as he can remember.
He knows the "rules." Stay isolated, drag something enticing around, keep your clothes out of the reach of curious claws. There's little screaming on Tom's part as he starts the change. He doesn't cling to his humanity or fear what he'll become, and so it flows over him, rippling from head to toe. It isn't until the man that was Tom is gone that any loud noise is heard; a chilling howl echoes through the gardens.
A flex of his form and then the wolf is catching the scent of something putrid. The ship provided them something meat-like, and Tom had set a bit aside, letting it rot enough that the wolf would want to follow the scent. It was dangerous, stupid even, for him to let the wolf roam so freely, but it had been so long since the wolf had this freedom. Derek didn't have to know, not that Tom cared.
Except maybe he cared a little, but he wanted to show George and Mitchell that he wasn't some blind follower of the other man. He wanted to prove that he could be a friend because that small group was all he had from home and he so desperately wanted them to accept him. So, here the wolf ran, nearly free, chasing the scent of something that must be delicious, unaware that anyone could stumble upon its location.
LOCATION: Gardens -- Level Two
WARNINGS: Werewolf Logic
SUMMARY: Tom decides to change in the gardens. What could go wrong?
It's a familiar pain. Bones break and his skin stretches and pulls until it feels as though it will tear away. His heart stops as his organs reshape themselves to support this familiar form. It's a pain that has been with Tom for as long as he can remember.
He knows the "rules." Stay isolated, drag something enticing around, keep your clothes out of the reach of curious claws. There's little screaming on Tom's part as he starts the change. He doesn't cling to his humanity or fear what he'll become, and so it flows over him, rippling from head to toe. It isn't until the man that was Tom is gone that any loud noise is heard; a chilling howl echoes through the gardens.
A flex of his form and then the wolf is catching the scent of something putrid. The ship provided them something meat-like, and Tom had set a bit aside, letting it rot enough that the wolf would want to follow the scent. It was dangerous, stupid even, for him to let the wolf roam so freely, but it had been so long since the wolf had this freedom. Derek didn't have to know, not that Tom cared.
Except maybe he cared a little, but he wanted to show George and Mitchell that he wasn't some blind follower of the other man. He wanted to prove that he could be a friend because that small group was all he had from home and he so desperately wanted them to accept him. So, here the wolf ran, nearly free, chasing the scent of something that must be delicious, unaware that anyone could stumble upon its location.
no subject
changed character journals it's the same doral
In tandem: the artificial neurological processes in Doral’s cylon brain fizzle. He stands stock still, blank as a dead television set when the rancid rush of the roar buffs his shoulders and rifles through his hair.
Oh. ...Kay.
A vacant up-and-down marks height and conformation as registering somewhere in the region of frakking terrifying. The teeth, the claws, the tail.
“Sorry,” he says. Sorry. “My fault. Totally. I’ll just -- “ he gestures vaguely off behind himself, thumb hooked after the sidearm under his belt in an extension of the same movement as he turns casually to go.
He doesn’t smell human. Not exactly.
no subject