IC Inbox III

[ukan]

This is Lark, leave a message.

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[ukan]

Lark answers and there's a nervousness to him that he's never shown on the Barge before. Turning Iris had been, at the time, about learning more about himself and what he could do; her first turning had been clinical with none of the usual rituals.

Warren had been so much like Lark, so certain about the next step to take, that it had felt natural. Of course Warren was going to be turned; he was born for it.

Jon, though. He's excited for this and it makes him cautious. So often the things Lark wants are wrong, so often they hurt other people.

"Come over."

[epistemological]

"Oh! Oh, all right. I'll be right over."

There's a pause as he looks around, now feeling a little silly that he'd asked Daniel to clear out.

"Is there anything I should- that is, do I need a change of clothes or is there anything I need to bring with me or- s-should I pack a snack or something?"

[ukan]

Yeah, it's been a while since adding a packmate felt like this. "Depends. You'll tear out of whatever you're wearing now, but we can do the ritual naked to begin with and you can just change back into your clothes after. But plan to be with me a full night; you'll sleep through a lot of it as your body recovers."

[epistemological]

"Right, right, right," Jon says as he slips over to grab his bath robe so that he can wear that right up until the end. No telling if it'll be a bit chill, after all. At least he's not scarred up the way he used to be, something that at once makes him feel more and less naked as he sends off a couple of messages to let people know he'll be out for the night. He tells Daniel he's welcome to come back, for one.

"Anything else? Otherwise, I'm, uh, on my way."

[ukan]

"It's going to hurt." And Jon can take more hurt than Lark can wrap his head around, but that just makes the warning more needed. Lark doesn't want to cause Jon more harm.

But this will be worth it.

cw torture mention

[epistemological]

"Then you should know I'm not quiet with pain, but I'm certainly used to handling it," he says with a soft huff, what he hopes sounds reassuring.

"I mean, as long as it's less horrible than being tied to a chair and skinned alive by a mad puppet for a month, I ought to be fine."

Beat.

"...I hadn't mentioned that one, had I? Shit. N-nothing to be concerned about! All done with these days. Can't happen again. Moving right along."

[ukan]

"I honestly can't promise that it is. The first turn is hard." They're all painful, bones breaking and reshaping, skin stretching, teeth growing. But the first one, "It's on a cellular level. You're going to feel it. I let most people get a little drunk beforehand. It's up to you; the change will cleanse the alcohol out of you but it can dull the pain at first."

More sober than John has probably ever been, his system cleaner than it was even at birth.

[epistemological]

He considers that for a long moment.

"...I think I'd rather be sober, honestly. I don't like pain. But. I'd rather face it honestly. I'd rather remember it. It... happened almost incidentally the last time." And those are not good memories. "I-if it's all the same to you. Just, um, don't be alarmed if I cry out, all right?"

[ukan]

"I'll be with you the whole time," he says, his voice finally softer, certain now. Jon can scream if he wants; Lark will be there beside him, cleaning up the blood, keeping him safe.

[epistemological]

"You always are."

Trust, faith, unwavering and unshakeable. It doesn't matter what he's heading into because Lark will be with him.

"I'll be there in a minute or so."

And true to his word, in about five minutes, there's a knock on Lark's door.

[ukan]

The lights are low in Lark's cabin, there's a fire burning in the fireplace for the first time since he's been here. There are blankets spread out on the floor, and there's Lark, barefoot, relaxed when he opens the door and pulls Jon immediately into a hug.

[epistemological]

Jon wasn't expecting the hug, but once he's gotten it, Lark might be surprised how hard he's hugged back. Jon's still Jon, of course, but the strange otherworldly aura, the feeling of pressure and of being watched, all the things that had always just been there about Jon are gone.

As are the scars that had littered his face, his hands, his throat. There are still tufts of white hair in the blond, but in many ways, he feels and looks like a very different person.

Not smaller or bigger, not more or less... just different.

[ukan]

Different. Like seeing his friend through a new prism; the same man, in different colors.

And he's about to change again, to take on another aura that might drive some people away, but it will draw others closer. And Jon won't be alone with it.

He leads him to the fireplace and sits cross-legged, motioning for Jon to do the same. There's a knife.

"Get comfortable."

[epistemological]

Jon nods, and it's obvious he's not sure where he ought to put his clothing at first. He's got the robe on at this point, and a pair of pants that he's all right with losing, and he decides after a moment to just put it beside him as he settles on the floor across from Lark.

Then he nods.

[ukan]

He takes Jon's hand and turns it palm up, and then slices his own along a well-worn pink scar that runs the length of his little finger, all the way to the heel of his hand. He looks at Jon, then cuts a much smaller gash under Jon's thumb.

Then he ties their hands together, wounds flush against each other. "Just breathe," he says, his advice for the change. Remember to breathe. "It takes a moment for the blood to hit, for enough of it to take hold. You can ask me anything but I feel like over the years I've already told you everything."

[epistemological]

Jon makes a squeaking noise at the cut, a soft exhale at the binding. There's a part of his brain rebelling from the lack of biohazard safety being done here, another part staring at the first with a raised eyebrow, and the rest of him well aware that all of this nonsense is just to not focus on the fact that it's happening, that he's here, that he's willingly trading away his human-ness if not his humanity to be something else after he just got it back.

He doesn't regret it, at all. Especially not when he'll have Lark there to look out for him. He knows that's the case.

"Do you remember when I became a wolf that once? A flood a few years back?"

[ukan]

"I do," he agrees with a little smile. "What are you thinking about it?"

[epistemological]

"Mundane, stupid things," he admits, "almost certainly to keep myself calm. It's much easier to remind myself how ridiculous it is to expect some sort of clinical blood transfer, considering what we're doing, than it is to let all the other actual concerns come flooding through."

[ukan]

He chuckles. "I'll be honest with you, we could have done this in the infirmary. Or I could have borrowed some needles and tubes and done it that way. But this is how I was changed. I'm not sentimental but this goes back through our bloodline all the way to the beginning."

[epistemological]

"And one never knows what parts of a ritual are fluff and which are necessary," he says with a soft huff of amusement. "I can handle this, as I said. Though I'm curious if there's anything you have to do consciously to have this happen. O-or how long it might take, you think."

[ukan]

"You'll feel it. It hits like a truck." In a few very short minutes, Lark expects, watching Jon for the moment his pupils are blown wide and it begins. When that happens they won't be speaking; Lark will be untying them so Jon can contort through his first change.

[epistemological]

"You know," he says thoughtfully, "of all of the things that have happened to me, being hit by a truck-"

And it is, in fact, in that moment when his pupils blow wide, because if Jon's life obeys any rules on anything, it is the rules of comic timing.

[ukan]

Every change after this one will happen in seconds, clean but still painful. This one will take minutes, and not everyone survives. Lark unties them and then he strips and changes, too, licking up where their blood spilled, waiting to lap up Jon's when his skin tears. Ready to welcome him when he comes through in his new form.

[epistemological]

Jon is exactly as much of a wimp about pain as he told Lark he would be, so it starts with a howling cry and all throughout, there are whimpers, shivering gasps and cries and his throat raw even as it changes shape, even as all of him change shape. Blood spills as bones move into places they aren't supposed to go, and skin tears and after a while, the noises are less screaming and crying and more dog-like and pained.

He survives, yes, yes, he survives, because he always survives... but he's a little shakey on his legs as he tries to stand up for the first time in the ruins of the pants and the folds of robe that is now thoroughly blood-soaked.

[ukan]

Lark is there, just as he promised he would be, licking Jon's face, tail wagging furiously when Jon stands. Or tries to stand; Lark can't offer much support except to encourage him to breathe, to gather himself. The strength will flow in as the pain ebbs.

The strength, and all those new senses.