ukan | spam; the last journal post

spam; the last journal post

[Getting on board was a moment of chaos. He remembers turning a corner, expecting to find fur and blood in his mouth, expecting maybe to get torn up in return, expecting maybe a bullet from above to take him down, too-

But instead he's somewhere metal, somewhere that smells of strangers and strangeness, and he's bleeding a trail but he runs for safety anyway. If there is any. If there are doors, anywhere, that he can open without changing back, because this has to be the FBI's work and so long as they think he's just a wolf, maybe they won't slit him open and poke around inside.]

[ooc: Lark is a wolf, for now. He'll have to change back sooner or later even if he doesn't want to, so feel free to tag him as human or wolf, just lemme know which.]

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[At the first growl, he looks over at Fluffy; Scott doesn't have to say anything, his eyes flash red and everything about him exudes command: the malamute, still a puppy at less than a year, dips his head and turns to trot off. Scott gives him free range when he's out, usually - though after what happened with Cassel, he's not sure about his ability to be at the dog's side if anything does happen.

But the wolf takes priority, because - well, who the hell brought a wolf here, and if no one brought him, then...

Scott holds his hand out for the sniffing, calm and patient.]

It's okay. No one's going to hurt you. [He wants to take a closer look at that limp.]

[He knows then what Scott must be, and knows then that it's not what Lark is. Which is intriguing enough that he forgets his leg is shredded, until he goes to step forward and it buckles under him. He limps forward a few steps, until he has his head against Scott.]

[Scott is there to catch him when the leg buckles, quick and, he hopes, non threatening. But if he gets bit, it wouldn't be the first time, so he risks it, and holds him carefully. He doesn't have to think about taking the pain - it happens almost automatically when he runs his hand down the wolf's side, black lines crawling up his veins. It's not permanent, but it will at least keep the wolf from feeling the hurt, at least for a little while.

He's careful when he touches the leg, avoiding the actual injury, lifting it gently to get a better look.]

[Of all the things so far, this manages to be the most surprising. If the pain hadn't been setting in something fierce, Lark might have jerked away. Instead he's too worn, too worried, to care about his general need for control.

At least this other wolf hasn't figured him out, yet. The longer Lark can put that off, the better, so he does his best, weakest whine, and licks Scott's hand.]

That's a good boy, yeah.

[He makes all soft comfort sounds, the kind he learned working in an animal clinic long before he was bit.]

We're gonna go for a walk, okay? Real quick.

[But he's not letting the wolf walk on that leg. He's careful, gentle, lets his smell and body language exude comfort as he gathers the wolf up. He rises easily, making sure the wolf won't freak out on him before walking smoothly toward the clinic.]

[Whoever this wolf is, he's got the sort of attitude that most people would assume goes with a more subordinate wolf. But Lark saw how he handled the pup, and no one without the experience of a leader could do that, other-wolfly-powers or no.

Scott is the sort of leader that could have posed a very real threat to Lark back home: he has patience and he has compassion, and both of those can be very lethal.

He stays close to Scott, limping and whimpering, and when they get to the clinic he curls up against him for protection.]

[He is without a doubt the most cooperative wolf Scott has ever come across. It's a quick journey, but at some point, something about him starts smelling familiar - he just can't place it. In the clinic, Scott sets him down on the examining table and stays there for a few moments, stroking his ears, calming him. He's worked with Deaton often enough to know that sometimes the best way to calm a frightened animal is just to be with it.

When he breaks away, it's only briefly, and he comes back with cleaning materials and bandages.]

You're someone, [he murmurs, an antiseptic wipe in his hand. He's half way to applying it when he pauses. The smell is driving him nuts.]

No chance you'll tell me who, huh?

[In Lark's world, discovering another wolf ends bloody for one or the other. He looks up at Scott warily, and there's distinct, human intelligence behind it; no point hiding now.

Because Scott knows, he's not going to feign submission, but Lark isn't in the habit of biting the hand that cleans his wounds. So instead, carefully, he licks Scott's wrist.

Truce?]

[Scott smiles (it's always like he's hiding the sun behind his face, and it's free only when he smiles), and shrugs. Truce.]

All right. We'll do it your way.

[He's good at this, it's why he's been working for Deaton for so long: Scott likes animals, he likes fixing them, and maybe this isn't an animal, but he knows what to do for mangled legs. He's quick, and he's gentle, and it isn't too long before he's wrapping the leg up.]

[This seals it: trust only another wolf to treat your wounds. He stands and tries out his freshly treated leg, and it still hurts but it'll be all right.

And he starts to wag his tail as thanks, when the change starts, utterly out of his control.]

[It really shouldn't freak Scott out, but he still jumps back as the change starts. His eyes widen: he's never seen someone who can become a full wolf, and he's definitely never seen the change, and oh holy shit what does he do?

He waits, grabs a towel from a cabinet because it....seems like a good think to have on hand.]

[Changing is not a fun experience. It's a lot of bones snapping and veins realigning and organs shifting. But it only lasts twenty seconds, and then there's a naked human or a furry wolf, depending on which way you're changing.

Lark looks up, with absolutely no idea what to expect. A fight? Guards?

Nope. There's a boy with a towel, and he feels almost guilty for having expected violence. He takes the towel and wraps it around his waist.]

I'm so sorry. For that.

It's okay.

[His voice is higher than it was when he was just talking talking to a wolf, and his eyes are a lot wider too.]

You're, um. [Scott has to shake his head, blinking blinking few times to gather the thoughts that scattered with the bone popping.]

Does it...hurt?

[At first he thinks Scott means the injury, which doesn't hurt so much now that it's been treated. But he takes a gamble that it's the other thing he means.]

Doesn't it for you?

I don't...[He gestures helplessly, unsure.]

I can't turn all the way. Not like that.

[That sounds miserable. He can't quite picture how the anatomy would work but he's seen now what being stuck halfway (or back and forth) is like.]

What's it like for you?

It's, uh...

[Scott thinks for a moment, then just shrugs: he closes his eyes, bows his head. The shift is quick - his ears grow, point, slide up higher on his head. His claws grow from his fingernails. When he looks up, he has a mouth full of teeth, and sideburns. His nose has shifted into something a little more muzzle like, and his eyes are red.]

This is as far as it goes.

[He's suspected there were other types of wolf out there. From Europe, from Asia, while his kind originated in the far north of the Americas. He's trying hard to rally his thoughts to properly appreciate this: meeting another wolf, another kind of wolf, without it turning bloody.]

Your senses don't change? I'm a little envious. Your way seems much less painful. Easier.

They're there all the time. [He shrugs, and lets the shift happen in reverse: everything recedes, and he's just a seventeen-year-old boy again. A seventeen-year-old who is about as uninterested in bloody as it gets.]

It hurt the first few times, but...[He trails off, shrugs again and jerks his uneven chin at Lark.]

Your way's probably more powerful. And useful - a real wolf can hide a little better than some...freak.

It comes in handy. But I've also been inspected by a vet and put in a pound. I've had friends who ended up in dog fighting rings...they couldn't turn back to people or they would have been shot. Or worse.

[But he's more interested in Scott right now.] Do you feel like a freak?

[He looks appropriately perturbed by the idea - being trapped in a kennel, or a pound, unable to let himself out...that is terrifying. At least back home, the vet's on his side.

Scott scratches the back of his head, shrugging again.]

Used to. Kind of hard not to, when suddenly you've got claws instead of nails, and, and, sideburns. [He smiles a little.] I didn't know about any of it. Were you bit, or born?

[He offers a sympathetic nod. Although Lark had been in his twenties when he was changed, it isn't hard to imagine how it would all feel as a teenager.]

Neither, actually. [He purses his lips and decides that this story, one he has only told to packmates, is something he can share with another wolf. Even if they're more like cousin-wolves.] I was on a very self-destructive path at the time. One night I watched my best friend walk out of the bar we were at, get in his car, and drive himself straight into a pole.

At the hospital a man sat next to me and when I was told my friend had died on the table, the man stayed with me. Told me he had something to offer me. It wouldn't take the pain away but it would make me a better person if I wanted it. I figured, what have I got to lose?

Had no idea it meant turning into a wolf, of course.

[Scott just listens, sympathetic and not quite horrified, but close: it's not blame he feels, just empathy. What if that had been him and Stiles? He can't imagine losing his best friend. Especially not like that.]

That's...[He just shakes his head. How do you react to that?] Did it, though? ...Make you better?

I think so. Yes, it did. I learned how to exist in a pack...I don't know what packs are like for you, though?

[It's one of those things that's hard to explain to someone who doesn't know.]

We have them. [He's quick to nod, and a little smile tugs at his mouth.] Mine's here. Most of them, anyway. [Only one's a wolf, but, semantics.]

It's weird, right? Different. People you'd...people you'd go to any lengths for.

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spam; the last journal post

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holler if this isn't okay!

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