spam; the last journal post

[ukan]

[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.]

Comments

[spam]

[routemistress]

Some wolves, it'll heal when they change. Does it work that way for you?

[She knows enough to know what that look means.]

That's one way. Or there's the infirmary; or I've got a first aid kit in my room. I'm just thinking you might be a bit too chewed up for that, lovey.

It's good to see you again, though. I missed you.

[spam]

[ukan]

[He shakes his head. It's such an oddly human gesture that it feels strange even to him. He could change back now to talk but there are deeply ingrained rules about that, and so he lays down, stretches his bad leg out. First Aid, see where it goes, please.]