Strawberry425 — Roleplayer Guild

Perhaps, in his euphoria at their successful escape from the confines of the muddled crowd, Chase had not noticed the full, round, moon hanging low in the sky like a meteor teasing of impact. It shone, pale, but tinted, and gave off a silvery bluish light. The night around him and his companion had become strangely quiet; a dreadful silence broken by the worse of omens.

Several wolves howled. Their moaning call pierced the night, sending chills down Chase’s back. They were singing, like all wolves do, of the hunt.

Chase’s head snapped up, and, as if with little resistance, his eyes found his silver-white god. They glowed brighter, his pupils contracting with the beginning of his transformation and sucking in more light than his almost previously anatomically human eyes could have managed. 

“The key,” he muttered. The hand with which he pointed twitched spastically. Johanssen stared up at him befuddled, her thin elegantly carved arm reaching to jerk the key from its cradle in the ignition.

“No,” he snapped, “Go, go home!”

Johanssen's blue saucers seemed to stare up at him with a dawning comprehension, watching the way his features began to twist grotesquely under the white moon beams. Months of work, Chase realized bitterly, wasted on one overly packed night. He could only blame himself; he had been careless enough to forget what night it was, though he had been planning his excuse for the better part of the month.

He knew himself as a wolf. His sentience remained intact. But he would attract others. Normally, his well thought out plans would have involved him hiding away somewhere, underground possibly, where most wolves dared not to venture. Tonight, it would be a race to escape to the sewer systems before he was seen…or smelt.

Admittedly, Chase hated the underground mazy sewage pipes that sometimes served as his solitude away from the Hunters. Already, it was hard enough dealing with the more central parts of Santa Somabra. Werewolves were, perhaps, even more hypersensitive than dogs or wolves. The blissful ignorance that many canines seems to develop for the overflow of information their brains received, was, in actuality, only natural. Born with that level of sensitivity, it had dawned on Chase that it only made sense for canines to cope with the noise the way any human would cope with normal noise; in other words, noise levels that were regular to their ears would not make an impact on them. But Chase hadn’t been born a dog; he had been born a man (a human baby), and his disease had required his brain to make major changes and adaptation that otherwise his body would have never experienced. He, and so many others, had been forced to accept the overflow of information in ears, eyes, and noses that had been modified to a body that had, originally, been ill-equipped to handle that amount of sensation.

So it made werewolves jumpy in claustrophobic situations. It made them wary of crowded, stuffy places, where their senses received too much information; and, in an empty sewage line, they jumped at the impact of a droplet onto the surface of murky, reeking, water. 

Chase decided he would relish the freedom of wind on his transforming skin in the few moments that he dashed from the streets and down into the manhole at its end. Before, he was in engulfed in the sickening, tight silence of the sewer system.

Johanssen had already stuffed herself in his sedan’s driver’s seat, turning the ignition violently, and speeding off. She looked back once, fear swimming in her big blue eyes, and then turned on a corner, no doubt heading home.

Chase, in the meanwhile, slinked into the nearest alleyway to complete his transformation. 

My heart was racing, and I could feel globs of dense slimy spit thickening in the back of my throat. Chase was a werewolf, which put a lot of things into perspective for me. His monthly disappearances, for one, were like something straight out of Harry Potter or Twilight…ok, no not Twilight…well maybe, I mean, Edward disappears once a month to go—

I’m getting way of topic. 

His temper was something else. I know before he had met me, he had been known well enough for his sometimes less than docile nature. Or rather, while he’d always been relatively genial, he had been quick to anger, as though he went through massive personality shifts between his happiness and the catalyst for the rise of his temper. 

I know what my "powers" do, what the nature of my nymph ancestry bestows on me; I know well enough to understand why they’ve had such an effect on him. I’d be willing to bet a good dollar on the fact that Chase probably hasn’t had a nasty temperamental outbreak since we’ve become partners. It’s allowed his personality to shine through very strongly, and it’s a beautiful personality he has. Most of the time, anyway, when he’s not being stubborn. 

The moon was out tonight in full force, which meant the Hunters had swung on by to fuck up Santa Somabra. 

I racked my brain for any sparse tidbits I knew on werewolves. For one, they were bipedal-quadrupedal, mish-mashed beasts with ample stamina and big, shiny, serrated teeth. They traveled in packs, at least the Hunters did. They liked to prey on human, though, for some reason, I doubted Chase’s ability to eat a fellow…well actually no humans and werewolves aren’t really fellows per say…

I didn’t know anything about personality. Did a werewolf keep its human traits? I would ask mom. She would know. I would feed Chase’s dogs too. Actually, I would get to them first. They were probably starving. Chase had been gone since the afternoon. I wondered if it would be too much to have hoped that his neighbor across the hall, old Ms. (previously Mrs.) Worths, would have gotten around to it. Eh, she had always been more of a cat lady.

His apartment smelled pleasantly of…of dog. Well, it smelled like wet, slobbering puppy. All the same, since it reminded of Chase, I chose to think of it as pleasant. The dogs were happy to see me, bounding up to greet me like I was dog-Jesus. After I had made sure they’d been well-fed and watered, I made my way back out into the hall, intending to pay my mom and Ann a visit. I had decided I would head back out to the streets. See if I could find him. It was a highly dangerous and extremely stupid idea, but he was my friend, and I had turned my back on him because I had, for a split second, believed he was about to rip my frail mostly human trachea from my neck.   

I never really made it past the middle-of-the-hall elevator. I was, unexpectedly, ambushed. The idiots, dressed in the uniforms of cops (possibly, actual cops), jumped on me almost as soon as I’d locked Chase’s apartment door. There were two of them, both men, both strong enough to overpower me. But for, good measure I was sure, they injected me with some type of tranquilizer.  

I woke up in a fancy place to the unpleasant screeching of a lacky looking for its boss. He kept calling for the person, sounding anxious and frightened.

My vision swam, and I could barely make out the blurry figures moving in front of me. Someone else was speaking in a high pitched panicked tone, a man by the sound of it, talking fearfully about something “big, angry, and furry” and pointing next to me on the floor where I became faintly aware that I was leaned up against whatever the man was scared off. 

When my vision cleared, I understood his panic. Chase sat next to me, his dull brownish fur warm and welcoming, his blue eyes familiar and easy. They had wrapped his muzzle tightly in rope, and for extra reinforcement, it seemed as though someone had tried to chain his mouth shut, but failed from fear of getting too close to him.

I smiled at him what I hoped was placating smile, and his left ear twitched with recognition. If my hands hadn’t been bound so tightly, I would have patted him on the head, teased him a little. Instead, I settled for waiting in tense silence for whatever was to become of us.

@DJAtomika

Ok, well, so long as you assure me you'll keep the daemons and armor at an acceptable balance, she's fine to be added to the Character tab. So long as she isn't dodging every attack thrown at her, I'm happy. More than anything, these powers and they're use will depend on you as the writer to write how they are utilized, so while I may occasionally intervene if ever I see something too out of place or powerful, from what I know of you as an RP'er, I think they should be fine. The only thing I'd really prefer you exclude is the "touch her you die instantly" part. That ones a little too...well, instant. It makes me think of too many sad scenarios where characters accidentally touch and BAM some good guy's dead.   

I would also hope anyone would reprimand me if my owns posts seem to out of line. GM does not escape the rules. You know the grand total of two rules I included. 

@TheWizardLizard

Just gimme a heads up when your char is complete and I shall go and check her out.

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