Escape From The Gingerbread Castle

Her ears perk up--too much for a human's, whoops.
"Aye lad, I think so, though I might have come about it a different way than you did."

 

"There's a different way than being bitten into it?" Cyprian asks. "Is it any better?"

 

"I think there's as many ways to end up in your - situation as there are kinds of trees," Maggie said.

 

Bloody hell, if her heart melts any more she's going to end up a puddle of mush.

"Aye that. My kin are born into fur. Most of us feel more at home on four legs than two. What happened to you, that's the result of madness," she scratches at the furry stubble fading from her jaw. "Still, it's not all bad once you get used to it. My cousin married a Bitten One. Got three pups, now."

 

If he'd known there were more people like him, and that they weren't nearly as crazy as...well, he might have been able to find somewhere to stay instead of wandering desperately around. "Shit." He hits his fist at the ground in frustration, then turns to Eva. "Tell me everything." Please. Please please please let this be the end of this mess.

 

Aerian stays on the ground, glancing up and oh gods yes they're all distracted now! No one's addressed him or even so much as looked at him. Slooowly, he stands up, awkwardly looking towards the castle where the howlings and noises and rumblings are coming from... this does not bode well. Nope.

 

Oh. Well. "Next to a whole posse of vampires" isn't exactly the best place to be revealing family history, but...

"Well, my kith an' kin are split evenly wolf an' human. Some sort o' innate magic in our homeland. Not quite like the Fair Folk, of course, but like enough that it's in our blood an' bone. No one's sure if the first of us was wolf or human first.

We change skins whenever we want, though nearest the full moon we're most comfortable in fur, and skin on moon dark. Full moon is when we're most wild, when the grand hunts take place. We're not anymore savage than a normal wolf, and unless someone's stupid, suicidal or mad, we don't hunt humans."

She shifts awkwardly, picking at a few pebbles between the cobbles. "At a guess, whoever got you was either a Trueblood gone mad, or a Bitten One what wanted to spread his pain.

I could shift and bite Moth there and it wouldn't do a thing, not unless he were near to dying and I wanted to turn him. The--"

She breaks off. She can't call it a 'gift', not talking to someone scared of what he is now, but she won't call it a curse.

"The Change, it's easier to spread by someone it's been forced upon. Someone like me, who's balanced and content with both sides of m'self, would have to go mad or wild to force the Change on another."

She lowers her voice. "It takes time to get used to the change. My cousin said you can lose memories, lose yourself in the wolf, especially near the moon. I... I can try to help, if that's a problem. Only way is turning as often as you can, in safety."

 

Cyprian frowns. "I've been avoiding it," he admits. "Sometimes I can't help it, but I've been avoiding it when I can. I...I don't really remember anything after. I don't know if I've hurt people. I don't want to, so..." His voice trails off. "Will it get easier?"

 

Eh, why not? Easiest explanation is demonstration, after all. The vamps can just deal.

She kicks off her shoes, loosens the stays on her bodice and stretches out and up and somehow inside and--

--becomes the reason Irishmen have bred hounds bigger than some ponies. 13 stone, 9 hands high at the shoulder with jaws strong enough to snap a man's leg and enough muscle to take a kick from an elk and keep running.

She shakes the last prickling tingles of magic out of her admittedly luxurious ruff, wiggles out of her skirt and plops down on her fluffy rump with her bodice dangling around her narrow hips and her shirt falling off her withers.

She lets her tongue loll out in a grin and thumps her tail twice in the dirt.

Yep.

 

Cyprian stares. "I've never seen anyone else change," he explains. "It's....you're..." It looks so much less awful and terrifying when someone else is doing it. Without thinking, he reaches a hand out to touch her, make sure she's real.

 

She shoves her big, meaty head under his hand, the skull broader than a normal wolf's to account for larger brains, and tilts her head until his fingers are in the velvet softness behind her ears.

Ear scritches are absolutely in the Top 10 Best Things About Being A Wolf and this one probably has no idea.

 

Bingle seems to think this is the most entertaining thing he's ever seen, and begins to bark, sniffing around Eva. "Ah - sorry, do you want me to pull him back or?" Maggie asked.

 

She snorts agreeably and wags her tail. The dog is just curious, his barking translating more or less to
WHAT
HOW
WHERE GO
NOSE ITCHES
WHERE GO
WHAT
WHAAAAT

 

Chance listens and watches with interest. This isn't the first group of werewolves he and Ambrose have met, and while they try to be on good terms with the other 'monsters' they meet, there's a natural distrust between vampires and werewolves. Prejudice, of course, does little good for anyone, though. These guys seem to be genuinely good people just trying to do their best.
Even though he has an excellent memory, Chance pats the pockets of his jacket, trying to find a notebook. It would be interesting to jot down notes on these particular werewolves cultures to compare with those on the River pack in Thear.

Ambrose smiles. They really were quite the interesting group, weren't they? Vampires, witches' sons, fairy blessed royalty, and werewolves! This could be quite the opportunity to establish good will between various nonhuman peoples. "Madam, your furs are beautiful. When you're able to speak again, do you mind telling us where you're from? You do quite resemble a pack we know of in Thear!"

 

Cyprian strokes her head gently, smiling. "Thank you," he tells her. "Thank you."

 

Moth watches the doggy shenanigans from a bit of a distance. While witches don't have nearly as much beef with werewolves as vampires do, he's never met one of either because, as Ma made so very clear, they're not human and they are dangerous. (Of course everything was too dangerous for him, because he couldn't even use magic, but that's an entirely different set of issues to be dealt with at a later date.) He scans the rest of the crowd gathered in front of the pub. A wolf, a couple of wide-eyed not-yet-wolves, a yappy dog, a yappy dog's owner (he's not the only human! Score!), and some other pretentious-looking folk, probably not human, considering SOMEbody had to have poofed them all here, and--

Oh yeah! The guy who trip-tackled him! "Oi!" Moth barks. "Buddy! Watch yourself next time. Scared the living bejeezus outta me."

 

Barnaby's gone quiet and still, eyes cast down to the ground.

"Papa says..." He glances up, to Moth, who pushed him away, then down to Eva, still smaller than he knows he could be, more than half falling out of her clothes and not never minding someone scritching at the fluff behind her ears. He would sorely like for someone to scritch his ears, he thinks. Then he feels a deep twist of shame for it. This is a temptation he is suddenly sure. It's a trial like in papa's stories, a test to see if he will give in to the evil. He clutches his staff in front of him like a totem, as if a big stick could fend off any one here if they wanted a go at him. "Papa said I was born with a devil in me. He said 'You're a Good Boy, Barnaby, but you got something Bad inside.' I don't want to do Bad things, I'm sorry."

He closes his eyes and and pushes down hard on the desire to shed his clothes and human form. The fur recedes.

 

Eva bolts upright, whining plaintively. Her voice drops abruptly into a deep, rumbling croon she never expected to make. Her mam and her auntie made those noises she was a wee pup.

She very gently takes the new pup's hand in her mouth and stands up, ambling over to where Barnaby has curled into a sad little ball, then flumps down, half on top of him, tugging the new one down with her.

She barely restrains a vicious growl at whatever idiots made these poor boys hate and fear themselves, instead channeling the energy into emergency snuggles, because stars and bloody blighted stones know they need it.

She alternates between licking Cyprian's hands and shoving her head into Barnaby's chest until he decides to uncurl and pet her, projecting "safe" and "home" and "welcome" and other wordless things that mean the same as hard as she can.

Blast and damn it all, she'll see these boys happy in fur if it kills her.

 

"Uh, hi," Cyprian says to the other boy. "I think she wants us to talk to each other? I'm Cyprian."

 

Eva huffs in approval. Good. Talk to each other. Because if I'm not evil, and you're not evil and he's not evil, who's steering the Evil Train? No one, that's who, damn it.

She glances over at the Vampire party, wagging her tail awkwardly. We interrupt this peace negotiation for Emergency Cuddles, Please Stand By.