RP between Degu (Harpur) and Rigby (Sandro/Marc) - Part 1
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Harpur Eberhardt — 05/24/2021
It’s the night of the supermoon and Aetheros looms brightly over the night’s sky, casting an eerie purple light on the world beneath it. It’s an oppressive feeling, it always is. The magic in the air makes the atmosphere feel thick and heavy, dangerous too. That said, these things come and go, usually no incidents and no signs of any moon-touched therianthropes or other moon beasts, the city is a good place to steer-clear of for any creature.
It didn’t stop Harpur heading out on his own though, Faewatch as a whole knew that the captain would be out on a personal patrol tonight, often they crossed paths. There was nothing they could do to stop him, they just had to let it be, it was the closest to faewatch Captain Eberhardt seemed like he’d ever get anyway and he knew what he was doing. Let it be, right?
There’s no sign of Harpur so far, no sign of anything alarming as they get into the early hours of the morning. And then the watch patrols would hear it, far too close to them. A deep, distorted, entirely ethereal “BAROOO ROOO ROOOO ROOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO” it’s not a normal werewolf by far, it’s immediately obvious and the patrol quickly draw on their silver weapons but as silently as possible, it might already know they’re here. One of the youngest among them looks like he’s going to cry while the more seasoned patrol members are still as they can be.
Branches snap loudly somewhere nearby. Then nearer still.
Harpur hears the whole thing. He hurries in that direction through the thick forest but it’s a way yet. Marc. he thinks with urgent worry. His mind goes too quickly to memories of Pierro.
Marc — 05/26/2021
Harpur hadn't been the only one wandering off of the well-trodden path, that evening; tonight it was for an altogether different reason.
The now-eldest of Aiolfi's children was also out on patrol.
Even when he wandered off, distant and odd - or odder than usual - he'd been growing into returning with results, had proven himself time and again in finding and addressing troublesome fae. And often impressively so. Somehow, Marc just knew - and he'd had several 'normal' were-creature corpses to his name.
For he had learned. Well-fought before, he'd only made excellent use of Harpur and Sandro's recent training, as well as somewhat-clandestine fighting matches abroad (hot and fast rumors despite his best efforts to stem them - guards and diplomats didn't get into needless scraps!). He might have been an odd and awkward boy, but he was a beautiful terror on the field.
He was also different. He knew this now. And, as had been the case since his illness now over a year prior, he hungered.
The purple moon convinced him he was sated, if only from moment to moment. But the void yearned and supped greedily at the purple rays. So much had been taken, and then eventually shed or devoured, incorrect. But he drank in Aetheros like a drug, invigorated, curious, unquestionably right and feeling as good as he'd ever felt in a long time.
Patrols were likely used to Marc wandering away - it usually brought results. But this one felt different - or had it been the disquieting vibes of the moon?
He'd wandered, circling a wide loop around his companions through the forest, vaguely aware and never losing them entirely, yet. He wandered as if entranced.
He only stopped at that ghostly howl, head angled in an oddly canine manner.
It was incredibly close, indeed.
Sandro — 05/26/2021
Sandro had wished to hunt with Harpur - at least one or two more adventures between old friends, he insisted - but not like this.
The Faewatch were out in full force tonight - supermoons as a rule invited all sorts of mischief and emboldened creatures and beings that were better off staying far away from the mortal population - but the Faewatch couldn't contain Harpur.
He knew this. Professionally, he couldn't do anything about Harpur - but personally, he could.
His health and mental state hadn't always allowed it, but since Piero's death, and since Marc started coming into his own on duty, Sandro had 'accidentally' also been out with his own company. A supermoon only guaranteed a Harpur out and about, as well.
He'd felt safer for Marc with Harpur in the field - but it never hurt to look out for the both of them, right?
His thoughts were interrupted with a ghostly howl, and he tensed. They'd nearly made it through the night without incident - shuffling a few unseelie teenagers away from defacing a few buildings was hardly anything to write home about. But that howl meant things went from laughably quiet to an emergency VERY quickly.
He rubbed absently at old, crumpled scars at his side with a faint hum at the thought. Yes, he knew these creatures very well.
So his own small patrol set out, silently, expertly, in the direction of the howl.
Aetheros-Touched Werewolf — 05/27/2021
The thinner trees around them begin to shake. It's coming and in barely any time at all it's here. A werewolf born of Aetheros bursts through the trees, it's a huge thing. Teeth bared, silver fur, glowing bright purple eyes and similarly glowing tracks of moon energy glimmering across the stretch of its body. The berzerk thing's muscles ripple and the fur bristles as it snaps its huge head towards the nearest patrol.
Marc's partner is the unfortunate soul who comes face to face with him first, a scream of terror rings out and quickly turns to bloody gurgles as the gigantic beast snaps its jaws down hard on his rib cage and begins to shake him wildly like prey, throwing his broken body into the air and snapping it up again to tear pieces of it apart bit by bit, blood spraying everywhere and matting the beasts fur.
It's a terrible sight, he hadn't had a chance. Marc is only lucky that the beast has not noticed him yet.
Harpur Eberhardt — 05/27/2021
Harpur runs towards the scene, he hears feet nearby and takes a fast detour. He's dressed in lighter armor, maneuverability is everything on nights like these and so he manages to cut into the clearing near Sandro when he spots him. They'd been headed the same direction "Sandro!" he calls over between breaths. There's a terrible, blood curdling scream in the distance "Where is Marc!?" he calls, looking pale with worry as he starts loading up a crossbow with silver bolts.
Sandro — 05/27/2021
Evident relief animated Sandro's face as Harpur burst into the clearing, but he would not allow himself to feel joy. There was no time for that until Marc was back.
"Forest route." He clapped Harpur on the back, a grim, quick, greeting.
His own handful of companions were similarly armed; Aiolfi was known for a hodgepodge of cultural weaponry gathered from their travels, and the Faewatch had a way of adorning things with silver, often quite creatively. When Aiolfi men were on the Faewatch, it was an intimidating combination.
Sandro had a sword, and Sandro had a crossbow. And he could fall in line at Harpur's back nearly as nimbly as he could when they were younger. He was ready.
He didn't need to add that "Let's go," as they moved to the forest, but it felt good, anyway.* "In bocca al lupo, amico."*
Easily missed were solemn, phantom flutters above as they moved; flutters of wings bleached white as bone, only visible once stained with the violet light of Aetheros, and seemingly dedicated to remain close the pair.
Marc — 05/27/2021
The prickling at the back of his neck might've been chills, might've been that strange unnatural sense of his, or threads of lunar-energized fur or those strange feathers.Being saturated in the magic of Aetheros seemed to energize him into something that could keep going, it also had the unfortunate effects of dulling his senses to beings who were also saturated in it, invite a familiarity to monsters that he did not want, a drop of water in a pool straining to distance and detect another. He was stronger, now.
He did not sense that werewolf coming like he would have a normal werewolf on another night - and the ambush was sharp, sudden and horrible.
He'd retreated, slipping soundlessly behind a tree, loading up a bolt. He bit down on his lip hard, stemming his words, resisting the I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry that wished to burst forth, willing unbidden tears to stay in his eyes, near-petrified and overcome with a wave of revulsion, rejecting that sense to go to the wolf
And, as silent as he could, he loaded up a bolt in his own bow, listened to where it moved, reached out with his senses...
Aetheros-Touched Werewolf — 05/28/2021
Any beast of Aetheros was hypersensitive, especially on nights like this. It tore the body of its victim apart, breathing so fast that it seems distressed. It's just berserk, heart hammering rapidly inside its chest as the moon compels it to keep going. The snarfling and growling rising from its chest stop abruptly in a chilling moment, head snapping towards where Marc is hiding as he tries to load that bow.
Its huge ears twitch rapidly, left, right, forwards, back, forwards, forwards, forwards. It's focusing in on that tree. Nostrils flare, bright eyes widening as it starts to bound on all fours towards the tree to investigate, snuffing and snapping its teeth at the air, the blood mats its beautiful fur all the way down its chin to its chest.
Harpur Eberhardt — 05/28/2021
Harpur looks back "I hope you're wrong, for his sake." he tells Sandro, if he'd been with Marc on patrol as faewatch maybe he could have been there to fight alongside him! That reasoning has long since overtaken his personal, greedy reasons. He was afraid, Marc was capable but so was Piero. He keeps running, he can hear it but it feels like they're miles away, running seems slower. He needs to get there NOW!
They're almost there.
Marc — 05/28/2021
The werewolf snapped into sudden silence and so did Marc; the unison would've been unsettling to any onlooker.
There was an urge to growl right back at it, issue a challenge. He continued to bite down on these impulses, literally and internally. That was weird, too. Even his breathing was stilled, barely present, moving with and along the sounds and life around him. Couldn't silence his heartbeat, couldn't stem his scent, couldn't pretend he even smelled human, couldn't stand here forever. Wouldn't know to close his eyes to stem the purple that had seeped into him, wouldn't dare anyway.
He knew where the wolf was, strained every sense to determine where it was from his poor hiding spot. He didn't spare any jumps or unnecessary movement - not even a sudden burst, small animal scream, and thrash of the leaves and branches above them at a distance behind the animal made him start.
It was coming right for him.
Its eyes would be level; if he spun and fired then, there was a lot of meat for the bolt to hit. And should the animal not have been distracted by the noise above, and should it come within range...he would whirl around the trunk and fire.
Sandro — 05/28/2021
There were no more words, simply a nod; he'd hoped he was wrong as well, but was certain he wasn't - but his son was one who'd excelled at any problem the wilder routes of patrol would throw at him.
Harpur took off at a run; Sandro was not far behind - their numbers would outweigh the risk of their noise, surely, as long as they'd stayed together.
Their haunt streaked ahead of them, barely a tiny shimmer in the rays, following Harpur's trajectory.
Aetheros-Touched Werewolf — 05/29/2021
The hulking beast sniffs at the tree, someone is hiding. It can smell him, it picks up speed. Even on soft ground its heavy body thud thud thud's towards him.
Mark whirls about and the bolt strikes it in the shoulder and immediately the werewolf rises up in an agonized bellow "BAROOOOOOooo" it shrieks as bright purple moon energy arcs out of the wound like electricity and the fur around it burns away.
It's angry now, it comes down hard and slashes violently at Marc's chest with clawed hands, trying to swipe that crossbow to the ground in the process.
Harpur Eberhardt — 05/29/2021
Harpur and Sandro arrive just as the beast comes down towards Marc with its claws, he can't feel his usual thrill of excitement for the hunt when all he can feel is horror for- shit, the boy's like his own though he has never admitted it. Him and Sandro, they'd filled the gaps after every family death as best they could.
There isn't time to think about it.
He darts to the left "Keep your distance!" he calls to everyone, the werewolf is too focused on its current attack to care that others have arrived. Berserkers could at least be predictable that way.
He gets an angle on the creatures spine with his crossbow and fires a bolt, immediately seeking to load up another. "I'm going to draw him if I can, get his back!" he needs to get him away from Marc. He can see the blood sprayed across every tree and the torn in half remains of what used to be Marc's patrol partner.
He can't let that happen to Marc.
Marc — 05/29/2021
The bow easily went flying.
They were too close to even screw around anymore with the crossbow, anyway. They were too close and the wolf was too big.
He shouted and blood sprayed; he drove the point of the remaining silver bolt in his hand with preternatural strength and yet another shout.
And whether or not that had worked, something in his injury appeared to have broken...something, irises purple, pupils silver, the map of injuries normally hidden faint ghosts across his flesh, perhaps only visible from the corner of any onlooker's eye: the eye that had been taken by the raptor reconstructed in orange and green threads of magic, another horrible bite at his neck held together by faint glitters of elder Futhark...
Bleeding horribly but not down for the count, he wriggled to get out from under the creature's aim as quickly as he can - while never taking his eyes off of it, aiming to gather enough distance and time to pull out his blade, next.
Focus, escape, pain, rage, the moon itself was such a mash of furious senses in his head that it took him a moment to process the voices of other men approaching. He might have let slip a 'babbo?!' but there was a rather distinct voice that made itself known over the others, then, and Marc shouted, panicked.
"HARPUR, NO."
Sandro — 05/29/2021
Their haunt came to rest on a nearby branch. Invisible until the light of the moon directly hit it, it was a bird, bone-white and unusually focused.
Another bolt fired sequentially after Harpur's - sneak attacks were only worth so much with berserkers - and he never stopped moving from there, loading up another bolt.
He'd hear a 'babbo' a mile away; he barked a "MARC" in response - all at once affirmative, and deliberately loud; enough, he'd hoped, to draw the wolf away. His own scent would not be all that dissimilar from the animal's; he would not know this. "Yeah, Harp? Covering for you." It was breathless but the intent was clear - Harpur's not going to be a lone distraction. He had his back, always did...
Aetheros-Touched Werewolf — 05/29/2021
The werewolf snaps around to look between the distractions, drooling, breathing fast. Harpur misses it, it barely notices him but it sure notices the loud shout from Sandro. The bristled beast bellows and charges for Sandro, thudding towards him with spittle flying about its frothed maw.
With a big, clawed hand it seeks to slam him to the ground but in its haste it instead strikes his shoulder harshly. It's too close now. Close enough to clamp its jaws down over his head.
Harpur — 05/29/2021
Harpur yells as it charges Sandro. No no no NO! he can't lose him early, he's already getting sicker with every passing fortnite, damn it. He yells at the werewolf "COME HERE" there's a loud PIERCING whistle before he lets off another bolt at the creature's head. Normally one would aim for the center mass but it's such a huge beast that the head doesn't seem too much of a stretch...
He hopes Marc's wounds aren't fatal. He can't go check.
The bolt strikes it in its throat and the creature bellows in a broken way, turning about to face Harpur in that moment, providing a momentary opening.
Marc — 05/29/2021
The werewolf was distracted; Marc stood, shaking, panting, grimy and wet with blood. He tested his shoulder, eyes unfocused, staring even as the focus seemed to turn inward, lips only moving slightly in two, tiny syllables. It was a moment before he snapped-to, swapping his blade to his other hand on his undamaged side and shifting his stance.
A shudder ripped convulsively from the damaged shoulder through his arm; he hissed, resisted grabbing it.
He saw his father and he saw Harpur, and it was enough to re-focus his thoughts.
He would meet their eyes should they look; his own were still silver and violet and strange, but the expression was pure Marc; he had not snapped into his tireless rage, that exhaustive fighting state. He was just Marc, still, realizing that his remaining adult family were here. Panicked, determined, grateful, and afraid.
And it was that fear, the sight of this thing going after Harpur and his father, that compelled him to act - instead of running as no doubt both of the older men had wanted, he'd charged forward once more, swinging that silver-edged sword at the beast. The wolf had gotten the jump on his patrol-mate, but he wasn't going to allow his father or Harpur meet that same fate as long as he could do anything about it.
Sandro — 05/29/2021
SANDRO roared in return, drawing his own sword as the monster charged. He wasn't as fast as he once had been - time and adventures had taken that from him over the course of decades.
He couldn't run, but he could swing, and if the thing ran ONTO his sword...nothing ventured, nothing gained, right?
And it would be running away from Marc and Harpur.
It was too fast; he'd crumpled quickly scrambling for his dropped weapon and attempting to stand again - and catching a glimpse of Marc running at the beast. No, no, NO.
Aetheros-Touched Werewolf — 05/29/2021
The beast approaches Harpur as it sputters and coughs up a glob of blood from the burning silver wound to its throat. It's eyes burn with vengeance. They chip away at it like a pack of ...well, wolves, though. It can't focus on anyone man for more than a few seconds but they're down to Harpur and Marc now and Marc is injured.
A sword swings into the meat of its thigh hard enough to cripple it on one side, flesh burning and sizzling. It doesn't even bellow this time, it turns and rapidly lunges for Marc with its teeth, snapping down towards him.
Harpur Eberhardt — 05/29/2021
Harpur's mind is screaming just the same as Sandro's. NO NO! Marc! he knows he should trust Marc as his own man, but he can't bare to lose him. He sees that jaw opening wide and he knows what's coming next.
"Marc-!" he gasps and throws the crossbow to the ground, sprinting forwards (thank goodness he wore light armor) to throw himself into the young man with enough force to knock him back.
The jaws land on him instead. Teeth grip him by the torso and Harpur feels the dread as those teeth sink forcefully past the armor and deep into his body. He can't think about it now.
It picks him up and shakes him as he yells in agony and exertion, gripping its head with his one good arm and wrapping his legs tightly around its throat to minimize the damage and gain some control back.
He's panting, feeling his blood burning already. He's in close proximity as the wolf shakes him violently back and forth, reaching back and pulling forth his silver edged dagger. The beast is shaking him so hard but he tries to cut its eyes out.
Marc — 05/29/2021
It happened quickly; another swing of his sword hit home (even as pain blossomed into fire in his shoulder), he crowed in triumph as the silver bit and curled and seared into flesh. The shout was one short-lived as the thing lunged and then another fresh pain and he was knocked away from that flash of overlarge fangs.
And he was knocked face-first into the ground, stars and violet and bone-white wings exploding in his vision before blackness overwhelmed it for moments that could've been seconds, could've stretched into ages.
Which wouldn't do. He was stubborn, he was determined. He rose to his elbows, shakily, turning around to see -
Harpur.
And his stomach and throat knotted in guilt and fury, and he roared a NO. NO, NO, NO.
Nobody ever survived these berserkers. Marc would change that. Allowing Harpur the dignity of death didn't even cross his mind.
He couldn't afford a bolt, not silver, and not when they were shaking like this. He got to his feet, searching for an opening.
Sandro — 05/30/2021
Marc might've been shaking with daze, shock and indecision but Sandro had no such hesitation.
There would be problem if he lived through this. The thought saw his hand convulsively to clutch at very, very old scars at his side and his heart as he climbed stiffly to his feet. There were a thousand possibilities he could have thought about. The guard, Aeson. The future of his children. Harpur's own safety. His own House, family, safety, reputation. Secretive 'cleansing' was not unusual in Aiolfi past.
But of course he'd live through it. They were Aiolfi.
And Sandro wouldn't leave him behind. They'd survived dragons and all manner of monster abroad and at home. This was a werewolf like any other.
Age might've slowed his reflexes but it had opened him up to count, observe, time and predict; in a wild and sudden lunge, and coming from the back and up, over the thing's shoulders, he'd aim for the back - if not the neck, and slice downwards, seeking purchase and a solid grip. With any luck he'd hang on and go for that other eye.
Aetheros-Touched Werewolf — 05/30/2021
The beast swings its head side to side, snarling and biting down harder until those ribs and arm bones beneath its jaw crack audibly. Harpur gets a knife in its eye and the silver burns right into its skull, the beast tries hard to dislodge him and let go but now Harpur isn't letting go. He stays firmly attached to the beast. It's a good enough distraction, Sandro is unnoticed as he gets in close and his blade drives deep into the beasts neck and pulls downwards. It throws its head back in blinding agony and BELLOWS as its body is cut open. Blood sprays in violent spurts from its throat, glimmering with purple light and crashing down on Harpur and Marc.
It staggers sideways, then forwards.... panting, drooling.... then it falls. A final deathrattle escapes it's maw, Harpur lays beneath it's heavy head as the light fades from its eyes and its veins.
Harpur Eberhardt — 05/30/2021
Harpur is drooling blood from the compression of his chest by the time they hit the floor, those jaws did a lot of damage. Those jaws... He coughs up blood and feels his heart racing harder. He feels like it's going to leap out of his chest, like he's going to have a heart attack at any moment. He knows what's happening and even as he looks down at his arms he sees the purple light slowly rising from his veins, dim at first but gradually getting brighter. He feels hair starting to push outwards from inside of his skin.
His eyes widen and he looks between the two of them from his place, pinned to the ground. He can hardly breath, he's breathing so fast "Sandro, kill me. Do it now" he pleads "Or get out of he-here-" he snarls inhumanly and convulses as his bones start to feel like they're breaking inside of him, he does what little he can to try and hold it back. He tries to reach for his own dagger and do the job himself but his arm spasms and cramps up the moment he tries to lift it.
He's drooling, it's agony, it's blinding. He can hardly see them anymore as his skull feels like it's cracking open. Agonized pants and whimpers rise from the otherwise powerful warrior "Tell- them- Jax- Basil - a-and - " he can't go any further, his head snaps towards the moon and his eyes widen, he can't tear his gaze away from it. His blood is rushing in his ears, eyes starting to glow like his veins.
They don't have long, Aetheros Werewolves are rapid onset compared to their non-aetheros counterparts.
Sandro — 05/30/2021
The wolf split, spraying blood and mana, and for a wild moment, it was Harpur and Alessandro again, at each other's backs and ready to bring down any monster that threatened their city.
It was so short-lived, Sandro didn't even allow himself to cheer. Everything ached, he may have been bleeding rather profusely from when the creature had struck him down.
And, panting, he forced himself to look at Harpur, adjusting the grip on his blade; this wasn't a victory either could savor. And he knew what came next.
Hardly anyone survived these creatures, after all, but those that did...
A hand signal was a command to any remaining men that hadn't been chased off by the battle; they'd begun their retreat, and he'd have some plausible deniability about whatever ensued. Another "Marc, go." was firm and insistent and emphatic, to the boy that no doubt remained, no doubt paralyzed by indecision.
He was Aiolfi. He could purge Harpur, as once the old ways would've done with him. No doubt in their younger days there'd been endless pacts and banter - each would swear up and down they wouldn't allow themselves taken, changed or enthralled. He raised his blade. And...lowered it.
He couldn't do it.
Was it weakness? Was it strength?
He didn't know, anymore. He shook his head. Reached to touch Harpur on his own, trailed it to clasp at his broken shoulder. The danger right now was more from convulsions than bites
Even when he finally stepped back, and then continued to step back, it was with hardened eyes, and without turning his back to the scene.
His disappearance was startlingly fast, melting into the surrounding trees.
Lady Agnesina — 05/30/2021
But neither Marc nor Sandro's retreat wouldn't be fast enough, and she knew that.
It was several seconds, but it could have been an eternity, cradled between moments and time in the dreamlike haze between pain, consciousness and oblivion, slipping in at the moment of Sandro's touch. She doubted whether he would remember.
The woman was white as a bone and wore a dress of feathers, but she was familiar; she cradled his face like she once and often cradled Rosa's, hands cupped under his chin, thumbs stroking at his cheeks and fingers playing at long ears. That wasn't quite right, was it?
No words were spoken, but she made her thought known, nevertheless. Each statement carried the unmistakable upward, wicked curl of fae mischief and influence, but it was without malice; it was desperate and frightened and worried and full of love and fear. It was distraction, it was instruction. This was all she could do; in this state, guide, reassure, influence...and hope that those around her could notice. How could she know she would have had to leave them all?
To the dead wolf, and any others Harpur may meet for the evening. *That one, those other wolves are not yours, and will take what is yours. *
To Sandro, *That wolf is yours, and will need care. *
To Marc, The boy and his own, the children are yours and will need protection.
The next thought came after a slight pause; she brushed his cheek, pulled him in for a hug.
Aiolfi is pack. It always has been.
And the phantom, the haunt that hadn't left either father or son's side all evening - Zhang Feiyan, Agnensina, former royal handmaiden to the Queen Mother of the moon, fae and demon-turned-mortal, and mother of Sandro's children - rose, kissed his forehead and was gone, leaving one last thought in the haze.
I love you, Harpur.
Marc — 05/30/2021
Harpur and the wolf had fallen incredibly close to Marc.
The young man wasn't bothered so much by the gore and the grime; he'd seen his share in arena matches and patrol skirmishes, but the sight of his father tearing a gaping, fatal gash in the monster that had so ruined Harpur still sent a small and childish thrill through Marc's heart. You go, Sandro.
Like his father, he reached, tried to reassure the broken and changing man... against all sense or reason.
Unlike his father, he froze there. Shook his head, stepped back after a moment, gripped his elbows. Even the sight of his father raising his sword against Harpur, however short-lived it might have been, touched a nerve raw and horrifying. Like the older men had no doubt done countless times in their youth, he'd also made pacts and promises with one closest to him - except theirs were different: no matter what had happened between the two, nothing would change. It was a thought made stark and real and horrifying by the scene in front of him. If the time came, would someone raise a blade against him, would his father, would she - or he have to, against her?
The last thing Harpur might have heard of Marc was the sound of his sword hitting the ground, the last he might have seen of him was a frightened young man, eyes stained with the silver artifice of his truth and the purple irises of the moon's magic, feathers bristling at his elbows and at his neck.
"I don't want to, I can't. Father, Babbo. I can't leave him." He was vaguely babbling and he knew it.
He might've seen the woman in that moment. He wasn't sure. The evening's events had only spanned minutes, but it felt like ages, and all so unreal. He wasn't even sure of the sound of his father calling, returning to grasp at his arm, guiding him into the forest and back home with the rest.
He would wrench away from any grasp.
Harpur Eberhardt — 05/30/2021
Beautiful black fur bursts from his skin, it itches, it burns. Everything hurts. It's not long before he can feel his muscles bulging, his bones starting to break. He howls in agony, he can barely feel the hands on his shoulder, he does though. He notices but he can't pull his eyes away from the moon though he strained repeatedly to do so. He needed to see them.
He saw the shadow of the blade being raised above him in the moons purple light, he waited. He hoped Sandro would follow through but he didn't. He heard Marc panicking, he wanted more than anything to comfort him, to put his arms around him and tell him everything was going to be alright.
....
His ears sprout fur and grow long, his body starts to grow in size, fangs getting bigger...
Then there she is, holding him, the late Lady Agnesina. For a brief moment all the burning rage in his body calms, he understands with the last shred of his humanity. They're his pack. Bulging, growing arms coated in thick fur and tracks of glowing moon magic clutch and hold her back, pulling her tight to him. He still expects to die tonight, the court guard are surely coming, more faewatch too. But there's brief break in the faewatch's ranks.
I love you too...I love them.
He needs to get to his pack.
Marc and Sandro are gone, he forgets so much as he rises to his feet, a gigantic, jet black beast with beautiful purple tracks across his body. He's huge, bigger than the other if only because his human form is already so large. With a deep "BAROOO ROOOO ROOOOO!" to the moon, his full transformation is announced. The beast's heart races, no other wolves respond but he can smell his sire. Where?
He sniffs the dead werewolf on the ground. His sire. Not his pack though. His pack was... his pack was..............
He knew where his pack was. There was a house.
The beast charged through the forest, heading straight for the Aiolfi estate upon all fours (or threes if you count the broken arm).
Marc — 05/30/2021
Like countless nights before this one, for reasons large and small, Cienna would get her usual visitor at her window.
Unlike those nights, there was no games, no playfulness or secret raptors or forbidden discussion or lessons. He may not have even scaled the tree or wall as he usually had done, and the shedding of stray feather and fur at the sil may have attested to that.
It was terror and it was with exhaustion that he'd sought her now, even if only to see that she was still here. If he were to process what had just happened, he would rather have done it with her, if she would have him.
Sandro — 05/30/2021
Not following through meant that Sandro now had to deal with whatever consequence that would follow.
He could say he was overwhelmed, that he'd attempted and failed. Harpur and Marc would know the truth.
He could not have known that a stray spirit would take advantage of Aetheros' magic that evening, that she would try with all characteristic, sly fae influence she could still muster in the thin space of her existence to turn the wolf against any other wolves or malicious, energized fae that might've been lurking about. Or that in a moment of desperation and love, she'd play to a side both Harpur and wolves possessed to keep her husband and child unharmed.
He couldn't have possibly kept the court guard or more ranks aware with so little time.
His refusal to end Harpur right there may have doomed others to do it, instead. He felt sick. He probably only prolonged the inevitable, now.
He could at least alert his own Faewatch and the House's guard: There was a Moonborn out. They were attacked. One man was already dead; Marc and Alessandro were injured. Do not approach, do not get too close, it's the biggest one they've ever seen. Send men out to guard Grimani. Drive it back until morning.
Harpur Eberhardt — 05/30/2021
Harpur burst onto the estate from between the trees, there were downfalls to a werewolf who knew the ins and outs of the faewatch like the back of his hand (due to obsession with the job of course), he evades the checkpoints instinctively and charges along rocky areas hidden from the city beyond the edges of the forest. Despite his injury he's there quickly. The beast sniffs at the air eagerly, charging across the grounds in plain view. He can't remember why he's here, or who he is. All he knows is that everything smells so new and exciting, he wants to tear something, break something.
He's hungry, so hungry.
Then he remembers the stables. All he remembers is that there are horses inside the building not too far from where he is, his stomach wins out. Bursting in through the stable doors he practically tears the bricks with his shoulders, sending them cascading to the ground. The beast inside panics, kicks and whinnies but it only excites the predator further. He squeezes his huge body painfully through the narrow central corridor and as soon as he reaches the horses stall he twists and snaps his jaws down on its throat harshly. There's a blood curdling whinny followed by a snap and then silence.
He tears down the wooden walls of the stall with his one good hand and lays down beside the horse, tearing at its flesh and eating its freshly deceased corpse in big gulps. He's home, he has food. All is well...
He's so weak. First transformers often are, but still nothing to be trifled with.
Sandro — 05/30/2021
Word traveled ahead of Sandro by command. The property was armed.
Men and women were deployed to Grimani along with Richa, who with all of the comport of a young soldier, emissary and politician, would explain to Aeson...enough of what was happening. Largely to the tune of a wandering moonborn; who it was was unknown. And likely wouldn't matter. They'd taken care of beasts, before. Their guard will remain until sunrise.
(She wouldn't have known Marc had escaped there in secret, earlier!)
-
His faltering memory was not needed for this; Alessandro could still act. There was no time for regret or self-doubt; at least that was what he'd told himself. Even if none of this would be happening had he killed Harpur, instead. But act he continued to do. He would bandage his own mistaken action with several dozen other snap-decisions and commands until they'd wriggle out of this situation with minimal harm done.
Alessandro had hoped they would not be followed, knew that would likely not be the case. What had surprised him was how quickly the thing that was once Harpur had been - avoiding the Faewatch, no doubt - and how comfortable and familiar the big wolf was, as he'd settled.
Unfortunately the settling was after the wolf had found Chianti's stable. Should Harpur survive, that would be a pretty strange blow; Chianti was an old war-horse he'd lend freely - before Harpur got his own magnificent (and strapping, and flatulent) mount. At least it kept the big fellow sated and still, for now.
Sandro led another small group of his men, armed with silver bolts and bows of all makes, who encircled the stables at a distance. They would remain, silent and ready.
And he couldn't help but peer in, straining to see inside from his own armed perch at a distance, none-too-coincidentally one that had a clearer view of the destroyed doors.
Harpur Eberhardt — 05/30/2021
The beast eats shamelessly, tearing the flesh apart and lapping at blood. He's heavy with meat, exhausted from his wounds and first shift. The guards are lucky tonight, for the hulking berserker is spent. He spends a little time lapping at his maw, licking clean his paw pads and lapping at his own wounds before finally sinking down next to the horse corpse and falling fast asleep.
The transition back is always easier than the transition into. Harpur is so exhausted that the pain wakes him but he quickly falls back asleep after the agony passes. It's a little while but then the strangeness of his surroundings starts to bring him to. The cool air on his naked body...the sticky damp of blood beneath him, the itchy bristle of a partial beard on his jaw, more than usual.
He can smell everything, identify it. He hears further, he feels sick, his bones ache and he can hardly tell where he is or what happened to him. He groans and tries to sit up, hissing in pain and gripping at his ribs then his shoulder. The world is too bright, he cannot open his eyes yet, it's a hangover like no other he has ever had.
Sandro — 05/30/2021
It was a very precarious position to be in as the minutes dragged on; he could very easily make this an execution with the flick of his wrist.
He prayed that he wouldn't have to.
As the sun flickered and flared over the horizon, and as the strange and twisting and bone-crunching sounds and involuntary yells and grunts of a metamorphosis emanated from within the stable, he did politely avert his eyes, anyway. One-by-one, he would dismiss each soldier and mercenary.
Harpur would be his responsibility for now. It would give him some time on which he could debate on how to bring this to de Ovando...and gauge how the Watch could move forward.
--
He might smell him before he saw him; the towering figure of Alessandro, a man of sweat, blood and omnipresent stress and worry, and faint traces of something not-entirely-dissimilar to a wolf, himself.
And this giant towered in the doorway, examining the missing bricks and splintered wood with his free hand; in the other, slung over his arm, was a blanket, a towel, and a bucket of water.
Harpur Eberhardt — 05/31/2021
Harpur feels delirious, he starts to remember, or was it just a dream? He knows someone is there, he can smell him. It's Sandro, he doesn't question that he understands the smell.
He groans in a slur "Where's our boy...?" it just slips out that way, Harpur doesn't even notice.
"What happened?" he knows a silver werewolf attacked... one hand reaches out and lands upon the exposed rib of the dead horse. At that point his eyes open and he gasps deeply, scrambling back against the splintered wall of the stable. No- no no.
He'd loved that horse, but more than that...
In his bleary vision he looked down to check if he was naked. He was. Realization hit and he pressed his hands to his face, sliding them over the back of his head before pressing his face between his knees and practically curling into a ball.
He'd changed. Sandro hadn't done as he'd wished. He was alive.
Sandro — 05/31/2021
"Where's our boy...?"
"He's here, he's safe." If he were to believe word of him wandering to the in-house doctors with the scratches needing treatment; that it seemed Marc had waited until morning didn't seem to strike Sandro as strange in the moment, though there was a twist of guilt and panic that he'd not yet seen him. Still, there was some distant relief that he wouldn't be devoured by a werewolf on the property, these things were what teaming up with his wife had been meant for, there had to be two sometimes, he couldn't be ill and a soldier and a Lord and everywhere at once...
Curiously, in the rush and tangle of the other emotions, he also didn't appear to find anything odd about that 'our.'
But Harpur didn't need to say anything; the other man slowly came to, piecing together what had happened and curling up in defeat. Sandro stepped forward. Reached, thought better of it. This was, in a way, his own fault.
"I tried." It was very small, slightly closed-off in the way Marc could often be.
"I couldn't. Not to him. Not to you." And not to himself. Perhaps a younger Sandro could have done it, once. A younger, happier Sandro, still venturing, still with a family that was complete. Perhaps it just wasn't in him, anymore.
"I'm sorry, Harpur."
Harpur Eberhardt — 05/31/2021
Harpur's face warps bitterly between his knees, he's practically rocking gently back and forth for a moment before he rises up, breathing harshly and teeth growing long. He approaches Sandro furiously "You should have! we ALWAYS agreed what would happen! We always agreed!!!" he threw his arm in the air, his nails were claws.
Fur bursts along his jaw and his jaw cracks. "No no no-" he presses his hands to his face, the glowing of his veins is subtle but it goes away as he forces himself to breath and calm down. He's shaking by the end of it.
"Look what has become of me" he chokes out and looks up at Sandro "I am a monster, Sandro. I will kill, it is in my nature now. If you won't do it then I have a duty to this city to do it myself" he insists.
But then he thinks of Sandro, Marc, Tomasso, Aeson, Cie ............ Jaxamir. He closes his eyes and turns his head towards the ground.
"After my goodbyes... I'm sorry about the horse, Sandro... I'm sorry f' not catching its teeth before they clamped down - I shoulda known better" he had protected Marc in the process though, he didn't feel entirely bad about it. His personal creed denoted that he now had to die to rid the world of another terrible creature, they were going to have some trouble keeping him from it.
Sandro — 05/31/2021
And de Ovando would definitely be alerted to that.
Even when Harpur rounded on him and the wolf threatened to burst forth, Sandro didn't step back; he'd look the wolf-man in the eye with defiance and apology and sorrow. And still, with love. He would subconsciously stand by what he did, even if he were consciously still trying to rationalize it or articulate it.
Sandro set the bucket down, then padded over to get on his level and sit next to him as informally as if they were both twenty years younger than they were, and he wrapped the blanket over the other big man's shoulders. That his friend was presently someone unstable enough to crack and allow the wolf to claw to the fore, even for that brief moment, didn't appear to make a difference.
He was, however, glad he'd dismissed the others; inwardly he'd hoped that Enrica or Marc would let the gardener know not to come into work this morning - the last thing for Ganu to deal with should be two old men covered in horse guts. His employer's mind was deteriorating, sure - but this wasn't part of it, really!
"That's nothing you should apologize for, Harp..." It trailed in a small and humorless smile; even that was shortlived. It was difficult to think of what to say, or what he would say should their roles have been reversed.
He finally landed on a simple "You saved Marc," that somehow managed to contain so much more. Gratitude, love, and a measure of his still processing it all. And that he couldn't...not in front of Marc. "The least you could do is stay around and allow him to thank you." Which of course was wicked-subtle, and it rang slightly in his tone - Marc and the rest of the children wouldn't just...let the guy go, either. It was absolutely a ploy on which Alessandro could be called out.
"You might be a monster. But you are not monstrous." Many creatures about town would beg to differ. Then added with a hum that was slightly, forcibly light "Remember, she'd make a point of that a lot?" He'd been thinking of her a lot last night for some reason; it was a sentiment he'd not always agree with, but it was a grounding force in quite a few decisions.
It’s the night of the supermoon and Aetheros looms brightly over the night’s sky, casting an eerie purple light on the world beneath it. It’s an oppressive feeling, it always is. The magic in the air makes the atmosphere feel thick and heavy, dangerous too. That said, these things come and go, usually no incidents and no signs of any moon-touched therianthropes or other moon beasts, the city is a good place to steer-clear of for any creature.
It didn’t stop Harpur heading out on his own though, Faewatch as a whole knew that the captain would be out on a personal patrol tonight, often they crossed paths. There was nothing they could do to stop him, they just had to let it be, it was the closest to faewatch Captain Eberhardt seemed like he’d ever get anyway and he knew what he was doing. Let it be, right?
There’s no sign of Harpur so far, no sign of anything alarming as they get into the early hours of the morning. And then the watch patrols would hear it, far too close to them. A deep, distorted, entirely ethereal “BAROOO ROOO ROOOO ROOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO” it’s not a normal werewolf by far, it’s immediately obvious and the patrol quickly draw on their silver weapons but as silently as possible, it might already know they’re here. One of the youngest among them looks like he’s going to cry while the more seasoned patrol members are still as they can be.
Branches snap loudly somewhere nearby. Then nearer still.
Harpur hears the whole thing. He hurries in that direction through the thick forest but it’s a way yet. Marc. he thinks with urgent worry. His mind goes too quickly to memories of Pierro.
Marc — 05/26/2021
Harpur hadn't been the only one wandering off of the well-trodden path, that evening; tonight it was for an altogether different reason.
The now-eldest of Aiolfi's children was also out on patrol.
Even when he wandered off, distant and odd - or odder than usual - he'd been growing into returning with results, had proven himself time and again in finding and addressing troublesome fae. And often impressively so. Somehow, Marc just knew - and he'd had several 'normal' were-creature corpses to his name.
For he had learned. Well-fought before, he'd only made excellent use of Harpur and Sandro's recent training, as well as somewhat-clandestine fighting matches abroad (hot and fast rumors despite his best efforts to stem them - guards and diplomats didn't get into needless scraps!). He might have been an odd and awkward boy, but he was a beautiful terror on the field.
He was also different. He knew this now. And, as had been the case since his illness now over a year prior, he hungered.
The purple moon convinced him he was sated, if only from moment to moment. But the void yearned and supped greedily at the purple rays. So much had been taken, and then eventually shed or devoured, incorrect. But he drank in Aetheros like a drug, invigorated, curious, unquestionably right and feeling as good as he'd ever felt in a long time.
Patrols were likely used to Marc wandering away - it usually brought results. But this one felt different - or had it been the disquieting vibes of the moon?
He'd wandered, circling a wide loop around his companions through the forest, vaguely aware and never losing them entirely, yet. He wandered as if entranced.
He only stopped at that ghostly howl, head angled in an oddly canine manner.
It was incredibly close, indeed.
Sandro — 05/26/2021
Sandro had wished to hunt with Harpur - at least one or two more adventures between old friends, he insisted - but not like this.
The Faewatch were out in full force tonight - supermoons as a rule invited all sorts of mischief and emboldened creatures and beings that were better off staying far away from the mortal population - but the Faewatch couldn't contain Harpur.
He knew this. Professionally, he couldn't do anything about Harpur - but personally, he could.
His health and mental state hadn't always allowed it, but since Piero's death, and since Marc started coming into his own on duty, Sandro had 'accidentally' also been out with his own company. A supermoon only guaranteed a Harpur out and about, as well.
He'd felt safer for Marc with Harpur in the field - but it never hurt to look out for the both of them, right?
His thoughts were interrupted with a ghostly howl, and he tensed. They'd nearly made it through the night without incident - shuffling a few unseelie teenagers away from defacing a few buildings was hardly anything to write home about. But that howl meant things went from laughably quiet to an emergency VERY quickly.
He rubbed absently at old, crumpled scars at his side with a faint hum at the thought. Yes, he knew these creatures very well.
So his own small patrol set out, silently, expertly, in the direction of the howl.
Aetheros-Touched Werewolf — 05/27/2021
The thinner trees around them begin to shake. It's coming and in barely any time at all it's here. A werewolf born of Aetheros bursts through the trees, it's a huge thing. Teeth bared, silver fur, glowing bright purple eyes and similarly glowing tracks of moon energy glimmering across the stretch of its body. The berzerk thing's muscles ripple and the fur bristles as it snaps its huge head towards the nearest patrol.
Marc's partner is the unfortunate soul who comes face to face with him first, a scream of terror rings out and quickly turns to bloody gurgles as the gigantic beast snaps its jaws down hard on his rib cage and begins to shake him wildly like prey, throwing his broken body into the air and snapping it up again to tear pieces of it apart bit by bit, blood spraying everywhere and matting the beasts fur.
It's a terrible sight, he hadn't had a chance. Marc is only lucky that the beast has not noticed him yet.
Harpur Eberhardt — 05/27/2021
Harpur runs towards the scene, he hears feet nearby and takes a fast detour. He's dressed in lighter armor, maneuverability is everything on nights like these and so he manages to cut into the clearing near Sandro when he spots him. They'd been headed the same direction "Sandro!" he calls over between breaths. There's a terrible, blood curdling scream in the distance "Where is Marc!?" he calls, looking pale with worry as he starts loading up a crossbow with silver bolts.
Sandro — 05/27/2021
Evident relief animated Sandro's face as Harpur burst into the clearing, but he would not allow himself to feel joy. There was no time for that until Marc was back.
"Forest route." He clapped Harpur on the back, a grim, quick, greeting.
His own handful of companions were similarly armed; Aiolfi was known for a hodgepodge of cultural weaponry gathered from their travels, and the Faewatch had a way of adorning things with silver, often quite creatively. When Aiolfi men were on the Faewatch, it was an intimidating combination.
Sandro had a sword, and Sandro had a crossbow. And he could fall in line at Harpur's back nearly as nimbly as he could when they were younger. He was ready.
He didn't need to add that "Let's go," as they moved to the forest, but it felt good, anyway.* "In bocca al lupo, amico."*
Easily missed were solemn, phantom flutters above as they moved; flutters of wings bleached white as bone, only visible once stained with the violet light of Aetheros, and seemingly dedicated to remain close the pair.
Marc — 05/27/2021
The prickling at the back of his neck might've been chills, might've been that strange unnatural sense of his, or threads of lunar-energized fur or those strange feathers.Being saturated in the magic of Aetheros seemed to energize him into something that could keep going, it also had the unfortunate effects of dulling his senses to beings who were also saturated in it, invite a familiarity to monsters that he did not want, a drop of water in a pool straining to distance and detect another. He was stronger, now.
He did not sense that werewolf coming like he would have a normal werewolf on another night - and the ambush was sharp, sudden and horrible.
He'd retreated, slipping soundlessly behind a tree, loading up a bolt. He bit down on his lip hard, stemming his words, resisting the I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry that wished to burst forth, willing unbidden tears to stay in his eyes, near-petrified and overcome with a wave of revulsion, rejecting that sense to go to the wolf
And, as silent as he could, he loaded up a bolt in his own bow, listened to where it moved, reached out with his senses...
Aetheros-Touched Werewolf — 05/28/2021
Any beast of Aetheros was hypersensitive, especially on nights like this. It tore the body of its victim apart, breathing so fast that it seems distressed. It's just berserk, heart hammering rapidly inside its chest as the moon compels it to keep going. The snarfling and growling rising from its chest stop abruptly in a chilling moment, head snapping towards where Marc is hiding as he tries to load that bow.
Its huge ears twitch rapidly, left, right, forwards, back, forwards, forwards, forwards. It's focusing in on that tree. Nostrils flare, bright eyes widening as it starts to bound on all fours towards the tree to investigate, snuffing and snapping its teeth at the air, the blood mats its beautiful fur all the way down its chin to its chest.
Harpur Eberhardt — 05/28/2021
Harpur looks back "I hope you're wrong, for his sake." he tells Sandro, if he'd been with Marc on patrol as faewatch maybe he could have been there to fight alongside him! That reasoning has long since overtaken his personal, greedy reasons. He was afraid, Marc was capable but so was Piero. He keeps running, he can hear it but it feels like they're miles away, running seems slower. He needs to get there NOW!
They're almost there.
Marc — 05/28/2021
The werewolf snapped into sudden silence and so did Marc; the unison would've been unsettling to any onlooker.
There was an urge to growl right back at it, issue a challenge. He continued to bite down on these impulses, literally and internally. That was weird, too. Even his breathing was stilled, barely present, moving with and along the sounds and life around him. Couldn't silence his heartbeat, couldn't stem his scent, couldn't pretend he even smelled human, couldn't stand here forever. Wouldn't know to close his eyes to stem the purple that had seeped into him, wouldn't dare anyway.
He knew where the wolf was, strained every sense to determine where it was from his poor hiding spot. He didn't spare any jumps or unnecessary movement - not even a sudden burst, small animal scream, and thrash of the leaves and branches above them at a distance behind the animal made him start.
It was coming right for him.
Its eyes would be level; if he spun and fired then, there was a lot of meat for the bolt to hit. And should the animal not have been distracted by the noise above, and should it come within range...he would whirl around the trunk and fire.
Sandro — 05/28/2021
There were no more words, simply a nod; he'd hoped he was wrong as well, but was certain he wasn't - but his son was one who'd excelled at any problem the wilder routes of patrol would throw at him.
Harpur took off at a run; Sandro was not far behind - their numbers would outweigh the risk of their noise, surely, as long as they'd stayed together.
Their haunt streaked ahead of them, barely a tiny shimmer in the rays, following Harpur's trajectory.
Aetheros-Touched Werewolf — 05/29/2021
The hulking beast sniffs at the tree, someone is hiding. It can smell him, it picks up speed. Even on soft ground its heavy body thud thud thud's towards him.
Mark whirls about and the bolt strikes it in the shoulder and immediately the werewolf rises up in an agonized bellow "BAROOOOOOooo" it shrieks as bright purple moon energy arcs out of the wound like electricity and the fur around it burns away.
It's angry now, it comes down hard and slashes violently at Marc's chest with clawed hands, trying to swipe that crossbow to the ground in the process.
Harpur Eberhardt — 05/29/2021
Harpur and Sandro arrive just as the beast comes down towards Marc with its claws, he can't feel his usual thrill of excitement for the hunt when all he can feel is horror for- shit, the boy's like his own though he has never admitted it. Him and Sandro, they'd filled the gaps after every family death as best they could.
There isn't time to think about it.
He darts to the left "Keep your distance!" he calls to everyone, the werewolf is too focused on its current attack to care that others have arrived. Berserkers could at least be predictable that way.
He gets an angle on the creatures spine with his crossbow and fires a bolt, immediately seeking to load up another. "I'm going to draw him if I can, get his back!" he needs to get him away from Marc. He can see the blood sprayed across every tree and the torn in half remains of what used to be Marc's patrol partner.
He can't let that happen to Marc.
Marc — 05/29/2021
The bow easily went flying.
They were too close to even screw around anymore with the crossbow, anyway. They were too close and the wolf was too big.
He shouted and blood sprayed; he drove the point of the remaining silver bolt in his hand with preternatural strength and yet another shout.
And whether or not that had worked, something in his injury appeared to have broken...something, irises purple, pupils silver, the map of injuries normally hidden faint ghosts across his flesh, perhaps only visible from the corner of any onlooker's eye: the eye that had been taken by the raptor reconstructed in orange and green threads of magic, another horrible bite at his neck held together by faint glitters of elder Futhark...
Bleeding horribly but not down for the count, he wriggled to get out from under the creature's aim as quickly as he can - while never taking his eyes off of it, aiming to gather enough distance and time to pull out his blade, next.
Focus, escape, pain, rage, the moon itself was such a mash of furious senses in his head that it took him a moment to process the voices of other men approaching. He might have let slip a 'babbo?!' but there was a rather distinct voice that made itself known over the others, then, and Marc shouted, panicked.
"HARPUR, NO."
Sandro — 05/29/2021
Their haunt came to rest on a nearby branch. Invisible until the light of the moon directly hit it, it was a bird, bone-white and unusually focused.
Another bolt fired sequentially after Harpur's - sneak attacks were only worth so much with berserkers - and he never stopped moving from there, loading up another bolt.
He'd hear a 'babbo' a mile away; he barked a "MARC" in response - all at once affirmative, and deliberately loud; enough, he'd hoped, to draw the wolf away. His own scent would not be all that dissimilar from the animal's; he would not know this. "Yeah, Harp? Covering for you." It was breathless but the intent was clear - Harpur's not going to be a lone distraction. He had his back, always did...
Aetheros-Touched Werewolf — 05/29/2021
The werewolf snaps around to look between the distractions, drooling, breathing fast. Harpur misses it, it barely notices him but it sure notices the loud shout from Sandro. The bristled beast bellows and charges for Sandro, thudding towards him with spittle flying about its frothed maw.
With a big, clawed hand it seeks to slam him to the ground but in its haste it instead strikes his shoulder harshly. It's too close now. Close enough to clamp its jaws down over his head.
Harpur — 05/29/2021
Harpur yells as it charges Sandro. No no no NO! he can't lose him early, he's already getting sicker with every passing fortnite, damn it. He yells at the werewolf "COME HERE" there's a loud PIERCING whistle before he lets off another bolt at the creature's head. Normally one would aim for the center mass but it's such a huge beast that the head doesn't seem too much of a stretch...
He hopes Marc's wounds aren't fatal. He can't go check.
The bolt strikes it in its throat and the creature bellows in a broken way, turning about to face Harpur in that moment, providing a momentary opening.
Marc — 05/29/2021
The werewolf was distracted; Marc stood, shaking, panting, grimy and wet with blood. He tested his shoulder, eyes unfocused, staring even as the focus seemed to turn inward, lips only moving slightly in two, tiny syllables. It was a moment before he snapped-to, swapping his blade to his other hand on his undamaged side and shifting his stance.
A shudder ripped convulsively from the damaged shoulder through his arm; he hissed, resisted grabbing it.
He saw his father and he saw Harpur, and it was enough to re-focus his thoughts.
He would meet their eyes should they look; his own were still silver and violet and strange, but the expression was pure Marc; he had not snapped into his tireless rage, that exhaustive fighting state. He was just Marc, still, realizing that his remaining adult family were here. Panicked, determined, grateful, and afraid.
And it was that fear, the sight of this thing going after Harpur and his father, that compelled him to act - instead of running as no doubt both of the older men had wanted, he'd charged forward once more, swinging that silver-edged sword at the beast. The wolf had gotten the jump on his patrol-mate, but he wasn't going to allow his father or Harpur meet that same fate as long as he could do anything about it.
Sandro — 05/29/2021
SANDRO roared in return, drawing his own sword as the monster charged. He wasn't as fast as he once had been - time and adventures had taken that from him over the course of decades.
He couldn't run, but he could swing, and if the thing ran ONTO his sword...nothing ventured, nothing gained, right?
And it would be running away from Marc and Harpur.
It was too fast; he'd crumpled quickly scrambling for his dropped weapon and attempting to stand again - and catching a glimpse of Marc running at the beast. No, no, NO.
Aetheros-Touched Werewolf — 05/29/2021
The beast approaches Harpur as it sputters and coughs up a glob of blood from the burning silver wound to its throat. It's eyes burn with vengeance. They chip away at it like a pack of ...well, wolves, though. It can't focus on anyone man for more than a few seconds but they're down to Harpur and Marc now and Marc is injured.
A sword swings into the meat of its thigh hard enough to cripple it on one side, flesh burning and sizzling. It doesn't even bellow this time, it turns and rapidly lunges for Marc with its teeth, snapping down towards him.
Harpur Eberhardt — 05/29/2021
Harpur's mind is screaming just the same as Sandro's. NO NO! Marc! he knows he should trust Marc as his own man, but he can't bare to lose him. He sees that jaw opening wide and he knows what's coming next.
"Marc-!" he gasps and throws the crossbow to the ground, sprinting forwards (thank goodness he wore light armor) to throw himself into the young man with enough force to knock him back.
The jaws land on him instead. Teeth grip him by the torso and Harpur feels the dread as those teeth sink forcefully past the armor and deep into his body. He can't think about it now.
It picks him up and shakes him as he yells in agony and exertion, gripping its head with his one good arm and wrapping his legs tightly around its throat to minimize the damage and gain some control back.
He's panting, feeling his blood burning already. He's in close proximity as the wolf shakes him violently back and forth, reaching back and pulling forth his silver edged dagger. The beast is shaking him so hard but he tries to cut its eyes out.
Marc — 05/29/2021
It happened quickly; another swing of his sword hit home (even as pain blossomed into fire in his shoulder), he crowed in triumph as the silver bit and curled and seared into flesh. The shout was one short-lived as the thing lunged and then another fresh pain and he was knocked away from that flash of overlarge fangs.
And he was knocked face-first into the ground, stars and violet and bone-white wings exploding in his vision before blackness overwhelmed it for moments that could've been seconds, could've stretched into ages.
Which wouldn't do. He was stubborn, he was determined. He rose to his elbows, shakily, turning around to see -
Harpur.
And his stomach and throat knotted in guilt and fury, and he roared a NO. NO, NO, NO.
Nobody ever survived these berserkers. Marc would change that. Allowing Harpur the dignity of death didn't even cross his mind.
He couldn't afford a bolt, not silver, and not when they were shaking like this. He got to his feet, searching for an opening.
Sandro — 05/30/2021
Marc might've been shaking with daze, shock and indecision but Sandro had no such hesitation.
There would be problem if he lived through this. The thought saw his hand convulsively to clutch at very, very old scars at his side and his heart as he climbed stiffly to his feet. There were a thousand possibilities he could have thought about. The guard, Aeson. The future of his children. Harpur's own safety. His own House, family, safety, reputation. Secretive 'cleansing' was not unusual in Aiolfi past.
But of course he'd live through it. They were Aiolfi.
And Sandro wouldn't leave him behind. They'd survived dragons and all manner of monster abroad and at home. This was a werewolf like any other.
Age might've slowed his reflexes but it had opened him up to count, observe, time and predict; in a wild and sudden lunge, and coming from the back and up, over the thing's shoulders, he'd aim for the back - if not the neck, and slice downwards, seeking purchase and a solid grip. With any luck he'd hang on and go for that other eye.
Aetheros-Touched Werewolf — 05/30/2021
The beast swings its head side to side, snarling and biting down harder until those ribs and arm bones beneath its jaw crack audibly. Harpur gets a knife in its eye and the silver burns right into its skull, the beast tries hard to dislodge him and let go but now Harpur isn't letting go. He stays firmly attached to the beast. It's a good enough distraction, Sandro is unnoticed as he gets in close and his blade drives deep into the beasts neck and pulls downwards. It throws its head back in blinding agony and BELLOWS as its body is cut open. Blood sprays in violent spurts from its throat, glimmering with purple light and crashing down on Harpur and Marc.
It staggers sideways, then forwards.... panting, drooling.... then it falls. A final deathrattle escapes it's maw, Harpur lays beneath it's heavy head as the light fades from its eyes and its veins.
Harpur Eberhardt — 05/30/2021
Harpur is drooling blood from the compression of his chest by the time they hit the floor, those jaws did a lot of damage. Those jaws... He coughs up blood and feels his heart racing harder. He feels like it's going to leap out of his chest, like he's going to have a heart attack at any moment. He knows what's happening and even as he looks down at his arms he sees the purple light slowly rising from his veins, dim at first but gradually getting brighter. He feels hair starting to push outwards from inside of his skin.
His eyes widen and he looks between the two of them from his place, pinned to the ground. He can hardly breath, he's breathing so fast "Sandro, kill me. Do it now" he pleads "Or get out of he-here-" he snarls inhumanly and convulses as his bones start to feel like they're breaking inside of him, he does what little he can to try and hold it back. He tries to reach for his own dagger and do the job himself but his arm spasms and cramps up the moment he tries to lift it.
He's drooling, it's agony, it's blinding. He can hardly see them anymore as his skull feels like it's cracking open. Agonized pants and whimpers rise from the otherwise powerful warrior "Tell- them- Jax- Basil - a-and - " he can't go any further, his head snaps towards the moon and his eyes widen, he can't tear his gaze away from it. His blood is rushing in his ears, eyes starting to glow like his veins.
They don't have long, Aetheros Werewolves are rapid onset compared to their non-aetheros counterparts.
Sandro — 05/30/2021
The wolf split, spraying blood and mana, and for a wild moment, it was Harpur and Alessandro again, at each other's backs and ready to bring down any monster that threatened their city.
It was so short-lived, Sandro didn't even allow himself to cheer. Everything ached, he may have been bleeding rather profusely from when the creature had struck him down.
And, panting, he forced himself to look at Harpur, adjusting the grip on his blade; this wasn't a victory either could savor. And he knew what came next.
Hardly anyone survived these creatures, after all, but those that did...
A hand signal was a command to any remaining men that hadn't been chased off by the battle; they'd begun their retreat, and he'd have some plausible deniability about whatever ensued. Another "Marc, go." was firm and insistent and emphatic, to the boy that no doubt remained, no doubt paralyzed by indecision.
He was Aiolfi. He could purge Harpur, as once the old ways would've done with him. No doubt in their younger days there'd been endless pacts and banter - each would swear up and down they wouldn't allow themselves taken, changed or enthralled. He raised his blade. And...lowered it.
He couldn't do it.
Was it weakness? Was it strength?
He didn't know, anymore. He shook his head. Reached to touch Harpur on his own, trailed it to clasp at his broken shoulder. The danger right now was more from convulsions than bites
Even when he finally stepped back, and then continued to step back, it was with hardened eyes, and without turning his back to the scene.
His disappearance was startlingly fast, melting into the surrounding trees.
Lady Agnesina — 05/30/2021
But neither Marc nor Sandro's retreat wouldn't be fast enough, and she knew that.
It was several seconds, but it could have been an eternity, cradled between moments and time in the dreamlike haze between pain, consciousness and oblivion, slipping in at the moment of Sandro's touch. She doubted whether he would remember.
The woman was white as a bone and wore a dress of feathers, but she was familiar; she cradled his face like she once and often cradled Rosa's, hands cupped under his chin, thumbs stroking at his cheeks and fingers playing at long ears. That wasn't quite right, was it?
No words were spoken, but she made her thought known, nevertheless. Each statement carried the unmistakable upward, wicked curl of fae mischief and influence, but it was without malice; it was desperate and frightened and worried and full of love and fear. It was distraction, it was instruction. This was all she could do; in this state, guide, reassure, influence...and hope that those around her could notice. How could she know she would have had to leave them all?
To the dead wolf, and any others Harpur may meet for the evening. *That one, those other wolves are not yours, and will take what is yours. *
To Sandro, *That wolf is yours, and will need care. *
To Marc, The boy and his own, the children are yours and will need protection.
The next thought came after a slight pause; she brushed his cheek, pulled him in for a hug.
Aiolfi is pack. It always has been.
And the phantom, the haunt that hadn't left either father or son's side all evening - Zhang Feiyan, Agnensina, former royal handmaiden to the Queen Mother of the moon, fae and demon-turned-mortal, and mother of Sandro's children - rose, kissed his forehead and was gone, leaving one last thought in the haze.
I love you, Harpur.
Marc — 05/30/2021
Harpur and the wolf had fallen incredibly close to Marc.
The young man wasn't bothered so much by the gore and the grime; he'd seen his share in arena matches and patrol skirmishes, but the sight of his father tearing a gaping, fatal gash in the monster that had so ruined Harpur still sent a small and childish thrill through Marc's heart. You go, Sandro.
Like his father, he reached, tried to reassure the broken and changing man... against all sense or reason.
Unlike his father, he froze there. Shook his head, stepped back after a moment, gripped his elbows. Even the sight of his father raising his sword against Harpur, however short-lived it might have been, touched a nerve raw and horrifying. Like the older men had no doubt done countless times in their youth, he'd also made pacts and promises with one closest to him - except theirs were different: no matter what had happened between the two, nothing would change. It was a thought made stark and real and horrifying by the scene in front of him. If the time came, would someone raise a blade against him, would his father, would she - or he have to, against her?
The last thing Harpur might have heard of Marc was the sound of his sword hitting the ground, the last he might have seen of him was a frightened young man, eyes stained with the silver artifice of his truth and the purple irises of the moon's magic, feathers bristling at his elbows and at his neck.
"I don't want to, I can't. Father, Babbo. I can't leave him." He was vaguely babbling and he knew it.
He might've seen the woman in that moment. He wasn't sure. The evening's events had only spanned minutes, but it felt like ages, and all so unreal. He wasn't even sure of the sound of his father calling, returning to grasp at his arm, guiding him into the forest and back home with the rest.
He would wrench away from any grasp.
Harpur Eberhardt — 05/30/2021
Beautiful black fur bursts from his skin, it itches, it burns. Everything hurts. It's not long before he can feel his muscles bulging, his bones starting to break. He howls in agony, he can barely feel the hands on his shoulder, he does though. He notices but he can't pull his eyes away from the moon though he strained repeatedly to do so. He needed to see them.
He saw the shadow of the blade being raised above him in the moons purple light, he waited. He hoped Sandro would follow through but he didn't. He heard Marc panicking, he wanted more than anything to comfort him, to put his arms around him and tell him everything was going to be alright.
....
His ears sprout fur and grow long, his body starts to grow in size, fangs getting bigger...
Then there she is, holding him, the late Lady Agnesina. For a brief moment all the burning rage in his body calms, he understands with the last shred of his humanity. They're his pack. Bulging, growing arms coated in thick fur and tracks of glowing moon magic clutch and hold her back, pulling her tight to him. He still expects to die tonight, the court guard are surely coming, more faewatch too. But there's brief break in the faewatch's ranks.
I love you too...I love them.
He needs to get to his pack.
Marc and Sandro are gone, he forgets so much as he rises to his feet, a gigantic, jet black beast with beautiful purple tracks across his body. He's huge, bigger than the other if only because his human form is already so large. With a deep "BAROOO ROOOO ROOOOO!" to the moon, his full transformation is announced. The beast's heart races, no other wolves respond but he can smell his sire. Where?
He sniffs the dead werewolf on the ground. His sire. Not his pack though. His pack was... his pack was..............
He knew where his pack was. There was a house.
The beast charged through the forest, heading straight for the Aiolfi estate upon all fours (or threes if you count the broken arm).
Marc — 05/30/2021
Like countless nights before this one, for reasons large and small, Cienna would get her usual visitor at her window.
Unlike those nights, there was no games, no playfulness or secret raptors or forbidden discussion or lessons. He may not have even scaled the tree or wall as he usually had done, and the shedding of stray feather and fur at the sil may have attested to that.
It was terror and it was with exhaustion that he'd sought her now, even if only to see that she was still here. If he were to process what had just happened, he would rather have done it with her, if she would have him.
Sandro — 05/30/2021
Not following through meant that Sandro now had to deal with whatever consequence that would follow.
He could say he was overwhelmed, that he'd attempted and failed. Harpur and Marc would know the truth.
He could not have known that a stray spirit would take advantage of Aetheros' magic that evening, that she would try with all characteristic, sly fae influence she could still muster in the thin space of her existence to turn the wolf against any other wolves or malicious, energized fae that might've been lurking about. Or that in a moment of desperation and love, she'd play to a side both Harpur and wolves possessed to keep her husband and child unharmed.
He couldn't have possibly kept the court guard or more ranks aware with so little time.
His refusal to end Harpur right there may have doomed others to do it, instead. He felt sick. He probably only prolonged the inevitable, now.
He could at least alert his own Faewatch and the House's guard: There was a Moonborn out. They were attacked. One man was already dead; Marc and Alessandro were injured. Do not approach, do not get too close, it's the biggest one they've ever seen. Send men out to guard Grimani. Drive it back until morning.
Harpur Eberhardt — 05/30/2021
Harpur burst onto the estate from between the trees, there were downfalls to a werewolf who knew the ins and outs of the faewatch like the back of his hand (due to obsession with the job of course), he evades the checkpoints instinctively and charges along rocky areas hidden from the city beyond the edges of the forest. Despite his injury he's there quickly. The beast sniffs at the air eagerly, charging across the grounds in plain view. He can't remember why he's here, or who he is. All he knows is that everything smells so new and exciting, he wants to tear something, break something.
He's hungry, so hungry.
Then he remembers the stables. All he remembers is that there are horses inside the building not too far from where he is, his stomach wins out. Bursting in through the stable doors he practically tears the bricks with his shoulders, sending them cascading to the ground. The beast inside panics, kicks and whinnies but it only excites the predator further. He squeezes his huge body painfully through the narrow central corridor and as soon as he reaches the horses stall he twists and snaps his jaws down on its throat harshly. There's a blood curdling whinny followed by a snap and then silence.
He tears down the wooden walls of the stall with his one good hand and lays down beside the horse, tearing at its flesh and eating its freshly deceased corpse in big gulps. He's home, he has food. All is well...
He's so weak. First transformers often are, but still nothing to be trifled with.
Sandro — 05/30/2021
Word traveled ahead of Sandro by command. The property was armed.
Men and women were deployed to Grimani along with Richa, who with all of the comport of a young soldier, emissary and politician, would explain to Aeson...enough of what was happening. Largely to the tune of a wandering moonborn; who it was was unknown. And likely wouldn't matter. They'd taken care of beasts, before. Their guard will remain until sunrise.
(She wouldn't have known Marc had escaped there in secret, earlier!)
-
His faltering memory was not needed for this; Alessandro could still act. There was no time for regret or self-doubt; at least that was what he'd told himself. Even if none of this would be happening had he killed Harpur, instead. But act he continued to do. He would bandage his own mistaken action with several dozen other snap-decisions and commands until they'd wriggle out of this situation with minimal harm done.
Alessandro had hoped they would not be followed, knew that would likely not be the case. What had surprised him was how quickly the thing that was once Harpur had been - avoiding the Faewatch, no doubt - and how comfortable and familiar the big wolf was, as he'd settled.
Unfortunately the settling was after the wolf had found Chianti's stable. Should Harpur survive, that would be a pretty strange blow; Chianti was an old war-horse he'd lend freely - before Harpur got his own magnificent (and strapping, and flatulent) mount. At least it kept the big fellow sated and still, for now.
Sandro led another small group of his men, armed with silver bolts and bows of all makes, who encircled the stables at a distance. They would remain, silent and ready.
And he couldn't help but peer in, straining to see inside from his own armed perch at a distance, none-too-coincidentally one that had a clearer view of the destroyed doors.
Harpur Eberhardt — 05/30/2021
The beast eats shamelessly, tearing the flesh apart and lapping at blood. He's heavy with meat, exhausted from his wounds and first shift. The guards are lucky tonight, for the hulking berserker is spent. He spends a little time lapping at his maw, licking clean his paw pads and lapping at his own wounds before finally sinking down next to the horse corpse and falling fast asleep.
The transition back is always easier than the transition into. Harpur is so exhausted that the pain wakes him but he quickly falls back asleep after the agony passes. It's a little while but then the strangeness of his surroundings starts to bring him to. The cool air on his naked body...the sticky damp of blood beneath him, the itchy bristle of a partial beard on his jaw, more than usual.
He can smell everything, identify it. He hears further, he feels sick, his bones ache and he can hardly tell where he is or what happened to him. He groans and tries to sit up, hissing in pain and gripping at his ribs then his shoulder. The world is too bright, he cannot open his eyes yet, it's a hangover like no other he has ever had.
Sandro — 05/30/2021
It was a very precarious position to be in as the minutes dragged on; he could very easily make this an execution with the flick of his wrist.
He prayed that he wouldn't have to.
As the sun flickered and flared over the horizon, and as the strange and twisting and bone-crunching sounds and involuntary yells and grunts of a metamorphosis emanated from within the stable, he did politely avert his eyes, anyway. One-by-one, he would dismiss each soldier and mercenary.
Harpur would be his responsibility for now. It would give him some time on which he could debate on how to bring this to de Ovando...and gauge how the Watch could move forward.
--
He might smell him before he saw him; the towering figure of Alessandro, a man of sweat, blood and omnipresent stress and worry, and faint traces of something not-entirely-dissimilar to a wolf, himself.
And this giant towered in the doorway, examining the missing bricks and splintered wood with his free hand; in the other, slung over his arm, was a blanket, a towel, and a bucket of water.
Harpur Eberhardt — 05/31/2021
Harpur feels delirious, he starts to remember, or was it just a dream? He knows someone is there, he can smell him. It's Sandro, he doesn't question that he understands the smell.
He groans in a slur "Where's our boy...?" it just slips out that way, Harpur doesn't even notice.
"What happened?" he knows a silver werewolf attacked... one hand reaches out and lands upon the exposed rib of the dead horse. At that point his eyes open and he gasps deeply, scrambling back against the splintered wall of the stable. No- no no.
He'd loved that horse, but more than that...
In his bleary vision he looked down to check if he was naked. He was. Realization hit and he pressed his hands to his face, sliding them over the back of his head before pressing his face between his knees and practically curling into a ball.
He'd changed. Sandro hadn't done as he'd wished. He was alive.
Sandro — 05/31/2021
"Where's our boy...?"
"He's here, he's safe." If he were to believe word of him wandering to the in-house doctors with the scratches needing treatment; that it seemed Marc had waited until morning didn't seem to strike Sandro as strange in the moment, though there was a twist of guilt and panic that he'd not yet seen him. Still, there was some distant relief that he wouldn't be devoured by a werewolf on the property, these things were what teaming up with his wife had been meant for, there had to be two sometimes, he couldn't be ill and a soldier and a Lord and everywhere at once...
Curiously, in the rush and tangle of the other emotions, he also didn't appear to find anything odd about that 'our.'
But Harpur didn't need to say anything; the other man slowly came to, piecing together what had happened and curling up in defeat. Sandro stepped forward. Reached, thought better of it. This was, in a way, his own fault.
"I tried." It was very small, slightly closed-off in the way Marc could often be.
"I couldn't. Not to him. Not to you." And not to himself. Perhaps a younger Sandro could have done it, once. A younger, happier Sandro, still venturing, still with a family that was complete. Perhaps it just wasn't in him, anymore.
"I'm sorry, Harpur."
Harpur Eberhardt — 05/31/2021
Harpur's face warps bitterly between his knees, he's practically rocking gently back and forth for a moment before he rises up, breathing harshly and teeth growing long. He approaches Sandro furiously "You should have! we ALWAYS agreed what would happen! We always agreed!!!" he threw his arm in the air, his nails were claws.
Fur bursts along his jaw and his jaw cracks. "No no no-" he presses his hands to his face, the glowing of his veins is subtle but it goes away as he forces himself to breath and calm down. He's shaking by the end of it.
"Look what has become of me" he chokes out and looks up at Sandro "I am a monster, Sandro. I will kill, it is in my nature now. If you won't do it then I have a duty to this city to do it myself" he insists.
But then he thinks of Sandro, Marc, Tomasso, Aeson, Cie ............ Jaxamir. He closes his eyes and turns his head towards the ground.
"After my goodbyes... I'm sorry about the horse, Sandro... I'm sorry f' not catching its teeth before they clamped down - I shoulda known better" he had protected Marc in the process though, he didn't feel entirely bad about it. His personal creed denoted that he now had to die to rid the world of another terrible creature, they were going to have some trouble keeping him from it.
Sandro — 05/31/2021
And de Ovando would definitely be alerted to that.
Even when Harpur rounded on him and the wolf threatened to burst forth, Sandro didn't step back; he'd look the wolf-man in the eye with defiance and apology and sorrow. And still, with love. He would subconsciously stand by what he did, even if he were consciously still trying to rationalize it or articulate it.
Sandro set the bucket down, then padded over to get on his level and sit next to him as informally as if they were both twenty years younger than they were, and he wrapped the blanket over the other big man's shoulders. That his friend was presently someone unstable enough to crack and allow the wolf to claw to the fore, even for that brief moment, didn't appear to make a difference.
He was, however, glad he'd dismissed the others; inwardly he'd hoped that Enrica or Marc would let the gardener know not to come into work this morning - the last thing for Ganu to deal with should be two old men covered in horse guts. His employer's mind was deteriorating, sure - but this wasn't part of it, really!
"That's nothing you should apologize for, Harp..." It trailed in a small and humorless smile; even that was shortlived. It was difficult to think of what to say, or what he would say should their roles have been reversed.
He finally landed on a simple "You saved Marc," that somehow managed to contain so much more. Gratitude, love, and a measure of his still processing it all. And that he couldn't...not in front of Marc. "The least you could do is stay around and allow him to thank you." Which of course was wicked-subtle, and it rang slightly in his tone - Marc and the rest of the children wouldn't just...let the guy go, either. It was absolutely a ploy on which Alessandro could be called out.
"You might be a monster. But you are not monstrous." Many creatures about town would beg to differ. Then added with a hum that was slightly, forcibly light "Remember, she'd make a point of that a lot?" He'd been thinking of her a lot last night for some reason; it was a sentiment he'd not always agree with, but it was a grounding force in quite a few decisions.
Part 2
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Harpur Eberhardt — 05/31/2021
Harpur knew Sandro was making a good point. Well, he'd planned to stay for his goodbyes anyway, that counted, right? He didn't have to stay forever. Sandro was sat beside him and he couldn't be the big man he always made himself out to be anymore. The brutish captain turned to wrap his arms around Sandro and pressed his face into the gap between his chest and his belly, sobbing wheezily and choking miserably. It's a weakness he has never shown Sandro before, trembling like a leaf.
How could he not? This is his worst case scenario come true.
He keeps thinking he'll wake up any moment, that something like this couldn't have happened to him. Then he thinks ... how many others have felt this way after being changed? who was the man they killed last night? no no no no sympathy for beasts. He had to stick true to his creed, he couldn't change just because it affected him now, he knew what he believed.
Harpur clutches Sandro tightly from beneath the blanket. The mention of 'her' and he looks up with wet eyes. "Sandro" he reaches up and grips at him "..I'm so sure I ..." was it a dream? "Saw her- felt her hands on my face- my ears- maybe it was a delusion... I think she sent me here." Wait... his pack. "pack- she said- no I'm sorry it was surely but a dream" he sniffs, shoulders trembling. It couldn't have been her.
Sandro — 05/31/2021
And Harpur broke entirely, burying himself into Sandro's chest.
It was unsettling. It was heartrending. He wasn't even really sure what to say, that there was anything that could be said here, right now. The gore probably didn't help.
But he held him for as long as the other man needed.
Something seemed to tease at the tip of his tongue and linger behind his eyes, personal and confessional and odd - though after a moment, whatever it was remained unsaid; this was not the place and certainly not the time.
Instead, he finally nodded and at length, added, "I see her, sometimes. Some of it's...you know." He flicked at the side of his own head in a gesture playful and demonstrative for such a grim prognosis. Then sighed. "And some of it feels...different, real. Like that moment when someone's speaking right before you slip into a dream." Especially lately, with Piero and Marc and Cienna and Tomm; there would be many dreams of lying in bed with her, casually speaking about what to do as if they had carried on as normal in waking life. These were dreams he would invariably forget by morning, only remembering the feeling he'd had, and that they'd happened at all. "I believe you.
"Besides, Her husband, her child AND her friend out all at once? She was probably beside herself! ...and I don't think she'd send you here to die." A little note then curled upward in his voice; this was devastating but he would slip some teasing in, anyway - a drop in the bucket compared to the multiple situations colliding and looming before them. But what was unsaid was clear: He's not killing him. And will remain to mess with him. "She would probably call you a ridiculous melonhead if you did try. Do one of these." He rapped Harpur gently on the side of his head, before wrapping that arm back around him again.
"We've called ourselves a pack. Historically, I mean. 'Aiolfi,' you know? Founder fought like a wolf. It's a name that was earned and we've worked to keep it.
"As far as I am concerned, Harpur, you are...pack."
Harpur Eberhardt — 05/31/2021
Harpur doesn't know how to respond, everything feels wrong. Sandro talks about her like it's normal that she should appear. He stays pressed into Sandro, listening, choking out weak sobs mingled with a weak and hopeless laugh ...just one, at the jest regarding Sandro's wife calling him a melonhead.
More like meat head.
The mention of pack does strange things to him, he feels a protective surge and a strange sense of belonging, his mind races and questions who leads the pack. Sandro isn't as strong as him, not anymore, but he is the head of the household.
He growls deeply and shakes his head. What is he thinking!?
Harpur looks up at him with tired, miserable eyes. "Why don't you hate me? ...Sandro ...have you not -..." he wonders if Sandro had ever shared his views. So much of their friendship had been based on that. He doesn't know how to word it, so he just sags.
"I need a drink."
Sandro — 05/31/2021
There was something slight in response to that growl, a lingering reflex from deep within his chest that didn't quite otherwise make it out of the man - and he certainly didn't seem conscious that he'd done it.
"Why don't you hate me? ...Sandro ...have you not -..."
It was a lot to think about - but hating Harpur was never in question. He would never. However slow the other words might have come, these were sharp and firm in comparison. "I'm not going to start hating you. You saved my son. You were doing what was right." It just seemed expressly unfair that Harpur had to be punished in this way. But also unfair that he would have to be put to death for it.
"...I made this very complicated, and it was a moment of weakness. I know that. I am very, *very *sorry. But after she died, after Piero, with Marc there...after everything we've seen and everywhere we've been..." He trailed at first. It was difficult to articulate, and he wasn't even sure he'd really dove consciously into these waters. "You have only ever done what was right, and the idea of killing you for it..." That wasn't right, either.
He finally gave up, clapping Harpur's shoulder and searching for words; another series of gestures and expressions that had made it to Marc, unfiltered. "I don't leave. I won't leave. And I won't leave you. And if this is my mistake...then this is my mistake to rectify." No man left behind. They were pack.
"Check that blanket, let's get you inside, a bath and a good drink."
Harpur Eberhardt — 06/01/2021
Harpur can hardly cope with the idea that everything he knew might be a lie, including Sandro's dedication to their cause. It has him all mixed up inside, he's on the cusp of a panic attack at any given moment. He breaths, he keeps breathing and trying to calm himself but berserker blood makes it harder than ever before.
He can't blame Sandro for not killing him, not after he offers his reasoning. He realizes he probably couldn't have done it either... taken another family member from his kids.
"Are the others in the house? ...they'll be in danger with me there." he says unhappily, casting a sad look to that dead horse.
"Thank you, Sandro." he uses the towel provided and the water to wipe himself as clean as he can. He needs a proper bath but he doesn't want to walk into the house covered in blood and gore.
He rises up, tugging the blanket tighter around himself. His eyes are empty, head tilted towards the ground.
"I'm going to lose my job." he says quietly, slowly as realizations or worries start to surface. The reality is coming to him in waves.
It still feels like a dream, he'll wake up any moment. Maybe it's a fae trick and he's stuck in a dream dimension...
He drags his heels as he likely follows Sandro to the house, grunting as his knees crack and snap, still settling after his transformation. He's still hungry even after the horse, he craves raw meat.
"S'pose I was never going to get into faewatch anyway." he tries to reason with himself in a deflated way. What work could he do even if he chose to live? de Ovando surely wasn't going to have some berserker captain on his team.
Sandro — 06/01/2021
"Jac and Marc are. Heard Jac didn't sleep a wink while I was out here." Try getting a twelve-year-old to go to bed the moment he hears there's a wolf on the property! "Enrica should be coming home soon."
He started to lead Harpur back to the house properly after the man washed up, though he'd heard the shudders and crunches of residual transformation and doubled back to offer an arm and a shoulder. His heart is hammering, but it's not fear; at least not the 'usual' fear of prey and predator. These fears are nerves, these fears are...something else.
He said nothing to the prospect of Harpur losing his job; it would be sensible of de Ovando, really, for the safety of all involved. Especially when it came to a moonborn; they rarely survived a moon or two, much less reintegrated. This was uncharted territory.
Could anyone 'train' a moonborn? It was a ludicrous image.
He had one supernatural hire already and it had begun as a show-hire at first.
The optics here will be messy, no doubt, especially with Harpur as a known and public friend of the condottieri family...but at least it was not without precedent. Sandro could spin something up around that if de Ovando didn't want to deal.
Harpur's musings were reflected in subtle cues as they made their way back into the house, in how Sandro breathed, the way he held him, the slight tempo change of his heart. "You'll stay on as trainer. I will accompany. Even if, well. Bad days will happen." Extreme moods, extreme confusion, apathy, obliterated inhibitions felt as if they were a roll of the dice.
Harpur Eberhardt — 06/01/2021
Harpur follows him inside, his eyes sadly drifting to the back of Sandro's head "I'd be putting your family in danger... and no one needs training forever." he worried for Sandro's family, for his family. He could smell every one of them in the house, he could tell who'd walked by recently, he could almost see the scent trails. It was disgusting, HE was disgusting. He ran his hand through his hair and clutched the blanket tighter.
"I can't ask you to do anything for me, Sandro. It's not worth it." he just wants to lay down in a dark room and waste away, he doesn't want to be around anyone right now.
He listens for Marc, sniffs the air. He worries for him... no doubt the event had taken its toll on him. He feels a strange instinct in him, he needs to find his pack. They're nearby, where are they? where are they!? he worries. Sandro would hear his breaths getting quicker as new and strange sensations or instincts threaten to take over, he hasn't yet learned to control them or understand them.
He's just walking, so it's probably jarring when he throws back his head and lets out a deep and very inhuman howl into the house, eyes darting around. For a moment he forgets himself, he's listening for a response. The pack need to tell him where they are- fuck what is he doing!?
Sandro — 06/01/2021
Harpur's mood rattled the other man; he'd never seen him this low - and while Alessandro was ending up in helpless positions more frequently than he'd ever wished, that didn't mean he had to like it.
Sandro wouldn't know what he would have done had the roles were switched. Or had this hit even closer to home than his old friend.
Harpur was his responsibility in that he had not killed him, and now that window had passed. There was still a measure of distance and propriety he could take; meet with the guard, prepare the watch, take due precautions. The nice thing about lunar creatures was the cycle
Harpur let fly with an enthused howl and Sandro jumped, jolted out of his thoughts; recovering quickly, he moved back to draw the blanket tighter around the man's shoulders. He wasn't a man that startled easily, but best friends also didn't typically howl in one's ear. He'd hoped that whatever remaining employees within earshot of THAT who hadn't already been dismissed for the day were at least wisely steering clear.
As if reading that intent startlingly well, Sandro murmured a, "...they. They can't do that." 'Howl back,' most likely.
Their wolfish tigre certainly had read the intent, though - after a beat, a tiny little howl echoed back faintly from somewhere in the house. She was here! Hello friend!
If Sandro didn't already look entirely flustered - fully aware of and restraining mannerisms not unlike Marc's - his own groan of a "...Please don't answer her," likely removed all traces of doubt.
If Rosa was the first close family member to make herself known, Jac was the first to make himself visible, peering around the corner of a winding and painting-laden hall with an, "oh no WAY. HARPUR?"
"Did you just run toward a howl, Jacomo." Spoken as naturally as if Jacomo had cheated in one of the family's games and was caught red-handed. At this point, Sandro was just tired. And had absolutely none of the energy the preteen had immediately brought to the room.
"...maybe. It's daylight and the howl's in here and I heard you talking. Figured it was one of ours or something. Har-Mr. Eberhart, how big was it! "
He would've moved for a hug, but that would be reserved for when the guy would be dressed a bit more.
"Jac, you will not, he's kind of had a rough night? Let him rest, let him...
Marc was around here somewhere; his scent distressed and strange. But now that Jacomo was on the scene, he wasn't about to let either man leave the scene without SOME sort of explanation. And frankly, he was just happy to see Harpur!
Harpur Eberhardt — 06/02/2021
Harpur was in a bit of a trance, eyes wide and darting around as he waited for a response. He didn't have to wait long for Rosa to respond.
'...Please don't ans-'
"BAROOOOOOOO!" He bellows deeply back with an excited grin but then seems to snap out of it quickly when Jac bursts on in. He immediately looks mortified, eyes wet and his body sinking behind Sandro's pathetically. He doesn't want Jac to see him this way.
He grunts gruffly in agreement "Taught you better" he growls lowly at Jac as if correcting a pup, snorting gruffly through his nostrils at him past Sandro's shoulders. Then again he realizes he's behaving strangely and grips tightly at his hair, practically tearing a hefty few strands out.
"I'm a monster- I'm a monster" he practically whimpers in distress behind Sandro, this is awful. This is terrible. He wants to see Marc but he doesn't want Marc to see him. He settles for the fact he can smell him, that'll have to do. He steps past Sandro and Jac to head for the bathroom way ahead of them, he wants to get away. As soon as he's in there he just sits on a stool in the corner and turns to press himself into the wall.
He just wants to die.
Sandro — 06/02/2021
Sandro had little choice but to remain a human wall between his son and his friend.
"I'll find you some proper clothes," was a murmur, and he semi-consciously adjusted that blanket on Harpur once more. Fussing just to fuss and perfect and expel his own nerves. They were roughly the same size anyway; albeit Harpur was a bit bulkier. If the guy could stand wearing the green and silver and hoity-toity rich-person wear (mercy!) until Sandro could send him home safely or send away for the guy's clothes, he would have to make do.
"Did it hurt? Does it hurt?" Jac's cues were somewhere between worry and asking for the usual roster of adventure stories - and wholly heedless of how tone-deaf those questions were. He wasn't exactly sure how to handle a grown Harpur in very weird distress, and his father not far behind - he'd thought he'd become an old pro at twelve these past few years, but he was clearly still young enough to be surprised!
"I'm a monster- I'm a monster"
"You're not..." Like anyone would listen to what a kid would say, though - and as Harpur fled, Jac let fly with a growl of his own.
"I'm getting Marc."
The bathroom; Sandro had followed at first, just simply calling Harpur's name, worried, angry, exasperated, apologetic. He'd finally fled, but only briefly - and when he'd returned, he'd waited outside the doorway with an armful of his own clothes.
But the first family member that did beat Sandro to finally breach the understood border of the bathroom was Rosa, eyes large. Hooray - she found him, finally! She snuffled curiously at his side, long tail curling and waving, ears at attention, evidently puzzled but pretty sure this was a happy thing - if not for the vastly conflicting moods around the house on which she'd picked up - from fear, to sadness, to regret, to excitement. She didn't get it. This was not a hunt, this was not a bad creature she was chasing - this was Harpur who was Always Very Good and had Good Food. He was right here. They would not get all confused and make her hunt him just because he smelled a little better, right?
Harpur Eberhardt — 06/25/2021
Poor Jac doesn't get any of his questions answered, they just make Harpur feel sick, like he's wrong, something is so very very wrong with him and he shouldn't still be alive. He shouldn't have seen sunrise.. Why hadn't Sandro ended it? how could he do this?
Harpur knew he might have very well done the same.
Of course, his ears pick up that 'I'm getting Marc' and he all but curls into himself, no no, he doesn't want the young man to see him like this. The blanket is not only tugged tighter about him, but over his head as well. He doesn't remember feeling this powerless and vulnerable since he was just a boy. He's actually scared... but then Rosa's face appeared beneath the blanket and he could've sworn he felt his own phantom tail wag softly in greeting regardless of his mood.
He sniffed the air by instinct, getting her scent before sinking to the floor on his knees and pulling her in close, the blanket draped around them both. He dipped his head and pressed his face into her neck, allowing her to madly lick at him if she wanted. This canine closeness was stranger than it had been before his change, it was wrong, but it was comfort. She and he now spoke a similar language.
"Shouldn't you be tearing me to pieces right now?" he asked her in a broken voice as his meaty hands took fistfulls of her fur and scratched behind her ears.
"Good girl....good girl.." he uttered weakly in the dark corner of the room. Sandro would hear him, he hadn't found the motivation to bathe, but this was good too.
Sandro — 06/26/2021
Rosa sniffed at Harpur's nose, offered a little rrr of a grumble in response to his question and leaned into him with her full weight, snuffling at and licking at him, before finally attempting to maneuver her chin to rest on his shoulder as he pulled her in, long tail swishing in lazy, reassuring wags. She added a small, decisive, "Roo." Just to make whatever point it appeared she'd wanted to make.
There was clearly no tearing to pieces in the cards for right now; a smothering cuddle or two would be the most danger Rosa would pose to Harpur, for today.
The pair were likely allowed several long moments, before the blanket was whisked off of Harpur's head, quickly and carefully - and there was Alessandro, clothes folded neatly over his arm, staring down at Harpur with a small and sad smirk.
"Can I come in?"
He clearly already had, and evidently he wasn't going to take 'no' for an answer.
"Scoot over," was all he said for a moment, incredibly light, incredibly informal, far from the usual command he carried. And whether or not the new-werewolf did, Sandro lowered himself stiffly (with only a little hiss, this time) and sat on the other side of Harpur, setting the clothes down in front of them both.
And he just sat in silence for a very long moment, though rubbed Rosa's chin when she leaned over to snuffle happily at him briefly, before resuming her perch on Harpur's shoulder.
And whether it was after seconds or minutes, he truly did not know, he wrapped his arm around Harpur's shoulders.
Marc — 06/26/2021
--
In the midst of all of this, the brothers re-approached the outside of the bathroom; Harpur would likely hear at least snatches of their conversation.
"...were at Cie-en-naaaaasss~"
"Yeah? Nothing happened. ...nothing HAPPENED, Jac, not like that kind of thing really gets anyone in the mood, you know?!"
"Not telling a soul either way. But y'know I'm your cheering section, right?"
Closer, and when compared to the other two Aiolfi, Marc smelled wrong.
There were traces of something not-quite-right all over Jacomo, a bud of something not unlike that wolf ready to flower, and lesser still all over Sandro - but Marc was an absence, an outline of a human with the rest violently missing. Marc smelled wrong, and it was an inexplicably grievous wound.
Despite the banter, worry - a slight cousin to fear - sloughed off of the both of them.
"Not going in there, Dad's in there?!"
"Yeah? We can wait. Not like either of 'em died or anything. ...are you really doing your going-quiet thing?"
"I'm not doing the going-quiet thing."
"Yeah, look, you are, elbows and all." A beat, the rustling fabric of what was undoubtedly Marc releasing his elbows and standing up straight in a huff, and a smaller snicker from Jac. "Look. None of this is your fault. Dad said it, Richa said it. If Mom'n Piero were here, they'd say it too. 'Sides. Y'know. The wolf thing. Could be worse. Not like any of us don't know about wolf things, yeah?"
Harpur — 06/26/2021
Harpur flinched when the blanket moved, looking up with sad, puppydog eyes at Sandro, it certainly was a strange sight. "Yeah..." he said, inviting Sandro into his personal bubble. He turned to put his own arm around Sandro once he'd scooted to make room , burying his face in the man's shoulder affectionately, despairingly too.
He held them both, Rosa and Sandro...eyes empty and scanning the corner of the room in silence. He seemed dead, motionless until he heard familiar voices approaching and his body tensed slightly, eyes lifting to look at the door as he listened.
Sandro wouldn't hear it as keenly as he, no doubt, so it might have been strange when a weak, slightly tearful huff of amusement shook his body. Jac was right, Marc did that 'quiet thing', he knew about that one.
He didn't want Marc to see him, but he could be strong for the younger man. He didn't want that silence to consume him and... well the ice needed to be broken. Maybe even if he did put an end to this after, at least he has had the blessing of being able to say goodbye to them all, right? he could take comfort in that.
He leaned away from Sandro and Rosa and rose up, looking at him with a sad smile for a moment before turning to walk towards the door with the blanket held across his chest with one fist. The other hand reaches to pull open the door and Harpur stands there smiling at Marc, though the sadness in his eyes is impossible to hide.
But then there's the smell, it'd been weak before but now the door is open it wigs him out so to speak, feeling the hairs on his arms and neck bristle. He pushes it down for now, but it brings a great many questions to mind. Mainly, why?
"Can't have you doing that quiet thing...can we? ..." a pause "Come here." he says and opens his one free arm to Marc. He fears so much that Marc will be afraid of him, it'd be foolish not to fear a werewolf after all, right?
Sandro — 06/26/2021
Sandro held Harpur as long as he needed.
He couldn't think of anything to say that had not already been said, could barely articulate how he felt about it himself.
Was it selfish if he wanted to keep Harpur around, after he'd lost so many already - and doom him to a life of being the very creature he'd hunted. Even Aiolfi, for all they knew about werewolves, were less certain of Harpur's strain.
Or should he have spared Harpur all of that - and bring that loss back to his children. He would see the wounded Harpur and terrified Marc in his nightmares, he knew this.
He'd already lost one best friend, he couldn't lose the other. Killing Harpur in any shape would be like killing family. He'd not been sure before, had often smothered the possibility in posturing, of COURSE he'd choose the heroic option if ever faced with it! - but now he knew, and felt ridiculous that he'd ever believed otherwise: he couldn't do it. He wouldn't do it.
And part of him that was convinced a dead Harpur would come back and plague him daily until the kids were fed with ridiculously well-rounded, exquisitely prepared feasts every day, anyway. His own snort of a tiny, wet laugh was for a very different reason, but it wasn't ill-timed with Harpur's own. He was only somewhat startled when Harpur'd laughed as well, and frowned for a moment - he'd not joked about the angry cooking-ghost aloud, had he? Of course not. But that was weird.
"Harp, I'm so sorry," was finally a murmur. "Be strong, for them too, all right?" He patted his shoulder and rose with him, Rosa humming, head angled at their feet.
Marc — 06/26/2021
--
Both brothers started and fell sharply silent as Harpur opened the door.
A beat, then, "See? He's fine!" Jac said at first with a wave, mustering up every last shred of that twelve-going-on-twenty bluster he was pretty sure he'd had. And then abruptly that all crumbled as he finally looked at each man's face...and the tears rather suddenly cut loose and he was exactly the scared little boy he was pretending he wasn't. He still did try to maintain his posture, and tried to wipe some of the trickling snot with the back a very manly curled fist. "He's fine!"
Harpur reached and Marc stepped forward on instinct, then hesitated, feeling just as small as Jac for a moment.
"...you're not mad?" It sounded silly even as it left Marc's mouth - it betrayed no small amount of survivor's guilt, and a rather youthful flavor of it at that - and he walked it back immediately. "I don't...I mean. I didn't mean for that to happen." It trailed into the slightest of head-shakes "No more, right? I couldn't...take, I couldn't lose you, too." He'd felt like he was babbling, but surely they all understood, right?
It trailed rather sharply into silence. He almost reached for his own arms to withdraw, thought of taking a step back. He wasn't afraid of Harpur, he was ashamed, he was guilty and...that halo, that new sense of that wolf with the man was sending that strange void-sense of his reeling.
And then he laughed, though it was more a wet sob that was more relieved than he otherwise let on. "Even you, getting on me about the quiet-thing!"
He stepped forward then, as if that had broken some sort of wall or encroaching ice, and threw his arms around Harpur with a shudder. Jac followed, a small string bean among giants.
"I'm sorry, I didn't mean it. Thank you. I was terrified, I...didn't. I'm glad you're...yeah." was a mush into Harpur's shoulder. "I'm happy you're here," was very much a sob.
Harpur Eberhardt — 06/27/2021
Harpur had nodded to Sandro, and now here he was, being strong for them even though he wanted to curl up and die.
He could hear Jac's voice breaking, he knew they weren't okay. His heart ached, one wrong move and the world had come crashing down. "Why would I be mad?" he draws Marc into his broad chest.
"No more, right? I couldn't...take, I couldn't lose you, too."
That made the decision for Harpur. He had to stay alive, at least until this family was alright. "Come here, both of you" he rumbled and tried to sink down to the floor with Marc and use that one arm tightly around both Marc and Jac, pressing his forehead to theirs.
"This isn't your fault, Marc, we know the risks, we go into this life every day knowing that one day one of these creatures may get us." he says, still not...associating himself with one of those creatures even though he now is one.
"I love you, alright? I'm not goin' anywhere." he squeezed them firmly to him. "You're my boys..." he whispered more quietly, voice breaking slightly but he resisted more tears.
Sandro — 07/11/2021
Rosa had trotted and slunk around each of the boys as they'd arrived, pressing her side and tail to each of their sides in turn like a happy cat. She turned her snout to each in turn, flicked an ear back in a near-silent question and a small hum as she tried to gauge what was wrong and figure out how to help. Pressing her fluffy side to theirs and keeping an eye out for trouble seemed to suffice (and she couldn't reach Harpur to sniff his nose, anymore!) so she did so with a renewed sense of duty.
--
It could have been the stress of the evening; it could have been from his own health, or the stress of nearly losing another son or another friend. It could have been the persistent strain and tragedy around what had been happening to their family and those close to them over these long years, what had happened to Harpur, or that Sandro was pretty sure he'd seen his wife that evening. It could have been his own fears over his looming helplessness to do anything about it or trust anything about it. It was very likely all of it.
"You're my boys..."
But this one sentence saw Sandro's edifice crumble. With a very poorly restrained sob that caught in a little hiss and sniffle, he stepped forward to pull Marc and Jac into a tight squeeze, each (likely whenever Harpur surrendered if the big man got to them first), murmuring small things to each boy - likely in a small and shared language 0 before finally shaking hand to Harpur's shoulder, clasped a little stronger and a little more vulnerable than he'd meant.
He'd swallowed. Ventured pressing his forehead to Harpur's. The silense was long, equal parts for Sandro's sake to allow himself to sort emotions, as well as it was for the rest.
"We'll figure things out. We always do. Let's get you cleaned up and something more than a blanket all right?"
Marc — 07/11/2021
"Was scared you would be..." It was a murmur, the tone somewhat ashamed, but delivered with the sort of frankness that had a tendency to slip out of Marc on occasion before he could keep it in check. "I didn't stop it. And it got him." There was a lot for the elder brother to sort through - his head insisted this was a success, his heart couldn't be more relieved that he'd not lost Harpur on top of everything else going on.
But there was one small, insidious part of him, one that had always existed but only as of late had felt bolt enough to grab his thoughts in its cruel vise and twist, that whispered and taunted. This was failure. He couldn't stop this thing from happening to Harpur, just as he'd failed to stop his brother from taking his place on the watch that evening, just as he was failing to stop Cienna from slipping or his father from succumbing to the apoplexy of the brain.
He'd heard Harpur reassure him, did nod mutely even if the sentiment wasn't entirely echoedd...and it was the hug that finally did it. It didn't fix the world - oh, Harpur would be in for a daunting task if he knew THAT, and Marc wasn't about to let Harpur worry about all of it either, would he think differently of him then? - but it stilled those ugly nerves. And it saw Marc cling back into Harpur's hug in equal measure, feeling far far smaller than he was, and for once allowing it.
"Love you too," was another murmur, but it was one heartfelt.
Harpur knew Sandro was making a good point. Well, he'd planned to stay for his goodbyes anyway, that counted, right? He didn't have to stay forever. Sandro was sat beside him and he couldn't be the big man he always made himself out to be anymore. The brutish captain turned to wrap his arms around Sandro and pressed his face into the gap between his chest and his belly, sobbing wheezily and choking miserably. It's a weakness he has never shown Sandro before, trembling like a leaf.
How could he not? This is his worst case scenario come true.
He keeps thinking he'll wake up any moment, that something like this couldn't have happened to him. Then he thinks ... how many others have felt this way after being changed? who was the man they killed last night? no no no no sympathy for beasts. He had to stick true to his creed, he couldn't change just because it affected him now, he knew what he believed.
Harpur clutches Sandro tightly from beneath the blanket. The mention of 'her' and he looks up with wet eyes. "Sandro" he reaches up and grips at him "..I'm so sure I ..." was it a dream? "Saw her- felt her hands on my face- my ears- maybe it was a delusion... I think she sent me here." Wait... his pack. "pack- she said- no I'm sorry it was surely but a dream" he sniffs, shoulders trembling. It couldn't have been her.
Sandro — 05/31/2021
And Harpur broke entirely, burying himself into Sandro's chest.
It was unsettling. It was heartrending. He wasn't even really sure what to say, that there was anything that could be said here, right now. The gore probably didn't help.
But he held him for as long as the other man needed.
Something seemed to tease at the tip of his tongue and linger behind his eyes, personal and confessional and odd - though after a moment, whatever it was remained unsaid; this was not the place and certainly not the time.
Instead, he finally nodded and at length, added, "I see her, sometimes. Some of it's...you know." He flicked at the side of his own head in a gesture playful and demonstrative for such a grim prognosis. Then sighed. "And some of it feels...different, real. Like that moment when someone's speaking right before you slip into a dream." Especially lately, with Piero and Marc and Cienna and Tomm; there would be many dreams of lying in bed with her, casually speaking about what to do as if they had carried on as normal in waking life. These were dreams he would invariably forget by morning, only remembering the feeling he'd had, and that they'd happened at all. "I believe you.
"Besides, Her husband, her child AND her friend out all at once? She was probably beside herself! ...and I don't think she'd send you here to die." A little note then curled upward in his voice; this was devastating but he would slip some teasing in, anyway - a drop in the bucket compared to the multiple situations colliding and looming before them. But what was unsaid was clear: He's not killing him. And will remain to mess with him. "She would probably call you a ridiculous melonhead if you did try. Do one of these." He rapped Harpur gently on the side of his head, before wrapping that arm back around him again.
"We've called ourselves a pack. Historically, I mean. 'Aiolfi,' you know? Founder fought like a wolf. It's a name that was earned and we've worked to keep it.
"As far as I am concerned, Harpur, you are...pack."
Harpur Eberhardt — 05/31/2021
Harpur doesn't know how to respond, everything feels wrong. Sandro talks about her like it's normal that she should appear. He stays pressed into Sandro, listening, choking out weak sobs mingled with a weak and hopeless laugh ...just one, at the jest regarding Sandro's wife calling him a melonhead.
More like meat head.
The mention of pack does strange things to him, he feels a protective surge and a strange sense of belonging, his mind races and questions who leads the pack. Sandro isn't as strong as him, not anymore, but he is the head of the household.
He growls deeply and shakes his head. What is he thinking!?
Harpur looks up at him with tired, miserable eyes. "Why don't you hate me? ...Sandro ...have you not -..." he wonders if Sandro had ever shared his views. So much of their friendship had been based on that. He doesn't know how to word it, so he just sags.
"I need a drink."
Sandro — 05/31/2021
There was something slight in response to that growl, a lingering reflex from deep within his chest that didn't quite otherwise make it out of the man - and he certainly didn't seem conscious that he'd done it.
"Why don't you hate me? ...Sandro ...have you not -..."
It was a lot to think about - but hating Harpur was never in question. He would never. However slow the other words might have come, these were sharp and firm in comparison. "I'm not going to start hating you. You saved my son. You were doing what was right." It just seemed expressly unfair that Harpur had to be punished in this way. But also unfair that he would have to be put to death for it.
"...I made this very complicated, and it was a moment of weakness. I know that. I am very, *very *sorry. But after she died, after Piero, with Marc there...after everything we've seen and everywhere we've been..." He trailed at first. It was difficult to articulate, and he wasn't even sure he'd really dove consciously into these waters. "You have only ever done what was right, and the idea of killing you for it..." That wasn't right, either.
He finally gave up, clapping Harpur's shoulder and searching for words; another series of gestures and expressions that had made it to Marc, unfiltered. "I don't leave. I won't leave. And I won't leave you. And if this is my mistake...then this is my mistake to rectify." No man left behind. They were pack.
"Check that blanket, let's get you inside, a bath and a good drink."
Harpur Eberhardt — 06/01/2021
Harpur can hardly cope with the idea that everything he knew might be a lie, including Sandro's dedication to their cause. It has him all mixed up inside, he's on the cusp of a panic attack at any given moment. He breaths, he keeps breathing and trying to calm himself but berserker blood makes it harder than ever before.
He can't blame Sandro for not killing him, not after he offers his reasoning. He realizes he probably couldn't have done it either... taken another family member from his kids.
"Are the others in the house? ...they'll be in danger with me there." he says unhappily, casting a sad look to that dead horse.
"Thank you, Sandro." he uses the towel provided and the water to wipe himself as clean as he can. He needs a proper bath but he doesn't want to walk into the house covered in blood and gore.
He rises up, tugging the blanket tighter around himself. His eyes are empty, head tilted towards the ground.
"I'm going to lose my job." he says quietly, slowly as realizations or worries start to surface. The reality is coming to him in waves.
It still feels like a dream, he'll wake up any moment. Maybe it's a fae trick and he's stuck in a dream dimension...
He drags his heels as he likely follows Sandro to the house, grunting as his knees crack and snap, still settling after his transformation. He's still hungry even after the horse, he craves raw meat.
"S'pose I was never going to get into faewatch anyway." he tries to reason with himself in a deflated way. What work could he do even if he chose to live? de Ovando surely wasn't going to have some berserker captain on his team.
Sandro — 06/01/2021
"Jac and Marc are. Heard Jac didn't sleep a wink while I was out here." Try getting a twelve-year-old to go to bed the moment he hears there's a wolf on the property! "Enrica should be coming home soon."
He started to lead Harpur back to the house properly after the man washed up, though he'd heard the shudders and crunches of residual transformation and doubled back to offer an arm and a shoulder. His heart is hammering, but it's not fear; at least not the 'usual' fear of prey and predator. These fears are nerves, these fears are...something else.
He said nothing to the prospect of Harpur losing his job; it would be sensible of de Ovando, really, for the safety of all involved. Especially when it came to a moonborn; they rarely survived a moon or two, much less reintegrated. This was uncharted territory.
Could anyone 'train' a moonborn? It was a ludicrous image.
He had one supernatural hire already and it had begun as a show-hire at first.
The optics here will be messy, no doubt, especially with Harpur as a known and public friend of the condottieri family...but at least it was not without precedent. Sandro could spin something up around that if de Ovando didn't want to deal.
Harpur's musings were reflected in subtle cues as they made their way back into the house, in how Sandro breathed, the way he held him, the slight tempo change of his heart. "You'll stay on as trainer. I will accompany. Even if, well. Bad days will happen." Extreme moods, extreme confusion, apathy, obliterated inhibitions felt as if they were a roll of the dice.
Harpur Eberhardt — 06/01/2021
Harpur follows him inside, his eyes sadly drifting to the back of Sandro's head "I'd be putting your family in danger... and no one needs training forever." he worried for Sandro's family, for his family. He could smell every one of them in the house, he could tell who'd walked by recently, he could almost see the scent trails. It was disgusting, HE was disgusting. He ran his hand through his hair and clutched the blanket tighter.
"I can't ask you to do anything for me, Sandro. It's not worth it." he just wants to lay down in a dark room and waste away, he doesn't want to be around anyone right now.
He listens for Marc, sniffs the air. He worries for him... no doubt the event had taken its toll on him. He feels a strange instinct in him, he needs to find his pack. They're nearby, where are they? where are they!? he worries. Sandro would hear his breaths getting quicker as new and strange sensations or instincts threaten to take over, he hasn't yet learned to control them or understand them.
He's just walking, so it's probably jarring when he throws back his head and lets out a deep and very inhuman howl into the house, eyes darting around. For a moment he forgets himself, he's listening for a response. The pack need to tell him where they are- fuck what is he doing!?
Sandro — 06/01/2021
Harpur's mood rattled the other man; he'd never seen him this low - and while Alessandro was ending up in helpless positions more frequently than he'd ever wished, that didn't mean he had to like it.
Sandro wouldn't know what he would have done had the roles were switched. Or had this hit even closer to home than his old friend.
Harpur was his responsibility in that he had not killed him, and now that window had passed. There was still a measure of distance and propriety he could take; meet with the guard, prepare the watch, take due precautions. The nice thing about lunar creatures was the cycle
Harpur let fly with an enthused howl and Sandro jumped, jolted out of his thoughts; recovering quickly, he moved back to draw the blanket tighter around the man's shoulders. He wasn't a man that startled easily, but best friends also didn't typically howl in one's ear. He'd hoped that whatever remaining employees within earshot of THAT who hadn't already been dismissed for the day were at least wisely steering clear.
As if reading that intent startlingly well, Sandro murmured a, "...they. They can't do that." 'Howl back,' most likely.
Their wolfish tigre certainly had read the intent, though - after a beat, a tiny little howl echoed back faintly from somewhere in the house. She was here! Hello friend!
If Sandro didn't already look entirely flustered - fully aware of and restraining mannerisms not unlike Marc's - his own groan of a "...Please don't answer her," likely removed all traces of doubt.
If Rosa was the first close family member to make herself known, Jac was the first to make himself visible, peering around the corner of a winding and painting-laden hall with an, "oh no WAY. HARPUR?"
"Did you just run toward a howl, Jacomo." Spoken as naturally as if Jacomo had cheated in one of the family's games and was caught red-handed. At this point, Sandro was just tired. And had absolutely none of the energy the preteen had immediately brought to the room.
"...maybe. It's daylight and the howl's in here and I heard you talking. Figured it was one of ours or something. Har-Mr. Eberhart, how big was it! "
He would've moved for a hug, but that would be reserved for when the guy would be dressed a bit more.
"Jac, you will not, he's kind of had a rough night? Let him rest, let him...
Marc was around here somewhere; his scent distressed and strange. But now that Jacomo was on the scene, he wasn't about to let either man leave the scene without SOME sort of explanation. And frankly, he was just happy to see Harpur!
Harpur Eberhardt — 06/02/2021
Harpur was in a bit of a trance, eyes wide and darting around as he waited for a response. He didn't have to wait long for Rosa to respond.
'...Please don't ans-'
"BAROOOOOOOO!" He bellows deeply back with an excited grin but then seems to snap out of it quickly when Jac bursts on in. He immediately looks mortified, eyes wet and his body sinking behind Sandro's pathetically. He doesn't want Jac to see him this way.
He grunts gruffly in agreement "Taught you better" he growls lowly at Jac as if correcting a pup, snorting gruffly through his nostrils at him past Sandro's shoulders. Then again he realizes he's behaving strangely and grips tightly at his hair, practically tearing a hefty few strands out.
"I'm a monster- I'm a monster" he practically whimpers in distress behind Sandro, this is awful. This is terrible. He wants to see Marc but he doesn't want Marc to see him. He settles for the fact he can smell him, that'll have to do. He steps past Sandro and Jac to head for the bathroom way ahead of them, he wants to get away. As soon as he's in there he just sits on a stool in the corner and turns to press himself into the wall.
He just wants to die.
Sandro — 06/02/2021
Sandro had little choice but to remain a human wall between his son and his friend.
"I'll find you some proper clothes," was a murmur, and he semi-consciously adjusted that blanket on Harpur once more. Fussing just to fuss and perfect and expel his own nerves. They were roughly the same size anyway; albeit Harpur was a bit bulkier. If the guy could stand wearing the green and silver and hoity-toity rich-person wear (mercy!) until Sandro could send him home safely or send away for the guy's clothes, he would have to make do.
"Did it hurt? Does it hurt?" Jac's cues were somewhere between worry and asking for the usual roster of adventure stories - and wholly heedless of how tone-deaf those questions were. He wasn't exactly sure how to handle a grown Harpur in very weird distress, and his father not far behind - he'd thought he'd become an old pro at twelve these past few years, but he was clearly still young enough to be surprised!
"I'm a monster- I'm a monster"
"You're not..." Like anyone would listen to what a kid would say, though - and as Harpur fled, Jac let fly with a growl of his own.
"I'm getting Marc."
The bathroom; Sandro had followed at first, just simply calling Harpur's name, worried, angry, exasperated, apologetic. He'd finally fled, but only briefly - and when he'd returned, he'd waited outside the doorway with an armful of his own clothes.
But the first family member that did beat Sandro to finally breach the understood border of the bathroom was Rosa, eyes large. Hooray - she found him, finally! She snuffled curiously at his side, long tail curling and waving, ears at attention, evidently puzzled but pretty sure this was a happy thing - if not for the vastly conflicting moods around the house on which she'd picked up - from fear, to sadness, to regret, to excitement. She didn't get it. This was not a hunt, this was not a bad creature she was chasing - this was Harpur who was Always Very Good and had Good Food. He was right here. They would not get all confused and make her hunt him just because he smelled a little better, right?
Harpur Eberhardt — 06/25/2021
Poor Jac doesn't get any of his questions answered, they just make Harpur feel sick, like he's wrong, something is so very very wrong with him and he shouldn't still be alive. He shouldn't have seen sunrise.. Why hadn't Sandro ended it? how could he do this?
Harpur knew he might have very well done the same.
Of course, his ears pick up that 'I'm getting Marc' and he all but curls into himself, no no, he doesn't want the young man to see him like this. The blanket is not only tugged tighter about him, but over his head as well. He doesn't remember feeling this powerless and vulnerable since he was just a boy. He's actually scared... but then Rosa's face appeared beneath the blanket and he could've sworn he felt his own phantom tail wag softly in greeting regardless of his mood.
He sniffed the air by instinct, getting her scent before sinking to the floor on his knees and pulling her in close, the blanket draped around them both. He dipped his head and pressed his face into her neck, allowing her to madly lick at him if she wanted. This canine closeness was stranger than it had been before his change, it was wrong, but it was comfort. She and he now spoke a similar language.
"Shouldn't you be tearing me to pieces right now?" he asked her in a broken voice as his meaty hands took fistfulls of her fur and scratched behind her ears.
"Good girl....good girl.." he uttered weakly in the dark corner of the room. Sandro would hear him, he hadn't found the motivation to bathe, but this was good too.
Sandro — 06/26/2021
Rosa sniffed at Harpur's nose, offered a little rrr of a grumble in response to his question and leaned into him with her full weight, snuffling at and licking at him, before finally attempting to maneuver her chin to rest on his shoulder as he pulled her in, long tail swishing in lazy, reassuring wags. She added a small, decisive, "Roo." Just to make whatever point it appeared she'd wanted to make.
There was clearly no tearing to pieces in the cards for right now; a smothering cuddle or two would be the most danger Rosa would pose to Harpur, for today.
The pair were likely allowed several long moments, before the blanket was whisked off of Harpur's head, quickly and carefully - and there was Alessandro, clothes folded neatly over his arm, staring down at Harpur with a small and sad smirk.
"Can I come in?"
He clearly already had, and evidently he wasn't going to take 'no' for an answer.
"Scoot over," was all he said for a moment, incredibly light, incredibly informal, far from the usual command he carried. And whether or not the new-werewolf did, Sandro lowered himself stiffly (with only a little hiss, this time) and sat on the other side of Harpur, setting the clothes down in front of them both.
And he just sat in silence for a very long moment, though rubbed Rosa's chin when she leaned over to snuffle happily at him briefly, before resuming her perch on Harpur's shoulder.
And whether it was after seconds or minutes, he truly did not know, he wrapped his arm around Harpur's shoulders.
Marc — 06/26/2021
--
In the midst of all of this, the brothers re-approached the outside of the bathroom; Harpur would likely hear at least snatches of their conversation.
"...were at Cie-en-naaaaasss~"
"Yeah? Nothing happened. ...nothing HAPPENED, Jac, not like that kind of thing really gets anyone in the mood, you know?!"
"Not telling a soul either way. But y'know I'm your cheering section, right?"
Closer, and when compared to the other two Aiolfi, Marc smelled wrong.
There were traces of something not-quite-right all over Jacomo, a bud of something not unlike that wolf ready to flower, and lesser still all over Sandro - but Marc was an absence, an outline of a human with the rest violently missing. Marc smelled wrong, and it was an inexplicably grievous wound.
Despite the banter, worry - a slight cousin to fear - sloughed off of the both of them.
"Not going in there, Dad's in there?!"
"Yeah? We can wait. Not like either of 'em died or anything. ...are you really doing your going-quiet thing?"
"I'm not doing the going-quiet thing."
"Yeah, look, you are, elbows and all." A beat, the rustling fabric of what was undoubtedly Marc releasing his elbows and standing up straight in a huff, and a smaller snicker from Jac. "Look. None of this is your fault. Dad said it, Richa said it. If Mom'n Piero were here, they'd say it too. 'Sides. Y'know. The wolf thing. Could be worse. Not like any of us don't know about wolf things, yeah?"
Harpur — 06/26/2021
Harpur flinched when the blanket moved, looking up with sad, puppydog eyes at Sandro, it certainly was a strange sight. "Yeah..." he said, inviting Sandro into his personal bubble. He turned to put his own arm around Sandro once he'd scooted to make room , burying his face in the man's shoulder affectionately, despairingly too.
He held them both, Rosa and Sandro...eyes empty and scanning the corner of the room in silence. He seemed dead, motionless until he heard familiar voices approaching and his body tensed slightly, eyes lifting to look at the door as he listened.
Sandro wouldn't hear it as keenly as he, no doubt, so it might have been strange when a weak, slightly tearful huff of amusement shook his body. Jac was right, Marc did that 'quiet thing', he knew about that one.
He didn't want Marc to see him, but he could be strong for the younger man. He didn't want that silence to consume him and... well the ice needed to be broken. Maybe even if he did put an end to this after, at least he has had the blessing of being able to say goodbye to them all, right? he could take comfort in that.
He leaned away from Sandro and Rosa and rose up, looking at him with a sad smile for a moment before turning to walk towards the door with the blanket held across his chest with one fist. The other hand reaches to pull open the door and Harpur stands there smiling at Marc, though the sadness in his eyes is impossible to hide.
But then there's the smell, it'd been weak before but now the door is open it wigs him out so to speak, feeling the hairs on his arms and neck bristle. He pushes it down for now, but it brings a great many questions to mind. Mainly, why?
"Can't have you doing that quiet thing...can we? ..." a pause "Come here." he says and opens his one free arm to Marc. He fears so much that Marc will be afraid of him, it'd be foolish not to fear a werewolf after all, right?
Sandro — 06/26/2021
Sandro held Harpur as long as he needed.
He couldn't think of anything to say that had not already been said, could barely articulate how he felt about it himself.
Was it selfish if he wanted to keep Harpur around, after he'd lost so many already - and doom him to a life of being the very creature he'd hunted. Even Aiolfi, for all they knew about werewolves, were less certain of Harpur's strain.
Or should he have spared Harpur all of that - and bring that loss back to his children. He would see the wounded Harpur and terrified Marc in his nightmares, he knew this.
He'd already lost one best friend, he couldn't lose the other. Killing Harpur in any shape would be like killing family. He'd not been sure before, had often smothered the possibility in posturing, of COURSE he'd choose the heroic option if ever faced with it! - but now he knew, and felt ridiculous that he'd ever believed otherwise: he couldn't do it. He wouldn't do it.
And part of him that was convinced a dead Harpur would come back and plague him daily until the kids were fed with ridiculously well-rounded, exquisitely prepared feasts every day, anyway. His own snort of a tiny, wet laugh was for a very different reason, but it wasn't ill-timed with Harpur's own. He was only somewhat startled when Harpur'd laughed as well, and frowned for a moment - he'd not joked about the angry cooking-ghost aloud, had he? Of course not. But that was weird.
"Harp, I'm so sorry," was finally a murmur. "Be strong, for them too, all right?" He patted his shoulder and rose with him, Rosa humming, head angled at their feet.
Marc — 06/26/2021
--
Both brothers started and fell sharply silent as Harpur opened the door.
A beat, then, "See? He's fine!" Jac said at first with a wave, mustering up every last shred of that twelve-going-on-twenty bluster he was pretty sure he'd had. And then abruptly that all crumbled as he finally looked at each man's face...and the tears rather suddenly cut loose and he was exactly the scared little boy he was pretending he wasn't. He still did try to maintain his posture, and tried to wipe some of the trickling snot with the back a very manly curled fist. "He's fine!"
Harpur reached and Marc stepped forward on instinct, then hesitated, feeling just as small as Jac for a moment.
"...you're not mad?" It sounded silly even as it left Marc's mouth - it betrayed no small amount of survivor's guilt, and a rather youthful flavor of it at that - and he walked it back immediately. "I don't...I mean. I didn't mean for that to happen." It trailed into the slightest of head-shakes "No more, right? I couldn't...take, I couldn't lose you, too." He'd felt like he was babbling, but surely they all understood, right?
It trailed rather sharply into silence. He almost reached for his own arms to withdraw, thought of taking a step back. He wasn't afraid of Harpur, he was ashamed, he was guilty and...that halo, that new sense of that wolf with the man was sending that strange void-sense of his reeling.
And then he laughed, though it was more a wet sob that was more relieved than he otherwise let on. "Even you, getting on me about the quiet-thing!"
He stepped forward then, as if that had broken some sort of wall or encroaching ice, and threw his arms around Harpur with a shudder. Jac followed, a small string bean among giants.
"I'm sorry, I didn't mean it. Thank you. I was terrified, I...didn't. I'm glad you're...yeah." was a mush into Harpur's shoulder. "I'm happy you're here," was very much a sob.
Harpur Eberhardt — 06/27/2021
Harpur had nodded to Sandro, and now here he was, being strong for them even though he wanted to curl up and die.
He could hear Jac's voice breaking, he knew they weren't okay. His heart ached, one wrong move and the world had come crashing down. "Why would I be mad?" he draws Marc into his broad chest.
"No more, right? I couldn't...take, I couldn't lose you, too."
That made the decision for Harpur. He had to stay alive, at least until this family was alright. "Come here, both of you" he rumbled and tried to sink down to the floor with Marc and use that one arm tightly around both Marc and Jac, pressing his forehead to theirs.
"This isn't your fault, Marc, we know the risks, we go into this life every day knowing that one day one of these creatures may get us." he says, still not...associating himself with one of those creatures even though he now is one.
"I love you, alright? I'm not goin' anywhere." he squeezed them firmly to him. "You're my boys..." he whispered more quietly, voice breaking slightly but he resisted more tears.
Sandro — 07/11/2021
Rosa had trotted and slunk around each of the boys as they'd arrived, pressing her side and tail to each of their sides in turn like a happy cat. She turned her snout to each in turn, flicked an ear back in a near-silent question and a small hum as she tried to gauge what was wrong and figure out how to help. Pressing her fluffy side to theirs and keeping an eye out for trouble seemed to suffice (and she couldn't reach Harpur to sniff his nose, anymore!) so she did so with a renewed sense of duty.
--
It could have been the stress of the evening; it could have been from his own health, or the stress of nearly losing another son or another friend. It could have been the persistent strain and tragedy around what had been happening to their family and those close to them over these long years, what had happened to Harpur, or that Sandro was pretty sure he'd seen his wife that evening. It could have been his own fears over his looming helplessness to do anything about it or trust anything about it. It was very likely all of it.
"You're my boys..."
But this one sentence saw Sandro's edifice crumble. With a very poorly restrained sob that caught in a little hiss and sniffle, he stepped forward to pull Marc and Jac into a tight squeeze, each (likely whenever Harpur surrendered if the big man got to them first), murmuring small things to each boy - likely in a small and shared language 0 before finally shaking hand to Harpur's shoulder, clasped a little stronger and a little more vulnerable than he'd meant.
He'd swallowed. Ventured pressing his forehead to Harpur's. The silense was long, equal parts for Sandro's sake to allow himself to sort emotions, as well as it was for the rest.
"We'll figure things out. We always do. Let's get you cleaned up and something more than a blanket all right?"
Marc — 07/11/2021
"Was scared you would be..." It was a murmur, the tone somewhat ashamed, but delivered with the sort of frankness that had a tendency to slip out of Marc on occasion before he could keep it in check. "I didn't stop it. And it got him." There was a lot for the elder brother to sort through - his head insisted this was a success, his heart couldn't be more relieved that he'd not lost Harpur on top of everything else going on.
But there was one small, insidious part of him, one that had always existed but only as of late had felt bolt enough to grab his thoughts in its cruel vise and twist, that whispered and taunted. This was failure. He couldn't stop this thing from happening to Harpur, just as he'd failed to stop his brother from taking his place on the watch that evening, just as he was failing to stop Cienna from slipping or his father from succumbing to the apoplexy of the brain.
He'd heard Harpur reassure him, did nod mutely even if the sentiment wasn't entirely echoedd...and it was the hug that finally did it. It didn't fix the world - oh, Harpur would be in for a daunting task if he knew THAT, and Marc wasn't about to let Harpur worry about all of it either, would he think differently of him then? - but it stilled those ugly nerves. And it saw Marc cling back into Harpur's hug in equal measure, feeling far far smaller than he was, and for once allowing it.
"Love you too," was another murmur, but it was one heartfelt.
