RP between Degu and Rigby
>
Harpur Eberhardt
To say he was scared would be an understatement. He could already feel his body aching, it got him so bad that his knees were crunching and clicking with every step. Any time he turned his head his neck popped and crunched loudly. Everything ached, he knew his first official transformation, not counting the night of his turning, was coming. Not in weeks, not in days....in hours. He had to wait.
He went ahead with Jac. Each of them wore robes and nothing beneath because soon the transformations would take them. Spare clothes were left at the entryway for them but these robes were perfect for the moment itself, when it should happen. Harpur had opted for something warm and maroon, it suited him. He was well aware that his arms and legs looked hairy as hell tonight, like the beast man he was. Maybe reality was finally starting to sink in.
Setting down blankets for Jac and wrapping one around him he stayed with him for a while "Don't worry. I'll be right on the other side of that wall. We can talk through there, okay? you're safe, it'll be over by morning." he assures him, giving the boy a tight hug and a kiss on the head "We're doing it together, okay? I'll speak to you in a moment."
Only when Jac was settled, only when he was ready would Harpur emerge back up the steps to say a strange 'good night' to Sandro who he'd asked to wait there for him. He'd descend back into the labyrinth beneath the estate, but to the other side of a dividing wall. "Well..." he takes a deep breath and leans back against a wall tiredly, eyes shadowed, jaw hairy. "This is it... I'll...see you in the morning." a pause "you're sure it's safe, Sandro? we won't get out?" he had this terrible fear, nightmares of breaking free and savaging the entire family to death.
Aiolfi
The Aiolfi estate had cells.
They weren't called cells as far as the children had been aware; all detainees went right to de Ovando, whether through faewatch or guard, and mercenary business was often handled away from the compound. Many cell doors had long since been stripped, though a few remained, and often it was compartmentalized as the quintessential "spooky basement" where on occasion the family stored things that weren't in good repair enough to be trophies or furnishings. It hosted more games of hide-and-seek and served as a "secret" home-base for children's games than prisoners in recent memory.
It was only in recent year that the children had guessed an alternate purpose, and perhaps between this experiment to accommodate Harpur and from what Harpur had discovered about Jacomo, they would be put to their intended use once more.
It was the kind of spooky place that captured the imagination of any child and only served to annoy many adults. They were cells, the staff had been instructed to leave them alone, they were empty and disused rooms and downright labyrinthine disused hallways, they were cool. Those old dark stains that littered the walls and the floor could be old blood if you squint, and THAT stain looks like an explosion (sit right here and pretend something blew you up from angle - see, those were totally brains!), and it was really easy to draw on and etch into the walls.
There were endless crude drawings, initials encircled in hearts. Some unusually savvy cartoons and exaggerated drawings of monsters were rather helpfully signed 'Piero.' These had since gathered additions like silly hats or mean faces, presumably by his younger siblings. These joined older etchings slowly succumbing to dust and age, signed Alessandro and Chiara. 'Chiara' had been crossed out on many of these. Far, far more ominous were gouges in the stones that were far less precise or intentional; great scrapes and furrows clawing through stones as if they'd been butter.
It was in these cells that the small remainders of the family gathered.
Marc was absent, so singleminded and ferocious had his pursuit of his lost love had been. Rather ominously, but ever-dutifully, both father and daughter wore light armor designed to accommodate speed, and carried blades and ranged weapons with silver-coated bolts.
The spoils from their latest hunt lay, stinking of blood, in a few of the cells that had long seen their doors dismantled. It wasn't a chase, but nobody'd starve either. Outside of the door to this underground labyrinth lay more corpses; these were drugged.
And Enrica had continued on with her brother to an area sectioned off by a sturdy cell door, and held her little brother as she once had when he was far younger, as Jac finally broke down. Why did nobody know about this, was dad just hoping it wouldn't happen? It sucked the most that this wasn't something he could use to protect his family, or avenge Tomm or Cienna. This was supposed to be a bad thing and people who thought like Harpur did would kill him, other family would kill him, if it was a founder-blood curse as legend had it, that founder had no way of knowing it would propagate. And damn it, Enrica, it looks like it's gonna' hurt...
Sandro
Sandro's eccentric insistence on free-roaming menageries in spite of their complication when compared to cages or hunting outright seemed to translate to preparing this space, the arrangement dedicated to containing whatever a twelve-year-old would be as much as it would be about containing the super-charged monster that was. Jacomo was still a secret, and there was the slightest chance Harpur's nose might have picked up on something else.
Or it would be like introducing two angry cats.
This was his son and this was his best friend. He hadn't regretted sparing Harpur that evening, and Jacomo's contraction had sealed his position where he previously wouldn't have been - he wasn't going to deny either of them their opportunity to live. He'll deal with the extended family when they figure out; the guard had been relatively businesslike about it all. It was far more complicated than ending the both of them, and absolutely fucking foolish.
Sandro had remained behind with Harpur, and placed his hand on Harpur's shoulder at the other man's questions.
"We're ready if you do. No big deal." It was grimly humorous - 'no big deal' in what was essentially a dungeon and - in what was quickly becoming evident - a former, secret execution chamber for those who'd turned. As the carried weapons would indicate, the devil fools with the best laid plans. And this wasn't even the best-laid of plans.
Something might have moved behind the human; he would've caught a rustle of fabric had he been more attentive to such things. He found himself instead looking at one of those scrawled "Chiara"s without seeing it, squeezing Harpur's shoulder.
"Just like last time, you'll be fine." Conveniently mentioning 'last time' was a free-roaming Harpur tearing through the family's horses. His hand had moved up absently to cradle Harpur's fuzzy cheek.
"I'll be seeing you after, yeah?" It was the young, utterly informal Sandro talking, 'Sandro and Harpur' rather than a lord and a guard.
Maybe Sandro wasn't thinking, or maybe he was thinking too much.
And if Harpur was already dealing with pain or sensations of change, they'd be joined by one more as rather reflexively, impulsively, as Sandro pulled him in for a kiss.
It was short, but it was heartfelt, confused, a wash of conflicted emotions and terror excised in one cathartic motion. It broke quickly.
He wasn't sure if that was right or good at all, but there was that very real chance, albeit hopefully smaller than usual, that he wouldn't see him again. He'd looked down at their feet. Back up at Harpur. And then clapped him on the shoulder as if everything was all right, as if Harpur was just going off on another venture and he'll just see him in the morning.
Nobody else was here...right? Nobody saw that...right?
"In bocca al lupo, amico. As always." A hum, and the sorrow writ itself openly across his eyes, now. "...I hope you look after Jac."
Harpur Eberhardt
Harpur had been pushing thoughts of what this maze might once have been out of his mind, but it's unavoidable. He knows of this sort of architecture from his own learning during his early days with the slayers guild he'd once been a member of. Labyrinths weren't just elimination architecture alone, he'd known of them being used for sick observations, games.... one might release a werewolf at one end of the labyrinth and a fae at the other end and watch through a glass floor... Of course, those were days long gone, part of the treaty after the war.
Sandro claims all of his attention, though, when he's up there waiting to descend into his own part of this cold and dark labyrinth.
He nods, seriously "I hope you're ready." he mutters in response, grim and worried.
All his worries are washed away, they dissolve like sugar in tea as that hand comes up to cup his cheek. He's a grown person, but his heart flutters like that of a teen's in that moment.
Iron colored eyes flit up to meet Sandro's directly. "a-after. Yes." he utters with great and obvious distraction. His head is pounding, throat dry.
Then Sandro does it, everything he'd hoped he would. The guard's eyes go wide at first and then swiftly shut. It's so brief, too brief and Sandro is treated to the sight of Harpur leaning after him as he pulls back, eyes still shut.
He blinks them open, swaying a little before leaning back into the wall. Is he damn well swooning? his cheeks burn beet red.
"I-..." he can hardly stop smiling goofily, looking so very in love and happy in that moment. He'd all but forgotten the pain of the transformation he was about to face.
The sorrow in Sandro's eyes not too long after is sobering, he smiles more tenderly "I'll always look after him." and nothing was going to get in-between that, he was so sure.
There's a pause and he leans back in to claim one more kiss, it's barely even that. His lips ghost over Sandro's and then press softly to them for the gentlest of kisses as if he's afraid Sandro might pull away. "It's going to be okay, Sandro." he whispers to him while he's close and then leans away.
"...It's time." there's a reluctance as he starts to pull away. "I can feel it getting stronger, I need to go. Please- don't worry, will you? ...We'll be okay" he tells him as he begins to back down the steps.
Sandro
"I hope you're ready."
"I am ready. It'll be fine. Yeah?" He nodded to accentuate it...but 'ready' had implications beyond just 'keeping the boys in the basement.' Sparing Harpur that first evening and taking responsibility for this next shift (and, possibly, the shift after that, the shift after that, the shift after that...) was merely procrastination; he would have to ask himself if he would be ready to do the worst to both friend and son. What would be the greater act of love - and what would be the more selfish?
And then he did it.
He'd made it quick, he'd flushed, wasn't sure what to say or how to proceed other than to jump back on the track where they'd left it, before the kiss. What, did he think Harpur wouldn't notice?! What did he expect?! He wasn't thinking, you didn't get to that kind of place by thinking. And Sandro had been doing too much of that lately anyway, thinking of the past, thinking of loss, too much living anywhere but the present while knowing he had very little future left-
- and then Harpur was kissing him back.
It was careful, it was loving and delicate and different, it was a man, it certainly wasn't Agnesina...and that was all right. His own lips moved in a slight, tentative part to answer this kiss and then it was done.
IF these were to be Harpur's waning moments of humanity (and hopefully not waning moments of life, entirely), Sandro wanted Harpur to...hope. He supposed. He was sure he'd smelled of all sorts of feelings right now, however he tried to play any of them off - and as he'd done countless times before, these were pushed down into a mask of control and stoicism, what was expected of him in spite of this insurmountable path of tragedy he couldn't help but feel they were all barreling toward, from which he would do all he could to protect and rescue them all - Harpur, Grimani, his family ... and nodded.
--
The only intrusion was Enrica slipping up the stairs behind them both, only squeaking a "Saw nothing!" before she slipped away to put some polite distance between them and instead busied herself with checking her own weaponry for the third or fourth time, that evening. She couldn't begrudge Marc's absence - someone had to figure out where Cienna was (and kick the absolute shit out of whoever took her) ...but they really could use a guy right now who spent a good deal of his time abroad, refining his violence in the island gladiator matches. Oh yeah, Marc. She knew.
Harpur Eberhardt
Harpur should've heard Richa easily but every ounce of his being is focused on Sandro, his eyes are lidded and love burns within them. He looked more vulnerable now before Sandro than he had even on the morning he'd transformed back into a man after the supermoon. This was a different kind of vulnerable, though. He was daring to love, daring to hope that this meant there was a future, however short, for them to share together as partners.
"I- oh-" his eyes snap wide open and towards Richa, cheeks burning bright red "Uh- hahah-" he starts laughing softly, ears, neck and face all the colour of a ripe tomato as he looks back at Sandro "Guess the secret's out" he teases Sandro gently and reaches out to pull the man gently into a firm embrace, still chuckling softly "I need to go, it's getting late." he inhales deeply, committing Sandro's smell to memory as if it were a firepit to get him through a cold night, maybe the memory of it would soothe the savage beast....maybe it would help.
"We'll talk in the morning, alright?" the hug lingers longer than the kiss, he grips tightly at Sandro and the man may feel that Harpur is shaking. He's terrified, it's starting to sink in what he's about to do. He winces and groans in pain, releasing Sandro and staggering back and towards the stairs "Fuck- I feel like horse shit" he mumbles, clenching trembling fingers into a fist as if to hide that he's giving into fear.
"In the morning..." he says with a look back before he starts to descend slowly into the labyrinth, knees crunching with every step, ankles popping.
Aiolfi
Sandro curled into the firm embrace, his own grasp as firm as Harpur's; it was Harpur, and his daughter, and one of his sons, and for however mad this situation was, however demented it could still become, he cherished this hug, held onto the sensation, promised himself that he would hold onto this memory for as long as it could last.
As Harpur parted, Sandro turned to Enrica, and clapped her on her shoulder sturdily...and then it quickly softened into a heartbroken squeeze, and then they too hugged. It was equal parts paternal and grim, and she attempted to steel herself. As any Aiolfi should.
"We'll be ready too."
----
Jac had been somewhere down here, but sound was tricky in a space that was incredibly open and claustrophobic all at once, sound echoing strangely off of the stones; his door that separated his (much smaller) space from Harpur's for the evening's purpose was open bars, fixed with an equally-sturdy combination lock. The human boy knew the combination to let himself back out, but the test was whether the monster would care.
Luckily Harpur didn't have to look far - Jac was sitting, curled, right up against the bars, wrapped tightly in his own little robe, staring down at a faded 'Piero' by his feet, eyes already red and dried.
Jacomo
"Took y'long enough!" It was hoarse, shouted in the direction of Harpur's sounds, in a bad attempt at his usual joking tone, and he totally hadn't been crying at all. That wasn't a sniffle, or another one. Nope. He wiped at his nose messily with that stupid robe and licked his nose for good measure. He needed to smell everything, after all, and stupid crying got in the way. He didn't need to be stuffed up.
But he figured playfully scolding that gigantic man that was an even more gigantic monster under all of that human skin was probably not the most encouraging note to go out on for the evening. So he added. "Hey, y'know. You'll be fine. And I'm safe. Right in here with a dead deer. Yummy, right? Gods I can almost taste the..." He looked. "...small intestine! I...think that's the small one. YEAH." And he snorted in spite of himself. "See you on the other side, old man?"
Harpur Eberhardt
Harpur left Richa and Sandro to have their moment, they needed each other right now. Harpur wished he could drag them both in here with him for the support but he'd have to settle for knowing they were outside. Once he'd closed the door behind himself he made his way in.
He spots Jac quickly, only too aware that the boy has been crying. The bars obscure his view of what lays at Jac's feet until he draws closer and sees it, the shock of pain that goes through his heart is palpable. His eyes soften and sadden, if he had wolfy ears they'd have folded backwards in an instant.
He doesn't mean to, but he lets out a low and very canine whine as he draws closer, reaching through the bars to pull Jac in for a hug as best he can. "You'll be okay, we'll be okay." he tells him, ignoring the boys attempts to laugh it all off.
"It goes quickly, I'll see you on the other side, son" he says softly and fondly, squeezing him tightly before letting go. He can feel the moon already, he doesn't even need to see it.
He can smell that deer too and feel himself hopelessly salivating. There was a strange excitement in the air even though he, himself, meant to feel afraid and worried and miserable ....the wolf inside was scratching at the door to get out, there was food, there was pack, there was so much to be done and fun to be had. Another part of him felt violent surges, not towards anyone in particular. Jac was spared the focus of those thankfully.
Harpur staggered back to sit against the wall and breathed heavily, head hanging a moment before he glances to the side at Jac, hair bristling and growing long on his body already. The moon isn't at its peak in the sky yet, it's not quite time but they're stood on the precipice. It's about to happen any moment.
He has no idea his eyes are glowing bright purple, one milky and missing its pupil.
He huffs and grunts, voice deeper "You're going to be okay" he growls with difficulty. His ribcage feels tight, like it wants to burst.
Jacomo
He made the mistake of looking up at Harpur as the big man stumbled back.
He'd confessed before of feeling afraid of what the old slayer would've done to him, and now he was absolutely terrifying it would be to face a crossbow bolt from his father or sister. But now, seeing those purple eyes up close, knowing that he would be spending time in close proximity to a hulk, a wolf that was even bigger and nastier than other ones sent a bolt of terror through the surge of comfort and reassurance that the thought, strangely, otherwise seemed to provide.
He wasn't thinking straight, he knew he wasn't thinking straight, and on seeing those moon-touched eyes, Jac stumbled backwards with a start and little whimper, pulling that robe close to himself with calloused palms and fingers, and then gagged at the sudden motion. The world was spinning and he was panicking and pretending to be strong for the older man, and so very, very hungry.
If Harpur had been looking, he might've caught a glimpse of dark, black and shining fur, quickly covered again. If Jac had known, he didn't seem to acknowledge it yet - but if anything, his behavior was right in line with what the man had already seen, from the kid that was so convinced he had to hold up this crumbling family all on his own, from the kid whose first instinct on hearing 'werewolf' had been 'good, I can protect my family and Tomm and Cienna now.'
Maybe he wanted to spare Harpur freaking out on his behalf. Jac turned around, squared his shoulders, bunched up the fabric around them and looking as large as he could.
"...m'sorry." He wiped his nose and licked it again; it was wet, had been wet. It hadn't always been black and flat. He crept back to the edge of the door.
"So will you, yeah? It's Dad. He won't let anything happen to the both of us." That was resolute.
"I just...gotta go-!" Welp. So much for a dignified and scary monster.
Hurriedly, Jac scrambled away deeper into 'his' section of that labyrinth, turning a corner and vanishing into a darker and shadowy corner of the cell.
Harpur (Werewolf)
Harpur lunges at the bars as Jac runs off, whining and scrambling at them like an animal. He bites the bars with teeth that had grown long and sharp before backing away. What was he doing!? The ache in his bones transitions to outright pain as he starts to bulge out and grow in size. He pants, feeling his skin itch to the point of burning as fur bursts from every pore that hasn't already grown fur. The moon was at its peak.
"Jac- It's okay-!" his deeper voice barks out breathlessly, panting as his sweat covered body stops...well...being able to sweat. His tongue grows long and flat and the air around him steams as he desperately tries to cool down.
Then it finally happens, he lets out a monstrous bellow as a horrible crack echoes through the cell. His jaw starts to grow long, the last conscious thing he manages to do is yank off his robe so that it's hopefully there when he wakes the next morning (unless his dumb wolf self eats it). He howls and gargles in agony as his body breaks and reforms itself, skin stretches and changes, his size grows. Long claws drag harshly at the floor, teeth bared as a tail forms painfully behind him.
There's a quiet moment in the darkness as the gigantic heap of black fur lays there heaving for breath. The purple light at the tips of the beast's fur seem to come to life as the magic of aetheros flows meekly through him on the night of the normal full moon, eyes snapping open and glowing brightly, piercing, animal... any semblance of the human behind them gone. The beast rises and bellows LOUDLY to the sky that it knows is somewhere up above it, through layers of soil and stone perhaps.
"BAROOOOOO ROOOO ROOOOOOOooooo
He surges forwards, eyes wildly looking around as berserker energy courses through him more weakly now than it might on a supermoon, but even still. But there are...walls, bars, he's trapped! He's going to slam into them! Must escape! Must get out! But.... what's that smell? ... no not the carcass, something else. Something familar.
Jac (Wolf)
The monster hot on his heels only hastened Jac's retreat, and wildly with wordless cries, he made to squeeze himself into the darkest corner he could, panting and huddled under that robe, coughing and whimpering.
It was weird, it was horrible, everything was wrong, Harpur was being ripped apart, Harpur needed to be one or the other, and Jac was going to die down here hiding from being eaten by the closest thing to another dad he'd known since everything started to go wrong. And here he was, still helpless, always helpless while everything collapsed around him.
He'd make a joke about being used to it, really, but even jokes in the face of insurmountable trouble stopped being funny after a while, too.
---
The hiding spot spared Jac the rest of Harpur's gruesome transformation - and Harpur, distracted with his own, was too busy to worry about any ensuing distress.
But then that howl, that triumphant emergence of that magical moon-charge beast ripped through the labyrinth, echoing strangely off the stones, and making so much more of a noise that the two monitoring above were certain that it could be heard outside.
The echo of Harpur's howl was allowed to die down into an uncertain silence before it was answered with a howl, full throated and higher-pitched.
And then, very, very slowly, tense and suspicious, the other wolf crept from its hiding space.
It hugged the walls, hackles and tail raised, eyes unblinking. It was a beast of taut muscle and inky-black fur, large enough to rip out the throat of his sister or his father. But it was still so very, very small next to the other one, limbs gangling, paws and eyes - odd and unnatural silver in pupil and iris - large with youth, curiosity and fear.
It stopped just shy of the bars, at a distance that appeared to be just out of reach of one of those massive arms; it craned its neck instead, nose visibly twitching.
Harpur (Werewolf)
The larger wolf's head snaps sharply, terrifying eyes glowing bright purple in the shadows as it watches the pup approaching. His ears pricked, still replaying that howl in his head.
There's an uncertainty about the way he responds to Jac, massive paws thudding against the ground as he pads closer to the bars with his head down. His sniffing was loud and obvious, a low rumble rising from his throat.
Rrrrr
He freezes at the bars, nose lifted to press between them as far as he could to get a good sniff of Jac, body frozen and rigid. It's that dangerous moment that could go either way.
But that's his pup.
He snorts through his nose and then presses back in to sniff even harder, then after a moment his tail starts to twitch before moving into a full wag. The massive beast laps at the air because he cannot reach Jac to lick him, but perhaps it's for the best because even a lick might knock this poor little wolf over.
HIS pup! His! His pack is here.
Jac (Wolf)
One ear flicked to the side; there sounded some distant commotion up-above, and a female voice that wasn't ... a bad female voice, one that needed protecting, he was sure of it. But it seemed far away, and whatever trouble he might have encountered up there was nothing like this far more immediate stand-off between a hulking magical mutant of a werewolf...and a puppy.
As the giant wolf froze at the bars, he ventured a wide-eyed snap at the air that was truly meant to be intimidating. Kept sniffing.
That tail was held stiffly, as straight and tall as he could manage it. It ventured one uncertain wag, then another. The big wolf's tail wag seemed to animate the small one, and he darted forward, sniffing under and between the bars, trying to press his nose as closely to the other wolf's gargantuan nose as well as he could, lapping back frantically.
A sneeze was what broke them, and he took several steps backwards, each unnatural pair of eyes meeting the other. And... bounced. And waggled his butt in the air - and took off at a cheerful dart deep into his section of that labyrinth.
...
...only to slink back, nose smeared in gore. Right.
He crept right back up to the bars. Ventured another couple of bounces, dropped the (small) bit of meat he'd not managed to eat at the bottom of the bars. Flung himself at it a couple of times rather loudly, and then tried unsuccessfully to squeeze a leg, then a face through. Nearly got stuck a few times.
Whatever else might've been going on in his mind, he seemed to catch on rather easily that the combination lock was the culprit, and he doubled back to swat at it with an irritated little rrrr.
The thing had been designed to stymie werewolves, in particular. Beasts had no use for such things, after all. It was inconvenient for a monster, but convenient for the human needing to let himself out of a self-imposed prison later. Nearly foolproof.
Nobody seemed to have told the smaller wolf that.
Because his next attack on the thing was a lot more dedicated and thoughtful than the first, two paws swatting and picking with far more intent than his earlier plans had been.
Harpur (Werewolf)
As Jac darted away, Harpur mobilized with a playful bound before running a lap around his enclosure with his ass to the ground and his ears back, maw wide open and panting before he returned to the bars with his ears pricked forwards, eyes wide and nostrils flaring. Where was his pup? what was his pup doing?
He wanted to get over there!
The beast could smell that he had his own food but he was far more focused on his pup right now, even as his belly growled and pleaded for food.
The pup returns having eaten, the bigger werewolf lets out a low rumble of approval. Yes, his pup had to eat to get big and strong like him.
Harpur's quickly distracted by the discarded meat and laps it up through the bars into his own maw in one bite, chomping down eagerly only to pause as the perhaps smarter and smaller pup begins to formulate his escape.
The moon-touched beast can only watch in fascination for a moment. Is that the barrier keeping them apart? has his smart pup found the way through? The fact that they're separated seems to sink in all at once and the anxiety bubbles up inside the already highly strung monster. He paces and pants for a moment, fur bristling before he turns and runs away only to about face and charge the gate with all the force of his massive shoulders slamming into it.
He lets out a bellowing snarl and claws at the metal, gripping it with brutal hands and aggressively shaking the bars before releasing to pace back and forth again, drooling with distress.
His pup! why couldn't he get to his pup!?
Jac (Wolf)
The smaller wolf's first attempts to break down and wiggle through the bars hadn't gone so well, and his last charge at the bars had left his head spinning. And shortly Harpur tried, too - and while Jac wanted, was outright compelled and frantic to get to the larger wolf...it was still a larger wolf. Whether or not Jac recognized how unusual this particular wolf was had been beside the point - when he charged, you got out of the way, and the gigantic wolf slamming into the bars saw Jac scrambling backwards with a little whimper.
His renewed attempt on his next approach was stubborn and desperate, seemingly running on memory...
The final number of the combination clicked into place and with a tight clamp of his jaws and a deft little tug, he pulled it apart, and the lock clattered to the ground, utterly unbroken, and freeing the door to swing wide at Harpur's push.
Jac seemingly had no way of knowing what he'd just proven or disproven by the act or the memory - and judging by the faint fuss from up above, his observers were too distracted to notice.
Jac did not turn his back on Harpur; instead he stepped back, head angled, unnaturally silver eyes unblinking and openly curious. After a moment of pacing back and forth without tearing his eyes from the Harpur-wolf, he offered a low whine, spanked both paws on the ground, and waggled his rear in the air.
Harpur (Werewolf)
Harpur watched with immediate interest as Jac did something with the lock. What did he do? turn it? a beast-like intelligence shines behind the curious beast's eyes but the moment the lock is opened it's all forgotten. He snorts and pads quickly forwards to shove his shoulder against the door and it SLAMS open with a mighty clatter.
Only as he steps in does he realize how much smaller the pup is beneath him, towering over him. He lets out a low rumble, not a growl and stares. Paws spank the ground and his immediate compulsion is to spank down his own MASSIVE paws and drop into a dramatic bow before darting after Jac at a restrained speed. He knew he could outpace the pup due to size alone so he made sure to always steady himself, tail flicking wildly side to side.
Play!
Jac (Wolf)
The smaller wolf had opened the door, had seemingly maintained enough awareness about what he'd done - but he'd skittered backwards on all fours, claws scrabbling noisily at the stones when the door slammed open.
He scuttled back up to attempt to sniff noses with the gigantic monster - and then spun on his heels with a bound and a happy growl and tore down one of the halls, only stopping once he'd tumbled feet over snout over one of the corpses in 'his' area of the labyrinth.
He corrected quickly to bounce and strut around it, before diving right into an already-gaping chest cavity with a joyful little howl, cut short with a mouthful of gore, proud that he'd got there first and seemingly unknowing or uncaring whether Harpur was letting him win. He won, he won, he won, look at him!
-
The disagreement above had subsided, the pair of observers had been joined by another, masked and stoic. The wolves would not have known how close either had been since the humans had missed exactly how the door had opened.
Human scents would stray close enough to detect on occasion; two distinct flavors may have been familiar (if not outright loved, pack), but one was far more of a stranger, sweat carrying the stray scents of fear and anger...
Harpur (Werewolf)
Harpur slowed to a stop near that corpse. He allowed Jac to eat even though he began to drool and pant almost immediately. Meat, meat, meat, meat.
The gigantic wolf loomed over the eating pup like a gargoyle, but after a moment of allowing the pup his fill he lunged forwards with teeth bared right in Jac's face, snarling and snorting loudly. Your turn is up.
And then greedily he'd take his fill, which was likely to be the rest of the beast. Powerful jaws crunched through bone and meat alike noisily, tearing the carcass apart and matting his maw and throat with blood.
But suddenly he freezes. The human scents before this had been ignored ... considered pack smells, but then... there was one he didn't recognize as pack at all. Danger? Where was the rest of the pack? were they alone with this stranger?
His eyes wheeled side to side as he looked for them, teeth bared a little and tongue lapping at his fangs. The berserker blood in him threatens to bubble over but for now he's investigating.
Harpur grunts to Jac, stay close and pads off along the walls in search of the new smell, seeking out the point where the smell is strongest.
Jac (Wolf)
The small wolf, born in unusual circumstance down in these depths was unsure how to navigate that fact, but the sight of the older and much larger wolf's sudden freeze and change in demeanor was enough to rattle him to scoot as close to the big berserker as possible. (Though he did venture a few tentative play-snaps to test the waters).
There were no humans now but there had been; the scent was sharp, conmingled with another fresh corpse at the dead end. It was not Sandro and not Enrica. Could not have been Marc; his had been different but not this different. It led to the stones of the dead end, seemed to vanish right into them, leaving the mangled deer in its wake.
Harpur was two moons in, had killed already. If either of the pair would sense something faintly amiss about the scent it could have been he - this one had been laced.
For how clever the Jac-wolf had proven himself in memorizing the combination lock, in drawing on human memory...this was not among human memory.
As far as he was concerned, this was free food, and with a joyous little bark, he dove in and started eating, rather greedily.
Harpur (Werewolf)
Harpur ate heavily, tearing through bone and meat as if it were butter. But even after warning Jac off, snapping and snarling back at him as he tested his luck... but luckily enough for Jac, the bigger wolf had become distracted. The carcass was abandoned and left for the younger one to tear apart what remained.
Who was that? he didn't want strangers near his pack. Strangers that smelled of anger and fear, something he was starting to recognize more rapidly than some other emotions because of how strong they were. The bigger wolf padded away towards that wall, following the scent to its strongest point only to press his nose against any gaps in the bricks that he could find, snuffing and sniffing deeply.
There's a new corpse. Jac can have it. He's hungry, but his desire to protect his pack from this strange smell seems to win out above that. He's the largest of the pack, after all, it's his job. The aetheros touched reaches out with a hairy hand and pushes slowly against the wall a few times before rumbling in soft confusion. The hulking thing rises up onto his hind legs to stand bipedally, head turning upwards towards the ceiling. Intelligent, bright eyes scanned the ceiling above him before reaching up to press a palm against it.
Trapped. They're trapped.
Where are his pack? they're beyond the wall. Somewhere. With something strange and dangerous, perhaps.
Jac (Wolf)
The small wolf loved being fed like this. And the big wolf was safe, the big wolf was pack and would never steal his things.
But something was missing - and in the absence of a true hunt something base and primal and terrible would flare to life, and only on occasion would the skittering of a rat or any sudden movements from the larger wolf capture his attention away from the main feast, and he would bounce rather fruitlessly at rodents that were far too fast and wily for something of Jac's size. He wanted to run, he wanted to chase, he wanted to tear and rip and bask in the thrill of a kill that he'd performed all on his own...
He ate. The room lurched and swam when he lifted his head and he whimpered, ears flattened. The big wolf was acting funny and so was everything else and he'd not expected this, Jac had not expected this, and for a moment, the sudden fear and confusion was the same between wolf and boy, and he cried out to the big wolf in a small and vulnerable little bark.
And he was asleep before his cheek hit the floor.
--
Aiolfi
"-'t listen, Enrica, he's trying to upset you because I upset him." THAT growl perhaps would pluck strings of memory of the human-Harpur's pack. This was the man, and the man was not happy. There were sounds of movement, sharp and quick, of fabric on flesh and the movements of large bodies.
"You haven't let me finish." The voice was strange and indignant, quieter, more youthful. It reeked of the fear and anger that permeated most humans, and was utterly at odds with the scents and tones of the older male and young female.
Enough may have been conveyed in the respective tones of the speakers that the Harpur-wolf didn't need to know the words that were said. They were snatches of sounds, just beyond some of those bricks, eking through some spaces in the mortar that may have been far less dusty than others.
"Oh, you're finished all right. Count of three and you'll get the FUCK out of my house..."
Harpur's push only yielded the slightest of shifts in the structure, but not much else. The strange voice went sharply quiet.
Harpur (Werewolf)
Harpur stood stock still, large ears twisting towards the sounds as he stared intensely at the wall it sounded strongest from. That wall had moved...maybe if he tried harder-
He couldn't understand the words but the tones spoke for themselves in some ways. All that was forgotten when he looked back at that little bark, ears pinned towards Jac and eyes wide.
In an instant he hurries forwards to sniff and circle the pup, nudging him vigorously with his nose and patting him with crooked hand-paws. Deep and worried whines escape him. What's happening? is his pup dying? why won't he move?
The bad voice on the other side of the wall had done this, the wolf blamed the only thing around him to blame. Berserker blood coursed through his veins, the strange purple tips of his bristling fur starting to glow brightly as his muscles grew taut and bulged with tension.
"BAROOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO ROOO ROOO!" He bellowed furiously and charged straight for the wall that had given way, slamming his shoulder into it not once, but several times. Spittle flung from his bared teeth as he entered a frenzy.
Aiolfi
Jac was down, a fact that seemed to enrage the oldest voice. Those angry words continued to burst and snarl in snatches of sound from beyond
The pup was lying in a loose curl; his breathing was even and gentle, and on occasion his paws would twitch, his brow would frown, he'd lift his lips in the faintest ghost of a snarl in defiance of what was going on around him. The Harpur-wolf would even be rewarded with the reach of a hand paw in his direction, a stretch paddling in a soft circle.
When Harpur screamed and charged the door with an unholy amount of noise, clangs and howls echoing menacingly through the tight corners and dead ends of their confinement, the wall did slightly yield in a way that suggested there might have been hidden workings to it, a large portion of the wall moving as one, a faint suggestion of a door that had been cast in the uneven and angular shapes of the bricks. But that was all it did - there seemed a considerable amount of resistance on the other side.
The bad voice was shouting now, indignant, fearful, cursing. The older voice had gone quiet, and the young female seemed to have replaced him in fending off the bad voice.
There was a sharp crack of splitting air, a shouted word of fear and love that may have been the man-Harpur's name.
And if Harpur would turn, there would be a man at a distance down the The scent would be familiar, the emotions a storm of sadness, terror - but not quite that reek of prey, of fear for one's-self. This was different. And not unlike the worry the big wolf had for the smaller wolf.
He lowered the crossbow; there was no bolt.
Harpur (Werewolf)
Harpur recognized his name, even through all this madness and berserking he snaps around to face Sandro but too late. He doesn't know he has been shot, the adrenaline makes it impossible feel the pain of broken skin on such a small scale.
He stares intensely at Sandro and then makes a few hurried steps towards him, it's hard to tell from his body language what his intentions are but he doesn't get too far past the sleeping pup when the world starts to feel heavy on his shoulders. His eyes flutter and the wolf's paws cross over each other unevenly before he drops down with a low whine.
He keeps his head up with a shaking neck, trying to stare at Sandro as the world blurs and turns like a kaleidoscope. His head drops to the cold floor and his eyes shut, nostrils flaring as he desperately fought it. The wolf seemed to realize he couldn't and slowly started to use what little strength he had to try and shimmy back around towards Jac...ultimately failing as his body went entirely still.
Sandro
Alessandro stared hard, tense and wild-eyed, as the tranquilizer worked its magic and the wolf collapsed before him. It had been all of the concoction within reach, stolen furiously and unceremoniously from the intruder during the altercation that the Harpur-wolf no doubt had heard from beyond the wall. It was the same mixture that had laced the corpse that had drugged Jacomo. It was no doubt rare, unquestionably priceless.
And he’d just unloaded the rest of it into the hulking brute that had been his friend.
Not that everyone else wasn’t already angry with Sandro for failure after failure, anyway, what was one more?
This was the second time he’d done it. He was human, he wasn’t as young or as healthy as he’d once been, he was charged by a fully-grown mutant werewolf, a Harpur without a hunt, in a confined space - and he’d spared it, again.
Nobody was down there to guess what he may have been thinking in that moment, but each breath was tense, he fought to still shaking hands, moved a free one to grasp at his elbow. Stared at the two furry bodies before him for a moment that stretched into eternity with eyes that seemed to stare right on through.
Eventually, slowly, he managed to place one foot in front of another until he found himself right in front of them. He crouched slowly, and picked up the smaller wolf.
It didn’t matter that even as a human, Jac was already starting to get too big for such things, Sandro did it anyway. Even when Agnesina couldn’t carry the boy back to bed towards the end, sprawling preteen limbs and all, without ending up in an over-exerted coughing fit, Sandro would do it anyway. Threatened to do it even when Jac was grown (with no small allusions about carrying Piero to bed sprinkled in - most met with snorts of doubt and secret wide-eyed belief) unless Jac got himself in there himself at a reasonable hour.
Sandro picked him up, maneuvered his hold so that the monster’s snout rested on his shoulder, and hugged him tightly, burying his face in an adolescent ruff around the wolf’s neck and rubbing his back as if nothing had changed, as if this was normal and the boy was his tenuous grip on reality and the way things were.
The young monster twitched his limbs and his nose, eyes flicking sightless beneath gently closed lids, but otherwise remained relatively motionless. His tail slowly curled in a tuck between his legs with the tiniest ghost of a whine - whatever scents he caught, whatever dreams into which they’d ended up, it wasn’t pleasant.
It already would have looked entirely mad to the casual observer; many human throats had been torn out in these mazes. Many grisly wolf executions had unfolded. And here was the man cradling the monster like he would have if all below were human.
Sandro was humming, still petting the pup, small lullabies in each parent’s native language (and a few he’d enjoyed from other travels) issuing forth in fits and snatches, but now he was stealing glances at the larger monster, circling him, getting a good look at everything about this animal as he was in a rare, still moment.
He nudged Harpur’s cheek with a gentle press of his foot. The lifelessness was expected and by design. The lone benefit of being in such close quarters was that it was hard to miss a shot.
And he sat, carefully, still holding Jacomo but switching him to his lap, propped up against the bulk beast’s purple-filamented pelt.
At some point during the evening, he would wrench his projectile free from that fur and fold it with gloved hands back into a small pouch at his side.
—
Harpur would awaken as if his sleep had been a natural one, the pain of the change and reversion itself no doubt playing a part.
The blanket from the beginning of the evening was once again present; it had been placed rather unceremoniously in the mess of gigantic shaggy fur that had been the sleeping monster.
Enrica was armed and standing guard, eyes hollowed and reddened, and Sandro was sitting nearby, barely awake, propped up against a wall and staring at some of the hastily scrawled initials - ‘CA’ had rather unfortunately made it into his line of sight.
Jacomo was wrapped tightly in his own blanket, and his father was doing his best to be a sturdy prop on which the kid could lean.
Harpur Eberhardt
Harpur lay limply, even when nudged. Finally after some time, the weight of the drug wore off a little and he shifted a little in his sleep, moving closer to Sandro and Jac with a low whine.
The moon passed beyond the horizon and with it Harpur and Jac began to change. Thankfully the pain was bypassed, he wasn't awake for it and soon enough the human lay there shivering subtly at the chill of the stone floor beneath him, even with the blanket. The cold eventually woke him, eyes opening... but then...he couldn't move.
His arms were heavy, his legs too. Why couldn't he wriggle his toes? or his fingers? he felt panic set in as a dark shape seemed to move around in front of him. Cruel and warped faces turned about him. He blinked hard, trying to cry out for help. Nothing worked.
He clenched his eyes shut tight and heard the strange noises near him. After a while...they faded and his toes managed to wriggle. Not long after that he was able to move his arms.
He looked up and saw that the strange figure had been... oh...Sandro...poor Sandro. He felt so tired, barely able to wake even now but he shimmied his cold body closer to Sandro and struggled to sit up "Sandro...you haven't been awake all night, have you?" he asked tiredly, reaching out to gently fuss Jac's hair.
He clutched the blanket tighter to himself, leaning against the wall beside Sandro. He hadn't yet noticed Enrica was there with them. Was Sandro in here with them? he hoped the man hadn't just walked in and risked getting killed.
A hand came up to cup gently at Sandro's cheek, his bones popping and clicking and causing Harpur to groan in soreness. "Sandro..." he whispered more quietly, guilt welling up inside him. He never wanted to put Sandro through more stress or pain, he already had so much to deal with.
Jac (Wolf)
Sandro had been leaning against the big wolf, still holding his son, when the changes began anew; he dully remembered to move a little too late.
Still holding the lanky bundle of monstrous Jac and resisting any base and odd want to hold the boy closer, his gripped only shifted to accommodate any changing underlying structure and accompanying pain, and he'd finally, carefully wrapped him in the blanket as if swaddling or tucking him in. If the evening had broken him, it didn't show in his eyes, but the weirdly routine way he'd seemed to move suggested either a persistent parental instinct despite it all - or some degree of dissociation. Perhaps both.
The onset had awoken Jac. The tiny monster had appeared bleary, sluggish, not entirely present and seemingly shocked that it was happening at all, staring at his paw before curling tightly into his dad, pressing his forehead a little too roughly into his shoulder, biting down hard on the leathers his father wore on his arm until he couldn't anymore, and clasping at his collar and sleeve indiscriminately with flaring nerves, more fear than pain in those whimpers.
Enrica, too, had decided to sit with the rest once it was clear that there were three other humans down below with them...and that nothing wanted to menace them from outside, anymore.
Sandro
And at last everyone was human and Sandro slumped against the wall.
It was sheer luck - so much luck - that circumstance had managed to distract the big wolf, and now he had to distract two. But they had to hunt. As surely as other animals had to roam, these two needed to hunt. He stared at those initials and leaned against Harpur as he'd sidled up.
"I'm alive, aren't I?" It was grim, but he'd tried to deliver it lightly enough. And it was as good as a quiet affirmation that Sandro had, in fact, walked in and risked getting killed. "You're not going to be the one that does me in. Swore that back when y'changed. Can make it a new pact, heh."
He was tired; physically and mentally. He was spent, emotionally. And he'd - oh.
Harpur probably remembered the beginning of the evening, hadn't he. No sense in maintaining propriety in a small band of family in musty, labyrinthine cells.
It had torn something in his heart, in his soul, some indescribable part of his being to see his friend taken by this curse, but this was his friend and his son and both had been writhing in pain, breaking, losing themselves. It had been a spiritual blow to Harpur's foundation on top of it all. It was like that with the mysterious CA. It was Chiara Aiolfi. They had been like his sister. And she'd taken a bolt through the brain and a cousin had lost his throat because of it.
All of this - Chiara, Harpur, Jacomo. His losses insurmountable, his wife, his son - had solidified this new and strange stance - he would do what he can to help, even if it would destroy him to do it.
Jacomo
Jac's first impulse was to joke, but he'd not had it in him. A little whimper escaped him; belatedly he realized the hair-fluff was Harpur's.
He snapped up, staring as if coming to from a particularly tenacious dream, and for a moment his bearing seemed to resemble the panic of the other shape, heart racing and breaths a little too short and sharp...then he frowned slightly.
Relaxed into that hair fluff with a small little smile. Then looked at Harpur again with that same quizzical frown. Looked past him to the door.
"You don't...you remember all that?" It seemed a weird and distant question, before he hunkered down in between them, pulling his blanket tightly around him.
"...didn't like that at all."
Harpur Eberhardt
Harpur grunted softly "Pact or not, lets try not to test that theory" he rasped, his throat felt sore and weak from all the howling, not that he remembered much. Jac's eyes were met "I remember...some things? I remember a bad smell. It's like a dream, i'm forgetting it quickly" he sighs. Maybe if he hadn't been drugged so heavily he'd remember more.
"Come on, we're all still here-" he belatedly noticed Richa and looked at her with sympathy "I'm making you all breakfast, then we're all getting some sleep." he'd already slept, of course, but he could definitely use some more. He felt like a sack of bricks.
Everything hurt, his joints ached, his belly rumbled. He hadn't gotten to eat enough during his transformation and it almost looked like he'd lost weight just from the night behind him, a good meal would go down well.
With a pained groan and shaking legs he rose up, staggering slightly as he reached down to help Jac and Richa up whilst hopelessly gripping the blanket around himself, then after helping Sandro up he'd quickly swap from blanket to the robe discarded across the room upon the floor.
"I'm feeling stronger already." he says after bending his leg back and forth. He seems in strangely good spirits considering the night behind him had been terrible and full of things he had always considered abhorrent. He was focusing on his family who needed him first, his dread could be saved for a dark hour alone.
"Strong enough to do this" he scooped Jac up into his arms and bundled him up in the blanket like a burrito, growling playfully in the process and grinning at him. He couldn't let them be down. He knew he was strong but he didn't dare try to hoist up Sandro like he wanted to, the man was heavy enough on his own, so all he could do was offer a shoulder and an arm. For a moment he'd meet his eyes in a way that suggested he remembered exactly what happened before the moon had risen.
He'd head for the door, eyes flitting down past the Chiara graffiti to linger more emptily on Piero's name as he passed it by. It twisted like a knife in his heart.
Sandro
The kids were helped up gamely (even a wobbly Harpur was the sturdiest thing in the room by default!). Enrica moved hurriedly to flank Harpur's side; Sandro took the other.
His fingers intertwined with Harpur's and he clasped the other man's hand tightly. Tight, taut with feeling, as if he could hold the man in a human shape by the hold and sheer stubbornness. When Harpur's eyes met his own, he didn't look away, but his own stare was exhausted, melancholy, relieved...and determined. A moment, and he lifted his chin and eyebrows slightly in an unfinished nod. Yes, it happened. And whatever happened beyond this, he'd meant it wholeheartedly. Stay. Please, stay.
Alessandro di Aiolfi knew very well he would burn out like a brilliant candle protecting those he had loved, those that remained. And Harpur was among them.
"We got lucky. This...all of this. It's so, so...lucky."
And if he were to go out like a candle - oblivious to the fact that his son, elsewhere, had described himself with the exact same metaphor, and richer for it - then he would be honored to do it surrounded by his family. Aiolfi's pack.
Jacomo
--
Jac was got! He growled and swatted at Harpur's nose and didn't bother to correct himself once he seemed to realize that he'd done it, instead opted to hunker down in his burrito. That evening was There was a long and odd pause from Jac, before he murmured an "I'm not. Forgetting, 'mean. I remembered...me. I remember that. It's...weird. I'll be fine. Just...weird. I'm hungry." He wasn't rattled, totally! He was a tough guy. Just tired, that was all.
Richa wasn't quite ready to let Harpur's memory fade completely. Jacomo was being uncharacteristically compliant and mellow since Harpur scooped him, as his father rubbed his back and kissed the top of his head in much the same way he'd done to him when he was a lot younger.
"That bad smell. Like...the bodies?" And then, slightly leading. "...a person?"
To say he was scared would be an understatement. He could already feel his body aching, it got him so bad that his knees were crunching and clicking with every step. Any time he turned his head his neck popped and crunched loudly. Everything ached, he knew his first official transformation, not counting the night of his turning, was coming. Not in weeks, not in days....in hours. He had to wait.
He went ahead with Jac. Each of them wore robes and nothing beneath because soon the transformations would take them. Spare clothes were left at the entryway for them but these robes were perfect for the moment itself, when it should happen. Harpur had opted for something warm and maroon, it suited him. He was well aware that his arms and legs looked hairy as hell tonight, like the beast man he was. Maybe reality was finally starting to sink in.
Setting down blankets for Jac and wrapping one around him he stayed with him for a while "Don't worry. I'll be right on the other side of that wall. We can talk through there, okay? you're safe, it'll be over by morning." he assures him, giving the boy a tight hug and a kiss on the head "We're doing it together, okay? I'll speak to you in a moment."
Only when Jac was settled, only when he was ready would Harpur emerge back up the steps to say a strange 'good night' to Sandro who he'd asked to wait there for him. He'd descend back into the labyrinth beneath the estate, but to the other side of a dividing wall. "Well..." he takes a deep breath and leans back against a wall tiredly, eyes shadowed, jaw hairy. "This is it... I'll...see you in the morning." a pause "you're sure it's safe, Sandro? we won't get out?" he had this terrible fear, nightmares of breaking free and savaging the entire family to death.
Aiolfi
The Aiolfi estate had cells.
They weren't called cells as far as the children had been aware; all detainees went right to de Ovando, whether through faewatch or guard, and mercenary business was often handled away from the compound. Many cell doors had long since been stripped, though a few remained, and often it was compartmentalized as the quintessential "spooky basement" where on occasion the family stored things that weren't in good repair enough to be trophies or furnishings. It hosted more games of hide-and-seek and served as a "secret" home-base for children's games than prisoners in recent memory.
It was only in recent year that the children had guessed an alternate purpose, and perhaps between this experiment to accommodate Harpur and from what Harpur had discovered about Jacomo, they would be put to their intended use once more.
It was the kind of spooky place that captured the imagination of any child and only served to annoy many adults. They were cells, the staff had been instructed to leave them alone, they were empty and disused rooms and downright labyrinthine disused hallways, they were cool. Those old dark stains that littered the walls and the floor could be old blood if you squint, and THAT stain looks like an explosion (sit right here and pretend something blew you up from angle - see, those were totally brains!), and it was really easy to draw on and etch into the walls.
There were endless crude drawings, initials encircled in hearts. Some unusually savvy cartoons and exaggerated drawings of monsters were rather helpfully signed 'Piero.' These had since gathered additions like silly hats or mean faces, presumably by his younger siblings. These joined older etchings slowly succumbing to dust and age, signed Alessandro and Chiara. 'Chiara' had been crossed out on many of these. Far, far more ominous were gouges in the stones that were far less precise or intentional; great scrapes and furrows clawing through stones as if they'd been butter.
It was in these cells that the small remainders of the family gathered.
Marc was absent, so singleminded and ferocious had his pursuit of his lost love had been. Rather ominously, but ever-dutifully, both father and daughter wore light armor designed to accommodate speed, and carried blades and ranged weapons with silver-coated bolts.
The spoils from their latest hunt lay, stinking of blood, in a few of the cells that had long seen their doors dismantled. It wasn't a chase, but nobody'd starve either. Outside of the door to this underground labyrinth lay more corpses; these were drugged.
And Enrica had continued on with her brother to an area sectioned off by a sturdy cell door, and held her little brother as she once had when he was far younger, as Jac finally broke down. Why did nobody know about this, was dad just hoping it wouldn't happen? It sucked the most that this wasn't something he could use to protect his family, or avenge Tomm or Cienna. This was supposed to be a bad thing and people who thought like Harpur did would kill him, other family would kill him, if it was a founder-blood curse as legend had it, that founder had no way of knowing it would propagate. And damn it, Enrica, it looks like it's gonna' hurt...
Sandro
Sandro's eccentric insistence on free-roaming menageries in spite of their complication when compared to cages or hunting outright seemed to translate to preparing this space, the arrangement dedicated to containing whatever a twelve-year-old would be as much as it would be about containing the super-charged monster that was. Jacomo was still a secret, and there was the slightest chance Harpur's nose might have picked up on something else.
Or it would be like introducing two angry cats.
This was his son and this was his best friend. He hadn't regretted sparing Harpur that evening, and Jacomo's contraction had sealed his position where he previously wouldn't have been - he wasn't going to deny either of them their opportunity to live. He'll deal with the extended family when they figure out; the guard had been relatively businesslike about it all. It was far more complicated than ending the both of them, and absolutely fucking foolish.
Sandro had remained behind with Harpur, and placed his hand on Harpur's shoulder at the other man's questions.
"We're ready if you do. No big deal." It was grimly humorous - 'no big deal' in what was essentially a dungeon and - in what was quickly becoming evident - a former, secret execution chamber for those who'd turned. As the carried weapons would indicate, the devil fools with the best laid plans. And this wasn't even the best-laid of plans.
Something might have moved behind the human; he would've caught a rustle of fabric had he been more attentive to such things. He found himself instead looking at one of those scrawled "Chiara"s without seeing it, squeezing Harpur's shoulder.
"Just like last time, you'll be fine." Conveniently mentioning 'last time' was a free-roaming Harpur tearing through the family's horses. His hand had moved up absently to cradle Harpur's fuzzy cheek.
"I'll be seeing you after, yeah?" It was the young, utterly informal Sandro talking, 'Sandro and Harpur' rather than a lord and a guard.
Maybe Sandro wasn't thinking, or maybe he was thinking too much.
And if Harpur was already dealing with pain or sensations of change, they'd be joined by one more as rather reflexively, impulsively, as Sandro pulled him in for a kiss.
It was short, but it was heartfelt, confused, a wash of conflicted emotions and terror excised in one cathartic motion. It broke quickly.
He wasn't sure if that was right or good at all, but there was that very real chance, albeit hopefully smaller than usual, that he wouldn't see him again. He'd looked down at their feet. Back up at Harpur. And then clapped him on the shoulder as if everything was all right, as if Harpur was just going off on another venture and he'll just see him in the morning.
Nobody else was here...right? Nobody saw that...right?
"In bocca al lupo, amico. As always." A hum, and the sorrow writ itself openly across his eyes, now. "...I hope you look after Jac."
Harpur Eberhardt
Harpur had been pushing thoughts of what this maze might once have been out of his mind, but it's unavoidable. He knows of this sort of architecture from his own learning during his early days with the slayers guild he'd once been a member of. Labyrinths weren't just elimination architecture alone, he'd known of them being used for sick observations, games.... one might release a werewolf at one end of the labyrinth and a fae at the other end and watch through a glass floor... Of course, those were days long gone, part of the treaty after the war.
Sandro claims all of his attention, though, when he's up there waiting to descend into his own part of this cold and dark labyrinth.
He nods, seriously "I hope you're ready." he mutters in response, grim and worried.
All his worries are washed away, they dissolve like sugar in tea as that hand comes up to cup his cheek. He's a grown person, but his heart flutters like that of a teen's in that moment.
Iron colored eyes flit up to meet Sandro's directly. "a-after. Yes." he utters with great and obvious distraction. His head is pounding, throat dry.
Then Sandro does it, everything he'd hoped he would. The guard's eyes go wide at first and then swiftly shut. It's so brief, too brief and Sandro is treated to the sight of Harpur leaning after him as he pulls back, eyes still shut.
He blinks them open, swaying a little before leaning back into the wall. Is he damn well swooning? his cheeks burn beet red.
"I-..." he can hardly stop smiling goofily, looking so very in love and happy in that moment. He'd all but forgotten the pain of the transformation he was about to face.
The sorrow in Sandro's eyes not too long after is sobering, he smiles more tenderly "I'll always look after him." and nothing was going to get in-between that, he was so sure.
There's a pause and he leans back in to claim one more kiss, it's barely even that. His lips ghost over Sandro's and then press softly to them for the gentlest of kisses as if he's afraid Sandro might pull away. "It's going to be okay, Sandro." he whispers to him while he's close and then leans away.
"...It's time." there's a reluctance as he starts to pull away. "I can feel it getting stronger, I need to go. Please- don't worry, will you? ...We'll be okay" he tells him as he begins to back down the steps.
Sandro
"I hope you're ready."
"I am ready. It'll be fine. Yeah?" He nodded to accentuate it...but 'ready' had implications beyond just 'keeping the boys in the basement.' Sparing Harpur that first evening and taking responsibility for this next shift (and, possibly, the shift after that, the shift after that, the shift after that...) was merely procrastination; he would have to ask himself if he would be ready to do the worst to both friend and son. What would be the greater act of love - and what would be the more selfish?
And then he did it.
He'd made it quick, he'd flushed, wasn't sure what to say or how to proceed other than to jump back on the track where they'd left it, before the kiss. What, did he think Harpur wouldn't notice?! What did he expect?! He wasn't thinking, you didn't get to that kind of place by thinking. And Sandro had been doing too much of that lately anyway, thinking of the past, thinking of loss, too much living anywhere but the present while knowing he had very little future left-
- and then Harpur was kissing him back.
It was careful, it was loving and delicate and different, it was a man, it certainly wasn't Agnesina...and that was all right. His own lips moved in a slight, tentative part to answer this kiss and then it was done.
IF these were to be Harpur's waning moments of humanity (and hopefully not waning moments of life, entirely), Sandro wanted Harpur to...hope. He supposed. He was sure he'd smelled of all sorts of feelings right now, however he tried to play any of them off - and as he'd done countless times before, these were pushed down into a mask of control and stoicism, what was expected of him in spite of this insurmountable path of tragedy he couldn't help but feel they were all barreling toward, from which he would do all he could to protect and rescue them all - Harpur, Grimani, his family ... and nodded.
--
The only intrusion was Enrica slipping up the stairs behind them both, only squeaking a "Saw nothing!" before she slipped away to put some polite distance between them and instead busied herself with checking her own weaponry for the third or fourth time, that evening. She couldn't begrudge Marc's absence - someone had to figure out where Cienna was (and kick the absolute shit out of whoever took her) ...but they really could use a guy right now who spent a good deal of his time abroad, refining his violence in the island gladiator matches. Oh yeah, Marc. She knew.
Harpur Eberhardt
Harpur should've heard Richa easily but every ounce of his being is focused on Sandro, his eyes are lidded and love burns within them. He looked more vulnerable now before Sandro than he had even on the morning he'd transformed back into a man after the supermoon. This was a different kind of vulnerable, though. He was daring to love, daring to hope that this meant there was a future, however short, for them to share together as partners.
"I- oh-" his eyes snap wide open and towards Richa, cheeks burning bright red "Uh- hahah-" he starts laughing softly, ears, neck and face all the colour of a ripe tomato as he looks back at Sandro "Guess the secret's out" he teases Sandro gently and reaches out to pull the man gently into a firm embrace, still chuckling softly "I need to go, it's getting late." he inhales deeply, committing Sandro's smell to memory as if it were a firepit to get him through a cold night, maybe the memory of it would soothe the savage beast....maybe it would help.
"We'll talk in the morning, alright?" the hug lingers longer than the kiss, he grips tightly at Sandro and the man may feel that Harpur is shaking. He's terrified, it's starting to sink in what he's about to do. He winces and groans in pain, releasing Sandro and staggering back and towards the stairs "Fuck- I feel like horse shit" he mumbles, clenching trembling fingers into a fist as if to hide that he's giving into fear.
"In the morning..." he says with a look back before he starts to descend slowly into the labyrinth, knees crunching with every step, ankles popping.
Aiolfi
Sandro curled into the firm embrace, his own grasp as firm as Harpur's; it was Harpur, and his daughter, and one of his sons, and for however mad this situation was, however demented it could still become, he cherished this hug, held onto the sensation, promised himself that he would hold onto this memory for as long as it could last.
As Harpur parted, Sandro turned to Enrica, and clapped her on her shoulder sturdily...and then it quickly softened into a heartbroken squeeze, and then they too hugged. It was equal parts paternal and grim, and she attempted to steel herself. As any Aiolfi should.
"We'll be ready too."
----
Jac had been somewhere down here, but sound was tricky in a space that was incredibly open and claustrophobic all at once, sound echoing strangely off of the stones; his door that separated his (much smaller) space from Harpur's for the evening's purpose was open bars, fixed with an equally-sturdy combination lock. The human boy knew the combination to let himself back out, but the test was whether the monster would care.
Luckily Harpur didn't have to look far - Jac was sitting, curled, right up against the bars, wrapped tightly in his own little robe, staring down at a faded 'Piero' by his feet, eyes already red and dried.
Jacomo
"Took y'long enough!" It was hoarse, shouted in the direction of Harpur's sounds, in a bad attempt at his usual joking tone, and he totally hadn't been crying at all. That wasn't a sniffle, or another one. Nope. He wiped at his nose messily with that stupid robe and licked his nose for good measure. He needed to smell everything, after all, and stupid crying got in the way. He didn't need to be stuffed up.
But he figured playfully scolding that gigantic man that was an even more gigantic monster under all of that human skin was probably not the most encouraging note to go out on for the evening. So he added. "Hey, y'know. You'll be fine. And I'm safe. Right in here with a dead deer. Yummy, right? Gods I can almost taste the..." He looked. "...small intestine! I...think that's the small one. YEAH." And he snorted in spite of himself. "See you on the other side, old man?"
Harpur Eberhardt
Harpur left Richa and Sandro to have their moment, they needed each other right now. Harpur wished he could drag them both in here with him for the support but he'd have to settle for knowing they were outside. Once he'd closed the door behind himself he made his way in.
He spots Jac quickly, only too aware that the boy has been crying. The bars obscure his view of what lays at Jac's feet until he draws closer and sees it, the shock of pain that goes through his heart is palpable. His eyes soften and sadden, if he had wolfy ears they'd have folded backwards in an instant.
He doesn't mean to, but he lets out a low and very canine whine as he draws closer, reaching through the bars to pull Jac in for a hug as best he can. "You'll be okay, we'll be okay." he tells him, ignoring the boys attempts to laugh it all off.
"It goes quickly, I'll see you on the other side, son" he says softly and fondly, squeezing him tightly before letting go. He can feel the moon already, he doesn't even need to see it.
He can smell that deer too and feel himself hopelessly salivating. There was a strange excitement in the air even though he, himself, meant to feel afraid and worried and miserable ....the wolf inside was scratching at the door to get out, there was food, there was pack, there was so much to be done and fun to be had. Another part of him felt violent surges, not towards anyone in particular. Jac was spared the focus of those thankfully.
Harpur staggered back to sit against the wall and breathed heavily, head hanging a moment before he glances to the side at Jac, hair bristling and growing long on his body already. The moon isn't at its peak in the sky yet, it's not quite time but they're stood on the precipice. It's about to happen any moment.
He has no idea his eyes are glowing bright purple, one milky and missing its pupil.
He huffs and grunts, voice deeper "You're going to be okay" he growls with difficulty. His ribcage feels tight, like it wants to burst.
Jacomo
He made the mistake of looking up at Harpur as the big man stumbled back.
He'd confessed before of feeling afraid of what the old slayer would've done to him, and now he was absolutely terrifying it would be to face a crossbow bolt from his father or sister. But now, seeing those purple eyes up close, knowing that he would be spending time in close proximity to a hulk, a wolf that was even bigger and nastier than other ones sent a bolt of terror through the surge of comfort and reassurance that the thought, strangely, otherwise seemed to provide.
He wasn't thinking straight, he knew he wasn't thinking straight, and on seeing those moon-touched eyes, Jac stumbled backwards with a start and little whimper, pulling that robe close to himself with calloused palms and fingers, and then gagged at the sudden motion. The world was spinning and he was panicking and pretending to be strong for the older man, and so very, very hungry.
If Harpur had been looking, he might've caught a glimpse of dark, black and shining fur, quickly covered again. If Jac had known, he didn't seem to acknowledge it yet - but if anything, his behavior was right in line with what the man had already seen, from the kid that was so convinced he had to hold up this crumbling family all on his own, from the kid whose first instinct on hearing 'werewolf' had been 'good, I can protect my family and Tomm and Cienna now.'
Maybe he wanted to spare Harpur freaking out on his behalf. Jac turned around, squared his shoulders, bunched up the fabric around them and looking as large as he could.
"...m'sorry." He wiped his nose and licked it again; it was wet, had been wet. It hadn't always been black and flat. He crept back to the edge of the door.
"So will you, yeah? It's Dad. He won't let anything happen to the both of us." That was resolute.
"I just...gotta go-!" Welp. So much for a dignified and scary monster.
Hurriedly, Jac scrambled away deeper into 'his' section of that labyrinth, turning a corner and vanishing into a darker and shadowy corner of the cell.
Harpur (Werewolf)
Harpur lunges at the bars as Jac runs off, whining and scrambling at them like an animal. He bites the bars with teeth that had grown long and sharp before backing away. What was he doing!? The ache in his bones transitions to outright pain as he starts to bulge out and grow in size. He pants, feeling his skin itch to the point of burning as fur bursts from every pore that hasn't already grown fur. The moon was at its peak.
"Jac- It's okay-!" his deeper voice barks out breathlessly, panting as his sweat covered body stops...well...being able to sweat. His tongue grows long and flat and the air around him steams as he desperately tries to cool down.
Then it finally happens, he lets out a monstrous bellow as a horrible crack echoes through the cell. His jaw starts to grow long, the last conscious thing he manages to do is yank off his robe so that it's hopefully there when he wakes the next morning (unless his dumb wolf self eats it). He howls and gargles in agony as his body breaks and reforms itself, skin stretches and changes, his size grows. Long claws drag harshly at the floor, teeth bared as a tail forms painfully behind him.
There's a quiet moment in the darkness as the gigantic heap of black fur lays there heaving for breath. The purple light at the tips of the beast's fur seem to come to life as the magic of aetheros flows meekly through him on the night of the normal full moon, eyes snapping open and glowing brightly, piercing, animal... any semblance of the human behind them gone. The beast rises and bellows LOUDLY to the sky that it knows is somewhere up above it, through layers of soil and stone perhaps.
"BAROOOOOO ROOOO ROOOOOOOooooo
He surges forwards, eyes wildly looking around as berserker energy courses through him more weakly now than it might on a supermoon, but even still. But there are...walls, bars, he's trapped! He's going to slam into them! Must escape! Must get out! But.... what's that smell? ... no not the carcass, something else. Something familar.
Jac (Wolf)
The monster hot on his heels only hastened Jac's retreat, and wildly with wordless cries, he made to squeeze himself into the darkest corner he could, panting and huddled under that robe, coughing and whimpering.
It was weird, it was horrible, everything was wrong, Harpur was being ripped apart, Harpur needed to be one or the other, and Jac was going to die down here hiding from being eaten by the closest thing to another dad he'd known since everything started to go wrong. And here he was, still helpless, always helpless while everything collapsed around him.
He'd make a joke about being used to it, really, but even jokes in the face of insurmountable trouble stopped being funny after a while, too.
---
The hiding spot spared Jac the rest of Harpur's gruesome transformation - and Harpur, distracted with his own, was too busy to worry about any ensuing distress.
But then that howl, that triumphant emergence of that magical moon-charge beast ripped through the labyrinth, echoing strangely off the stones, and making so much more of a noise that the two monitoring above were certain that it could be heard outside.
The echo of Harpur's howl was allowed to die down into an uncertain silence before it was answered with a howl, full throated and higher-pitched.
And then, very, very slowly, tense and suspicious, the other wolf crept from its hiding space.
It hugged the walls, hackles and tail raised, eyes unblinking. It was a beast of taut muscle and inky-black fur, large enough to rip out the throat of his sister or his father. But it was still so very, very small next to the other one, limbs gangling, paws and eyes - odd and unnatural silver in pupil and iris - large with youth, curiosity and fear.
It stopped just shy of the bars, at a distance that appeared to be just out of reach of one of those massive arms; it craned its neck instead, nose visibly twitching.
Harpur (Werewolf)
The larger wolf's head snaps sharply, terrifying eyes glowing bright purple in the shadows as it watches the pup approaching. His ears pricked, still replaying that howl in his head.
There's an uncertainty about the way he responds to Jac, massive paws thudding against the ground as he pads closer to the bars with his head down. His sniffing was loud and obvious, a low rumble rising from his throat.
Rrrrr
He freezes at the bars, nose lifted to press between them as far as he could to get a good sniff of Jac, body frozen and rigid. It's that dangerous moment that could go either way.
But that's his pup.
He snorts through his nose and then presses back in to sniff even harder, then after a moment his tail starts to twitch before moving into a full wag. The massive beast laps at the air because he cannot reach Jac to lick him, but perhaps it's for the best because even a lick might knock this poor little wolf over.
HIS pup! His! His pack is here.
Jac (Wolf)
One ear flicked to the side; there sounded some distant commotion up-above, and a female voice that wasn't ... a bad female voice, one that needed protecting, he was sure of it. But it seemed far away, and whatever trouble he might have encountered up there was nothing like this far more immediate stand-off between a hulking magical mutant of a werewolf...and a puppy.
As the giant wolf froze at the bars, he ventured a wide-eyed snap at the air that was truly meant to be intimidating. Kept sniffing.
That tail was held stiffly, as straight and tall as he could manage it. It ventured one uncertain wag, then another. The big wolf's tail wag seemed to animate the small one, and he darted forward, sniffing under and between the bars, trying to press his nose as closely to the other wolf's gargantuan nose as well as he could, lapping back frantically.
A sneeze was what broke them, and he took several steps backwards, each unnatural pair of eyes meeting the other. And... bounced. And waggled his butt in the air - and took off at a cheerful dart deep into his section of that labyrinth.
...
...only to slink back, nose smeared in gore. Right.
He crept right back up to the bars. Ventured another couple of bounces, dropped the (small) bit of meat he'd not managed to eat at the bottom of the bars. Flung himself at it a couple of times rather loudly, and then tried unsuccessfully to squeeze a leg, then a face through. Nearly got stuck a few times.
Whatever else might've been going on in his mind, he seemed to catch on rather easily that the combination lock was the culprit, and he doubled back to swat at it with an irritated little rrrr.
The thing had been designed to stymie werewolves, in particular. Beasts had no use for such things, after all. It was inconvenient for a monster, but convenient for the human needing to let himself out of a self-imposed prison later. Nearly foolproof.
Nobody seemed to have told the smaller wolf that.
Because his next attack on the thing was a lot more dedicated and thoughtful than the first, two paws swatting and picking with far more intent than his earlier plans had been.
Harpur (Werewolf)
As Jac darted away, Harpur mobilized with a playful bound before running a lap around his enclosure with his ass to the ground and his ears back, maw wide open and panting before he returned to the bars with his ears pricked forwards, eyes wide and nostrils flaring. Where was his pup? what was his pup doing?
He wanted to get over there!
The beast could smell that he had his own food but he was far more focused on his pup right now, even as his belly growled and pleaded for food.
The pup returns having eaten, the bigger werewolf lets out a low rumble of approval. Yes, his pup had to eat to get big and strong like him.
Harpur's quickly distracted by the discarded meat and laps it up through the bars into his own maw in one bite, chomping down eagerly only to pause as the perhaps smarter and smaller pup begins to formulate his escape.
The moon-touched beast can only watch in fascination for a moment. Is that the barrier keeping them apart? has his smart pup found the way through? The fact that they're separated seems to sink in all at once and the anxiety bubbles up inside the already highly strung monster. He paces and pants for a moment, fur bristling before he turns and runs away only to about face and charge the gate with all the force of his massive shoulders slamming into it.
He lets out a bellowing snarl and claws at the metal, gripping it with brutal hands and aggressively shaking the bars before releasing to pace back and forth again, drooling with distress.
His pup! why couldn't he get to his pup!?
Jac (Wolf)
The smaller wolf's first attempts to break down and wiggle through the bars hadn't gone so well, and his last charge at the bars had left his head spinning. And shortly Harpur tried, too - and while Jac wanted, was outright compelled and frantic to get to the larger wolf...it was still a larger wolf. Whether or not Jac recognized how unusual this particular wolf was had been beside the point - when he charged, you got out of the way, and the gigantic wolf slamming into the bars saw Jac scrambling backwards with a little whimper.
His renewed attempt on his next approach was stubborn and desperate, seemingly running on memory...
The final number of the combination clicked into place and with a tight clamp of his jaws and a deft little tug, he pulled it apart, and the lock clattered to the ground, utterly unbroken, and freeing the door to swing wide at Harpur's push.
Jac seemingly had no way of knowing what he'd just proven or disproven by the act or the memory - and judging by the faint fuss from up above, his observers were too distracted to notice.
Jac did not turn his back on Harpur; instead he stepped back, head angled, unnaturally silver eyes unblinking and openly curious. After a moment of pacing back and forth without tearing his eyes from the Harpur-wolf, he offered a low whine, spanked both paws on the ground, and waggled his rear in the air.
Harpur (Werewolf)
Harpur watched with immediate interest as Jac did something with the lock. What did he do? turn it? a beast-like intelligence shines behind the curious beast's eyes but the moment the lock is opened it's all forgotten. He snorts and pads quickly forwards to shove his shoulder against the door and it SLAMS open with a mighty clatter.
Only as he steps in does he realize how much smaller the pup is beneath him, towering over him. He lets out a low rumble, not a growl and stares. Paws spank the ground and his immediate compulsion is to spank down his own MASSIVE paws and drop into a dramatic bow before darting after Jac at a restrained speed. He knew he could outpace the pup due to size alone so he made sure to always steady himself, tail flicking wildly side to side.
Play!
Jac (Wolf)
The smaller wolf had opened the door, had seemingly maintained enough awareness about what he'd done - but he'd skittered backwards on all fours, claws scrabbling noisily at the stones when the door slammed open.
He scuttled back up to attempt to sniff noses with the gigantic monster - and then spun on his heels with a bound and a happy growl and tore down one of the halls, only stopping once he'd tumbled feet over snout over one of the corpses in 'his' area of the labyrinth.
He corrected quickly to bounce and strut around it, before diving right into an already-gaping chest cavity with a joyful little howl, cut short with a mouthful of gore, proud that he'd got there first and seemingly unknowing or uncaring whether Harpur was letting him win. He won, he won, he won, look at him!
-
The disagreement above had subsided, the pair of observers had been joined by another, masked and stoic. The wolves would not have known how close either had been since the humans had missed exactly how the door had opened.
Human scents would stray close enough to detect on occasion; two distinct flavors may have been familiar (if not outright loved, pack), but one was far more of a stranger, sweat carrying the stray scents of fear and anger...
Harpur (Werewolf)
Harpur slowed to a stop near that corpse. He allowed Jac to eat even though he began to drool and pant almost immediately. Meat, meat, meat, meat.
The gigantic wolf loomed over the eating pup like a gargoyle, but after a moment of allowing the pup his fill he lunged forwards with teeth bared right in Jac's face, snarling and snorting loudly. Your turn is up.
And then greedily he'd take his fill, which was likely to be the rest of the beast. Powerful jaws crunched through bone and meat alike noisily, tearing the carcass apart and matting his maw and throat with blood.
But suddenly he freezes. The human scents before this had been ignored ... considered pack smells, but then... there was one he didn't recognize as pack at all. Danger? Where was the rest of the pack? were they alone with this stranger?
His eyes wheeled side to side as he looked for them, teeth bared a little and tongue lapping at his fangs. The berserker blood in him threatens to bubble over but for now he's investigating.
Harpur grunts to Jac, stay close and pads off along the walls in search of the new smell, seeking out the point where the smell is strongest.
Jac (Wolf)
The small wolf, born in unusual circumstance down in these depths was unsure how to navigate that fact, but the sight of the older and much larger wolf's sudden freeze and change in demeanor was enough to rattle him to scoot as close to the big berserker as possible. (Though he did venture a few tentative play-snaps to test the waters).
There were no humans now but there had been; the scent was sharp, conmingled with another fresh corpse at the dead end. It was not Sandro and not Enrica. Could not have been Marc; his had been different but not this different. It led to the stones of the dead end, seemed to vanish right into them, leaving the mangled deer in its wake.
Harpur was two moons in, had killed already. If either of the pair would sense something faintly amiss about the scent it could have been he - this one had been laced.
For how clever the Jac-wolf had proven himself in memorizing the combination lock, in drawing on human memory...this was not among human memory.
As far as he was concerned, this was free food, and with a joyous little bark, he dove in and started eating, rather greedily.
Harpur (Werewolf)
Harpur ate heavily, tearing through bone and meat as if it were butter. But even after warning Jac off, snapping and snarling back at him as he tested his luck... but luckily enough for Jac, the bigger wolf had become distracted. The carcass was abandoned and left for the younger one to tear apart what remained.
Who was that? he didn't want strangers near his pack. Strangers that smelled of anger and fear, something he was starting to recognize more rapidly than some other emotions because of how strong they were. The bigger wolf padded away towards that wall, following the scent to its strongest point only to press his nose against any gaps in the bricks that he could find, snuffing and sniffing deeply.
There's a new corpse. Jac can have it. He's hungry, but his desire to protect his pack from this strange smell seems to win out above that. He's the largest of the pack, after all, it's his job. The aetheros touched reaches out with a hairy hand and pushes slowly against the wall a few times before rumbling in soft confusion. The hulking thing rises up onto his hind legs to stand bipedally, head turning upwards towards the ceiling. Intelligent, bright eyes scanned the ceiling above him before reaching up to press a palm against it.
Trapped. They're trapped.
Where are his pack? they're beyond the wall. Somewhere. With something strange and dangerous, perhaps.
Jac (Wolf)
The small wolf loved being fed like this. And the big wolf was safe, the big wolf was pack and would never steal his things.
But something was missing - and in the absence of a true hunt something base and primal and terrible would flare to life, and only on occasion would the skittering of a rat or any sudden movements from the larger wolf capture his attention away from the main feast, and he would bounce rather fruitlessly at rodents that were far too fast and wily for something of Jac's size. He wanted to run, he wanted to chase, he wanted to tear and rip and bask in the thrill of a kill that he'd performed all on his own...
He ate. The room lurched and swam when he lifted his head and he whimpered, ears flattened. The big wolf was acting funny and so was everything else and he'd not expected this, Jac had not expected this, and for a moment, the sudden fear and confusion was the same between wolf and boy, and he cried out to the big wolf in a small and vulnerable little bark.
And he was asleep before his cheek hit the floor.
--
Aiolfi
"-'t listen, Enrica, he's trying to upset you because I upset him." THAT growl perhaps would pluck strings of memory of the human-Harpur's pack. This was the man, and the man was not happy. There were sounds of movement, sharp and quick, of fabric on flesh and the movements of large bodies.
"You haven't let me finish." The voice was strange and indignant, quieter, more youthful. It reeked of the fear and anger that permeated most humans, and was utterly at odds with the scents and tones of the older male and young female.
Enough may have been conveyed in the respective tones of the speakers that the Harpur-wolf didn't need to know the words that were said. They were snatches of sounds, just beyond some of those bricks, eking through some spaces in the mortar that may have been far less dusty than others.
"Oh, you're finished all right. Count of three and you'll get the FUCK out of my house..."
Harpur's push only yielded the slightest of shifts in the structure, but not much else. The strange voice went sharply quiet.
Harpur (Werewolf)
Harpur stood stock still, large ears twisting towards the sounds as he stared intensely at the wall it sounded strongest from. That wall had moved...maybe if he tried harder-
He couldn't understand the words but the tones spoke for themselves in some ways. All that was forgotten when he looked back at that little bark, ears pinned towards Jac and eyes wide.
In an instant he hurries forwards to sniff and circle the pup, nudging him vigorously with his nose and patting him with crooked hand-paws. Deep and worried whines escape him. What's happening? is his pup dying? why won't he move?
The bad voice on the other side of the wall had done this, the wolf blamed the only thing around him to blame. Berserker blood coursed through his veins, the strange purple tips of his bristling fur starting to glow brightly as his muscles grew taut and bulged with tension.
"BAROOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO ROOO ROOO!" He bellowed furiously and charged straight for the wall that had given way, slamming his shoulder into it not once, but several times. Spittle flung from his bared teeth as he entered a frenzy.
Aiolfi
Jac was down, a fact that seemed to enrage the oldest voice. Those angry words continued to burst and snarl in snatches of sound from beyond
The pup was lying in a loose curl; his breathing was even and gentle, and on occasion his paws would twitch, his brow would frown, he'd lift his lips in the faintest ghost of a snarl in defiance of what was going on around him. The Harpur-wolf would even be rewarded with the reach of a hand paw in his direction, a stretch paddling in a soft circle.
When Harpur screamed and charged the door with an unholy amount of noise, clangs and howls echoing menacingly through the tight corners and dead ends of their confinement, the wall did slightly yield in a way that suggested there might have been hidden workings to it, a large portion of the wall moving as one, a faint suggestion of a door that had been cast in the uneven and angular shapes of the bricks. But that was all it did - there seemed a considerable amount of resistance on the other side.
The bad voice was shouting now, indignant, fearful, cursing. The older voice had gone quiet, and the young female seemed to have replaced him in fending off the bad voice.
There was a sharp crack of splitting air, a shouted word of fear and love that may have been the man-Harpur's name.
And if Harpur would turn, there would be a man at a distance down the The scent would be familiar, the emotions a storm of sadness, terror - but not quite that reek of prey, of fear for one's-self. This was different. And not unlike the worry the big wolf had for the smaller wolf.
He lowered the crossbow; there was no bolt.
Harpur (Werewolf)
Harpur recognized his name, even through all this madness and berserking he snaps around to face Sandro but too late. He doesn't know he has been shot, the adrenaline makes it impossible feel the pain of broken skin on such a small scale.
He stares intensely at Sandro and then makes a few hurried steps towards him, it's hard to tell from his body language what his intentions are but he doesn't get too far past the sleeping pup when the world starts to feel heavy on his shoulders. His eyes flutter and the wolf's paws cross over each other unevenly before he drops down with a low whine.
He keeps his head up with a shaking neck, trying to stare at Sandro as the world blurs and turns like a kaleidoscope. His head drops to the cold floor and his eyes shut, nostrils flaring as he desperately fought it. The wolf seemed to realize he couldn't and slowly started to use what little strength he had to try and shimmy back around towards Jac...ultimately failing as his body went entirely still.
Sandro
Alessandro stared hard, tense and wild-eyed, as the tranquilizer worked its magic and the wolf collapsed before him. It had been all of the concoction within reach, stolen furiously and unceremoniously from the intruder during the altercation that the Harpur-wolf no doubt had heard from beyond the wall. It was the same mixture that had laced the corpse that had drugged Jacomo. It was no doubt rare, unquestionably priceless.
And he’d just unloaded the rest of it into the hulking brute that had been his friend.
Not that everyone else wasn’t already angry with Sandro for failure after failure, anyway, what was one more?
This was the second time he’d done it. He was human, he wasn’t as young or as healthy as he’d once been, he was charged by a fully-grown mutant werewolf, a Harpur without a hunt, in a confined space - and he’d spared it, again.
Nobody was down there to guess what he may have been thinking in that moment, but each breath was tense, he fought to still shaking hands, moved a free one to grasp at his elbow. Stared at the two furry bodies before him for a moment that stretched into eternity with eyes that seemed to stare right on through.
Eventually, slowly, he managed to place one foot in front of another until he found himself right in front of them. He crouched slowly, and picked up the smaller wolf.
It didn’t matter that even as a human, Jac was already starting to get too big for such things, Sandro did it anyway. Even when Agnesina couldn’t carry the boy back to bed towards the end, sprawling preteen limbs and all, without ending up in an over-exerted coughing fit, Sandro would do it anyway. Threatened to do it even when Jac was grown (with no small allusions about carrying Piero to bed sprinkled in - most met with snorts of doubt and secret wide-eyed belief) unless Jac got himself in there himself at a reasonable hour.
Sandro picked him up, maneuvered his hold so that the monster’s snout rested on his shoulder, and hugged him tightly, burying his face in an adolescent ruff around the wolf’s neck and rubbing his back as if nothing had changed, as if this was normal and the boy was his tenuous grip on reality and the way things were.
The young monster twitched his limbs and his nose, eyes flicking sightless beneath gently closed lids, but otherwise remained relatively motionless. His tail slowly curled in a tuck between his legs with the tiniest ghost of a whine - whatever scents he caught, whatever dreams into which they’d ended up, it wasn’t pleasant.
It already would have looked entirely mad to the casual observer; many human throats had been torn out in these mazes. Many grisly wolf executions had unfolded. And here was the man cradling the monster like he would have if all below were human.
Sandro was humming, still petting the pup, small lullabies in each parent’s native language (and a few he’d enjoyed from other travels) issuing forth in fits and snatches, but now he was stealing glances at the larger monster, circling him, getting a good look at everything about this animal as he was in a rare, still moment.
He nudged Harpur’s cheek with a gentle press of his foot. The lifelessness was expected and by design. The lone benefit of being in such close quarters was that it was hard to miss a shot.
And he sat, carefully, still holding Jacomo but switching him to his lap, propped up against the bulk beast’s purple-filamented pelt.
At some point during the evening, he would wrench his projectile free from that fur and fold it with gloved hands back into a small pouch at his side.
—
Harpur would awaken as if his sleep had been a natural one, the pain of the change and reversion itself no doubt playing a part.
The blanket from the beginning of the evening was once again present; it had been placed rather unceremoniously in the mess of gigantic shaggy fur that had been the sleeping monster.
Enrica was armed and standing guard, eyes hollowed and reddened, and Sandro was sitting nearby, barely awake, propped up against a wall and staring at some of the hastily scrawled initials - ‘CA’ had rather unfortunately made it into his line of sight.
Jacomo was wrapped tightly in his own blanket, and his father was doing his best to be a sturdy prop on which the kid could lean.
Harpur Eberhardt
Harpur lay limply, even when nudged. Finally after some time, the weight of the drug wore off a little and he shifted a little in his sleep, moving closer to Sandro and Jac with a low whine.
The moon passed beyond the horizon and with it Harpur and Jac began to change. Thankfully the pain was bypassed, he wasn't awake for it and soon enough the human lay there shivering subtly at the chill of the stone floor beneath him, even with the blanket. The cold eventually woke him, eyes opening... but then...he couldn't move.
His arms were heavy, his legs too. Why couldn't he wriggle his toes? or his fingers? he felt panic set in as a dark shape seemed to move around in front of him. Cruel and warped faces turned about him. He blinked hard, trying to cry out for help. Nothing worked.
He clenched his eyes shut tight and heard the strange noises near him. After a while...they faded and his toes managed to wriggle. Not long after that he was able to move his arms.
He looked up and saw that the strange figure had been... oh...Sandro...poor Sandro. He felt so tired, barely able to wake even now but he shimmied his cold body closer to Sandro and struggled to sit up "Sandro...you haven't been awake all night, have you?" he asked tiredly, reaching out to gently fuss Jac's hair.
He clutched the blanket tighter to himself, leaning against the wall beside Sandro. He hadn't yet noticed Enrica was there with them. Was Sandro in here with them? he hoped the man hadn't just walked in and risked getting killed.
A hand came up to cup gently at Sandro's cheek, his bones popping and clicking and causing Harpur to groan in soreness. "Sandro..." he whispered more quietly, guilt welling up inside him. He never wanted to put Sandro through more stress or pain, he already had so much to deal with.
Jac (Wolf)
Sandro had been leaning against the big wolf, still holding his son, when the changes began anew; he dully remembered to move a little too late.
Still holding the lanky bundle of monstrous Jac and resisting any base and odd want to hold the boy closer, his gripped only shifted to accommodate any changing underlying structure and accompanying pain, and he'd finally, carefully wrapped him in the blanket as if swaddling or tucking him in. If the evening had broken him, it didn't show in his eyes, but the weirdly routine way he'd seemed to move suggested either a persistent parental instinct despite it all - or some degree of dissociation. Perhaps both.
The onset had awoken Jac. The tiny monster had appeared bleary, sluggish, not entirely present and seemingly shocked that it was happening at all, staring at his paw before curling tightly into his dad, pressing his forehead a little too roughly into his shoulder, biting down hard on the leathers his father wore on his arm until he couldn't anymore, and clasping at his collar and sleeve indiscriminately with flaring nerves, more fear than pain in those whimpers.
Enrica, too, had decided to sit with the rest once it was clear that there were three other humans down below with them...and that nothing wanted to menace them from outside, anymore.
Sandro
And at last everyone was human and Sandro slumped against the wall.
It was sheer luck - so much luck - that circumstance had managed to distract the big wolf, and now he had to distract two. But they had to hunt. As surely as other animals had to roam, these two needed to hunt. He stared at those initials and leaned against Harpur as he'd sidled up.
"I'm alive, aren't I?" It was grim, but he'd tried to deliver it lightly enough. And it was as good as a quiet affirmation that Sandro had, in fact, walked in and risked getting killed. "You're not going to be the one that does me in. Swore that back when y'changed. Can make it a new pact, heh."
He was tired; physically and mentally. He was spent, emotionally. And he'd - oh.
Harpur probably remembered the beginning of the evening, hadn't he. No sense in maintaining propriety in a small band of family in musty, labyrinthine cells.
It had torn something in his heart, in his soul, some indescribable part of his being to see his friend taken by this curse, but this was his friend and his son and both had been writhing in pain, breaking, losing themselves. It had been a spiritual blow to Harpur's foundation on top of it all. It was like that with the mysterious CA. It was Chiara Aiolfi. They had been like his sister. And she'd taken a bolt through the brain and a cousin had lost his throat because of it.
All of this - Chiara, Harpur, Jacomo. His losses insurmountable, his wife, his son - had solidified this new and strange stance - he would do what he can to help, even if it would destroy him to do it.
Jacomo
Jac's first impulse was to joke, but he'd not had it in him. A little whimper escaped him; belatedly he realized the hair-fluff was Harpur's.
He snapped up, staring as if coming to from a particularly tenacious dream, and for a moment his bearing seemed to resemble the panic of the other shape, heart racing and breaths a little too short and sharp...then he frowned slightly.
Relaxed into that hair fluff with a small little smile. Then looked at Harpur again with that same quizzical frown. Looked past him to the door.
"You don't...you remember all that?" It seemed a weird and distant question, before he hunkered down in between them, pulling his blanket tightly around him.
"...didn't like that at all."
Harpur Eberhardt
Harpur grunted softly "Pact or not, lets try not to test that theory" he rasped, his throat felt sore and weak from all the howling, not that he remembered much. Jac's eyes were met "I remember...some things? I remember a bad smell. It's like a dream, i'm forgetting it quickly" he sighs. Maybe if he hadn't been drugged so heavily he'd remember more.
"Come on, we're all still here-" he belatedly noticed Richa and looked at her with sympathy "I'm making you all breakfast, then we're all getting some sleep." he'd already slept, of course, but he could definitely use some more. He felt like a sack of bricks.
Everything hurt, his joints ached, his belly rumbled. He hadn't gotten to eat enough during his transformation and it almost looked like he'd lost weight just from the night behind him, a good meal would go down well.
With a pained groan and shaking legs he rose up, staggering slightly as he reached down to help Jac and Richa up whilst hopelessly gripping the blanket around himself, then after helping Sandro up he'd quickly swap from blanket to the robe discarded across the room upon the floor.
"I'm feeling stronger already." he says after bending his leg back and forth. He seems in strangely good spirits considering the night behind him had been terrible and full of things he had always considered abhorrent. He was focusing on his family who needed him first, his dread could be saved for a dark hour alone.
"Strong enough to do this" he scooped Jac up into his arms and bundled him up in the blanket like a burrito, growling playfully in the process and grinning at him. He couldn't let them be down. He knew he was strong but he didn't dare try to hoist up Sandro like he wanted to, the man was heavy enough on his own, so all he could do was offer a shoulder and an arm. For a moment he'd meet his eyes in a way that suggested he remembered exactly what happened before the moon had risen.
He'd head for the door, eyes flitting down past the Chiara graffiti to linger more emptily on Piero's name as he passed it by. It twisted like a knife in his heart.
Sandro
The kids were helped up gamely (even a wobbly Harpur was the sturdiest thing in the room by default!). Enrica moved hurriedly to flank Harpur's side; Sandro took the other.
His fingers intertwined with Harpur's and he clasped the other man's hand tightly. Tight, taut with feeling, as if he could hold the man in a human shape by the hold and sheer stubbornness. When Harpur's eyes met his own, he didn't look away, but his own stare was exhausted, melancholy, relieved...and determined. A moment, and he lifted his chin and eyebrows slightly in an unfinished nod. Yes, it happened. And whatever happened beyond this, he'd meant it wholeheartedly. Stay. Please, stay.
Alessandro di Aiolfi knew very well he would burn out like a brilliant candle protecting those he had loved, those that remained. And Harpur was among them.
"We got lucky. This...all of this. It's so, so...lucky."
And if he were to go out like a candle - oblivious to the fact that his son, elsewhere, had described himself with the exact same metaphor, and richer for it - then he would be honored to do it surrounded by his family. Aiolfi's pack.
Jacomo
--
Jac was got! He growled and swatted at Harpur's nose and didn't bother to correct himself once he seemed to realize that he'd done it, instead opted to hunker down in his burrito. That evening was There was a long and odd pause from Jac, before he murmured an "I'm not. Forgetting, 'mean. I remembered...me. I remember that. It's...weird. I'll be fine. Just...weird. I'm hungry." He wasn't rattled, totally! He was a tough guy. Just tired, that was all.
Richa wasn't quite ready to let Harpur's memory fade completely. Jacomo was being uncharacteristically compliant and mellow since Harpur scooped him, as his father rubbed his back and kissed the top of his head in much the same way he'd done to him when he was a lot younger.
"That bad smell. Like...the bodies?" And then, slightly leading. "...a person?"
