Rory isn't exactly (housebroken) wrote in repose, @ 2015-12-11 23:48:00 |
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Entry tags: | *log, matt devlin, rory brennan |
log: matt & rory; matt's house
Who: Rory & Matt
What: One of those not-your-everyday vet visits where the patient resets to their human form.
Where: Matt's woodland home.
When: Current, I think.
Warnings: Doggy injuries, language.
The night had started out innocently enough. Rory'd decided to forgo the devil dog duties in favor of getting a drink at the local strip club. Iit just seemed like the most logical place to get a drink in this town. It was the kind of place where nobody tried to strike up conversation with him, as there were always going to be more attractive people than Rory in those kinds of clubs. It was his experience that attractiveness counted a whole hell of a lot more than any shade of mystique when it came to people wanting to strike up a conversation, particularly in strip clubs. Besides, it just so happened that he had a pocket full of singles and twenties, and he couldn't think of any other way to spend it. Strippers loved him - he was a very good tipper.
It was late when he left, more pensive than drunk. He'd had a week to feel just a little heartbroken about his beloved, and now he was whipping himself back into focus. But before he went to work digging out the diseased, rotting ones from their herds, to tag and follow into Armageddon, there was the matter of turning into a dog. It wasn't a long process, but it was private, and just a bit painful. Rory preferred to wander deep into the woods for this particular trick, and ten minutes later, he'd emerged roadside, shaking bits of blood and humanity off of his fur like fresh, red rain. The rest of the night? That's where it gets fuzzy for Rory.
The next thing he knew? He was waking up on some kitchen floor, feeling rough as a bear's ass. There was a blanket bunched up all beneath him, smelling like antiseptic and dog. He had a pounding headache, it was belting him really, and when he closed his eyes to try and kill it, he could remember bits and pieces. There'd been a car, headlights and pain. He couldn't remember having ever gotten hit by a car before, but it felt miraculously uneventful, really. Definitely wasn't on the bucket list.
Rory couldn't remember having gotten to this house, or whose house it was. Everything was kind of a blur, although he was collecting bits and pieces as consciousness swarmed thickly upon him, now awaken. Injured, and the dog had dragged himself into the woods. He remembered that. Rory cautiously wrapped the blanket around his waist because he was very without trousers, and he barreled around the kitchen for a moment as he got his bearings, trying to figure out if anything was banjanxed or still broken. It didn't seem to be, although he could feel a deep set bruise all across his back, purple accented by those tattoos.