Fenrir "whiny little bitch" Greyback (thewolfman) wrote in blurred_lines, @ 2008-05-21 13:43:00 |
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Entry tags: | ! [1979-05] may, barty crouch jr, fenrir greyback |
Who: Fenrir Greyback and Barty Crouch Jr
What: Fenrir enjoys the full moon, with a hidden and very interested watcher.
When: 20 May 1979, sunset onwards
Where: An isolated farmhouse not far from the Wales border
Rating: R, so very R.
Warnings: Violence, murder, general Fenrir-type unpleasantness
Status: Complete
Fenrir crouched within a small copse of trees not far from the farmhouse that was his target for the night. He was already naked and he was simply staring calmly down at the house, his breathing steady, as he reinforced what he wanted to do to the wolf that was lurking so very close to the surface. He knew Crouch was lurking around somewhere though he didn’t know if he’d lingered to watch the transformation or had gone down to the house.
Fenrir rubbed absently at the large silvery bite scar on his hip. It always felt a little odd just before the transformation occurred but he didn’t know if that was normal or whether it was in his own mind. He pulled his hand away as he felt the first shiver run down his spine and he straightened up. He’d always found the transformation went better when he was standing.
He turned to look at the sun and watched as it slid below the horizon then he arched as pain shot through him heralding the beginning of the transformation. For the next few minutes he was lost as his body shifted and changed into the werewolf. When it was done, he dropped to his haunches and took several deep breaths as the pain faded. He then rose to his feet and gave himself a shake before looking down at the farmhouse.
Fenrir chanted silently in the wolf’s mind then relaxed as the wolf gathered itself and bounded down towards the farmhouse. The wolf didn’t stop when it got to the door and simply crashed through it into the kitchen. He’d picked this family for a very specific reason. They ate as a group just about the time the sun set at this time of year. As a result they were sitting at the table in the kitchen, all four of them – father, mother, son, daughter.
For a moment, none of them had moved, too shocked by Fenrir’s sudden entrance, then the mother and daughter screamed and the father rose to his feet. Fenrir didn’t allow them to move any further. He lashed out at the son and daughter, knocking them against the wall and sending them slumping to the ground. He then launched himself at the father, knocking him to the ground and tumbling over until he could get at the back of the man’s legs. With two quick snaps, he’d ripped the man’s hamstrings apart, the screams echoing through the house.
He whipped around and saw the mother trying to get to the door. He leapt after her and dug his claws into her back, dragging her to the ground to the accompaniment of her screams. As soon as she was down, he grabbed her by the hair and dragged her back into the kitchen, throwing her down in front of her husband. He had managed to turn himself over and was trying to drag himself towards the shattered remains of the back door.
The father came to a halt, freezing with fright when Fenrir growled low and unpleasantly behind him. He carefully turned around, his eyes widening when he saw his wife cowering on the floor. Fenrir muscled him down onto the ground, then dug his jaws into the man's shoulder and dragged him across the kitchen, shoving him down to sit in front of the cabinets. The man flinched and stared at Fenrir, horror and fear, anger and defiance shining in his eyes.
Fenrir snarled at him then turned his attention to the woman. She was staring at him with abject fear and he could smell both the blood from her wounds and the ammoniac smell of urine. He snorted at that and growled. Why did humans always do that? It was a sharp unpleasant smell.
He prowled towards the woman, watching with amusement as she tried to scrabble away from him. He let her go for a little bit then pounced on her, ripping at her stomach with his claws and teeth. She screamed hysterically and her husband launched himself at him, a sad, lamost futile gesture given the state of his hamstrings. But it was enough to come into contact, his fists pounding into Fenrir’s ribs.
Fenrir turned around and snarled, blood dripping from his jaws. He didn’t hesitate and in a sudden, sharp action, he tore the husband’s throat out. The man collapsed backwards in a limp heap, his breath rattling in his ruined throat. Fenrir turned away from him and back to the woman. She was clutching at her stomach, trying to staunch the blood flow desperately. Fenrir simply watched her then he batted her hands away and reached inside her stomach. The wolf hooked a claw into her intestines and started slowly pulling them out as Fenrir whispered encouragements and praise into their combined mind.
The woman screamed and thrashed for a moment then she went limp and still. Fenrir leaned forward and saw that her eyes were empty, lacking entirely in any kind of sanity. Fenrir grumbled low in his chest and wrapped his oddly paw-like hand around her intestines a couple of times then yanked, ripping a large section free of her body. He licked at them for a moment then gulped them down before nosing at the wound he’d left, lapping at the blood until the woman’s heart finally stopped bleeding.
A small whimper drew his attention to the children and he saw that both the boy and the girl were conscious. The girl looked dazed, staring at him with wide, horror-struck eyes, but the boy... ah, Fenrir had seen that look before in people’s eyes. The boy, who was surely no older than eight or nine, had gone past the catatonia of his mother, the fear of his sister and right through the other side to madness. In the boy’s eyes gleamed both insanity and admiration.
“Wolf,” the boy said in a voice that was thick and gluey and frightening in its madness.
The girl’s head swivelled around slowly to stare at her brother in abject horror. The wolf made a low noise in his chest that sounded like a chuckle. Fenrir concentrated hard and whispered urgently into the wolf’s mind. The wolf hesitated and warred with itself as it fought to follow its instincts and Fenrir tried to exert some control. He wanted the boy alive, bitten but alive.
As the wolf and Fenrir fought for control , the boy turned to his sister, his hands outstretched like claws. The girl gasped and tried to back away but her brother was too quick for her. He climbed on top of her and scratched at her face and throat. She tried to shove him away but his madness had given him strength and her struggles were in vain.
When the boy bit down into his sister’s throat, her ragged, bubbling screams drew both the wolf and Fenrir’s attention and the wolf moved into a crouch as they watched the boy savage his sister almost gleefully. When the girl slumped the ground, the boy climbed off her and stood, swaying slightly as he turned to look at Fenrir. Blood covered his face and dripped from his jaw and hands.
“Wolf,” he said, pointing at Fenrir.
“Wolf,” he repeated, this time pointing to himself.
An approving rumble grew in Fenrir’s chest ad he rose to his feet, padding over to the boy, who stared at him with no fear in him at all. Fenrir nuzzled the boy’s hair and cheek, licking at the blood. He then lowered his head to the boy’s shoulder and sniffed at it. The boy stepped back and yanked off his shirt before stepping forward again, presenting his right shoulder to Fenrir.
The werewolf licked at the offering then gently bit down. The iron taste of blood bloomed in his mouth as he set his teeth deeply in the wound, worrying it a bit to ensure that the lycanthropy was passed on. He then licked the boy’s face again and turned towards the door. He was done here and there was still so much of the night to go.
He crouched down in the middle of the kitchen and howled his triumph at the hunt and kill to the moon, feeling amusement and joy as the boy howled along with him. He would come back for this boy. He would find him wherever he was and claim him. When someone accepted the wolf, demanded it, Fenrir would always claim them. He bounded for the door and out into the night, revelling in the feel of the silvery moonlight on his fur.