RP: A horrific evening Who: Atlas, Lori, Ben, Ronan, doggies! Where: off in the woods, then Werewolf clinic When: December 2, 2024 Warnings: language, blood, wounds Summary: Tis moon time. And Atlas is being stooopid. Status: Complete
It had started out a normal day for Atlas, or as normal as things had become for him. He'd taken Octavius and gone running with Ronan, as had become their custom, working off all the extra energy that the moon brought. Then he had the rest of the day to think and prepare for the moon.
No matter what Ronan told him, Atlas still wasn't in a good place about this whole business with Minerva. He had a bad feeling deep down about the moon, so he decided not to bring Oc with him. Instead, he left him with the nice elderly couple upstairs from his flat, telling them he'd be back the next day at the earliest, but he wasn't very sure. The old man had smiled and patted Atlas on the shoulder, sending him on his way, telling him not to worry. Oc was a well behaved dog and he had nothing to worry about.
It was back to his usual spot up north when Atlas finally left his flat, but no tent this time. Just a fire to keep him busy and warn until it was time for the transformation. He tried to empty his thoughts, but no matter how hard he tried, how hard he concentrated, she was always there. He could smell her everywhere he went, and saw her every time he closed his eyes. Sometimes she was smiling, like the night he took her on their date, sometimes she was in ecstasy, like all the times they'd had sex, and sometimes she was angry, her face beautiful in fury as it had when they were fighting, but it was always there. Haunting him.
He had to do something to get her out of his head, something that hanging out with Ronan wasn't doing for him. So as soon as he shook off the pain of transformation, he took off. The cool air did a lot to sooth his mind, helping pull him out of the impending madness. Then a familiar scent caught his attention. It was the alpha from a few months back, the one he'd fought with. And he wasn't alone. Three other wolves took his flank.
Atlas couldn't forget the fight that had taken place the last time he'd crossed this alpha, though it had been his fault to begin with. He didn't care about the past fight though. All he knew was that he didn't want to deal with this pack tonight, even as small as it was. So he stood his ground, puffing his hair out a bit to look as big as he could and baring his teeth. He was ready for a fight. He wanted it. And he didn't care about the outcome. He could already feel Min slipping out of his mind, and he knew further conflict would only push her image farther away.
The alpha held back, baring his teeth and growling, and one of his subordinates lunged forward, teeth gnashing, aiming straight for his throat. His teeth slashed at Atlas' shoulder as Atlas whipped his head around to bash the wolf out of the way, but another was coming after him. Before he could turn around, teeth were sinking into his front leg, and he howled out in pain.
By the time he wrangled that wolf off of him, he looked around and noticed the that alpha and last wolf had moved, effectively surrounding him. Fuck, he thought, staring at the wolves. Definitely not what I planned.
Instead of waiting to be attacked again, he turned to the first wolf who had attacked him and pounced. He didn't get as much power as he'd wanted, due to the open wound on his front leg, but it was enough to reach the animal, and that's all he needed. He opened his jaws wide and bit down anywhere he could reach, shaking his head to tear at the flesh. He resisted howling out in pain as the three other wolves jumped on his back, and didn't stop attacking until the animal under him was dead.
Somehow, he managed to untangle himself from the mass of claws and teeth and turn around on the other side of the body of the dead wolf, staring at the other three. He could feel the blood pouring out of his wounds, and he turned his head to the side a little bit, seeing nothing but wetness all along his side. The pain was there, but he was doing his best to ignore it. He knew he couldn't take the rest of the wolves, but he didn't know how to get away. He didn't want to get away, for one thing. He was never the type to give up a fight, but even he knew it was hopeless. But he didn't know if he had the strength to escape them.
As the alpha took a step forward, Atlas had an idea. Lowering his body, he tucked his tufted tail beneath his legs and whimpered. The alpha came up close and Atlas raised his muzzle, licking at the chin of the alpha before lowering his broken body further, rolling onto his back and turning his head, displaying his neck. He was being submissive, and it was the only way he could think to get away with his life. The alpha sniffed him over for a minute, then snorted out a puff of cold air and howled. Then he turned, and just as soon as he and the other wolves had arrived, they were gone, save of course for the corpse of the wolf Atlas had killed.
Rolling back onto his stomach, Atlas pushed himself up and hobbled away, the pain finally taking hold. He didn't know how badly he was hurt, but he knew he needed help. It took hours to get back to his fire site, and by the time he finally collapsed, it was time for his return transformation.
The pain was excruciating. Every cell in his body was on fire, even more so than usual. When he was finally human again, it took everything he had not to scream out in pain. Though the transformation did a bit to heal his wounds, they were still bad. Worse than he could ever remember having. There were gashes on his chest, bite marks all over one of his legs, along with the wound on his arm, and a large laceration on his side, the worst of his injuries. He needed help, but had no where to go. He couldn't go to St. Mungo's. Even registered. . . he couldn't go there. But there was that new clinic.
Reaching over, he grabbed his trousers and pulled them over his bits. He wasn't able to get them on, due to a severe bite mark made some time during the fray, but he could at least cover the important things; he had some sense of modesty after all. Then he closed his eyes and used all the power he had, concentrating on the location of the clinic. He felt the familiar tug on his navel, and suddenly he was on the ground somewhere else, and there were voices. He was just able to mumble out "Registration's in the pocket," before he felt a pair of strong hands on him.
He was vaguely aware of being moved, being taken somewhere else, set up on a bed. Then people were over him, asking him questions he couldn't answer. He couldn't hear them. They were fading in and out, and he couldn't understand what they were trying to ask. He just wanted the noises to stop. He wanted the pain to stop.