From the Ashes

( Wanted! )

Who: Gerard and Bob
Where: Warded containment chamber on the third floor, and then... well. That's the problem, isn't it?
When: 12/31, and the moon is rising
What: See above

It was a boring fucking room. Well, it had to be, because even with the wolfsbane potion, Gerard usually went fucking stir-crazy when the transformation hit, couldn't resist tearing around and biting and clawing and ripping until he'd tired himself out, stopped itching to run. Much more sensible to stay in a barren little room, nothing to destroy in it but himself, he knew that, but knowing it didn't stop the wait from being a total demon-balled dickdrag. Nothing to read, nothing to do, nothing to do. Not even a window to look out of. Just pacing, and more pacing.

He could feel it, the moonrise tugging at his bones and nerves and veins. Hot. Itchy. Fuck, soon now. He reached the east wall and turned again, hands flexing, and then he grimaced and spit to the side, and that was just an extra little jolt of misery, wasn't it, that taste, that fucking taste. He normally took the wolfsbane in a series of shot glasses, let as little touch his tongue as possible, but the taste had really lingered this go-round. Spitting again -- useless, he could still fucking taste it, bitter and cloying -- and then he reached a wall, and turned, stalked in the opposite direction.

Soon soon soon, he could feel it, but it wasn't -- he hit a wall and stopped. It didn't make sense, his skin was usually rippling by now, his spine shifting. It didn't -- he didn't understand, and he was so hungry. Fucking hell, fucking room, fucking walls. Walls walls always walls. He bared his teeth and slammed a fist into the wall -- fucking wall -- and then froze.

Fist. Hands. He had hands. He licked his lips -- lips, not snout, and then slowly smiled, wide and toothy. Well. This was -- this could work. This was convenient, this was sneaky. He didn't do sneaky, because sneaky was not what tearing someone's throat out with your teeth was about, but he'd been locked away for so long, and this -- this was a gift, a chocolate-covered blood-filled cherry just for him, and he was going to take it. He could smell them, the wizards and witches, just out of reach, and oh yes. He looked like a lamb, but he had teeth, and they were going to be sorry for all these fucking walls.

He pondered his options, flexing his wonderful, lovely, opposable fingers, and then looked around himself. There. Door. Locked, locked with bolts and with magic, but he could do this. He was going to figure this out, except then he howled in outrage as his knees came in sharp contact with the floor. Two legs now, two legs. Keep it together, remember how the humans walk and talk and taste, mmm. Taste.

Staggering back upright, he glared at his feet and shook himself until the body felt -- he knew this, yes, he did. His human self knew this, and he would take that and use it, pathetic whiny human knowledge. He shoved at the door, snarled and then shoved again, and again, and harder, with his rage and longing for open spaces and running and teeth and things to tear, and it opened. Swung right open, easy as biting into a bunny.

Gerard stared at the empty corridor for a moment, hardly able to believe it, and then giggled in delight and bounded forth, licking his teeth. This was going to be fantastic.