quickly moving towards a storm Who: Lance and Lu. What: Lance is in the woods with a chicken being human weird and Lu is looking for explanations. Where: The woods outside Ogunquit/Wells. When: After school during the week. Warnings: With these two, I can't imagine there'll be much. Status: In progress.
Lance turned his malformed plan over and over in his mind, both mentally and physically shaking his own head at himself. Ever since being bit, and ever since changing the first time, he'd struggled to find ways to separate himself from everyone else as he got closer and closer to full moons. The school's basement, near the gym, provided one alternative to letting the beast free once a month, but it wasn't fullproof. The school was still a populated area, even after dark, too close to houses and other areas where people lived, worked, played. And each time he came to again, seeing the damage his other self had wrought inside the brick and metal walls of the basement, he knew that locking himself up was likely a temporary solution at best.
So he'd turned to the internet. Anyone who pulled up his google search results would have given him a funny look, but it was how he came to be tromping through the woods after school, trying to find out how far he needed to go to be far enough away from civilization, and if his crazy plan would work. A backpack slung over his shoulder was his only possession; it puffed out, clearly stuffed to bursting. As he closed in on what looked like a decent tree, he paused, glancing around. He couldn't hear cars, people; just animals, the sound of birds chirping, a few leaves and sticks being crunched underfoot as a passing deer made its way away from him. No football coaches, no girls (he shivered slightly at the thought of Mina and how that last encounter had finished), no one to distract him from the task at hand.
He put his backpack down on the ground, unzipping it; from within, he took out a long piece of rope, gray and black and white threads woven together to make something sturdy, and a large chicken still wrapped in plastic. The label on top showed a cheery picture of what could've potentially been the living animal, waving at the purchaser, a farmhouse in the background as a large, cartoony sun rose overhead.
"Sorry, buddy," he mumbled, putting the chicken on his backpack to separate it from the dirt. As if it mattered, a small voice muttered in the back of his mind; he was going to do worse things to that dead meat soon enough. The full moon wasn't for at least another week, and yet he was already salivating at the smell of the wrapped chicken. He shook his head to clear it, and rose, lifting the rope. He tied a simple knot on one end, starting twirling it and gave it a toss over the lowest-hanging branch. Lance caught the other end and gave the branch a tug; it came toward him too easily, so he pulled his line back and scouted for another. Usually, his senses were better about picking up others moving toward him, but he felt wrapped up in the task at hand that he missed the footsteps that signaled the presence of another moving nearby.