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[Feb. 9th, 2009|04:53 pm] |
Who: Beth, Slates
What: Meeting in person
When: Backdated to Saturday
Warnings: None that I know of.
Slates was a little apprehensive about meeting a complete stranger who claimed to have an elixir to keep his monster at bay. If he believed her, and he had no reason to believe and no reason not to believe, he would still transform when the full moon hung pregnant in the sky, but he would retain his own mind. The magic worked on the mental aspect, not the pysical. He couldn't imagine being himself, knwoing what was going on, full awareness, while in the form of a Siberian Tiger. It just didn't work out, in his mind. He didn't see how it was possible.
And yet, and yet, he was willing to try anything, anything, to control the beast. He hated the animal that lived inside him. He could feel the lust for blood and killing, just beneath the surface, all month long. Every day, all the time. It never went away, and some days he thought it might drive him mad. He wasn't entirely sure keeping his awareness when he cahnged would help that situation. He had legitimate concerns how that would affect him, over all, in the long run.
Well. There was only one wway to find out, and more than anything, Slates was curious, if it would really work. Besides, he figured if he couldn't stand it, he just wouldn't take the elixir a second time. That was certainly his right, he thought, even if it meant the tiger would have free reign again. Well, free reign within the santuary he locked himself in for those three cursed nights every month.
Either way, he'd manage, he always did. Back tot he matter at hand, there was only one way to find out just what was on the table. He made his way to meet Beth. |
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[Feb. 9th, 2009|08:37 pm] |
Who: Constable Benton Fraser and Inspector Meg Thatcher
When: The morning after this post
What: Fraser has returned from Toronto ... more or less
Where: Safehouse in London
Warnings: None
Before her eyes open, Inspector Meg Thatcher realises that she is alone in the bed. Well, she thinks, at least the wolf isn't here. Nothing like waking up in the morning to discover an Arctic wolf on the pillow next to you.
She's pleased to note that she's awake before the alarm has gone off, a sign that she is adapting to the unfamiliar bed and the noises of Bloomsbury. Sliding out of bed, she automatically makes it up in Academy-approved fashion and searches for her pyjama pants and robe.
Drat. She'd forgotten about yesterday's clothes. Those will need to go into the hamper ... at some point she should find a laundry service. And a dry cleaner.
You ran into a burning building to save a mohair sweater?
Yes, sir.
Pardon me if that sounds like pure stupidity.
Yes, sir.
You don't agree.
No, sir. Stupidity would have been if I ran back in for your leather chaps.
She definitely should not discuss dry cleaning with Fraser. Ben.
Where is he, anyway? Time for her to leave the bedroom and see where he's gotten to. |
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