Jake Berenson (mynameisjake) wrote in wariscoming, @ 2011-05-24 23:30:00 |
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Entry tags: | jaina solo, jake berenson |
Who: Jake Berenson and Jaina Solo
What: Jake wakes up in morph and freaks out. Jaina sort of gets the shitty end of this "wake up tethered to someone" deal
Where: Jaina's apartment
When: Backdated to the morning of the 23rd
Notes: Thought-speech aka telepathic communication Jaina would be able to hear is denoted by [brackets like these] since the actual symbols make IJ think I'm trying to use html and flip its shit
It was probably one of the more bizarre things Jake had ever admitted to (and this came from the someone who had spent most of high school fighting a secret alien war by turning into animals), but he had been happier since he’d almost run off to join the hive mind during the killik attack. It wasn’t that he had a secret yearning to join a horde of mass-murdering alien insects, his life had actually been rather structured around opposing mass murder by aliens, but it had reminded him of the ways in which Lawrence was different from home, the ways in which this war was different than his. After the bug thing he’d laid low for a while, watched bad TV, played basketball, and done laps in the complex pool. When he’d gone out it had been for community rebuilding efforts. If this had happened during the Animorphs days he would have been back fighting the next day and wouldn’t have been able to even really show it had gotten to him. Here, though, he had a purpose, ways he could be useful, but it was never going to come down to him to make the calls because it didn’t need to, there were plenty of other people equally or much, much better qualified. As second chances went it wasn’t a bad one. So Jake had started morphing for fun again. Why not? he’d thought, have to stay sharp anyway, stay used to the minds of my morphs. He’d set out that night as a great horned owl, intending to ride some thermals and check out the city a little more, nothing too crazy really.
Which was why he was surprised to open his eyes and find himself staring down at the face of a sleeping woman. …when did I even get drunk? He thought in complete bewilderment, followed shortly by, well, as far as random women to wake up next to go she’s pretty-- and then, suddenly, his brain caught up with one very important fact: he was not actually next to this woman. He was looking down at her. Down from the headboard of her bed where he was perched in his owl morph.
[Nonononono] he broadcast the thought automatically in his panic, probably screaming it into the woman’s mind, but he didn’t have time to worry about that. He had no idea how long he’d been out, and if it had been more than three hours he’d be trapped like this, Tobias all over again, except this time there was no Ellimist arriving with a magical second chance…demorph, demorph, demorph he willed himself, concentrating as hard as he could on being human, on opposable thumbs, on not being a goddamn great horned owl for the rest of his life.
He fell forward and hit the bed face first as his legs suddenly shot out from under him and began growing, his feet becoming twisted half-talon-half-foot monstrosities still made up of the hard, scaled material of a bird’s talons. His beak began to melt back into his face, stretching it out as, before his lips softened into themselves again, he had a slit of calcified beak stretching across a mostly human face in a grotesque parody of a grin. His skin heaved like a shudder as feathers melted into flesh. He would think, later, that he probably should have sent some reassuring thought-speech to the woman he had woken up with, but in the moment he was so concentrated on demorphing, on finishing the process and not ending up some half-formed freak, that he’d completely forgotten she was even there.