A fool remains a fool forever.

repost, don’t reblog!

Warmth ||||||||||||||||||||| 66%     cold, selfish  /  supportive, comforting Intellect |||||||||||||||||||||||||||| 86%     instinctive, unstable  /  cerebral, analytical Emotional Stability ||||||||||||||| 42%     irritable, moody  /  level headed, calm Aggressiveness ||||||||||||||| 50%     modest, docile  /  controlling, tough Liveliness |||||||||||| 38%     somber, restrained  /  wild, fun loving

Dutifulness ||||||||||||||| 50%     untraditional, rebellious  /  conforming, traditional Social Assertiveness |||||||||||||||||| 54%     shy, withdrawn  /  uninhibited, bold Sensitivity ||||||||||||||||||||| 62%     coarse, tough  /  touchy, soft Paranoia |||||||||||||||||||||||| 78%     trusting, easy going  /  wary, suspicious Abstractness ||||||||||||||||||||| 62%     practical, regular  /  strange, imaginative Introversion |||||||||||| 38%     open, friendly  /  private, quiet Anxiety |||||||||||||||||||||||||||| 82%     confident, self assured  /  fearful, self-doubting Openmindedness ||||||||||||||||||||| 66%     closeminded, set-in-ways  /  curious, exploratory Independence ||||||||||||||||||||| 70%     outgoing, social  /  loner, craves solitude Perfectionism |||||||||||||||||||||||| 78%     disorganized, messy  /  orderly, thorough Tension ||||||||||||||||||||| 62%     relaxed, cool  /  stressed, unsatisfied

The sound of his bones cracking was loud in the forest clearing, disguising any bird call and the natural creaking of tree branches. Even that sound was better than the previous distressed call of a deer being torn apart, mixed in with deep growls and the harsh snapping of sharpened teeth. It didn’t stop there. No animal was safe, evidenced by the trail of bodies leading up to a great, hulking figure; the massacre left behind made sense when witnessing the power of this beast. Lack of creature activity made for a quiet area, setting an incredibly eerie atmosphere – and not least for the blood-smeared tree trunks. Thankfully, though not less comforting, the blood was only that of animals; humans weren’t on this beast’s menu. Later, the after-math remained, but the monster did not. It was too busy reverting back to what - or who - it used to be.

With every shift of his bones aligning back into place, pain rattled throughout his body. It was never easy, nor quick. Instead, he suffered through feeling every connection and click, every bend and twist, and every change that brought him back to being human. The process felt like a life-time, but it only took a few minutes. Over the years, he became used to changing, but it still didn’t make it any less harrowing. By the time he was done, he felt drained – too exhausted to move for a few moments whilst he adjusted. Where fangs once were, his dry tongue now ran over flat teeth. Fingers dug into mud instead of claws, and there was no longer fur covering the whole of his body. He recognised the tell-tale signs of transforming back, but he could never remember becoming the Wolf – nor could he quite recall the events in between.

It was only the sight of a half-mutilated deer lying next to him that gave him a pretty good clue about what happened.

“Cach – cach!“ Reynardine swore, angry for letting himself get to a point where he was no longer in control. He usually had a better hold over the Wolf, especially in terms of hunger. But it looked like his tiredness had gotten the better of him, and a moment of weakness had allowed the Wolf to break free. A couple sniffs of the air reassured him that none of the nearby blood was human, so he felt significantly calmer. The Wolf had listened this time. Reynardine had, over the years, trained the Wolf to feed on animals whenever it was hungry. Sometimes that deal fell apart, but tonight, it had actually listened. A relieved huff came from the werewolf, but it was cut short when he picked up the sounds of nervous shuffling.

Faded yellow eyes settled on the source – an older gentleman, clutching a notebook like his life depended on it. The latter was very much true, as the Wolf remained a hum at the back of Reynardine’s mind; this gentleman’s actions decided whether or not it was going to return and resume its’ hunt. Reynardine wasn’t going to let that happen, however, and he pushed the Wolf back further until his eyes reverted back to their moss colour; a sign that danger was minimal. He could smell how fearful the stranger was, and his posture further proved that. An easy prey, if the Wolf had its way, but Reynardine fought against its attempts to take control once more. 

“Heliwr? Are you a heliwr?” No - he couldn’t be a hunter. There was nothing on him that suggested as such. No gun, nor equipment, and he certainly didn’t appear to be one. Scratching at his forearm, the werewolf shifted uncomfortably as his bones continued aching. He felt like he’d just completed a marathon, which was most likely the case. Oftentimes he ended up in places miles away from where he first started, meaning an even bigger challenging of returning; it proved difficult when he had no idea where he was. This time, however, he recognised this forest clearing. He hadn’t moved far, so that was always positive.

“….Uh – what?” Reynardine responded, perplexed by the gentleman’s motive for seeking him out. Usually, those who hunted him down were doing so to kill him, not interview him. The odd situation had the werewolf releasing a laugh, which must have looked somewhat maniacal with deer blood down his clothes. “You searched for me to…ask questions?” He wanted to confirm the request, because his hearing was still somewhat dull, and he wondered whether he misheard. But he was right; the gentleman did want to discuss his condition. “I mean…that’s new.”

Reynardine shifted from one foot to the other, crossing his arms across his chest as he looked around the clearing. “It’s not much, but uh…take a seat somewhere? There’s a tree stump over there.” He opted for sitting down at the foot of a tree, keeping his eyes on the gentleman for any signs of trickery. “I don’t mind answering questions, but please don’t take any pictures of me. I…don’t want to be recognised, y’know?” Not that his parents, or anyone from Barrow Hill, would read up on werewolves – but the chance was always there. His picture might spread, intentionally or unintentionally, and he couldn’t risk it.

“Sorry? I’m not sure I understand.” Confusion on both their part and on that of the werewolf was not an ideal way to begin this interaction. There was enough room for dangerous misunderstandings without either of them using unfamiliar terms (or was it an unfamiliar language?). The werewolf’s next response wasn’t exactly encouraging, either; it seemed neither of them had any idea of what the other was trying to say.

“Yes! Yes, that’s right.” In a way. Lawrence wanted a bit more from this man than verbal responses, but that would be a fine way to begin. Hopefully, after they had gotten past this initial misunderstanding, the werewolf would agree to submit to some (mostly) harmless tests. The ultimate goal of this entire interaction was to find a possible alternative to the First Artifact, after all, and synthesizing youth or regenerative properties from the werewolf’s blood would be a much better solution to the failing Artifact than telling the Followers to go get bitten.

“I guess most people want to hurt you when they find you, isn’t that right? It’s a-- a natural response to fearing for your life. Not that I think people should hurt you, of course! It’s just--” with the blood, and the carcasses...

They cut themself off before they could say anything as stupid as “I understand why people look at you and want you dead.”

It was a horrible thing to think. Poole themself probably harmed more people than this man did, even if it was for the best of causes. All of those criminals, tortured and preserved for the sake of Lottie and the others... they didn’t like to think about it. They didn’t like to think about their part in it. It was a conflicting situation, but now was not the time for self-doubt.

Relaxing their grip on their notebook ever so slightly, Lawrence did as directed and sat uneasily at the very edge of the stump. They hadn’t expected the werewolf to behave as though this were some sort of house-visit, but it was nice to know that the man had manners, at the very least-- even if he was covered in slowly-drying blood. Poole wasn’t an expert on lycanthropy by any means, but the man’s behavior seemed to correspond with much of what they had heard; despite committing horrifying acts while transformed, a werewolf could be perfectly civil and even mild-mannered in their human form. Possible side-effects of using a werewolf-based cure for death could include similar swings in personality or temperament, but that was something to be considered at a much later time. Lawrence’s only goal for now was to determine whether such a solution was even viable.

“Recognized?” Who would recognize him? The other Followers had no interest in werewolves, and Lawrence would never dream of showing their research to anyone in the Unenlightened community. But of course, there was no way for this man to know that. Would it be right to explain to him so soon just what Lawrence planned to do with their research? Would Follower Society even make sense to someone who had never heard of the Creator or of the Artifacts?

They should have thought all of this through beforehand.

“I--” Lawrence paused for a noticeably long moment. Ultimately, they decided not to mention the Artifacts, at least not yet; it would take a long time to explain, and they were here to ask the werewolf questions, not the other way around.

“No, I won’t take any pictures. I don’t intend to get you into trouble. I’m sure you-- you have a whole life to get back to after... turning. I don’t want to jeopardize that.” For the first time since encountering the grisly scene of the werewolf’s meal, Lawrence’s voice was firm and there was true conviction in their tone. “I’m only here to help people. I’m not going to endanger you in the process.”

Unlike the criminals floating in vats at the Vitality Initiative labs, this werewolf hadn’t done anything wrong. It was one thing to hurt people who legally deserved it; it was quite another to get some poor young man wrapped up in dangerous conspiracies and a society of individuals willing to do anything to prolong their own lives. Lawrence would not be responsible for hurting anyone else.

Tagged by: STOLEN!

...secrets like this one. There were enough well-known stories about animal transformations that werewolves couldn’t exactly be considered a new discovery, but as far as Poole knew, the creatures’ existence wasn’t widely acknowledged. Lawrence had mentioned their interest in such “magical” beings to a few of their colleagues, but they hadn’t gotten much support. It was difficult to find research assistants when you already had a reputation for chasing wild theories, but they had expected at least something from their current employer; the Vitality Initiative was built on ideas that the larger follower community deemed impossible, and if anyone should have been willing to back Lawrence’s studies, it was a VI doctor.

They had been forced to do it alone, but they had done it. The creature in front of them-- the man-- was precisely what they had been looking for. Not only did they have definitive proof that they weren’t crazy or misguided as so many people seemed to think, but they had also taken the very first step toward fixing the siphons. Months of work with the vats and the First Artifact itself had produced pitiful results, and it was time to look into how the unenlightened extended their lives. After all, if the First Artifact failed completely, none of the Academy’s previous research would be of use. Let the founders all bury their heads in the sand; Lawrence was going to take action to keep the society from falling to pieces.

Chewing roughly at their lower lip, Poole approached the figure with a slow, unsilent shuffle. Best to make it immediately clear that they were not here to hunt the man or catch him by surprise. Their white-knuckled grip on their notebook didn’t loosen as they cleared their throat and called out-- although they were convinced that they could learn much from this werewolf, they had witnessed the tail-end of the being’s hunt and had no doubt that the man could leave them a bloodied corpse if he so chose.

“Sir, I-- sorry t-to--” Lawrence had always been better at communicating through their papers and written reports, and the element of danger in this situation was both foreign and distracting. Despite constantly working with dead and dying bodies, they had never before been quite so aware of their own mortality. VI would undoubtedly investigate their disappearance, but despite pouring so much of their time and energy into the company, Poole doubted they were a valuable enough employee to be resurrected.

“May I sort of-- speak with you for a moment? I’m not here to try to hurt you or turn you in or anything, I’m just... a researcher.” A tired, aging researcher whose clothing and face were wrinkled and pale. They must have made quite an odd and pathetic sight, all alone with only a journal and bag clutched to their chest to protect them from the beast before them. Perhaps this was not such a good idea after all.

“My name is Lawrence Poole. It’s been very difficult to locate you, but I’m just fascinated by your... condition. I work with people in similar situations-- in the sense that they’re not like normal humans-- and I think we’d-- we have a lot to discuss.”