First Sunset [open]
Mar 14, 2015 17:59:35 GMT -6
Post by Deleted on Mar 14, 2015 17:59:35 GMT -6
((Note: This takes place the evening following Cyrus' first transformation, so it is before any other threads unless someone wants to go back and play the response to the museum robbery. Also, yes, he made the news; the museum robbery and werewolf rumours should still be fresh.))
It had been a trying day. Trapped by the knowledge that he was now a wanted criminal, Cyrus had been edgy and restless, yearning to recover the freedom he had felt the night before. He had reverted to human in his sleep; then shifted back into a werefox, then back to human when Tom -- the friend he was staying with -- pointed out how much he was eating. Finally, as afternoon drew to evening, he left the apartment.
Now, it was sunset. He stood atop a department store, twenty stories up, looking out over the roofs of the city toward the bay, where the medley of crimson and gold was doubled in the calm water. Behind him, his shadow stretched over the empty tables and chairs of a rooftop dining area. He stared into the fiery glow, inhaling deeply, drawing the evening in. Letting it merge with the fire he felt inside him…
"Ahhh…" The fire erupted within him, spreading through his veins, to his limbs, into his head. His sigh of pleasure was soon mingled with pain as mystic flames rose from his skin, running over him, searing through his clothing, leaving fur in their wake. He held his arms out, his back arching, fingers flexing as his nails reworked into claws. His muscles bunched, rippled, and filled out, bursting through already damaged fabric. The sounds of popping bone and tearing muscle were overlaid with his growling and panting; yelping at the sudden stab of pain as his tail tore free of his slacks, the release of pressure as his shoes burst from around his paws.
As the transformation neared its climax so did his cries of pain. Finally he screamed, the sound warped by his developing muzzle. As his body trembled in its last throes, the sound changed, rising into an exultant banshee shriek. It was done.
For a moment he stood still, breathing deeply, letting the pain fade. He ran his tongue over his teeth, carnassials and fangs; then he licked his nose. The feeling of energy was returning in a surge, and with it, hunger. Drinking in the aromas of the dusk, he began to salivate at the traces of meals eaten earlier. He spun, bounding for the door to the stairs, tearing off the remnants of his shirt as he did so. There was a food court on the floor below. That would be his first destination for the evening.
It had been a trying day. Trapped by the knowledge that he was now a wanted criminal, Cyrus had been edgy and restless, yearning to recover the freedom he had felt the night before. He had reverted to human in his sleep; then shifted back into a werefox, then back to human when Tom -- the friend he was staying with -- pointed out how much he was eating. Finally, as afternoon drew to evening, he left the apartment.
Now, it was sunset. He stood atop a department store, twenty stories up, looking out over the roofs of the city toward the bay, where the medley of crimson and gold was doubled in the calm water. Behind him, his shadow stretched over the empty tables and chairs of a rooftop dining area. He stared into the fiery glow, inhaling deeply, drawing the evening in. Letting it merge with the fire he felt inside him…
"Ahhh…" The fire erupted within him, spreading through his veins, to his limbs, into his head. His sigh of pleasure was soon mingled with pain as mystic flames rose from his skin, running over him, searing through his clothing, leaving fur in their wake. He held his arms out, his back arching, fingers flexing as his nails reworked into claws. His muscles bunched, rippled, and filled out, bursting through already damaged fabric. The sounds of popping bone and tearing muscle were overlaid with his growling and panting; yelping at the sudden stab of pain as his tail tore free of his slacks, the release of pressure as his shoes burst from around his paws.
As the transformation neared its climax so did his cries of pain. Finally he screamed, the sound warped by his developing muzzle. As his body trembled in its last throes, the sound changed, rising into an exultant banshee shriek. It was done.
For a moment he stood still, breathing deeply, letting the pain fade. He ran his tongue over his teeth, carnassials and fangs; then he licked his nose. The feeling of energy was returning in a surge, and with it, hunger. Drinking in the aromas of the dusk, he began to salivate at the traces of meals eaten earlier. He spun, bounding for the door to the stairs, tearing off the remnants of his shirt as he did so. There was a food court on the floor below. That would be his first destination for the evening.