Shifting Lessons

[hazlogs]

It is currently 21:14 Pacific Time on Tue Jul 31 2001.
Moon Phase: Waxing Gibbous

Forgotten Church Basement
        This basement is only partly below ground level, and there are windows 
  evenly spaced on the walls, right below the ceiling level. The main part of 
  it is a large open area with a small kitchen in one corner and a large, 
  ratty carpet in the center, covering the cement floor. There is a rather 
  large window in the kitchen; it looks as though it might actually open onto 
  the street. On the wall opposite the kitchen is a large bin, and there are 
  folding tables along the wall perpendicular to it. On the other wall there 
  are a few folding chairs, many fewer than one would expect from the number 
  of tables.
        A hallway next to the kitchen leads off to two offices and what once 
  might have been a classroom.

Junior comes downstairs carrying a sack from McDonald's.

Malachi, unsurprisingly, is pacing around the perimeter of the basement, as 
  he's been doing for the past few days. This time, though, he doesn't even 
  look up at the sound of the door unlocking and opening.

Junior glances around the room til he sees Malachi. "Got some food for ya."

Malachi stops short at the sound of the Gnawer's voice, glancing up. His face 
  is drawn tight, and there are definite dark shadows under his eyes. He 
  grimaces, more out of habit than anything else, then turns away with a 
  muttered, "Fuck food."

Junior frowns, and starts towards Malachi. "YOu don't look good."

"Well, shit." The kid grits his teeth, his tone is slathered with sarcasm. 
  "Y'lock me up inna fuckin' /basement/ for fuckin' /days/, yeah, everything's 
  fuckin' /cool/, everything's /great/." He smacks his fist into the wall and 
  starts pacing again, quick and tense, wound tight.

Junior arches an eyebrow. "Ready to start combat practice, then?"

"Will ya let me out if I do?" Malachi doesn't stop pacing or look up when he 
  asks; it's clear he's expecting the answer to be a firm 'no'.

Junior frowns, considering. "Out by yourself? Probably not yet." He hmms. "On 
  the other hand - if you'll let me teach you how to shift - so that you can 
  control your shifting - and a little combat stuff, you can probably go out 
  with me or one of the others. I'll have t' run it past Elan, t' make sure, 
  but it'd let you get out of here some."

Malachi pounds at the wall as he stalks alongside it. "And how long's /that/ 
  gonna take? Another /week/?" He scowls, then adds, "Bet my dad's already 
  called the cops."

Junior frowns, regarding Malachi. "You willing to WORK at it? If you are, I 
  can see about getting you out of here in less than a week. But no faggot 
  cracks or the like - you got t' do what I say, and try. Do that, and I'll do 
  my best t' get you some fresh air."

You can almost hear Malachi's teeth grind together. "/No./ You don't fuckin' 
  /get/ it. I /have/ to get out /tonight/. This place /stinks/. It stinks and 
  it's /small/."

Junior frowns, regarding Malachi. "You a claustrophobe, Mal?"

Malachi slams his fist into the wall again. Any harder and he'd bloody his 
  knuckles. "I'm not /scared/, I just /hate/ it. Y'assholes keep talkin' about 
  this fuckin' /rage/ thing like I'm s'posed t'/control/ it, but I /can't/." 
  Each emphasized word is accompanied by another smack of fist against wall. 
  "It smells like /shit/, the food tastes like /shit/. Everything is fuckin' 
  /shit/."

Junior regards Malachi, with what appears to be a trace of sympathy. "All 
  right. One second." He sets the food down and goes off to one of the rooms, 
  coming back with a blanket. "Strip down, and wrap this around you - so you 
  don't lose the clothes when you change. If you can manage to get down to 
  wolf form and learn t' walk well enough in it, I'll take you out for a 
  while. You'll have to come back, but I'll see what I can do t' get you out 
  of here regular so you don't go stir crazy from cabin fever. OK?"

Malachi stops pacing long enough to eyeball Junior dubiously, with distrust at 
  war with desperation. "Fine," he says at last, tersely. Desperation wins 
  out; he reaches for the blanket. "Turn around."

Junior nods to Malachi, and turns his back to give the kid some privacy. 
  "Being in wolf form's a lot different than human - smells are amazing. It's 
  a little hard t' coordinate four legs at first, but you'll pick it up. An' 
  it means you won't be recognized if your dad did call the cops, which makes 
  it easier t' take you outside. But you'll have t' listen t' me while out 
  there, OK? There's a lot of stuff you don't know yet that could get you in 
  trouble, otherwise."

Malachi mutters, "Fine, sure, whatever," as he skins out of the shorts and 
  t-shirt and wraps the blanket around himself. Almost sulkily, he asks, "How 
  come /you/ don't have to take off anything when /you/ shift?"

Junior waits til he hears what sounds like the blanket being used, waits a 
  moment more, then turns. "There's a special way t' fix your clothes so they 
  shift with you. We need t' do it on your moon, though, if I can get one of 
  the guys who knows how to do it t' fix 'em for ya. Which means waiting for 
  the full moon." He regards the kid. "First time I shifted, I shredded my 
  clothes, too. Pissed me off, since I liked the shirt." He nods. "Ready?"

Malachi starts to nod, stops, then takes his glasses off and drops them on the 
  small pile of clothes. /Then/ he nods, unsmilingly. "Yeah."

Junior nods. "All right. You know what wolves and dogs look like. And you've 
  managed t' shift once already, though you don't remember it. Try t' imagine 
  yourself changing - flowing down into wolf form. Think about how it'll feel 
  - being on four legs, smells so much more powerful, low to the ground. And 
  use some of that anger you're feeling - concentrate it on trying t' change 
  shape. It'll help."

Easier said than done. Malachi closes his eyes, face screwed up in a grimace 
  of concentration, fists clenched as he clutches the blanket around himself. 
  Moments pass, and nothing changes except the level of Mal's frustration, 
  which visibly increases.

Junior hmms. "Don't try t' force it so much. WANT it t' happen, but try t' 
  relax more. It ain't easy, I know..." He frowns. "Here - watch me. Then try 
  t' imagine your body doing the same. Flowing." With that, he shifts down to 
  lupus.
One look at this canine, and you can tell it's certainly no purebred. A 
  mixture of any number of breeds, there even seems to be a bit of wolf in 
  him. His fur is a reddish-brown, covering a body that's large, but on the 
  lean side, and the dog's eyes are dark grey.

Malachi opens his eyes in time to watch Junior transform, mouth twisting 
  irritably at the ease with which the Bone Gnawer shapeshifts. Then, 
  scowling, he closes his eyes again. A few more tense moments pass by. 
  Finally, with a snarl, the cub turns and /slams/ his fist into the wall. The 
  blow leaves behind specks of blood, but Malachi doesn't hesitate before 
  smashing his fist into the wall again, and then /again/ -- almost faster 
  than the eye can follow, but not quite. At the fourth *smack* there's an 
  audible 'crunch' of smashed knuckles, and the cub explodes into Crinos.
          The beast stands not quite seven feet tall, a monsterous hybrid of 
  wolf and man not often seen outside of nightmares and movie screens. His 
  pelt is pale gray, a scattering of black and brown hairs interspersed 
  throughout. The fur is somewhat darker along his back and lighter -- almost 
  white -- down the front, but is otherwise fairly uniform in tone and shade. 
  Mismatched eyes -- the left brown, the right pale blue -- glower out from a 
  wolflike head.
          He's long-limbed and muscular, built for violence. His upper body is 
  more manlike in form, with apelike arms and fingers tipped with long claws; 
  the lower is more wolfish in shape, with canine legs, bushy tail, and 
  massive hind paws -- the last also armed with claws. Rarely at rest, the 
  werewolf's motions bristle with rage and ill-controlled violence. 

Junior shifts upwards to Crinos to match the cub in case the kid frenzies. He 
  waits a moment, seeing if Malachi will contain himself, or if he'll need 
  stopped.
Junior contorts and blurs as he is transformed.
Junior shifts into Crinos form.

Malachi stumbles, claws dragging down along the wall as he drops to all fours, 
  fangs bared and hackles bristling. He swings toward Junior with a growl, 
  trembling with ill-controlled rage, on the verge of frenzy but not yet over 
  the edge.

Junior waits a moment, then shifts down to homid for a moment, when it's clear 
  Malachi's not frenzying - yet. In homid form, he nods. "That's Crinos - our 
  war form. Take a sniff - odors are a lot stronger in that form, too. An' ya 
  felt yourself shift that time? Just nod, if so...you'll have trouble talking 
  like that."

The Mal-beast snorts and huffs like the Big Bad Wolf himself, then wrinkles 
  his muzzle and nods, once. He shifts his weight from side to side with 
  restless energy, claws digging into the floor.

Junior nods. "That'll make it easier. You know what it feels like now. Try 
  pulling that same feeling back, only concentrating on a wolf or dog. Four 
  legs and all that."

Malachi huffs and growls incoherently again and, after several moments of 
  digging at the floor with his front claws and snapping at the air, he 
  manages to shrink down to lupus form.
You have shifted to Lupus form.
          The young wolf, barely an adult, is small for his age and lean, 
  almost starved-looking. His pelt is pale gray, a scattering of black and 
  brown hairs interspersed throughout. The fur is somewhat darker along his 
  back and lighter -- almost white -- underneath, but is otherwise fairly 
  uniform in tone and shade.
          The wolf's eyes are unusually mismatched; the left is dark brown, 
  and the right is a pale blue. Both seem more intelligent than is normal for 
  a mere animal. Nevertheless, this is definitely a wolf, not a dog, and the 
  aura of ill-controlled violence about him makes it clear that the animal is 
  far from tamed. 

Junior smiles, and nods to Malachi. "You did it. Good job, Malachi." He hmms, 
  looking the wolf over. "Definitely more wolf-like than not." He thinks a 
  moment. "OK. Here's what we do. Let's run you through shifting back and 
  forth for a while until you can do it easier. By that time, it'll be after 
  midnight, hopefully. We can go out then, hit the back streets and such. 
  That'll be easier, since ya look more like a wolf than a dog, and that'll 
  prevent trouble."
Junior smiles. "Ya want t' talk, shift back to homid. That should be easy for 
  ya - you're used to it. But walk around a few minutes in that form first - 
  get used to it, too."

Malachi's ears twist backwards irritably, but he does as told, making a few 
  awkward steps back and forth. After a few stumbles, he breaks out into a 
  run, toenails clicking on the floor as dashes to the far end of the basement.

Junior grins. "Not bad! Way different on four legs, isn't it."

Malachi skids to a clumsy halt, not quite crashing into the far wall. 
  Recovering his balance, he turns around carefully, walks a few steps back, 
  then stops. He looks at Junior, then at the door, then back at Junior. His 
  weight shifts back and forth on his front paws, agitated and impatient all 
  of a sudden. Out! Out now. Out now? Now!

Junior regards Malachi. "If you'll stay with me, we'll go out now. Nod if you 
  will. You've got a lot t' learn yet, but I can see you're going crazy being 
  confined in here. And we come back when I say so. I'll take ya back out 
  tomorrow too. OK?"

Malachi clearly doesn't consider this the /perfect/ arrangement, but he's 
  certainly ready to grasp at straws. His head bobs up and down once.

(Junior takes Malachi for a quick walk.  Mal stays true to his word and
doesn't bolt.  And somehow he avoids frenzy, though it's close.  Even
outside, he's agitated by the city, snapping and growling at sudden
loud noises especially.  Eventually Junior brings him back and tells him
to be sure to practive the wolf form at least a bit.)