damned_institute | Night 45: West Wing, South Hall 1-B

For a long moment she didn't move, holding so still she hardly even seemed to breathe. Even if he'd been looking her direction in the dim light her expression was difficult to see, as she warred between confusion and concern and more than a hint of frustration. She finally drew in a deep breath and held it for a moment, then took a step forward, moving to plant her free hand against the wall beside him.

"Keman. I'm not dead. I'm standing right here." She sighed and shook her head. "Look, Keman. I'm here. I don't know why I'm here, or where here is, since a couple hours ago I was in the Citadel and -- Keman, it's me."

"No!" Calvin practically shouted, panicking. This was all a bad dream. He just wanted to wake up. Why couldn't he wake up? "I'm Calvin! I'm not Keman. Keman doesn't exist...I made him up..."

But she still wouldn't go away. In fact, she moved even closer. He reacted instinctively, knocking her hand away with his arm. She was solid, real, and he still hadn't woken up. Oh God, she was warm. "You're...God, this isn't real. You're not real." Despite the 'strong, cocky teenager' front he'd spent the whole day trying to put up, a sob rose in his throat.

"Don't do this to me. I saw you die."

She drew back slightly when he struck at her, but rather than moving away as he likely intended, she held her ground and only looked even more concerned. "Keman...what's happened to you? Who did this?"

It was clear that he was very upset, no matter what was going on, and Shana couldn't just walk away from him in a situation like this. "Look at me, Keman. You know me," she said, voice low and quiet, the sort of tone she would use when trying to calm a skittish animal, as she slowly reached a hand toward him again. "You've known me since I was a baby. I am real, and that's not going to change."

Calvin flinched when she reached her hand out to him again, but he didn't move. Part of him so desperately wanted to believe that this was real, that his sister had actually returned to him, that he couldn't move even if he wanted to. He was rooted to the spot, staring at her.

"N-nothing happened," he insisted a beat too late. "I'm actually feeling better. They made me all better, and..."

He held out a shaky hand and brushed a stray curl away from her face. She looked exactly like she had that night, before the accident. So full of life.

"I--I'm so sorry," he managed to choke out, and then he was crying, tears spilling onto his cheeks and breath coming out in hoarse sobs. "I'm so sorry. It's all my fault. You died and it's all my fault. If I hadn't been driving, you'd still be alive."

There was a flicker of anger in her eyes as he spoke, though directed not toward him but toward those who made him "better" to the point that he didn't even want to recognize his own foster sister. She hid it behind a small smile when he reached out toward her, trying to encourage him, but even that faded as he began to cry.

"Keman...." Apparently deciding that it just wasn't worth it to keep arguing and pointing out that she wasn't really dead, Shana instead just reached out toward him, trying to pull him closer. "It's all right. I'm here, it's all right."

And that was all it took. Suddenly, the line between Calvin and Keman blurred, and the boy reached out and grabbed on to his sister. It didn't matter that it was the wrong sister, that "Shana" wasn't real and that Shauna's ashes had been scattered to the winds a year back. Right now, all that mattered was that she was here, and all the guilt and anger he'd been carrying for months was coming out as he held onto her and sobbed. He was a full head taller than she was and must have looked ridiculous like this, but he didn't care.

This was cathartic as hell.

A tiny voice in the back of his mind that he barely even noticed was screaming that this was a trap, that it wasn't safe to just be standing out in the hallways like this--that he was making too much noise and something bad was going to happen--but he paid no heed to it.

She slid her arms around him in turn, murmuring soothingly to him in words that were too soft to be understood, but it wasn't the words that mattered but rather the tone in which she spoke them. Whatever it was that he believed about her being dead clearly wasn't true, as her mere presence proved, and she held him tightly as he wept.

But after a few moments her hold subtly turned from "comforting" to "uncomfortably tight," ensuring that he wouldn't be bolting any time soon no matter what happened. And then her head slowly turned, mouth opening wide, wider than should ever be possible and baring rows of razor-edged teeth for just an instant before they closed on the flesh of Keman's upper arm.

[From here (http://community.livejournal.com/damned/756289.html?thread=62561857#t62561857).]

Howl had heard a familiar voice, but the words and accent made it difficult to identify immediately. Soon, the pieces fit together, and he came to the conclusion that the figure in the distance was Keman. Keman, if he were a modern American teenager. The dialect sounded bizarre on him, like an ill-fitting, anachronistic shirt.

It was even more awkward to realize that Keman was not simply talking to some unknown girl, but he was also crying. That, Howl swiftly determined, was the point at which he ought to continue walking, lest he be caught up in something very emotional and wet. He was proud to be a lousy shoulder to cry on, for it was this that discouraged others from using him as a human handkerchief. (He had tolerated it and put on a good show for a pretty lady or two, but it was Keman shedding the tears, not the girl.)

He had just began to bolt when his eyes caught her jaw moving in a way that it shouldn't have. It made Howl's stomach turn. Her teeth were too much, and he knew he shouldn't have been shocked when they sliced into Keman's arm. Howl was grateful that instinct took over, because his mind was still stumbling all over the monster. Many had claimed they were roaming about, but all he had seen were flying children and Spiderman. He tried to recall every bestiary he had read to try and identify the predator, but nothing quite fit.

A dictionary definition will not help either of us, he chided himself, and his nerves steeled. Or rather, went numb. At some point, probably after he had gotten a satisfactory look at those teeth, he had dropped his pillowcase and begun to sprint towards the pair.

"Keman!" he yelled, probably pointlessly. Howl only had a split second to consider what exactly he was going to do. He tried to reach into his well of magic, but found it too shallow and dull for what he wanted. He did the next best thing, and hefted his flashlight to strike the creature's forehead.

Calvin hadn't noticed the teeth--hadn't noticed much of anything except his sister's arms around him--until it was too late.

The pain was enough to snap him out of his grief instantly. He stopped crying with a strangled gasp and stared down at Shauna/Shana, face pale and eyes wide. At first, he couldn't quite believe what he was seeing. The logical part of his brain simply wouldn't accept what was happening, where pain and the spreading wetness of blood were coming from. Then he caught a glimpse of the teeth and all bets were off.

"Wh-what the..."

He wanted to move, wanted to jerk his arm away from the thing that wore his sister's face, but he was completely rooted to the spot by pain and fear.

He looked up when someone called his name, no longer even caring that it wasn't the right one, and managed, weakly, "She bit me."

Warned by the shout, the mimic barely managed to avoid the blow, though it was forced to rip its teeth free of the boy's arm in the process. Somehow it always seemed to work out this way: just as soon as it managed to get a taste of warm, living flesh, someone had to interfere. That one small bite was hardly enough to satisfy the mimic, but by now it had learned that if someone interrupted it probably wasn't a good idea to fight back.

With an angry hiss it released the boy, then drew back warily. With its abundance of sharp teeth displayed and the blood smearing its chin, it looked less and less convincingly like the one whose form it wore, as it slunk back toward the shadows in an effort to just disappear.

Against his better judgment, Howl's arm gently pushed Keman aside and he interjected himself between the monster and the bleeding teenager. It didn't show on his face, but there were no words to describe Howl's relief when he realized that the monster apparently had little interest in a fight.

"That's right, go on now, you hideous abomination," he yelled sternly. "He'll not be your meal tonight. And if I catch you following us, I'll show you no clemency! Gone with you!" He waved the flashlight threatening, red sleeves whipping with the motion.

Even if the thing disappeared permanently, Howl knew he'd be imagining that blood-stained face in ever shadow. His blood ran cold, and there was a tremor in his core that thankfully didn't reach his hands. It still wasn't enough to make him want to give chase.

[running in from here (http://community.livejournal.com/damned/753282.html?thread=62286978)]

Even as Indy got closer, the jostling flashlight beam didn't give him much of an idea of what was going on. There were three of them: Keman, a woman--no, a long-haired man, older; and a young girl. Keman was crying and bleeding from the arm, and the other guy--the one who was shouting--had just hit the girl. Indy couldn't see her face, just her back as she fled.

"What the hell happened?" he demanded once they were in earshot. "Kem--Calvin, whatever your name is, you all right?" He had some choice words for the guy who'd thought it was a good idea to whack that poor kid over the head, but they could wait until he'd figured out what was going on with Dragon Boy here.

Scott knew better than to question Indiana Jones when the man's danger sense went off. He followed at a close run until he could see the trouble spot. His flashlight beam crossed over a gaping, bleeding bite wound in the curly-haired guy's arm, and Scott flinched a bit. He never had been the best with gore. Hopefully Indy hadn't seen.

Turning his focus to something else, he saw the girl with the shark fangs beating a hasty retreat. The pretty boy had given the thing a pretty good banishment, he had to admit. "Yeah, what he said!" Scott added in, shaking an angry fist at the girl and watching to see if she would turn back around.

Edited 2009-12-04 07:01 (UTC)

In many ways, having the...thing (Calvin could no longer think of it as his sister, not after seeing those teeth) pull away from his arm was even more painful than being bitten in the first place. Sharp teeth ripped already torn flesh, making the wounds deeper and more jagged. He couldn't help a low whimper, but a voice in the back of his mind--one that didn't even feel like his voice--said well, at least she chose the arm that was already broken! in a morbidly cheerful sort of way.

Keman could be really fucking obnoxious sometimes.

Calvin slumped against the wall, holding his now twice-wounded arm and hating the feel of blood slowly seeping into his cast. It was horrible. He barely registered the arrival of two more people on the scene; all he could see was the creature that wore Shauna's face. He'd stopped crying the moment it bit him, but there were still tears on his cheeks that hadn't quite dried yet.

"'m okay," he mumbled when asked. "She bit me. Suddenly grew teeth and bit me."

Even more people were showing up to the rescue, and the mimic had absolutely no intention of sticking around. There would always be easier prey elsewhere in the building, those wandering around without protective friends. It licked its lips, savoring every last drop of blood, as it grinned at Howl and faded completely away into the darkness, leaving the small group alone.

Night 45: West Wing, South Hall 1-B

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