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

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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