A huge, dark, shaggy-furred wolf loped across a street, taking his sweet time in getting to the other side. The headlights and roar of an approaching car didn't faze him at all. In fact, the large animal stopped right in its path and stared it down. The vehicle screeched to a stop. He bared his teeth at it, his amber eyes glinting coldly in the lights, then continued on his way. He slunk into the gap between two rotting old buildings, and paused there a moment to smell the air. A familiar scent was tickling his nostrils and he was eager to find its source.

This wolf, on any other night, might be called Darcy. He was in that shaggy canine body, alright, but he was letting the body have its way far more than he ever had before. It probably hadn't been a good idea to throw on the wolf's form when his mind had been elsewhere. Since he'd broken up with Jetta, he couldn't concentrate. He couldn't finish a thought without drifting off in some odd mental direction. He found himself dialing her number at weird hours, planning on asking where he'd gone wrong, but he always lost his nerve halfway through and put down the phone.

In other words, Darcy was quite shattered. The wolf was in one piece, and it was stronger than him if he couldn't concentrate on keeping it back. It wasn't hard at all to keep the wolf under control. It was simple. But Darcy was just that preoccupied that he wasn't exerting much conscious control over the animal - if any.

Mortimer was hanging about at odd hours. He really should have been at home in bed, but his sister was still up. She kept running around and shouting about blondes and zombies. It had him disturbed. He figured that wherever he was, he'd be in relatively similar amounts of danger from psychopaths.
He hadn't been counting on large canines, though.
He caught sight of the wolf (he was lounging at a corner, smoking) and jumped to his feet, pressing himself against the wall...immediately nervous. It didn't take much to get him nervous, but he might actually have been justified in this particular fear.

Now might be a good time for a brief bit of history about the wolfskin that had allowed Darcy to transform into this. It had once been a large wolf that had acquired a taste for human's animals, and then humans. It had killed and eaten a mage, and then was killed itself. The fur was made into a cape. It would only transform a person who was a descendant of the mage.

But the main part of that little bit of history is, the wolf liked the taste of humans.

This human was familiar - Darcy would have recognized him, but he was away elsewhere. There was nothing at all puppylike, or innocent, or cute about the animal as it padded swiftly towards the teenager. The wolf's ears were pricked up, its eyes gleaming, and it had nothing but the concepts of 'prey', 'human', and 'attack' on its mind.

Oh. Shit.
It was coming towards him.
Now what are you supposed to do when a dog attacks?
Don't. Run.
Mort started to sidle sideways along the wall, intent on getting around a corner.

The wolf slowed its pace, its gaze never leaving the human's form. Mort was still moving, but in that cautious way that meant, to a wolf, that its prey was aware of it and was getting ready to flee. If the wolf had kept up its speed, it would have been within attacking distance now. Step by step, its head bobbing up and down the wolf padded towards the human, waiting for him to turn his back and run so it could take him down. If the prey didn't run - it would go for the throat.

Darcy, meanwhile, was just along for the ride. When the wolf took over, everything became so simple. Just shapes and concepts. It was difficult to pay attention,... and he wasn't paying attention, really, except for feeling those vivid pulses from the animal, the ones that passed for furious emotion. He was used to ignoring those.

He'd seen a show on this. Next it said to get something between yourself and the dog. Fence, handbag...
Mort swallowed shakily.
Arm.
Trembling wildly, he lifted his arms, one across his stomach and one over his throat.
He really didn't want to lose an arm to save his life, but he didn't carry a handbag.

It was the sudden movement that triggered it. The wolf would have attacked eventually anyway, but the movement spurred it into action. With a vicious snarl, the wolf darted forward and leapt on top of Mort, anchoring its teeth solidly in the boy's forearm. It began whipping its head from side to side as if it wanted to detach the arm, its teeth ripping deeply into the flesh. A guttural growl welled out from somewhere inside the creature.

Darcy was vaguely aware of the events taking place, but felt oddly detached. He thought he must be imagining it - that this must be one of the wolf's memories, and really, he was doing right now was playing with a rawhide bone or a frisbee or something that normal dogs chew on.

Mort screamed. Instinctively, he was trying to curl up, ducking his head to cover his throat and bringing his legs up to cover his abdomen. But it was hard to do while he was being jerked from side to side by a creature that outweighed him by...a lot. And he was in pain, and he thought he felt a pop (his shoulder dislocating) and now he was dizzy with pain and fear, his head buzzing with an adrenaline high unlike any he'd known before.
The high-pitched, extended wail issuing from his lips probably didn't help.

With much snarling and snapping the wolf finished with Mort's arm, and began trying to fight its way to his stomach. It bit into the soft spot just below the ribs in Mort's left side. The neck would be easier, if it was after a quick kill. But, being rather dead, the wolf didn't need to eat, and was much more interested in taking Mort apart while still alive, than finishing him off right away. It wasn't let free often - ever, really - and it was going to allow the hunt to last. In other words, it was displaying a kind of sadism not often seen in animals.

It was Mort's scream that began to jolt Darcy out of whever he was, mentally. Toys didn't scream. He hadn't ever experienced a memory like this. And that fierce bloodlust? That didn't belong to him either, and the only time he remembered feeling it was when he was in wolf form and he'd-
Oh, no.

Mort's shriek crescendoed, and he kicked out wildly at the wolf, his steel-toed boot thumping rather ineffectually into that thick ruff of fur around the wolf's chest (the same fur that Keye enjoyed so much).
The streetlamps are flickering, and then the power in the buildings, and then there's the sound of electricity dying completely. The street is now pitch dark.

If the wolf could really think, it would think that it was just as well the lights had gone out - there would be no one there to see or to interfere. Tiring of the irksome kicks that Mort was landing, the animal removed its jaws from his side and savagely sank its teeth into the teenager's ankle, biting down hard to get the message through that he should stop struggling.

No no no! Stop it! Stop it now! Darcy was yelling at the animal, but it wasn't listening, much less understanding the words he said. It fought him as he tried to regain control, showing off just how much power it had at the moment by adding another couple of sharp bites - a deep one to Mort's shoulder, one to the hand of the already-bitten arm, and the jaws were poised to sink deep into his neck when the animal suddenly froze.
In much the same way a computer freezes, all motion ground to a stop. The teeth were into Mort's neck deep enough to puncture the skin, but didn't move further. Then they were withdrawn, and Darcy skittered backwards from him, staring in horror at what he'd allowed to happen.

Mortimer took advantage of the sudden lack of wolf to push himself backwards with his uninjured foot. He kept going until his head smacked a wall and he realized that he wasn't being pursued. Breathing in short, heavy gasps, he opened his eyes.
Oh god.
He curled up again. There it was. Just sitting there...but for how long.
He didn't shut his eyes, though. They remained wide open and glazed. Mort was in pain and in shock.

Darcy could smell the blood now,- he hadn't been able to before, but the scent was there, thick and fresh. It was in his mouth, on his snout, down the shaggy fur of his chest, on his paws - everywhere.
It was disgusting.
He didn't waste time staring for much longer. For the moment unaware that he might scare Mort more by approaching him, he hurried over. Darcy snuffled worriedly at his face, licking his cheek, his hands, the ragged, bloody bite on his arm- as if he thought he could fix what he'd done if only he could get the blood off. Oh no,... no, I'm sorry, I'm sorry... He'd realized that it was Mort, but it had taken a moment - as a wolf, his eyesight wasn't wonderful, and he'd never learned his scent before.

He whimpered pathetically and beat at the wolf's face with his less-damaged hand. And then he sent a decent amount of voltage into the wolf's body, perhaps enough to stun.

As he was a rather large wolf, the electricity was only enough to stun him for a number of seconds. Darcy slumped to the ground after the shock and lay in a heap for a good half-minute before standing again and shaking himself. He didn't know what had happened, and hadn't connected it with Mort - he was too concerned to puzzle about anything right now.

He began anew the single-minded lickng of Mort's wounds, not really knowing where his reaction was coming from. It was all he could think of to do at the moment, whining apologetically as he went on. He hated the taste of blood,- but it just seemed like it was what he should be doing. Something better to do would occur to him soon, hopefully.

Taking off the wolf-skin might be a good idea.

Still terrified (and definitely not getting that the big wolf was no longer an awful, predatory thing), he shocked Darcy again, though not as strongly.

He didn't stay down for as long this time, and he'd made a vague connection between Mort and the shock but didn't follow through on it. Instead, he paced from side to side, giving soft whimpers as he tried to pull himself together.

He is bleeding. He's hurt. You have hurt him, Now what do you do about it?

The little lightbulb was almost visible above his head as it came to him. He crouched down, hunching his shoulders and willing the wolfskin to come loose. It didn't want to, but did eventually, accompanied by snarls from Darcy,... which turned into quiet gasping as the thing finally let go. He stuffed the heavy fur under one arm and knelt next to Mort. He didn't care that he'd just transformed in plain sight - it didn't matter right now.
"Mort? 'ey?... Mort, can you talk to me? Say somesing?" he pleaded urgently.

"Darcy?" he whimpered, his breath coming in little gasps. "D-did you chase it off?"
Looking around, Mort couldn't see the wolf anymore. It didn't matter that what had just happened hadn't made any sense, and he'd seen all of it...Darcy must have driven the wolf away. That was all.
"C-came out of nowhere. Thought I was going to d-die."

"It is gone," he affirmed. It was, after all - regaining control of the wolf's body had forced it away. Mort's oblivion to the fact that it had been Darcy's fault he was hurt, made the sick guilt even more acute. "It is gone now, it will not come back. You are safe."

He bit his lip. Just lying there, bleeding, wasn't very safe, but Darcy had to try to reassure him. He leaned over and draped the heavy wolf skin over Mort - it was still warm from being worn. Wasn't that what you were supposed to do with someone in shock, keep them warm? Darcy couldn't be sure, but at least it couldn't hurt.
"You,... we need to get you to a 'ospital," he said worriedly.

It was probably a good thing that Mort remained ignorant to the fact that it was a wolf skin draped over him. He snuggled down into it, whimpering and sniffling.
For all he cared, Darcy could do whatever he wanted; he was too busy being hurt and scared.

But if I take him to the hospital, there will be questions, he thought worriedly, hesitating. They will want to know why a wolf was running around -and they'll know it was a wolf, what with the damn bite marks. But if I don't take him, this might only get worse...
...
Shit.
He didn't want to risk someone's health, in exchange for his safety as a wolf. He couldn't do that, even if he really wanted to.
"Mort?" he rested a hand on his shoulder, to get his attention. "I 'ave to go find a phone, to get an ambulance. I will not be gone long. D'accord?"

"All right..." hazily, Mort wondered why Darcy looked so worried, frightened...even a little sick. Surely he wasn't hurt that badly.
"...It d-didn't bite you too, did it?"

"Me? No. No, it didn't," Darcy shook his head. He gave Mort's shoulder a reassuring squeeze, then stood up. "I will not be long. Wait right 'ere."

And he dashed off, to find a working phone. It took a while to spot a phone booth, what with it being completely dark now, but find one he did. For a moment, he hesitated to call, his fingers hovering over the numbers before he finally dialed in the right number. Do not be stupid, Darcy - he is hurt. He needs to see a doctor.

Upon completing the call, he hung up and hurried back to Mort, sinking down on the ground next to him. "'ow are you doing?" he asked, his tone level and calm. "They will be 'ere soon."

"I'm c-cold."
He was also crying a bit, but he didn't say as much.
"That was s-scary..."

Yes, it was very scary, he grimaced, keeping that thought to himself. "You are cold?...'ere, I will 'elp."
Darcy edged closer to Mort, and put his arms around both the boy and the heavy fur mat covering him. Then he pulled Mort into his lap, cradling his upper body in his arms. "There - does that 'elp? I am not 'urting you?"

"It doesn't hurt..."
It probably should, though, considering how torn up the boy is.
"My sister..." he mumbled, nestling close to Darcy. "Will the hospital people call her?"
The tone of his voice is slurred...it's a little unclear whether calling his sister would be a good thing or a bad thing.

"Oui,-... yes, they probably will. They always look for family when someone 'as been 'urt," he said quietly. Being the touchy kind of person that he is, and seeing as he couldn't hug Mort without hurting him, Darcy began stroking his hair. "... You want them to call 'er, yes?"

((OOps, typo in my last post.))

"Well, yeah...I guess she'd want to know..."
He frowned.
"But she'll probably get very angry, and go out looking for it...and she'll try to kill it. It's not its fault, you know. I probably smelled weird or something."

For a moment, Darcy looked like he wanted to cry, but he quickly wiped the look off his face.
"Well, it was not your fault," Darcy said pointedly. "It was a wild animal. It was just a bad chance that you 'appened to be in its path. Still, I would not blame your sister for wanting to kill it. It..." Damn, what's the word? "It mangled you."

"My sister likes killing things too much. She just needs an excuse."
His breathing was calming, and he was shaking less. Things were also starting to hurt a little, just at the edges of perception.
"What's wrong? I mean...besides the obvious."

"Non, non,... it is what is obvious that is the problem,... Je t'ai... t'es déchiré en morceaux. Tu sagnes beaucoup," he said, trailing off into halfhearted muttering. He shifted his grip so that he could hold Mort a little closer. "C'est a cause de moi... It is nothing."

((translation:
-I've... you're torn in pieces. You're bleeding a lot.
- It's because of me))

"Poor Darcy."
He would have said the same thing if he'd known that Darcy was the wolf, oddly enough. Well...after freaking out about the older boy's ability to turn into a wolf, anyway.
"Don't worry. I'll be okay. I'll have some yucky scars, though."

"Heh. Non, - poor Mort," he said, with a weak grin, "You are the one 'ere with pieces bitten out of you, remember... But you 'ad better end up alright."
The grin faded slightly and he looked away. "Je ne serais jamais capable de me pardonner pour ceci, si tu n'a pas..." he murmured, half to himself. He wanted Mort to know that it was he, Darcy, who had done this to him. It was his fault. He didn't want to scare him, or anthing, but it was only fair that he knew...
Later. Tell him later. Right now would be a bad time.

((translation: I'll never be able to forgive myself for this, if you don't (end up alright).))

"Well..." he grinned faintly, trying to see some humor in the situation (he had always been a frightened child, so it wasn't easy). "I'm definitely bleeding, but I don't seem to be gushing..." he made a face. He didn't like blood.

"Mouais. True," Darcy shrugged a shoulder. "...Not for much longer, though,... the 'ospital people should be 'ere soon, and they'll...I don't know, but you will probably need a lot of stitches to close you up."

He frowned. "I 'ope it will not be too difficult for them to find us,... I told them where we were, but ti is all dark 'ere,... might be difficult to see," he mused, then blinked down at Mort. " 'ow are you feeling now, I must ask? Any difference?"

"Things hurt." he squeezed his eyes shut. It was so hard not to be a coward. "They have headlights. They'll find us."

"They will," he agreed, wanting to reassure Mort. He let the silence hang in the air for a moment, then sighed. "Is there anything I can do while we wait?... They'll be 'ere soon, I know, but to keep you occupied for that short time?"

He was watching for any sign of the ambulance as he spoke, and reflected this was the second time he was doing this, though the situation was far less severe this time. At least Mort hadn't stopped breathing, right?

"No, I'm all right."
He hasn't even lost consciousness yet. That's got to be a good thing.
"Thanks, though, this is very nice of you."

Darcy bit his lip. He would not be so grateful, if he knew that I was the one who chewed him up like this, ... I must tell him, he can't really think it's not my fault, he saw me change...
"It is not," he disagreed, looking away. "Do not say things like that. You 'ave no need to be thanking me, this is my fault you are 'urt. For goodness' sakes, don't thank me for it."
His tone was harsh - almost like a warning growl.
"You were standing right 'ere, Mort - you saw everything that happened, I know you did. You remember? The wolf - me. I turned shapes droit devant vous? You can't not 'ave seen it. I did not mean to, but it is because of me you almost 'ad your throat torn out, comprends?"


((translation:
-right in front of you
-understand?
))

"I don't know what you're talking about, I--"
He struggled, trying to get out of Darcy's arms, suddenly terrified.
"Why would you do something like that?!"