To most people, running is simply that: a rapid movement of legs to speed up the process of getting from point A to point B.

Shen, though, isn't like most people.

As he lopes around a gnarled tree, makes a fluid bound over its large, protuding root, and skids the soles of his ratty sneakers across the pebblestone trail that meanders through the more unruly side of the park, a rare grin stretches across his chapped lips. He can feel the airflow all around him, somehow encouraging him forward and off the forest floor.

Because for him, running is flying.

It's around seven, with the sun beginning to dip down into the treetops and a warm, red glow engulfing the sky. He's caught in the place between the clean-cut, urbanized section of Redway that is all the public sees and the wild, unpruned woods near the river. He likes it because few bother to venture this far into the park, and the unpredictability of it keeps his everyday races interesting.

Of course, what he really hadn't foreseen is someone joining him.

Tyler Fishmann watched the loping, grinning runner with a curious detachment. He took a long drag on his cigarette, enjoying the relief that it provided his shattered nerves. While the stranger engaged in healthy physical activity, Tyler pointedly lit up another cigarette so that he could chain-smoke. In his mind, only ugly people died of lung cancer.

He did not make an unattractive figure in too-tight black pants, leather sneakers and an oversized Keaton University sweatshirt. However, something about his pallor screamed unhealthy. The purple circles under his eyes made him appear tired and grouchy. His long hair stuck up as though he had just rolled out of bed. His pouty lips were chapped and he moved with discomfort, as though every joint and bone in his body ached.

The protrusions on his spine grew more uncomfortable by the moment. As usual, he cursed the fates that had bestowed this curse upon his body. The darker emotions that inhabited his mind usually rose to the surface this close to the end of his lachus cycle. He was still predominantly human and could, for the time being, exercise some sort of control over his cursed other self. He could only wait with impatient anger. This feeling of helplessness drove him to reckless abandon and he angrily ground the stub of one of his cigarettes into the grass.

joy

The emotion was fleeting and left him desperately hungry. He watched the runner with greedy eyes.

"Having fun?" He rasped, his voice dark and guarded.

The raspy voice, caught by Shen's sharp hearing, jars him to a halt at the foot of a tall oak, where he nearly gives himself whiplash from jerking his head to face the voice's owner.

The pleasure he had worn literally slides off his features when his gaze falls on Tyler, his expression replaced by a distrustful wariness that hints at annoyance. (Though, that's how he treats practically everyone, but it had increased tenfold for Mr. Creepy here.)

Well, he had been having fun. Thanks for interrupting his alone time.

"Yes?" He doesn't try to hide the irritation in his tone, but neither does he make himself excessively rude, for once. Something about the guy just screams at Shen to take serious caution -- like treading around shards of broken glass.

"That's good," Tyler replied with a hint of a sneer, baring yellowed teeth before taking another long drag on his cigarette. He took his time exhaling in the direction of the runner, his nostrils flaring in amusement at the irritation on the stranger's face.

annoyance

Well, that wasn't nearly as pleasurable as the joy that had briefly overwhelmed his senses. The cursed man momentarily regretted interrupting the runner - and then, he felt almost pleased that he had had the opportunity to squeeze droplets of happiness away from someone else. Perhaps he had absorbed the emotion, despite the distance between the two men and the fact that Tyler was still six days away from completing the lachus cycle.

He moved one step closer, his legs jerking awkwardly. Hiding a grimace - the tailbone spikes hurt almost as much as the horns disguised by his mop of hair - he found another cigarette and lit it, managing to somehow smoke both at the same time without looking too ridiculous.

"Did you run in high school?" He asked, his voice flat, though his facial expression indicated that he may have been mocking the stranger.

Shen hates cigarettes. Not just because of the health problems and the godawful smell they leave in their wake, but how they seem to add a certain air of cockiness to some smokers when they're wielding that little cancer stick between their fingers.

Like this guy. Shen can tell right off the bat that his outing has turned for the inceasingly worse when Tyler mockingly breathes the smoke towards him.

"No. Hate bein' on any teams," he mutters his reply, almost absentminded as he watches the man near him with weird, spastic leg movements. He'd like to keep their gap from shrinking by taking his own step away, but he's not one to back down so easily, so he anxiously shifts his weight from foot to foot.

"But I don't see how that's your concern, sir," he adds with a renewed edge to the seemingly polite address.

"Ah. I see. You prefer to work alone, then?" It really wasn't a question and from the way that Tyler smirked, it appeared that he wasn't expecting an answer. The fact that the stranger refused to back down lent the skinny cursed man some confidence.

He tightened the strings on the hood of his sweatshirt with a quick tug, exhaling the smoke once more, careful to blow delicate rings into the cooling night air.

Tyler refocused his attention on the runner. Something amidst his pale features and haughty expression screamed of restlessness, of weariness, of a hunger so deep that it resided in the very flesh and blood of his existence. He managed to reign this hunger in with a willpower surprisingly strong for such a self-absorbed man, but at times, this resistence failed and allowed his hunger to take control, bleeding into the night.

The fact that he was so close to losing control, six days away from his full transformation, boded ill.

"I'm just making conversation," The actor replied with affront, though he did not truly appear hurt by Shen's biting remark. He started to smile and stopped half-way, resulting in a remotely pleasant expression that clung to his lips and eyes.

With a touch of dramatic sadness, he could not resist adding, "Is that so wrong?"

Well, considering the time and place, it does feel a little off to be striking up a colloquy here.

And Shen has never been a great conversationalist.

"Whatever," he eventually answers, scuffing the toe of his shoe against bark, hoping the injection of indifference into his tone is deterring enough. He doesn't want to let this fellow even glimpse just how unnerved he is right now, but the expression Tyler's exposing...the blood runs cold in Shen's veins just from flicking his eyes over the other's unsound features.

The actor arches an eyebrow.

"Are you always this grumpy?" He growls, though his expression is one of mingled amusement and hunger. He watches the runner with something akin to unhealthy fascination.

fear

He is unable to contradict this emotion. It elates him, filling him with a tingling sensation that runs from his fingertips to his scalp. He swallows, hard, trying not to move, trying not to revel in the emotion. Six days, he tells himself with disgust.

"And here I thought exercise was supposed to release endorphins." A joke? Why not. Tyler's an odd guy to begin with. Somehow, he manages to cast a favorable light upon himself with this statement: his phrasing implies that he has suddenly become the victim in this situation.

Grumpy and Shen go hand in hand together. You rarely see one without the other.

"Are you always this bothersome?" the elemental fires back crossly. Even in the form of another question, that should be enough to answer Tyler's inquiry.

He continues to shuffle his weight back and forth between his legs from his place beside the towering tree, apprehensiveness towards the other man making him antsy. The tease, though harmless per se, agitates him into narrowing his ashen eyes.

"Look, did you want something?" A bold query, and likely an unwise one, but he's becoming increasingly impatient to leave him and regain some sense of safety.

"What could I want that you could possibly give me?" He shoots back with a frown, tilting his head with an aggravated sort of look. He pulls the hood of his sweatshirt up for no apparent reason, tightening the strings until only a small oval surrounds his facial features.

He waves the pair of cigarettes around, managing to force them through the hole in his hood. He exhales loudly, the sound almost a sigh.

Tyler's voice becomes somewhat darker. "Tell you what. You can give me something later." Is it a poorly veiled threat? It's hard to tell. It's also hard to take someone seriously with their hood like that.

Shen bridles at this not-so-reassuring reassurance. 'Later'? He doesn't want there to be a next time, if that's what he's implying.

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" His voice is accusing, though tinged with an uncertainty that takes the sharpness off. He really doesn't know whether he'd like an answer or not, taking into account the fact that Tyler has managed to set him entirely on edge during this whole conversation.

Quite a feat, though. It's pretty hard to perturb him this strongly.

He grins, baring a mouth of slightly sharpened teeth. Tyler loosens the strings of his hood slightly, allowing his chin to poke through the circle enclosing his face. "It means, don't worry about me. In fact, don't even think about me."

He starts to wander off, amazed that he enjoys the sensation of power flooding through his being. He has never made a threat or a promise like this before. He turns, something inside of him urging him on, urging him to complete this, to fulfill his vow. In response, for he has no power to resist this inner desire, he attempts to place a conciliatory hand on Shen's shoulder.

"Just forget it," He suggests in a shockingly reasonable tone, his face schooled into an earnest expression.

Shen naturally tries to eschew the hand, shoulder dipping back to avoid its appeasing touch, though he doesn't move from his place. His eyebrows rise almost past the fringe of black hair as he stares back at the solemnity effected on Tyler's countenance.

"Doubt I can now," he argues, albeit in a quiet, still unsure tone. The light wind picks up, causing the trees to whisper as it courses through their branches and leaves.

Tyler smiles.

The palm of his hand tingles as it falls from Shen's shoulder. It remembers how the shoulder fit beneath his hand, how the muscles moved beneath that flesh, and most of all, it remembers how the shoulder felt.

uncertainty. annoyance. doubt.

The were-lachus feels empowered and joyful, filled with emotion. The hunger that gnaws within his being is appeased. He will not forget this human - he never does, once physical contact has been made.

The human side of Tyler collects himself, shaking his head as though to rid his mind of an irritating whisper. "Have fun running," He says with a mocking sincerity.

It's weird. He's...lacking now somehow, his muscles slackening into a feeling of ennui upon the hand's removal from his bony shoulder. All of his emotions seem stretched thin, expended by that simple contact. He can't even muster any of his vexation at this guy for getting away with touching him, and the small frown on his lips looks like it's just been placed there with no purpose at all.

He draws in a quiet, shaky breath as he stares up at that smile stretching Tyler's lips, quenched with something. His something, to be precise.

Then, Shen finally creates some distance between them with a few tottering steps, eyes still loitering around the lachus like he wants to say something, before turning and breaking out into a sprint once more, away from him and his smile, back to the orderly front of the park.

But the joy has been literally sucked out of it, and it's simply just running now.