Post by hawk on Aug 15, 2011 19:22:40 GMT -5
Blood poured down the fighter's nose, alive to him, lacerations across his cheeks stinging with salt, eyelid scraped diagonally up through a low-slung brow. He could see the blood out of the corner of his eyes, black and thick; he could feel his face swelling along the cheekbones, the dark smears cracking with movement and the fat mahogany drops tickling the tender lines of expression as they fell. He shook his head, quick and doglike, and he could feel the control slipping, the urge strong to feel the change melt his bones like magma, the heated energy like morphine to a long-deprived brain. His challenger, teeth bared to mirror his own expression of primal hatred, rushed him again, bare fists as bloody as Morgan's own...and the change began. Goosebumps peeled their way along his flesh as the fur fell like a wake across his shoulders, his face pressed out into a freakishly long muzzle that guided his body down to the ground. He couldn't stop the transformation, even as he screamed and thrashed against the anger in his own mind; it caged him to hopelessness and the inevitability of having to find a new home. The other fighter still crowded over him, pounded his ribs and ground him into the concrete floor, and he could feel the fur ripping away as easily as new-borne skin. He scrambled with his paws to stand, gritting his teeth and screaming as one, and finally the challenger backed off with a startled "Shit!"
Morgan shouted back. "Get the f*** off!" He was on his feet now, human, the changes gone and the ground beneath his feet hard with clay. Here he was, serving a life sentence in a prison that was now his own world. Where he had been before...it was a shocking transformation from twenty to thirty, from pissed to tired and sore. He panted, sweat sliding across his skin beneath the pale white shirt he'd been given and glistening beneath his eyes. He ran a hand through his hair, standing it up on its end and adding a coarse touch of reality to his waking state. He rubbed a hand against his chest, whicking away the sweat beneath with a swift pass of cotton pressed down under-palm. Morgan glanced down to find that he was not barefoot as he had been in the dream, but was, in fact, wearing a pair of expensive-looking trainers and some very practical bluejeans. He rubbed the shock from his eyes, calloused hands rough against the tenderness of sleep. He began pacing. He decided he was hungry. He knew he was alone.
There was only one of those issues Morgan could currently amend and so, pausing in his restless turning, he took in a whiff of debris-clotted air and picked a direction. As he jogged towards the faint twinge of strawberries and corn, he wondered again about his brother and whether he'd ever been informed of Hawk's whereabouts, or whether Leo would just assume that Morgan had gotten high and stayed out overnight, and wouldn't have worried until the weekend had passed. He wondered if Leo was living on the streets, or if he'd been caught because of Mogan's illicit dealings, or whether he had a job and a house and couldn't care less about his derelict brother. No, he wouldn't do that, Morgan thought automatically. Where he was logical, Leo was emotional, and the younger boy always managed to skim over the worst qualities of people. It had annoyed Morgan, back then, and he'd often tried to force Leonard to see the truth rather than a sugar-coated version of reality, but now he knew it was lucky that he had a brother who'd probably remember him to be the World's Greatest Brother, rather than a drug-dealing coke addict who hadn't even graduated from high school.
As he crossed a weed-crushed highway and skirted a stand of small trees, the remainders of what had once been a small garden supply store, he caught sight of the garden he'd scented a few minutes ago. Jogging up to the collection of fruits and vegetables, he began sampling various plants on sight, eating strawberries and peppers and pods of edamame beans. The corn was sweet but larger than he would have preferred a food to be...he wanted to be able to flee without a trace, and burying corn took more time than tomato heads or apple cores. And then the short-step of human feet caught his attention, and he shifted with the tide of adrenaline and instinct that had suddenly come over him. The corn he'd been gnawing on was left on the ground - he barely kicked some loam over the unfinished cob before fleeing to another garden row of tall, winding beans. Morgan's senses were tangibly stronger in his husky body, and he put the strength of his effort behind his ears, taking in scents and sights with a more absentminded alertness. There - the stranger was behind him, and he whirled to find himself face-to-face with a handsome white tiger; the exotic situation jump-started his mind to a speed of thinking normally reserved for super-computers and small rodents, and his mouth opened automatically.
"Good corn you've got here, very convenient." Morgan never regretted what he said once he'd said it - what was the point in that? - but he often regretted it once he ended up with his nose in the dirt, or gritting his teeth against a bullet in the leg. It seemed that this would be one of those regrettable times...whether he knew it yet or not.
Word Count: 939
Status: Finished
Comments: Set two years in the past; 2305.
Morgan shouted back. "Get the f*** off!" He was on his feet now, human, the changes gone and the ground beneath his feet hard with clay. Here he was, serving a life sentence in a prison that was now his own world. Where he had been before...it was a shocking transformation from twenty to thirty, from pissed to tired and sore. He panted, sweat sliding across his skin beneath the pale white shirt he'd been given and glistening beneath his eyes. He ran a hand through his hair, standing it up on its end and adding a coarse touch of reality to his waking state. He rubbed a hand against his chest, whicking away the sweat beneath with a swift pass of cotton pressed down under-palm. Morgan glanced down to find that he was not barefoot as he had been in the dream, but was, in fact, wearing a pair of expensive-looking trainers and some very practical bluejeans. He rubbed the shock from his eyes, calloused hands rough against the tenderness of sleep. He began pacing. He decided he was hungry. He knew he was alone.
There was only one of those issues Morgan could currently amend and so, pausing in his restless turning, he took in a whiff of debris-clotted air and picked a direction. As he jogged towards the faint twinge of strawberries and corn, he wondered again about his brother and whether he'd ever been informed of Hawk's whereabouts, or whether Leo would just assume that Morgan had gotten high and stayed out overnight, and wouldn't have worried until the weekend had passed. He wondered if Leo was living on the streets, or if he'd been caught because of Mogan's illicit dealings, or whether he had a job and a house and couldn't care less about his derelict brother. No, he wouldn't do that, Morgan thought automatically. Where he was logical, Leo was emotional, and the younger boy always managed to skim over the worst qualities of people. It had annoyed Morgan, back then, and he'd often tried to force Leonard to see the truth rather than a sugar-coated version of reality, but now he knew it was lucky that he had a brother who'd probably remember him to be the World's Greatest Brother, rather than a drug-dealing coke addict who hadn't even graduated from high school.
As he crossed a weed-crushed highway and skirted a stand of small trees, the remainders of what had once been a small garden supply store, he caught sight of the garden he'd scented a few minutes ago. Jogging up to the collection of fruits and vegetables, he began sampling various plants on sight, eating strawberries and peppers and pods of edamame beans. The corn was sweet but larger than he would have preferred a food to be...he wanted to be able to flee without a trace, and burying corn took more time than tomato heads or apple cores. And then the short-step of human feet caught his attention, and he shifted with the tide of adrenaline and instinct that had suddenly come over him. The corn he'd been gnawing on was left on the ground - he barely kicked some loam over the unfinished cob before fleeing to another garden row of tall, winding beans. Morgan's senses were tangibly stronger in his husky body, and he put the strength of his effort behind his ears, taking in scents and sights with a more absentminded alertness. There - the stranger was behind him, and he whirled to find himself face-to-face with a handsome white tiger; the exotic situation jump-started his mind to a speed of thinking normally reserved for super-computers and small rodents, and his mouth opened automatically.
"Good corn you've got here, very convenient." Morgan never regretted what he said once he'd said it - what was the point in that? - but he often regretted it once he ended up with his nose in the dirt, or gritting his teeth against a bullet in the leg. It seemed that this would be one of those regrettable times...whether he knew it yet or not.
Word Count: 939
Status: Finished
Comments: Set two years in the past; 2305.