betamax | 001 ☾ tick tick boom

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[He wakes up in bed with a mouth full of ash, or at least that's how it tastes and a splitting headache like the vodka he'd been mixing his punch with finally caught up to him. But Scott said that didn't work for them, that they couldn't get drunk, let alone hungover, and anyway it wouldn't explain the taste in his mouth.

Slowly, it comes to him. The pulsating sound in the back of his head, the feeling of being drunk even when he shouldn't have been. Getting dragged somewhere, blurry, dizzying shapes passing by, looming. Hard, cold metal at his back, and then getting doused in kerosene, the shadowy figure with the booming voice asking him questions, and once everything caught up, he bolted out of bed. Lunged for the door, jerked at the handle a few times before finally just pushing. It gave way easily as panic rose, as the rest of sense memory returned; the buzzing in his head, the harsh smell coating his skin, the inside of his nose, the blurry image of cops standing over them, and he could feel himself losing it, claws pushing out of his fingertips, the growl building in his chest, but he didn't care.

They tried to kill him. It wasn't new but he was sick of it, sick of getting hurt, sick of being afraid, but he wasn't the only one who'd gotten hurt because of him this time. Scott, Malia, he needed to find them, needed to make sure they were okay, like the shadow-man had said they would be, and the howl that clawed its way from his throat as he stepped into the hallway, as he scampered down the hallway in search of familiar scents, desperate and plaintive like it had been when he was stuck in the well, was all instinct.

Help. Pack. Where are you.]

[PUBLIC -- Video]

[Later, after he's had a chance to calm down, after everything's broadened out, dulled into something he can process, something less intense, he retreats to his room. He remembers now, more clearly. He washes the gasoline off, scrubs and scrubs until he can't smell it anymore, trashes the clothes and finds the phone that isn't his, sorts through the functions before getting it set up.

Not that he has any clue what to say.

He looks more than a little lost. Looks entirely too young to be on the ship at all, but he can't do anything about that now, and judging by the determined set of his jaw he doesn't seem to think it should matter too much. He chews his lip absently, takes a breath.

Okay. He can do this. No sweat. Never mind that he's already made an impression in exactly the way he didn't want to.]

Hey. So you got stars here. That's...cool, I guess?

[Yeah nobody mind the kid who was running around as the wolf boy earlier. He's fine. You didn't see that, right?]

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[It's definitely not something Lydia is expecting to see when she heads to the art room that afternoon. She hears the growling, first. It's familiar, not one of an actual animal. And she instantly thinks about Jackson. She doesn't want him back there, but she was just at Scott's room, she knows it can't be Isaac, certainly not Allison or Scott himself.

And then she catches a glimpse of him, followed by an actual howl. Like a lost wolf, signaling it's pack.

She sees him and stills, feet away from him because she's been around plenty of out-of-control wolves before and she knows she might not be able to stop him. At least, not without hurting him and potentially just pissing him off more.

After a deep breath, ready to scream if necessary, she takes a few steps forward. The fact that his eyes are golden, not blue or red, help her feel safer about approaching.]

Hey. You need to take a deep breath.

[He smells her before she comes close enough to be a problem. Turns to face her properly when she approaches, head canting as he regards her. Sniffs at the air; not-wolf. Familiar. He knows her, but the part that might have been able to identify past that, might have been able to provide a name, a reason to back down, is too far away right now. He snaps and growls at her, fingers flexing at his sides in anticipation; he wants to tear her apart, wants nothing more than that in this moment.]

Can't.

[Not a great start. She does take a step back when he growls at her, but it's not in fear so much as it is a way to make him feel less like a caged animal. More like he's in control of the situation.

She's never met wolves from different worlds, but she's fairly sure this one is from home. At least, he's behaving exactly like one from home.]

Yes, you can. You're safe here, no one is going to hurt you.

[She holds her hands up, showing him she has no weapons of any kind. Not that she needs them to stop him if she has to.]

What's your name?

[She moves back and he moves forward, almost as if he means to stalk her. As if he wants her to run.]

Won't hurt me.

[He snuffles, moving closer still.]

Won't work either.

[Sigh. If the friendly, reassuring approach won't work, then she'll need to try another one. She'll try for intimidating first, though.

When he comes closer, she stands up straight, staring at him.]

No one else will hurt you. I won't hurt you as long as you find your control, find you anchor. [Her voice is even, with a sharper edge on it. For being 5'3", she knows she can project well enough to look intimidating when she wants to.]

[He's sorry! Or, more accurately, he will be later when he's got everything back under control. He only continues to snarl when she spits back. It doesn't matter; didn't before, doesn't now, the only thing that matters is the frustration and anger burning away under the surface.]

Don't have one. Don't know what you're talking about. Can't help.

[But it doesn't matter for much longer, not when he gets tired of waiting and just lunges for her.]

[Why is it that no one teaches werewolves about freaking anchors until it's too late? If he really is from her world, she's betting his alpha is a Hale. Not that she wants Peter to have somehow managed to become an Alpha again, but usually Hales tend to be the most unhelpful when it comes to all things alpha.

When he lunges forward, she takes a deep breath, a step back, and screams.

The scream surprises even herself. It's strong, sharp, powerful. It's not helpless or hopeless like the screams of death. She feels in control. It feels a lot like what she remembers the screams of her mirror self feeling like. Like a weapon. A way to defend herself.]

[It hits like a brick wall, drops him to his knees as he tries to cover his ears, snarls and spits against the clawing shriek echoing in his skull. It disorients, hurts, and he scrambles backwards, trying to get away from it; he knew she was a banshee, knew screaming was kind of her thing along with the whole...predicting death thing, but he'd never been on the receiving end of it before, didn't realize they'd been talking about it as something more than just screaming.

He needs to get away, it's the only thought he can really put together. It's not as bad as the shrieking lights Mr Argent had, but it's also not a circle of sound, just one side of it. He can get away from it. Maybe. If he just keeps moving.]

[The shock over her own scream wears off quickly. It worked, obviously. He's down on his knees, he's in pain and she feels pretty proud of herself for a second.

When she sees him trying to get away from her, however, she takes a step forward, hands clenched into fists as she looks down at him.]

Stop. There's a whole pack on their way here now. [Well, more like two werewolves and a kitsune, probably? She really wishes Scott was awake.]

You need to control yourself before you get more hurt.

I can't.

[It's closer to a whine this time, something desperate and frustrated. He collects himself, backs up as he pushes himself into a crouch, bares his teeth at her as she approaches. Lurches forward a little to try to startle her back. The shock of the scream cracked through a little, but it's not permanent, only made a tiny crack.]

Need Scott. Can't do it without him.

Scott?

[Not what she's expecting considering she doesn't know this guy. But apparently he knows them, at least one of them.]

Scott is just down the hall. Focus on him, focus on his heartbeat, you can do it.

[It's not like that, not that simple, at least not like has ever been explained to him, but his attention shifts. Down the hall. Back to her. He snarls at her one last time, a wordless warning not to follow him, then takes off, one eye on her to make sure she keeps her distance.]

001 ☾ tick tick boom

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