Post by Nikolai on Nov 22, 2007 22:16:07 GMT
The moon had set some time ago, giving way to the sun, but the progress of the morning had been slow. It felt as if it had teased and crept up with agonising sluggishness, and now, the figure huddled in the corner of the room thought he might just collapse to the floor and lay there for hours to come. Every limb felt weighted as if with lead, his stomach empty and aching for it, grogginess and the first hints of a migraine brought about by exhaustion and dehydration starting to drum through his skull. The second, most powerful night of the full moon had taken its toll.
The room in which he’d sought refuge hadn’t been spared lightly, either. Deep gouges from claws like steel had been torn, vividly, into the walls, flakes of old paint scattered over the floor, the thick dust that had been coating it kicked up and strewn all around, large patches showing where the bulky creature had skidded and ploughed back and forth, slamming its fierce, muscular weight against the door that was, thankfully, made of metal; presumably steel. That was the main reason he’d chosen the location. He had been here the last two nights, sealing himself into a confined space he had no chance of escaping from. It was safer, not only for him, but for everyone else nearby. Something had kept him from waking up surrounded by human remains over the years, and he knew it was the foresight that went into locating and securing a site that could keep a moon-crazed, raging young rogue werewolf from turning on innocent civilians, ripping them into a shredded mess of bone and blood and gore.
Nikolai Zuyev sighed, heavily, and pushed off the ground, using one hand against the wall behind him to get his body up and balanced. The Russian stood, eyes closed and posture realigning, until he felt secure in his footing. The bruises that should have littered his bare torso were nowhere to be seen, already healed during the weighty lull that had followed the reverse transformation from wolf to man. His shirt was outside, on the other side of the heavy barricade of a door, as were his boots, and his belt, and anything else he hadn’t felt like ruining during the change back and forth.
When he reached the doorframe, he rested his forehead against it for a moment, messy mop of blonde hair falling around his face and temples, in need of not only combing, but washing. He would kill for a hot shower. And a large meal, he realised, as his stomach all but snarled. Grimacing momentarily, he put those thoughts aside, raking his hair back with his fingers before reaching up, searching briefly along the top of the frame, where a small, makeshift hiding place concealed the keys for the large padlocks he had used to ensure the door didn’t open with any sort of ease.
The metal ring and its occupants jangled as he took them down, sorting one from the other out of habit and familiarity, freeing the metal bolts and catches when they were loose. A lethargic but still strong shove made the door swing open, releasing him from the confinement, and instead of clothing himself right away, he picked up the shirt, boots, belt and other bits and pieces, piling them together to carry in one large hand, keys and padlocks hanging and hooked in the other, as he headed back out towards his truck.
Just one more night of uncontrollable bestiality to go.