Welcome to Gaia! ::

~Reserve~

At least this time... you are spared the itching.

In all save for one poignant spot when you wake up suddenly, the fleeting memory of a nightmare disappating with your wakefulness, and one itchy spot - the back of your right arm. That little signal that shows that it's coming. By a couple hours later, you're running a fever, feeling sweltering in your fur, and achy all over.

By mid-day, the aches seem to be concentrating in your hands, your feet, your face, and your neck. Then, as if triggered by some genetic checkered flag, there is an explosion of pain in those respective areas. Your hands and feet both stretch out becoming thicker, less nimble, and more pawlike. Your feet become too big to walk easily flat-footed, and yet not quite as easy-going as a fully digitigrade foot. But that, at the moment, is the least of your worries. Meanwhile, your neck is thickening and your short muzzle grows more in length as your sinuses cry out in pain.

Finally, the changes abate, leaving you more animalistic than just hte day before.

~Reserved for 75% TF RP with Gaius~ http://www.gaiaonline.com/guilds/viewtopic.php?t=7720801

~Reserved for Manly Drinking AIM RP~

Things had happened in an instant. Irritation turned to anger. Anger turned into violence. Then everything went black. For Lucas no time had passed since he was buzzed. He had no clue he'd been buzzed. It had never happened before. What Lucas thought had only been a few minutes since his blackout, had been nearly two days.

As he started to come to feelings and sensations started to surface as the numbness started to fade. With a few sniffs he could tell he was in his room. He also thought he heard Dash whine, but it sounded distant, like an echo. Why did he hurt? ... there was something wrong. Very wrong. Why did he feel so sick? Why did his head hurt so much? More specifically, why did his eye hurt?

Along with the throbbing pain, he felt weak and groggy, he hesitated to wake up. If he hurt he wanted to sleep it off... but why did he hurt? It hurt so much. Fearful, he eventually forced his eyes open.

Only one opened.

Why couldn't he open his left eye?

He moaned as a hand lifted to his face and his fingers brushed against bandages wrapped around his head. Why did he have bandages? Racking his brain, everything abruptly came flooding back to him. His mind quickly tried to piece together what had happened, at the same time he was trying to hold off panic. It was difficult to keep his thoughts straight and organized. The pain was distracting. Zach... The fight! He'd hit Zach! How did he...? Bandages? Zach had upset him. Why did he hurt so much? He struck Zach. ...he struck Zach? Why couldn't he remember after that? He was buzzed. The labs buzzed him? But why his eye?

His chest clenched and a lump formed in his throat. "Oh...god," his voice was dry and raspy. "No." Still on his back, he let his hand explore the bandages, and he realized that they wrapped over his left eye. He could feel gauze pressing against the lid. Something else...

He swung his thoughts away from that idea.

What had happened? What had happened!? His brain was screaming for answers. Had Zach attacked him after he'd been buzzed? What did that b*****d do?! What had he done?! It was becoming harder and harder to keep himself from panicking. Pushing himself up in a hurry, he tried to stand. He took only one step and collapsed in a heap on the floor. The world had spun, he felt a rushing in his head and his oddly formed feet had brought him down.

His walking stick was gone. Back at the Entertainment room, probably.

The pain in his head and eye were becoming more acute with each passing minute. Whatever had been dulling the pain was slipping away. Fear gripped him. A part of him knew what was wrong. ...what was missing. But he couldn't take it. They wouldn't! He felt sick. If he could, he'd have stayed there on the floor. But his need to know was stronger than his exhaustion and his fear.

It might not be that bad. It was just the pain. The pain was just making it feel worse than it is.

He told himself that as he grabbed the bed and pulled himself back up. He went slower this time. Once he was back sitting on his bed he lifted himself up. Before he pushed himself up again, he spotted something out of the corner of his eye. It caught his notice because it was out of place. It was a card. It was folded in half and lying on his bedside table. The only things that should be there were a lamp, an alarm clock and a book. He kept his papers and such at his desk. Reaching a quivering hand out he picked up the paper, unfolded slowly and read it. His whole body began to tremble.

Oh, God...no. No. No! NO! NO!

He threw the card away, as if it was something contaminated. Swaying, he forced himself to stand on the tips of his feet while he reached out for anything nearby to support him. In his hurry to move his hands would occasionally miss the object he meant to grab, his reach having been off, and he would nearly fall.

To keep his mind from panicking, to keep himself from completely breaking down, he concentrated on his steps and his reaches. Take a step, grab that desk edge. Reach slower. Take that chair with your other hand. Slowly. Take another step. When he finally reached the bathroom his body started to quake. It took great effort to step one last time and let his hands settle on the sink counter. His eye avoided the mirror. A hand lifted, flicked on the lights and he allowed himself to hesitate a few seconds longer while his eye adjusted to the light. Then he looked up.

Temptation to rip the bandage from his face was strong, but he was too afraid. Images already filled his head of what he might see. "It's not... it's not..." he was gasping, his throat locking up. He didn't want to see. He didn't want to know. He didn't want it to be true.

Tears he couldn't no longer hold back fell from his single eye as he dropped to his knees. They could no longer support him. He turned around, his eyesight blurry, and looked at the card lying open on the ground.

It was written clearly. Not signed. "An eye for an eye" it said. An eye for an eye.

A hand rested on his bandaged left eye. He pressed lightly, it stung. It was gone. He knew it was. He didn't want to believe it. He couldn't even move his eyelid, but he could feel the hollowness behind it. His entire left eye had been removed from it's socket. He felt sick. He wanted to vomit.

Slowly things turned to anger again. Had it been Zach?! Or the labs?! WHY!? Why had they done this?! They took his life. They took his humanity. They twisted his body into this monstrous form. He'd lost his hands. He lost the ability to do something that made himself feel useful thanks fo them. He'd lost everything that made him feel happy. And now this... He screamed and growled. Grabbing a brush, he threw it at the note. "Damn you!"

His anger turned toward other articles in his duplex. Things were thrown and broken. One of which found it's way to the mirror, putting a nice spider-web crack in it. He didn't do much damage. Being unable to stay standing for very long, he couldn't throw anything big and he couldn't walk very far. It was only until he heard a whimper did he stop. One of the objects he'd thrown had startled Dasher. Horrified, Lucas collapsed, his anger fading again. He looked down to his hand and realized he'd been about to throw the photograph of his father. The tears started to fall again, and he set the picture away face down.

Suddenly he felt something wet brush against his arm, then his hand. He looked to see Dasher standing beside him, licking him. Lifting his head, the dog's tongue brushed his cheek. Pulling himself up, he gathered the dog in a hug. "I'm sorry," he spoke softly. "God, I wish... I wish you could tell me... I don't know anymore," he rambled.

Releasing Dasher, crawling over to the closet, he started grabbing everything lying on the floor and throwing it aside. He worked until it was clear, then collapsed inside. Shutting the doors behind him, he yanked down his large overcoat and draped it over his curled up body. It was his comfort. He could just barely pick up the scent of his father on it. How he wished he could speak with him. Or Nonie. He wasn't sure how much more he could take. This place was destroying him. He never felt so alone and so very scared.

It was dark. It was quiet. While under the oversized coat in the closet he felt for just a moment he'd escaped the labs, even if it was just from their gaze. And there he stayed. Trying to forget the alien body he was trapped in that he could no longer call his own. To forget the emptiness. And the awful throbbing pain in his head and under the bandage.

Unsure, Dasher stood outside the doors of the closet and waited. Time passed, but Lucas did not come out. He whimpered a few times, then curled up against the doors.

There was no answer at first. Only silence. One would assume he was out. However, after only a moment had passed a whimpering came from right behind the door. Then light clawing. It continued, becoming a little stronger, along with the occasional sound of sniffing at the edges.

Again there was no response except for the growing whining from Dasher.

The door was unlocked, left that way thanks to the guards who had dumped him off after his brief stay in the labs. More than a day had passed since he awoke to find the note. At the moment the dhole was asleep, tucked away in his closet, oblivious to everything going on around him. The room was still a mess. Books and papers scattered, the mirror cracked, the lamp broken on the floor and the note laying close to the edge of his bed.

As soon as the door was open Dasher bolted through. Happy to see someone else he greeted Emelyn with light clawing and whimpering, while jumping up and down. Then turned and ran back into the duplex. The dog sat down near the closet, but kept it's eyes trained on the hedgehog. Then he stood again, walked to the door, then returned to the same spot.

At the same time the door opened, Lucas' eye opened. Still buried under his father's coat, he had no desire to pull himself from it again. Everything still hurt. His head throbbed and the sound of Dasher's whimpering was like daggers. He did not hear Emelyn's voice. If he did, he brushed it away, as him hearing things thanks to the pain.

Over the last day he came out for only one reason: to care for Dasher. Grabbing some of the dry food, he placed that and water out for him. He took nothing for himself. He wasn't sure if it was because he was too sick and in too much pain to eat, or he just didn't care anymore. He didn't feel like he would be able to keep it down, anyway. But he couldn't just let the dog suffer. He'd done nothing.