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"No worries!" She laughed, getting up and going over into the clean, narrow bathroom that was a staple for all the duplex rooms. She closed the door a little behind her, and filled up an upside-turned cloudy glass on the sink to fill with cold tap water. The light flickered, and she called through the crack in the door, "We can slowdance some other time." She turned the faucet off, and pursed her lips in the mirror, making a quick face at her reflection before pushing back through the door.

"Besides, you've got an advantage over me. You're still dressed all dashing, and I'm just in jeans and workboots. ...Here." She handed him the glass of water, leaning over the bed slightly as she did so. In the process, she noticed a small square on the bed, where it looks like it had been cast aside.

"What's that?" She asked, bending in to see it closer.

Emelyn had already gotten a clear view of the square, however, and she straightened, an eyebrow cocked.

"Hm. Nothing. I didn't know that was a brand of condom." She sat back in the chair, moving it- not so imperceptibly- further away from the bed with a single shift of the legs. "...Do you need anything else?"

"You figured, hm?" She said, her eyebrows leveling into one, very unamused line above her eyes. "Hm. Seems like you and Vasile have been doing a lot of thinking." She stood. "Well, Ambrose, I hope you feel better soon." It was said almost coldly- matter-of-fact... but then she turned and went for the door, and her conscience got the better of her, and she turned to look back over her shoulder.

"Really, if there's anything you need, just let me know. Feel better." And with that, she turned the knob and was gone.

Some time later, Ambrose slowly began to realize that the pain had subsided. What was left was a dull ache all over his body. His eyes were still squeezed shut, but the air conditioner blew air across his body, and he could feel the strands of hair in his fur moving all over his body. Before he even opened his eyes, he had the gut impression that it was bad. Very bad.

However, nothing could have prepared him for what had actually transpired. After who knew how many shaking breaths, he slowly cracked an eye open. As he slowly, shakingly sat up, he stared down at his body. The first thing that hit him was the fur. It hadn't just spread, it had engulfed him! Not a single smooth patch of skin was visible to his eyes. It wasn't just hair either, it was a cream and grey pelt. Thickest along his back and shoulders, and a ruff abotu his neck and chest, but still present everywhere else. Quivering, he turned around. The shakes got more intense as he saw that what had been just a tiny nub before - something that he could get away most of the time with pretending it didnt' exist - was now a long, furry tail. Its length made the foot-long tail that Vasile had grown look like nothing. The dizzying pain that had accompanied its growth was still fresh on his mind, and the entire 'limb' felt swollen and sore to him, the fur that coated it shiny with its newness.

Looking down to his hands, visualizations of bad werewolf movies sprang to mind - the disembodied clawed, furry, and padded paw-hands that would reach around corners, up through cracks in the stairs to snatch victims... that's what his hands looked like. Not the smooth, soft hands, with callouses from the years of swordplay, but cream-furred, black-clawed monster-hands. As shallow as it might seem, he had been trained in how to deliver a proper handshake, that when meeting someone new, how you introduced yourself could make a world of difference on a first impression - which was often more lasting than many would care to admit.
At least... some small hopeful part of his mind persisted... they're hands. I can still hold a sword... I can still write.

Slowly, shakingly, he lifted his hands to his face. The furless pads feeling the sickening truth... the fur that coated his body had not mercifully stopped shy of his face. And worse.... a whimper escaped his throat... his mouth and nose.... ever so subtly they pushed out. A cold wetness brushed against his pads as he passed his nose and it was all Ambrose could do to keep his sobs held into his chest.

His eyes directed towards the door to the bathroom, slightly ajar, and he swallowed. Inside was a mirror. Could... he do it? He shook his head severely with a growl. HE couldn't hide. Greer hadn't hid. Cassidy hadn't hid. Even Hargun hadn't hid. THey could deal with this - HE could deal with this.

Resolutely, he got to aching feet and hobbled towards the bathroom with a thin facade of determination. Flipping on the lights, his reflection caught him and tore a gaping hole through his paper shield of confidence. His mind almost didn't accept it at first - thinking that somehow someone an animal had gotten into the room. That only set him up for a harder fall. That.... that face.... it was his. The tears that he saw leaking from the blue eyes stained with yellow.... the animal's ears which were pressed flat against its head... the short muzzle with a maw full of teeth and long sicled canines... the cold, black nose. That face under the mop of familiar, but disheveled blonde hair was him.

Backpedeling away from the mirror and the bathroom, he tripped over the edge of the bed and fell onto the soft mattress. pulling the comforter around him he whined and whimpered. This couldn't be true! Dear God, that couldn't be him! Not his face... not HIM - one of his deepest horrors was being realized - losing himself behind the mask of an animal... not even being recognizable as a man anymore. People seeing him wouldn't see a man.... they'd see a beast.

Through wet eyes, he looked to the bedstand, where the photograph of Angelina... standing besides how he should be rested. It was almost too much to bear. He reached out to turn the face down, but stopped. Seeing the monster's hand besides the image of his human self... it almost seemd sacriligious to touch it. His own blue eyes stared out of the photo, showing a happiness that had slipped through his hands. Would Angelina, even if she were here now, ever touch him with such comfort and love as she did in that photograph? He swallowed.... a reminder... a precious reminder... that's what it was. Of who he was... and who he IS inside.

Emelyn didn't know the girl's name- she'd never been officially introduced, but she'd seen her at the Halloween party, and when The Dude had been... incapacitated. She was surprised, however, to see her at Ambrose's door.

"Oh..." she said, pausing several steps from the duplex door, "I didn't mean to interrupt anything. I was just..." her voice trailed off. She'd actually come to talk to Ambrose- and to either apologize for her assumptions, or to cement them. But she wasn't going to tell that to someone she didn't know. "I just came to talk to Ambrose," she finished, the pause noticeable.

Amaya jumped slightly, having not even noticed the woman until she spoke up. "Oh! Uhm, me too... My names Amaya by the way, Mister Dude told me your name is Emelyn?" She more asked then anything, wondering if her description had been good enough for him to peg who she had been talking about right on the dot. "I just have to tell him something real quick though, I won't be long." Even though she had been largly freaked out the previous night, it didn't take a genious to see that something was going on between her and Ambrose. She would tell him the Dude was alright and then jet, leaving the two lovebirds alone.

Her eyes went wide as she saw Ambrose... or... it sounded like Ambrose answer the door. She could feel her heart drop to her feet as her mouth opened to say something but nothing came out. Amaya started to tear up as she shook her head in bewhilderment and stepped forward without a word, wrapping her arms around him and hugging tightly. Right now, no words could express how sorry she felt for him... Her face burried into the pelt that covered his body, tears wetting the fur as she wept silently.

A whine escaped Ambrose as Amaya clung to him, sobbing into his fur. He hugged her fiercely, happy for the contact although her tears were regretfully contagious. He felt his own eyes become misty. She was scared, and rightfully so - he was scared. "I'm sorry, Amaya... Dear God I'm sorry.... I wish this hadn't happened." He smoothed her dark hair back with his furred hand.

He looked up to Emelyn as he held her, not sure who was doing more of the comforting. "Th... thank you, Emelyn." He whispered. He had been so scared to see her again - between their parting, and worried that she would be scared of him - that he would have a hard time still seeing him as a man. "It... it just happened.... today." He was trying to put forth a brave front before two of his closest friends here - show that he had courage. But something about the hollowness of the last phrase betrayed the shock that he was still suffering.

"Please... come inside...?"

Emelyn followed the instruction to come in, and, seeing the tears in Amayas eyes, put her hand on her shoulder again- this time comfortingly. The words that sprang to mind were "It's okay"... but held them back. Obviously, everything wasn't okay. If anything... nothing was okay.

"I'm so sorry, Ambrose," she said. She was torn between wanting to comfort him, and wanting to let him know that she didn't feel any differently about him. It was a very... hard medium to accomplish, and it left her torn.