Welcome to Gaia! ::

"Hmm..." Nita eyed Chubbs critically. "I think mostly I'd say a bear of some sort. It's not quite right for the face..." She cocked her head to the side, chewing gently on her lower lip.

After a moment she shrugged and grinned. "Other than that, I dunno."

Nita flushed again, aware of being looked over. The white fur on her face wasn't exactly the best at hiding a blush. "I know what you mean about the elf thing, actually." She shook her head, still smiling. "I had people tell me I was pixie-like long before I changed, so I guess it fits."

Nita's eyebrows shot up again when Chubbs listed his particular combination. "Wow," was all she managed, remembering little bits of information about those particular animals. "Temper, much?" she asked lightly, although her expression showed a distinct sense of sympathy for anyone having to deal with instincts like that.

She thought back to her conversation with Dr. Duvert, who had said she was lucky to have received the red panda serum. Nita knew she wasn't nearly as changed as a lot of the islanders, but even so, the red panda's instincts didn't seem to be terribly intrusive.

"Mostly," Nita said, nodding absently. "I read a lot, and I've been spending quite a bit of time out here or wandering the jungle. Well," she amended, "Not so much there, recently. But I usually end up running into people, and I have a couple of good friends already." Nita blushed at that. Lauren was more than just a 'good friend.'

Nita shook her head slowly. It really was a shame to dump three vicious animals on one guy.

She made a little squeaking noise, surprised at the hug. She hugged the big guy back, his shaggy fur softer than it looked.

"Aw, thanks," she mumbled. "I kinda needed that."

((tbc later))

"I don't mind," Nita told him. "Much better to have more friendly people around here." She nodded to emphasize her point, amused by Colche's nickname for him. It seemed the cheetah-girl had nicknames for all of her friends. "Colche called me Ariel," she laughed. "We watched The Little Mermaid together, a couple weeks ago."

"Oh..." Nita paused and poked at the sand. "Yesterday was my birthday."

Nita laughed. She was hardly the kind of girl who'd wear a bikini top at all, much less one made of shells.. and especially since her change. The girl didn't particularly mind the changes, but she was still a bit self-conscious about all the fur. Even her old one-piece bathing suit was out of the question for now.

"Nope, I can't say that I was!" Nita replied, grinning. "And thanks. I know it's a bit silly to make a big deal over a birthday, but still. I always had a party of some sort, even if it was just going to lunch with a couple of people."

Her smile changed to a slightly sadder one, but she nodded and leaned gratefully against Chubbs.

A few tears threatened to fall, although they weren't particularly sad or happy tears. It was just.. emotionally overwhelming. Nita sniffed as quietly as she could and surreptitiously dried her eyes.

"Thanks," she murmured, closing her eyes for a moment. The little variation of the birthday song did cheer her up; Nita giggled quietly. "I like that," she said, amused. It was probably a good thing he hadn't said 'You live in a zoo'!

Nita nodded, touched by the gesture. "Thanks again," she mumbled, her voice muffled by the big man's fur.

She really didn't need a party, but she appreciated the offer. Just having a giant teddy bear to hold on to made a considerable difference in her mood.

((Ditto about the intrusion >> ))


Ambrose strode out determinely from his duplex. For the first time in months he held his epee in his hand as he walked towards the familiar stretch of sandy beach.

The epee had sat neglected in his closet since before the lockout. For some reason, after he had taken to the 'wild', no matter how unwilingly, it felt wrong to touch the symbol of his life before the island. He was so unmistakably changed from his arrival here, in body and spirit. He had even gone to the point of starting to dig out a niche for himself here. He had Angelina, the most important person to him from before the Island... and he had friends - True friends the likes of which he had never had before coming here save for Angelina. Amaya and Colche were right in calling their bond a family - he felt closer to the two girls than he ever had with his real brother - a fillial bond that he had always wanted. And his friendship with Emelyn was even begining to bloom again in the wake of the cold frost of parting that had occurred with Angelina's arrival.

But Ambrose would be lying if he said he was content. He had... adjusted... but he could never deny the fact that he was not here by choice, that he could never leave, and that there were pieces of his life that he had never been willing to let go. And to make matters worse, even when he was settling into making his relationship with Angelina and his friends, his 'new family' the new center to his existence, he was still .... lacking. Emotions boiled beneath his surface that only became more poignant and prominent after his last transformation. A yearning for things that were not just quirky side effects. And as much as he repressed them... they only boiled stronger in his breast. He had learned that the hard way. And after hearing horror stories of the other islanders, Ambrose SWORE to never be like them. Never to pose a threat to friends... to "family".

The missing days had terrifyed him. The idea that, even if it WAS the lab's imposition, that he had become so totally and completely ANIMAL that he was not even cognizant of his actions... that they did not last as long as a stain of breath on a mirror in his memories. Upon hearing of Aubrey's grave injury.... he had been so sure it was his fault.. it had nearly torn him to pieces to think he might have been capable of that. He had breathed such a sweet breath of relief when he heard it wasn't him. That he was innocent... that he hadn't hurt someone. And yet that relief was still stained with the fact that someone else had. Someone else who was normally a kind, meek individual who had been driven to madness from the changes.

What if that was their future here...? What if they lost themselves? He could not stand to bear that. And so, with renewed resolve, to cling to the connections that he had, his cognizance, and to find another way of dealing with impulse than to fall into it, he grasped for the method of stress relief from his old life.

Before, Ambrose had always repressed his deep, biting emotions. But that was not good enough on its own. Nor was even his .. healthy relationship with Angelina. No, it was the thrill of the competiton, the focus of his quick movements on the single glimmering blade as he sought a weak point in his opponent's guard. The thrill of this mock combat that ignited his passion and whipped him towards his goal of success, to be better, to impress, and to physically best his opponent. His imagination could soar in the context of the fight - he was a swashbuckling hero fighting for his lady love.. he was a revolutionary fighting for freedom..... it was Ambrose vs the other. In a way.... part of him could see the parallel between this combat and the desire for a Hunt that had begun to ebb its way into his daily thoughts. Proving his merit through quick, decisive action... in besting an opponent.

Perhaps, the way to deal with these impulses was always there, behind the closet door. In a way, he had been almost ashamed to touch it. To stain that symbol of his life before with what he had become - to pick it up with his paw-like hand. Ambrose had stood at the closet door for probably ten minutes before finally snatching it up and heading outside. He wouldn't even be able to wear the mask anymore. Not unless he had one specially made - which for all he knew the labs might do for him. But it still seemed an affront. It was only with how natural the grip still felt in his hands... that he could close his eyes and remember the feel - that the blade was an extention of his own arm, that reassurance and familiarith washed over him. It was right... it was still right.

Arriving on the familiar beach at dawn, Ambrose hesitated another while before settlign into stance. The sand was still cool, not having become searing hot with the rays of the sun, nor did the tropical sun threaten to bake him alive under his fur. For once, it seemed, no one had taken up residence on the beach, leaving it just him, the sand and the salty air.

He walked differently now, unable to put his weight on his feet flat-footed... He was worried he might need to learn everything from scratch.... but after a few trial periods of footwork, Ambrose realized that he could adapt. Hell, his feet were built for speed now even more than they had before - track runners ran on the balls of their feet - Martial artists would keep to the balls of their feet to be able to quickly change direction. And with his stance being like this... he wasn't worried about telegraphing movement.

He set down the water bottle he had brought with him and settled into stance. It felt... different... but right. HE felt he could move and react quickly, advancing and retreating - and switching directions easily, his tail swinging and keeping his balance better than he would have liked to admit.

A few tentative points of attack with the blade quickly turned into a long-overdue practice - in footwork, in defense, in offensive measures, and point control on local flora.

It was just a pity that he didn't actually have an opponent..... He hadn't seen Greer in ages... She was the closest thing to a challenge on the island, and even then they weren't evenly matched. She fought with Sabre, and he with epee. The styles were so different. Certainly, perhaps if they practiced at it, they might be a challenge. But even then out of the circuit of training and competitions, back out there in the "real world" Ambrose had dozens of challengers with each competition - new faces, and fresh blood - different styles to learn and adapt to and try to best. Unless he took the time to teach each and every individual on the island, then it would never be the same. And even then, he would be the only teacher - and that would reflect on the pupils.

He shoved the thoughts to the back of his mind. He was here, at least for the morning, for practice. He was very much out of it, had put on a bit of pudginess around his middle embarrasingly enough, and his point control was unaccaptably off. It would be many hours before Ambrose settled down to take a break, feeling exhausted, but exhuberated with the workout.