Welcome to Gaia! ::

Emelyn was not so swirled up in the torrid passion that she could take this horror with good graces. What had been a beautifully coated piece of guilt had been replaced by raw, tainted fear as the wolfen face of Ambrose transformed before her into a man now long dead. His words were hollow, and she screamed- trying to force him off her by pushing at his chest with her sharp claws, only to see that her hands were human, untouched by Moreau's terror and depravity.

She punched then, with human fists- but where she expected to find the hard, tanned flesh and muscle, only a veneer of skin wrapped like cruched paper around a core of blood remained. The force of her attack ripped a crass hole, peeling back to drench her with a viscous black and red reek, and the form that had once been Sean peeled away and draped across her- a skincrust of death as a still-smiling, deflated face sat upon her chest, looking up at her.

Emelyn White screamed. ...Even after she'd woken up.

It was a dream. It was only a dream. A nightmare, a horrible, ugly thing, but it was over, now... but what did it mean? She clung to her knees and rocked herself, having pushed up from her stomach-prone position on the bed. She could see perfectly in the darkness, and yet, somehow, as the thoughts swirled in her head and tears collected in her eyes, the black night terrified her.

Zach wanted so badly to think that he'd be fine. Sabin was looking out for him, after all. But the threat of violence seemed ever stronger. He didn't know how to combat the madness that drove everyone to it. No one listened to him when he tried. In the meantime he'd have to find an alternative, and fast.

He opened the door of the entertainment room and tried to duck inside, but in his haste his curved horns caught the doorway and his head was jerked backward. He swore, perhaps a little too loudly, and unhooked himself so that he could make it in. It was a disadvantage of being so tall, but he didn't mind it. It just made entering and exiting his duplex infuriating sometimes.

Once he'd managed to make it inside, he rustled his wings to resettle them comfortably behind his back. He moved toward the bookshelves, not paying close attention to whoever else was in the room. He was going to go shut himself in his duplex and read today rather than take his chances with any of the disgruntled individuals on the island. The injury from the bat was still in a scab sort of state, and itched frequently.

What did all these islanders want? To go 'home'? But the island was their home! The occasional changes and Annie aside, it was better than most of them could have hoped for before coming. They were all treated well - provided they weren't troublemakers. Those types were dealt with accordingly. He himself had caused trouble before and suffered the consequences of his actions. He'd been wrong. But that was what his entire life as a human was all about. His inadequacies, his failures, his uselessness. The island gave purpose, not just to him but to everyone. All they had to do was know it and accept it. It wasn't that hard.

Zach was headed past the couch when he heard the sneered comment. He stopped suddenly, frill spread fully and wings threatening to spread as well. Edgy and nervous, it was too difficult to ignore an insult that crass. It was something he wouldn't admit - losing his hair had been a tough blow to his self-esteem for a long time. He'd tried so hard to keep himself under contro for the past few monthsl that those less rational of his instincts tried to come to the surface in his distraction. An odd hiss escaped his mouth as he backtracked toward the dhole. He just didn't have the patience today to deal with the hate. Why they didn't just leave him alone was beyond him.

"What," he grimaced, towering over the couch and staring down his long snout, "did you just say?"

He leaned forward to set his hands down on the back couch a little ways to the side of the person who was already sitting. His tail swished from side to side as he leered at the dhole, who appeared a little different - though not much. Anger was dissolving away his inhibitions and making thoughts that ought to have bothered him become strangely appealing. He hadn't felt this way in too long, though he was so lost in the strange blending of instinct and intent that he temporarily forgot why. The dhole's neck was so exposed, right within reach of his jaws and claws. All it would take to silence him forever would be a careful snap of his neck, or perhaps just to gouge his vocal chords out instead...

Wait, what?

Hearing the words repeated managed to knock his previous thoughts clear of his mind. He growled, frustrated that he had to put up with this. But there would be no resorting to violence. Sabin would be upset with him if he did. His tone was layered with disgust when he finally spoke, eyes narrowed. "Your mother must be so proud of the vocabulary you've picked up."

"My mother?" he scoffed incredulously, as though it was absurd to think he'd ever had one. Because he hadn't. His rebirth had come of his last change. And besides, he'd been freed of those frivolous connections to family years ago. Zach dug his claws into the couch, ripping through the material like a hot knife through butter with an accompanying zipping sound. He stepped backward. "Pet, huh? Like I haven't heard that one before."

He flexed his claws, staring down at them for a moment before returning his haughty gaze to the dhole. It was infuriating to think this was what most islanders thought. The little speech he'd given made Zach sick to his stomach over how wrong it was, how unfair to Sabin it was. And everyone kept accusing him of being Sabin's pet, when in fact he was just a pet project - definitely different. He had dignity here, unlike the average islanders. "Dr. Duvert is not a psycho. Don't make such idiotic comments. He's saved us; he rescued us from our pathetic lives. We're a part of something greater now. Something important and useful. You don't know - you - you wouldn't understand. I've accepted this place. It's our home whether you want it to be or not. Forever. But since you're so desperate for some 'noble purpose' you fail to see the one right under your canine nose. The doctors picked you for this... dhole. They want to help you, but you keep refusing it. So it turns out you're just a self-hating dog. Your only enemy is yourself. If anything, you've reduced yourself to being the real pet here, moaning about an invisible leash." He finished with a cruel laugh.

"They aren't lies!" It was the truth, that's what it was. It wasn't worth questioning anything he was told by Sabin anyhow. In the end the doctor was always right, and it only left him feeling scared and stupid for trying. There wasn't even anything wrong with the thought that his changes had a higher purpose. What was this guy so offended by? "You wanted purpose for your life? There's your purpose! You're contributing to this project whether you want to or not. Face it, you can't go back like this no matter how much you're obsessed with it. If you hate this island so much, what do you think the reaction of the world will be to you? Do you think you could just go back there and not be noticed? Do you honestly think you could go back to the miserable little life you let before as though you'd never left? Or maybe you're just desperate for attention and pity."

"It's only a prison because you see it that way. You're trapped by your own hate when you don't have to be." He moved forward again, wings loosely open but still not folded back behind him. It was likely he was beyond hope of understanding this opportunity because he was consumed by his misery. Zach didn't know how to get through to him. He didn't even know why he was bothering at this point. This guy was insane and probably dangerous. But he couldn't just let him sit back and think that his shortsighted, ungrateful views were right when they weren't. "Of course you needed saving. Everyone here did. You were the one too blinded to see it, but they saw. Face it. You can't go back, and the world doesn't want you back. You belong here now."

He was amused in a bitter way at the dhole's defensiveness. Gaius had been the same. How much humanity could they pretend to possess when it was evident there was hardly any left? "Funny, you certainly look like one to me."

The hints were all there. The dhole's movements, Zach's own close proximity, it all added up. It was familiar in some way, and his muscles tensed as he braced himself for a punch he couldn't avoid. He'd gotten too close, again, to an individual so consumed with violent insanity that there was no hope left for them. But this time it was a white-hot pain through his left eye, and the surrounding parts of his face. He couldn't have reacted quickly enough to get away even if he had known what it would be. The pain! Instantly he clapped both his hands to his left eye, bellowing a catlike roar marred by screeches. He didn't see the dhole fall back to the ground, didn't see anything, was so blinded by the pain. As he pulled himself back from that unfortunate spot he'd just been standing his long feet couldn't balance and he fell to the floor himself, landing squarely on his tail.

Something warm and wet and sticky was seeping between his fingers, down his tear ducts, something that even his nose and tongue could identify as blood. It was blood from his eye, his face - he hoped it was just his face, but the knife-like pain indicated otherwise. Once again, he was struck terrified, and it had only been a mere fifteen seconds since the strike. His lungs were refusing to work. Stability crumbled instantly, and his reasoning fled away. He moved his fingers slightly and a thick stream of red trickled down his face and splattered on his red scales and his clothes. He couldn't deal with the many conflicting instincts that regularly made his brain itch. Instead he invited them all to account for it while he focused on the most important issue at hand.

Between hisses and growls, and with tears running down the right side of his face while burning the left like acid, he scrambled to his feet. He could feel his instincts growing more overbearing with each moment that passed, the sense of danger weakening his focus. He couldn't deal with it. He needed HELP. It was a disgusting process but he managed to tear one bloodsoaked hand away from his face to rip his scarf from around his neck. He didn't know why he was still conscious but he had to stop the bleeding however he could. It was making him dizzy and sick in addition to causing pain enough to tint his vision white every couple of seconds. The scarf didn't do much but set off more horrible burning in the side of his face and his eye, but it soaked up some blood. He took off for the door at the fastest he could go without tripping and falling, his wings already starting to open out behind him.