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 Posted: Tue Aug 30, 2005 8:46 pm
"Ooo, Ornithoptera goliath!" Greer blinked, realizing she had a response to give. Pulling off her mask, she turned quickly and smiled, attempting to watch the butterfly and Ambrose at the same time.
"Yes, good good match. I'll pratice enough to get my arm strength up, anyway."
The goliath birdwing was getting away. Nodding, she excused herself. "I need to catch that butterfly. Very rare. Bye! See you later! Tell you about mosquitos!"
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Posted: Tue Aug 30, 2005 9:13 pm
Ambrose waved and wished her good luck, gathering up the rest of the equipment. "See you later, Greer! I'll be intersted to hear what you discover!" Bringing the fencing equipment back to his duplex, he tucked away the unsweaty pieces back into the closet, and putting the jacket into a hamper carefully to wash later. Then it was back into the shower. Normally even Ambrose wasn't that bad about multiple showers a day, but having just fenced in the tropical humidity was certainly room for an exception. That and the insane itching! Turning on the cool shower was an instant relief and he looked down at his chest. The itching had left an irritated red patch, but he still didn't notice anything particularly odd about the skin other than that... except perhaps the hair there looked a little darker and thicker than he recalled... Ambrose had been blessed with relatively sparse (and light-colored at that) body hair thus far in his life, and muttering under his breath he sincerely hoped that that was not making a change for the worse thanks to whatever hormones might be in the drugs - but it wasn't beyond the realm of the possible at all. He had had enough biology to know that things like hair growth, and metabolism for that matter, could very much be hormone or chemically controlled. Given the experimental nature of the drug he could be very well on the verge of a veritable second puberty he thought darkly. Before he called it a day, he thought to himself, he would have to check in with the town hall to see if they had any sort of benedryl. But first, he mused as he toweled off, he would send Angelina another letter. He hadn't received any responses yet.... although it had been only a week and a half. it was perfectly likely that anything he sent wouldn't even get there by the time that he arrived home given the slowness of international post. But still, he liked expressing to her that he thought of her while he was here. Quote: Dearest Angelina, Hope that you're doing well. It struck me today that more likely than not you'll get these letters long after my return home, but it's no matter. The weather finally cleared up after a rather nasty tropical storm. I had been worried that perhaps the weather would delay the helicopter from coming or leaving, but it doesn't look like that will be an issue any longer. They did however mention that if there are any complications that they can keep me here longer than the two weeks, but they assured me that that is only extrenuating circumstances, and that it shouldn't go over time. So I am counting the days until my return to you. Only another 4 days left until it will have been two weeks since my departure. I only just got my second injection last night. So far so good - no horrendous side effects. I have been feeling more energized, when fencing with Greer today despite the heat and humidity I kept going strong. Sweating thoroughly, admittedly, but I wasn't tired. Really wish you were here, if you catch my drift. I would love to .... explore my stamina in other areas *wink*. Speaking of fencing, I had a glorious surprise yesterday - the facility apparently ordered three sets of epee fencing gear! It was a dream come true! I could actually spar with Greer today as opposed to just working on footwork and point control. Given, she's a sabre fighter and there is a big difference in style and execution that gave me a rather unfair advantage, but it was still a great deal of fun. I won't bore you too much with the nitty details. You're always on my thoughts. Love, Ambrose Heading to the town hall, he saw to it that the woman got the letter, and got a nice tube of benedryl and a small box of tylenol in case the headaches came back. Kicking himself for not thinking to ask her earlier for the minor pain relievers, he headed back to apply said medications and to probably call it an early evening. Little did Ambrose know that the physical activity that he had been partaking on since he had arrived on the Island and received his first injection had done wonders for pumping the blood through his system and facilitating the spread of the serum that he had been injected with. This second injection and the subsequent fencing match had also done wonders for speeding up the process....
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Posted: Wed Aug 31, 2005 9:16 am
THE TRANSFORMATION
Part One
Ambrose had drawn the drapes of of his windows and locked the door, so even though it was only late afternoon the inside of his bungalow was pretty dark. Mercifully so, though Ambrose miserably as he tossed and turned in the bedsheets.
He had yet to manage to reach a deep sleep, repeatedly slipping in and out of a semi-consciousness, to toss and turn and try to make himself comfortable again only to nod off for what felt like only a few minutes. Between hot flashes (which made him think irritably of reading about menupausal women from Health class in high school), and the incessant itching, the times he was awake he just wanted to sleep, but it kept drawing him back to consciousness.
While the benedryl had succeeded in alleviating the itching for a time to allow him to doze off the first time, repeated applications had yielded no further relief. And to make matters worse, aside from the feverishness and the itching, his arm was throbbing like mad and he felt off-balance and overall very wrong. His head pounded, his back was sore, even his teeth seemed to ache in his head.
He rolled over again, squeezing his eyes shut, trying and failing once again to force himself to unconsciousness until this passed. His mind briefly flitted with the idea of hitting "0" on the intercom to enlighten one of the staff of his misery, but his pride forbade it. So he was sick and missing sleep, that was nothing worth complaining about to the doctors. He'd be fine in the morning. He had felt ill after the first injection, so feeling strange after the second one should be no surprise... but apparently the discomfort was exponential.... he would be certain to mention such to the doctors afterwards. If this drug was meant for the disabled then this sort of side effect might be too severe. He burried his eyes in the crook of his elbow. While it was dark in the room, any amount of light seemed to intensify his headache at the moment.
He groaned as another wave of itchiness intensified along his chest and back, and reached up with his free arm to scratch at it. He froze, a chill racing down his spine as two disturbing surprises lept to the forefront of his mind. First, his fingers had encountered a very thick patch of hair on his chest. Secondly, in the process of going to idly itch himself, he had nearly gouged himself.
He sat bolt upright in a cold sweat. Something was severely wrong. Swallowing a frog in his throat he ventured a look downwards at his open nightshirt (which he had unbuttoned sometime in his tossings in attempts to releive the itching), his head swimming in shock. The initial feeling of "thick hair" had been an underestimation, he realized staring in stupification. What was growing on his chest could more aptly be described as fur it was so thick. And unlike the normal chest hair that he had previously prided himself in his own lack of, this wasn't the wiry, curly hairs that most men had - but silky, fine hair that was growing in as thick as a ******** carpet. The hairs were also at least a good inch long each. He tried several times to wrap his mind around what the HELL was going on. It didn't make any sense. It wasn't possible. He raised a shaking hand again to the hair, feeling it. It was real, he could feel it between his fingeres, and his chest tickled as he touched it. This had to be a dream, he told himself, but Ambrose knew otherwise. While a dream could often be mistaken for reality, it seldom worked the other way around.
As his eyes adjusted more to the dim lighting, they were drawn to the reason behind why the last time he had itched himself he had left painful scratches. Tipping each finger was a very long, pointed nail. His hands were shaking as he raised them to his face for closer inspection. There was no doubt about it. Each nail appeared longer, thicker and drastically more pointed than they had any right to be.
He scrambled backwards. "This isn't right!" he cried, his voice cracking in confusion. Forcing himself to breathe, he squeezed his eyes closed and gripped the bedsheets in his balled fists. His mind searched for a rationalization.
It was just... some sort of reaction - hormones. That could cause increased hair growth, even the keratin of his nails could have been effected similarly - weren't hair and nails of a similar substance? Maybe even linked to the increased metabolism. His logic tried to protest - but even an increased rate of growth couldn't cause something like that in a matter of hours! ... right? And the hair on his chest was almost inhumanly thick.
He rocked back and forth, taking metered breaths like he did when he was between matches that had been placed too close together. He wouldn't let himself overreact, he chided himself. It was just a little hair. He could wax it off once he got back, and trim the nails. The doctor said the effects were just temporary - he was overreacting and acting like a child.... what would his parents think of him acting so juvenile? Dreu would never have been so frightened of this. It was no wonder he had been such a disappoint- NO! He wouldn't think like that anymore! He was doing what he wanted to be doing, he was free of that now, and he was going to make them proud doing what he was good at and what he loved. He would show them that. This was just a necessary evil along that road. Just four more bloody days and he could return home with enough money to last him the entire fall semester - maybe more if he metered it out. He'd be that much closer to the olympics, and to making his parents proud of him....
That much closer.
He sat there rocking, focusing on the goal, and balling up the fear that was fighting the rationalization, the intuition that something very very wrong was going on, his heartrate racing as the serum accelerated through his bloodstream....
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Posted: Wed Aug 31, 2005 9:34 am
The Transformation
Part Two
Hours later sleep still eluded Ambrose. He still sat against the headboard of the bed, the sheets clenched in his hands. He had hardly moved since he had positioned himself there, drawing mentally inwards and withdrawing himself from the increasing physical discomforts and trying to make himself forget what he had seen. Ambrose wouldn't call himself vain, but he was very concerned with his image. He believed that the way that he presented himself to others was the most important thing in social interactions, and wanted to be in full control of that initial reaction. He wanted to be in control of his emotions, be neat and tidy in his appearance: dress nicely, have styled hair, be clean and well-kempt. His upbringing had seen to that. The facade was everything, all-important. And even people who might have something rotten in the core, like Ambrose's brother Dreu, that was unimportant to people like Ambrose's parents if they could maintain an attractive outward appearance of control and measure.
Ambrose had tried to break away from the the wealthy, NewEnglander mould as he had come to realize that the things that they dictated went far beyond an outward appearance and demeanor but dictated what recreational activities, interests, and even friends one could have. And just how different his own interests were from what was acceptable. However, despite the independance that he had expierenced through Angelina's encouragement, there were certain aspects of that upbringing that were so ingrained that even Angelina doubted that he would ever shed. She teased him for frequently taking two showers a day, for his style in clothing, and always tried to get him to open up to her more and share his inner feelings. And, compared to his opennes with anyone else, he did, but there was still that inner creative dreamer that had never quite struggled all the way to the surface that Angelina was still trying to coax out. And he was horrid about balling up any negative emotion. Even if he knew better, he couldn't get over the feeling of weakness, brutishness, or genereally less than masculine if he showed any signs of extreme anguish or anger - those were earmarks of a lesser man. Angelina was still the only one that had ever seen him cry before. She took it as a badge of pride, and encouraged him for "letting it out", but he could never shake the feeling of guilt that still symied beneath the surface for letting it happen at all. There were just some things that were too hard to change.
However, that aformentioned anguish that had been building over the years seemed to be seizing onto some powerful, primal feeling welling in his breast. Part of it was the pain and discomfort that was even creeping on his mental defenses, but part of it was something more - something that only generally surfaced in dreams, most especially the recent onces. He was having a harder and harder time ignoring the reality of the ... changes... that were happening to his youthful body.
The itch was spreading, and with it, Ambrose knew deep down, was the unsightly hair. Over his shoulders, down his back, along the back of his arms, down his legs. He could feel it prickling against his clothes, rubbing against the sheets, tickling his skin at the roots of the new hair. Just... hormoes He repeated to himself. It's just temporary.
His jaws and teeth ached, the prickling tickled up to the sides of his face and ears, which were becoming rather sore...
The prickling down his back continued, following his spine until it reached the base. There, a strange throbbing began. It felt like someone was pulling at the base of his spine. No, that wasn't right. It felt like his spine was pushing out at the base. He swallowed again at the ball that had been forming in his throat, wishing it would go away. His eyes were stinging a bit and he knew that that if he didn't keep that ball down, than it would surface to tears. He wouldn't cry. Men didn't cry.
Then there was a grinding sensation in his coccyx. He could hear it through his body as he could swear that it was pushing outwards. With another gut-wrenching grinding noise, it felt as if his spine had just been put on the Rack and was being pulled. The ball of emotion that he had been choking back on escaped and he cried out - tears splashing down his cheeks as a horrendous pain spasmed up his spine. And, for a time, blessed darkness and unconsciousness washed over him.
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Posted: Wed Aug 31, 2005 4:54 pm
The Transformation
Part 3
Ambrose had no way of discerning just how long he was out. When consciousness did begin to lure him back to the real world, Ambrose's subconscious seemed to involuntarily resist, clinging to the blissful ignorance that rested in the darkness and the disavowing of anything out in that place that had suddenly become strange and uninviting. A groggy series of flashes of parts of the room: such as the ceiling, a bit of blanket, or the air vent above his bed began to work their way into his mind, pulling at him, tempting him with the normalcy that his psyche needed. And so, when his mind began to emerge from the cool pool of sleep, and his eyes opened to stare at the darkened room and familiar ceiling, his felt disoriented - the memories of the last several hours temporarily obfuscated by the aftereffects of a deep sleep.
Then, however, as if the world decided that he had had enough respite, the memories came flooding back of his hellish night in one big package. He sat up suddenly and it felt as if his heart had seized up in his chest for a moment. It couldn't be true. Just a nightmare...
The words seemed laughably false even in his mind. His eyes were squeezed shut again, twin shield against reality that were only milimeters thin.
He sat there, trying to steady his breathing and trying to convince himself that what he knew was true could not possibly be so, all the while refusing to actually open his eyes to verify or falsify it for himself.
He couldn't sit there forever. He couldn't even sit there all day, his stomach pointed out vocally. He was being a coward, a child; he could hear his father's voice resonating in his head. Finally, at the slight he sucked in a breath, held it for a moment, and with its release forced his eyes open.
The wall. The wall was neutral and unoffensive. And Ambrose was perfectly willing to continue to stare at the wall, but knew very well that that was a coward's excuse. Slowly. Very slowly, he extracated himself from the sheets, keeping his eyes level with the wall and still refusing to look down just quite yet, he walked over to a corner of the room.... and looked down.
During the night Ambrose had managed to work off his button-up nightshirt, leaving him in just a pair of boxers that did very little to alleviate the shock of seeing a good part of his body covered in soft, grey, cream, and blonde hair. Primarily his chest and legs, but there were patches of it even on the backs of his hands, down the backs of his arms and hobbit-like spots on even his feet. He swallowed a lump, forcing his breathing to not seize up. Just... hair... his mental voice squeeked out.
However, that was not the extent of it - as he knew from the previous night. His fingers were tipped with short... there was no way around using the term "Claws". And as his gaze traveled down he noted that his feet sported similar sharpened nails. He felt his knees turning to rubber and his balance giving out. He sunk heavily to the floor, struggling to keep rational about this, to metering out the fear that was building up behind the barracade in his chest.
However, when his bottom hit the floor and a strange pain blossomed from the base of his spine in a spot that he KNEW shouldn't be so sensitive, let alone be there at all, he was to his feet again in an instant as if stung by a wasp. Whimpering, he reached back behind himself and slipped his hesitant fingers under the waistband of his boxers....
What his fingers brushed against back there sent waves of fear and denial coursing through Ambrose, shattering the last barracades of the dam that he had been using to hold back his reactions. He let loose a scream and jerked back his hand. Hair... he could deal with hair. He could shave hair. He could trim the freakishly long nails. But there was no way around the short, flesh-and-bone stub that his fingers had encountered. While it probably was not much longer than about two inches, the dual sensations from his fingers and the stub slapped him with the wrongness of what was going on.
Ambrose ran to the bathroom, with the intention of running cold water over his face, his voice a strangled whimper at his horrific discovery. However, as soon as the light had been flipped on, Ambrose was face-to-face with even larger problems as he froze in his flight, facing the mirror.
It couldn't be his face. More of that grey-blonde hair was clinging to the jawline, and growing like a soft moss along long.... pointed ears. And the gaping mouth exposed elongated canines like something out of a horror movie.
The imge mirrored the face's pained and horrified expression, mimicked the hands reaching up to feel that yes, the hair and ears were as real to his tactile senses as they were to his eyes. As as much as Ambrose would have liked to wake up that very moment to look into a clean-shaven, confident and handsome young man, that image was gone, replaced by this... monsterous reflection that looked more like something from a horror movie than a young man that had his life in order, and control over himself and the world around him.
And Ambrose crumpled, his barracade gone, wailing tears spilling forth.
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Posted: Wed Aug 31, 2005 7:36 pm
Once Ambrose's emotions were loosed, years of backlog poured forth into the now moist hair (fur) on his arms. He was glad that no one was there to hear him sobbing like a child. He had just wanted a means to make his parents proud of him for being himself, not one of a thousand cookie-cutter sheep that families like his produced. Self-pity about his lot in life - 2nd from birth, and an afterthought to the people he most desired to impress until finally reaching a form of independence years and years later in High School. Cumulating to now, when finally taking the steps necessary to further his career, the money he desperately needed - the only thing his parents had provided him in the lieu of care when he was younger now the thing that got in his way to do what he wanted. That tainted him, marring his appearance.
Finally, finally the self-pity stymied away, leaving behind a rolling anger. Ambrose didn't even notice the feral growl that was building in his chest as he wiped at his face with a moist towel, heaving breaths and daring to meet his own reflection once again in the mirror. He winced at the mockery of his handsome features reflected back.
Throwing down the towel he stalked back out into the main room and pounded HARD on the "0" button on the intercom. They would answer to this.
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Posted: Wed Aug 31, 2005 9:50 pm
Doctor Moreau Moreau was in a way suprised by his own excitement. His expiriment was working his life's work was finally succeeding and this made him very very happy. The previous night with Aubrey had opened him emotionally to something that felt very comfortable, and something that gave him a way to vent this excitement. The video slowed to real time as the clock it had on it showed it current, as both of them saw Ambrose pounding on the intercom hitting the 0 button. Just as Moreau had expected, he'd already set the system to foward. Aubrey's radio phone began to make noise to alert her someone was trying to get through. "Get that love..." Moreau mumbled as he nibbled her ear. Of course he hadn't expected to be doing this to her when she recieved the call, but he just couldn't get himself to stop either. Moreau... was on top of the world. Aubrey Lockheart Aubrey whined. She really didn't want to answer the phone.
Really, really really didn't...
With an overdramatic sigh, she smirked and pulled the phone from her handbag. "Hello, Doctor Lockheart speaking..." she couldn't help but giggle as she felt Moreau's tongue on her ear. She tried to pull away. How dsitracting blaugh Ambrose Maurlias Ambrose's fury was evident through his voice alone, if the image wasn't accompanying it furthering the picture. He was still in his boxers, hadn't even bothered to get dressed. This was far too pressing. "It's about ******** TIME" he snarled into the voicebox. He could feel the fur hair on the back of his neck and shoulders prickling upwards. "What in the HELL have you done to me?!" Ambrose yelled, his voice cracking. Aubrey Lockheart Aubrey looked to the screen, trying to focus on the poor man instead of the gorgeous doctor trying to make out with her. Gah, not that she didn't want that, but she really felt selfish. Obviously Ambrose was a bit upset.
"Please - " she giggled again, "stop it, Doctor," she whipered, then cleared her thought. "Mister Ambrose, nice to hear from you. Nice boxers. Something the matter?" Doctor Moreau Moreau moved his lips up and his hands down. He blew softly into Aubrey's ear and whispered "No... you'll be fine. He'll be fine too..." Moreau grinned and resumed playing with Aubrey. Ambrose Maurlias Ambrose's newly sensitive hearing picked up some subtexts going on and the hair pringled even more, the snarl on his lips deepening to a downright growl. And Boxers?! How in the hell did she know he was wearing boxers? He looked around suspiciously. "Matter?! Matter!! IF you can ******** SEE me in my damned boxers then I would think you would KNOW someting was 'the matter'". His hands balled to fists. "What in the HELL did you inject me with! TELL me this isn't supposed to have happened!" Aubrey Lockheart Aubrey did her best not to moan (too loudly) into the speaker.
"Huh....? Oh, oh, I'm sorry Mr. Ambrose.. but we're not at liberty to discuss that information... if you could...oh...oH! I mean, if you could maybe come down to the main building tomorrow I'd be happy to give you a physical if you're, ahh... ah.. concerned...."
Yes... something was defiantely, er, distracting the good lady doctor. Ambrose Maurlias "Look" Ambrose said flatly. "I don't know what the hell is going on there that's more important than this. But I ******** grew hair. ALL OVER MY BODY! I think that that deserves a damend explanation!" Ambrose rarely lost control of his temper at all, and rarely swore - but he was livid. He was fully, 100% convinced that the conspiracty theories that they had been concocting not only were true, but barely scratched the surface. While Ambrose wasn't the most well versed in medicine, he knew that it couldn't result in some of the "side-effects" That he was noticing without some sort of deliberate intention. Especially the..... he loathed to label it inhis mind... the.... nub-thing. "And more than that - MUCH more." He seethed "You told me this was temporary! I want this reversed - NOW!" Doctor Moreau Moreau's hands roamed in inapproiate places even as he heard Ambrose as well. "Careful bringing him into the main building, he sounds irrational... and I do believe this was experimental. Let him know love." Moreau was never in his life the least bit brittish, but he found himself comfortable often talking like them (without an accent of course.) He kept his voice very low, he was aware that Ambrose's hearing should have been enhanced, still it was but the first stage in Ambrose's transformation, a transformation the rest of them would soon follow suit in. Oh yes, he was a genius... and Aubrey was right here with him, the only person who could pretend to be an equal of some kind. Perhaps it was good that things had turned out this way. Aubrey Lockheart Aubrey squeezed her eyes shut and bit her lip, wiggling under Moreau's grasp. She was indeed bright red, and did her best to hurry Ambrose off the phone - though she doubted he would be easily placated,
"look, Mister Ambrose... increased hair growth is ah,... a relatively common side effect.. it should recide once the drugs are out of your system... but we can't know for sure, MIster Amrbose. This is experiemental. This is why we DO this..."
From the sound of it, Moreau seemed to be doing it for completely, uh, different reasons. But that was besides the point. Ambrose Maurlias "Great. Wonderful" Ambrose said, his voice clipped and barely containing the fury. "But what about the ******** TAIL!" He hated to admit it - he had barely even glimpsed it himself; he didn't want to to be honest. But it made for effect in his conversation and, he hoped, would drive the point in. If she continued the oblivious act at this point, then he knew he was screwed. It was intentional. Aubrey Lockheart "A TAIL, huh? Oh MY that''s interesting..." she giggled into the phone. "did you hear that, baby? He has a tail!" she said to whoever was there with her.
"Look, Mister Ambrose, I really don''t know what to tell you. This is actually quite facinating. You're contributing a lot to science here, you know!" Ambrose Maurlias "GYARRH!!" He loosed his frustration in an amorphous growling expletive. He just told her that he had a tail and she was FLIRTING with someone? Moreau from the sounds of it earlier. He was red in the face, and he felt the anger seething in him. He wanted to rip something to pieces, cause much PAIN to these individuals. Swallowing and taking a few breaths. Those thoughts weren't like him. Weren't like him at all. Realizing just how SCREWED of a situation he was in, and that talking wasn't doing much. "Contribution to science, eh?" The growl was back in his throat. "Bloody wonderful of you TELLING me about all of this beforehand! I have a LIFE. I can't BE like this!" Aubrey Lockheart Aubrey really didn't want to deal with Ambrose at the moment. No offence to the poor guy, but she really, really wanted to be focused on Moreau right now. "I'm sorry Mister Ambrose, but you have clearly signed papers that say these unexpected side effects may occur. Now I assure you, we're take care of you. Pay for your doctors... or sugerical hair removal if, y aknow, it comes to that. Please try to calm down, and if you feel like talking when you're more rational, okay? Sleep well, Mister Ambrose."
With that, she clicked off the radio and turned her attention fully on Moreau. "You have issues, my good doctor...." she gave him an affectionate smile.
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Posted: Wed Aug 31, 2005 9:56 pm
Ambrose stared at the intercom. They cut him off! They had the nerve to cut him off! Not only had they done this to him, but then they wouldn't even talk to him.
He wrapped his arms around his body and looked around the room, fear creeping in in the aftermath of the denial, sadness, and then the anger. He was trapped. There was no way off the Island except for the helicopter. They had never been telling him the full truth of the matter since the begining. He wanted, REALLY wanted to believe what she said about this really just being temporary, that they COULD reverse it - even if it came to surgery.... but look at him... he was covered in fur over a good deal of his body, his ears were pointed, he had fangs and claws and a nub of a tail... they had done some seriously illegal things to him....
Matthew was right, this had to be genetic manipulation of some sort. And they were watching him somehow - they knew what he was wearing. This was all some sort of sick experiment, and judging from her tone, she was HAPPY about this.
He slammed the 0 button again, fully intending to give them another large piece of his mind.... to no effect. Not even a dial.
HE stalked aroudn the room, growling. Somehow it felt the most appropriate thing to express his very UPSET emotions.
Finally, swallowing, he slumped down in the corner, wrapping his furry arms around his chest, and took a heaving breath. What in the HELL was he going to do...?
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Posted: Wed Aug 31, 2005 10:10 pm
It was close towards afternoon when there was a knock on Ambrose's door.
"Hey man, you there? 'S me!" - the Dude's voice shouted outside
"Yo, new s**t has come to light. Gotta share." - he clarified the reason for his visit.
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Posted: Wed Aug 31, 2005 10:17 pm
Ambrose's head jerked up as he heard the knock on the door and the familiar voice filtering through the door.
It was the Dude, the man who, ironically, had become the closest friend he had had here on the Island, Greer being a damn close second. He swallowed nervously. Should he pretend not to be here? He didn't want anyone to see him like this! He was.... deformed!
But... ration started to jibe at him.... what else was he going to do? His stomach began to remind him that he didn't have any food here in the duplex itself. He couldn't hole up here forever.... and if anyone deserved to be told it was The Dude... especially... the cold creepy feeling passed over him again... the Dude had just signed up for the same study.
And besides... he didn't want one of the ladies to come in and see him like this at the very least - already taken or not, he couldn't bear that...
"No kidding.." Came Ambrose's voice from behind the door after a long pause. It was bedraggled, and with a seething angry tone to it. "I have quite a bit of "s**t" that you might be.... interested to learn of" came the voice again.
Ambrose stood up and faced the door. He would have to unlock it, let him in. His stomach squirreled up and twisted in knots. He had to tell him, someone... and admittedly if he had to handpick someone to tell it would be him.
Taking a breath, and, after making sure the lights were off and the drapes were still closed, he unslid the bolt on the door and took a few steps back, wrapping his arms around him again.
"It's unlocked". He stated, his voice shaking.
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Posted: Wed Aug 31, 2005 10:26 pm
"Really, what kind? I mena, I got some HEAVY s**t." - the Dude sounded a bit wounded that his new discovery might have been already been trumped. But really, in the end the Dude didn't care too much. About anything, really.
He heard the bolt slide, but the door didn't open. O ... key. What was that about?
Opening the door even before Ambrose called that it was unlocked, the Dude let a flood of light into the dark room. Perplexed by the darkness, he stopped and looked at the bed where Ambrose was hiding.
"You got a hangover or somethin'? Didn't know you were the boozing kind" - he grinned.
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Posted: Wed Aug 31, 2005 10:29 pm
Ambrose winced up at the dude from his sitting position on the bed. He felt exposed, not just because of his only adornments were the boxers, but like he was in some sort of freak show. That's about the only place where he could find a job, he thought miserably to himself, if these things didn't go away.
"I dont' know what you've found out.... But I'm willing to wager that you're going to want to hear about this..." Ambrose's voice was tired. He had reached the point of exhausted desperation. He was screwed and he knew it. And at the moment, he was feeling quite helpless about it.
He turned pitiful eyes up to him, still arms wrapped around his chest.
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Posted: Wed Aug 31, 2005 10:32 pm
Now that the Dude's eyes had adjusted to the darkness inside he finally noticed the changes in Ambrose's appearance. His mouth hung wide open, the cigarette that he was smocking dropped onto the floor like a little shooting ******** ME."
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Posted: Wed Aug 31, 2005 10:33 pm
Ambrose looked over to him, his gaze flicking down to the cigarette smouldering on the carpet for a moment before back up to the Dude. "I'll pass, if you don't mind" Ambrose sardonically replied.
"We've got problems. Serious problems"
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Posted: Wed Aug 31, 2005 10:41 pm
Picking up the cigarette from the floor and putting it back into his mouth, the Dude closed the door and pulled up a chair to the bed:
"Dear God, what'd they DO to you? You are, like, Samwise Gamgee. No offense."
He was particullary facinated with the ears and the sharp canines that were showing. Ambrose looked like something from a circus side show. There was a pause, as Ambrose was likely feeling self consious and the Dude was trying to think of something positive to say. Finally, he took a long drag from his cigarette and grinned wide.
"s**t, man, I know SO many chicks who'd wanna screw you right now ... you'd be their hobbity pimp daddy. You want a beer?"
Mayhaps the Dude was simply refusing to realize the gravity of the situation.
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