Just a Glass Full of Liquor~
Ambrose meets Dee at the Beach Bar
So it wasn’t all a very *very* bad dream. Fan-fricken-tastic.
Dee was slouched heavily over the beach bar counter, fingers tapping to her own disjointed beat against the dirty shot glass. It was twilight and shortly after her personal ‘beer-o-clock’ and, sure enough, a bottle of halfway-decent generic scotch is set next to her.
She tossed back the shot glass and quickly refilled it. With a grunt of distaste, the naturalist eyes the bizarre striping on her arms. “What the hell… how good am I if I can’t even tell what’s happening to my own body?” Dee muttered, lips trembling under their own accord. She had spent most of the day popping painkillers and studying herself in the mirror, but still hadn’t the faintest idea as to what Sabin had injected her with. The eyes were familiar, as was the strange flap of skin on her arms, but the mane and the stripes? Her stomach felt cold and sick each time she thought about the possibility of becoming some sort of novelty like Victor or Richard.
“Not that there’s anything innately wrong with them… they’re some of the best friends I’ve got on this rock,” she scolded herself.
Dee took a deep sigh and watched the amber liquid spin gently in her grasp. She was fairly oblivious to the goings-on around her and, at this point, didn’t really care if she became a certain chipless tiger-or-wolf’s meal.
A certain part of her even welcomed the prospect.
Ambrose was ready to lift a furry middle finger to the island in general. Slowly but surely he had been limiting his time to smaller and smaller ranges. First, he had just avoided the jungles. Annie and Jamal were out there and out for blood. Then after the attack from Annie on the road Ambrose had kept to the village. And after Jamal drove the jeep through his duplex... Ambrose had barely spent any time out of doors. Part of that self-induced confinement had been alleviated by the fact that over the past month or so Ambrose had felt this strange... draw to Angelina. He wanted to be close to her, spend as much time as possible with her. Her presence was reassuring to him. Even she had commented on how uncharacteristically snuggly he had been recently.
As much as he would have liked to have passed it off as pre-marital excitement, spending time around Valentine's day with his lover, and that almost everpresent reminder - especially recently - of their renewed vow of chastity until their wedding night to make things "Special"... he had read too many books on wolves to ignore the coincidental timing.
But even with the still-unreparied massive crack through their duplex, he had stayed th ere. At least the door locked. But after one week, then another, and then another without any further sightings of the mad white tiger.... and the nostalgic feelings begining to wear off... Ambrose was feeling incredibly restless. He HAD to get out. The cameras had to be more active on the roads than before, right? And he had outrun Annie before - and he was certain that he could outrun Jamal if the need arose.... He had to get out of the village.
And so, after a late breakfast one early afternoon, Ambrose - at first cautiously - set off down the road that led to the beach. He was tentative, scenting the wind for any sign that either of the two mad islanders might have been around any time close. But nothing revealed itself to his sensitive nose, and his courage bloomed. So he set out down the path, first at a leisurely trot, keeping his nose lifted to the winds. Then, as the call yearned in him, he dropped to all fours, and let his legs carry him. He had almost forgotten how exhilarating it was, how powerful he felt and how deft, how nimble and how agile. He was a man where it counted, but as he had told Lucas in that argument... he picked his battles. And in some aspects, he had to let the lupine instincts roam. There was nothing wrong with a jog after all... even if it was on all fours... right?
He was at the beach before very long at all, and he paused, taking in the surf slipping back and forth along the beach, bringing surges of thick white foam and the scents of salt and strange organic life. Now a leisurely gait again, Ambrose trotted still on hands and feet, along the strip of beach, feeling the warm shifting sands between his toes and fingers and taking in the beauty of the island as it appealed to all of his senses. But as he took in another whiff, he caught the scent of someone... not Jamal... not Annie, and not any scent he could put a face to. He located the source - thanks to the mixture of alcohol that tinged the smell - almost immediately as the beach bar. And, ears pricked and tail raised confidently, he padded over to investigate.
Dee, as observant as she often was when it came to the native wildlife around her, was typically *un*aware of when she had attracted the attention of another sentient creature. She continued to mumble into her drink, blissfully clueless towards anyone’s approach. As the moments ticked by, her mumbling grew in volume and rhythm until, to the horror of anyone within earshot with a tonal sense, she begins to sing.
It’s her last, lonely refuge. The last refuge of the genetically-damned.
“Farewell and adieu to you fair Spanish ladies!” She lifts her glass and ‘sings’ louder, recalling a drinking scene of one of her favorite movies. “Farewell and adieu, you ladies of Spain!...”
She’s no Robert Shaw or Roy Scheider but, tonal deafness aside, she can belt one out with the best of them. Heaven forbid anyone else actually come within range of her caterwauling, but she’s beyond caring at this point…
Ambrose's ears perked instinctively at the glottal utterances of the form in the chair, trying to pick out what it might be saying while he analyzed the turned form. The shape looked feminine, and the presence of the strange striping and bristling mane actually was more of a relief to Ambrose than such a collection of features might be to most other sane individuals. Because here on the island, it meant that he wouldn't be fated to give "the talk" to another unwitting arrival.
Half a moment later, he regreted his attuned hearing as the cacophony of "notes" assailed him. The melody was dronwed in the alcohol, the shrill notes like pins into the wolf's eardrums. And then, before he had even the opportunity to question why in the hell such a response was elicited from him, he found himself raising his voice in a wavering howl. To drown out the noise? Some sort of primal response? Ambrose didn't know, but his sudden response unnerved him, and he snapped his jaws closed. This was NOT the way to make a first impression. He had been cooped up inside too long. He hadn't let his instincts stretch their proverbial legs. Great, just perfect.
The drunken yowling cuts off, and the intoxicated feminine form at the bar spins in her seat to regard the wolf with wide eyes. For a moment Dee is frozen as a sudden wave of fear courses through her. Wolf…Ohgod, I AM gonna die. It’s gonna pounce and tear my mutant jubblies to ribbons and—wait…. She gives a drunken blink and tilts her head to one side. “Huh.” Didn’t they say that the chipless crazy one was a female? For some reason, this beach-faring beast strikes Dee as a boy-dog.
The woman stared at Ambrose for a few long moments. What do I do now?
…
Oh blast and damn and screw it, anyway.
“I’m…I’m sorry there, Yeller!” she calls out, waving the bottle at him. “Fresh outta Beggin’ Strips! Plenty of warm Guinness left, though!”
Ambrose froze, voice caught in his throat as they stared at each other. Her features from the front were far stranger than from the back. Her eyes were odd - yellowish with rectangular pupils... but far stranger were her ribbed lips that seemed to quiver, the sections just enough off-timing from each other to be disturbing. What was she? It's not polite to stare... even IF she might be staring at me...
He caught a passing whiff of fear, setting him on edge... but then it passed and he mentally heaved a sigh of relief. Even though she had obviously been through a change (at least he hoped for the poor woman's sake that what he saw was the result of a change..) Annie's presence on the island and the other islanders' frustratingly vague warnings had already landed him into trouble - frightening even the 'non-newbies' sometimes.
However... at the demeaning comments, Ambrose last dregs of apprehension melted into a scowl. He straightened, rising to his full height in a belated attempt at dignity and crossed his arms across his thick chest. "Yeller......" He echoed indignantly. "Beggin strips.... Well I never!" She must have not encountered many other fully changed islanders. Either that or she was simply rude.... He looked at the alcohol clenched in her splotched hands. Or drunk.
He sighed. He had been irritable enough after his first change. Ears still flattened, he forced a smile and extended a hand. "It's Ambrose" He attempted, once more, to start over.
Dee was startled, and the realization that she had gone too far kicked her in the chest with a visible wince. “Uh, s-sorry,” she replied, much meeker and more subdued than a few moments before. “A-Ambrose, was it?” Her cheeks flush red, contrasting with the odd yellow starburst patterns around her bizarre eyes. She scratched the back of her neck, running a hand through the erect mane. “My name’s Dee,” came the ashamed reply. “And I’m, uh, I didn’t mean to call you… y’know…”
Her dark, thick nails nervously tap on the drink glass and she fidgets in her seat. “…yeah. Nice to m-meet you.” She relaxes her deathgrip on the glass and extends her arm, shaking Ambrose’ hand. Despite her embarrassment, Dee’s grip remains firm and genuine.
The mocking attitude faded to show what seemed to be a more genuine side of the woman. She looked ashamed, and a part of Ambrose tasted guilty satisfaction at that. But she did seem to be sincerely apologetic. She had been frightened - not necessarily of him... but everything about her seemed overwhelmed. She must have only changed recently, and she was drinking, or making snide comments to try to drown out what was happening to her. It wasn't the first time he had seen it... hell, Ambrose had gotten into a nasty fight with one of his best friends not long after his own first change.
His handshake was delivered with a practiced confidence - firm, but not painfully so, and with his eyes holding hers for a moment, as if committing her to memory with the introduction. Even with how much about the man had changed, there were some habits that were so ingrained that he hadn't shaken.
"Dee." He repeated with a nod. "It is nice to meet you... and.... it is alright. Everyone here has our bad days. I am sorry if I caught you off guard. If... you would prefer to be alone.. then I can leave you to your drink. But I am afraid that while they might offer some transient comfort, it comes at a price in the morning. And drink glasses are miserable at conversation."
“Heh…don’t I know it,” she replied with an agreeably-bitter tone. “And no! No, please sit… I’ve drank alone enough this week.” Dee flashed a pointy-toothed grin and patted the barstool next to her. “I’m sorry to report that service this afternoon is dreadful, but hopefully conversation can make up for it. Plus, I can assure you that there will be no more attempts on my part at karaoke.” At that, her lip-nodules wriggled and her cheeks re-flushed with embarrassment. Gawd, I bet that was truly terrible for canine ears. Leave that crap for the shower, Dee.
Ambrose smiled and went around the bar to investigate the current inventory of liquors. As always, the laminated mixer sheet was left on top of the minifridge with a colorful variety of suggestions for various mixed drinks. Picking one mostly at random that didn't seem to have anything objectionable, he mixed some pineapple and coconut juices with rum and blue curacao for colorful results and tasted it experimentally, his long pink tongue darting into the glass.
Then, with a satisfied smile, he slid onto the bar stool beside her. "No one should have to drink alone" He responded sagely as he eyed the teeth, another cryptic addition to her already bizarre mix of features. "And perhaps I can assist with both the service and the conversation. I may have never been a bartender, but I can follow a recipe." He continued amiabally.
A faltering wince. "And... my ears thank you for that." His eyes lingered on the strangely wriggling lips before he wrested them away, trying hard not to stare. with all of the strange islanders around however, some of the newer arrivals seemed to even stranger. Were the labtechs getting bored?!
"How long have you been here, Dee?"
Dee became aware that she was the one being stared at. Trying to be casual, she wiped her mouth and leaned back, examining her fingernails until she chose one to gnaw on. To her dismay, the nodules converged on the finger as she nibbled the tough black keratin, and she quickly withdrew her hand with a disgusted grunt.
“A l-little over a month now, by my recollection,” she answered quietly. “I was what William would have called a ‘normie’ up until a day or so ago.” Dee added the second factoid with a defensive sideways glance. “I, uh, h-haven’t always looked like a sentient tie-dyed shirt with crazy lips.” She took a drink, feeling somewhat relieved as the liquor temporarily numbed those writhing nubbins.
Ambrose's eye widened for a moment. So he was right! She had changed recently! He just didn't know HOW recently it had been. "Just yesterday? My God, I'm sorry, Dee! That.... that must have been quite difficult for you. And you've met William? He... is not always the gentlest of people to break news to others." But at least she had already seen one of the islanders whom Ambrose considered 'worse off'. Hopefully, she wouldn't be in a difficult of a boat as he. But the strange mane on her neck was a good sign, right? More hair - that meant mammalian. Or.... at least partially mammalian. He couldn't think of anything that could account for the bizarre colletion of features she displayed. But then again, Ambrose never claimed to be a naturalist, despite his recently gleaned perspective on canine physiology and behavior.
He couldn't help but chuckle at her description. "You certainly look unique." He caught himself, realizing how badly that could be construed. "Er - I mean - Not in a bad way! You're quite...." He searched for a positive word. "Colorful!" Brilliant. Absolutely brilliant. He groaned and rolled his eyes behind a shielding hand at his own feaux pas.
"Have you spoken with anyone from the labs...? Do you know what serum they gave you? Or, perhaps you know more than I and figured it out yourself?"
Dee watched his reaction closely with a tight-lipped (so to speak) grimace. Her alien yellow eyes were half lidded, and one of her canine teeth protruded slightly from her lower jaw. “Mmmhmm. Colorful, indeed,” she replied. “Ah, that is, no. Though I’ve got some ideas, I haven’t figured it out myself yet. I haven’t had the….pleasure…. of seeing Sabin again. Believe me, I fully intend on asking him when next we meet.”
Sabin. Such a character. A colorful, delightful character, as Dee had thought not so long ago. Now, thanks to that character, Dee was equally as garish as the shirt he had been wearing the day she arrived. Perhaps I can put some color into *his* face one of these days, Dee muses, tapping a claw on the rim of her glass. But…naw. That would be rude. Maybe I can just feed him to the wolf here. She heaved a great sigh and refilled her drink. “What about you, Ambrose? How long have you been on this rock?”
He nodded, keeping his eyes on the greenish-blue drink for a while instead of letting them linger on Dee's strange amalgamation of features. A few more laps of the liquor helped put him into a more comfortable mood and he nodded mechanically.
"At least.... from what I have seen... they tend to be honest after they know that the proverbial cat is out of the bag. We're here. We're stuck. We can be giddy or murderous and it's not going to get us off this island. So they tend to try to keep us content to prevent us from taking out our aggravations on each other... or them. So they will likely tell you if you ask. But then again, I've heard from other people who have gotten some rather 'playful' responses to straight-up questions. Particularly from that Sabin fellow, though I have yet to see the man for more than a few minutes myself in the..." Ambrose paused at the question of length. "Year and a half I have been here." Had it really been that long? "Perhaps it is for the best."
"I was one of, if not the, first victim. I'm sorry that you had to wind up in this mad house. You seem like a nice person. Most of the other islanders here are nice - which is both a blessing and a curse. I would hate to wish this on anyone. But even the few bad apples here have a tendency to make life difficult for the rest of us."
“Hrmmm… a few dead crabs in the hold of an Alaskan fishin’ boat can poison the entire lot.” Dee paused, licking her lower lip and squinting at some obscure point past the back of the bar. “Ah, nevermind. I like the apple metaphor better. Thank you, Ambrose.” She smiled at him.
“I’d be a liar if I said I wasn’t interested in what was happening to me,” Dee continued after a while. “In fact, I’m hellishly curious about what’s happening to me. Am I turning into some creature that I once admired through a scope or tank? I *do* want to know. There’s just…something horribly horribly wrong with it all. I just don’t like being lied to. I don’t like being used.” She bared her fangs at the thought.
“I always wanted to know what it’d be like to spend some time in a different skin.” Dee swatted away a fly, then twiddled with the brightly-colored skin-flap on her other arm. “Just not like this, y’know?”
"Well...." This time, he considered his words more carefully. "To be honest with you, that is probably the healthiest mentality that you can have as far as dealing with what is going on. Denial will get you nowhere and only set you up for a nastier fall when it finally hits. Trust me on that one. And just plain ignorance can cause the affects to blindside you. If you try to prepare yourself, face your future, and try to perhaps find it at least remotely interesting, then you will be better off than many others. Not that I'm condoning what is happening here, of course." He quickly added. "None of us came here consentually. Everyone was fed one lie or another. Just some of them were a bit more devious than others. Me, I was here for a "two week medical study."
"Did you, er, are you a biologist? That must be an interesting perspective, and the staff don't appear to be entirely without a sense of irony. There is a man here, Brian. He apparently studied wild canids. And he's turning into one himself now."
Ambrose nodded. "IF I had the option of doing something like this temporarily...?" He mused for a moment. "To be honest, with how I was before, I doubt that I would have even wanted to experience something so bizarre. But now, I would admit that there are some fascinating side-effects. Senses, everything about how your body feels. But this still isn't me. And to be honest, I don't know if it ever will be. Or how I would feel about myself if it is. If I might make a suggestion, if you have any photographs of yourself from beforehand, hold onto them. It might be a cruel mockery sometimes, but it's better than possibly forgetting. And to have the ability to show someone who you are inside."
Dee was watching him with an absolutely stricken expression. She was slumped and slackjawed, and her ears almost looked as if they were about to droop. Even her lips had paused in their writhing. Ambrose was being a downright gentleman, and all of what he said was helpful information, but it was the finality in his words that had struck her the hardest. A picture of herself beforehand… god, is that what it would come to? Up until now, she had always tried her hardest to avoid getting her picture taken or at least destroying anything that managed to get printed. It had been a constant source of frustration for her photo-album-loving mother. Tonight, she would go back to her complex and scour her drawers for any hint of her former self. The only photo she could think of off the top of her head was one of her posing next to her seaplane, grinning and giving a jovial thumbs-up.
“I…I w-was a biologist of sorts,” she finally answered. “M-more of a naturalist in practicality. It’s how they got me here in the first place.”
"I'm sorry." He sensed the impact that his words were having on her. A blessing or a curse of his acute canine senses? He swirled the drink around in its glass for a moment before pouring a sizable portion of it into his open jaws. The finality of the island was daunting, even for him, and even after all that he had done to try to set up a new life for himself here. Even with all he had been given. It seemed that everything had the lingering threat of transience. Anything could be taken away at any moment. Even Angelina. Even sanity itself despite his thus-far winning battle. But it had only been a year and a half since his arrival. Only a scant few months since his final change. Where would he be five years from now? Ten? Would it get harder? He was already finding himself reacting instinctively sometimes, this afternoon's embarassment only one example of that.
He returned his attention to her story. "A naturalist? That must have been fascinating work. And there is nothing stopping you from continuing it here. So much of the island is covered in the jungle. I'm sure you must have at least explored a part of it. Have you found anything interesting? Aside from, well, the obvious? One of the women who came here about the same time I did, Greer, she was an entomologist. I'm afraid to say that it has been many months since I last saw her, however." The corners of his mouth pulled back momentarily betraying his concern. Her name had not appeared on any of the tombstones... but that didn't mean that she couldn't have been pulled into the labs for "complications".... or arguably worse, gone feral out there somewhere. "She was becoming a hawk of some sort." He added offhandedly.
Dee’s eyebrows arched and she gave a little shrug. “Oh, besides the obvious this place is…outstanding. There is a lot to see, and if it weren’t for the human experimentation, I’d rate this as one of the most picturesque Caribbean locations I’ve visited. I’d love to finish cataloging what I can of the wildlife.” She runs her finger around the edge of the glass. “I’ve stayed mostly on lower ground and on game trails. Did a little snorkeling. Things like that. I hear that it’s not…uh…wise to venture too deep into the woods alone.”
Ambrose idly watched her claw-tipped finger as it followed the glass circle, his sensitive ears picking up on the almost rubber-like rubbing sound. His ears flicked. With the alcohol entering his system he was feeling vaguely warm and tingly, his attention a bit screwy.
He got up to fetch another drink, helping mask his unease at the subject change. "Yes.... the jungle. I wish that it were merely as simple as "us" versus "Them" with the staff.... but there are others out there that havent, hrm, handled their changes well. Or people who are just as willing to take out their pissiness on other islanders as the staff. It sounds like you've been previously warned, at least."
Dee nodded and tucked in one of her lower lip nodules, chewing thoughtfully. One of her upper canines protruded as she did so. “Yes, but thankfully I haven’t yet made their acquaintances. I’d like to keep it that way, but there are other parts of the island I’d sorely like to visit.” She gave the wolf-man a tense little sideways glance. “I’ve ran into wild predators during some of my other trips, but nothing…uh… like this. D-do you have any suggestions?”
Ambrose distracted himself from the disturbing wriggling lip... pieces.. with a bottle of rum.
"I suppose a problem with the predators in this case is that unlike most wild beasts - not that I exactly have any intimate experience with confronting wild animals in the field, mind you - is that even the crazy ones are still smart. My best suggestion, however, would be to try to stick to areas of high visibility. As much as I can sympathize with wanting to take trips through the jungle, it IS dangerous. In the village, structures like this, there are a lot of cameras. The labs are watching. And as twisted as most of the people in the building are, they don't want to see us hurt. Admittedly, you are probably in a better boat than I am as far as your safety. Jamal is one of the dangerous ones - a crazed white tiger. But at least he still has some wits about him, albeit twisted. He hates me, and I can't even remember what started the damn thing. And while he might be pissy and certainly not someone to cross.... I don't know if he'd outright attack another islander who he doesn't have a grudge against. Annie... the other wolf... I wish I knew what to suggest about her. She's more animal than person in the mind, but more dangerous or aggressive than any wolf should be. She disappears for long periods at a time, then just when you think you will never see her again, she seems to pop up. As much as I hate to admit it, I wish the labs would catch her."
Ambrose looked again to the mostly finished drink in Dee's hand. "Can I pour your something?"
Dee listened to him intently, making mental notes. At one point, without even realizing it, she began to nibble on part of her lip for a second time during their conversation. It took her a while, but she caught herself and let the bizarre mutation alone. Ugh….I must be disgusting…
“Oh! Sure… whatever you’re having.” She replied and scratched at her short mane instead. “I’ve not been picky these past few days. My own personal supply is getting very low. I didn’t expect to be here for more than a month-at-a-time stretch. So much for that, eh?”
"I know the feeling all too well. On the bright side, they keep the beach bar stocked. And they don't seem to mind if anything goes missing for personal uses." Ambrose lifted a bottle with a sly grin.
He began mixing the ingredients of the sweet coctail into two glasses and slid one in her direction. "Here you go. Doctor's orders." He smiled and slid back in next to her and began to give his own drink his attention. With enough sobriety he could usually manage to wrangle his thin black wolf-lips aroudn a glass well enough to avoid making a spectacle of himself. But when the difficult subjects came out, and alcohol began running amok in his system, his coordination went the way of his concerns, and he lapped animalistically at the contents.
Dee risked a little grin at that and, after a little toast in Ambrose’ direction, she gave her drink a preliminary sip. Immediately her lips wriggled and her eyebrows arched. “This is damn tasty, Ambrose,” she said, smiling toothily. “I think you ‘missed your calling!’” She peered into the glass with one alien yellow eye, as if she could ‘see’ the mixture. “What’d you call it?”
He chuckled, his tail wagging betraying his reception of the flattery. "Another life, perhaps." He grinned, exposing long, curved canines.
"And I call it a Blue Islander." He chuckled. It seemed much more amusing than it probably was a the moment. His yellow eyes held her stranger ones for a moment and he smiled. Perhaps she wasn't that creepy. who was he to judge, anway. Besides, the in-between stages could be the strangest ones. Maybe whenever she, too, was complete, it would look 'normal' and make sense. And maybe he would feel silly for not recognizing what she was becoming. At least, he hoped for her sake, that was the case.
Dee blushed when Ambrose smiled at her and looked away, back into her drink. “Aptly named. I bet you make this one a lot.”
As much as she had promised herself she wouldn’t, Dee had spent much of the morning studying herself. The aches still hadn’t gone away, but that didn’t keep her from poking and prodding her face and the nubs on her shoulders. She was still too frightened to see what had become of other parts of her body. It was the promise of free alcohol that had wrestled her away from the bathroom mirror.
That free alcohol had quickly kicked in. “D-did I ask what you used to do? I can’t remember. I’m probably being really rude, but I’m a really nice pershun, honest!”
Ambrose shook his head, ignornign the slight lisp. "Nah, you're not being rude, Dee. I was a student up in Massachusettes. Fencing team. It was what I loved to do, and what I hoped I could go far with."
He didn't want to turn it into a sob story. He didn't want to make it seem like he was crying for attention or sympathy... but as many times as he had whined, bitched... or talked about it before, it helped. "I wanted to make it to the olympics some day." He let the sentance hang. A regret, but nothing could exactly be done about it now. He was carving a new life. If he kept looking back, there would be no moving forward.
"It is impossible to be happy about the situation. But the longer you try to hold onto the hope of going home, the harder it will be to move on." He shook his head. "I'm sorry... I can get bitter with alcohol." Ambrose mumbled. "I'm probably really not helping things."
((I return!))
((huzzah!))
“You and me both, Ambrose. I’m one bitter gal,” Dee announced. “And now everyone and their mother will be able to see when I pucker.” She took a drink and ran her tongue over her teeth. “Fencing, eh? I could never imagine being so coordinated. I tried taking a martial arts class once but even the little kids ended up being able to kick my butt, so I settled for basic self-defense instead. It was about around that time that I started towards getting my private pilot’s license.” She felt a pang of regret at the possibility of never seeing her plane again. Dee hated to admit it, but she was more broken up at the loss of her plane than the prospect of losing touch with her family.
They were good folks, and supportive, but they just never ‘got’ her.
At least now she would have something in common with a group of (mostly) sympathetic people. Without even being aware at first of what she was doing, Dee reached over to scratch Ambrose behind an ear.
((done))
Ambrose blinked in surprise, but the surprise melted into something else, a sated contentment as a lazy smile spread across his face, his jaw falling open with a long, lolling tongue. The canine expression was soon paired with a wagging tail and a twitching leg as he found himself leaning into the reassuring scritching.
"Tha's nice..." He commented blearily, the heat of the day and the strong alcohol slowing his movements and his words. ((done))
It took a fuzzy tail thumping against her seat for Dee to finally catch on. “Oh! Oh gosh… heh, sorry about that..” she took her hand away for a moment. “Ah, oh, you liked that, huh?” What can I say? There’s more than a passing resemblance to our groundskeeper’s old husky. With a tipsy chuckle, she scratched him again. “I guess there’s a use to these little claws afterall.”
This ranks up there with one of the oddest things I’ve ever done.
Ambrose flushed with a belated embarassment as she withdrew her hand as soon as the disappointment that the pleasing sensation had stopped fled. Awkward.
He kept tlling himself that he had to make concessions - the little, harmless parts of the canine personality that had infused him that wouldn't make him any less of a good person. But why did they have to be so damn humiliating?
Beacause they are animal impulses. He answered himself almost as soon as he had thought it. Nothing is going to be normal, nothing is going to seem admirable when put in that light.
A sigh slipped out of his mouth and he let himself lean into her hand. "They can be useful." Ambrose finally commented, ignoring the awkward issue. He looked down at his own blunted, cylindrical canine claws. "Not exactly the sharp talons that some of the islanders sport... but maybe that is a good thing."
Dee smiled and scratched the Spot for a while, then patted him on the shoulder and returned to her drink. “Well, talons or no, you’re a fine ambassador for the island, I must say.” He was less intimidating to her than Richard or Thom, but she had a feeling he could do plenty of damage if need be.
Her brain worked and worked, refusing to be silenced even with potent alcohol. Again Dee found herself thinking of the future and what the labs had in store for her… and her genes. “I take it you’re at the end of your experiment? Ah…if you don’t mind me asking.”
"I have found myself in that role before. And I suppose it is fitting, being the first after all. And, I want to try to help people. Even if it is such foreboding news that I need to impart." He gave a presenting-wave of his hand that would have been elegant if Ambrose had been sober.
"So tourguide Ambrose, at your service."
And then, to her inquiry, he nodded. "I am. And I don't mind your asking. That is, strangely enough, some consolation. I don't have to wonder where the next change will take me, how much more I will have to lose... or if there will be the dreaded complications. From what the labs have said, after the final change your body sort of stabilizes, and thus there is less risk for medical complications as well." He relized, as his mouth was going far ahead of his mind, that this may not have been the most encouraging of things to say to the woman at the start of her changes. Some tour guide.
Quick. Put a positive spin on things.
Silence hung in the air for a few moments.
"But at least there is plenty of alcohol."
Once again, simply Brilliant.
Dee’s mouth hung open a bit, nodules twitching as she quirked an eyebrow. Oh, bugger all. Someone needs to scratch behind *my* ears before I start to cry.
“Ah..yesh. Indeed!” She suddenly sat up bolt-straight and raised her glass again, expression split into a wide and halfway-convincing smile. “Well, here’s to a continuation of that trend.” She downed the rest of the drink and coughed delicately, brain switching over from tangent to tangent. “You were the first guinea pig? Poor thing. I can’t imagine how many times you gave people the ‘Talk’ about the real nature of this place.”
Ambrose lifted his mostly empty glass and pourd the remainder down his throat in turn, giving an approving nod and a cough before patting his chest.
"Indeed. And it doesn't realleh ever get any easier. Jus' more people that you have to break the news to. More people that you wish didn't have to wind up here. But... more potential friends all the same. It's easier when they at least already know something of the truth, and don't see you as a monster before you have to not only convince them that you really don't want to eat them, but that the same thing will happen to them as well in time."
What was with him tonight? Ambrose looked accusationally at the empty glass. What had sent him down this jaded path so much? The woman was looking for comfort after her change. And he had wanted company as well, and he was making an utter mess of things.
"At least, now that there are so many of us, newcomers have a place... they have people that they can talk to and who have been down the road before them. They can see something of what to expect, and know that they won't be seen as a freak here. People are very underschtanding here."
“I’ve sheen that.” Dee thought back to Richard, Victor and Newt, the three islanders with whom she had begun to deeply trust and respect. She sighed and slumped in her chair. Newt. How would he react to her changes? She was very fond of the frog-man, but his recent feral habits disturbed her. What would he think of her predatory mutations, not to mention her odder traits?
With a ‘whuff’ing exhalation, she tapped the glass on the bar and narrowed her eyes. “You…give me hope, Ambrose. All things conshidered. If someone can last this long without losing themselves completely, that’s a good sign.”
Ambrose felt bolstered by that, his tail giving a few slow passes. "I am glad of that." He nodded a few too many times as he poured the remainder of the mixed drink into his glass. Or course, it was always the bottom of the pitcher where the alcohol seemed to collect. He noticed this as he lapped at the solution, but it didn't stop him. Gone were the anxieties about wandering down the path to and from the beach and being ambushed. All that was there was the moment.
"You c'n make it." He reassured her. "Jus don' forget who ya are. Whas importan'. And no matter what ya look like... you can still be you... you know? An no one here'll say any differeren." He lay a heavy paw-hand on her shoulder and nodded once emphatically.
Dee offered him another smile—a genuine one, this time. The feeling of his hand on her shoulder was daunting yet reassuring. She patted the back of his hand and then gestured at the drink. “Catchin’ up to you a little fast too, eh? It gave Rissird a kick a few days back. Didn’ agree with her at all. Mus’ve been the new metabolizzm.”
"I'm not drunk!" Ambrose protested indignantly, although the smell on his breath and the lack of skill in handling the words seemed to prove him wrong. Ambrose had gotten a handle on speaking even wiht his new oral equipment fairly readily, but now with the drenching of alcohol his long tongue felt big in his mouth, his lips not quite shaping the syllables as deftly. Truth be told, his system was probably a bit more sensitive to the intoxicant than Ambrose would have liked to admit.
He had met Richard, and something seemed a bit fishy about the pronouns that Dee was using, but it didn't quite catch the implications.
"Tho it ssounds like I might be havin' to give you a shoulder back to th' villuge."
She scoffed and leaned back in her seat, catching herself on the counter. The stubby black claws scraped and caught on the railing. “ME!? Hah! Speak fer yerself, big boy.” Dee blinked…one eye at a time. “I’m doin’ fine. This is nothin! Watch.” She hopped to her feet, still grabbing the bar. When the woman let go, she cartwheeled with her multicoloured arms and keeled to one side, slumping against Ambrose’ shoulder.
“On second thought, you might be onto something.”
Ambrose chortled into the remainder of his drink at her less-than-graceful display. "T'was a conshpiracy, though. How can ya do cartwheels when the beach won't hold still, eh?"
He slowly - very slowly got to his feet and polished off the remainder of his drink, then licked his chops with a blue-stained tongue. Still leaning some of his weight on the barstool he reached out to give the unstable striped woman a hand. "Here ye go..."
Dee giggled and pointed at his muzzle. “Yer tongue’s all blue.” She accepts his help and reaches up for another little scratch behind his ears. “Thanks, Ambrose. Yer a good d---er, friend. You’re a good friend. I hope we can be friends. I do!” She chattered, trying to cover up her almost-slip-of-the-tongue. The scene whirled and the woman felt a bit queasy, but she was happy for the first time since her change. Through her drunken haze, she hoped it would last.
Ambrose's attention was diverted by her observation, sticking out his tongue and lifting it as far as it would go - over the top of his wet nose. He snorted and loosed an uncharacteristic giggle as he saw that she was right and his tongue was indeed a rather colorful shade of blue. If he caught her near slip, he didn't let it show.
"I hope so too." He grinned, trying to hoist her to his feet, but setting himself precariously off balance in the process.
“Oops…lemme help *you!*” she snickers, trying to return the favor. “I think this’ll work. And hey, if one uf us falls, we both fall! Noone can blame th’ other…” Dee trailed off and, for a moment, looked quite vacant. “Or something like that.” She paused to listen to a songbird that called from its perch a few trees away, then looked back up at the wolf. “Shall we?”
Eventually, Ambrose tottered upright again, swaying a bit but bracing himself against the woman's shoulder. "Deal!" He barked with a grin. "And if we fall... you can fall on me. I've got th' padding." He smiled and took a couple of steps, leaning his weight alternatingly on her as he strarted off towards the path.
