Chaotically Proportional

Copper Mountain 
#51
Becky padded along after them both, snuffling curiously at the girl's rear end and gleaning...a certain understanding of her, if you will. She was hungry and in no mood to loiter around the car, but she did so anyway, sniffing around for any errant garbage to eat. She should listen, at least, to what was being said.
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#52
Perhaps it was the shell shock of the trauma from the past few moments that rendered the girl obedient. Or, perhaps it was her nature. In this state, he couldn't quite remember how she'd been at the nursery. It would all come in time, if she was not obedient, she would be made to be. It was key to her continued survival that she was. He would watch her as she climbed into the trunk, and would move to push aside the clothing he and Pete had left there, his hand moving to pull up the carpeted lid that covered the empty compartment in which a spare tire was kept. Tucked along with it was a bag that contained a spare set of clothing, and a med kit. He'd pick up the kit, and pass it along Lorena with a tilt to his head, nostrils flickering to assess the amount of blood she was still losing.

"You will heal by next week." He would say, words garbled and requiring effort to enunciate. He did wish this could be done after the shift back. Alas, he couldn't keep her here while he lay unconscious for hours. "You are infected. You will be one of us." Perhaps it was best this way, smaller points were easier to stomach.
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#53
 She watched the creature move with his weird clawed hands, moving things about and producing a little first aid kit. She took it after a few seconds of absent staring, lowering it into her lap as she watched his nostrils wiggle. Surreal.

 He was nearly impossible to understand, but Lora pieced it together. Healing in a week seemed... unbelievable, but. Stranger things, and all that. She worked to pry off her jacket - pretty well destroyed, thank you - grimacing for the discomfort it brought, but listening all the same. She was infected. What a horrible word to use for this, but probably fitting.

 She set the coat aside, and tugged at the long sleeve on her left arm to pry the shirt halfway off, enough that she could get a good look at her arm and shoulder. The bite wounds had already started to crust up, some half-gelatinous stage before scabbing. "When," she asked, tone flat and weary, opening the med kit to dig around for an alcohol wipe or something.
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#54
She busied herself with peeling back clothing, and he would keep to himself as she did so. Only when the wound was exposed would he wrap an overlarge hand around her elbow and turn her with little grace so that he could see it better. Already healing. Good. He would release her, and let her tend to herself as she took in his words. When?

His head withdrew some, and he would first glance to Pete, then up at the night sky, the moon hanging overhead. The next full moon was... he could not recall the date. "Full moon." He would say instead. She was perfectly capable of finding out exactly how long it would be.

Then, back to her, he would look her in the face. "Lora." He would say to her with an upward tilt of his muzzle.
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#55
 Lora was not a fan of having her arm grabbed :( Mostly because it hurt, and also largely because those hands were so weird. Still, she made no move to yank away or any other protest, resuming the work of ripping open a little towelette when he let her be. She wiped at her skin gingerly, not wanting to rip off any process and start bleeding all over again. Full moon, he said, like she had any fucking idea when that was. Angry bruising had formed around the punctures already.

 She was looking at the medical kit again, uncertain of what to use besides a metric shit ton of band-aids, when he said her name. She looked at him slowly, furrowed brow betraying her confusion, shivering for the cold night air. "What," she said, as if she hadn't heard him properly, fingers grasping a handful of connected bandages. Why was this.
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#56
He would crouch some, tired of craning his neck downward to peer at her. A hand would brace against the tailgate, forcing the truck's axel to creak in protest as he peered at her, silver eyes unable to convey much more than a cold, inhuman stare. "Lo-ra." He said again, forcing the word to be clear. A finger would gesture roughly in her direction. And then, for context, he'd gesture back to himself. "Echo." They had met. She would remember, he was sure.
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#57
From somewhere in the woods, the monstrous growl of "Me Tarzan, you Jane," floated over, followed by a high-pitched titter. Heh heh heh!
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1

#58
 She watched him crouch, expression turning blank again as he repeated her name. Lo-ra. Point. Echo. She pried a band-aid open as she processed the information, staring at his liquid mercury eyes.

 Echo was not a common name, and she sure as hell remembered the only Echo she'd ever met. Those same eyes in a different shape, jagged teeth. His power was... being very strong and very fast.

 "Small world," she murmured, lacking the ability to feel much more than very muted surprise at the moment, her eyes falling to the band-aid as she peeled the paper off the stick part and laid it over one small area of the bite. She obviously had much to learn.
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#59
His ears slicked backward as his lips peeled up, his eyes sliding into the darkness that concealed his four legged companion. A nuisance. At least he was trying. Lora was processing it at her own pace, likely still in a large amount of shock. He would look back to her as she answered, and let out a gruff sound something like a deep laugh. She was lucky that it was such a small world. He was certain, if he had not recognized her, she would be being torn to bit between he and Pete right now.

"Find phone when you are done." He would say, gesturing toward the clothing. "Give me your number. Will contact when recovered. Go home, rest." Hours from now, but he suspected less time than he used to take. He would seek her eye as he continued, "Tell anyone, we will eat you." A very real threat, despite the cruel grimace of a smile that peeled back the lips of the creature before her. She would not be hard to find.
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#60
 It was hard to imagine the man she'd met over a shattered flower pot, buried somewhere in there. Sort of, anyway. She abandoned the attempt of serious thought, peeling open another band-aid as Echo carried on. She looked to the pile of clothes, piecing together that he meant for her to find his phone. Give him her number, go home and rest. Fat fucking chance, Echo.

 She met his gaze as she peeled the paper off the second bandage. She had no doubt that he could follow through on that threat. It would be a good fall-back plan. Not happy? Get eaten!

 She only made an affirmative sound rather than speaking. She understood. Who the fuck would believe her, anyway. She plastered on the second band-aid, then a third, before giving up on the endeavor entirely and reaching to fish the man's phone out of the folded clothing.

 There was a very real temptation to give him a fake number. Then what? Then, if she really was infected like he thought, she'd be up a creek without a fucking paddle when the full moon rolled around. She sighed quietly, typing a short text out to her number - her real one - "Lora." Her own phone buzzed in her coat pocket as the message came through, and then she would move to slip Echo's phone back where she'd gotten it.

 If he didn't mean to push her back to sitting, she'd stand to replace her shirt sleeve and grab her jacket. She was going to look fucking ridiculous on the bus, but surely she'd seen worse. "Anything else?"
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#61
He would move to give her space as she patched herself, circling out into the woods briefly to peer about, make certain there was no one else. When he returned, she was done, and prompting him for anything else. He would move to grab her by the back of the neck, maneuvering her head as if she were a doll as he stuck his nose rudely into her space, taking in a heavy sniff. He would remember the scent, dedicate it to memory. He planned to seek her out as soon as he was recovered from the shift, but in the case she tried to slip through his fingers.

"Nothing." He would say, and let her go, stepping back to let her move away. He would search for Pete, on the chance she wished to do anything more than violate the girl any further.
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#62
Pete was there, black eyes taking in the damage. The human part of her brain looked at this shellshocked stranger and had a hard time counting on an outcome any better than she'd had with Abhinav. But. Here they were.

She had nothing to add except a blank, inky stare from one to the other.
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