milliways_bar | (no subject)

Wells nods. "I can vouch for the death part, 'cos it was nearly the end of me on the island," he says sourly. "I passed the curse on to Zuko by mistake. The lad tried to keep me from biting myself when I went into a seizure. Seems I bit one of his fingers." He passes a hand over his face. "Went back to his own world, only it was full moon there, and now his magic's royally fucked up. He's stuck in wolf shape and can't get back."

He blinks,

"If I may be of help..."

And he flips his hands,

"With the werewolves of Jason's world, I am able to force the beast into a cage. I can make no promises."

And look! There's the wolf over there, all maimed and sad-faced, curled under a booth table. He ...doesn't like it here.

Well, now. Harry nods towards the small black shape. "That's him there," he says, coming to his feet. "I already owe you a hell of a lot for the island. I dunno what I'd owe you if you could help with this at all, but-"

He gestures mutely before looking to Zuko again. Zuko. You still with us, lad?

Arithon gives him a Look. It says; "We do this sort of shit. That's what it means to be one of the good guys".

"You owe nothing. I can but try."

And he heads Zuko-wolf-wards.

Zuko doesn't recognize Arithon, but-- he just emotes tired at Harry. Followed by hot; the moon wanes and the sun rules the man -- that is a good sign, that he feels heat and fire again...

... but he is still unhappy and weary of being a wolf.

It's all right, lad. We may have some help at hand.

He looks to Arithon hopefully.

He can deal with not being recognized if it means not having fire thrown at his face. Really, he's easy.

"This may,"

He says quietly,

"hurt. I hope it will not."

It all depends on the nature of the Beast, really. Arithon's magic; the shadows that he was born for, slide into Zuko's being and wrap around the Beast. They herd and guide it if it is willing to be herded and guided; they force it if it resists, and then lock it away in a shadowed box to allow the human to come free once more.

Zuko pokes his head up, under the booth-- before there is a sudden -- jerk.

You know? Maybe taking him outside might've been a ...better idea? Because due to shadow and black wolf and booth-- its kind of hard to see what's happening as there is an abrupt spasm-- the night calls to the wolf but Arithon tries to box it--

--and the poor kid on the floor is left thrashing and frothing, flesh as fluid between the two forms as molten melt and just as agonizing to experience.

Thankfully, the shift of his throat keeps him from screaming. But the working is not pretty, and the wolf tests it's cage as it takes form almost immediately; nails in bent hands claw at the flesh even as it snaps it's jaws around spiritual bars.

This will not hold me long, he assures the sorceror, but the boy-- for now--

--is a bloody, ragged, naked heap covered in gory wolfskin under the table after what feels like an eternity and was probably more like fifteen minutes of miserable thrashing.

Ow?

"Fucking hell!" Wells exclaims, watching in fascinated horror. "Is that what-"

Then the circuits of practicality cut in, the birthright of every man who's ever earned the third stripe, and Wells briefly darts away. Very briefly. He returns mere moments later with a big red towel, big enough almost for a blanket, and a set of clothes slung over his forearm. The towel is offered to Zuko first.

He'll thank Arithon soon- just as soon as he's sure of Zuko's condition.

From a universe away, I could hold you. the Sorcerer assures the Beast, with the faintest glimps of the potential that marks a young man who even now Binds a demon which covered a world.

Meanwhile, Arithon also flags down Tashka the rat and sends her off for a jug of water and a washcloth.

Zuko spits out hair.

Ew.

There is not much movement for a time, as he is now EXHAUSTED and sticky there under the table and-- just sort of curled up.

...take to him in a few minutes, mmkay?

As long as he's alive, and not hurt worse than the experience he's just been through would indicate. That's the important thing.

Wells glances over to Arithon. "Thank you," he says hoarsely, accent wavering towards something more respectable than his native Islington muddle. "I was starting to go mad, trying to find someone who could help him."

"My honor."

He says quietly, and then smiles wryly,

"I do hope that I could meet him at some point when he is uncursed, in time."

Spit! More hair.

And then movement-- hands, groping around. Ew. What is he covered with. Are those bits of nail? Ew!

"...wells?"

Sounds like he's been gargling glass, you know.

Wells turns back sharply, crouching beside the young man- Arithon, he's sure, will understand. "I'm here," he says in low, urgent English. "D'you know where you are? You hurting anywhere?"

He makes a mental note to at least buy Arithon a drink or a meal or something for this.

"... am... I under a table?"

He sounds a little bewildered.

"Am I in the bar?"

Naked? Covered in shreded wolfskin? And gore? Ew.

"Yeah, poor planning on my part," says Wells. "Here. Wrap yourself in this- we'll get you to your rooms for a wash-up. Arithon gave that wolf of yours a good solid bitch-slap."

THere was wriggling and unsteady movements but in the end there was a gory boy in a red, soon to be equally gory blanket, cluctched tight around him.

"... ... I don't feel so well," and he looks ... a little green.

The type of green that is going to need a bucket shortly.

That's the lovely thing about being Harry; he moves fast. There's a bucket from the Bar. "Have a go at this," he says, setting it down and moving to rearrange the chairs for more strategic concealment.

And that? That was Zuko losing all the raw, gobby meat he'd eaten not an hour earlier.

Violently.

...he's lay back down after that.

Ow.

Wells glances at the bucket's contents, deliberately not letting himself sniff, and wrinkles his nose sympathetically. "Need some water?" he suggests. "T'wash your mouth out with, if nowt else."

He'll bring up the possibility of congee later. In Zuko's situation, he wouldn't even want the thought of food in his head right now.

"...water, yes."

He would like water. A lot. To get the ...blobby guck out of his mouth.

There's water, then, in the biggest mug Wells can manage. He'll leave the mouthwash in Zuko's rooms, for after.

There's also a clean bucket. The other one reeks.