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[milkbonesoldier.livejournal.com]

Yesterday was so much less than ideal that Wells didn't bother going home. He left a note with the Bar for Annie saying that he'd be back as soon as he could manage, and he stayed in the room upstairs for as long as he could. Which didn't last long this morning, because the full moon begins in seven days, and that means he's got to be outside if he doesn't want to feel like the walls are pressing in on him from every conceivable angle. He got himself to the Academy all right and got through classes without giving any of the girls too much grief, but the instant his classes were over he turned around and came straight back to Milliways- and then went straight out the back door.

Laps around the lake are not his ideal means of improving his time over the sixteen hundred meters, but they'll do. He's got a lot to run to ground today, and he did tell Spoon that he needed to start running in armour again to get the feel of it once more. At least the stuff is still mottled greys and blacks from the camo paint job he did before the battle with the Cybermen.

Comments

[gotham-knocking.livejournal.com]

The word "laps" and the name Alex Knox are still not on speaking terms. So our man from Gotham is not doing anything more than a bit of a walk between breakfast and returning to the daily grind of his hometown. And therefore, Knox hears footsteps come towards him and past him and just barely notices Wells whiz by the first time. (You come from the city, and you learn to tune out joggers.)

It's only the second time that Wells passes that Knox sees just who and what passed him. "Hey, Sarge." He's bracing himself, since he expects there to be one less eye than there was.

[milkbonesoldier.livejournal.com]

Which is, in fact, the case. Wells comes to a stop, blinking with his left eye; the right is still covered by bandages and a plain black eyepatch. "Hallo, Knox," he says, still panting a little (but only a little- he's getting better all the time at recovering quickly). "Don't see you out here that often. What brings you out today?"

[gotham-knocking.livejournal.com]

"Fresh air. I'm sorta getting used to it. And it's still nice here. The riany season started at home." He's not staring. Nope. No more than he'd stare at Moshe Dayan or any other war hero with an eyepatch. "Donighal warned me, but..." No staring. Much. "How you doing?"

[milkbonesoldier.livejournal.com]

Wells' mouth twitches just a moment in the beginnings of a smile. "It itches like mad," he says, opting to spare the American his initial comparison (http://www.arrse.co.uk/wiki/Pox). "It's all I can do not to just sit down somewhere and scratch at the whole fucking mess. I'll tell you, Knox, I can't wait for the next fucking full moon."

[gotham-knocking.livejournal.com]

"I thought you hated the full moon?" Knox is clearly confused. And can only envision a wolf going all dog and scratching that much more.

[sighteddancer.livejournal.com]

Humans do strange things all the time. Even fuzzy meat does odd things.

But the third time Wells goes by, it goes past he is lost on the path around the lake right by the bar and goes into he has injured the direction-finding part of his brain.

So Christine launches herself from her tree and lands rather spectacularly. Rather mucky ground there.

[milkbonesoldier.livejournal.com]

Wells stops immediately, because only a suicidal individual fails to do so when that much yautja scatters that much mud. "Oi, Christine," he calls. "You all right there?"

[sighteddancer.livejournal.com]

"Yes." Cre'hktdi kicks the worst globs off, shakes, and then wades into the lake water above her knees. If she weren't wearing armor and a little bit of animal hide, laundry would be a problem for her. "I must remember what cooler swaths of oxygen-dependent growth mean."

[milkbonesoldier.livejournal.com]

"Not the strongest plants in the world, I take it?" says Wells. It's the best guess he can make, really.

[sighteddancer.livejournal.com]

"No, they're resting on a layer of earth that is unusually cool because of all the water." Christine is patient. He can't see the obvious because, well, he can't see the obvious. "You are going around in circles?"

[panser-bjorn.livejournal.com]

And after a while there's something else running through the woods not far from him. Definitely not someone, unless it's a specially weird someone even by Milliways' standards. What his eyes tell him is that it's black and white, bigger than any normal animal for this kind of forest... Hell, bigger than any black-and-white colored animal, though it's definitely running on all fours. And it's quick for its size, and silent too.

What his nose tells him is more or less "Bear! Bearbearbearbear! Huuuuuge angry bear!"

[milkbonesoldier.livejournal.com]

Yeah, that's not a smell you get around here much. Wells' first thought is that he must've blundered into the forest and hit the Dreaming- but no, he's still close enough to see the lake.

He's not a cat. He's no good at climbing trees. Plus, he's down by one eye, which is never a good thing when you want to get away from somewhere quickly. So what he does instead is turn to make for more open land. If he can get a clear glimpse of the creature (is it seriously a bear? here?), then he'll have an idea of whether he can outrun it over flat, open ground, or whether he should make some sort of a stand and hope it backs off.

[panser-bjorn.livejournal.com]

As he makes for the flatter, open ground the creature bursts from the treeline, still keeping parallel to him. Whatever it is, this isn't exactly a hunter's behaviour around prey, is it...? And now he gets a better glimpse of the bear...

Well, it -is- a bear. It -must- be a polar bear underneath all that black metal. The armor is made of thick plates and sheets, interlocked and hinged together so they cover most of his body, creamy white fur visible at the paws and part of the belly. The helmet is pointed, slitted for the eyes, and leaves his lower jaw uncovered. The bear seems able to run tirelessly for miles and miles and miles despite the bulk of the armor, to be honest. And it doesn't look specially hostile, either, despite he scent of anger and barely contained violence coming from him.

[milkbonesoldier.livejournal.com]

Christ Almighty. If that thing's angry with him, he's fucked- but no. No, it'd look the part if it were. And it smells healthy, too, so it's not as if that's the rage you get from being sick and in pain. So-

If a creature that isn't human is wearing armour, it's either someone's steed, or it's got enough reasoning to think of things like armour. Wells sneaks a glance at the back, and sees nothing at all that looks like a saddle. Scratch 'steed' off the list.

He's still running, but he relaxes just a little, and raises one hand in a gesture of greeting. "Afternoon," he calls to the bear.

[panser-bjorn.livejournal.com]

The bear keeps up the pace, running a little closer to Wells. The great bullet-shaped head bows slightly.

"Good day." The black eyes look at the apparent human from behind the helmet's slits, briefly. Seemingly satisfied, the bear looks forwards again.

Both the deep, bellowing voice and the glance are flat, hard to read. And the anger seems to be more a state of being, a potentiality locked inside this great and terrible beast, than something about to burst at any moment.

[ltmuldoon.livejournal.com]

Too many threads? NEVER.

Besides, Muldoon kind of wants to chat, however short or long the period may be. Feels right, letting a CO (or an Alpha) know what's going on in your life, especially if you make a major shift right? Right?

"....I think the US Olympic commissioner might shit a fucking brick if he saw that."

Muldoon indicates the lap, and the makeshift track.

[milkbonesoldier.livejournal.com]

Wells looks up and grins. "He'd shit two if he ever got a look at my iron count," he says. "Or my heart rate. Hallo, Muldoon."

[ltmuldoon.livejournal.com]

Muldoon Gestures, "...You okay?"

It's the eyepatch. Or potentially. But since description isn't mentioned it could either be that or the frantic pace of running. He's good either way.

[milkbonesoldier.livejournal.com]

Wells exhales and narrowly stops himself from rubbing at his face with one hand. "I'll tell you, Muldoon," he says, "it's been fucking weird around here lately, and I don't know how much more of it I can deal with. Working out until I ran out of will to move seemed like the best option today."

[ltmuldoon.livejournal.com]

"....How bad? And d'you need me?"

S'automatic. After everything Spoon and Wells have done for him it's the least he can do.

[berryberryraz.livejournal.com]

Raz is outside sunning herself on a rock by the lake. When Wells jogs by, she waves halfheartedly.





When he jogs by a second time, and she actually looks at him, she falls off her rock. "What the fuck happened to your eye?"

...It's almost like hello, really. Sort of. A little bit.

[milkbonesoldier.livejournal.com]

Wells pulls to a stop and blinks at Raz with the remaining eye. "Combat laser to the face," he says. "I'd rather've been punched int he face with the fucking silver-plated fist again. THis burns like the fucking clap. Hallo, Raz."

[berryberryraz.livejournal.com]

She's nice and squishy; falling off a rock really doesn't faze her much.

"Shit, Sarge, I'm sorry to hear that. You gonna be okay?" Squint. Yes, she's using five-dimensional vision to see through his eyepatch. Yes, she'd be using it to see through his clothes if the whole werewolf thing didn't weird her out massively.

[milkbonesoldier.livejournal.com]

"Yeah, it'll be grown back within a week," Wells says. "Worst comes to worst it'll regenerate at the next full moon. The hard part's not scratching while it heals. This is worse than teeth."

[berryberryraz.livejournal.com]

Raz nods, satisfied, and stops squinting. It looks like it's coming back in; he says it's coming back in; therefore all is well.

Next order of business: "Who's the asshole who lasered you in the eye, and can I beat the shit out of him?"