Liam Kincaid (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
firstofitskind) wrote2019-06-19 07:23 am
firstofitskind) wrote2019-06-19 07:23 am
MHA #6, Wednesday Morning
On top of the general feeling of irritability that had been simmering since Monday morning, yesterday Liam had come down with a fever. And for someone who'd never really been sick before in his life, the experience was, uh, kind of terrifying? Also terrifying were the grey scaly patches that had started to show on his skin.
Which is why he'd opted to sleep on the couch last night, because whatever-the-fuck this was, he wanted to minimize the risk of Verity getting infected. He'd learned his lesson with regards to doing things like leaving 'for her own good', which is why he hadn't gone with his first instinct which was to get as far away as possible.
'Sleep' was maybe a bit of a misnomer. 'Lie down and think horrifically violent thoughts every time he closed his eyes' was a bit closer to the truth. It certainly hadn't been the most restful of nights, though at least the fever had broken at some point?
A small mercy, given how much everything else hurt. The shaqarava were black now (like his eyes, not that he was aware of that, given that he'd yet to look into a mirror today), the ache traveling up the energy pathways in his arms to his very core. And his back... it felt like someone had taken a knife and twisted it into two very specific spots. All in all, not the greatest morning he'd ever had.
And things were only going to get worse from there!
Which is why he'd opted to sleep on the couch last night, because whatever-the-fuck this was, he wanted to minimize the risk of Verity getting infected. He'd learned his lesson with regards to doing things like leaving 'for her own good', which is why he hadn't gone with his first instinct which was to get as far away as possible.
'Sleep' was maybe a bit of a misnomer. 'Lie down and think horrifically violent thoughts every time he closed his eyes' was a bit closer to the truth. It certainly hadn't been the most restful of nights, though at least the fever had broken at some point?
A small mercy, given how much everything else hurt. The shaqarava were black now (like his eyes, not that he was aware of that, given that he'd yet to look into a mirror today), the ache traveling up the energy pathways in his arms to his very core. And his back... it felt like someone had taken a knife and twisted it into two very specific spots. All in all, not the greatest morning he'd ever had.
And things were only going to get worse from there!
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Except he did.
And he hated himself for it.
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Her knife was still up, however.
"You're gray, you're scaley, you've got some kind of horrific sclera infection -" sure, Very, that's absolutely what that was "- and you're not yourself. This isn't some kind of Kimera or Taelon thing?"
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If his thoughts weren't so clouded, he might have even been able to pinpoint when this had all started; Monday, with his unplanned swim in Selkie Lake. He'd come home cold, wet, and in an uncharacteristically bad mood. He'd snapped at Verity then too, albeit in a much less literal sense.
The anger made it so damn hard to think, though. He pressed the thumb of one hand into the palm of his other, the habitual gesture made strange by the presence of claws and whatever had happened to his shaqarava.
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"The clinic then," she suggested. "They probably have a whole slew of weird illnesses on file nobody else has ever heard of."
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"No, no, no," he insisted again, that last repetition accompanied by a plaintive howl of pain as his back hit the couch. Why did that hurt so goddamn much?
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They'd strap him down and pull him apart, piece by piece, until there was nothing left. He knew it. He knew it.
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She also didn't think logic was going to get through to him, though. Not when he sounded like that.
Hell, she didn't think anything could get through to him when he sounded like that.
"Then what do you want to do?" Verity asked. "Liam, you're frightening--the mice."
Yes. The mice. Shut up.
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But what was happening now definitely wasn’t normal.
“The Preserve,” he muttered finally. That voice was back, whispering at the edges of his consciousness that that was where he belonged, with the shadows and the other creatures it had claimed.
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Honestly Verity wasn't having much luck with the knowing what to do here. Sorry, mice.
"No," she said, trying to take his hands. "Cold and dark, that was last week. This is home, Liam. Warm and dry, me and the mice, it's where you belong."
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It was that same part of him that had the sense to pull back as she reached out.
“Don’t,” he hissed again. “Please.” He added, desperation ringing his voice. He’d promised that he wouldn’t hurt her, and it was getting harder and harder to ignore the compulsion to break that promise.
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Her voice broke on that last word.
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He was too busy doubling over in pain, scream bursting from his lips even as a pair of leathery black wings burst out from his back.
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Yeah, okay, whatever this sickness was, it wasn't just some kind of bad reaction. She could - sorta? - see her way to accepting that an infection or something had damaged his sclera and that explained the black eyes, but wings? Sprouting wings?
Nope. That was entirely out of bounds here. Shit, if she didn't know better, she'd say he was molting.
"Liam!"
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Was that his name?
Did he have a name?
Did it matter?
A low, rumbling growl issued from his throat as he eyed her warily.
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"Liam..." she said, soothing, yes, but with an undercurrent of warning. "You sound like an angry cat. Stop it."
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"Liam," she said, voice still steady. "Talk to me. Use your words. Whatever the fuck this is wants you not to. So fight it."
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But that was for later. When she didn't have a predator wearing her boyfriend's body, staring at her like it couldn't decide whether it wanted to flee or to feast.
Her knuckles tightened on her knives.
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Decision made, he moved unnaturally quickly across the room, claws scrabbling to open a latch that was designed to be operated by human fingers.
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...Or maybe fear of what he could happen to.
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He turned his attention back to the latch, finally managing to get it open. He took a deep breath, the call exponentially louder now that he could smell the blight that infected the island in the air.
With one final, defiant snarl aimed in Verity's direction, he was out the window, letting the shadows guide him to where he was certain he needed to be.
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She was answered by silence.