Further Complications

[Dominicus Olaf]

It was different, this time: Those golden ringed eyes, stared into his soul, penetrating the very depths of his inner-being. He could feel as beads of sweat, trailed down the back of his muscular shoulders. Its breath was upon him; the overwhelming stench of animal flesh, blood, the least of his concerns. If he didn't do something now, he was going to die. He only had moments. Moments to run, to fight, to live. This time, there was no wall blocking his path, this time, he could run. And he did. He was wandless like he had been the first time. Wandless and terrified. He fled, legs pounding the damp earth, his head turning this way and that. He had to keep running. Up ahead, a light shone out from a building. He was nearly there. So close, now. His stomach tensed and his legs kicked harder- But he tripped and fell, face-first into the earth. And the beast was there, right behind him, taking his legs in its powerful jaws, about to clamp down..

A chilling scream emanated from one of the wards at St. Mungo's. The healer who had the misfortune to be in the room at the time, knocked over the plant she had been attending to. Well, there was little to do around the place at two in the morning. She instantly ran to the bedside of the man, clasping her hand over his forehead and gently forcing him to lay back down. She was new, but she seemed to know exactly how to treat the situation, how to comfort Dominicus.

"Hush, now," She cooed, taking up Dominicus' chart in the other hand. She examined it with a fixed expression that seemed to come with the job. Dominicus did not know what his chart said, though, if those blurred memories of the previous night were correct, he could make an educated guess. His eyes began to close again, he untangled his legs from his bed-sheets. The healer began to clean off the sweat and, knowing that he was in safe hands, Dominicus allowed his eyes to shut tightly, as he fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.

 

[Deimos Ares]

Lifting his head from the dirt, blood staining his mouth, Deimos stood up. Something was wrong. He could feel it. Normally, after a full moon, Deimos felt relieved.. This time, however, the atmosphere surrounding him, was tense. He saw no animal carcass from where he stood. He supposed that the wolf must have been ravenous, have eaten the whole beast and stalked off in search of a place to sleep. And yet, the one fact, the one horror, was the unfamiliar taste in his mouth. Oh, he was used to very strange tastes, but after so many years of being a werewolf, he was certain that he knew them all. This one, he didn't. Deimos felt his stomach turn; he could see flashes in his mind, the night before, passing by in blips. He saw the ground, the trees, movement. And then, he heard something and he changed course, smelling it, knowing just what it was. His mind cut between it all, and suddenly, Deimos was seeing his worst nightmare, and he knew it true.

St. Mungo's- that was where he had to be. They barely knew one-another, but Deimos had to see him. It was only right. He had found the tree his clothes and wand were stashed in, and he had taken them up, only briefly pausing at the river nearby to wash the blood off his face. Little red marks, lined his mouth. He had no idea what they were from.. Until he noticed the wand fragment, slightly embedded in his chest. He didn't want to think about how terrifying the ordeal must have been. Deimos apparated to St. Mungo's, knowing that he would need to blag his way up to the wards above, to the one full of werewolves.

He approached the desk, queuing patiently as he could, sweating a little with nerves. Could he really do this? The poor man would need some help, some advice. And, though it would kill him to do it, it was only fair that he knew the man who had cursed him for life. Deimos' turn at the desk, soon came and he managed to convince them that he was there to visit his old friend. The list of patient names, had been left out on the other desk. And, having squinted slightly, Deimos had seen the first name of the list, under the section he suspected to be werewolves. There were, currently, only three, thank Merlin, and Deimos was sure that one of them had to be the man. His memory was so lost from the previous night.. Had he been to a pub? Had he spoken to that man? He remembered the taste of firewhisky, but that was all. It was shadowed by the more important event of the night.

Deimos was led upstairs by a young healer. She was quite beautiful, with soft blonde hair and gleaming blue eyes. He forced himself to ignore the scent of her perfume, magnified by the nose the wolf had left for another couple of days. She showed him into the ward and to the man nearest the window. Deimos thanked her, smiling, and studied the patient; this was not him. This man was older than Deimos. The victim had been young with firm skin. He shivered at the thought, before moving on to the middle bed, studying that chart; this man was only twenty year of age. Too young for the curse. The curse that Deimos was sure to have given him. Deimos stepped closer to the bed, feeling awkward as he stood, and decided to perch on the side of the bed. "I am so sorry, Dominicus," he apologised, solemnly, "you did not deserve this. No-one deserves this." He fell silent, bowing his head, respectfully.

 

[Dominicus Olaf]

light shot into his large pupils, causing Dominicus to slap his hands over his face as he opened his eyes to see whom the voice belonged to. Perhaps it was one of the other men on the ward? Maybe they were in the same position and giving him sympathy. Well, sympathy was very nice, but it wasn't going to cure Dominicus of his condition, was it? Because, he knew. In his heart, Dominicus knew what had happened to him, what his life was, now. However, as he managed to recover from the blinding light in his eyes, Dominicus recognised this man. Hadn't they met in the pub?

Dominicus sat up straight, becoming aware of the bandages around the top of his back. This had to be bad. He knew they could heal up most wounds.. This was just precaution, right? Dominicus reached his hands up to his face, again, stroking over it; it had gone unscathed, fortunately. Now, he turned his attentions to the man sat on his back. He took in his appearance, breathing deeply, just knowing from the way this man twitched as he sat still, the way he looked ashamed, this was the man who had attacked Dominicus. This was the man who had given Dominicus the curse of the werewolf.

He didn't know what he was doing, his thoughts just raced to fast before his eyes. He couldn't possibly have a family, now, not when there was a chance of him killing them or cursing them. He could never go forward in his life, his job. He was fixed in place, forced to suffer at every full moon. His heart was hammering in his chest at he leapt forward, the tube dripping solution into his right arm, was ripped away at his right hand found this man's throat, clenched around it and forced him into the wall opposite, holding him several inches from the ground. If Dominicus had been strong before, this man was certainly no match for him, now. But the horrible thing, the thing which made him for angry, was that the man still didn't look him in the eyes.

"You!" he spat, growling, "you did this to me, didn't you?!" Dominicus allowed his muscles to relax for a moment, to release the man slightly.. But he only brought them back with twice the force, slamming the man back into an even higher point of the wall. He wanted to swear, to hurt this man physically and mentally- But the anger began to subside and Dominicus lowered the man a short way, before letting go and allowing him to drop onto his feet. He would have to hear this man out, he knew that that was the way things worked. And so, Dominicus walked back to his bed, sitting down, holding his now-bleeding right arm. He removed the needle puncturing his vein, placing it to one side and taking a bandage from the side of his bed, he fastened it tightly around his arm. He watched at the blood flow slowed, and thought just how poetic it all was.

 

[Deimos Ares]

The sudden forcing of his body against the wall, the violence, the anger.. It was almost all too fast for Deimos to feel. But as the dark-skinned man dropped back to the ground, he knew that he would have done the same, had he met the human behind the wolf that cursed him. Still, he was certain that he deserved every foul word that he got, every punch he would receive- none, of which, seemed to be on their way. Instead, the door of opportunity had been opened, the chance to speak. Deimos was not going to be able to make this man better with apologies, he knew that much, but he could give him advice and help him through the first few moons.

Giving a sigh and standing respectively beside the bed, Deimos nodded his reply. "Yes." Silence. It was more difficult in silence, than it was through angry snarls. "I know I can never take it back, I know I cannot cure you- Merlin, I should be put to death where I stand- but I promise that I will do all in my power to help you." Deimos took a deep breath, his head lifted, his eyes on the man. "I am not only a.." He paused for a moment, closing his eyes. "A werewolf, but I am a member of the Magical Creatures Regulation Office. I know the laws surrounding this curse and a personal view from within it." He intended this as something comforting, and Deimos could only hope that the man saw it this way.

He glanced around at the rest of the ward, breathing in the surrounding scents; it would not be easy to help the poor young lad while he was in here, in this depressing environment with others like him. Or was he? Were Deimos' next moves for his sake or for the young man he had cursed? This man was like him, cursed by him and he alone. It was the closest to a family of his own that he had got. Perhaps this was the reason that he suggested they leave, move to the countryside for a while. Perhaps this was why Deimos took the young man on as a sort of pupil, to educate him in these darkest of times.