ratherbelocky | .002 Δ [Voice]

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.002 Δ [Voice]

Okay. Okay.

[York's voice is the soft but urgent hiss of someone who's freaking out but doesn't want to alarm the people around him. The sound quality, for those sensitive to that sort of thing, indicates that he may have, you know. Locked himself in the bathroom. As one does.]

Can I lodge a complaint? I dunno who to, exactly, but I'da hoped this would be the kind of thing that got covered in the rookie's field manual as early as possible.

[He pauses.]

Turning into a werewolf, I mean.

[The pause is practically italicized. Whatever's happening to York, he is strenuously unhappy about it, and the tension rides his voice hard.]

Like, the fact that that's apparently a real possibility in this universe.

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Well, my clothes came with a--uh.

[He blinks, and it's clear again how unused he's become to touch, to contact, when he'd always been the one to offer or ask for a hand.

York tilts his head just slightly into Carolina's hand, huffs a laugh in spite of how unhappy he is about his new role as Beast Boy.]

Hff, okay, hey there. What are you doing?

[His fur is so soft. Like stroking the fluffiest puppy.]

Oh-hohoohhhno.

[She has to giggle, gently scritching at his face. He really does feel like a puppy dog and it's SO ENDEARINGLY FUNNY oh god she can't wait to show North--]

Ohhh I'm sorry, York, this is terrible.

[SHE SAYS WHILE 'AWWW' LAUGHING]

Yeah. If there's one thing those Professors are good for, it's coming up with stuff to contain loose probably-experiments. This is gonna be like those Shedinjas all over again, isn't it...

Are--are you petting me? Carolina?

[But he's tipping his head even more, smile spreading, giving her access to his ears, and--oh. Oh man.

His plucky little tail is wagging and he doesn't even care.]

Awful. Unforgivable. I can't believe this. Little higher, please.

Apparently October's the month for weird stuff to happen, too, which woulda been nice to know before I got bit by a bat-dog.

There a story there, dude?

Right? Everybody kept telling me how nice it is here, it's like a vacation....

I like my vacations without furry mutations, thanks.

It was a few years ago now... Ahh, have you heard about Shedinjas? There's a legend with them that says that if you look in their back, you lose your soul. It's not actually true, though...

...at least, with natural ones.

[A little higher as instructed because she CANNOT LET THIS END JUST YET SHES SO SORRY YORK THIS IS SO FUNNY]

Awwwww. Are you a good boy, York?

[Oh this is priceless. Oh. God, where is North]

[He snort-laughs, and part of him is still embarrassed and defensive and grumpy about being caught up in what sounds like might be another immoral science experiment, but Carolina is laughing (and he knew she would, but he'd forgotten what it would mean to him), and fuck if her fingers don't feel nice in his fur. Oh, oh man, yes, get up there behind his ear, oh yes yes. He's closed his eyes, but he opens his good one halfway, smiling.]

That depends. There a treat in it for me if I am?

[There's a rumble of laughter that she tries to suppress to speak, and it sounds almost growly, but at the same time it's still very much her laugh.

She keeps up the scritches when she answers--]

There sure is.

Really.

[He's a little distracted, leaning into her hand like this, eyes closed again. He kind of likes the growl in her laugh. It suits her.]

I'm listening.

[It's a perfect set up, really, for Carolina to lean over and kiss him right on his fuzzy cheek.

Look, if you were in her place, you'd wanna kiss the puppy, too.]

Good boy.

[Is it surprising to anyone that York's tail starts wagging so hard he smacks the toilet paper roll onto the floor?]

...Okay, but I draw the line at novelty collars.

[Carolina's reaction is just a bark of a laugh, this time less like a fox and more like lion. She startles herself a little, but laughs again, and continues.]

Alright, alright. You've got yourself a deal, Spot.

Let's get to work.

...Brief? Talk to the police?

[He's not very familiar with military lingo.]

I'm surprised they're not doing anything now. I think you'd be able to track one of them down, if you look. They all look exactly the same and they all answer to Jenny.

[Don't... ask him how that works. He doesn't know!]

Hybrids aren't normal, no. I don't know why they'd appear now.

Well, arguably this is still better than being shot at.

[...]

I would argue. I'd argue a lot.

...Okay, point. But that's not a thing that normally happens around here....

Is it?

I've been told weapons are illegal, so I'm guessing not, yeah. So unless there's a gun-type Pokémon, we're probably good.

[North has been somewhat hidden away these past few days, spending longer in bed with the covers pulled up and scratching at his neck like he had something to itch there. But today, sometime after Carolina has gotten York out of the bathroom and when the sun was just beginning to sink lower in the sky, North finally comes out of his room, completely shirtless and with his sweatpants hanging low on his hips. The reason why the normally borderline-prude is so bared should be obvious; night-black leathery skin stretches from North's wrists to his hips, melting against the still-pale skin of his arms.

Not to mention the giant purple satellite ears on top of his head, or the ruff of thick, white fur trailing around his neck and down his chest.

Suffice it to say, York's not the only one feeling a little... altered.]

--Ah.

[York is sitting on the floor. That'd be odd enough in itself, but he's also, uh. Chewing up the back of the baseball cap that came with his burglar outfit. He pauses, tail still, eyes on North, and then just puts the cap back on his head like he totally meant to be doing that. His fuzzy puppy ears stick out to either side. He is undaunted.]

Man. Can you believe this crap?

[He sits up against the wall and crosses his arms. Immediately ducks his head again to scratch the back of his neck. Scritchscritchscritchscritchscritch. God, but he's starting to hate fur.]

Making us play werewolves versus vampires. Unbelievable. Dude, do you think I have fleas?

[North tries his best to stifle a snicker when he sees York chewing on the back of the cap.]

No, but if you wanted to try collars there are better ways to ask.

[He says even as he automatically crosses the room and sits down next to York, wrapping his arms around his knees and cloaking his legs with his wings.

He has sharper teeth than usual, when he smiles. He reaches over to gently pull York's hand from his fur, ready to hold his hand if he has to to get him to stop itching it.]

Don't scratch.

[As he unconsciously scrapes his claws over his own chest, along the itchy edge of the white ruff of fur around his neck.]

[He snorts--or, well, sneezes, almost: that scoffy little sound dogs make when they are unimpressed with your bullshit--and bumps North's arm with his shoulder. Doesn't pull his hand away, though.]

You don't scratch, Batty. Also, no thanks, not what I'm into these days.

[He reaches across himself with his other hand to poke carefully at North's wing, to try to trace the edge where North's arm muscle ends and flight membrane begins.]

Huh. Think you could fly with these?

[When York doesn't take his hand away, North carefully weaves his fingers in between York's, palms brushing together, and his heart skips a beat as he realizes all over again that he's allowed to do this, just touch York affectionately without being ready to laugh it off.

He's still so new to being...happy like this, that he jumps a little when York's fingers trace along his arm.]

Probably not. I'm heavier than I look.

[It settles York in an invisible way, North holding his hand. Like he doesn't have to prepare himself to jump at a moment's notice, like he doesn't have to watch his own back. His tail wags once, thumping against the wall.]

Look, some things fly here that got no business getting off the ground. Has anyone in this world ever read a physics textbook? Seriously, man.

[The second he looks away to shake his head, though, he's got his free hand back to scratching, this time under the back of his shirt. His fur rubs every which way against the cotton and it's t e r r i b l e. So distracting. No wonder little dogs hate sweaters, he wants to chew an entire sofa.]

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