Grayell's shanty.

[Grayell]

Grayell wasn't much for conversation at the moment. The now one armed Garou was dragging itself on it's stomach, desperate to get to it's feet and howling as blood shot from it's shoulder. The rage in it's eyes had now given way to a very human fear and was only bolstered when Grayell stepped onto it's lower back with a sickening crunch. He pressed hard, face contorted as he twisted and forced it's spine to give, then dropped onto it's back. It thrashed, tried to roll but his claw tore into it's arm, then pinned it down. He leaned forward snaked his right arm under and around it's neck and then pulled back. His left hand sunk deep into it's arm, wrapped claws around bones and pulled it to his side. The beast yelped, whined like a beat puppy as his legs drove into the ground, his back flared and pulled back. It was a contest of strength, but Grayell was running on overdrive, his blood like nitrous through his veins. The were snapped, yipped and snapped again, shook and writhed but could not throw him and then, with a gut wrenching pop; it dropped still. Grayell let it's head drop and loosed it's arm.... but then rammed his hands into it's neck. He jerked it's head to one side, then yanked to to the other before finally tearing it from it's shoulders. He snarled as he got to his feet with the head clutched in his right hand, it's tongue lolling lifelessly from it's open jaw.

He looked at Marg, then the other Garou and growled. He tossed the head, it rolling to the feet of it's still alive brother. Grayell sneered.

Regenerate that.

[Margrett]

Margrett raised an eyebrow, leaning on her hammer. She was resting, fairly confident that the other Garou wouldn't attack her now, and fully willing to let Grayell handle himself.

Well then. I'll let you two play for a bit.

[Grayell]

The other Garou thought twice, indicated by it's intial backing up, then drawing back it's lips and snarling. It flicked out it's claws, shook it's head; it's hackles on end. It drew it's head back, looked at Marg and then Grayell sideways - and then leaped at the later.

Grayell met the charge, one hand slamming into the wolve's throat and the other going to the gut, claws ripping through flesh and locking to the inside of it's rib cage. Before it could react, it's own momentum aided his throw and he brought it up and over, then down behind him, crashing on it's head. The Garou yelped as it's head cracked and it's body contorted, twisted to get it to it's feet. Grayell however had kept on it, and as it got to it's feet, he straddled the werewolf. Arms wrapped tight around it's neck and he pulled it to his chest, it's claws desperate to gouge him off it's back. It snapped at his face which was nothing but an expression of murder and his hand slipped into it's mouth, grasping onto it's lower jaw.

It's fangs closed like a steel trap, but it elicited no reaction from Grayell. His left hand slapped over it's nose, dripped hard onto it's jaw.... and with a gruesome burst of vulgar violence, he tore it's jaw off. The howl that the Garou let loose was sickening, a twisted, deformed call of pain and fear - but it was ended as Grayell reached down and tore it's throat clean from it's neck and chest.

The body dropped in an unceremonious heap and Grayell stepped across it. The meaty tube in his hand slipped from his fingers and his blood subsided with it, veins retracting and vanishing to whence they came. He was torn up. Dangerously wounded. But he had a bigger problem. He was panting, chest heaving; and he was having trouble standing once more.

Margrett. Where did it wound you?

He stepped toward her, swallowing hard.

[Margrett]

Where did it would me?

She shook her head and sighed, putting her hand on Grayell's chest and tried to coax him to the ground to rest.

Where didn't it wound you is more like it. I'm fine, you're torn up.

[Grayell]

Grayell coughed a little blood and shook his head. He grabbed her wrist, a little rough at first but then relaxed and his eyes did the same. He stammered, fell into her with his weight but staggered back. His mental faculties weren't quite one hundred percent and his face showed he was searching his thoughts.

No. I'm fine. You need treatment. Now. The store.... into the store. No arguing, we don't have the time.

Grayell stumbled toward the house, his hand slackly yanking on her arm but releasing it. He didn't have the strength. He groaned as he moved, but growled, shook his head and straightened up.

Now officer. That's an order.

[Margrett]

She frowned, then grabbed her cloak and put it on his back. She grabbed his arm and put it over her shoulder, holding him up, walking him towards the house.

Yes, sir.

[Grayell]

Grayell found her arm and held it with his hand and even managed to shoot her a crooked smile. He pushed the door open with a grunt, swinging it back and into the wall with a thud. He looked at the fire, still strong and paused, leaning on his table.

Strip. Take off anything where it has hurt you. Any blood, any fluid. Get it off now. Use the damn rug to cover up if need be. Be right back.

Grayell hissed again as he moved, straight across from the table and to the storeroom door. He opened it and wandered in.

[Margrett]

She growled, not regretting giving Gray her cloak. She looked over herself. She's been clawed on her face, stomach, and on her legs. Perfect. Absolutely perfect. She reluctantly removed her outer clothes, glad she had the foresight to keep her underclothes on. She took the rug around her shoulders, sitting on the chair in front of the fire, yelling into the next room.

I hope you're happy.

[Grayell]

Grayell slumped, crashed into the doorway, a single white flour in his hand. He dragged his way to the fireside and collapsed into a chair, defiantly holding the flower. His head rolled back and he groaned, face wracked with pain but he forced himself forward. He looked at Marg but didn't muster a smile, didn't ogle her physique. He held up the flower.

Good, we have some time. You see.... there's a misconception that werewolves - the Garou only change shape on a full moon. That's not the case, they can do it at anytime. They are more dangerous during a full moon though, it lends them power. It also makes them more fierce, dangerous and less in control.

He laughed but it was broken with a cough.

Control. Yeah. That's a relative term. Now, one thing that does only happen on the full moon is this flower. It blooms only then. It's commonly called wolf's bane and as far as anyone knows, is the only way to prevent contracting the Garou curse.

Grayell looked her over, shook his head as he saw her wounds.

By next moon, it'll be too late. Waiting at all is risky. I need to extract it's oil and pollen and treat your wounds. It's going to hurt like hell, and I mean really, truly hurt. Most people have to be tied down. I don't have the damn strength Marg.

So, what I am saying is... feel free to finish me off. I don't know what your pain tolerance is like, but we're about to find out.

[Margrett]

This was the first time she'd seemed surprised or even remotely concerned with what was going to happen to her. She was quiet for a moment, putting her face in her hand. She sighed deeply, steadying herself.

Alright. Fine. Just get it over with.

[Grayell]

Grayell broke the flower and the white light that permeated from it died. He folded the stalk over in his hand then over again, wringing it with trembling hands. It produced a thick, white sap that dripped from his fingers and when he had enough, he placed the stalk aside. He then took the flower and inverted it, tapped it. A still glowing golden pollen fell into the sap and he immediately rubbed it between his hands.

With a groan and more than a few drops of blood spattering on the floor, he rose to his feet and stood behind her. He looked to her face and sighed.

Well look at it this way. They didn't cut your breasts. No luck for me eh?

He smiled and laughed but again it was cut short by a rattling cough, it was likely his lungs were injured. He shook his head in pain again and swallowed.

Now grip the chair and don't let go. I wouldn't wish this on anyone.

Grayell pressed his hand to her cheek and slowly dragged it over the wound but the effect was instantaneous. Searing napalm flushed into Margrett's face and set her skin on fire, her muscles turned to magma and a sudden kick in the base of her skull screamed into her head. Visions flooded into her mind, of blood, fang and furs, of an incessant need to kill and an unquenchable thirst for murder. The garou curse was trying to reject the bane and it was a battle that could not be one with her hammer alone.

He pressed hard, held fast to her cheek, he had to be sure it flooded the wound.

[Margrett]

She didn't realize she was screaming until she couldn't breathe anymore. Her eyes clouded over as she saw the death, the violence, the raw, animalistic aggression. It terrified her. But as it pounded through her brain, there was one overwhelming thought that overpowered her and scared her more than the curse itself.

She liked it. Under the fear and pain she laughed at the blood, her hands covered in gore and carnage. She stood atop a pile of corpses, recognizing the faces underneath her, pounding them into pulp with her bare hands. Everything that had ever been done to her, everything she had suffered through, all of it came to a head and fueled her hatred and mania, unleashed by the power of the garou curse. Without her own self-imposed code of laws she was a terrifying monster. It freed her, but she rejected it, laughing at its advances. In her mind she was clad head to toe in black armor, her red skin deep and gleaming, laughing at the mortals as they scurried underneath her, doing her bidding. No more was she a sniveling waif, a noble's daughter, an outcast in the training halls. Now she was lord and master of her father's kingdom, taking it by force. And it terrified her.

She lashed out at her own visage, arms flailing, hands wrapping around Gray's throat.

[Grayell]

Grayell removed his hand which didn't help the pain and torment Marg was enduring. He pulled back, twisted his neck and got free of her grasp. She was writhing, thrashing against the chair and every part as feral as the Garou they had just slain. He had to keep her seated, if she were to break free she would likely end up in the wilds and not in her own mind. He had to complete the cure or her mind would be fractured and incomplete, un-whole.

He dodged her hands and threw himself against the back of the chair, his large arms wrapping about her chest. He locked her in, a bear hug as she lashed and fought back, the curse screaming in denial. He could try to keep her here but leaning over her shoulder left him exposed, though it mattered little.

His hands found the wound on her stomach and applied the bane, this only doubling the sensation that wracked her body. The visions in her head slammed into the base of her skull again, now her tongue and eyes were on fire, breathing feel impossible. A vision of her loved ones, half dead and laying on their backs, guts being torn out by frenzied wolves swam through her mind and suddenly, blood became a very real scent to her. Her mind clouded with nightmares, her body could smell the blood that covered Grayell and only fed her rage.

He held on, unwilling to let go.

[Margrett]

In this case, her loved ones was one man; her father. He saw him, fighting valiantly against the wolves, but there were too many. He reached for her as he fell for the last time, but she couldn't move. Behind him, he saw the woman who'd killed him in life, this time as a wolf. She grinned and headed for her, looking to complete the job. Her eyes filling with tears, she rushed the woman, screaming. The lifeless body of her father stared at her as the woman dodged and lashed out, slicing open her body and leaving her prone. The woman stood over her as Margrett kneeled, holding her own guts in. She grabbed Margrett's face and whispered to her.

Eyes like your father.

A clawed hand caressed her face.

Bloodlust like your mother.

Margrett screamed her defiance and rage, leaping at the woman and pinning her, the other wolves coming to her aid in a moment. Margrett paid them no mind, her body running solely on rage now, tearing into the woman with her bare hands, beating her to a pulp, blood covering her already-torn body. She could barely see through the blood and tears, but she could see her father, looking up, asking why.

[Grayell]

Grayell held his head away, trying to keep her safe in his arms but minimizing danger to himself, something that was entirely unlikely. Her stomach flowed with clean blood, signifying the toxin removed and slowly, carefully released his grip around her. She was still in the chair, and incredible feat and a testament of her will and character. Nothing but her subconscious will was holding here there and were he not feeling like roadkill in a microwave, he would be impressed. He shifted, hand resting on her shoulder and then crouched to a knee between her legs. He rubbed his hands again, enough of the oil left but no longer had any means to protect himself. The last would be the onslaught, regardless of the amount of wounds it was the last of the curse that fought the hardest.

He gently placed a palm on each leg, massaging the oil into her wounds. Ironic that such an act would otherwise be entirely intimate after all their jest and half-hearted flirtation, but the oil seeped into her wounds.

The pain within her body was renewed, refreshed and attacked every sense in her system, far worse then before. Her muscles writhed and then cramped, came close to snapping. She was at a risk of seizure, choking on her own tongue so Grayell remained focused on her face, a lone onlooker to the ordeal. He kept his hands over her wounds, the hot liquid filling her flesh and as the worst pain that Marg had likely endured hammered relentlessly on her brain, the last of the visions flooded her mind.

Now she was the predator. Completely consumed by it but aware, alert and ever so hungry, her eyes pierced the night like it was day, her ears caught the hearbeat of countless prey and her nose told her of fresh blood, waiting to be torn from an unwilling victim. It was close, her mouth slavered in anticipation and regardless of her will struggling against the horror, she burst into a sprint, savagely wanting to end life an tear flesh from her prey.

Grayell kept his vigil. If she would attack it would be now. If she were to flee it would be this moment. But her ire would need an outlet and it would be him. If she could hold it back, stay it but a moment longer, she would be fine.

The fire grew dim as she suffered the worst.