oddsandends | 53rd ♫ | isn't plain old sweetness just so dull?

[HIGH EMOTIONS AW YEAH run these boys into THE GROUND get WOLFTACKLED and then WHINE AND LICK EACH OTHER IN A CONCERNED WAY and then HAVE EVEN MORE FEELINGS!!!!!]

[As soon as it happens, before Prompto even gets his bearings, he bolts. It doesn't matter how sick he feels, how little he can suddenly make sense of what his eyes and ears and nose are telling him, sensory overload on a turning stomach. There were sickening, wet cracks in his hips, an awful drag on his spine. His face itches. His everything itches.

No, before he understands anything, Prompto hits the ground and runs. He smells three things: the queasy stench of Magitek. His friends' familiar scents. And the sudden, acrid, sweaty-cold tang of fear.

Noct's fear. Gladio's. Something is happening, and he's what's happening, and he wants out.

He flees Fort Vaullerey and only realizes he's running on all fours when he passes the gate, and he raises his despair to the sky in a high howl.]

[The day and night are not going as planned. Death hangs heavy over them, the thought of vengeance thick. The slimy bastard Caligo. Commodore Highwind. Guilt and blame and a cold sense prickling up the hairs on the back of his neck.

They've fought enough magitek troopers, things turned lupine, to know that Niflheim is messing with something horrible. And to know that Ignis never wants his secret revealed. How would the others ever understand? Something thrums in the air, something that doesn't turn him but makes him acutely aware of his other side.

Prompto is not so fortunate, sprinting even as his body shifts and morphs and becomes that which they had been fighting against since the fall of Insomnia. And Ignis follows without a second thought. He's sure he calls something back--something about staying put, staying safe, something about the mission perhaps, but he can't even recall what leaves his mouth. Panicked and hyperfocused.

He doesn't turn. Not yet. But he does touch a rune on his belt, draw magical energy around him to cast a quickening spell. His legs fly farther, more distance more quickly on his mere two feet.

Until he knows he's out of sight. No rational person would be out driving this late what for the daemons, and human eyesight is only so good, especially once the shadows of night take over from the lights of the fort. Only then does he change, his clothes dissipating from his skin, already turning, elongating, center of gravity shifting. Turning is by no means a pretty process, but he's done it so often that it's a (literal) second skin for him. The night is much easier on his eyes, nose and ears sharper. Prompto's blind panic has led him in a fairly straight path, which makes it even easier to track him. He'd howl in return, but the air in his lungs is reserved for the magically enhanced sprint his body has fallen into.

He's got to stop sometime, and Ignis will find him when he does.]

[The only reason he stops at all is because there's nowhere left to go. Fort Vaullerey's bordered east, west, and north by rivers; Prompto remembers, in a terrified, distract burst, crossing the eastern bridge on foot after parking the car. He doesn't remember how to get there, loses the road in his panic, and soon he's hemmed in.

The water doesn't move fast enough to cover the noises he's making, desperately unhappy and scared. It doesn't move fast enough to totally distort his reflection, either. While he's casting about for a place to cross, he sees himself. Rich, golden fur, pointed ears--his face is different, it's long and wild and he can't look. Yelping, almost wailing, Prompto scrambles away from the river, one hind leg plunging through the surface and scattering his image.

He leaves a half-trail of wet footsteps as he careens away from the river. Lost, now, though, he loses speed, too. When the other wolf dashes into sight, Prompto scrambles back, sinking low to the muddy bank, ears pinned down, tail between his legs, whimpering helplessly.]

[A panicked animal is dangerous, even more when cornered, as Prompto seems to be. Ignis finally eases up when he's pretty sure he's tracked his friend down, chest heaving, the distant thrum of magic easing out of him as the hastega spell winds down.

It could be, if Prompto looks, there's something familiar about the general shape, the countenance, of this new beast. Maybe it's in the legs, the long and pointed face, the vague coeurl-like spots adorning his fur, the focused gaze of green eyes.

Ignis knows better than to simply waltz up to Prompto in this state, so he sits, catching his breath, giving a few huffs and a tilt of his head. Not going to hurt you. Come on out. He keeps his body language as non-threatening as he can think to make it under the circumstances of being barely able to really think.]

[Not like Prompto can think any better right now, despite all the reassurance Ignis is trying to broadcast. His body keeps giving little jerks, aborted escapes to the side that he shuts down as soon as he re-registers how trapped he is, how fast the other wolf is going to be on him. He knows. They've been fighting creatures like these ever since they left home.

...Like, but not exactly like. No, the one who looks most like those deranged, mindless beasts is Prompto--as if one of those wolves had been allowed to grow properly, to fill out, to let its fluffy hair shine instead of going patchy and scraggly. This one, this must be a real wolf. It's the noblest specter of death he's ever seen, and he's--

He must be one of them.

There's nowhere to go. In a move that's not at all canine but is very, very Prompto, he drops all the way to his belly in the mud and crosses his paws over his muzzle, covering his eyes, letting out Eos's wobbliest, most woebegone awooo.]

[Oh honey. Ignis shakes his head, fur and ears flapping as he stands, stretches out, and calmly plods his way over to Prompto's side.

He could change back. That surely would be more comfort than an unfamiliar wolf. But he's not...quite ready for that right now. The pathetic attempt at a howl and the body language are very, very Prompto. Sniff sniff? Smells like Prompto. Everything about Prompto is Prompto. Except that he's now a wolf. That his body has betrayed him, and the violent magitek energies seem to have forced the change.

They'll cross that bridge when they get to it. Ignis would rather not slump into the mud, but slump he does. It's at least nice and cool against him, and soft on his paws. They'll have a hell of a time if they get jumped by any daemons, which keeps him alert, but otherwise, he nuzzles against Prompto, literally. Soft noises and a cold nose. And then starts licking him.

Listen, he can't do anything super soothing like pet Prompto's hair back or anything like that as a wolf, so grooming his newfound fuzz is just going to have to do for the moment, okay?]

[Buh? Or, in this case: yipe?

He's braced for tearing teeth and death, not what feels like soft fussing, that kind of protective touch. With a whimper sticking in his throat like he swallowed glue, he flinches away at first, but everything continues not to hurt. He blinks rapidly, and it still doesn't hurt. He breathes and nothing is hurting him. It's just warm and wet and familiar.

Tiny--Pryna--she'd lick him, back when she was staying with him. Not like this, but it's. It tickles. It's not scary.

Prompto starts to look up, blue eyes big over bigger paws, and lets out a small, confused whine.]

[There now, that's a little better. Ignis fusses a little further before pulling back and giving a gentle harrumph sort of noise.

Had to go flopping about in the mud, didn't you. Ignis stretches out and works his way back to his feet, nudges Prompto rather insistently with his snout, and then heads into the water proper. Hard to clean your underside without hands, but the river's current will at least help get some of the worst off. Also, a refreshing drink!

Honestly he just doesn't want either one of them to end up turning back in the mud, really now, that would just be a pain to have to wash out in the morning. Who knows really how long this is going to last for Prompto, if it's something he can even learn to do voluntarily or not?]

[Oh, Shiva, does it think it's his mom?

Prompto keeps watching Ignis, puzzled and wary and still more terrified than anything else, then starts to inch his way towards the water like it seems he's being asked to do. He's still basically belly-crawling, so when some of the water laps high against a rock at the river's edge, it splashes straight onto his nose. He jumps up, prances a second in his startlement, and then. Sneezes.

Doggy sneeze. Doggy sneezes are so cute.

After a second of standing there like a dummy, he pads obediently into the water, head and tail low and visibly shaking. But at least he's moving.

He's moving, in fact, a step closer to Ignis, head tilted as if for permission. Sniff? Can sniff?]

[Can sniff! Do sniff. Sniff do. Put that fresh sniffer to work. Ignis even closes the distance to do his own sniffing. And more nuzzling.

Yes. Maybe he thinks he's Prompto's mom. But only because he's the group mom.

It's strange to see someone he thought he knew so well become a wolf in front of his very eyes. Prompto had always been Noct's friend from school, someone who was plenty young and eager but a little outside of the more royally-inclined group of those who already served the crown in one capacity or another. He hopes they'd made him feel welcome, but, well... He has no idea how Noctis and Gladio are going to take this. Another bridge to cross. They can't just disappear all night, can they?

(They could. Ignis disappears and always comes back. Why not Prompto as well?)]

[He sniffs once and then stills, the frozen image of uncertainty. While he's being nuzzled, Prompto sniffs again, more daring this time, snuffsnuffsnuff.

While it still hangs low, his tail wags, cautiously, right before he plunks his butt right in the water and whines.

Whaaaaaaaat the fuck? This wolf smells like coffee and spices and expensive clothing. This wolf smells like Ignis.]

[That's certainly a reaction! The wagging is good, a good sign. The plopping his ass right down in the water, he's not so sure how to take that. Confusion? Happy confusion. Con--oh. Maybe he's realized? His perked ears ease back, then low. Okay. Okay. He has no idea, actually, what to do about this entire situation, and he doesn't want to startle Prompto into another fit after just starting to calm him down.

So he also sits. And looks like a pup with his paw caught in the cookie jar.]

[What?!

Prompto sniffs at him again, sticking his nose right up in his armpits--or, foreleg-pits, whatever--because the smell doesn't make sense, and the way this wolf--Iggywolf--reacts doesn't make sense. Why does he look like he just got Bad Dogged?

Anyway, it's a good thing poor Ignis sat, because Prompto gets up to circle him, sniffing furiously, and he definitely would've had a snout shoved up his fine, furry butthole if he hadn't taken it out of play.

The smell doesn't smell any less like Iggy, and Prompto noses at those coeurl spots, too, shaking his head with a voiceless whuff, and finally he sits back from his inspection and bats at him with a paw.

What? How? Did it get him, too? It's you, right? Prompto whines, softer and more concerned, now, and butts him gently with his head.]

[He resists the urge to snap his teeth at the paw batting. It's just Prompto, it's just Prompto trying to figure out what's going on, no need to get huffy about stop it or any of that. Because it's fine. It's going to be fine, and the concern is...

Well, it's gotten his mind off his own transformation, hasn't it?

A doggy sigh escapes him, leaning a bit with the gentle headbutting, and paws at him in return. Yes, yes, it's all strange and mysterious and yes, it's definitely him. Even bops him on the nose. All in all, Ignis certainly seems rather calm about the whole thing.

And then he pounces, knocking Prompto over into the water. #rude

When Prompto rights himself and shakes the water and fuzz from his eyes, however, he will no longer see a wolf sitting in the river, but Ignis. A little muddy, definitely damp, in his ~~hideous~~ spotted shirt and adjusting his glasses and tugging at his gloves, standing in the river.]

I think that's quite enough excitement for one day.

[Oh, man, wow, that's--yep, definitely Ignis, and when Prompto resurfaces indignantly and shakes himself from drenched to merely dripping, it's to stand there, staring. Everything smells now of wet dog.

Hardly daring to believe his eyes, he sniffs at Ignis's pant legs again, discovers the same cocktail of smells, and sits in the water once more, dumbfounded. It's enough that he whimpers and leans against his friend's knee, wet fur and all. Sorry, Iggy's pants.

It's far more than enough. It's too much. But Iggy's here, and at least... at least there's that.

At least if someone's got to put him down, it doesn't have to be Noct. And he won't die alone. A friend is here.]

[Who needs pettings? Prompto needs pettings. Good boy, Prom. The pants are fine, he'll live, because Prom needs both hands to run through fur and pet back his ears and over wet cheeks.]

I don't know how we'll keep this secret now. I suppose we aren't going to have much choice but to tell the others.

Later. Come now, let's get out of this water before I end up catching a death of cold.

53rd ♫ | isn't plain old sweetness just so dull?

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HERE WE GO HERE WE GO HERE WE GO

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My icon keywords have never been more appropriate

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