driftfleet | (no subject)

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(no subject)

Who: Bigby and anyone silly enough to be out in the mountains
Broadcast: No
Action: In the deep, wild parts of the planets where there is the promise of giant, fierce animals.
When: Any time after planetfall is made.

Normally, his skin doesn't chafe so much.

He knows it's because of the lack of options. There are places in the city he can shrug it off and be himself. He can always catch a cab and go out into the forests. He knows he can get out if he wants or needs to.

But here, he can't. The ship is literally not big enough for him, he would struggle to fit in the corridors, let alone his cell.

But this planet, this is like home. Not Fabletown, but the Homelands, his father's lands, where the winds cut to the bone and the snow is so thick that it reaches his belly as he walks through it.

He sets off on foot out of town, dressed in his usual slacks and shirt and tie with the concession of having rolled down his sleeves. It's cold, but it only has to last until he gets out of sight.

Because out of sight of the population, he strips and then he claws his way free, a nightmarishly huge form of black brown fur that quickly lopes off in search of prey. He's already communing with the wind spirits, trying to prove he's one of them, that they should help him.

You can try and catch him on his way out of town, before he shifts.

If you're game, you can find him out in the mountains. Maybe your hunt team makes the mistake of thinking that thing is prey.

((OOC: If you want to hunt Bigby, please message me to work it out, but he won't be aggressive to anything vaguely sentient. Anyone lost in the snow can be found by the giant mostly friendly wolf.

Action spam welcome, but I didn't want people trying to read a block of tiny text.

Spoiler pic for TWAU showing Bigby's wolf size and another one.))

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

You even have a different name for your wolf.

[He has two names, but they're basically the same. For dealing with people. He's always been Big Bad. Bigby.]

Yes. I take the shape I want. Though I have trouble staying human when I get really angry.

[He settles done on his stomach, bracketing Remus with his large front paws. His claws are not like a wolf, they're long and curved and wickedly sharp.]

No. It is for you?

Very.

[He blinks and regards him. He really is massive, so much bigger than Moony ever will be. Remus is mostly grown now, twenty-one and likely not to get much bigger-- and so Moony is as well, sleek and slender, just as big as a regular wolf.]

Lots of bones breaking and screaming, I'm afraid. And I don't . . . I can't change at will. Though I find myself more aggressive during the days leading up to my change. Moony's always angry . . .

[He trails off as he glances over at those claws. Yikes.]

He's trapped in a body that isn't his, surrounded by the smell of prey all the time, hungry and teased and overwhelmed by scents.

[And he chose it and it makes him frustrated sometimes.]

Of course he's angry. He doesn't understand why it's like this. And, I'm guessing, he's a pack wolf. He wants pack. He wants to know his place.

[That's . . . a little uncanny, actually, how accurate that is, and Remus blinks in surprise. The pack part most certainly is, anyway; Moony is never happier than when he has the others around.]

That's no reason to take it out on everyone else. I'm covered in scars cos he-- the second he doesn't get his way he starts biting, tearing into himself, into anyone else around him--

[Stupid, to say all this. He sounds like a petulant child. But how can he not, with someone who's almost like him? Who seems to understand in ways Remus never has, who reads Moony's moods better than Remus himself can. And now it starts pouring out of him, unprompted and unbidden, as he glowers up at the wolf before him.]

And only one of his pack is here, and it's not even the dog, which means he's even more angry, which means he slams himself against the walls until he's out of it cos all I can do is change in a stupid ship in a tiny room because if I don't I'll end up tearing everyone to bits!

He doesn't understand. You're thinking of him like a human child and he's not. You're locking him up, by himself, with nothing to do, nothing to fill his needs and wants. He needs pack. He needs an Alpha. He needs food and things to explore and familiar scents and tastes.

[But he gets the frustration of the small room. He can't shift at all on the Bloodsport, there's not enough room for him.

He rests his head down on one paw, one massive eye watching the cub still.]

You'll shift with me next time. I'll come to your ship and we'll take over the largest space we can find.

[He inhales, ready to protest, ready to deny this wolf for a large number of reasons--

--and then exhales wearily, his entire body slumping down.]

All right.

[Softly said. He worries about hurting James' feelings, about making him feel excluded, about what all this means-- but it seems a good idea. Better to hurt this wolf than Prongs; this wolf can so clearly handle himself there wouldn't be any risk. And he seems to know so much; Remus feels like he's a first year all over again, being taught how to control his magical outbursts.]

My name is Remus.

[God, what a name his mother had picked out for him.]

[He slumps down and a bit, wet nose presses at the back of his neck, scenting him. Like a father would his cubs, making sure he can find the scent again. Or an alpha with new, young cubs that might not be his, but will be tolerated.]

Bigby.

[He doesn't fight it, because he knows the importance of scent. Moony knows, anyway, and some of that lingers. Remus tips his head this way and that, allowing Bigby to scent him, feeling far less ridiculous than he might have otherwise thought.]

Are there a lot of you in your world?

[It's just them. Makes it different. Bigby tries to be human most of the time, but it still has to be worked at.

He drops his head back down and stretches out on his side, completely unfazed by the cub being there. He feels relaxed and unconcerned.]

No. In my old lands, the Homelands, I was the youngest of seven, but I am bigger, stronger and more than my brothers. In my new world, there is only me. I am the only one of my siblings who is a wereman, as well. They were born and still are, dumb animals.

[He tips his head, trying to follow that. It's all so very ancient, or at least it sounds that way. Remus settles in the snow, watching Bigby in fascination. He's quite bulky, actually, and so Remus is rather warm, shielded from the wind quite neatly.]

What about your parents? My own are human-- I was changed, not born this way.

[Bigby lazily pulls Remus in closer to keep him warm. Humans get so very cold without a thick pelt.

Honestly... Moony would be optimistic to be able to bite through that fur, even if he wanted to hurt Bigby.]

My mother was a wolf. My father was the North Wind.

[Oh, he says, because he's never been moved so easily before. He's not a particularly big person, but nor is he some tiny thing-- and yet Bigby is so big it hardly matters.]

I-- I'm sorry, the North Wind? Your mother was a regular wolf? How-- how does that work, precisely?

Well, when a mummy wolf and a daddy North Wind love each other very much...

[Yeah, that's the best explanation you're getting on that front.]

You can just say don't ask, you know, you don't need to be sarcastic.

[He wrinkles his nose up at him.]

Ours is a passable condition. Even if I had a human wife, there's a good chance my children will be like me.

[Which means no children, which is . . . not something he wants to think about, actually.]

[Bigby huffs slightly and his tail thumps the once, sending a rush of wind and snow from it.]

And the change is painful for you. Very painful. You don't want children suffering.

Precisely. It's also rather a stigma; I keep my condition a secret. I, ah, rather have to if I want to be able to do anything.

[He doesn't want to sound as if he's whining. He's done that enough so far and they barely know each other.]

What is it like at home for you? I mean, what's the standard? We're mostly witches and wizards, with supernatural creatures on the edge of society.

Huh.

[Eyes closed, Bigby listens to the winds and thinks.]

Home, or where I live? Home is the Homelands. I was one of the last to flee, four hundred years ago. Now, I live in Manhattan, with the other Exiles of the Homelands. We have several cabals of witches.

[Well! An American, which is rather an odd juxtaposition to the odd fairy-tale setting Remus had been imagining. And he'll ask more about both in a bit, but first--]

How old are you?

[He doesn't sound American. In fairness, Americans had English accents when he started living there.]

Don't know. One of the oldest of the Exiles. Probably nine or ten centuries, I guess.

You--

[You guess, but he supposes after the first hundred years you tend to lose track. Good grief, he really must be a child in Bigby's eyes. Remus blinks up at him, taken aback by that answer.]

My god.

[And that's all he has to say for a few seconds, really, because how do you even continue conversing with a creature so old?]

I moved to New Amsterdam in the early seventeen hundreds, I suppose. I lived in Salem during the witch trials. I lived in the Carpathians for a century or so, before that.

[He stretches out his front paws further.]

I didn't keep track of time before that, in the Homelands. Snow told me there was a long time between helping her and actually moving to the Mundane world. So I'm guessing entirely. Time didn't mean much.

Well, yes, after the first few centuries who can keep track.

[SARCASM but that's mostly to cover for how enormously taken aback he is. Remus watches him stretch out, something itching between his shoulder blades as he does. Not an actual itch, but something familiar that aches to do the same. Ah, well.]

My god, I'm only twenty-one and I'm rather exhausted; how do you keep going?

Counting years doesn't come naturally to wolves.

[His head came to rest on one forearm and his eyes half closed.]

I wasn't aware there was another option.

There's always another option.

[Simply said, and he copies Bigby, slumping down a little against the great bulk of him.]

In any case: where were the Homelands?

[To a wolf, there isn't another option. You live. You fight to live. That simple.]

Another world. A set of other worlds, outside the Mundane world. I know how to get there and back, I can't tell you where it is. It's across the space between the worlds.