[Why hello, Bob. I feel like I should warn for swearing and maybe violence here. Because that feels polite. This section is pretty rough, so please excuse my tense issues and redundancies.]
~~~ The road had gotten worse. Bob didn't know what had happened; he wondered sometimes if his injury had skewed his perspective somehow, that the situation really hadn't gotten any worse but instead the infection had, somehow, burned some of his tolerance out of him. Like a reverse immunization.
Generally when he started to think that, Bob'd go find his band, settle down and listen to Gee and Frank bicker over comics and the feeling would pass.
The truth of the matter is that kind of thinking made him feel vulnerable, and Bob couldn't afford to feel vulnerable. He had to be vigilant, keep an eye on his band. It was hard enough without Mikey being around. Bob knew he'd dedicated himself to his band, had decided long ago that this is his pack, dammit, but he hadn’t really realized what that meant until the Paramour, until Mikey left.
Mikey's absence is an itch Bob can't scratch. It's not like the feeling of the moon, the need to run or pull on fur. It's a hair shy of unbearable. He's not the only one to feel that way; he honestly doesn't know who's responding the worse to Mikey's absence, Gee or Frank. Ray's being quiet, at least. Though that makes Bob worry in different ways.
Why he thinks that separating himself from his den and his Alpha was the right choice, Bob will never know. At the time, all he felt was the urge to run run run and that shit was not happening at this venue. They were smack in the middle of the city, surrounded by concrete and too many strange humans. He'd spent the last hour watching Frankie bouncing off the bus walls, almost vibrating out of his own skin. That wasn’t working for anyone, so Bob pulled him up and out the door, hoping a bit of exploring would calm Frank down.
Bob knew this venue - between sound work and My Chem, he'd been through this building a dozen times or more. So getting lost wasn't a problem; it was a big fucking red flag of warning. Then the stench hit him and he knew they were in serious trouble.
//Shit. Frank.// Was his only thought.
He caught a glimpse of Frank out of the corner of his eye - he'd followed Bob's lead, stripping down to skin. Bob was... a lot less surprised by that than he should be.
Then the tentacled assholes came right out of the walls, and he could only focus on getting the two of them back to the bus in one piece.
~~
Bob was busy blocking tentacles - and fucking hell, he was getting tired of tentacles, seriously what the fuck- so he stopped worrying about Frank or specifically what Frank was going to see almost immediately.
//Good to know tentacle monsters are good for something.// He thought, slashing up across a throat glistening with slime, the muck getting under his claws. He grimaced at the slick clammy feeling, turned the expression into a snarl and lunged at the next creature.
There was a full-throated howl so close it sounded like it was being uttered in his ear. The sound - a battle cry- had the fur along his spine rising, his skin twitching. He knew that voice - though he'd never heard it like this. Next thing Bob saw was a whirl of black fur, pulling the monster at his left away, rending it limb from limb. Bob blinked, absently shredding the tentacle trying to cut off his air supply. Black fur, slender limbs, narrow muzzle and familiar hazel eyes...
//Well, shit.// He thought.// Looks like I'm not the only one getting outed today. // Another tentacle and the prick of teeth on his shoulder had Bob focusing on the fight again.
Something in him, a knot of ever-present tension, loosened. While he didn't relax his guard, Bob certainly felt safer. Frank had always had his back in the past. This just upped that feeling. Something fierce surged through him. Bob howled, uncaring about who might hear, and danced into the fight. His steps had never been so light. In him, under the snarls, hummed a song. It was one word. //pack pack pack//
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
But wait! There's more!
Date: 2009-02-16 07:01 pm (UTC)~~~
The road had gotten worse. Bob didn't know what had happened; he wondered sometimes if his injury had skewed his perspective somehow, that the situation really hadn't gotten any worse but instead the infection had, somehow, burned some of his tolerance out of him. Like a reverse immunization.
Generally when he started to think that, Bob'd go find his band, settle down and listen to Gee and Frank bicker over comics and the feeling would pass.
The truth of the matter is that kind of thinking made him feel vulnerable, and Bob couldn't afford to feel vulnerable. He had to be vigilant, keep an eye on his band. It was hard enough without Mikey being around. Bob knew he'd dedicated himself to his band, had decided long ago that this is his pack, dammit, but he hadn’t really realized what that meant until the Paramour, until Mikey left.
Mikey's absence is an itch Bob can't scratch. It's not like the feeling of the moon, the need to run or pull on fur. It's a hair shy of unbearable. He's not the only one to feel that way; he honestly doesn't know who's responding the worse to Mikey's absence, Gee or Frank. Ray's being quiet, at least. Though that makes Bob worry in different ways.
Why he thinks that separating himself from his den and his Alpha was the right choice, Bob will never know. At the time, all he felt was the urge to run run run and that shit was not happening at this venue. They were smack in the middle of the city, surrounded by concrete and too many strange humans. He'd spent the last hour watching Frankie bouncing off the bus walls, almost vibrating out of his own skin. That wasn’t working for anyone, so Bob pulled him up and out the door, hoping a bit of exploring would calm Frank down.
Bob knew this venue - between sound work and My Chem, he'd been through this building a dozen times or more. So getting lost wasn't a problem; it was a big fucking red flag of warning. Then the stench hit him and he knew they were in serious trouble.
//Shit. Frank.// Was his only thought.
He caught a glimpse of Frank out of the corner of his eye - he'd followed Bob's lead, stripping down to skin. Bob was... a lot less surprised by that than he should be.
Then the tentacled assholes came right out of the walls, and he could only focus on getting the two of them back to the bus in one piece.
~~
Bob was busy blocking tentacles - and fucking hell, he was getting tired of tentacles, seriously what the fuck- so he stopped worrying about Frank or specifically what Frank was going to see almost immediately.
//Good to know tentacle monsters are good for something.// He thought, slashing up across a throat glistening with slime, the muck getting under his claws. He grimaced at the slick clammy feeling, turned the expression into a snarl and lunged at the next creature.
There was a full-throated howl so close it sounded like it was being uttered in his ear. The sound - a battle cry- had the fur along his spine rising, his skin twitching. He knew that voice - though he'd never heard it like this. Next thing Bob saw was a whirl of black fur, pulling the monster at his left away, rending it limb from limb. Bob blinked, absently shredding the tentacle trying to cut off his air supply. Black fur, slender limbs, narrow muzzle and familiar hazel eyes...
//Well, shit.// He thought.// Looks like I'm not the only one getting outed today. // Another tentacle and the prick of teeth on his shoulder had Bob focusing on the fight again.
Something in him, a knot of ever-present tension, loosened. While he didn't relax his guard, Bob certainly felt safer. Frank had always had his back in the past. This just upped that feeling. Something fierce surged through him. Bob howled, uncaring about who might hear, and danced into the fight. His steps had never been so light. In him, under the snarls, hummed a song. It was one word. //pack pack pack//