Fic: Man On The Run.
May. 19th, 2022 10:06 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
silbernefuchsTitle: Man On The Run
Fandom[s]: Masters of the Universe; World of Darkness [for inspiration]
Character[s]: Keldor, Randor, Marlena, Odiphus|Stinkor
Rating: Mature
Warnings: References to violence; murder
Length: 1,382 words
Disclaimer: All recognisable characters are the property of Mattel and all other license holders. I'm just playing with them. Elements related to Werewolf: the Forsaken are the property of White Wolf Game Studio.
Summary: The aftermath of Keldor's First Change. This night isn't getting any better, but at least there's a possible friend for Keldor.
Keldor has murdered my parents.
Randor could not stop thinking these words as this surreal horror film of a night wore on. He watched the lights flash. He watched the police carry out their investigations; searching for clues and evidence. He watched the coroners wheel out the covered bodies of his parents; the sheets showing signs of blood stains on them. He watched the crowd of morbidly curious onlookers gawk at the scene of the crime and all the men and women who were busy carrying out their jobs. When they asked him questions he answered them. When they asked for photos of his brother so that they could begin the search he gave them several. When they asked for places Keldor might go to or people who would help him evade the law he told them.
When the television crew came, he told his story to the reporter in a robotic fashion, as if maybe some part of himself was disconnected from everything and was watching it all with dispassionate interest.
Marlena cried into his shoulder while he offered her whatever comforts he could once it was clear that he wouldn't be bothered by anyone for a little while. She was taking this very hard. Miro had loved her; even called her the "daughter he never had", and was very much in approval of his son's relationship, and she'd idolised him like a father.
And now he was gone. Taken from them by Randor's older half-brother. The troubled, trouble-causing, violent miscreant who called himself Keldor.
He felt his blood boil at the thought of his sibling. They'd never really gotten along when they were children, and now he'd turned into a cold-blooded murderer. One who could carve up human flesh like a Thanksgiving turkey. Somehow.
It didn't seem humanly possible, but Randor didn't care about "how was it even possible". All he cared about right now was getting justice.
By any means possible.
*******
I have killed my parents.
These words played through Keldor's mind in an endless loop as he ran through the city's alleyways, backstreets and underbridges trying to evade the police who were now most certainly looking for him.
Actually, given the fact that his father, Miro, and his stepmother, Amelia, held positions of prominence in this part of the country (while they were still alive, that is), it was likely that his half-brother Randor would use all the pull and all the connections his family had to get every available officer in the state to hunt Keldor down.
They'd probably be happy to oblige. Keldor had an unenviable record of various violent crimes as well all of his disciplinary issues that were stacked upon a case file kept by all the therapists he'd known since he was little that had to be several feet thick.
He could hide, though. He knew the rougher parts of town, and he was friends (of a sort) with the hoodlums, gangsters and other assorted ne'er-do-wells, and it was still dark out.
Problem was, the sun would be up in a few hours, making the authorities' jobs that much easier. He was also hungry. And more than a little tired.
But if he stopped he'd be caught for sure. He couldn't really stop long enough to remove the rags that used to be his clothing and change into something more intact.
He had to keep moving.
...lights flashing...
...tires squealling...
...siren screams...
Had he been found?
He couldn't be found!
He ducked into an alleyway that would've been pitch black to him a month or so ago, but now had just enough light for him to see by. He would've marvelled at this, but for the fact he was in potential danger. Keldor ran, trying not to trip over anything as he went, hoping—praying—that he'd dodged yet another bullet.
When the cars whizzed past, he leaned against a wall, breathing hard from exertion.
That was a close call.
...something shuffled in the dark...
...he really hoped it was just some animal, like a rat...
"Rough night, huh, kid?"
Keldor whirled around, the sound of his own re-sped-up heartbeat hammering in his ears. His breath was coming fast. Who was there?
Had he been found?
He scanned the alley looking for the source of the speaker. It was pre-dawn now, but he didn't need its light to find what he was looking for: a man. Older. Probably in his fifties. Dressed in clothing that had seen better days. And he smelled. Badly.
Definitely not an officer. Not even a plain clothes officer. Unless the police department had recently taken to dressing their undercovers in thrift shop rejects and had them swear off bathing.
He tried to calm himself, now that he was sure that whoever he was in here with wasn't the kind of person to turn him in. Hopefully. To try to not look like he was jumping at every little thing. Like he'd just done something ... unspeakable.
"You.... Could say that...," he said, carefully. Trying not to make it sound like he was guilty of anything.
There was a chuckle.
"The first time is always rough." A laugh. "Heh. I remember my first time. Must've been nearly forty years ago. It was all over the papers. Bunch'a people getting torn apart by some 'savage animal' or something. Heard that the coroner decided to retire early after seeing what I'd done."
Keldor felt himself tensing up at those words while the vagrant scratched his chin, looking almost nostalgic. The strange, smelly vagrant seemed to know a little too much about what had just happened to him earlier that night for Keldor to be comfortable.
He readied himself to run. He readied himself to fight.
As if reading his mind, the vagrant spoke.
"Don't even bother, cub. You'd be on your back squealin' like a piglet before you could even count to one. You've only just changed, have no idea how to control it, and I've been at this for years. So maybe you ought to calm yourself down before you do something stupid."
Still on edge, Keldor slowly sat down upon a pile of pallets, not taking his eyes off the stranger. Ready to bolt if he had to, given that he'd never be able to throw down with this man, if what he'd said about his experience was true.
"Well. Now that I've got your attention, I might as well tell you what you need to know. And the first thing you need to know is this. You're a werewolf."
He said it using the same intonation the big, hairy man had said to the kid in that movie about a boy wizard.
Keldor was puzzled. Werewolves?
He examined himself. Trying to find something about himself that would confirm he was some sort of movie monster.
"You won't find what you're looking for, doing the Macarena like that. 'Cause it don't work that way."
Keldor stopped, his face burning with embarrassment.
"That Hollywood shit's not true." He paused. "Well, most of it ain't. The silver part's true. Healin' part is, too. But a lotta that stuff is just plain bullshit."
Okay... This man was probably like a lot of other men who spent most of their life out on the street. Questionable sanity or a junkie or something like that.
Werewolves. That was a bit much.
"Yeah, I ain't surprised you don't believe me," the man said, getting up.
He was tall.
He was very tall.
He was making Keldor wish he was at home in bed.
"Werewolves are real," said the vagrant once he was back to normal after giving Keldor an unforgettable demonstration. "And you're one of 'em. Us."
He stuck out a hand that Keldor wasn't sure would stay human for the young man to shake.
"I'm Odi. Odi Finds-Them-First. And you are..?"
"Keldor."
"Good to meet you. Now, if you'll come along with me, I'll take you to see some people who'll explain everything to you. It'll sound loony at first, but trust me: everything will start to make sense once you've talked to 'em."
Seeing no other options presenting themselves, Keldor picked up his things and followed the smelly man deeper into the alleyway.
Hoping that he was right.
He was doomed if Odi wasn't.
Fandom[s]: Masters of the Universe; World of Darkness [for inspiration]
Character[s]: Keldor, Randor, Marlena, Odiphus|Stinkor
Rating: Mature
Warnings: References to violence; murder
Length: 1,382 words
Disclaimer: All recognisable characters are the property of Mattel and all other license holders. I'm just playing with them. Elements related to Werewolf: the Forsaken are the property of White Wolf Game Studio.
Summary: The aftermath of Keldor's First Change. This night isn't getting any better, but at least there's a possible friend for Keldor.
Keldor has murdered my parents.
Randor could not stop thinking these words as this surreal horror film of a night wore on. He watched the lights flash. He watched the police carry out their investigations; searching for clues and evidence. He watched the coroners wheel out the covered bodies of his parents; the sheets showing signs of blood stains on them. He watched the crowd of morbidly curious onlookers gawk at the scene of the crime and all the men and women who were busy carrying out their jobs. When they asked him questions he answered them. When they asked for photos of his brother so that they could begin the search he gave them several. When they asked for places Keldor might go to or people who would help him evade the law he told them.
When the television crew came, he told his story to the reporter in a robotic fashion, as if maybe some part of himself was disconnected from everything and was watching it all with dispassionate interest.
Marlena cried into his shoulder while he offered her whatever comforts he could once it was clear that he wouldn't be bothered by anyone for a little while. She was taking this very hard. Miro had loved her; even called her the "daughter he never had", and was very much in approval of his son's relationship, and she'd idolised him like a father.
And now he was gone. Taken from them by Randor's older half-brother. The troubled, trouble-causing, violent miscreant who called himself Keldor.
He felt his blood boil at the thought of his sibling. They'd never really gotten along when they were children, and now he'd turned into a cold-blooded murderer. One who could carve up human flesh like a Thanksgiving turkey. Somehow.
It didn't seem humanly possible, but Randor didn't care about "how was it even possible". All he cared about right now was getting justice.
By any means possible.
I have killed my parents.
These words played through Keldor's mind in an endless loop as he ran through the city's alleyways, backstreets and underbridges trying to evade the police who were now most certainly looking for him.
Actually, given the fact that his father, Miro, and his stepmother, Amelia, held positions of prominence in this part of the country (while they were still alive, that is), it was likely that his half-brother Randor would use all the pull and all the connections his family had to get every available officer in the state to hunt Keldor down.
They'd probably be happy to oblige. Keldor had an unenviable record of various violent crimes as well all of his disciplinary issues that were stacked upon a case file kept by all the therapists he'd known since he was little that had to be several feet thick.
He could hide, though. He knew the rougher parts of town, and he was friends (of a sort) with the hoodlums, gangsters and other assorted ne'er-do-wells, and it was still dark out.
Problem was, the sun would be up in a few hours, making the authorities' jobs that much easier. He was also hungry. And more than a little tired.
But if he stopped he'd be caught for sure. He couldn't really stop long enough to remove the rags that used to be his clothing and change into something more intact.
He had to keep moving.
...lights flashing...
...tires squealling...
...siren screams...
Had he been found?
He couldn't be found!
He ducked into an alleyway that would've been pitch black to him a month or so ago, but now had just enough light for him to see by. He would've marvelled at this, but for the fact he was in potential danger. Keldor ran, trying not to trip over anything as he went, hoping—praying—that he'd dodged yet another bullet.
When the cars whizzed past, he leaned against a wall, breathing hard from exertion.
That was a close call.
...something shuffled in the dark...
...he really hoped it was just some animal, like a rat...
"Rough night, huh, kid?"
Keldor whirled around, the sound of his own re-sped-up heartbeat hammering in his ears. His breath was coming fast. Who was there?
Had he been found?
He scanned the alley looking for the source of the speaker. It was pre-dawn now, but he didn't need its light to find what he was looking for: a man. Older. Probably in his fifties. Dressed in clothing that had seen better days. And he smelled. Badly.
Definitely not an officer. Not even a plain clothes officer. Unless the police department had recently taken to dressing their undercovers in thrift shop rejects and had them swear off bathing.
He tried to calm himself, now that he was sure that whoever he was in here with wasn't the kind of person to turn him in. Hopefully. To try to not look like he was jumping at every little thing. Like he'd just done something ... unspeakable.
"You.... Could say that...," he said, carefully. Trying not to make it sound like he was guilty of anything.
There was a chuckle.
"The first time is always rough." A laugh. "Heh. I remember my first time. Must've been nearly forty years ago. It was all over the papers. Bunch'a people getting torn apart by some 'savage animal' or something. Heard that the coroner decided to retire early after seeing what I'd done."
Keldor felt himself tensing up at those words while the vagrant scratched his chin, looking almost nostalgic. The strange, smelly vagrant seemed to know a little too much about what had just happened to him earlier that night for Keldor to be comfortable.
He readied himself to run. He readied himself to fight.
As if reading his mind, the vagrant spoke.
"Don't even bother, cub. You'd be on your back squealin' like a piglet before you could even count to one. You've only just changed, have no idea how to control it, and I've been at this for years. So maybe you ought to calm yourself down before you do something stupid."
Still on edge, Keldor slowly sat down upon a pile of pallets, not taking his eyes off the stranger. Ready to bolt if he had to, given that he'd never be able to throw down with this man, if what he'd said about his experience was true.
"Well. Now that I've got your attention, I might as well tell you what you need to know. And the first thing you need to know is this. You're a werewolf."
He said it using the same intonation the big, hairy man had said to the kid in that movie about a boy wizard.
Keldor was puzzled. Werewolves?
He examined himself. Trying to find something about himself that would confirm he was some sort of movie monster.
"You won't find what you're looking for, doing the Macarena like that. 'Cause it don't work that way."
Keldor stopped, his face burning with embarrassment.
"That Hollywood shit's not true." He paused. "Well, most of it ain't. The silver part's true. Healin' part is, too. But a lotta that stuff is just plain bullshit."
Okay... This man was probably like a lot of other men who spent most of their life out on the street. Questionable sanity or a junkie or something like that.
Werewolves. That was a bit much.
"Yeah, I ain't surprised you don't believe me," the man said, getting up.
He was tall.
He was very tall.
He was making Keldor wish he was at home in bed.
"Werewolves are real," said the vagrant once he was back to normal after giving Keldor an unforgettable demonstration. "And you're one of 'em. Us."
He stuck out a hand that Keldor wasn't sure would stay human for the young man to shake.
"I'm Odi. Odi Finds-Them-First. And you are..?"
"Keldor."
"Good to meet you. Now, if you'll come along with me, I'll take you to see some people who'll explain everything to you. It'll sound loony at first, but trust me: everything will start to make sense once you've talked to 'em."
Seeing no other options presenting themselves, Keldor picked up his things and followed the smelly man deeper into the alleyway.
Hoping that he was right.
He was doomed if Odi wasn't.
