Clark Moret's Story

Roald barely heard a new voice from the side of the metal cell. Another voice. He ran over to the knocks and fell to his knees before clambering up and listening carefully, ear to the cold metal. "Please, please help me," he sobbed, "I'm no one special, just help me!! I don't know what's happening!!" He heard the loud clang and the murmurred curse before the person knocked again. Any ideas? No he didn't have any fucking ideas!! Slamming his fists on the metal again he tried to help, but it was no use. Solid sheet metal. "Please... Please..." he begged, tears streaming down his face. He was terrified. He could die here, and probably would. The most recent events of his life, blackouts, tranqs, and now cells and odd voices and metal... "I just want to go home..."

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Clark Moret sat with his back on the ground, hands clasped behind his head. For once he was glad he didn't have the best hearing because there seemed to be a new guy. Poor bastard. He sounded older, foreign. Definitely not from America. Not his problem. His only problem was surviving. Seemed to do well so far. He needed to run, though, just to run... Yet something about the new guy was bothering him... He didn't know what but it was like he couldn't ignore this one. With a sigh, he shoved up to his feet and rubbed his face while crouching. Then stood. These science dorks weren't the smartest in the world. If you were quiet they forgot you for the most part. Like the fact that they had a snake-shifter. Focusing like Rico had taught him, Clark slowly extended his spine, lay his limbs against his side, and shifted his perception. Voila, Moret was now a twelve foot snake. Eat it, Houdini. Eyes searching, Clark found the two bodies of heat, one battering its fists against something cold. That would be the new guy. He was tall, around 6' 1". Interesting. With a sort of detatched boredom, Clark slithered out between the bars at the front of his cell. Dumbasses. Within minutes he had dragged his clothes back out of the cage, shifted back, dressed, and headed over to the solid metal cell. No windows. Huh. He found Spencer cussing and knocking on the cage. Tuning the man's frantic cries out he turned to the demon with bored eyes. "New guy?"

Roald tried to help once he saw the metal being wrenched away, but he was stunningly useless compared to the one doing it. She pulled it back with such ease... Was... Was that even possible? Once it was wide enough to get through, Ro didn't even stop to think about staying in that cell. He clambered out without delay and slid to the floor at the sight of so many people. Had he made the wrong decision? "Please don't hurt me," he sobbed softly, "I don't know what I did wrong and I don't know what's happening to me but I-- I'm sorry, please!" He held out his hands to show he was unarmed as if they didn't already know. God, there were so many of them and they all looked so strange... and young... Was he the oldest one there?

That, of course, is when he felt it happening again. Fresh panic swept through him as he began to lose consciousness. "No, no please, no," he murmurred before sliding to lay against the wall outside his cell. His body began to shift then, filling out his already tattered clothes and changing. Within half a minute a huge black clydesdale stallion lay where the man was moments ago, still unconscious.

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(OOC: If there's no second in command shifter Clark could take the spot, though he's really quiet)

Clark watched the man and the rest of the people around him with barely concealed anger. Damn, all of this noise and clamor. The guy was older than most of them, looked to be early twenties, fully matured. He was in bad shape, too, some sort of mental breakdown. Moret was the same way when he first came in, so the dude couldn't be blamed. He was foreign, English? Scottish? Irish? Something like that. And then he was passed out and a horse. That explained practically everything. He was a shapeshifter. But why didn't he know what was happening and why couldn't he control it? More questions. Done with the crowd, Clark shoved back through the sea of people and back to his cell, leaning against the bars and watching from afar.

Mara sighed, then began to talk. "Shows over! I'll go get Cari to deal with him. He's a shifter" she sighed and turned back to the stallion. She leaned down and touched him, sending a nightmare into his subconscious. He would wake up, the dream was that terrifying. She pushed her way through the people, and to the head shifters cell. She saw a man being taken out by a group of other men, fresh burns on his face. Celeste was in there, too. "You are needed. The new guy is a shifter" she turned and walked back out


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Cari sighed and looked over to Celeste. "I'll be right back" she said, and followed after Mara. She pushed through the people, and sat down in front of the horse. It was the shifter they were talking about.

The stallion breathed rapidly, huge torso growing and shrinking until it started and whinnied in terror. Sweat beaded on its flank as it kicked and thrashed, head slamming against the floor and the metal wall. The whites of his eyes were apparent around the dark brown as it finally managed to stand before falling again, unable to move. Terror. Terror, only terror, fear, panic, that's all he felt... But he was aware. Why couldn't he stand?! Why was he here? God save him, he wanted to be home, he wanted to know what the fuck was going on!!

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Clark heard the stallion and snapped to attention. He knew horses better than anyone. Running back quickly, he stood over Cari and pulled her back in time before the horse began to thrash around. Those hooves were powerful. Clydesdales were working horses and had massive strength, often used to power mills or pull plows. Best wait for it--him to calm down. Soon enough he did and only lay there squealing in panic and exaustion. Moret let the head shifter's shoulders go, but stayed nearby in case the horse should act up again.

Roald continued to squeal out breaths as he struggled to control his panic. Human thoughts? What did she mean 'human thoughts?' Wasn't he human? Why the hell wouldn't he be human?! His breathing slowed slowly as the squeals turned to grunting exhalations. Human thoughts, should be easy enough, right? But he had to know, why couldn't he move? Slowly, he tensed up his neck and tried to look down. Damn, it was hard, his neck felt so long, so thick, and he couldn't see straight, it was like he could see behind him almost, but less in front. Why?! Finally he found what he was looking for.

What the fuck... he... had... hooves... Big, feathered hooves, muscular and black legs, FUR.

Panic welled within him again and he began to squeal, tossing his head and trying to stand, but he remembered what the girl had said. Human thoughts. Nothing made sense, why the fuck not?! Thumbs. Thumbs were good, thumbs meant he could grab things as opposed to the damn hooves on his-- No, no, thumbs... Thumbs, legs, hands, thumbs... Slowly, he felt the terror dying away. That was good! He continued to think "human" things for a few minutes. When he opened his eyes his vision was normal again. Snapping his head down, he found hands. "God damn it all," he murmurred, letting his head fall once more. "What's happening to me..." Tears slid from his closed eyes as he panted for breath. He just wanted this all to end.

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Clark watched carefully as the man shifted back, making sure Cari was safe. He remembered that panic, the helplessness, the confusion. Poor bastard was dealing with it after he had a firm grip on what "reality" was. At least he had dealt with it younger and with less firm beliefs on what life was all about. He cast a short look to Blake. He didn't tend to like Blake, the guy was too... loud. And he was sticking his wolfy nose where it didn't belong.

The frightened man swallowed a few times before accepting a sweet with one shaking hand. He didn't eat it, but struggled to his other hand and knees. Roald was terrified still, but had receded more into a dazed, shocked state as his mind shut down against too much change. Worm forgotten in his hand, he used the wall for support before sliding down again and landing on the floor. He couldn't do it. He simply couldn't function like this. He was a Scottish boy who was a sophomore in an English college. He was going to graduate in two years and film movies. He wasn't in the spotlight, he was nothing special, he was just Roald, the boy who never really talked to people unless they were as nerdy as he was, never dreamed of adventure, and only wanted a normal life. He wasn't even brave enough to tell his father why he had yet to date anyone, too scared to be anything other than conventional. This was too much for him to handle. He daren't go back to sleep for fear of nightmares, but he couldn't even move on his own now that the adrenaline had abandoned him. He was useless.

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Clark watched the man shut down. Damn... That wasn't good at all. He needed to open up, to let it out, to try, but from the looks of things he wouldn't be doing that and it wasn't really his choice. Moret made a decision that surprised even him as he did it. He had no idea where it had come from, but what the hell, he didn't really care. Moving past the man shaking on the ground, he slipped into the cell and searched around. The coats always left a few extra sets of clothes somewhere. Finding them, Clark picked up a black shirt, some jeans, and a riding blanket he had found at the bottom. Some sort of sick joke on the guard's part. Damn them all. Anger swelled within the shifter but he forced it back down. Bringing the clothes back out, he lay them in front of the man and went back to Cari's cell without a word, as usual. Without asking for an invitation, he walked in like he owned the place, sat on her cot, and waited.

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Ro was barely aware of the fresh clothes being placed in front of him and work boots clomping away down the hall. Something simple. Yeah, he could do that. Completely apathetic to the fact that he was still in the hall, he took off the tattered remains of fabric clinging to him from sheer sweat and put on the fresh bits, eating the gummy worm without noticing. Once dressed he dazedly made his way to the cells before stumbling again outside of one. Moving was a problem, as was even getting himself to think. He decided the ground was good enough for now... No, he had dignity, even if he was simple. The man forced himself to stand once more and leaned heavily on the wall before finding a familiar face in one of the cells, the one who had the boots that had given him the clothes. Against his own accord Roald drifted inside and fell against the wall, unable to hold himself up again.

"Are you okay? Sit..." Cari said, watching the man. She swung her legs back and forth in agitation. "Tell us what you know. How did you get here?" She asked quickly, looking over to Clark with worry in her eyes. "Do you know who you are? What you are?" She' continued, looking back to the other man. She didn't know how to handle teaching the man how to shift if she had to. He had to know how to control it. Her gaze shifted over the man, and she saw he had new clothing. "Thank you" she mouthed to Clark, knowing it was his doing.

"I'm not a 'what,'" he growled, "I'm not a 'what,' I'm a who. My name is Roald Hartford, I'm from Scotland, I grew up with my father, and in two years I'll be graduating and working as a cameraman for films and programmes!" He spoke quickly on the border of hysteria, as if he were trying to remind himself as well as inform them. "I'm not a monster," he pleaded rather than stated in his thick Scottish accent. "I'm not..."

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Clark nodded to her in acknowledgement and turned back to watch the new guy, Roald, his face a complete mask. Leaning with his elbows on his knees, he watched as the man struggled to sit up with his back against the wall. Damn... He was in bad shape. He wanted to help, contrary to his nature, but he didn't know what to do. He didn't notice his hand moving up to fiddle with the diamond of wood around his neck, it was completely involuntary, but it happened when he was thinking or distressed. Possibly the only person in this institue who knew was Cari from simple observation.

"I am a what. You are to. I am also a who- and I am not a monster. I was ripped from my family- or maybe they sent me here, at four. It's been 15 years. I doubt you are going anywhere in two. I am a shifter, and so are you. You need to accept that. I do not remember the feeling, but I know it was bad when I got here. I was a baby, at least you got to live a little before hell became your home" she sighed, shifting into a red panda and walking down the wall before shifting back. She took her sword with her, just in case. "I do not wish to hurt you, but... I can't help you of you freak out"

Roald watched her approach and listened to her carefully as his world crumbled. Tears fell from his face again. Hell his home. Fifteen years. Then it registered that she had a sword. Hartford's eyes widened, but he was too tired to run. He was only able to clumsily scrabble away from her into the corner like a trapped animal. That's all he was now. An animal. He felt the panic messing with him again, as it had when he had left the cell, felt his muscles shifting, but this time consciousness stayed with him. Pain washed over his body as he was trapped between fight and flight. "Please," he begged, yelling in pain as a shock went through his spine. "Please, I just... I just want my life back, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, please!!" Did he even want to live anymore? Perhaps death was better if he was confined here. "Please..." He curled into as small a ball he could and shoved into the corner, one eye on the face of the girl walking towards him with sword in hand, the one who had turned into a fucking raccoon or something.

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Clark watched the two and made another decision he was surprised to feel enacted before he thought about it. He stood and held out a hand between Cari and Roald. Looking to the leader he shook his head softly, face ever unreadable. He was terrified enough as it was... Perhaps it was better if they put him out of his misery, but that was for the Scot to decide, not her.

Cari dropped the sword, listening to it clang on the floor. "I do not wish to hurt you, but at the same time I cannot allow you to hurt myself. Sorry I frightened you. I know this is hard... I've been here for most of the... New arrivals. It's always hard. Don't loose hope though. You'll get perks, if your nice. I get hot tea every morning, Celeste gummy worms and hot coco, that demon Mara everything she could want, but that last one has a bit of effort on her part" Cari giggled and stepped forward, sitting beside him. She took a deep, steadying breath and looked down, before she began talking. "I-I really am sorry, but.,, we have to stay together. Plus, your cell didn't have that much blood in it, and all of it was dried and I don't even remember the last person in there, so it's clean" she said, putting her hand on his leg in what she figured was a calming manner. It didn't occur to her that what she said probably didn't sound to good to an outsider. "What I mean is, you'll learn to like it here- or at least deal with it." She licked her lips quickly, nervous. She didn't know how to help.

Nothing she said helped. Everything only made it worse. Blood. Past inhabitant. Cell. Never getting out. No... No, this wasn't his life, he was dreaming, that was it... It was a hazing thing done a year late... Yet he knew this wasn't true, he knew that he was really here. He couldn't, however, be an animal. Drugs? Was this some sort of serial killer's game, drug the prisoners so they hallucinate? Roald didn't know anything about this world, it wasn't HIS world. The one coherent thought that stubbornly forced its way to his mind's front was the fact that he needed help and the fact that he was changing again. "Help m-me, please," he sobbed, happy for the slight touch on his leg, at least. Touch helped. He could never stand captivity... The thought made him ill. He felt the nausea but tried to force it down as another jolt shot through his spine. "It's hap-happening, please..."

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Clark watched as the man shut down into complete shock again. Great job, Cari, way to be a great help and make the newcomer feel welcome. Granted he would've probably sent him into a neural breakdown. Clark stood to the side and watched them, ever silent and ever vigilant. Then he heard the man was changing. Roald was pale and shuddering, obviously in a great deal of pain. Was that natural? He looked curiously to Cari for any answers she could provide. He then remembered his form, a horse. He could work with horses. Often the person had the same attributes as their animals... It was a long shot, but it was worth it. "Cari," he said softly, deep voice carrying the obvious question of his ability to help.

"I'm an fucking idiot. I need to learn some social graces" Cari muttered to herself, shaking. He was going to change again, and she could only do so much. "Cari," she heard, and turned around. "Help, if you can. It's obvious I cannot" she sighed and stood up, moving over to him. She was stupid, thinking she could help. Even though the things she listed were things people kill for here, in the real world they were probably not and she should have thought about that first. She knew that what was happening to the man was painful, and that was odd. Shifting hurt at first, but not that much. She smiled politely and tried to become invisible, because she wanted to bang her head on the wall for being so stupid.

Clark nodded to her and placed a hand on her shoulder in a small gesture of "you did good." She did the best she could with the responsibility she had. Roald was just a special case. 'Clothes,' he signed to her out of habit (just in case he failed) before kneeling in front of the man. The Scot's eyes were squinched shut in pain and denial. With a sharp snap of his fingers, Moret dragged Roald back into the world of the living. Well, this world, at least. "My name is Clark, and if you turn into a horse again I'll have you know I was rodeo champ three years runnin'." He spoke softly and with a pretty distinct Southern accent, not so much to sound like a hick but enough to show he was definitely American. He smiled softly and kept his face in view of the Scot.

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Roald watched him and struggled to control the pain. "Ro-Roald," he sobbed back, trying to control himself with every fibre of his being. He wanted that touch again, just something simple, something he knew. Turning his eyes briefly to the girl (God, she looked so young) he reached out a shaky hand somewhat guiltily, hoping she would come back. It helped more than he knew just to have human contact, but Clark didn't seem the type to endorse that. Thumbs, think of thumbs, thumbs thumbs thumbs...

Cari sighed, happy the man could speak again. She sat on the floor beside him, taking his hand in her smaller ones. "Are you better now, Roald?" She asked, looking at him. She hoped he was getting more control and could stop his transformation for the time being. He was older than her, but he seemed so young in her eyes. He was like a baby, he didn't know anything about the world he was in. Hopefully the plan would go off without a hitch and he would be free with the rest of them. She was going to say something else, but she heard feet walking towards her cell. One of the scientists opened it up, and she was hit with a wave of nausea. He smelled like beer. She stood up and started backing up, grabbing the sword off the floor. She held it out, but she didn't get a steady grip on it before he knocked it out of the way with the metal baton. She looked over to the man on the floor, and she knew she couldn't change here, that would scare him. The man rushed her, grabbing her waist roughly. "The blonde prude bitch wouldn't come with us, you will have to do" he said, and started walking to the cell door. She growled in warning, to both Clark- who would follow her and he was needed to help the newcomer- and the man- who she planned on killing. She whimpered and walked out with him.

Once she was out of sight of the newcomer, she shifted into a fox and bit the mans arm. She dropped to the ground and started running, her fox-legs carrying her faster than a normal human. "Get back here, bitch!" The man yelled and started running after her. She turned and bit his leg, so he fell to the ground- but not before hitting her in the side with the metal baton. She whimpered and started rushing back to her cell, shifting as she did. Her clothing was ripped in places, but it wasn't bad so it didn't bother her. "Sor" she started, walking in, but was intupted by a sharp pain in her side. "R-ry" she finished.

Roald was shaking on the floor. He hadn't moved, but fresh terror had flooded him at the sight of the scientist. The scent of alcohol had been too much for his stomach with all of the stress and he had retched, but was already too humiliated to care. Clark's tee had taken care of the problem and carefully cleaned off Roald's face. Damn man was acting like a baby, but that was understandable for awhile. Clark didn't even remember his first few days, defence mechanism to simply not remember trauma. Roald nodded his shaky thanks and curled up tighter.

When Cari returned, Clark turned to her and rushed to her side when she winced. "Where," he asked. He knew she was going to attack the man, but she wasn't exactly the most powerful shifter in the world. Cunning and speed were her forte and had gotten her out of more jams than "the Dumb Ox", but the guy was big. Surely he wasn't going to give up that easily. Sure enough he heard yelling down the hall and knew that they had found Roald's empty cell. Damn. Just their luck. Clark looked between the two of them and turned to Cari, using quick sign language which he could only assume Roald wouldn't know. 'What should we do? I can shift if you stay with him.'

"My side maybe a rib. It cracked- a lot" she admitted, pulling the shirt up so he could see the bruises that decorated her side, varying shades of black, blue, and purple. "Also, I don't know..." She looked toward the door, took a breath, and continued. "Stay here. I'll be right back" she said, walking out of the cell and looking around, doing her best to act bewildered. "You! Shifter. Where did the new one go?" One of them asked, and she pointed forward "He said something about drugs? I don't know. Seemed out of it" she said, and they started going in that direction. They had no reason not to trust her. She slipped back in. "That bought about ten minutes. We have to figure something out. They are going to come back, and even more pissed"

Roald shivered in the corner, hunched in on himself as much as humanly possible for someone as sore as he was. "Why do they want me?" he murmured, voice barely a whisper. His eyes were glassy and stared longingly at the two of them. He didn't know what Clark was saying, he had never learned sign language... was he deaf? He had heard the conversation so far... Before she had put her shirt down, the Scot had seen Cari's injury. They had done that?! Then there was no way he was going to be in the captivity of those people... Nothing was right, nothing made sense...

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Clark gave an "I'll be right back" signal and ran out, happy to be moving quickly. He kept a low enough profile that he was practically invisible in the institution except when they continued to try to harvest his shifting. Two very powerful animals in one human. It was dork heaven. Sadists. Running back to his cell, Clark grabbed one of his tees and quickly threw it on before snatching up the meager med kit he'd managed to salvage. Bandages, ointment, and an icepack were drawn out and run back to the shifter leader as fast as he could muster (pretty damn fast). He tossed the bandages and ointment over before breaking the icepack and holding it over Roald's head for a moment. He held a finger to his lips for just a moment before tossing that to Cari as well. Ideas. They needed ideas.