[Duncan/Reilanin] - howl
Who:
Duncan
Reilanin
When: Friday, July 15th (tonight), around sundown
Where: The lower levels of the Hour's medical floors
Rating & Warnings: R for werewolves ripping people apart
Full moon shenanigans!
A Vanjalist pulled Reilanin into the labs a couple hours before nightfall, so they could prepare her for the full moon. Last time they'd set up a system where a needle in her arm dripped sedative into her system throughout the night, and it had worked well enough that it was the plan again this time. Duncan had a stockpile of nightshade tincture for the purpose, courtesy Marijke, and he was confident about getting Rei through the night with no mishaps.
Semi-confident.
Maybe.
Okay, he kind of had a bad feeling about tonight, but he wasn't sure why. Everything had worked out just fine last time, and they weren't doing anything differently. They had Rei strapped to a table, still human for now, with Duncan preparing the first dose of sedative and another Adept behind him getting the setup they were using for constant dosage ready. Duncan stood at Rei's side, eying the dose in the syringe to make sure it was correct. "So," he said, conversationally, trying to ignore his bad feeling, "are you normally fully conscious and alert all the way up to your transformation?"
She wondered what it was like for others. Since Silas had mentioned another, she'd been reading up on the subject of... well, herself. There were many different mythologies concerning werewolves, and her own seemed specific for her background. Was that how Belief worked? The sudden interest bothered her. She hated to be invested in much of anything, and it had reminded her of how she had been so easily lulled into stability here, and it had risen up in her once or twice as a sort of panic which she'd had no choice but to stifle. The only reprieve came in being able to come and go, and because of the warmer summer months, to sleep outside instead of inside, being able to wake up without walls surrounding her, deep within the labyrinthine hallways of the Hour.
So consumed by this she had almost forgotten the date, and was startled when she felt the familiar prickling sensation beneath her skin. She'd put away her book and left the library, almost immediately bumping into the Vanjalist that had come to fetch her.
She'd taken her clothes off and folded them neatly, handing them off to the Vanjalist before she went to lie down on the table, as comfortable in her own skin as the clothes she'd just shed without regard for anyone else's discomfort. She reached up to pull her hair from behind her, without complaint as she was strapped down. She didn't like it, no, but the alternative was not something she would entertain. And it kept her from scratching at her arms as the burning feeling began to get stronger.
At Duncan's question, she looked over to him, green-gold eyes sharper than usual. "Yes," she said simply, looking back up towards the ceiling again. A moment passed and she continued, "the transformation tends to wake me up a bit." Whether that was the truth or some form of understatement was hard to tell.
"Not this time," he replied, sliding the needle into her arm and dosing her with enough nightshade to knock out a horse. Ha ha, he was hilarious, always.
He turned to motion to the Vanjalist working on the dosage system, so they could get it into place before her transformation, even though they wouldn't be giving her any more for about an hour or so, when the current dose wore off.
With that done, all that was left was to wait for her to change. He kept his distance, perched on a stool on the other side of the room, while the other two Vanjalists watched and kept careful notes.
"Ow," she said, frowning slightly at the needle in her arm, nearly jerking it away save for the strap holding her arm down. She looked very small, very frail on that table, and only her demeanor seemed to draw away from that, not overly concerned and calm, if a little annoyed. It all faded a moment later when the concentrated drug took effect. She felt the world suddenly tilt, and she shut her eyes to stop it.
What should have been enough to kill a man slowed her breathing considerably, but she breathed still. Calm for a little while, she twitched, her head tossing to one side slightly. The sun above had finally sunk below the horizon.
Like a person trapped in fever, she shifted again, whimpered. Had it not been for the semi-steady dose into her veins, she would have pulled free from the table. As it was, the transformation was grotesque- as though a creature much larger had somehow managed to fit into a much smaller skin. Without her howls to cover it, the sound of her bones rearranging was almost audible, her skin snapping as the golden, bristly fur beneath pierced through it, shredding it away. The werewolf wheezed, struggling weakly and panting, disoriented and clearly trying to stay awake, a half-hearted snarl escaping it in dampened frustration, realizing its weakened state.
But then, there was a howl. Reilanin's head tilted again to the side, the body relaxing, but the sounding of howling did not stop. The ground beneath them shook, accompanied by the sound of something being thrown, and soon there was a scream, and another, on top of the sounds of metal tearing, of things being broken. But the werewolf strapped to the table seemed to deaf to it all.
Duncan watched the transformation, unable to look away, his face a mix of fascination and disgust. He'd seen it before last month, but it wasn't any less horrific the second time. The sound was the worst part. There was nothing more sickening than the sound of bones grinding and flesh tearing.
His heart leapt to his throat when he heard the howl, and a split-second later he realized Reilanin's mouth had never opened to give it. All three Vanjalists froze cold, the room going deathly silent but for the distant howling.
And then the screams started.
Something had gone wrong. He should've trusted his bad feeling. He and the other two Adepts exchanged a glance, all of them suddenly terrified, none of them knowing what to do.
"D..." The young man standing beside Rei's table hugged his notes to his chest, eyes askance toward the source of the noise. "Do you think..." He trailed off, leaving the rest unsaid.
There was the vivisection subject they'd tested the restorative properties of Reilanin's blood on, but he was slated to go on the table two days later. He shouldn't have been alive to know whether the blood had turned him or not. "No, it couldn't..." Duncan looked from one Adept to the other, and then to the door on the other side of the lab. "How...likely is a cell mix-up, do you think?"
They both stared at him, then exchanged a glance with each other. Nobody needed to say that with Duncan, the likelihood was tremendous.
It was bad enough to have an innocent turn into such a horrific creature- Reilanin had killed many people out of fear as much out of bloodlust the first time she'd turned. To have someone, a criminal as it likely was that had been turned, who already had anger and hatred in them... the next howl sounded amid fading cries and the joy of it reverberated through the lower structures.
And then the sound began to move up.
The Vanjalist by Reilanin backed away, shaking hard enough that it would have been visible to a blind man. The other grabbed his arm and drew him back next to her and Duncan, though they all had the sudden, terrible feeling of being trapped. No one liked to be in the labs the same time as the werewolf. They were probably by themselves, now that whatever had been alive in the prisons had likely been slaughtered.
There was silence for a short time. The new werewolf explored, sniffing its way through the lab area of the Hour. It trailed the lower half of a body with it, blood streaking the floor as the werewolf stalked the hallway, tugging it along like a plaything. Sniffing the air, it caught sent of other things that were alive, the blood coursing through them with the aid of frightened, overworked hearts. It chuckled and banged a fist on a door, which buckled immediately.
The female Vanjalist let out a short yelp, digging her nails into Duncan's arm. "O-oh Cita, oh shit, what- what do we- do what do we do-" she whispered. Another door was punched, the wood splintering, the metal framework creaking.
"Fuck, stop--" Duncan tried to pry her hand away from his arm, freezing when the second bang splintered the door. Suddenly the nails clawing up his arm didn't seem quite as important.
That beast was going to break down the door and kill them all unless they did something. Duncan took a frantic glance around the lab. A fight was suicide. Any kind of confrontation, even an attempt to sedate it, would probably cost them their lives. They could try to run, but he didn't want to bank on any of them being able to outrun a wolfman.
There was a row of cells lining one wall of the lab, where they kept test subjects that were due on the table soon. Duncan shot up, knocking the stool over in his hurry, and snatched the ring of keys from its place in one of the cabinets lining the walls. Another bang made him jump and stare at the door. It looked like it would only last through another hit or two.
He dashed to the nearest cell, fumbling with the keys on the way, and managed to shove the right one into the lock, after two tries because of how badly his hands shook. He shot a look over his shoulder at the two Vanjalists. "Quit fucking standing there, get over here!"
That snapped them out of their reverie. They ran to the cell as he threw open the door, and he shoved both of them inside.
Another bang cracked the door and a howl of triumph told him the wolf had made it through. Swallowing his horror, Duncan ran to the corner of the cell, where its occupant was huddled in fear, staring up at him with eyes wide. "Wh-what's going on--" But the man didn't have much time to ask anything before Duncan grabbed him by the arm and hauled him bodily to his feet. Running on pure adrenaline, Duncan dragged the convict to the door and shoved him out into the lab just as the wolfman stepped through the remains of the lab's door.
He slammed the cell door shut, hands shaking again as he knelt to lock it. It was solid. Iron. They'd be safe in here. The wolf would go after the test subject and leave them alone. He hoped.
The stool rolled away violently when Duncan pushed it, hitting the makeshift IV. Another hit to the door shook the room and the contraption fell over, the needle pulled out of Reilanin's arm. Still, she remained unresponsive, breathing slow and relaxed.
The door splintered, almost exploded as the final punch broke it open. The torso was abandoned outside as the werewolf made its way into the lab cell, sniffing at the air again, and locating Reilanin the lower jaw dropped into a bloody grin. It swung its large head over to the door where it could smell the other lives breathing their last in fear, but its attention was first and foremost for the prone figure on the table. Examining it as only an intelligent creature could, it grabbed one end of the table and flipped it.
Shocked, her eyes opened. Head still swimming, the blonde werewolf snarled, disoriented, but knowing that it was in danger her blood pumped furiously, seeking to fight the poison in its system. Stretching, muzzle to the floor, she fought the straps keeping her bound to the heavy wooden table. The darker werewolf stepped on the table and sniffed again, grabbing the edge of the table and pushing down. Reilanin yelped, though it cost her air that she was having a harder time drawing in, being crushed against the floor. Frantic, increasingly enraged, her struggling grew fiercer.
One of the straps snapped.
"Oh Cita," the male Vanjalist whispered fiercely, clinging to the other Vanjalist and Duncan, eyes squeezed tightly shut. "It'll kill her. It'll kill her and come after us. And she'll haunt us forever. Werewolves can do that, right?"
"W-why not," said the woman, flinching at the bark of the new werewolf, like a taunt to the one underneath it.
Reilanin found her arms free. One pinned still as the strap was underneath her, she used the free one to press down on the floor. Heavily muscled, shaggy with golden-blonde fur, it still shook as the drug too-slowly coursed through her still. She snarled, snapping at the floor, claws digging into the floor and pulling herself up, anywhere, trying to find some reprieve. How dare he, how dare this fledgling attack her like this. His blood would be hers, she would kill him, she would tear his flesh from his bones and eat his very heart and she would rejoice in it.
Their comments got only panicked shushing in response and Duncan pressed the male Vanjalist to the wall and covered his mouth with one hand. It was almost louder than the voice he was trying to silence, but thankfully whatever was going on outside was louder than they were.
Outside, in the lab, the convict who'd been scheduled to be dissected alive on an operating table the next night pressed himself against the wall and watched the dark-furred wolf toy with the blonde one. His legs were shaking but he realized this was his best chance at freedom if he could only manage to get away without being seen.
But he had no experience with wild animals and his only thought was to get out as quickly as possible, before it noticed him. He darted for the lab door that led to the upper halls of the Hour, threw it open, and ran as fast as he could, unaware that flight was what incited wolves to give chase.
The male Vanjalist whimpered, but fell silent, looking pleadingly at Duncan and then to the door. Would they be all right? Every sound seemed to make the man shake harder.
The new werewolf was intent on Reilanin's pain, it was true, but the sudden movement caught its attention, ears perking, swiveling to follow the sound before the wolf head turned just in time to see the man run out. While it could use its power and hunger as though it had been doing this for years, its attention span was that of a fly's, and the moment the man ran, the new werewolf gave chase, pushing the table again and landing on all fours to follow.
The convict slipped on the blood in the hallway, crying as he ran, throwing himself at the door and tearing at the doorknob. Looking back he could see the wolf bearing down on him, and he fell suddenly as the door swung open. Shrieking, he scrambled to his feet again and ran, bumping into another Vanjalist on the way. The woman didn't even have time to yell before the werewolf came up behind her, knocking her to the ground and ripping a chunk of her shoulder out.
Reilanin, released of the pressure, pushed up, the table still strapped to her. Furiously she twisted around, the rest of the straps breaking under her furious thrashing about. She staggered to her feet, the table falling over with a bang, and she panted, stumbled, shaking her head. She barked, snarled, then breathing in howled loudly, angrily. How dare he, how DARE HE. Without another thought to the three huddled in the closet, unsteady as she still was, she also took to all fours and bounded out of the room, sliding in the hallway, hitting the wall opposite, then scrambling back upright and following the other, who had moved on from the dead Vanjalist and after the convict again.
Duncan's eyes were on the door as he stood, frozen, listening to the noises outside. Eventually he realized he was still holding the Vanjalist against the wall and released him. He slid to the floor and huddled there, hands pressed over his ears; Duncan left him.
He waited with bated breath, trying to make sense of the crashing and growling and howling going on outside. Eventually it all stopped and the room beyond fell silent. He let himself breathe again.
He pushed the female Vanjalist aside to kneel at the door, peering through the keyhole. What he could see through it showed the lab in ruins, and Reilanin's table was flipped, the librarian gone. "Shit," he muttered.
"What happened?" she whispered, wrapping her arms around herself.
"They're--" He stopped, forcing down a breath, suddenly realizing just how panicked he was. His adrenaline rush had kept him running, but now he was about to start freaking out just like the Vanjalist on the other side of the cell. "They're both gone," he forced out, before moving away from the door to sit in the corner.
They were going to kill everyone. It was all his fault, he'd gotten the cells mixed up. He'd let this happen.
"D-do you...have your ledger?" she asked.
Did he? He checked his coat for it and found it in one of the pockets, along with a pencil for note-taking. It probably wouldn't do much good, but he could at least warn people to get out. He swallowed down his rising panic and flipped open the ledger to filter a warning to the Hour.
Duncan
Reilanin
When: Friday, July 15th (tonight), around sundown
Where: The lower levels of the Hour's medical floors
Rating & Warnings: R for werewolves ripping people apart
Full moon shenanigans!
A Vanjalist pulled Reilanin into the labs a couple hours before nightfall, so they could prepare her for the full moon. Last time they'd set up a system where a needle in her arm dripped sedative into her system throughout the night, and it had worked well enough that it was the plan again this time. Duncan had a stockpile of nightshade tincture for the purpose, courtesy Marijke, and he was confident about getting Rei through the night with no mishaps.
Semi-confident.
Maybe.
Okay, he kind of had a bad feeling about tonight, but he wasn't sure why. Everything had worked out just fine last time, and they weren't doing anything differently. They had Rei strapped to a table, still human for now, with Duncan preparing the first dose of sedative and another Adept behind him getting the setup they were using for constant dosage ready. Duncan stood at Rei's side, eying the dose in the syringe to make sure it was correct. "So," he said, conversationally, trying to ignore his bad feeling, "are you normally fully conscious and alert all the way up to your transformation?"
She wondered what it was like for others. Since Silas had mentioned another, she'd been reading up on the subject of... well, herself. There were many different mythologies concerning werewolves, and her own seemed specific for her background. Was that how Belief worked? The sudden interest bothered her. She hated to be invested in much of anything, and it had reminded her of how she had been so easily lulled into stability here, and it had risen up in her once or twice as a sort of panic which she'd had no choice but to stifle. The only reprieve came in being able to come and go, and because of the warmer summer months, to sleep outside instead of inside, being able to wake up without walls surrounding her, deep within the labyrinthine hallways of the Hour.
So consumed by this she had almost forgotten the date, and was startled when she felt the familiar prickling sensation beneath her skin. She'd put away her book and left the library, almost immediately bumping into the Vanjalist that had come to fetch her.
She'd taken her clothes off and folded them neatly, handing them off to the Vanjalist before she went to lie down on the table, as comfortable in her own skin as the clothes she'd just shed without regard for anyone else's discomfort. She reached up to pull her hair from behind her, without complaint as she was strapped down. She didn't like it, no, but the alternative was not something she would entertain. And it kept her from scratching at her arms as the burning feeling began to get stronger.
At Duncan's question, she looked over to him, green-gold eyes sharper than usual. "Yes," she said simply, looking back up towards the ceiling again. A moment passed and she continued, "the transformation tends to wake me up a bit." Whether that was the truth or some form of understatement was hard to tell.
"Not this time," he replied, sliding the needle into her arm and dosing her with enough nightshade to knock out a horse. Ha ha, he was hilarious, always.
He turned to motion to the Vanjalist working on the dosage system, so they could get it into place before her transformation, even though they wouldn't be giving her any more for about an hour or so, when the current dose wore off.
With that done, all that was left was to wait for her to change. He kept his distance, perched on a stool on the other side of the room, while the other two Vanjalists watched and kept careful notes.
"Ow," she said, frowning slightly at the needle in her arm, nearly jerking it away save for the strap holding her arm down. She looked very small, very frail on that table, and only her demeanor seemed to draw away from that, not overly concerned and calm, if a little annoyed. It all faded a moment later when the concentrated drug took effect. She felt the world suddenly tilt, and she shut her eyes to stop it.
What should have been enough to kill a man slowed her breathing considerably, but she breathed still. Calm for a little while, she twitched, her head tossing to one side slightly. The sun above had finally sunk below the horizon.
Like a person trapped in fever, she shifted again, whimpered. Had it not been for the semi-steady dose into her veins, she would have pulled free from the table. As it was, the transformation was grotesque- as though a creature much larger had somehow managed to fit into a much smaller skin. Without her howls to cover it, the sound of her bones rearranging was almost audible, her skin snapping as the golden, bristly fur beneath pierced through it, shredding it away. The werewolf wheezed, struggling weakly and panting, disoriented and clearly trying to stay awake, a half-hearted snarl escaping it in dampened frustration, realizing its weakened state.
But then, there was a howl. Reilanin's head tilted again to the side, the body relaxing, but the sounding of howling did not stop. The ground beneath them shook, accompanied by the sound of something being thrown, and soon there was a scream, and another, on top of the sounds of metal tearing, of things being broken. But the werewolf strapped to the table seemed to deaf to it all.
Duncan watched the transformation, unable to look away, his face a mix of fascination and disgust. He'd seen it before last month, but it wasn't any less horrific the second time. The sound was the worst part. There was nothing more sickening than the sound of bones grinding and flesh tearing.
His heart leapt to his throat when he heard the howl, and a split-second later he realized Reilanin's mouth had never opened to give it. All three Vanjalists froze cold, the room going deathly silent but for the distant howling.
And then the screams started.
Something had gone wrong. He should've trusted his bad feeling. He and the other two Adepts exchanged a glance, all of them suddenly terrified, none of them knowing what to do.
"D..." The young man standing beside Rei's table hugged his notes to his chest, eyes askance toward the source of the noise. "Do you think..." He trailed off, leaving the rest unsaid.
There was the vivisection subject they'd tested the restorative properties of Reilanin's blood on, but he was slated to go on the table two days later. He shouldn't have been alive to know whether the blood had turned him or not. "No, it couldn't..." Duncan looked from one Adept to the other, and then to the door on the other side of the lab. "How...likely is a cell mix-up, do you think?"
They both stared at him, then exchanged a glance with each other. Nobody needed to say that with Duncan, the likelihood was tremendous.
It was bad enough to have an innocent turn into such a horrific creature- Reilanin had killed many people out of fear as much out of bloodlust the first time she'd turned. To have someone, a criminal as it likely was that had been turned, who already had anger and hatred in them... the next howl sounded amid fading cries and the joy of it reverberated through the lower structures.
And then the sound began to move up.
The Vanjalist by Reilanin backed away, shaking hard enough that it would have been visible to a blind man. The other grabbed his arm and drew him back next to her and Duncan, though they all had the sudden, terrible feeling of being trapped. No one liked to be in the labs the same time as the werewolf. They were probably by themselves, now that whatever had been alive in the prisons had likely been slaughtered.
There was silence for a short time. The new werewolf explored, sniffing its way through the lab area of the Hour. It trailed the lower half of a body with it, blood streaking the floor as the werewolf stalked the hallway, tugging it along like a plaything. Sniffing the air, it caught sent of other things that were alive, the blood coursing through them with the aid of frightened, overworked hearts. It chuckled and banged a fist on a door, which buckled immediately.
The female Vanjalist let out a short yelp, digging her nails into Duncan's arm. "O-oh Cita, oh shit, what- what do we- do what do we do-" she whispered. Another door was punched, the wood splintering, the metal framework creaking.
"Fuck, stop--" Duncan tried to pry her hand away from his arm, freezing when the second bang splintered the door. Suddenly the nails clawing up his arm didn't seem quite as important.
That beast was going to break down the door and kill them all unless they did something. Duncan took a frantic glance around the lab. A fight was suicide. Any kind of confrontation, even an attempt to sedate it, would probably cost them their lives. They could try to run, but he didn't want to bank on any of them being able to outrun a wolfman.
There was a row of cells lining one wall of the lab, where they kept test subjects that were due on the table soon. Duncan shot up, knocking the stool over in his hurry, and snatched the ring of keys from its place in one of the cabinets lining the walls. Another bang made him jump and stare at the door. It looked like it would only last through another hit or two.
He dashed to the nearest cell, fumbling with the keys on the way, and managed to shove the right one into the lock, after two tries because of how badly his hands shook. He shot a look over his shoulder at the two Vanjalists. "Quit fucking standing there, get over here!"
That snapped them out of their reverie. They ran to the cell as he threw open the door, and he shoved both of them inside.
Another bang cracked the door and a howl of triumph told him the wolf had made it through. Swallowing his horror, Duncan ran to the corner of the cell, where its occupant was huddled in fear, staring up at him with eyes wide. "Wh-what's going on--" But the man didn't have much time to ask anything before Duncan grabbed him by the arm and hauled him bodily to his feet. Running on pure adrenaline, Duncan dragged the convict to the door and shoved him out into the lab just as the wolfman stepped through the remains of the lab's door.
He slammed the cell door shut, hands shaking again as he knelt to lock it. It was solid. Iron. They'd be safe in here. The wolf would go after the test subject and leave them alone. He hoped.
The stool rolled away violently when Duncan pushed it, hitting the makeshift IV. Another hit to the door shook the room and the contraption fell over, the needle pulled out of Reilanin's arm. Still, she remained unresponsive, breathing slow and relaxed.
The door splintered, almost exploded as the final punch broke it open. The torso was abandoned outside as the werewolf made its way into the lab cell, sniffing at the air again, and locating Reilanin the lower jaw dropped into a bloody grin. It swung its large head over to the door where it could smell the other lives breathing their last in fear, but its attention was first and foremost for the prone figure on the table. Examining it as only an intelligent creature could, it grabbed one end of the table and flipped it.
Shocked, her eyes opened. Head still swimming, the blonde werewolf snarled, disoriented, but knowing that it was in danger her blood pumped furiously, seeking to fight the poison in its system. Stretching, muzzle to the floor, she fought the straps keeping her bound to the heavy wooden table. The darker werewolf stepped on the table and sniffed again, grabbing the edge of the table and pushing down. Reilanin yelped, though it cost her air that she was having a harder time drawing in, being crushed against the floor. Frantic, increasingly enraged, her struggling grew fiercer.
One of the straps snapped.
"Oh Cita," the male Vanjalist whispered fiercely, clinging to the other Vanjalist and Duncan, eyes squeezed tightly shut. "It'll kill her. It'll kill her and come after us. And she'll haunt us forever. Werewolves can do that, right?"
"W-why not," said the woman, flinching at the bark of the new werewolf, like a taunt to the one underneath it.
Reilanin found her arms free. One pinned still as the strap was underneath her, she used the free one to press down on the floor. Heavily muscled, shaggy with golden-blonde fur, it still shook as the drug too-slowly coursed through her still. She snarled, snapping at the floor, claws digging into the floor and pulling herself up, anywhere, trying to find some reprieve. How dare he, how dare this fledgling attack her like this. His blood would be hers, she would kill him, she would tear his flesh from his bones and eat his very heart and she would rejoice in it.
Their comments got only panicked shushing in response and Duncan pressed the male Vanjalist to the wall and covered his mouth with one hand. It was almost louder than the voice he was trying to silence, but thankfully whatever was going on outside was louder than they were.
Outside, in the lab, the convict who'd been scheduled to be dissected alive on an operating table the next night pressed himself against the wall and watched the dark-furred wolf toy with the blonde one. His legs were shaking but he realized this was his best chance at freedom if he could only manage to get away without being seen.
But he had no experience with wild animals and his only thought was to get out as quickly as possible, before it noticed him. He darted for the lab door that led to the upper halls of the Hour, threw it open, and ran as fast as he could, unaware that flight was what incited wolves to give chase.
The male Vanjalist whimpered, but fell silent, looking pleadingly at Duncan and then to the door. Would they be all right? Every sound seemed to make the man shake harder.
The new werewolf was intent on Reilanin's pain, it was true, but the sudden movement caught its attention, ears perking, swiveling to follow the sound before the wolf head turned just in time to see the man run out. While it could use its power and hunger as though it had been doing this for years, its attention span was that of a fly's, and the moment the man ran, the new werewolf gave chase, pushing the table again and landing on all fours to follow.
The convict slipped on the blood in the hallway, crying as he ran, throwing himself at the door and tearing at the doorknob. Looking back he could see the wolf bearing down on him, and he fell suddenly as the door swung open. Shrieking, he scrambled to his feet again and ran, bumping into another Vanjalist on the way. The woman didn't even have time to yell before the werewolf came up behind her, knocking her to the ground and ripping a chunk of her shoulder out.
Reilanin, released of the pressure, pushed up, the table still strapped to her. Furiously she twisted around, the rest of the straps breaking under her furious thrashing about. She staggered to her feet, the table falling over with a bang, and she panted, stumbled, shaking her head. She barked, snarled, then breathing in howled loudly, angrily. How dare he, how DARE HE. Without another thought to the three huddled in the closet, unsteady as she still was, she also took to all fours and bounded out of the room, sliding in the hallway, hitting the wall opposite, then scrambling back upright and following the other, who had moved on from the dead Vanjalist and after the convict again.
Duncan's eyes were on the door as he stood, frozen, listening to the noises outside. Eventually he realized he was still holding the Vanjalist against the wall and released him. He slid to the floor and huddled there, hands pressed over his ears; Duncan left him.
He waited with bated breath, trying to make sense of the crashing and growling and howling going on outside. Eventually it all stopped and the room beyond fell silent. He let himself breathe again.
He pushed the female Vanjalist aside to kneel at the door, peering through the keyhole. What he could see through it showed the lab in ruins, and Reilanin's table was flipped, the librarian gone. "Shit," he muttered.
"What happened?" she whispered, wrapping her arms around herself.
"They're--" He stopped, forcing down a breath, suddenly realizing just how panicked he was. His adrenaline rush had kept him running, but now he was about to start freaking out just like the Vanjalist on the other side of the cell. "They're both gone," he forced out, before moving away from the door to sit in the corner.
They were going to kill everyone. It was all his fault, he'd gotten the cells mixed up. He'd let this happen.
"D-do you...have your ledger?" she asked.
Did he? He checked his coat for it and found it in one of the pockets, along with a pencil for note-taking. It probably wouldn't do much good, but he could at least warn people to get out. He swallowed down his rising panic and flipped open the ledger to filter a warning to the Hour.