The Breaking Point [OPEN Bendytimed to shortly after the Meat n Greet, and the announcement therein]

[needs-release.livejournal.com]

Characters: Samuel Henderson, OPEN
Location: Corridor outside the Obs Deck, a bit out of the way
Time: Immediately following the explanation of the current state of affairs re: the Ohm, worlds, and whatnot.
Summary: Sam loses it. And nearly himself in the process.
Warnings: Definite blood warning, and anyone that tags may be attacked. Poke me on AIM (girlnamedlance) or via OOC comment if you want to work out something specific. Generally, I'm open to anything, I just don't want any kind of long lasting damage. And I'd like a little chaos to ensue before Spike, Leon, or anyone subdues him. And if he ends up in the brig awhile, I totally understand. Lastly, multiple threads are a-okay. 8D


It would be easier to let go. Give up. Let the beast that slept inside him take hold and exact its revenge for the deaths of his friends and family. But no. It wasn't these peoples' fault. They were all gone. His brother, Jared. His beloved wife, Angelina. His mentor, Dr. Crawford. Lord Ruthwen himself. That a man that had survived so much could be dead just didn't seem real. That the single oldest corporeal entity on Earth was gone...

He ran from the Observation Deck, and blindly made a few turns until the dull noisome drone of the new arrivals faded to nothing. All of his medicinal poise was gone, in its place, was pain he'd long thought he would never have to feel. He'd foolishly grown complacent. He pressed his back against the wall, but his legs shook. His fingers lengthened, grew more bestial. A ring of blood formed and dripped down his fingers as his expanding flesh struggled to overcome the constricting wedding band. His nails became claws, razor sharp and predatory. His eyes were a deep blood red, and the whites bloodshot, giving him a maddened appearance.

How could someone like him be the only one left? How was he supposed to be some kind of chosen when he could fill a page with names of people that would be better suited to this task than himself. It was all a joke. He didn't have the strength to do this, in any sense. That their blood had been spilt for some unknown purpose...

Blood. He could smell it. His own, but even just that was enough. He breathed heavily, his jaw slack, as his fangs grew longer. The drone of voices grew louder in his ear, as his senses elevated. They would have no idea what had hit them before they were dead.

--No! Sam struggled against the bloodlust. Suddenly, he felt as though it had been far too long since he'd last fed. He folded his arms, as though he were physically restraining the reaction inside of him. He clenched his upper arms with his claws, piercing straight through to his skin. The thicker scent of blood in the air only made things worse. He screamed as he fought to regain control. If he hurt anyone he would never forgive himself. If he took anyone's life, he had only his own to offer in reparation.

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[sonofalderaan.livejournal.com]

Tycho grimaced as he pressed his hand to his abdomen, trying to slow the bleeding. He turned, trying to rip at the sleeve of his flight suit to make an improvised bandage ... not enough fabric. He might have to go for the leg. Fortunately, before he could bend over, he was momentarily distracted by the characters that were appearing on the floor in Rhiow's wake.

"Uh." Tycho blinked. "Rhiow ...? You're not ...?" His face crinkled in confusion at her questions, but he began to answer them, even as he winced as the movements of his chest stretched the cuts, causing more blood to leak over his fingers. Grimacing again, he pressed his other hand to his chest as well. "Colonel Tycho Celchu, born XXXXX by the Alderaanian standard calender, Aldera City, Alderaan ..." A pause for breath, and more blood flowed over his fingers. Two hands was not enough to cover the wounds completely. They were relatively shallow, but still, he'd been bleeding long enough that he was starting to feel a little dizzy. "Favorite time of day is- uh-" Tycho shook his head. "Early morning?" he tried. "Rhiow, what are you ...?"

[on_errantry]

Tycho's name slowly began to take shape on the floor, the characters slotting together in that natural way they did when they were forming the innermost description of a person. Rhiow tried to ignore the knowledge that came with reading it - planet destroyed long ago, loves his mate dearly. She snagged the end of the character string with one claw and pulled it over next to her own, plugging it into the placeholder and tacking it in place.

"I'm taking you to Medical," she said, not bothering to waste breath chastising him for moving again. Instead, she settled down and began reading the spell. Tycho would hear it for what it was - it was in the Speech, of course. "This is a localized spatial relocation construct for long-jump transport between the following two coordinates-"

As she continued the spell, the sounds of the ship fell away, until the two of them were contained in a bubble of silence - and then as she continued, the silence seemed to lean in and listen. "-spell for transport of the following persons-" she barreled through her own name, the familiar feeling of it falling off her tongue flattening the fluff of her fur slightly, and then came to Tycho's. She slowed, lingering over each syllable and pronouncing them with a great deal of care. "Power to be taken from Rhiw'aow in the form of personal energy exchange, including minimal standard atmosphere-" the spell wound down to a close, the pressure of the air around them seeming to squeeze-

And then with a sharp clap of displaced air, they vanished from the observation deck and appeared in Medical.