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[Noven]

Winter, Day 23, 514AV

It wasn't that he had any complaints. It was just...well, gods be damned. He hadn't expected it to be this easy.

For most of yesterday evening, Noven had spent his free time roaming about the Citadel. And by roaming, one might mean more like constant retracing of his steps, since he found entry to anywhere other than the Quarters, Courtyard, and first five levels of Gug Andjak barred to a visiting Pulser such as himself.

Krysus, what does a man have to do to get a decent drink around here? he cursed as he climbed all the way to the fifth floor of the research building, then all the way back down again with nothing to show for. Every level was more or less the same; both Pulsers and Nuits milled about in a focused, silent fashion, speaking only when necessary. Nov didn't know what was more depressing. Not being able to find any booze, or having to watch these poor sods work to their deaths--some literally already in the throes of theirs.

The merc was forced to admit defeat after his tenth or so circuit around all three buildings. Being absolutely mule-headed when it came to directions hadn't helped, either. He might have been able to spare himself the trouble by simply walking up to someone and asking if alcohol even existed on this bleeding island. But that wasn't how Nov operated. He'd rather take an uppercut to the face than admit he didn't know where to go.

Back in the Berth, being lost was as good as being dead. Tarrying came close second. If you had somewhere to be, you made sure you knew where it was ahead of time and got there post haste. If you couldn't do that through subtle means, you found someone who did know and beat the shyke out of them until they coughed up an answer. Asking politely or civilly could guarantee a guide. Throwing in a few mizas even ensured said guide would be extra enthusiastic in taking you where you needed to be. Only, where you needed to be and where you ended up rarely matched. And, just like that, you're dead in the back end of some nondescript alley, with your throat slit and purse stolen. That's how things usually went when one tried to ask for directions in Sunberth.

But this wasn't Sunberth. This was Sahova, island of walking, talking corpses and so many unfathomable magics Nov didn't even try. And yet, all disparities between the two cities considered, his willingness to ask for directions still tallied a whopping total of zero.

With a tired sigh, Nov had returned to his spartan quarters and collapsed onto his sleeping mat empty handed. There was no sense in worrying about it now. He'd done his best--sort of--to find them a joint to piss away some of their mizas in. The man figured that, since Keene had agreed to go drinking with him, the Initiate might know of a place or two. And with that final thought, he slept. Soundlessly, peacefully, as he was won't to do on the Nuit-ruled island.

Half a day later, the merc found himself in his present predicament. Crouched, pensive, and holding a mug of what he could only assume to be ale.

Noven took a whiff of the perfectly harmless looking liquid. "Smells like the real thing," he noted as he glanced up at Keene. Both men had met, as agreed the day prior, at the Courtyard around supper time. After their merry little jaunt around Cryptly's dungeons, Nov had been seized by a rare spark of camaraderie. As well as the less rare thirst for some strong drink. Hence, their non-duty related meeting outside of the Quarters.

The older man squinted into the cup, as if that might somehow determined whether this ale had been tampered with or not. There was a cask sitting nearby, too. Nov hadn't inspected it, as he was too busy sniffing and squinting at the mug he'd just poured himself, but the thing looked to be full.

"I dunno..." he grumbled, rubbing the back of his neck in frustration. "I mean, who leaves a full cask of ale out here with no one to look after it? Krysus, they even left mugs out. If it smells and looks like a trap..."

A couple tick's worth of silence, then, "Think we should try it?"

[Keene Ward]

Keene had arrived in the courtyard a short time before Noven, having had business in the Gug Andjak that had involved Risabel handing him Seymour and telling him to take the thing for a "walk" that had lasted most of the afternoon. The other Scars had been busy enough that he had decided not to disturb them, having already established with Bitzer that his help was something that wasn't necessarily the most useful. Once he had returned from the ground with a very happy and very tired Gibbat dog, he'd returned him to his master and headed to the courtyard where he had agreed to meet Noven to partake in his city's tradition. Upon his arrival, Keene was surprised to see a cask with two cups sitting atop it in the middle of their meeting place. Blinking down at it, Keene was uncertain how to proceed. He found it odd that the cask was there and Noven was nowhere to be seen, and the fact that the cask was even there at all was a bit of a questionable event. As far as he was aware, there wasn't much in the way of food or drink on the island. Where ever the cask had come from, Keene hadn't really stopped to consider that fact. He'd agreed to drink with the other man under the assumption that Noven had had some ale of his own. The thought that Noven had brought and entire cask to the island just seemed far too convenient, though Keene wasn't sure how closely tied to tradition the young man was. He supposed it wasn't entirely impossible for Noven to have lugged the cask from the docks all the way to the citadel, though it was certainly unlikely.

When Noven arrived a few chimes later, Keene nodded at him. Noven seemed to take about the same stance as Keene, minus the possibility that he'd been the one to bring it. As the other man squatted down to inspect the drink, Keene followed, unsure whether it was merely part of the investigation or part of the Sunberthian ritual. He watched as Noven filled one of the mugs, swirling it and sniffing it skeptically. Keene followed suit, quietly taking the other mug, filling it, and sniffing, keeping his eyes on Noven. He then mentioned the possibility of a trap, and Keene raised a brow. "It could be." He gave Noven a serious stare for a few ticks, mulling over the possibilities. The island was so filled with magic, that he seriously doubted the ale was poisoned. There was the potential that it was some sort of strange experiment, but it was impossible to know for sure. To add, Keene had effectively given his word he would drink with the other man. At Noven's question, Keene tiled the mug, taking a large swig.

The liquid was a bit different tasting than he remembered. It was sweeter, closer to a juice than an actual ale. As he swallowed and lowered the mug from his lips, he blinked a few times, waiting to see if anything happened. Several ticks passed with the two men staring at each other, but the only thing to change was the the few shifts they made in their squats. Shrugging, Keene took another drink, finding the flavor to be appealing to his pallate. It had a bite to its sweetness that tingled on the way down, a pleasant refreshment after the day's walk. The tingling, however, seemed to increase with the second intake of liquid. Frowning, Keene stared into the mug, unsure whether he was just imaging it or not. Tentatively, he rose the mug to his lips once more, but as the ale brushed against his lips, the tingles erupted in a burst of stabbing pain. Letting out a small gasp, Keene dropped the mug, falling onto his backside and pulling his hands to his chest. He could feel his very bones shaking, shifting. Unable to speak, he gasped for breath a few times before the sensation ended.

Through the process, he had closed his eyes and clenched his hands, but once it had ended, the pain seemed to have disappeared as if it had never been there to begin with. On top of that, he felt as though his clothes had become excessively loose. Opening his eyes to gauge whatever damage had been done to him, he was surprised to see his vambrace had slid off of his arms to land onto the ground beside him. His very slim, delicate arms. He blinked, pulling his hand up to his face to inspect the petite appendage. He had shrunk. Keene squinted, his frown furrowing blonde brows. He had not shrunk so much as... Looking down, he was perplexed to find two shallow lumps pressed against the fair to large shirt, the "V" of the collar extending down to the middle of his stomach where before it had just been his chest. There was also hair. Golden yellow strands that seemed to be coming from... He put his little hands up to his head to find that his hair had grown long and blonde. Turning to face Noven with a very serious frown, Keene spoke. The voice that came was of a much higher pitch, quite femine, but still carrying with it his natural cool tones. "I believe the drink was a trap." Blue eyes stared unamused.

[Noven]

"Woah, hold on a ti--"

Too late. To Noven's utter dumbfoundment, Keene brought the mug to his mouth and swallowed no small amount of mystery liquid. This was it, then. He was now their official guinea pig. Nov had learned what that term meant from hanging around the laboratories the other day.

For a few, suspense-laden moments, the merc watched, stupefied, wondering when Keene was going to explode into a thousand pieces. They stared at each other for what felt like eons. And then, against all expectation and common, proper sense, the Initiate took another swig of the drink. "Oy, mate...might wanna take it slower, we still don't...Krysus, it really taste that good?"

Petch it. If the stuff was good enough for Keene's budding palate, he wasn't going to waste another chime. Nov downed a mouthful of his own, letting some of the ale trickle down his chin, as if it might be the last drink he ever had. And for all he knew, it could have been. Keene not keeling over dead right there on the ground was about the single good sign thus far.

"Hey, it doesn't taste half bad, this." And it was the truth. A bit fruity, but not dishwater swill, which was as good as the finest port in Nov's book. Kind of like berry cider back home, but a bit more ale-ish.

The merc made to throw back a second swig, enjoying both the pleasant tingling and taste, when he heard Keene gasp.

Without thinking, Nov tossed his mostly full cup right about the same time the Initiate dropped his. The liquid splashed out onto stone and seeped into various cracks. Oblivious to the mess he'd just made, Noven shifted to Keene's side, hovering over his pained, hunched form, completely at a loss as to what he should do. What was happening? What was causing so much pain? More importantly, was he hallucinating from the drink, or were Keene's bones actually moving underneath his skin, as if they were reshaping and reorganizing thems--sodding, bleeding balls. For the first time in a long time, panic wrote itself all over the older man's face as he continually chanted 'don't die, don't die, don't die...' in the tumultuous confines of his own head.

Then, miraculously, the pain seemed to stop. But where Keene was initially relieved, Noven remained utterly bewildered. His eyes bugged. His jaw dropped.

Because in the place of the serious eyed, tight lipped Warden Initiate who had been clenched in agony only moments before was now a slender, pale skinned girl with golden tresses flowing nearly down to her waist.

What the fuck had they just drank?

As if to make matters worse, it hadn't been a terrible transformation, either. Keene was alright as a man. Probably could have had his fair share of women with those piercing eyes of his and silent but mysterious airs, if his tastes ran that way and he cared at all for such things. But as a woman...

"Holy shyke," Nov managed before he was lost to a hysterical fit. He hadn't laughed this hard in ages. It came from somewhere deep in his belly and echoed off every surface of the surrounding buildings, no doubt disturbing both the living and the dead who dwelled peacefully within. But he couldn't help himself, not with the shock of what had just happened. And especially not with the dead pan expression Keene now wore on his feminine face.

Wait...his mirth was cut short as Noven drew a hand to his own collar and peeked beneath. The relief that washed over him was palpable. No tits. Which meant he hadn't been affected by the tainted ale.

"Hey," the merc offered in way of apology for his tactless reaction, "at least you aren't, uh...ugly. You look pretty good as a woman."

He wasn't lying, either. Female Keene looked a bit severe with the way he was staring, but he--she had a certain delicate quality in form. As icy and cool as the original Keene had ever been, yet somehow softer as well. Lovely, even. Which was weird enough to think about on its own. Feeling embarrassed, Nov scratched at his ears, distracting himself with the pleasant sensation. A terrible itch had sprouted on his head a few ticks ago, but it was mostly gone now.

The merc froze mid scratch. Where his fingers touched his ears, he could feel...something furry. Something distinctly not hair. And the last time he checked his ears were on the side of his head, not...

"What..." Nov slapped both hands on his head. His heart sank all the way past his boots like a stone in water. "...the fuck..." He tugged at the furry, fox-like ears on his head as if he might somehow be able to tear them out. And he would have, too, if it didn't hurt so petching much when he pulled at them. "What the fuck...what the fuck is this?!" he repeated in horror and disbelief.

Then he felt something swish against his legs, and Noven twisted around to lift the ends of his coat. Only to erupt in more flustered swears. "And this?? What the FUCK IS THIS?!?!"

The coppery tail flicked back and forth, matching the intensity of his tone. He looked closer at the bottom of his trousers and saw the tail had torn a hole right through the fabric. For fuck's sake...he didn't even want know how or where the thing was connected. How did he not even feel that?

"Keene," he growled, after having checked the rest of his face and body for anymore unwanted extremities. "We have to fix this. How do we fix this?"

[Keene Ward]

Noven's response to Keene's transformation was loud, to say the least. Keene's girlish features carried in them a complete lack of amusement regarding the situation as he tugged his belt tighter around his waste to keep his pants on as he pushed himself to his feet. His shirt slipped, the collar dipping down and getting caught around his newly morphed protrusions. Turning a frown down to his breast, Keene adjusted the shirt back over it. It was strange to see what was usually a smooth surface become rounded, and while they were certainly breasts, they were of the smaller variety. At the very back of his mind he wondered why they hadn't been bigger. Pulling the strings to secure the deep v of the tunic, Keene returned his gaze to Noven's shaking laughter. He seemed to be enjoying himself. Keene crossed his arms, the motion a bit awkward with the newly formed obstructions in his way, not to mention the shorter arm length and slimmer features. He supposed there were far worse things that could have happened, though he wasn't entirely sure how he felt about everything. The distinct lack of what he usually felt between his legs was unnerving. He simply felt... wrong, though his body's changes were not nearly as uncomfortable as he might have thought they should have been.

Noven seemed to realize something crucial, which cut his laugher short. Keene had been waiting for the man to realize he'd also partaken of the mystery brew, and his patience was rewarded with a quick and frantic look at his own chest. He found he was a bit disappointed that nothing had happened to his companion, and he began to wonder if it were some sort of specific magic. When Noven grinned up at him, amusement dancing in his eyes, Keene returned his compliment with a cold stare. He found it odd the man shifted from humor into something that could only be embarrassment. Keene raised a brow, his interest piqued. His change of shape seemed to elicit emotions in the other man he'd yet to experience. "Is that so?" His tone had a flit of curiosity in it, his feminine tones making it sound almost uncharacteristic. He wasn't a fan of the change of voice. As Noven seemed to wrestling with whatever conflicting thoughts that swam behind his eyes, Keene noticed movement at the top of Noven's head. Squinting, he was able to make out a shock of what seemed like hair - no fur. Fur? Keene tilted his head, his blonde hair drifting over into his face that he blew back with a distracted breath. There were ears on Noven's head.

Noven seemed to notice them as well, and Keene found the whole scene to be a bit over dramatic, as the man was only sprouting ears and not having his entire body- A swish of something copper darted out from behind Noven. A tail. If Noven was having issues with his newly gained extra set of hearing apparati, Keene could only imagine his- His thoughts were not able to keep up with Noven's discoveries. The man nearly had a conniption at the discovery of his new appendage. Keene watched on, feeling a bit vindicated now that Noven had his own transformation to deal with. He wondered if part of the reason his had been a more drastic change was directly related to how much of the drink he'd consumed. He found he partially regretted having nearly finished the mug, but, as he let Noven rage, Keene gazed down at his hands once more, moving them around to inspect the changes. He found it strange how flawless the transformation had been. He assumed it had had something to do with morphing, but beyond that, his mind drew a blank. Once Noven had come to terms with - or stopped shouting about - his transformation, he seemed to think the effect was something that could be remedied.

"Fix?" Keene's bell like raise of his voice in question made him wince slightly before continuing. It seemed his voice was much more easily led towards inflections, as the tactics he usually used to make words was too passive to keep his feminine voice from flitting all over the place. "I'm not sure what even happened, let alone how to fix it." The more he talked, the better grasp he had over the voice, sharing his disdain at both of their current states, but keeping his voice calm and logical. He moved to take a step, but the change in length of his legs as well as his loose fitting boots sent him straight towards the ground. What usually would have been a startled yip of surprise came out as a high pitched squeak as he braced himself to make contact. Hitting the ground with a thud that was far lighter than he expected, Keene lay there for a few ticks. His hair splayed out in every direction as he took a few deep breaths. Pushing himself back to his knees, his cold blue eyes glared up at Noven with clear frustration. "Fill another mug while I learn to walk again." He made a vague gesture with his arm that pulled at his hair, eliciting a wince and yet another reason for the two of them to get things back to normal. He didn't like long hair. And the impact had struck his chest and it was far more sensitive than he had expected. Without thinking, Keene added, "Why isn't your tail the same color as your hair?"

[Noven]

Nov's mind ran round and round in denial. He couldn't fix this. And neither could Keene. Keene, who knew infinitely more about magic and had special access to countless areas thanks to the vambrace that no longer fit around his slender arms.

The mercenary's first compulsion was to kill. Specifically, the scheming vagik who had left this cask of magic mystery ale out and brought upon them this sodding nightmare. Unlike Keene, who was still struggling to walk and talk with his new feminine bits, Noven felt ready to tear someone's throat out. His fists were clenched in agitation and fur lined ears flicking every which way as they picked up different sounds. When the Initiate fell, Nov could hear the sharp intake of breath before her squeak, the thud of impact, the scrape scrape of fabric and flesh as Keene sought to right himself. And though his mind knew perfectly well that the Initiate was, in fact, male, his nose seemed to insist otherwise.

Yep, not his eyes. His nose.

Tail-less Noven might have bent to help a pretty lass up after her untimely fall. But, at the moment, the merc was too busy drowning in rage. His blood fair boiled at the thought of someone pulling this nasty trick on the two of them. He didn't enjoy being made to look like a fool. He would, however, enjoy making the culprit squirm in pool of his own shit, piss, and blood.

It took a few ticks before Nov realized Keene had spoken to him. It took even longer for him to remember he could speak back. And when he did, his voice rose from a fog of adrenaline, sounding rawer and crabbier than it would on day two of his curse. He could have dove forward in a sprint right then and there what with the way his muscles had coiled wire-tight of their own volition. And gone for a slab of fresh meat, too, while he was at it. The more recently killed the better.

"You're gonna drink more of that shyke?" Nov snarled, fighting the urge to bare teeth that somehow felt significantly sharper against the tip of his tongue. "Have you gone fucking mental and lost your mind along with your cock?"

Cue every joke ever made about men and the true source of their brains.

The slow erosion of his already tenuous grip on civility did not bode well. He was reverting back to old habits. Various matrons in his life had done their best to beat it out of him, Jillene being no exception, as the streets of Sunberth instilled all manner of atrocious behavior and language. But with his mind focused more on violence and less on tact, he found it harder and harder to give a petch.

Nov bristled for a bit longer. Then he went over and filled another mug, not caring that ale sloshed down the sides with each stride of his irritable gait. Some part of him was able to reason that Keene had a plan. Or he didn't, in which him drinking more of the ale might shed a bit of light on what the petch had happened to their bodies. Not to mention the icy temper lurking in Keene's own glower--and a quick recall of just what exactly the Initiate was capable of--had Noven less than eager to deny the young woman her drink. He might have even found it amusing, considering this continued pattern of him being bossed around by petite females, had the situation not been about as funny as getting one's knob chopped off. Almost literally, in Keene's case.

"How the hell should I know?" the merc snapped in response to his companion's question. "What I do know is that we can't go walking around looking like...like this." He held up a fist full of furry tail before batting it away, features drawn into narrow frustration.

Then he glanced over at the Initiate, with his--her--godsdammit, his flowing, golden locks and amended,"Well...I can't. You'd do fine, with the proper clothes. Don't think anyone would even recognize who you are. If the Boss sees me, though..." Nov trailed off as he entered a reverie in which life amongst the Scars transformed into an eternal hell. Because Wolf Girl would never, ever let him live this down. It was uncomfortable enough acknowledging he probably looked more like Bitzer's pet wolf than man. He didn't want to think about what kind of implications came attached.

"We need to get out of here, come up with a plan." And hide so no one can see me looking half dog, Nov would have added, had this new surge of primal masculinity not overruled all other agendas.

He turned to Keene and did his best not to look anywhere below the chin. They really, really needed to get him some better fitting clothes. Everything Male Keene had shown up wearing was now too baggy and loose. Which meant each time he walked, tripped, and generally flailed his arms about, Nov got glimpses of pale skin even the cheapest whore at Happy Endings wouldn't flash for free.

Unwilling to return to his own quarters, which were right next to those of Bitzer and Palaren, Noven asked, "Where do you live?"

[Keene Ward]

Noven was not calm. His voice was harsh, bloody, and while Keene felt little fear towards him, the man's temper was anything but helpful. He did not appreciate the pass at his mental state. A freezing glower with an even colder bite in his voice, Keene retorted with a slow, "Just get me the ale, please." He was having a harder time controlling his temper, and Noven was pushing every button to make it worse. His small hands were balled into fists as he took a few deep breaths, as his glare lessened some. Breaking eye contact as he pushed himself to his feet, Keene began to shuffle around while Noven went to fetch and fill the mug. His shortened legs and smaller feet didn't take him too long to get used to, though he found the boots were the largest problem. Slipping his feet out of the boots, set them to the side, standing barefoot on the courtyard's path as Noven returned with the filled mug he'd requested.

He extended his hands to receive the mug, brushing his right hand against Noven's as they switched grips. Drawing it closer, he let Noven yell some more as he peered down at it. It looked like ale. He took a deep breath, pulling in the scent through his nose. It smelled like a fruit. Whatever it was, he wasn't getting anywhere with it, and Noven was still talking. He had certainly misjudged him in thinking he was a quiet man, as his voice was having little issue filling what was typically the soft whispers of the courtyard with his rage and frustration. Keene looked up from the glass, his obnoxiously long hair refusing to move out of his face with the motion and requiring him to tuck it behind his ears with a frustrated movement. "I am thinking of a plan." He raised a brow, his frown turning his full, pink lips into an agitated curve. "Your shouting isn't helping." His voice, however, was now fully under control, and while his face was still adjusting to his new features, he kept the majority of frustration out of his tone. When Noven asked where he lived, Keene shook his head, "I am forbidden from taking others to the mountain."

He tapped one the rim of the mug as he thought. As far as effects went, it seemed the transformations had abated or stabilized. If there were side effects, they had yet to find them. As far as drinking more of the substance went, Keene didn't find the idea of it to be too appealing. Instead, he kneeled down to set the mug on the ground. Grabbing his boots and vambrace, Keene stood up, nodding at Noven. "You don't want to be seen, yes?" Taking the lead, Keene started across the broken cobbles, his gait a bit silted by his bare feet. His pace, however, was about the same as it usually was, brisk and to the point. They wouldn't be able to hide at the mountain, but it was clear Noven needed somewhere that was less open to discovery than the Courtyard in order to be useful in finding a solution to the problem. Thus, the first step to thinking through and figuring out what their best coarse of action was to get him to a place where he would stop yelling.

As they entered the chill of the vestibule, with its cold, stone tiles that led all the way out to the great doors that separated the citadel from the rest of the island. Taking time to turn to address him among the massive statues that lined the walls, Keene leveled a firm gaze at him, dropping the vambrace and one of his boots to the ground and unlacing the other. "Visitors are rare. If we walk around the island, I doubt we'll have trouble with your 'boss'." Setting the boot on the ground he, sat down and slipped it foot back into it, pulling the laces as tightly as he could. He did the same with the other before gathering up the vambrace and tucking it under his arm as he stood. The boots were loose, but they were bearable. He tested them by taking a few steps around, readjusting the shirt that had fallen over his shoulder. "Is this acceptable?" His face was, once more, a controlled mask that only let a small amount of his curiosity through. His cool blue eyes stared in question while he waited for the response. The short walk have been good for his own temper at the very least.

[Noven]

The mountain...what the hell was The Mountain? It sounded ominous, to say the least. Which only made Noven feel more conflicted. Because he was now torn between two compulsions: the rational one to stay far, far away yet another restricted area, and the less rational one to get balls deep in trouble.

But there were more important issues at hand. Like whether or not Keene was really crazy enough to drink more of that petched up brew.

The merc watched slim, feminine fingers tap-tap-tap against the rim of the mug. One of his ears twitched, and his tail flicked back and forth in anxious anticipation. Honestly, he couldn't understand how the Initiate was so calm, though even Nov was able to tell he was pushing Keene towards the further limits of he--his patience. He was willing to admit his own explosion of a reaction wasn't exactly helpful. But Krysus, one of them was sporting ears, a tail, and a literal appetite for blood, while the other had grown breasts and was still figuring out to walk around cockless. If there ever was a time to panic a little, now would be it.

Somehow, Nov realized as he watched the Initiate set that mug of thrice blasted ale onto the ground, instead of causing him more frustration, this only stoked his curiosity. He wondered what made Keene tick. What made him angry, sad, happy. If he was even capable of reaching extreme emotions, other than rage, which Nov had seen boiling just a bit beneath the surface back at Cryptly's. Or was he always just like this. Cool, collected, and entirely unflappable?

The lass who was a man less than five chimes ago said something. Noven blinked, tearing himself from an inward spiral of thoughts. Before he could give a proper answer, Keene picked up his things and started walking, bare feet pattering softly against the cold stones. Nov stared after him for a couple ticks. Then he sprung to action, running at a steady trot until he caught up with the Intitiate. It felt rather strange, he idly noted, being led by a shoeless girl in a city full of the living dead. But it wasn't like he had the luxury of being choosy. Keene knew the Citadel. He didn't. And since neither's quarters were available for retreat, where ever they were going was hopefully the next best thing.

Soon they were passing through the Vestibule where Noven and the other Scars had first entered through six days ago. It was as eerie of a place as the rest of the island. Stony, chilly, and completely devoid of life. The great rows of statues were the most human thing there, but even they had a lifeless quality about them, with their blank eyes and frozen postures.

Well, the atmosphere and brief walk certainly dampened his vexation a bit. Which reminded him...his twenty four bells were nearly up. Pretty soon the telltale headaches would be arriving in full force; the dull aching he currently felt proved as much. Looking over at Keene as he busied himself with too-big boots, Nov hoped against all odds that their shyke conditions wouldn't last until day two. Where ever they ended up, he didn't want to be stuck anywhere near the Initiate's delicate form, wracked with crippling pains and the desire to sink his teeth into fresh flesh.

"That they are," the merc grunted in response to Keene's comment on visitors. "Barely seen any besides us Scars and those two Ravokians."

Nov shook his head. "But if Bitzer catches so much as a whiff of this mess, she'll bully me all the way back to Sunberth and then some. And she's got enough over my head as it is."

Incurable seasickness and the nickname 'Little Red' were just two of the first to come to mind. He really didn't want to add a third.

When Keene was finished adjusting his boots and clothes, he took a few experimental steps and asked if it was acceptable. Nov balked for a tick. Was what acceptable...his outfit, or the fact that he had turned full woman with two sips of fruity ale?

The merc made a face that lay somewhere between uncertainty and serious consideration. "Uh...'s alright, I guess. " He scratched at his ears again. Had his hair grown shaggier, or was he just in a worse need for a haircut than he realized? "I mean, you still look like a girl walking around in a bloke's clothes. But at least now I can't see your..."

Nov paused for an awkward moment before ending tactfully with, "...stuff."

Something scraped against stone. Likely from the heel of a boot. Acting on bare instinct, he snapped his head to the left, down the remaining path leading out of the Vestibule. Nov's ears twitched every which way as they sought the source. Footsteps. One pair. Someone was coming. Panicking, he dove behind the nearest statue and clung to a stone leg, doing his best to keep his tail from swishing out and giving him away.

"I hear someone coming this way," he warned Keene ever so helpfully from the safety of his hiding place. Never had Noven felt so much like a coward. But he was the one with ears and a tail, and he'd seen enough of the Dungeons to know being part animal did no one any favors on this island.

Keene, on the other hand, was pretty. And being pretty did people lots of favors anywhere, Nov reasoned. Then he thought of Caela and decided maybe not. Being pretty also tended to get folk into a whole lot of trouble. But it was too late; whoever was entering the Citadel now was almost upon them. They'd probably encounter that bizarre golem named TAR first, in which case Keene had time either to hide or think of some excuse for standing around all by himself. Herself. Godsdammit.

Noven didn't want to risk speaking more, but he ready if there was trouble.

oocpouty, bare-footed female Keene...first thing that comes to mind:

[Keene Ward]

Noven's preoccupation with the social retributions his transformation would face under the scrutiny of his company puzzled Keene. Noven was, or seemed to be, a strong young man. Growing ears and a furry tail hardly seemed enough to make him any less than what Keene knew him to be, though they did, perhaps, slightly diminish part of his natural intimidation of muscle and posture. Still, he found the man's preoccupation with the opinions of other to be yet another unexpected facet in his understanding of the man. To Keene, one was what one was, regardless of what others thought that one might be. Society was a concept he still struggled with, the intricacies and intrigues failing to find a hold in his searching brain even despite the sizable amount of time he'd spent reading about it. He found that opinions were merely that: subjective understandings of things that existed with their own, objective truths. Bitzer finding them and seeing Noven looking... as he did would should have had zero affect on who Noven was as a person, yet it seemed to him that the discovery would be even more traumatic than having one's head chopped off. It was unfathomable.

It seemed Noven's worry was not without foundation, as intimated that there were other things that had come before to cause him due agony. Still, Keene found it far too difficult to empathize with the young man. Firstly, he didn't see the issue. If anything, Noven was a bit more animalistic; something Keene had already found to be a bit true in regards to the way Noven seemed to regard the pain he inflicted with his goddess given abilities. It seemed to him a fitting transformation, though it was clear Noven did not share the sentiment. Secondly, Keene was now a woman. His ability to empathize with the fox eared, bushy tailed raging Sunberthian was overshadowed with the discomfort of breasts and a lack of his familiar genitalia. Had Noven been transformed into a busty, raging woman with full lips and bouncing curls, Keene may have been more sympathic. As things word, he was the one sporting an entirely new body, and Noven's complaints and worries were hardly of enough import to do anything more than gently tug at his considerably cooler temperament. On top of that, he now seemed to be making an appraisal of Keene's new body.

"What are you talking about?" Keene raised a brow at the man's ineloquent description. "My chest?" He pulled his shirt down some, his frown clearly set on his soft lips as his blue eyes flashed with a hint of disdain. Retying the shirt to let Noven breath, Keene shook his head, the frown steady. "I was asking if-" Noven's interruption and subsequent retreat let Keene standing alone in the middle of the Vestibule. Giving the other man a look that was somewhere between glacial and absolute zero, Keene stood his ground, crossing his arms with the vambrace still tucked under his arm pit. His blonde hair fanned out behind him him, strands of it falling in front of his face as the footsteps neared. He had no reason to hide, nor did he feel any need to. He was a Warden's Initiate, a member of the island's guard, a-

"Girl. What are you-" The face of Overseer Telemeran appeared from around the TAR, his condescending tone rapidly growing into alarm as his eyes widened when they hit the vambrace under his arm. "W-where did you get that?" Before Keene could say anything, Telemeran sped his advance, snatching it from the crook of his arm. "Do you know what this is?" He shook the vambrace in front of Keene's face, his voice clearly seething with disdain. "Nevermind!" He took a step backward, Keene's vambrace held within the cage of his spindly fingers. "What exactly are you doing with this?"

Keene blinked, still slightly overwhelmed by the rush that was Telemeran. Regaining his composure - and a fair amount of indignation he pressed down beneath what stony face he could manage - Keene replied, his voice quiet and reserved. "I'm a Warden Initiate."

"No." The shutdown was quick and to the point. "The last initiate to pass judgment was that frigid young man..." Keene was about to reply with his name to clear the issue, but Telemeran was faster. "Bean." He shook it head. "A stupid name for an equally stupid Pulser." Keene stared at the man, eyes blank with confusion at how the nuit could be so simple yet so confident. He wondered if it were an act, but as Telermeran raised a brow, his own eyes were vacant of any understanding. Keene found him a contemptible fool. "So, why are you really here?"

Keene drew a small, controlled breath before he replied. "I picked it up."

"Oh did you, now? And you thought you could just keep something that didn't belong to you?" He shook his head, tsking, "You are aware a fine is in order?" Keene could hardly forget his first interaction with the first non-mechanical sentience on the island. He nodded, pulling the small coin purse he kept with him from his belt. "Three for loitering, six for being where you shouldn't be when I am, and seven for attempt of theft." He paused. "And ten for theft." He extended his hand expectedly and Keene stoically handed the money over, the clink of coin stopping once the proper amount had been reached. "Excellent. Get some new clothes, you look atrocious." Like the dissipation like a whirlwind, Telemeran continued out to the courtyard, Keene's vambrace still in tow.

Turning to the statue where Noven cowered, Keene gave him a blazing glare that lasted just long enough for him to blink before he regained control of his expression. "He's gone." Retying the purse to his belt, Keene folded his arms, his key lost to him until he returned to normal, if either of them ever even did. It was frustrating, but the key in tandem with his face was his identification. One without the other was as useless as none. "Shall we go now?"

[Noven]

Much to Nov's complete lack of surprise, Keene neither ran nor hid. He just stood there, girl bits and all, glaring icy daggers in the mercenary's direction. Nov tried to motion for the Initiate to move, take cover, jump up and down, anything that wasn't staying put. But Keene remained where he was. Still and proud as the statues surrounding them. A storm could have hit right then and he would have weathered it in just the same fashion.

Crouched and ready to leap into the fray at a moment's notice, Noven mentally cursed his companion's stubbornness. He was seriously debating whether he should run out there and manhandle Keene back to safety when an irritatingly familiar voice cut through the air.

Krysus be damned. Of all the people he was unwilling to meet under present conditions, Telema-what's-his-face-with-a-stick-up-his-arse was down at the very bottom of that list. The last time Nov had encountered this particularly irksome Nuit, he was with two Bloodhill Initiates. And if it hadn't been for their solid, official presence, he might have tried to knock some air out of the Overseer's bloated ego.

Telemeran was talking now. He demanded to know what a random girl was doing with a Warden Initiate's equipment. Shyke...his shrill, pompous voice alone was enough to induce a premature headache.

What a right, proper pain.

The merc started forward, his first instinct being to lay this petcher flat. But then he remembered Bitzer, the Scars, and their contract, and he settled back behind the statue with a malcontent growl.

The more this vagik talked, the more Nov wanted to wring his rotting neck. His ears flattened. His fingers dug into stone. Extortion was nothing new to the Sunberthian native, but it was for this precise reason that the well of anger his new ears and tail had brought about fair boiled at the Nuit's asswipery. In the cockles of Noven's hardened heart, he held a special reserve of extra concentrated loathing just for men like Telemeran. Cowards who preyed on the less fortunate. Privileged petchers who thought they were entitled to it all at the cost of countless people's misery. Even before Nona's murder, Nov had hated the gangs, the Daggerhand more than the rest. They were lower than dogs for the things they did. For the people they hurt.

Dirty, filthy petcher... Noven strained at his invisible leash, wanting nothing more than to bury his fangs in the Nuit's throat. The only thing he hated more than a scumbag was a scumbag taking advantage of a woman. Nevermind that this particular woman had only been one for less than a bell.

Ruros's balls. Ten gold? Just for standing around holding his own belongings?

That shyke was not going to stand.

Before he could so much as give his compulsion a second thought, Nov was slinking away. He crept by behind the statues one at a time, making sure to keep a steady, constant eye on Telemeran. This would have to be quick and clean. Using his mark was not an option; it was a dead giveaway now that Cryptly knew. And, intolerable as this Overseer was, he was still someone of considerable importance in the Citadel--at least important enough that there would be serious repercussions if he were to be, say, attacked in broad daylight. Nov didn't relish the thought of spending time in a cell. Especially not with Cryptly's grisly face leering at him from the other side of the metal bars.

Not that the merc was actually running through these points in detail at that moment. He did later in retrospect, but things were more or less reduced to "want to kill but can't, get stuff worry later." All he could think about was blood. Did Nuits even bleed? Shame, he would have to find out another day.

By the time Telemeran had mocked Keene's clothes and spun around to walk down the Vestibule, Nov was already in place several statues down. He waited as the Nuit strode nearer, hating his every haughty step, willing the tense muscles in his own body to hold back just a tick longer. Raising a hand to his head, the part-canine Sunberthian even mussed up his hair a bit more so that it hung shaggily over his face. The less his victim could see and remember, the better. Almost there. Come on, just a little bit closer...that's it...right about...now!

At the exact moment the Overseer passed in front of Noven's chosen statue, the merc lunged into view and socked his unsuspecting target square in the eyes.

Normal Nov was decently fast, but wolfishly enhanced Nov was even faster. A rush of satisfaction surged through his body as his fist made contact. Telemeran couldn't have seen more than a split tick's worth before his hands shot up straight to his face. He was reeling from shock and pain, stunned for a few precious breaths. Before he could call for help or retaliate on his own, Nov maneuvered behind and pinned him face down on the ground. Then he tore the vambrace free from the Overseer's cadaverous hands, tucked it under one arm, and moved to rip free Telemeran's coin purse.

"Follow us and I'll take your head," Noven snarled, more beast than man. He barely even recognized his own voice. The Nuit gave a sort of desperate nod and half whimper in compliance.

Well, that would have to be good enough. Without further ado, Nov upended the purse and scattered Telemeran's mizas everywhere. He didn't have the luxury of holding onto any of it, but the man figured it could buy them a chime or two. Greed might just work in their favor for the second time in two days.

Blood singing with triumph, Noven turned and ran.

He caught up to Keene just as Telemeran was coming back to his senses and scrabbling to retrieve all of his precious coin. Petch...what had the Scar just done? There was a brief stretch of silence, then:

"INSOLENT WRETCH, I WILL MAKE YOU PAY FOR THIS! DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA WHO I AM? I AM OVERSEER TELEMERAN AND I WILL NOT STAND FOR THIS BLATANT OFFENSE! WHEN THE COUNCIL HEARS OF THIS BLAH, BLAH, BLAH..."

Nov held no awareness of the fact that Keene had been addressing a statue for the past chime, nor did he have any inclination to stick around and find out. There was an angry Nuit's retribution to consider. Without pausing to stop, he simply shot out his hand to grab the Initiate's and plowed right on, no doubt giving his companion a good dose of whiplash. There wasn't time to explain. And definitely none to be spared if Keene tripped again.

Behind them, he could hear the Overseer raging on, still scrambling about to stuff his scattered mizas back into his purse. The merc would have rejoiced more in his suffering, had there not been one last problem to consider.

"Keene...the golem!" he managed to squeeze between pants, throwing a worried glance backwards. "What...do we do...to get past?"

[Keene Ward]

There was a short span of time in which Keene realized several things. The first, was that Noven was no longer behind the statue he had first retreated behind. Keene blinked several times, not quite managing to connect the sudden sound of a scuffle with the missing man until he turned to see the furry young man shove his fist into the unbearable nuit's face with a wild grin. Very quickly after that, Keene came to the realization of what was happening, and he wasn't pleased. In fact, he was very close to furious, as Noven had just assaulted one of the more powerful nuits in the Citadel, at least by title. As Telemeran hit the floor, Keene started towards them, his too-big boots hampering his progress to a cautious advance. "What do you-" The initiate's voice was cut short as he heard Noven issue a threat of death if they were followed. They? Keene's frown turned dour as he was suddenly drawn into the mess that Noven had created. Having no credentials and already suspicious in Telemeran's eyes, there was little he could do to assuage the situation once Noven had incriminated him. Instead of continuing his approach, Keene just stopped to stare at Noven with a biting frown and a frigid stare. He couldn't believe that in the short period of about ten chimes, he'd gone from the Warden Initiate of Mt. Merlus to a bonde haired delinquent with a half-dog companion. It was not quite the progress he'd been hoping to attain.

As Noven ripped the vambrace from the nuit's hands, Keene shook his head. It would have been easier to simply find a better way of proving his identity rather than assault the man who had taken the key from him. In spite of everything, there was a small spark of satisfaction that burned a little brighter as Noven scattered the fool's coins. It wasn't nearly enough to make up for the fact that they were now, effectively, outlaws, but it was a fairly sizable consolation. As Noven began to run, Keene realized the man's speed was close to unattainable for him in his new body clad in over sized clothes. If they were to flee, as was the most sensible course of action after the complete senseless attack, Keene wasn't sure he could keep up. Noven, however, drew closer to him, his toothy grin turning into a small frown as the realization of what he had just done seemed to sink in. Keene attempted to further solidify the notion in the man's head with a frown of his own. He was in limbo between pleased and displeased, but he chose the latter to display. If they weren't decimated by whatever guard the overseer commanded, Keene wasn't about to let Noven just get away with attacking a resident. He was, after all, one of the Wardens, just not at that particular moment.

Once Telemeran began to scream, Noven increased his speed, reaching out to latch on to one of Keene's hands. Instinctively, he shot fourth his right, and as Noven's grip closed around his wrist, the pressure was the only sensation he felt. While uncomfortable, Keene was a bit more preoccupied with the sudden wrenching force that pulled him from his inertia. Both feet left the ground for a tick before he hit the ground running, feet flailing below him in an uncoordinated sprint as he was dragged along behind the man in front of him, his tail bristling with either apprehension or excitement. His breathing was hardly controlled, and Keene resorted to quick gasps of air in between the flurry of his legs. He found the lack of content between his legs made running a bit of a different sensation, though his chest did seem to take a bit more of a reaction to the impact of his strides. Hair flying out behind him, Keene turned to glance behind. Telemeran had nearly finished gathering up the coins, and his shouting had seemed to increase as each miza was returned to its "rightful" place. If nuit's could have turned red, the man behind them would have had the complexion of a tomato.

As they continued to dart down the hall, Noven shouted back at him, his grip tightening some as Keene stumbled. He asked about a golem, but as far as Keene was aware, the only dangers were those within the citadel, not the vestibule. "What?" His voice, even with the added effort of running, was still soft, partially blending in with the huff of their breaths. "The TAR?" As he spoke the lifeless golem's name, the two of them dashed by it. He was surprised Noven even knew about golems, let alone the TAR. It had taken a game of mutual edification with one of the island's resident animators for him to realize that the strange metal structure was not some modern take on the sculptures that lined the walls, but rather an out of commission sorting mechanism of sorts. Seeing little reason to explain as they neared the doors, Keene braced himself for the impact of opening them. They hit the massive portal hard, even with a skidding halt into them. They opened, and the two of them dashed through. "Left!"

Noven was still in the lead, but he had no idea how to traverse the island. While Mt. Merlus was off limits, as Keene didn't want to risk Atziri refusing to acknowledge he was her initiate and by extension was an intruder deserving execution, Keene figured the copses of trees one the eastern side of the island would serve as good enough hiding places until they could figure something else out. He had never imagined that drinking the ale would lead to something as unfortunate as the events they were now being subjected to. Though, he supposed they weren't entirely victims. If anything, Noven was the sole perpetrator and he merely accessory by association. It was a bother, but there was little they could do about it now. "Get to-" His rapid breathing had started to make sentences longer than a handful of syllables a bit out of his capabilities, "The trees."

oocI'll add this next bit to get them to the trees if you don't mind, otherwise, feel free to respond to the bits before this, and I'll delete this later.

They ran in silence after that, or at least a silence of words. Their panting breath forced a slower pace as they started out over the expanse of grasses and trees that dotted the slow rise of the hills and dips of the valleys. As far as Keene could tell, there were no pursuers behind them for the time being. If the other nuit had any sort of similar opinion of the citadel's overseer, Keene imagined it would be at least a half bell's worth of time before they were in any immediate danger. When they reached the nearest cover of acacia, their mostly leafless branches forming a net of concealing shadow and wood, Keene pulled his hand out of Noven's much more relaxed grip and stopped to catch his breath once they had maneuvered through the outer fence of the trunks. Once he had a better hold over his voice, Keene stood up to stare at Noven with a hint of disbelief. "W-what were you," He took in another breath, sweat from the run starting at the back of his neck where the surprisingly heavy locks of hair hung thickest. "Thinking?" His face was, for the most part, relatively expressionless, as his body strove to catch up to his brain. He had decided, over the chimes of their escape, that he was very much not pleased with the situation.