Nothing about it is familiar. Absolutely nothing. He finds himself in a forest clearing, staring at the moon high above him. It's full and silver and perfectly round. And also completely uncaring towards his situation.
He's barefooted, dressed in pale blue jeans and a shirt that used to be white, now streaked with dirt and blood. Blood that tints the ends of his curly hair and pale skin. There's a wound on his head and another under his jaw. His fingers are more like claws, nails hard and long, knuckles bent. His feet are less human, and more like some strange mangled version of feline anatomy, instead of one joint, he has two, his foot a lot smaller than human's, more elastic, meant for bouncing.
He has something in his hands, a wallet in another, looking down at his driving license. Marco Sawall. That's probably his name. The other is a deck of playing cards. Except they're not like playing cards, more like a deck of tarot.
The forest stretches out in each direction. Where the hell is he supposed to go when he doesn't remember at all how he got here. He tries to sniff out the blood that is clocking his nose, touches the corner of his lip with his tongue. It's caked with blood, too. Panic isn't far right now even if he looks calm as ever.
Despite being born in the southeast, he likes the winter. The beast that has become part of him likes it. Caspian stretches as he wakes from a nap. The moon is high and it makes the shadows stark, but he has no trouble navigating. He catches the scent of blood as he moves and follows it. It's not an animal, but he doesn't think it's human, either.
He moves silently along a familiar deer path and stops at the edge of the small clearing. He creeps along the edge, moving slowly enough to avoid drawing attention. The same way he'd stalk a deer. But he isn't particularly interested in hunting, he just wants to figure out what he's looking at.
Whatever it is, it's bleeding.
Cas stays where he is, crouched down and settled in to watch for a while, but... the person starts walking. He huffs quietly and gets up again. Whatever it is, he can smell the fear rolling off him, the sour scent of panic. He moves along the tree line, trying to decide what he wants to do. He's not the only hunter out here, though his territory is pretty wide. There's a wolf pack around somewhere and they might not take as kindly to an intruder. Especially one that isn't human.
Eventually, he moves away from the trees, out into the bright moonlight. He doesn't try to hide himself and he moves with focused purpose, though he isn't stalking as he works on catching up to the weird-looking person.
He's a big tiger, and now that it's winter, the thick coat he's boasting only adds to his impressive size. Hopefully he isn't going to have to chase this guy down. He's not awake enough for this yet.
Finally he'll have to start walking. He's alone in the woods. He doesn't know where he is... For some reason that doesn't seem to worry about him all that much. He should be able to plot his way out of here.
But he doesn't. He walks but more forest comes up. Eventually he's getting frustrated, more scared, maybe urgent. And then he senses someone watching him. He keeps walking ahead but he can almost sense the presence that follows him.
Just when he's about to turn and hunt down whatever it is, there's a tiger merging from the woods, walking towards him. He pauses, stops completely to stare at this massive creature. Majestic, isn't it? Beautiful.
"Hello," he says as if he thinks they could share a language. "I hope I'm not trespassing."
He looks at his own hands, then the big cat coming towards him, flexing his claw-like fingers and they shift, slowly but surely they turn back into human hands, slender fingers, still smeared with blood. Yes, this is more like it.
He slows when the person looks at him, but he doesn't stop. They aren't screaming or running, which is weird enough, but maybe a good sign. He notices the shift as his hands change, but Caspian can't quite figure out what he is by scent alone.
He makes it a point to brush right alongside the man, rubbing the full length of his body past him. Then Cas looks back over his shoulder and flicks his tail. This way.
Caspian continues on his way, slowly to make sure he's being followed. At least nothing else will bother the man on his trip through the woods. Not with an escort like this.
The tiger's flank feels warm and soft against Marco's legs. He gives a shiver, realising just now how cold he is.
"Ah, we're going this way, I suppose," Marco says casually, almost like it's usual for him to stroll around in the woods bloodied and bruised. He picks up his feet, that also shift back to a more human looking appendages as he keeps walking, step by step filling up and shortening, the extra joint disappearing before there's toes instead of paws. He keeps up with the tiger, one careful step to another.
"Excuse me but perhaps you could tell me where I am?" he ventures eventually, voice a little rough. His throat feels dry. He brushes a little bit of curly blond hair behind his ear, hand coming down from his hair with a white pearl that he pockets. It feels like he doesn't want to lose any of those.
Caspian keeps the pace easy. He isn't in a hurry, but he pays attention to whatever heartbeat and breathing he can hear. The last thing he needs is to drag a frost-bitten person through the woods.
He can't talk, but maybe the guy is just talking to hear himself do it.
It's just a mile or two through the woods until they reach a dark cabin. It isn't big, but it will be out of the cold. The big tiger just nudges the door open and heads in.
There's the means to be warm: a woodstove and logs piled near it. There's a bed piled with blankets, there's even running water.
It's a bizarre thing, ending up in the middle of the deepest woods in the middle of the winter, bare footed and not getting frostbitten. At least he wasn't when they started walking. Now, though, after walking on the frozen ground for quite a bit, Marco is slowing down, is breathing a little ragged and and rough, the blood flow of his wound definitely thinning by the minute they dabble along.
"You're not very talkative," he says to the big cat but not in any accusatory way, just an observation with a sunny smile that might look like a macabre thing with blood dried on his upper lip.
He walks, though, without a complaint, keeping up with the tiger's pace even if his head feels dizzy and the world keeps shifting in his vision. What else is he supposed to do?
At the cabin he steps inside without fear, closes the door behind him. And after taking a moment to adjust his eyesight to the darkness within - his eyes slowly shifting to take on a more feline presence, his pupils narrowing and then blowing out again - he seems to think that making a fire is a good idea. He seems to know what he's doing, opening the hatch on the woodstove, checking the pipe and even opening the lower vent as well before he goes to picking smaller pieces of wood from the pile. His fingers are stiff from the cold and the colour of his skin definitely not on the healthy side, but he keeps moving, not giving into the fear that is licking at his heels like a monster that wants to swallow him. Crying and whining would not help anyone, least of himself, right now.
He watches as the man works on getting a fire going. He pays attention to his shifting scent. Caspian waits until the fire is going and the woodstove door is closed before he bodily pushes the man toward the bed. The bleeding has slowed, which seems like a good sign, but his color is pale and Cas can tell that he's freezing. Best to get under blankets.
He waits solemnly. When the man is finally in the bed, he carefully climbs up to join him. The frame is sturdy enough to support the tiger's weight and, after a moment, Caspian lays along his side, offering significant body heat and soft fur. That should help until the woodstove has done it's job to heat up the room.
Marco extends his hands towards the woodstove when he has a small fire going. He rubs his fingers together, they're a little sticky with flaking blood, but he doesn't seem to have much of interest to clean himself up right now. It definitely can wait until he's feeling a little less like an icicle.
"You're a pushy one," he observes as he's nudged up and towards the bed. "You want me to get in there?" he asks and then snorts softly, amusedly, as he climbs in there, pulling up a blanket over himself. But it doesn't warm him up much at all, his body temperature has lowered significantly and building up warmth like that is an exercise in futility. He shivers, the cold now surrounding him.
Then the tiger climbs in with him and Marco finds himself chuckling as he doesn't even think about it twice before he snuggles up to the creature. The heat and the softness of the fur beckoning him even closer. He turns towards it, as if lured in by the warmth and then he presses his face into the soft fur.
It's easy enough to sleep like that. Caspian doesn't move through the rest of the night, instead dozing as he listens to the man's breathing and heartbeat. If they change, he wakes, but the night passes without further incident.
Come morning, though, the tiger is gone and left in its place is a very naked, still kind of sleepy man. Cas stretches a bit before he forces himself out of the bed, careful as he can be not to jostle his guest too much. He finds his clothes to get dressed again and gets the fire in the woodstove built up from the embers of the night before.
They change when Marco falls asleep. He keeps shivering for the first hour, more so when the warmth actually seeps into his battered body, but once he's toasty enough, he settles down to deep, deep sleep.
Which is he lucky enough to wake up when the tiger that has become a man starts to shift and move around. His eyes blink open and stare at the stranger with widening eyes for a lengthy moment, something inside him screaming that this is not right. But he's quiet, watching the stranger move over him to the floor, stretching even - and yes, Marco can't help but note that he could stay unclothed a little longer if you'd ask the blond about it - and then kneel in front of the stove to prod the fire.
This is when Marco finally pulls himself up, wincing at the booming headache at the back of his neck and behind his eyes.
"Thank you," he says first of all, sitting on the edge of the bed, his legs hanging down from the edge, his voice is sleep rough and quiet. "And my apologies for intruding into your home like this."
"This ain't home, but you were gonna freeze your ass off without it."
The cabin is his, but it's not his regular residence.
"You'd be a cute popsicle, but you look better all warmed up. You still bleeding?"
He rocks to his feet and returns to the bed to sit on the edge. His eyes are the same gold-green color the tiger's had been. Apparently unconcerned about person space or boundaries, he catches the other man's jaw to turn his head.
"This isn't your property?" Marco asks mildly as he watches the other man stand up and walk over to him, a hint of a smile flashing across his lips at the casual compliment that he shelves off to keep him warm later. He knows he looks like a total mess right now, dried blood caked on his face and hair, blond strands bound together because of it.
"Not bleeding," he responds and somehow he knows this to be true. "I heal fast," he promises. "Must have a bit of a concussion, everything's blurry." But not blurry enough that he can't see that fetching gold-green of the man's eyes. "You make a handsome tiger, stranger," he says, not at all bothered by the vicinity of their bodies or the hold on his chin, allowing his saviour to turn his face whichever way he prefers. He snuggled up to that soft fur last night, why feel shy now?
"Yes," he answers, simply and easy. "And dirty. You wouldn't happen to have some water so I can clean up? I look cuter without a blood facial, promise."
"Oh, you're just running a full service establishment here," Marco notes with a faint smile that crinkles the skin around his eyes with plenty of merry crowfeet.
He offers his hand, well, after wiping it somewhat onto his thigh, flakes of blood smeared on the pale fabric. "Marco, I think. Marco Sawall." It feels right. It must be his name.
"I eat anything," he says tentatively and notes that it sounds true. "Yes, I do." He doesn't talk about allergies like most people might, he doesn't really have an experience of those, even second hand. "Can I help with anything?" Perhaps with something that doesn't require standing because he still feels dizzy.
Maybe that head injury is worse than he thought. Caspian stands there for a moment, intent and discerning.
"You can keep your ass where it is for now and tell me what you remember. "
He hasn't forgotten the shape-shifting from last night, but he'll take his fences one at a time. Cas checks his food supplies with a quiet sound of triumph. Sausage and eggs it is.
Marco's gaze shifts, and for a moment he considers redirecting the topic of conversation. He knows this is something he probably would find reasons for. Never admit a weakness if you don't have to.
But this tiger has given him no reason to doubt him, no reason to fear him, and he's been very helpful.
Finally he looks up and shrugs mildly. "I don't remember much. I had a card on me, a driving licence. It had the name on and a picture. I think it's me." He draws in a breath as he tries to remember, anything at all. But the headache bounds a little closer at his effort and he sighs, shoulders pulling up in pain. "I remember falling. Being shoved. That's it."
That's all he says for a moment, focusing on actually cooking for now. Maybe he should get some carbs in here... he's pretty sure he has bread. Toast'll do. It doesn't take long for him to get a plate together, piled with enough food for two people since he fully intends on also eating from it. He had a good hunt last night, but he's hungry again now.
Caspian grabs a bottle of water and a towel on his way back to the bed. He sets the plate on a nearby trunk, then pours water onto the towel to get it wet. He takes a minute to clean off Marco's hands, figuring he'd prefer not to catch the scent of blood every time he lifts a fork to his mouth.
Marco yields his hands without a question to be cleaned, watching his thin fingers as Caspian cleans them up. They definitely are attached to this body that he isn't sure he feels his own. Should they look like that? His fingers.
"Thank you," he says again, then takes the towel to wipe his face with it, the crusted blood from his forehead, his upper lip, unmarred skin beneath. The wound is somewhere at his hairline, his lip is split and it hurts, but he ignores that ache.
The mention of a hospital makes him look up sharply and then suck in a hissing breath as the bounding behind his eyes increases. "No hospital," he insists. "I don't mean to cause you any more trouble, I'll leave if you want me to. Just no... hospital." The idea fills him with dread. Charts and networks, his name recorded, his face in security cameras. He's not well enough to take on whatever did this to him in the first place.
A deep breath drawn in, then exhaled slowly. Marco relaxes again. He nods quietly as he takes the fork and pierces a piece of sausage into the spikes of it.
"Thank you," he says, again, for the umpteenth time. If he ever has a chance to repay any of this, he will take it, thrice fold.
Eating is a slow and precarious affair, his jaw hurts and something inside his throat aches whenever he swallows. But still, he eats with good appetite, even if he has to force himself a couple of times. He will heal fast, but he also spends fast.
"I'm sorry," he finally says when he has gotten a few bites into himself, inhaling the first ones with the eagerness of a starving man. "I literally dropped out of the sky on your path. It must not have been convenient for you. You're a good man, Caspian."
Caspian doesn't stare, but he does pay attention. He can hear some of the hesitance in the way Marco eats, the pauses and changes in his breathing when something hurts. But he says he'll heal, and he's eating well.
He snorts a laugh when Marco apologizes.
"Mm, doing the bare minimum of decency doesn't seem that worthy of praise, but you're welcome. Only other option was leaving you to freeze out there."
He's quiet for a moment as he finishes off a bit of sausage.
"Look, I don't actually live here 'cept for a few days a month or when I'm feeling the need for getting out of the city. I'm going back, but you're welcome to come with until you figure yourself out."
Marco's blue eyes follow him across the table as he says it's just decency to help someone and not leave them to freeze. In his gut he feels that it's the option that he's more used to where he comes from. He has a feeling there's something else said beneath those words, however, and he takes a hint, nodding with a small smile.
"Definitely would like to see what's beyond this forest," he replies. "Perhaps it'll jostle some memories."
He chews each piece that goes into his mouth very carefully, even if it does hurt. But it hurts less going in that way. But it also means he's taking long pauses between speaking.
Finally he asks: "Is it the moon?" he asks curiously. "That turns you or something else?"
"Mmm, noticed that huh?" Caspian grins and sits back. He'd kill for some coffee, but he forgot to bring any out. "Yeah, it's the moon. I can do it at will but the moon kind of... forces the issue."
He tips his head.
"What about you? Don't know many shifters that can change just body parts."
It takes a lot of will and experience to manage, and some will never be able to manage it.
Marco listens with quiet interest while he eats, considering Caspian with curious eyes. He has just one different shape where he shifts to, Marco guesses. From somewhere within him the knowledge about shapeshifting comes, provided by something he's learned in the past.
"Your own body image is natural and recorded in your neural pathways," he quotes, knowing the passage from lectures he's participated in the past. "To change it one requires a fluid mind and acceptance of Flexible Reality." His nose wrinkles as he thinks about it. Something else comes to him in the heels of the first thought. "Flexible Reality is a concept that is taught, hopefully as a child, or it might take hard time rooting. When enduring Chaos, you must be chaotic. When enduring rapid change, you must be capable of rapid change."
He quirks his brows at Caspian, not sure if any of that made any sense to him. Marco isn't sure if it made sense to him. Jury is still out.
It makes sense, kind of, but he's not following the overarching premise. Cas doesn't think that matters, though. The part he gets is that it takes some practice and willpower, which is not all that different from how he learned.
"Sounds like you know a lot for a guy who isn't sure his identity matches his ID," he says idly, golden gaze flicking up to look at Marco again.
"It keeps bubbling up," Marco admits with a hint of a shrug. He might have blushed a little if he didn't have a hard lined control over stuff like that, he finds, his body automatically adjusting itself when the flush threatens to dust over his pale cheeks. He realises that this is a skill he's learned mostly because his colours are light and a flush is often telling. He needed to control it and the messages it sends.
"I have a vague idea what the Chaos is, but it's still mostly a mystery to me. Just conversations that somehow just are illuminated in the dark." He seems a little frustrated, is a lot more inside.
He looks up at Caspian, biting his bottom lip as he shrugs again. He's trying, but it's not coming to him just like that.
He nods, taking it in stride for now. He won't push and hopefully this won't come back to bite him in the ass somehow. When the plate is empty, Caspian gets up so he can clean up and put things away.
"If you're feeling up for it, I wanna get back to the city sooner than later. I got some clothes you can wear if you wanna change out of those."
Looking at Marco, Cas is pretty sure they'll fit. Maybe not well, but well enough.
"Yes, please," Marco replies easily and starts to rise from the bed. He's still dizzy but he manages to keep his stance somewhat steady by focusing on a single point on the wall opposing him and widening his stance quite a bit.
"You mentioned warm water. I'd love to wash up a little," he says and his voice is a little hoarse but not pained.
"You gonna be able to stand up?" Caspian gives Marco a dubious look as he wobbles on his feet. The shower stall isn't that big, so at least he'll have plenty to lean against without moving away from the water.
He gestures Marco over to a door and nudges it open to reveal a small bathroom.
"I'll be fine," Marco insists as his eyes widen a little as the bathroom is revealed. Okay, he'll manage just fine!
"Thank you," he smiles as he takes a few stumbling steps and then steadies out himself, getting used to the dizzying sensation of his head protesting to the sudden movements. "I swear, I won't pass out in the shower," he promises.
He tries to be quick, but it takes him way too long to gingerly clean himself up. He decides to take a shower, because there's a lot of dried blood matted onto his scalp. Stings and aches keep him fully aware and while he might have felt more than a little woozy more than once, he is quite fine when he exists the shower, drying himself on his ruined clothes because he doesn't want to ask Caspian to constantly provide him some sort of assistance.
He holds the shirt against his waist when he exists the stall. There are extensive bruises on his body, dark and obviously hurting against his sides, around his neck, more trickled to his legs. But the wound on his head hasn't opened again and there seems to be another on his thigh that has already scabbed over.
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blackbluewhite2021-01-10 11:44 pm
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He's barefooted, dressed in pale blue jeans and a shirt that used to be white, now streaked with dirt and blood. Blood that tints the ends of his curly hair and pale skin. There's a wound on his head and another under his jaw. His fingers are more like claws, nails hard and long, knuckles bent. His feet are less human, and more like some strange mangled version of feline anatomy, instead of one joint, he has two, his foot a lot smaller than human's, more elastic, meant for bouncing.
He has something in his hands, a wallet in another, looking down at his driving license. Marco Sawall. That's probably his name. The other is a deck of playing cards. Except they're not like playing cards, more like a deck of tarot.
The forest stretches out in each direction. Where the hell is he supposed to go when he doesn't remember at all how he got here. He tries to sniff out the blood that is clocking his nose, touches the corner of his lip with his tongue. It's caked with blood, too. Panic isn't far right now even if he looks calm as ever.
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He moves silently along a familiar deer path and stops at the edge of the small clearing. He creeps along the edge, moving slowly enough to avoid drawing attention. The same way he'd stalk a deer. But he isn't particularly interested in hunting, he just wants to figure out what he's looking at.
Whatever it is, it's bleeding.
Cas stays where he is, crouched down and settled in to watch for a while, but... the person starts walking. He huffs quietly and gets up again. Whatever it is, he can smell the fear rolling off him, the sour scent of panic. He moves along the tree line, trying to decide what he wants to do. He's not the only hunter out here, though his territory is pretty wide. There's a wolf pack around somewhere and they might not take as kindly to an intruder. Especially one that isn't human.
Eventually, he moves away from the trees, out into the bright moonlight. He doesn't try to hide himself and he moves with focused purpose, though he isn't stalking as he works on catching up to the weird-looking person.
He's a big tiger, and now that it's winter, the thick coat he's boasting only adds to his impressive size. Hopefully he isn't going to have to chase this guy down. He's not awake enough for this yet.
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But he doesn't. He walks but more forest comes up. Eventually he's getting frustrated, more scared, maybe urgent. And then he senses someone watching him. He keeps walking ahead but he can almost sense the presence that follows him.
Just when he's about to turn and hunt down whatever it is, there's a tiger merging from the woods, walking towards him. He pauses, stops completely to stare at this massive creature. Majestic, isn't it? Beautiful.
"Hello," he says as if he thinks they could share a language. "I hope I'm not trespassing."
He looks at his own hands, then the big cat coming towards him, flexing his claw-like fingers and they shift, slowly but surely they turn back into human hands, slender fingers, still smeared with blood. Yes, this is more like it.
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He makes it a point to brush right alongside the man, rubbing the full length of his body past him. Then Cas looks back over his shoulder and flicks his tail. This way.
Caspian continues on his way, slowly to make sure he's being followed. At least nothing else will bother the man on his trip through the woods. Not with an escort like this.
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"Ah, we're going this way, I suppose," Marco says casually, almost like it's usual for him to stroll around in the woods bloodied and bruised. He picks up his feet, that also shift back to a more human looking appendages as he keeps walking, step by step filling up and shortening, the extra joint disappearing before there's toes instead of paws. He keeps up with the tiger, one careful step to another.
"Excuse me but perhaps you could tell me where I am?" he ventures eventually, voice a little rough. His throat feels dry. He brushes a little bit of curly blond hair behind his ear, hand coming down from his hair with a white pearl that he pockets. It feels like he doesn't want to lose any of those.
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He can't talk, but maybe the guy is just talking to hear himself do it.
It's just a mile or two through the woods until they reach a dark cabin. It isn't big, but it will be out of the cold. The big tiger just nudges the door open and heads in.
There's the means to be warm: a woodstove and logs piled near it. There's a bed piled with blankets, there's even running water.
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"You're not very talkative," he says to the big cat but not in any accusatory way, just an observation with a sunny smile that might look like a macabre thing with blood dried on his upper lip.
He walks, though, without a complaint, keeping up with the tiger's pace even if his head feels dizzy and the world keeps shifting in his vision. What else is he supposed to do?
At the cabin he steps inside without fear, closes the door behind him. And after taking a moment to adjust his eyesight to the darkness within - his eyes slowly shifting to take on a more feline presence, his pupils narrowing and then blowing out again - he seems to think that making a fire is a good idea. He seems to know what he's doing, opening the hatch on the woodstove, checking the pipe and even opening the lower vent as well before he goes to picking smaller pieces of wood from the pile. His fingers are stiff from the cold and the colour of his skin definitely not on the healthy side, but he keeps moving, not giving into the fear that is licking at his heels like a monster that wants to swallow him. Crying and whining would not help anyone, least of himself, right now.
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He waits solemnly. When the man is finally in the bed, he carefully climbs up to join him. The frame is sturdy enough to support the tiger's weight and, after a moment, Caspian lays along his side, offering significant body heat and soft fur. That should help until the woodstove has done it's job to heat up the room.
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"You're a pushy one," he observes as he's nudged up and towards the bed. "You want me to get in there?" he asks and then snorts softly, amusedly, as he climbs in there, pulling up a blanket over himself. But it doesn't warm him up much at all, his body temperature has lowered significantly and building up warmth like that is an exercise in futility. He shivers, the cold now surrounding him.
Then the tiger climbs in with him and Marco finds himself chuckling as he doesn't even think about it twice before he snuggles up to the creature. The heat and the softness of the fur beckoning him even closer. He turns towards it, as if lured in by the warmth and then he presses his face into the soft fur.
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Come morning, though, the tiger is gone and left in its place is a very naked, still kind of sleepy man. Cas stretches a bit before he forces himself out of the bed, careful as he can be not to jostle his guest too much. He finds his clothes to get dressed again and gets the fire in the woodstove built up from the embers of the night before.
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Which is he lucky enough to wake up when the tiger that has become a man starts to shift and move around. His eyes blink open and stare at the stranger with widening eyes for a lengthy moment, something inside him screaming that this is not right. But he's quiet, watching the stranger move over him to the floor, stretching even - and yes, Marco can't help but note that he could stay unclothed a little longer if you'd ask the blond about it - and then kneel in front of the stove to prod the fire.
This is when Marco finally pulls himself up, wincing at the booming headache at the back of his neck and behind his eyes.
"Thank you," he says first of all, sitting on the edge of the bed, his legs hanging down from the edge, his voice is sleep rough and quiet. "And my apologies for intruding into your home like this."
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"This ain't home, but you were gonna freeze your ass off without it."
The cabin is his, but it's not his regular residence.
"You'd be a cute popsicle, but you look better all warmed up. You still bleeding?"
He rocks to his feet and returns to the bed to sit on the edge. His eyes are the same gold-green color the tiger's had been. Apparently unconcerned about person space or boundaries, he catches the other man's jaw to turn his head.
"Color's better. You hungry?"
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"Not bleeding," he responds and somehow he knows this to be true. "I heal fast," he promises. "Must have a bit of a concussion, everything's blurry." But not blurry enough that he can't see that fetching gold-green of the man's eyes. "You make a handsome tiger, stranger," he says, not at all bothered by the vicinity of their bodies or the hold on his chin, allowing his saviour to turn his face whichever way he prefers. He snuggled up to that soft fur last night, why feel shy now?
"Yes," he answers, simply and easy. "And dirty. You wouldn't happen to have some water so I can clean up? I look cuter without a blood facial, promise."
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It's well water but beggars can't be choosers. But there's plumbing and a water heater, luxuries Cas wouldn't compromise on.
He sits back.
"I'm Cas. There anything you don't eat?"
Hopefully he hasn't landed himself with a vegan. Pickings might be slim if so.
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He offers his hand, well, after wiping it somewhat onto his thigh, flakes of blood smeared on the pale fabric. "Marco, I think. Marco Sawall." It feels right. It must be his name.
"I eat anything," he says tentatively and notes that it sounds true. "Yes, I do." He doesn't talk about allergies like most people might, he doesn't really have an experience of those, even second hand. "Can I help with anything?" Perhaps with something that doesn't require standing because he still feels dizzy.
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Maybe that head injury is worse than he thought. Caspian stands there for a moment, intent and discerning.
"You can keep your ass where it is for now and tell me what you remember. "
He hasn't forgotten the shape-shifting from last night, but he'll take his fences one at a time. Cas checks his food supplies with a quiet sound of triumph. Sausage and eggs it is.
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But this tiger has given him no reason to doubt him, no reason to fear him, and he's been very helpful.
Finally he looks up and shrugs mildly. "I don't remember much. I had a card on me, a driving licence. It had the name on and a picture. I think it's me." He draws in a breath as he tries to remember, anything at all. But the headache bounds a little closer at his effort and he sighs, shoulders pulling up in pain. "I remember falling. Being shoved. That's it."
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That's all he says for a moment, focusing on actually cooking for now. Maybe he should get some carbs in here... he's pretty sure he has bread. Toast'll do. It doesn't take long for him to get a plate together, piled with enough food for two people since he fully intends on also eating from it. He had a good hunt last night, but he's hungry again now.
Caspian grabs a bottle of water and a towel on his way back to the bed. He sets the plate on a nearby trunk, then pours water onto the towel to get it wet. He takes a minute to clean off Marco's hands, figuring he'd prefer not to catch the scent of blood every time he lifts a fork to his mouth.
"Should probably bring you to a hospital."
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"Thank you," he says again, then takes the towel to wipe his face with it, the crusted blood from his forehead, his upper lip, unmarred skin beneath. The wound is somewhere at his hairline, his lip is split and it hurts, but he ignores that ache.
The mention of a hospital makes him look up sharply and then suck in a hissing breath as the bounding behind his eyes increases. "No hospital," he insists. "I don't mean to cause you any more trouble, I'll leave if you want me to. Just no... hospital." The idea fills him with dread. Charts and networks, his name recorded, his face in security cameras. He's not well enough to take on whatever did this to him in the first place.
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"No trouble," he says as he offers Marco a fork. "Just figured I'd offer it."
He picks up the other fork and sets the plate of toast, eggs, and sausage between them.
"Eat, then. And we'll figure out where to go from here."
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"Thank you," he says, again, for the umpteenth time. If he ever has a chance to repay any of this, he will take it, thrice fold.
Eating is a slow and precarious affair, his jaw hurts and something inside his throat aches whenever he swallows. But still, he eats with good appetite, even if he has to force himself a couple of times. He will heal fast, but he also spends fast.
"I'm sorry," he finally says when he has gotten a few bites into himself, inhaling the first ones with the eagerness of a starving man. "I literally dropped out of the sky on your path. It must not have been convenient for you. You're a good man, Caspian."
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He snorts a laugh when Marco apologizes.
"Mm, doing the bare minimum of decency doesn't seem that worthy of praise, but you're welcome. Only other option was leaving you to freeze out there."
He's quiet for a moment as he finishes off a bit of sausage.
"Look, I don't actually live here 'cept for a few days a month or when I'm feeling the need for getting out of the city. I'm going back, but you're welcome to come with until you figure yourself out."
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"Definitely would like to see what's beyond this forest," he replies. "Perhaps it'll jostle some memories."
He chews each piece that goes into his mouth very carefully, even if it does hurt. But it hurts less going in that way. But it also means he's taking long pauses between speaking.
Finally he asks: "Is it the moon?" he asks curiously. "That turns you or something else?"
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He tips his head.
"What about you? Don't know many shifters that can change just body parts."
It takes a lot of will and experience to manage, and some will never be able to manage it.
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"Your own body image is natural and recorded in your neural pathways," he quotes, knowing the passage from lectures he's participated in the past. "To change it one requires a fluid mind and acceptance of Flexible Reality." His nose wrinkles as he thinks about it. Something else comes to him in the heels of the first thought. "Flexible Reality is a concept that is taught, hopefully as a child, or it might take hard time rooting. When enduring Chaos, you must be chaotic. When enduring rapid change, you must be capable of rapid change."
He quirks his brows at Caspian, not sure if any of that made any sense to him. Marco isn't sure if it made sense to him. Jury is still out.
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"Sounds like you know a lot for a guy who isn't sure his identity matches his ID," he says idly, golden gaze flicking up to look at Marco again.
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"I have a vague idea what the Chaos is, but it's still mostly a mystery to me. Just conversations that somehow just are illuminated in the dark." He seems a little frustrated, is a lot more inside.
He looks up at Caspian, biting his bottom lip as he shrugs again. He's trying, but it's not coming to him just like that.
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"If you're feeling up for it, I wanna get back to the city sooner than later. I got some clothes you can wear if you wanna change out of those."
Looking at Marco, Cas is pretty sure they'll fit. Maybe not well, but well enough.
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"You mentioned warm water. I'd love to wash up a little," he says and his voice is a little hoarse but not pained.
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He gestures Marco over to a door and nudges it open to reveal a small bathroom.
"Sink or shower, all yours."
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"Thank you," he smiles as he takes a few stumbling steps and then steadies out himself, getting used to the dizzying sensation of his head protesting to the sudden movements. "I swear, I won't pass out in the shower," he promises.
He tries to be quick, but it takes him way too long to gingerly clean himself up. He decides to take a shower, because there's a lot of dried blood matted onto his scalp. Stings and aches keep him fully aware and while he might have felt more than a little woozy more than once, he is quite fine when he exists the shower, drying himself on his ruined clothes because he doesn't want to ask Caspian to constantly provide him some sort of assistance.
He holds the shirt against his waist when he exists the stall. There are extensive bruises on his body, dark and obviously hurting against his sides, around his neck, more trickled to his legs. But the wound on his head hasn't opened again and there seems to be another on his thigh that has already scabbed over.
"You said clothes, right?" he asks mildly.