Lycanthropus

(OOC: I have no ideas about the perfume so I love the detail! S'okay, I'm just awkward full stop. I'd die if it wasn't a fade-to-black/skim over it scenario and had to write it all. I’ll take them to the ‘after’ bit … is that okay? If not I can edit!)

The bite: an aching memory and sorry testament to what it was that Elizabeth had become. Buried beneath glamour charms and softened to the touch by dittanies and potions she applied with fanatical rigor to hide the other within her, there was a bite. Her bite – or, the animal’s bite. She wasn’t sure what she was really supposed to call it. The infamous one had little mark on the ones that she’d picked out of her skin so they were left faded mere ghosts of the criss-crossing grooves the werewolf had carved into her before the final insult. Sebastien seeing this, accidentally nullifying the magic with his touch or with his mouth, the threat of him leaving her so utterly, painfully exposed was what stilled her heart when his hands went to her clothes. But, trusting in her magic, she let him; looking down, it was all still intact. Yards of perfect skin. How looks deceived.

Bed seemed the logical next answer. So that was where she enticed him, wriggling out of her clothes as she went, pausing intermittently to lavish his mouth with hers. Amidst the white sheets and light blue covering, they found their pace, letting their delight vocalise in the icy night air that was splintered by the heat of the flat. Their breathing climbed and then, all at once, they hit crescendo. One of the springs in the mattress twanged as they landed heavily back upon it, their limbs caught together, and Beth took a minute, taking in long, gulping breaths. She closed her eyes, pressing her forehead against his chest as she gathered herself, and then lifted her head back up, reopening her eyes and fixing them upon his.

Her cardinal rule was broken now. Don’t bring men home – especially not for sex. Well, oops.

The door buzzer went and Beth’s head turned towards the bedroom door, unwilling to move her legs to go and fetch dinner. However, seeing as she was food poor in every other respect apart from eggs and milk, though omelettes were and option she knew that she had to at least bring the dinner into them. Smirking at Sebastien absently, Beth got up. She wandered out into the living room, scooping up and donning Sebastien’s shirt, before grabbing some notes out of the pot by her door. She opened it, paid and retrieved the food and stashed it in the kitchen, turning on the oven fan to keep it warm.

Then, returning to the bedroom, Beth sat back down, lifting her legs up to lay with him after a moment’s pause. She planted a kiss on his side, over his ribcage, and looked up, reaching to draw her finger across his jaw and chin.

“Hungry?” She asked softly. “We could take a look at the books while we eat, if you’d like. Or,” she added with a smirk, planting another kiss on his skin. “We can always stay here if that’s what you want. If you’re hungry for something else that is. But, there are spring rolls out there."

(It's perfectly okay with me, it will spare me of leafing a dictionary.)

This was usually the time when Sebastien would get up, pulled his clothes on, and sometimes without offering even a quiet goodbye, left. Just left, and never came back. He has never been a sentimental man, well he wasn't sentimental for more then 10 years, 11 years and 9 months precisely. After that everything became purely physical and he was just fine with that. No tears, broken hearts, no emotions. Just pleasure. It was easy and pre-arranged. That was the patent that never failed and he was using it ever since he learned how to keep zipper on his pants unopened. Till now.

Thought lying there, partially covered with those sheets that didn't slipped down on the floor in a fluffy puddle on the cold floor, he couldn't force himself to stood up. His muscles were pleasantly prickling, coming back from jelly-like condition. Turning on the side he placed one arm under his head as a prop. He could see shadows playing on her skin with every breath she take. Grey forms dancing on white base of the sheet. His breathing slowed as well as his heartbeats along with hers, he might assume that based on slowing down the dance of shadows, that slowed down, now dancing some old-fashioned dance, maybe foxtrot, or waltz.

With silence being the loudest they could hear muted sounds from the outside, such as rustling branches of the trees perfectly intertwined with occasional low rumble of the owls, that broke their way through walls passing through the windows and filling the room; as well as they could hear their breathing, their beating hearts, soft rustle of the sheets when one of them moves. They could hear everything, and Bastien was pleased that no one of them have an urge to fill that silence with talk. It would only ruin the perfection of the moment.

When the bell started ringing his brows went up. It was the middle of the night, why would someone be in front of her doors, now? He searched for the clock but couldn't find it as Beth moved away from him, leaving an empty space which was immediately filled with the cool night air, and walked out of the room.

When she returned explaining who was that, his brain started working again. The books, the food, for a minute he managed to forget all that stuff, but now the reality came back kicking him right in the middle of his face. "Yeah, sure." He didn't know with which sentence he agreed, the last one was more appealing, but the rational part of the brain was telling him he should accept the first one. Strategy 101, if she wants to have an 'after' conversation it's easier to call all this a mistake after just one time, every other time would make this an act with previous intention. And the books, it's why're they here, in the end. "We could take a peek in some of them."

With a gentle, contented smile, Beth nodded and slid her legs back out from underneath the covers. She rose to her feet and rose her arms up over her head, Sebastian’s shirt rising to tickle underneath the swell of her bum. She turned her head and twinkled her fingers across his shoulder before flicking her eyes towards the door. Then, slowly, Beth padded her way across the carpet and reopened the bedroom door, her fingers lingering absently on the brass handle as she moved through into the living room and then, again, into the kitchen where dinner was sat on the side.

She lifted out the noodle pots as well as the sauce and meat pots. Then, after opening the noodle pots, finding egg noodles inside. Beef strips, black bean sauce and mixed stir-fry vegetables with beansprouts were about, too, as well as the prawn toast, wontons and spring rolls – the last of which she’d promised Sebastien. After mixing it all in with the noodles, she found out the chopsticks and wandered in with the pots with the prawn crackers floating behind her. With a wave of her hand, Beth cleared off the coffee table and set down the food – another fresh bottle of wine flying in onto the table.

“Okay,” she murmured, opening the pots and handing Sebastien a pair of chopsticks. Beth then cast a few spells on the books so that any grease bounced off and she opened them up as she split up her chopsticks and dug them absently into her pot. “What made you want to do this?” She asked all of a sudden, glancing over at the man. “Not …” she gestured between them, giving him a meaningful look that attested to the fact that she wasn’t talking about their turn in the bedroom. “But the cure. Why? If it’s a loaded question, don’t worry, but it seems like a worthy one. Again, it’s not something someone does, really. No one seems to care enough.”

She supposed a similar question could be levelled at herself and, realising the reality of that possibly happening, Beth turned back to her food and stabbed absently at it some more before twisting the noodles in her chopsticks. She drew the first book towards her – a dusty old tome bound in dyed-purple leather. She reached forward and turned a few large, yellowed pages and was immediately confronted with a diagram. She didn’t scare easily but what was imprinted on the page was beyond grotesque – it could have been her. It was an extremely detailed representation of what appeared to be a werewolf’s autopsy with notes detailed at every point. Little written bits in margins from old readers also accompanied it and Beth felt her pulse thud quickly in her ears.

Beth reached forward, flicking her fingers at the wine to pour them some more generous glassfuls. Once the bottle stopped and settled back down, Beth picked up her glass and drank quickly before roughly, inaccurately putting it back. She reached up, running her hand across the back of her neck before dropping her fingers back down and around the chopsticks. She supposed the body of the beast was the best place to begin but she didn’t take solace in it. She couldn’t imagine there were wizards who still did this but then … no one would miss a werewolf, would they? Suddenly, Beth was looking forward to the Full Moon even less than she usually was.

“That’s barbaric,” she whispered unsteadily.

After quick glance around the room Sebastien pulled on his pants, finding them on the chair in the corner. He didn't bother with trying to find any other piece of his clothing, apart from his shirt that Beth was wearing he didn't know where the rest has gone, and it was too dark for search. He'll find them anyways, eventually. After collecting his wand from the floor and placing it in his pocket he followed the route of Elizabeth's footsteps, listening quiet tapping of his bare feets on the floor. He entered the living room and sat down on the same place where he was sitting before.

Wondering where Beth went he leaned and pulled one book from the bag. Absently tapping his fingers on the back of the book he realized he's reading the second sentence for the third time. Blinking he forced himself to focus harder as his gaze lifted to the door through he entered the room just a few minutes before. Not helping, really. Fragile sheets occupied his attention again, as he tried to understand what's written on this yellow-ish paper that suffered many touches through the years that made text almost too bright to read. He could sense the exact moment when she entered the room, along with sharp odor that followed her.

"Thank you." He closed the book when she handle him a pair of chopsticks. Eating was probably the last thing he wanted to do at the moment but he put his chopsticks in the pot, not wanting to offend her; after all he could act decently when he wanted to, at least his mother's attempts to make someone of him had a little success, probably less than 1%, but still successful. He frowned as he tried to figure out her question. "I don't get it." He confessed after seconds of thinking what she wanted to say. Biting his lips he gazed down at the books. "Someone has to do it, at least to try to do it." He didn't mention why he chose that, why he committed himself to do it, instead of that just presenting facts. He opened the book he had in his lap again, this time turning the pages in the middle.

Guggle of the wine made Sebastien to raise his head just to see drinking more like she needed to do that, than like she wanted to. A hint of suspicions along with curiosity appeared in his chest, until now she was always more or less calmed, so it's normal that he was wondering what caused such a rapid change. His glance fell down to the book she had in her hands, but he was too far away to see something more than blurry space. His lips tighten when he realized he forgot his glasses, again, as he leaned forward to peek a look at what she saw.

After he blinked a few times the picture sharpened, at first he couldn't make out what's he looking at but the realization came soon, even to soon if he could choose. He put his pot on the table, suddenly couldn't even imagine to continue eating, as the picture blinked behind his closed eyelids. For black and white technique they were able to get quite a realistic image. Thought he couldn't imagine why would someone wanted to do that. That, killing a werewolf just to rip him open and draw everything they saw, left science behind and took a huge step forward to monstrosity. Only seeing that picture would make the majority of people want to throw up, it wasn't strangely why she needed wine, after all.

"I can't agree more."

There were tears in her eyes. She couldn’t believe it. She blinked them away quickly, embarrassment leaking onto her cheeks, and brought her hand up to rub at her collarbone, chafing the bite. She could see the night behind her eyelids. It was there. She could see the wolf. Animalism didn’t begin to explain it. In the weeks after while she licked her wounds and tried to get on, she could be blamed for wishing that this kind of barbarism could be treated upon her changer. Yet, now she was confronted with it, she knew that it could have been her pinned with stakes and forced to watch until she fell unconscious, unable to watch anymore. It could have been anyone who roamed the Dark Forest or the Forest of Dean under the silvery moonlight.

Beth wiped her hand across her face and turned the page, finding all of the delicately applied notes on the following piece of parchment. She swallowed a shallow breath and scanned her eyes across the page, her mind beginning to turn as she began to look for the solution. It felt like she was an auror again, searching through evidence to track down Death Eaters. But she wasn’t. That part of her life was long over. Her other role in law and enforcement was coming to its close, also. She was now merely a dancer at Satan’s. That was her job. It was becoming more and more likely, too, that if the Ministry worked out she’d been behind the books going missing, it really would be her only job. The undercover portion would end. She’d just be a dancer.

Picking up her pot of food, Beth began to fiddle with the noodles, idly bringing strips of beef to her lips, grateful that it had been done rare as she preferred. She glanced over at Sebastien, considering that he was optimistic. It was a long-lost cause. She doubted anyone held out hope for finding a cure. Yet, there they were: sat on her sofa eating Chinese, looking for a cure. She swallowed her mouthful of food and leaned forward again to pick up her wine, taking a soft sip before leaning back against the cushions as a thought struck her.

“What if this wizard,” she began, recalling the image, “started at a good place? I don’t suggest we find a werewolf to string up and start butchering but maybe the start is the best place to begin. Lycanthropy is in saliva, isn’t it? It’s in blood and even scratches never heal properly. It’s in the essence of the person. So what if we should start with the bite? Like, what’s in the act of it that prompts the change? We’d need to find an idle potioneer.”

Sebastien O'Sullivan couldn't connect that picture, the picture found in one rusty old book, with werewolves today, with him. He wanted to believe that time was over, buried in the past, when people were uneducated, primitive, simply stupid, connecting that picture to the times when people believed they're burning witches, it was easier to pair the picture with dark times which were over but to think that someone could still do that. Only thinking about that possibility caused tingling went through his whole body. No that is not possible. Muggles are no longer monsters like that. But wizards did this. an uninvited thought appeared in his mind and he bit his lip. It was true, wizards did that, and he was sure they would do this again.

It wasn't a secret that Bastien avoided all the people, finding them too much…. Just too much. So he avoided them, as well as he avoided everything he doesn't like. Although his opinion about people was pretty low, he couldn't imagine they did something like this. Beth was right, this was pure barbarism, and they couldn't do not a thing to stop that. It's too big to be fixed. He leaned back and took one decorative pillow, tracing following the needlework with his finger until he was ready to get back to the book, thought he knew he won't find anything, neither of them will. If the cure for lycanthropy was written somewhere in these books it would already be publicly known. People are too eager for glory to keep that a secret.

But he couldn't give up. He didn't want a life like this, always counting how many days he has before the next full moon, wondering if he will bite someone, even kill, fearing that he'll like that. If there's a smallest chance that all that will stop one day, he would happily continue to read these book till his death, it would be worth, if there's a solution hidden in one of them.

A puzzled look was glued to his face when he turned to Beth. He seriously doubted that the person who did that really wanted to find anything, for him all that looked like brutalisation of person who was one of them a day before that happen, and a person who would still be one of them if he lived till the next day. Just one bite shared that person, their victim, from his killers. One bite. Nothing more.

Okay, in his case, it was more that one bite, dozens of them, but unlike usually his bites healed completely, not leaving even a single mark to remind him of what's he became, but he didn't have an intent to share that with Elizabeth. However the other injuries who wouldn't leave any marks if circumstances are different, if he wasn't bitten, never healed completely, Sebastien believed it's because of the poison that was running in his blood then, the poison that is still running in his blood, the poison that made him a werewolf.

"I already tried to find one. But that mission wasn't successful." He recalled a dozens of owls sent to Aiden Hayes, but he never received back Aiden's letter.

Officially somewhat snubbed for an idea she felt had been useful, Beth stewed a little bit over her meal, unsure, now, where to press on from. They had nothing to go on, of course. That was part of the problem. There was no cure, was there? There was a reason why it was called a curse. It was a curse because it was cureless, because the people that lived with it had to learn to survive bearing the literal and metaphysical scars of every moon and every fight and every single bit of pain that they’d ever felt because they were cursed beings. She was. She was a cursed being – and food no longer held its appeal.

Setting it down, for some time Beth went back to her book. She pored over the notes made by the maniac who, much to her dismay, proved to be useful in basic analysis and she felt as though this was from where much had been drawn. It sickened her but at the same time gave her some hope. Somewhere, within all of this, was the answer. She didn’t know if it was going to be the one they wanted or not but she knew that somewhere they’d find it. They weren’t going to find it from one archive trip in a single evening, though. She was a realist, even if there was unnecessary and misplaced hope within her.

“Do you want to stay?” The witch asked, looking up all of a sudden.

She closed the aged tome and looked at Sebastien wonderingly, tempted to offer the spare room to him. She had no idea if he was the type to stay. That said, she wasn’t typically the type to do anything like this. Any of it. Never mind the sex. She chewed the inside of her cheek and let a small smile twitch her lips upwards before getting up. She folded the shirt a bit better around herself and trod around the coffee table, whisking the empty bottle away with a wave of magic, sending her box of food along with it. Then she looked at him, awaiting an answer.

Although his concentration was pretty lousy Sebastien couldn't force himself to stop reading even if that meant he'll need to read every sentence at least twice to understand it. Some force pursuing him to continue turn the pages, thinking he could find a recipe, a hint, something written on the next page. For someone who couldn't be more pessimistic than he already is, Bastien was quite optimistic person when it comes to his mission. He didn't want to allow himself think otherwise, it would ruin him, even more than he is now.

He thought his life was pretty complicated earlier, constant avoiding of his siblings while they wanted to spend some time with him wasn't an easy task at all. Live avoiding Hayley and Christian made him observant. However when he now looks at his past he realizes it was pretty simple. Before now he never hasn't been worried about current state of the moon, he lived freely, not counting days till he'll shift in wolfish form. Before now he hasn't kept so many secrets and tell so many lies, yes, he lied, but those were stupid meaningless lies, now he needed to cover who he was, though he wasn't entirely sure if he does that cause it's too hard to admit what he become to himself or to others. Before recently, he was all alone, and now he was told he has a daughter. 11 years old one. He knew enough of math to start hating his 16 year old self for what he did. If he was smarter back than he now wouldn't be forced to raise a girl who's a stranger to him. Hell, the only thing they had in common was DNA. Everything he tried to do for her ended a failure. He made more mistakes with Barbara than every other time in his life. That relationship was destined for doom. As well as many others.


His dark green eyes surprisingly gazed at hers. Did he want to stay? He didn't need to think a lot about the answer, but it was a bad idea. His gaze slowly dropped down from her eyes, following outlines of her body. The cognition that she didn't have anything under his shirt didn't helped either. Biting his lips Sebastien was happy he has something densely in his lap, as pillow he used for holding of the book suddenly get another usage. Beyond all the rational thinking Sebastien was just a man, and seeing insufficiently dressed attractive woman in front of him caused primal reactions, he wasn't proud of. He was a teenager long time ago. "Do you want me to stay?"

Those sins, those cardinal, cardinal sins. Her first, most precious one, was that it was impractical and improper for her to have a man inside her home. Everything after that just got worse and her chances of becoming reliant grew and grew. She took a breath and waved her hand, sending things away into the kitchen. She stepped forward, bringing her hand to Sebastien, a gentle, teasing smile on her face as her nails scaled across his cheek. She tapped her index finger on his chin and took the book from his hands, setting it on the coffee table before lowering herself into his lap in exchange. Her hands tumbled to his shoulders. She brought her lips to his jawline, pressing a handful of kisses there.

“Stay,” she whispered into his ear, catching his earlobe with her teeth. She nudged her nose against his cheek and tightened her grip on him. “Stay.”

Standing, Elizabeth took his hand and led Sebastien back into her bedroom. She shed his shirt along the way and sat back onto the bed, drawing him in with her. Then, covers around them, they could do as they wanted or do nothing at all. She didn’t care for what she’d done or what it was that she was meant to do. She didn’t care about her sins or what it was that she wasn’t meant to do. She wanted him to stay. For a moment. For an evening. For a night. Tonight, she needed him. Tomorrow? Well, tomorrow was another day, wasn’t it?

(OOC: We can end it here if you like and pick up another thread? )

(YES! I'm going to send you a PM once I'm done with replies. :3

Also, tell me if she has something against abstract paintings.)

Breathe.

He needed to remind himself to continue to inhale and exhale once his breath stopped in his chest. Sebastien followed every her move with his look expecting her answer. Staying was something he has never done, he always thought it's pointless, so he avoided it always leaving before someone could even suggest something like that. He assumed Beth asked him would he like to stay just to be polite, expecting him to decline. Why didn't he declined at the first place? He couldn't find an answer on that question, but that was something he could never do lately so he skipped further thinning about that. Does it matter?

Stay? He couldn't say he wasn't surprised with her answer, but with her body curled around his Bastien didn't think about refusing.

He rose from a couch feeling her warm fingers on his palm, and let her lead him wherever she wanted. Following Elizabeth's inaudible steps his eyes caught a sight of abstract painting on the wall he didn't see the previous time she led him this way, not surprisingly given the circumstances. Black and white chased each other on yellowish canvas for drawing forming unusual shapes, but somehow harmonious, that never touched the other color, no matter how close they were. Except in the middle, there was dark grey point of contact from which every black and white line had started, or finished. He was too far away to tell was the point beginning or the end of the lines. Bastien would never guess that she would like a painting like that one. His thoughts were interrupted when they reached her room, slipping his clothes he crawled in the bed besides her, resting his hand on her ribs realizing he can't afford himself to sleep tonight, even if she falls asleep immediately, he can't close his eyes. Maybe his reasons for not staying were somewhat deeper than thinking it's pathetic, and he doesn't want to woke her up with screaming. Sebastien doubted that would be a pleasant way of waking up.