Born to be Wild: Were-Creature Rp Open!

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"Doctor Cross." 

It isn't quite a shout, but the masculine voice is raised enough to cut through the din of the hospital corridors and draw his attention, even without the benefit of heightened hearing. Charlemagne sucks in a breath through his teeth, jaw tight as he works to loosen his shoulders before turning to face the approaching man. It may just be the approaching full moon talking, but he's beginning to hate the sound of his name and title. He has heard it entirely too often today, and every time it's related to an issue that he shouldn't have to solve. He is a surgeon. He doesn't work in administration, and he isn't an orderly. He should be holding scalpels and retractors, not a fistfull of an unruly patient's shirt as he lashed out at the attending nurse. Charlemagne had been so caught offguard when called on to settle the matter that his sluggish mind could only process the need for restraint. It was a passing paramedic who truly ended the altercation; deriding the assailant for attempting to harm someone who would help him before bodily hauling him into his room and shutting the door as if he were a misbehaving child. Charlemagne could only stand frozen, fighting the feeling of heat spreading over his skin as it briefly pulled, too tight over his bones. There had been an aching feeling of wrongness pervading the day, clouding his consciousness and allowing only for actions that could be performed automatically. Any deviations to his routine required more energy than he had to spare. 

Guilt mixed in with the other tenebrous feelings when the blond then took time to stiltedly ensure the nurse was alright. It was the least Charlemagne could have done, but his mind was already occupied with the fastest route home. He isn't sure what he had said, but with the situation well in hand, he'd made his excuses and then a beeline for the door. 

However, it seems he has been handed yet another delay.

The paramedic trots over to him, gracefully maneuvering around the many bodies streaming through the hall with a familiar spotted paper bag dangling from one scarred hand. The other is used to give the middle finger to a doctor who had shoved past him. Charlemagne knows what's coming, so he finds it easier to untense his body and draw up a smile. He's approached by a man smelling strongly of blood; and indeed there are dried remnants on his brow, speckling his pale hair, and smeared on his collarbone. He had just brought in the survivors of a car crash and barely had the time to rinse off more than his hands and upper arms, so Charlemagne is utterly mystified as to how he managed to stick to their bizarre routine. 

"Mrs Farraday wanted to thank you for saving her daughter but couldn't be bothered to leave the room." This statement is accompanied by a roll of his eyes, a peeved frown bowing his lips. "So I'm stuck playing delivery boy. Here." He shoves the small bag toward the doctor with his characteristic brusqueness. No sign of gift-giving etiquette to be seen. Even so, Charlemagne's smile is a little less weary as he gracefully accepts the surprisingly hefty bundle with both hands. 

"Thank you Dilustro."

A blush creeps up the other man's face as he abruptly turns away. "There's no need for that," He snaps, "I'm just the messenger. Hurry up and leave before you get tricked into doing overti- oi! What do you want?" Just as he'd warned against, a nurse raises a hand and begins to walk toward them but Diamant blocks her path with an expectant look. If Charlemagne was needed as a surgeon he would have been paged so it's most likely unrelated tasks- he had a reputation for helping out more around the hospital during downtime but they should have known that he was taking a shorter shift on the day of the full moon...he lingers for just a moment longer to ensure there isn't anything more he could do but allows his mild frown to fade when Diamant turns to give him a dirty look and shooing motion. 

He doesn't need to be told twice- Charlemagne hustles out of the hospital with his head down and doesn't fully relax until he's in the safety of his car. Only then does he let out a sigh of relief with his head resting against the steering wheel. Eyes closed as he just...breathes. Something unfamiliar tickles his nose on the third inhale, so he slowly straightens up and traces the scent to the paper bag sitting on the passenger side. It's somewhat pleasant, so he glances at the time before pulling the bag into his lap to investigate. It's comprised of the strangely textured paper he recieves every other month- Dilustro once stiffly explained that it was seeded and instructed him to bury it rather than throw it away- and at the top he finds a hastily written card from the aforementioned Mrs Farraday, as well as three other items whose inclusion he has come to expect. It's quite common for Charlemagne to recieve gratitude in the form of cards or gifts from patients or their families, but they only ever come in a recyclable gift bag when Dilustro is passing them along. Within he finds a small bamboo box containing a steamed bun shaped stress ball, a beatifully painted floral mug- he'd just dropped the one in his office- and a small vial of liquid labeled 'German Blue Chamomile'. 

He is lifting the last item with a bemused smile when a text from Bruno reminds him of the time. It's only midday but he likes to spend as much of it as he can with his son. Bruno is older now and already has plans to hunt with his friends while Charlemagne must be on standby in case there are complications with the new shifters. There is the possibility that they wouldn't cross paths much after the moon rises...

He tilts his head back to stare forlornly at the sky before giving himself a shake and starting the car. It's just another full moon like any other. They'll get through it like they always have. 

<><><>

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Zhenya greeted the day with a grin, abruptly rolling out of bed and on to the floor with what should be surprising alacrity for someone who had just woken up. The prickle that rose the fine hairs on his arms was generated by more than just the draw of the encroaching full moon, however. Something solid slammed into his pillow.

"Zhenyaaa you little- where is the dryer?!" 

Another boot thunked against the floor where his head had been seconds prior. Zhenya came up cackling, sharp canines flashing as he eagerly recieved his brother's tackle from the doorway. Ordinarily Teo would be more stolidly irate and sulky at the younger twin's pranks, but leading up to and during the full moon he is delightfully easy to rile and menace into a playful brawl. Well, playful on Zhenya's end, anyway.

After retrieving the dryer from the roof and having his Little My plush threatened with immolation, the detective reported into work with a still-healing black eye only partially hidden by his trademark dark glasses. It's a warm day and clothes feel more restrictive when he burns to shift, so he dressed light and forgoes his usual jackets by sticking with a scarlet button-up featuring a tiny golden griffin on the collar. He likes to test the regulation of 'professional dress' by wearing clothing inspired by various fandoms to fly flagrantly under his older superiors' noses.

The general atmosphere is somewhat tense with recent 'animal attacks' pairing with the almost electrified air of a looming new moon. Human officers bounced their knees and typed with twitchy fingers. Shifters occasionally paused to stare longingly out the windows or use any excuse to leave their desks even if for a moment. Zhenya himself practically vibrates with feral energy. His smiles are sharp, his pupils narrowed, movements less lackadaisical but still possessed of a leonine grace. He is usually much more tame in a work environment, but there's something about being on the cusp of a shift that makes it difficult to contain himself. 

 It is the officers and the beat cops who take on the bulk of the labor in preparing and protecting the town. Zhenya doesn't have any new cases to work, so he would flit between groups to settle nerves with the distraction of his blithe attitude and the amusing observations he's made throughout the day. This doubles as information gathering, and he mentally tucked away what he's learned into categories such as 'ooh tea!' and 'relevant to case'. The day seems to pass with dreadful slowness but he managed to keep himself distracted. One such distraction is Nola Levington, to whom he owes money, according to Zinoviy. Zhenya's gaze often tracked her around the department but he never had the opportunity to engage; the deputy's rank keeps her far busier.

His opportunity came when she left for patrol and he was called on to investigate a B&E close to her route not long after. Zhenya leapt from his seat with restless energy, taken with the instinct to put four paws on the ground and hunt the suspect the old-fashioned way- but he managed to rein himself in when the sergeant arched a brow at his enthusiasm. 

The case was practically open and shut within the hour. The weretiger unerringly located their would-be thief by the stench of his anxiety and stale cigarettes. He hastily provided his partner with all of the evidence he'd collected, and left both befuddled men at the patrol car while he hared off in search of Nola. He didn't need a vehicle, he much preferred hunting without such a hindrance and he had the energy to spare besides. In fact, a lap around town might tide him over until the hunt for tonight~

.' - Adeline Nicholson - '.
(Junospower )