wlfbtcs

[wlfbtcs]

― Chloe Liese, Always Only You

[wlfbtcs]

@codie-mohren ; THE ALLEY

ANCIENT REPTILIAN BRAIN — You can walk away, rockstar. You don’t owe them this part of you. Actually, you don't owe them shit. Let them sit on their old couches reeking of dampness and street — It builds character! They sure as fuck need it, squishy babies— 

[LOGIC — SUCCESS CHECK] A nice gesture will gain their trust, boss.

— Besides, his ass hurts from the worn things the children dare call cushions. A few bucks spent on brand new, comfortable, seats is worth every penny if he is going to spend precious time in the Alley; he is not young anymore, his back complains and cracks when he gets up in this form. Ael has had enough. He complained so much about it, Cedar and Elaine didn't question his purchases when he needed their help to load the jeep. There were knowing looks and knowing smiles, but no words exchanged more than strictly necessary. A nice change of pace, even if at the sacrifice of his ego and wallet. 

Not a sacrifice, champ. No, it's not. Money matters little to him in this existence, and if he thought over how fun it will be seeing the children comfortable — 

[SISTER'S SHADOW] Are you still trying to earn her forgiveness, you pathetic creature? She’s not listening.

The car stops. The door slams shut. 

That's not it. He needs no forgiveness, let alone from ghosts best forgotten. It's simply — Well, the state of the Alley is sorrowful. Pitiful. Children who willingly hang out in such an environment are more likely to — 

[THE BEAST] Commit mass murder!  [THE BOY] ... not brush their teeth before bed. 

And have fleas. He really doesn't want to deal with fleas. Plucking the box of snacks out of the back, he walks in with an easy smile — If they can see the nail marks on his skin from how tightly he was gripping the steering wheel, not his problem. 

“Hey kid — brought some gifts over.” Why did you place the box of cow tales on top, boss? Is it because you caught a sniff of her scent before walking in? You fucking sof- “Are you gonna help me unload the car or will you claim first picking on the snacks?” He shakes the box he is holding, watching Codie with a tilted head and a small smile.

[wlfbtcs]

AEL RUYTER has been living in Port Leiry for TWELVE YEARS. They currently work as a OWNER OF THE HERON CLUB, and are yes PHYSICALLY 42 AND 26 years old. No one is sure if they’re actually a WEREWOLF or if they’re connected to EVENTIDE PACK. They tend to be quite VOLATILE and JADED, but can also be PROTECTIVE and STRATEGIC

Name: Ael Ruyter

Occupation: Owner of the Heron Club

Age: Unknown, Physically 42 (Side A) and 26 (Side B)

Sexuality: Lesbian

Gender: Gender Fluid

Pronouns: Him/She/They

Species: Werewolf

Pack: Eventide

Hometown: Unknown

Relationship Status: Single

Personality Traits: violent, hot-headed, manipulative, jaded, reckless, charming, loyal, gentle, kind

BIOGRAPHY;

TW: Violence, Gun, Blood, Body Horror, Death, Weird Science, War

The body that walks now — strange, tall, cold-eyed — is not new; it's old as a curse, young as a gunshot, borrowed from time and seeped in magic so deep it hums beneath taunt skin. The Body — It shifts; sometimes, the world sees the red-haired figure, ancient in her stillness, a flicker of wrath in a grin with too many teeth; other times, the sharp-jawed soldier rises with curious eyes, young and tired, fingers trembling by his side. The haunted look remains no matter the shape it takes — dark circles around deep sunken eyes, back straightened as if waiting for something to jump from the shadows. Whatever burdens heavy shoulders carry, these lives — The Beast and The Boy — are long dead and gone.

Ael Ruyter is what remains of dark forests and mustard gas — Shaped like melted silver into something new, something broken. A soul forged from ruins, clinging to each other with bleeding scrapped nails. There is no end nor beginning — They are one.

THE FIRST LIFE 

But there once was a name before “La Bête” — whispered by the lips of a dying village, one forgotten now, like the amount of bodies that year. The beast had a sister — young, small, the kind who braided herbs into her hair and prayed to saints she still believed in. The beast kept her safe — bruised knuckles and the disdain of a village hardly bothered her when she would see her sister's smile. 

But then — the hunger came. The fever. A biting moon and the hot pulse of people she once knew. She became a creature the region feared; long limbed, low voiced, half mercy, half monster. La Bête du Gévaudan. The Devil was blamed — rifles and swords put on her hand to protect the village of the monster hunting their children — their wives, their soldiers. Truth was — The Beast relished on the feeling of bones crushing between her teeth; of skin ripping and blood filling her mouth; agonizing screams and desperate hands pulling her fur until stillness and silence followed. She enjoyed the fear, the power. History says the hunt ended La Bête's reign of terror.

The body knows it was the sister — brave, young, anger in her once kind eyes and silver in her hands. A spear through the chest of the Beast, words of betrayal whispered until wild eyes closed. 

THE SECOND LIFE 

The next time she opened her eyes, He was alone. Just another soldier bleeding out in a ruined trench, half-conscious beneath a sky stuffed with smoke and screaming. His name, if he had one, didn't matter — just like hers hadn't. The Boy looked at her not in fear, but defiance. Like he dared her to finish the job — like she was something sent from the heavens to end his suffering. 

When her teeth sunk into him, the witches decided to try something else; they were entombed together — the beast and the boy — buried in bone-deep sleep, trapped in a shared vessel beneath salt and ash and earth. But the spell was old — And old magic does not always behave.

They didn't lie still.

UNION

What emerged a century later, confused, starved, angry, was not the beast, nor the boy. 

They had bled into each other until neither could remember where one ended and the other began. One body, two faces, fractured memories drift up like glass bottles on the beach; sometimes, it's the beast's tenderness — a hand brushing a sister's cheek; sometimes it's the boy's loneliness — cold fingers itching to hold. 

They hide, and lie, and live. And they protect each other at all costs.

VISUALIZER;

ANCIENT REPTILIAN BRAIN — You remember fur. Mud. Screaming — some of it yours, most of it theirs. You have always been a thing that wakes up wrong, haven't you, baby? — You come out of sleeping starving; teeth first, skin second.

[VOLITION — Failed Check]

You were supposed to remember who you are, rockstar. But all you've got are bones in the soil, sisters who slit throats, boys who bled out in trenches. The witches took the rest — You are what’s left. But why is nothing there? — Nothing, upon nothing, upon nothing. Again and again. What do you have to say for yourself? — Me? Baby, you don't know the beginnings of it. But don't worry — You never have to worry. I will take you to the unknowns, where nothing can ever hurt you. Ever, ever, ever —  

[MEMORY LEAK — Success check]

Born in a village with more crosses than bread, people prayed louder when the woods whispered. You had a sister whose ears you covered, hand you held, tears you dried. She was good — too good for a place like this. You protected from the howling wolves outside. Then you became one. Fucking oops — isn't that right, rockstar?

[PAIN THRESHOLD] You didn't cry when the fever came — You howled. Woke up hungry, mouth full of fur and sin.

The villagers started seeing things in the dark; a shadow too fast, teeth too many. People went missing, but the hounds weren't tracking. They blamed the Devil — better the one you know —, the French blamed the King. The king blamed the Devil, and on and on and on they went. No one blamed the girl with dirt under her fingernails, blood staining her teeth. No, baby, they didn't. They gave you a rifle and watched your hands smell of gunpowder and chewing tobacco. They trusted you, rockstar. What a fucking joke. Scared villagers sent you out for hunts in the night, and you would wake up with their throats in your mouth and blood in your fur.

[THE BEAST] Admit it, champ — You liked how they screamed. You liked being feared. You were the story they told to keep children in bed — and the attention turned you into a God.

[SISTER’S SHADOW] You made me do it. I would’ve held your hand if you asked. You never asked

You didn't kill her. How could you? — She was your everything. You wanted her to join you — join the hunt. When she found out, she flinched from your touch. Ran from your shadow. She carved a silver spear in your chest, a silver blade across your throat. A prayer on her lips — Love, weaponized.

It hurt, didn't it, rockstar? Not the wound, not the bleeding — the look in her eyes. The betrayal. Blood of your blood — swearing herself to kill any like you.

But the witches fucking came — like they always fucking do — Scooped your corpse like spilled wine. You didn't ask why. They take you to a cold cellar — cold stones, cold candlelights, cold cold cold — Put your body in cold fluid — Thicker than water, thicker than blood. You feel kindness — Tenderness in words you cannot understand. You are hungry — your teeth tremble with desire to sink. But you slept. Don't you remember, baby? You fucking fell asleep.  

You dreamt of running so far that you left your name behind.

And then. You woke up.

[SHIVERS] Everything smells like iron now. The people wear glass on their faces and walk like they own the sky. But the dirt still remembers you.

You are not the same. You are the same. You are the wolf. And it hungers. The witches seem to have forgotten your bite.

[THE BEAST] Wouldn’t it be fun to remind them? Just once. Just a little. A taste — One scream for old time's sake.

You wear the shape of a woman, but it’s a borrowed thing. The true form is something wilder, isn't it, rockstar? Something with claws under the skin of civility.

[HALF LIGHT] They look at you too long. They know. Rip their throat or leave. But choose.

You walk like you own the ground. Because once, you did.

[VOLITION] You could choose differently this time. You don’t have to be the thing they fear.

[THE BEAST] But it’s so much easier when they do.

[MEMORY LEAK — Success check]

ANCIENT REPTILIAN BRAIN — Boy, you are born in barbed wire, baptized in mustard gas. Don't ask me where the story begins, baby. This is what passes for a beginning; no name worth remembering; just a uniform that didn't fit and boots two sizes too big. You were a boy in a war that ate man, rockstar. And it spat bones. Remember? Signed up at sixteen — Lied on the papers. Said you were older. Said you were ready. You weren’t. No one was.

[VOLITION] You thought it would be glory. That you’d come home a hero. Instead you came home in pieces. Except you never made it home.

You bled out in a ditch — your oldest friend's guts in your hands, rats watching politely from holes in helmets showing brains. The world grew very quiet. No man's land — You walked, blurring greying eyes watching bodies torn apart; legs missing torsos, eyes missing sockets. You were going to join them — The ringing in your ear told you so, baby. Whispered like a mother's lullaby. You made your peace with it.

[INLAND EMPIRE] But fate intervened. Of course it did. Fate’s a meddling fucking bastard.

You saw her.

[SAVOIR FAIRE] Red fur. Teeth like history. Moved like the end of something important.

You called her an angel. She ripped your throat nearly clean out. Isn't that fucking beautiful? Love, weaponized, part 2. The sequel. Sequels aren't as important though, are they? — You weren't. She dragged your body to the witches. They said, I will help you. I will make you better.

[THE BOY] They want to help you? Piss in their fucking hands, see how they like that.  

They put you in the tomb with her. You bled into her until there was nothing left. When you became one, she held your hand and sang lullabies in a rough voice.

ANCIENT REPTILIAN BRAIN — I told you I wouldn't let anything hurt you again, didn't I? Ever, ever, ever again. These two? They are dead. You are what's left. You are perfection. It was not a rebirth — It was a collision. You came together beautifully. You remember both lives like scars. The village and the battlefield. The sister and the mud. The blade and the laugh. The hunger and the fear.

You wear two faces. Sometimes you wake up as her — amber-eyed, sharp-shouldered, lazy grin. Sometimes as him — war-tired eyes, shoulders too big for peace, quiet as snow. But the inside? That’s always the same. You are the same, rockstar. And you are hungry. The pup is a perfect target, aren't they? — Alone, guilliable, powerful. You want that power. You need that power. Nothing can stop you from getting it, now that you are free.

Get fucking ready, rockstar. We are going on a journey.

[wlfbtcs]

WLFBTCS / / a private, dependent blog for cityofruinrp, portraying ael ruyter ; penned by cris

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