Post by Red Moon on Dec 4, 2009 23:06:59 GMT -8
As told by Wolfgang Oathsen
It's a dark place we live in. It's a place full of decadence; of suffering and death. Shit like this happens here a lot. But even in this helpless, rotting world, there is hope.
My name is Wolfgang Oathsen. Don't ask me again. I'll tell you it's 'Wolf.' I live with my two younger brothers, Basil and Peter in the Greater Seattle area on First Hill. Life ain't too bad, and we get on just fine on our own, even though we're all unemployed. But my brothers and I, we got a secret: The three of us ...are monsters.
Now, I know what yer thinkin', “Impossible, right?” But I'm telling you, it's true. We realized it some few years ago, but I'm gettn' ahead o' myself. Let's jus' start from the beginning.
Baz, an' I spent a good chunk of our early childhood in a foster home. Neither one of us could remember anything before that, but that didn't really matter to us. That's probably why we got on so well together. Then again, we were jus' kids. Even so, the other kids didn't talk to us much. Scared shitless, I guess. Occasionally, Baz an' I got into a scrape with a few o' the other kids, but where there was one of us, the other wasn't far behind. That's how we were back then. Actually, we still are. Some things never change. But, others...
It got apparent, that the church we lived in wasn't gonna tolerate our misgivin's any more than the rest of the little punks we constantly fought off. We were on probation, big time. Even now, I don't know if it was God or Mother Mary that pitied us, but someone out there did, and Baz an' I went home with 'em. The Oathsens weren't too bad. Nice folks, middle class, big house. They had a small family before we came along. Apparently they were too old to have any more kids, so they wanted to share their big house with the likes of me an' Baz. That's how we met Peter. Pete was their only son. Never met a bigger, more timid 4 year-old. Already he was twice the size of any normal kid his age, and even though he was so timid, he was one angry kid. That got him a lot o' shit when he started goin' to school, so Baz an' I decided to take care of 'im. From that point on, we were inseparable. Baz an' I even got into enough trouble in middle school to get held back a grade, just cos' we knew Pete wouldn't last on 'is own.
Turns out we weren't all bad in school. I mean, we were “bad” but we weren't bad, ya ken? As it happened, the three of us immediately got scholarships to go to the rich snooty church-school in town. Like, the only one there was in Santa Fe, ya know? All for different sports. Baz got in cos' o' wrestling. He put you in a choke hold, you were fuckin' done. I got in cos' o' my left hook. Boxing was my game. And Pete? Well, he was the best goddamn goalie in Santa Fe, Hands down! Kinda strange that we all got scholarships to the same private school at the same time, even though Baz an' I were held back a year and neither of us applied for one, but we didn't think anything of it back then.
High school, we found out, was somethin' else. Man, it was “can't do this, can't do that, have ta do this.” All through the day it was rules, rules, rules. And Catholics are harsh when ya don't follow the rules. Real harsh. We all got our fair share o' licks, but we never let it break us down. Every day, we'd still smoke in the bathrooms, flirt with hot Christian chicks, and steal shit. Money, beer, Studying was a synch. All'z we had ta do was steal the answers. Life was good, an' we even made some good friends. But then, things started to change.
See, there was this new kid-- a senior. We didn't like 'im. Somethin' about 'im jus' made us uncomfortable, ya know? But, man, he was a smooth talker. Shit, my girl, Shayla left me for his ass. His name was Jaril Ozzman. We called him Oz. Like flies to shit, the others were constantly buzzin' around this guy. After a week, he was the most popular dude in the class o' '07. But it was about a month after his ass showed up 'fore shit started ta get real. School like ours, everybody knew everybody, but way it was getting', Me an' my bros, we didn't know anybody anymore. Little punkass gangs started to pick fights with Pete n' us all the time. Our friends all started wearin' black, and piercing their ears and actin' all moody an' Goth, an' shit. Our little strict Catholic school was getting pretty God-damned unruly, punks like these fuckin' comin' from the walls, like vermin. But we had no idea what was really goin' on in their little rat-holes.
The three of us were goin' out on one of our normal “beer-runs.” The plan was the same as always: I would use an obviously fake I.D. An' argue with the t****-head cashier, while Pete n' Baz would snatch the boxes from the back door. No matter how many times we did this, they always left that door open at night. Shit was hilarious. Anyway, we were almost at the usual dupe's store, when Baz noticed some kids from our class slippin' into the alley. One was carryin' a bag which looked suspicious, like somethin' was movin' inside of it, an' they all were wearin' black hoodies. Anyway, he insisted that we follow 'em, and when Basil gets curious, there ain't nowhere else to go, but check it out. So, we followed 'em.
The three skinny shits took us for a walk in the park. Only, they weren't holdin' hands and skippin' merrily along. We knew whatever was in that bag was alive, and they had a hungry look in their eyes. They led us into a cave. We knew the one, we always used to hang in the same cave and drink. One time, we lit a bunch o' fireworks off an' started a brush fire. We hadn't been there much since then. Now, it was covered –badly –and we could hear several voices, and even music from inside.
Shit, we didn't know what to do. We wanted to jus' go home an' drink, ya know? But, Pete, man, he got a soft heart. An' the thought of what they were gonna do to that animal, got him mad as hell. Baz an' I weren't able to calm him down, so again, there was only one plan: to go in and bust some heads. We were so fuckin' stupid. What we saw, we couldn't have prepared for. We were right about one thing though, and the cat, so to speak, was outta the bag. An' who was holdin' it, do ya expect, while dancin' around like some kinda tweaker freak, but our good friend, Ozzy!
Oz was standin' on top of a stone slab with some kinda weird hieroglyph shit on it, and makin' a monkey of himself, and not in his normal way, either. But there was somethin' else. Something neither one of us could ignore, as if our heads hurt just tryin' to avoid the sight of it. Oz had a knife in his right hand. It was one odd knife. The handle was a sickly green an' kinda resembled a jackal with horns, and the blade was like a tongue o' fire, and glowed kinda blueish in the cave light.
The fear was primal. It was like we knew instinctively this was bad news. Maybe it was the sight of that black son-of-a-bitch Ozzy himself, but I happen to think it was it was more like we all woke up. Like in that ephemeral moment, we all knew who we truly were, and what we had to do. If it was like that, Pete was the first to realize it. He mowed through that crowd so fast, me an' Baz hardly had time to feel it before we knew we had to follow 'im. That night, I can honestly say, was probably the most fun I have ever had. Don't ask me why, but there was something so liberating in kicking so much ass. After everything changed, and all the shit our former friends put us through, nothing felt better than putting my fist through their teeth, and putting my left hook to practical use. But that moment, too, was short-spanned. We were severely outnumbered, and eventually, they took us down. I got punched so hard I must've blacked out. Fun-time was over.
When I came to, I was tied up, naturally. Cowards! Even now, I spit at the memory of those restraints. I immediately started shoutn' every insult in my vocabulary at those pansy-ass, lip-stick wearin' motherfuckers. I musta gotten through, cos' 'ol Oz started talkin' shit too. But I don't think my head was workin' right, cos' instead o' me, he picked on Pete. I guessed he figured on scarin' us after the beatn' his little gang gave us, but when he started chanting after telling 'em they couldn't let us live, I knew he figured us fer squealers, and that this shit was real. I struggled with the rope until my wrists burned, but I was powerless to stop him when he buried that weird-ass knife in Peter's throat. I felt it then.
My body burned like hell, and my skin tore as it stretched. I was faintly aware that I was changing, even before my brother's limp body hit the stone slab. My arms tore through the rope like paper as they grew longer and broader. As my shoulders brushed Basil's, I realized that he, too, was changing. But that hardly interested or surprised me. I was dumb to everything but the face of the man who killed my brother. And as I stabbed at him with my hate, even through the roaring eruptin' from my throat, I knew that Motherfucker was laughin'.
The pain that scorched my body subsided, and only the hot rage remained, as I moved more quickly than I ever had before. Angrily, I lunged at the man with claws I never knew I had. In the instant I had, he had already changed, too. He easily blocked my attack with his knife, and grinned wider than I had ever seen anyone grin, even without cheeks. Screams filled the cave, reverberating off the walls and slappin my ears with open palms, and it only made me angrier. My hate felt so strong it was as if no other emotion existed. And I cursed at the monster in front of me, only to hear myself roaring unintelligibly. Words don't exist for those with only hate. While my hate was directed at the man with the knife, Basil, it seemed directed his at the dumb fucks who had fallen for his trap. Blood scorched the air and rose like fire, clingin' to the walls and floor of the cave, as I threw everything I had at the dickless fuck before me. Suddenly, his eyes sparkled with a fierce joy, as he brought his knife-arm up between mine, and tore a gash in my right forearm. I recoiled from the blow, as the bastard licked the knife clean. What happened then, as I bled profusely from my wound, took both of us by surprise.
The Beast who had been Ozzy roared in pain, as the claws of another beast, larger than the both of us combined, protruded from his bleeding abdomen. Peter's body was gone, and in its place was this behemoth, standing behind his enemy, with claws so long they impaled the smaller foe. I took my chance, and ran at my enemy with my own claws outstretched. After a fevered flurry of blows, I buried my clawed fingers into his chest until I felt his heart stop. Fearing the larger beast, I backed off and caught my breath. Ozzy's body, not the one of the monster, hung limply from its claws. It twitched only once, and when it did, the giant's teeth clamped tightly around its head until it was still. As if this did not satisfy it, the larger monster tore, with his claws still buried deep in the corpse, and eviscerated it, hurling each separate end to opposite ends of the cave. With this, the monster was sated, and howled its victory so loudly, it hurt my ears. I had since noticed that my body was no longer the size of a truck or furry, as it had been before. I stared, fearful, my vision blurring, as the bloody scene faded and only black remained.
Mornin' touched the cave and I opened my eyes. An overpowering aroma filled my nostrils, as I awoke to the fetid stench of death all around me. Outside I heard talkin', so I stood and damn-near ran toward the entrance. Before I got there, I was struck weak and fell to my knees. My eyes watered an' wept, as I arched my back and retched, painfully. I tossed more cookies than I had eaten, and while the sickening splatter echoed in the cave entrance, a large hand touched my back. It was my brother, Pete. Feeling his hand seemed to lift my sickness and gave me the strength to stand. We found the stream where Baz knelt, smoking. Nobody talked about what happened. There was no need. Everyone was dead. Waking up to the sight of our classmates' bodies splayed open, so that the cave walls looked like someone had sprayed pig-guts all over, was all we needed to confirm what had happened.
I was thankful for my brothers back then. We decided, without discussing it, that we couldn't ever go back to the life we had; to the church halls of our private high school; to the room Baz an' I shared with the porno mags hidden under the bunk-bed, to our foster parents, who gave us a home to live in, clothes to wear and food to eat. It was just us. We were all we had left.
An' it was a damn good thing, too. Cos' our fightn' didn't stop in that cave. Aw, hell no! Seemed we'd just open one can-o'-worms after the next. Seems all our life beforehand, the fightn' came to us. This time, we brought the fightn'. I think we mighta all had different reasons. Baz was more vocal about his. He'd developed some eccentric sense o' justice, an' swore up n' down it was our duty to find every last son-of-a-bitch who smelled like Oz did, though he never said it like that. We never mentioned Ozzy after what happened. I'm sure Peter had his reasons to fight, too, but he didn't talk much at all unless it was important, or unless Baz encouraged 'im. As for me, well... I just wanted to be with my brothers. After all, it's my duty as the big brother to protect 'em. In the two years since, that's been my driving thought. I like horsen' around just as much as they do, and I'd be lyin' if I said I hate the fightn', but I'd be content just ta have things like they were.
After a year o' fightn' disgusting things the like o' which you ain't ever seen, we were found out. Luckily, the geezer was my old man's brother. My real old man. Arthur Macveil suggested we each do some learnin' in different parts o' the world. Said a bunch o' stuff about tribes an' blood I didn't understand then, but whatever we thought, he convinced us, somehow. Actually, looking back, I think I know exactly how he convinced us, and even resent it a little. But in the end, it was for the best. Now, a year later, we're back. My brothers are stronger now, and even a little more cocky, but we all worked hard and grew up a lot. We got together an' formed a pack, right here in this city. Nothin' could make me happier 'an being back together with my own bred n' blood. We work even better than ever, too. Here we are, now, in this emerald city, back to fightn'. Back to glory, back home.
Me an' my brothers, we got a secret: We're not monsters, at all. We're Garou.
Disclaimer: This story involves certain offensive themes, such as gruesome violence, gratuitous language and cruelty to animals. The views and thoughts of this character in no way reflect my personal ooc views. Please be advised. If you are offended by any of these things, do not read this story.
It's a dark place we live in. It's a place full of decadence; of suffering and death. Shit like this happens here a lot. But even in this helpless, rotting world, there is hope.
My name is Wolfgang Oathsen. Don't ask me again. I'll tell you it's 'Wolf.' I live with my two younger brothers, Basil and Peter in the Greater Seattle area on First Hill. Life ain't too bad, and we get on just fine on our own, even though we're all unemployed. But my brothers and I, we got a secret: The three of us ...are monsters.
Now, I know what yer thinkin', “Impossible, right?” But I'm telling you, it's true. We realized it some few years ago, but I'm gettn' ahead o' myself. Let's jus' start from the beginning.
Baz, an' I spent a good chunk of our early childhood in a foster home. Neither one of us could remember anything before that, but that didn't really matter to us. That's probably why we got on so well together. Then again, we were jus' kids. Even so, the other kids didn't talk to us much. Scared shitless, I guess. Occasionally, Baz an' I got into a scrape with a few o' the other kids, but where there was one of us, the other wasn't far behind. That's how we were back then. Actually, we still are. Some things never change. But, others...
It got apparent, that the church we lived in wasn't gonna tolerate our misgivin's any more than the rest of the little punks we constantly fought off. We were on probation, big time. Even now, I don't know if it was God or Mother Mary that pitied us, but someone out there did, and Baz an' I went home with 'em. The Oathsens weren't too bad. Nice folks, middle class, big house. They had a small family before we came along. Apparently they were too old to have any more kids, so they wanted to share their big house with the likes of me an' Baz. That's how we met Peter. Pete was their only son. Never met a bigger, more timid 4 year-old. Already he was twice the size of any normal kid his age, and even though he was so timid, he was one angry kid. That got him a lot o' shit when he started goin' to school, so Baz an' I decided to take care of 'im. From that point on, we were inseparable. Baz an' I even got into enough trouble in middle school to get held back a grade, just cos' we knew Pete wouldn't last on 'is own.
Turns out we weren't all bad in school. I mean, we were “bad” but we weren't bad, ya ken? As it happened, the three of us immediately got scholarships to go to the rich snooty church-school in town. Like, the only one there was in Santa Fe, ya know? All for different sports. Baz got in cos' o' wrestling. He put you in a choke hold, you were fuckin' done. I got in cos' o' my left hook. Boxing was my game. And Pete? Well, he was the best goddamn goalie in Santa Fe, Hands down! Kinda strange that we all got scholarships to the same private school at the same time, even though Baz an' I were held back a year and neither of us applied for one, but we didn't think anything of it back then.
High school, we found out, was somethin' else. Man, it was “can't do this, can't do that, have ta do this.” All through the day it was rules, rules, rules. And Catholics are harsh when ya don't follow the rules. Real harsh. We all got our fair share o' licks, but we never let it break us down. Every day, we'd still smoke in the bathrooms, flirt with hot Christian chicks, and steal shit. Money, beer, Studying was a synch. All'z we had ta do was steal the answers. Life was good, an' we even made some good friends. But then, things started to change.
See, there was this new kid-- a senior. We didn't like 'im. Somethin' about 'im jus' made us uncomfortable, ya know? But, man, he was a smooth talker. Shit, my girl, Shayla left me for his ass. His name was Jaril Ozzman. We called him Oz. Like flies to shit, the others were constantly buzzin' around this guy. After a week, he was the most popular dude in the class o' '07. But it was about a month after his ass showed up 'fore shit started ta get real. School like ours, everybody knew everybody, but way it was getting', Me an' my bros, we didn't know anybody anymore. Little punkass gangs started to pick fights with Pete n' us all the time. Our friends all started wearin' black, and piercing their ears and actin' all moody an' Goth, an' shit. Our little strict Catholic school was getting pretty God-damned unruly, punks like these fuckin' comin' from the walls, like vermin. But we had no idea what was really goin' on in their little rat-holes.
The three of us were goin' out on one of our normal “beer-runs.” The plan was the same as always: I would use an obviously fake I.D. An' argue with the t****-head cashier, while Pete n' Baz would snatch the boxes from the back door. No matter how many times we did this, they always left that door open at night. Shit was hilarious. Anyway, we were almost at the usual dupe's store, when Baz noticed some kids from our class slippin' into the alley. One was carryin' a bag which looked suspicious, like somethin' was movin' inside of it, an' they all were wearin' black hoodies. Anyway, he insisted that we follow 'em, and when Basil gets curious, there ain't nowhere else to go, but check it out. So, we followed 'em.
The three skinny shits took us for a walk in the park. Only, they weren't holdin' hands and skippin' merrily along. We knew whatever was in that bag was alive, and they had a hungry look in their eyes. They led us into a cave. We knew the one, we always used to hang in the same cave and drink. One time, we lit a bunch o' fireworks off an' started a brush fire. We hadn't been there much since then. Now, it was covered –badly –and we could hear several voices, and even music from inside.
Shit, we didn't know what to do. We wanted to jus' go home an' drink, ya know? But, Pete, man, he got a soft heart. An' the thought of what they were gonna do to that animal, got him mad as hell. Baz an' I weren't able to calm him down, so again, there was only one plan: to go in and bust some heads. We were so fuckin' stupid. What we saw, we couldn't have prepared for. We were right about one thing though, and the cat, so to speak, was outta the bag. An' who was holdin' it, do ya expect, while dancin' around like some kinda tweaker freak, but our good friend, Ozzy!
Oz was standin' on top of a stone slab with some kinda weird hieroglyph shit on it, and makin' a monkey of himself, and not in his normal way, either. But there was somethin' else. Something neither one of us could ignore, as if our heads hurt just tryin' to avoid the sight of it. Oz had a knife in his right hand. It was one odd knife. The handle was a sickly green an' kinda resembled a jackal with horns, and the blade was like a tongue o' fire, and glowed kinda blueish in the cave light.
The fear was primal. It was like we knew instinctively this was bad news. Maybe it was the sight of that black son-of-a-bitch Ozzy himself, but I happen to think it was it was more like we all woke up. Like in that ephemeral moment, we all knew who we truly were, and what we had to do. If it was like that, Pete was the first to realize it. He mowed through that crowd so fast, me an' Baz hardly had time to feel it before we knew we had to follow 'im. That night, I can honestly say, was probably the most fun I have ever had. Don't ask me why, but there was something so liberating in kicking so much ass. After everything changed, and all the shit our former friends put us through, nothing felt better than putting my fist through their teeth, and putting my left hook to practical use. But that moment, too, was short-spanned. We were severely outnumbered, and eventually, they took us down. I got punched so hard I must've blacked out. Fun-time was over.
When I came to, I was tied up, naturally. Cowards! Even now, I spit at the memory of those restraints. I immediately started shoutn' every insult in my vocabulary at those pansy-ass, lip-stick wearin' motherfuckers. I musta gotten through, cos' 'ol Oz started talkin' shit too. But I don't think my head was workin' right, cos' instead o' me, he picked on Pete. I guessed he figured on scarin' us after the beatn' his little gang gave us, but when he started chanting after telling 'em they couldn't let us live, I knew he figured us fer squealers, and that this shit was real. I struggled with the rope until my wrists burned, but I was powerless to stop him when he buried that weird-ass knife in Peter's throat. I felt it then.
My body burned like hell, and my skin tore as it stretched. I was faintly aware that I was changing, even before my brother's limp body hit the stone slab. My arms tore through the rope like paper as they grew longer and broader. As my shoulders brushed Basil's, I realized that he, too, was changing. But that hardly interested or surprised me. I was dumb to everything but the face of the man who killed my brother. And as I stabbed at him with my hate, even through the roaring eruptin' from my throat, I knew that Motherfucker was laughin'.
The pain that scorched my body subsided, and only the hot rage remained, as I moved more quickly than I ever had before. Angrily, I lunged at the man with claws I never knew I had. In the instant I had, he had already changed, too. He easily blocked my attack with his knife, and grinned wider than I had ever seen anyone grin, even without cheeks. Screams filled the cave, reverberating off the walls and slappin my ears with open palms, and it only made me angrier. My hate felt so strong it was as if no other emotion existed. And I cursed at the monster in front of me, only to hear myself roaring unintelligibly. Words don't exist for those with only hate. While my hate was directed at the man with the knife, Basil, it seemed directed his at the dumb fucks who had fallen for his trap. Blood scorched the air and rose like fire, clingin' to the walls and floor of the cave, as I threw everything I had at the dickless fuck before me. Suddenly, his eyes sparkled with a fierce joy, as he brought his knife-arm up between mine, and tore a gash in my right forearm. I recoiled from the blow, as the bastard licked the knife clean. What happened then, as I bled profusely from my wound, took both of us by surprise.
The Beast who had been Ozzy roared in pain, as the claws of another beast, larger than the both of us combined, protruded from his bleeding abdomen. Peter's body was gone, and in its place was this behemoth, standing behind his enemy, with claws so long they impaled the smaller foe. I took my chance, and ran at my enemy with my own claws outstretched. After a fevered flurry of blows, I buried my clawed fingers into his chest until I felt his heart stop. Fearing the larger beast, I backed off and caught my breath. Ozzy's body, not the one of the monster, hung limply from its claws. It twitched only once, and when it did, the giant's teeth clamped tightly around its head until it was still. As if this did not satisfy it, the larger monster tore, with his claws still buried deep in the corpse, and eviscerated it, hurling each separate end to opposite ends of the cave. With this, the monster was sated, and howled its victory so loudly, it hurt my ears. I had since noticed that my body was no longer the size of a truck or furry, as it had been before. I stared, fearful, my vision blurring, as the bloody scene faded and only black remained.
Mornin' touched the cave and I opened my eyes. An overpowering aroma filled my nostrils, as I awoke to the fetid stench of death all around me. Outside I heard talkin', so I stood and damn-near ran toward the entrance. Before I got there, I was struck weak and fell to my knees. My eyes watered an' wept, as I arched my back and retched, painfully. I tossed more cookies than I had eaten, and while the sickening splatter echoed in the cave entrance, a large hand touched my back. It was my brother, Pete. Feeling his hand seemed to lift my sickness and gave me the strength to stand. We found the stream where Baz knelt, smoking. Nobody talked about what happened. There was no need. Everyone was dead. Waking up to the sight of our classmates' bodies splayed open, so that the cave walls looked like someone had sprayed pig-guts all over, was all we needed to confirm what had happened.
I was thankful for my brothers back then. We decided, without discussing it, that we couldn't ever go back to the life we had; to the church halls of our private high school; to the room Baz an' I shared with the porno mags hidden under the bunk-bed, to our foster parents, who gave us a home to live in, clothes to wear and food to eat. It was just us. We were all we had left.
An' it was a damn good thing, too. Cos' our fightn' didn't stop in that cave. Aw, hell no! Seemed we'd just open one can-o'-worms after the next. Seems all our life beforehand, the fightn' came to us. This time, we brought the fightn'. I think we mighta all had different reasons. Baz was more vocal about his. He'd developed some eccentric sense o' justice, an' swore up n' down it was our duty to find every last son-of-a-bitch who smelled like Oz did, though he never said it like that. We never mentioned Ozzy after what happened. I'm sure Peter had his reasons to fight, too, but he didn't talk much at all unless it was important, or unless Baz encouraged 'im. As for me, well... I just wanted to be with my brothers. After all, it's my duty as the big brother to protect 'em. In the two years since, that's been my driving thought. I like horsen' around just as much as they do, and I'd be lyin' if I said I hate the fightn', but I'd be content just ta have things like they were.
After a year o' fightn' disgusting things the like o' which you ain't ever seen, we were found out. Luckily, the geezer was my old man's brother. My real old man. Arthur Macveil suggested we each do some learnin' in different parts o' the world. Said a bunch o' stuff about tribes an' blood I didn't understand then, but whatever we thought, he convinced us, somehow. Actually, looking back, I think I know exactly how he convinced us, and even resent it a little. But in the end, it was for the best. Now, a year later, we're back. My brothers are stronger now, and even a little more cocky, but we all worked hard and grew up a lot. We got together an' formed a pack, right here in this city. Nothin' could make me happier 'an being back together with my own bred n' blood. We work even better than ever, too. Here we are, now, in this emerald city, back to fightn'. Back to glory, back home.
Me an' my brothers, we got a secret: We're not monsters, at all. We're Garou.
