Post by rhys alexander greyback on Nov 2, 2020 16:04:09 GMT -7
i don't ever want god
to hear our screams
and mistake them for prayers
February 13th, 2025
Rhys stirred, grunting with every motion he made. His body felt stiff, he felt sore and his head felt as if it might actually explode. It took a moment but then Rhys realized that he wasn't hungover--for once but he was still recovering from the full moon the night before. This was his first time chancing the potion his sister Jamie and Siennaa had asked him to try. So far his sister had been the only test subject and he wondered if her experience had left her as bed-ridden has he was at this moment. The warnings he had heeded hadn't done this experience any justice. Rhys rolled over onto his stomach so that he could bury his head under his pillow and block out even the tiniest amount of light that seemed to assaulted his eyes. The pillow muffled some of he sound he could hear coming through his closed windows and blinds and he thought about chancing opening his eyes to find his wand and cast whatever silencing charm he needed to block it out. The headache was not something uncommon the morning after a transformation though his was made worse by his senses being overburdened and he could even feel his mood begin to sour further.
But, he'd promised and had caved rather easily and quickly to his younger sister's demands. For as stubborn and headstrong as Rhys was the few weaknesses in his armor existed in the form of his half-siblings. At least the ones he knew about and was yet to discover. The most recent had been Elias the previous year although how quickly he had entered his life he had been taken away. Although Rhys hadn't gotten to know him as well as his younger siblings had it was still a sore spot, the lingering pain of a loss. The feeling wasn't unfamiliar to him as he'd held on to such a void since his mother had died. Had it not been for the occasional nightmares he might have been able to move on but alas nothing ever felt complete and resolved in Rhys' life, he wasn't allowed the luxury of such simplicity and ease. Rhys groaned again, his throat and his mouth felt dry. Had it been only Sienna asking him to try this point he might have gone back and asked the name of the wretched and vile liquid never be spoken in his presence again but he knew he be resigned to his fate.
Slowly, he moved the pillow from over his head and squinted at the light coming through the blinds. They weren't fully open and only small streaks of light passed through and he fought the urge to keep his eyes closed and he blinked rapidly as they felt as dry as his throat was. Next to his bed on the nightstand was his wand, water, and the notebook he had been given. Again, he wondered what Jamie's experience had been like and no wonder she hadn't told him prior to actually trying it or he might have very well said no, even to her. While he yearned for the water that sat on his nightstand his stomach told him not to, there was an uneasiness that was familiar to when he drank too much whiskey. Rhys rolled onto his back, pausing for a moment to ensure that the apparently volatile movement wouldn't cause him to hurl whatever there was in his stomach. After a moment and with a few deep breaths he managed to sit up on the edge of his bed, steadying himself to not fall forward.
He'd promised and he mentally grumbled as much as his pounding head would let him. It was enough he carried the scrutiny and mental anguish of his name, he also carried the physical misery of being a werewolf. Almost twenty years later and the twenty-four year old found it was never easier and there was a sort of acclimation that took place. Truthfully, he admired Jamie and Sienna's work in trying to make their lives a little easier. Reaching over to the notebook, he grabbed the quill that was next to it and opened the ink pot that he'd also prepared. As soon as the lid came off he had to pause as the smell of the ink overrode anything else he could smell. It was not an unfamiliar smell but not one he was used to experiencing right when the ink was exposed to air versus if his face had been right next to it. Just something else to make a note of, he had been warned of the sensory overload possibility but he had almost just assumed it would be akin to the sensitivity of a hangover to lights and sounds.
Rhys scribbled down his notes in the form of just words, he'd have to re-write this in a more presentable fashion when he was feeling better but for now his brain could manage very little in terms of anything remote eloquent in this situation. Headache, Nausea, Sounds, Smell, Light. Granted, it was better for the moment than Wolfsbane in terms of exhaustion physical and mental and the few rare times he'd forget to take the potion all together. Replacing the lid on the ink, and the quill on his nightstand, he placed the open notebook next to it to allow the ink to dry. Although it dried quickly, Rhys could still pick up the scent in the air albeit it was weaker now. Rhys sat for a moment in what normally would have been relative peace and quiet but he could hear every noise in London he felt through the glass and curtains of his window. Grabbing his wand he muttered whatever silencing charms he could remember, placed the wand back on the nightstand and rolled onto his back once more to try and sleep the rest of this off. Perhaps tomorrow he'd stop by the Apothecary after cleaning up his notes.
Rhys stared at the ceiling, he was tired but not drained and more uncomfortable than anything. Although he was currently alone he still had felt the shift in his mood. That itself was not unusual but he still felt it and wondered what hostilities he would have caused had someone been here. With another deep breath he closed his eyes and laid his arm across his face to help block the light out of his eyes and tried to get some sleep.
---
It was dark outside and Rhys fidgeted and shifted where he had fallen asleep earlier in the day. His breathing was erratic and he was muttering slightly. A dream, no a nightmare and although Rhys was accustomed to nightmares primarily on the same subject this was....different. With a jolt Rhys opened his eyes and sat up. The quick motion awakened the headache from earlier as did shifting so fast from laying down to sitting up. His heart was racing and his skin carried a thin layer of sweat while he focused on his heavy breathing and throbbing headache. Rhys scooted so that he could sit on the edge of his bed and leaned forward so he could rest his elbows on his knees and his hands cradled the sides of his head. It took a moment, but Rhys glanced at his surroundings--he was in his room, he was alone, he wasn't injured in anyway. It was a dream, it had just been a dream, it wasn't real, he was okay. Rhys struggled to control his heart rate and his breathing, it had felt so real.
Rhys could still remember the smell of the grass and the flowers that used to be in front of his mother's cottage where he used to run around as a small boy and he could feel the slight breeze and the chill air against his skin and the softness of his mother's hand in his own. Those kind brown eyes looked into his own blue ones and he remembered how good he had felt, how warm. And then the scene shifted, those brown eyes were no longer warm and kind but full of fear and they bore into him and he shared that fear. While Rhys had probably had the same nightmare not a few weeks previously this time felt more like an experience. That he had been yanked back twenty years ago to that night his mother had been savagely killed in front of him.
Rhys could still smell the faint trace of blood, all those details he'd worked hard to forget over the years rushed back to him. The stench of iron still clouded his sense as did the stink of his father's breath so close to him. Rhys opened his eyes and pulled the string on the lamp on his nightstand, he needed to ground himself but his anxiety was getting the best of him. He rubbed his hands over his face, pushing the hair that was matted with sweat on his forehead back and as he took controlled breaths. That was definitely different. His head still hurt but aside from the elevated heart rate and almost intense focus on his surroundings he did feel better than this morning. But the nightmare had been like a sucker punch and he suddenly felt very uneasy. That nightmare had felt more real than any dream he'd had since he was a boy. It frightened him, and he wondered if the potion had anything to do with it or was his trauma just meant to be carried by him for the rest of his life.
After some unknown amount of time Rhys had begun to feel a bit calmer, and he'd begun to feel cold and a bit clammy. It had been some time since he'd eaten anything but he felt too tired for even that. Standing up he winced at the pain still in his head but aside from some general soreness he was almost certain he was unscathed otherwise. Making his way over to his bathroom he flipped the light on, and squinted while his eyes adjusted. The sensitivity from this morning was fading for the most part but he looked in the mirror and saw his ruffled hair although short had begun to curl on the longer strands from when he had been sweating. His eyes looked dark in contrast to their usual bright blue. He was almost glad, as he had heard he had Fenrir's blue eyes and he'd already seen them up close again in his nightmare. Rhys took another deep breath and moved to turn on his shower, he supposed he shower and try to eat something before attempting to sleep again, though if he couldn't he could re-write his notes from before, but he worried and hoped that every month wasn't going to be like his with this new potion.
There was only so much the young cursebreaker would willingly suffer for to help his family. Since he'd had nobody growing up he had a tendency to take the role of big brother very seriously. But then again, he took most things in his life with a seriousness and deep focus. He would just have to wait and see what the next few weeks brought.
