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ax_mainAs the full moon approaches, the Fitzgerald sisters are still stuck in rehab - and the only thing more dangerous than one trapped werewolf? Is two.
(TW for mentions of drug use, self harm)
Brigitte was slumped down in the uncomfortable chair, elbows on the arm rests but hands hanging down in her lap. Her right knee bounced up and down restlessly. It had been almost a day since she had seen Ginger last. Since they had tried - and failed - to run again, that bitch Alice had decided that they were "bad for each other's recovery" and they were separated.
And locked in their rooms to keep them that way.
The door opened and Brigitte's eyes snapped to the doorway, but it was only pathetic Winnie, clutching her journal like a Bible. The content was about the same level of useless ramblings. Brigitte glared as she saw Winnie's oversized sweater. She hadn't been given her own clothes back yet. Instead she was stuck in green scrubs and a horrifying yellow Happier Times t-shirt that had a demented cartoon of a misshapen Sun and a wheelchair that, for some reason, had a face. Really, Alice, a shirt that references sitting on someone's face? Horny much?
Brigitte was just getting started on Dr. Brookner's ("call me Eleanor") Search and Destroy cause of death when the door opened again and, fucking finally, there was Ginger. Brigitte sat forward and tried to visually assess her sister's state.
Without turning around, Ginger flipped off the orderly who'd delivered her to the room, tossing her silver-streaked hair over a shoulder and out of the way. Although she had the same base outfit as Brigitte - a hideous Happier Times t-shirt and sage green scrub pants and collared shirt - she had made some modifications. The long sleeves of the outer shirt had been rolled up, boldly exposing the perfect lines of scars on her forearms and needle marks in the crook of her elbow, and the t-shirt was torn so she could tie it in place at her ribs, exposing her flat stomach (while keeping her bite scars just out of sight), and she'd ripped the collar out so it wasn't so goddamn restrictive.
It hadn't been enough to seduce the orderly, apparently, but whatever. She sneered in disgust at she looked around the circle of psychos, then dropped herself in the last available chair, giving Brigitte her best Kill me now look.
Brigitte rolled her eyes, half commiseration and half exasperation at Ginger's antics. Hopefully only Ginger could see the corners of her mouth quirk up in a smile. But she relaxed back into her chair - more of Ginger's hair was silver, sure, but she didn't seem to have that coiled, tense energy that signaled she was about to snap.
That could all so easily change, though. Brigitte shrunk in on herself, eyes firmly on the floor, and tugged her sleeves down as Beth Ann declared, "Finally, the suicide slut had arrived to join her little suicide shadow. You know, if you had to try that many times, you must really suck at it."
Brigitte wasn't ashamed of what she had done to test the cure, and when they were in the freezing cold van, she wasn't going to cut herself where she would need to get undressed to check the wound. But Brigitte didn't like that the scars made other people think they could assume things about her.
“Jesus Christ, I hope you get it right the first time,” Ginger drawled back with a look of desperate boredom, though she turned an extremely sarcastic smile on the other girl. “Let me know if you need a hand.”
“Now girls,” Dr. Brookner chided patiently. “This is a supportive environment.”
Brigitte couldn't suppress a snort. Only yesterday Koral had threatened to make Winnie drink her own pee. Again. She lost all amusement when she felt Dr. Brookner narrow in on her. She'd give the lady this - for someone who put up as nonthreatening a front as Brigitte had ever seen, the shrink was fast to jump on any sign of weakness. Or engagement. Whatever, same thing.
Eleanor leaned into the circle, clipboard resting on her lap. The two newest arrivals were a source of great curiosity and trouble for the staff at Happier Times. They had tried to run, which wasn't exactly uncommon, but they hadn't revealed anything about themselves in the five days they have been in lock down. Or rather, Brigitte hadn't revealed anything. She merely deflected questions, sometimes inexpertly but occasionally with enough skill that even Alice got diverted.
Ginger, on the other hand, seemed to be the more creative of the two. When asked why they had been injecting monkshood, Ginger insisted it was because the two were turning into werewolves. Alice and Eleanor hadn't decided if that was a drug-induced hallucination, sign of some underlying mental disorder, or simply just seeking attention (though Alice kept on worrying about Ginger's hair turning colors, and had started floating the 'm' word; Eleanor thought it was clear that Ginger had somehow gotten hold of some bleach). Perhaps this was the opening she needed to crack Brigitte's shell, and finally learn something real about the two girls.
"Today I want us to talk about our best case scenarios," Eleanor started, and Brigitte shuddered, feeling trapped. "Brigitte, you have a room of people pretty curious about Brigitte. What's your best-case scenario, hm?" Heart racing, feeling everyone's eyes on her, Brigitte licked her lips and locked gazes with Ginger. She knew what she was supposed to say, but the words felt stuck in her throat.
Ginger thought she might literally die of boredom in this room, and was tugging at the silver hoop that pierced her belly button as she met Brigitte's eyes. Heh - she could see the wheels turning in Brigitte’s head, something twisted and brutal just waiting to be let out. Good, at least that wouldn’t be boring. The slightest twitch of an eyebrow and tug of her lips was all the silent encouragement B would need.
Brigitte took a breath, glanced around at the group of bored, angry, spoiled, pathetic wastes of carbon surrounding her (excepting Ginger, of course), and slouched back in her seat, chin tilted down but glaring up through the strands of hair that fell in front of her face. In her most deadpan voice, she said the exact opposite of what she should. "My best-case scenario, Eleanor, is hair everywhere but my eyeballs, elongation of my spine till my skin splits, a tail, and a growing tolerance, maybe even affection for, the smell and taste of feces, not just my own." Brigitte snarled, tilting her head to the side while staring down the now-frozen Eleanor. "And then, excruciating death."
The whole room was silent, every single girl transfixed, paused in the act of picking at their nails or chewing on their hair, even Eleanor stunned into silence.
And Ginger smirked, something wild in her eyes. "Wicked."
While she had been calm during her declaration, Brigitte could feel her heart begin to beat faster again at the awkward silence and she bit her lip and looked back down at the floor. That was a dumb thing to do, she could already see Dr. Brookner writing something on her clipboard, but... She glanced up at Ginger and gave a tiny grin. It had felt really good to say.
Frowning, Dr. Brookner wrote and underlined one word under Brigitte's name on her clipboard: LESBIAN?
——————-
Brigitte slowly refocused her eyes as it seemed like Winnie was slowing down with the crying and reaching the self affirmation portion of her spiel. "I feel exhilarated and scared, because I, I have to face the unadulterated truth when I'm writing." Brigitte abruptly decided to tune out again. Hell, even Dr. Brookner looked a little glassy eyed.
"Oh for fuck's sake," Ginger snapped, shoving her chair backward as she stood, heading for the door.
"Ginger--" Eleanor warned.
"I'm on my rag," Ginger threw over her shoulder. "I'm going to the bathroom."
Brigitte bit her lip, considering, before getting up as well. Ginger was still in her follicular phase, maybe ovulating (and, okay, maybe she still knew too much about her sister's vagina, but the little calendar that came with the pads was both helpful and unobtrusive - and no one questioned why you were tracking monthly cycles on them).
"Brigitte--" Eleanor started, again.
"Look, we've been traveling together," Brigitte snapped, figuring that that really wasn't giving anything away while appeasing the doctor's curiosity. "We've, like, synchronized. It's what women do."
"Five minutes," Eleanor called after her, looking suspiciously at Brigitte's retreating back but not trying to stop her again. She underlined LESBIAN? one more time and added, with Ginger? before turning back to Winnie and encouraging her to continue.
Ginger slammed into the bathroom, not because she needed to go but because the orderlies were a bunch of guys who wouldn't follow her in without more provocation. Besides, she was pretty sure Brigitte was coming too. To let off some steam, she stormed to the far side of the room and slammed her fist into the wall, satisfied with the small crater than appeared there, and the pain that blossomed in her hand. As the door opened behind her, she turned to Brigitte, licking at the bit of blood on her knuckles.
Brigitte paused at the sight - entranced by the red on Ginger's hand, nostrils flaring to get the scent - before shaking her head quickly. Huffing and crossing her arms, she asked, "Are you healing enough for that to be fixed by the time we go back, or are we going to have to explain away bloody knuckles?”
“Guess we’ll find out.”
“It's our last day in lock down, we can't-"
From the last stall, there was the sound of a small creak, someone shifting their weight. Brigitte stilled, looking at Ginger in alarm.
Ginger had been watching Brigitte's face with fascination - was she turning too? Had the cure not worked? - but turned to look at the stall next to her with a look of pure predatory delight. Now that she was paying attention, she could hear blood pumping, hear the way it sped up, smell the spike of fear--
And the wide eyes of Beth Ann, peering back at her through the crack in the door. Ginger's smirk turned wicked. "Hello, Beth Ann,” she said, perfectly imitating a conversational tone “Eavesdrop much?"
Beth Ann took a sharp breath before slipping the cell phone she'd managed to sneak in back into her bra, rearranging it so it didn't show under her shirt and jacket. She straightened her shoulders and pushed the door open. Feigning confidence in front of the freaky duo, she glanced at them with disdain. "As if I want to know the pathetic stories you two tell each other. Though I'm sure Eleanor will be happy to know that you're 'encouraging each others delusions' or whatever," she made air quotes, smirking at Ginger, who everyone knew was the bigger threat. "They'll definitely throw you in the loony bin wing, for sure. Nice padded cells and straight jackets for-"
She didn't see Brigitte coming.
Brigitte had lost her fear almost immediately after Ginger identified Beth Ann - they could handle her. Brigitte closed her eyes and scented the air, feeling a deep sense of want as she noticed Beth Ann's fear. Really, she rationalized, the stuck up, tracksuit wearing, trust fund dependent, slutty little jumble of daddy issues practically deserved to get taken down. So when Beth Ann looked at Ginger, threatened Ginger, Brigitte had no other choice but to grab her by her hair and slam the pathetic meat sack face first into the wall. She leaned close to Beth Anne's ear and growled, "Would you like me to throw you in the loony bin?"
Ginger watched with a wild light in her eyes, her own heart speeding up as she watched Brigitte holding the terrified girl, watched Beth Ann’s eyes darting around fearfully, not even fighting against Brigitte’s superior strength. Leaning in to the face of their prey, close enough to feel the way her breath puffed erratically across her skin, Ginger gave one of those would-be innocent smiles, close enough that Beth Ann probably thought Ginger was gonna kiss her. As if.
“Hello, meat,” she practically purred, smile showing just a hint of pointed fangs.
Brigitte could feel a growl growing in her throat, half a joyful invitation for her sister to come play, half a warning for the interloper to find her own meal. She could already see it, Beth Ann spread out on the floor, Ginger at her throat, Brigitte at her stomach, and -
And -
Fuck.
Brigitte jerked back from Beth Ann, shouldering Ginger back in the process. She gasped in a breath and shuddered, trying to ignore the feargoodwarmtastyblood scent. Daring one quick look up at Beth Ann, she jerked her chin at the door. "Leave, and if you say a word we'll hunt you down."
Ginger pouted as Beth Ann bolted from the room and leaned back against the wall to watch Brigitte, noticing the pointed tip of an ear emerging from her hair. The tip of her tongue traced over the fangs growing in her mouth. The visible signs were starting to show.
Now Ginger's attention was totally on Brigitte - Brigitte, who had just been thinking about tearing Beth Ann's throat out with her teeth, by Ginger's estimation. Brigitte, whose grip on control was finally slipping.
"You're starting to understand, aren't you?" she asked Brigitte's back. "How it all starts with wanting?"
Hunching in, Brigitte looked over her shoulder at her sister. "I just-" She felt small, hollow. She wasn't sure what she wanted, or at least wasn't ready to admit it yet. Swallowing, she turned to the mirror. "We're so fucked. I shouldn't be changing. That batch must have been bad, or maybe I just didn't use enough. My healing is too fast, too." The cut she'd made on her thigh that morning had already healed by the time group had started. Brigitte frowned and leaned forward some more, absently tucking her hair behind her ear. Was something wrong with her eye?
"Your ears," Ginger said, stepping toward her sister deliberately, until she could look at her in the mirror. That urge to hunt (or kill, or fuck, or something) hadn't been sated, and was just coiling in her gut instead, focusing on her sister. In a twisted way, she wanted to see Brigitte panic - wanted to see what it would make her do.
Brigitte had been reaching up to touch her left eye, where she had rings of, of blood, or something, on both sides of the iris. And the color was wrong, more brown than her other eye, which was weird because Ginger's eyes had gone silvery blue. She didn't have Ginger's silvery white hair streaks, either. If anything her hair had turned darker brown.
She blinked at Ginger's words and tilted her head to the side. Her heart immediately started pounding. "Ginger," she called out, sounding weak and terrified as her fingers trailed across the now pointed tip of her left ear, needing her sister's support. She'd only let herself get this far in the transformation once before. Next would be claws, and then, well, she didn't know. Her eyes met Ginger's in the mirror. "It's starting," she confirmed.
"So it is," Ginger observed coldly. This was something Brigitte had never felt, never understood, not from her careful tests of the curse, and watching her feel the fear for the first time... it was delicious. "And no more cure... Well, I guess we have two options, don't we? Give up... or give in." Holding Brigitte's eyes in the mirror, Ginger held nothing back. "It only dies if we do."
"We're not gonna die," Brigitte responded, immediately and without doubt. Her posture stiffened and her jaw jutted out. She reached into the pocket of her scrubs and pulled out her journal, which they had deigned to return to her a few days ago. She had stolen the glass pane from a framed photograph in Alice's office during her first solo therapy session, knowing that she’d need it for Ginger. As soon as she suspected she wasn't as cured as she’d thought, Brigitte had been using a shard of it to cut her upper thigh to monitor her own healing.
One shard was taped under the sink in her room, but Brigitte carried another one with her just in case. It was near the front of the journal, tucked beneath a photograph of a painting of her and Ginger. Their mother had dressed them up and made them sit for it when Brigitte was eight. She could never decide if she hated it or not, but she made sure to take a Polaroid picture of it before they ran away.
Brigitte pulled out the glass and handed the journal to Ginger. She took a moment to estimate where her 'normal' ear would end, then raised the shard of glass to her ear, closed her eyes, and began sawing through her flesh.
Ginger watched with morbid fascination, smelling the blood. It didn't cause the same thirst for violence - maybe because it was Brigitte, or maybe just because B was cursed too, it should scare her that she didn't know - but the self mutilation was still riveting.
What she said was, "They'll grow back."
"Not before we get out of here," Brigitte bit back, teeth gritted with pain. She set the ear tip in the sink for now, turning her head to judge the other one. "They are letting us out of lock up tonight, we can, ah-" She sliced off the tip of her other ear, dumped it in the sink, and braced herself with slightly shaking hands on the rim of the sink. She stared at herself, absently noticing the blood trickling down her earlobes. Not a lot, though. It was already healing. "We can grab the vials and get out of here. I'm pretty sure they are either in the staff lounge area or Alice's office. Those are the only two areas they actually bother trying to keep secure."
She narrowed her eyes and turned towards Ginger. "Alright, let me check your ears."
Ginger glared back at her for a moment, but lost the test of wills. Watching Brigitte’s resolve to fight back had calmed down that urge to give in to those dark urges. Fuck. However stupid she thought this was, Brigitte was right. “This is so fucked,” she muttered, pulling her silver-streaked hair over one shoulder to expose her ear.
"Yeah, well, werewolves," Brigitte muttered as she reached up and deftly sliced off the pointed tip of Ginger's ear. Sure, actual werewolves probably didn't exist, but it wasn't like ye olde villagers could identify genetic mutations way back when. Magic is science we don't understand yet, blah blah, inspirational quote. She dumped the ear tip in the sink with the others and turned to brush back Ginger's hair from her other ear. At least their hair tended towards the fluffy rat's nest end of the spectrum, and no one had noticed the extra cartilage.
"Um, oww?" Ginger griped as Brigitte unceremoniously cut her ears. Shit that hurt - way more than that at-home belly button piercing they'd done. Nothing like jagged glass through cartilage. As Brigitte finished Ginger turned to inspect the damage in the mirror. "Christ, B..."
Brigitte rolled her eyes at Ginger's complaint and collected the discarded bits of flesh, tossing them in a toilet and flushing them. Bringing back two wads of toilet paper, she soaked them in water from the sink and handed one to Ginger. Finally looking at her own reflection, she winced a little at the blood now slowly making its way down her neck. She used the wet paper to clean herself up and hissed as she dabbed at the scabbed over wounds. Now that she was done, she started to feel the throbbing pain. But they had to go back out to the group, so she carefully draped her hair back over her still tender ears, checking that they were still covered when she tilted her head down.
Glancing over at her sister, Brigitte quirked an eyebrow. Was she in shock or something? Ginger was gonna be in for a rude awakening if their teeth sharpened into fangs before they could dose themselves - though Brigitte hadn't quite figured out where she could get some sort of metal file or sanding implement. "Don't fall apart on me," she half warned, half pleaded.
Fear was bleeding in around the edges for Ginger. Shit, she'd wanted to tear into Beth Ann, wanted to torture Brigitte...
And this was only the beginning. The bloodlust would be back, soon, and stronger-- that deep ache to tear into something, bone deep need... But there were no dogs to eat here. She looked at Brigitte, lower lip trembling, voice small as she said, "I'm scared, B."
Fuck. The last time Brigitte has seen Ginger this scared, she had been trying to cut off her own tail. She walked forwards, waiting until Ginger fully turned towards her. Trying to sound calm and sure, she declared, "We'll get through this. I'll sneak out tonight, find where they're stashing the cure, and we'll run."
Brigitte smiled her tiny, sincere smile and held her left hand out to her sister. The scars from their repeated blood oaths, the newest one acquired only three months ago when she'd chosen to infect herself with Ginger's curse for the first time, made silvery lines at the base of her thumb. "I'm you, now, remember?" She said, repeating her promise and premonition from that night. Remembering how Ginger had responded with a sorrowful I know you are, but what am I?, Brigitte added, "And you're me, together forever. And I'm not gonna die here."
Ginger reached across the space between them and took Brigitte’s hand, the familiar press of their palms and lacing of fingers managing to crack her fear. She gripped Brigitte's hand tight, their scars pressing together. She took a few deep breaths, before prompting, "Together forever..."
"United against life as we know it," Brigitte completed their oath, squeezing Ginger's hand before tugging her back towards the bathroom door. "All we have to do is keep our heads down until I can find the monkshood. Which means listening to Eleanor talk about all of our Life Skills."
As Brigitte moved, releasing Ginger's hand on the way, she glanced back at the mirror. Her eye didn't look so bad anymore, she could almost believe that she had been imagining it. But the craving she'd had for Beth Ann's blood... "Just," she finished, "don't hurt anyone and we'll be fine."
But doubt was for people who could afford to fail. So Brigitte dragged her eyes away from her reflection and pushed through the door, Ginger trailing behind her.
(TW for mentions of drug use, self harm)
Brigitte was slumped down in the uncomfortable chair, elbows on the arm rests but hands hanging down in her lap. Her right knee bounced up and down restlessly. It had been almost a day since she had seen Ginger last. Since they had tried - and failed - to run again, that bitch Alice had decided that they were "bad for each other's recovery" and they were separated.
And locked in their rooms to keep them that way.
The door opened and Brigitte's eyes snapped to the doorway, but it was only pathetic Winnie, clutching her journal like a Bible. The content was about the same level of useless ramblings. Brigitte glared as she saw Winnie's oversized sweater. She hadn't been given her own clothes back yet. Instead she was stuck in green scrubs and a horrifying yellow Happier Times t-shirt that had a demented cartoon of a misshapen Sun and a wheelchair that, for some reason, had a face. Really, Alice, a shirt that references sitting on someone's face? Horny much?
Brigitte was just getting started on Dr. Brookner's ("call me Eleanor") Search and Destroy cause of death when the door opened again and, fucking finally, there was Ginger. Brigitte sat forward and tried to visually assess her sister's state.
Without turning around, Ginger flipped off the orderly who'd delivered her to the room, tossing her silver-streaked hair over a shoulder and out of the way. Although she had the same base outfit as Brigitte - a hideous Happier Times t-shirt and sage green scrub pants and collared shirt - she had made some modifications. The long sleeves of the outer shirt had been rolled up, boldly exposing the perfect lines of scars on her forearms and needle marks in the crook of her elbow, and the t-shirt was torn so she could tie it in place at her ribs, exposing her flat stomach (while keeping her bite scars just out of sight), and she'd ripped the collar out so it wasn't so goddamn restrictive.
It hadn't been enough to seduce the orderly, apparently, but whatever. She sneered in disgust at she looked around the circle of psychos, then dropped herself in the last available chair, giving Brigitte her best Kill me now look.
Brigitte rolled her eyes, half commiseration and half exasperation at Ginger's antics. Hopefully only Ginger could see the corners of her mouth quirk up in a smile. But she relaxed back into her chair - more of Ginger's hair was silver, sure, but she didn't seem to have that coiled, tense energy that signaled she was about to snap.
That could all so easily change, though. Brigitte shrunk in on herself, eyes firmly on the floor, and tugged her sleeves down as Beth Ann declared, "Finally, the suicide slut had arrived to join her little suicide shadow. You know, if you had to try that many times, you must really suck at it."
Brigitte wasn't ashamed of what she had done to test the cure, and when they were in the freezing cold van, she wasn't going to cut herself where she would need to get undressed to check the wound. But Brigitte didn't like that the scars made other people think they could assume things about her.
“Jesus Christ, I hope you get it right the first time,” Ginger drawled back with a look of desperate boredom, though she turned an extremely sarcastic smile on the other girl. “Let me know if you need a hand.”
“Now girls,” Dr. Brookner chided patiently. “This is a supportive environment.”
Brigitte couldn't suppress a snort. Only yesterday Koral had threatened to make Winnie drink her own pee. Again. She lost all amusement when she felt Dr. Brookner narrow in on her. She'd give the lady this - for someone who put up as nonthreatening a front as Brigitte had ever seen, the shrink was fast to jump on any sign of weakness. Or engagement. Whatever, same thing.
Eleanor leaned into the circle, clipboard resting on her lap. The two newest arrivals were a source of great curiosity and trouble for the staff at Happier Times. They had tried to run, which wasn't exactly uncommon, but they hadn't revealed anything about themselves in the five days they have been in lock down. Or rather, Brigitte hadn't revealed anything. She merely deflected questions, sometimes inexpertly but occasionally with enough skill that even Alice got diverted.
Ginger, on the other hand, seemed to be the more creative of the two. When asked why they had been injecting monkshood, Ginger insisted it was because the two were turning into werewolves. Alice and Eleanor hadn't decided if that was a drug-induced hallucination, sign of some underlying mental disorder, or simply just seeking attention (though Alice kept on worrying about Ginger's hair turning colors, and had started floating the 'm' word; Eleanor thought it was clear that Ginger had somehow gotten hold of some bleach). Perhaps this was the opening she needed to crack Brigitte's shell, and finally learn something real about the two girls.
"Today I want us to talk about our best case scenarios," Eleanor started, and Brigitte shuddered, feeling trapped. "Brigitte, you have a room of people pretty curious about Brigitte. What's your best-case scenario, hm?" Heart racing, feeling everyone's eyes on her, Brigitte licked her lips and locked gazes with Ginger. She knew what she was supposed to say, but the words felt stuck in her throat.
Ginger thought she might literally die of boredom in this room, and was tugging at the silver hoop that pierced her belly button as she met Brigitte's eyes. Heh - she could see the wheels turning in Brigitte’s head, something twisted and brutal just waiting to be let out. Good, at least that wouldn’t be boring. The slightest twitch of an eyebrow and tug of her lips was all the silent encouragement B would need.
Brigitte took a breath, glanced around at the group of bored, angry, spoiled, pathetic wastes of carbon surrounding her (excepting Ginger, of course), and slouched back in her seat, chin tilted down but glaring up through the strands of hair that fell in front of her face. In her most deadpan voice, she said the exact opposite of what she should. "My best-case scenario, Eleanor, is hair everywhere but my eyeballs, elongation of my spine till my skin splits, a tail, and a growing tolerance, maybe even affection for, the smell and taste of feces, not just my own." Brigitte snarled, tilting her head to the side while staring down the now-frozen Eleanor. "And then, excruciating death."
The whole room was silent, every single girl transfixed, paused in the act of picking at their nails or chewing on their hair, even Eleanor stunned into silence.
And Ginger smirked, something wild in her eyes. "Wicked."
While she had been calm during her declaration, Brigitte could feel her heart begin to beat faster again at the awkward silence and she bit her lip and looked back down at the floor. That was a dumb thing to do, she could already see Dr. Brookner writing something on her clipboard, but... She glanced up at Ginger and gave a tiny grin. It had felt really good to say.
Frowning, Dr. Brookner wrote and underlined one word under Brigitte's name on her clipboard: LESBIAN?
——————-
Brigitte slowly refocused her eyes as it seemed like Winnie was slowing down with the crying and reaching the self affirmation portion of her spiel. "I feel exhilarated and scared, because I, I have to face the unadulterated truth when I'm writing." Brigitte abruptly decided to tune out again. Hell, even Dr. Brookner looked a little glassy eyed.
"Oh for fuck's sake," Ginger snapped, shoving her chair backward as she stood, heading for the door.
"Ginger--" Eleanor warned.
"I'm on my rag," Ginger threw over her shoulder. "I'm going to the bathroom."
Brigitte bit her lip, considering, before getting up as well. Ginger was still in her follicular phase, maybe ovulating (and, okay, maybe she still knew too much about her sister's vagina, but the little calendar that came with the pads was both helpful and unobtrusive - and no one questioned why you were tracking monthly cycles on them).
"Brigitte--" Eleanor started, again.
"Look, we've been traveling together," Brigitte snapped, figuring that that really wasn't giving anything away while appeasing the doctor's curiosity. "We've, like, synchronized. It's what women do."
"Five minutes," Eleanor called after her, looking suspiciously at Brigitte's retreating back but not trying to stop her again. She underlined LESBIAN? one more time and added, with Ginger? before turning back to Winnie and encouraging her to continue.
Ginger slammed into the bathroom, not because she needed to go but because the orderlies were a bunch of guys who wouldn't follow her in without more provocation. Besides, she was pretty sure Brigitte was coming too. To let off some steam, she stormed to the far side of the room and slammed her fist into the wall, satisfied with the small crater than appeared there, and the pain that blossomed in her hand. As the door opened behind her, she turned to Brigitte, licking at the bit of blood on her knuckles.
Brigitte paused at the sight - entranced by the red on Ginger's hand, nostrils flaring to get the scent - before shaking her head quickly. Huffing and crossing her arms, she asked, "Are you healing enough for that to be fixed by the time we go back, or are we going to have to explain away bloody knuckles?”
“Guess we’ll find out.”
“It's our last day in lock down, we can't-"
From the last stall, there was the sound of a small creak, someone shifting their weight. Brigitte stilled, looking at Ginger in alarm.
Ginger had been watching Brigitte's face with fascination - was she turning too? Had the cure not worked? - but turned to look at the stall next to her with a look of pure predatory delight. Now that she was paying attention, she could hear blood pumping, hear the way it sped up, smell the spike of fear--
And the wide eyes of Beth Ann, peering back at her through the crack in the door. Ginger's smirk turned wicked. "Hello, Beth Ann,” she said, perfectly imitating a conversational tone “Eavesdrop much?"
Beth Ann took a sharp breath before slipping the cell phone she'd managed to sneak in back into her bra, rearranging it so it didn't show under her shirt and jacket. She straightened her shoulders and pushed the door open. Feigning confidence in front of the freaky duo, she glanced at them with disdain. "As if I want to know the pathetic stories you two tell each other. Though I'm sure Eleanor will be happy to know that you're 'encouraging each others delusions' or whatever," she made air quotes, smirking at Ginger, who everyone knew was the bigger threat. "They'll definitely throw you in the loony bin wing, for sure. Nice padded cells and straight jackets for-"
She didn't see Brigitte coming.
Brigitte had lost her fear almost immediately after Ginger identified Beth Ann - they could handle her. Brigitte closed her eyes and scented the air, feeling a deep sense of want as she noticed Beth Ann's fear. Really, she rationalized, the stuck up, tracksuit wearing, trust fund dependent, slutty little jumble of daddy issues practically deserved to get taken down. So when Beth Ann looked at Ginger, threatened Ginger, Brigitte had no other choice but to grab her by her hair and slam the pathetic meat sack face first into the wall. She leaned close to Beth Anne's ear and growled, "Would you like me to throw you in the loony bin?"
Ginger watched with a wild light in her eyes, her own heart speeding up as she watched Brigitte holding the terrified girl, watched Beth Ann’s eyes darting around fearfully, not even fighting against Brigitte’s superior strength. Leaning in to the face of their prey, close enough to feel the way her breath puffed erratically across her skin, Ginger gave one of those would-be innocent smiles, close enough that Beth Ann probably thought Ginger was gonna kiss her. As if.
“Hello, meat,” she practically purred, smile showing just a hint of pointed fangs.
Brigitte could feel a growl growing in her throat, half a joyful invitation for her sister to come play, half a warning for the interloper to find her own meal. She could already see it, Beth Ann spread out on the floor, Ginger at her throat, Brigitte at her stomach, and -
And -
Fuck.
Brigitte jerked back from Beth Ann, shouldering Ginger back in the process. She gasped in a breath and shuddered, trying to ignore the feargoodwarmtastyblood scent. Daring one quick look up at Beth Ann, she jerked her chin at the door. "Leave, and if you say a word we'll hunt you down."
Ginger pouted as Beth Ann bolted from the room and leaned back against the wall to watch Brigitte, noticing the pointed tip of an ear emerging from her hair. The tip of her tongue traced over the fangs growing in her mouth. The visible signs were starting to show.
Now Ginger's attention was totally on Brigitte - Brigitte, who had just been thinking about tearing Beth Ann's throat out with her teeth, by Ginger's estimation. Brigitte, whose grip on control was finally slipping.
"You're starting to understand, aren't you?" she asked Brigitte's back. "How it all starts with wanting?"
Hunching in, Brigitte looked over her shoulder at her sister. "I just-" She felt small, hollow. She wasn't sure what she wanted, or at least wasn't ready to admit it yet. Swallowing, she turned to the mirror. "We're so fucked. I shouldn't be changing. That batch must have been bad, or maybe I just didn't use enough. My healing is too fast, too." The cut she'd made on her thigh that morning had already healed by the time group had started. Brigitte frowned and leaned forward some more, absently tucking her hair behind her ear. Was something wrong with her eye?
"Your ears," Ginger said, stepping toward her sister deliberately, until she could look at her in the mirror. That urge to hunt (or kill, or fuck, or something) hadn't been sated, and was just coiling in her gut instead, focusing on her sister. In a twisted way, she wanted to see Brigitte panic - wanted to see what it would make her do.
Brigitte had been reaching up to touch her left eye, where she had rings of, of blood, or something, on both sides of the iris. And the color was wrong, more brown than her other eye, which was weird because Ginger's eyes had gone silvery blue. She didn't have Ginger's silvery white hair streaks, either. If anything her hair had turned darker brown.
She blinked at Ginger's words and tilted her head to the side. Her heart immediately started pounding. "Ginger," she called out, sounding weak and terrified as her fingers trailed across the now pointed tip of her left ear, needing her sister's support. She'd only let herself get this far in the transformation once before. Next would be claws, and then, well, she didn't know. Her eyes met Ginger's in the mirror. "It's starting," she confirmed.
"So it is," Ginger observed coldly. This was something Brigitte had never felt, never understood, not from her careful tests of the curse, and watching her feel the fear for the first time... it was delicious. "And no more cure... Well, I guess we have two options, don't we? Give up... or give in." Holding Brigitte's eyes in the mirror, Ginger held nothing back. "It only dies if we do."
"We're not gonna die," Brigitte responded, immediately and without doubt. Her posture stiffened and her jaw jutted out. She reached into the pocket of her scrubs and pulled out her journal, which they had deigned to return to her a few days ago. She had stolen the glass pane from a framed photograph in Alice's office during her first solo therapy session, knowing that she’d need it for Ginger. As soon as she suspected she wasn't as cured as she’d thought, Brigitte had been using a shard of it to cut her upper thigh to monitor her own healing.
One shard was taped under the sink in her room, but Brigitte carried another one with her just in case. It was near the front of the journal, tucked beneath a photograph of a painting of her and Ginger. Their mother had dressed them up and made them sit for it when Brigitte was eight. She could never decide if she hated it or not, but she made sure to take a Polaroid picture of it before they ran away.
Brigitte pulled out the glass and handed the journal to Ginger. She took a moment to estimate where her 'normal' ear would end, then raised the shard of glass to her ear, closed her eyes, and began sawing through her flesh.
Ginger watched with morbid fascination, smelling the blood. It didn't cause the same thirst for violence - maybe because it was Brigitte, or maybe just because B was cursed too, it should scare her that she didn't know - but the self mutilation was still riveting.
What she said was, "They'll grow back."
"Not before we get out of here," Brigitte bit back, teeth gritted with pain. She set the ear tip in the sink for now, turning her head to judge the other one. "They are letting us out of lock up tonight, we can, ah-" She sliced off the tip of her other ear, dumped it in the sink, and braced herself with slightly shaking hands on the rim of the sink. She stared at herself, absently noticing the blood trickling down her earlobes. Not a lot, though. It was already healing. "We can grab the vials and get out of here. I'm pretty sure they are either in the staff lounge area or Alice's office. Those are the only two areas they actually bother trying to keep secure."
She narrowed her eyes and turned towards Ginger. "Alright, let me check your ears."
Ginger glared back at her for a moment, but lost the test of wills. Watching Brigitte’s resolve to fight back had calmed down that urge to give in to those dark urges. Fuck. However stupid she thought this was, Brigitte was right. “This is so fucked,” she muttered, pulling her silver-streaked hair over one shoulder to expose her ear.
"Yeah, well, werewolves," Brigitte muttered as she reached up and deftly sliced off the pointed tip of Ginger's ear. Sure, actual werewolves probably didn't exist, but it wasn't like ye olde villagers could identify genetic mutations way back when. Magic is science we don't understand yet, blah blah, inspirational quote. She dumped the ear tip in the sink with the others and turned to brush back Ginger's hair from her other ear. At least their hair tended towards the fluffy rat's nest end of the spectrum, and no one had noticed the extra cartilage.
"Um, oww?" Ginger griped as Brigitte unceremoniously cut her ears. Shit that hurt - way more than that at-home belly button piercing they'd done. Nothing like jagged glass through cartilage. As Brigitte finished Ginger turned to inspect the damage in the mirror. "Christ, B..."
Brigitte rolled her eyes at Ginger's complaint and collected the discarded bits of flesh, tossing them in a toilet and flushing them. Bringing back two wads of toilet paper, she soaked them in water from the sink and handed one to Ginger. Finally looking at her own reflection, she winced a little at the blood now slowly making its way down her neck. She used the wet paper to clean herself up and hissed as she dabbed at the scabbed over wounds. Now that she was done, she started to feel the throbbing pain. But they had to go back out to the group, so she carefully draped her hair back over her still tender ears, checking that they were still covered when she tilted her head down.
Glancing over at her sister, Brigitte quirked an eyebrow. Was she in shock or something? Ginger was gonna be in for a rude awakening if their teeth sharpened into fangs before they could dose themselves - though Brigitte hadn't quite figured out where she could get some sort of metal file or sanding implement. "Don't fall apart on me," she half warned, half pleaded.
Fear was bleeding in around the edges for Ginger. Shit, she'd wanted to tear into Beth Ann, wanted to torture Brigitte...
And this was only the beginning. The bloodlust would be back, soon, and stronger-- that deep ache to tear into something, bone deep need... But there were no dogs to eat here. She looked at Brigitte, lower lip trembling, voice small as she said, "I'm scared, B."
Fuck. The last time Brigitte has seen Ginger this scared, she had been trying to cut off her own tail. She walked forwards, waiting until Ginger fully turned towards her. Trying to sound calm and sure, she declared, "We'll get through this. I'll sneak out tonight, find where they're stashing the cure, and we'll run."
Brigitte smiled her tiny, sincere smile and held her left hand out to her sister. The scars from their repeated blood oaths, the newest one acquired only three months ago when she'd chosen to infect herself with Ginger's curse for the first time, made silvery lines at the base of her thumb. "I'm you, now, remember?" She said, repeating her promise and premonition from that night. Remembering how Ginger had responded with a sorrowful I know you are, but what am I?, Brigitte added, "And you're me, together forever. And I'm not gonna die here."
Ginger reached across the space between them and took Brigitte’s hand, the familiar press of their palms and lacing of fingers managing to crack her fear. She gripped Brigitte's hand tight, their scars pressing together. She took a few deep breaths, before prompting, "Together forever..."
"United against life as we know it," Brigitte completed their oath, squeezing Ginger's hand before tugging her back towards the bathroom door. "All we have to do is keep our heads down until I can find the monkshood. Which means listening to Eleanor talk about all of our Life Skills."
As Brigitte moved, releasing Ginger's hand on the way, she glanced back at the mirror. Her eye didn't look so bad anymore, she could almost believe that she had been imagining it. But the craving she'd had for Beth Ann's blood... "Just," she finished, "don't hurt anyone and we'll be fine."
But doubt was for people who could afford to fail. So Brigitte dragged her eyes away from her reflection and pushed through the door, Ginger trailing behind her.
