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Exactly one year before (and 110 years, a continent, and a universe away) Jack had been waking up in a hospital bed to a world that would never smell or sound exactly the same way to him again.
Funny, how it seemed both like he’d been a werewolf all his life and like he’d been bitten yesterday. How he felt Sebastien’s ongoing absence as if it were a missing hand but made no real efforts to track the man down. Jack could find him easily enough – of that he was certain -- but he held back out of the fear the century had changed Sebastien and the bite had changed him, and any reunion would be too awkward to bear.
At 21, Jack was coming to believe there were some things it was better not to know.
He didn’t do anything in particular to mark the rather macabre anniversary – bite-o-versary, some part of his mind that thought he was funny supplied -- but it was very much on his mind as he turned on the living room TV this morning. Usually he didn’t watch TV except as a social lubricant, but he’d never found anything better at getting his busy brain to silence itself.
… or it was when the first thing he turned on wasn’t a report on a vicious dog attack. He changed the channel and found a Paris travelogue, changed it again and saw a Wendy the Werewolf Stalker rerun.
The island, he decided, was in a spiteful mood.
[OOC: Open post.]
Funny, how it seemed both like he’d been a werewolf all his life and like he’d been bitten yesterday. How he felt Sebastien’s ongoing absence as if it were a missing hand but made no real efforts to track the man down. Jack could find him easily enough – of that he was certain -- but he held back out of the fear the century had changed Sebastien and the bite had changed him, and any reunion would be too awkward to bear.
At 21, Jack was coming to believe there were some things it was better not to know.
He didn’t do anything in particular to mark the rather macabre anniversary – bite-o-versary, some part of his mind that thought he was funny supplied -- but it was very much on his mind as he turned on the living room TV this morning. Usually he didn’t watch TV except as a social lubricant, but he’d never found anything better at getting his busy brain to silence itself.
… or it was when the first thing he turned on wasn’t a report on a vicious dog attack. He changed the channel and found a Paris travelogue, changed it again and saw a Wendy the Werewolf Stalker rerun.
The island, he decided, was in a spiteful mood.
[OOC: Open post.]
