Children of the Moon 1

the ongoing saga of Ken, Murron, and their friends.
== Medicine ==
27 September 2003
"Where the fuck's—it was here yest—" Ken, on tiptoes, fumbles at the back of the top cabinet; his fingers /finally brush the brass mouse.
A /yank from behind his navel and Between /spits Ken out in the health center waiting area.
He reels, trusts the wall to hold him up, shakes the ringing from his ears.
""Which've you is it?""
"It's Ken!" he calls, checking his balance and making his way into the formulating kitchen.
"You're late," scolds Iggy, voice stern, but eyes laughing.
"Sorry, M-miss Singh." 
"I've /told you—"
"Sorry, Iggy."
"Better."
Ken takes a deep breath, gets a snootful of tar, young quince, and a fizz which makes him want to sneeze. He wrinkles his nose.
"You'd think you'd be used to this by now."
"I don't think you /can get used to something this nasty," sighs Ken.
"Yeaaa ... pretty glad I don't have to take it."
"Yea, you are." Ken smiles, rueful. "Glad you're willing to make it for us, though."
Iggy passes over the thick mug. "Ye kidding? This's a dream job." She leans against the counter, arms crossed loosely.
He eyes the liquid nastiness. "This's a dream?"
"/Definitely. A lab to myself, a fat budget, choose-my-own-project, and all I have to do is not-kill you guys. Pretty sweet. Unlike that stuff."
Ken snorts, takes a deep breath—through his mouth—chugs the liquid without stopping for air, hands the cup back, wheezing.
"Always impressed you can do it that way."
"'s all the practice."
"Still impressive." She ladles up another serving.
Ken collects a glass of water from the sink, swishes out his mouth, swallows.
The aftertaste lingers.
Shuffling footsteps and low chatter.
Ken sips, presses himself to the wall as a score-ish of teens and preteens stagger in.
"'mornin', Ken," yawns Taj.
"'morning."
"Right, you lot. Line up!" orders Iggy.
"We know, already, alright?" grumps Dean. "'s'not like we don't—"
Taj shoots him a glare and Dean shuts up, takes his place in the queue.
Kris slinks over, tucks himself under Ken's arm.
"'ey, kid."
Kris grunts, slumps closer.
"Rough morning?"
"Uh huh."
One by one the wolfpack gag down their potions, slouch off to the waiting room.
"Alright, who's not here? I've got leftovers."
Ken gives Kris a gentle shove toward her.
He whines, drags himself the rest of the way.
"Nice try hiding. Drink up."
Kris makes a face into the mug.
"Drink it, Shorty."
Kris turns his glower on her, holds eye contact as he slurps his medicine, passes back the empty.
"How're you doing on changing the flavour?" asks Ken.
Now Iggy makes a face. "/Terrible. Everything I've tried winds up destroying the active ingredients. Never dealt with anything so thoroughly annoying."
"We'll muddle through." Ken wraps an arm around the reattached Kris.
"And I /will figure it out." Iggy blows a raspberry. "Someday."
"Looking forward to it."
Sounds of a scuffle from the front room.
Iggy flies out. ""Not in here! Delicate stuff!""
Ken tows Kris as he pursues her.
A-Rachael and Gavin Watson swat at each other /over Iggy.
Ken rolls his eyes, squeezes between them, pushes the kids apart.
A-Rachael snarls; Taj, Dean, Tracey, Rachel and /Kris move to flank her.
"Enough," says Ken.
"Yea, down, girl," sneers Gavin. "Like a good li'l doggie."
A-Rachael lunges.
Ken holds her back with a handful of jumper, barks, "/Enough."
A-Rachael sulks.
Gavin smirks.
"Missus Galloway's gonna be pret-ty unhappy to hear you've been using werephobic language, Gavin," drawls Iggy.
His smugness evaporates.
"Right, then. Everyone who's had their medicine, shove off."
The pack slinks out, each and every one giving Gavin a Look on the way.
"You, too, Kris." Ken gives him a nudge.
Kris whines.
"Go. Before ye starve."
Kris grumbles, shtumps out.
Ken shakes his head.
"Gavin, let's get you dosed."
He grunts, marches past Ken without a glance.
"I'll be right back to send you home," assures Iggy.
"No problem. Thanks." Ken exhales a deep breath, lets his shoulders drop, straightens the hem of his jumper.
Something slams into him, pushes his back against the wall, squeals, "Thank goodness you're still here!"
He blinks down at the top of Murron's head. "Uh, hi?"
"Hi! You'll be back tomorrow evening to Change, aye?"
"Yea?"
"And spending the whole day after here?"
"I-I can? It's not like I can study—"
Murron squishes him tighter.
"Wha-what's this about?"
"We need to talk."
Ken's mouth goes dry. "About w-what?"
"Not /babies or—"
Ken starts breathing again.
"—weddings or anything like that, but something important."
"Uh, okaaay?" 
"Thank you~!"
Ken nuzzles her hair—
Something sharp pokes his nose.
"Ow."
Murron pulls away. "What's wrong?"
"There's something—" He plucks a bit of leaf from her hair, raises an eyebrow.
"Ailpein the kelpie tried grooming me."
"Ah. 'course he did. Those things have no boundaries, /'specially him."
Murron snorts. "He's kinda sweet."
"When he's not biting me, maybe," grumps Ken.
Gavin creeps past, frowning.
"Just you wait until /you meet your dreamboat," laughs Iggy after him, "then you'll be even /cuter."
""/Never!""
"Kids."
Murron snickers into Ken's neck.
Ken smiles against her hair.
The wall clock chimes eight A.M.
Ken jumps, bangs his head against the wall. "/Fuck! Ow! Late! Sorry!"
Murron lets go, fights a giggle.
"Sorry, Murron. Iggy? Could you please?"
"'course!" She aims her wand. "/Eo."
The world /shifts and Ken stands in the middle of his flat, rubbing the Between-spots from his eyes.
He lurches to the coat-hooks, nabs his jacket, climbs inside, grabs his rucksack, throws himself out the door and down—doubles back, locks the flat, flings himself down the stairs—
"Oof! Oi!"
Ken staggers back. "S-sorry."
"'s'okay, mate. No blood, no foul," reassures Alli. "Was hoping to see you, actually."
"Uh, okay?" Ken edges across the landing toward the door.
"Yep! Can you make trivia down at the local tomorrow night?"
"No, s-sorry."
"You /sure you can't come? We need you for the maths." Alli grimaces. "Seriously need you, mate."
Ken rubs his neck. "/Really can't. Have to be outta town."
Alli groans. "We're gonna lose to Lewis and he'll /never stop crowing."
"Sorry." Ken sidles for the door, gets a hand on the latch. 
Alli waves it off. "We'll survive. 'sides, it's probably a date with that bird of yours you're keeping away from us."
Ken manages the door and steps onto the pavement.
"You /will introduce me to her next time she's in the city, aye?"
"'course, yea."
"Magic!" Alli waves. "Kick your classes' asses today!"
"Y-you, too." Ken turns and runs for the bus stop.
The day—lectures, labs, meals, bus rides, and all—blurs past.
Ken staggers up to his building, stops, rubs his eyes.
Don sketches a wave from the stoop.
"What're /you doing here?"
"Need a body and a place to crash for the night."
Ken raises an eyebrow. "What about Cherish?"
"On holiday."
"None 'a your club buds available?"
"They're at the clubs still."
"Oh. Right." Ken ducks his head. "Why can't you go home? Or to work?"
"'cos I had a blackout and my everything's not working right again yet, so I shouldn't be alone."
Ken parses that. "I thought you didn't get sick."
"I do when I try to let myself into a place uninvited."
"You ... what happened to your consent thing?"
"Long story. Inside maybe?" Don tilts his head.
"You /seriously have no place else to go?"
"I strike you as a bloke's got a lotta close friends?"
Ken throws up his hands. "Fine. Whatever." He works the lock, opens the door. "You're welcome to spend the night in my flat."
"Thanks, kid." Don heaves himself to his feet, wobbles for a beat, straightens the rest of the way.
"You really /are fucked up."
"There aren't many limits for my kind, but pushing 'em's a /bad idea."
Ken leads them up the two flights, gets his flat unlocked and open, bows Don inside.
"Thanks." Don kicks off his boots, shuffles to the sofa, collapses into it.
Ken shucks his overwear and trainers, hangs his rucksack in its place, crosses the room, perches on his bed.
Awkward silence expands to fill the space.
"So ... why were you trying to break into a place?"
"My fiancée wasn't answering the door or her mobile."
"Possessive much?"
"Fuck off. We had a date and she was late. Valerie's never late for anything."
"Oh. Sorry."
"You should be," Don sniffs. "She didn't answer, which means something's dead wrong, so I rang nine-nine-nine, used my key on the door, and made it a whole /step inside 'fore I went down." Don takes a deep breath. "Came to looking at a medic and feeling like I'd gone toe-to-toe with a bus."
"And you can't recover at your flat because ...?"
"Might have another episode or two overnight."
Ken blinks. "I-if you do, what'm I s'posed to do?"
"Keep me away from anything wooden and pointy."
"O-okay. I can handle that."
"I know ye can."
Ken suppresses an eye-roll.
Don sighs. "Anyway, Valerie's epileptic. Doesn't like the meds, either, and won't take 'em—" Sighs again, oozes into the cushions. "—so she seizes sometimes, but this ... this was a bad one."
"She gonna be alright?"
"Yea. The medics cleared her and she called a girlfriend over to watch for follow-ons. She'll be mostly back to normal by noontime."
"Huh. That's good, I guess."
"Yea."
"Why didn't she ask you?"
"'cos the medics told her I'd had a stroke or a heart attack and should be in hospital."
"Why /aren't you?"
"'cos it wasn't a stroke /or a heart attack and I don't need nosy bastards stickin' me with pins."
Ken grunts, pushes to standing. "Want some tea or something?"
"Water's good enough for now."
"No problem." Ken tops up the kettle, plugs it in, then fills plastic tumbler from the tap.
Cellophane crinkles.
Ken turns, offers the drink.
"Thanks," says Don around the paper stem in his mouth.
"Got enough to share?"
"Sure." He digs in a pocket, comes up with a lolly in a Honeydukes' wrapper. "Here."
Ken accepts, squints at the crumpled lettering. "What flavour's this?"
"Blood." 
"You serious?"
"Yea." Don offers a good look at his: slick and gleaming and /raw. "Comfort food."
Ken shudders. "I'll pass. Th-thanks."
Don smirks, pockets the 'sweet'. "Your loss."
"That alone's a good reason not t'be a vampire." Ken flops on his bed, blinks at the ceiling, wills his stomach to stop churning.
"I've always heard werewolves like some blood with their meat. That an old witch's tale?"
"/I don't, at least. Warm and barely pink for me."
"Huh. Learn something every day, even at my age."
Ken snorts a little laugh. "How old /are you anyway?"
"'least twice as old as I look, but half as old as I feel tonight."
"Expressed as an integer?"
"Don't use your fancy university words on working class me."
Ken rolls his eyes. "In numbers."
"Sixty-eight."
"Jesus. You're older than my /granddad."
Don grins, some of his usual sparkle missing. "An' I like you better'n he does, too."
Ken winces.
"Us part-time monsters have t'stick together, aye?"
"Yea, guess we do," sighs Ken, letting his eyes drift shut.
.
== Red Receiver ==
29 September 2003
Ken blinks awake and pushes up on his elbows, setting off a chain reaction of groans, knees in faces, and drowsy cursing in at least three languages.
Jubilee tumbles off Aimee's shoulder as she rolls away, scrambles up his gut on her huge puppy paws and licks his face with enthusiasm.
Ken hisses, bars her path with a forearm to the chest.
Something poke-pokes his crown.
He tilts his head back, smiles up at Murron's beaming face. 
"'mornin'," she whispers. "Want breakfast?"
He nods, slides Jubilee into the gap between Aimee and Lucy, eases to his feet.
Murron links their arms, picks a path through the sleeping bodies heaped on the club lounge floor and out into the corridor.
"Where're we headed?" yawns Ken.
"Only down to the Big Hall."
"Good. Everything /hurts just now."
"Should we stop by the health office for some Soothing Syrup first?"
"Nah. The walk downstairs'll probably warm some of it outta me."
Murron hums a concession, still side-eyes him.
They shuffle along the hall.
"Good morning, Miss MacDonald, Mister Gorman," greets Mister Fairbairn, strolling from the other direction.
"Good morning, sir~!" chirps Murron.
Ken grumbles something like that.
"I hear from Miss MacCailin last night's sortie was a rousing success."
Ken shrugs-kinda.
"Seven deliveries, one fox scared away from a chicken coop, two urban legends reinforced, no quality sightings or injuries, and all our little wolflings got to bed on time. Most impressive."
Murron sparkles at Ken.
He yawns. "Thanks. It's gettin' easier to keep everyone on task."
"We could use a staff member with that skill on-campus full time," says Mister Fairbairn.
"Uh, good luck finding someone."
"I hopefully won't have to look much farther."
"So you've got somebody in mind." 
"I do indeed." Mister Fairbairn grins, leans closer.
"Cool." Ken yawns. "Talk to you later, sir. C'mon, Murron." He tows her off.
Behind them, a heavy sigh.
"Wonder what his problem is."
"We could ask?"
"Nah."
They make their way downstairs, pick up trays, funnel through the queue, gather food, and then Murron heads them into the back room set aside for staff.
Ken stumbles around the empty table, plops into a chair, fumbles with his fork.
Murron flows into the next seat, pokes at her fish-on-greens.
"Is it plastic-y?"
She shrugs.
"Do I need to go fishing today?"
"No ... I just ...."
Ken swallows his current mouthful, takes a deep breath, squares up facing her. "Is it this Big Thing we need to talk about?"
Murron worries the cuff of her jumper.
"If it's not babies or a wedding, how bad can it be?" he hazards.
She laughs weakly. "It's ... it's about Changing."
"I don't understand?"
"Someone told Mister Fairbairn they found and fixed my sealskin."
"Your ... /really?"
Murron nods, chewing her lip.
"I thought that was impossible?"
"Me, too, but ... I can /feel it."
An 'oh' squeaks out around the lump in Ken's throat.
Murron picks at a bit of lint.
"What—" Ken swallows. "What happens if you get it back?"
She mumbles.
"I didn't ...?"
"I don't know," she rasps. "I asked my mum and dad and they don't know either. Mister Fairbairn is talking to every selkie and everyone else who knows something about selkies, too, and no one knows for sure."
Ken manages a shaky breath.
"Maybe nothing happens or maybe I have to leave."
Another 'oh'.
"I don't want to leave."
"I don't want you to leave either."
Murron nods slowly. "But if someone really /does have it, they could Take me."
Ken's throat closes and the room goes a bit swirly.
"I wouldn't love them, though."
Ken startles. "Wha?"
"Everyone agrees. I would go with them, but I wouldn't love them."
"Uh, o-okay?"
Murron curls up against his side. "It's like how you don't want to Change but do. I wouldn't want to stay with them, but I would. I wouldn't be able to help it."
Ken finds his voice, blurts, "Being a selkie /sucks."
"So does—"
"But I get to choose /everything except when and how I Change. If someone tries to make me do something I don't wanna, I can fight. No one can steal my favourite jumper and hold me hostage."
"It's not—I wouldn't be—" Murron sighs to a stop. "I don't know what to do."
"Could ... could your parents keep it for you? Maybe?"
Murron brightens, immediately dims. "They couldn't watch it while they were at sea. It'd be too easy to steal."
"R-right. S-sorry."
They sit in a heavy quiet.
"May—maybe I could hold onto it? Lessie's got my flat warded stronger than the School, so—oof!"
Murron tightens her grip on his achy ribs, squeals, "That's /perfect! As long as it's stored someplace I can get to it, everything should be /perfect!" She squeezes harder. "I can't wait to tell Mister Fairbairn!"
"I. Can't. Breathe!"
She jumps away. "Sorry!"
"'s'alright. You're excited." He smiles as best he can.
Murron beams back.
The door /bangs—
They nearly startle from their chairs.
—against the wall and Lessie storms in, tray in one hand, her fancy new red mobile phone pressed to her ear with the other.
Ken and Murron exchange a look; Murron shrugs.
"Oh fer—" Lessie rolls her eyes. "Stop whinging. I'll be there after my seminar tonight and we can get bladdered together, alright?"
"Any idea?" whispers Ken.
"Uh uh."
"Yea, yea, don't do anything too stupid. Yea. Go back to bed." Lessie slams down her tray, sighs, "Later, yea," drops her mobile, and flings herself in across from Murron.
Ken blinks at her.
"Um, Lessie?" 
"Hmm?"
"What was that about?"
"Don's bird dumped him via SMS this morning. Wedding's off."
Ken winces.
Murron scowls. "That's /low. She should've at /least have the decency to tell him face-to-face."
Lessie shrugs, attacks her breakfast.
Ken pokes at his suddenly unappetizing meal.
"What's with /you?" Lessie demands.
He jumps, sets his fork aside. "He ... he, uh, he's gotta be gutted."
Lessie's eyebrow rises. "Are we talking about the same bloke here?"
"I think so?"
"He /loves her," points out Murron, "and he's been so happy with her around."
"Didn't see it."
"You weren't paying attention, then," Murron scolds.
Lessie sniffs. "He shoulda expected this."
"/Why?"
Lessie scoffs. "What does he /think's gonna happen? He can't go out in the sun, he's got the musical taste of an American pensioner, and—oh yea—he /drinks /blood. That's not anybody sane's idea of husband material. If she's decent, she finds /that out and she's /gone, like his ex-wife."
"/She left 'cos he /lied to her."
"Yea, by telling her he was human and had a legit job that didn't involve killing people."
Ken cringes.
Murron rallies, "Well, /I didn't run out on Ken after I found he was a werewolf."
"You're not a normal human."
Murron's voice goes dead cold. "What does /that mean?"
"You're a shape-changer, too, /and one who's a carnivore when you're Shifted. Turning only made Ken /more like you."
Murron shuts her mouth with a snap.
"Don and a Muggle? That's a different case altogether. He's not human and he'll never be."
"So, what? He doesn't get to be happy?"
"Not unless he can find someone more like himself."
"You mean another vampire."
"Probably." Lessie shrugs. "Or at least someone who understands what he is and can deal with it. Kinda like you and Murron get each other."
"That's ... a good point."
"'course it is," Lessie smugs and tucks into her breakfast.
Category:Hogwarts!AU
Category:Hogwarts!AU: Children of the Moon