See me bare my teeth for you / Who who are you?

[velveteenwolf]

When; October 6th, early Saturday morning.
Rating; PG-13?
Characters; Peter Rumancek and Roman Godfrey
Summary; This curse... well. Peter wakes up as a girl.
Log; 

Peter hasn't been sleeping well these past few days to begin with. Dreams, memories, a white wolf with glowing eyes, with a name he refuses to give back to her. Death, blood, name of young girls that end up on the news and incite a small, backwards town to terror. There's fire, riots, more death than history gives in his dreams. These things weigh on him, drag him down so he wakes feeling like he's drowning under the weight of it  Letha, Destiny, fate he couldn't change for anyone.

He wakes gasping, like he can't get a breath, like there's something on his chest, and for half a moment, he's back in Nick's trailer, shoving the cat off his chest. Except it's not a cat. And when he scrambles, screams, his voice comes out high-pitched, instead of that low murmur that tended to rumble in his chest. Ohgod. This can't be real. There is just no way that this is happening. He's suddenly wide awake, uncomfortably aware of how his boxers fit awkwardly, tight in the hips and loose in the waist, and the disconcerting feeling of breasts. Reflex has a hand going down to grope at the front of his boxers and all appearances point the arrow very firmly into the female category.

He's cursing while he fishes out a tank top, and that doesn't fit him much better than his boxers; tight across his chest, the arm holes low enough to give an almost indecent side-view of her breasts. She's intending on running to the bathroom, to the mirror, being able to at least get a look at herself, at what's going on. But she stops short when her even smaller feet pad into the hallway, because she's halfway down the hall when a door opens and there's Roman. She closes her eyes for a moment, running fingers through her hair in frustration.

"Shee-it."

Really, this place could go fuck itself.
 

Comments

[saturniapavonia]

Really is a miracle what the City deems to be transferable for features from male to female. The eyes are at least the same. That is still Peter. Somehow from the change from skin to fur and eye color there was familiarity, blue to blue really does help. Real and surreal are taking one long, long walk together.

"It is my thing." Coat adjust and he even dusts off a shoulder to be more of a shit. "My thing is making the lady happy before I make me happy." Bullshit comes so easy right on out of his lips. It's a lie. Roman is, for this moment, very happy.

At least he has Peter. Peter is alive. Peter is within his touch. The sheer pride and comfort akin to ownership makes him feel confident.

"No car so we're going on foot. Drinks first. You can do that in heels right?" Even though he's turning away, Roman puts his hand out to take a hold of Peter's in an ancient, unspoken courtship grade action that happens without a thought. It still feels right.

Don't think, Roman. Go with it.

[velveteenwolf]

Peter rolls her eyes and her fingers ache for a beer to twist between them. The line would be funny, steal a conspiratorial snicker at least from Peter's mouth if things were different, if they were normal. But, instead, he's a girl, and Roman's taking him on a date, and that line is edged in places where it wouldn't normally be, and they catch on her spine. At least in part because she's not entirely sure what she'd do if he tried. Not that she thinks he would, which is what made accepting the idea of a date so easy in the first place, even if it had been her joke.

"The drinks or walking?" That's a smirk on her lips and she shrugs thin shoulders. "I can walk, thanks." She's certain that when she's back to being a seventeen year old boy that all of this is going to seem really, really weird. "Sucks your car isn't here, though. That thing was fucking metal." She's going to pretend to be oblivious about how she was pretty sure dates and Roman and that car ended.

Somehow, Roman puts his hand out to take Peter's, and Peter lets him, though the unexpected contact makes her heart skip. She doesn't talk about it, doesn't think about it, at least, as much as she's able, anyway. It makes it feel like a date, in some weird fucking way Peter hadn't expected, but she shoves the thought down and lets him lead as her heels click as she walks with him.

[saturniapavonia]

Doing a line of coke would have been in the preparation process but here they are. Hitting the streets is easy. And holding onto Peter's hand for something that's not some ritual is surprisingly easy. Well. What was he expecting? Heat? Electricity? Anticipation does stupid things like that to the brain. Werewolf, sure. But he's still skin, bone and blood.

"Sucks balls." He has thought about saving up. Saving is a really peculiar word. And paychecks for 'all the labor' he has been secretly putting in don't cut the bill for saving all of it. Roman is determined to figure out something. A prince can't live like a pauper. That's part of what he puts into his dates. That's how it is supposed to be. A bird flies, a Godfrey drops bills like crumbs.

"How come you've never had a car? You can drive."

[velveteenwolf]

It feels strange, how Roman's hand is so much larger than hers, how their fingers curl against each other. It's not just that this is happening, but that Peter's a girl when it is. It just makes it even stranger.

Peter was no great feminist, never had been, really, which made being a girl an even more awkward experience. Turns out that she didn't spontaneously start believing in rainbows and floating cupcakes or whatever else it had seemed lived in their heads. Admittedly, Lyds and Jules had done a lot to get rid of at least some of those notions of non-Romani girls to begin with, but still.

"Assholes. If they're going to trap people here, they should at least give them their creature comforts." Peter still doesn't know about Roman's job, doesn't know where he's working, though she'd find it kind of... inspiring, if nothing else. She shrugs his shoulders at the question, eyes him with those bright blues.

"Too much fucking trouble. I just drive Lynda's if I really need to."

Which had happened all of pretty much never. Really, if Peter couldn't walk there, it was probably just too much effort anyway.