Conall Saint Albans

Full Name- Conall Faolan Saint Albans
Gender- Male
Age- 30
Date of Birth- 14 Apr., 1981
Sexual Orientation- Heterosexual
Location- Redding, CA (or wherever he needs to be placed)
Celebrity Claim- Alexander Skarsgard
What should we call you?- Character-wise: Conall, Real life-wise: Sarah, BG, Moz, or Momo. Take your pick. I respond to all of them.
Play anyone else?- No.
Have You Read the Rules?- The aliens wouldn't let me.

Personality-

Conall has a very strong personality, though not necessarily in a good way. He's crass, hard-headed, and saying that he has the mouth of a sailor would be putting it lightly. He's very vocal and brutally honest -- if he doesn't like you, he'll let you know it right off. He wears his opinions on his sleeve and really couldn't care less what other people think of him. Mentally and emotionally he has an incredibly alpha personality and will tend to force people to bow to his will if they disagree with how he sees things.

He is a bit rash, and often acts on impulse rather than thinking things through. He has the patience of a five year old on a sugar high. Conall is very quick to anger, and it's probably best to keep out of his way when he decides to blow off copious amounts of steam. Oftentimes his brashness and quickness to act land him in a world of trouble, but he has no regrets.

Definitely much more fit for a leader role, Conall's typical reaction to being bossed around and told by someone what to do is to tell said someone where they can go shove their work. The way he sees it, if someone has two arms, two legs, and a brain, they can do their own damn work.

He has a penchant for taking rather painful risks and enjoys being a masochist. He will usually run head on into problems and situations that other people wouldn't touch with a ten foot pole just to prove to people that he has more balls than they do, and that he should be respected accordingly.

Conall also gets a rush out of fighting -- usually physically. He's not too keen on verbal debates and thinks that most issues are solved much more quickly when pain and blood are involved because people rarely enjoy getting hurt. The way he sees it, anyone stupid enough to get into a fight with him probably deserved to get smacked around a bit. He doesn't really give a damn who he fights -- generally-speaking, however, children are off-limits because listening to them cry annoys him.

He was raised in a family where loyalty and honesty were paramount, and thus does not take too kindly to people who lie to him, nor does he take too kindly to people who ask him to do their dirty work.

Likes-

• Capoeira
  
• Physical risk-taking
  
• Winning at anything
  
• Any kind of clothcrafting (sewing, knitting, etc.)
  
• Competition
  

Dislikes-

• Losing at anything
  
• Having to take orders of any kind
  
• Being alone
  
• Authority figures
  
• Those annoying knots you can't seem to get out of a ball of yarn short of cutting them off and wasting thread.
  

Strengths-

• Tenacity
  
• Honesty
  
• Physical prowess
  
• Self-sufficiency
  
• Loyalty
  

Weaknesses-

• My-way-or-the-highway attitude makes him hard to get along with
  
• Will jump head on into dangerous situations because he can't help it.
  
• Severe lack of respect for authority makes it difficult for him to be a team player.
  
• Rudeness
  
• His overbearing demeanour makes him somewhat intimidating to friend and foe alike. This is not an ideal trait for working together in large groups under someone else's guidance.
  

Skills-

• Mastery of capoeira
  
• Fishing
  
• Tailoring
  

Flaws-

• Mental: Stubbornness. Generally-speaking, he thinks that his way of doing things is always the correct way of doing things and it is not open for interpretation.
  
• Social: Considers people weaker than him to be of little worth
  
• Mental/Physical: Sensation-Seeking. Sensation-Seeking is the psychological basis for risk-taking behaviours. When faced with a threatening situation that triggers a fight-or-flight response, Conall cannot help but rush into the situation, regardless of whether he knows that he will be subjected to a great deal of harm. He will actively seek out ways in which to experience risks just for the sheer adrenaline rush. He has no problem instigating and pushing people into a fight even if he thinks he might be outmatched. He has a psychological need to push himself to his physical limits because he gets irritated when he starts feeling bored.
  
• Physical: Conall has broken his bones. A lot. Maybe not all of them, but a substantial amount of them. So when the weather starts changing, he can usually feel it pretty bad. Also, shifting runs the risk of exacerbating any stress fractures or other fractures he might have in his human form because his type of shapeshifting actually requires that his bones shift around, breakdown, and form into the bodily structure of whatever animal he happens to be taking on.
  

Abilities/Powers/Skills-

Main Power:

Skinwalking

After much research, Conall has found that his power more or less resembles what the Navajo commonly referred to as skinwalking. Skinwalkers were malevolent witches known for donning the skin of an animal and thus possessing that animal's strengths, thoughts, and weaknesses. Each new skinwalker had to go through a rather intense period of trials usually culminating in the sacrifice of a family member in order to be initiated into the ranks of the skinwalkers.

Conall has tried on several occasions to shift into animals other than those which are already tattooed on him. Each of his tattoos were earned after a significant trial (none of which required the death of a family member, thankfully). The trials he endured were either mental, physical, or emotional, and the tattoos were given to him as achievements for his efforts in much the same way that a newly-initiated skinwalker was gifted a skin.

A skinwalker's ability sets them apart from shapeshifters in that their shifts are usually a bit more cumbersome rather than an exact replica of the animal into which they are shifting. A studied eye would be able to tell that an animal's simple consciousness does not lie behind their eyes, as skinwalkers are very calculating in their intent to imitate the persona of their chosen animals. In so doing, the animal's wild look may be toned down unless the skinwalker is angered. Regardless of their emotional state of mind, a skinwalker's animal gait looks more precise and trained rather than wild in nature.

But don't let appearances be deceiving. Skinwalkers carry the immense strength that comes with their shifts, and once they are angered, their emotions are nearly unshakeable. It is entirely possible for a skinwalker to so absorb themselves into their animal nature that they refuse to shift back into a human form. It is also possible for them to easily lose the more human part of their natures when in the heat of a battle.

The moral of the story? Don't piss off a skinwalker, because you'd probably taste good with a dollop of ketchup.

Limits on Skinwalking

He cannot shapeshift with his clothes. This means that if he shifts into something larger than he is, his clothes will split. If he shifts into something smaller, he'll get caught in his clothing until he can find a way out. For this reason, he tends to forego clothing altogether before a shift (unless the circumstances make it impossible to do so). He can't really afford to be modest.

He cannot shapeshift into something substantially smaller than he is. Conall weighs roughly 91 kilogrammes (~200 pounds). He cannot shapeshift into something smaller than a large dog (say, 54 kilogrammes/~120 pounds). Alternately, he can also not shapeshift into something huge like an elephant. The largest animal he could probably shapeshift into would be a large cat of some kind, though not something exceeding 272 kilogrammes (~600 pounds).

Because he does not yet have the ability under control, shapeshifting takes a while and leaves him vulnerable. It is also somewhat painful, because his bones have to reform and move around under his skin as he takes another form. The time it takes him to shift depends on the size of the animal. The smaller the animal, the less time it takes him to complete the shift.

He cannot shapeshift into animals that do not exist. This means things like unicorns and gryphons and manticores. He can only shapeshift into known creatures.

He cannot shapeshift into another human, nor would he really want to.

He cannot shapeshift into inanimate objects.

His shapeshifting is not a form of animal mimicry. Therefore, he may only use the animal's strengths (night vision, extreme agility, etc.) when he is actually shifted into that animal.

He cannot communicate with other animals.

He can only shapeshift into the animals which have been tattooed on his body.

When shifted, he cannot communicate with anyone (telepathically or otherwise). People can communicate with him, but he will be unable to respond. The only people he can communicate with in animal form are either telepaths, animal empaths, or other shapeshifters.

If injured while in an animal form, the injury will stay with him in his human form. For example, if he gets shot as an animal, when he reverts back to being human, he will still have the gunshot wound. His wounds do not heal when he shifts from one form to another.

While shifted, he is vulnerable to anything that the animal itself is vulnerable to (e.g. fear of fire, loud noises, etc.)

Secondary Power:

Targeted Primal Fear

This is something that is accessible to him whether in human or animal form, and is equally potent in both.

Everyone has the capability of feeling fear; it's part of the human condition. Primal fear is that dark abyss out of which nightmares and pure terror are born. It is that intense, nauseating feeling in the pit of someone's gut signaling to them that something horrible is about to befall them, and that there is nothing they can do to prevent it. Primal fear fills its target with intense sensations of helplessness and despondency.

It results in a complete halting of conscious, rational thought in whomever is targeted by it. It is not a form of thought projection or nightmare manipulation; it is simply used to trigger the basest instinct known to man: fight or flight. Primal fear generally results in the latter of the two, though everyone responds to deep-seated fears in different ways.

Limits for Targeted Primal Fear

This ability is something that can only be used on one person at a time.

Its effects are only felt during which time the target is visible. When the target moves out of sight range (such as by turning a corner or running into a crowd), the fear evaporates.

Primal fear requires concentration. It cannot be used during actual combat. For example, Conall cannot be trying to attack someone as his jaguar and be using Primal Fear on them simultaneously. He would have to remain stationary to use it.

If in a group-fight situation, it would be hard for him to maintain his concentration on one person alone due to the fact that multiple attackers could be attacking him.

If his concentration is broken (say, by someone ramming into him), the effect is lost.

Primal Fear is not a "burst" ability. What this means is that it takes time to build up that fear in a person. It is something that he has to consciously toggle on and off. He can't just look at someone and fill them with a "burst" of fear, get them to run off, and move onto his next target, rinse, and repeat ad infinitum. The fear has to be given time to grow. This can be detrimental in group combat situations, as time is usually of the essence.

If used too much while in his human form, it will eventually have physical effects such as extreme fatigue, severe, debilitating headaches, and possible loss of consciousness. It is something that is only to be used sparingly.

Skills:

Capoeira

Conall has studied capoeira since he was roughly six years old, and recently reached his master's level of training after nearly two decades of training. He uses it mainly as a way to blow off steam, though it has proven handy in many pub brawls. It was something his parents got him into at a young age so that he would learn some discipline and stop beating up kids on the playground. He took to it like a fish to water.

Fishing

Conall's father taught him how to fish. Mainly on the weekends, Niall would take both Conall and Davin out on his boat, because he felt that it would do the two of them a bit of good to learn how to earn a living off the sea if neither of them wound up doing anything else. They used to fish by the use of dragging nets through the sea when the fish they used to catch were still somewhat lucrative, but stuck mainly with trap-fishing and trawling for lobsters and such off the coast of Cork, Ireland.

Clothwork

His father made their knotted and sewn fishing nets by hand, so Conall learned the basics of macrame from his father. His grandmother taught him how to knit, and his mother (who was a tailor herself) taught him how to sew and make basic repairs to his own clothing (with the number of fights he'd get into, his clothes tended to get pretty hole-y during the school year). Knitting and mending clothing started out as a punishment for getting detention or being suspended, but he enjoyed it because it gave him a chance to spend more time with his family and listen to stories they would share.

Because knitting and macrame are both repetitive tasks, Conall used them as a means to ground himself and calm his mind, which is also a large part of training in capoeira. It is necessary to keep one's mind calm so that they can read and interpret the body language of an opponent.

Conall also put his clothcrafting talent to use by creating and selling trinkets that he'd made once his skill was of a sufficient level to do so. He would make touristy swatches of the Irish flag and other traditionally Irish items and would give them to his mother to sell.

He started attempting to make his own clothes when he was a teenager, driven by a fascination with old Renaissance-type costumes (mainly cloth-padded armour and aketons) which he began to create and sell in his late teens. He took up leather-working as a hobby to complement his sewing skills and tried his hand at making a few cloth-armoured and leather-armoured suits. Without someone to officially apprentice under, however, his leatherworking skills are still at an amateur level. There are times when Conall thinks he was born into the wrong era and should have been born in the Middle Ages where his services would have been more in demand.

Appearance-

Conall stands at around 196 cm (6'5") and his weight hovers around 91 kilogrammes (~200 pounds) on a good day. He has broad shoulders and always walks with purpose. He usually keeps his somewhat shaggy blonde hair pulled back into a small ponytail to keep it from getting in his face. His blue eyes are always alert and looking for possible fights. He has a handful of piercings on his body, though the only piercings he has on his face are a lone tongue piercing and a ring through his septum. He keeps his other piercings hidden under his clothes.

He has a lot of small scars (some larger than others) mainly on his arms and legs from places where he's had pins removed, or stitches taken out. There is a small scar on his jawline from where he had his jaw broken some years ago and had to have it wired shut so it would heal properly.

Conall is definitely not one to be concerned with fashion sense, and opts to dress in clothing that is loose-fitting and allows for easy movement. It is rare for him to ever be seen in formal attire unless attending a wedding or a funeral. He wears clothing which makes him look unassuming, and allows his mannerisms and general demeanour to speak for him.

Aside from his one visible facial piercing, Conall's appearance does not make him stand out in a crowd. One thing that does set him apart from Americans is his rather heavy accent from having been raised in Ireland for much of his life.

The few tattoos he has on his body (so far) are easily hidden underneath his clothing. His parents taught both him and his older brother (after his older brother got his first tattoo) that if the two boys ever wanted to get "real jobs," that they would need to get their body art in places which wouldn't be seen on a professional basis.

Thus far, the only tattoos he has on his body are those of a wild boar, a gray wolf, and a jaguar on his left calf, the center of his chest, and his upper right arm respectively. Each of the tattoos has a special meaning to him because he received them as rewards for certain achievements. His piercings are mainly there for show.

Alignment- Neutral (for now)
Team Affiliation- None at the moment.
Birthplace- Cork City, County Cork, Ireland
Mother- Brigid Saint Albans (nee Ballard), 54 years of age, still living. His mother owned a tailoring and alteration shop in downtown Cork City. She made a fair amount of money both making and altering clothes for the people who lived in Cork, as well as fixing torn seams and loose buttons for tourists. She introduced Conall to sewing at an early age -- mainly as a punishment -- aided by his grandmother. As far as Conall knows, his mother does not have any powers.
Father- Niall St. Albans, 56 years of age, still living. His father was a bosun on a large fishing ship for a number of years before deciding to take his income and experience closer to home. He bought his own trawler and navigated through the inlets of Cork City out into the ocean where he would trawl for lobsters. He is a very hard-working man, and is the person from whom Conall inherited his work ethic. Niall worked tirelessly and sometimes remained at sea for weeks until he'd gotten a decent enough catch to bring back to the harbour for sale. Once Conall and Davin were old enough, he began to take them out on his boat for short father-son fishing expeditions. His father also does not have any powers -- at least as far as Conall is aware.
Grandparents- Maternal grandmother: Calleigh Ballard, 74 years of age, still living. Calleigh was an art teacher for a number of years in Baltimore, Cork County, Ireland before retiring to live with her daughter in Cork. She was the one who would usually stay home and care for Conall and his brother during the day while his parents were at work, and thus had a large impact on both of their lives. Calleigh was the boys' inspiration to get involved in the arts of clothcrafting and drawing, as she was very adept at both. She passed much of her knowledge of both art and stitchery down to the two of them.
Siblings- Davin St. Albans, 34 years of age, brother, still living. The two brothers were extremely close as siblings even though they fought a lot as siblings are akin to do. At a young age, Davin found that he had quite a knack for drawing. There were times where he felt that he could actually bring his drawings to life. He dropped out of school and after some searching located a tattoo artist in Cork City who was looking to train an apprentice. After applying and having his portfolio of art reviewed by the artist/owner, he landed the job. Davin trained under the artist for several years before being signed on as staff, and has been working there ever since. At the moment, Conall is unsure of whether his brother has any powers, though he certainly has his suspicions.

History-

After an arduous and rough twenty-seven hour labour, Conall St. Albans was born on the 14th of April, 1981 at 6:17 AM. As rumour would have it, he came out fighting and reportedly slugged the delivery room doctor in the face after he took his first breath. Both of his parents knew from that point forward that he was probably going to be a tough child to raise. But that was a vast understatement.

Conall was an average student in school. He was much more interested in getting into tussles on the playground than he was in getting good grades. He was always participating in some sport or another while at school, and always had the need to win in physical situations. He was an incredibly intense competitor and losing usually resulted in full-out brawls until he was satisfied that he'd either come out on top, or that he'd made his point.

He was known for doing rather dare-devilish things, such as jumping off the tops of the monkey bars at school, and quite literally flying off of swing sets when the swing was at its apex. There were plenty of times when his parents received calls that their son was in a local emergency room with a broken arm or a broken finger from some of his playground attention-seeking antics.

Conall had several friends throughout his years at school and spent most of his time making good and sure that no one bullied them. Usually it only took one fight for people to learn that they really didn't want to tussle with him, and that it was probably best to leave his friends alone.

Growing tired of their son constantly being suspended during his first year of school, his parents enrolled him in various martial arts classes when he was six so that he could focus on and learn to release his pent up energy in a manner that involved a certain level of discipline and self-control. After trying out several schools of martial arts combat, Conall immediately took to the Brazilian art of capoeira, as it combined physical combat with a form of rhythmic dance and quick-thinking used primarily to disorient and confuse opponents before physically overtaking them.

Aside from the fights he got into at school, he had a rather happy childhood, though he always felt the need to make himself known amongst his family as his older brother seemed to garner more attention. The two brothers were rarely far from each other's sides, and though they each gave one another a fair amount of black eyes and bruised knuckles during childhood and their teen years, they had a great deal of camaraderie.

During his sometimes frequent suspensions from school, Conall would spend his time at home with his grandmother who'd always believed that idle hands did the Devil's work. And since Conall refused to clean the house, his grandmother took it upon herself to try and at least teach him something useful. She would regale him with the legends of Cuchulainn and other famous warriors from their history, and would tell him of how some of those warriors would wear enchanted armour sometimes made from woven cloth and leather. Oddly enough, these tales got him interested in knitting and sewing as a child, and once he got good enough, his mother would occasionally allow him into her store to hem a pair of pants or sew a patch onto a shirt.

Once his grandmother piqued his interest in Irish history, Conall began avidly reading up on the ways in which people would fashion armour in the past and discovered (much to his surprise) that clothcrafting had been a predominantly masculine art. Just for fun, he began to design small bits and pieces of armour which his mother would sell out of her tailoring business.

When he was sixteen, his brother opened up a tattoo parlour in Cork. Conall had expressed an interest in getting a tattoo done by his brother, though his brother refused to allow him to do so as he was "too young." He did, however, face Conall with a challenge; he'd always wanted an aketon with the Saint Albans coat of arms embroidered on the back, and he knew the job would take Conall at least a year to complete, given the stipulation that none of it was to be done by a machine. Once Conall finished the aketon, his brother had promised to give him a tattoo of his choosing. At least by the time it was done, Conall would be roughly seventeen and no longer that much of a minor.

Not one to turn down a challenge, Conall took his brother up on the challenge and spent the next year diligently creating the piece. With the aketon completed, he went to his brother to receive his reward. When Davin asked him what kind of a tattoo he wished to receive, Conall chose that of a wolf; wolves had always been his favourite animal.

As part of his advancement in rank in capoeira, Conall had to learn Portuguese as well as the history of the art of capoeira if he wished to advance. Having to learn a new language from scratch forced him to pay more attention to his studies during his last few years of school. He left the educational arena at eighteen so that he could focus more intensely on his capoeira training, as that was where his passion truly lay.

Though it took nearly two decades of dedicated practice and discipline for him to do so, Conall graduated from the rank of a capoeirista to that of a contramestre when he was twenty-four. After three years of additional training and leading his own classes out of a small apartment above his brother's tattoo parlour in downtown Cork City, Conall was finally awarded his master's level rope, which he is now under his second year of wearing.

Upon the completion of his training, he asked his brother for another tattoo. He wanted to get one that symbolised the agility, strength, and cleverness that encompassed the art of capoeira and thus chose the jaguar, a species native to Brazil.

His brother left soon after to open a tattoo parlour somewhere in northern California because he wanted to get out and see the world and he'd heard only good things about that state. Conall figured that a bit of traveling would do him some good as well. He had never been out of Ireland for an extended period of time, save for when he had to travel across Europe to participate in capoeira competitions. After spending a few months saving up some money earned from teaching his capoeira classes as well as several pairs of knitted socks and a heavy, sewn cloth breastplate, Conall packed up all of his belongings, got his passport out of the bank vault, and followed his brother out to Redding, CA. The decision to move came as a surprise to both his parents and his grandmother, though Conall explained to them that it was something he needed to experience.

In honour of his move to California, Davin decided to reward him with another tattoo, as he felt that it took a great deal of confidence not only to move away from familiar surroundings, family, and friends, but to move to an entirely new country. Conall allowed his brother to personally choose the design, and his brother elected to ink him up with the image of a wild boar, an animal commonly associated with bravery and courage.

His brother hosts a number of illegal street fights out of the basement of his business. Conall usually serves as the frontrunner in many of the fights because he enjoys putting himself in harm's way and seeing just how far he can push himself before either he or his opponent taps out. From the fights, he has suffered several broken bones, cracked teeth, and large bruises, but he always comes back for more.

Conall is currently serving as an apprentice to a leatherworker in Redding and makes a little money on the side by having his brother sell things which he has crafted. Conall also receives a share of the bets put on him during fight nights, which has turned out to be a fairly fruitful respite from the monotony of his day job. Both he and his brother currently live together, though Conall takes most of his weekends off to go camping in one of the several nature preserves which are close to their home.

Anything else?- Aside from English, he is also fluent in Portuguese.

Sample RP-

When he awoke, he found himself laying sprawled out on the pullout bed in their living room. A quick glance at his surroundings alerted him to the pile of shredded and bloodstained clothing on the floor. He reached up with a hand and felt his hair. It was matted and congealed together with half-dried blood.

The sound of a lighter being lit across the room sparked his attention, and the light of the flame burned his eyes.

"Jesus Christ, man," Conall groaned, "put that ****ing thing away before I put it out in your eye." He rolled over onto his stomach and lazily reached for the lamp on the end table next to the sofabed. Once he flipped on the light, he squinted until his eyes adjusted to the sudden influx of brightness. His brother shoved something hard and cold into his hand. "What the **** is this?" Conall nodded at his hand and it finally dawned on him that he was, for all intensive purposes, completely naked. "And where the **** are my clothes?"

Davin took a long drag on the cigarette and sat back down in his chair, motioning to the pile of torn clothes on the floor near the side of the bed. "It's an icepack, dip****. Put it on your head. This is what's left of your clothes from last night. Clean clothes are in the bathroom once you get out of the shower."

"What did I do last night that I'm probably going to regret tomorrow?" Conall put the icepack on his forehead and winced. "Did I run head on into a ****ing tree or something?" The only thing he remembered last night was going out for a short jog on one of the paths through the woods near their house, seeing a deer, and then waking up some hours later completely naked and covered in blood. It wasn't the first time something like this had happened in the past week or so. He hadn't been out drinking, so he shouldn't have been blacking out.

Davin laughed.

"What, you think this is ****ing funny, do you?" Gripping the icepack in his hand, Conall took aim and lobbed it at his brother's head with as much force as he could muster. But in his weakened state, the icepack fell short, and his brother picked it up off the ground after it landed at his feet.

"You promise not to kill me if I tell you?" Davin took another drag off the cigarette and blew smoke from his nostrils as he exhaled.

"Depends on what you have to tell me. I'm not in the ****ing mood to lay here and listen to you wax poetic like a ****ing pansy. Get to the ****ing point, please." For once, Conall didn't feel like dragging out a conversation. His head was pounding like he'd been struck by a battering ram. Had he been feeling more up to par, he would have been throwing punches by now to get an answer out of Davin, though he didn't have the energy to lift a finger, much less haul his arse out of bed and across the room.

Davin took a deep breath. "I'm running out of room in the icebox for **** like this."

"For **** like what? Don't make me come over there and beat an answer out of you." Conall knew that there was no force behind his words -- at least not at the moment. "Who did I ****ing kill this time, then?"

"You killed a deer."

"What the **** is that supposed to mean, I killed a deer?"

"You asked what you did last night."

"Oh, right, you're so ****ing funny. We don't have any hunting rifles in the house. How the **** did I manage to kill a deer then, eh?" Okay, maybe he was having a really bad hangover and Davin was taking the opportunity to get back at him for something. Conall squeezed his eyes shut and winced, them motioned at the icepack with his foot. "You better not be ****ing lying to me."

Davin threw the icepack back at him and chewed on the butt of his cigarette before snubbing it out in an ashtray. "You know I'd never lie to you, right?"

"Yes, but only because you know I'd kick the **** out of you if you did." The icepack seemed to relieve some of the tension from his head and he closed his eyes. Once he'd relaxed for a bit, snippets of images from the previous night began swirling through his mind.

"I woke up last night to some godawful scraping noises coming from the garage. Came downstairs and opened the garage -- you know, been a lot of ****ing raccoons out here going through the trash lately and they're starting to piss me off." He set the ashtray down on the small corner table next to him. "So I open the garage, and there's this huge wolf out in the driveway dragging a dead deer up the slope. Started dragging the bloody thing across the floor in the garage and dropped it between the cars before running into the living room and crashing on the sofabed like it owned the place."

"Are you sure you weren't high?" Conall leaned back on the couch and smirked. "Weren't hitting the mushrooms again, were you?" He paused. "What made you think it was me?"

"Don't know of much wildlife out here with a ring through its nose and a stud in its tongue."

As his brother continued the story, brief flashes of what had happened raced through Conall's mind. He'd been running on the path until something caught his attention out of the corner of his eye. It looked like a young buck about ready to shed his antlers. The deer appeared to have been wounded, as there was a weeping gash over one of its flanks.

He was suddenly filled with the intense urge to chase down the injured animal -- the wound looked superficial enough which meant that it would probably still be able to put up a good fight. The next thing he recalled was falling to his knees and being temporarily overcome by the sensation that there were things moving around underneath his skin, vying for a way to get out. He recalled the feeling of his spine lengthening, and the sounds of his bones snapping and popping back into place. But when he'd opened his mouth to shout in pain, the sound that emerged from his throat was incredibly foreign; it sounded almost like a yelp that an injured dog gave when someone stepped on its tail.

The deer immediately alerted to the sound and took off running into the woods. Struggling to get out of his clothing before the deer managed to run too far off, Conall tore through the flimsy material and bolted off after the deer, deftly weaving in and out of the trees. Although he knew it was dark outside, the darkness didn't seem to be giving him much of a problem. When he had the deer cornered at the edge of a small clearing, just as he was about to instinctively lunge for the deer's formidable neck, the buck lowered his antlers and struck Conall a glancing blow to the ribs. It was enough to throw him back a few feet, stunned.

One of the antlers had delivered a strike to his ribs which had torn a small hole in his skin. The wound was deep enough to start bleeding immediately. Conall could smell the blood leaking out from under his fur and running down one of his legs. Backing off a few steps he weaved from the right to the left in an effort to confuse the larger animal, dodged a second blow from the deer's antlers, and as the deer's head went on an upswing, he availed himself of the opportunity and hurled himself, fangs bared, at the front of the deer's throat. Clamping down, he remembered the rather gruesome sensation of the animal's windpipe being crushed between his jaws as well as the sickening gurgling noises bubbling from the wound he'd opened in its neck.

It took a few minutes to bleed out completely, and he began the slow process of dragging it back to his house.

He remembered dragging the dead deer into the garage before making a beeline for the sofabed in the living room, curling up, and going to sleep.

"Where the hell did you find my clothes?" Conall pointed at the shredded mass of clothing on the floor next to him.

"Eh, decided to check out one of your usual jogging haunts. Had a feeling I'd probably find them there."

"And it didn't scare you a bit that a large wolf decided to come traipsing into your house?"

"No." Davin scratched one of the tattoos on his forearm. "I've learned that there aren't many things left in life that can really surprise me."

Conall tossed the icepack onto the floor and stood up, examining the gash on his ribs. The wound appeared to have closed; there was no way he was going to go to the hospital to be stitched up. How would he explain that? "Why, yes, doctor, I turned into a wolf and attacked a deer, and he really didn't like it when I was trying to kill him, so he tried to gore me in the side." Yes, that would go over well.

He patted his brother on the shoulder as he made his way to the bathroom. "Eh, true. I suppose stranger things have happened in this family. Now do me a favour, get off your lazy arse and go grab me a First Aid kit and some aspirin. Get my ****ing sewing kit from the front hall, and make it quick. I still have to ****ing go to work in the morning and I'd like to have all this **** sewed up by then."