Thread: Becoming A Haunt (Attn: Chris Slade & Droz)

Droz sees the effects currently happening and quitely goes and locks the door out.

Chris doesn't notice Droz lock the door.
It's hard to register anything through the pain, his head was throbbing,
his hands and forearms burned immensely, He wondered if they would hurt this much if were on fire.
He had expected pain, but nowhere near this much.

As he sits on the bed, Christopher notices a faint tingling behind his left eye.
Without warning, he cries out as it amplifies to the worst burning he's felt yet, his hand leap to his eye. "what the..." he thinks, noticing something about his hands.
He stares in shock at them, the tips had turned red, and it was spreading, as the white of tendons apears, Chris realizes his skin was fading off his hands.
"AAHHHHH!" He screams, as the phantom feeling of pain from losing his skin hits him.

Staring at his hands long enough, Chris will notice that it's not fading so much as it is liquifying or melting without any good reason. What drips off his exposed muscle is a terrible substance that is easier to not think of as his skin. The air, which he might expect to be wicked cold, simply make him feel odd as it touches places it was never meant to touch.

Your skin melting slowly gives a man a lot of time to think... hours go by like this and soon screaming loses it's appeal. Chris finally reasons that he doesn't feel cold because his body is dead and is, therefore, the same tempurature as the air. Knowing his has nothing in his belly to throw up makes it easier to understand why he's not.

If losing his skin on night two was bad, the atrophy and expelling of his unneeded internal organs was worse. Upon this most disturbing happening, Chris longed for the simple melting of flesh. He'd never thrown up so hard in all this life, never spent so much time on a toilet either. The only good news in all the horrible experience was that the organs weren't identifiable, mostly they had also liquified into fleshy, bloody clots and chucks.

It was near dawn on the third night that his body finally stopped fighting itself. Chris had stopped crying and screaming and trying to do anything other than endure, hours ago. Unknown to him, outside the door, Droz finds the elder Nosferatu Nathaniel Calhoun.

"It should be over but give him until tomorrow night. I'll come back with some clean clothing for him. Assuming he's not utterly insane or ruined by the experience, someone will have to teach him. I know you found him but it doesn't obligate you Droz... unless you want it to. Are you wanting to take him on as your responsibility? If so, I can help try to clear it with Bill. If not, I'll do it myself."

Chris lies on the cement floor breathing heavily, the pain had subsided for now.
It had mostly been phantom response to his skin melting, if your brain really believes something is happening, you feel it, but now that he had calmed down, he could see it wasn't completly gone. A thin, clear film covered his muscles that had covered his hands and most of his forearms, he suspected thet mostly what was coming of was pigment.

He picked up a fragment of a mirror he had brought down with him and examined his face.
His left eye and the sarounding area was the same muscley red as his arms, but his eyelid remained, so he suspected this was only in color.

His eye was a bit more surprizing, the whites had turned a dull gray and the iris was now a deep red, well, maybe that was a trick of the light, but his left eye was probably the most interestingly changed thing from his transformation. He noticed he could refocus his new eye and even the darkest corner of the room became visible, Chris wondered if this was a vampiric trait or unique to him.

I can do it. I found him, and i feel rather obligated to see him all the way through

"How long have I been down here" Christopher wondered to himself, his watch having been ruined by blood sometime earlier, he had also done quiet a number on the black t-shirt he had been wearing. He picked up the shreds of cloth and started to weave them together in inconsistent patterns.

(( David, jump into this whenever you want and let me know what he would have told Calhoun. I'm going to keep this going for Night. ))

The heavy steel door comes open and a very non-descript brown haired man, standing no more than 5'7" enters. He has on a trench coat, white tennis shoes and a fedora hat that he removes as he shuts the door behind himself.

He offers you a nicely folded shirt and pants. "Thought you might want some fresh clothing. Some do... some don't." He pauses. "My name is Nathaniel. What's yours?"