Bad Night

Ciaphas locked the door behind him as he entered the room he had rented in the hotel. The place was clean enough and this part of town wasn't too bad.
He let go of his duffel bag and sighed loudly. This day was definitely not going to make it in his top 20.

He really was in a shit mood. The explanations of Rifle Breaker (he would really have to ask his name one of these days) had laid on him the really craptacular reality of his condition. Not only was there the issue of dealing with the fact he was a monster and controlling himself and all that, now he had even more "people" who would want him dead and he suddenly was very restricted in his movements. Saying that this sucked like a hull breach on Star Trek was something of an understatement.
Because of that, whatever choice he made, doing the job he actually liked was no longer an option. Damn it ! This was so unfair. Ok, turning big and furry had saved his ass against his would be assassins but still.

And how he flaming hell was he supposed to change job so easily ? Getting transfers was a bitch in the job and would invite a lot of unwanted questions. Maybe by faking a nervous breakdown or something could he be moved to something less problematic. A desk job, Ciaphas shuddered at the thought of it. Paperwork, boredom, having to deal with annoying people....

He removed his jacket and opened the plastic bag witch continued some KFC take away. He originally wanted to go to a grill, but he wasn't in the mood to see anyone this evening. He put the bag on the bed and the can of coke on the bedside table. He lied on the bed and picked up the remote, flipping through the channels. Ah, the Simpsons, that should put him in a slightly better disposition. Nothing like cheap laughs to cure bad mood.

He slowly went throw his meal while watching the episode (and the half ton of adverts with it). At the end, it seemed was in a less foul mood. He was still in the dumps, but at least he didn’t feel like breaking something (or someone). Well, there was nothing else to do so he was just gonna have a shower and call it a day. As he was in front of the mirror and poured some water to wet his face, things went flashy for a short moment.
When he looked again, he was still in the bathroom but it was different. The atmosphere looked dead. The place seemed a little in ruin. Oh crap, he was getting the weird flashes again. The best thing to do was to wait them out…. He then noticed the blood in the basin and his reflection. It was him… well sort of. He was feral and hairy. When the hell did he… change form ? But however, the real disturbing part was that his reflection looked weird at him… the sort of you see vampires have in movies that means “Hello lunch.”. He was about to dismiss it when the other him punched his arm through the mirror and grabbed his throat.

“WHAT THE….”

He debated against his reflection, trying to lessen the grip but the bastard was choking him. He then started punching the face of the other him, trying to hurt him anyway he could.

“Let… go… you asshole !”
As the fight went on, he could feel the malevolence of whatever was after him. This thing was bad. It wanted blood, it was hungry. He didn’t know how but he did. He wasn’t going to lose.

“Bite…”

He let out a stronger punch, quite a nasty.

“My…”

He plunged his teeth on his other’s hand, biting as hard as he could.

“Shinny…”

The grip was lessening. Ok, keep beating the bastard.

“Hairy…”

And he let out a strong punch, really putting his strength behind that one. (willpower use)

“Ass !!!”

The punch… broke the mirror. Everything was back to normal now… well except for the broken mirror. How many dog years does seven years of bad luck translate as ? Ciaphas took a deep breath. That was a rather traumatic experience. He had had some nasty visions before, but they had never attacked him like that. What the hell had just happened ? He was shaking, the whole ordeal has really scared him. The worst… the worst was the fact that deep inside, he knew that feeling he had, that impression of malevolence… it was real. This, whatever it was, was the kind of stuff Lovercraft wrote about.

He was no longer in the mood for a shower. He just closed the tap, went back to the room, put himself on the bed in a foetal position, and didn’t manage to close his eyes for the night.

(note, that whole mirror thing is his perception of the arrival of big, scary and ugly in town. its an echo/shockwave... of its arrival)