Untilted multi-chap 1/?
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Jul. 11th, 2012 | 03:17 pm
Fandom: Hand aufs Herz [Jenny/Emma]
Rating: high T [language, violence, nekkidness]
Word Count: 970
Summary: Jenny is a werewolf, and events lead her to Cologne - and Emma.
Author's Note: Requested as a joke by Honsei, but the idea of a Jemma werewolf fic worked too well to resist. Thank you Alice for being an awesome beta. As always, comments are love.
In my mind, Jenny isn't a London native. She was born and raised in Germany, hence her perfect German and her surname, and then settled down in London after her stint as Little Heart. I think she would have a slight but noticeable German accent when speaking English, which is why it's included in this fic.
It is a miserable night.
The streets are dark, the pavement damp with a pervasive drizzle. The streetlights seem dim to Jenny, as though they themselves feel the oppressive loneliness which blankets the park. Even the moon has hidden behind cloud tonight, casting only the faintest of shadows.
Still, it is full. Jenny knows this with a certainty.
The teenager's feet take her towards the heart of the park and Jenny, no longer entirely in control, allows herself to relax. Give it what it wants, she chants in her head, and it will give you what you want.
Jenny's eyes close, her body breathing in deeply. She feels her muscles flex with a strength beyond that of a small eighteen year old as smells previously unknown to her become apparent. It paints a picture of the park in scent: the runners and bikers, dogs and children, picnics and discarded coffee cups and full trash cans. Her hearing soon follows, becoming similarly acute. Jenny takes it in and allows herself to somewhat enjoy the moment. If this was it, she thinks, she'd be okay.
It's not long before her eyes open again, and she falls into a four-legged stance. It is this point where she resigns herself. This is not her body anymore. Give it what it wants, and it will give you what you want.
The wolf puts its nose to the ground, huffing in short, sharp breaths. Jenny is half-aware of its thoughts and knows what interests it: the scent of a young woman, not much older than Jenny herself, who would have walked this path today – recently.
Jenny is carried along as the wolf raises its head and follows the trail at an easy, confident trot. Her mind begins to haze as the wolf takes over, piece by piece. Her vision goes dark as she disconnects from her senses, and she doesn't quite know if it's the wolf's doing or some kind of survival mechanism. Either way, she's particularly glad for it tonight because by the time the wolf finds its prey, she is on the brink of blackness.
Give it what it wants...
Jenny comes to as the first trickles of muted light bleed into the sky. She scrambles into a sitting position before registering her situation. Her head is still fuzzy with sleep and the after effects of changing, but she soon pieces the puzzle together.
A body – which, she reasons, must be the girl from last night – sits a few metres away. She can see blood and tissue and bone, and stares at it in a sickly fascinated sort of contemplation before the overwhelming need to throw up takes hold.
She turns, retching onto the wet ground next to her. At least the wolf had the decency to kill a person and then pass out in a somewhat secluded, wooded part of the park, she tells herself, almost laughing at her subconscious' blasé attitude towards the whole thing until it hits her that she just fucking killed someone. The gut-punch realization, combined with the fact that her vomit is red and metallic-tasting, only makes her retch harder.
When her stomach is finally, painfully empty, Jenny stands slowly. She is naked, but even if someone were to walk by at this time of the morning, the dim pre-dawn light would ensure they didn't spot her, so she looks down at herself to survey the damage.
There are the usual bruises and cuts, and she is absolutely covered in the bites of the mosquitoes that still swarm about her. She tests her limbs tentatively, and finds nothing out of place. A hand on her face reveals a slightly black eye, likely the result of a flailing limb making contact during her – the wolf's! - victim's struggle for survival.
Jenny pushes that thought away harshly, quelling her rising panic. She needs a phone, or she needs clothes, or both. Her eyes fall on the body again.
Twenty minutes later she has made her way to a payphone, wearing a pair of minimally bloody but slightly too long jeans and an outer jacket, also too big but mostly unharmed. The young woman's shirt had been too much of a mess to salvage, so she zips the jacket all the way up and tries to ignore how distinctly naked she is underneath. She feels vile to be wearing the clothing of a dead woman – a dead woman she killed – but she had no choice. She had to get to a phone or be found by the first early-morning jogger.
She pulls the phone off its cradle, wedging it between her shoulder and ear as she pops in the required coinage (also stolen from a corpse, she reminds herself, and wipes her hands on her jeans). She dials a number, one of a very few she knows off the top of her head, and waits as it rings on the other end.
The voice that answers is male, young-ish and slightly bored sounding.
“Hello, is, um... Riley Hammond there, please?” Jenny says, panic leaking in around the edges of polished manners. Her usually near-perfect British accent begins to slip, allowing a hint of German through.
“Yeah, speaking. What's up?” The man – Riley – sounds spectacularly uninterested.
“I was given this number...” Jenny trails off, not knowing what to say. That she's a werewolf? That she just killed someone?
She can almost hear him roll his eyes. “Obviously. Who did you get it from?”
“Um, a girl... a girl called Laya,” she replies, then continues after a pause. “My name is Jennifer... Jenny.”
“Ahh, I see,” he says, his interest obviously piqued, “one of them. What can I do for you?”
“...I need help.”
Jenny's voice sounds broken even to her.