[h2][center][color=orange]Archie[/color][/center][/h2][hr]

Something in Archie recognized the look of fear in Natalie's eyes as she remembered what she was capable of. It was sobering, if anything. His mind didn't process that she was far stronger than others of similar statue, instead he grew a healthy respect for the woman of whom he had deemed undeserving of his wrath. He tasted her blood in the air, and it tasted wrong. There was something very off about it, compared to Monty and the corpse. His vision remained on Nelly until she dropped the weapon, and then finally addressed him.

[color=silver][b]"Hey...Um, should we call the police, or get out of here, or...?"[/b][/color]

Archie began moving as if to step closer to her, but he stopped. He suddenly felt very sick, and he reeled away from Natalie with a low wine. He clutched his chest, a clawed hand trying uselessly to stop the cramping. Fearful, and in pain, Archie turned heel and ran, smashing through the glass of the back door and running through the fence (leaving a car sized hole in his wake). Now well out of sight, Archie desperately sprinted in the direction of a familiar alleyway. He didn't know why he had chosen this direction, he couldn't remember, but it was something. Perhaps he could outrun this phantom pain that was growing in his chest. 

As he rounded the corner into the alleyway a grunt slipped out of Archie's lips as his legs went out from underneath him. Quite suddenly, his torso felt much, much heavier than his legs were capable of supporting. He managed to keep his arm up, but it was an almost unbearable strain. Christ, he'd never felt this weak in his entire life. He pressed with all his might against the floor with his other clawed hand, barely able to keep himself from collapsing onto the floor. Suddenly his mind was alight with coherent thought-

[i]My name is Archie Malcom Anderson. I am a thirty-four year old recently divorced man. I am in a lot of pain and I am very afraid. I am probably going to die alone. I will probably ne-[/i]

Archie had to stop thinking after that because he lost the ability to think properly. Sweet merciful Jesus it felt like swarms of tiny things were attacking him, crawling up his leg and tearing at his flesh. The beast collapsed entirely, thrashing desperately but the feeling of its very organs tearing themselves apart blocked out literally everything in his mind except for pain. Archie twisted and shrieked, his muscles tensing uselessly before the tendons and muscles his arms dislocated. There was pain, lesser than that from his chest but nonetheless excruciating, shot up his arms before he found himself unable to move his fingers, his toes). Tears openly rolled down Archie's face as the pupils of his eyes tore and reshaped itself, rendering him blind. Next were the tips of his claws and toes. He felt them fall off, clean the fuck off, then the feeling of his skull rotting away burned at his ear cavities. His feet began to rip open at his Achilles tendon tore from the back of his knees, and he found himself paralyzed, unable to move even his face with the weight of his own rapidly receding mass. Archie had a fleeting moment of clarity and clamped his newly formed lips shut before he would attract any more attention, and whimpered through his tightly pressed lips. 

Archie began to go somewhat numb. He was, quite simply, enduring more pain than he had ever expected to receive in his entire life, and it was more than his brain knew how to understand. He could hear someone screaming through their lips and he was fairly certain it was him. There was agony unlike anything he had ever felt, from every open, vulnerable spot. The screams were calling for Mom and begging for relief and then for God to just snap his neck then and there and end it. Archie didn't want to live anymore. He shook, his body jerked and ripped from side to side as the different pieces of exposed flesh and scales ripped and ashed away. His whole body was burning and stabbing with pain, and with now total blindness, all he could rely on was his hearing (there were sounds of the cars, the people, the heartbeat of the city) and his sense of touch. The latter was useless, as all he felt at the moment was mind splitting pain-but he did notice the absence of his own weight. He felt the wetness of his own blood seep against his skin, dripping onto the cold asphalt of the street in the alley.

Then there was the clammy, chill (not cold-this was something unnerving on a psychological level) as his body began rapidly returning to its human state. It wasn't painful-it was most definitely good for him-but nonetheless, the itchy, scratchy feeling one gets as a wound stitches itself back together began to dance along his entire body. All the tiny nicks and scratches to the horrid breaks and lacerations were suddenly alight with itchiness, a most uncomfortable sensation gripped his eye sockets, scrotum, ears, fingers, and toes. Slowly, the pain began to recede and his vision returned. Archie felt...fragile. He'd thought of himself as strong, before... before all of this. His own body had torn him apart so easily, as it always did. Archie was trembling and groaned as he stood up using a dumpster as aid, not yet ready to force himself to stand on his own weight. His brain was panicking, phantom pain flickering between his ears, his eyes, and his dick, his mind desperately telling himself that he was still a heartbeat or two away from death, but his body insisting that it was just fine. He finally stood up on his own, taking a few deep breaths to steady himself. He balled up his hands into fists and gave his legs a casual shake, one at a time, to help mask some of the rampant trembling.

His bare form leaned against the wall of the alley, and with renewed lungs he sucked in breath. He cleared the tears from his eyes, and he leaned against the dumpster, groaning as he strained against it, slowly moving it just enough to pull a change of clothes he had hidden behind it. He had learned from trial and error that the beast inside him liked this spot. In the back of the alley there was a rather large manhole that provided access to a nest of sorts. He dressed himself, and sighed heavily. He wouldn't sleep tonight. Not after that.

He needed coffee, and a new pair of pants. He knew just the place.

The trek to The Woven Roast had taken the better part of an hour, because he was on foot and needed to stop by his apartment for his wallet. He would need to get the pants he had been wearing in his most recent transformation fixed and Taylor, as she liked to be called, was the only person he had ever met that was capable of performing what couldn't be described as anything other than miracles on his clothing. As he arrived, he could see the familiar blonde cleaning tables absentmindedly though the storefront windows. There didn't seem to be anyone else in the store, so he initially though that it was closed. He looked to his wrist to check the time, only to remember he wasn't wearing his watch. He also didn't have his phone on him- he had left both at the apartment. He groaned and figured that if he was going to be a pain, he might as well get it over with. He had learned well enough that dragging it out never helped.

He winced, and leaned forward to knock lightly on the door. He surprised himself when the door gently opened against the pressure, but rebalanced himself quickly. He peeked his head in tentatively, hoping to not get in trouble. As of late he has been a regular to both of her businesses, so she should recognize him.

"Taylor? Are you open? It's Archie. I have another special order for you..."
[hr][@Silver Carrot][@Chukklehed]