6th September 2003-Shuna Island
Feb. 12th, 2007 04:00 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
there_is_a_meThe changes have been dramatic. Unfortunately they have also been cosmetic. The werewolf's new home is a sprawling expanse of green with a two story house in the middle of it. There is a bedroom, a perfectly normal bedroom with a recreation of the personal effects of one Ronald Witherspoon, on the second floor with a view of all the green. As often as safe, they put him to bed there. On days that he's calm, he sleeps in the room. Dr. Ferguson likes to hope that it does some good.
On good days four armed guards follow him as he staggers an uneven path across the green. Sometimes he tracks rabbits, moving almost too fast for his guards to follow. He can track them with his eyes closed, sometimes he does.
On good nights he's allowed to wander the cairns in the south and west of the small island, and the guards and scientists sit inside the house and wait. They're ready to recapture him if needed.
On bad days he's shot, and shot, and shot again full of drugs until what little sense is in his eyes fades out again and he sits in a corner not even rocking.
On bad nights he's locked in a cage underground with nervous guards ringing around him fingering the triggers on their rifles.
On good days he can be persuaded to eat a bit of vegetables, some cooked meat, to use a fork.
On bad days he eats only raw things.
On very bad days, he eats only what he kills. Dr. Ferguson used to hate the sound of rabbits dying. Now it's just part of the background noise, like a train that comes by once a week and is then gone.
"He's mostly sticking to human form, Dr. Ferguson. No unexpected changes in four days."
There is a calendar on the wall, three days filled in solid with red. Every room in this building has one, every person here has memorized moon rise and moon set.
"Three days until the full moon." Rosana Ferguson doesn't need to look at the wall. She knows the moon better than anyone here but Private Ronald Witherspoon.
On good days four armed guards follow him as he staggers an uneven path across the green. Sometimes he tracks rabbits, moving almost too fast for his guards to follow. He can track them with his eyes closed, sometimes he does.
On good nights he's allowed to wander the cairns in the south and west of the small island, and the guards and scientists sit inside the house and wait. They're ready to recapture him if needed.
On bad days he's shot, and shot, and shot again full of drugs until what little sense is in his eyes fades out again and he sits in a corner not even rocking.
On bad nights he's locked in a cage underground with nervous guards ringing around him fingering the triggers on their rifles.
On good days he can be persuaded to eat a bit of vegetables, some cooked meat, to use a fork.
On bad days he eats only raw things.
On very bad days, he eats only what he kills. Dr. Ferguson used to hate the sound of rabbits dying. Now it's just part of the background noise, like a train that comes by once a week and is then gone.
"He's mostly sticking to human form, Dr. Ferguson. No unexpected changes in four days."
There is a calendar on the wall, three days filled in solid with red. Every room in this building has one, every person here has memorized moon rise and moon set.
"Three days until the full moon." Rosana Ferguson doesn't need to look at the wall. She knows the moon better than anyone here but Private Ronald Witherspoon.
