#guess who was bad again and did the frickle frackle

[youvebeenlivingfictional]

I’m Always Curious Part Twenty Three

Previous Part | Next Part |  Masterlist Notes: I hope everyone’s having a good week 💕 Also some of y’all have asked when they’re gonna frickle-frackle and they definitely did during the last chapter but since this fic is rated T, I can only allude to it 👀 Which is why I mentioned what I mentioned about the gif in the note. Read the notes, y’all! Warnings: Uuuuh none Summary: I had gone stock-still when I’d realized we weren’t on the Enterprise.

I had only had the pleasure of meeting Admiral Cornwell over holograms and viewscreens. Slight though she was, I found her incredibly imposing. Of course, it probably didn’t help that I was severely under prepared. I had expected to beam up to the Enterprise for a holo-conference, and here I was on the Admiral’s personal craft, out of uniform, delinquent because my communicator was off.

I had gone stock-still when I’d realized we weren’t on the Enterprise, but Una poked me hard in the back, spurring me into stepping forward and introducing myself after the Admiral had done the same. 

“What-- What can I do for you, Admiral?” I asked, clasping my hands behind my back. “I’m sending you on a special assignment to Larilia.” “What about the attaché? Is it really so bad that I need to be on-world?” “I understand that you believe the situation there is not dire based on the conversation we had earlier this week, but it has grown exponentially worse since we spoke last. I’ll brief you on our way, but I assured the Co-Chancellors that you would be there within the solar day.” My stomach churned uneasily. “Admiral, with respect, I did not negotiate their deescalation alone. Captain Pike and I worked on it together, I’m not adept at steering these conversations alone.” Cornwell arched a critical brow at me. “Well you're not being sent to put a stop to an eighty-year-old conflict this time. And according to the logs retrieved from the initial Larilian negotiations, as well as testimony given by both Pike and the Co-Chancellors, you recommended the de-escalation of Willfall.” “I was trying to divert Spargo from doing anything else dickish.” Where I cringed at my phrasing, Cornwell’s lips quirked in amusement. “It also shows on your records that you attended intensives for Diplomacy, Interspecies Protocol, Leadership - Basic, and Intergalactic Relations the last time you were at the Academy," She added. Why was all of my hard work the last time we had leave coming back to bite me? “...Well there weren’t any intensives on Klingon Poetry,” I joked. No one laughed. “I’ll give you time to beam down to the Enterprise, gather some things. But we need to be quick about this,” Cornwell said. I swallowed thickly, nodding a little. -- Packing was a flurry. I was trying to anticipate what I’d need while on Larilia, which surely couldn’t be much, right? I hadn’t seen anything but my guest quarters and the conference room the last time I’d been there. Una had beamed back down to Novisis after a firm (but warm) pat on the arm. 

By the time I was back aboard the Cornwell’s captain’s yacht, my bag beside the chair and sitting in the co-pilot’s seat, nerves were beginning to settle in my stomach. My communicator beeping snapped me out of it, and I frowned. Who-- Oh. “Excuse me,” I muttered, standing and rounding the co-pilot’s seat. I hurried down the hall, back to the cargo room before I flicked it open. “You’re on a ship to Larilia?” Chris sounded almost dazed as his voice crackled through. “I’m sorry,” I groaned, leaning back against the wall, “I meant to comm before but I had to pack fast-- Cornwell promised the Chancellors I’d be there before the day’s out.” There was a moment of quiet on the other end of the communicator, and I waited, heart thumping in my ribs. “...Guess you’re gonna be a little longer than half an hour, then,” He finally said. I cracked a small smile, lowering myself to sit on a bench. “Maybe forty-five minutes,” I conceded. Chris chuckled tiredly. “I’m sorry,” I added. “It’s alright.” “Do you know where the Enterprise is heading to next?” “Our orders from command are sending us to the Pergamum Nebula.” “The Pergamum?” I repeated, brow furrowing as I leaned back against the wall of the ship; that was on the opposite end of the Beta quadrant than Larilia, “Well… As far as we know, there isn’t much out there. You wouldn’t need me anyway.” “And if we’re wrong?” “You’ve got Thaleh and Pal.” “I know.” We went quiet for a few moments. “So,” I peered down the hall to see if Cornwell was coming looking for me, “What do you think you’ll do with your last day of leave?” “Una said that there are a fair few holochambers around. I’ve been meaning to give them a go.” “You ought to. There are some really great flight sims. Could relive some of your test-piloting.” “That a fact?” “Uh-huh. I used to spend hours on them.” “I might just give that a shot, then,” Chris conceded, “Let me know what you get to Larilia.” “Sure. Let me know when you’re headed for the Pergamum?” “I will. We’ll figure out getting you back to the Enterprise.” “I’ve gotta do my job on Larilia first,” I reminded Chris, smiling. “You feel alright about that?” Chris asked. “...Yeah,” I answered after a moment. “Wanna try that again?” I laughed a little bit, tipping my head back, “It’s fine,” I shook my head, though he couldn’t see me, “I’m just-- I think I’ll feel better once I’m there, you know, see what I’m really dealing with.” “If you need me, I’m a call away.” “I know,” I murmured, resting my head back against the wall again, “I should get back to Cornwell.” “Alright. Be careful out there.” “You be careful,” I teased. “Yes ma’am. Pike out.” 

I closed my communicator, looking down at it for a few moments. As badly as I wanted to remain in that warm exchange, as badly as I wanted to be back in bed with him, I couldn’t be there. I was on my way to Larilia, with an unfamiliar Admiral to a diplomatically tense situation.

Tag list:  @angels-pie​  ; @fantasticcopeaglepasta​  ; @mylittlelonelyappreciationtoo​  ;  @how-am-i-serpose-to-know​  ; @onlyhereforthefandomandgiggles​  ; @inmyowncorner​ ; @tardis-23​ ; @2manyfandoms-solittletime​  ;  @paintballkid711​  ;  @katrynec​

[nehswritesstuffs]

*shyly* werewolf!Twelve/Clara please?

I am just going to warn you right here and now: this is notgoing to be your average, run-of-the-mill, sexy werewolf story. There’s areason I don’t read that nonsense, and I am going to write accordingly.

4494 words; definitelyplays with the werewolf thing, like I tend to do (see the Whouffaldivampire/witch AU and/or the Whouffaldi selkie AU for a sampling of my idgafapproach to this sort of stuff); I love doing stuff like this because legendarycreatures and creature folklore and cryptids are so fun and wacky that evenwhen doing something serious I can’t help but grin; contains violence, gore,some stuff that’s probably pretty gross overall, a sloooowww as flip burn becausewhat the actual frickle frackle is this AU, another instance where I’m angrywith myself bc Danny is dead via canon, Dave Oswald just trying to be helpful, anda promise that I have more than this written/planned out so there is morecoming

The Scottish Werewolf of Hackney; Clara Oswald doesn’t believe in faerie stories. She claims she stopped believing when she was eight, but she really stopped around the time her fiancédied. Though, in all honesty, nothing could have prepared her for when a dog she picked up from the shelter a year later turned into a Scotsman right there in her kitchen…

-_-_-_-_-_-_-

It had been nearly a year since Clara Oswald’s life hadturned upside down. She double-checked the calendar and her heart sank at thetruth of it all. A year as of the following Saturday was the anniversary ofwhat Scotland Yard had referred to as one of their most baffling crime spreesthey had seen in decades: a man had stolen a vehicle while high on an unknownhallucinogen and seemingly pretended that he was in one of those badtaxi-driver games all throughout the East End before being taken down by thepolice. When all had been said and done, innumerable vehicles had been clippedand several people rushed to hospitals.

There was only one victim, however, who had not been rushedto anything, for he had been pronounced dead on the scene, and that man wasDanny Pink… her fiancé for all of three days.

She threw a pillow at the calendar on her bedroom wall andburied her face in one of those still on her bed. It made her feel stupid,pouting on her bed like a child near the eve of a dreaded anniversary, yet itwas the only thing she could think to do. No one at work was able to make herfeel much better, though they tried, putting Clara in such a rut that she did notknow what to do… let alone what to do to make her go forward.

Her mobile soon rang and she let it go to voicemail. It rangagain five minutes later and she picked it up—her father.

“Hey Dad,” she said, swiping the call through.

“How are you, my tinytangerine? Holding up alright?”

“I’m not at the bottom of a bottle this call, so I guess youcan say that.” She thought back to a couple weeks ago when her father hadcaught her finishing up a really goodwine she had found and opened the day before, something that she knew she wasnot going to let down for a while. “How about you and Gran? Everything alrightback home?”

“We’re all fine—Lindatoo, thanks for asking—though you know that’s not why I called.” Clara putthe phone on speaker and laid on her back to stare at the ceiling, really notfeeling the conversation yet still wanting her father to speak his piece. “We both know it’ll be a year soon. Have youthought about when you’ll start to… well… work at moving on?”

“It wasn’t that easy when Mum died either,” she sniped.

“That’s true, but Iput myself out there because I knew she wouldn’t have liked it if I witheredaway and died soon after her,” he retorted. “Danny was a good man, and I think he would have felt the same.”

“I know, it’s just… it’s different. You still had to lookafter me.” A knot twisted in Clara’s gut, reminding her of the excitement shehad experienced such a short time ago. “Danny and I wanted to have a kid ortwo, but he didn’t even get to leave me with that.”

“Then maybe that’swhat you need: something to look after that you can adore, but doesn’tnecessarily have the same commitment level as a child,” Dave said. “What’s the term? Pet parent? That’s a thingthese days for young people, yeah?”

“Yeah, for people delusional enough to project humanemotions onto animals so often that they forget what they’re dealing with is not a human,” she frowned. “Just becausesomeone treats an animal like theywould a human child doesn’t mean it’s an appropriate substitute. Plenty of mystudents have been under the delusion that the term ‘fur baby’ doesn’t mean ‘a humanbaby with an unfortunately excessive hair growth condition’ for years;trust me when I say I hope most of them stick to keeping pets and don’tgraduate to adopting human children in the near future.”

“Still, having a petwould do you good. I mean, the fish are all gone, and even if they were there,they couldn’t interact with you, now could they?”

“No…”

“Please give it a bitof thought, will you? For me?” Silence. “For your mum?”

“Fine,” Clara groaned. “I’ll think about it.”

“Thank you.”

A few more minutes of small talk and the phone call ended,leaving Clara alone to her thoughts. She knew that there were plenty of men outthere just waiting for the chance to go out with her and become what Danny hadnot lived long enough to be for her, though she wasn’t entirely sure howgetting a pet would be the way to put herself out there enough to find them.Her father wasn’t always a font of good advice—he was married to Linda for crying out loud—yet the partabout coping with the loss of a spouse… there was something there that she knewwas at least somewhat genuine.

Maybe, just maybe, it was worth a shot.

-_-_-_-_-_-_-

The following day, the noise inside the animal shelter wasset at an unpleasant level of rancor that Clara wasn’t entire certain she, orthe staff member that accompanied her to the back, deserved. She had talked toa couple coworkers during lunch, getting a recommendation to this particularone, and she had decided to take the plunge while her mind was still acceptingof the idea. There were all sorts of cats and dogs arguing amongst another, orat least what she presumed to be arguing, with even a small tiger adding adeafening roar that shut all the other animals up for a moment.

“That one’s not up for adoption,” the staff member clarifiedwith a wince. “Just got Timmy there last week out of a hoarder’s place andwe’re waiting on a zoo that can take him.”

“I’m not certain I want a cat anyhow,” Clara said. Shestared at the tiger, uncomfortable with the fact there was only chain-linkfencing between it and her. “They’re a bit fussy, aren’t they?”

“They’re at least more prone to being fussy on average, ifthat’s what you’re concerned about,” the other woman said. “There are cats herewho are just as affectionate as most dogs, and there are plenty of dog breedsthat can give even the most fickle cats a run for their money.” She pointed ata particular dog, a fluffy white one with long, spindly legs, and shrugged.“Vera here is one of them—part poodle and lets you know it. I’d only reallyrecommend her to someone with more experience and time on their hands. What didyou say you did again?”

“I teach secondary school… literature…” Clara replied. Shewas barely paying the staff member any mind, instead glancing around the kennelat the various animals that she knew were up for adoption. Finally, one greydog with perky ears way in the back corner caught her attention. “What aboutthat one?”

“What, Basil? Little beast has been here longer than I have,which is saying something,” the staff member frowned. The dog heard its nameand came shuffling towards the front of the cage, seemingly upset that it waseven summoned. “He keeps on escaping from wherever he goes, always coming backhere. We aren’t entirely sure what he is aside from Scots terrier; they aren’toften that grey or large, nor are their eyes blue, not if they’re purebredanyhow.”

Clara crouched down in front of the cage containing Basiland stared at him. “He’s kinda cute.”

“Honestly, it’s a grumpy old man that keeps on runningaway.”

“Then it’s a good thing I’m not looking for a bouncy, youngpuppy with too much energy for its own good,” Clara said. She stood and gavethe staff member a grin. “I’ll take him.”

“If that’s what you want, ma’am, don’t say I didn’t warnyou,” was the reply. The other woman waited until Clara stepped aside andopened the cage. She bent down to hook the leash onto Basil’s collar when thedog sneezed and walked right past her, calmly making its way towards the exit.

“Dogs don’t normally do that, do they?” Clara noted.

“They do when they’re Basil,” the staff member shrugged.

About half an hour of paperwork later and Clara was puttingher new dog into the basket on the rear of her motorbike. It had seemed ratherirritated by the fact he was made to sit in the back on wire, but she waseventually able to haul him up in there.

“C’mon you big baby,” she grunted. “It’s only until we getto the pet shop and I can find a nice cushion for you… maybe even a carrier…”She finally got him in and frowned. “Maybe a carrier isn’t a good idea—there’sno way you weigh fifty-six pounds like they say, even if you are a skinny thing.If I were to take a guess, I’d say the Airedale in there weighed less thanyou.” Basil laid down and allowed Clara to strap him down safely in the basket,giving her an indignant look.

Now that she thought about it… those eyes were a bit freaky.

After a quick popping in at the pet store and picking upsome takeaway, Clara drove her bike back to her flat block and hauled all ofher new things up to her floor. Basil obligingly took his leash with him in hismouth, watching the human carefully as she juggled her bag bringing everythinginto the cramped flat. The dog then skittered around his new home, leash nowtrailing along, seemingly inspecting the place to see if it was to hisstandards.

“Alright Basil, I assume you know the drill already,” Clarasaid as she opened a can of dog food and put it in the new dog dish. She placedthe dish on the floor and waited for Basil to make his way over and begineating. With him staying still, she was able to take off the worn leash andcollar from the kennel and clipped a brand-new collar around his neck. It was adark navy color, and it seemed to bring out the blue in his eyes even more.“That’s your dish, you sleep in your new basket, no laying on the furnitureunless I’m there to unlatch your claws, and no peeing or taking a dump in theflat unless,” she grabbed the tray of scented training pads and waved it infront of him, “you go in this.”

Basil chewed his food and stared at Clara, seeminglyunimpressed.

“Yeah, yeah, you and your attack-eyebrows probably don’tunderstand a word I’m saying,” she sighed.

Clara then went and began to eat her own dinner, glad thatit was at least still hot enough to not microwave. She began to scroll throughthe news on her mobile as she ate, not paying her new flatmate any heed untilshe felt him head-butt her ankle. Looking down, she saw that Basil was staringup at her, tail (and rear) wagging as he stood next to his dish, which he hadpushed over to her feet.

“I don’t know if curry’s a good thing to feed dogs…” shemused. Basil barked and then whimpered, nudging the bowl with his nose.“Alright, but don’t make this a common occurrence; we don’t need you gettingheavier than you already are.” She took the bowl from the floor and brought itup to the table, spooning some of the rice and sauce in before setting it backdown at the dog’s level. He then began to eat, chomping down voraciously on thetreat as though it was one of its favorites.

Clara nodded; she was going to have to remember that.

-_-_-_-_-_-_-

“You seem happy today, Clara. What’s going on?”

Clara glanced up to see Adrian sitting across from her inthe staff room, both of them on their lunch break. He looked concerned—well, hewas always concerned about something—andit was rare that the two of them were alone to talk freely.

“Oh, uh, nothing really,” she shrugged. “I’m just followingsome advice my dad gave me the other day, you know, and it involves rearrangingmy schedule. Let’s hope it’s for the better.”

“What advice is that, may I ask?”

“I got a dog.” She watched his eyebrow go up in confusion.“Dad said I might feel better about… you know… things if I had a pet to take care of, so I went to the shelter andgot an older dog to see how I do with it. If it goes well, I’ll be getting anew dog within a couple of years, and if not, then I’ll do my best to ride itout and then pitch its things in the charity shop once it goes.”

“Not a bad idea,” he nodded. “Say, you think that dog ofyours can play striker in pub league? We still haven’t been able to findsomeone to fill those empty cleats.” They both smiled at that—she wasn’t theonly one grieving, after all.

“It’s not a golden retriever backed by a human stunt team,that’s for sure,” she said. Clara picked up her mobile and pulled up a photoshe had taken of her dog just the previous night. “That’s Basil; he’s aScottish terrier mixed with… something… the kennel wasn’t entirely certain.”

“Maybe it’s part Kerry, or even schnauzer? It looks a bitlike the dog my cousins had as kids that was a mix of those… just…” Adrianshuddered slightly. “It’s got some eyes on it, that’s for certain.”

“I don’t know if I’ve seen eyes like that on a dog before,but then again, I’ve never had cause to notice…”

“Certainly doesn’t make it look very friendly.”

“No, that’s the eyebrows,” Clara laughed. “Its ownindependent state of crossness, those things. Everything from Scotland has tobe cross, you know, even dogs. I should’ve known better.”

“Celia’s husband’s from Edinburgh; maybe we can ask her howto get a Scot to behave,” Adrian joked.

“You were clearlynever out during Celia’s hen night,” she replied.  There was then movement outside in thecorridor, catching her attention. Mr. Coburn was attempting to get herattention… with a policewoman standing behind him. “Shit, what’s this about?”She went over to the door and opened it, very poorly trying to stay calm.“Yes…?”

“Are you Miss Clara Oswald?” the policewoman asked, notallowing Mr. Coburn to get a word in.

“Last time I checked—is something the matter?”

“I hate to inform you, but there’s been a reported break-inat your flat and we need your permission to search for any clues that couldlead us to the suspect,” the policewoman said. “Entry doesn’t look forced andnothing appears to have been stolen, but we like to have the residents checkthemselves, just in case.”

“Yes, of course, I’ll be right there,” Clara said. She thenrushed back to her seat and began to clean up her lunch, stuffing the leftoversin the fridge, as well as the marking she had been idly working on beforeAdrian struck up their conversation… Adrian! “Oh, I’m sorry, I don’t know ifI’ll be able to help with taking Grade Sevens today…!”

“It’s fine; just go!” Adrian insisted. “Just make sureeverything’s alright at your place.”

“We will also need you to restrain your dog while we lookaround, Miss,” the officer mentioned. “He seems to be tolerating us so far, butwe don’t want to go too far and then have to call animal control.”

“I just got him too,” she muttered half-heartedly. This wasthe exact opposite of what she needed right then and there.

Once she got the remainder of her things from her classroom,Clara followed the policewoman out of the school and was at least able to rideher bike back home (giving a couple students a smile and wave on the way, justto confuse them). Once she got home, she found Basil sitting vigilant in frontof her bedroom door, glaring at the officers that were wandering about insearch of evidence.

“We have the resident,” the policewoman said, bringing Clarainto the kitchen. There were a couple other officers there, all clearly hersenior thanks to looking more civilian than her traffic cop getup.

“Thank you; I’ll take it from here,” the sergeant said. Thenew woman took a clipboard from an associate and flipped through the papers.“Clara Oswald?”

“Yes,” she affirmed curtly.

“It looks like at about seven after one in the afternoon, aMrs. Singhdal from a couple floors down called to report what looked like a manin your kitchen window,” the sergeant explained. “Mrs. Singhdal then claims tohave knocked, thinking that your father was in town for some sort ofanniversary—I couldn’t get precisely what out of her—but became alarmed whenshe heard a strange voice instead. Do you live alone?”

“Aside from the dog? Yes.”

“Do you have a boyfriend, male friend or family member, maleassociate, or male contractor who would have the keys to, or general access to,your flat aside from the block staff?”

“Just my father, and he lives in Blackpool,” Claraconfirmed. “Before you ask further, I didhave a boyfriend within the past year, but he also died within that amount oftime—actually this weekend will mark a year.”

“I’m sorry to hear that; none of his friends had access to akey via him?”

“Most of his friends are either still in the military orwere coworkers of ours—he would’ve known had he borrowed my key and then itvanished for a bit.”

The following couple of hours were a complete mess forClara. She had to answer way too manyquestions about what was going on in her life for comfort, as well as allowpeople she had never even met have full access to her flat. Not even Basil had full access to her flat, as hewas restricted to the kitchen, sitting room, and the central corridor thatconnected all the rooms together. In the end, the police found nothing ofinterest, leaving her flat with a tip of a couple hats and a direct phonenumber to call in case she did find something unusual in the coming days.

It was now well into evening, creeping towards midnight, asClara sat blankly on her sofa. Basil laid curled up in her lap, allowing her tostroke his fur.

“I’m not very hungry, are you?” she asked. The dog snorted.“There is one thing that I know has been different lately—I’ve been talking awhole lot more since you got here. I wonder how healthy that is…”

Basil wriggled free from his spot underneath Clara’s arm andskittered over towards where his leash hung on a peg near the door. He put hispaws up on the wall so he could stand and nudged it with his nose, giving asclear a signal as he could.

“I guess we can take a walk; might put me in the mood forsome food while we’re out,” she agreed. Clara clipped Basil’s leash on hiscollar and shrugged herself into a coat. It might have been a bit nippy out thepast few nights, but at least she was in London,meaning that she was able to get decent food no matter what time of day ornight it happened to be, no matter what she was in the mood to eat. As long asshe had her mobile, she didn’t care what was going on.

Sure enough, the brisk night air was enough to get her bloodgoing, and by the time the clock struck midnight, she was sitting in a smallcanteen having a sandwich while Basil had some plate scrapings that the managerwas kind enough to set aside. Feeling invigorated, Clara knew that she wasgoing to have to walk off some of her new energy before going to sleep, all ofwhich was going to absolutely destroyher regular sleeping pattern. She found a quiet street for her and Basil tostroll down on their way back home, taking solace in the still night.

Then, suddenly, Basil stopped walking. His already-perkedears twitched before he crouched down in a growl—something was wrong.

“What’s out there, boy?” Clara wondered. “Is it a squirrel?A badger from the park?” She sat on her calves and tried to see where Basil wasgrowling. There wasn’t a person there, nor did it seem like there was anotheranimal. “Are you sure there’s something there…?”

Basil growled again, except this time, he was met by a lowhissing noise. A soft thud came from behind a nearby tree—they were not alone.

“Come on, Basil, let’s get out of here,” Clara said. Shetugged at his leash, yet the dog stood his ground. His fur seemed to stand onend and fluff up as he let out a warning yip to their unwanted company. “Basil,come on,let’s get out… of… here…”

Slowly, the thing that fell from the tree came into sight,confusing Clara beyond words. It was a snake, sort of, except it had two stubbylegs towards its front end and a face that appeared more cat than snake. Basilgrowled again, which resulted in the creature giving a feline-like his… allwhile sticking out its forked tongue.

Clara’s eyes went wide as she froze in horror. She didn’tknow what she was looking at, let alone what to do about it. Basil firmlyplaced himself between the creature and her, growling fiercely as the beingcame closer.

In an instant, the creature attacked. Basil leapt into itspath and the two began to fight. Clara panicked, not wanting to just sit thereon the pavement like an idiot, and quickly began to look around for somethingto use as a weapon. A worn cricket bat with a cracked blade was sitting next toa rubbish bin on the other side of the street—perfect. She ran to get it,coming back to whack the creature as hard as she could to get it to stopcoiling itself around her dog. It hissed at her, attempting to drive her offbefore getting hit in the face with the bat. Once it realized it was notdealing with only one attacker, the creature part-scampered-part-slithered awayinto the park across the street, nabbing a squirrely snack on its way.

“That was… weird…” Clara breathed. She then glanced down atBasil and gasped; he was hurt, bleeding from cuts to his side and face, andlooked as though he could barely breathe based on his gasping breaths. “No,hey, I got you, gimme a mo’…” After sticking the broken bat underneath her arm,she picked up the dog and began to quickly walk towards her flat.

It felt like a million thoughts were racing through Clara’shead at once while she carried Basil back home. First and foremost, she definitely wanted to call that directnumber for the police sergeant, but she knew that she would likely be laughedonto a do-not-answer list the moment she began explaining what was going on.What was that thing? Why did it attack them? Where did it come from? She drovethe thoughts from her mind as she got to her floor and opened the door to herflat—there was no time for that right now.

After making sure the door was shut and locked tightlybehind them, Clara dropped the bat on the floor and went towards the kitchen.She pulled an old towel from the linen cupboard on her way and put that on thekitchen floor, laying the injured Basil atop it. The dog was whimpering in painas she took the collar off him and the sight tore at her—the only reason he washurt was because he had been defending her.

“Alright, let me at least get these disinfected, then we cansee about wrapping them up,” she said. Clara rushed into the bathroom and foundcotton balls and a bottle of surgical spirit, as well as some old, chunkymenstrual pads her gran had bought (for what reason, she did not want to know)that she knew would take care of any bleeding from Basil’s side. She broughteverything with her to the kitchen, putting it down next to Basil.

Then, as if things couldn’t become stranger, it did.

Basil’s fur, no, his skinbegan to ripple, accompanying a sort of loud, sloshy sound. As the dog laythere, he began to grow in size, limbs stretching out and bones cracking asthey rearranged themselves. His fur thinned and retreated until there was onlysome atop his head and a dusting on his extremely pale chest.

Before she knew it, Clara Oswald had a very naked, veryhuman man lying on a towel and bleeding all over her kitchen floor.

“Uh, okay, hold still,” Clara said in a panic. She wet a wadof cotton with some surgical spirit and gently dabbed it atop one of the gasheson Basil’s side. He grunted in pain, curling his body up slightly.

“That hurts!” he snapped. “Just leave me alone!”

Okay Clara, your new dog just saved you from asnake-lizard-cat-thing and then morphed into a Scotsman on your kitchen floor.This couldn’t be that weird, couldit?

Yes. Yes it was very weird.

“I am going to safely assume that this explains why Mrs.Singhdal thought I was being robbed earlier today,” she said. “What the hell are you?!”

“Hard to explain; just give me that.” Basil grabbed themenstrual pad and pressed the absorbent side to his ribcage in an attempt tostop his blood from spilling further.

“Okay, then what was that thing that did this to you?!”

“That’s even harderto explain.”

“Are you going toexplain anything?”

“Maybe if you let me stop bleeding out on your floor, thenyes. Eventually.” He then began to sweat and soon passed out, laying completelystill.

Clara stared at the man that, up until about ten or sominutes prior, had been her dog and contemplated what to do. She poked Basil inthe shoulder and when she did not get a response, decided to continue with herprevious plan of cleaning out the wounds. Working quickly, she was able to gethim cleaned and patched up, finding an old pair of Danny’s basketball shorts onthe bottom of her closet to cover his lower bits as she dragged him into thesitting room. She put him on the sofa—sitting up because it was the only way hecould fit with his long legs—and stared.

What in the heck was going on?

[gretaxcatchlove]

"This um..this is awkward." Greta said, her face deep red. She didn't expect to run into someone in this hallway.