Do the birds suffer so?

Now that Fabrice has moved back in, gotten settled, and assured his beloved cats that yes, this time, they are home to stay, he really craves a Quill run. He has the rest of today off, not starting work back at the zoo until tomorrow, and he desperately needs a greasy junk food fix. Sating his cats with an extra can of wet food (and God, do they ever have him wrapped around their paws, with their big, sad eyes and pitiful meows every time he so much as blinks), he grabs his wallet and keys and heads out the door. He pauses for a moment in his walkway to send a text to Cecilia, just to see how she's doing, before shoving his phone into his pocket and heading on his way.

He could ride his bike for the extra exercise as he heads into town, but today, with its slightly less humid temperature and overcast sky, feels like a day for walking. It's been too long since he's last had the chance to enjoy the view of Siren Cove coming in from the outside; the gradual decline of trees into civilization is a beautiful sight, and if he had any artistic abilities, he would dearly love to paint it.

And, he thinks to himself, though he tries not to, this venture is also a test, of sorts. Ever since that night in Oregon, at that bar, Fabrice has had more cause to worry about venturing out in public. That asshole, Donny, he thinks, who started bragging about how many wolves he's killed; he continued from there about derogatory remarks about the women he's slept with, and then wound up getting in Fabrice's face once he saw how uncomfortable he'd been at the source of his conversation. He kept prodding at Fabrice until he nearly punched him in the face. Said asshole also turned out to be a witch. A damned good one, considering how quickly and subtly he'd managed to curse Fabrice.

Fabrice now lets out a steadying breath. He refuses to let that jerk win, from however many miles away they are apart. As long as he remains calm, and he doesn't let his nerves get the better of him, he ought to be okay.

Surprisingly, his resolution holds; he doesn't encounter any mishaps on his way to Siren Cove. At least, not until he reaches the edge of town, where various people sprawl in the damp grass, on blankets with books and significant others to keep them company. He smiles briefly at the sight, though his heart aches a little at it, too. He manages to clear his head of those thoughts a moment later, distracting himself with thoughts of a black raspberry iced tea and a bear claw to go with it.

This is, of course, the moment that a teenager nearly collides into him on his bicycle. Fabrice's stomach drops as the tingling sensation that comes with every transformation begins spreading across the tiny hairs on his arms, like wildfire. He desperately looks for a place to hide, but by then, he's already dropped to all fours, and it's all he can to quickly shove his wallet and phone in his mouth as the magic takes over.

He arises minutes later, fully a deer. The teenager gapes at him, before running off and screaming. The various people gathered begin to panic in their own ways. Shit, he thinks. And then he runs, back towards the woods, knowing he's already failed his own test. And possibly a few laws, while he's at it.

[OOC: Basically, Fabrice's curse is that he transforms into his animal form every time he's startled/overly nervous. I want to play it out as a plot for a little bit, so I do ask that any magical suggestions not work for while yet. Eventually, he'll overcome it, but not yet. Set to late morning/early afternoon; feel free to have witnessed him transform from anywhere on the edge of town by the woods! Have him nearly run your pup down or whatever you like. A good time to meet him, despite everything. Open to all!]

The Cove has been out since God knows when this morning and Fabrice hates today as he hasn't loathed a birthday since the first one he'd spent without his father. Having tea with Riley helped a great deal, even if he still feels uneasy and the churning in his gut has yet to subside. He can't help but worry that Violet Coombs is going to return to town and murder Demetri in cold blood. Or that Demetri's father will do something equally as heinous. He doesn't know the Thornton patriarch, but he knows the rumors and the whispers; he also knows the look in Demetri's eyes whenever he speaks about his father finding out about his true nature.

In short, the supposed town curse and the goddamn family rivalry is yet again eating away at him.

So Fabrice finds his way into one of the local bars in town; decidedly not Coombs Tavern, or anywhere where people might recognize him. The pub he's in now is antiquated, small, and fashioned after an old, English inn. He finds himself a small corner and tucks himself away from any prying eyes, of which, thankfully, there are only a few of here. He begins with a glass of beer, which he nurses for a good hour before moving on to harder stuff. He downs a couple shots and another couple of glasses of whiskey. His throat burns, and the ache in his chest from his worrying fades a bit.

He doesn't usually get drunk; really, he only ever drinks on social occasions, especially after that beach party. But tonight, his heart hurts, and guilt clouds his every thought; he can't stop worrying about Demetri, and the fact that today is his birthday stings like a rusty nail into the side of Fabrice's skin.

"Happy birthday to me," he mutters, finishing off what remains of his last glass of whiskey before making an attempt at getting up from his table.

He winds up falling flat on his face.

OOC: Find Fabrice in the bar, having recently fallen flat on his face. He's having a grand old time for his birthday, as you can see, and he's basically drunk off his ass.

Fabrice is daydreaming, leaning against his study window, absentmindedly stroking Clotho as thoughts drift through his mind, each one inevitably drifting back to Demetri, and even Daniel, and how utterly perceptive he had proven to be in seeing right through him. The sun is just beginning to set, fading light giving way to the whims of the stars. He bears a half smile on his face as he continues to stare out at a world he just barely acknowledges. He feels almost at peace with his life, for a change.

This is, of course, when the pain strikes him, abrupt and powerful enough as though a fist landed square on his chest, sending him stumbling against the wall and the cat to leap from his grasp with a wounded meow.

( Warnings for mentions of magical violence and injuries beneath the cut. )