Figgis 1: The Hairy-handed Gent

Something different today. This too may become serialised. It's not going to be serious, just a bit of fun. And yes, the character name is stolen from another fic of mine (and so is the vampire name, though she hasn't given it yet). And yes the title is stolen from a lyric. Cookie to the first to identify it. Anyways... enjoy.

The Hairy-Handed Gent

Become a werewolf they said, it’ll be fun they said.
It may have been, if the people at Supernaturals R Us had got it right. Except they hadn’t. Somewhere, something had gone wrong. Figgis looked down at his paws. They didn’t look very wolf-like. For a start, his fur was not a steely grey, nor was it any shade of brown. Or black. Or any other sort of colour he associated with wolves. It was white. And slightly fluffy.

It had seemed a good idea at the time. Pay a million Credits and become a werewolf. The transformation came with a lifetime’s membership to the exclusive Lycanthropy Club, free access to The Hunting Grounds safari park when the moon was full, and guaranteed good health and enhanced senses even in human form. Figgis had slapped his Credit card down on the desk and declared his intentions. He’d signed the waivers, flipped through the four inch thick user agreement and then happily followed the extremely attractive scientist to the Transformation rooms. Ten hours later he’d stumbled home, the identity bracelet still on his wrist, hoping to sleep off the immense hangover he seemed to have developed.

He’d woken up as a dog. And most disconcertingly, it wasn’t even night.

He jumped down off the bed and trotted over to the full length mirror. he was definitely a dog. Not even a manly dog. Mostly Labrador with a dash of Spaniel. He wagged his tail experimentally. It was an extraordinarily long tail, with a bit of a fringe.

He mooched around the bedroom for a bit, not quite sure what to do next. Whilst he was thinking, he decided to have a bit of a nap. He leapt back onto the bed, turned around several times and curled up on the pillow. before he slept he realised that at least one thing was working as promised, his sense of smell was vastly improved. Now he really did wonder why dogs slept with their noses tucked into their backsides.

He woke again and the room was dark. He was still a dog.

It occurred to him that what he really ought to do was go back down to the Transformation Studio and see if they could reverse the process. And that decided, his first problem was getting out of the bedroom. It took several attempts to unlatch the door. His nails made a clicking nose on the laminate in the hallway as he walked to the door. The front door was locked. Of course it was.

Figgis sat down. Scratched the door a little forlornly. This wasn’t working out at all like he planned.

He gave up on the front door and jumped up onto the kitchen worktop. carefully he stepped over the crockery piled up on the draining board and nuzzled the catch on the window. Eventually it slid up and the widow opened. he jumped down into the garden, peed against the side of the house and set off towards the Studio and hopefully, re-humanising.

The Studio was shut.

“Oh bugger,” he said. Or tried to at least. What actually came out was some sort of throaty gibberish. He barked instead. it sounded suspiciously like a yap. The effeminate yap of a handbag sized dog, not even a decent woof as would befit a dog his size.

“It’s shut down,” said a voice beside him.

Figgis turned. There was a vampire standing next to him. Except she didn’t look exactly like a vampire. She looked like an angel. But with two huge bat wings. They fluttered a little bit in the breeze. “failed werewolf transformation?”

Figgis yapped again. Cleared his throat and tried again. This time it sounded a little bit beefier. perhaps a terrier sized woof.

“’Become a vampire,’ they said. ‘It’ll be fun,’ they said.” The vampire sighed and Figgis fell in love.