Chapter Text
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"Lis'sen, man, you guys... I- I did nuffin'... Why's da mob pissed off at me...?", slurred out the injured man, drooling blood. Narancia socked him again in the jaw to keep him quiet.
"Why'd guys like us know?! We just obey orders, ya jackass! Just die quietly, d'ya want me to drag it out, is that it?!", the thug growled out between his teeth, grabbing the target's arm forcefully.
"Narancia! Just wrap it up, the coast is clear for now...", called Fugo, standing guard outside the alley, using a red polka dot handkerchief to wipe the blood off of his hands. He looked at the unlit, murky road with dread in his eyes, running over every detail of the quiet street, barring the sound of fighting homeless people and singing drunkards far away.
"This guy fell over like a one-legged drunk! Why did they send us three to take care of him? Narancia could've done it with his arms behind his back", yawned out Mista, leaning against the alley's dirty wall, brazenly cleaning his gun in the poor lamplight. Fugo shot another look at him. "What? C'mon, dude, I know we didn't carry money to bribe any cops, but d'ya really think they wander round this hellhole. If it's a drunk or a bum who wanders by, we'll stab 'em and no one will care!", the gunman yawned yet again, accentuating his point by waving his gun in the direction of two inebriated individuals having the least impressive boxing match the night-time had ever seen.
Fugo looked over the two men fighting in the entrance of some bar of low repute, when a guttural howl echoed through the streets, calling his attention. Neither the low-lives nor Narancia appeared to have heard it, but Mista definitely had, as he looked around him, horrified. As the youngest walked out of the alley (a bit carelessly, he'd later admit to himself), the moon caught his attention. Not that he ever considered himself a moon-gazing romantic (that was Mista), but something about the singular light in the sky, so bright not even light pollution drowned it out, called out to him.
Mista noticed it too, walking out of the alley, following Fugo's gaze to the natural satellite, halting the cleaning of his gun. The thought of the howl vanished completely from their minds.
"...Hey... Man... Was there... Supposed to be a... Full moon today?", Mista slurred out, something humming gently in his ears, lulling him into a sense of comfort and security, as if the moonlight could grant him more warmth than a mother's embrace. The other slowly shrugged, as enraptured by the pale light as his friend. It felt as if the moon could take away all that was negative in their lives, all wrong that had been done unto them, and place them again in newer, fresh skins, washed of sin, pain and guilt.
Narancia looked back to the entrance of the side street to confirm that his companions had left him. For goodness' sake. He expected this from Mista, but this was exactly the kind of thing Fugo yelled at him for doing.
He still had the man's arm in a vice-grip, and couldn't help but noticing something moving under his hand. He turned his head to see that the guy seemed a lot more hairy than before, with bright yellow eyes who had gained back tenfold of the energy he had lost before. Narancia tried to move back, but the target managed to catch his hand in his mouth, biting down with the strength of a dog.
Narancia swore under his breath, pulled out his switchblade and slashed the attacker's throat. Surprisingly, he expected more of a fight, suspecting a stand user playing a waiting game of sorts, yet the enemy wilted down with choking noises and fell over dead with a simple slash.
The thug had learned his lesson in the only aeroplane ride he had disliked in his short life, however. Narancia kicked him a couple more times, waited around for some sort of flesh stand to pop out, even shot him with Aerosmith for good measure. Recalling the other stand's gimmick, he ran around the guy waving his arms to see if it reacted to movement.
"Narancia, did you have too much wine?", asked a voice from the entrance to the alley.
Narancia looked back like a dog caught tearing into one of the couch pillows. Fugo and Mista both stood, backlit by the poor lamplight. The gunman laughed, cursing himself for not having some sort of camera. Fugo spared the man some dignity, simply furrowing his brow.
"N-No, h-hey listen! He had more hair, and his eyes were all yellow, then he bit me and I thought he was gonna be a stand user but then he just died and I thought 'what about that other guy in the plane, me old friend' and I thought oh yeah, right, so I was trying to make sure this guy didn't have a stand by kicking him around some more, then I remembered what Trish did to defeat that guy, so I started moving around to see if it reacted to movem-", Narancia frantically tried to explain himself, interrupted by a bullet narrowly missing his leg and hitting the corpse behind him in the lung.
"There, dude! Now you'll sleep easy tonight", said Mista, wiping a tear of laughter from his face. Narancia cursed at him, turning around to take the guy's wallet. At Fugo's complaints about leaving fingerprints, Narancia explained that now it'd look like a violent mugging, nothing more. The three exited the alley, looking around them one last time for witnesses before heading to their hide-out.
"It's not... 'Silver'", a voice mumbled in the alley, clouds uncovering the full moon yet again, "If it's not 'silver'... I'll be... fine...". A rather beat-up looking individual stumbled out of an alley, using the wall as support. A canine shadow loomed over the moon. "You've seen the moon, haven't you... I'll let you... Have a taste of my... 'Curse'... Payment for taking my wallet", spat out the man, looking over the city, eyes drifting over a passed-out drunkard laying against a wall. Slowly, a canine stalks towards the man.
---
In their car (obviously stolen), Narancia ran his hand absentmindedly over the bite mark. "Narancia", called Fugo, looking at him through the rear-view mirror, "Is the bite mark still there?". Mista snored in the passenger seat, now cracking open one eye to also look at Narancia. The seventeen-year old nodded. "Yeah, and it's stingin' like all hell here! Human bites ain't supposed to do that!", Narancia commented, looking down at the bright red teeth indentions on his left hand. His arm hair looked thicker than it usually did, but he figured it was just the light. Mista scratched his head, sitting up.
"Maybe that's the stand, man, if it was like that other guy...", Mista commented, now scratching his chin, "Get Giorno to heal that for you when we get there". Fugo looked back to the road, taking the upteenth false turn that car drive to lose any tail they might've had. "If the bite is part of the stand, I doubt it will heal over just like that, Mista", commented the youngest of the trio, Narancia drifting his gaze back to him, "You might have to ask Buccellati to remove your arm, and then ask Giorno to replace it.".
Narancia went to lift his left hand to scratch his head in thought, when he hit his own nose with it. The teen blinked twice, looking down to see he had somehow placed his hand under his chin and had started licking the wounds. Brow furrowed, he brought it back down, holding it with his other arm, turning his head to stare out the window.
---
The three entered the hideout in a neat row, pausing to greet Buccellati and show him Narancia's wound. He refused to remove the arm right away, and advised them to try Giorno's healing first. The five (Buccellati had called out Sticky Fingers due to Mista's phobia) headed to Giorno's office, in the basement of the quaint warehouse they took for a hideout, Narancia trailing behind, scratching his chin, something Mista could not help but notice while they were waiting for the lift.
"Hey, dude, did ya forget to shave today? You've got more fur than me, and that's saying something", Mista commented, pointing at Narancia's chin, unaware why he had decided to go for the word fur. The other blinked twice, looking at his reflection in a metal beam next to the lift. "You're right, I look like you after a week on mission! But I did shave today, and it usually doesn't grow back that fast...", the younger one commented, rubbing his face with his hands, also noticing how his hair felt more rough. Mista looked at him through the reflection. "I remember when we were escorting Trish that your face was as smooth as a baby's the entire time. Eh, maybe your manly instincts only woke due to that guy and now you're gonna stop having a shrill voice as well! Congrats, kid, you'll become just like me", Mista joked, patting the teen's shoulder. "Hey, c'mon! I told ya, girls like my look! It's all about looking soft and cute, like a puppy!", Narancia retorted, slapping the other's hand away. Fugo called the two of them to get in the elevator.
--
Giorno nodded along to their report without making any comment, only writting down something in a black notebook. As they finished recounting the events, Giorno asked to see Narancia's wound, Buccellati having gone to get a cup of water that the don had asked for.
The boy covered the bite mark with his other hand, lowering his head and walking backwards. "This is no time to wuss out, dude! Ya wanna have that bite stinging the whole night?", Mista said, irritated, grabbing the other by the shoulder. Narancia jolted at this, turning to him with a snarl, eyes wide open. Fugo furrowed his brow and grabbed his friend by the other shoulder, earning him another snarl. Both nodded at Giorno, who called out his stand.
Gold experience, making use of some paper shreds, clutched the injured teen's arm while he thrashed around in pain as it healed the marks.
The indentions did heal over, and Narancia seemed to calm down, looking over his previously hurt hand.
Mista crossed his arms, slightly offended by Narancia's gestures at him. "You alright now? C'mon, Narancia, be decent. We don't snarl or bite each other, we punch, kick, curse, swear and spit", said the gunman in a disciplinary tone, wagging his index finger. "Yeah, sorry about that, I don't know why I did that, really!", Narancia apologized, once again lowering his head, scratching the back of his head in shame. Genuinely, he had no idea why he'd resisted the healing. It hurt, sure, but there was no reason to react in such a way, right?
"Mobsters, not...", Giorno provided, lifting his head of of his notebook, blanking on a rhyme, "...Lobsters?". The three looked at him in silence. Giorno stared back. "Thugs! Not...", Mista spoke, catching on to what Giorno was trying to do, "...Bugs?". They looked over at Fugo, the last line of defence, who sighed. "Criminals, not animals?", he supplied shrugging, earning him three approving nods.
Buccellati entered the room with the water glasses, carefully handing one to each, before settling in an armchair, as did the three teens (in other seating devices, of course). "So, Giorno. Why did you send us to take care of that man? Was he involved in the drug trade?", Fugo asked, running his hands over his own suit to straighten it out. Giorno put his pen down. "No. The man you've killed was known as The Bloodhound. His specialization was organ stealing. He was rumoured to be able to deliver whatever he stole in perfect condition, like a hunting dog carries a downed duck, it is even said once he sold a still-beating heart.", Giorno explained, closing his notebook and setting it aside in a pile of other notebooks, "He is a lone wolf, per say. He is not associated with any mobs but will work for any with the right payment. He carried out recent work in our territory, thus I sent you to get rid of him".
"Was he a stand user? You were worried that the bite was part of the stand. ", asked Buccellati, while Fugo slapped Narancia's back and scolded him to sit straight. Giorno shook his head slowly. "The information I had gotten was hear-say. How the victims disappeared completely, how he summoned a great wolf to work for him, that he ate his victims with the help of the aforementioned wolf... Yet none of you mentioned any wolves. It couldn't have been a post-mortem stand, seeing how this gossip was going around before his death", the boy commented, looking over at the three thugs, "I say keep an eye on Narancia, but we mustn't concern ourselves too much".
Giorno organized his papers, getting up, movement followed by the rest. "Buccellati, for safety, you and Abbacchio go to the localization of the fight, rewind the events of the night and check everything. Fugo, go to Sheila and Gianluca to add what we've got to this man's file. Narancia, for now, please rest, Mista, keep an eye on him to see if anything occurs until morning", spoke the young boss, putting his pen on his suit pocket, moving to push his chair in. Fugo coughed to get his attention, while the rest were already moving. "Should we close the file, Giorno? Seeing as he is terminated...", questioned Fugo, fiddling with his tie. Giorno shook his head again, walking around his desk. "No. I'll have Cannolo gather some more intel. There is something here that does not sit right...", he explained, walking away in deep thought, leaving the other behind in the room. Fugo blinked twice, looked around him, sighed and exited the room, locking it behind himself.
"So! Looks like we're gonna have a sleepover. Be warned: I don't do pillowfights. I accept gossiping and watching movies, though.", Mista joked, putting his arm around Narancia, walking with him in the direction of the elevator. The younger one moved the other's arm away, shaking his head. "I don't know, man, I feel... Weird. I just want to go to sleep", Narancia yawned, scratching behind his own ears. The gunman shrugged and patted the other's head.
--
Mista had easily settled in the other's couch, gun under his pillow, snoring within two minutes. Narancia stood alone in his balcony, taking advantage of the cool breeze to feel more grounded, looking at the palms of his hands. "Man, what's going on with me? Am I catching some sort of illness?", he asked himself, rubbing the palms of his hands with his thumbs, feeling how unusually rough they had become. His nails looked longer as well, his nose was constantly wet, and his teeth cut his tongue on the way to his apartment.
The clouds parted temporarily, revealing a bright full moon, which instantly caught Narancia's attention. "Hey, I didn't know a full moon was due tonight! Weather guys keep getting it wrong, idiots!", he complained, staring longingly into the pale light, elbows on the edge of his balcony. He brought his hand over to scratch behind his ear again.
Except he noticed that his ear was pointed now, and covered in fur. In shock, he looked down at his hand, to see black fur covering his entire arm, pads growing out of his hands, nails turning into claws. He swore under his breath, rushing inside and through his room to the bathroom. Nearly breaking the light switch, he dashed over to look at himself in the mirror, clawed hands grasping each side of the sink. His jaw was extending forward, teeth popping out of his gums and snapping into place, canine teeth extending.
What he thought was an overgrown beard was in fact fur, turned orange, that spread across his lower face and down into his chest, his hair growing further down his forehead and spreading through the top half of his face. Whiskers grew below his nose, which tip started to harden and turn black as it followed the jaw.
Narancia tried to call Mista but all he could manage were growls or yaps, which the gunman would sleep through, without a doubt. Narancia saw himself forced to lower his stance, spine extending to form a bushy tail.
The teen dropped to the floor, shaking with the feel of the transformation. It was not quite pain, but rather the rush of adrenaline, of something primal coursing through all of his veins, life resounding through all of his nerves.
Fur continued to spread through his body, black and glistening, orange on what was becoming his underside. Paws spread and closed, testing, body getting used to its existence, the stronger muscles ripping through the weak fabric, leaving large holes behind that exposed rough fur.
The pupils of the beast dashed around the room as his eyes turned orange, snout settling into its long, pointy shape, small teeth resting in their rightfull place. His ears rose to settle atop (a bit behind) his head, twitching with their newfound power, clearly hearing the snores of the man in the living room.
His feet now turned to paws as well, ripping through his shoes, leaving them in the same state as the rest of his clothes during the transformation.
The beast now sat back, scratching under his chin with his backpaw, looking around him. This was a foreign environment for him, some memory that had been pushed into the back of his brain for the time being. Therefore, the animal decided to leave his place, walking in his four paws out of the bathroom and into a living room where some human was sleeping soundly, performing some sort of growled, howled whistle. The beast tilted his head at this, but felt a deep affection for this human, so he licked the man's hand before exiting through the window, jumping for the nearest tree and descending into the moonlit streets, barking his freedom.
The next morning, Mista woke up to the report of a black and orange foxman terrorrizing the streets of Naples sounding on the old, cheap tv Narancia owned, and to the same man curled on the floor, in ripped clothing, sleeping soundly.