Chapter Text
Residual claps from the previous lodger’s performance sounded throughout the large hall, as Henry let out a quiet sigh from behind the stage. This was the moment he had been anticipating. Despite everything that happened in the past 2 weeks; despite Hyde; despite Frankenstein; despite it all, it was happening. He reached into his breast pocket, pulling out a handkerchief, and wiped sweat from his forehead. He glanced around, looking at all the people surrounding him, the people he held dear, all smiling at him. He smiled back, despite the pounding in his chest and the aches in his bones. They needed him. He couldn't fail.
He repeated the mantra he told Zozi earlier in the day. "I don't have to last the whole evening." He breathed out, trying to calm his nerves.
"Did you say something?" Lanyon glanced at Henry.
"What? Oh, hah.. nothing." Henry replied, smiling at him.
"...." Lanyon stared at him with a suspicious glare, remembering what he had seen when he arrived. He still worried for his friend afterall- even if he was sick of the Society.
Henry, oblivious to this, noted the claps dying down and took one last breath.
"...Henry, are you-" Lanyon paused, only just realising he had left. "Sigh." Lanyon chewed at his lip, his anxieties starting to get the best of him at this point. 'What is wrong with Henry' was his main question- he could clearly see something was up.. but what was it?
---
Harsh footsteps echoed from on the stage, as Henry built up all the courage he had left in him. His head pounded to the beat of his footsteps. The monotonous taps feeling like a hammer to his skull.
“Tonight,” he thought to himself, “I need to give everything I have.”
He reached the microphone, standing alone in the middle of the empty stage, and stared at the audience. The dim lighting hid their faces, but that didn’t matter, he knew what expressions they were making already. He could feel the contempt in the air as they stared at him. They knew what he was and they hated him for it. They saw through his facade. They knew, they knew, they knew-
He shook his head of the thoughts, knowing he could not afford to fail tonight. Everyone’s lives were on the line.
He cleared his throat and addressed the audience, spreading his arms out.
“Thank you for coming!” He smiled, almost blinding the audience. Maybe if he smiled wide enough they wouldn't be able to see his rottenness. “We all have worked laboriously on this and hope you all have seen how amazing arcane science can be.” (A small part of him laughed, knowing *he* had not worked hard at all, that he had just watched others do all the work. What a lie.)
“As you all know, we recently were hit quite badly by a fire that burned down a lot of our residents’ work. These works were a result of a lifelong struggle from all of us. These things, that they had worked for most of their lives, gone." He thought about the moment his- no, hyde's- hands singed with the sparks that came from Moreau's flamethrower and sucked in a sharp breath through his teeth.
"Despite this," He started, "Our lodgers have persevered and created the amazing presentations you have had the pleasure of seeing today. I am very proud of them. And,” He took a short pause for dramatic affect, “I hope you all are too.” He smiled a reluctant smile as loud clapping erupted from the audience. (Because he knew that he didn’t deserve this, all this praise. He knew that it were the lodgers that should be standing here being applauded, not him.)
When the applause seemed to quiet down, he took a breath and opened his mouth to speak his next *line* (because nothing he said was genuine. all he did was regurgitate what others had did better.) but was interrupted by sharp pain slamming into his chest. Winded, he grabbed the microphone to stabilise himself, almost tripping over himself, and wheezed in pain. He heard the audience break into murmurs as he tried to collect himself enough to speak.
“This can’t be happening,” he muttered to himself, “I can’t ruin this.”
He straightened his posture and tried speaking into the microphone, the pain not seceding, no matter how much he prayed it would. He looked up at the sky one last time, asking for forgiveness for whatever he had done. He couldn't fail. He wouldn't.
“My apo-” He was suddenly hit by another slam to the chest, coupled with a familiar aching in his spine. He was then hit with the realisation of what was happening. His eyes dilated as he tried to figure out how *that* was happening, why it was happening... and why now? Realising he had to leave, he choked out a quiet “excuse me,” into the microphone - or at least attempted to - and bolted off stage, much to the confusion of the audience.
--
As he ran to a place of refuge, he saw lodgers look at him with worried expressions. (Except he knew they weren’t worried about him. They pitied him. They pitied him because of how pathetic he was. How he couldn’t even speak without ruining something. How he always had to make everything about himself.) Running by, he recognised Jasper mouthing something, however, the painful ba dump of his chest was the only sound he could hear. "Or it's the only sound you want to hear.." a voice at the back of his head hissed. He ran to the nearest bathroom, realising he didn't have time to make it to anywhere else safer, and slammed the door, locking it shut. He slumped down the door and held his head in his hands, sweating profusely. The cold flickering light of the bathroom slightly illuminated his eyelids, making them ache. The pain in his spine spiked and he doubled over, groaning. At the same time, he felt an odd sensation clawing up his throat, making him feel nauseous. Holding his hand above his mouth, he shakily got up and stumbled over to the sink. He leaned over the sink, throwing up something bright green. Looking over it, he only had a moment to reflect on the sick familiarity of it before he was hit with another wave of pain and the familiar pounding headache he’d feel before *it* happened.
Hearing muffled voices behind the door, Henry bit his hand to keep himself from screaming as he started to feel his bones move under his skin. His scalp screamed as hair grew out each cuticle, pushing through old strands and replacing what was once his. His limbs cried as bones broke, pushing each other, fighting for superiority. Blood started to pool in his mouth as his teeth grew into sharp fangs and broke skin. The voices outside the door grew louder, as the pain reached a peak. He took his bloodied hand and grasped at his chest. He had never experienced pain like this. Not when he first transformed, not when he had been battered to a pulp as Hyde, never. Vaguely, he heard a voice calling out for him. Dazed, his trembling hands tried to prop him up, attempting to take him to safety, to comfort; however, they fail. As his nerves began to tire, his vision blurred, finally starting to give up on him. ("Like he deserved," a quiet voice in his head murmured,)
The last thing he remembers hearing is a slam at the door.