Full moon blues

Usually, during a full moon, Wolfie and I go to our own separate padded cells (feel free to make jokes about that, I've heard them all) and mind our own business, which in my case means sleeping (according to Monte). Usually.

Last night, when Monte came down to check on me, I was fully awake and aggressive, attacking the bars and growling at the slightest noise. When I awoke this morning, I had an eye-watering, spots-in-my-vision, throbbing headache and my knee was busted despite the padding on the cell walls. When I asked Monte what had happened, she shuddered and didn't say anything. This was most disconcerting. It appears Wolfie is no worse for the wear, however.

This was the first transformation in this new house--a clue? The people who last owned the house were scholars who specialized in the categorization of nonhumans. They had a lovely garden with rosemary, St. John's wort and monkshood (which Captain Stumpy had to remove before we could move in) in the backyard, which might account for my bout of madness--but that doesn't say anything about Wolfie's lack of side effects. So I went back into the cell today and discovered something infinitely more sinister than a bit of wolfsbane.

What had made Monte shudder was not my aggressive behavior, but the boxes and boxes of journals, notes and instruments of research the previous owners had apparently forgotten in the basement--the room right next to my cell. There were feathers from every conceivable mythical bird; phoenix feathers, quetzalcoatl feathers and hippogriff feathers among others. I also found pelts of various animals, ranging from rabbits and bakenekos to bugbears and *gulp* werewolves. It was in this box that I stopped, though there were many others.

Obviously, I asked Captain Stumpy to do something with them, but I kept the boxes of journals for Daft, Aerin and Tala to review. I have thumbed through many of them already. They are scientifically interesting, containing notes on many garden-variety nonhumans, as well as more intimidating ones. I hope they shall serve a higher purpose in their hands--and not in mine!

Signing out,

Fireball

P.S. No luck with the tea thief. He's onto me. I shall have to devise something more crafty.