The ground was getting softer, the rough, prodding pebbles and rocks giving way to a spongey, mossy grass. The trees were also getting greener, more lush and welcoming than the jagged husks beforehand. Even the air itself had a shift from that dead zone, as it was dusty earlier, caked with grit and ash, but now, as he stepped further along, it was sweet and luxurious, almost intoxicating to a creature of heightened senses like him.

It was doubtless that Mercutio was now entering the Clawlands, the forest of monsters, the... 'territory' of the newly forming Emerald Scarves. Mercutio hesitated to call it 'home' since the rugged, spike-walled camp crudely set up in a small patch of the place, didn't exactly serve much aside from equipment storage and a cloth roof to sleep under, not quite enough to lay claim to an entire, seemingly endless swathe of nature. But nowhere was exactly 'home' either, Mercutio and scarves he either served or commanded never usually spent more than a year in one single place, instead they bounced around from derelict ruin, to ragged camp, to unsupervised basement, whatever worked enough to give them decent downtime was considered good enough to use, comfort always a low priority. Not even Greywind, the current record-holder for the longest time Mercutio had lived in a building for, not even that place ever felt like 'home', even if it was the place where he learned everything he knew. Was he even getting the concept right? Did he ever feel at home, at all, at any point in his life? The answer was probably a no, but the idea didn't give Mercutio any grief. That was just the life of a criminal, for the very act of breaking the laws of a land is often a vulgar insult to hospitality, so it's rarely a shock that the actions of him and his peers quickly degrade their welcome anywhere. It was a lifestyle that constantly teetered between homeless poverty and blood-soaked riches, and the cost to live it is one that could never truly be refunded.
So Mercutio just always accepted it, that he'd never really find a quote-on-quote 'home' for himself, because not only was such a thing far out of his reach, but to him, having a true 'home' would imply that he'd get comfortable enough to never seek greater things, and the life he led was built upon his ever growing ambitions. Because the life of an outlaw was all he had, so should he ever stop, he would have no idea what to do with himself, no idea who he even was, not until he'd start moving again.

...Aaaaugh, dammit all, his mind was wandering again, flinging off into another one of its big rants. If he didn't concentrate, he'd forget the directions he had carefully tried to memorize, prior to leaving, forcing him to trace back through...smell or something. God, the mere thought felt embarrassing, like he was some idiotic hunting dog that had wandered off from its kennel.
Or, more amusingly, a lab rat trying to find the cheese in a maze. Ugh.
A rat wasn't exactly much better than a dog, now that he thought about it.

Buh-bump....buh-bump...

"Mmmmgh..." The outlaw then softly groaned.

Speaking of being a rat, his body was starting to feel sore. His legs, arms, and tail, were starting to feel heavy, as were his eyelids. His stomach growled sharply, as the pain of hunger rippled through it. His soft, thickened flesh, was now remembering just how tender it had become. Everything was getting quieter, darker, less pungent, and the ground almost seemed to be increasing in its discomfort with each step he took. Hell, even that aforementioned tail, it wasn't just getting heavy, it was getting numb too, as he was starting to forget how to actually move it around, the finer motor control fading with each passing second.
How long had it been since he changed today? A few hours? Less? More? He hadn't actually eaten much either, just a quick meal before heading out. Ack, he might be reaching his limit then, tilting so close to the bottom of his strength that he might even pass out, if he didn't change back soon.
To think, that this kind of transformation had a timer.

Dr. Talos had made mention that the sheer amount of energy needed to sustain a body enhanced with wild magic, well exceeded that of the average human. With time, they could get used to the sharp increase of energy consumption, letting their bodies adapt to ingest and process nutrients more efficiently in both forms, but as it was now, the 'beast form', for all of its boons, had a major drawback: It burned through calories like a motherfucker.
It varied depending on the mutant type, and the individual becoming it, but while most of the hours spent in beast form felt just as good as Talos advertised, spending too long in the transformed state would induce extreme fatigue, akin to running a marathon with several tons of weight strapped to you. None of the scarves had died from over-exerting themselves mind you, at least not yet, but Mercutio had lost count at how many times his comrades had faceplanted onto the floor, out cold and wheezing, as their body deflated and shrank like the world's most pathetic balloon.
On top of that, one of the major reasons the less lucid mutants kept going mad with an endless, bloodthirsty hunger, was that they actually were experiencing an extreme starvation. Feral mutants needed to eat a lot more then their old selves did just to stay alive, let alone mobile, and Mercutio, Shiny, Minerva, and all of the infected Emerald Scarves, were only different in how whiny they got when the hunger set in. Hell in just the past few days, with the brief slew of big jobs needing the big bodies, Mercutio could swear that he had eaten more meat-based food than he had his entire life, and was rather sheepish about how much of a glutton this monstrous power had made him.
As a result of this, pacing and planning out meals, rests, and transformations, became more of a notable priority, as internal energy costs rudely shoved themselves into the factors of Mercutio's careful strategies, with crude doctrines in place to remind everyone, including the client and her mercenary, that the beast forms were to always be used, ahem, 'responsibly'.
Bless him, for at least trying.

Buh-bump....buh-bump-buhbump....buh-bump...

"Nnngnnghghh...."

But, as it was plainly obvious now, not even Mercutio was exempt from making his own mistakes, for he had gone out into a burnt and scarred patch of the forest to see if there was anything of use within it, and didn't think he'd be changing for a scouting op. However, he was soon accosted by a roving pack of lesser bulettes, thick, armoured, bear-sized monsters that burrowed in and out of the earth like they were sharks in water, and to accurately track the vibrations to not get mauled, Mercutio needed to pump his feet up until they were bursting out of his shoes and socks, as the excessive increase in his rat form's nerve endings let him sense even the most minor shifts in his sense of touch. And now, with the monsters driven off and the scorched clearing proving to have nothing, Mercutio had little choice but to dejectedly trudge his way back to camp in his bare feet, carrying nothing but the scraps of his clothes, doing so until the pangs of his time limit began to ripple through him again.

Buh-bump....buh-bump...buh-bump...

So, eventually, with the same exact sigh he let out when he needed to transform in the first place, Mercutio stopped, glared around for a good enough place to sit, and plopped his huge, hulking body down onto the grassy forest floor, as it slowly, neatly, became less and less hulking.

"Mm-m-mgh-...mm-mmmm...."

Gods above, as if changing into the beast form wasn't distracting enough, changing back in to human form was something else entirely.

One of the most noticeable features of the beast form was the remnants of the human form strewn across it. The thinned, stretched, tattered rags of a once sturdy and reliable suit of studded leather armour, they naturally ended up rather tight upon fully becoming the beast, as the swelling body often rapidly outgrew Mercutio's tunic, boots, gloves and trousers. So tight, that they pinched, quite badly, digging deep into the thick, squishy hide as movements strained them further. It was a slightly arousing piece of discomfort, but roughly an hour into beast form usually let the brain get accustomed to the sensation, letting it fade into the back of his mind like a white noise.

And much like a white noise, the very first thing Mercutio would notice as his body began to pulse again, is the sudden release of the straining pressure scattered across his body, as its slowly shrinking form ceased its pushing against its confines. The cloth and leather made very gentle creaking noises as their vice-like grips grew weaker and weaker, until some of the pieces, so monstrously stretched and deformed, started to shift and slip as they were now getting too big for him.
The fur also started to jostle, however Mercutio willed it to stay a little while longer, as it was quite a cold day out, and he could use just a little extra warmth. That was another detail that mutants like him often forgot to appreciate; the body's natural, internal heat, surged much like its size during transformations, making the biting cold of the air that forced the Engrievion people to cover themselves up, seem like nothing but a nice, refreshing breeze. Mercutio wasn't exactly sure how that part of the transformation worked, and Dr. Talos could only explain it as an environmental adaption, but it was an incredibly useful adaption that the scarves didn't exactly mind not having a reason for, so they were happy to let their attires leave a little less to the imagination. Of course, when it came time to transform back, that's where the issues cropped up, in Mercutio's case especially due to the loss o his upper tunic and shirt thanks to the inflating of his....luxurious muscles.

"Gngh!"

Mercutio tensed abruptly, as he tried to mentally squeeze that perverted thought out of his head. Those muscles in question were now visibly fading away, the huge, hulking build deflating and shrinking back into a young, lithe, and quite frail physique. The bulging biceps slowly thinned into bland, average sticks. The bones inside his deflating flesh gently crackled and crunched, as they merged, shifted, and rearranged back into recognizable anatomy. The tail whipped and twitched as it weakened and grew noodle-like, further losing its dexterity as it slowly started to lose length. Even his head was shifting smaller and smaller, as the teeth painfully retracted and shrank from vicious fangs, into relatively well-kept pearly whites. The obscene power of wild magic was fading from him, the mutation returning back into its slumbering state, and Mercutio simply sat, watched, and grunted softly, as the bestial features of his body slowly faded with it.
Mercutio was someone who greatly preferred agility over raw strength, yet that same dormant, kinky side of his brain, always felt a flash of dismay whenever his big squishy pecs and abs sunk back into the weedy, skinny torso, as if being rudely reminded that the weaker human form was the real body, while the rat was only a temporary boost. And for all of his stoicism and rational practicality, such an idea.....hurt. Most of Mercutio could easily accept it, but part of his soul, part of his heart, it felt saddened, and it was a very persuasive voice.

But Mercutio wanted to keep focus, to just put his mind elsewhere, so once again he grunted, and clenched his fingers and toes tightly, to feel the earth beneath him.

And the ground was, again, much softer and squishier than the area Mercutio was coming from, less rocky dirt, and more like pliable peat. This new area must be close to a bog then, or some other source of marsh, meaning it was still quite a trek back to camp from this spot, a trek he'd have to make in nothing but rags. Mercutio wasn't looking forward to the prospect, but at the very least the softer ground will be easier on his feet, once they finished shrinking back.
And then, Mercutio let out a soft huff, as his eyes glanced down at the feet in question.
The thick, hulking, handsome talons that were snuggled up all small and warm in his socks and thighboots just a few hours earlier, only to have inflated fat and swollen, with the thighboots burst into rugged anklets, whilst the socks lay balled up in his pocket. Warmth spread across his fuzzy cheeks, as the memories of outgrowing his clothes gently flashed through him.
Being barefoot at all, in a nation like this, would normally be nothing short of moronic. But Mercutio's beast form had his flesh toughen and expand, his supple skin bloated into a thick, soft, and bouncy hide. Couple that with the spread of new nerve endings, and it was honestly far more comfortable to be without shoes and socks in beast form.

'Comfort,' and 'Effectiveness', yes, those were the only reasons for keeping his big talons out in the open, nothing beyond that. Just those two reasons....or was 'Excuses' a better term to use?-

"Gagh, brain, stop it!" The thief suddenly whined. With nothing else to effectively distract him, all Mercutio could focus on was the sensations running their course throughout his shrinking body, and the tingling, nervous specs of slight arousal whenever he needed to acknowledge that this was indeed his body. These feelings were real, this transformation was real, and there was no denying that it was just some delusion or dream, he had this gift in physical reality, and it was always so hard to believe.
Harder still to accept.

His upper torso by now had returned to its lithe stature, and now it was the lower body's turn, with the bloated thighs slowly starting deflate, as the feet crackled and cricked as they changed from digitigrade to plantigrade. The opposable rear toes sunk back into his soles, as his other toes shrank and his claws morphed into nails, all before the tail began to slither itself back into Mercutio's pelvis, the sensation so alien and disquieting, that it made him loudly shudder. Fur was starting to fade across his body too, the thick, bouncy hide giving way into supple human skin, as the fur upon his scalp instead lengthened and darkened, messily trying to settle back into his original hairstyle, warranting another snort of irritation as he fruitlessly combed it. His hands were shrinking too, much like his feet, as the meaty paws slowly fizzled into reasonably sized appendages, and the rodent ears flopped in mild protest, before they lost the ability to articulate, and rapidly shrivelled into his hair, all as the snout cracked and crunched, receding back into his skull as his nose and mouth once again grew separate.

Then, the clearest sign that he was regaining his humanity, was the change in his eyes, for the bright, fiery yellow slowly faded like a lantern running out of fuel, the sclera brightening from black into a pale white, as the irises cooled into the modest brown.

Crck, click-crrk, cc-c-c-ckck-ck.

Buh bump....buh bump....buh bump....

Slowly, surely, and with a few more crackles of bone and squidges of sinew, Mercutio "The Merciless" Hermes shrunk smaller, and smaller, until at last, he was his old self again.

Where the big hulking rat beast had plonked himself down, now sat the young 20 year old man, dressed in nothing but an arm guard, shoulder cloth, shoulder pauldron, belts, and an absolutely ragged pair of tattered shorts, that used to be rather comfortable trousers. The only thing that didn't change was Mercutio's expression, for he was still just as mildly annoyed at the blush on his cheeks, as he was when he started shrinking.

The euphoria of the weakened inhibitions remained, as Dr. Talos had mentioned that the mental changes linger for a little bit longer than the physical, but Mercutio forced himself to essentially focus on nothing but the aggravation of being half-naked in an Engrievion forest. He had about a 5 minute walk still to go to get back at base, and that kept his expectations of himself practical, and his survival more likely, even though much of him wanted to just rest and appreciate the sight of his ruined attire, and how handsome it made him look.

But he couldn't, in fact he believed he shouldn't, because he had things to do, responsibilities to track, and an outfit to replace so he didn't catch a cold. Granted, Talos mentioned that very few diseases could actually affect a mutant, but Mercutio wasn't taking that chance. He needed to get back to camp, keep things organised, work with his finance and supply guys to see if anything's amiss, let Talos know about the bulettes, keep track of any potential contracts or heist opportunities, probably get his calories back up, and then if all of that's done-

Then.....

...then.....

Then maybe, maybe, he'll actually sit down and rest. It was a slow day so...he didn't really have to do much, he could just do what he wanted if everything was running smoothly back at home-camp, camp.

.....

Maybe....maybe if he managed to get enough energy to fuel another change after the sweep of chores....he might...he might change back again, actually. Or just like, a little bit of a bulk out even. Just a quick sit down, slip off of the boots, and a pump, pump, pumping up of his feet, watching his socks stretch and strain against his puffing until they ripped and snapped and burst off his big, fat, squishy talons. Maybe not even taking the boots off first, just boots and socks bursting and bursting and bursting off his thick, meaty flesh, his big and throbbing bare feet ballooning out of his ripping footwear before stomping onto the soil, so that he can just walk around in camp, completely barefoot, just like he was now.

....that sounded nice. Maybe he'll try that, lighten up his mood a little from the annoyance of today.

Maybe....maybe.

Right now though, he had to stay human not to pass out from exhaustion, so with a huff, Mercutio rose back onto his bare feet, and withdrew his cloak from his pack, just to have something to cover up with against the breeze. It was a particularly nice day out this morning, the wind wasn't as biting as it normally was, and the ground was, again, very nice and soft against his tender soles.

Despite his circumstances, and his own opinions of them...Mercutio smiled gently, as the blush never left his cheeks.
It was a 5 minute walk back to camp, but maybe he might...take his time, use a more scenic route.

Maybe.....maybe.

---

Right, little bit of a rushed one I'll admit. The Elden dlc dropped whilst writing this so I've been a tad distracted, but I have indeed managed to get something....somewhat pride month themed at the last minute.

As you've noticed, this time around I've actually tried to tackle a tf reversion, since the way Sepi had drawn my little rat criminal turned out very human-like, and instead of complaining, I actually looked at it and thought: "Hey, it actually kind of looks like he's changing back, not changing....forward.", so I decided to base the story around that. As you can tell, I have never put much detail in the reversal of a tf before, but I think I did alright. I do often like the images of post-tf characters, where they're resting in their tattered clothes, tuckered out from the monster shenanigans, so I would like to establish that as part of the mutant experience in this canon. Perhaps in the future, I might commission works of the trio in this state, just to see what it looks like, we'll see.

For now though, enjoy the extra twink-like twink rat for today. And happy pride month fellows, even if this is an incredibly rushed and barely relevant celebration on my end.

The dlc's really good c'mon man, cut me some slack.

Artwork by:  Sepisnake