middaeg | [closed]

[ after contacting eren and waiting for dusk of the next day to fall, soren meets him at the bright wall as arranged. he has reservations about the time: the full moons. but he also has a bond now to keep him more stable, a stock of magical solutions on his person should he find his sanity slipping dangerously. and, if things spiral out of control in spite of his measures, he could trust a dragon most of all to keep such a tremendous force in check should things go awry anyway.

on the other hand, the fullness of the sisters could serve their purpose. his breath would be more worth reckoning. a full shift might even be in the cards, though that is not something he has ever consciously done. mettaton had witnessed it when they were held captive by the brutal rathmores, when he'd gone berserk and bloodthirsty, witnessed it before soren ever has. he has not. chillingly, he doesn't remember any of it save a screaming wall of black fury. the very idea of blacking out to such unrestrained emotion daunts him to an inexpressible degree, but he knows his dragon form is a demon he will have to face someday. at the very least, he should learn how to control it better.

and controlling his natural weapon is a must. which brings him here. as the moons have waxed, more scales have scurried up to cover human skin, crowded and peppered around his eyes like streaks of sloppy war paint, hardened in many places along his body like his claws and teeth have. the fins on his forearms have expanded, concealed for the most part beneath wide sleeves. most prominently are the growths of new horns in addition to the two straight and conical ones that already poked out, a crown of six jutting out from the top of his skull evenly spaced all around to the point behind his elfish ears. other changes to his appearance exist yet unseen. and they JUST KEEP HAPPENING?! but he is certainly stronger.

soren took this seriously, so he journeyed out just before dusk sobered the horizon, before he ran the risk of wasting either of their time. it helps that he can smell him before he sees him. and of course, he isn't hard to find when he so heccing lorge. when he's acknowledged, he starts with a polite greeting. ]

Good evening, Eren.

[ there had been a reason eren chose not to skip over the full moon’s first rise. purposefully, their breath would be more robust under the sister’s light— harder to control if one didn’t, for example, but easier to understand how natural things could feel. if you could control it when things get tough, you could control it anytime.

further changes arise for eren as well at times like these, as any monster, arriving with a little more height to add to his growing pains (perhaps an extra inch or two, at most). scales cover him completely compared to the still fleshy patches one could find on him during the day, mostly keeled, obsidian, and splashed with accents of color. his spines grow numerous as they do larger, from his back to the bone that lined his wings. a sour seeming mood was etched into his features, if not for the natural pain it caused and— the rest. which involved mentality. but he was fine! maybe the moon just made him seem even more imposing.

eren wasn’t particularly dangerous and off the handle with a bond under his wing, and work to stabilize it, but, he possibly could still be dangerous if boundaries were exceeded— and by another dragon, no less. the bright wall harbored his territory underneath their feet, where he knew of every hole he’s dug and each hub, each blade, each simmering piece of sharp iron or dull rock he was hyperaware of. they weren’t so near it, but, they were close enough. an exercise for him to keep his cool. the larger dragon seems to wave as he approaches closer. not so much a greeting but as a way to say “i see you”. ]

How’re you feeling? [ obligatory now before we begin . . . all as eren pays due respect to the summer heat melding into autumn at this time; his poncho is removed, bare of a top and only dawning his shin-high slacks. ]

[ visual input is one thing, but soren has more than just that sense to detect no active hostility in the other dragon, no matter how imposing he might come across. the irritation carved into his face is understandable, even relatable. that's what the sensible side of his brain reasons.

then, there's the lizard brain. the one that feels... outmatched. threatened. challenged by this looming draconic figure who towers over his still-short form, spines riding up his back. luckily, he has enough command over his mental faculties to suppress these feelings and dismiss the instinct to defend himself for having trespassed upon... no, entered a place that smells of eren.

he stops once a respectable distance has been closed, but stays far enough away that it can't be said he's standing close to eren at all. ]

Fine. [ enough for this. ] Let's get started, shall we?

This way.

[ he says, closing distance and leading the way through where trees begin to climb and bend into each other to form dark canopies. the light cracked through some branches, but even then it wasn’t difficult to see. his pupils were large and ready, and not too many dangers neared so close to the wall, farms and slums nearby. not if they didn’t go too far out, at least. from a nap sack over his shoulders and where he sticks his poncho, eren pulls free a palm sized slate carved circular, black, smooth and engraved with an enchantment to spread what magically lined fabric and iron it held: armor-like dress and weaponry that slings to his hips and back, modified to keep his wings, his spine and his tail completely free to move about. ]

Within half a mile, there’re targets. You’re going to blast each one, close range and on the move.

[ whether he hits them or not will be observed by eren and changed accordingly to fit him. it isn’t long before he raises his gun, what looks like a gun, and aims at him. ]

Now move. [ that’s all the warning he’d give before he launches a bullet at the other dragon, well placed and at his feet. if he didn’t move, it’d burst the grass into flames right with him, so— he’s trusting you to move, soren. they need to get the urgency up. he was military— and this is how he did things to learn, and what he would’ve liked to prepare him better for what he never expected. this wouldn’t be a walk. ]

!

[ he doesn't even get a chance to ask about that magical girl transformation into skintight battle gear. the 'gun' is pointed at him. he's never seen a gun before, because he comes from a FANTASY rpg and so it earns a brief quizzical change in expression. but he knows a projectile weapon when he sees one, and he knows when it's being aimed at him and where. he tenses up into fight-or-flight even before eren tells him to get his scaly butt in gear. as it turns out, he takes flight — literally, in a way, but his wings automatically pump with him as he leaps up and away from the bullet. his quick reflexes save him.

he can't stay in midair for that long just yet, but he makes do with how airborne he got (which is more than he can usually accomplish alone) and is flushed like a quail a distance further.

why are you doing this? he thinks to ask. but in the rush that ensues after the first hit, it subconsciously slides in. eren is not trying to hurt him for the hell of it: he's doing this for some reason. of course, for all he knows he could also have a bit of a sadistic streak... but this wouldn't be the first time he had a teacher who used similar methods to beat learning into him. this, in comparison, is far less cruel. he knows without needing any explanation that eren is trying to trigger him into the proper mindset, simulate the fast-paced pressure of true strife. it works; his blood is pumping, senses keened for eren's next move. he hurries ahead on foot while watching his back.]

[ you’re going to ask about his magical girl transformation AFTER you get topped

it’s good, in a sense, that soren doesn’t bother protesting or even finds reason to— once he takes the hint and is on the move eren follows briskly after. he’s getting some practice in himself, to be quite honest! what propels him through the air aren’t his wings, but the extra projectiles his weaponry shoots: anchors that swiftly reel him in and lashes him forward, using just enough rapid momentum to maintain it with his wingspan. it’s— very difficult, even when he’s practiced some months back. you never forget, but, you could get rusty.

another shot is fired, not from behind soren, but to his side— and looking at the direction from which it came would give him a glimpse of a target dummy just up ahead. come closer, now. take the hit (even though eren will force him to work for it. ]

If you need to get closer, do it.

[ he'd been scrambling through the underbrush and ducking around trees expecting to be gunned down again. it almost felt as though eren brought him here only to let him loose to hunt as quarry at first. that illusion fades as soon as they arrive at the first target. eren isn't using his breath at all for this exercise, which soren marks as a bit strange considering what they're here for. what is that weapon, anyway?

but if he asks his question now, he wastes valuable time that he could be wasting on breath: it appears they're competing to land the shot. the smaller dragon skids to a halt, fixes his eyes on his target, fills his chest with air and energy, and ejects the streak of ethereal blue flames at the target.

...it's a powerful attack. more powerful than the other time he showed it off. but his control of it suffers yet again; soren winces as the breath leaves him. even though he turned his head to sweep his breath across a wider field, he misses, splintering and breaking trunks and branches instead. he finishes it with a raspy series of coughs and hurries to recover so he can try it again, remaining wary of his tutor's presence among all of this. ]

[ that was— too much. the target was a miss when it didn’t have to be, too much power in one stroke that causes half a tree to collapse. unluckily, it was one of the trees eren had been using as a reel. luckily, his reflexes were experienced in acrobatics— he changes based as quickly as he would from a falling titan to a sturdier house. it’s his turn, and he won’t use his bullets for it. quick demonstration: ]

You’re inhaling too sharply. [ he swings in, perhaps even closer to the target himself, to make sure he gets it in the way he wants. see, these were good— it gave him more of a “bird’s eye view” of what was needed to be worked on when there’s little time to think. eren’s breath intake is almost invisible; it’s small, and curt, and when he exhales the exact same way, all that comes is a short, quick burst, but one that still maintains an ample amount of impact room. he doesn’t stop moving to hit his target, and doesn’t do so on the bull’s eye— but he does hit it, burning a hole onto the side and slightly ranging for the middle. ] Shorter breaths, weaker hits— [ he says “weaker”, but: ] Just remember that it’ll never be weak.

[ and one last piece of concrit, that he says once he hangs from a more stable tree by his hips— with wire and all, as you’d see a mountain climber. ]

Don’t hesitate to get closer. You want aim above power.

[ then they could work on power. ]

[ soren covers his mouth to muffle his final coughs politely as he listens and watches. he makes it look like he was born a dragon. to express that he understood, he nods, then straightens up. ]

...Inhale less sharply; draw on less power; try moving closer. I will keep all of this in mind next time.

[ he thought that he had healed considerably since the rathmores messed with him, but rawness burns within his chest after that last blast. he can't let it interfere with his progress, especially when he feels so pinched for time... but easing up on his forcefulness may avail him in that area. soren takes a normal deep breath in and out to refresh himself, physically and mentally, and spots a different target further out. the curiosity for eren's equipment just keeps growing, but he withholds his questions for when it is more ~~in?~~appropriate. he picks up his feet at a brisk dart and focuses first on closing in, aiming to put half as much distance between him and it as before.

this time, he tries to envision it from the same type of lens as when he used to cast magic. to be adept, he needed to be capable of maintaining a practiced sort of concentration that could skim over the turmoil of any fight, one that came second nature, without even needing to try so hard to focus on it. he'd been deft at releasing spell after spell. they'd been weaker when he first began— weak, but fast and accurate, a byproduct of having it drilled tirelessly into a trembling five-year-old: pure, bone-deep instinct. but as his power and experience expanded, he could be devastating. if he could think of it from a basic level with a clear head, the same concentration but with a different weapon...

he draws another deep breath, activating his core. the power builds. he doesn't let it accumulate so much. a shorter, weaker stream shoots forth. he doesn't quite hit a bulls-eye, but the top of the target no longer exists. it's just as eren said: it will never be weak. this is dragon's breath. this was way less strenuous on his breath sac than the first attempt; he clears his throat and pivots to look at eren for an appraisal, a flicker of satisfaction contenting his eyes while the rest of his face remains sober.

but he hasn't quite relaxed; the adrenaline still courses through him like lava spilling through chambers. he can hear his heart drum in his ears. ]

[ the same thing could be applied for dragon forms, less power and more burst, an acute blast that lasts a second rather than a chronic one that last moments and drags out the burn. of course, damage was still damage. soren proves that the first time he tries the hit, managing to chip the target off and leave the rest open for eren to challenge. he nods at his “pupil”, as the other was, but gives no other award winning sign that he did an excellent job— maybe eren was simply serious that way, though he does receive acknowledgement for it, the same way eren would’ve liked when younger.

the target is set half aflame by the time the wyvernish monster plows through the sights, a little too fast on his descent and swoop, he finds, and nearly missing, or worse— falling off course (there’s some turbulence in the way he tries to stabilize, like he’s misstepped and has nearly tripped), but fluid enough to regain his aerial footing, it’s time to get a little more serious. ]

Fight me for the next one.

[ with the new target soon to appear somewhere, eren already acts: trying to get soren away from the path with a bullet that erupts ice. not on him, but ahead of him, at the other dragon’s feet. there’s plenty of room to maneuver, but it’s easy to slip if you’re distracted. congrats! you’re doing well enough to switch to phase two. ]

[ fight me... this urging sings to his blood and lets a chill loose down his spine, enough of an effect to be rattling. he leaps at the shot on reflex like its intent is to hurt him, a sheet of ice spreading before his path instead. he pumps his wings, shoots himself through the air over the ice. he doesn't quite clear it, but skids across the frozen surface and preserves momentum on his pursuit. he wobbles and slips, balance compromised but not lost, much like eren winging above in the understory only footing it below on the forest floor.

however off-kilter his opponent's flight, there's a good chance he'll beat soren out for the distant target from that vantage point. eren's communicated with and without words that his next action is fair game, possibly even anticipated. if he wants him to serious about this — if he wants him to fight him for it — he will.

and oh, he wants to, even if he doesn't want to want to from the bottom of his wrenching gut. the monster inside of him begs to come alive. stop caging him, scorning him, denying him: release. revel in battle, the sacred adrenaline of a real fight. his eyes track eren with pupils blown wide.

it burns. in quick, ignition, out quick — his radiant breath pounces into the air to take eren down as he tramples ferns and skates past thorny shrubs to reach him. as he gives chase, his aim is even less precise... but he sweeps it through the air one stroke like a searchlight, "weaker" but faster. all he needs to do is throw him off. ]

[ the energetic pull is far less denied by eren— he gives himself the pleasure and strife unlike the taboo of hunting down fae. a fight, a brawl, it all kept his blood at a lovely boil that always asked for more. the light from soren’s mouth signals him to stay moving and keep his eyes on the ray that seeks him out. aerial acrobatics come into fair play, when eren must twist his spine into a bend as he launches and free falls out of harm’s way by some hairs. he didn’t have aim, but he was getting the hang of power maneuvering.

eren knew he had to close distance with this type of opponent. with both of them at long distance, it would only burn energy and drag out the quarrel. when eren said fight— he’d always mean fight. the dragon propels only enough to give himself some airy space into his final plunge, similar to how a child would find it better to jounce off a swing from its highest point forward rather than slipping out too early. but he’s coming fast, and closer to the earth; the remaining shots fired are distractions of sound and short burst of flames— for what he truly masks is the return of both pistols to their holsters, and eren’s front talons extending like a bird of prey’s. ]

[ before soren can get a grasp on the quick successive actions, eren grasps him by both of his arms. explosions, flame, dodge — dodge right into the trap of those striking eyes and talons too. he cries out, softer human voice tapering into a frustrated growl. he doesn't even have the luxury to curse himself for such a slip-up; he barely had the opening to react, and for the moment he's at the mercy of the other dragon's lunge.

he can't use his arms; strong as he's become, eren's stronger and he can't wriggle free. he beats his wings in reflex as they barrel through young trees and thickets to gain leverage he scarcely hopes to have, kicks and digs his feet into his abdomen to launch him off. Breath. His most accessible weapon. The seconds are slim. He butts his shoulder, sucks in air... ]

[ eren could take a hit and tumble, his abdomen was rock hard and clenching would stifle kicks as he fought for the other’s containment—but not breath. if they had a second the commend each other, eren would’ve, and would have to do it later. an excellent choice, soren, and a good show at not only thinking quick, but using your strengths in a pinch. eren’s expression alights with urgency, releases the grip of his talons on clothes and flesh, and does his best to use gifted momentum to move move move move.

it’s a sideways corkscrew he dives with that holds risk, in still being in close proximity, but he takes it as an attempt, and his tail, behind him, whipping at soren to diverge, just in case. and hopefully, won’t lose so much distance. or get himself vaporized. ]

[ eren's powerful tail snaps into him at the same second his celestial breath erupts into the sky, burning into the treetops and searing branches loose. soren crashes into a brittle, moss-covered log and shatters the decomposing wood with the force of his body shooting into it like a comet with a bright tail. it fizzles out soon after that.

momentarily, he's stunned. but his body moves without need of his spinning mind, eager to retaliate. the teeming moons exert their influence upon him, a gravity he can't deny, a fight he couldn't resist even if it were better to, can't miss out on the pleasure of. banished from his thoughts are inanimate targets, thoughts of learning and tutelage. eren is the only target his blood rushes for. the rest is a blur of bark and dying leaves.

he bursts from the hole into a gargoyle crouch atop the old fallen tree, pupiless eyes tracking his challenger through the wilde. once he spots him, with a swishing, aggressive flick of his tail, he tries to shoot him down. while he's good at predicting where he will be when his blast hits, that's a matter of eyes alone: in practice, his attack is less precise. ]

[ he knows, he knows, he knows he’s being sent back and that’s not good. eren attempts to staple his distance at that, at maximum, moving from side to side, through the plantlife and even lower, but not backwards. he can’t risk losing the distance he’s gained.

it was time to step things up another notch. in a general way, eren had wanted to win, of course, but what else burns harsher in his chest is what the moons instigate: this is your domain. these are your rules and no greenhorn would dominate so easily. soren may be trigger happy and found his strong point, but eren too, had an idea. he just couldn’t lose his head. remain sharp and calculate. he was no longer eager to rush into danger’s plan with a plausible tactic. it’s to this that eren adapts, shooting out of hiding and showing himself in full. an attack would have him move, only to show up again. and again! and again.

if getting close to him was too risky, he’d exhaust his breath sac first. the target had been lost in his thoughts; now he only has one to put in its place. ]

[ he just keeps missing, missing, missing... soren can't fire in succession nearly as fast as he would like, each time requiring a draw of preparatory air. every time he misses, eren gains ground. it's frustrating. he can't go on at this rate forever.

soren's battle instincts aren't honed for close combat as well as they are for longer ranges. he's always been a mage: cast spells from a safe distance whenever possible, for if the enemy cleaves an axe into him or rams a lance through him, his frail body would take a heavy toll. that is why when the dark and draconic form of his opponent lunges too close for comfort, that familiar guardedness forces him to shift gears from attacking to avoiding. he'd needed to be agile just to survive enemies who close in like this. that is why when eren thinks he has him, when just enough distance has been closed, he tumbles backwards off the great fallen tree and lets eren grasp at air.

but as he falls to the forest floor, he's ready to send another blast up at where eren will most likely emerge. he's never used so much breath in one go before. eren was right: he's tiring out. ]

[ interesting opposite end spectrums. eren thrives in close quarters and found his temper drawn to light when soren flees, the same way he flees soren. a game of cat and mouse, this was. a game of patience and design, both of which the had in different aspects of combat. eren reminds himself of the warhammer titan, a fuss and a troublesome opponent to defeat with such long range capabilities, and even with a formidable defense— every single one had its hole. he just had to find it, the same way with ms. tybur. her fluids are far down eren’s throat by now, consumed at the second of defeat and a burst of victory.

had he the mind to eat soren? perhaps without a bond, he would’ve harbored the thought and leaped for it. today and hopefully for the rest of his days, he only wants to pin him down. the last burst of radiated breath comes weaker. gotcha, eren’s thoughts say, latching onto the tactic and continuing the run with it. with another disappearance into underbrush, a crack sounds, like bone breaking off its frame. something slings towards soren’s front, a little more to the right, at an alarming speed and complete lack of constrain.

it’s not eren, if he could send it on its way. it’s a log, and a decoy. ]

[ ~~you can eat soren's ass instead!!!!~~

the crackle resounding off the trees alerts him that something is amiss, forces him to pay attention, and he finds out swiftly enough. the projectile soars through the air at breakneck speed. the sense of what's really happening clicks quickly in his brain. he dodges to the left. the broken tree shatters a good section of the fallen one.

he can't keep firing indiscriminately in hopes that he will eventually luck out and hit his target. his mind isn't as sharp and calculating as it could be beneath this torrential drive to attack, just attack! but he can still work out quite a bit, certainly that much. he knows he doesn't have to be restricted by just his waning breath. and he knows eren knows it's petering out.

but let him think that's the only trick up his sleeves. let him think he's wearier, weaker than he is. let him think he's dogged and determined to keep using it until he can earn just that rush of success that comes with landing even one hit. he snarls in a show of fury and razes the whole row of trees surrounding the approximate location eren should be, given the sound and the throw's origin and the trace of his scent. the wilde groans and snaps in cacophonous harmony as the trees bow to his might.

it's possible he can flush him out this way. but it is oddly satisfying just to destroy.

[ it was— in fact, eren bursts out of the forest’s way, finishing breaking some of the remaining trees in that hadn’t bent. it’s . . . rather disgusting, as his own talons pull and tear away the human husk too small for the dragon shape to grow. the neck elongates his bones, stretches his hide and ripples with scales in larger quantity than on a mostly human frame. everywhere, top to bottom. thorns compliment his wings, rips his limbs apart until they stretch out of their former proportion, blood spews and bone cracks until his size is at its medium, until his skeletal maw breaks wide to throw fire in a much larger vicinity.

the dragon shrieks something awful, like metal wailing against sharp knives, as flames and molten saliva spews from his jaws to the ground. he hadn’t gotten close enough to take him down physically, and at this rate it would take more time— time that would thin his own stamina. the sisters aid him in waning his patience far too thin. he’d end this, he’d pay for putting a really good fight and being absolutely troubling at best. it makes his veins heat up so high they felt like they could melt just like the brilliant cracks of lava from his throat to his belly, and never so quickly had he wanted an opponent under his weight.

not that he immediately thinks this in a less dominating way, but he definitely will eat soren’s ass. ]

[ his higher mind can't help but be passively perturbed by the grisly process of his transformation, the violence of erupting blood and peeling flesh and revealed bone like any scaled creature sheds, but far viler. how much more unpleasant it must be to be the one slipping out of his own skin. it's pure horror. a notion of fear cuts the air between them.

which works well for his act. the fire rages straight for him. even if he were to try harder to escape the wide berth of flames, he couldn't get away fast enough, especially when his flight capabilities are yet wanting. he moves to avoid the flames, hand diving for his wrist to clutch the spellstone wound around his wrist. he murmurs the invocation and holds up his semi-crossed arms like a last-ditch reaction to block the brunt of the breath from hitting his face; the jewelry disintegrates in his grip, and the blaze consumes him.

but he'd activated an energy-resistant barrier via magitech.

he darts through the flames and towards eren, repelling the heat like water slipping off plumage. the flames help to mask his advance. it's soren's turn to close the distance. he can't keep himself hidden for very long, and the barrier attenuates the longer it's seared into — especially by a dragon's breath. but he's secured himself just enough element of surprise that he could prepare himself for a much better vantage point.

the closer the target, the easier they are to hit.

you're mine now, revels soren, and he opens his mouth to burn his own breath past eren's.

the two forces collide. soren's line of cool blue radiance charges through eren's dying plume, causing it to flare up colorfully, explosively. if anything, eren was probably hit by his own exacerbated flames, not the brunt of soren's attack. it gains way, slows as it loses power against the other dragon's...

and then it stops.

because soren had miscalculated how much energy he had left to pull that off? well, that's certainly a factor worth considering... but also? he tripped over a root.

how embarrassing. down you go, soren, onto your face! ]

[ that. was most embarrassing and very greenhorn. surprise fails when both energy and miscalculation depletes soren of a genuine advantage. his fire ceases and has charred everything in sight and circumference. through the ash, the dragon only reaches, reaches an arm and sprawls his extended digits to trap to boy’s body between his keen talons.

his tail rattles, slow and factious, to allow him the space of his skull and the body to be no more. his breath was hot as he spoke, smelled of putrid sulfur and black cinder, and from his flicking tongue came a rooted gnarl. ]

You‘re annoying.

[ the voice comes in a thick, spitting drawl; he had little of his cheeks to form entirely clean words, but enough to speak and be heard. it’s done, but eren rose above just barely. he’s even forgotten of the target somewhere out there, still.

too busy shaking the earth with his steps, letting his tongue dance over his catch and breathing on his formidable assailant. ]

[ soren groans from the exertion, the burn in his chest, the crash, and from wriggling beneath the claws that encase him. oh, great. just like that, one small opening, and he's trapped. what's most humiliating about such a slip-up is how it's not the kind of mistake he would expect himself to make here, but perhaps he had poured far too much focus into just getting even one shot that he'd forgotten how to run with those legs of his.

to be fair, they've changed, and so has his sense of balance. it still seems stupid, and his insufferable, embarrassing pride as a dragon wounded. and this is just getting gross now. ugh... ]

You're creepy.

[ ~~how cute; they're flirting~~ it comes out disgruntled and strained, very growly. he hasn't given up, putting up a fight beneath those talons to wrest free of him. he can't even flip over off his belly. rotting ash saturates his nostrils enough to taste, and it also tastes a bit like his defeat. that said, his full moon madness is in full tilt, and his senses haven't quite righted themselves. he's just an angry, spiteful lizard continuing to twist and jerk beneath another of his own kind, the primal urge to come out on top and pin him to the smoking earth, mark him still simmering beneath his scales, even more now that he feels the physical weight impress upon him. he tries flapping his wings, pushing up, thrashing his tail, anything to give himself an inch here. ]

Get... off!

[ creepy was a new one, he’d expect the usual scorn, or the occasional empty flattery, but creepy-? he’s almost curious. eren’s jaws snap against each other and accent a flippant click (the way a human would with their tongue); his talons bury into wilde dirt and his words hiss out from the crevices of stained ash teeth and dripping with saliva— saliva that steams with heat the second it drips to grass. ]

On your watch, no. [ his words twine with snarling to lift one talon, just enough, to curl it against soren’s head, tip it up. it’s been ages since he’s fought another dragon, on full moon no less— one that gave him trouble, one that formidably opposed him and proved himself to be watchful of.

there was no training now, only territory breached and similar scalding to their equal tempers blown out of place. except eren, as the veteran, must show where he stands at times like these. he was not one to bend, or feel sympathy when what is his was his by right. soren feels hot, or had it been the flat space of his skull pressing against the other’s, eye to eye—? ] My space, my will.

[ freedom for all was romantic, and eren was not philanthropic enough to share it beyond his boundaries. not at home, and far less here. and maybe that had been some advice to take. ]

I don’t ask for my freedom, I take it. Remember that.

[ only then, would his talons uplift earth and shower the smaller with mineral and debris. ]

Edited 2020-04-21 21:25 (UTC)

[ it's not a lesson soren needs to learn. there isn't an idealistic bone in his body, and while freedom had never been a value clutched so closely to his chest, he's too used to the way the world really works to harbor illusions that men and women are entitled to their freedoms. it's something they work for, sacrifice for, kill for. it can be bargained for, sweet-talked for, tricked into earning. asking for freedom is not completely worthless if the suggestions are calibrated efficiently.

but here, as eren uproots his claws from the soil after the unshifted dragon just demands with no clout to back it up, he just... gives it to him after asserting his dominance through snarls and teeth. and he doesn't understand where the feeling comes from, but that pisses him off even more if he had kept letting him struggle to exhaustion.

no. they're not done here.

had soren not been affected by his transformations, the moons, and the searing adrenaline of the fight, he would not have found any value in preserving something as worthless as his own pride. he never used to take any pleasure in combat. but his draconic blood surges, he's not quite himself anymore, warped by the various influences bearing upon his increasingly animalistic brain, and he longs to keep fighting until he can't. or... something else, something else scratching at his hindbrain that might satisfy the same itch. where that particular vein of carnal inspiration comes from he can't care to discern, but close-quarters contact he doesn't usually receive certainly doesn't help matters. his voice slithers out low and seething and verging on inhuman. ]

Then you won't mind if I demonstrate what you just taught me?

[ soren's wings flip out, the rocks and dirt and plants ricocheting back at eren. in the same move he twists and pounces, goes for the neck with a bite and a grip to throw him over so that he can come out on top, the muscles of his arms swelling enough to tear his sleeves, assisted by the sharp slate keratin plating that has erupted from each side of his clavicle. his strength is only mounting, pressurized by duress. ]

feoveuer 8th 🌔

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