middaeg | Deceuer Catch-All

[ Really, the two dragons who wrought havoc and property damage across a neighborhood in the Eastern district should consider themselves lucky that a temporary sealing of their powers and serving some community service time is the harshest extent of the consequences they must face.

And at least they don't have to perform the whole job by their own heads and hands — but they're absolutely not permitted to slack off, either. They can work with the guidance of overseers doling out orders and instructions, and there are other laborers who set to work so that the victims can get their homes back a little faster. Witches get the luxury to use magic to repair chipped, burnt, but salvageable structures, to sweep the rubble away, and even to automate some of the tools. The few monsters that lend their paws, hooves, wings, or other various forelimbs do not shy from using their own strength to hoist beams and frames, push carts and pour foundation. That's all well and good for them, but Soren's prodigious strength afforded to him by his draconic changes has been sapped from him.

Every day that he toils among them as penance leveled by the Coven is excruciating. Not only is the labor tiring and at times backbreaking, but he must endure the constant aura of scorn from those whose homes, businesses, and possessions he helped to destroy... all in the bitter cold. But he doesn't complain. He just keeps his head down and sets about the tasks expected of him.

Hammering nails into wood and sweeping away debris don't take much out of him, but the heavier lifting over the length of his shifts does. The magical limiter clamped around his wrist reduced his strength and stamina to what it was when he was a mere human, which inhibits his ability to make these manual reparations quite a lot. When he was human, that wasn't much — and his pencil-thin build doesn't suggest much muscle, either. It almost isn't an exaggeration to say that the heaviest things he would be expected to carry most of the time were thick tomes. The longer he slaves, the more fatigue drags his limbs.

The dragon can be seen panting by a mound of bricks just to catch some breath and stop his head from swooning. Or maybe he's wobbling with a long plank or two tucked over his shoulder, just about ready to keel over if someone doesn't do something. He might be struggling to move damaged furniture out of the way, or his arms could be shaking as he pries a shattered window's stop from its caulking. Any strenuous task involved in rebuilding houses, you're likely to find that Soren could use a little bit of help.

Or you could point and laugh at the misfortune he brought upon himself for giving into his instincts. Or just... stare. Do that for to long, and he may ask you with thinly veiled irritation: ]

Can I... [ huff ] help you with something?

[Lahabrea had watched from a safeish distance that aerial dogfight. He was too far away to see what they were fighting over, but it was likely some desired thing, or a rivalry over a romatic interest or .. merely looking at someone else wrong, the reasons to fight were myriad, and he'd wisely stayed away. Being hurt by falling debris would be humiliating.

And like any good rubbernecker with nothing else to do with his time, he'd turned up to see the destruction and later on, the repair work. It was pretty clear that Soren's been punished for this, a dragon shouldn't be getting tired THAT fast, but he recognizes the boy from a much earlier encounter. He doesn't point and laugh, but he does watch for a while.

It's easy to recognize the mask he still has in place, though his ornamental-seeming robes have been replaced by ordinary sturdy black fabric in more or less the same hooded style, save for a bit more freedom for his hands and a new long feathery crimson and brass tail. That last one might make a little more understandable Soren's reaction to him that first day - a fellow dragon, perhaps. But it's fairly still, and he's not pointing and laughing.

Instead the 'random passer-by' simply heads for Soren with a bottle in one hand, a faint frown fixed below that mask.]

Here. You'll do no good to anyone here or anywhere else if you suddenly fall over dead.

[Same voice. The bottle is warm to the touch, but sadly it's only boiled leaf juice inside, with suspicious hints of something lemony and WAY too much sugar.]

[ The romantic interest was a lovely sword by the name Ettard.

Soren had noticed the other dragon making a spectator sport of his pathetic drudgery, but paid it little mind outside of glancing sideways scowls. The first time he'd glimpsed him, he'd spent a little longer sizing his new form up. That tail hadn't been there before. As a matter of fact, it's what first drew his eye to him: the plumage gleams with such a brilliant luster that it outshines anything in this dreary, cinerous landscape dusted with earth-tainted snow. As it turns out, Soren isn't the only one being watched out here: other passersby ogle the sight surreptitiously as though stumbling across a divine presence that jars their profane proceedings. Soren's first hunch lands upon a chimera, for feathers on a tail shaped like his don't match up with any extant creatures he's familiar with. But there's room for a few more possibilities, and as he mules on with his tasks, he can't shake the feeling he got when they first met, when they'd both been suspicious about each other's "precious" items.

Look where that senseless instinct of his landed him. If anything serves as a fair warning of his habits, the proof lies in the pudding... or in this case, the rubble. It's a good thing Soren didn't care about Lahabrea's pineapple.

Whether he's a chimera or a dragon, one thing's for sure: he makes Soren on edge, too. Why is he just standing there? What does he want? If he's so curious, why not just ask him why he's slaving away? He's enfeebled, exhausted... and holds even less desire to approach anyone because of this. After all, how can he forget their last exchange? I was quite suddenly rather interested in tearing out your throat with my teeth if you so much as twitched in the direction of something of mine...

As it turns out, Lahabrea finally does the approaching at some point. Soren's hands are planted on his thighs as he heaves his tight lungs, taking a quick breather beside a cart full of scorched rubbish, but when he notices the other dragon finally come close from the corner of his eye, weary alertness settles in, and his expression sharpens as he straightens. His tail lifts off the ground and sways, like a rattlesnake poised to defend itself and strike.

He can barely read anything from his expression except for the soft frown, and it doesn't help that his vision keeps blurring in and out of clarity. When he procures the bottle, his attention toggles between it and the man who holds it. He licks his lips and tries to weigh his intentions with thin pupils. Upon being presented with a drink, he's keenly reminded how much he could use one right now. Suspicion and thirst do battle, and in the end, thirst is greater. What harm could he possibly be out to cause him? They may have had a mildly abrasive meeting, but that hardly makes them enemies. If anything, it almost seems like he's pitying him.

Soren accepts the offering. The bottle's warmth sends a surge of invigorating comfort and pleasure shooting up his arms. Sending another glance up at Lahabrea, the smaller dragon brings it to his nose and breathes the sweet, grassy citrus fragrance in. Nothing strange, just tea, probably... if only a little heavy on the additives. The quick energy boost of too much sugar could really help right now. ]

I don't... know why you're doing this for me, but... thank you.

[ Without further hesitation, he sets to gulping it down. ]

[At least it won't taste bad. Not with everything he's put in it; Lahabrea's not overly fond of plain teas and inevitably tossed things in til it was more palatable. Unless Soren's unexpectedly allergic to something, all should be well.

Poisoning him out in public really wouldn't be a good way to accomplish anything, after all.]

There was a time when no-one would even think to wonder why they were being offered aid, for it was normal and expected.

[He sounds almost ... disappointed, for a moment, feathers along his tail folding neatly closed in a faint droop. No, mortals did things differently, driven by greed and promises of something in return, altruism had died with Amaurot. But Soren wasn't among the ranks of mortals anymore, was he? Dragons counted their lives by the centuries, not by the years.]

There is a lesson here, which is the point of it I assume. To you ... and to them.

[His tone shifts just slightly, but to what it's hard to tell. 'Them' - the gawkers, the watchers, those muttering angrily about monsters..]

Those who forget this punishment is temporary. Those who forget you will outlive them by generations, and you will not forget... what they are saying, what they are doing, in your time of weakness and servitude. Those who forget there is a line between what is deserved, and what is excessive.

[Lahabrea considers the bottle, Soren, and the mess around them, and then gives a heavy sigh, carefully rolling up the voluminous sleeves of his dark robes. Feathers and scales there too, almost obscenely colorful against the nearly grayscale of the setting.

And then with deliberate patience, he sets to work. Manual labor isn't his style either, but there once was a time where such things were normal--]

I watched some of your .... impressive display with that other dragon. May I ask what, specifically, set off such a disagreement? It will surely not hurt to know what to avoid squabbling over.

[Soren thinks he might be projecting some greater truth about all sentient life onto him, when his general slowness to trust strangers is merely a product of who he has always been. He swallows half of the bottle's contents as he listens to the brightly hued dragon 'enlighten' him on his longevity and implied superiority, and how their 'excessive' punishment for his wanton destruction of homes and livelihoods will be remembered and begrudged. He hates being reminded how long he'll be forced to live after he's run out of his reason to. Dragon or not, this will remain true.

He heaves another lungful of air after he finishes quaffing, watches Lahabrea roll up his sleeves and set about what should be Soren's work. Soren won't protest a bit of relief and assistance, and despite his unspoken disagreement about what is excessive, he can't deny the sliver of gratefulness, even if he's uncomfortable with relying upon this near-stranger's unexpected help. Uncomfortable in what might be another dragon's presence. If he stays still and does not venture far from this house's skeletal remains, he won't find anything else to get worked up over.

Now that the topic has switched to the object of his and Eren's foolhardy feud, he finds himself in an even sourer mood. It couldn't be further from impressive in his own mind. He takes this moment to rest his legs, squatting there by his collection of junk. Soren can see why he asks, especially if he's come to recognize that he is a dragon himself. Exchanging information on their habits seems more prudent than not in light of what just shook up the flow of his life here, but... it's a bit personal, and even if he went into detail, not even he can forecast exactly what sets off his hoarding impulse beyond a rough idea.]

I told you that my hoarding habits are unpredictable. I meant it. In this case, it was a sword that came through the mirrors. One I am familiar with.

Community Service - open

TIME TO BOTHER SOREN AGAIN

delightful!

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(hello do not mind if i alter the prompt very slightly; late month)

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Kissytoes - open

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