middaeg | Deceuer Catch-All

[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It's easy to recognize the mask he still has in place, though his ornamental-seeming robes have been replaced by ordinary sturdy black fabric in more or less the same hooded style, save for a bit more freedom for his hands and a new long feathery crimson and brass tail.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.

The recent items from home.

[It's not really a question. And it's pretty easy to tell what goes where when it comes to ruins at least, some things were useful... some were not. Some things were obviously intact, others.. not so much.]

Reasonable, to want it back. There were a few fights over things being misdelivered, not just yours, and hardly only between dragons.

[As small a consolation as that might be, as nobody else brought this level of destruction down upon the city! But items going to the wrong people had certainly caused problems, and had Lahabrea's wound up in anyone's hands but his own or Emet-Selch's... well, fully changed or no, he would have set out to murder whoever had taken it even WITHOUT the instincts that were slowly becoming a nuisance.]

While I am.. not certain I am becoming your kind, if such a situation arises between us, may I have enough control to return whatever belongs to you if notified; a stolen thing may be precious but is still stolen and I do not much like thieves. I would prefer to not become one.

[It's evident that Lahabrea does NOT possess a dragon's strength, but he manages anyway with patient deliberation. And his claws are blunt enough to allow for a better grip than sharp talons might have on bits of stone and broken wood.

The sooner things are finished, the sooner this mess is no longer a blight upon the area.]

[Only a little bit. The foremen have let him rest before; they'll probably allow for a bit of a break, especially now that his slack is being picked up. They're not completely heartless, but they're not kind with their words and tone, either. But he can't blame them. He understands their hatred. He's not happy with himself, either. Soren sinks further into his spot, kneels and sits, and turns the warm bottle of sweet liquid around in his palms as he thinks bitterly about what Lahabrea is saying. He expels a sharp sigh.]

If only my preferences had any say in what overcame me that day.

[But there's another thing, and he hopes Lahabrea heeds this, if he has not already.]

But I am confident beyond any doubt that the outcome would have been worse without any Bonds to reel me back from that madness. I am sure he would be dead otherwise, and that is not any foolish sense of pride speaking.

Oh, quite likely. From what I saw, you were both of the heat favoring sort, and he had only four limbs to your six, and no great difference either way by way of size or armor. Your temporary foe had no advantages whatsoever to turn the tide in his favor that could equal out simply having hands alongside wings.

[If it's supposed to be a warning or a threat, the Ascian simply disregards it entirely. It's just a matter of practicality, one had more weaponry to work with than the other. Which would come out on top was inevitable unless luck interfered in some major way.

Wyverns were impressive creatures, but somewhat lacking in the arena of grasping, grappling and not getting their primary method of staying airborne utterly shredded by a foe that had no such restriction. Had he been a little closer to a different part of the city, he could have even placed bets on it!

Would Lahabrea fare as well? He had feathers. Were there scales beneath those feathers, or would grasping claws find an easy mark in unprotected skin?]

An unfortunate potential end, had things gone such a way, if you were friends.

Edited 2020-12-17 17:26 (UTC)

[Soren elects not to correct his mistaken assumption about his element. The misunderstanding likely comes from the flames that engulfed the buildings, how his breath looks like cold blue fire and exacerbates the flames it comes into contact with. Anyone would think it to burn white hot. But what others don't know is better for him.

He shakes his head.]

It wouldn't end well for me no matter how we felt toward each other. That would be a heftier charge of murder, and Parliament would have ruled me guilty of it.

Edited 2020-12-21 03:06 (UTC)

I should wonder at a world that inflicts strange and irresistible instincts upon us and then punishes for not being able to resist.

[Surely all this nonsense didn't suddenly begin with the arrival of the Mirrorbound. Dragon-fights have likely gone on for ages and ages. And other conflicts with monsters slaves to their instincts as the moons change or some coveted item arises or hostility over territory..

The list surely went on.]

But none have ever said there was a single mortal culture that operates by common sense. Is your combat partner likewise somewhere about, digging in the ruins?

Yes.

[He fixes his eyes back down upon his tea, tugs at his sleeves to trap more of that soothing heat. He couldn't say Eren was struggling less than he was out in this cold, if his enchantments were ever to run out. Both of them didn't do so well with wintry weather, but heat-based dragons like Eren fared even worse than Soren. But he usually had more than one. Anyway, even in his human form, he at least possesses more strength than the smaller dragon.]

His name is Eren. I will be avoiding sharp objects while in his presence as best as I can from now on.

If there is a .. guilt to be had, for I do not know how close a friend you considered this rival..

[And for his part, the Ascian ... works. Digs. What's useful, what isn't? What might simply be scorched but could be made new?

It reminded him distantly of another city brought to ruin, and trying to find anything useful in the rubble. But this situation was far different, wasn't it.]

Sending him a gift of some sharp thing ... without you there, mayhap, but some small note to go with it.

[The suggestion only made because it seemed Soren felt guilty about it all. If this Eren did as well he'd be served to do the same, but that one is't here at the moment and Soren is.]

[Soren finishes off another sip of his sweetened tea and mulls over this suggestion, and perhaps how he feels toward the other dragon. Guilt? He's not sure, and it doesn't matter. A friend? Maybe not that far, but they certainly aren't strangers, either. In the past, their relationship had always been one of mutual benefit... but now they have collided and caused each other mutual loss.]

That sword was meant for me. He wouldn't give it back, and so I brought him down. That's all there is to it. That sword is in its rightful place now. I feel no guilt for that.

[Soren can think of a better place it could be, but that can't happen right now.]

I just don't like how I handled the situation. It was unreasonable. But I couldn't help it. I just attacked. That sword isn't everything to me, but in that moment, it was.

Irrelevant.

[Wait, what?

The black-robed Ascian straightens up, a piece of charred wood in his hands. It's tossed into an appropriate pile.]

What has been is finished, and already spoken about besides, what with the whispers of murder charge had things gone differently.

[Nothing here would ever catch his interest in these ruins. Or perhaps this entire district - did he suffer the predations of hoarding want yet at all?]

I speak not what has come before, but what is yet to be. If this person has value to you, then you would do well in reaffirming that value lest this brief competition grow poisonous thorns. If this person has no value to you, then discard him and all concerns over what happened, for there is no controlling what this place has forced us to become.

[Soren levels his scowl at the brightly-colored monster. It's not much different from his usual expression, though a touch soured at the unsolicited advice.]

I can manage my own relationships just fine, thank you.

[The black clad shape pauses in his work for a moment, straightens up, and takes a long survey of the area. Angry neighbors, destruction and mayhem in evidence everywhere.]

Yes, I can see that.

[And then it's back to work. He certainly could just leave but he hasn't.]

[Soren just lets Lahabrea have his sardonic remark at his expense with a quiet, tired sigh to himself, casting his eyes down to his lap. Whether he's actually any good at maintaining personal relationships or not (he has always needed help in that department, so the quip isn't without warrant), the point is, it's his own business and he would prefer it stay that way.

A silence stretches between them. Then, the smaller dragon voices another musing of his, more important, he feels, than making it up to Eren when the sword was rightfully "his" to begin with.]

Have you been feeling any unusual proclivities toward acquiring certain objects?

[He can't be completely sure beyond a doubt that he's becoming a dragon or a chimera, or even some odd species of harpy. Still, the hunch is there... especially after getting weirdly protective over his exotic fruit the first time they crossed paths.]

[Ironically the fruit had very little to do with his eventual choice in hoarding, it was just a generalized possessiveness versus someone who had immediately acted in a suspicious way.

One that he's long gotten control of and beaten into submission, as unhealthy as that is.]

For quite some time, yes; for several months I thought it some crow or raven-esque obsession with all that glitters. Very expensive jewelry, if you're curious. And not merely any expensive jewelry, cost alone isn't apparently important, but aesthetics and whether or not it matches my feathers.

[Lahabrea's ... awfully open with that bit of information, probably because he doubts in the extremes that anyone currently in this neighborhood could possibly come up with such an item.

Showy, brilliantly colored dragon wants showy, brilliantly colored objects, go figure.]

I collect less aesthetic pieces if they are interesting enough, but the compulsion isn't there. I admit I haven't felt violently about any select piece, however.

[Not yet.]

I see.

[...Huh. That category can't accommodate pineapples no matter what angle you try to make it fit. Was that a misunderstanding?

Obtaining this information still not quite enough to confirm whether he's a dragon or not, especially since it's perfectly reasonable to expect that another monster could have similar impulses. Soren watches as his luxurious, almost garish tail plumage practically shines with its own light within the dim reaches of this residence's crumbling charcoaled walls like a torch. He certainly doesn't resemble any dusky corvid Soren knows, but the strategist also isn't a walking encyclopedia on all extant fauna... especially when other worlds are taken into consideration. When he had first started changing, he was able to exercise more restraint when it came to acquiring his prizes.

Now that he has learned of his predilection, Soren can steer clear of such conflicts by avoiding places like jewelry shops and diamond mines in case he really is a dragon, and in case he is moved to violence. Luckily, he foresees a low probability of being drawn to any jewels or other such bedizenments when it comes to his own obsession. If he were attracted to rags and shredded textiles, now that would be a different tale.]

Do you think you are becoming a dragon like me?

Edited 2021-02-08 03:06 (UTC)

[Now that is a question. Lahabrea pauses in his efforts to drag a chunk of mortar and brick still together out of the ruins and further away; bricks can be recycled, but it's taking some work because he simply doesn't have any of the greater strength than human perks that all monsters seem to get sooner or later.]

I know not.

[It's a simple, straightforward, and utterly unhelpful answer. He resumes his patient struggle.]

There is much I know about birds, I've made several and fit some of their aspects but not others, and I do not think I qualify for the disjointed look that is many chimera, but dragons are unfamiliar to me. I have seen none here in anything but scales. I may not know for some time yet, the magic of each species, such as it is, is distinctive enough to identify if it arrives.

[Most of his explanation makes sense. It's not like Soren is afforded much of a view of his changes save for the tail and whatever else pokes out of the dark shroud of his robes, so Lahabrea's judgment of his own body's lack of chimeric qualities surpasses his own by default. He continues to watch him work at his own pace from his perch on the floorboards.]

I've only ever known dragons to possess scales, myself. [But there was some strange wording embedded in what he just told him.] What do you mean you made birds?

Indeed.

[Though one of the patriarchs of the dravanian horde were supposed to be feathered, he hadn't ever bothered to find out. Scales were how it went, and scales the rest of the dragons here had. Where did that leave him? Possibly as something else.

Sooner or later he'd fit into some category in an obvious way. Every species had magic of a sort, when that arrived he'd know for certain.]

I ... created birds. Some craft boots, or homes, or swords, those of my ... line of work, you could say, shaped life.

[He treats it as if it's a casual thing and belongs in the lineup of other crafts. Maybe it does, where he's from.]

But no longer, this miserable star has seen fit to strip me of those skills.

[Soren raises his eyebrows a margin. It may seem absurd enough to cast doubt upon, but after all the dragon has seen and experienced, he's more open-minded to the idea that this cloaked man could be something of an immortal.]

People of my world would call that the work of the goddess.

[His name marches through his mind like a chant to conjure the memory waiting to be unshrouded at the back of his mind. Lahabrea, Lahabrea... Where had he heard that word? Somewhere in Aefenglom, yet not at all... Was it a dream? The young dragon's eyes narrow in focus at a distant corner of the room as he juggles his mental retrieval endeavor with listening to the other monster's response.]

I imagine the people of your world are also very young as species go.

{He isn't treating it like it's astonishingly unusual. Not.. exactly frivolously, but that it isn't some remarkable thing that belongs only in the realm of gods.}

Given enough time, that too will be open to you, mayhap. Or at least, your distant offspring; tis a skill that may be taught. The realms of the divine are in the reshaping of the laws of reality itself, or granting life its own soul and sapience, not the mere mundanity of flesh and blood.

{Even those who can create life seem to have a higher tier yet, and god figures of their own to worship and idealize.

If there's been some dream of revelation of his title or presence at all.. Lahabrea's unaware of it. But Emet-Selch has lingered a while in this world.. as have several of his deadliest enemies.}

{It comes to him at last. Emet-Selch had mentioned Lahabrea. It was all stacking together, piece by piece.

"He is part of a small group of individuals who guide history toward destruction. With this destruction, the world shall be reborn and remade to their liking, their cruel god awoken and released from His prison."

Could it be?}

Not quite a god by your definition, then. But to create life forms is more power than most mortal beings are granted. What were you, exactly?

{Now that's definitely a biased source! Was the Ascian god cruel at all, when nobody had actually seen or heard from Him in twelve thousand years and all information comes from a chronic liar of a 'deity' with a penchant for revisionist history?

It's really for the best he doesn't know about that, as yet.}

We merely called ourselves men and women. Or people. I was a teacher, among other things, then. As much as I would like to say we had a grandiose name and some measure of divinity ourselves ... nay. We were ordinary. That's what 'ordinary' was, once.

{Soren is eyed. It wasn't impossible that mortals might eventually reach that point themselves.. at least off-world mortals. And then back to work. It's going to take days to clear out all this mess, and he won't be there for all of it, but for now..}

I am certain I must not be the only being on this star which counts lifespans in the thousands, not the decades. They will likely be similar in that respect. What seems fantastical and strange, merely daily mundanity.

So weird...

silentsavant - 2021-02-16 18:37 (UTC) - Expand

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fuelingfire - 2021-02-19 19:18 (UTC) - Expand

Deceuer Catch-All

TIME TO BOTHER SOREN AGAIN

delightful!

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one month later...

thanks for nothing, gmail...

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I have lost the ability to type a normal bracket, but squiggly ones work still so..

if you can't beat it, i'll join you

Not yet. I have a closing bracket! ] ! but the opening ones just don't work.

So weird...

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