middaeg | Deceuer Catch-All

Entry tags:

Deceuer Catch-All

Who: Soren and OTA!
When: Various dates in in Deceuer.
Where: Depends on the prompt!
What: A catchall. Prompts are in the comments.
Warnings: Depression... References to house fires... the rest TBD

If you would like to plot a custom starter for your character, feel free to hit me up at

wingything or my CR plotting meme comment! I love personalizing threads to suit specific characters. Feel free to create your own starter in the comments below if there is something different you have in mind.

I will be writing these in bracket style for accessibility, but while I am flexible, I have a slight preference for prose. Feel free to use whichever suits you best.

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[ 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?

[ Oh, the mistletoe...

It's a feat to completely avoid, and in some areas, it's been decided the more the merrier, and often buried in strategic locations that are difficult to spot — buried among other decorations; camouflaged in trees; at the doorways of entrances in town or at the Coven where it would be impossible to circumvent... Wherever you have found yourself, you are now rooted to the spot where Soren is. ]

Oh! ... Oh.

[ He knows the drill by now... But the full extent of how he reacts is going to completely depend on who's stuck with him! ]

[ Whether you're just walking in as a potential customer or whether you've been here all along, it would seem a bit of a scene is unfolding.

A witch and her fox turnskin partner see Soren behind the desk and stop. When their eyes meet, she gasps, and her bondmate's fur bristles and she grits her pointed teeth. The emotions run high as the woman shakes her head and starts backing on out, jabbing an accusatory finger at the dragon. ]

No. I know you. You're one of those awful... You...! Thanks to you, I've lost everything!

[ Soren makes no reply, choosing instead to look away. She's enraged, at the brink of tears, lambasting him loudly so that everyone can hear while her Bonded begins to gaze mournfully at her witch, clutching her arm in support. ]

Not even an apology?! Yes, burn in shame! Much easier to deal with than a scorched house, I'll tell you! Oh, I'm not giving even a cune to any business that stoops to hiring the likes of you! Cheers, now, you savage lizardbrain! The terrible lot of you should just... go extinct already!

[ With that, she storms out, shoving past anyone in her way as she succumbs to the breakdown she had been holding back, her partner tailing after her with one last dirty look. For his part, Soren glances at a couple of wary, mystified stares he's earned and buries himself back in his paperwork, shoulders scrunched a little more. ]

Soren hasn't been coming to his shifts as often as he used to, needing the extra time to recuperate after donating his time and effort to his community service endeavors. Not only that, but it's cold, and even with enchanted clothes and paints, magic doesn't last, and the weather still makes his eyelids droop and his movements just that more sluggish. He's no fire dragon, but he's not exactly warm-blooded, either. However, his constitution has been suffering without his draconic powers, and maybe... the chills he's experiencing are not from winter breathing down his neck.

When he's at work, he tries to make his efforts worth the pay... but it's been obvious that he's not up to his usual snuff. Sharp and meticulous Soren had a bit of an alchemical mishap where he mixed the wrong potions together. Then he penciled in the wrong time slot for one customer, but it wasn't too big of a flub when they arrived too early, but there was no schedule conflict, so they just got their ink job done before they expected to. It was more of a mild inconvenience to whoever had to service them, rushing to prepare at the last second.

And right now, Soren appears to be sleeping on the job, head buried in his arms and the fountain pen cradled loosely between his fingers creating a blot on the form that currently serves as his pillow. This never happens.

[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.]

[this is a neighborhood that Styx has been frequenting more often than he ever had in the past for a myriad of reasons which all led back to one terrible clash in the sky. it's his natural inclination to help, and there's certainly no shortage of ways to lend a hand here. maybe he gives a little too much, sometimes...but he can't help but wonder if this devastation isn't his fault as well, in some small way. if he'd been a better bondmate, would Eren have allowed himself to spiral so far?

there was no way to answer such a question, of course, rooted in offshoots of the past as it was, yet the thought occasionally still creeps into his mind despite his attempts to shake it away. thankfully his simple mind is easy to divert even when he isn't looking to do so, and today is no different. the range of Aefenglom which now requires repair is broad enough that they've never run into each other before, but - but that is definitely Soren laboring in that house over there, isn't it? and looking like he was about to have a stroke trying to move all that debris on his own at that.

why wasn't anyone helping him? the thought stills his steps even more than his hesitance to bother the dragon a second time. it wasn't as if there was a shortage of volunteers out and about. didn't anyone care that he was going to kill himself at this rate?

...his question is answered when someone brushes by him with faint irritation over the drummer having accidentally planted himself right in the middle of the sidewalk. the big guy's apology is ignored save for some quiet grumbling about there already being enough mindless brutes swarming the streets, thank you very much.

it hits him in a place where it shouldn't, not anymore, and Styx finds his feet moving again without realizing. his presence is almost certainly unwanted - an annoyance at best, he hopes - but it's now something that Soren is just going to have to deal with. he'd really wanted to say hi anyway, in all honesty.]

Dude, you alright?

[the sink that the other man has been trying to haul is damaged beyond repair, although the ruination has done nothing to lighten the cumbersome thing. Styx reaches to take it from hands that he can now see are on the verge of trembling, tucking it beneath one arm with the same ease one might use for a rolled-up newspaper. concern is easily read in his features, strong enough that he's forgotten to try and (poorly) hide it for the sake of being a little less presumptuous.]

( from behind... yes. it's him! pouncing so to speak, but it's really more of a very slow lunge or stretch, immediately wrapping his arms around soren from behind. ranulf, with a sharp grin and bright laugh, immediately buries his face into the back of soren's neck. running into him at one of the doorways in the coven, in an area that doesn't receive much traffic in the first place... well, this allows him to be a little more bold in his pda. )

Fancy running into you here.

( it's when he tries to move around soren is where he struggles, and soon realizes why soren had just been standing there to begin with. his tail immediately droops as he finds himself unable to move. )

Oh.

( yes. many oh's. )

[ 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.

I— Oh...!

[all of a sudden, Styx to the rescue! he lifts it up high and with such ease that poor five-two Soren just relinquishes it up entirely to the brawny drummer, who has the heavy porcelain basin more than handled. it's no secret that he was struggling, a red flag for nice people who hate seeing others suffer so much that they rush in to intervene. once the surprise wears off, he folds his trembling, skinny arms to himself and darts his eyes away, tail slinking closer to his body as if shy, and fills his lungs with the breath he needs to speak without panting each word out.]

Um... Thank you. You don't need to... concern yourself with me overly much. It's Coven-mandated community service. I'm partially responsible for this mess.

[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.]

[despite having been the one to insert himself into the situation, Styx appears to be almost embarrassed when his feat of strength startles the other man a bit. he shrinks in on himself nearly as much as Soren, although in the drummer's case his shoulders unhitch quickly in the face of burgeoning concern.]

Sure, but...'s community service, not death row.

[and, as the big guy was clumsily trying to point out, the dragon looked like he was about to kill himself.]

You're really gonna get hurt if you keep it up like that, dude.

[hadn't he been hurt enough? the witch's memory floats unbidden to Eren in that jail cell, sticky with the congealed wounds of a battle his human mind would never be able to grasp. surely Soren must have been ravaged just as badly...and it wasn't that long ago. what if he irreparably damaged something that hadn't properly healed yet?]

[ soren doesn't like being surprised much. he'd been tired and preoccupied by his thoughts at the moment, so ranulf's stealthy advance breached his notice until the moment his arms enshroud him. he tenses like he needs to defend himself from this vampire going for his neck or whatever, but then ranulf's laughter fills the space just next to his ears and his fight drains away. he's still just a tinge irritated, but for the most part, ranulf is always the person he'd like to see most around here, so his relief weighs more.

it's also convenient that, of all people to be stuck under the mistletoe with, it's someone he's grown to enjoy kissing. ]

Well, it's not a problem if it's with you. [ and he's also even more compelled to do so thanks to the enchantment. he reaches up and behind him to bring ranulf's head down so that when he rises up onto his toes and tilts his own up and around, their lips meet. ]

That should break the spell. And don't sneak up on me like that...

[ he's probably going to keep doing it anyway. at least soren doesn't have his crazy strength right now, so he really can't properly defend himself against a mystery assailant. he hardly sounds as miffed as he should be. petulant, maybe. but his heart is also aflame with ardor stoked by their kiss. so much so that he's still got his arm wrapped behind him and his face lingering close to his. ]

[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.

...

[Soren makes no reply right away. he has never heard of death row, but whatever it is, context tells him it must be some kind of punishment for a crime dire enough to end in, well... death. he sighs, his breathing finally starting to slow down.]

It's really not that harsh a punishment, if you consider alternatives. I'm still free, still alive... I only have to keep this service up and my powers locked for a couple of months. It's just... [he twists his lips in a subtle grimace, voice quieting.] I was never especially physically fit nor strong. Not until I became a dragon. The difference is jarring. That's why I am struggling to the point that it looks inhumane, when really, I am just weak and tired.

[his injuries have been mostly healed, and he was permitted to rest before getting to work. but there is one burnt and scarred spot in particular that keeps smarting.]

I'm simply grateful they didn't go as far as I was expecting. It's amazing no one else was harmed. If they were, maybe...

[he teeters a little with enervation.]

( there's a brief moment of panic as he realizes that they're stuck together. but as his tail rises, so do the possibilities? it could be much worse! if anything, it just means they can do what they do best. why does his heart suddenly feel so light, despite the potentially dangerous situation? after all: being with soren isn't uncomfortable. it's quite the opposite, and with a soft sigh, the kiss is a light and refreshing touch to his nerves.

even though soren is... lacking his usual strength, he could literally have a STR of 1 and still be able to bowl ranulf over. not because the cat would play the role of a pushover. and yes, he will keep doing it. can't help but be the sneakiest of cats. )

Okay. ( with a nod, he gives soren another kiss. how could he not, with that face right there? ) Wait, you're saying a spell did that?

( a beat, then: )

... you mind staying here a while longer?

[he's lucky, that beast of yours. had Soren's bonded been told the same thing? while it was true that the reprisal for the twin dragons' selfish clash could have been far more severe, something about watching the man justify that very same truth now agitated the drummer's stomach more and more.

it's too much like something he would say, Styx decides at last. people shouldn't - shouldn't be talking the way he does, for any reason. they were worth more than that.]

But nobody did get hurt, yeah? 'Cept you guys, I mean. Don't think...

[was this overstepping? those usual insecurities tumble back to the forefront of the witch's mind unbidden, even the strength of his current emotions not enough to hold them back completely. Soren was so composed the last time they'd met - and it had only been the one time, after all - that he pauses, refraining from expressing his own opinions when they surely must sound so trite to this man.

he did believe that unspoken thought, though: there was nothing good that would come from comparing the present with a past that had never happened. all the same Styx can't bring himself to express that and instead just shakes his head, discarding the whole thing with a flutter of his hair.]

Uh, never mind. They didn't give you like a minimum or nothing, did they? Like you gotta clean up a certain number of houses or whatever?

[ soren nods and points at the mistletoe he's spotted among the hanging garland. he's already finished with checking in with the coven, has no shift either at inkchanted or to do the community service he's already completed for the day. and now that the embers lying dormant in his heart have been stoked at last with a hug ambush and a couple of kisses, his inner self and its simple wants are coming alive. in all of aefenglom, there is nowhere he feels warmer. his lips don't lift in a smile, but ranulf can see it in his eyes, feel him defrost out of his cold depressive spell across their bond just because his bright spot is here with him. he snakes his tail around his waist in his desire for closeness. ]

I have time for you.

[ Soren nods at the last statement. Nobody but them and personal property were harmed in the procurement of Sword. ]

Nothing concrete. The way they spoke to me, it sounded like our service would be up when the bracelet came off. But I do have to inform them how often and for how long I participate, so it's not like I can simply get away with not working the entire time. I can, however, get away with reductions due to illness or other ailments that make physical labor difficult.

[ not for having a squishy mage bod, though. that doesn't count. ]

Then...you should just do what you can. 's what I think.

[he's quick to add that last sentence, as if this being ascribed to his own opinion was some kind of disclaimer for poor quality. maybe it was. Styx still feels strangely adrift when it comes to his feelings on this entire matter.]

Not, you know, nothing or nothing! 'Cause it is bad, what happened. But there's a lot more you gotta do to fix a fucked up house than just - [he waves the sink in his grasp around a bit, his one-handed swinging inadvertently underlining the very quality Soren is so severely lacking now. oops.]

Know people are mad 'nd everything, but I don't think...'m sure nobody wants you to get all fucked up for real over this. That's not right either.

[ Soren looks him cold in the eyes: gleaming red ice, head tilted down, tail swishing in a stroke of agitation. ]

One of them wants me dead. Another just wants me "gone". I'm sure those individuals wouldn't mind if I tore a muscle or two or got buried beneath a collapse. Everyone seems to have a different idea of what's 'right' around here. If I burned down everything you built up over the acquisition of one petty weapon, you'd be mad at me, too, wouldn't you?

[ worse than that, he almost killed his bonded! but Soren has yet to recognize the connection between Eren and Styx, or else he would have dug that one into him to hammer the point harder. ]

[Soren's doing a fine job of hammering on his own without that important little detail, but even though Styx's own eyes shimmer uncertainly under the dragon's gaze he makes no attempt to turn away. this was the correct reprisal for voicing his opinion unsolicited, and he accepted that. none of it was surprising, not really, although his question caused the drummer's lips to flatten out as he struggled to answer.]

Um...be kinda upset it happened, yeah, but I don't really got all that much stuff. Wouldn't be too hard to get most of it back, though I guess the drums'd be kind of a pain.

[the instrument crafter had the plans now, though, so even that would be more streamlined than his first endeavor to acquire a kit...ah, but he was getting caught up in the details again, wasn't he? Styx's head bobs, the gesture skirting dangerously at the edge of subservient. forget his material possessions - he wasn't even upset over taking this verbal stab.]

Even if I had, uh, you know, lots of really cool things, I wouldn't wanna see you get hurt 'cause of that. Like, what's that gonna do for anybody? 's not gonna bring the shit back.

[and...he'd feel terrible. just as terrible as he'd felt seeing Eren for the first time after their altercation, when he'd been forced to acknowledge this was a fight he would never be able to truly understand.]

[bitterness still bites his tone, but perhaps not as hard as just before, resignation like a sigh trailing off his tone. his eyes float down to the space between them.]

Not everyone sees it like you do.

[no one is breathing down his neck. besides, he's given himself a few short breaks before, and while he'd been given a critical eye here and there, there were plenty of times where they couldn't fault him for needing to rest and made no protest. Soren sinks to the sooty floorboards and crouches there, gaze cast down to his folded, tremulous hands. he can't even see how dirty they've become when his scales are so black.]

That's why I'm fine. Don't worry about me, Styx. Worse things could have happened. I can handle a bit of work and scorn.

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)

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Deceuer Catch-All

Community Service - open

Kissytoes - open

Inkchanted - open

closed to Waver

TIME TO BOTHER SOREN AGAIN

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delightful!

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