Bryn And Whill - Tumblr Posts

Brynhorn Fiske was perturbed.

He didn't show it outwardly, unless you knew him well enough to note the slight strain in his frown, the crinkle around the edges of his eyes, and the rigidity of his spine atop his trusty chocobo. Not showing it didn't change the fact that he was feeling that way, shifting the rifle he carried unslung over his lap with a heavy sigh, grumbling out, "Lost him..."

The once proud Sergeant of an Eorzean military company was now babysitting. Babysitting who? An Au Ra who was more akin to a gecko than anything else, and who had somehow slipped his watchful eye again. He was going to have to have a talk with Eljth about the fighter, in particular about the sharp eyed sniper's belief that "Au Ra" was not a good enough explanation for what the petite but feisty fighter was. Not only was he short for his supposed race, Bryn had witnessed him knock over men three times his size with ease, something the sniper wanted to avoid happening to him at all costs.

As it was, he wasn't too far from the shadowy walls of Revenant's Toll in Mor Dhona, the home of the Scions of the Seventh Dawn where the older, and honorary Scion, chose to spend most of his days. Which he supposed was exactly why he had the unfortunate pleasure of wrangling Eljth's pet. He paused at that thought for a moment, thinking over how the Ashfoot Viera who handled the Au Ra did in a way treat him like a pet, but to Bryn, thinking of the troublemaker that way felt wrong. No matter how annoying he was.

He smacked at his neck, some biting bug taking advantage of his turned down collar on his light grey coat, the slightly longer than hip length piece open at the front to reveal a classic, dark navy blue shirt, his light brown leather pants half covered by calf-high leather boots, stained dark brown with age and oil to give them a slight shine. Normally he would have preferred something a little less blue and grey, but Alphinaud has practically insisted he update his old soldier's uniform, and Tataru had gone ahead and actually made the clothes to do just that. It's not like he had much else to wear, a simple man in pleasure and dress.

His chocobo trilled lightly, the slow pace that Bryn had her in clearly annoying the creature built for speed, he legs giving an apologetic squeeze as he reached forward, petting its long neck as they passed under an old oak tree, his voice cool but understanding as consoled his mount. "I know. Easy girl, I'll let you run as soon as we find that blasted--"

It was the slight, ever so slight breeze he felt that tipped him off right before he was hit that let him brace, something pouncing onto him as he grunted with surprise. His chocobo, considerably spooked as it felt something effectively leap onto it, reared up and bucked, trilling shrilly as it flapped its wings and unseated its rider, and the thing now clinging to Bryn. With a yell, the soldier managed to keep a hand on his gun as he fell, the rifle clutched by the barrel in his left hand, and immediately, as soon as he hit the ground on his side, twisting midair to avoid his back, his right hand shot out and grabbed the first thing it touched.

It was long, scaly, and moving, like a tail, and for a moment, Bryn felt panic rise in his chest. It felt like a dragon's tail, and if a dragon was atop him, in Mor Dhona no less, he was a dead man. He had to get his rifle around, get it up, get it ready! Until all his fear bled away as he took in the creature on his chest and recognized him, a rush of relieved air rushing from his lungs as he turned his silver gaze on his quarry, his crew cut black hair dusted with dirt as he frowned up at Whillow Corion, the very person he had been looking for, his voice heavy with annoyance.

"Where in seven hells have you been, and why are you on top of me?" He hadn't let go of the tail of his prey turned predator, and he wasn't sure he should, just in case he decided to try and run again. A leash, of sorts. ...He's not a pet, damnit!

Piercing eyes stared through the foliage of the dense greenery that covered him. The bark beneath his claws was soft as paper as his talons tensed and relaxed in preparation. With such dark coloration the dragon’s petite body blended against that oaken wood and dappled shadows, the blueish leaves within the thickened trunk teasing against his senses as the wind ghosted over quiet nerves.

One wouldn’t be remiss to think the gecko was little more than a gnarled burl laying out along the branch as he did.

But this was no idle creature, no this was a predator, with silvered-blues darting across the broad walkway beneath him, searching, waiting, hunting for the prey to come ever closer.

His broad tail slithered around the limb as his prehensile toes digging into the groves far better than any single hand could do, the animistic talons keeping grip as he pushed himself up just enough to rest his chin atop the back of his palms.

Boredom was beginning to threaten him, it made his teeth clack with the need to cause problems.

Thankfully (At least to him), the answer to his dilemma soon came around the corner, his slitted pupils rounding in playful excitement at seeing the target nearing his perch; a shiver wiggling the tip of his tail as an unsounded rattle of the waiting snake, his tight grip loosening as his haunches wiggled too and fro before-

POUNCE