[[okay Maybe Not Anymore]] - Tumblr Posts
13th-dragon-prince -- [Prior]
[...]But there was still a sense of trust within it. Punctuated by the way Whillow smiling unapologetically to the man as he rested his head back, throat bared to the moment. “Bryn shall go!” He promised to himself to do what he could to play nice in conversation in good behaviour for the mystery, his understanding of words much better than his ability to pronounce them.
︻デ═一・・・・・・・・・・・・・・
When Bryn saw Whillow take a step back and crouch, his eyes widened, brows furrowed, and mouth opened, about to tell him to wait a moment, to not try and leap onto the chocobo, but he didn't get the chance.
The gecko leapt, grabbed the rider's coat, and hauled himself up, scrambling over his thighs as Bryn let out a little astonished sound, the claws raised at least, not even snagging as the soldier clenched his legs around Featherflame a little tighter, ensuring he wouldn't be unseated again by his rambunctious charge, finding him in his lap again sitting cross legged, the tail that wrapped around him for balance causing him to look down at it as he lifted his arms and made sure it was in a good spot. Slowly, he dropped his arms with a bewildered grunt and shook his head slowly, realizing it would be pointless to explain to Whill that he would bounce with each step the chocobo took, bounce back against Bryn, the grinning face looking up at him from chest height met amused silver as he leaned forward.
His arms slipped around Whillow, his hands taking the reigns and resting at the saddle horn, or really on scaled legs since they were crossed over it, the comment about no claws earning a snort from rider and shake of the head from mount, a slight ruffle of feathers as Bryn translated, "Featherflame appreciates that."
He didn't correct his pronunciation, the word clear enough, and for Bryn, in a non-combat situation, that was plenty. Now if Whill ever fought beside him... Sergeant Brynhorn Fiske would make sure he could at least pronounce yes, Sir, enemy, and the cardinal directions. Maybe even the hand motions for them.
His arms, wanting to go to the normal riding position he took, brushed lightly against the sides of Whill, left hand releasing the reigns and for a moment dropping down, finding just scaled leg there and remembering he had strapped his rifle to the side, before retaking it and resting both fists on Whill's calves. Or where he guessed they should be. Hard to tell with scales instead of just skin and muscle.
Bryn's breath stuttered for a second again as Whill wiggled back against him, the tightening of his tail around his waist felt just as acutely, his breath drawn slowly through his nose before he let it out in a huff that inadvertently mussed the long, dark hair of his riding companion.
A part of him recognized the trust Whillow showed him, the tilt of his neck, the way he wasn't as guarded around him, the comfortableness he showed. It was so...jarring. Not in a bad way but for Bryn...
Trust didn't come easy. Sympathy, or understanding, yes. Trust was built. Trust was earned. Even if it meant ignoring that instinct within him that said he could trust the obviously excited warrior.
The air pat let him focus, fully, and his left leg nudged Featherflame with the heel of his boot, his tongue clicking against his teeth twice, and his mount let out a happy noise and began to move, an easy jogging gait that had them moving at the equivalent of a run towards their destination, Bryn's arms and Whill's tail keeping them both in place as simple tugs at the reigns had his trusty chocobo turning this way or that, each step bouncing the two rider's slightly as Featherflame didn't seem to care in the slightest about the extra weight.
As soon as it began, he knew it was going to be an interesting ride.