Thread: (pounce Bryn) - Tumblr Posts

13th-dragon-prince -- [Prior]

[...]Just like now, as acting on the desire to pounce upon the hunter was his instinct; Whillow had made no motion to resist it. In certain circumstance this could be a dangerous thing if a beast did not know the rules.

Cocking his head to the side, the gecko let his legs relax at the sides of Bryn’s waist, blinking at him as if trying to figure out how to translate the words in his head into the common tongue; “Mo-rr Dho-na is tired… tiring?” He chuffed, the heat from his core akin to that of a dragon’s as the air ruffled the blue collar beneath him. “Bryn is not boring.”

︻デ═一・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

The clack of teeth, the way the gecko's accent poked through as if the words were unnatural to him, and those sharp, slitted pupils reminded Bryn that Whill was every bit a beast as he was man. He watched those eyes carefully as he lowered his half raised rifle, setting it flat against the ground as he waited for an answer, instead getting...half of one.

Slow trails of claws along his coat didn't even bother the Hyur, only caught his interest momentarily before a tug at his right hand caught his attention, the tail he held shifting in his grasp as the half-dragon-lizard tried to move it, and for a moment, Bryn swore he remembered feeling a shiver go through the entire body of Whillow, right as his hand had closed around that appendage. Impossible to confirm now, but filed away, a question to ask when he wasn't holding his tail, or someone else completely.

He let it go at the second shift from it, the short, not staccato but to the point words catching the soldier's attention, the accent not too bad and easy enough to understand what the pouncer meant. "Waiting for me," he mumbled, and a part of him wanted to scowl, to scold the fellow Scion for wandering off in a dangerous land, but it seemed...laughable. He wasn't heavy atop Bryn, even if his size did not align with his weight exactly, the inset scales clearly adding more weight than the powerful muscles that rippled over his body, but the speed, strength, awareness--it rivalled Bryn's, and reminded him of another speedy fighter he had once trained. And why he had, again, likely been chosen to watch over the wily Whill.

It was during those thoughts of inset scales that he had reached up and tapped one on Whill's chest, the firm, slightly glossy addition that seemed so natural on the horned man that Bryn had hardly thought of it, catching that light, and a bit of blue shining through. Still dark, almost black, but normal akin to the sniper's shirt now that he looked. His gaze lazily trailed to Whill's face, taking in the touch of scales on his chin and cheeks, and reinforcing his opinion that "Au Ra" had to be incorrect, the greyish-blue tint of his skin so...unique that he doubted Eorzea had ever seen it before. His eyes though...

Silver eyes met silver-blue, and for a moment it was like staring in a mirror, the color so similar to his own that if you took away the reflective nature, slit pupils, and scales around them, they could have matched. Bryn recognized the playful curiosity in them, the want for adventure, the yet unbroken spirit. And in his gaze, it flickered back, something animal within him rising and flickering teasingly, as if to taunt the man laying atop him.

He almost laughed at the warm statement, the slight twitch of his lips the only hint at it, his thoughts turning to it, analyzing it, and then concluding, like a cold blooded lizard, before moving on, mildly thankful for the cleaning of his hair. Sometimes, despite the lack of personal space, Whill showed a compassion that belayed his playful nature. He was not expecting the sudden wiggle, the way the scaled man just made himself more comfortable atop him, his right hand lifting and resting on his back, scaled just like the rest of him, soft skin where he wasn't, as Bryn tracked those almond shaped slits.

Play. That's what he wanted. The taps of his claw against Bryn's lips with each word reinforced it, the "compliment" hitching an eyebrow as the Hyur held Whill's gaze, the hum felt and heard from the gecko as those words slowly digested. Mor Dhona is tiring, hm? How interesting. He wondered if anyone had taken the troublemaker exploring, or if his tasks and goals had always proven fight based, when the need arose. After it was said again, about how unboring he was, Bryn had an idea, a place to visit, and let the warrior have some real fun with his watchful eye on him, but, he wanted to make sure.

"Besides my warmth," the nestled position of the lizard man more than enough proof that he was still enjoying it, "what makes me...not boring?"

13th-dragon-prince -- [Prior]

[...]“Bryn knows the stifle of walls. The feel of wind.” The pulse of a chase, the energy burned through strict movement; it was simple enough to tell just by the dense muscles that tensed below the slim dragon; the barest of natural fur in place of Eorzean cloth standing out against pale scales as the La’Mellae sat up slightly, a somewhat serious expression in those slitted eyes.

“Why else would Bryn hold the leash?”

There was something wholly unexplainable about the feeling of an appendage you didn't have trail over you, gliding along his leg and sending a shiver through his body, the slow rise and fall of it that seemed to match his rumbling voice so...surprising. In some way different than he expected and yet right in the realm of possibilities.

The flinch as his hand landed on Whillow's back was noted, and he almost reacted to it, a little shift of his hand, a soft touch, and then he lifted it away, giving him that space back, not wanting to intrude. Although he certainly could, the Au Ra was certainly not hesitant to step into his, or lay in it. Bryn had no idea how sensitive his scales actually were, never getting up close with him before, and as that tail tip pressed along his thighs, his finger grazed the same scale on his chest he had touched before, eyes glimmering at the clack of those teeth by his arm, smooth skin and scale on his flesh.

Something uncurled within him, wanted him to gnash back, to click his teeth in recognition, even as that smile was offered. He was mildly concerned, not for himself, but for his clothing, as sharp claws teased metal buckles again, but it all drained away as he froze, Whillow's words sending adrenaline pumping through his veins.

Bryn have the scent of... kindred. His eyes snapped to Whill's, his breath held, watching him carefully. What, exactly, did the gecko mean by that? What could he scent? Could it be he knew what was twisting inside him in response, what heated his limbs slightly more than usual, his heart beating faster as he watched those slitted pupils for a hint.

The slow tease of his claw over the scar in his eyebrow was barely registered, those mirror like silver eyes locked in his gaze as he waited with baited breath for what he would say next. And all of it...was true. He knew the stifle of walls around him, the trap they presented in a fight or during strategic meetings. He knew the freedom of an open field, a line of trees, a mountain top, and everything in-between. There was no denying it, his breath slowly releasing, heart calming slightly, but the coiling beast within did not quiet. It warmed his limbs, his face, even as his eyes stayed cool and cautious, flicking between Whillow's eyes and his expression, just in case as he let his breathing return to normal.

Seeing Whill sit up reminded Bryn that the scaled man was, as usual, without clothing, his eyes taking him in, following the curve of his tail, up slowly from his hips, down his arms that propped him up on Bryn's chest, and finally back to his face and those horns atop his head, his hands reaching up and grabbing the gecko by his hips, lifting him with ease as his muscles rippled, sitting up and placing him on his lap as he held those silver eyes in a firm gaze, his face impassive as he mulled over that last statement. Why else would Bryn hold the leash? The seriousness in his eyes surprised the soldier, sometimes forgetting that the pet-like half-dragon was incredibly intelligent, even if he didn't always show it and instinct one out at times. Just like...he stopped that thought, his eyes growing guarded, and he narrowed them, his voice a low growl as he spoke.

"Because I'm the only one who can put up with you?" He said it half joking, half not, as he reached up and ran his hand through his hair, brushing away the last of the dirt as he glanced over at his chocobo, the beast of burden munching at the leaves of a nearby tree as Bryn took a long, slow breath, eyes clouding, and turning back to Whillow and saying softly, "Still have some energy left? I have a place I want to show you." He reached over, grabbing the rifle to his left, planting the butt of it in the dirt and ready to push up when the gecko decides to rise himself. He had wholly forgotten that it wasn't necessarily a when...but an if.

13th-dragon-prince -- [Prior]

With hands on his hips, the muscle of his tail swished along the ground; never coming in contact with it directly, the sensitive nature of those telling nerves keeping watch and level before any touch could happen.

“Bryn has yet to burn the wick.” His words made little sense in a natural context, but when one held the heat of aetherical hearts, everything could be made a candle. “Let us go. Up up!”

︻デ═一・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

Claws, at his back, the prehensile feet of Whill catching fabric as the Au Ra steadied himself, steadied himself against Bryn. He hadn't thought through the position he was suddenly in, the petite male clinging to him, hands on his collar, and close. The closeness wasn't new, but the position was, the tail around his wrist, the clacking laugh and the way he purred out those words. An honor for him. What honor, he could only guess, the soldier barely had time to think on it before wide eyes told him he had caught his interest, the wrapped closeness was relinquished, and Whillow showed off flexibility Bryn could never achieve.

It was that flexibility that had him staring, unable to take his eyes off him as the petite gecko stretched back and over, his hands hitting the dirt as his lower half was still pressed against Bryn. His breath hitched, for a moment, and then was gone, the sight of Whill so perfectly standing into a headstand without hesitation or strain something to behold. Muscles may have flexed, claws may have dug, but not a single shake in arms or body was evident, and the twitching of his tail...tiny little movements, balancing the frame like it was nothing as Bryn let out a slow breath. Dark hair hid Whillow's gaze, but not Bryn's, his eyes watching until the onyx scaled feet were back on the ground, and he found himself staring at the crouched half-dragon. His eyes crinkled slightly, peering into those expanded pupils as he saw the telltale signs of interest, and only confirmed with words.

For a moment, Bryn wondered if the Au Ra felt shame. He wondered if he ever got flustered, ever thought about what he was doing, or ever thought about his actions and teased those around him on purpose. It could be all instinct, just giving into little whims, but either way, he seemed to enjoy and know how to poke Bryn's buttons.

Before the carnivore--if stories were to be believed--decided to turn his chocobo into a meal, he listened to Whill and got up, bearing down on his rifle, using it as a brace to lift himself, toned muscles rippling under his coat as he rose, the tall, well built figure finally in full view, dwarfing Whillow by over a foot as he chuckled at his enthusiasm, whistling once for his chocobo. The red feathered bird let out an answering fweeee, running over and stopping before its owner, waiting patiently as the soldier slung his rifle onto a saddlebag, only one weighing down his mount on the right hand side. For a moment, he considered letting Whillow pull himself onto the beast, then thought better of it, recognizing the generally skittish creature may not like a clawed and toothed chicken eater on its back without any sort of buffer.

Throwing himself up onto the saddle, he swung a leg over, situated himself, and looked down at the shorter horned man, eyeing him a moment much like his chocobo was, before offering a hand and saying, "Use me to climb on, I can handle a claw or two, but Featherflame won't take kindly to it."

Featherflame let out a shrill noise in agreement, a clawed foot pawing the ground, before clacking its beak and holding its head high in pride.

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.

13th-dragon-prince -- [Prior]

[...]Other beings never really sat close like this for him to touch, or at least they would be in such a way to pull away in some preset warning from the Ashfoot had given. She knew he would not cause harm on purpose, she trusted him that much; but even he had to admit the skin of Eorzeans was much more frail than those from Eljth’s home. “Bryn has broken before?” It was a half question, half statement, leaning back again to look up to his handler with a turn to watch the way that strong jaw tensed at the motion, for what reason the gecko didn’t place, but he listened nonetheless to his query, as if waiting for a story.

︻デ═一・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

Riding a chocobo was practically second nature to Bryn, both from cavalry charges, he had supported and his own personal training on one, to learn how to shoot accurately on top of a moving mount. The up and down gait the beast had was matched by simple shifts in his legs, his core, and rising with the motion rather than against it. What he was not used to was having a co-rider. It wasn't as easy as one might think, but it wasn't exactly difficult either. Whillow was well and truly anchored to the bird via tail around Bryn and weight via gravity, the appendage wrapped fully around the soldier and reaching up to his shoulder, a shiver shooting through him at the feeling. It was oddly interesting to see all of Whill's arms and legs and yet still feel him there too. It took him a few minutes to get used to it, the way it shifted and tightened with the bounces, keeping its owner steady, as Bryn steered the chocobo onwards.

There was, at first, a bit of an amused smile on Bryn's lips as the half-lizard's head darted around, ears flicking back and forth at sounds, and clearly engrossed in listening for anything that could be of interest. Bryn left him to it, relying more on his sight than the enhanced senses Whill clearly had with pointed ears and scaled body, eyes narrowing at one point as he saw a large toad, but it paid them no mind as they rode past and he noticed Whill growing bored.

It was...unique, the way the soldier knew when Whill's attention changed. The slouch of his shoulders, the leaning back into him becoming more pronounced, and those silver eyes no longer looking out, but down. All of it was felt, not seen, as his eyes remained on the path they took, his mind idly wondering what the gecko was so interested in--ah, that's what.

The touch along his hands gripping the rings, soft but scaled, sent a shiver through his body as his lift hand instinctively released the reigns, his palm resting face up on Whill's thigh as he explored it, letting him trace, poke, prod as he tried not to think too hard on it. Personal space or no, this was...different, and he was not going to react to it and give that away. His hand closed lightly around Whill's at one point, feeling those claws dig slightly at his skin, not hard enough to hurt, but enough to feel it prickle as he tugged the chocobo's reigns and set it on the last turn of the journey, heading slightly down hill and towards a wide body of water, a tower sticking up from the middle of it.

He recognized curiosity in the Au Ra, and he was fine to satisfy it. So Bryn let him poke and prod, a soft grunt at the feeling of the claw pushing dangerously close to breaking skin, and focused on the ride until a head of soft hair leaned back against him and silver eyes looked up expectantly with a question.

So many different meanings from such a simply worded question, and it actually had Bryn looking down in surprise. What had he meant by that? Could he somehow tell, from just poking and prodding at his hand, that bones had broken at some point in his body? Did he mean it in a more emotional sense, rumors about Au Ra's ability to read aetheric currents coming to mind? Or did he mean...could he tell...

His hand closed around Whill's again, giving it a firm, strong squeeze, as he rumbled out with each bounce, "Yes. I have broken. Bones have broken. Skin has broken. Rubbed raw, damaged, scarred. But each time I got stronger. Each time I added armor. Not to my body...but to my mind, my heart, my soul." His silver gaze flared as something rose and flashed through the window of his eyes, his mouth opening as if to say more, before snapping closed and looking up, nodding to the lake.

"We are here." He tugged at Featherflame's reigns, the bird slowing and stopping just before the water's edge, the lake stretching out before them with a small, rapidly constructed bridge stretching out towards the spire sticking out of its middle, Bryn going to dismount and realizing he couldn't, not without unseating Whillow in the process, choosing to instead wait for him to get down first, meeting his gaze for a moment with calmer eyes. "Has anyone ever told you, Whillow, that you have an uncanny sense of perception?"

He waited a moment longer, and then deciding he hadn't really answered the question, held up his left hand, palm facing Whill, for him to look at as he said with a hint of amusement, "Featherflame broke this hand." The chocobo chirped in agreement, like she didn't regret it in the slightest, as Bryn snorted back at her. "I doubt she meant to, but I was young. Dumb. Wrapped my non-dominant hand in the leather and she bolted. Dragged me along, broke two fingers, and fractured my wrist. I was lucky." He paused again, letting him look as he turned his wrist, rotated it, showing there was still full range of motion, until he sighed and muttered, "But that isn't what you meant, was it?"

13th-dragon-prince--[Prior]

[...]It was not a rare thing to see him do, most often towards the Ashfoot who would lean down to let him nudge her in greeting; Gil’s were actual contests of headbutts that only Alisaie seemed to agree too. Here, it was soft, as if testing - an ask of permission if anything. Though, as he waited on the ground, the wily lizard clicked air against his teeth twice in a very similar way to how Brynhorn had done to get his mount moving.

︻デ═一・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

The snake like wiggles of Whill's tail after they stopped had Bryn eyeing it like it might try to devour him with some hidden mouth, before his attention was drawn back to the owner of said tail, the purr of the little dragon in response to his perception comment only confirming that Bryn was right about it. He found his hand taken, and Bryn let it be held, the two sitting there for a moment as he just...listened. His eyes closed, feeling his heartbeat, feeling the way his body was pressed to Whillow's, and letting his thoughts wander. For a moment, it wandered to places he rarely let it, memories of snow, of blood, of danger quickening the sharp beat of his heart, and then calmer thoughts slowing it. He had no way of knowing that Whill could feel that so acutely, the way he reacted to memories, so he didn't try to hide it, opening his eyes to see the petite gecko staring up at him.

The slow rub of claws over his knuckles was kind, almost soothing, as silver met silver, wholly not expecting those words that left him more confused than calmed. "Poe...nah?" He butchered it, he was sure, his eyebrow lifting as he released the reigns fully and eyed his charge with curiosity. It hasn't sounded like common, that word, and he couldn't place the language in any he knew. His thoughts were interrupted by movement, his head tilting down--

Close. Right there close. Whillow had turned, rotating in the seat to face him, and his hands were on his chest, eyes peering up at him, and his taloned feet were at his sides. It was a position that gave a sense of closeness he hadn't expected to receive, to be in, to find himself staring into serious eyes. It was a long, serious moment, one where Bryn hardly darrd to breath during, his face softening with each moment before Whillow pulled himself up, using Bryn's shoulders as the soldier stayed strong in his sitting position.

One moment, he had scaled lizard in his lap. The next, he had a full fledged gecko standing over him, feet braced on his thighs, hands on his shoulders, and looking down at him. That was incredibly amusing for both him and the shorter male, reaching up and bracing the little dragon at his hips, keeping him upright and balanced on his legs as he cocked an eyebrow at him, wondering what he was planning up there, or if maybe he just wanted to feel taller for a moment. Instead, he was given more riddles, his name used to describe himself in the most circular of ways. He was trying to puzzle that one out when the shift gave him warning, and then-

The soft headbutt, or really hornbutt, left the Sergeant stunned and staring ahead at nothing, the wily half-dragon gone and already on the ground, the chittering laugh the only thing left behind as Bryn sunk into a memory.

A memory of someone reaching up, taking his face, when he was at his most dangerous, and resting her head to his.

Calming him.

Putting her own life in his hands.

Featherflame studiously ignored the clicks Whillow made, her loyalty lying with a non-clawed Hyur, but even she could read the sudden energy that buzzed around her owner. He was sliding out of the saddle, right after Whill as he tracked the gecko with a firm, demanding gaze. He strode forward, Featherflame chirping in concern, but he was in front of Whillow in a moment, his hand reaching up, slipping around behind his head, just above the nape of his neck and--

He pulled the gecko to him, leaning down, head tilted, pressing his forehead to those horns, holding Whillow there as his silver eyes gleamed in greeting, in a way he knew the instinctual side of the half dragon would get. Their breath mingled, his eyes held his, and he let the friendly gecko see that wild nature just below the surface. It wasn't quite the same as the headbutt, but it had the same intent. Hello, I am Bryn. I see you, and you see me. It was an offer, and an acceptance of the one offered to him, and after a long moment, his fingers untangled from the locks of hair on the back of Whill's head, Bryn rising back to his full height, and peering down at the short fighter as he breathed out in a coarse whisper, "Let's go."

He turned, un-slinging his rifle from the saddle bag, the strap going over his head and a finger pressing to where a hammer would fall, aether collecting and priming the rifle as he didn't wait for Whill, moving with sure footing towards the bridge leading to that spire, and to the resting place of old and powerful dragons. If he had questions, he could ask, and Bryn would answer.

13th-dragon-prince--[Prior]

[...]“Whillow will find before Bryn.” A challenge, a bet, a finger pressed lightly to his companion’s side as he leaned against him, the long stretch of tail coiling to slide up his back in time with that tone. “First one that Bites.” There was no fun in hunting docile targets after all. To punctuate his point he jumped ahead into his friend’s line of sight, landing in a crouch befitting that of more creature than person, cocking his head to the side with that tail wiggling at the tip. “Win and get Treat.”

He didn’t elaborate on what that meant, and it probably didn’t even occur to him to do so; but as soon as agreement was had those sharp teeth flashed in one last sound of a chittered laugh - and the beast sunk low to the shadows in an instant; darting away as any lizard beneath the shade, blending into the hues as he disappeared with one last excited flick of his tail.

︻デ═一・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

If Bryn could have read Whillow's mind and senses that flutter of fear, he would have provided a reassurance that he was safe, and that no harm would befall him from the Hyur or his weapon. His only hint was the stop, the halt of those steady steps for a moment, before they continued, lighter, happier, excited. For a moment, Bryn listened to the thump of his boots on the wood, and suddenly realized there was no longer the click of talons. The half-dragon had gone silent with his steps, and Bryn did a double take. He watched, carefully, those powerful legs, tracing the muscles with his eyes as they moved to carry the petite male, his eyes resting on prehensile feet and watching how they splayed dextrous toes and claws to distribute his weight, something Bryn could only pray to mimic with boots and non-grasping feet. His gaze slowly drifted back up, for a moment taking a few steps with a careful gait, heel to toe in a smooth motion, and then remembering that dragons would be able to smell or sense him well before they saw him, and his footsteps resumed their heavy tread. Stealth, sometimes, wasn't always the best move.

For the first time, Bryn felt like he got a good solid response from Whillow, and one that made sense. His eyes widened at the admission, that La'Mellae was the gecko, was skin and scale and bone that walked before him, his mouth absently shaping the unnatural word on his tongue in silent remembrance as he fixed the strange dragon with an appreciative stare, only to again find himself caught off guard.

Slit pupils were one thing, but stars? That was new, something he had never seen before, and had him wondering about what La'Mellae really entailed. At least until that teasing tune brushed his ears and a finger found his side. He shivered, his breath shortening as that tail slid along his back, the pressure of the gecko pressing into him as his tail had a mind of its own distracting, mind trying to follow both sensations as one won out, that tail sending another shiver shooting down his spine at the way Whill said bite.

The challenge was there, and Whillow danced ahead, leaving the soldier to control his breathing as analyze his words, until treat rolled off scaled lips and left Bryn dumbfounded. What in the world could Whill mean by treat? And why did Bryn want to win it!? He didn't get to ask the lizard, the dark scaled dragon gone, and leaving the Hyur at a disadvantage. One he planned to quickly rectify.

Muttering something to himself, he took a small gamble, that heat in his core rising slightly as he slowly increased the pace of his steps. The leash around that coiling beast was tight, a slight change in the way he moved, how fast he moved, the shine of his silver eyes, and his strength. Just enough that each step was faster than previous, until he was at an easy loping pace, one that would put a jogging chocobo in trouble of losing a race, as he headed into the spire with senses heightened and at the ready.

13th-dragon-prince--[Prior]

[...]He crouched, crawling forward with haunches shifting this way and that to adjust the finer details of his trajectory of a lethal pounce- Only to jump back as the ringing sound of a gun caught him by surprise.

︻デ═一・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

The dull throb of his pulse matched the soft thump of his boots, even, steady, calm, his silver eyes scanning his surroundings as he listened carefully, for any dragons or welps that wanted to try and make a meal of him. Already, just within the winding tower that rose up towards sun-bleached sky, dragonettes flew and roosted, eyeing him, but turning away. They were not from Nidhogg's unholy brood, simply mindless creatures who were drawn to the Father of Dragon's bleached bones to live out their days. Revenant's Toll, shortly after peace between dragons and Ishgard was announced, gave up trying to keep the spire dragon free, and instead decided to make it an attraction, to draw adventurers to it and let them see the place the Warrior of Light had fought, and bested, the mighty Midgardsormr.

Occasionally, though, even with the culling the Warrior of Light had handed the local dragon population, Nidhogg's brood came to roost and stir up trouble among the more peaceful dragons. When those dragons came, a hunt was mounted, and adventurers would rush to slay them, to get the prized title of dragon slayer that was less common these days. Bryn technically had that title.

Bryn also didn't tell anyone how he had gotten it.

No one asked anyways.

He could not see his black scaled friend and charge, his eyes unable to see the shift in shadows the half-dragon inhabited, instead focusing on finding his prey, traveling up the circling metal, rock, and debris. All remnants of a battle, a battle that had shaken Mor Dhona to its very core. As he rounded a bend, one dragonette snapped at him, angry eyes with green scales, but a slightly larger one, older, and wiser, smacked it with its tail and dragged it off. Bryn thought he saw a glimmer of recognition in its eyes, as if it knew not to mess with the soldier, and to leave him be. He only gave it a nod as the smaller dragon screeched in indignation, before continuing on. It was another turn, a flatter area, with pools of water covering half the surface, that Bryn heard it.

The snap of teeth, the angry screech, and the sound of a larger wings. He slowed, looking over the wide platform of metal and stone, before spotting it. A few dragonettes, unroosted and angry, flew around the intruder to their home, a larger, hungrier Aevis, their scales a sickly green-black, snapping right back at the little ones that flew around and dived after weak wings. It didn't move though, the snapping of its jaws scaring away the dragons who would become meals if they struck true, Bryn's eyes tracking how it moved and snapped, looking for a pattern as he slowly crouched, right knee down, left leg out front and up.

Thirty yalms. No zero needed.

His left elbow pressed into his left thigh, stabilizing his arm as he lifted his rifle, stock pressed back into his right shoulder as he sighted the creature, the proud, uplifted chest swaying minutely within the circular rear sight as he lifted his left arm, and his rifle, clear from his leg. The single post that made the front sight sat steady on the dragon's chest, then rose, slowly, Bryn's pointer finger on his right resting on the trigger guard as his rifle lifted to point towards that gnashing head.

My rifle is an extension of my body. A part of me when I shoot it.

His finger lifted from the trigger guard, and slowly rested on the trigger itself, curling around the curved metal piece, not squeezing, resting, waiting.

It is my protection, and my sword.

The dragon snapped, angrily, a dragonette peeling away in alarm.

It is death to my enemies, and life to my allies.

The dragonette wasn't fast enough, the lunging jaws catching its tail, a jerk, a scream of fear, and it was between the larger dragon's maw, sharp teeth pressing into scales, ready to crush and crunch as the Aevis brought its head back in, a triumphant gleam in its eyes as the dragonette's brood-mates screeched in fear and panic. It lifted its head, ready to crush the life from the welp's body, as from the corner of its eye it caught a flash of silver as the light caught something just right.

The sight of Bryn's rifle aligned with that head, as he pulled the heavy-weight trigger back smoothly, the rifle kicking into his shoulder as the crack of the report echoed through the spire.

Within the gun, the aether it had collected had become condensed, waiting for the pull of the trigger to use a reserved portion of it to send it spitting forward. As the trigger was pulled, the excess aether propelled the ball of condensed energy down the barrel of the rifle, screaming towards freedom as it found itself spinning. Within the barrel, intricate, swirling carvings lay on the metal, spinning and turning the ball of aether, increasing that spin speed along every inch of the three fulm barrel, until it was spinning so fast it heated that last fulm a glowing red. The crack of sound was not the aether, or the inner workings of the rifle itself, it was that ball of death breaking the sound barrier, a promise to those who heard it that they had not been the target. The blueberry sized ball of superheated aether, stabilized on its direction with spin, screamed towards its target with a vengeance, and reached it in less than a second.

Scales cracked, shattered, barely slowing impending doom. Muscle rended, shredded, flattening the aether and turning it even deadlier. And with a spray of ichor, red and blue, the aether ball shot from the far side of the dragon's skull, the light behind those angry eyes already out.

The dragonette dropped from limp jaws, the large beast swaying, still upright, and then slumping, head tilting down into its breast, neck limp as it folded in on itself, and front wings fell loosely at its sides. All motion ceased, leaving the dragon sitting upright, as if it was just sleeping, not dead as the slow drip of red blood seeped from the twin holes in its head. Bryn rose slowly, walking forward, his rifle held at the ready by his side, the soft buzz of energy around the wooden death stick marking it was slowly charging again, as he went to confirm his kill, the would-be-snack dragonette taking to the skies after a moment and circling the dead beast, a triumphant screech rising from it and their brood mates.

13th-dragon-prince--[Prior]

“Dull teeth, Dull claw-“ He waved a hand between them as if to wave away a notion, but as his posture returned to rest at his hip, his gaze facing away in no particular direction, he added with a tone of quiet praise, “-Sharp eyes, Clean blows. Better hunter wins the treat.” It’s not spoken as any slight against him, if anything it’s more commentary brought by the social notion of caste hierarchy. One who was thought to be better was proven to lose, thus the standing had changed. Respectful if anything, or embarrassed if the flicking tail was any indication.

︻デ═一・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

Bryn was still a good ten yards away when Whillow appeared, as if out of nowhere, slinking from the water as those dark scales shed the dripping substance easily. He watched as the little dragon climbed the larger one, the irony not lost on the soldier as he tilted his head slightly to watch, strong claws digging into cracks between scales as the gecko scaled the Aevis, leaving little pinpoints where claws had dug in for hand and foot holds. The Hyur had no such abilities, staying firmly on the ground as he looked up at the La'Mellae, his rifle angling down, still ready, just in case.

Watching Whill poke a finger in the creature's wound had him letting out a little noise, motioning for him to not do that, although he doubted the dragon would listen, or care. Instead, he let out a heavy sigh, and then silently lifted his right hand, palm facing to his left, close to his chest, as he dipped his head slightly. His mouth moved in a silent prayer, of respect and honor, to Nald'thal, a request to carry the soul of his enemy to safety. He was always respectful of his kills, of the lives he took, the prayer, the request, all a way of dealing with the death that permeated his life, and alleviate its toll. His eyes opened just in time for the black scaled gecko to start pouting at him, his silver eyes eying him with some slight seriousness.

It was a long moment as he watched him pout, his right hand dropping back to the stock of his rifle, eying the walking runt as he kept feeling like he would fall, but didn't, those claws on his feet keeping him in place as the soldier let out a little sigh. He waited until he was close to speak, nodding to the dragon and answering with a rumbling voice the head tilt and question about a meal. "No, no meal for me. I can't bring it back, as much as I'd like to. Wasting a beast like this is...cruel." Even he could know that, he didn't have to be a cat-eared archer to tell. He had heard the rumors that Whillow was a carnivore, the kind that didn't even cook his meat, and he glanced at the dragon as he jerked his chin at the corpse. "Eat, if you want. I only need one thing, a claw. Proof to the guild that a dragon is dead. They reward us based on size."

He misunderstood what Whillow meant by the mention of dull teeth and dull claws, assuming he was talking down about himself, and the Hyur reached out and tousled the hair of the dragon between his horns. "Your claws nor teeth are dull. I just had an advantage: range. I'm not sure your claws or teeth can help with that." The mention of treat had Bryn meeting the half-dragon's eyes, holding them with a gaze that searched carefully, before he rumbled out in nearly a growl. "I think you promised me a treat if I won." He saw that flicking tail, the nervous energy in it, the way that he couldn't quite meet his gaze. "I have an idea of what I want."

13th-dragon-prince--[Prior]

Oddly respectful in a lacking-predatory-desecration way. Looking back over his shoulder, the gecko smiled as he raised his other hand to motion at nothing in particular. “What, did Bryn earn from Whillow?”

︻デ═一・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

Bryn was not as well versed as others in body language. Particularly about body language of half-dragons that were not Au Ra. He could only guess, using hints, and given that Whillow hid his face, his tail flicking, the obvious tug at his lips like a smile was trying to break out, it all pointed to the fact that the gecko had enjoyed the head pat, something Bryn decided was good information to maybe hold onto. He wasn't exactly sure how he could use it, but he figured he could, maybe as a reward for the gecko if he was good during what he had planned for him.

He had it all planned out, what he was going to say, what he was going to ask for, and then Whillow had all his thoughts eddying out of his brain. He knew animal nature, and what Whill was doing was all instinctual. His wide eyes, the curl of his toes into the ground, drifting hands down his body, and the pose he pulled as his hands slipped back to hold his tail. If a Miqo'te did that, it meant something very different than it probably did with the half-dragon, but the soldier was not oblivious to it, even if he knew it had different meaning. He watched, waited, gave him a moment to speak, and his breath was shaky as he brought it in through his nose, and slowly from his lips.

No, he had to know, Whill had to know. The way he rose up on those claws, got closer, the heat spreading from Bryn's core up, knowing the little color he saw on Whillow's cheeks was mirrored on his own. He swallowed, ready to speak, trusting her wouldn't let his voice waver, but the wily gecko was already gone, spinning around, walking towards the Aevis that Bryn had offered. Bryn's right hand rose, slowly running over his mouth and chin, brushing the slight scruff he had as he watched the half dragon practically strut away.

His eyes watched the swaying tail, trailing up it to hands clasped behind his back, all of it so graceful yet teasing, and only reinforcing the belief that yes, Whillow knew and was teasing him, pushing the Sergeant's buttons as he took another, slow deep breath. Of course, what the half-dragon did next was anything but teasing, instead showing off a different prowess that left Bryn silently making a mental note to not get within kicking range. The clean cut, the way he lean forward, hand entering the dragon's chest and raised tail--his eyes snapped up and away, shifting slightly, boots scuffing at the ground, scanning for any sign of movement around them. Whillow was in a compromising position, an attack would be bad right now. That's why his heart was hammering in his chest. Nothing more, nothing less.

He only looked back when Whillow spoke, shifting on his heels and facing him fully, his gaze finding the gecko's as he suddenly realized what he spoke aloud, "You managed to turn that back on me. Huh..."

He let the thought trail off, watching his charge for a second, and then tapping the side of his rifle and answering the question posed to him, his eyes gleaming. "I have earned the right to train with you, Whillow." He wasn't sure why he answered in the same pattern the dragon had posed the question, perhaps it was the heart he held in his hands and not wanting to piss him off, or a sign of respect back from within, but he did. He wasn't going to sit there and watch as Whillow devoured his meal, but for the moment, he held his gaze, and asked, "So, acceptable?"

13th-dragon-prince--[Prior]

[...]Only after he was presentable did he speak again, hands raised above his head with a hand to hand to an elbow as he smiled as if he hadn’t just devoured a creature’s aetherical core, stretching his muscles some in preparation for a mortal’s training. “What shall be done? Bryn has command.”

Bryn was curious about how the dragon would react to such a request, the sudden stillness curious, and then the sight of him raising the heart all the answer he needed, the words verbal confirmation to body confirmation. As much as he understood the need for any beast, man or animal, to eat, he wasn't used to seeing it done live and in front of him, averting his eyes as the half dragon began to eat the dragon's core. It didn't stop him from hearing it though, the bites, the tearing, and he moved before he could focus on it too much, approaching the dead beast and crouching down.

He had mentioned it before, but now he had to actually do it, collect a claw as proof he had taken down the dragon. Some liked to cut up into the scales, to get the hidden part of the claw, making it look bigger for more payout. Bryn was more honest than that, reaching up to the tip of his barrel and detaching the knife, before crouching down by the dew-claw on the dragon's leg. He paused, shifting his rifle to his back, and then bring the knife down onto the claw. There was a sharp clack, and another, and another, and finally the strength of the blows cracked the claw, and then snapped it cleanly, the Hyur taking the detached keratin and pocketing it in his coat, before he rose and unslung his rifle again.

Whillow was done with the heart, leaving him to--good Twelve! He froze, staring at the tongue that was far longer than it should possibly be, wrapping around the dragon's fingers and cleaning them of any gore as Bryn's eyes slowly went wider with each...far too dexterous movement of the appendage, his mind just repeating over and over, not Au Ra. Definitely not Au Ra! It didn't help that he was closer, and he could see every single movement as he cleaned his hand, until he seemed content with his cleaning, and turned to the wide eyed soldier, who could only stare at him without a word, half frozen as he tried to think of something to say, to answer the question, command something he was familiar with, but not in this sense or scenario.

His mouth worked, trying to form a word, when he heard it. A slow, deep, reverberating thoom, the sound of wings in the air, large, huge, and close.

Bryn didn't think, his hand reaching out, clamping over Whillow's mouth, not even caring if he had his tongue still out, spinning him and pulling him back, back against the broad chest of the Hyur as he stepped back into the shadows of the Aevis, his eyes hard, scowling, as his breath brushed the La'Mellae's horns, deadly quiet as he spoke in hushed tones.

"Don't speak. Don't move. Do not make a sound." He paused, and listened, and sure enough, another reverberating thoom shook the air over them, the man shrinking back against cooling body even more. "Something's here."

13th-dragon-prince--[Prior]

Scaled fingers uncurled to slide back to the body behind him as the outstretched silhouette leered closer to the corpse, the shadows closing in to one another, earning those arched feet to slink back further into Brynhorn’s grip. He knew how sensitive those chortled huffs for a scent could be, the breaths from the unseen hunter above speckling in an uneven rhythm. Hopefully getting nothing but the stench of the dead they hid beneath.

︻デ═一・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

Bryn felt teeth brush his palm, a tongue test, the nervousness and displeasure at his action evident, but for that moment, with danger so close, he didn't care.

His hand held firm, pressing against the half-dragon's mouth his head tilted slightly back, looking up at the sky above them, past the body he took a slow step back, pressing against the cooling scales as he scanned with silver eyes for any sign of danger. The slow thrum of wings was still there, and the shadow that passed only confirmed its closeness, but the actual beast...it was circling, just out of their view.

It was searching, and training, training from Sharlayan, kicked in. His eyes closed, body stilling, and his mind turned inward. He focused on his breathing, slowing it, breath by breath, as his mind turned to his heart. His breaths, steadying, helped to focus his heart, calm its rapid tattoo, slowing it over the next few seconds, and then, with training only a sharpshooter could have, he slowed it even more. The slow, thum-thump of his heart dropping to a speed any physician would caution against, but coupled with his deep, slow breaths, it created the perfect situation for shooting, or in this case, hiding.

His attention turned from inside to the outside, where his body was, to the sensations of what was pressed against him. The shiver of Whillow in concern, fear, and then the slow relaxation of the gecko's muscles. The buffets of wind as wings kicked up dirt and blew warm, underwing air over his nose. A tail, curling around his leg, wrapping around it as he felt the shadow pass, and then return, staying, huffing breaths searching as Bryn pulled Whill closer. He was acutely aware of the clawed hands that slid back to his thighs, the way Whillow scrunched his toes and pressed back more, his breath brushing over the gecko's horns as he let it out slowly, unmoving, waiting.

There was a roar, not of anger, or attack, but of triumph, and then a beat of heavy wings, the shadow spinning away, and slow, steady thrums that faded with time.

Bryn let out a shuddering breath, his hand relaxing on the half-dragon's mouth, slowly letting it slide down to his shoulder, but not letting go, just holding him there as he let his breath quicken, back to normal, and his heart began to beat at a faster, common rate, his head tilting forward to press to the top of Whill's head.

"That," he breathed out, "was too close."

13th-dragon-prince--[Prior]

With the shift of his tail ending up with the seat of his hips between Bryn’s, the smaller male leaned back a motion more, unable to move to look up fully to his companion as he spoke, wiggling a bit with a mischievous chitter. “A new hunt to play?”

︻デ═一・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

Whillow was afraid.

Bryn could feel it, the way he had shivered, the inhale, and the press back into Bryn. They were all reactions of fear. And the Hyur understood why.

He too had been afraid. A dragon that large, to shake the air with heavy wings, could have killed them both. But instinct had not won out. Instead calm logic had taken hold, muscle memory, and control of his own body had left him firm as a rock, even as his heart beat at a slightly elevated rate after the fact. He would have said something, thought of some way to calm the half-dragon, but his hand, his chest, his body became aware of the...purring. That was the best word for it, he assumed. Deep vibrations in the gecko's throat that he could feel through the hand on that petite shoulder. Still, even with the sound of contentment, Bryn could swear he didn't seem quite okay.

The sharp breaths, the way his ears flicked, and the avoidance of his gaze. What was messing with the little guy now? He leaned down slightly, trying to look at his face to see, if he could tell what was bothering his charge. Instead, he found his body stilling as Whill switched on every switch within his body.

Hands, careful, clawed, safe trailed up his body, along his coat's hem, teasing and soft. A thumb, on his neck, testing his pulse as that same hand kept moving on. They reached up, cupped his face, scratched oh so tenderly over his chin, his cheek, the sharpness and pressure sending a shiver down his body and against Whill. His hand slid from his shoulder, to the scaled chest, pressing flat against it as sharp claws caressed him, and those words had his eyes fluttering closed.

Unfair. Unfair to say, to use without knowing. The shift in his tail, the press of his rear against Bryn, the wiggle as his tail still lay wrapped around his leg--unfair, and dangerous for the half-dragon.

The broad hand slid up, over Whill's neck, and taking his chin softly, tilting it up, feeling the press of his horns against his neck as he made Whillow look up at him, his silver gaze gleaming with intent, keeping those eyes locked to his as his left hand slid down the dragon's side, to his hip, pulling him tighter as he let out a low, rumbling noise that vibrated his neck right against those horns as he spoke.

"Careful, Whillow." His warning was half warning, half continue, the soldier shifting his hand so he held more Whillow's neck than chin. "I can feel every move you're making." That growling tone to his voice didn't go away as he held his gaze, tilting his head down to press his lips softly to Whill's forehead. "Control is something learned, trained, and mastered. You are straining that control, little dragon."

His hand slid down to his collar bone, brushing over soft scales as he took a step, bringing them both out of their hiding place, still not pulling away as he murmured, "And when that control snaps..." He would let the gecko wonder, his hands slipping away, stepping around Whill as he made for the entrance with heavy footfall. "Let's go. I don't want to become a meal today."

13th-dragon-prince--[Prior]

So consequence was a myth in his mind, pushing only to make his companion’s brow furrow in that delicious way, those silver pools threatening with the unspoken and leashed. Control so finely tuned it would take more than his idle prodding to break. “Any-Thing Bryn says, Whillow will do.” He side eyed the other for a moment, fully knowing the notion of the tone, before shifting his expression to an innocent smile. “Earned Command! Rules of Hunt.”

︻デ═一・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

It was hard not to think about what had just happened.

Hard not to think about the teasing the gecko had dealt. Or the rise it had gotten from Bryn.

It was hard to not think that perhaps, he was giving the little dragon exactly what he wanted.

The steady thud of his boots was joined after a moment by the click of claws, hearing and feeling Whillow headbutt his back, a half skip step to ensure he didn't fall, as he shot a little glance at the gecko who was now walking next to him, half of annoyance and half what was that for? He certainly still didn't understand the little dragon completely, but that grin was concerning, suggesting that the soldier's sudden reaction had only encouraged, not concerned, his silver eyes watching the La’Mellae for a long moment before refocusing on the path before him. It was a silent walk, most of the way, only the sounds of their feet rising between them, the light clack of his rifle on his back, and the swish of a long tail. It wasn't until they had reached that long bridge that Whill broke the silence, and Bryn turned his head slightly to listen.

"Yes, you will train with me." He let that silence fall back for a moment, thinking back to training he had once done before, remembering how it had gone, what it was like. Then, he had worked to build someone up, from nothing into something, to shape and help her learn her strengths, and weaknesses. Even then, what lurked beneath had peaked through, increasing his speed, matching the slight Miqo'te's, strength already beyond hers, and skills honed from his time on the battlefield. It was unfair, from start to finish, but with Whillow... He was a beast, in a literal and figurative sense, his speed and slight frame making him deadly, but his strength was well beyond what his body should be able to produce. It was dangerous, deceptive, and made him a unique person to train against, to learn, and perhaps teach a few more deadly skills to the dragon that the Silver Wolf had learned.

His guarded gaze travelled along that petite body as they walked, and that teasing voice continued, his eyes snapping up, his brow furrowing, eyes narrowing at the dragon as he nearly, nearly pulled up right there, at least until his mind curled around the statement and a tiny, little smirk appeared, his voice a low rumble as he said, "Anything?" He paused, letting it linger, and then continuing. "So I could tell you to stop pouncing on people?"

He watched, he observed, he scouted the expression on the little dragon's face, knowing full well it was one of the things he thoroughly enjoyed doing, wondering exactly how far this "anything" offer went.

13th-dragon-prince--[Prior]

Shaking the thought away behind a smile too wide, Whillow’s mischievous energy returned and he hopped forward a bit more to keep step, cocking his head to the side as he tried to understand Bryn’s expression at his words. “Anything wished, Rules of Hunt, Rule of Caste.”

︻デ═一・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

He did in fact get a reaction, and interesting one. The tongue longer than it should be reappeared, followed by a huff of displeasure, but the frown and sigh were obviously in jest, a way to try and get back at the soldier, as he chuckled at those closed eyes and drawn out statement. The mischievousness didn't leave for long, instead reappearing as soon as those slitted eyes opened, Bryn's silver eyes narrowing in expectation.

Which only served to focus his gaze on the petite dragon as he bent over at the waist, lifted that long tail, and trailed it along the back of his leg, making him stand up a little taller, his step rise a little more, fall a little heavier, his eyes flicking to the little dragon as he nearly let out a noise of warning, but the tail was gone, having reached close to its peak, and the sergeant shook his leg lightly with the next step to get that ticklish feeling out of it, even though his eyes didn't leave the dragon once during his actions. Hmm...Normally I would have looked away. He didn't linger on the thought, just watching as the dragon rose from his bent over position, and having to agree that yes, asking him to stop pouncing was boring. It didn't have the flair the gecko carried, or the discerning eye Bryn carried.

He was frowning, the way Whillow was phrasing things, offering it, as if he was offering himself, the soldier's eyes narrowing as he looked towards the dragon, trying to piece together what exactly he meant, and noticing his shift in demeanor, turning his body slightly more towards him, walking faster to catch up, about to say something--

He halted, violently, his gaze, head, body, snapping towards Whillow as he kept speaking, offered essentially his entire self to the Silver Wolf, and left him visibly shaken, the soldier's feet still, and then thundering towards Whill. Caste. He knew that word, he knew it well, his eyes full of fury as he grabbed the petite dragon by his shoulder's and shook him, just enough to get his head rocking as he growled out, "Don't you ever offer yourself to someone like that! I don't care where you are from, what you are, anything, your life is your own, and to give that up is to give up your being! Don't. You. Dare!"

He couldn't tell him why. He couldn't put into words how...disgusting it would feel to have control over someone's life like that to him. After what he had seen. Witnessed. Helped stop. He shivered, dropping the dragon, and wrapping his arms around his chest, head dipping down, fire leaving his eyes as he turned and trudged towards Featherflame, pausing for just a moment to turn, look at Whillow, and growl out, "I don't own you," before rapidly moving towards his steed, rifle slapping against his back at the force and speed of his steps, clearly shaken.

13th-dragon-prince--[Prior]

“You do not own me. No one. Will own me again.” A breath, a shake as he tried so hard to speak in the format that made his throat quiver, that made him think of hidden years, of prodding collars, but he needed to be clear. “That does not change my customs. It is. My choice.” Too much eye contact with the feelings that crawled over his spine. The Runt looked away. “Whillow Trusts Bryn.”

︻デ═一・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

Bryn's steps slowed, step by step as he approached Featherflame, his boots making softer sounds until they stopped, just at the end of the bridge, his mind replaying the look he had seen on Whill's face, the way his body had curled up, hands close to the chest, tail low, and his eyes, moons of silver. He stood there, and after a moment, tilted his head up, eyes closed, letting out a long, slow breath, calming that raging anger within, muzzling it, ensuring it was at bay when Whillow approached, that he had the time to listen and process his words.

He turned, only after he knew he was calm, his head tilting down, eyes opening, and holding the gecko's gaze with his own. He watched as the little dragon looked up at him, met his gaze with a stare that was...colder, more calculating than usual. Their was nervousness behind those eyes, but at the same time, there was conviction, belief, an attempt to understand, and Bryn realized...he could at least try to do the same.

The start was a pleasant change, his eyes glimmering slightly at the words, at the admission that he would never allow someone to own him again. He felt that anger, the distaste, for Whill, not towards him, his breath slowly drawing in as he was about to argue over the customs and where the little dragon was now, but it all rushed out in an instant at those last words.

Whillow Trusts Bryn.

Trust. How could he trust? What could possibly... "You barely know me. How..." He stepped closer, his hand lifting, slipping under Whill's chin, lifting it, forcing him to look at him as he stared into those slitted eyes. "What proof do you have...that I won't hurt you?"

His eyes were serious, focused, unwavering, refusing to let Whillow go, to let him look away, until he answered, his heart beat still coming down from the earlier burst of action.

13th-dragon-prince--[Prior]

Whillow let the weight of his head fall into that strong palm, as if finding comfort in the gentle graze against his cheek. His voice was quiet, the softest it had been, spoken for the clarity of his aching core. “I have seen monsters in skin. You, have too.”

︻デ═一・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

The silence dragged on for that long moment, as Bryn swore he saw little aetherite gears working behind those silver eyes, his gaze holding them as he waited, hand still gently cupping his chin, keeping the shy little dragon where he was until the whispered words nearly knocked him over. His breath sucked in, his left hand, the scarred one, the one holding Whillow's chin, trembling slightly.

Scars are more than just marred skin. They are lessons, mistakes, or victories. Reminders of history, etched into your skin.

His shoulders sagged, his head dropping, his eyes closed as he took a shuddering breath, and let him continue, his eyes opening when they were mentioned, holding that gaze again, his heart rate slowing slightly, and then increasing beat by beat. The soldier's breaths were slow, steady, careful, as he watched a clawed hand scratched at scales, and he slowly reached out with his right hand, a finger trailing slowly over those scales, feeling the rough texture of them, the marred chitin scratching at his skin lightly as he trailed that finger up the half-dragon's side, his eyes never leaving his.

That last statement was far too true, the Sergeant shivering as he dipped his head and gritted his teeth. He had seen it, it was true, the horrors that man could accomplish, on their own people. His grip on Whillow's chin was loose now, no longer holding him, just there, soft, his, a low, deep sigh breathing out as he let his hand fall away from the dragon's side, his eyes almost seeming haggard as he slipped his hand up to cup the petite dragon's face, murmuring out, "I have seen. And I have fought them. Including the one within."

He leaned his head down, forehead to forehead, his breath soft as he continued, his words soft, halting and starting as he went. "I can't understand--don't understand your customs. But it doesn't mean I can't...try." His hand slipped back, around, to the back for Whillow's neck, holding him softly there, as he took a shuddering breath, and rumbled out more sure. "Anything wished...present or future. I'm going to hold you to that, Whillow." His eyes dipped, than back up, holding his gaze, his eyes slowly narrowing, before he muttered softly, "And I'm not going to ask you for your body. You get to decide if you offer that or not. I won't take it."

Which was right when Bryn realized how he was holding the gecko, how close he was, and the heat within rose to his face, eyes going a little wide, as he pulled back slightly, his hand slipping away from the scaled neck, still held out slightly, hovering in the air as if unsure what to do with it, clearing his throat calmly and glancing towards Featherflame, his trusty steed waiting patiently...and he swore the chocobo was looking at him with reproach.

13th-dragon-prince--[Prior]

Looking up again with a genuine mirth, he explained. “Horns are tender. Trustful to press another. Whillow’s affection for Bryn.” He did it again, this time raising himself a bit more on his toes and pulling the other closer, pressing against the pulse of the edge of his friend’s neck, feeling the warmth and beat surrounding him that drew a rumble from the lizard’s throat. Speaking softly with his breath ghosting over the skin around him, he continued, a tenor of something beneath his words; “Warmth and comfort. Not easy to find in the La’Mellae. Treasured.”

Bryn had just stepped back, and already Whillow was there, in his space, on top of him actually, those taloned feet on his boots as the half-dragon pressed against him, chest to chest, as the black scaled man rose up on tip-toes to get closer. He was staring down in surprise, finding the head of the dragon at about his chest level, his claws on the rifle strap and his coat hem, so close as the Silver Wolf dipped his head and looked down at the lack of space between them. His silver eyes slowly lifted to Whill's as the dragon tapped those horns to his chest, soft, teaching, understanding, and Bryn felt his breath softly release.

It was...like bump of an animal's head to another, a greeting, a way to say hello. The explanation of their meaning to the La'Mallae, the sensitivity and the trust that it took, his head tilting slightly to allow those horns to press to his neck, to the pulse there, his eyes closing slightly as he felt how it quickened under that soft press, the hard horn against soft flesh so interesting and different, and he let himself sink into the rumbling sound the gecko offered back. It was a moment, just standing there, before Bryn slowly let his arms lift, his hand slowly wrapping around the lizard, and lifting him slightly, hugging him.

He let it linger, his head pressing softly against Whill's neck, knowing full well those clawed feet were dangling in the air, but he let him feel that warmth, the warmth of the closeness, and the way that it pressed them together, his voice a low rumble as he spoke. "This is a hug. I'm sure you have seen it before, maybe even felt it, but this...this is our way of showing trust, connection, closeness."

Slowly, the soldier lowered the dragon back onto his boots, giving him a moment, and then bumping his forehead to those horns, bending down slightly, and meeting those slitted pupils again as he said more confidently, "Thank you. For showing, and explaining. And...you're welcome to my warmth when we are together. As long as you promise to not endanger us in the process."

He gave the little dragon a look that said he was serious about the last part, but he wasn't pulling away from him as he took a step, and then another, half waddling towards the nearby Featherflame as he grumbled, "This is not exactly productive to walking..."

13th-dragon-prince--[Prior]

“Ah.” He hummed, watching the territorial dragon sweeping the loop to begin turning, the world upside-down as his slitted eyes watched the skies while laying on his back. It was with a gleeful smile that he looked up to the man above him, arms stretching out to curl around that warm neck as he used the leverage to pull himself up, feeling the soldier’s breath against his lips from the short distance. “New Hunt to play?”

The tail curling around his waist was almost...familiar now, as if he was used to it, knowing that it was the half-dragon's way of a hug, and he was happy to let it last, his movements slow but still steady, making sure not to upset the chuckling dragon on his boots, that mirth curiously familiar.

Bryn had to chuckle at the words that Whillow offered, fun he had called it, and the stoic soldier wouldn't disagree. The smile on the gecko's face was infectious, just a slight upturn at the corner's of Bryn's lips, his eyes on the little dragon's as--

Shadow, passing overhead, and a roar of anger, had Bryn's skin crawling, the beat of wings so close, claw slashing towards him as he turned his head, his hand lifting, shifting, changing, claws extending, silver-white fur rippling, bones cracking as he readied himself--

Whillow was faster, stepping off, back, kicking Bryn's legs out and pulling him down, forward, the soldier's arms shooting out, catching himself in the fall, stopping just shy of crushing Whillow. Chest to chest, he hear the heavy swish of the dragon flying over, low and close, clearly targeting them as the silver eyed warrior let out a noise of shock, disbelief that he hadn't heard, or seen the dragon, his paw curling and claws digging at the wood, and his eyes snapping to the white furred appendage as he suddenly focused his breathing. Slowly, carefully, his paw shifted, the elongated fingers, cracking and shrinking, claws returning to nails, fur receding, hand returning to normal size, and with a roll of his wrist, there was no sign that it had been anything but a Hyur hand, his eyes sliding to Whill's to see if he had noticed, finding him slightly out of breath, and beneath him.

Beneath him.

Completely.

His eyes glowed a bright silver for a single moment, and then he clamped down on it, lifting himself slightly to relieve the weight pressing against Whillow, rolling off him and bouncing up onto his feet, unslinging his rifle as he rose into a crouch and glanced at his now running around chocobo, then up to the flying dragon as he noted its size, its loop, and the clear anger it held. He pressed his thumb to the firing hammer of his rifle, charging it, as he tracked the dragon and murmured softly.

"We need to take out the wings." His head turned, nodding to Whillow as he confirmed. "Yes, new hunt, and a dangerous one. We need to get it on the ground. Aim for the wings. On the next pass, when it's low." Bryn let out a sharp whistle, and then pointed out to the distance, Featherflame turning towards the pointed location, as her owner let out three sharp whistles, the signal to return at high speed once it reached the point it was designated to go, staying crouched as he aimed his rifle out around where Featherflame was, the dragon roaring and circling slowly, the dashing red feathered bird seeming to draw the large beast's attention, clearly presenting a bit more of a meal as the bird skidded to a halt, turned, and then began to make a hundred yard dash back towards the two riders.

13th-dragon-prince--[Prior]

Disoriented, a bit bruised maybe, but mostly really dizzy, eventually something stopped his trajectory with a suddenness that left the La’Mellaen fool with his eyes closed as the world spun around his senses, trying to get his bearings; ending up with just a mirthful laugh before laying down with a sigh. He trusted Bryn to have the rest of the game for the next few moments.

︻デ═一・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

The lilting tone of Whillow's confirmation told Bryn all he needed to know, the Sergeant readyin g his weapon, tracking the beast as it flew around and then after his mount, praying that he had timed everything right, that his poor chocobo would be just out of harms reach, and that he would get lucky with his shots.

Bryn was ready, ready to shoot and punch a hole through a wing, to rapid fire if needed, but his gaze flicked to Whillow, in surprise and admiration, as the wily half-dragon went sprinting towards a wall and just...climbed it. He was up high so fast, that Bryn barely had time to comprehend what he was doing. All he could realistically do was shoot him a questioning look,

Featherflame was having an absolute moment of panic. She was not running now because her owner had told her, no she was running because death was right behind her. And her little bird brain did not want to get snuffed out just yet, instincts demanding she run as hard as possible towards the two people who could save her. Her eyes were fixed on Bryn as she ran, panic evident in her fwees of distress, taloned feet kicking up dirt as she noted that the other new rider was up high, no time to think as to why he was up there, the little beast hardly a concern when the large one had her tail feathers in it s mouth, and that meant that there was a--

Whillow jumped, flew, and Featherflame looked up in shock, a little sounds of surprise escaping the beaked mouth, and then Whillow was on top of the dragon, and Featherflame was no longer in danger.

Bryn's mouth actually dropped open. He had not expected Whillow to do that, frankly, he wouldn't have thought the most insane person in the world would jump onto the back of an angry dragon! Instead of angrily scowling, he found himself in awe. The leap, the timing, the sheer strength it took to rip down the dragon's neck and through scales, it was all...it spoke to the fighting prowess that Whillow had just in his instincts and body. But, even as the little dragon dragged down the larger beast's back, it was all unrefined. There was no tactical moves, or focused attack, it was just wild slashes, bites, full on animal.

Still, the job was done, a wing ripped free of its connecting sinews, the next lunged upon with a frenzy, and suddenly, the dragon was plummeting towards the ground, its passenger clinging to its back, Bryn tracking the dragon as it fell and skidded against the dirt--

"WHILLOW!" He roared the black scaled dragon's name as the petite man was launched, the soldier rising up and sprinting towards the now beached dragon as he levelled his rifle at hip level, a full on sprint. Featherflame went flying past him, in the opposite direction, a questioning squeak as to what Bryn was thinking, the dragon thrashing about as Bryn pulled the trigger. The bang echoed, the ball of aether slamming into the dragon's chest, puncturing scales, his chest, a lung within it, as Bryn kept running. His thumb pressed to the firing mechanism, using the aether within him to rapidly charge the next shot, his eyes gleaming angrily as he felt the next shot ready, and firing again. Still roaring from the first, the second shot slammed into its exposed neck, choking off the roar and causing the beast to posture, head coming down, eyes angrily searching for who had just hurt them, and finding Bryn right there, bayonet fixed, and rifle levelled.

The blade slammed into the large beasts skull, the Sergeant twisting his rifle with a roar of his own, booted foot slamming into the top of the dragon's snout, keeping it closed as he saw its eyes focus on him, angry, hurting, and Bryn just growled out, "This is for Whillow!" And pulled the trigger.

There was no sound, the concentrated, heated aether going from barrel into skull seamlessly, blasting out through the neck of the beast, and Bryn watched as the light slowly faded from its gaze. He panted, heavily, glancing down, and then realized he was covered in ichor from that last shot, wrenching the bayonet free, turning towards his mount and--

"Whill!" He was running, eyes searching, finding the little dragon laying on the ground right up against a tree, where he had rolled to a stop as the soldier sprinted towards him, rifle slung over his back as he yelled again, "Whill!" Skidding to a knee next to the dragon, his hand pressed to his chest, to feel for a heartbeat, his eyes going wide as he didn't feel one, or at least not one he was familiar with, his breath sucking in as he rumbled out, "No, come on you little bastard! Wake up!"