she who dances

“Remora, my arse,” he growls, before twisting to see just who it is who’s bothering him. It’s another dragon, her sing-songing, birdlike voice a sharp contrast to the deep-in-the-chest grumble he speaks with. “I’d rather not have someone hitching a ride that I didn’t give express permission.” Still, he allows himself a scant moment to admire her bright, sunset plumage, purple and warm tones intermingling in a way that’s pleasing to the eye, and he seems to relax. 

She’s a peaceful featherwing dragoness, sticking her snout where it oughtn’t be. 

“Maybe I have a few more things on my mind than worrying about who’s going to try and use me like a private jet, featherwing. What’s your story, then? Is your hoard other people’s business?” As offended as he sounds, though, there’s a flicker in his expression that may tip her off that he’s grateful for the company. 

Her laughter is twittering like birdsong, and she corkscrews upwards, over his back and back under his wing. “You would be rather surprised I think to hear that you are not the first to make that jest, ቀይ. Though there is truth in the comedy.”

A while, apparently, his warm breath puffing out in large, dense clouds this high up, gliding without much of a care in the world. Well, a lot of cares, actually, too many to number or bother with, to the point that it’s become One Big Worry, but he’s flying to clear his mind, to try and forget. 

Something like that just isn’t going to simply go away, though, and the Red seems distracted as he glides through the air, only flapping once in a while to keep himself aloft. 

Only when he feels a smaller weight try to settle on his back does he notice he’s not alone up here, and his wings snap in, his whole, javelin-like body drilling a corkscrew once and violently in the air to shake the intrusion. 

“Oi,” his gruff double-bass grumbles. “Think I’m a free ticket to Paradise?”

He really is lost in his own head. Tyvek’ki watches him closely as she slowly drifts down onto his back; something is off about him, more than just that he’s a red and allowing her to get away with such shenanigans. But reds always feel strange.

He finally catches her, and as he twists and shakes, she simply drifts in his tempest like a leaf in the wind. Nothing touches or buffets her, and she simply laughs, righting herself just above him. “Do you not want a remora, የሰማይ ሻርክ?”

The evening over London is always beautiful to her, and it's one of the reasons she's stayed here so long. What other cities had a giant ferris wheel as a famous landmark!? She's sized it up before as a potential finesse obstacle, but ceded to the fact that she shouldn't spook the populace. As disappointing as that is.

Feathers melting into the corals and lavender of the sunset against the clouds, she tilts her head up a bit from looking down at the city on high- and something catches her bright and shining eyes. A huge, dark shape here with her in the clouds, up ahead. Feathers shift, wind filtering through them, and it tells her this is another dragon, a red, and a large one. An entire red, over a dense human settlement!?

Banking upwards, she dissolves into the cloudbank, zipping forward where the other takes slow, lazy strokes of his wings simply to stay aloft. When she reappears, it’s right above him, like a tiny, reverse, upwards shadow.

[ The strange words - they’re something that would usually put him on the defensive, make him demand to know what was being said, but Tyvek’ki is so sunny and the language is so pleasing to the ears that he feels fine about it. Her disposition, combined with her size, relaxes him enough that he feels sufficiently safe to reach for another morsel, worrying at its gills with his incisors. ]

[ And his eyes, finally, find enough trust to move away from her for a moment. ]

Your true home…is the sky? You fly all year?

[ While it’s true that Jean has more stamina than a dragon bigger and sturdier and scalier than he would, in the air, he still gets tired after flying for a time. He is bound to the land, and as much as he prefers the stark company of cliffs and the waves that crash against them, he needs humans in order to survive. ]

[ Being reminded of this causes him to flash his teeth in frustration. ]

Yes. Not with them, just beside them. I avoid interaction if I can help it, but I benefit from their…wasteful nature. [ Especially here, where there was a lack of animals like raccoons and opossums and bears, and all Jean really had to compete with was birds, rats, and the occasional urban fox. ]

     ⌜፠⌟   Tyvek’ki settles some of her energy finally, the feathers across the back of her head and neck smoothing all the way for the first time since she’s landed. Her paws fold with a fish between them, keeping it still for her to take bites out of. It’s a bit too big to swallow down whole. “Very close to that is the truth, yes! There are not many places to land in open ocean. I am a strange one for landing so long on the large masses of land, they tell me.”

Before she eats the fish, she uses its spiny fin to pick her teeth, seeming unworried by its sharp points in her gums. “አሳፋሪ, the humans waste so much that could be eaten or used, but I find them so interesting still. The things that they build, they are so strange and intriguing!” 

So obsessed with dancing and singing. Those aren’t really things his kind do. He looks a little more irritable, but only because Tyvek’ki is so ineffably, unflappably, sweetly optimistic and cheery, all without being chipper. Instead, she speaks as though her personal creeds are facts. 

So like a dragon. 

“Your kind are just that- kind. Selfless. Generous. We are nothing of the sort. We have allies, those we choose to support in a mutually beneficial relationship…and those who owe us. You’re closer to the former category.” He can’t help but smirk a bit at her boundless optimism and positivity, though. As much as it annoys him when people come to him with boisterous, cheery energy, Tyvek’ki’s flavor is slower, gentler, like the in-and-out breath of a sleepy lake. 

The fish splash and fuss over the extra helping, and he looks at the dragon again. “You have an interesting way of living, dragon.”

      ⌜፠⌟   Tyvek’ki hums again, having to restrain herself from breaking the sound out into a tune. “I can only hope that by staying generous, I will never owe you a thing, Bjorn.” She and all of her kin are dragons without hoards; beyond their nomadic ways making it near impossible to protect any mound of treasure, materialism is something they seldom fall to.

She keeps soft and quiet now, respectful of his mood in a way she wouldn’t have been just a couple of years ago. A couple of years ago, her energy would have been that boisterous and cheery flavor, and she would have made many more mistakes with the fae.

[ Seeing, now, that at least she is relaxed enough to eat in his presence, he finally picks up the fish with a gentleness that prevents his sharp teeth from damaging its scales. Despite this apparent concern for keeping it intact, it doesn’t take him long to decide to bite down on it, severing its head from its body and swallowing the former as the latter falls to the ground. ]

[ He is not the most graceful of dining companions. ]

Tyvek’ki.

[ The name is parroted back to her, tone-for-tone, as he commits it to memory. Even without her permission, he’s sure he would have used the shortened version anyway. Jean retrieves the second half of his fish, sad and headless at his feet, and eats that, too. He keeps his head bowed as he looks up at her. ]

[ Too sunny. Too bright. ]

You migrate?

      ⌜፠⌟   She doesn’t seem to mind any amount or lack of tact he may have; the thing that bothers her the most is the line of his sight. Other species, humans and beasts, she was used to them averting their eyes. But another dragon? Usually they’d keep an oppressive eye contact on her.

He’s a strange one, to be certain. But Tyvek’ki isn’t the type to make judgments. Tyvek’ki is the type to ask and answer questions. Forever and ever.

“I do, we do! እኛ⁚እንኳን⁚አንድ⁚ነን⁞ I don’t usually fly with the clouds, the- flocks? Would be a better word?” She stares up at the sky as if it had the answer to her question of translation. “It is safer, to fly together, but it makes it harder to meet new faces-” a chirp, feathers ruffling and settling in the same motion. “But yes! We Ka’ri’ra return home every year for a season, and then return to our true home, the sky, for the rest of our year.”

smokeonthewind‌:

        ⌜፠⌟   Even through the pressure of his giant paw on his face, which she doesn’t move away from but instead presses into, she can smell the tiny little lie in his breath. But she says nothing, only trills lowly like a cat’s purr. It’s just as soothing a sound. “T’would please me, ድብ, to stay in the sun.”

She finally pulls away from him and falls into a step beside him when he goes to move around his house, wings tucked politely at her sides, but pennant feathers jittering slightly. “Would it help you to speak it out? Write it down?” Her head comes closer to his, but not so much back into his space. “To scream it?” Her nostrils flare, tiny plumes of smoke drifting up. “Sometimes, to sing someone else’s song before you know the words- that is how you learn them.  ዝማሬ ⁚ ይገንዘቡ ⁞”

Wherever he sits, be it on the ground or on a bench, she cranes her neck over him to stare past into the pond.

“Tch. You might as well be the sun. Contemptible little creature, so cheery all the fucking time.” His venom is spat not at her, but at the situation, as he pulls away to head down the stony path that leads to the backside of his home, a bench sat on tight-knit cobble adjacent to a large, crystal-clear koi pond, the fish therein absolutely massive from the good care that’s taken of them. 

“I don’t journal, dragon. Perhaps I should, but I’d just as soon rather forget what happened at all.” She brings up screaming, and he scoffs, but his lips tug into an incredulous, dry smile. “As if I haven’t done enough of that to wear my throat bloody.” 

He sits on the bench, now, tail tucked gently behind him, and he pulls over the bucket of feed, tossing some in and watching them pile all over themselves for it. 

His smile turns a little less sour. 

“Why are you so obsessed with my well-being, anyway? Do you think we’re friends, or something?”

       ⌜፠⌟   Instead of in annoyance, Tyvek’ki puffs her feathers in amusement at his venom, skipping a step ahead of him, and such a simple step illuminating the golden feathers at the edges of her wings like a heavenly outline. “ዓለም⁚ሁሉ⁚በፀሐይ⁚ዙሪያ⁚ይደንቃል⁞ I could be the sun, one day. If the Ts’ekva wished it.”

Her head suspended directly over his, she watches the fish slip over one another in attempts to get at the scattering of food. Her smile is soft, and somewhat distant, strange and still for her so like the wind. “I know we’re not friends, Bjorn. You and your kind don’t make friends; while the Ka’ri’ra make friends of impossible strangers.”

[ Though every bit as uninjured as he claims to be, Jean brings up a paw to rub at the area of his snout where the pollock had hit him, as though some part of him had been expecting to pull it back and see blood there. Of course, there’s nothing, beyond maybe the slightest of bruises. ]

[ He watches this other dragon, so colourful, and friendly in a way that he can’t quite justify, head turned to the side to fix her with one scarred, suspicious eye. In body, he remains stoic and still, beyond the slow sway of his tail - that is, until she springs closer to him, a movement to which he responds by reflexively slinking backwards a few steps. ]

That’s an impressive name.

[ What he wants to say is something along the lines of you seem to think we’re friends, and you are sorely mistaken. Jean means no harm to anyone; it’s just that he assumes that everyone means harm to him. But eventually, he re-closes the gap between the pair, pawing at the fish so as to flip it onto its other side. ]

Mine is Jean. I don’t think I’ve seen you around before.

She takes notice of his nerves, and of his swift steps back, but now that he’s no longer hostile, it doesn’t put her off in the slightest. Dragging the net up back to her side, she noses out something for herself, swallowing the fish headfirst and whole. She makes eye contact as he stares her down and as she eats, feathers itching under his glare, but she remains close and cheery.

“Oh, my name is simple and small. You should hear the titles and honorifics the generations before mine bear. Without my titles I am simply Tyvek’ki.” A beat passes, and her crest of feathers rises. “Ah! You can call me that, if you wish, since my titles hold no weight to you.” Her head bobs gently, like... like a pigeon.

[ Jean displays the complicated expression of a creature who desperately wants to express resentment for having been hit in the face with a fish, but can’t bring itself to upon seeing the apologetic nature of the culprit. His head remains lowered, half-defensive, half just wanting to reach for the fish closest to him. ]

I am not hurt. Why would I be hurt?

[ How can he he sharp towards a creature that just delivered him dinner, unwittingly or not? It’s unclear. Morality aside, Jean remains sharp, claws still splayed in a defensive stance, the tip of his tail batting against the ground behind him. ]

[ But a moment passes, and he huffs quietly through his nostrils, suddenly appearing a little less peeved, looking at the offering of fish. ]

…I appreciate it. You should probably be more careful with that net.

Slowly, this youngling straightens herself, better tying off the net as she moves to a stance more befitting of a raccoon. She finally seems to have a grip on it this time. “Even the tiniest pebble can pierce one’s hide from a great enough height, እንግዳ.” Though she has no lips to pout with, he can hear it in her voice. Did he not spend enough time in the sky to know this?

She doesn’t entirely unflatten until the other huffs, sounding that he’s finished being so entirely hostile, and suddenly she blossoms into a sunset of feathers, righting herself onto all four paws with a small skip and flourish. She’s suddenly closed half of the gap between them with the quick motion. The fish that was between them is also now suddenly at his feet. “I simply had to learn the tool, ግራጫ⁚አንድ. It is not as if the sailor I borrowed it from would teach me.”

smokeonthewind·:

the wind calls to @megxlo·

        ⌜፠⌟  These seas and skies she finds bitter cold in this season, especially for a creature so seasonal and nomadic as herself. But sometimes, swinging by for a cold season is rewarded with a haul such as the one in the net pulled taut between her ankles as she flies over the city. Maybe a bit too much, she thinks, realizing her wings would be straining were the wind not in her favor.

As if something had heard her thoughts, a sizeable pollock bounces over the side of her net with the next beat of her wings. That’s why they usually tie these things off, isn’t it? Taking the loss to learn the lesson, she tries to figure out how to tie her net off without landing, but when she looks down she realizes the lonely pollock isn’t just heading for the ground, but someone below.

If Jean doesn’t catch or dodge, it lands squarely on his snout, as if fully intentional.

[ There’s something about having a fish hurtling through the air that makes a skittish urban scavenger panic, at first not recognising it as food, or even as another animal; just as a projectile headed his way. Though his reactions are usually snappy, the panic sets his bones rigid, and the pollock collides with his head, square between the eyes. ]

[ He grunts, flinching like a dog hit in the face with a frisbee. ]

[ It takes a few beats for him to finally register the fish as a fish, skulking forwards to sniff at where it lies on the grass. No, definitely not a threat. He’s about to thank his lucky stars and pick it up between his teeth when he notices the shape above him, and the second shape that is is dragging behind. Despite his anxious nature, he plants his feet and bares his teeth up at the form, feathery hackles half-raised, sending up a bark-like shout: ]

– hey!!

       ⌜፠⌟   Oh no. Ohhh, Ts’ekva forgive her clumsiness. Her sillhouette in the sky becomes slowly more defined as she descends, now gripping the tied off top of the net with her forepaws, ropes tangled about them. “በ⁚ጣ⁚ም⁚አ⁚ዝ⁚ና⁚ለ⁚ሁ⁘ ተጎድተዋል⁖” Her chirps and trills and clipped sounds might not even come off as language at first, but when she lights on the ground a few meters off, he can see by the flattening of her feathers all down her back that she’s apologetic.

smokeonthewind‌:

         ⌜፠⌟   When she closes her eyes and breathes in his heartbeat, she nearly has to recoil, his energies are so misaligned. His memories don’t come to her, she won’t pry like that, but he worries her. And so she coils around him again, tucking either wing over his sides.

“I won’t come inside, this day is beautiful. You should enjoy it as I do.” Her tail shuffles across the ground, feathers sweeping aside any dirt or dust on his porch. “When was the last time you’ve eaten, ተኩላ? Nay, hunted? You smell all wrong, friend, it is unlike you to fall to a negativity outside of fury.”

The very tip of her snout, beaklike, preens through a lock of his hair without much use, but as a gesture. With all the feathers, it feels like she’s mother henning him. “If you want a distraction, perhaps spearing birds from dragonback would suffice?”

Finally, a paw comes up to scruff at the side of her feathered face, a tired sigh released at last. “I don’t quite know how much enjoyment I can get out of today, but…fine. If it would please you, dragon. I’ve eaten recently. I’m not so far gone I can’t care for myself.” 

With a dejected huff, he adds, “I’m not nearly so easily thrown off my feet that I forget to care for my basic needs like the humans.” Though, he will admit, that first day, he’d neglected his appetite some, mainly because it hadn’t been there. He feared that he might just throw up if he’d tried to eat anything after the news was broken to him. 

“I feel all wrong. Muddled. I don’t like being confused, dragon. I’m not used to not understanding the information I’m presented with.” 

The grooming is only appreciated insofar as it feels somewhat pleasant, but on the outside, his expression doesn’t reflect as much. “Hah. Maybe not something so high-energy. I’ll just go around to the back pond and watch the fish. Clear my head some, maybe.”

        ⌜፠⌟   Even through the pressure of his giant paw on his face, which she doesn’t move away from but instead presses into, she can smell the tiny little lie in his breath. But she says nothing, only trills lowly like a cat’s purr. It’s just as soothing a sound. “T’would please me, ድብ, to stay in the sun.”

She finally pulls away from him and falls into a step beside him when he goes to move around his house, wings tucked politely at her sides, but pennant feathers jittering slightly. “Would it help you to speak it out? Write it down?” Her head comes closer to his, but not so much back into his space. “To scream it?” Her nostrils flare, tiny plumes of smoke drifting up. “Sometimes, to sing someone else’s song before you know the words- that is how you learn them.  ዝማሬ ⁚ ይገንዘቡ ⁞”

        ⌜፠⌟  These seas and skies she finds bitter cold in this season, especially for a creature so seasonal and nomadic as herself. But sometimes, swinging by for a cold season is rewarded with a haul such as the one in the net pulled taut between her ankles as she flies over the city. Maybe a bit too much, she thinks, realizing her wings would be straining were the wind not in her favor.

As if something had heard her thoughts, a sizeable pollock bounces over the side of her net with the next beat of her wings. That’s why they usually tie these things off, isn’t it? Taking the loss to learn the lesson, she tries to figure out how to tie her net off without landing, but when she looks down she realizes the lonely pollock isn't just heading for the ground, but someone below.

smokeonthewind‌:

         ⌜፠⌟ Initially, Tyvek'ki had planned on getting him to come out into the yard and pouncing on him, but the moment she sees him, is washed over by that negativity, instead she kneels, her wing bending around him to rest the wrist on his far shoulder. That’s all of how she touches him, though, even she not daring to get any much closer than that, and it is a brief touch.

While she is no bigger, her patterns have changed drastically. If she looked like a sunset before, now, he’s sure if she flew up into one, she’d melt into the clouds like a stroke of watercolor. Her eyes meet his, wholly unafraid of contact. “I had hoped this would be a መልካም ህብረት, a happy reunion, but you are not happy at all.”

Her head slowly cranes down until it’s level with him, which wouldn’t be very far if he weren’t so minimized. “የቀድሞ ጓደኛ, what troubles does the wolf have? Should I let the wind return me to you another time?”

Oddly, he doesn’t shy away from the contact, but he doesn’t welcome it, either. He just looks…empty. Numb. Like he’s been told the worst news of his life, and he’s still in shock. 

Which…isn’t far from the truth. 

He takes quiet note of how she’s changed, but her smell and her signature were the same. Not hard to recognize someone when their scent doesn’t change a lick in three years. 

“Lucky guess,” he growls, his sarcasm, rather than playfully stinging, bites like the bear trap his jaw so resembles. “If I told you the whole list, we’d be all day with it. Just come in. It’s a relief to see a friendly face come back to me after so long, young Flyer. I can’t offer you anything but my company, but you’ll be a welcome distraction.”

         ⌜፠⌟   When she closes her eyes and breathes in his heartbeat, she nearly has to recoil, his energies are so misaligned. His memories don’t come to her, she won’t pry like that, but he worries her. And so she coils around him again, tucking either wing over his sides.

“I won’t come inside, this day is beautiful. You should enjoy it as I do.” Her tail shuffles across the ground, feathers sweeping aside any dirt or dust on his porch. “When was the last time you’ve eaten, ተኩላ? Nay, hunted? You smell all wrong, friend, it is unlike you to fall to a negativity outside of fury.”