#queueslayer

     Eragon turned at the sound, sapphire hues instantly brightening up as the young one came forward. As she neared, the Rider squatted down, arms opening expectantly.

"Darling, how many times have I told you? A dragon is not something that one merely possesses for their own amusement. Do you think that your father simply chose Saphira one day without some form of bond or consent?" Moving to slip an arm around the boy, Eris placed a gentle kiss to his temple, his curls tickling her nose. "One day, perhaps, but this is a matter much more suited to your father than I."

     Of course, Eris' very legitimate explanation was met by a lip-curling scowl from the boy. Saphira was very near and dear to him, and it was often that Aellô sat among the Eldunarya and opened his mind to the very souls of the dragons; from the hundreds he ws surrounded by, he was engulfed by the culture of a time he could not fully understand— a time his father came from. From all of this was born his desire to have a dragon of his own. He knew he could not simply get a dragon, but this knowledge did nothing for him.

           "... How angry would Father get if I hatched a dragon myself, d'you think?" He already knew the answer. To force a dragon to hatch was detestable at mildest— he knew not the worst that could happen, but Aellô would not push his father that far. There was once a time when he would have thought the very gods more powerful than the Rider; that was before he learned of True Names and his father's knowledge of the worlds' True Name. With this, Eragon controlled nearly everything and everyone (he had tried approaching the Rider about it multiple times, but each he was turned down. Eragon had no intention of leaving such a burden to the shoulders of his progeny, and he would not even speak of them in his presence.)

He swore the last time he came back to the space filled, he was going to key the damn car, maybe cut the fucking tires, for good measure. When this space (it’s his, god damn it, it’s his) is taken, he has to park two blocks down, which means in the morning, he practically has to run to get there on time. This fucker is going to learn not to mess with his fucking spot, one way or a-fucking-nother. Luckily for him - and unluckily for Oliver - the fucker is only just stepping out of the car when Bronn gets there. His greeting is just a long, piercing honk as he pulls parallel to him, sticking his head out the window for aproper greeting. ❝ Oi! Ye fucker! Ye not realize this parkin’ fer tha people wha’ actually live here?! Fuckin’ hell, mate, move yer fuckin’ car! ❞

     With his music going, it was difficult for Oliver to hear what was going on; not that he cared, of course, money got him into this college, and the last, and the one before that…

     I mean, he totally didn’t know this wasn’t where he was supposed to park (he did; he lived in the house across from here, but it was much easier to park here when he gave his spot to his oh so hot neighbor). But no one would hold that against him— Right?

      A deep sigh followed no soon after, and a hand came across his features. The dance between them had become tiring, and although Eragon would love to take to the sky for days on end— it was what he usually did in this sitation— the normally clear nghts had been replaced by a raging storm that shook the window panes in their fixtures. Outside, rain barrelled down upon the earth, nearly angrily with its force. Eragon had been in times when this was a sign the gods were angry, or if there had been drought, it was a blessing; tonight, it was foreshadowing.

      He could not blame her for once again confronting him; He was much more content running away from their “problem” instead of allowing it to come to a head; they were to be ships passing in the night if the Rider had it his way. Of course, it could not always be how he so desired. Eris did not deserve to be toyed with, and with the energy outside building within him, he did not think he could string her along for much longer. No matter how much he thought himself undeserving, or that she could do so much better than he, he simply could not let her go, either.

            "Are you okay?" He worked out slowly, cerulean hues darkened by the lighting and the storm as he looked up at her from where he sat. Slowly, he stood, body just too close to hers for just too long, but he would not step away.