CLOSE YOUR LITTLE EYES ☆ allergies

we'll see the sun come up again, we'll climb higher than we've been

Astiar didn't really take in the changing color of the leaves. In his mind, the trees only served as a food source. He knocked them over when he was hungry and sunk his mandibles in to munch on the felled bark. His claws would shred away the harder, external bark, and then he was able to help himself. The color changing leaves usually weren't his target for eating. Sometimes they were tasty, and Astiar would strip off the branches as well. Usually, though, they weren't tastier than the bark was. He preferred what he knew would work, what would provide him with energy and sustenance. He, in truth, had been searching for one to go and eat at the time when he heard the loud crash of a body into a pile of leaves.

Allergies were not something that he understood. He hadn't ever had an allergic reaction of his own before. It was the same for joyfully leaping into a pile of leaves. An animal that was firmly bound to their instincts had no time for a thing such as playtime. The barest amount of curiosity, though? That Astiar could manage. He came striding over, mostly due to the sneezes. A click of his mandibles announced his presence as he approached. The swears and sporadic movements went over his head, alongside what likely should have been a feeling of concern. A buzz of his wings sounded. Instead of investigating the gat, his horned head shoved into the leaf pile. It was a brief inspection before he pulled his head backwards from the mound, six legs carrying him a pace backward. His antennae raised, not quite sure what the sneezing noise was supposed to be. Sneezing was not possible for insects, and his barest form of curiosity made him blankly stare and watch. The cicada did not try to help the other up, or to ease the sneezing fit - if anything, putting his head in the pile had gotten a few fibers stuck to his scaly face. Another click of his mandibles sounded whilst his blank staring continued.

TAGS 9/4/19:

GENERAL.
✧ Astiar | Asti, Ast
✧ physically medium, mentally easy | 7/30
✧ male | he/him
✧ the pitt | pittian

APPEARANCE.
✧ dragon (ref.) | health: 100% | cicada
— a nine foot seven inches tall cicada themed dragon. He has four antennae growing on his head from orange growths on his head. Two grow in front of his twisted horns, and two from behind. Dewclaws point backwards from the body-facing side of all six feet. He has mandibles on either side of his mouth that come from his upper jaw. The top of his upper jaw lays a hardened segment of scales, dotted with yellow dots. These extend as deep green freckles onto the face. A long stinger rests at the end of his lanky, segmented tail. His body has the segmented build of an insect, consisting of a deep orange head, brown body and abdomen, and black spine. His underbelly is a pale navy, with splotches of yellow showing the separation of the sections. His wings are tinted blue, but are translucent. The membrane for them is a bright, vibrant orange. Each wing has one claw at it's second bone, pointing down the rest of the wing's length from the body. His front paws have five fingers, while the rest of his limbs have only three toes. His red eyes are near unblinking, and are built like that of an insect. A series of jagged spikes rise from his black back, and run down his head to his neck.
— tongue and blood is yellow
— no current injuries

COMMUNICAION.
✧ Soft Buzzing
— Ambient noise. Pleased. Feels like making noise. Stretching. Curious.
✧ Loud Buzzing
— Angry. Infuriated. Sizing up. Stop. About to strike. Flying.
— IF ALONE: 'Come here'. 'Come closer'. 'Help'. 'Need assistance'. Lonely
✧ Mandible Clicking
— Ambient noise. Hungry. Curious. Nervous.
✧ Hissing
— Angry. Irritated. About to strike. Stop. 'Stay away'. 'I'm uncomfortable'. Testing vocal cords.
✧ Chattering
— Ambient noise. Mimicking speech. Pleasant.
✧ Grumbling
— Irritated. Annoyed. Being pessimistic. Bothered.
✧ Roaring
Angered. Infuriated. Enraged. Sizing up. Stop. About to strike.
✧ Rumbling
— Curious. Intrigued. Friendly. 'Come closer'. Pleased. Happy.

PERSONALITY.
✧ Curious, inquisitive, devoted, loyal, open-minded
✧ neutral sided, easily impressed, impressionable
✧ clueless, over-obedient, takes commands without hesitation

RELATIONSHIPS.
✧ adok x yitz
✧ clipyer
✧ demiromantic bisexual | single
✧ friends
— will add

INTERACTIONS.
✧ physically medium | mentally easy | no powers | no weapons | claws, teeth, talons
✧ will start/end fights on command, easy provoke | will kill
✧ very limited fighting knowledge
✧ allowed to powerplay peaceful actions | attack in bolded #B21925 | mention [member=7712]Astiar[/member] when attacking

MISC.
— mostly feral
— speaks a wordless bug language
— worker drone
✧ Obeys without question

Fall fascinated the petite fox. Deceptively young in mind and body, assumptions may be this her first fall. However, the fae knew fall once. Memories vague however, since autumn remained the season of her birth. As such, the child seems most comfortable with the changing season, her vibrant orange fur even matching some of the new shades of leaves.

She grew worrisome of her garden however, only soothed by the remembrance that jungles hardly suffered cold winters. More so, they may see a drastic change in rainfall, as the seasons alter. Regardless, she may change some tactics and grow some more autumn-based plants, to simply experiment.

Her mind belonged to the garden as she wandered through the jungle, studying the changes around her. Not every tree, but many seemed to respond to the seasonal change. Even here. Her soot-colored paws crunched leaves now below her, fascinating crackling sounds, like tinder in a fire.

A sharp curse splitting the air caught her off-guard. Hazel hues, currently seemingly more golden, flashed, flickering around for the source. Soon, the petite vixen stood a few feet away from Redvox -- Vox? Vinny? -- and Astair. Her brows creased immediately, concerned.

"… Mr. Vox? Are you okay?" Allergies? Honestly, Aine failed to comprehend her own body's reactions sometimes. As of late, she had noticed her nose growing slightly less clear, irritated by the changes around her. Yet she suffered nothing quite as bad as rapid sneezing in succession. Hardly a comfortable-looking event. "I... I might 'ave somethin' for allergies... I thin'."

She grew plenty of herbs in her garden, surely one of them would work. If she could remember which. The fae knew better afterall, then attempting to administer something that had nothing to do with the current problem.

Argus had never minded fall, never had a taste for it either, with the way the world seemed skewed - Argus had always been in a place where the fall wouldn't effect them. The signs of falling leaves was common in the jungle, in leaves of brown and oranges giving a crunch to the ground as they walked was the only real difference to their day. It was as if the world was in black and white, in that moment. If the colors failed to catch the beasts attention it was the loud cursing within the jungle. Not uncommon, but argus was bored enough, curious enough to follow the sounds. Only to scantly miss the little spot of orange that was the little one: Aine. Spotting one of the group seemed to give way to the rest within the clearing, their large form shifting between the tree's to spot redvox, Astiar. Argus keeps silent for the moment, letting redvox's words catch them into the conversation: allergies.

"[glow=#cc3232,2,300]In my years... I haven't had yet to face allergies.[/glow]" The dragon's words are a growl that cut across the clearing after redvox's words. Raspy and even through the rough tone; a feminine voice. It was still a voice they were getting used to, a form they were trying to control. Their scaled tail curled around the trunk of a nearby tree, a white tough of fur at the end brushing against the large pile of leaves. Its true, in argus' time fall had not reached them in the same way it has others, and their short respite and delve into the healing world: argus has never had to deal with such a thing. Allergies in their old home - the desert had little fauna for others to fall sick to.

Their claws sink into the dirt underneath them at the reminder. It is not anxiety that is pulling them so much as the memory of before, in a place like the pitt it was hard to escape the torrent of memories. the soft clicking, chirping of the other large, strange dragon keeps them grounded, and in that moment ten eyes look up to see the cicada's form; quiet. Argus tilts their head in question, curious, calculating behind the mask of bone.