09-27-2019, 09:35 AM
we'll see the sun come up again, we'll climb higher than we've been
Astiar hadn't experimented in what was edible sustenance before. He had settled for the bark of trees and their green leaves. It worked well enough for him. His strong jaws could tear through hard bark with ease, and his sharp claws shed away whatever he wasn't able to eat so he could reach what was. A noisy eater, but usually going off to a further distance from the camp so that he would not disturb anyone. Or, perhaps, there was another reason. Perhaps it was because of those that would come and gawk at his presence. Astiar didn't really care. He didn't mind any, and yet he was pushed away nonetheless. Just to eat. He always came back after. The group was a source of familiarity, and he didn't care for investigating new things.
Until he saw a shiny paint canister. The dragon didn't wander too much. He didn't use more energy than he had to. It was instinct that forced him to do such a thing. The metabolism of a giant creature was far more demanding than that of a small bug. The two sets of instinct that were present and ran ruts in his mind both agreed on the fact that doing nothing was better than doing something. However, it couldn't stop him from being curious about something that was so odd and befuddling that even a feral animal had to investigate. A paint canister. Astiar trudged over, his mandibles clicking together a few times. His head arched and lowered and he nudged the item with the side of his head. Was this edible? His mind presented him with the bare question. A soft buzz sounded from his wings.
Astiar firstly decided that he would investigate one of the already open and empty canisters. He shoved his snout inside of the empty can, grumbling noises accompanying his slow motion. It smelled strange. It was paint. Astiar didn't know what paint was, though. It was a foreign smell, and swiftly become rather overwhelming. His interest lasted for only a few seconds - maybe even less than such. He pulled his head back, and the can was stuck to his muzzle. It was comedic in the way he behaved after, like a cat that had an unwanted item stuck to their head. A sharp hiss sounded, and he violently shook his head until it was freed from the paint canister. He had a rim of the paint's color on his face now, where it had lodged itself for a brief moment. He moved away, a loud buzz sounding from his wings. The dragon paced, before the question of edibility again returned to his mind. The dragon was, in truth, not paying attention to his surroundings. He didn't even know the canisters of paint had an owner. He was far too in depth with this surge of curiosity and barely-hunger-driven thoughts to take note of if the owner was around to see the soon-to-be artistic mess.
He came to a halt before another paint canister. Astiar scooped up the paint canister in his jaws. He was near ten feet tall: such a feat was not hard for him to do. He sat back, four of his legs resting against the ground. The other two raised and clawed at the container, as he did with the hard external bark of trees. When he realized that his claws were doing next to nothing against the hull of the canister, the dragon elected to crunch down. It took a bite of effort, but eventually he did succeed. The lid was flung off from the building pressure, and the paint splattered all over the dragon's charcoal scales. Some paint dribbled from where the lid had been ejected, but most of it thankfully had wound up on the cicada's face. He hissed loudly, swinging his head. The noise tapered off into a rumble. Perhaps he could eat the vibrant stuff that was within them? His tail arched as he leaned down to snag another paint canister to test such a baritone theory. Astiar screeched when the exact same thing happened when such was broken by his bite force. The noise startled him, and he fell over. It only got more of the spilt paint on his dark scales. It was a mess of paint - and a noisy one at that. The dragon never was one for stealth nor silence, and the nosiness of paint cans being destroyed would surely bring about their owner.
Until he saw a shiny paint canister. The dragon didn't wander too much. He didn't use more energy than he had to. It was instinct that forced him to do such a thing. The metabolism of a giant creature was far more demanding than that of a small bug. The two sets of instinct that were present and ran ruts in his mind both agreed on the fact that doing nothing was better than doing something. However, it couldn't stop him from being curious about something that was so odd and befuddling that even a feral animal had to investigate. A paint canister. Astiar trudged over, his mandibles clicking together a few times. His head arched and lowered and he nudged the item with the side of his head. Was this edible? His mind presented him with the bare question. A soft buzz sounded from his wings.
Astiar firstly decided that he would investigate one of the already open and empty canisters. He shoved his snout inside of the empty can, grumbling noises accompanying his slow motion. It smelled strange. It was paint. Astiar didn't know what paint was, though. It was a foreign smell, and swiftly become rather overwhelming. His interest lasted for only a few seconds - maybe even less than such. He pulled his head back, and the can was stuck to his muzzle. It was comedic in the way he behaved after, like a cat that had an unwanted item stuck to their head. A sharp hiss sounded, and he violently shook his head until it was freed from the paint canister. He had a rim of the paint's color on his face now, where it had lodged itself for a brief moment. He moved away, a loud buzz sounding from his wings. The dragon paced, before the question of edibility again returned to his mind. The dragon was, in truth, not paying attention to his surroundings. He didn't even know the canisters of paint had an owner. He was far too in depth with this surge of curiosity and barely-hunger-driven thoughts to take note of if the owner was around to see the soon-to-be artistic mess.
He came to a halt before another paint canister. Astiar scooped up the paint canister in his jaws. He was near ten feet tall: such a feat was not hard for him to do. He sat back, four of his legs resting against the ground. The other two raised and clawed at the container, as he did with the hard external bark of trees. When he realized that his claws were doing next to nothing against the hull of the canister, the dragon elected to crunch down. It took a bite of effort, but eventually he did succeed. The lid was flung off from the building pressure, and the paint splattered all over the dragon's charcoal scales. Some paint dribbled from where the lid had been ejected, but most of it thankfully had wound up on the cicada's face. He hissed loudly, swinging his head. The noise tapered off into a rumble. Perhaps he could eat the vibrant stuff that was within them? His tail arched as he leaned down to snag another paint canister to test such a baritone theory. Astiar screeched when the exact same thing happened when such was broken by his bite force. The noise startled him, and he fell over. It only got more of the spilt paint on his dark scales. It was a mess of paint - and a noisy one at that. The dragon never was one for stealth nor silence, and the nosiness of paint cans being destroyed would surely bring about their owner.
TAGS 9/4/19:
we've got a fire that burns within, we are the dragon hearted
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FULZANIN is a 19 year old content creator. Currently roleplaying as Beezlebub in the Pitt and Jotunhel in the Typhoon. Time spent outside of work and writing is typically done in Creatures of Sonaria. FULZANIN is also in a happy relationship, and is aegosexual/asexual herself.
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