07-28-2018, 10:24 PM
[align=center][div style="width: 500px; text-align: justify; font-family: helvetica; font-size: 9pt; line-height: 1.4;"]How always seemed to be th stronger question to him, rather than why. Surely he wasn’t alone in that, but being out here made him wonder in ways that he shouldn’t. Creatures here questioned, defied, acted once their own accord, based on their own instincts. While a hunter here served the same purpose as a hunter back home, the end goals seemed entirely different. Doing something for the sake of others — while not uncommon in this land, the gesture remains disconnected. Some, like Gabriel, carry the scare of their attempts, but their stories aren’t ones that others hear or share. The dragon stares with a thoughtful emptiness. Where everyone else seemed to balk at the sight of a dragon, he’s more concerned with the presence of a beast he can’t label. It passes within the moment. Gaatkaaras lifts his head slowly, stance widening in another attempt to bear weight. For some reason, the easy there ruffles his (metaphorical) feathers, and his undamaged wing flutters against his side. It was the first time someone had offered help before bolting.
Before he can even adjust to the presence of one, jaws parting to answer, another joins the crowd. And then another. Both of these are marginally more familiar, though finding anything that doesn’t share a need to bask in the sunlight is unsettling. Perhaps not as unsettling as they find him to be, but the combined feelings of everyone in the group echo and meld into one mass of confusion and discomfort. Gaat’s eure narrow to slits, attention drifting sleepily to the way Imperia’s fur shifts with the wind. Like the grass, like water. She herself seems equally mild, almost timid. The dragon’s body ripples faintly in a stretch, followed by a grimace that leaves the dull light glancing off of his teeth. It would be too difficult to explain the nature of his homeland, one where there are no names, so he skips the technical issues for the moment. “You may call me Gaatkaaras.” While it was intended to be kind, the greeting falls stiffly from his mouth and shatters in the dirt. His awkwardness wasn’t entirely cultural, but he supposes it must have something to do with it. The list of possible alternatives is lacking.
“I would prefer my injuries were left alone.” It’s ridiculous, he’s aware. Dangerous, stupid. Although they were strangers, the worst they could do to him now would inevitably happen at some point down the line if he didn't accept their assistance. What could they cause? Pain, infection, death? He would experience them anyway. The logical part of his mind immediately urges him to reconsider and accept, even with Moon’s distantly recognizable awe prickling at his skin. A subtle twitch in the dragon’s forelimbs betrays some level of anxiety over the whole situation, which is preposterous with him being the size of a horse. With his wing broken and entire body stinging as if he has rolled in salt, though, it’s hard to avoid. “Where am I?” he finally asks, the tip of his tail flicking rapidly through the grass behind him as he glances between the three of them. “I will not... run off.”
Before he can even adjust to the presence of one, jaws parting to answer, another joins the crowd. And then another. Both of these are marginally more familiar, though finding anything that doesn’t share a need to bask in the sunlight is unsettling. Perhaps not as unsettling as they find him to be, but the combined feelings of everyone in the group echo and meld into one mass of confusion and discomfort. Gaat’s eure narrow to slits, attention drifting sleepily to the way Imperia’s fur shifts with the wind. Like the grass, like water. She herself seems equally mild, almost timid. The dragon’s body ripples faintly in a stretch, followed by a grimace that leaves the dull light glancing off of his teeth. It would be too difficult to explain the nature of his homeland, one where there are no names, so he skips the technical issues for the moment. “You may call me Gaatkaaras.” While it was intended to be kind, the greeting falls stiffly from his mouth and shatters in the dirt. His awkwardness wasn’t entirely cultural, but he supposes it must have something to do with it. The list of possible alternatives is lacking.
“I would prefer my injuries were left alone.” It’s ridiculous, he’s aware. Dangerous, stupid. Although they were strangers, the worst they could do to him now would inevitably happen at some point down the line if he didn't accept their assistance. What could they cause? Pain, infection, death? He would experience them anyway. The logical part of his mind immediately urges him to reconsider and accept, even with Moon’s distantly recognizable awe prickling at his skin. A subtle twitch in the dragon’s forelimbs betrays some level of anxiety over the whole situation, which is preposterous with him being the size of a horse. With his wing broken and entire body stinging as if he has rolled in salt, though, it’s hard to avoid. “Where am I?” he finally asks, the tip of his tail flicking rapidly through the grass behind him as he glances between the three of them. “I will not... run off.”
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[b]｢ EVERYBODY KNOWS THE GOOD GUYS LOST ｣