12-11-2019, 06:50 PM
ASLISK - wyvern - powers - halls of hiraeth - sentinel - hot shot
I GET MY WAY THROUGH GENOCIDE 'CAUSE FREAKS LIKE YOU JUST WASTE MY TIME
If Aslisk were to be quizzed on how much she knew about Christmas time, she would likely fail. The brief holiday that she had experienced had been several years ago. It had involved somewhat tragic events in all honesty. A skating event gone wrong, erupting into combat. The frigid cold. One of her kids getting nailed in the face with a snow ball. Waking up early to mess with wrapping paper. It had been awful. Utterly awful. Of course, that was ignoring the cuddling to keep her warm in the frigid cold. It ignored the presents that she received and still used back home. It ignored the good. Aslisk was such a person, to ignore the good and immediately sink her teeth into the negative. The holiday season was coming up, and Aslisk knew it. She did her best to be indifferent. The wyvern had partaken in building a snowman only to accidentally burn it down right after finishing it's completion. She had tried to make some weird milk and water and chocolate fused beverage and had almost thrown up by the taste of the terrible concoction that she had created. The cold was a negative, failing the activities was a negative, all of it made her want to pitch a massive fit and scream and break something with her talons. A spine, preferably, but Aslisk really didn't want to be harped on for such a thing. She had to settle for briefly hissing about in her room before getting her temper neatly wrapped up once again.
She came in with a swift teleport, having previously been about to go outside. Why? Probably just to walk around and ignore every single demand to stay in bed that she physically could manage. She was horrifically stubborn, and she exercised her abilities to do what she pleased at nearly all times. A card for your loved ones was what had snagged her attention. To tell them thanks. Despite her teleport, Aslisk still had to trudge a little closer. Her jaws were firmly set together, looking at the supplies present. Her tail slowly swung behind her. It was raised off the ground in order to keep herself from burning the floor. The wyvern upheld that slight bit of decency for the building that was the Hall's main residency. Rare did she forget to lift her tail, and rare was an apology from the wyvern otherwise uttered so swiftly. It was the only time any brief 'whoops, forgot', came from her, acknowledging that she had done something that was not satisfactory. Aslisk couldn't actually give any cards to her loved ones. Everyone she knew and cared about was elsewhere. No matter how hard she tried, she could not teleport home. No matter how hard she pressed, she could not open that mental link and speak to the enchanted creature that usually spoke to her without any consent needed. Aslisk couldn't believe that she was missing the common prodding the magical creature did to her mind, but she did. It sickened her to feel so weak. Briefly the wyvern stood there. She was stiff while her red gaze surveyed the materials. Wordlessly Aslisk grabbed the paper and three crayon with her teeth, then moving off so she could actually work.
Of course Aslisk wrote in a weird language. The wyvern spoke in a strange tongue whenever she did not think that other's were listening - or, sometimes, even when there was and she simply didn't want them to comprehend what she was saying. The words were sharp, curled, and filled with a hatred firmer than she could ever spit into the words of the common tongue. Carefully she held the crayons in her jaws, writing weird looking symbols all over the paper with seemingly little rhyme or reason to where she put them. Aslisk wasn't exactly confident in her ability to write. Reading was one thing. Reading she could barely manage to do with a little bit of help - not that she often ever accepted aid, and her burn wounds clearly showed such a thing. Writing was harder. The language she scribbled in had three letters for every letter and, honestly, Aslisk wished that she'd just walked on past without having partook in the event. She was stubborn, though, and decided she'd look like a fool if she gave up in her awkward scribbling now, and her teeth crunched down harder on the crayon. It not breaking was just as much a mystery to her as her writing was to any onlooker. Once she finished she returned the crayons to grab some pinks and greens and blues and purples. She'd left one side blank and simply began doodling on the other side. Aslisk would entirely deny being homesick if she was asked. It hurt, though. It dug deep, deeper than the fury that usually pried into the core of her being and warranted her hissy attitude. Once finished with her crude stick-people looking drawing, she again returned the crayons just to stand and admire the card that she had crafted in silence, burning tail raised to keep herself from scorching the ground behind her. Small trembles worked their way through the burnt wyvern, then huffing and snagging the card so that she could move away and make more space for someone else.
She came in with a swift teleport, having previously been about to go outside. Why? Probably just to walk around and ignore every single demand to stay in bed that she physically could manage. She was horrifically stubborn, and she exercised her abilities to do what she pleased at nearly all times. A card for your loved ones was what had snagged her attention. To tell them thanks. Despite her teleport, Aslisk still had to trudge a little closer. Her jaws were firmly set together, looking at the supplies present. Her tail slowly swung behind her. It was raised off the ground in order to keep herself from burning the floor. The wyvern upheld that slight bit of decency for the building that was the Hall's main residency. Rare did she forget to lift her tail, and rare was an apology from the wyvern otherwise uttered so swiftly. It was the only time any brief 'whoops, forgot', came from her, acknowledging that she had done something that was not satisfactory. Aslisk couldn't actually give any cards to her loved ones. Everyone she knew and cared about was elsewhere. No matter how hard she tried, she could not teleport home. No matter how hard she pressed, she could not open that mental link and speak to the enchanted creature that usually spoke to her without any consent needed. Aslisk couldn't believe that she was missing the common prodding the magical creature did to her mind, but she did. It sickened her to feel so weak. Briefly the wyvern stood there. She was stiff while her red gaze surveyed the materials. Wordlessly Aslisk grabbed the paper and three crayon with her teeth, then moving off so she could actually work.
Of course Aslisk wrote in a weird language. The wyvern spoke in a strange tongue whenever she did not think that other's were listening - or, sometimes, even when there was and she simply didn't want them to comprehend what she was saying. The words were sharp, curled, and filled with a hatred firmer than she could ever spit into the words of the common tongue. Carefully she held the crayons in her jaws, writing weird looking symbols all over the paper with seemingly little rhyme or reason to where she put them. Aslisk wasn't exactly confident in her ability to write. Reading was one thing. Reading she could barely manage to do with a little bit of help - not that she often ever accepted aid, and her burn wounds clearly showed such a thing. Writing was harder. The language she scribbled in had three letters for every letter and, honestly, Aslisk wished that she'd just walked on past without having partook in the event. She was stubborn, though, and decided she'd look like a fool if she gave up in her awkward scribbling now, and her teeth crunched down harder on the crayon. It not breaking was just as much a mystery to her as her writing was to any onlooker. Once she finished she returned the crayons to grab some pinks and greens and blues and purples. She'd left one side blank and simply began doodling on the other side. Aslisk would entirely deny being homesick if she was asked. It hurt, though. It dug deep, deeper than the fury that usually pried into the core of her being and warranted her hissy attitude. Once finished with her crude stick-people looking drawing, she again returned the crayons just to stand and admire the card that she had crafted in silence, burning tail raised to keep herself from scorching the ground behind her. Small trembles worked their way through the burnt wyvern, then huffing and snagging the card so that she could move away and make more space for someone else.
TAGS 11/19/19:
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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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