daenerys stormborn (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
iwillnotlookback) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
tushanshu_logs2013-04-10 03:22 pm
iwillnotlookback) wrote in tushanshu_logs2013-04-10 03:22 pm
Entry tags:
[open]
Characters: Dany, Drogon, and you
Date: April 8th
Location: Atam
Situation: Good news! Dany's item request is in. Bad news! It's a dragon toddler with anger problems.
Warnings/Rating: Drogon is extremely savage and he WILL attack if provoked.
[ She has lived in enough cities to know what panic sounds like, in any tongue.
Whatever language they speak here, Dany hears it as the Common Tongue, and so she starts at the first shouts of "dragon!" from the men and women fleeing past her from the square. Her heart twists, the air gone out of her. Her body feels tingly all over, as if flames wash over her skin, and she knows. Oh, she knows. A mother always knows.
Her feet have already taken off at a heedless run, pushing past anyone in her way. The wind catches her veil and tears it from her head, sending it floating away on the wind. It's irrelevant. All that matters is that her children are here.
When she reaches the plaza she skitters to a stop, surveying the carnage, taking in the splashes of blood and absence of scorch-marks. Some brave man more foolish than wise tried to muzzle the creature and paid for it dearly, as the severed arm lying in a pool of blood gives tale to. She reaches to her side for her whip...and remembers it's gone, taken by the guards at the port.
Two men approach Drogon, a net stretched between them, and the dragon lashes his tail in a telling way. He's going to kill them, she realizes, and she knows she must put thought aside and act. On instinct Dany dives for a small stone, lurches back to her feet, and flings it at Drogon. It bounces off the hard, thick hide stretched over his forequarters, and Drogon turns to her with a hiss of recognition. ]
Drogon, here! [ She picks up another two stones, but holds them at her side. ] Drogon, to me!
Date: April 8th
Location: Atam
Situation: Good news! Dany's item request is in. Bad news! It's a dragon toddler with anger problems.
Warnings/Rating: Drogon is extremely savage and he WILL attack if provoked.
[ She has lived in enough cities to know what panic sounds like, in any tongue.
Whatever language they speak here, Dany hears it as the Common Tongue, and so she starts at the first shouts of "dragon!" from the men and women fleeing past her from the square. Her heart twists, the air gone out of her. Her body feels tingly all over, as if flames wash over her skin, and she knows. Oh, she knows. A mother always knows.
Her feet have already taken off at a heedless run, pushing past anyone in her way. The wind catches her veil and tears it from her head, sending it floating away on the wind. It's irrelevant. All that matters is that her children are here.
When she reaches the plaza she skitters to a stop, surveying the carnage, taking in the splashes of blood and absence of scorch-marks. Some brave man more foolish than wise tried to muzzle the creature and paid for it dearly, as the severed arm lying in a pool of blood gives tale to. She reaches to her side for her whip...and remembers it's gone, taken by the guards at the port.
Two men approach Drogon, a net stretched between them, and the dragon lashes his tail in a telling way. He's going to kill them, she realizes, and she knows she must put thought aside and act. On instinct Dany dives for a small stone, lurches back to her feet, and flings it at Drogon. It bounces off the hard, thick hide stretched over his forequarters, and Drogon turns to her with a hiss of recognition. ]
Drogon, here! [ She picks up another two stones, but holds them at her side. ] Drogon, to me!
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He fears he may be approaching a clever, dangerous thing such as Flemeth was, and hopes it might merely be like the feral dragonlings in the Bone Pit mine. Not that it matters overly much, because both would doubtless be death sentences when he is alone.
Alone and without his broadsword, confiscated as it had been.
He's there before he can remember sanity and turn away, standing behind an unarmed woman... throwing stones.
Throwing stones at a dragon and attempting to summon it to her. ] What are you doing?!
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[ The words just barely leave her mouth when Drogon scrabbles forward, hissing his rage and confusion.
Yet still no fire. Why? The thought roots her in place. ]
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Wait a minute, he knows her face. The queen, apparently. ] Venhedis, woman, do not just stand there! Run. [ He crouches between the dragon and Dany, the gauntlets on his fingers curled into claws. It's no greatsword (or maul, he's had his fair share of those before as well), but it's the only defense he has avoid being eaten... or relieved of one of his arms, like the unfortunate fellow who had been trying to subdue it earlier. ]
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No!
[ She crashes to the ground hard as Drogon rolls overhead, scraping open her shins and her palms. Then she's up again and drawing the dragon's attention away from Fenris with another well-thrown stone. ]
Down, Drogon! [ Another stone, then stooping to scoop up and throw another. Drogon backs away from from the small, bald, fearless girl, hissing. ] I said, get down. You are going to behave.
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When he reels around with his arms drawn up, hoping to lunge at its flank, he is completely baffled by the rock that whizzes past him to stop the dragon in its tracks. And the hissing queen with more balls than most Qunari.
That does it, he's officially got no blighted clue what's going on here. Would "down, boy!" really have worked all this time? There are a lot of dead Ferelden miners who ought to feel very foolish, right about now. ] I. How is that working?
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Drogon's great muzzle drops level with her face, sniffing at her, and then he lets out a whuff of air hot and smoky that makes her cough until her eyes water. When she looks back up at Fenris, it's with red-shot eyes. Beneath her hand Drogon is something approaching calm. ]
He is my son.
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Her son.
Perhaps she is the creature of strange power, only wearing the shape of a woman, as Flemeth had been. But that is a question to be asked later; he may have been caught flat-footed by the whole turn of events, but he collects himself enough to cast an eye back at the crowd of locals that had been trying to subdue the beast before her intervention. ] You may wish to relocate your- [ he can't quite help the dryness of his tone: ] son, then. Quickly.
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But Drogon is more important. Dany wraps her arms protectively around his great neck, a shield between the lithe dark man and the encroaching Atamites. ]
Yes. Drogon, come. You must come.
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The city's residents are polite enough when Temeraire first enters, but by the end of the first day of his stay, he has begun to notice an air of dislike, verging on hostile suspicion, which springs up whenever he approaches one of the residents. It cannot merely be attributed to his status as a foreigner--not when the other would-be tourists have been able to conduct their business without much difficulty. No matter how polite he is, and no matter how much effort he expends in trying to make himself nonthreatening, their words to him are terse at best and outright rude at worst.
Thankfully, he does not have to wait long to find out why: not when a crowd of people shouting about a dragon run almost directly toward him before stopping short, staring at him in undisguised horror, and vanishing down an adjoining street. Temeraire can draw the conclusion himself: There is another dragon here, and one considerably less inclined to endear himself to the local population.
He heads immediately in the direction from which the terrified crowd had come, half-hopping down the street in his haste. It is curiously difficult to fly in the city--it feels as if something in the air here weighs him down whenever he attempts it--but a few rapid bounds brings him around a corner and into an open plaza, where a dragon the size of a week-old hatchling is staring down two men with a net.
Temeraire himself wrinkles his nose at the scent of freshly spilled blood before the meaning of it catches up to him, and he pulls his head back, his ruff flattening in horror.]
What on earth are you doing? [he demands of the smaller dragon--unaware, for the moment, of Daenerys's presence.]
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My lord Temeraire?
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That is quite enough of that; you may be newly arrived, and disoriented, but that is certainly no reason to attack anyone, or bite off their arms, or-- [He turns at the sound of another voice, craning his neck around.] Khaleesi?
[Pause as his gaze swivels from girl to hatchling and back.] This--is Drogon, then? Your...son?
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He ventures another glance at the hatchling, tensing briefly, uncertain how to proceed, how best to broach the subject. When he speaks at last, his voice is quieter than before.]
It--must have been a very long time, in the shell, surely?
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[ It's all she manages to get out. The men with the net take advantage of the distraction to slink forward, staves in hand, and Drogon backs up with a furious hiss. Dany breaks off and rushes to throw herself in the way, shouting furiously at the men. ]
Stop it! Put down your weapons, I command you!
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That is enough, all of you! It is not his fault he cannot understand what is happening, and you are only liable to make him angrier if you try to tie him up!
[He turns his attention to Dany once more, twitching his whiskers in agitation.] They will let us alone if we bring him direct to the harbor, surely? I do not think it is wise to keep Drogon in this city.
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Perhaps he should have. Had he scurried away, he wouldn't have seen a dragon tear a man's arm off. At the sound of screeching he had scurried, stumbling drunkenly, pressing himself against a wall, fallen to the ground and staring. This was no dragon like Temeraire. This...This is a proper dragon, and where was goddamn saint George when they needed him. He doesn't even hear the hint of a whimper that comes out of his mouth as he sits there, wine he so carefully chose out dribbling against his shirt.]
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She approaches, Drogon a bored shadow at her side. ]
Do you need help?
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Maybe he can disappear into the wall.]
I'm fine, that man there is less than fine, but I'm fine. has no one told you not to let a wild beast out around people for God's sake?
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[However violent it was sounding, she's still curious. She makes her way through the streets, but by the time she gets there, it's all calmed down a bit. Annabeth notices right away the woman who had called herself the 'mother of dragons,' and from the looks of it, she's found one.]
[She just watches at first, wondering whether or not to approach. Temperamental dragons are definitely not something to be messed with, and she doesn't want to make it worse again.]
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Whatever strange magic curses this place, it keeps Drogon from flying. So when he's calm enough to lead back to Tu Vishan, it seems she must lead him. It's then she sees Annabeth along her route. ]
You may want to move.
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[Annabeth is ridiculously curious over how she's able to control the dragon like that - but now is probably not the time to inquire.]
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Leo, who had quickly ran towards the sound of chaos, skids to a halt as he comes across the bloody scene. And the severed arm that he will try his best to ignore from now onward because he wants to keeps his meal inside his stomach, thanks. He keeps his distance at first, and he is watching the two men with the net and hoping they both still had their arms attached afterwards when it happens.
A stone flies and hits the dragon. It's almost comical to him, really, and he'd laugh if there was less gore around him in general, because that kind of kills the mood a bit. He turns to the wielder and recognizes her as the girl he had talked to on the network, the one with too many titles that included something about dragons.]
W-Whoa! Is... [His voice squeaks at the end, so he clears his throat and tries again.] Are you sure that's going to work?
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It is no whip, but I'll make do.
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Okay! [calling from behind the crate fort!] I think I'm cool here! [And he sticks a thumbs up above the boxes so she can see it.] Do your best, your highness, or graciousness, or whatever you want me to call you!
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Yes, Gavroche thinks, and looks at a familiar bald teenager when she picks up a stone and gets his attention. Maybe he should try, too? ]
'Ey, Drogon! Y'should listen to the lady, huh? Listen!
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The dragon's head snakes around to find the sound of the voice, and all Dany can think is Hazzea, her name was Hazzea, she was only four. Sudden panic grips her as she rushes to position herself between the boy and the dragon. ]
What are you doing? Leave. [ Her voice is a whip, harsh and forceful. ]
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It don't talk, so I thought... [ He doesn't finish the sentence. It falters, suddenly unsure of himself. He doesn't leave, though. Rooted to the spot in curiousity, stubborness, and maybe a little fear. Okay, a lot of fear. ]
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[ She says it, not out of some hatred or despair, but in true pragmatic fashion. But since Gavroche will not move, she takes his hand in hers. He's too light, she can tell as she yanks him into her arms and ducks as the dragon lunges. ]
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That ain't true!
[ --but he's yanked close towards her, now. He stays like that as the dragon lunges, stays like that before coming back to his senses and shaking his head wildly, trying to get out of her grip. ] That ain't true a bit, 'cause--Temeraire--he's not a monster, he's my friend, an' he's a dragon!