What Would Dragons Do?

This is a different sort of log containing pose responses from the weyrlings to a scene set sent to them giving a brief glimpse into their developing dragonettes.


The wee hours are dark in the barracks and it's one of the rarer occasions when you are off duty and should be resting. In the shadows along the wall four teensy feet move to carry a furry body with whiskers wider than the critter itself, stealthy, fast, and right up the leg of a cot he goes and beneath the covers of its inhabitant, or along the top if one sleeps atop. The leetle, bitty mouse finds a foot, and a leg, and starts to work his way up, after all, he wants to see what's at the top! Little claws perform like grips to help him move up the body, creeping and skittering, pausing now and then to press a tiny nose to the body and sniff, whiskers wriggling side to side, possibly against bare skin, possibly against clothing. He may or may not be discovered during his under-cover ascent and if he makes it to the top of the big lump body what he finds top-side really is due a bit of investigation. A face. Nom. Yes. Chitterchitterwrigglesniff. Humans smell funny and *lick*, taste a little funny. If only he could sink his little teeth in and taste…


In their chosen spot among the barracks, both Th’ero and Velokraeth are resting, weyrling and dragon in their respective cot and couch. It’s not until it a brush of fur against his face that things change, the sensation causing the weyrling to stir enough in semi-consciousness to raise a hand and brush the pest away so sleep can resume undisturbed. Poor little mouse-like critter gets banished under the covers again and it’s there that it’ll find its taste sample in human flesh; which in Th’ero’s case is the inside of his upper arm.

With an adrenaline fueled start, Th’ero all but thrashes awake and in turn, Velokraeth is up with him, misshapen body tensed with alarm, though no mental call goes out to wake the Weyr. Amid the chaos of tossed sheets and thrashing of human limbs, the furry intruder is propelled from the cot, no doubt squeaking in alarm or fear. So this is the price for curiosity? Th’ero, biting back curses and a few well-placed oaths, catches a glimpse of the small critter just before it lands in front of Velokraeth. The bronze is quick to catch his rider’s thoughts, but acts on his own and with startling quickness, a stunted forearm is extended and the creature is ensnared within his clawed fingers.

Poor, poor furry creature’s heart was not meant to deal with such shocks and when Velokraeth, still tensed, relaxes enough to show Th’ero his captive, the furry creature is … well, dead. Th’ero has recovered enough to calm down and inspect the tiny bite wound, which is minor and of no serious worry (unless one worries about disease). But at the sight of the dead critter, the weyrling freezes for a moment, staring at his young bronze with uncertainty. However, Velokraeth seems only to stare at it, confused but curious. «This strange little thing is the cause of it all?» he asks, sounding dubious. «What’s wrong with it?»

Th’ero seems reluctant, though in the end the weyrling simply sighs. He knows better then to lie; the last attempt earned such a scathing reprimand from the bronze that he’s unwilling to test him again. “It’s dead. Probably from fright and not your fault.” The weyrling explains, slowly letting himself relax now that the initial alarm from such a rude awakening is wearing off. Velokraeth only turns his oversized head to the side, whirling gaze studying the dead critter with what seems to be innocent interest. At least, that’s what Th’ero wrongly assumed and before he can fully grasp Velokraeth’s intent, the deed is done and the evidence promptly eaten.

Th’ero, thoroughly revolted, only confuses the young bronze. «What?» Velokraeth snorts, defensive. «It hurt you! Seems only fair. And it was dead and it smelled good. What else were we to do with it? Seemed a shame to waste a snack, though it was pitifully small.» The bronze sighs, almost wistfully. There need be no words for Th’ero to catch on to Velokraeth’s hint and with a groan, the weyrling brings both his hands up to scrub tiredly at his face. “Are you serious?” he mutters, which only earns him “the look” from the young dragon.

«Yes, I am. Why would I tease? It’s not my fault that this unwanted guest turned snack has only made me hungrier.» Knowing better to argue, Th’ero gets up from his cot, still dressed in his night clothes. “I still don’t think that was smart to do. If you get sick…” «I won’t. Meat is meat and there was barely anything to it to upset me.» Velokraeth interrupts him with an audible sniff at the suggestion, though Th’ero only rolls his eyes. “… /if/ you do,” he stresses, pausing only to give the bronze an affectionate slap to the neck and earning a nudge from a blunted muzzle in return.

Chuckling and stifling a yawn, Th’ero wanders off in search of some fresh meat, being as careful as possible not to rouse the entire barracks as he does. Velokraeth remains in his couch, patiently waiting and seeming smugly amused with himself for one who was startled awake. No ill harm came of it though. Well, not for them anyways. But furry critters beware … Velokraeth is no friend of theirs.


When the mouse makes its move, Iris is dead asleep from the long, exhausting hours of weyrlinghood. Shadhavarth is only lightly dozing in these wee hours; waking from time to time. As the mouse wriggles up underneath the blanket and above the pajamas, Shadhavarth wakes. Eyes and ears hone in on the movement and chittering, though she doesn't bother Iris, too curious to see what the little critter looks like when it emerges from underneath the blanket. Ever so slowly and subtly, she shifts so that it is easier to watch the progress, eventually resting her head on the side of the bed by the time the tiny lump emerges. The mouse, upon coming out into more open air on Iris's shoulder, chitters, glancing around but not seeing any particularly alarming movement. Shadhavarth's eyes are still until the mouse turns to sniff and lick Iris's bare shoulder. Thinking it prepares to bite, Shadhavarth reacts by inhaling deeply and blowing straight at the mouse, sending it off shoulder, off bed, across floor where it lands, squeaking indignantly, chittering like crazy as it shakes itself off and runs back home. Iris is woken by the dragon-breath on her shoulder, rolling over to murmur grumpily at Shadhavarth, who doesn't respond, for she's curled back up on the floor. Crisis averted!


It's late at night within the comfortable caverns the weyrling's reside in and nothing was stirring… except for a mouse. Perhaps a nosy brown hatchling as well. Nyzieroth watches quietly, perfectly still with whirling eyes as the furry little critter climbs up his lifemate's cot and begins to slowly make it's way across the covers. In the shadows, it scurries, sniffing occasionally at the blanket and the little bits of flesh from arm and leg that peek out from under the blankets. The weyrling sleeps heavily, ignoring the little squeaking creature while it walks across his back, slips under the hem of his shirt and begins to tunnel it's way to his collar. The rodent snuffles through discheveled blond strands and wiggles through to an ear, snifflesnifflesqueak! The whiskers and the sudden elation emanating from Nyz was enough to stir the weyrling from his sleep. He flinches at the glittery sight of little beady eyes and roughly grabs it angrily in his fist. "Oh, no you don't, you little pest." S'rorn glances down the way and THROWS the mouse as far as he can down the corridor, AWAY from him… Bad idea. Nyzieroth bugles his claim to the fuzzy thing that makes S'rorn angry, throwing open his little dragon wings and be practically barrels past the cot. If it makes the chump angry, it's worth having! S'rorn hisses and holds onto the frame with a death grip while mentally chastising his lifemate. There's people still sleeping, let it be! Let it be.


Something is crawling…creeping. A sensation that the former hunter has had before. Plenty of nights sleeping out on the road or in the forest leaves many opportunities for unwelcome guests under his blanket. Though what's not usual, is the snout that follows the rodent's progress. Carefully, V'ric pushes himself up on his elbows, glancing down to where Loxiath hovers, breath coming in soft whooshes of air against his leg, even ruffling the fur on the mouse's body. It stops, keeping very still. As if that would save him from being seen. A low, melodious rumble comes from Loxiath in the dim light, however, head tilting to the side just slightly….squeakchomp. The little dragon is quick to swallow the tiny pile of bones and fur, and then just lays his head back down again, recoiling into the dark. V'ric shakes his head, groaning before he flops back down and rolls over. Uninterrupted sleep would be so nice.


But little mice will not be the only creatures chitterchitterwrigglesniffing at things. Ila'den may be well within the relentless hold of sleep, but Teimyrth stirred the moment he heard squeaking, raising his head to press his face in close against the blanketed form of his lifemate - and the fuzzy brown on his face. There's a snuffling of air, a sudden stillness as the mouse takes note of a predator, and just as it makes to jetscurryscuffleflee!, Teimyrth is catching it betwixt massive jaws and chomping down. Cue Ila awakening with a start, recoiling at the silhouette of beastly magnificence looming over him at eerie hours of the morn. "What are you doing, Teimyrth?" he inquires, rubbing the back of his hand against one eye as he displaces sleep from them. His bronze remains silent instead, wuffling out a soft snort before tucking his head back beneath a wing. Him? Doing something evil? /Never!/ « Sleep now, Ila. I will see that no further bodily harm is threatened to you. »

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