legionworld | dragon dragon, rock the dragon

Who| Locus and you!
What| You couldn't really have a 'Game of Throne' event without a dragon. So. Have a dragon.
Where| Hallways, various biomes, eventually the training facilities.
When| Game of Throne event
Warnings/Notes| n/a

In the midst of everything that's going on, you might be forgiven for overlooking the transformations of a number of Legionnaires. There's more than enough going on to draw anyone's attention.

But it's a little hard to ignore a large, winged black dragon that is trying its best to make its way down a hall that is almost too small for it. Certainly too narrow for its wings to unfurl, and when it pauses to huff in annoyance, smoke and sparks filter through the hall in drifting clouds. There is a deep, unhappy rumbling from the creature, but it doesn't appear to be aggressive...per se.

Just largely annoyed by its inability to get anywhere fast. And it has to remember not to swing its tail or move too quickly, lest it smash into something.

----

The biomes offer a little relief. One might happen through one of the areas and hear what almost sounds like snoring. A low, rumbling, steady noise, that has no apparent source. None that can be seen, at the very least.

Of course, that leaves the danger of wandering smack into a very irate, very large creature trying to have a nap somewhere comfortable. And how awkward would that be?

----

Of course there are some areas meant for stretching ones legs, for flying about, and for experimenting with ones powers. Here, the dragon eventually lumbers, settling for setting a few dummies on fire in the hopes of taming its annoyance.

It's working to a certain degree, at least.

[ Want a custom encounter with the beast? Let me know, and I'll put down a starter. ]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

It did its part to draw the dragon's attention, at the very least.

Those slitted eyes fixed on Widowmaker where she stood, and it was clear a low, threatening snarl was curling inside of the beast's throat. She had been Sombra's friend, she was here, she was wearing her clothes...

But she did not possess the right to send him away.

Slowly, he pulled himself to his full height, staring her down. Not attacking, no, but making it absolutely clear that he was not going anywhere in a hurry. She was welcome to try and make him.

Though she wasn't cowed by the dragon, she wasn't ignorant of the threat, the size and likely the fire breath. It was as impressive as most things could get, but she wasn't afraid. Her rifle moved with the dragon's movement, aimed at an eye, ready to pull the trigger on an instant.

This was her home. It didn't matter that this had been Sombra's biome; she had lived there the entire time she had been in this world. More a home than her own biome had been. This place had housed arguments, laughter, teasing, brooding, affection, pettiness and lust. More things than she was ever supposed to be regularly exposed to. Family.

And right then, it felt like all she had left that she could remotely call her own in this damn dimension. Had she been capable of them, tears of anger and determination might have glistened her eyes. Instead, she held her ground, unwilling to be intimidated.

She was not the only one seeking those echoes of companionship here. And if he were nothing more than a dumb animal in the wrong place at the wrong time, would he still be looking at her quite so intently?

Indeed. There's something almost familiar in that calmly defiant stare. Maybe it was the framing of that distinctive scarring around the eyes.

That low, constant rumble continued as he stood there, refusing to move an inch with that weapon trained on him.

Unfortunately, dragons in fairy tales were intelligent and it simply didn't occur to Widowmaker that this one might be someone she knew. So she maintained her position, kept her rifle at the ready. And would for a while.

...but eventually, even she would get tired of a standoff like this.

She didn't lower her weapon, but she decided to speak to the dragon. "Look here, dragon. This is my home. Do not damage anything or set anything on fire, because I will kill you." Her eyes narrowed. "Hopefully, you will disappear soon in a puff of magic, along with this freeze."

Widowmaker wasn't expecting an answer or the dragon to even understand her, but she lowered Widow's Kiss a bit.

She'd be surprised, then, when the beast lowered his head in what was unmistakably a nod, before rearranging himself on the sands of the beach and giving a smokey huff into the cold air.

It was uncomfortable, and unfamiliar. The nights spent here were usually warm, smelled of tequila and fire and salt. It almost seemed fitting that it would be barren and cold now, with Sombra gone.

But that was perhaps leaning towards Washington levels of melodramatic.

A single eyebrow raised at that nod, but after the dragon settled, Widowmaker let her rifle hang down at her side with one hand. Using the other to pull the jacket more closed about her, she found herself heading back toward the beach house, but she stopped before she got too close that the exact location could be picked out.

Sure, the dragon would disappear soon (it better), she still needed to protect the safety of the beach house. From what she knew, only her, Reaper and Sombra had known the exact house they had made their domicile. Which meant it was just her knowledge now. It needed to stay that way, so she found a place on the beach to settle down on, rifle across her legs, where she could see the dragon.

Something glinted when he moved, catching his suddenly sharper eyes. With another plume of dark smoke curling from his nostrils, he moved forward, one claw scratching at the cold sand.

A bottle, left there after one of their 'parties', no doubt. With a deep, low noise resonating in his throat, the dragon nosed the bottle along, watching the label roll into view, before lowering his head again.

Collecting a horde of old memories was probably not going to help anyone, draconic instincts aside.

At the movement from the dragon, Widowmaker was instantly alert with her rifle in a ready position. At least until she saw what it was playing with, then she lowered it.

"Not shiny enough for you?"

The dragon's head turned to look at her, expression unreadable. Then, after a moment's deliberation, he lowered his nose to nudge the bottle across the slick sand towards her.

She might recognize the brand on the bottle as a favorite of the hacker. She might not. Regardless, he lowered his head to rest on his forearms, obviously unhappy despite the lack of readable expression.

Another eyebrow raised, she turned her gaze to the bottle. Hmm. She thought she'd cleaned up all of Sombra's mess. Apparently not.

"I do not have any more. What was left has already been drank."

The dragon did not appear to care, either way. While the ground nearest to its muzzle appeared to be warming of its own accord, he showed little interest in moving around or doing much more than sitting on the beach and, for lack of a better term?

Sulking.

The dragon was brooding. Widowmaker had plenty on practice identifying brooding and sulking thanks to Reaper. It was rather pathetic to see a dragon doing it.

"Shouldn't you be looking for some 0lace warmer?"

The response didn't come in words. It was a deep gurgling sound, followed by the dragon's mouth opening in a noise almost of complaint. He had every right to be here, as much as she did. She didn't like it? She could try her best to drive him off.

And his tail smacked against the sand in emphasis.

"Tch. How irritating." Widowmaker grumbled, shifting her rifle but not moving to get up or raise it. "Dragons are supposed to be able to take humanoid form in stories. That would make this easier. Or if I had spare telepathic earplugs."

Then again, that would've meant putting said earplugs in a dragon's ears. She had no desire to get that close. "At least then I could find out why you have decided a frozen beach is a good place to rest."

It would have made communication easier, that was for certain. Of course, he hadn't come here to communicate with anyone, necessarily. But perhaps informing her might give him a measure of peace, rather than her need to keep watch over him like some errant guard.

With careful deliberation, the dragon lifted a claw and began to etch into the sand. Cold and stiff, it kept form relatively well as he drew a familiar-looking skull into the ground.

That should be clarification enough for anyone.

At the scratching, Widowmaker lifted her rifle up to look through the scope at what the dragon was doing. Which was drawing a--

"Oh." Clearly this wasn't Sombra in dragon form, which meant it was: "Locus. I should have recognized the brooding."

Getting to her feet and resting the rifle on her shoulder, she started to walk away. "I will still kill you if you destroy anything. You at least still have York."

dragon dragon, rock the dragon

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