dragon dragon, rock the dragon

[agnominal]

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. ]

Comments

Biome

[goddamngrenades]

Appropriate clothing acquired (sports bra, tank, yoga pants, one of Locus' sweatshirts), stress worked out (walking, flying, parkour, landing wrong and hitting herself in the tit ow), and Emu on her shoulder- York heads for where she always does when things get a little overwhelming. Nothing new in his Biome and Locus-

Maybe Locus got away from this without weird shit happening. Who knew?

"Locus?" That rumbling is disconcerting as balls- it reminds her too much of a thing without a face, of a cackling zombie and chains. Gears grinding, winding, and clicking, clicking, clicking-

Before she can wind herself up too much she runs smack dab into something- something she can't see. What the fuck? "Shit-"

[agnominal]

There's a snort, then a slight shift. Something shimmers as the dirt at her feet stirs, the imprint of giant feet left behind.

Then, the thing comes into view. It towers over her, reptilian face staring down into hers, nostrils flaring. Who is this, coming into his biome?

It considers her for a moment, before those slitted green eyes shift to rest on Emu.

[goddamngrenades]

"Oh holy fuck-" York scrambles backwards, Emu chittering as she curls up tight against York's neck, soft little chirring sounds pitched to sooth rolling out of her tiny, furry body. Averting panic is important and York is already thrown for a loop with her body-

This is way beyond the pale.

"D, tell Locus to stay inside, there's a fucking dragon out here-"

[agnominal]

D?

Emu.

The dragon almost looks confused, as much as a giant, scaly animal can look confused, before its head lowers. There's a very deliberate sniff of the air. It doesn't appear to want to attack or bite, or even breathe fire at him.

Instead, it tilts its head at her. Those large green eyes blink. And even as different as he appears, that telltale scar still lies in place across the bridge of its snout.

[goddamngrenades]

He is not responding to his omnicomm-

Which is fucking concerning and she's got half a mind to make a break for the bunker except-

Except.

She knows that green. As sure as she knows the tinge of Delta's comforting logic? She knows that green. That pale storm green tinged with grey, how open they are for all that they're on a reptilian face. Dark scaled marred by a familiar crossing and she's being sniffed and, yeah, she hasn't really done more than hose herself off after the gym but...

"...Locus?" Tentative, she reaches out a hand to run it along his snout. "Is that you, lobo?"

[agnominal]

York.

Whatever has done this to him? Must have done the same to York, only with slightly less dramatic results. When she reaches for him, he doesn't back away. Doesn't make any sudden movements, just breathes deeply with that same deep rumble that had first gotten her attention.

Here he'd been, trying to stay out of the way until all of this wore off. So much for that notion.

[goddamngrenades]

"I'm gonna take that as a yes." The tension goes right out of her, all that anxious fear at finding an apex predator just. Looming. Flushed away with a huff of breath. That little rumble that isn't like a purr? It's as familiar as the rest.

"...Guess you can't talk, huh?" Not that kind of dragon.

[agnominal]

He hasn't exactly tried. He does now, pulling his head back before opening his mouth, those jagged sharp teeth all the more apparent now.

What escapes is guttural, like the dragging of stone against stone, but deeper. Warmer. Articulation is difficult, and he manages only a few strange noises before he shakes his head, tail swaying behind him like an irate cat.

[goddamngrenades]

OH. God.

That's a lot of teeth. She swallows, nerves ticking up again as Emu resumes her soothing chitter/purr thing and York reaches out to smooth her hands over Locus' muzzle.

"Shh, shh, it's okay babe." They're in private, that should be okay, right? Right. "It's fine. You're good. Kinda...badass and pants shittingly terrifying, but good. Beautiful."

[agnominal]

Once more, he seems to calm. He's been very aware lately of how easily he could break or smash something, his mass and weight and strength far beyond what he normally commands. It wouldn't do to hurt York, even by accident.

So he lets her stroke her hands along his snout, rumbling at her and blinking those large green eyes slowly, before nudging her in the chest lightly. As if to say, no you, in the only way he can.

[goddamngrenades]

"You are a handsome lizard, aren't you?" Do dragons like being rubbed under their chin? Fuck it, She's trying. Her hands run light along Locus' scales, rubbing under his chin, seeking out the crevices behind frills and at the base of spines. Places that itch, maybe.

"Who's my pretty dragon?" Okay, nose bump to chest and she snorts. "Don't think you're gonna get a free motorboating out of this, buddy."

[agnominal]

The dragon lets out a grumbling noise that sounds like a complaint or protest before shaking his head again. This time he sniffs at her hair before nudging her again. Look. See? They're both different. How about they talk about her transformation instead?

...he can't do much talking, for a start.

But the scratching does feel nice. While trying to remain as dignified as he can be as a giant winged lizard, he tips his head into the touch, and his tail comes to curl around his hind legs. Alright. Maybe this part isn't so terrible.

[goddamngrenades]

"Okay, okay- my turn, I get it-" She steps back enough and holds her arms out, shrugging off the hoodie so he can see all the curves and swerves bestowed upon her by this weird twist of magic. A little twirl and pose because, well.

She IS pretty. Ish. She thinks? Yeah, she'd tap herself if she were single and a dude. "I look a little like my aunt, I think? Which makes sense."

[agnominal]

There is a rumble of agreement, or something like it, as the dragon's head tilts again to consider her.

Pretty is a word. York's never been unattractive, really, a fact that Locus has noted before but never placed a large amount of importance on. It tracks that he would also be similarly attractive as a woman...though some men probably make for worse-looking women than others, he considers. He doubts he himself would have been quite so fortunate.

If fortunate is in fact the word. He shifts on his claws, pulling himself up out of the crouch he'd been napping in, with a stretch that almost seems more tiger-like than dragon. The effect gives York a good idea of just how much larger he is now, and why he's out here instead of inside.

Dorado

[araignee_du_soir]

Widowmaker had only gone outside the beach house after she'd been freed from the ice and in warmer clothing to check on the state of the beach. Still frozen. Arms crossed, she glared at the ice, scanning it to see if maybe a small area was starting to thaw, when she saw something out of a fantasy novel.

A dragon. On the frozen beach. Oh, hell no.

Ducking back inside, she threw the first jacket she found on (it had been Sombra's) and grabbed her rifle. To hell with this whole sentients have rights bullshit; it was a dragon and she'd shoot it if she had to. There was no way she was going let the biome get torched.

A few minutes later, a shot spattered the icy sand a foot before the dragon. A warning shot from the woman that had her rifle trained on the dragon's head.

"Leave, beast."

[agnominal]

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.

[araignee_du_soir]

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.

[agnominal]

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.

Hallway

[prettycoolguy]

Suspicious thumping is always going to draw attention from some people, and the Chief is one of them. So it is that he turns a corner and finds himself face to snout with a dragon.

...Ah.

It's not Hiccup's dragon, that would make sense or something. It's just a dragon. On Legion World. The Chief doesn't speak, but his body language is loud enough with why?

...He's probably going to have to be the one to figure out what to do with this now, isn't he. Dammit.

[araignee_du_soir]

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.

[agnominal]

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.

[agnominal]

It would no doubt be amusing to some to see Chief nearly bump into a full-sized dragon...and for the dragon to be the one to widen its eyes and take a step back. Its head ducked low as its attempts to progress down the hall ceased entirely.

Luckily, they were both fluent in non-verbal, and there's almost an abashed cant to the beast's head as it lowers. Look. This isn't his fault, he just wound up this way and was trying to get out of everyone's way.

[araignee_du_soir]

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.

[agnominal]

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.

[goddamngrenades]

"...Is it rude to ask if I can ride you?" In this context the question has a very different meaning, but she is curious and Locus is tall, bigger than she'd thought, all sinuous muscle and glossy scales and green, green eyes. It'd make her inner nerd all kinds of giddy, even if Delta is vaguely concerned about the lack of a saddle.

Spoil sport.

She takes a half step back to run her hand down Locus' neck, walking along to his shoulders until she can lean in and rest against him. The deep thrum of his heart is ridiculously palpable now- and just as soothing as it is when he's got a human face and hands. "And you're still so warm. Damn."