It's a sunny summer morning, and you, in your human form, are pacing all around the garden. Bees are buzzing around the meticulously maintained flowerbeds, probably relieved that, for once, you're paying them absolutely no mind. You're too busy tapping away at your mobile phone.
You calls {someone}. Again. It's the twelfth time you've tried and, once again, it goes straight to voicemail. He asks you to leave a message. You hang up instead, scroll down your contact list. Charlie? Maybe Charlie? No, no, bad idea. Definitely not Rose … You come to "Ryouta" and pause, hovering over the call button.
You hit the button. The phone rings … and rings, and rings, and rings … … … … and goes to voicemail. "Yo, Ryou here. Can't take your call right now. Leave a message and I'll get back t'ya later!"
"Don't get back to me later!" You growl, frustrated. Why isn't he picking up? He needs to pick up, come on. "Get back to me now!"
You growl again. Actually growl, with a show of teeth far more dragon than human. Fuck. Okay. Ryou's not answering either, but at least his phone actually rang. That's a good sign. You shove your phone into the pocket of your skirt and sets off at a run, out of the garden and down the long lane lined with cottages and their gardens. The moment you reach the cover of a patch of trees, you shift mid stride, your wings snapping out to launch you up into the sky. You're a dragon, with a vast, 40 foot wingspan and feathers that glitter iridescent in the sunlight.
It's a short flight to reach York, barely ten minutes. A little magic keeps the humans from spotting you as you soar above the city, hunting for even the slightest trace of your quarry; sight, scent, sound. Anything. Anything at all. (There's a thrill to the hunt, despite all your worry and frustration.)
When you finally — finally! — catch a familiar scent in the wind, you don't waste time, dropping down from the sky in a move that you know would give him a heart attack if he were there to see it. You spiral down land to soundlessly in a nearby alley; you're in your human form before your feet hit the floor. You can hear Ryou now. Him and six strangers, arguing. Hm. You make a beeline to join him in the grounds of the abandoned factory.
… Where he stands loosely surrounded. One of the six strangers is carrying a piece of wood with nails sticking out of it. There's a bruise on Ryouta's cheek, and his clothes are scuffed. All of them look surprised to see you.
Oh well.
You ignore Ryouta's alarmed, "{ }?! What—" and the strangers' clamouring demands of who the fuck are you, and where the fuck did you come from. Much as you love meeting new people, you really don't have the patience for this right now.
"Ryouta! There you are, I've been looking all over, listen, I think—"
Except, you don't get to finish your sentence. The biggest human, barely an inch taller than you but much, much broader, steps in your way, gets right in your face. You stop, affronted, and he laughs, "Oooooh, what's this? Got yourself a pretty bird, huh?"
He's looking at you. Leering at you.
Like you're prey.
Like you're prey.
Wow.
The strangers titter. Ryouta starts to say something —
You grab the rude human by the biceps, lift him bodily from the ground, and drop him none too gently off to the side. Out of your way. "Anyway. Ryou—"
And that's when all hell breaks loose. Well. Kind of. A man leaps for you with a cry of bitch, only to catch your (unshod, naturally) foot in his vulnerable solar plexus, flinging him unceremoniously into another of his rude friends with enough force to dent the shipping container they crash into. The sorry excuse for a brawl — if you can call it that — is over before it really gets going, and you're barely breathing hard when you turn back to face Ryouta. He's clutching the makeshift nailbat and gawking at you like a fish out of water.
You plough on like nothing happened, "Hi. Have you heard from { }? He didn't come back from his nightshift and he's not answering his phone."
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1
You calls {someone}. Again. It's the twelfth time you've tried and, once again, it goes straight to voicemail. He asks you to leave a message. You hang up instead, scroll down your contact list. Charlie? Maybe Charlie? No, no, bad idea. Definitely not Rose … You come to "Ryouta" and pause, hovering over the call button.
You hit the button. The phone rings … and rings, and rings, and rings … … … … and goes to voicemail. "Yo, Ryou here. Can't take your call right now. Leave a message and I'll get back t'ya later!"
"Don't get back to me later!" You growl, frustrated. Why isn't he picking up? He needs to pick up, come on. "Get back to me now!"
You growl again. Actually growl, with a show of teeth far more dragon than human. Fuck. Okay. Ryou's not answering either, but at least his phone actually rang. That's a good sign. You shove your phone into the pocket of your skirt and sets off at a run, out of the garden and down the long lane lined with cottages and their gardens. The moment you reach the cover of a patch of trees, you shift mid stride, your wings snapping out to launch you up into the sky. You're a dragon, with a vast, 40 foot wingspan and feathers that glitter iridescent in the sunlight.
It's a short flight to reach York, barely ten minutes. A little magic keeps the humans from spotting you as you soar above the city, hunting for even the slightest trace of your quarry; sight, scent, sound. Anything. Anything at all. (There's a thrill to the hunt, despite all your worry and frustration.)
When you finally — finally! — catch a familiar scent in the wind, you don't waste time, dropping down from the sky in a move that you know would give him a heart attack if he were there to see it. You spiral down land to soundlessly in a nearby alley; you're in your human form before your feet hit the floor. You can hear Ryou now. Him and six strangers, arguing. Hm. You make a beeline to join him in the grounds of the abandoned factory.
… Where he stands loosely surrounded. One of the six strangers is carrying a piece of wood with nails sticking out of it. There's a bruise on Ryouta's cheek, and his clothes are scuffed. All of them look surprised to see you.
Oh well.
You ignore Ryouta's alarmed, "{ }?! What—" and the strangers' clamouring demands of who the fuck are you, and where the fuck did you come from. Much as you love meeting new people, you really don't have the patience for this right now.
"Ryouta! There you are, I've been looking all over, listen, I think—"
Except, you don't get to finish your sentence. The biggest human, barely an inch taller than you but much, much broader, steps in your way, gets right in your face. You stop, affronted, and he laughs, "Oooooh, what's this? Got yourself a pretty bird, huh?"
He's looking at you. Leering at you.
Like you're prey.
Like you're prey.
Wow.
The strangers titter. Ryouta starts to say something —
You grab the rude human by the biceps, lift him bodily from the ground, and drop him none too gently off to the side. Out of your way. "Anyway. Ryou—"
And that's when all hell breaks loose. Well. Kind of. A man leaps for you with a cry of bitch, only to catch your (unshod, naturally) foot in his vulnerable solar plexus, flinging him unceremoniously into another of his rude friends with enough force to dent the shipping container they crash into. The sorry excuse for a brawl — if you can call it that — is over before it really gets going, and you're barely breathing hard when you turn back to face Ryouta. He's clutching the makeshift nailbat and gawking at you like a fish out of water.
You plough on like nothing happened, "Hi. Have you heard from { }? He didn't come back from his nightshift and he's not answering his phone."