I Can Make Money From This!

DivinePrince

Well-Known Member
Inactive
Oct 16, 2013
65
$10 per flight.

Dark scales shone dully in the cloudy sky. Thirty feet of dragon sat on it's haunches at the edge of a small cliff dropping off into ocean water, the beach a distance away. The book it held very delicately beneath long claws looked so small in comparison that one would end up wondering if it could even see the words on the pages. Frankly, the hardest thing was actually just trying not to accidentally shred the pages as he turned them. Screw that, he had to spend some time as a dragon once in a while, it was his other half. A metal canteen full of tea sat nearby; he put the book down and reached over a scaled arm over to it, picking the cup lid off the tin and pouring some tea with great concentration and one or two accidental miss-aims.

A dragon drinking tea? How amusing, he thought to himself, jaw tilting open,stretching at the corners in the closest thing a dragon can get to a smile. He did not have any lips, which made it a little harder to drink the way a human would, but he could manage. Lifting the cup, he trickled the tea into his marginally parted maw; having the decency not to open his mouth more than needed just to have a simple sip of tea.

Long tail thumped at the rocky ground in satisfaction as luminous, nearly glowing baby blue eyes looked up to the sky. Sadly, one cup of tea was equal to a single sip; which sucked, in all honestly. The cup was a sip, the canteen was a cup.

And so it was with a mere slight tinge of frustration as he placed the cup back onto the canteen and picked back up his book, Tristin, who was currently not a bit the appearance people usually saw him to be, went back to his reading.

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<a href='http://i1065.photobucket.com/albums/u387/Defaultsettings/terrorizer_by_thelustyargonianmaid-d5t46vk_zps13fb8519.png' target='_blank' rel='nofollow'>This is our dear dragon boy </a>
 

Tokoz

Member
Inactive
Feb 15, 2014
13
The heels of his shoes clicked rhythmically on the hardened ground, and his snow-colored hair bobbed back and forth in it's neat ponytail. As Bran walked through hills, approaching the ocean, the shadows seemed to lengthen around him. Granted, his current demeanor would likely frighten most people. Teenage boys are not generally in the habit of carrying their own heads, and talking to people while alone.

Sighing, the boy gestured towards the cliff, and, looking at mid air, as far as anyone else could tell, asked "Is that where you fell off?" From Bran's point of view, he was speaking, however, to a man in armor, bearing a faded tabard across his chest.

"Aye, young ferryman, and the body lies beneath the sands to this day, I am sure!" The knight crossed his arms, and nodded resolutely. Bran, meanwhile, scratched his chin, looking exasperated. "You said that about the last 3 outcroppings. I get that it'll help you pass on, but you'd think you'd be able to remember where you died."

Looking rather offended, Sir Spectral, as the irish teen had taken to calling his bother, threw his hands into the air. "It has been centuries! I know not where the body I once had is buried after so long. Merely a general area." With a frustrated growl, the boy barked back "Well, unless you can get me a pair of wings, we're stuck on foot. I don't expect to gain a flying horse anytime soon, so you must be out of luck on that front." The one-sided argument, especially the last sentence, carried through the hills, and out to the nearby cliffs.
 
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