Itās hard to be out here, surrounded by dragons who, however kind and relatively patient they are toward their unusual guests, simply do not understand the need for high-quality,Ā cooked food. Alright, so thatās hardly the main issue with the strange mess that their lives have become, but it is certainly the one thing Janlenoux finds the most vexing about their new situation. Even when stressed, heās used to being able to help morale by feeding his comrades and brothers, butā¦
Their options out here are extremely limited, and though he does his best, the results just arenāt up to his standards. And then thereās Guerrique - if he truly still is their brother in mind. Janlenoux doesnāt know, as heās not been among those frequently visiting the warrior-turned-wyvern. In fact, heās only been the one to check in on him once, but heād volunteered to do so this time.
The reason is simply because heās been trying - and trying desperately hard - to find something he can prepare that will please both man and dragon, and he thinks he may finally have found something. Maybe. But though there are no few dragons willing to taste-test for him (including one overly-enthusiastic youth who seems determined to try every kind of cuisine in the world), they have no frame of reference. Guerrique might.
And perhaps, because he hasnātĀ been hovering or otherwise bothering his brother, maybe Guerrique will tolerate his company for a time.
āIāve brought you some things,ā he says quietly, not bothering to look up from where he was walking - it wonāt do to trip over an upraised stone and lose the contents of the makeshift tray heās carrying.Ā āIf you wish to try them.ā He knows that whatever else has happened, Guerrique isnāt doing well, and dragon or man it goes against everything that makes him himĀ to keep letting his brother waste away like this. If the best he can do is try to make something tolerable enough for them all to share a meal together again, then heāll doĀ so. No matter how much effort it takes.
Huh. The boy hasnāt...heās never reallyĀ been the one to visit before. Maybe once? He canāt really recall...he knows Zephirin comes to talk to him a lot, and Grinnaux, the daft sod, has tried to get him to wrestle a few times toĀ ācheer him upā, but...not this one.
He shifts slightly, lifting his head to peer with one orange-gold eye at the blue-haired boy and the food he brought. Food? He tries to ignore the rumble of his stomach -- he hasnāt eaten in...not since he was human, he thinks, maybe. Heās afraid to. One of many, many things he doesnāt want to do, doesnāt want to acknowledge, doesnāt want to do it and lose himself.Ā
He almost wants to be angry, actually, that Janlenoux dares to pretend things are normal when heās here a scaly beast that canāt ever be and wonāt ever be and isnāt-- he wants to smack that damned tray out of the manās hands, but even he canāt bear to hurt the childās feelings like that.Ā
He wonders what they see when they look in his eyes. Is he still in there? Is he just deluding himself, pretending Guerrique still exists when heās only a dragon with the same memories? Do they care, still, is he one of their brothers still? Is this just pity?
His head goes in a thousand places at once and he wants to scream, but nothing but a quiet rumble escapes him. Heās too weak to really throw a tantrum and he knows it -- mostly healed he may be but heās refused to move from this spot in who knew how long, and thatās not good even for a dragon. He knows that, but he canāt bring himself to care. Heās almost...wallowing in this bleak depression and almost masochistically enjoying it, isnāt he? Thinking he deserves the pain, no matter how little he regrets doing this.
All the same, the food smells absolutely fucking delicious, and he reluctantly heaves himself up, fifteen-fulm long body unfolding itself to creep over to the man like a scolded child -- heās quite a sight, a wyvern white as snow, with streaks of steel grey shooting across him and an underbelly a soft yellowy cream. His body is as smooth and streamlined as it is large, and his spines are short and needle-thin. And his eyes, orange-gold as they are, still hold some semblance of intelligence, of humanity in them, even if he fears differently.
