#temeraire 01

[concordantknight-blog]

@lungtienhsiang

Angels cannot sleep.

Once, thousands of years ago, she had mentioned this to 2 Michael. Her master had immediately scolded her. “Do not say that we cannot sleep. Say instead that we need not sleep. We stand above the petty needs of soft flesh, so that we may become unstoppable instruments of the Law. There is no need to mourn a weakness lost.”

An angelfish nibbles speculatively at White Chain’s right thumb. She doesn’t flinch. The coral reef surrounding her would be beautiful, if she were to look at it. But she doesn’t look. She doesn’t even turn her head.

She only has eyes for the jagged glowing scar across her right palm.

Just last week, before - before all of this - White Chain would have agreed with 2 Michael. But now, she thinks, a dalliance with oblivion would be a relief. She feels trapped inside her own head, with only her mistakes to keep her company. Sleep might offer her a chance to rest.

But there is no rest for the wicked.

[ashininglion-blog]

@lungtienhsiang

The Ark is big. Like, really big. Like, last week Min spent an entire afternoon just scrolling through the contacts list on her holophone, reading names, glancing through pictures of octopus-headed kids and guys with metal jaws and a lot of really attractive women who are so out of her league. A couple new ones pop up every damn day, so Min hasn’t bothered keeping up with the list.

Which is why when she sees, you know, a horse-sized animal ambling leisurely through Tranquility’s woods while she’s grubbing around in the dirt, she doesn’t automatically assume it’s a fellow resident of the Ark. She thinks it’s a horse, at first, but it’s weirdly-coloured for that. She assumes then that it’s a denizen, a bear or like a really long owl, and she whistles at it. Pulls her gloved hand out of the seedbox and waves at it.

It turns around and shakes its head at her, starts tromping over to her. Min’s mouth drops open, and keeps dropping as it approaches. That’s not a bear. Or an owl. Or a horse. “What the fuck,” she mouths, at the ground in case it can read lips. You never know.

“Hi,” she says louder, bright and forced. To the fucking dragon. “Hi! Hello! What’s up?”

[ordennan-steel-blog]

@lungtienhsiang

Gods, but this place is tall. She’s already gone down two or three stories. Hella hopes fervently that it’s not another one of the towers, but nothing’s tried to attack her yet, so it’s probably just some kind of ostentatious hotel. She hopes no one will show up to ask for payment for her unwilling stay.

Hella’s feeling somewhat vulnerable on her own and without her sword, which is why she took the time to put on her armor before leaving the room she woke up in. She still cuts a formidable figure even alone and disarmed, though, and so she’s not overly concerned about being bothered by the other residents, whomever and where ever they might be. She’s on the seventh floor, according to the small plaque beside the stairs. Still a ways to go.

She takes a moment to rest before embarking on the next flight down, and that’s when she hears it - the faint but heavy scrape of animal feet, and what could only be called a scaly noise. It speaks to a large, four-legged reptile; Hella’s heard it before, from the aggressively oversized water monitors that stalk the Ordennan shoreline. This one is similar, though it’s not exactly the same. And water monitors tend to stay near water.

Her hand goes to her waist, where the hilt of her sword isn’t; grasping only air above the empty scabbard. Best to avoid it, then, Hella thinks, even as curiosity brings her forward to try and catch a glimpse of the creature.

[waretheredeyes]

@lungtienhsiang

So. There’s a dragon.

Hilda sees them as soon as she leaves the Lampadias building in the morning. They’re just standing outside, making conversation with a squirrel person, and she has no idea how to react. So far, she’s been openly approaching everyone on the Ark, hoping to meet like-minded people — but that’s a dragon, and all her life she’s been taught to fear and hate them; and even though the Dragonsong War is over now, she knows from meeting Yda that time is strange here and that the dragon may only know a time when Dravanians and Ishgardians were bitter enemies. Don’t black scales usually indicate Nidhogg’s brood? That would make the situation even more dangerous.

The dragon hasn’t noticed her yet, and she could make a retreat, but that’s not in her nature. She’s unarmed, and a Dravanian, even one as small as this, could probably tear her to shreds if they were so inclined. However, if she remains near the door, she can escape into the building if necessary... and then hope the dragon cannot enter without inciting the Enforcement Protocol’s rage.

And now the dragon’s conversation with the local denizen seems to be wrapping up, the squirrel picking up their basket from the ground and bowing slightly. No choice but to act.

“Dravanian!” she exclaims, loud enough to catch the creature’s attention, and she makes sure her voice is steady and clear despite the fear she can’t quite shake. “I mean you no harm. The war between our peoples is over, and I would like to talk with you peacefully. I shall make no move to harm you, but should you attack, I shall not hesitate to call upon the Enforcement Protocol.” (She doesn’t know how to do that, but she imagines the dragon is unaware of that fact.)

Finally, she raises her hands to indicate that she has no weapon, and she waits for the Dravanian’s response.