Between a Rock and a Hard... you know [Open - Green Flight]

Z'jan was getting sick of this. It was supposed to be a fucking adventure. It was supposed to be fun. It started when he'd overheard someone in the dining hall explaining how the Northern Mountains had dozens of springs and hidden caves just waiting to be explored. So, naturally, as soon as he finished eating Z'jan had harassed Ghalath into taking him out here. But she'd seemed exceedingly unhappy about the arrangement. More so than usual, at least.

"Ghalath, I swear to Faranth if you don't stop complaining..."

[ghalath] these rocks... I hate them.[/ghalath]

The dark green glowered and glowed from a nearby ledge, her eyes swirling in a mix of anger and anxiety. Z'jan set his jaw. She was being a punk. He had enough on his mind at the moment. Namely, not dieing. Muscles strained against the force, veins bulging in his arms, tendons tight as bow strings, Z'jan was free climbing. His thin leather boots, ideal for this kind of activity, molded into the rock face. He could nearly feel the jagged edges of the stone pressing into his toes.

"I'm not--" but his left foot broke the rock it was perched on, sending a tumble of little pebbles down below. It wasn't a sheer drop, but a 75 degree angle wasn't exactly something to play on, either. "--in the mood right now!" His last words came through gritted teeth as his arms and right leg snapped to attention, tightening, taking the extra, abruptly redistributed weight. He strained, left foot searching for something... anything...!

It touched on a outcropping. It was just enough. With a husky grunt and a red face, Z'jan pulled himself bodily onto the next ledge, spilling onto the moderately flat surface. His muscles relaxed. He flopped back against the cold rock; it felt like the softest bed he'd ever known. "If you don't like it, you can go home. Someone will find me eventually. Or I'll just plummet to my death. Either way." Z'jan was being a dick, again. But he hated whining: people, dragons... didn't matter! Buck up. Get over it. Shards! Ghalath wasn't the only who got to be in a bad mood sometimes.

Ghalath eyed him, peering down from her perch one ledge over and two up. Z'jan met her gaze. Held it. Were they staring off? Both were glaring. Ghalath's eyes were swirling colors Z'jan hadn't seen before. But he refused to be soothed by pretty colors. He wondered what colors his eyes would be swirling, if they could. Black, maybe. With bits of red angry-ness.

Ghalath snorted. Z'jan grit his teeth. This cliff wasn't big enough for the both of them... "Fine! Go then!"

And suddenly, with a resolve Z’jan had never felt from her before, Ghalath did just that: she took off, leaving Z'jan orphaned on his perch. Z'jan could only blink. Despite having just inadvertently commanded it, he was at a loss. His mouth opened… closed again. What had just happened? "Hey!--" he started…but something stopped him. An impact, a hard something colliding with his insides. It nearly knocked the wind out of him. It was like a punch: a dirty, low... aching, firey, intensely desirable, lust-filled punch. Right to the dick.

Z’jan’s breath caught in his throat. He shook his head to clear it. But the fog didn't clear. The fog wasn't fog. The fog was clouds. Ghalath saw clouds. Z'jan saw clouds. He saw what she saw, with only a little bit of truth in the periphery. Dangerous truth. Cliffs. Ledges. He snapped back against the mountainside, frightened of falling for the first time in years. "Shit? Shit! Holy shit..." the words came out in quick succession. His heart hammered in his chest. His heart? Or Ghalath's? As she pumped thick green ichor through her veins and drove her dark, mottled body upward, higher, higher...

Only when she was up, dappled by clouds, did she make her call. Her voice, so quiet and distant sounding in Z'jan's mind, now came out in a bold, brassy bellow. It was an angry call. And angry lusty call. Surely this couldn’t be his dragon... his dragon didn’t make noise. His dragon didn’t like to be touched. Z'jan swallowed, mouth dry.

His dragon was rising. His dragon. Rising. Now. Not tomorrow. Not next turn. Very right now.

Z'jan grit his teeth, back pressed against the mountain, digging his fingernails... no, his talons... into the pebbles and mountain silt that surrounded him. His eyes wanted to roll back into his head, to give over all real vision to Ghalath.

Fuck, fuck, fuck... that's all he wanted. That's all she wanted.

And they both wanted it very right now.

Hey guys! Ghalath’s maiden flight is still open, but will be moving forward. Feel free to join at any point, though I realize the location is less than ideal! PM me with any questions. Thanks for reading!