Hello loves! While I haven't been writing, I have been working on updating some issues that have been hanging around on the layout! The Character change box is now at the bottom of the page, beside the up/down arrows! Green and Gold dragon flight dates have been shifted to the bottom of the page, where the (useless!) discord widget was located. Where the dragon flights were in the header, is now replaced by a Monthly Event box! This will be updated at the start of each month, with a fun mini-event you can take part in, if you want to! Thistle!
25.Sep.13, 11:41 PM
Z'jan forced himself to his feet with a grunt, a groan and a mental fuck this. He nearly bit his lip off as his ribs burned his sides. I swear by faranth, if anyone makes me laugh... He stood steady for a moment, eyeing his surroundings like a drunk man eyes a table of empty wine glasses. His clothes... they had to be somewhere. He couldn't have lost all of them.
Dear Faranth - procure me undergarments asap - love Z'jan
Stooping painfully, Z'jan reached for a pile of fabric. Fuck. He chucked the shirt at O'wain, not looking up, and not caring much if it hit the other rider in the face. After a bit more scrambling, he found one of his boots. But he could hear the bronze backwinging now. Z'jan straightened stiffly, glancing between the unknown rider sliding down from his dragon and the boot Z'jan currently held in his hand. Well... he could think of one place to put it...
But luckily, the bronzerider had enough to tact to look the other way. Not that it mattered Z'jan huffed to himself, snatching up a few more pieces of clothing, throwing another sock at O'wain, and then finally examining his collected ensemble. His shirt, a Boot, his underpants (I fucking owe you faranth...), and one sock. He sighed gruffly. Fantastic.
With as much dignity as he could muster, he donned the shirt and underwear. He decided against putting on a single boot and sock, mostly because he couldn't figure out what would look more sensible: one boot/sock on one foot, or a boot on one foot and a sock on the other. And when you have to ask yourself those kinds of questions... well, best not even bother.
Stuffing his sock in the boot, Z'jan approached the bronzerider. "Yes," he answered quickly, not letting O'wain squeeze in any sly remarks or clever quips of his own "that'd be great. Thanks, er--" he hesitated on a name. Ghalath would have reminded him. She knew all the bronzes by sight. Z'jan had no idea why. But unfortunately for him, THAT GIRL was busy snoring her brains after getting fucked senseless.
"I'm... Z'jan." The introduction was halfhearted, and nowhere close to his usual cheerful self. But he did manage to muster a somewhat polite smile. After all, this bronzerider was going to give them a lift off the bloody mountain of doom and pain and bruisedom. And... well, it always came back to not goading the gatekeeper, didn't it?
Feeling like this wasn't quite enough, Z'jan rubbed the back of his neck slightly, glancing at the bronze and hoping the scratches, bruises and split lip weren't too obvio---of course they were fucking obvious. What was he thinking? He coughed, cleared his throat. He spoke to V'riy but his eyes never left the bronze. "Sorry I don't... have pants. Anymore."
Dear Faranth - procure me undergarments asap - love Z'jan
Stooping painfully, Z'jan reached for a pile of fabric. Fuck. He chucked the shirt at O'wain, not looking up, and not caring much if it hit the other rider in the face. After a bit more scrambling, he found one of his boots. But he could hear the bronze backwinging now. Z'jan straightened stiffly, glancing between the unknown rider sliding down from his dragon and the boot Z'jan currently held in his hand. Well... he could think of one place to put it...
But luckily, the bronzerider had enough to tact to look the other way. Not that it mattered Z'jan huffed to himself, snatching up a few more pieces of clothing, throwing another sock at O'wain, and then finally examining his collected ensemble. His shirt, a Boot, his underpants (I fucking owe you faranth...), and one sock. He sighed gruffly. Fantastic.
With as much dignity as he could muster, he donned the shirt and underwear. He decided against putting on a single boot and sock, mostly because he couldn't figure out what would look more sensible: one boot/sock on one foot, or a boot on one foot and a sock on the other. And when you have to ask yourself those kinds of questions... well, best not even bother.
Stuffing his sock in the boot, Z'jan approached the bronzerider. "Yes," he answered quickly, not letting O'wain squeeze in any sly remarks or clever quips of his own "that'd be great. Thanks, er--" he hesitated on a name. Ghalath would have reminded him. She knew all the bronzes by sight. Z'jan had no idea why. But unfortunately for him, THAT GIRL was busy snoring her brains after getting fucked senseless.
"I'm... Z'jan." The introduction was halfhearted, and nowhere close to his usual cheerful self. But he did manage to muster a somewhat polite smile. After all, this bronzerider was going to give them a lift off the bloody mountain of doom and pain and bruisedom. And... well, it always came back to not goading the gatekeeper, didn't it?
Feeling like this wasn't quite enough, Z'jan rubbed the back of his neck slightly, glancing at the bronze and hoping the scratches, bruises and split lip weren't too obvio---of course they were fucking obvious. What was he thinking? He coughed, cleared his throat. He spoke to V'riy but his eyes never left the bronze. "Sorry I don't... have pants. Anymore."
