lazybox | [Dragon AU] Once more into the breach

[Dragon AU] Once more into the breach

Military work. An obligation to any dragon who wanted to live peacefully - to have even a chance of living to old age. Most humans regarded it as a way for adolescent dragons to burn off their hormonal urges relatively safely, especially the males.

The dragons themselves knew that the reality was a bit more complicated. Young dragons had a need to claim territory, but with their own populations dwindling and human populations surging, there was very little territory left they could claim. And with most matings chosen by genetic matches, there wasn't a need to impress potential mates anyway.

So they sent their young to defend human territory instead. It had the side benefit of making the humans think they were tamed, safely under control, and so it protected their kind as a whole. Human technology, quick to develop, could easily spell the end of dragons entirely if their kind was seen as a threat, instead of allies.

By the time they hit puberty, most dragons knew this. It didn't mean they didn't chafe under it, especially those with more stubborn and independent personalities. The dragon seated in a human chair, trying to ignore how his shoulders itched under the shape-changing magic, was a particularly magnificent example of that.

The flight commander's office was small, especially for a facility designed to accommodate dragons, and even though his human shape fit inside perfectly well, Asch couldn't help but feel caged in. Part of it, he knew, was the lack of windows, which itched at him more than it would even most other dragons. Claustrophobia and large creatures didn't get along well.

Military dragons were appointed flight partners for their term of service; sometimes it was more than one, depending on how lucky the human was. Dragons could restore themselves with magic and recover from injury much better than their human counterparts - a benefit to shapeshifting, certainly - but sharing that healing outside of a pair bond was difficult. And true bonds were rare these days.

All the better, as far as Asch was concerned. He wanted this section of his life over with as quickly as possible. Not that he hated humans - just the opposite. He found them endlessly entertaining and innovative... Outside of the rigid structure of the military.

Inside of it, well, he'd already had a face-off with the commander about the length of his human form's hair. The bright crimson, at least, had gone un-commented-on, as many humans knew that bold colorations were critical points of pride, but being forced to keep it short as well...

Well, it simply wasn't happening. He was already going without his ornaments and usual loose clothes, not to mention going along with the polite cultural requirement of maintaining an entirely human form. For this, the first meeting with his assigned partner, he could manage polite, even if it chafed.

And did it ever chafe. Asch flicked his eyes up at the commander before returning his attention to his dull human-shape nails. He'd at least made a good impression by being early. And he was good at most of the actual tasks the military required of their dragons - a fast, strong flier who could easily bear a rider, skilled at magic, not afraid of violence. For his skill, they were willing to let some things slide.

But not everything. And one of the things they weren't going to slide on was 'no solo operations.'

He really hoped that whoever came through that door was tolerable, or the next couple of years were going to be hell.

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Profiling software? Fortunately, his new partner won't be able to see Asch's eyeroll with his attention focused on the commander. Still, he does sit up a little straighter at the new arrival, looking the teen over.

'Pale as ice' is his first thought - he's seen plenty of ice dragons with darker coloring. It's not too abnormal for him, but on a human, it's startling.

Quiet and fairly respectful, too. Unusual, and maybe not awful. At the very least, it seems like Asch won't have to slip his claws into the offered handshake to make a point. He stands before returning the shake, his grip solid.

Formal introductions are still a little unbearable, though, when you don't get rank. "Asch fon Fabre, of the southern clans." It's close enough equivalent information, anyway, the parts that are meaningful for a human.

Soma nods, and with a crisp salute to the commander he goes to the door and opens it for Asch. Once they're out in the hall, the young rider relaxes into a casual stance, his smile more open without formality to dampen it.

"So, is it okay if I just call you Asch? You can call me Soma. Short names are easier in the field, when you're probably shouting them in the middle of a fight."

Soma is genuinely friendly, that much is obvious from the way he talks and the look in his eyes. He doesn't stare down Asch like he thinks the dragon is inferior. If anything, he seems excited to finally have a dragon partner.

"Did you get your lunch yet? I was waiting until we met before hitting the mess hall."

Surprises and surprises; Asch actually blinks at the door being held open for him before going through it. His posture doesn't immediately relax as they leave the office; rather, it's as they're leaving the building to the mess hall that something slides out of his shoulders.

"That's fine." It's actually a bit unusual; even among other dragons, he's used to a barked 'Fabre' unless they need to distinguish him from his brother. "And no, I haven't."

He usually tries to avoid the stares in the cafeteria, eating either at the very beginning or very end of meal times. No chance of that now, though.

"I think they have pot roast or fried chicken today. Tough choice."

Soma walks briskly, more relaxed than most soldiers but still with purpose. He holds the door to the mess hall for Asch again, which nets him a few odd but knowing looks from the people inside. It seems Asch's partner has a reputation on base, but Soma barely pays it any attention. There's nothing self-conscious in his demeanor to indicate that the looks or even a few random whispers bother him in the slightest.

Those whispers also bring Asch's name into play, mainly along the lines of looks like they paired the troublemakers up, not surprised. That's when Soma sighs and rolls his eyes, definitely not a very military response. "Just ignore them," he insists quietly to Asch. "This is the military, you'd think we'd be past this high school kind of crap, but when there's no officers around they say whatever."

"Depends how greasy the chicken is. Half the time places like this it doesn't taste like chicken, just a ball of grease." Oh dear, it seems Soma's landed himself a food snob on top of everything else.

The whispers go mostly ignored, except for a faint puff of what has to be smoke as Asch huffs. "They'll say whatever they want to make themselves feel superior. Talk's cheap."

None of them were actually willing to challenge him, which is good enough for Asch. Though it probably helps that he's one of the few dragons who has actually paid enough attention to human martial arts to be able to stand on his own in this form without magic. Let them talk.

Soma's sharp eyes catch that faint puff of smoke, his faint smile stretching into a grin. "Fire, huh? Or at least I'm guessing since that didn't look like frost or steam."

They finally get to the front of the line, where Soma takes the pot roast and a chicken thigh. Since the beef has potatoes, onions, and carrots already, he passes the other veggies to grab a small salad, followed by a slice of apple pie. "Chicken actually looks pretty decent, so don't worry about the grease." A bottle of unsweetened lemon tea goes on his tray, and once he scans his ID wristband he waits for Asch.

"Good eyes." There's a faint smile on Asch's face, now. It takes a good bit to impress him, really, but having a partner who seems to know what he's about - it's a good sign. A very good sign.

He takes a good sniff while standing over the chicken, pausing thoughtfully, but ultimately goes for an extra-large helping of the roast, bypassing the vegetables and salad bar entirely in favor of picking carefully through the oranges until he finds two of them that satisfy him. An apple pie for him, too, and a bottle of plain water. His ID is on one of those retractable tags hanging off his jacket, rather than a wristband - less chance of it getting damaged by transformative magic that way. It's only meant to be temporary until saddle fittings this afternoon anyway.

"I've read a lot about dragons. Memorized most of their ranges, what types tend to appear where, different diets... the one thing that bothers me is there's almost nothing on etiquette. It's upsetting. How are humans supposed to know how to treat you guys unless we understand your customs?"

He doesn't flail or make a big deal over it. It's just a simple fact that makes him unhappy. It's racism, something Soma can't abide in any form.

Soma sits down at a table across from an empty seat for Asch, away from the other soldiers and riders. He's not bothered by their talk, but that doesn't mean he wants to listen to it while he eats. "So if I do or say anything wrong, tell me. I won't be offended, and I'll make sure it doesn't happen again."

That gets a considering look, as Asch sits down. It's clear he's rethinking his first impression of the kid. He knows all too well that most people won't care.

He's thoughtful, as he grabs one of his oranges and starts peeling it. "Well, some of that is because there's about as much of a single 'dragon culture' as there is a single 'human' culture." There's a slight shifting of his nails into something more like proper claws in order to dig into the orange's skin. "Clans in a single region will be mostly alike, especially with interbreeding and cooperative upbringing of hatchlings, but the way things are done in my clan is very different from how they'd be done in the north or east."

"See, this is what I mean." Soma pokes his pot roast with his fork repeatedly to punctuate his point. "No one writes about this, and it's not like dragons would be offended if we asked politely. Maybe I should write a book of my own on my downtime, get people thinking."

He stuffs a chunk of beef in his mouth and chews thoughtfully, his eyes taking on a faraway look. "... well, you'd give me info on the southern clan, right?" he asks once he swallows. "And I'm sure I could get someone from the north and east to help out. Really make everyone remember that you guys are sentient just like us."

"I know enough about them to get by, at least. Most of the dragons here are easterners, with a couple mountain clan types and a few mixes." The fact that he's the only southerner is another thing that makes him stick out from the rest; it's no surprise, really, that he's eating away from the rest of the dragons even outside of these circumstances.

He keeps stripping the orange, piling the peel up on an empty section of his tray. "It's a distribution that doesn't have too many communication problems, at least. Lorelei help us if they ever transfer a sea-goer in here, though, they damn near don't even speak the same language as the easterners. And that's just this continent."

Soma soaks up all this eagerly, listening with rapt attention and mentally cataloging everything for later. Sea dragons, easterners, mountain clans, southerners... maybe dragons are even more diverse than humans. But that clearly leads to prejudice just like it did with humanity; the way Asch is ignored by other dragons is painfully obvious. Soma feels isolated from the other humans thanks to his unusual appearance, but he doesn't mind it too much. How does Asch feel about it? Is he really indifferent, or is his persona a mask to hide deeper feelings?

"Doesn't sound much different than us. I speak a few languages but I still can't talk to everyone around the whole world. A lot of people just assume all dragons are the same, huh?" He's heard them referred to as, among other things, "scaly grunting lizards." It makes him really angry every time.

It's not even as though all of them are that scaley, as is evidenced any time someone looks out to see the base's flight; Asch is feathery and the mountain dragons are thickly furred.

Asch nods agreement. "We have an easier time with the language between distant groups thanks to certain forms of magic, but it doesn't translate culture."

A few white strings of orange rind join the larger pile of peel as he delicately breaks the fruit apart, piling the natural slices in another section of the tray. It seems he's the sort to clean the whole thing first, then eat. "Same thing with human languages. If you know what to listen for, you can usually hear the draconic undertones coming through."

Because most dragons don't bother to actually learn the language in depth the way humans do by necessity. If Soma does listen closely, he'll eventually realize that Asch must be one of the ones who did.

It's definitely something Soma is picking up on as he talks to Asch. If anything, it makes him more determined to learn the southern dialect of the dragons' tongue, even just a few words, out of respect for his new partner.

"Well, I want to learn whatever you can teach me. The more we know about each other, the better we can work together. So feel free to ask me anything you want to know, too." Even with the mouthful of food he starts on after speaking, the corners of his eyes crinkle slightly in a genuine smile. Tomorrow's orientation can't come soon enough, in his opinion. Almost as exciting as that is knowing they'll be getting the quarters of a real rider team later today.

Unfortunately he might have difficulty with that, since the various draconic languages aren't exactly designed for human hearing.

Asch pops a slice of orange into his mouth and nods; he's not sure what, if anything, he would even ask at this point. His new partner has much less restrained curiosity than he's used to. Still, as he munches his way through the orange, his increasing comfort shows in the flaking away of his magic guise. It's just a few feathers, mostly at the edges of his hairline, but it's enough to register as clearly not human to anything more than a passing glance.

He continues to eat, though if Soma has any further questions, he doesn't seem like he'd mind too much having to swallow in order to talk.

Soma seems content to eat in amicable silence for now, though he does keep stealing glances at Asch's emerging draconic traits. There's no judgment or anything negative in his looks, but rather a clear admiration that's respectful rather than uncomfortably fawning.

Once their meal is done and their trays turned in for washing, Soma glances at the time. "We've got just enough time to get to the tack station without rushing." Though he can't imagine dragons much enjoy wearing the saddle harnesses most of the time. Soma knows even the voluntary enlisters consider them symbols of servitude and ownership, even slavery. It makes him wish he could ride bareback at least, but without a safety harness there's a definite risk of falling off Asch's back.

Indeed, Asch doesn't look particularly excited about the prospect. "The one good thing about custom sizing is that nobody else will be there," he mutters, flicking his nails together absently. They're still a bit clawed. "I get enough shit for being an 'exotic fit' without being with the rest of them trying to be 'helpful.'"

Yeah, he's not terribly impressed with his fellows, though he is a bit surprised that Soma comes with him across the yard.He would have expected that the boy would want to go settle in his quarters instead; there's no actual call for him to come along for this (hopefully last) saddle fitting.

It's not that Soma wants to gawk at Asch's fitting. He's going along for support. Maybe talking to Asch will distract the dragon from any mental discomfort. He's also pretty sure the tack team will want to see how well he sits in the custom saddle as well, seeing as how he's relatively tall compared to Asch's human form. With having to shrink the saddle to accomodate the human form's smaller stature, Soma hopes it will still let him ride comfortably when unfolded into its full state.

The tack team isn't surprised at Soma accompanying Asch into the sprawling structure housing gear storage and a fitting area big enough for even the larger dragons. Practically speaking, Soma might want to be sure there's no embarrassing problems at orientation, or maybe he's just that curious to see Asch transform close up. Whatever Soma's reasons are for tagging along, it's none of their concern and they're not about to ask.

Soma turns in the fitting card he was issued, and once they match it to Asch's ID number, the crate with the custom saddle is wheeled out. While Soma signs forms, the saddle gets unpacked and held up to Asch's back for a quick eyeballed size check.

Asch, for his part, scans the ID attached to his jacket with a sigh and then shrugs the whole thing off, draping it over a hook that's hopefully intended for that purpose, and if not, oh well. He can't really be bothered to care. Once the eyeballing is done, he steps into the open area in the center of the room.

This, at least, feels better. Most of his clothes are just constructs of the magic, so they fade into his skin or outright become feathers as he starts to shift, arms raised above his head. His wings stretch upwards the same way as they appear, and then there's enough shifting in his legs that his weight falls forward and he has to catch himself on his forelegs. A few dragons are built such that they can stay bipedal easy, but he isn't one of them, certainly not while in the midst of a transformation. His tail swishes across the floor like a cat's, back and forth and annoyed as the last of his feathers grow back in.

Then, of course, he has to flop with his stomach to the ground so that the heavy saddle can actually be lifted up between his wings without too much trouble. Another of the few things being small is good for.

Soma is just finishing his signature on the last form as Asch starts to change. His pen trails off the end of his name as he stares with wide eyes, watching the crimson being transforming so close by. Asch is even more amazing up close than he was in the sky, so distant, all bright scales and soft-looking plumes.

The tack manager witnessing his signatures takes one look at Soma's rapt expression and snorts. "Weirdo," he mutters under his breath, but Soma barely registers the disdainful word.

As the tack team lifts the saddle onto Asch, some of his feathers are pinched the wrong way under it. Soma hustles over and, lifting the saddle with one hand, slips his hand under it to fix them. "You can't shove saddles into place on feathered types, you'll bend the plumes and rip them out. It hurts and it can cause infection. You guys should know that."

Normally, the tack team would give rookies shit for questioning their methods, but despite the looks they give Soma they back down without a word. Something about him keeps them in check to a degree....

Which is good, because Asch hisses slightly to emphasize that yes, the kid's words are right and correct. He shakes his shoulders a little under the saddle - not enough to jostle it completely off, but enough that the feathers slide mostly back into place. Much better.

The feathers don't just look soft, either; they definitely are soft under Soma's hand, with a faint but distinct feeling of natural oils. After a moment, he sighs and settles. At least whoever made the saddle knew what they were doing; the straps are thick enough that they won't easily slide between feathers and chafe, and there's very few metal buckles in places where they could get caught and pinched. Most of the actual attachments are either well up on the saddle itself or down past the point where the feathers transition into smooth, snakelike scales on Asch's lower torso and belly.

The attendants get a small puff of smoke as they reapproach, but Asch lets them start buckling the thing in place without further complaint, though his long neck swings so he can keep one eye on them.

Soma helps with the fasteners, smoothing down feathers here and there and adjusting padding where necessary. Once finished, he strokes Asch's neck until the final inspection by the team is done. "Are you okay? I'm sorry if that hurt, I'll make sure it doesn't happen again."

One of the team members gestures at the saddle as they all step away. "Hmph. Okay, fly-boy. Mount up and see how it feels."

Nodding, Soma steps into the stirrup and swings himself up onto Asch's back. He fits into the saddle with surprising comfort, and with the southerner's lesser bulk his legs aren't splayed out as much as with the standard size dragon represented in the simulator. "Feels good." He rocks a bit in the saddle, looking for pinch points and finding none. "Asch, can you flex your wings? I want to see how it feels for both of us with you mobile."

The apology gets a snort, and if Soma is paying enough attention, an eyeroll and a faint tip of Asch's snout towards the rest of the humans in the room. They're idiots, he didn't really expect anything different.

Once Soma is relatively settled, he starts with actually standing up, wings stretching only incidentally as he paces around the room a couple times. "Not bad," he says, magic pitching the words to Soma's ears only. Indeed, the words are a construction of magic entirely, not corresponding with any rumble of noise that Soma would be able to feel in his body. "Probably going to want to tighten that stomach strap another inch or two eventually, though."

The feeling of an actual dragon moving under him, all muscle and sinew, is incredible. How did they ever subjugate these majestic creatures? And the channeled speech is equally amazing, a private channel of communication meant only for the two of them. If only he could make his words for Asch's ears alone, too.

"Only if it won't cause you discomfort. The rest of the harness around your shoulders should keep it from rotating, though I do wonder if it could slip enough to pinch a wing." Soma sighs. "I know we're not cleared for flight until tomorrow, but do you want to walk to our new barracks like this, get a feel for everything that way?"

Asch's wings and shoulders go up and down in what is clearly a shrug, if a somewhat unusual one. "Just make sure to get my jacket, stupid ID badge and all."

He pads over so Soma can swipe it off the hook, taking some small pleasure in the way the tack team scatters out of his way. One of the smarter ones takes the opportunity to swing the saddlebags and weapons harness over the portion of the saddle behind Soma and get at least the side they can reach attached properly.

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