open.

[jalan]

WHO: Drogon, and various other unfortunate souls.
WHERE: Nonah, in two different locations.
WHEN: November 6.
WHAT: A confused, hungry, angry dragon crashes the ordinary lives of innocent citizens. Check out the OOC post for more information.
WARNINGS: Violence, destruction, and some NPC death.

The first time Drogon touches his claws on solid ground, it's an almost casual affair. Some had already seen the massive shadow of the dragon outlined against a clear blue sky, had already cried out, but the party doesn't start until, with wings stretched at full sail to catch himself, Drogon drops from the sky and lands in the middle of an open plaza. The shrill screams of humans don't immediately snag his attention as he folds his wings and pushes himself towards the large open fountain in the centre of the plaza, snapping at the streaming arcs of water with jagged teeth and a questing tongue before ducking in to take a deep drink.

Beneath him, a trail of fresh blood spatters on the brickwork. There are holes, nearly invisible, neatly punctured into his scaly hide on one side.

When he raises his head, the fountain water is stained pink, and he turns to assess the possibilities of his surroundings. With a leap, he almost takes off, three steady flaps knocking people off their feet under the sudden gusts of wind, before he suddenly crashes down on top of a hotdog stand. Bright sun umbrellas crumple, the open grill crushed between powerful lizardy jaws, and the innocent vendor himself staggering away, already bleeding.

Eventually, Drogon takes to the sky, a little angrier than before.

The second encounter begins with a crash. Wavering in the sky, Drogon's landing seems almost unintentional when he touches down in a street, a silver Prius slamming into his side. With a trumpeting roar, he swings his head around, opening his mouth, bristling and shivering, and a mighty torrent of flame funnels out of his mouth, straight into the offending vehicle. Glass explodes, and whoever was inside meets a very quick end. Climbing on top of the flaming vehicle, impervious to the heat, Drogon roars his discontent towards where other cars have screeched to a halt.

Blood, raw and black and scarlet, glitters on his wings. He growls, snaps, hisses, his thick tail thrashing, catching a man trying to beat a hasty exit on his bicycle hard enough to fling him into a set of postboxes. Disinterested in immediately flying away, Drogon possesses the skinny city street as his own, blood-tinged saliva coming down in ropes from his mouth.

As the howl of sirens begins to lift, there's a secondary problem in the form of a (thankfully closed) computer repairs store that caught flame with its open windows, glass melting. The apartments directly above it soon open windows, figures crawling out onto the fire escapes, cowering at the sight of the winged beast down below.

[ ooc ; please state in your subject header if you are involved in the first or the second scene, and for maximum interactivity, i encourage people who are interacting with drogon directly to group together to streamline my npcing! a few groups per scenario is fine. use the ooc post to coordinate as you like, and comment here if you have any questions. ]

Comments

second - ota

[barbarus]

By the time he found the place of the first attack, the dragon was already gone. A trail of destruction had been left behind him, eliminating Damen's hope that Daenerys might have found him before damage could be done. People had been injured. A hot dog stand had been destroyed. And worst of all, the creature had escaped, likely all the angrier for the resistance he'd encountered.

Fear and adrenaline rush through Damen all at once. He had seen Drogon before, up close and personal, and if not for Daenerys, he would have died that day. He remembers how it felt. There's a sickness churning in his gut as he thinks of all the people in this city, the young and old, the women, the office workers, all of them, and he imagines that creature among them. Who will protect them all? He has no illusions about his own abilities to defeat such a creature, but he cannot stand back and not try. He has only just moved to this city. He can't see its people slaughtered.

He arrives at the second scene just as the dragon throws a man into a postbox. Damen is at his side, crouching to check whether he's alive - and then his head lifts, to see the creature land. He rises, his broadsword in his hands. The sting of battle is upon him, and already he feels stronger. He feels ready. His cry rings through the air, while he surges towards the dragon.

"Drogon!"

That was its name. He has to make it listen. He has to have its attention on him, and not on these innocents.

"You remember me? Well, I will meet you!"

He runs straight on, seeking to distract, and to hold its attention. He'll do this for as long as he's able. Surely others will help? Even if they don't, he will do what he can.


[ ooc: This is open for anyone to jump in! Damen will fall into Berserker mode for this and if anyone would like to plot out a thread please hit me up there! ]

[jalan]

The man is stunned, likely concussed, with scarlet coating half his face like some sort of shining half-mask, but other citizens descend in Damen's wake to help drag him back. (Others heft their phones in time to capture image of the large man, sword drawn, charging down a dragon.)

And oh, Drogon does remember him.

Swinging his head around from where he was terrorising a car (the people inside scrambling to get out of it, stupid with fear), he tastes the air with his nostrils to catch the scent of this one familiar human, one that Daenerys had put her body in front of her, but this memory is a vague thing, as fragile as cobwebs, not enough time spent for him to make that necessary association of who to attack, who to avoid. With the rolling aggression of a predator, Drogon descends from his perch on top of the wrecked, flaming car, his claws scraping asphalt.

Tail snaking like that of an angry cat, he brings his head low and hisses, teeth on display. The fire that comes is a solid horizontal pillar, slashing across the road, headed for Damen feet first to interrupt that charge. Or burn him to a cinder.

[pillz]

Kavinsky is never in Nonah, except when he is. If anyone asked, he'd say, 'hillbilly drugs,' but people don't tend to ask. At seventeen-years-old and marked as an ImPort besides, he looks like trouble of the most generic sort. You might stop and ask him for directions to a nightclub, but less the how d'y'do, what brings you into town? He's too grown up. Too cool.

Except right now, amid screams and dragons, and a berserker holding a motherfucking sword!!, Kavinsky is more like a kid in a candy store.

"Its name is Drogon," he yells at the woman beside him. They're both holding their cellphones out, taking video of the massive reptile and the warrior confronting him. There are like fifty cellphone videos going on at the moment, actually. But Kavinsky is pretty sure his is going to be the best one, because he's the closest, and unlike the woman next to him for example, he isn't slowly edging backward in increasing fear for his life. "He said Drogon. Who is he? Who the fuck is angry Fabio?"

She says she doesn't know. Also, that she is getting out of here.

Kavinsky grunts, and twists his spiky head around to look at Damen. Then Drogo. Damen again. A moment's contemplation, then he starts walking closer, bringing his phone in in case the dragon tries to eat it.

[barbarus]

Fire blasts from the dragon's maw. The seconds that follow seem to stretch wide into hours, days, weeks. There is a key moment when Damen is certain that he is going to die, that everything he has done until now will be wiped away in an instant. He had not even told Laurent where he was going; he had just charged in, unthinking, fearful for the people that might get caught in the dragon's path.

Now Damen is in the dragon's path.

Instinct and adrenaline overrule fear. Despite the fire, despite the horrific sight of the dragon, Damen does what he has always done. He has been trained to meet entire approaching armies head on, and this is no different. He charges. He lets out a bellow of rage, and he rushes forward with one thought in his mind: if he's going to be burned to a crisp, he's going to put his sword in that beast's heart first.

His power activates before he knows it. It's automatic, a response to his anger, to his fear, to his adrenaline. There's a surge of speed and power in his limbs, and all of a sudden, the part of him that's rational and fearful is blocked off. His rage is magnified, and his sword is lightweight in his hand. The fire hits him, and he barely feels its sting. It washes over his skin like water, warming him without burning him. Only his clothing catches, and he's in no state of mind to care about that.

Somewhere behind him, people are still watching. Some of them are filming, although Damen doesn't know it. Somewhere, beneath the rising autonomy of his fury, he hopes the crowd has enough sense to take the chance he's giving them, and leave. But he's also not really thinking about that. His focus is on Drogon, and also Drogon. He doesn't even notice Kavinsky edging closer.

Instead he keeps running, and with another bellow, he leaps, the sword aimed for Drogon's scales.

Of course, it won't pierce them. It's a sword, and those scales are like armour. But he doesn't know that yet, and if he did, his mind would not be ripe to process it. He strikes the flank, and his sword skitters and sparks as metal rebounds off dragonscale. Damen lands in a crouch, still brandishing the weapon, and then he's rushing to attack Drogon's feet.

[jalan]

It's rare that Daenerys has felt true terror for the things her dragons do. She's had the relative luxury of winning their trust and their loyalty, presiding over them with directives, making them her will turned flesh and fire. She has, since then, felt grief when they've strayed beyond her control for the things they have done, and forever she'll remember the little black body that was brought to her throne. She has felt fear for the dragons themselves, and she remembers spears standing out of Drogon's hide like fish spines.

But not this. A surge of nausea roils in her gut as she sees that torrent of flame engulf the man who looks like her sun and stars, although it isn't even this strange association that occurs to her so much as witnessing someone who had been kind to her die so horribly.

And he doesn't die. Flame trailing off his clothing, he stands, still, and swings his sword.

Daenerys moves, then, pushing through a crowd that is fanning outwards, while Drogon hisses his indignance when his quarry lives through the worst of his fire. Damen's sword scrapes a superficial stripe over scaly hide, and then pursues more vulnerable spots, as where bone stands stark against flesh and muscle. Perhaps, if Drogon were better fed, and not still growing so awkwardly into his full sized potential, these would not make such tempting targets. He shrieks, wings spanning wide.

Where Damen's sword next bites, dark blood oozes quick enough to smear on steel, and Drogon crabs aside with surprisingly remarkable agility for a flying lizard the size of a truck, tail thrashing. He dives in to snap at the man, mouth wide, bite fierce.

Elsewhere, Kavinsky's arm is caught in an ungentle but small grip.

"Come away," Daenerys hisses.

[pillz]

Kavinsky has a pretty good shot of the barbarian for a moment there. His broad back and flying hair, sword flashing in the sun. How the dragon, dozens of times his size, seems to move just as quickly. In the background of his video recording, there is definitely going to be immortalized a number of overexcited childish hooting sounds from the videographer in question.

Most of all when the flames descend, roiling, oily orange-and-black through the air. Streaming around Damen's frame, then lifting to find him unscathed. "HOLY FUCK HOLY FUCK," says the narrator, and other helpful commentary such as this.

Also preserved for posterity: fantasy era chiding sounds from small, prematurely greying woman dragging him around by the elbow. Kavinsky swings the cellphone around when he's grabbed. Unlike other disreputable young boys his age, he doesn't tend to flip the fuck out at unexpected grabs and touches. Instead, he falls into line pretty quick. The only resistance he offers is a, "Hey," and then twisting around to point his camera briefly back in the direction of man versus dragon. "Hey, babe, I'm trying to--" and then the frame swivels back on Daenerys again.

He's not a professional, it's not his fault if his eventual audience pukes up all over the pavement. Her braids go briefly out of focus and then sharpen again. The camera then darts down to her arm, the ImPort mark there. Kavinsky blinks, cranes his head around his phone, finally. "Heyyy. You gonna fight it too?"