THIS IS JUST A PSL NOW I GUESS;

[fossick]

(( used the wrong method with the wrong technique ))

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[fossick]

[Not a bluff at all, then. Credit where it's due; she's fearless. Well, Weir won't balk or suddenly become a blushing mess just because she's undoing a few buttons down her shirt, hiking up his brow. This works in his favor where trying to puzzle her out is concerned.]

Some.

[Anyway,,

He stands, turns his chair around, and sits again with his back to her. Don't worry, he won't peek.]

[luciole]

[Ah what a terrible man. But it's a thrill in its own way when both parties assert themselves, neither willing to back down. It's almost like feeling alive.

The rustling of cloth ceases and she calls to Weir.]

You can turn around now. And don't worry.

[The dragon stirs under her skin.]

Fang won't bite.

[Not this time.

Fang is stationary and engulfs the whole of her back while resting between flowers that were added on by another artist. While Flora and Feather are boldly colored, but innocuous, Fang is a black outline to contrast with the painted blooms, but intimidating all the same. He remains the most hidden not only by virtue of being on her back but because anyone with even a lick of sixth sense can't help but recoil at the fierceness that radiates from his glare.

And Fang is glaring at Weir.

Try something. I dare you.

Fang doesn't speak of course. Only Lucinda can hear her friends' voices for they only deem her worthy of their words.]

[fossick]

[He stands again, but doesn't bother to turn his chair around, only turning himself to face her and-

Ah, there it is. Good to put a "face" to the thing he can sense lurking beneath, that ineffable power that he could only ever describe as sharp.

And now he sees why. Fang is named appropriately. Claws, a maw with teeth, curving horns as though they might be carved from wood. A serpentine body, though, that coils and drifts through those inked blossoms. There's something... familiar about the sight. Distantly, it reminds him of something.]

𝔻ℝ𝔸𝔾𝕆ℕ.

[No, that can't be. It's unlike any dragon he's seen depicted. Or wyvern or wyrm, for that matter. The static hisses in his head again, as though to sense his doubt.]

A dragon of CALIFORNIA, we told you you should have asked-

[But it would share the same ferocity, that piercing glare, the danger of being rent in two should one wrong move be made, feeling small in the face of a greater, sublime creature.]

Is Fang a dragon?

[luciole]

Mm? Yes, yes he is.

[She has her arms crossed against her chest as she rolls her bare shoulders.]

An innocuous name for my fiercest friend. Are dragons of particular significance here?

[Lucinda kind of interprets the tone of his question as bafflement but she waits for him to reply before making any other assumptions.]

[fossick]

[Well, there's an issue with that question, Lucinda. He doesn't know, if in this newly remade world, dragons still possess the history they once did — they may not even exist any longer for all he could hazard. He hasn't been beyond Turner's Vale ever since he reawakened here with a new heart beating in his chest, and it's not as though he ever had any interest in hunting down drakes, dragons, or anything in-between.

He's a hunter, but he's not that kind of hunter. Not the suicidal kind. Even with his abilities, he isn't sure if he'd be able to command something so big, and even if he could, the focus that would take—

The pause is poignant, deciding on how to answer. He supposes he'll just say what he recalls and leave it vague.]

Great and powerful creatures, seen maybe once in a lifetime if a man’s lucky. I’ve never set my eyes on one, only from the plates in books. I hear tell they make it a point to live in places where mankind cannot reach them.

[Honestly? Mood though.]

So it makes me wonder how you ended up with the spirit of one etched on your back.

[A strange-looking one, but confirmed to be one all the same. Maybe they’re not so rare in her world?]

[luciole]

I wonder the same sometimes.

[Lucinda starts to slip her arms back into her sleeves and soon Fang is hidden from view once again.]

Dragons exist... Have existed? Well, their state of existence is in question but I believe Fang makes a good case for their status. There are other creatures that exist hidden away from the mundane or in pockets that cannot be reached.

[like weird lake lizards or something]

All three of my friends... Well, I encountered them when I was young. They were drawn to me for one reason or another.

[Her plight. Her misery. And granting them kindness despite her having little shown to her in the waking world. It's a long story.]

It's been a long while... But I think they were the first things that ever became angry on my behalf. They scared other ghosts away from my body and continue to do so.

[fossick]

[Weird lake lizards? Don’t be silly.]

So they felt sorry for you.

[Which is a less graceful way of phrasing it the same as she did: angry on her behalf. But something in his brow pinches, just faintly, as he watches her slip her arms back into her shirt. Should he look away again? Well. Unless told otherwise he won’t.]

Strange things are often drawn to those in need.

[Or bleeding out underground, on the edge of death. Same difference.]

Those desperate. Still, a dragon… That would make you a dangerous woman.

[luciole]

Yes, yes, I was very pitiful.

[She laughs it off.]

And he's a spirit of a dragon mind you. But same difference. Maybe.

[Fang was extremely dangerous. There aren't many people in the supernatural world that have a hard counter to such an intangible body that creates such damage to the body and/or mind.

But Weir doesn't have to know that.

Fully covered, she turns to look at the man again, clapping her hands together decisively.]

Show's over! I think I'll get ready to sleep. Early to bed, early to rise as they say!

[Except, as Weir has already experienced, she's basically dead, and waking her up is annoying.]

[fossick]

[Dragon, spirit of a dragon. Somehow, he thinks there's little difference in the way of danger.

He'll have to think about this newfound information, what to do with it. What he should do with her. Is this going to be more trouble than it's worth? What is it worth at all?]

...I'll clean up here, then. Go on and retire.

[He's already making his way around her after pushing his chair in.]

We'll see exactly how early you manage to rise. Don't make me drag you out of bed in the morning.

[luciole]

[That would be the perfect opening for another tease, another flirtation. Lucinda knows when to reign those in. It can be saved for a new day.

Besides, he got an eyeful of her back already, she can give it a rest.]

Good night. And sweet dreams.