Bartholomew
“You callin’ me fat twig-boy?” is the immediate snapped reply, letting his body go loose with deadweight to make himself harder to dislodge. Except that comes with the added problem of being straight overtop the stranger when his frustrated command only prompts ‘Boreal’ - the dragon, Bart assumes - to be even more of a menace instead of obeying. Bartholomew wheezes pitifully as the dragon flops onto his back, not unlike a large dog, crushing the air out of his lungs for a brief moment. Damn it, but the whuffle of air into his hair is cute.
What’s less cute is the dude’s hand getting all up close and personal in his face. Bart’s nose wrinkles as it’s poked, lip curling like a feral dog warning not to get too close. Harmless (for now) because he doesn’t bite the way he wants to. The guy is finally giving up the ghost after all, that’s more important. Scowling, he drops his head shamelessly to lay the weight of his head on Talyson’s collarbone, content to make the young man uncomfortable if it means sparing the crick in his neck. “Hell, that can be an excuse ya use on anyone wanderin’ the streets’a their own city,” he grumbles. “Ain’t ever seen an Outlander before? I know I got more style than ya, but that don’t mean I come from Stormbreak.” The name of the land is spoken with hateful acidity. Lifting his head grumpily he manages to wedge an elbow to prop himself up, right above Tal’s shoulder. Compromising position increasing tenfold. “People ‘round here been hurt enough by random folk who hate what they are more’n who. I’m cool bein’ a dick if it means I prevent that happenin’ one time outta ten.” Which is as close to an apology as Tal will get, given Bart still doesn’t know where the hell he’s from.
What’s less cute is the dude’s hand getting all up close and personal in his face. Bart’s nose wrinkles as it’s poked, lip curling like a feral dog warning not to get too close. Harmless (for now) because he doesn’t bite the way he wants to. The guy is finally giving up the ghost after all, that’s more important. Scowling, he drops his head shamelessly to lay the weight of his head on Talyson’s collarbone, content to make the young man uncomfortable if it means sparing the crick in his neck. “Hell, that can be an excuse ya use on anyone wanderin’ the streets’a their own city,” he grumbles. “Ain’t ever seen an Outlander before? I know I got more style than ya, but that don’t mean I come from Stormbreak.” The name of the land is spoken with hateful acidity. Lifting his head grumpily he manages to wedge an elbow to prop himself up, right above Tal’s shoulder. Compromising position increasing tenfold. “People ‘round here been hurt enough by random folk who hate what they are more’n who. I’m cool bein’ a dick if it means I prevent that happenin’ one time outta ten.” Which is as close to an apology as Tal will get, given Bart still doesn’t know where the hell he’s from.
They say I need therapy 'Cause I've got no symmetry
but maybe I just don't fit in
but maybe I just don't fit in
