Tᴏᴏᴛʜʟᴇss (
no_eels) wrote in
entranceway2013-11-17 05:15 pm
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Entry tags:
- american mcgee's alice: alice liddell,
- bastion: the kid,
- bioshock: elizabeth,
- breaking bad: jesse pinkman,
- btvs: xander harris,
- harry potter: ron weasley,
- httyd: toothless,
- red vs blue: agent washington,
- supernatural: adam milligan,
- supernatural: benny lafitte,
- supernatural: ellen harvelle,
- the lorax: the lorax
[accidental video / action]
[Toothless has a certain fascination with art. First it was sticks in the mud, then outside chalk, and then paint on the other side of the mirrors. Today he's found more paint, except in bigger containers. With lots of colors. And bigger brushes! He likes them — he can do more with them, and not worry about them breaking in his mouth.
Paint doesn't taste good. He's finding out again today.
Because today, one of the hallways has been sacrificed to his artistic efforts. Though, to be fair, it was an accident that the first paint container broke in his mouth. And then the others followed, because Toothless has discovered finger painting.
Or, more accurately, paw painting. And tail painting. It's a mess.
His communicator is jostled on as he paws patterns of yellow, blue, green, red, and white all over the floor and some of the walls. Toothless has lost his natural black camouflage. He's just a tangle of bright colors, splattered messily, as he also uses his chin and belly to get the colors in the right patterns.]
Paint doesn't taste good. He's finding out again today.
Because today, one of the hallways has been sacrificed to his artistic efforts. Though, to be fair, it was an accident that the first paint container broke in his mouth. And then the others followed, because Toothless has discovered finger painting.
Or, more accurately, paw painting. And tail painting. It's a mess.
His communicator is jostled on as he paws patterns of yellow, blue, green, red, and white all over the floor and some of the walls. Toothless has lost his natural black camouflage. He's just a tangle of bright colors, splattered messily, as he also uses his chin and belly to get the colors in the right patterns.]
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Food is serious business.
Even more serious than painting.]
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He lobs the bundle to the dragon's left so that it will have to turn its attention off him no matter what.
On the one hand, even Adam, who's never fought a monster in his life (or more like, never survived one) thinks that running away from something that looks as lithe as a cheetah is a stupid thing to try. On the other, the thing can't be harmless. It just can't be.]
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But it's not a big morsel, either, and so Toothless looks back up at Adam, eyes wide. He makes a noise somewhere between a chirrup and a trill, blinking but otherwise not moving. Trying to be not at all intimidating — as much as he can, at least.]
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He's not five anymore. This is nuts.
Back before his life had been taken over by monsters, and long-lost family members, and apocalypses, he'd left food out for neighborhood cats who acted more unfriendly toward people than this thing. When it's done eating, it just looks at him with its huge eyes like some kind of freaky baby animal hinting for a treat.]
Right...
[He looks first at the salad, which is crappy healthy food even for people, then at the spilled potatoes, then at the paint again, then back to the dragon. The dragon? Sure, it's a dragon. It seems a little fitting that neither of them seem to know what to do with each other. It takes a moment or two for an idea to occur to him, one that might save him from making a reluctant call to Sam or Dean.]
You stay here. [He takes a measured step back, trying to pass along the message with his eyes and tone.] Stay.
[He leaves the way he came, and only when he's out of sight of the dragon does he release a breath that he's been holding in. Hell has nothing on the strangeness of day-to-day life here, but even after all this time, he still has the niggling suspicion his mind might be playing more tricks on him than just the kind colored in anguish and pain. A dragon playing with paint in a hallway? For fucking real?
There's a way to find out. Stupid, maybe, but he's already died twice more than anyone should come back from. "Stupid" is relative now.
About ten minutes later, Adam returns with a very different item in his hands. He's no pro at Pictionary, but he'd gotten the gist from Toothless' picture. He's holding two giant, raw fish, the kind the kid had fed the orca in Free Willy, the first thing that had come to his mind.]
You like fish?
[He's not sure if he's disappointed to still see the dragon, or still surprised. Maybe both. Maybe he'd lost it a long time ago.]
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Well, he was already planning on staying, anyway. That's all right. Toothless goes back to painting when Adam leaves, making some more interesting and abstract shapes. He half wonders if it was just a ruse so that the Viking could make a proper break for it, and he's certainly surprised to see Adam come back.
And delighted, because he has a fish. Two fishes. He officially likes this Viking.
Toothless nods energetically in response to the question and walks closer, over his painting, still absolutely coated in those bright colors. He opens his very pink mouth, teeth retracted into his gums, and holds deathly still, waiting for Adam to toss him a fish.
Hoping he will.]
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As long as it doesn't take an arm with it, what's the harm at this point...
Adam heaves the largest one up by the tail and drops it in with the odd image of sliding a torpedo into a tube.]
You really are like a cat. People must not look as good as tuna.
[He's not complaining. A wild animal finding other food sources more attractive than people is a step up. That doesn't mean he has any more of a clue what he's dealing with, but...]
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He's very proud of it, even if it's tough to learn how to do when you're a baby dragon.
Toothless trills his pleasure in the back of his throat, a high noise.]
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The really weird thing is, it has all the ferocity of a baby bird with its beak held wide open. The lack of teeth does a lot to make Adam curious, if not set him entirely at ease--though that's more to do with Wonderland in general than the dragon.]
All right, tell you what...
[He glances down at the other fish before lifting his eyebrows and the fish along with them.]
If you can draw me a house, I'll give you this. [He jiggles the fish for emphasis.] Can you understand that? A house.
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Oh! A building! Like the lodges back in Berk! He sits up straighter, very alert, and then looks down at his paint and tries to think about how to depict a lodge. They have angled roofs and four sides, and great big doors with a lot of torches around.
The seriousness of his expression is almost comical as he begins his work, making blue lines in yellow paint on the wall. He first creates a square, and then attaches a sloped square to the top. While he's frustrated by it, it will have to do. Then, with his claws, he draws a long double rectangle on the side for the enormous doors of the lodge, and makes little blobs on the walls where torches would normally sit.]
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[Adam's not sure what he's witnessing anymore. Did he just feed a dragon its favorite food and ask it to paint a picture for him? He lifts his gaze to the ceiling, almost hoping for an answer. Instead he sees more paint and has to resist the urge to snort.
This place is beyond anything he could have imagined, just as Hell had been once upon a time.
Spell broken, he drops his attention back to the dragon, more baffled than anything else that it'd actually listened to his challenge and proved it could not only understand what he was saying, but it could mix colors, and draw, and make shapes like any human kid. In what fucking world did that happen? Adam knows from experience that he shouldn't, but he takes a step closer to watch, glancing back and forth between Toothless' determined expression and his...
... his "house," apparently.
It's accurate enough to impress Adam. The thing's no artist, but the gist of it's there. Walls, roof, doors... He turns to Toothless, still trying to compartmentalize the last fifteen minutes in a way that makes some sort of sense.]
Ever heard of National Geographic? You should get a feature.
[For now, keeping his promise will do. He holds the fish out at arm's length for Toothless to take. It's earned it, and more than that, chased thoughts of Hell out of his mind for a few minutes, which is more than anyone else has succeeded in doing.]
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Once the fish is down his throat and he's purred his contentment out, he cocks his head at Adam's question. It sounds like he's not expecting an answer, but still. He's curious. What's the National Geographic?]
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Adam interprets the head tilt in the most straightforward way he can.]
I don't have any more.
[How much could this thing eat?]
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Adam tries not to react, a part of him afraid of giving too strong a response, but he's hard put to stand still when something of Toothless' make and model comes closer for a good whiff. He gets the tingle of nervousness prey gets in the face of a predator, and he hates that he knows that feeling, that he'll never be able to completely forget it so long as he still has his memories.]
I'm not--food. Really... not.
[It's not like trying to talk it down would do any good, but he says it, anyway.]
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Toothless can sense that spark, that nervousness, within Adam and so he backs up a few steps again, not wanting to alarm him any further.
He has the Viking's scent. That's enough, for now.]
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With more space between them, he can breathe again, but not entirely because of fear. There's something incredible at work here, something he'd never thought he'd be a part of in a million years.
Kind of like meeting angels. Go figure.]
You know something, you're the first people-friendly monster I've ever met. I thought you were all dicks.
[People probably talk to their pets so much because they're safe in the knowledge that the pet can't talk back, like Toothless. He's more honest than he would be otherwise, not bothering to hide his surprise.]
You're like a puppy.
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A puppy? He doesn't even have fur.]
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What? You don't like that?
[It looks cheesed, which is an odd expression on anything that's not human, let alone a freakin' dragon with paws like dinner plates.]
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Sort of.
Adam takes a long moment to think about his next move. Apologizing seems so wrong.]
Like a dragon?
[He offers an amendment. Does this thing know that word?]
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With the exception, again, of a few types of dragons who deal with things a bit differently.]
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[As if the tail, and the fins, and the scales doesn't give that part away. Underneath the psychedelic paint job and the big, cutesy eyes is a mythical creature.
Can it breathe fire? Adam seriously fucking hopes not, or at least that it doesn't while he's standing here, now having finished feeding the thing and being sniffed by it. Why is he still standing here? He should be in a padded room right about now. ]
Now... what?
[There's nothing like talking to a monster to make you second guess your place in life.]
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He leans down and nudges at a container of paint with his snout, a closed one, until it rolls to Adam's feet.
The solution is to clearly come paint with him.]
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What?
[It wants to... keep playing...? He brings the container to a stop with the inside of his shoe.]
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