Tᴏᴏᴛʜʟᴇss (
no_eels) wrote in
entrancelogs2013-11-23 02:17 pm
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Who: Toothless, and you!
Where: All over Wonderland.
When: Zombie event.
Rating: PG-13ish.
Summary: What's wrong with the shambly Vikings who can't move around much? Why do they make those weird noises?
The Story:
22nd, 23rd, 24th—
25th—
Where: All over Wonderland.
When: Zombie event.
Rating: PG-13ish.
Summary: What's wrong with the shambly Vikings who can't move around much? Why do they make those weird noises?
The Story:
22nd, 23rd, 24th—
He doesn't much understand it, the word that he hears on the communicator. It sounds vaguely familiar, like something he heard someone mention in passing, but the Vikings are a bit of a mystery. Not as much as for some, however, because Toothless can smell them decaying, and he knows what that means. Death.
At first, they ignore him. He isn't sure what to make of that, but eventually they come after a Viking he's protective of and he lunges out — and then the creatures all at once become aware of him, and he isn't safe anymore. He barely was to begin with, maybe, but it was something. Now, he moves quickly. Looking for Vikings who are stranded or seem to be in need of help. It's not as easy as usual, because, once again, he can't breathe fire, and his wings feel wobbly. Unsteady, incapable of flight.
But he still has his teeth, his claws, and the force of a twenty-foot-long dragon to throw things around with. He moves like a shot through the woods and anywhere else he finds, getting out of the prison quickly enough. At first, anyway. His mind is on the Vikings, and where his friends are.
25th—
Something strange happens in the night. By teeth or by the scratch of a nail, Toothless wakes up feeling strange. Hungry, in a way he recognizes from when his Mirror was in his mind. While he'd like nothing more than to tear the leg off of a dragon, or rip into its throat, any Vikings he finds will have to do. Or anything else, for that matter.
The brilliant green of his eyes fades, just a little, giving way into a paler color, his teeth yellowing and his scales losing their keen shimmer. His wings drag alongside him, the Night Fury having lost the ability to control them entirely, and his tongue lolls from his mouth. But he can move quickly in short bursts, should he catch sight of anyone.
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The axe is dislodged by the blow, and clatters to the cold ground.
Toothless doesn't pay it much attention for the moment. He's too busy trying to stamp on the zombie's head and crush it.]
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Still, that doesn't mean he's not gonna try. Stumbling backwards to get away from those outstretched arms, he goes for the axe again, tripping over an exposed root but managing to stay upright by doing a bit of flailing just as Toothless hurtles toward the zombie again, knocks it to the ground.
He retrieves the axe, testing his grip a little more thoroughly this time, and moves to take another whack at it, now that it's mostly still. He's pretty sure that dragons have a better shot at killing zombies than he does... But Toothless's claws are bare. What if he gets bitten trying to stomp it's head to bits...?]
Look out, look out-- ohgod-! [This second swing works out better than the first; exhausted and inexperienced or not, he hits it more or less where he wants to. The blade sinks into the walker's face, bisecting it at the nose and splattering Jesse with blood and brains and whatever the fuck else has been living in the thing's head. Yeah, he really, really doesn't wanna know what that is.
He makes a sound that's somewhere between a grunt and a whimper, pulling the axe out as he staggers backwards until he hits a tree trunk and just sort of... Sits. Or slides, whatever. His ass gets to the ground one way or another.]
Oh my god.
[His grip is still white knuckled at the axe's handle, hands wrapped tightly enough that it's almost painful- and he needs that. Without that to focus on he's about nine hundred percent sure he'd hurl all over the place, lose the small amount of food he's managed to scavenge up to this point. He peeks over at Toothless eventually, but doesn't say a word.]
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Finally, satisfied, he turns in the direction of the lost-looking Viking. This is normally where he might offer up some of his own past meal, but the dragon can't afford to part with it.
(Jesse's lucky, today.)
Instead, he turns and trots for the nearest body of water. He's gone for about ten minutes, watchful for decaying things but not seeing any, and returns cold and dripping wet — with fish. Two fairly large trout, or relatives thereof, which he places by Jesse's feet.
If that doesn't rouse the Viking, Toothless will attempt to lick his face and clean him off.]
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Somewhere in the middle of his mantra of don't puke don't puke don't puke, Toothless disappears, and while normally that'd be cause for alarm he's still a bit too out of it for much to sink in. The sound the axe had made, the crack of the zombies skull... It'd reminded him a little too much of Spooge's head being crushed by that ATM, and while he's past the point of dwelling on that fiasco, it's still disturbing as hell and not something he likes to think about.
But he's got no choice, now; body weighed down with that and the memory of that spreading pool of blood (and the spatter he can feel cold against the side of his neck, which he paws at with the sleeve of his jacket), he hasn't managed to move much by the time Toothless returns. He picks his head up when he does, though, blinking at the fish for a few seconds before his brain catches up with the rest of the world.]
Huh? Oh- Jesus. Uh... Thanks. [Then more firmly:] Thanks. [Finally relinquishing his grip on the axe, at least with one hand, he shoves up from the ground, legs unsteady as he bends to grab the fish by their tails.]
Fire's still going... How you feel about blackened... Whatever these are. What are they, bass?
[I made you a delicious bass.]
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Your guess is as good as his. But he'll accept them in any form, really.
The Night Fury will keep a keen eye out as they head back to the fire, looking pleased with himself.]
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He trudges heavily over to the fire, gaze trained on the slippery fishes as he studiously avoids letting it wander over to where the body lies, crumpled and bloody on the freezing ground. Nope. Absolutely not. What up, Flounder? How's your day going...? Good? Awesome, because his kinda blows.
As there are no actual seats around the fire- because Jesse'd been really pushing the whole mountain man thing just getting it started and hadn't wanted to risk it going out while he looked for a log and dragged it over, once he's close enough he drops down to the leaves, facing away from the corpse because again: n o p e. And fortunately for him, there are a few extra sticks scattered around, the ones that were too wet to use for the fire-- good enough for roasting, right? Right.
And now for the gross part: grimacing in anticipation, Jesse takes a breath before jamming a stick each into the fish and wrinkling his nose at the sound.]
Ugh, Jesus. ...Pretty sure this isn't how you do it, but it's not like I got a rack out here or whatever. [He turns to look over at Toothless apologetically, like dragons really give half a shit about the manner of fish-cooking. Or cooking at all.] Sorry, man.
[Hands shaking slightly, he holds the fish as close to the fire as he can and waits. Yup, we got a real Bear Grylls here.]
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They smell good enough to him, as the fire begins to cook the proteins of the fish.]
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When Toothless settles down next to him, all massive and cold and dragony, he sighs, shifting a bit until his shoulder bumps against scale, tensing briefly before sagging into him with a sigh. Yeah, they've reached that point.
He turns the fish over with a slight sniff, and if he had a free hand he'd be dragging it down his face. He doesn't, though, and so he compensates by tipping his head back, rolling his neck a bit and letting out a low, frustrated groan.]
This sucks, yo. This is like a new level of crap...
[SO ELOQUENT AND ORIGINAL. He continues, but there's a distinct lack of edge to his voice; it's shaky, like he's trying to will himself into thinking about what he's saying instead of... What he's actually thinking. Which is nothing good.]
I'm never gonna be able to watch Dawn of the Dead again. Or any zombie anything, that's like a whole genre just... Done. Played out.
[Mighty fine coping skills at work...]
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He rumbles quietly, a soft vibration against Jesse, growing warmer and warmer the more he sits close to the fire.]
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He needs to invest in some kind of MMA teaching video or something...
Whatever. He can That rumble- and the resulting vibration that feels sort of like he's leaning against a slowly heating massage chair- are comforting enough that he relaxes a little bit more, turning the fish-on-stick over. Whether he's into it or not, it's starting to smell edible, and that's... Pretty great.]
You like it extra crispy? Or... [He wrinkles his nose.] I don't even know what to call it when it's not cooked. [He holds the stick out for Toothless to go for if he wants it. Jesse's going for the blackened kind, himself... The last thing he needs is salmonella or whatever.]
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Always.]
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Still, Jesse jerks his hand away when that giant dragon mouth closes over the fish. He trusts Toothless not to chew his arm off on purpose... But you can never be too careful.
His lips twitch into a small grin regardless, though, and he actually huffs out a quiet laugh as the stick's hurled up onto the dead leaves.]
...I'll pass your compliments along to the chef, damn.
[He picks his fish up for inspection, poking at it experimentally before replacing it over the fire-- nope, not yet.]
Oh man...
[Yeah, he's beat. Way beat. He's not made for this crap, not even a little bit.]
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For now, he's content to be a solid post to lean on.
He watches Jesse's fish cook, interested to see how long it is before he finally eats it.]
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The mystery of "HOW LONG DO COOK" is solved within about five minutes; it's at about that point that the tail fin catches on fire-] Shit-- nonono come on- [-and Jesse finally deems it fit for consumption as he blows the flames out.
Or at least that it won't give him consumption, is that how that one works? Whatever, point is that he's hungry as hell and if it's on fire it's gotta be cooked enough, right? Frowning, he pokes at the now-crusty scales briefly, as if suddenly aware that people don't usually... Eat those, and he picks a patch of them off with a grimace before taking a breath... And then the world's most pitiful bite.
...He's a city boy, okay? Don't judge him.
He forces that first bite down, takes another, and then- after swallowing with a soft ugh type sound- tilts his head to look at Toothless, expression only slightly miserable.]
Yo... You, uh-- you wanna pass the salt?
[First thing he's doing when the mansion's back? Every book or show ever on outdoorsy shit. Like, practical outdoorsy shit, not the "drink your pee" kind. Something useful. It's gonna happen.]
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Especially when the tail burns.
When he cracks the joke to the Night Fury — it's a joke, isn't it, because's there's no salt the dragon can see — he snorts again quietly.
Vikings.
So much less superior in the area of eating.]
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You know what would have made this entire eating affair about nine hundred percent easier? A nice fat blunt. Yep, he'd probably have plowed right through that fish- instead of the picking and prodding and peeling and (kill him now) bone spitting that's going on now- if he'd been ripped six ways to Sunday. Would he have paid for it later? Probably. But still.
Then again, he'd also probably be dead. So there's that, he supposes.
But what the hell is logic when you're cold and miserable and scared out of your mind? Well okay, maybe a bit less terrified now that he's not by himself, but still... If he'd had anything, anything at all other than the cigarettes in his pocket, he can't say he'd be able to stop himself. Joking aside, this is an absolute nightmare and he'd be lying if he said that didn't make him crave any kind of escape he could get his hands on.
For now, though? He's gonna continue to lean on Toothless and pick at this stupid fish and try to keep as calm as possible despite the actual zombie apocalypse going on around him.
By the end of it, he'll have successfully learned how to avoid getting bits of bone in his teeth. Success?]