Oddities (Draggo/Edge)

[NightshadeVII]

It was quiet in the mountains. Far away from the noise of the city, the rumbling and honking of cars, and the chatter of people intermingling and amplifying one another, until everything just became a mass of something almost indescribable. It was a fog that one might not notice most of the time, but when it was noticed it became massive, heavy and almost impossible to ignore.
But in the mountains, it was quiet, there was no roaring cars, no ever-present buzzing of voices, instead, there was only the sound of the wind, the rustling of trees, and not much more. It was a different sense of calm than what could be found in the city.
It was a place where even Edge could find some peace of mind.

And that was why he was out here now, to find some peace and quiet, and rest in it. This time, he had managed to find a small clearing, surrounded by trees reaching for the skies so far above and bushes that spread as far as the eye could see, rings in the water. The clearing was effectively hidden, a secret that the Darai had been so lucky to stumble across. It appeared untouched and undiscovered by anyone, a secret place in the middle of the woods, a pocket, separate from everything else, different, but still connected. Perhaps it was a little sanctuary, a place where it was so easy for the Darai to forget where he was and how he had gotten here, as if he had known it forever. Obscure recognition.
And in the middle of this clearing, sitting with his legs crossed, was Edge.
He knew he was alone here, in this little pocket of calm, so he had allowed himself to fall back on his less than human form, what he was deep down. The truth of his being. Normally, it was something he kept hidden, painfully aware that his kind didn’t belong in this world, that he was a foreigner. But now, his tail curled around his legs, and his wing, the massive thing that it was, was folded neatly behind his back, reshaping his silhouette, making it something other than human. The light from the sun above, unbroken by trees, grazed the inky feathers of his wing, bringing out the hidden colours, iridescent and momentary, purples and blues dancing and fading into greens, one moment they were there, the next they weren’t. Like oil on water, creating a surreal image that no one was around to see. And it was best this way,

Sitting with his guitar, a beaten up and worn down thing, his quiet melody rung through the trees. At first it appeared simple, a few tones standing out here and there, but if you listened closely, you’d begin to hear all the nuances, the hidden tones and subtle changes of pitch, there and then gone again. Fingers worked the strings effortlessly, appearing to glide across the instrument.
Now and again Edge mouthed a few words, singing to himself because he believed no one could hear him, or perhaps that no one would care. And it calmed him.
Still the sound of his voice, unplaceable as it was, mingled with the sound of his guitar, was at once both so soft and so raw, emotional and genuine. He meant every word that he sang, every painful truth he admitted and every bittersweet memory he recalled.

Eyes closed he lost himself to the music he created as it came forth into the silence around him. Even as words spilled past his lips, they were quiet, tender things, existing in the silence for a few seconds and then vanishing again. But they weren’t delicate.
Somehow it was calming to know, that nothing was required of him here. He didn’t need to be a certain way or say certain things, he didn’t need to try to be alright if he wasn’t. He could just be here, be present and create. Finally he had the time and the silence to find the song that had been on his mind for weeks.

When he finally got something that felt right, when the words finally fell together, had the right weight and the right tone, he pulled out a metallic pen that he had been resting behind his ear. Absentmindedly he spun it between his fingers, the metal catching light and reflecting it, rhythmically, almost like a small, temporary lighthouse. Then he took pen to paper, beginning to scribble down the words that had come together. Every once in a while, he stopped, scratching out a word and replacing it, as something better presented itself. Other times he stopped, playing a segment again, hearing if it still sounded like it should. The pen still rested between his fingers.
He had come out here to write, so write he would.

[Sharei]

It was the pen that drew the dragon's attention, rather than the strange looking being with his strange guitar or soulful music. Strangers on the mountain seemed to be a dime a dozen lately, and despite the relative isolation that the juvenile had lived his life with, he was becoming more accustomed to seeing people - sometimes the same people - on a fairly frequent basis. Most of the time he left them well enough alone and they were content to their own devices.

Not this time. This time, the glint of metal was in his eye, and the dragon's shadow fell over the clearing as he whirled around for a second pass. Eagle-eyed vision zeroed in on the pen. Silver? The gleam of it called to him on an instinctual level, firing the greed that only showed itself in the presence of shiny, valuable metals. So when he did a third pass, it was in his Saljir half-form, and he landed from a backwing on two clawed feet in front of the Darai.

[NightshadeVII]

At first, Edge didn’t notice the shadow falling over the clearing, too caught up in getting all the words he could out of his head. It was surprisingly normal for him to almost seem to forget his surroundings, at least a little bit, when he got caught up in things like this. It was beginning to come together, taking shape and becoming more whole than the scraps of paper and half formed ideas he had brought with him in the first place had ever been.
However, the second time a shadow fell over the clearing, not even a minute after the first, he looked up, just in time to see something disappear above the trees. A bird perhaps? But that didn’t make sense, the shadow had been way too large. A shiver ran down Edge’s spine, as he remembered, that despite having lived here for three and a half years, he still had no idea what creatures lived in the area, and much less how to handle them.
Maybe it was time to get going, Edge thought to himself, turning to look for his guitar case.

The Darai’s head snapped up, royal purple eyes widening, as he heard some kind of thump, almost like something, someone landing, instantly attempting to asses the situation. Edge gasped softly, as he saw the creature that had landed before him. Whoever they were, they definitely weren’t human, and Edge had no idea what they might be instead. An impressive, dark set of greenish turquoise wings decorated their back, without a doubt big enough to carry their weight, and a tail rested on the ground behind them. Edge couldn’t deny that the sight of clawed hands and feet did make him a little nervous, still they looked young and hadn’t seemed to notice Edge yet. Turquoise eyes were fixated on something else instead. And at least this person hadn’t lunged at him first thing, so perhaps that was a sign that they weren’t hostile. Or perhaps Edge was getting hopeful.

“Hey there...?”, Edge tried carefully, putting the guitar down beside him, keeping his movements slow, hoping that he could avoid surprising or threatening the other, “... can I help you?”

[Sharei]

The dragon heard the person's words as leaves skittering over dry earth - a distant sound only half paid attention to and then disregarded. Its attention was wholly taken by the silvery object in Edge's hand, and his gaze followed it when the Darai moved.

The juvenile crept closer, moving low to the ground, wings half-spread in both warning, and in preparation for an abrupt escape. Aquamarine eyes darted up to look at Edge's face for the first time - assessing, deciding - before he slunk a step forward. His gaze returned to the pen.

"Who're you?" the dragon demanded. He was within arm's reach now. "You're making a lot of noise."

[NightshadeVII]

Even when the other was within arm’s reach of the Darai, he made no move to reach out, not wanting to startle him with any subtle moments. It didn’t take long for Edge to realize, that the younger humanoid’s gaze was fixed on the pen in his hand. Perhaps it was the shine. He had heard that certain creatures were drawn to such things. All the while, Edge assessed the other as well, noticing the defensive body language, flared wings and hunched posture, and quickly decided to tuck his own wing neatly against his back. Even though it was a massive, feathered thing, it was almost impressive how much it could be compressed.

“I’m Edge.”, the darai spoke in a soft tone, a gentle smile on his lips, should the younger humanoid decide to look up at him again. Then he looked over at the guitar he had placed down. The Darai was well aware that other supernatural species did have far better hearing than himself, which honestly was one of the reasons why he had tried to find a place as remote as this one. But apparently, he hadn’t succeeded

“I just came out here to play music. I’m a musician”, he shrugged lightly, a sheepish grin on his lip as his tail flicked restlessly behind him, “I’m sorry if I bothered you though, that wasn’t my intention.”

[Sharei]

"You didn't bother. I said loud, not bad."

How to get the pen? The moment that this creature - Edge - let go of it the juvenile could snatch it from him and run, but he was clearly aware that the dragon wanted it. That was fair, he supposed. He knew his pupils were swollen wide from the dragon's greed, so only someone completely oblivious wouldn't be able to figure it out.

"Give me that," he said instead and pointed at the pen. A simple demand rather than an attempt at theft.

[NightshadeVII]

“Oh? The pen?” Edge echoed, lifting the object in his hand, “sure you can have it, just let me finish up this piece okay?”
The Darai nodded towards the music sheets that lay in a messy pile on the rock he had been sitting on, he’d only need a few more lines before it was complete, and ideas were steadily forming. He smiled at the young super, hoping that perhaps it would help him relax a little.
“I just need to finish some lyrics, it shouldn’t take long.”

Slowly, he settled back down on the rock, still keeping his movements slow and non-threatening. Unconsciously he tapped a finger against the rock, getting into the rhythm of the song he was working on, before he began writing. The words flowed easily now, despite the fact that a draft of this song had been lying of his coffee table for way too long. Finally inspiration had hit, and it was nice getting it out of his system, almost therapeutic in a way

“What’s your name?”, the punk asked after a while, when he was close to finishing the song, his tone light and friendly, looking up at the young man.

[Sharei]

The juvenile had come to sit on a nearby rock by the time Edge addressed him again, content in the knowledge that he would obtain the desired pen in due time. At least, that was the agreement, and if the stranger didn't keep it then he would take it anyway as compensation.

This backward reasoning assured, his impatience for it was tempered by curiosity. He craned his neck from his vantage point to try and look over the Darai's shoulder, though he couldn't have read it even if shown. It all looked like scribbles to him, and these ones especially strange.

He was staring like this when Edge finally spoke to him. Caught, the dragon turned his head away as though he hadn't been interested at all.

"I don't have a name," he said. "I haven't earned one yet." Then, after another moment. "What are you called?"

[NightshadeVII]

Edge wasn’t unaware of the young man looking over his shoulder, and smiled a little to himself. It would seem that his unexpected visitor was more curious than he’d like to let on. This was further proved by how the other turned away, feigning disinterest, once the Darai adresses him.

Edge chuckled, a gentle, low sound, coming from deep in his throat, and his eyes filled with a soft kind of warmth as he smiled shortly after.

“You don’t have a name?” The Darai asked, sounding surprised, but not judgemental. Names were rather important to Darai, holding a lot of worth and power, especially considering how a Darai got their name, so it was strange, meeting someone without one. Still, it was a different culture than his own, and as such, he was in no position to judge or belittle anyone because of differences. It intrigued him how the young man mentioned he hadn’t earned a name yet. Soon enough, Edge turned to face the other fully, legs crossed.
“How would you earn a name then?” He asked carefully, sounding genuinely curious, hoping he wasn’t being too bold.

Then, when the other asked the Darai’s name, Edge grinned.
“My name is Edge”, he introduced himself, “chose the name myself.”

[Sharei]

"Edge..."

The juvenile rolled the name around on his tongue for a moment, testing it out. When he seemed satisfied by it, he nodded. It wasn't like the usual names he'd encountered, like Sohl or Sarkany or Marchelute. Edge was a word, wasn't it? The juvenile wondered why he'd picked it.

"I don't look like it right now, but I'm actually a storm dragon," the young man said, hiking his thumb at his own chest. "Names are important in my aerie. When a parent gives their child a name, that name holds all of their love, hope, and respect. The values associated with your name are things you should strive to be as an adult. Your parents decide what those are on your naming day."

He said it like a statement, but he meant it like a question. Why did you pick your own name? Edge was not to know that, of course, because the juvenile had all of the communication skills of an out of order telephone. It technically functioned.

[NightshadeVII]

“A Storm Dragon?”, Edge echoed, shifting where he sat as an expression of curiosity spread across his features, “Never heard of those before. Still kinda new around these parts, I guess.”
The last bit was added with a sheepish chuckle. Sure, he had assumed the young man wasn’t human, but he was still so unsure of all the species in this world, as well as how to recognize them. Even after years here, everything was still so new and different. He had heard of dragons before and seen movies with them, but that had seemed more like a base idea of what a dragon was. A storm dragon seemed more specific.

As the young dragon elaborated, Edge listened carefully, intrigued by the different culture. It was heart-warming to hear that name-giving was such a profound act of love between family members in other cultures. It would seem that no matter what world you were in, or what culture you had been raised into, there was a common thread, a sort of language that could be understood in spite of it all; the importance of bonds, family or otherwise.
It sounded exciting, being granted a name by someone you cared about, and then having that name symbolize their hopes for you. It must feel like quite the gift when the young storm dragon would finally get his name.

“Yeah names are important for sure, whether you’re given one or you choose it yourself, it always comes to mean something or be something to you. I’m sure you’ll get a good name” Edge smiled, the expression soft and genuine, “Is there anything specific you’re hoping to get?”
Then, after a moment of thought, he added:
“Oh, by Eda, sorry if that was too personal.”

[Sharei]

The dragon's eyes skittered away as Edge chattered on about never having met a Storm Dragon before, as if there were Storms around to have met in the first place. He opened his mouth, closed it again, and then listened absently as the other male continued. But the air had changed subtly. Gone was the boundless confidence of the juvenile who had dropped out of the sky. Here was a boy not entirely a man, uncertain and trying to act unconcerned with the casual way he turned his head.

"Won't get one."

He shrugged, trying to make it seem casual.

"Aren't any other Storm Dragons left to give me one. I'll be nameless forever."

[NightshadeVII]

“Ah, shit, I’m sorry, I didn’t know…”, Edge said with an apologetic grimace.
The Darai knew what it was like to have none of his kin around, how it brought a sense of rootlessness and loneliness that couldn’t quite be described. Like a ship drifting, lost at sea. But at least Edge himself could hope that his kind was still alive, somewhere in some other world - this young man on the other hand, had had that hope taken from him. He regarded the young dragon with newfound empathy, and silently wished he had kept his mouth shut instead of rambling about things he knew nothing about.

Still, he picked up on the attempt to remain causal, to not delve. Who wanted to talk with a stranger about the death of their kin?

“On a lighter note, do you like music?” Edge asked, offering the youth an out.

[Sharei]

The dragon took the offer out without hesitation, though he didn't seem to have an answer immediately. He puzzled over the fragments of songs he'd heard throughout his hundred years of isolated travel and found that he didn't have a definitive answer.

That made him uncomfortable, though he couldn't place exactly why.

"I... don't listen to music," he said with another awkward shrug. "I never really got to? I grew up alone. I guess... I don't think about it much?"