#// throwback to the drunken worm convo from the ball hahaha

[twistedisciple]

“You.”

Same insouciant greeting. Same annual circumstance. One might be brought back in time to the same day from yesteryear, identical if not for the dragon’s easy approach bereft of hesitation. The vast enormity of differences that hung between then and now. Whatever adversity and pleasantry had come their way, two now stood stronger for it. A sentiment that required no foolish saying among their kind - only showing.

“It is your birthday. I come to you in that respect bearing a gift and require no gratitude.” Announcement where announcement was unneeded; said gift shamelessly and prominently extended with the heavy thump of a chest at the sage’s feet. Filled to utter limits, suggested the dangerous noise it made. Rafal closed his eyes in prelude, known already to what lay within. “Open it.”

An elaborate surface predated opening, patterned by heraldic etchings of the Gradlon evil-eye. Beneath that ornamentation sat the bedrock of true substance. Coins of silver and gold were stacked in hills upon hills, in what felt to be a thousand grains forming a veritable mountain altogether. Not one bit inaccurate to a dragon’s hoard. Now all of it deemed Griss’.

“Such is your rightful due. Though I suppose humanity is fond of a more colloquial term—your paycheck. Two years' worth and then some.“ The dividends from his professorial stipend, the meager living and excruciating 25% cutback on his usual sweets intake, the part time employ at the maid cafe, all were mere stepping stones to this moment: the important milestone which officiated lord and knight.

As lords did not demand anything less than exceptional service, knights did not give that service for free. None could be more conscious of manmade world view, perhaps, than a dragon who lived among men. The failure with something to prove. He centered his gaze upon Griss solemnly, nervous with some unintended transparency of feeling. A sincere and resolved yet. . .fluttering thing.

“As your lord, it is my duty to ensure you are properly compensated. Whether I am here for centuries, or whether I should die tomorrow, with this practice you may live comfortably.” Long did dragonkind live, yet the life of one such as Rafal was precarious. He who took from the world and guzzled its every last drop would one day give back, with interest, with all that he had. But that was neither here nor there. He roused to his full spirits, head bobbing with pride. "A generous master, am I not? There is no need to thank me, Griss! . . .or you may if that is what pleases you."

Birthday asks (Happy 29th)

Even after nearly two years on borrowed time, birthdays hadn’t become any more meaningful to Griss. He didn’t count the days, didn’t pay attention to the dates, and rarely knew what month it was except when he noticed the changing of the seasons. For all of his brazen confidence, his loud and overbearing presence, and the way he fashioned himself to turn heads (mostly for disapproving looks, but that was better than not being seen at all), he really didn’t care all that much for being celebrated. His birthday and consequently, his life, was of no real importance to anyone. Even as a Hound, he always knew there would be a day when he’d be better off as a Corrupted. Or simply dead. And it didn’t bother him one bit.

His whole life felt like he was just borrowing time. As it reached its 29th year, he’d started to wonder (only half-seriously) if this was how dragons felt about their lengthy lifespans. Thirty felt egregious for someone like him. So he thought he might ask Lord Rafal about that when he saw him, because even though he didn’t really think about what day it was or his birthday, he’d expected - for some reason he couldn’t and wouldn’t name - that he’d see the dragon at some point that day.

But by the time he did, it was a whole hot drink to the face later, and had the rare philosophical question managed to survive that excitement, it certainly couldn’t crawl out from under the mountains of gold that filled the chest Lord Rafal had deposited at his feet outside the door to his office. After Griss flung open the top, the sight of its contents stunned him to the point of speechlessness, and he dropped to his knees and plunged his fist into the middle of it just to feel the weight of each piece, to make sure it was real.

But that wasn’t really why he couldn’t find anything more to say than colorful variations of “Wow, Lord Rafal!” The gold shifted in undulating waves over his hand, dripped from his palm like water pouring back into the sea, and he sifted like he was looking for something. Words, maybe, instead of this bittersweet taste that sat at the back of his tongue.

“Heh, two years late on the pay, huh?” Griss finally said, glancing up with a smirk as he let another palmful of coin trickle back to the pile. “See, that’s where you lucked out. Knights might demand gold and material stuff like this, but not the faithful.”

Not this faithful, anyway, who lived by extremes, who’d convinced himself over the years that the only thing he deserved was licks from a whip. He watched the rest of the gold drop back into the chest piece-by-piece. He’d always taken whatever he was given, of course, and jobs were jobs.

But this wasn’t a job. Not to him. Shutting the lid, he swallowed down that bittersweetness and rose back up to his feet to look his lord in the eye. Hands coming to rest on his hips, his mouth a crooked line of a smile, there was nothing all that out of place about his look, except for the bright pink splotch across his face and down the side of his neck, and the wearied lines under his downturned eyes. With the toes of one foot, he pushed the chest across the floor until it bumped Lord Rafal’s shoes.

”Comfort's not my style anyway! So I’m giving this up as tribute since my blood’s not good enough for a fell dragon’s tastes. Besides, I don't have any plans to outlive you.” He chuckled. “If y’wanna hit me though, I won’t say no.” 

His was not a loyalty bound by contract, but a choice. Although faith had brought their paths to cross, Griss followed Lord Rafal because he wanted to. Whether dragon or worm.