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oh-heartlessman · 7 years ago

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The Hatching || Dark Squad

AKA THE MOST FUCKING AWESOME THING EVER

ok lil bit of backstory for newbies--Howl can turn into a demon bird, Mel can turn into a dragon, last year while they were performing an intense spell, they turned into their creatures and did the do and then a month later Mel laid the egg. It was kidnapped, then retrieved and now...

TW: blood, a joke that went too far but we don’t half-ass anything

@melaenis-ficente

HOWL:

Today, Howl and Melaenis were going to hatch the egg.

The poor thing had been sitting in a cauldron over Calcifer for almost three months now and every day, the five of them (Howl, Melaenis, Calcifer, Kiki, and Diaval) would peer over at it, wondering just exactly what they were supposed to do next.

It was Calcifer who suggested it, as the Solstice approached.

The Summer Solstice was a time of high magic, great magic, powerful magic. It was the season of fire, summer was. Demons were full of fire (most of them, some of them—okay, Howl’s was). Dragons were full of fire. This egg was begat from demon and dragon, and therefore of fire. Fire was the key to unlocking it.

It always had seemed comforted by Calcifer’s demon flame.

They would do it at noon, when the sun was at its highest point in the sky. Now there was not a spell in any book that had specific instructions on how to hatch a demon-dragon egg. It seemed, unfortunately, that a creature born of the shadows of two sorcerers just had not been recorded before. (Howl doubted that they were the first, though, but perhaps they could be the first to actually make something of it).

“I’m still torn,” said Howl, drumming his fingers on his dining table, lifting his eyes up towards Melaenis and Calcifer. “A summoning spell or a birthing spell--or perhaps a portal spell--what did you say of it, Melaenis? I do think you mentioned it last night but I got distracted by the chains.”

From the fireplace, Calcifer groaned.

MEL:

Since Mel had returned from her trip away, she had not spent a night away from her egg. Howl had graciously created a portal between her own house and this one. With just the turn of a dial, she could slip back home to work in her kitchen or tend to her garden or simply sip coffee outside as she watched the dawn purple the sky. But when dusk fell, she always stepped back in and went to the egg in Calcifer’s fire, the shell of it shimmering bright. And she sat next to it and stroked it with her hand (for Cal’s fire could not burn a dragon) and murmured to it in Latin and Italian, the two languages dancing a waltz on her tongue. As the months had worn on, it had lightened into this rich royal shade, the darker shadows of it lost. It-- she-- was almost like a polished sapphire now.

Only Howl ever drew Mel away from the fire. Sometimes he couldn’t, and when he tried, she’d turn her red eyes on him and feel more dragon than woman and he’d skitter off to do whatever it was that Howl Pendragon did with his time. Other times, and there was no pattern to it, she’d slip her finger down the front of his shirt and drag him up the stairs herself.

And in the witching hours, with their bodies still tangled together (Howl’s cheek pressed just above her breast like he was nothing more than a boy), she had visions. Not dreams-- she knew they were not dreams. She saw them projected in the air, her dragon, Howl’s bird, and a child, twisting through the clouds.

The visions grew more vivid the hotter Swynlake became. She knew it was time for their egg to hatch. Calcifer had been right to pick the solstice. For the egg was a summer child, conceived in the swelter of August, borne, now, in the waxing heat of June.

Mel stared at her egg, her head tilted, thinking about those visions. She’d thought a portal spell last night but now she wasn’t so sure that was enough. They needed the magic that brought forth the creature in the first place.

“Yes,” she said, and tilted her head the other way. “A portal spell. We should draw one outside, in a clearing.” Her eyes flicked up to Howl. “Dragonsfire should open it.”

Yes. She would transform today (the first time in a long, long time). Her heart felt swollen in her chest, too big for this woman’s body. Her dragon would be the one to greet her little one when the portal opened.

HOWL:

This would require taking Calcifer outside. No easy feat on a regular day, but Calcifer did get very excited when he was able to see glimpses of the outside world. They’d prepared for this, though, and had the large shovel that Cal used when they went outside to perform spells. (For just visits of leisure, they used a little jar that Howl could easily tuck into the pocket of his more flamboyant coats and Calcifer could press his face against it and watch the world go on).

Howl held his hand out so said shovel drifted towards it, and Calcifer flickered a little stronger.

“Make sure to give me some extra logs,” said Calcifer.

“The silver part of the dial leads to the highlands,” said Howl, glancing over his shoulder to Melaenis. “We can find a good, high clearing.”

Calcifer settled himself into the shovel, reaching for logs to bury in his flames. Howl held open a leather knapsack and all bits and bots and reagents and half-done spells flew towards it and settled neatly inside. He slung it over his shoulder.

Calcifer started burning brighter, stronger. Howl could feel the heat coming off him and Cal reached for the egg, burying it deep in his flames.

With a nod, Howl lifted the shovel, careful to keep it steady and balanced, then glanced at Mel.

The door unlocked and opened a tad, just as the dial spun to silver.

“After you, my darling,” said Howl, and he followed Mel down the stairs, the fresh air of the Scottish highlands hitting him smack in the face and he inhaled sharply, then let out a laugh.

MEL:

She nodded, moving swiftly toward the dial and then down the stairs. She longed to hold her egg herself and tuck it up against her body as she had when she’d given birth to it by the shore of the lake. But it was safest and warmest in Calcifer’s fire. She knew that because she’d been taking careful notes the last few months, measuring its heartbeat in and out of his hearth. She had two whole notebooks full of such remarks and many more notes stashed away in her own mind. She could barely catch enough hours of sleep, her mind so busy working over those notes so she might be prepared for this moment, a moment that felt like the culmination of all of Mel’s days since then. Her heart beat wildly with its excitement and fear as she wondered what could possibly happen next. That was her favourite question to ask. What now and what next? The Scottish wind whipped at her face in the meantime, pushing through her curls like a comb. She wandered away from the house, the grass tickling at her ankles and the edge of her long red skirt. Cal’s fire crackled soft behind her, Howl always just a step behind. She kept walking, metre by metre, until she stopped abruptly. Her eyes survived the area. This would be the place. A portal spell often called for rather typical elemental reagents-- fire, shadows-- of which Mel had tucked away in her pockets. Last time they’d performed such a spell they’d needed starlight and Howl’s memory because they were calling to Cal. This time would be much different. The egg needed that which begat it. It needed some of this wind, spread over this portal. It needed Mel’s dragonsfire. It needed something from Howl. She folded her arms and then looked over her shoulder at him, flicking her gaze quickly up and down. A lock of hair would never suffice. An abstract reagent, no, still not strong enough. Even a feather plucked from the bird itself, though certainly helpful, would not match dragonsfire. Dragonsfire was one of the most ancient substances of all. It created weapons of invincible power, turned kingdoms to ash, came from the belly of the earth itself. “I think we’ll be needing some of your blood, Pendragon,” Mel said. “To put in the center of our portal rune. I hope you’re not squeamish.”

HOWL:

To this, Howl laughed.

“I thought you knew me better than that, Melaenis,” he teased.

The wind whipped through his hair and he took a deep breath, the air hitting his lungs, filling them. He loved the wind, always had, even before the bird that claimed his heart. He had loved the countryside, where the world was still wild, where man had not touched and nature ruled, still. Where magic thrummed with every beat of the wind.

Howl set Calcifer down on the ground and then pulled out his wand from his pocket, drawing the rune around Cal and the egg, starting in the center and going outwards. Almost a year ago, they had drawn the same rune in the Middle Ages, in an attempt to summon Calcifer (though they ended up summoning a very angry and very powerful other demon, who had since fled to the Lyons Cave and was probably lurking there to this day--oopsie).

The two of them went about sprinkling the remaining reagents around, and as they did so, the wind blowing through Calcifer’s flames lessened slightly and slightly, till the air around him was still, though it still blew through Howl’s hair.

Howl stood over the flame, Melaenis in front of him. He held out his hand, palm facing upwards and pulled a dagger from his pocket, handing it to Melaenis.

“Don’t worry about hurting me,” he teased. “I like a little pain.”

MEL:

“Oh, I know,” came Mel’s swift reply, delivered on the razor-sharp edge of her smirk. Her eyes glinted, but they were green, as green as the grass beneath them, as green as the waves that rolled against the Scottish cliffsides. Her dragon was awake and close, but Mel looked at Howl, for that brief moment, with the eyes of a woman.

Only Howl could ever get her to play like that.

Swiftly as it came though, it left. Focus returned to her expression, Mel gripping the dagger lightly, as an artist would a brush. She took Howl’s hand (such soft, long, graceful fingers) and cut a thin line across the palm. The blood bloomed like rosebuds; Mel’s hand slid down to Howl’s wrist and flicked his hand over. His blood dripped onto the centre of the rune and her dragon could smell it, and once again the dragon wanted it.

He’d taste like honey.

Mel ignored the voice.

She dropped his hand and returned the dagger to him, stepping back from the rune and then dropping her skirt next without pause. She stepped out from its pooling fabric around her ankles, then drew her blouse over her head. Next, her drawers. And then Mel stood naked in the Scottish highlands, the wind curling around her like it wanted to take her dancing. She did not shiver as it tickled at her wild curls. She was as hot as a stovetop.

“I’d stand back if I were you,” she said to Howl. Her eyes turned red and then the fire erupted from her chest, consuming her in seconds. It spiked high, higher as the wind grabbed it, and then a roar came from inside the flames and two black wings broke free.

When the fire flickered out, Mel’s dragon had its claws deep in the soil, her eyes pinned on Howl. Embers hissed, crackled, and popped off her scales, like they’d just been forged from a blacksmith’s fire and were settling. Smoke drifted around her. The air smelled crisp. Like burnt meat.

There was a part of her that wanted to take to the air right away and stretch these limbs that had been folded so tiny and small inside her own chest. Her wings longed for flight, her stomach for food, her heart for gold and magic. But the egg called stronger than all of these things. She looked at it now and her tail swept through the grass, curling around her body like a cat.

Put it in the centre, she commanded, though her voice in Howl’s mind was soft.

HOWL:

The cut on his hand stung and the pain was sharp and delicious, and he curled his palm so that it stung even more. He listened to Mel, stepping back and staring at her nude figure, before she erupted into the great, dark dragon that he knew so well.

His eyes glimmered and he craned his head back to admire her. It made the demon in his chest ruffle, wanting to spread its wings and fly with the dragon.

Steady now, he told it, even though it had been so long, too long, and it felt like an itch he was not able to scratch.

The egg lifted from the shovel and settled itself in the centre of the rune, in the centre of Calcifer’s flames.

He wondered what would burst from it--would it burst, even? Or would it simply emerge from the flames, like a phoenix? Would it be reptilian in nature, or perhaps more avian--its parents were both, so perhaps it would be a strange sort of hybrid? Would it be vicious? Would it be demure? Would it come into the world crying or screaming or with a steady look in its eye, strong enough to wipe out armies?

Would it know who he was? Would it know who Mel was?

Would it have a heart?

He wondered each thought, then let it pass into the wind.

“Right,” he said, with a nod, curling his hand into a fist, feeling the blood, warm and wet. “Ready when you are, my darling.” In his free hand, he held his wand, ready to recite the incantation when she released her flame.

MEL:

In the body of a dragon, the world is a beautiful pearl.

Melaenis felt the energy in this sacred ground and knew the age of the magic woven here. The wind came from the north, from arctic plains and a sky full of colorful lights; the clouds had materialized over the lochs in the northwest. She could smell the blood of the sorcerer in front of her and trace it back to its origin too. That magic of his would taste silver, if she tasted him, though Mel did not want to taste him. She wanted to add him to her collection where no one else could see him, and then he would be hers to admire. Hers alone.

And the egg. She knew the egg’s heartbeat, and her heart beat with it. She sighed gently at that familiar sound, a funnel of black smoke emitting from her nostrils. How she’d missed her egg, her child, that heart. How she longed to free that little heart and see it fly for herself. She wouldn’t have to wait much longer now. The sun rose into position, the sorcerer extended his wand. All it would take was one powerful breath.

Mel and the dragon were of one mind when they drew the fire up from the bottom of the beast’s belly. She tasted the acrid gas as it spilled into the mouth, then sparked the fire between her teeth. The flames jetted from her open jaws in one long stream, engulfing the blue egg and the portal at once.

Howl’s lips moved, the incantation sparking his own magic.

The wind kicked up and blew through his hair. Mel’s fire leaped high-- climbing toward that blue sky.

Through the fire, Mel’s scarlet eye watched the shell cracked.

HOWL:

It was fire and wind, which was fitting. The egg was a child of fire, a child of wind, conceived of dark magic, in the air, with fire and wind. There was an inferno, a gust, Howl standing still in it all as it raged, raged, raged.

Through the flames, Howl saw the shell crack. He held his breath. The crack spread across the dark blue shell, like the veins on his forearm, growing wider and wider till it opened and the first thing Howl saw of his child was a dark pointed snout.

There was a crackling noise, then the shell burst away as the creature spread its feathery wings.

It lifted its head--reptilian, Howl noted, resembling its mother primarily, scaly and black--looking around, then spotted the dragon and opened its (her?) mouth. Howl noticed that she did not have teeth, just rows of pink gums. She spread her wings even more. They were still wet from the egg sack, though the fire was beginning to dry them.

And she cooed, wriggling her long, snaking tail.

She was not just black, but an inky black, Howl saw now, as Calcifer’s flames glimmered off of her and she shifted and shimmered in the fire light, taking a few hesitant steps around, flapping her little wings, which had started to dry.

Howl was smiling.

“She’s beautiful!” he exclaimed, bending slightly so that his hands were on his knees. “Hello my dear! It’s me! Your papa! And this is your mama and your Uncle Calcifer!”

She turned her head to Howl now, cocking it slightly, then opening her wide, toothless mouth.

“What are we naming her?” asked Calcifer.

Howl looked towards Mel, raising his eyebrows.

“Up to you, my darling,” he said. “Though for a middle name, I’m fond of Rose.”

MEL:

The fire crackled and burnt in a circle, the rune containing its flames from spreading. It had turned the grass to ash, and the egg shells shifted on top of that ash like shards of beautiful, blown glass. But it was the child in the centre, covered in feathers and scales, that Mel looked at now. She sighed out another stream of smoke from her nostrils as she bent her neck down to her daughter. She was so small. No more than 10-stone. From nose tip to tail tip, she was a little over a metre long, and only 30-or-so centimeters in height. Mel did not know what her wingspan was-- she’d guess, perhaps, a metre as well. But the heart of her daughter beat strong and fast, like hummingbird wings in flight. Her magic was fiercely wound and knotted in that heart of hers, pouring from her now into the Scottish Highlands. Such magic Mel had never felt before. But it was not dark magic, was it? It did not feel like dark magic. It was as hot as burning coals. It pulsed around her like a shield. It would protect her, if Mel could not. But Mel would. Mel knew she’d scorch the earth flat in a moment if any harm came to daughter, her daughter whose name was-- The wind fluttered through the child’s feathers as mother and daughter locked eyes. The creature pushed up its snout to touch Mel’s own, then climbed on top of it, tail flicking some ash into the air. She let out a steady growl like an engine starting. Dragons had the ability to sense a creature’s true name, unless the true name was guarded by powerful magic (Howl had performed such an incantation, though now her dragon knew Howell, could sense it under the spell). The name came to her dragon on the back of that fluttering wind, which smelled-- just a little-- like the sea. Her name is Magdalena. Magdalena Rose. And small Maggie Rose opened her toothless mouth in a smile. Then Mel caught on fire. She went up in the flames, and then they cleared as fast, Mel now naked in her human body, curled in the rune with her daughter crawling into her lap. Mel stroked her feathers and held her, starting just a little when Maggie latched onto her breast and began to suckle. Well. Dragon-demon-birds had to eat too. Mel just smiled and held her closer.

#we fucking did it #dark squad #otp: maybe egg will be our always #eggatha #maggie rose #MY DAUGHTER #the hatching

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