#thread : mister griss's dragon maid

[twistedisciple]

A schism mended by the ordinary barbs and demands that characterized fell dragon and disciple showed little sign now of how long it might take before it split open again. Something in the back of Griss' mind knew it was only a matter of time, but he was all too happy to leave that thought behind, attention carried down instead to the finger jabbed against his chest. It drove him back a step, although not entirely out of the fell dragon's side of the tiny closet; that, Griss insisted on holding for himself for as long as possible. Something deep, deep inside feared that the door might never open again if he stepped out of that space.

But instead of snapping his fingers around the dragon's wrist again, he stood there with his hands by his side, a taunting smile daring Lord Rafal to push him again if that was really what he wanted. No matter how badly it hurt, it'd be what he deserved for --- everything.

"You want me to rip the rest of it off you and tell your boss that you're quitting?" he goaded, reaching up to pluck at the lace. "Was that your plan the whole time? Waiting for a knight in shining armor to come save you from this hellhole?"

Fingers danced across ribbons toward collarbone, teasing as much as they were scornful.

"Well, here I am," he continued in a toying voice. "You'll get fired if I complain, yeah?"

The dance made its way up to the silk collar around his neck, the claws that had ripped and torn at the outfit a moment ago now merely calloused fingertips brushing the shadow of the jugular vein.

"I'll do whatever makes you happy. Just say the word and I'll even set fire to this place. Think of all those bodies frying to a crisp... the pink ribbons melting into black mounds of charcoal... the terrified screams... mmm..."

✦ 𝐌𝐈𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐆𝐑𝐈𝐒𝐒'𝐒 𝐃𝐑𝐀𝐆𝐎𝐍 𝐌𝐀𝐈𝐃 ✧

Mission Board: Anniversary, any point +1

[twistedisciple]

Because of—? Clawed fingers uncurled and stilled in anticipation, even though Griss didn’t know exactly what it was he was anticipating. That Lord Rafal might touch on something his own tongue could — would not and drag it to the surface along with all that they’d stirred up? Like the confused whirlwind of emotion and violence that had all but dismantled the supply closet, his own feelings had come out muddied. The dog that chewed up its owner’s shoes did so for entertainment, for attention, never for malice, because it had no concept of things like jealousy and resentment. Had no need of them. So what was this? Why did he hold a tattered fistful of a maid uniform he could have very well ridiculed in one piece, if he wanted? Because of—

His fist cinched tighter, twisting the points of knuckles up underneath the dragon’s chin as he leaned in closer, his eyes dark and hard over the brightness of a toothy smile. A smile that, with the crimson stain that curled around its left corner shrouded by shadow, could have looked like Gregory’s. And maybe he’d tried to make it so.

Say it.

But the sudden waterfall snapped the tension like a wire, and with startled gasp, Griss recoiled like he’d just been woken abruptly from sleep. He ran his hands down his face, rubbing the water away from his eyes and shaking his head almost like a dog that had just come in from the rain.

“Who the hell leaves—“ Recognizing the pointless stupidity of the question stopped it short. The answer was: it didn’t matter what the workers of this cafe did with their water. “Forget it. That’s not gonna fix the fact both of us are soaked now.”

Dragging his fingers through his hair and out of his face, he blinked at Lord Rafal as if seeing him again for the first time. Whatever they’d been talking about a second ago felt as distant as a dream, even though the aftermath sat all around them - the ruined clothes, the affronted dragon, and the hound still picking lace out from beneath its teeth. A ribbon, crushed, fell from his loosened fist to the puddle beneath their feet.

“How’re you gonna go out there like that? This is a job, yeah?” Like the disregarded ornament, Griss was all too hurried to shake off and abandon the doubt that had hooked itself into his skin. The frown that overtook the devil’s smile he’d worn a few seconds ago was not altogether mean, or offended, or even hurt, and it wasn’t even really directed at Lord Rafal either. Something had changed, irreparably, and he frowned because he didn’t know yet the extent of it. Or if the shoe he’d chewed to pieces had, in fact, been a precious, irreplaceable relic.

“Look, I was doin’ ya a favor. Why’s a self-respecting fell dragon parading in a cutesy get-up like that anyway? Anyone who saw you was probably gonna laugh their ass off.”

✦ 𝐌𝐈𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐆𝐑𝐈𝐒𝐒'𝐒 𝐃𝐑𝐀𝐆𝐎𝐍 𝐌𝐀𝐈𝐃 ✧

Mission Board: Anniversary, any point +1

[twistedisciple]

Griss had never asked questions before, and indeed the only questions that ever mattered to the paragon of a loyal hound were those that helped him fulfill his master's desires. Questions of a personal nature rarely slipped from his lips, much less crossed his mind in the first place. So what did it matter that he was dog or man, special knight or just a regular, ordinary knight? It didn't, and part of Griss knew he'd said those things just for a rise. But the other part trembled for an answer, and the hound stared back at the dragon as if startled by his own bark.

Their silence seeped in steadily around them, the warm weight of balled fists against his chest a distant sensation alongside each shallow breath, counting the short three seconds that stretched for an eternity. A dozen other questions held his tongue, tangled the linear thoughts inside his mind, caught again and again on the knot that asked "how did I see your memories?", and which seemed more pointless the longer he dwelled on it. How old had Lord Rafal - no, Nil - been there, to speak and act with such innocence, as if he'd ever had any innocence at all? Another discarded question. If ever the dragon had been innocent, then the gap between them would be far too wide.

"OK, fine." The concession came like the sand in a dial trickling out empty, the end of something squeezed out by the pressure of time. The shelves rattled as Griss dragged himself up off of them and against Lord Rafal who aimed to keep him pinned there. The hand that came up to lock around one of the dragon's wrist's was uncharacteristically and disarmingly non-violent. Zephia had had her secrets too. Griss could see them, but to speak of them was something only allowed once the door to death had opened. At that threshold, nothing else in the world mattered, least of all disappointment, shame, and fear.

"So Nil's a no-no. Got it." But death didn't lurk around the corner here so irreverence came up like a shield, and the rust-colored eyes that had challenged blood a moment ago hid their dying embers by checking the closet door. Murmuring voices and clinking silverware on the other side hadn't interested Griss a second ago, but now they were a pathway of escape - one he didn't even realize he was looking for.

Should I be Gregory?

Do you wish I was him?

Suddenly, fingers curled into claws and a flash of a too-wide smile preceded the violent bang-bang-bang as bowls and bottles toppled from the shelves against the opposite wall, shuddering in the aftermath of a dragon caught off guard and thrown against them. Hound clawed at the uniform's lacy front as if to rip it apart, fangs bared, to draw out the Lord he knew. Or kill and bury the past he wasn't a part of once and for all.

"Then what's with all this soft stuff?! You miss him, don't you?"

✦ 𝐌𝐈𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐆𝐑𝐈𝐒𝐒'𝐒 𝐃𝐑𝐀𝐆𝐎𝐍 𝐌𝐀𝐈𝐃 ✧

Mission Board: Anniversary, any point +1

[twistedisciple]

Climbing over the crash of supplies tumbling from the rocked shelves came Griss’ eager laughter. The Hound had a way of always getting what he wanted, and whatever revelation followed the sharp cut of wood against his back, the points of knuckles curled under his chin, or the ache of the foot that had just been caught between bucket and floor would merely be the byproduct of the reward he’d been chasing all along. Ordinarily, anyway. Under any other circumstances, he would have absently stored away whatever Lord Rafal had said to turn over in his mind once well after he’d had his fill of the pain, but a single word shut him up. Gregory.

Now it was Griss’ turn to retreat into stunned silence, delighted smile warping into crooked grimace. It wasn’t the first time he’d heard the name from the dragon’s lips, nor the first comparison to the knight he’d never met, but, slowly, a few pieces fell into place. Around the deceptively strong wrist that pinned him in place coiled his own warm fingers, caught between ripping the fist from his collar and goading the claws to his neck - rejection of this mismatched game, or acceptance of a name that didn’t belong to him. You be Nil, and I’ll be Gregory.

“Wait a minute…” Ultimately, his hand slipped away from either decision, falling limply to his side as he stared back at snarling fangs. A hound rolled over onto its back. “I think I had a dream or something. I kept sayin’ that name, and you kept callin’ me Gregory.”

The fragments of it had long grown hazy by now; he had to have had it a year ago, at least, and it was a miracle that he remembered any part of it for as little sense as it had made to him then.

“It was weird as hell,” he said and shook his head. “I felt scared the whole time and there’s nothing in this world that scares me! Not even you.” The moment’s peace melted with the challenging sneer that spread across Griss’ face.

“—So what? Is ‘Nil’ your secret nickname or something? Can only your special knight call you that?” Each word taken to the whetstone of some dark thing deep inside of him came out sharper than the last, although the look on Griss’ face barely changed. He lifted his chin, baring his neck for the dragon’s fangs, eyes daring him to take the bait. “What am I, then?”

✦ 𝐌𝐈𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐆𝐑𝐈𝐒𝐒'𝐒 𝐃𝐑𝐀𝐆𝐎𝐍 𝐌𝐀𝐈𝐃 ✧

Mission Board: Anniversary, any point +1

[twistedisciple]

Griss had not realized how potent the weapon he wielded could be until he'd said it. It had struck something far, far deeper than humiliation for the fell dragon, something that stopped him from working entirely for a second or two. Griss stared back at him, that predatory look in his eye relenting only to the faint dawn of surprise as the silence between them stretched on for a second too long. He'd killed plenty of people before, some rather intimately, but never had he been startled by the blood that gushed out behind the knife.

It made what Lord Rafal said next all the more disorienting. Astrology, puzzle games, something about virgins? All recited in that fake, high-pitched voice that made Griss' skin crawl. He thought then that maybe he'd imagined that stutter in the act, that the name had no meaning at all, until--

An enticing invitation whispered into his ear, spoken by the voice he knew was capable of the violence he craved.

"Now you're finally speakin' my language," he purred, rising to his feet in tacit gesture for his dragon maid to lead the way. Among all this bubbly brightness, soft ribbons and clean white tablecloths, and the tooth-decaying scent of cotton candy, he'd scratched and scratched until the pink polka-dotted wallpaper tore away to the rotted drywall that he knew had been hiding behind it. 'Nil' had been the password to the pleasure he indulged in as a disciple of violence, or the key to a secret he was never meant to see, but the truth of what it symbolized now sunk beneath a single, driving thought: Punishment.

He had the sense that this was well-beyond the realm of the cafe's role-playing, but he followed Lord Rafal to the supply closet as if the fantasy hadn't yet shattered into a thousand pieces. Even as the door shut them into the dim, cramped room, up against a pair of mops and a few cleaning buckets that made the space smell overwhelmingly like mildew, Griss looked expectantly at his dragon maid. The smirk crawling across his face was intentionally needling:

"You're gonna get creative with that bone-crushing stuff, huh?" Back pressed up against one of the shelves, his chest mere inches from the ribbons that adorned Lord Rafal's front, he peered around the room as much as he could to gauge the "tools" available. Unconventional, but he knew at least half a dozen ways to use--

He shook his head and looked back at the dragon. Answers first.

"Look, I dunno where I heard that name. It popped into my head 'cause you were using that stupid voice out there." His smile stretched wider as he took a step further into Lord Rafal's limited space. "Does it make you mad, Nil? Mad enough to hit me?"

✦ 𝐌𝐈𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐆𝐑𝐈𝐒𝐒'𝐒 𝐃𝐑𝐀𝐆𝐎𝐍 𝐌𝐀𝐈𝐃 ✧

Mission Board: Anniversary, any point +1

[twistedisciple]

No reaction, huh. The menu had suddenly lost his interest, so Griss raised his head again to rest his chin into the palm of one hand, narrowing his eyes to study this surprisingly demure dragon maid. If the stupid nickname didn't throw him out of this nauseating act, then he had to come up with something else.

Lord Nil.

Fingers drummed on the table, suddenly impatient from the itch of deja vu. As a neatly manicured hand directed his attention back to the menus, Griss complied without really thinking about it. He was still taking direction from his lord. But that wasn't really his lord, right? It was all a game. A role playing game. Right.

Why did Nil feel so familiar though?

"A special menu, huh?" Griss hummed deviously, all thought of food quickly pushed out of the question. Lord Rafal could likely guess what sort of horrid ideas he already had running through his mind, all well within the realm of activities the Hound enjoyed but not a single one fit for public. The eyes that raised from menu to maid's face were hungry, but not for something to eat.

"The whips are hidden real well, I'll give ya that." He smiled, trapping Lord Rafal with an unblinking stare for as long as he'd let him, clearly provoking something. "The floors don't have a drop of blood on 'em either." Regretful. "Didn't think you'd be that good at cleaning up. You sure are full of surprises, Lo--"

Another slip, and Griss stuttered to recover from it. A new name. He needed something more patronizing. Something that would get Rafal to crack.

Lord Nil.

It was the only thing he had.

"Nil." Griss' smile faded a little, because that sounded too familiar coming from his own mouth. Still, he stared, watching, waiting. "I wanna hear about what sort of activities you'll get to do with me. Start with the bloodiest ones."

✦ 𝐌𝐈𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐆𝐑𝐈𝐒𝐒'𝐒 𝐃𝐑𝐀𝐆𝐎𝐍 𝐌𝐀𝐈𝐃 ✧

Mission Board: Anniversary, any point +1

[twistedisciple]

There had been endless rumors about this place. Some were fascinated by it, some revulsed, others curious, and still others skeptical. It was weird, said a lot of them, although whether that was a good or a bad thing depended entirely on the person. For Griss, that was what had drawn him to the cafe in the first place, and why he stood in a line with other soon-to-be patrons, sandwiched between an older man, drab in all ways, and a group of teenage girls dressed up like this was some sort of occasion. With his tattered robes, inked skin, and silver spikes, he looked wholly out of place though and was starting to get the feeling that maybe this wasn’t what the rumors chalked it up to be. He’d expected weird weird, alternative fashion more shocking than his own, and maybe even a hint of the taboo. This was — well, domestic. And boring, frankly. Leave it to the normies to sensationalize nothing.

He’d almost gotten sick of waiting when the line finally moved and a hostess ushered him inside, and it was at that point that he was finally glad that he’d stuck with it for a table. Not because of the pastel pink decor, the plush curtains hanging from the windows, the red, heart-shaped streamers criss-crossing the ceiling, or the way some customers dined with stuffed animals - although Griss openly gawked at all of those things - but because of the familiar, proud dragon that bowed in front for him, dressed like a castle’s common help. Had he hit his head somewhere? Was he dreaming? The sharp points of his cilices digging into the skin around his wrists said no. A bewildered smile snaked across his face.

What a surprise.

“Master?” Griss swiveled his head around to find anyone else Lord Rafal could be addressing, but it was the same script playing out all around him: the drab older man who’d come in behind him had his own maid, and so did the teenage girls, each one given nothing but subservient politeness. Okay, this was weird. Head snapping back around to find that his own host had moved briskly on ahead, Griss slunk after him, now more interested than ever.

“This is some sorta roleplaying game, right?” he asked, sinking down into the offered chair and throwing his arm over its heart-shaped headrest. Legs spread beneath the table, his other arm stretched out across its surface, he leaned back and made himself comfortable almost like a challenge. His dragon maid knew that innocent smile well enough to know that it wasn’t so innocent on a face like his.

“Alright, I’ll play along, Lor—.” He stopped himself, and the smile wrinkled the corners of his eyes. “… Faffy. That’s a funny thing you’re doing with your voice. It’d be cute if it wasn’t so disturbing.” Sitting up, he reached for the menu. “What d’you have here anyway? Anything spicy?”

✦ 𝐌𝐈𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐆𝐑𝐈𝐒𝐒'𝐒 𝐃𝐑𝐀𝐆𝐎𝐍 𝐌𝐀𝐈𝐃 ✧

Mission Board: Anniversary, any point +1