there are no new answers today

Elru's forests are deep, and dark, and craggy, and everything you'd expect from such a forbidden, forgotten place. Some caves even seem to boast a slight, overtly mysterious magmatic touch to the floor, marked in the enigmatically pad-shaped prints of its Demon.

It's always been there. I'd say it's never going away, but that would be presuming to know too much about such an unknowable force. He, some say. Xe, do others, sensing something even further beyond its clawed clutches.

They've named it, after enough time. Maybe it's named itself, and they've only just gotten lucky.

Very, very lucky.

Id.

And Id sleeps, long and low, in xer cavern.

The Aveh prince, just over the sea, has heard the stories, as has everyone else. He's curious, and depending on how egregious the tales of scorching and scorning are, a little bit incensed.

Why this creature? Why this burning rage, like a god's own fire?

So Bart ventures into the forest, but leaves Brigandier far away - for her protection and Bart's own.

"Hello?" she calls. The dragon doesn't answer.

Well, Bart reasons with herself, that could be a sign, or it could just be a test. Maybe the dragon only accepts those who are willing to assert themselves. And I, Bartholomew Fatima, may not be great, may not be fit for the throne, but I do always assert myself. It's my best quality.

(Sometimes it does him in, to be sure, but more often than not, he finds it lending at least a touch of esteem.)

So, in Bart goes. He eyes the crimson plates of scale and skin cresting the dragon's back, lined in pure blacks and pristine golds. Xe's sleeping.

She crosses her arms, studies it.

"What's that whip for?"

It plays the query with enough ambiguity that the line between seductive and alarmed, amenable and irritable, is blurred, but the question is, really, down to whether or not the pirate prince can pick up on that subtlety in meaning - in other words, Id's gambling. Even though a dragon hoards, Id doesn't like to gamble.

He doesn't have to, though. Bart is, in fact, just such an honest, upright guy, as he jumps back nearly a meter, hands akimbo at his sides.

"Self-defence, of course! You think I'd just go around hitting people with it, because I can?"

Id growls. "Some do. Why should I have assumed that you're any different?"

Bart grins. "Because I am."

But something grave tugs at the corner of Bart's smile. It's his judgement, the discernment glinting disappointment in his eye, Id knows.

No one knows why the Demon of Elru does what it does. Why it can and does reduce all who venture near to dust, on a mere whim. And so, in that respect, it is no different from those same some.

Perceptive.

Embarrassing.

But what can a dragon whose entire reputation has already been laid out before him do to impress a suspicious pirate prince?

"You have a Gear," it says, not knowing whether Bart does or not and, honestly, maybe not even having a strong feeling.

But Bart accepts the challenge, implicit. "Why? Will I need one?" She doesn't say "it", because she's smart enough not to give that much away, somehow.

"Not if I summon a black hole to take you out of my sight first."

"You don't like how I look?" As he says it, Bart begins to twirl the end of her braid loosely around her finger. One jasper-blue eye flicks with obvious intent to the dragon's mane.

Flirting already? Id isn't sure how it feels about this.

"Why have you dropped your guard?"

Bart shrugs. "What's the point in fighting? I can tell you don't really want to."

Incorrigible. "I never said that."

"Well...then I'll get in my Gear and fly away. Yeah?"

"No," Id stamps out, without thinking.

The arms go crossed again, and this time Id stops to actually admire the prince's wiry biceps.

"Heh. That's more like it."