[flyteck]

I... I love your bat dragons, flyteck ;n; His—code name, I guess? xD—suggested his quirk to me, and I thought it would be fun to write it out, so... I hope I have a chance, at least!

I was going to pretty it up with dividers and such, but in the end I just decided to let it stand on its own ♥ And I just finished reading the Temeraire series, so was so, SO fun~

Username: Kattata

Name: Warren

Gender: Male

Height: 4.9 Feet

Dog Breed Name + Link: Ibizan Hound
(I'm a sucker for these guys, as well as for achromatic eyes—I have an odd-eyed sheltie in real life ♥

Quirk: Well...

The courier Kah had meant to tarry for only a few minutes in Lord Asquith's camp to speak with the dragon captain there, picking up any messages for the outlying hinterlands—he couldn't stand Asquith: the fourth son of a minor nobleman, a fact that should have made him humble in regards to his own station and that of others, Asquith was instead outspoken both of this filial connection, an open preference over his elder brothers that was almost certainly more than half imaginary, and a few hundred political views tended as lovingly as a garden, a few of them somewhat nonsensical and some at outright logger-heads with others, many considerably contrary to discussion in polite society, a fact that Asquith doubtless delighted in; it was, in fact, one of these so-called causes that touched off Kah's faint, instinctual dislike of the man into a breed of hatred just shy of murderous, a hatred that burned and burned and burned, as an ember will kindle a devastating forest fire when touched to heaped kindling.

A surprisingly substantial portion of important decision-makers—Asquith and his friends and supporters among them—had begun to adopt the alarming notion that dragons were valuable only for their size and their ability to be driven, much like twelve-ton horses with teeth. It was suddenly pervading parlors all over the country that these reasoning, affectionate creatures were less than dumb brutes—loyal as dogs are loyal, and to be cherished for their abilities in war, but not on their own, as companions. The very fact that this concept was not shot down at once but considered, nodded about and chewed over, kept Kah from laughing outright himself—he had seen too many court-martials and hangings to be cavalier with his own life—but as he encountered it more and more often, from sources further and farther between that should have had no common denominators whatsoever that might have been the source of the seed of the idea, Kah asked quiet questions of men he knew he could trust, and found that Asquith had first conceived of the idea, and then spread it around, with an eye toward saving king and country the expense of treating dragons with the same measure of care and respect afforded cavalry horses, and if it hadn't broken his own dragon's heart had he lost, Kah would have called him out then and there to duel.

But it turned out that, although his master had no idea of the predilection—weakness, Asquith would probably have called it, Kah reflected savagely; Asquith was all for prohibition—Asquith's valet was quite skilled at brewing a strong, sweet liqueur from a local aromatic night-blooming flower. The liqueur had all the taste of that perfume, but was neither cloying on the tongue nor sickeningly sweet; it warmed him from his stomach up to his cheeks and down to his toes, but did not fog up his mind overmuch... though he did find himself speaking to Valet—he had another name, Kah was given to understand, but Asquith had called him you, valet for so long that it had become rather ingrained habit to even think of himself by that "name"—about dragons.

"They're smart, you know," Kah heard himself saying, "a lot smarter than people give them credit for. Of course, you're probably thinking, of course Kah would think that, he's got himself a dragon! And that's part of it, I suppose—you get yourself a really good dog, I mean a really good dog, and you start to think that he can understand you, he just don't have the vocal cords to be commenting on what you're tellin'm. Warren—my dragon—Warren's like that, only he really is, not like the dog thing, from earlier." Kah struggled to make sense of which way he'd been leading the conversation, aware of Valet's calm, interested expression, and of the friendly interest in Valet's rather liqueur-glazed eyes.

"He listens to you," Kah decided at last. "And when he looks at you, you can see that he's thinking—there's this dog, this collie, type of thing, supposed to be the smartest dog in the world, yeah? And it's always thinking. Always thinking. Which is trouble, for people who try to keep it as a pet, because it, you know, digs up their gardens or under their fences and runs around the neighborhood getting into trouble, or, or chews up the furniture or whatever, because it has to be intoe— inter— inte'lekssshly engaged. And Warren's like that—always thinking, usually, it seems," Kah added, a little ruefully, "how to be a pain in my—well, you know. He's a nectar-eater, so he's small, and they usually can't be ridden, but I'm small," this was a sore point with Kah, and he said it with only a little belligerence, looking for amusement in Valet's face and satisfied to find none there, "so I can. Ride him, I mean. And he's a navigator—better'n I am. He loves stories about the stars and the constellations and things, and what they all mean, and he can identify most of 'em if he's asked nicelike and it's a clear night, but he don't need 'em at all. All over clouds, blindfolded, you can whirl him around in circles and he'll still find his way back to a place he's only been once, five years before.

"And I didn't teach him any of that," Kah concluded, proudly. "Not a thing, not about navigating. I read to him, but he prefers folklore, not science or mathematics or anything like that—which is just as well, I don't have the head for that sort of thing, and he would tilt his head in the way he's got to have me explain this or that finer point, and of course I wouldn't be able to do it because I wouldn't have understood a word myself. Met a fellow over in Spain, once, that said he thought they—dragons, I mean—might have, like, magnets in their brains or something, only he'd never met an aviator that would let him near their dragon, even if it was dead—I don't blame them, either; I won't have anyone cutting up Warren to poke through his brains if he lives another fifty years and goes in his sleep."

Valet nodded, sympathizing—he had a dog, he confided, when he was a boy; a good dog, only he was bit by a skunk what had rabies, and when he'd shot him—he'd done it himself, before it got so bad Rufus didn't recognize him but when it was bad that he couldn't drink and was almost mad with thirst, and held him in his lap for an hour afterward, petting him and petting him, smoothing the fur around the dark little hole the bullet had made—and the village doctor had cut off his head and taken it away and burned it afterward, so Valet had had to bury only his body (he cried as he related this story to Kah, and Kah found his own eyes stinging, too: of the strong scent of the liqueur, he thought). As a man, he'd never have let them do that, not to his dog, but when you're a boy, and your father says the doctor needs to do something...

"Maybe they're like birds," Valet said, abruptly, and Kah looked politely at the fire while the other man surreptitiously dabbed at his eyes with his handkerchief. "Flying south for the winter and all that, and that's how he navigates so good."

"Maybe," Kah agreed, because he found he rather liked Valet, though he privately thought the idea of a dragon being anything like a migratory bird ludicrous. "Anyway, this thing with Asquith—that is, Lord Asquith..."

But Valet interrupted him, saying with quiet vehemence, "He's an ass. It will pass, Mr Kah, don't you worry about that—no one can go out and meet a dragon's eyes, watch it watching you watching it, wondering what you're looking at it for, and still think they're dumb brutes."

Kah smiled, and found that he had to fumble for his own handkerchief, unfolding it with shaking hands to wipe his eyes. "And no one has to cut off dogs' heads anymore, neither, just to see if they're rabid or not," Kah replied, quietly, and the next night, in Wales, he read to Warren from a book of Scottish ghost stories while the dragon delightedly twirled his long tongue around and around the little fluted glass of floral liqueur Valet had given Kah before he left, while the stars came out overhead.

[BlackWren]

Username:

Dave Egbert

Name:

Morning

Gender:

Male

Height:

4.9 Feet

Dog Breed Name + Link:

Ariege Pointer

Quirk:

Morning had gotten into the habit of eating any nectar he finds... Upside down.
It's really strange to see, but some how he can't help himself from doing it.

[~Tornado~]

reserve

[Black $un]

Code: Select all

[b]Username:[/b] Jader6034
[b]Name:[/b] Eula
[b]Gender:[/b] Male
[b]Height:[/b] 4.9 Feet
[b]Dog Breed Name + Link:[/b] Have no idea
[b]Quirk:[/b]

[/quote] Likes to eat flys

[capricorn.]

Reserve

[leachface]

b]Username:[/b]
Leachface.
Name:
Speckle. preferably Shep though.
Gender:
Male.
Height:
4.9 Feet
Dog Breed Name + Link:
Ibizan Hound http://www.dogbreedslist.info/all-dog-b ... 1Me3VdiSRo
Quirk:
Shep likes to be acrobatic, weather it be climbing up very high in tree's to playing with fruit bats, or mocking monkies. He's always been interested in activities,

[flyteck]

Alright, since nobody has the correct breed yet (although they all do look like the bat dragon), heres a hint: the name of the dog has hound in it.

You guys can reguess if you want; just edit your forms~

[leachface]

fixed mine

[Kattata]

I... I love your bat dragons, flyteck ;n; His—code name, I guess? xD—suggested his quirk to me, and I thought it would be fun to write it out, so... I hope I have a chance, at least!

I was going to pretty it up with dividers and such, but in the end I just decided to let it stand on its own ♥ And I just finished reading the Temeraire series, so was so, SO fun~

Username: Kattata

Name: Warren

Gender: Male

Height: 4.9 Feet

Dog Breed Name + Link: Ibizan Hound
(I'm a sucker for these guys, as well as for achromatic eyes—I have an odd-eyed sheltie in real life ♥

Quirk: Well...

The courier Kah had meant to tarry for only a few minutes in Lord Asquith's camp to speak with the dragon captain there, picking up any messages for the outlying hinterlands—he couldn't stand Asquith: the fourth son of a minor nobleman, a fact that should have made him humble in regards to his own station and that of others, Asquith was instead outspoken both of this filial connection, an open preference over his elder brothers that was almost certainly more than half imaginary, and a few hundred political views tended as lovingly as a garden, a few of them somewhat nonsensical and some at outright logger-heads with others, many considerably contrary to discussion in polite society, a fact that Asquith doubtless delighted in; it was, in fact, one of these so-called causes that touched off Kah's faint, instinctual dislike of the man into a breed of hatred just shy of murderous, a hatred that burned and burned and burned, as an ember will kindle a devastating forest fire when touched to heaped kindling.

A surprisingly substantial portion of important decision-makers—Asquith and his friends and supporters among them—had begun to adopt the alarming notion that dragons were valuable only for their size and their ability to be driven, much like twelve-ton horses with teeth. It was suddenly pervading parlors all over the country that these reasoning, affectionate creatures were less than dumb brutes—loyal as dogs are loyal, and to be cherished for their abilities in war, but not on their own, as companions. The very fact that this concept was not shot down at once but considered, nodded about and chewed over, kept Kah from laughing outright himself—he had seen too many court-martials and hangings to be cavalier with his own life—but as he encountered it more and more often, from sources further and farther between that should have had no common denominators whatsoever that might have been the source of the seed of the idea, Kah asked quiet questions of men he knew he could trust, and found that Asquith had first conceived of the idea, and then spread it around, with an eye toward saving king and country the expense of treating dragons with the same measure of care and respect afforded cavalry horses, and if it hadn't broken his own dragon's heart had he lost, Kah would have called him out then and there to duel.

But it turned out that, although his master had no idea of the predilection—weakness, Asquith would probably have called it, Kah reflected savagely; Asquith was all for prohibition—Asquith's valet was quite skilled at brewing a strong, sweet liqueur from a local aromatic night-blooming flower. The liqueur had all the taste of that perfume, but was neither cloying on the tongue nor sickeningly sweet; it warmed him from his stomach up to his cheeks and down to his toes, but did not fog up his mind overmuch... though he did find himself speaking to Valet—he had another name, Kah was given to understand, but Asquith had called him you, valet for so long that it had become rather ingrained habit to even think of himself by that "name"—about dragons.

"They're smart, you know," Kah heard himself saying, "a lot smarter than people give them credit for. Of course, you're probably thinking, of course Kah would think that, he's got himself a dragon! And that's part of it, I suppose—you get yourself a really good dog, I mean a really good dog, and you start to think that he can understand you, he just don't have the vocal cords to be commenting on what you're tellin'm. Warren—my dragon—Warren's like that, only he really is, not like the dog thing, from earlier." Kah struggled to make sense of which way he'd been leading the conversation, aware of Valet's calm, interested expression, and of the friendly interest in Valet's rather liqueur-glazed eyes.

"He listens to you," Kah decided at last. "And when he looks at you, you can see that he's thinking—there's this dog, this collie, type of thing, supposed to be the smartest dog in the world, yeah? And it's always thinking. Always thinking. Which is trouble, for people who try to keep it as a pet, because it, you know, digs up their gardens or under their fences and runs around the neighborhood getting into trouble, or, or chews up the furniture or whatever, because it has to be intoe— inter— inte'lekssshly engaged. And Warren's like that—always thinking, usually, it seems," Kah added, a little ruefully, "how to be a pain in my—well, you know. He's a nectar-eater, so he's small, and they usually can't be ridden, but I'm small," this was a sore point with Kah, and he said it with only a little belligerence, looking for amusement in Valet's face and satisfied to find none there, "so I can. Ride him, I mean. And he's a navigator—better'n I am. He loves stories about the stars and the constellations and things, and what they all mean, and he can identify most of 'em if he's asked nicelike and it's a clear night, but he don't need 'em at all. All over clouds, blindfolded, you can whirl him around in circles and he'll still find his way back to a place he's only been once, five years before.

"And I didn't teach him any of that," Kah concluded, proudly. "Not a thing, not about navigating. I read to him, but he prefers folklore, not science or mathematics or anything like that—which is just as well, I don't have the head for that sort of thing, and he would tilt his head in the way he's got to have me explain this or that finer point, and of course I wouldn't be able to do it because I wouldn't have understood a word myself. Met a fellow over in Spain, once, that said he thought they—dragons, I mean—might have, like, magnets in their brains or something, only he'd never met an aviator that would let him near their dragon, even if it was dead—I don't blame them, either; I won't have anyone cutting up Warren to poke through his brains if he lives another fifty years and goes in his sleep."

Valet nodded, sympathizing—he had a dog, he confided, when he was a boy; a good dog, only he was bit by a skunk what had rabies, and when he'd shot him—he'd done it himself, before it got so bad Rufus didn't recognize him but when it was bad that he couldn't drink and was almost mad with thirst, and held him in his lap for an hour afterward, petting him and petting him, smoothing the fur around the dark little hole the bullet had made—and the village doctor had cut off his head and taken it away and burned it afterward, so Valet had had to bury only his body (he cried as he related this story to Kah, and Kah found his own eyes stinging, too: of the strong scent of the liqueur, he thought). As a man, he'd never have let them do that, not to his dog, but when you're a boy, and your father says the doctor needs to do something...

"Maybe they're like birds," Valet said, abruptly, and Kah looked politely at the fire while the other man surreptitiously dabbed at his eyes with his handkerchief. "Flying south for the winter and all that, and that's how he navigates so good."

"Maybe," Kah agreed, because he found he rather liked Valet, though he privately thought the idea of a dragon being anything like a migratory bird ludicrous. "Anyway, this thing with Asquith—that is, Lord Asquith..."

But Valet interrupted him, saying with quiet vehemence, "He's an ass. It will pass, Mr Kah, don't you worry about that—no one can go out and meet a dragon's eyes, watch it watching you watching it, wondering what you're looking at it for, and still think they're dumb brutes."

Kah smiled, and found that he had to fumble for his own handkerchief, unfolding it with shaking hands to wipe his eyes. "And no one has to cut off dogs' heads anymore, neither, just to see if they're rabid or not," Kah replied, quietly, and the next night, in Wales, he read to Warren from a book of Scottish ghost stories while the dragon delightedly twirled his long tongue around and around the little fluted glass of floral liqueur Valet had given Kah before he left, while the stars came out overhead.

[flyteck]

I... I love your bat dragons, flyteck ;n; His—code name, I guess? xD—suggested his quirk to me, and I thought it would be fun to write it out, so... I hope I have a chance, at least!

I was going to pretty it up with dividers and such, but in the end I just decided to let it stand on its own ♥ And I just finished reading the Temeraire series, so was so, SO fun~

Username: Kattata

Name: Warren

Gender: Male

Height: 4.9 Feet

Dog Breed Name + Link: Ibizan Hound
(I'm a sucker for these guys, as well as for achromatic eyes—I have an odd-eyed sheltie in real life ♥

Quirk: Well...

The courier Kah had meant to tarry for only a few minutes in Lord Asquith's camp to speak with the dragon captain there, picking up any messages for the outlying hinterlands—he couldn't stand Asquith: the fourth son of a minor nobleman, a fact that should have made him humble in regards to his own station and that of others, Asquith was instead outspoken both of this filial connection, an open preference over his elder brothers that was almost certainly more than half imaginary, and a few hundred political views tended as lovingly as a garden, a few of them somewhat nonsensical and some at outright logger-heads with others, many considerably contrary to discussion in polite society, a fact that Asquith doubtless delighted in; it was, in fact, one of these so-called causes that touched off Kah's faint, instinctual dislike of the man into a breed of hatred just shy of murderous, a hatred that burned and burned and burned, as an ember will kindle a devastating forest fire when touched to heaped kindling.

A surprisingly substantial portion of important decision-makers—Asquith and his friends and supporters among them—had begun to adopt the alarming notion that dragons were valuable only for their size and their ability to be driven, much like twelve-ton horses with teeth. It was suddenly pervading parlors all over the country that these reasoning, affectionate creatures were less than dumb brutes—loyal as dogs are loyal, and to be cherished for their abilities in war, but not on their own, as companions. The very fact that this concept was not shot down at once but considered, nodded about and chewed over, kept Kah from laughing outright himself—he had seen too many court-martials and hangings to be cavalier with his own life—but as he encountered it more and more often, from sources further and farther between that should have had no common denominators whatsoever that might have been the source of the seed of the idea, Kah asked quiet questions of men he knew he could trust, and found that Asquith had first conceived of the idea, and then spread it around, with an eye toward saving king and country the expense of treating dragons with the same measure of care and respect afforded cavalry horses, and if it hadn't broken his own dragon's heart had he lost, Kah would have called him out then and there to duel.

But it turned out that, although his master had no idea of the predilection—weakness, Asquith would probably have called it, Kah reflected savagely; Asquith was all for prohibition—Asquith's valet was quite skilled at brewing a strong, sweet liqueur from a local aromatic night-blooming flower. The liqueur had all the taste of that perfume, but was neither cloying on the tongue nor sickeningly sweet; it warmed him from his stomach up to his cheeks and down to his toes, but did not fog up his mind overmuch... though he did find himself speaking to Valet—he had another name, Kah was given to understand, but Asquith had called him you, valet for so long that it had become rather ingrained habit to even think of himself by that "name"—about dragons.

"They're smart, you know," Kah heard himself saying, "a lot smarter than people give them credit for. Of course, you're probably thinking, of course Kah would think that, he's got himself a dragon! And that's part of it, I suppose—you get yourself a really good dog, I mean a really good dog, and you start to think that he can understand you, he just don't have the vocal cords to be commenting on what you're tellin'm. Warren—my dragon—Warren's like that, only he really is, not like the dog thing, from earlier." Kah struggled to make sense of which way he'd been leading the conversation, aware of Valet's calm, interested expression, and of the friendly interest in Valet's rather liqueur-glazed eyes.

"He listens to you," Kah decided at last. "And when he looks at you, you can see that he's thinking—there's this dog, this collie, type of thing, supposed to be the smartest dog in the world, yeah? And it's always thinking. Always thinking. Which is trouble, for people who try to keep it as a pet, because it, you know, digs up their gardens or under their fences and runs around the neighborhood getting into trouble, or, or chews up the furniture or whatever, because it has to be intoe— inter— inte'lekssshly engaged. And Warren's like that—always thinking, usually, it seems," Kah added, a little ruefully, "how to be a pain in my—well, you know. He's a nectar-eater, so he's small, and they usually can't be ridden, but I'm small," this was a sore point with Kah, and he said it with only a little belligerence, looking for amusement in Valet's face and satisfied to find none there, "so I can. Ride him, I mean. And he's a navigator—better'n I am. He loves stories about the stars and the constellations and things, and what they all mean, and he can identify most of 'em if he's asked nicelike and it's a clear night, but he don't need 'em at all. All over clouds, blindfolded, you can whirl him around in circles and he'll still find his way back to a place he's only been once, five years before.

"And I didn't teach him any of that," Kah concluded, proudly. "Not a thing, not about navigating. I read to him, but he prefers folklore, not science or mathematics or anything like that—which is just as well, I don't have the head for that sort of thing, and he would tilt his head in the way he's got to have me explain this or that finer point, and of course I wouldn't be able to do it because I wouldn't have understood a word myself. Met a fellow over in Spain, once, that said he thought they—dragons, I mean—might have, like, magnets in their brains or something, only he'd never met an aviator that would let him near their dragon, even if it was dead—I don't blame them, either; I won't have anyone cutting up Warren to poke through his brains if he lives another fifty years and goes in his sleep."

Valet nodded, sympathizing—he had a dog, he confided, when he was a boy; a good dog, only he was bit by a skunk what had rabies, and when he'd shot him—he'd done it himself, before it got so bad Rufus didn't recognize him but when it was bad that he couldn't drink and was almost mad with thirst, and held him in his lap for an hour afterward, petting him and petting him, smoothing the fur around the dark little hole the bullet had made—and the village doctor had cut off his head and taken it away and burned it afterward, so Valet had had to bury only his body (he cried as he related this story to Kah, and Kah found his own eyes stinging, too: of the strong scent of the liqueur, he thought). As a man, he'd never have let them do that, not to his dog, but when you're a boy, and your father says the doctor needs to do something...

"Maybe they're like birds," Valet said, abruptly, and Kah looked politely at the fire while the other man surreptitiously dabbed at his eyes with his handkerchief. "Flying south for the winter and all that, and that's how he navigates so good."

"Maybe," Kah agreed, because he found he rather liked Valet, though he privately thought the idea of a dragon being anything like a migratory bird ludicrous. "Anyway, this thing with Asquith—that is, Lord Asquith..."

But Valet interrupted him, saying with quiet vehemence, "He's an ass. It will pass, Mr Kah, don't you worry about that—no one can go out and meet a dragon's eyes, watch it watching you watching it, wondering what you're looking at it for, and still think they're dumb brutes."

Kah smiled, and found that he had to fumble for his own handkerchief, unfolding it with shaking hands to wipe his eyes. "And no one has to cut off dogs' heads anymore, neither, just to see if they're rabid or not," Kah replied, quietly, and the next night, in Wales, he read to Warren from a book of Scottish ghost stories while the dragon delightedly twirled his long tongue around and around the little fluted glass of floral liqueur Valet had given Kah before he left, while the stars came out overhead.

All yours! The amount of effort you put into the form is amazing. I also really enjoyed reading your story. Some cute quirks in there too.