Future Flames (WIP!)

The clock gently tocked, and the time chimed two. The household was quiet, after that; peaceful, perhaps. Swathes of sunlight visibly cut through a callously-curtained window, settling opposite against a shelf-mounted, miniature garden of carefully curated, golden-hued flowers. Each of their molded pots had been adorned with small decorations- a few had been armed with scribbled-on arms, legs, or other small, happy expressions, while another half had been equipped with stickers of varying origins and gaudiness, along with an unnecessary amount of probably-ironic glitter. Each one, however, had a story baked into its surface; an experience scribbled and shaped into their clay moulding. The whole room had history, really- and it showed.

The walls were lined with photos- of adults, of children, of friends and family, academy and graduation-- but the centerpiece, hung high above an award-laden fireplace, was an amateur, poorly-shot photo of a happy family. Though the image is grainy, and slightly off-angle, three people are clearly visible.

It depicts a massive monster facing the camera with a proud, wide, and fang-lined grin on her snout. An overgrown, auburn bushel of hair crests behind her head- and mostly covers her eyes. They're shut tightly, though, and there's a bounding energy to her pose- like the photo was taken just before a leap upwards. Angled into her is a slight human wearing an obnoxiously colored sweater; the stripes of green and yellow a sharp contrast to his partner's stain-lined, off-white tank top. He's being pulled into a tight headlock by the mauve monster besides him, and, faintly, a small slice of scarlet can be seen under his thickly layered bangs. Though subtle, and easily missed, the human is smiling: one end of his lips curling upwards into a sly little smirk. One of his hands rests on the stout shoulder of a child between them, who was, at the moment, wearing a blue-and-purple patterned turtleneck. Just like their father. Their eyes are pressed tightly together, as if squinting at something ahead, but the open grin on their face tells a much happier tale- one lined with an array of sharp-angled, tightly-fit fangs. Just like their mother. Her other hand is wrapped around the youth's shoulder, too- dwarfing the human's own in comparison. Together, the three stand in a wooded clearing; a park of some kind, perhaps. To the horizon, the distant silhouette of a gently curving mountain stands tall.

The photo, for all of its flaws, captures the three at their happiest. It is a culmination of their hopes and dreams- of the past, of the present, and of the future, too. It is a snapshot of the peace and serenity long promised through years of hardship, struggle, heroism, sacrifice, and boundless support and care for one another. It depicts a bond, proven unbreakable- and the product of such a union, too. It is, ultimately, a commemoration of victory; and a clear-cut sign of happy ending to a tale long told.

The family's story isn't over yet, though -- and the serenity of the living room isn't entirely silent, either.

Muted as it was, the house was still lived in - and the people inhabiting it certainly made their share of sound.

Around a slight bend in the house's architecture, and past the home's much-abused couch, the home's hallway is filled with the professionally paced sound of chopping; the repeated drawing of a sharp knife against a wood-set cutting board. Further beyond, and up a single flight of stairs, the sound of small, stomping feet echoed downwards; and the slight sound of a child's voice reverberated into the floorboards above. It seemed like they were talking to someone - though what they were saying wasn't decipherable through the floorboards. Their father, with a brief tilt of the head upwards, assumed that they were just on the phone - and went back to the task at hand. Chopping. Slicing. Cutting.

There are patterns to dicing up food, after all. They're learned by practice, though, and Kris had plenty of practice. Meticulously, he divided up chunky cloves of garlic into thin, neat little bits - and a flayed onion was filleted open in record time. Soon, they'd be sacrificed to the well-oiled pot besides him - and, in time, the kitchen would be filled with the fine, garlic-y scent of the culinary arts. There was a kind of satisfaction to food preparation, in Kris' mind - but it never showed on his face. He'd remained stoic and plain-faced, even as the aromatic steam wafted into his face. The food did smell nice, though. He hadn't even added the tomatoes yet, and his partner always loved extra garlic in the sauce. Extra onions, too. Extra everything, honestly. Some sweetness, too, maybe. He'd probably have to address those concerns quickly, though- given how quickly the pot was starting to simmer, and, with another glance at the grandfather clock in the den - how it was that time of day, too.

She'd be home any minute now.

Reaching for a few spare carrots, Kris noticed a few flecks of garlic had spattered onto one of his hands - the yellowish bits of sustenance highlighted brightly against the streak of off-colored scar tissue between his forefinger and thumb. Briefly, he turned his hand around in scattering the bits to the wind; and the scars of scratches long past only grew larger, longer, and more lacing on the inside of his palm; each healed laceration an intentional scratch - or incidental grind of jagged scale against soft skin. One of the marks was still healing; and the brute that'd gnawed it on had promised to give him another, soon enough. Kris could feel a brush of pleasant radiance, deep within his chest - and, ever-so-slightly, that veneer of stone-facedness broke. He'd afforded himself a gentle smile- a dopey, dreamlike expression, right under his bangs. He was just about to shutter those pleasant - if painful - memories away, though, when some inexorable sense ticked in his head; and he could hear something metallic jangling in the direction of the living room. For a split second afterwards, there was silence. Simple, peaceful silence- just like before.

Then, at once, Susie crashes through the door.

Really, she'd kicked the damn thing open. It was lucky that the house's front door opened inwards- because, otherwise, it'd have long since shattered years ago. It was less lucky for her, though, that the door's frame was only so big - which made her actual entrance a tick stifled. She'd always had to arch her head some to not bash her snout against the top part of the doorway- and the monster had learned that lesson the hard way. Horizontally, though, her entrances became much easier - which was good, since she'd been carting her gear bag under-the-shoulder into the living room. The dragon, however, doesn't hold it for long - immediately throwing the massive duffel bag onto the couch with a well-practiced toss.

The couch, Couchiel, accepted the burden well enough. Creakily, of course, and always risking structural collapse with every return home's toss, but it'd lasted for this long - and, as Susie recognized, it'd last this time around, too.

With the weight of her equipment off her shoulder, Susie lets out a long, maw-opening groan - and raises her arms high enough in a full-body stretch to brush her curling knuckles against the ceiling. It was closer to a yawn, really - and the sound of her jaw suddenly snapping together reverberated loud enough to intensify that half-hidden smile on Kris' face. Hell, he'd even felt a fluster warming his cheeks. He didn't say anything about that, though- or anything else, either. As soon as she'd turned her attention to the kitchen - no doubt attracted to the brimming sound and smell of a rolling simmer - Kris peeked his head out to offer a knowing, smug glance at her arrival - then ducked back into the kitchen without saying a word. He had to focus on cooking, after all.

She wouldn't like that. She hadn't liked that-- not one bit.

It was the perfect bait.

While Kris tried his best to deaden his expression, Susie paced onwards; marching over towards the human that'd just snubbed her. He could hear every single step - the slow, steady pace of heavy, muck-stained work boots thumping against varnished floors. Of course, he ignored every bit of it -- or, at least, pretended to ignore it - just to egg her on further. Involuntarily, the human's ears perked up - carefully listening in as the monster behind him stamped closer.

And closer.
Closer.
Close.
So close.

He didn't even need to hear her, those last few steps. After all-- he could see her shadow looming behind him. It enveloped and overwhelmed the slighter shade he'd cast over the kitchen counter- so large was their difference in size. He could feel the hair on the back of his neck rise, and a dull shiver crawled down the length of his back; screaming at him, subconsciously, to turn around- and face the creature behind him. He keeps up his little game, though- ignoring the oppressive presence standing just inches behind him. After all, he had to focus on cooking. Raising the knife, the human slides the last of the chopped crops into the pot. Then, with a slow, relaxed ease, he sets the blade back onto the board.

"Hey there, freak."

He feels her hand firmly clasped onto his shoulder- jagged, massive, and laced with prickling, curling talons- snatching him up, right by the collar.

He feels her breath heavily huffing against the back of his neck, like the hungering heaves of a beast. No, no- a demon. It scalds against the base of his neck - and it smells so heavily of fire and brimstone. Soot, too.

He feels himself turning around-- or, rather, that he's being turned around to face her.

He only gets a brief glance at the giant standing behind him-- and, then?

Then she lifts him up.
Effortlessly.
Like a toy.
Her toy.

He doesn't even bother resisting. He doesn't say anything, either. All Kris does is look her straight in the eyes - pinpricks of barely visible scarlet meeting the glowing gild of the monster lifting him up one-handed - a rolling, snaggle-toothed snarl angled 'cross her snout. She's growling, now- an aggressive, basal sound that ends on a long-winded hiss - and sends another huff of heady, heated air 'cross the breadth of Kris' face. Every breath is almost as thick as smoke - and, faintly, Kris could see wisping embers of dragonfire glittering in the air between them. He could feel himself recoiling, some; and he has to actually fight to keep his expression neutral. Susie could see it, too; and the sight of his struggle made her hook the edges of her maw up into a toothy, fang-arrayed grin. Her eyes glint malignantly - and magically, too - burning brightly, even past her brush of overgrown hair.

She's relishing this. Every second of it. Kris doesn't react.

"Well?"
"Y'got something to say, punk?"

It's all part of the game, after all. The electric tension between them is palpable - and it heightens, sways, and peaks - just as Susie unhooks her jaws. The sight of her fangs sent his subconscious aflame; sent into a tizzy by the breadth of her teeth. They're all as long as a finger - and as sharp as knives; those off-gold fangs lingering dangerously close to his throat. From her position, she could take his whole head off with one single chomp, or tear into his jugular like a wild predator-- and he's the prey. Her next words are merged with that hiss; low, rolling, and undeniably bestial- each lingering syllable punctuated by a snarling snap of the jaws. She's getting closer to his neck with every second.

"C'mon. Don't hhhide it, Kris. I don't have to hhrr-hhhurt you, do I?"

In the back of his mind, the human knows that she really, truly could. That thought- that wanton fear - only intensifies the pitching warmth in his chest. His breath catches- and that bluster on his cheeks burns as hot as the embers surrounding them both. He's fragile. His life isn't in his hands anymore- it's in hers. If she wanted, she could hurt him, maim him, or kill him outright- and it's all based on her whim. Not his. He's in a staredown with death- and, at once, that thought turns his stomach - and entices him all the more.

And, like that-
Kris breaks first.

He smiles.
He asks her, quite calmly, how her shift was--
Honey.

It's like he's flipped a switch. The lustre of her eyes dims - and that grin suddenly turns sharply smug. No less toothy, though. She certainly doesn't stop hoisting him up, either; deciding to dangle the human at eye-level. Instead, the dragon brushes her spare hand over that front-facing fuzz to look at him normally. In the aftermath, the couple trade knowing glances with one another: Susie's eyes snidely half-lidded under her mop - and Kris' still covered, as always.

"Mrh. Busy. Whole bunch of calls- most of which were just dumbass false alarms. Had a single residential fire, though."

Her grip lessens - and the human slinks down a good few inches. He's still in the air, though, and a brief wiggle of his feet only confirms it. He craned a glance at the pot behind him - just to make sure it hadn't been keeled over in their game - and audibly pondered how that call went.

"Oh, y'know- the usual. Old lady left her burners on, forgot 'bout it, and started a grease fire. Stuff spread from there."

She shrugs one shoulder, and paunches one side of her freckled cheeks- as if bored by the situation. That personally sounds exciting, Kris countered.

"It SHOULD have been, but- urgh. I ended up missing all the fun bits. It was rush hour, and, by the time Pyrope got the rig there, we'd all missed some dumb dramatic rescue. The fire was half out by the time we'd parked, too!"

Susie snorts- letting loose small puffs of smoke from her nostrils in a fit of draconic frustration.

Kris eases off her grumbling by pointing out the old woman- at least she'll be okay. Maybe.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah. The old bat had a few burns, but I'm willing to bet that she'll be fine. Girl ain't dusting off tonight, that's for sure."

That was good, her partner states. He does wonder if she was an actual bat, though.

"Oh. Yeah. Yeah, she was. Can't say more than that, though- don't wanna break BIPAA, y'know?

Kris is pretty sure she's already broken it in the past, though- especially with that one patient she had named... Heatsdude, maybe? She just grumbles something incoherent, and looks away for a second; her usual way of admitting defeat.

Still, he crosses his lips with two fingers: a metaphorical zip. Her secrets are always safe with him-- even if they are totally illegal. Nothing to worry about. The motion assuades her grumbling, at least. In the pause, Kris wiggles his feet one more time; this time with enough force to actually remind her that she's still holding him up.

The paired parents trade simultaneous glances downwards, trading an unspoken message of pressing importance. Susie lets out a quick 'oh'- tonally delivered as if she'd simply forgotten to drop him. She probably did, all things considered. Despite another efforted wiggle on Kris' behalf, though, the monster didn't let up. Instead, she hoisted him up by another solid inch- a smug glint glowing in her eyes; maw arranged in an equally tormentative grin.

"Hey. Ain't letting you go just yet, buddy. I think you're forgetting something important, first-off."

Huh? Oh. Right, right. Kris had almost forgotten. Or, well- he definitely did, all things considered. Great minds think alike, as the saying goes- but the best minds forget together. It took him long enough for that lapse in memory to pass, though, that Susie had to physically jog his memory- perhaps out of her own impatience. So, naturally, she jangles him by the collar-- chiming the poor human like a small, thinly-cut bell. It's not her only assault, though- simultaneously delivering a solid, middle-talon flick to the front of his forehead.

"C'mon, schmuck. The least you could do is kiss me. My breath doesn't smell that bad, does it?"

She'd ended that question a little more genuine than she'd have liked; that thick layer of confidence parting, for a moment, out of genuine concern for his sake. Kris informs her, matter-of-factly, that it does- but, non-verbally, he tells her that he's okay with that. He does this, naturally, by kissing her on the brim of her snout- his lips pressing against her top lip in an affectionate approximation of an earnest smooch. It's not the only one, of course. He gives her another, right on the rounding tip of her muzzle. Then, yet one more- the human leaning forward in her grasp to smooch squarely at the bridge of her maw, right below her spackled freckles. He'd settled there for a good few seconds- visibly glancing upwards to look Susie in the eyes, bangs be damned. His arms, in the meantime, were reaching forward to pull her much-larger head into an impromptu embrace- until his hands were wrapped in a jungle of always-untrimmed hair. With a practiced ease, the human repeated his lip-locked pattern back downwards- each contact against her jaggling scales growing warmer and warmer, just under the surface. He couldn't see her fluster entirely-- but he didn't need to. Kris could feel it, after all; a radiant, inhumane heat that sank into his skin and spiked near his smooch-spots.

His hands roved her hair- nestled inside until his fingertips brushed against the surface of her scalp, caressing the rounding curve of her skull. Monsters had such strange anatomy. They were always so varied, so compelling, so fascinating to the eye and ear and touch and smell- Kris just couldn't get enough. As he finished verbally repeating that unsaid statement to her - a sweet murmur that he was more than okay with that, and that it's because it was her - his hands catch on something. Something... new. They're hard, razor-edged, and keratinous- and, as soon as his hands brushed against them, Susie lets out a small, yelping chuff- and dropped Kris like a rock.

Fortunately, the fall wasn't that bad. Less fortunately, though, he'd landed off-balance; bare feet hitting the tile with an unsteady suddenness that'd nearly made him stumble and fall. Nearly. He'd had Susie for an anchor, after all.

With a reflexive ease, she'd lunged forward- capturing her wobbly partner by the shoulders and yanking him into a strangely sensitive, semi-apologetic embrace. It's one that's much too tight, though; Kris could feel the soft paunch of his cheeks get smushed against the rock-solid textures of her torso-- pinned into that position by violet-scaled, trunk-thick arms. Like that, he had to struggle to breathe; in her haste, she'd caught him with the same measure of strength that could crush someone's bones. Human bones. That wayward, tingling thought, at least, made the active compression of his chest a bit less unpleasant-- but he was still increasingly short of breath. It'd taken much too long for her to release that pressure - allowing Kris to finally take a deep, rasping breath in.

"Shit. Hey, hey- you okay, dude?"

The human replies simply - freeing himself from that violet prison with a shaky stumble; letting his back lean against the stove. His response is verbalized with a short cough, and a brief shake of the head. She'd held him too tight, again- too worried about the fall to realize her own strength. Kris kept that latter sentiment to himself, though- especially since he could read the monster's expression like a book. A picture book. Her face was still flush with velvet; and that wayward grin had turned down into a genuinely concerned frown - her pupils set wide from the heat of the moment.

He could ask the same thing about her, though- and that's exactly what he does. He brings up those things on her head, too-- were those her...?

"... hah, yeah. They, uh, came out while I was in the station. Hurt like hell- but, hey, I'm tough. They're still pretty sensitive, though- why is why I, uh-- yyyeah, that happened."

Surprisingly, uncharacteristically, Susie was actually being sheepish about it - though Kris wasn't sure whether that was from their new-found sensitivity, or what could've happened when she dropped him. She didn't need to be, though- because the revelation had got him giddy. Surprisingly, uncharacteristically giddy.

Susie had horns.
Horns!