The crate was dim, shifting under its own weight and low-grade momentum of the boxes around it. It was wooden, which was uncommon for the region, but not unheard of, and loosely slatted on top, to allow for airflow. Theoretically, it contained the giant space-goose, a rare delicacy brought aboard to face the tender mercies of Chef Glr'Brrrnglorp, and eventually to grace the plates of all aboard. For those who knew of it, there was no fiercer beast, nor tastier dish- and of course, no one would think twice of such a creature growling.
Toothless didn't know exactly how he'd managed to get into the crate. All he knew was that it was stiflingly small, that it stank and shifted and threatened him with vertigo, and that he'd been trapped there for long enough that he was beginning beginning to lose the edge of aggression to the single-minded decision-making patterns of hunger. Then came a sound he hadn't heard before, the crack and creak of the crate being opened- presumably by his captor. The crate was too small to turn around in, but it didn't take much thought to keep from hunching away from the light- instead, he lunged for it, and the crate burst open in a flurry of alien cephalopod curses and flying crockery.
Enraged, the dragon roared at the flailing limbs, then spat fire when a frying pan glanced off his shoulder. With two scrambling leaps, Toothless overset half the furniture in the room, scattered ingredients and utensils across the floor and leapt spread-winged and wild-eyed into the hall. Wherever the crate had taken him, this dragon didn't care. He had to find his boy.
no subject
The crate was dim, shifting under its own weight and low-grade momentum of the boxes around it. It was wooden, which was uncommon for the region, but not unheard of, and loosely slatted on top, to allow for airflow. Theoretically, it contained the giant space-goose, a rare delicacy brought aboard to face the tender mercies of Chef Glr'Brrrnglorp, and eventually to grace the plates of all aboard. For those who knew of it, there was no fiercer beast, nor tastier dish- and of course, no one would think twice of such a creature growling.
Toothless didn't know exactly how he'd managed to get into the crate. All he knew was that it was stiflingly small, that it stank and shifted and threatened him with vertigo, and that he'd been trapped there for long enough that he was beginning beginning to lose the edge of aggression to the single-minded decision-making patterns of hunger. Then came a sound he hadn't heard before, the crack and creak of the crate being opened- presumably by his captor. The crate was too small to turn around in, but it didn't take much thought to keep from hunching away from the light- instead, he lunged for it, and the crate burst open in a flurry of alien cephalopod curses and flying crockery.
Enraged, the dragon roared at the flailing limbs, then spat fire when a frying pan glanced off his shoulder. With two scrambling leaps, Toothless overset half the furniture in the room, scattered ingredients and utensils across the floor and leapt spread-winged and wild-eyed into the hall. Wherever the crate had taken him, this dragon didn't care. He had to find his boy.