Cocoa

Tough and rather prone to getting in fights, Cocoa feels nothing more than emasculated by his feminine name. His coral body errs just too far on the side of pink for his liking, but there's nothing he can do about it. The lair to whom he belongs doesn't partake in magicks such as scatterscrolls, no matter how fervently he applies to receive one. Not to mention, his appearance is considered "rare." Personally, he'd rather be tough, grainy, and well done. But you live with what you're given. He has learned to make do.

Men and women of the lair would often croon and preen over him, claiming he would create beautiful hatchlings, should he decide to take a wife. He would always respond the same way: spitting into the dirt and averting his eyes. He had no time for women, and the idea of raising a family did not appeal to him. The acid he'd spit was usually still sizzling on the organic compounds in the dirt by the time he'd gotten annoyed and taken off.

--

He met Milk shortly before they both reached adulthood. He was only a few days her senior, and even then, the whispering about their friendship had begun. He was almost three times her size, but they were only days apart. They were thrust together by her parents and his adoptive, spiritual caretakers.

Despite dwarfing her, showcasing a new, rippling coat that had only recently been discovered, and having a well-rehearsed, venerable sneer that intimidated most dragons, he was mostly left to linger away from the mouth of the cave. His clan was one of vanity and familial bonding first and foremost.

She had the green eyes, while his were an unsightly blood red. She was one of the first clutches of the clan to showcase such beautiful, shimmering figures. She had attractive colors. She received her name almost immediately after birth. (He only received his after she was born, and he later learned it was to match the theme of hers). She was assigned to sit near the mouth of the cave, to attract other clansmen and entice them into their modest clan. Cocoa was vehemently jealous.

He spent a while ignoring her, going out on every gathering just to avoid her. He hunted even though no one in the clan ate the meat he'd return with. He needed to fight something; to feel it's neck snap in his beak created a surge of euphoric release that calmed him. That made him feel like he had an identity. A place he belonged.

He didn't notice after a while, but Milk was growing quite ill. She was sickly, her gems and scales slowly losing their sheen, and blood often dripped from her mouth. The other members of the clan would run to her in a flurry, but she'd wave them away. It was brought to his attention when the murmurs finally ceased, and Ariat and Johann approached him. Ariat was the leader of the clan. Johann was Milk's father. The bile and acid in Cocoa's mouth was bubbling furiously and nearly burning his nostrils from the inside.

They informed him that his bedspace was being moved next to hers. He was annoyed, assuming that it was just the elders' way of pushing them together.

It wasn't until he'd gathered his thresh and moved to her that he actually saw just how ill she was. The blood dripping from her mouth was thick and congealed. Her scales and feathers had grown dull, and cracks were forming in the gems embedded to her. If he was older, he would have known that she was dying. She whimpered weakly to him, nudging his feet with her head. Her tail flicked over a part of her thresh, revealing some sort of dead animal.

The duskrat that he'd killed yesterday. It had been nibbled at, a few chunks of skin torn off with what looked like a hatchling's beak. Cocoa eyed Milk with a newfound sense of urgency. She had been eating the game he hunted.

In a frantic whisper he interrogated her. How long have you been doing this? A few days. How are you taking my game from my thresh? I stole it while you were out. Hasn't anyone noticed that you haven't been eating bugs? None of the elders have seen anything. Our breed isn't supposed to eat game--we eat insects. You're going to die if you keep eating my game.

Her eyes were clouded and glassy. She searched for his face, but seemed to just not be able to focus on it.

If I don't eat your game, who will? You brought it back for us. Someone needs to eat it.

Cocoa wasn't sure if it was the naive, childlike way she was saying it or the fact that she was actually risking her life for something so...pointless. He would have been angry if she wasn't still a child, if she wasn't practically laying on his flank and gazing up at him expectantly.

For a while, he tried not to hunt, but it made him grow antsy, and acid would dribble out of his mouth at night and corrode his and Milk's belongings. He then tried to hide it better from her, but she was quick and agile and very good at letting others provoke him until he left in a flurry of hisses and spits. She grew more and more ill. He grew more and more tense.

His saving grace came in the form of a dull Mirror that sort of forced his way into their clan. Cocoa hadn't seen the breed since he was a hatchling, back in his plague clan, but he remembered that they definitely ate meat. Dracarys was hard to communicate with, but nonetheless cooperative. Dracarys made a big show of enjoying the game that he brought to the clan, mostly in front of Milk, and he noticed that her feathers were beginning to look more vibrant again.

Cocoa learned how to catch insects and would sneak off in the middle of the night when Milk was craving a certain kind. He felt indebted to her in some sort of way. Anyone who would risk their life to do him a small justice was worth waking at dawn to travel to the Sunbeam Ruins in search of a particularly elusive type of grub. Anyone born with green eyes in a green eyed clan that would stop so eagerly to help him was worth most things. She grew healthier, he grew happier, she grew up.

The day Milk reached adulthood was probably the last day Cocoa ever spat acid on the dirt outside of the Steppes. Still a third of her size, Milk's elegant features captivated him. He didn't know how to court her and didn't have the stomach to swallow his pride and ask one of the elders. He just continued to bring her insects until one day, she mentioned wanting to prepare for her first nest and looked pointedly at him. She requested that he wait for her to reach breeding maturity, and implored that he be honest if he didn't want to. Acid nearly foaming out of his beak and nostrils, he accepted fervently. Dracarys whistled, having overheard the whole ordeal.

Since then, the two have been happily teasing each other and rarely apart, with the occasional thorough search of their (now shared) thresh bedspace for game that doesn't belong there.

He keeps a small raspberry ink painting of her he bought off of a nomadic Spiral in the deepest part of his thresh with the hopes that she will never, ever find it.