Sadistic » Lair » Asimi

Asimi

(#956051)

Love, love, love. Ours.

Familiar

Sweet Pea of Wavecrest

Energy: 48/50

Personal Style

Apparel

Skin

Scene

Physical Attributes

Battle Stats

Measurements

Length

4.45 m

Wingspan

4.01 m

Weight

235.61 kg

Genetics

Silver
Bar

Ice
Daub

Emerald
Spines

Hatchday

Oct 13, 2013
(10 years)

Breed

Adult
Tundra

Eye Type

Earth
Unusual

Level 25 Tundra

Max Level

STR

117

AGI

DEF

QCK

INT

VIT

MND

Lineage

Parents

none

Offspring

Biography

Asimi
Mire Trainer
The Warm Warrior

Asimi spends a lot of time as a pillow for hatchlings. He sheds profusely year-round and gets fur everywhere, then sniffs said fur and gets happy because "IT ME! :D :D" Possibly the friendliest, happiest dragon in the clan, Asimi's terrible Tundra-memory is turned up to 10. He's forgetful, simple, and carefree. It's endearing and annoying.

In terms of memory, Asimi's liable to forget dragons he hasn't seen in a week. His olfactory memory is pretty terrible too; dragons always smell like friends until he finds out they're not. The only exceptions to this is his mate Rarna, and the adoptive kids who look almost exactly like him. He never forgets about them for some reason.

In contrast to his fluffy, friendly attitude, Asimi is entirely capable of destroying the general area in defense. He often handles training the younger dragons in the Mire. He just doesn't remember fighting with most dragons and defaults to his friendly greeting until the interaction goes sour, only to start friendly the next time he runs into them. Everyone's a friend!

Some of the capes were from Nicor and Nokken. He liked them so much he went on a vacation to the Boreal Woods and got enough pelts for more.

^{''Asimina is a genus of eight species of small trees or shrubs with large simple leaves and large fruit, native to eastern North America, collectively referred to as Pawpaw. The genus includes the widespread common pawpaw Asimina triloba, which bears the largest edible fruit indigenous to the continent.''}

Familiar: Silver Ferret

Rarna wrote:

Asimi wants, though it's hard to put into words. Wants her safe. Wants her happy. Protect? He'll protect her. He'll make her happy! He'll do anything to keep her happy, because Rarna is good to him, and Rarna deserves the world.
...

Mine wrote:

Asimi adores his children. He loves them to bits, even though Almeisan hates public shows of affection and Alterf is quite the same. Alnath loves to press himself against Asimi, sometimes, but he has to initiate; he flinches terribly if taken by surprise. All of them are a little strange, the clan says, and that's entirely different from how Tabasco and Eggnog and Yuyi are strange: how Tabasco and Eggnog's eyes go guarded at the sight of Aine, how Yuyi's go wistful when she thinks of her parents.

Asimi doesn’t wonder why his children call him Asimi. All he cares about is his children and mate, happy and healthy as can be. Asimi is a fine name, the one he chose for himself! He loves it, and loves that his children love it. He'll take what he gets from them and knows it's priceless.

Almeisan has her friends. Alterf and Alnath have- well, they were Almeisan’s friends first, but they’re a package deal now. Wherever one goes the others are sure to follow, Pacific and Melodia and Canelm and Yuyi in tow. Children in many ways, adults in others. Some days the group of them are too knowledgeable, too willing to dirty claws and teeth when they should be sheltered and protected.

“Mom! Mom!!” Melodia’s voice is a shriek as she skitters past, batlike, claws digging into the fleshy Plague dirt. That voice is odd, familiar in a way Asimi knows he won’t be able to place, but he focuses on what he can remember.

Melodia smells like his children. His children aren’t present. She’s distressed, her mom isn’t here, and today, she's a child, so he has to be an adult.

(Rarna isn't here either, off wherever with Melodia's mom, Canelm, and Yuyi. He's forgotten her name. He'll have to ask her later, so he knows which dragon is beautiful and vain and powerful beyond measure.)

“Mel~” he sings, and when he shakes his head (and his neck and shoulders follow) a cloud of fluff dusts the area. He gets up from where he was dozing, the sun warming his five wolf pelts, feeling a smile burst across his lips before he can consciously put it there. “Hello, Mel!”

She stops, panting, every eye on her body wide as she looks at what was previously a pile of fur. The one on the tip of her tail blinks; her flanks heave, and then her mind catches up. “Asimi,” she says, voice distorted as she cobbles words she knows into sentences she doesn't, “Alterf, Alnath, please, You need to Come or They'll Leave-“

It doesn’t make sense, and Asimi tilts his head. He doesn’t have time to not understand, so he takes off at a brisk trot, and Melodia scrambles before him.

---

His daughter is cowering.

"Almeisan~" Asimi sings, because he knows she hates when her name is disregarded and butchered. She whirls, then bounds over, pushes her head into his neck, trembling in a full-body way he's never seen before.

"Don't let them go," she says into his fur, "Please, Asimi."

He nuzzles the top of her skull, a little awkwardly, shedding fur all over the wolf cape he gave her. There isn't time to ask what she means, though, because he's sniffing the air, scanning for his sons. Melodia nudges him, pointing with her tail, and repeats "Don't let them go" in Almeisan's voice before doing her best to hurry him along.

So he trots over to two strange dragons and his sons, spreads his wings wide, and says, "Hello~!"

Alterf and Alnath flinch. They look at him like they've snapped out of a trance; they look to the two dragons, frozen in the act of leading them away, and stumble over words. "Asimi," Alterf says, "This. This is." It comes to a stuttering halt; he flounders, tail flicking helplessly.

"This is my. Our? Father." Alnath finishes, although Father sounds like poison when he says it, and Asimi looks just in time to see him flinch and cower. He's too slow to see whatever look "Father" gave Alnath, though, because by the time he looks back the expression is polite resignation.

"Father" is a dragon Asimi's seen before, with whiskers, two short horns, and a round ball in a pouch around his neck. His scent is muddled, like he was close enough to touch Alterf and Alnath, and that strikes Asimi as odd even as he smiles and hums another greeting.

"Who's this?" he sings, looking at the second stranger: bipedal, feathered, with nasty looking claws on his feet. That Nature breed, he supposes; a bit like a large bird. The stranger smiles, then shoots Father a look, rolls his eyes.

"You can call me Em," he says smoothly. "And these are ours, so we'll take them off your hands." Just like that, he reaches out and touches the wolf cape on Alterf's head. Even with the fur as a buffer, Alterf still shivers in a way that has nothing to do with the cold, wings flat against his back, tail tucked along his belly and brushing his chin.

"They," Asimi says, and he doesn't know how to tell them of the scent of desperation, of dust and dirt and fear, of mistrust bleeding into tentative hope. He can't structure the old pang of waking and wondering if Alterf and Alnath would be gone, and Almeisan with them, nor the warmth when his nose tells him the three are curled, close but not touching, sound asleep. Of family dinners that aren't quite dinners: of him eating plants, and Rarna picking at insects, and his children snacking on some beast they've killed, together.

Close but not touching. Never touching. But these dragons have his sons' scents on them, even though his sons hate touch.

"My sons," he says instead, tilting his head quizzically. "Why?"

"They're ours." Father sounds like he's speaking to a hatchling. "I imagine they've been a bother, what with their issues and yours. You can't steal them, and you're lucky we aren't holding it against you. We cleared it with your leader, you know. She said we could reclaim what we proved was ours."

"They've been lying to you," Em adds, "It's nice, pretending to be a family. The capes were a nice touch." His hand is still on Alterf's wolf cape- hasn't moved since he put it there. The claws dig in, and then he throws the brilliant white onto the sweaty, fleshy Plague ground, and Alterf's body goes rigid. "You," he says, and Alnath draws a sharp breath. "We're leaving. Hurry up."

Asimi looks at Alterf's wolf pelt, eyes narrowed, then looks at Alnath. "Hm~?" he asks, because he knows what he wants to say. His darned tongue just won't cooperate.

Alnath worries his lip with his teeth, again and again until it splits and blood blooms. "I," he says, but a look chokes it off, and he's looking at Em as he says, "It's fine. Don't- hurt him."

Then, he's shrugging the pelt off himself. It's halfway off his back before Asimi gives up on words that never come and shoves his way between his sons and these strangers, quick because if Alnath's pelt hits the ground- well.

He has this feeling that, without a pelt, Alnath and Alterf would be gone. Without her brothers, Almeisan would follow. Losing two will be losing three, it'd be like the old days, Rarna and him wandering free.

It was him and Rarna before, but he can't go back. He could, but he doesn't want to. These dragons want to take his sons, even though they aren't really taking them: there are no chains, no shackles, no bruises or blood. Just words, and words, and his boys flinching as if struck.

"My sons."

"They're not. They're ours, and you're stealing. Aine hates stealing, won't stand for it. Your clan won't back you up." Father smiles, and suddenly, the horns on his snout look very sharp- almost as sharp as Em's claws. "Don't you want to leave Sixteen and Eighteen a good memory?"

"You're outnumbered, Asimi. You should let us go peacefully. Or," his claw reaches out, traces lazily down Alnath's neck. "Or."

He lets the threat hang.

There are too many words. "Not," Asimi says, because it's not stealing: not the same way that Aine was stealing, long ago when she took two hatchlings by force and ran their parents off their land. "Won't," he says, because he knows his clan won't back him up; strength rules, as it always has, and they have to fend for themselves.

Asimi thinks of images, of scents, of anxiety and fear, of backward glances and how none of his children will call him Father. Of how Alterf froze the moment his pelt was gone, and how Alnath is standing as if shackled to the ground, like the pelt is the only thing holding him steadfast. How, as Asimi shoulders his way between his sons and these strangers, they seem to shrink, and the strangers loom ever larger.

He thinks of Melodia, wild with panic, and Almeisan pressed warm against his neck. Of Rarna and half the clan, away on business, and how his sons would certainly be missed.

He thinks of how, in Aine's clan, he would never be allowed to stay, not if he were as weak as these dragons think he is.

"Mine," he says, staring into the strangers' eyes.

He smiles as his wings flare and hide his sons from view.

---

When Rarna comes back, Asimi is still smiling. She looks at his jaws, looks at his claws, looks at how his capes are curiously absent, and says "Dear, what did you do?" in a way that tells him she's not at all expecting a response, nor does she need one.

His children are curled together, a tight ball of three tails, six wings, and seven wolf capes. They smell of fear and distress, of strange dragons and dirt. None of them are hurt, and Rarna is sure to have noticed. All of them are asleep, mentally exhausted from the day, buried as if to hide them or comfort them.

Somewhere, Melodia is chattering quietly to Canelm and Yuyi and Pacific- telling them in her patchwork way what happened and what Asimi did.

Eventually, Rarna will know instead of guess.

"Love," Asimi says as Rarna runs her claws through his fur, as she tsks over stains and clumps and dirt. "Love, love, love. Ours."

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Exalting Asimi to the service of the Gladekeeper will remove them from your lair forever. They will leave behind a small sum of riches that they have accumulated. This action is irreversible.

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