On the Way (part 1)

Getting a Tunk’ta into a giant box is, quite honestly, impossible, and Randel was making sure of it. Jasper tried everything. Every sweet promise and stern stomp of his foot. Still, the dragon refused to enter the gaping maw of the open-topped train car. Though he could smell the fertile soil the immense car was filled with in curious sniffs, he turned away, starting off towards the trail.

“Seriously, Randel?” Jasper threw up his hands before hanging his head. “Don’t make me ask her, buddy.”

The Bond of the soul did not grant telepathy, and he could not have heard Jasper’s soft murmur, but perhaps he had the same thought. Stopping, the dragon swung his head around to glare menacingly at S’re with a narrowed eye.

Sighing, she shook her head at him. “I don’t want to. Will you, please?”

The request was a gentle tug on his will. His craggy snout wrinkled further to show the tip of a thick fang. Staring her down for a long moment, he finally snorted in angry deference and climbed up the ramp. Inspecting the bed, he glared once more at his Bonded before settling into the adequately deep manure. Jasper had to smile when his dragon rumbled softly once his tendrils had spread through to every side, his eyes sliding closed with contentment.

Settling on the soft dirt that cushioned his joints, Granger did not hesitate to fall asleep. Though Roscrow stood like a stoic stone sentinel, arms crossed over his massive chest, he peeked down at his dragon and muttered fondly in elven under his breath.

Hero was quite ecstatic with staying in their shelter with the whole bed to himself, stretching out over the entire space. Smiling, S’re allowed him the luxury before he was too large to enjoy it.

Once they entered the front car, they gawked at the fancy, fully stocked, under lit bar, and the many luxurious chairs absolutely voluminous for all but Roscrow. Made up of mostly windows, it afforded them a full view of their surroundings. The walls between each window were covered in a plush, white and red checkered satin, while the floor was covered in a soft, dark crimson carpet.

After they were all in and exploring about awestruck, a loud ring made them jump. Roscrow picked up a receiver in the wall beside the door and held it up to his ear.

“AVAMAY!”

Jerking his head away from the receiver, Roscrow had to blink a few times and shake his head to recover from the crackling boom. The string of alien words garbled in static continued.

“Every time with him,” Roscrow muttered to himself before pressing the phone to his ear and purring sweetly. “Bultaj, lulumi, thuf. The car is ... adequate.”

He had to hold the receiver away from his head at the aggressive stream of alien curses, smirking as he waited for an opening to interject. “Avamay, you cannot hope to thrash me until I’m back in my mountain.”

He finished his sentence in an alien language. Whatever he said must have been convincing enough. The doors slid shut and the train softly lurched forward on its magnetic rails, quickly gaining speed.

“Now, was that so hard?” he purred again.

“Hard for you!” they heard clearly before another long string of alien gibberish.

“Of course I would gladly suck your dick, Bultaj, sal’bah, but I fear it might snap off, and that would be awfully traumatic for me.”

A roar of laughter made Roscrow jerk his head again. His brows then pinched together at another barrage of static filled sentences. “I could just break those arms off, lulumi. You only need the one to jerk off.”

Shaking his head, his alien banter was all at once sensual and aggressive. Carrying on for a few minutes, he finally sighed.

“Bultaj, lulumi, “ he pouted with that sensual undertone. “I know you love to see me, but the eyes are making my head hurt.” His gaze rolled up to a dark glass orb in the corner, blowing a kiss to it with a wink.

“Ah! Thawgul!”

S’re had not realized just how much her ears were hurting until a sudden relief overcame her.

“You are splendid, Bultaj. I’ll be home soon, lulumi.”

Hanging up the receiver, Roscrow turned and started towards a thickly cushioned couch long enough for him to lay on.

“That was so weird,” S’re mumbled, causing him to pause and raise a curious brow at her. “I’ve just never had cameras hurt my ears like that.”

With a smirk, Roscrow hooked his thumb under a thin chain tucked under his jerkin and tugged it up until he presented a small device dangling from it. “This makes any active and unshielded microphones sing for me while also garbling my voice. Comes in handy.”

She gasped. “That’s what that noise was at the bar!”

“Quite. Bultaj has likely already altered the footage so that Balgarir doesn’t have anything to explain or deny. Now, if you will excuse me, I am long overdue for some sleep.”

The train continued through the mighty forest, zipping across a grand sweeping prairie, and shot right through every station without slowing.