[Log] Om. Nom nom.
Who: Balfour Vallet When: 5 DEC Where: Forest What: Balfour meets a dragon and an appropriate end. For now. Warnings: Death--not graphic. Bad Nova-humor. Open or Closed: Closed Observable: Maybe if someone happens to be around
It was a nice day for a walk, the cool air feeling good on his slightly-fevered skin, so Balfour was out on a walk through the forest, heading toward the shrine that Izumo had once shown him. He made it a habit, these days, to go there at least once in a while. It helped keep the nightmares away, after all, and it made him feel better. It wasn’t only his dead that he thought of, either, but those who had died here, in the Games or otherwise. He didn’t know them, but he wished them all peace or a peaceful return, wished them all an easy acclimation to being alive once more.
He didn’t really feel like going to the shrine, though. He was actually in a good mood, having his real body back and all, so he didn’t want to drag it down by reliving the memories of those flights. He walked past it, further into the darkening woods, and took a deep breath. It was so relaxing and peaceful out there.
A growl caught his attention. He wasn’t used to running across animals—they tended to avoid humans, after all—so he looked around, going still so that he could see and not frighten it off. Whatever it was growled again, but didn’t show itself. He moved toward the sound. It was a foolish idea and he knew it, but he couldn’t stop himself.
He ended up moving out into a clearing, only then spotting what was doing the growling: a very large, purple and blue dragon. Her—obviously a her because that was the only gender of dragon Balfour had been exposed to—scales gleamed in the light, shifting colors, and just so beautiful.
Balfour smiled, reaching out a hand, and stepped forward a few steps.
“Hello, beautiful,” he said softly, edging closer, then completely stopping. The dragon sniffed, came forward, closer and closer until finally, her nose was at his hand. A couple more sniffs and she reared back…
And made a snack of Balfour. There was nothing left of him, no blood, no leftover bones, no ripped or torn clothing. Nothing.
It was, Balfour would realize later, a rather ironic and fitting way to go.