(no subject)
When the jukebox began playing Rocket Man, he simply raised an eyebrow, disregarding it entirely. Later, when the clothing box offered him knee and elbow pads - protective gear for skateboarding - he upped his glaring level to Subtly Hostile, calmly waiting for the usual selection. He was not in the mood for clues, and definitely not in the mood for skateboarding. However, when the bookshelf gave him a book titled Where's My Jetpack?: A Guide to the Amazing Science Fiction Future that Never Arrived, he knew precisely what he needed to do.
The first step was knocking on Mrs. Vimes' door and asking to borrow Errol for a few hours. He said he was taking him for a walk, and he wasn't being untruthful - it was just a selective, need-to-know version of the truth.
Preparations needed to be made - measurements, technical sketches, a batch his special (arguably ass-flavored) lollipops that only dragons seemed to have any appreciation for.
He'd had the idea ever since Tony Stark had crashed through his roof in his irritatingly impressive (and irritatingly bulletproof) powered armor. It was time to put it in motion. His shoulder wound was now nineteen days old, and while the pain was frequent and he still had to use a sling, he decided that he'd waited long enough to be eligible for a bit of harmless flight testing.
Once everything was ready, he stood outside the compound, protective gear on and one flying lizard strapped to his back. He raised his gaze, estimating the distance to the roof and trying not to think of the numerous things that could go wrong.
"One now, one after a successful landing," he informed Errol, handing a suspiciously purple lollipop over and letting the lizard reject chew on it for a moment.
Then he waited.
At first nothing happened. Then, there was a sound. A deep, ominous, slow-building rumble. His heart began to beat considerably faster, and he drew a deep, steadying breath, eyes narrowing in warning.
"If you explode, Mrs. Vimes will ki-"
There was a burst of heat behind him, and his feet lifted off the ground. For a moment, the air whistled sharply around them, but then Errol produced a literal hiccup, and the flames were gone. Instead of heading skyward, Austin saw a wall approaching at an alarming speed. At the last moment, he managed to recall that the box hadn't given him a helmet, and he brought his good arm forward to block the impact.
The collision hurt. So did the face-down drop onto the ground. His body yearned to curl up in pain, but with a dragon occupying his back, it wasn't an option. He simply lay prone, casually wondering just how low a former killing machine could go.
He was getting there.
Errol shifted on his back and made a distinctly unapologetic sound, nudging his shoulder with his oversized snout. Apparently, he was still intent on getting his prize for completing a landing.
"What was successful about it?" he hissed in return, but limply dug into his pocket for a candy nonetheless.
Easy as it would be to blame luck, weather conditions, or whole goddamn lizard species, he couldn't help but think this was all Tony Stark's fault.
[Flight testing with a jet dragon gone unsurprisingly wrong. ST/LT/pointing and laughing welcome!]
The first step was knocking on Mrs. Vimes' door and asking to borrow Errol for a few hours. He said he was taking him for a walk, and he wasn't being untruthful - it was just a selective, need-to-know version of the truth.
Preparations needed to be made - measurements, technical sketches, a batch his special (arguably ass-flavored) lollipops that only dragons seemed to have any appreciation for.
He'd had the idea ever since Tony Stark had crashed through his roof in his irritatingly impressive (and irritatingly bulletproof) powered armor. It was time to put it in motion. His shoulder wound was now nineteen days old, and while the pain was frequent and he still had to use a sling, he decided that he'd waited long enough to be eligible for a bit of harmless flight testing.
Once everything was ready, he stood outside the compound, protective gear on and one flying lizard strapped to his back. He raised his gaze, estimating the distance to the roof and trying not to think of the numerous things that could go wrong.
"One now, one after a successful landing," he informed Errol, handing a suspiciously purple lollipop over and letting the lizard reject chew on it for a moment.
Then he waited.
At first nothing happened. Then, there was a sound. A deep, ominous, slow-building rumble. His heart began to beat considerably faster, and he drew a deep, steadying breath, eyes narrowing in warning.
"If you explode, Mrs. Vimes will ki-"
There was a burst of heat behind him, and his feet lifted off the ground. For a moment, the air whistled sharply around them, but then Errol produced a literal hiccup, and the flames were gone. Instead of heading skyward, Austin saw a wall approaching at an alarming speed. At the last moment, he managed to recall that the box hadn't given him a helmet, and he brought his good arm forward to block the impact.
The collision hurt. So did the face-down drop onto the ground. His body yearned to curl up in pain, but with a dragon occupying his back, it wasn't an option. He simply lay prone, casually wondering just how low a former killing machine could go.
He was getting there.
Errol shifted on his back and made a distinctly unapologetic sound, nudging his shoulder with his oversized snout. Apparently, he was still intent on getting his prize for completing a landing.
"What was successful about it?" he hissed in return, but limply dug into his pocket for a candy nonetheless.
Easy as it would be to blame luck, weather conditions, or whole goddamn lizard species, he couldn't help but think this was all Tony Stark's fault.
[Flight testing with a jet dragon gone unsurprisingly wrong. ST/LT/pointing and laughing welcome!]