[This story's creational documentation is tagged at December 2009]

COMPOSITION FF-SxD 4.5

Dags had pulled another all-nighter at the bar. Three drinks he had, which still proved to be not enough to drown the anxieties his mind seemingly conjured out from nowhere. There was a sense of trepidation floating over him like a raincloud that made him start to worry about a number of different things - about Shale, in particular. He tried telling himself that he was just being paranoid. What reason did he have to worry so? This thought, he took consolation in before the feeling would rise up again from his stomach and make him sick with dread. At last, he finished off his drink, pushed his money across the counter, and walked out with only a grunt to acknowledge the bartender's friendly good night.

The streets were empty as he walked. Occasionally, he'd walk into a halo of light provided by the streetlights overhead, then walk out again. In, then out of the light. There were hardly any noises in the air; mainly because this was a back road hardly anyone took to begin with. Dags needed to think. Perhaps a good-night's rest will put his mind at ease. Maybe he should go visit Shale...

Naw, it was late as it is. That ruled out the option of dropping him a call as well.

The ring of light above him flickered and Dags looked up, blinded by the light. He growled a curse and walked on. Despite his mood, it was a particularly nice night. There was a full moon out, which cast down just enough light for Dags to see his shadow clearly upon the ground whenever he stepped out from the aura of the streetlights.

He passed an alleyway and heard a faint clatter of trash cans from within. Dags eyes looked off to the side to glimpse nothing but shadows as he walked on. Should he investigate? Too late, he'd already passed.

Dags kept his gaze focused to the floor, thinking to himself, trying to alleviate his own worries when he heard a second clang from another dark corner he just happen to be passing by. This time, Dags stopped. From the darkness came the crumpling of paper. Peculiar, since there was no wind tonight.

For a moment, Dags thought to be frightened. But summoning up his nerve, he said loudly into the shadows, "What the hell!"

The rustling continued for some seconds before Dgas could make out a blurry silhouette. It came up closer to him. The fear returned. Dags took two steps back. The figure materialized out in front of him, and he let out an exasperated sigh. "Man, you nearly scared the shit out of me, Bronx."

The rust-colored dragon narrowed its eyes at him as he took another step forward at him. "It's a nice night to be out alone," he said finally.

Dags blinked. "I guess so."

The two large dragons stood staring at one another for a couple seconds before Dags irritably scratched at the back of his neck. "So... how was the club?"

"Alright."

"Huh. That's cool." He was beginning to think this meeting was getting more and more awkward. "Got any plans tonight?"

"Why, have you?" Bronx folded his arms across his chest.

"I was just about to get some shut-eye."

Just then, another sound rippled from behind Bronx. A watery figure slinked up from the shadows and apprehensively joined the rusty dragon's side. Dags blinked again, as if he was only imagining this new figment.

"Hidder?"

The green slitherer kept its gaze locked on the ground, avoiding with all possible might to meet Dags'. He didn't say a word.

That was when Dags began to suspect something was going on. He took another uneasy step back and hit his back on a streetlight. He turned back, then around at the two again, his muscles beginning to tense. "What's going on here?"

"It's funny the things people do when they think their alone," began Bronx, walking in intimidating circles around Dags. "That's when you really get to know them behind that bullcrap image they try so hard to put out. Don't you think so, Hid?"

The accomplice only shuffled its useless wings nervously.

"So who's trying to impress who," Dags said, his own eyes narrowing into slits.

"Why don't you tell me," snapped Bronx through slanted brows. After all, you never quite know who might be watching."

Dags growled impatiently. "What the hell are you trying to get at?" His head snapped from Bronx to Hidder, then back again.

"You know full well," Bronx replied, passing Dags by on his second circle. Then he stopped off to his side and put a ponderous claw on his chin. "Or maybe we should ask Shale instead."

To this, Dags' mind was suddenly pushed aside as something ferocious and feral kicked his instincts on full defensive mode. With a snarl, he hurled himself at Bronx, ramming his shoulder into him, then grabbing the front of his shirt to shove him into a nearby wall. "If you've so much as touched him," he gritted, "I'll -"

"What? Afraid that bitchy slut of yours might fall for me too?"

Dags let out an irate roar and hurled at fist at him. Bronx tilted his head just in time as it slammed into the wall beside him with such force, it created a small dent in it. He then pulled Bronx forward, towards him, just as he lifted a knee up to his gut. Then he threw him with vigor on his back to the ground.

Bronx lay there, half laughing, half gasping. "Really, man. I always knew you were an asshole, but a fag?" He continued with his chortle.

Dags thundered over to him, grabbed him by the shirt, pulled him up, then slammed him back against the wall. His clenching grip tore holes through the dragon's shirt. "I ain't fucking around, Bronx. If you've got him somewhere -"

"Relax, loverboy," Bronx grinned crookedly. "Your bitch is safe, so long as you're not seen with him again."

"What!"

"You didn't think we'd keep this little treasure to ourselves now, do you? Naww, we told everyone you know! They didn't believe us, naturally, but they're keeping a close eye on your man, and I can assure you they'll make a move on him if either of you makes one first." His laughter was drowned by the sound of Dags' exasperated holler as he slammed him against the wall three more times before flipping him back to the ground.

"You!" Dags pointed a menacing claw at the petrified Hidder standing off to the side. "Have you got a paw in this!"

"Come on, Dags," the green slitherer said in a tone that almost connotated a plea. "You know I wouldn't get this drastic. B-But Bronx... he made me... I had no choice!"

"WAY WRONG ANSWER," bellowed Dags, taking a few quick strides towards Hidder. He was almost upon him when a massive weight flung itself at his side, throwing him off roughly to the floor.

Dags was about to get up, but Bronx had gotten to him first and kicked him in the stomach. "You should thank us," he said. "By getting rid of you, we'll be keeping him safe." He kicked him again.

Dags gasped for air as he lay face-down on the cement. After the third kick, he was wheezing out his words. "Why... the hell... do you care so much!"

"Hey, better us than some others you might know. Besides, no one would want anything to do with a faggot like you, so it's okay." He was about to kick him a fourth time when Dags was suddenly revitalized with new energy taken purely from his rage. He stopped the foot with his hand and rumbled up at Bronx's surprised face. Then he whipped around to trip him over with his tail, but didn't stop there. Dags' tail wrapped around one of Bronx's feet and the mighty dragon ran in lopsided circles, dragging Bronx behind him and whirling him about so that he hit any obstacles in their path.

His opponent countered when he grabbed a hold of a streetlight he would've hit and hung on. Now Dags was the one pulled back as he fell flat on his back. Immediately, the rusty one was upon him, throwing unorganized punches only some of which, landed. Even their tails were frisking about, one trying to wrap around to suppress the other.

Dags lifted one side of his body to pitch Bronx forward and tumble off of him. He tried to claw his way toward him and Bronx lifted up, then brought down a taloned foot in response. Dags' head was forced to the side, one eye closed, his teeth bared, to show a fresh score slashed across the side of his snout to the light.

The anger he felt was unstoppable. It was controlling. It was blinding. He grabbed one of Bronx's legs and yanked him closer so that he may beat upon his chest with heavy fists. The rusty dragon gurgled as a thin drivel of blood began to trickle from the sides of his mouth. And still Dags continued to beat on him.

THMMP, THMMP-THMMP! THMMP!

Bronx looked like he was trying to say something, but instead, a spout of blood sprayed forward.

THMMP! THMMP-THMMP!

"Teach you to meddle!" he shouted.

"Dags!"

Just then, a stunning blow to the side of his head knocked him some three feet away from Bronx's body. Dags grunted out, then shook his head of the shock. Hidder was standing over where Bronx lay sprawled. He lowered his left leg down, for that was what he used to hit him with.

Dags growled a warning as he staggered up to his feet. On wobbly legs, he advanced towards the shaky slitherer. "Stay out of this, Hidder, unless you want in too!"

Just then, Hidder reach behind him and pulled out a knife. Not a small, inky-dinky jack-knife, but a broad-sided blade, almost as big as the kitchen tool. Its shiny edge gleamed back the halo of light from above as he twirled it once around his hand, just to show Dags that he knew how to use it. "Please Dags," he said, holding the weapon, ready, out in front of him. "Just... go already."

Dags merely stood there, shoulders lifting, sagging, lifting, sagging. For a full minute, the only sound that could be heard was his deep panting and Bronx's barely audible gurgles. The rusty dragon was a mess, his face covered in blood, limbs and tail resting limply at his sides.

For a brief moment, Dags considered taking him on, when the ringing in his ears suddenly registered police sirens off in the distance. They seemed to be getting closer.

Hidder waved the weapon and flapped his little wings frantically. "GO!" he screamed at him.

Dags didn't give himself enough time to think it over some more. Spinning around, he quickly dashed off into the darkness. The long sidewalk seemed like a never-ending tunnel as he ran, unmindful of how heavily he was wheezing for air. He tried replaying the whole scene in his mind, beginning when Bronx first confronted him, but everything after the mentioning of the word "Shale" was a blur. Only some seconds ago, it had occurred - and for so briefly - but he had already forgotten the whole thing.

Still he ran. To where, Dags didn't know. They'd surely see him at his apartment, and he didn't dare to make any contact with Shale until he had this whole thing was straightened out. A bright neon sign caught his eye, and he automatically changed direction towards it.

It appeared to be a shabby-looking hotel. The glowing neon letters were flickering, but in the black background, he could clearly read: HOGWASH HOTEL.

Dags didn't waste any time. He wasn't about to ring for a room, at this hour, in this condition. He pushed open the front gate and darted in. He briskly crossed a dirt courtyard, up a small flight of stairs, and back towards the door in the farthest corner he could see. He tried the door and pounded on it.

No one answered.

Good. Dags dug through the scattered contents of his pockets, searching every one of them in his baggy cargo pants. He could still hear the sirens. They still sounded as if they were coming closer. Come on, come on, dammit!

Trying the last possible pocket, he finally found what he was looking for. Twisting the paper clip around his finger, he fashioned his lock pick and jammed it into the keyhole fumbling with it blindly. After about two minutes, whether by his skills in lock picking or pure dumb luck, he heard a soft click, and the doorknob yielded.

He jumped inside and slammed the door shut, locking it again instantly. He leaned back against the door and for five straight minutes, took the time to finally catch his breath. When he did, he was able to watch the entire scene from the screen of his mind.

It came to him in flashes. Sitting at the bar, Bronx coming up to him, Hidder appearing too, the conversation, him grabbing the rusty dragon he once called "friend," the hitting, the shouting, the pounding, the blood. And then the knife. The sirens. And then running. Dags put his hands up to his face, which was wet for some reason and slumped down to the floor. And what did he do?

Dags began to sob. Soft little snivels, as he rubbed the moisture from his eyes. He sobbed for himself, for Bronx, for Shale, and what he knew he had to do so that nothing this terrible would ever happen on his account again. "Oh, god," he merely wailed. "Oh, god..."