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"Don't care what you're after, monster," the attacker said, "you're not getting it here." After delivering the kick, he used momentum that hadn't been part of his jump to flip backwards into a battle stance.

There hadn't been time to properly dress since sensing the new presence, but the vestments of his Order weren't much: a pair of gold-yellow cloth pants, cut off below the knee, and a loincloth over the front. The cloth was outlined in the same gold-yellow, but with black and grey within.

These were the markings of aureus, jackal of the Linaian Dogs - Oman, to everyone else.

Oman had sensed the power near him pushing in at his trance as he meditated. The presence was so strange as to be properly supernatural.

He'd left his contacts in before meditating, leaving his brown face bare but for a dark beard. It wasn't like he really had a civilian identity or family to protect, not like lupus and latrans did.

"Why did you just kick me?! That's so horrible!" The beast cried out, as if offended. It clutched at its (uninjured) snout. "I was born five days ago, I haven't done anything to you."

Oman thought for a second: he had some nose for lies, and this wasn't one. It was ridiculous for someone to be five days old and fully adult and talking, but not as ridiculous as it was for someone to be a giant snake with shoulders and arms. Reasonable words, to be sure, but even the devil could quote scripture...

...only, those weren't the sorts of sayings Oman was supposed to be living by, anymore. The monk relaxed his fighting stance.

"You're powerful," he explained. "I was suspicious."

"So you kicked me in the face? Well!" The serpent raised himself upright, fists on his hips, indignant. For all the muscle covering him, his body language didn't give much in the way of authority.

Oman saw, at this display, that he was beautiful. His torso was wreathed in gold and black, with a coiling stripe of green running down each arm. His skin was dry, but had a smooth sheen that made the scales look wet. Those scales covered all of him, even the humanoid torso. This was a very impressive monster, aesthetically.

"If it's a fight you want, stranger, you aren't getting one," it said.

Too late, aureus sensed his feet lassoed in thick muscle, and was held upside-down in the air before the ophidian thing.

Like a living swamp, he sank upwards into the creature's body as its coils curled round him. His strikes, his spirit-claws, did absolutely nothing. In moments, Oman was helpless, but he didn't stop struggling. No, he could keep this up for a long, long time. Eventually, either the spirit-claws in his hands and feet, or the dewclaws on his calves and forearms, would nick at something. Then he'd be free, and the thing would pay.

"I suppose you make a habit of kicking powerful humans you meet? I'm Zeboul, by the way." It - he? - yes, he. The male thing folded his arms over his chest, and loomed over aureus, dropping him and his ball of restraining coils to the ground. "If that Lion-Herald was here, would you have kicked her in the helmet?"

"Probably! No-one's supposed to come here," Oman said. He glared up at the snake like cut glass.

"If you're worried about discovery, I'd never have known if you hadn't come here."

"How was I supposed to know that?!"

"By maybe waiting, and not kicking someone in the face just for being near you!" Zeboul huffed, but he lost steam quickly. "Look, we're going in circles, but I can tell you really would have kicked her, so I guess that's better." Exasperated, Zeboul dropped his hands to his sides. "Can we start over?"

"I guess." Oman didn't stop struggling, kicking at the coils and trying to push a foot free. The downside of spirit-claws from hands and feet was that both had to be bare all the time if you wanted to use them.

The strength in the draconic tail was unbelievable, though. Oman might as well have been bricked in.

He was starting to sweat.

Finally, there was an opening, he must have succeeded somewhere - his arm was free. The claws on his hands and forearm sprung free, and he tried to drive them into the snake's flesh, only for them to slip on the scales as he did so.

And the python's hand took his fist, claws and all, and shook it.

"My name, like I said, is Zeboul," he said, softly. It made Oman's skin crawl. "I came here to bask, and I didn't know it was your forest. Honestly didn't. And you are?"

"aureus," Oman replied, "of the Linaian Dogs."

“Aureus…”

“No, it’s said like aureus.”

“A… aureus?”

“aureus.”

“aureus.”

“Of the Linaian dogs.”

"Oh, the monks?" The python kept a hold of Oman's fist, flicking his tongue at it and the claws. "I thought you were just martial artists. I didn't know you had magic claws."

"They're not 'magic', they're spiritual," Oman said, but even he had to admit it was a little petulant to say so. "I... my name's Oman. I prefer that. "

"That... that's a name? I thought it was a --"

"I named myself," he said, "'Zeboul'."

"Touché. I didn't."

Silence fell between them, and the sun shone warmer. Oman looked at the python-thing thoughtfully, and at last, he stopped struggling.

Like any kidnapper, the python rewarded this. The constriction around Oman was no longer in any sense painful, and the muscle around him softened, the scales still slippery-leathery on his bare skin. It was a lovely position to be in, and Oman cursed himself for not jumping out at the earliest opportunity.

"Tell me where you came from. Are you planning to eat me?"

"I'll tell you if you tell me - no!" Zeboul shrank back from Oman.

The fighter narrowed his eyes.

"I promise you, I don't want to eat you. I eat energy," Zeboul said. "Incorporeal energy. It's... I... I'll start over, then."

"Please."

"I was made from dragons, by Dr. Strix, the ultravillain."

"Never heard of them."

"Not surprised. I was born, five days ago, exactly as I am now. I've shed my skin since then, and I suppose I must still be growing." Zeboul rubbed the back of his neck, awkwardly. "That's all, really. Strix left, I tried to get a job in a coffee shop and they told me no, and that's my life story. You?"

"I don't..." but Oman needed to try harder than that. As always. He coughed, pretending he hadn't tried to dodge the question. "I joined the Dogs years ago. I was no-one before that."

Zeboul's unblinking eyes focused right on Oman's.

"Don't."

They looked almost... no, they did look concerned.

"I said stop it."

"Oman, are you with these men by choice?"

"Yes," Oman hissed, biting back the 'shut up', the 'you don't understand', the 'I have to'.

Zeboul's coils cruelly unfolded, giving Oman a far better opportunity to jump out, to run away, and disappear. He leapt up and turned, but he was helpfully coiled around his belly again by the giant constrictor's tail.

"Oman," Zeboul said, with a warmth that felt like it could kill Oman, "In the interest of honesty, I'm going to tell you about my powers, now."

"What, you're psychic, too?"

"I'm not 'psychic'. I'm an empath." There was a beat. "Thinking about it, it seems a little petulant to make that distinction here."

Oman literally felt the colour drain from his face.

"I can smell emotion," he continued, slowly, "and I can feel them more when someone's inside of me, or touching me. Please, don't go. I know why you're trying to, and I know you wanted me to keep you here. But it's not right that I force you to be here, even if we both know it's okay with you."

That he'd wanted to be kept was not something Oman had consciously considered, and he felt anger frost over him. He pulled at the coils on his waist, and they went limp. Oman slowed down, confused.

"I forgive you for kicking me, by the way. It's okay to want to have friends."

"Stop it!" Oman spat. "Stop using this against me. It's.. gross."

"I don't mean to use anything against you," Zeboul said, and his voice was still so warm, and it hurt. "I don't know all the facts, after all. However, even if you're doing superhero things... even if you're saving lives... they could be using you. It's conjecture, but - you mean that you were homeless before they took you in?"

"I'm not a sidekick," Oman interrupted. "I'm twenty-five. They can't take advantage of me, and who are you to even think that they are?"

"Oman."

"Stop calling me that!" Oman formed the claws, useless as they were, and glared at Zeboul, as if he could actually win a staring contest with someone who had no eyelids.

He realised how stupid what he said was, when it contradicted what he'd said before. At this point, there was no backing down.

"Do you need them because they're your family...? I --"

"Shut it."

"No, let me finish --"

"Grah!"

"I know, I asked a question and kept talking, I'm sorry. I bet that's the most annoying thing in the world for you, huh? Sorry. But -- I mean it in the loosest possible sense. The people you're around most. Who you judge your identity through. Are the Dogs that kind of family, Oman?"

Oman's eyebrows knit together, and he nodded, quick.

"Do they... I really will stop if you ask me to, or want me to, okay? I'll stop talking and leave you alone." Zeboul's face was awfully near his, now, scrutinising him. His forked tongue flicked back and forth, sometimes, but not regularly. "Do they take care of you?"

The monk didn't answer, and fondled the tail in his hands.

"No-one's ever taken care of you."

Oman shrank.

"After a certain age," he said, slowly, "you wouldn't let them, would you? Because you always had to be strong. Be... yes, a man. Nobody's your friend on the street." Zeboul stroked his (own) chin, thoughtfully. But, he lost his nerve. "I... uhm..."

Oman looked up.

Zeboul had difficulty speaking.

Oman raised his eyebrows, expectant.