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then, circa 0340 BCT
"This is an idiotic venture. So stupid," Chazm murmurs.
"You're stupid," Eighty tells him automatically.
"Eighty," Chazm says in his disappointed voice. Eighty squeezes his cold fingers, and Chaz drops it with a sigh. Heavy brocade robes sweeping along the hard stone. Eighty slips out of his sandals into boots and draws in a last breath.
"You'll catch me?" Eighty says, not really a question.
"I don't see how I could," Chazm huffs, then, "Of course."
Eighty grins, wild and too soon. Behind him, the indistinct form of the dragon rises.
"Eighty," Chazm says, and he sheds his outer robes, inner, until he's standing there in thin layers and stretching up too, cramped wings expanding and unfolding like the dark descending with a storm. Not imitation, and not intimidation.
"Two of your brood," Eighty says, knowing there's a hint too much teeth in his voice. "That's the deal."
First thing about them: they're not human, but they're not not.
now, circa 1782 CT
"Eighty," Chaz says, the side of his face pressed into his shoulder. It always starts with his name. Eighty pauses for a moment before he resumes his movement, shifting in his seat again and again trying to get comfortable. "Eighty, stop moving before I do something terrible."
The train's seats are hard and don't warm under his legs no matter how long he sits for. And they stick to his skin. Eighty tilts his weight. Chazm sighs but does nothing drastic the same way he didn't the first dozen times, the same way he hasn't for the last however many times in the last millennia. Eighty elbows him in the ribs, and Chaz shoves back, fingers flicking once-twice. Eighty winces. Chaz's hands settle on his chest and Eighty flinches all the way back, dislodging Chaz.
"Are you capable of even looking respectable for two minutes?" Chaz demands in an undertone, pulling away.
"Not really," Eighty tells him. "Chaz, it's fine. There's no one in this car, that's kind of why we're here."
"Define no one," Chazm says, casting an obvious glance around the train car. Eighty grimaces at him instead of respond.
They're heading for the mountains, to meet a link in a case. Chaz set up the whole thing, but Eighty left his last mount there anyway, so he doesn't mind.
"How much are we making on this anyway," Eighty says, half a complaint in it. Chaz narrows his eyes dangerously, and Eighty leans away farther.
"Enough," Chaz says. "Better than nothing. This one's even kind of important."
"No, I have to know," Eighty tells him impatiently. "Is it worth sitting on this steam monster?"
"Eighty," Chaz says, patient. "We're broke."
"So what," Eighty grumbles. "Take two bounties and we're fine."
"It's your moral code we're following here," Chaz reminds him, rearranging his suit's lapels.
"I changed my mind, I don't have morals," Eighty says abruptly. "Can I be excused?" Chaz laughs sharp and surprised.
"No," he says. Eighty groans. He gentles it. "You know it's not just a job," he says, because sometimes Eighty needs a reminder.
Eighty knows what he's doing and he doesn't like it, but it's not like he's wrong.
"It kind of is a job," Eighty says, just to be contrary. This is a well-worn cycle. They still haven't found a winner— it goes back and forth. There's more than one reason they'll disappear into the ether for decades at a time. "Just because we gave it to ourselves doesn't mean it's not a job."
"Call it a hobby," Chaz says. "Stop moving, I'm trying to take a nap."
then, circa 0170 CT
The dragons are small without being weak, which is bewildering to Chaz. "We were never that small," he says. "None of the others were this small." Eighty cradles the stone of the shell, smooth against his fingers. Round four now, and their first time with hatchlings.
"You're cursed," Eighty tells him. "Who knows what your growth cycle looks like."
"Don't try me, Eighty," Chaz says flatly. Eighty cringes at the name.
"Don't call me that," he says instinctive and defensive.
"It's just your name," Chaz mocks, letting the albino climb all over him. Clear eyes shining red in the glow of Chaz's. Scales reflecting the only light in the cavern. Eighty snorts, something distinctly rough in it. The black dragon digs its claws harder into the fabric of Eighty's inner robes, redonned once they left the interior of the nest.
"What do you want," Eighty says. Bares his teeth down at it. "I'm going to name you Seven."
"That's terrible," Chaz says. "And morbid."
"Is it?" Eighty says, glinting teeth. Chaz is not deceived, and distinctly unimpressed.
"Yes," he says. "Let it name itself, Simon's sake. Or give it a hundred years to strike fear in the hearts of innocent passerby."
Eighty disentangles the dragon from his shirt and holds it up before him under the arms. "Seven the Swallower," he pronounces, cackles. The baby coughs smoke at him, and Eighty's expression flips to annoyance immediately. "Seven the Smoker. Okay, I changed my mind. Give me the runt."
"No," Chaz says, his hair rippling, turns gold eyes on Eighty. Eighty lifts one brow. Chaz kicks out at him and sends him rolling into a stalagmite. "Don't call him that. You don't get naming privileges anymore."
"I didn't have them anyway," Eighty scoffs at him.
now
Fair's fair, and Chaz is at least more alert if not awake than Eighty is by the time they reach the mountain village. Eighty hisses at the cold but remains otherwise bleary eyed the whole trek to the mountain's base, keeping away from the paths of the village here, and Chaz keeps poking his freezing fingers into Eighty's neckline.
"Hey," Eighty says, the fourth or so time it happens. Chaz ignores him, and he snaps at Chaz's fingers with a click of his canines.
"What," Chaz says. "You should've napped."
"I was accommo— frick, God— accommodating your heavy head, Chazm," Eighty says. "Also there was no sun, we were in a train. This kid is an ass. There is no good reason to be all the way up there."
"You can't call other people asses, you're wearing a leather jacket." Eighty huffs. "Never said it was a kid," Chaz adds, extracting a boot from the thick snow.
"It's implied, I hope," Eighty says. "What kind of self-respecting poacher comes up here if they're not a dumbass not yet past their twenties?"
"So many," Chaz mutters. "So many. You feel anything?" Eighty sniffs and immediately regrets it when the cold invades his glands, spreading like frost.
"First you make me sit on a train for hours, which is a huge inconvenience, by the way," he says. "Dragonless. Then you make me track a maybe-not-kid up a mountain in the freezing winter."
"Yes," Chaz says placidly. "You have something to say?"
"God, yes," Eighty says, blowing on his hands. "Once we get somewhere warm, I swear to Hypixel you will not be safe."
Chaz laughs. "Sounds like you should maybe get a move on. If that's the goal." Eighty's eyes flash, and Chaz cocks a hip, ground solid under him. A warning. It doesn't really apply to Eighty, the flare of the spines of his arms, but it's not insignificant. And also it is cold, so Eighty just tucks the worst parts of him away and breathes in the important bits he has to hold onto for this and turns back up the mountain.
They melt water to drink on the way up, and Chaz scrubs hands through his hair when they're done. It's an indulgence, but you live this long and you don't really have a lot of things left to you except the indulgences. Eighty doesn't even mention it.
"What's the plan," he asks when they're done. Chaz laughs again, burrowing into his jackets.
"Bait," he says. Eighty twists with an expression of horror.
"We're not doing that anymore. We said we're not doing that anymore."
"You said," Chaz corrects.
"Chaz, god's sake."
"Time's up. Not up to you now," Chaz says, harder, and pushes him gently. "Wings, claws, Eighty," he says, the hiss of his rightful name familiar on his tongue.
"This is not on the table," Eighty snaps.
"It really is," Chaz says. "We can do this today or tomorrow, but one of those options is going to get us home sooner."
"I'm going to destroy the table whenever we get back," Eighty says with feeling. "You're the worst. Why don't you do this? You're the worst, surely that's enough."
"I don't breathe fire," Chazm says.
"Right, nothing scary about the poison gas."
"That gas is lethal, sir," Chaz says tonelessly and unsmiling. Eighty grumbles. "Sorry, what was that?"
"You heard me," Eighty sniffs, and Chaz shoves him for real. Eighty knows where the line is, though. When he straightens again, he doesn't stop.
See, they're not human but they're not not human. Most people only really remember the first part, though.
then, circa 0723 CT
A lone crow screams, and then Eighty's dragon eats it.
"Really?" Chaz scolds, reigning his own in to a stop. "That's so unnecessary. You're so bad."
"Hey," Eighty says.
"This is your problem," Chaz sniffs, leading his dragon back around to circle slowly. She snaps at him, which is what they get for choosing from different broods this time. Otherwise it's disturbingly similar to riding horses, up to and including when the horse stops and bends down to chew grass at its own leisure. "Don't you know not to let your dog eat that stuff? For god's sake."
"It's just a crow, Chaz," Eighty says helplessly. Chazm makes a face at him.
"It's just a crow," he mocks, "and then one day one of yours'll eat somebody's prized deer and then we'll be sorry."
"If they're eating deer, then they're too big to be my problem anymore," Eighty asserts. "We don't raise em that old."
"They are associated with us," Chaz says.
"Take it up with Simon," Eighty says.
"I'm taking it up with you," Chaz tells him.
"God, I know," Eighty groans. He slaps a palm against his dragon's flank, where the skin is hard. "Crows aren't part of your diet, you're going to make yourself miserable," he informs him. "Or so sayeth Chazm."
"You've eaten crows," Chaz reminds Eighty.
"No, yeah," Eighty agrees. "They're nasty. Bones too spiky," he says, grinning at the thought. Chaz rolls his eyes and lets his dragon tear away. "I want a hydra next time," he calls after Chaz's retreating back. "Pretty sure they can eat whatever they want." Chaz slows just slightly, and Eighty pulls even with him.
"They're groundlocked," Chaz tells him. "And we're not going to Greece. We're blacklisted."
"You're just scared," Eighty says, straight faced. Chaz feints at him, ruff flaring behind his neck. Eighty does flinch back.
"You should be scared of Greece," he says.
"Why? I don't even burn easy as you." Chaz grimaces at the thought.
"Doesn't matter," he says. "You couldn't get a hydra out of its cave anyway."
"Bet," Eighty says, eyes alight with it. Chaz groans. "I got a lot of fire, I could do it."
"I wish I doubted that," Chaz grumbles. "Fine, go to Greece. See if I care."
"Aw, wait," Eighty says. "Fine. I'll go when you're sick of me."
"I'm sick of you now," Chaz says. Eighty laughs at his back.
now
At least their quarry finds them fast. Not being human-shaped takes it out of Eighty, and Chaz knows that, which means he's just being hateful.
And the hunter's prepared, which is irritating. Eighty flinches away from the first spear and lets himself growl with real menace in it. Chaz pokes him hard where he's seated up against the ridges in his spine, fingers pointy in the soft bits between the flare of his cuff and Eighty lowers his head, neck curving gracefully.
The hunter blinks. Chaz waves. The hood slips off their head, revealing a stupidly young face.
"Damn," Chaz says, stretching to see them better. "Do they not have riders around here? You've seen dragons, what's the deal? Hey, kid!"
"Not a kid," they say like it's automatic.
"Sure," Chaz says, still smiling. Eighty watches him out of the corner of one eye. "What's your name?"
"Not a kid," they repeat, grumbling, and shake snow out of blonde hair gathered in a low short ponytail. "I'm like two hundred, why does everyone say that to me?"
"Days?" Chaz guesses. Eighty makes a low noise of amusement and then shifts, breaking light in fractals across his skin. Chaz jumps off before it becomes a problem, lands braced against the hard ground.
"No, moon-cycles," Eighty says when its over. The hunter's looking between them, narrow-eyed. Eighty shakes his head to clear his ears and joins Chaz.
"Sun-cycles," they say, unamused. Which is unfair, he's pretty sure they're still funny. Chaz frowns back at them. "Two hundred years. Not a fuckin' kid. What are you? I think that's a fair question."
"I don't think that's a question that matters to most of what you deal with," Eighty says kindly, stepping forward. Their hand tightens around the hilt of a sword.
"They tend to be less straightforward," they agree tensely.
"What're you doing this for?" Chaz says, finally cutting to the important bit.
"This world's dangerous," the hunter says.
Chaz's eyes flash. "Yes it is," he says.
"Chaz," Eighty says.
"Would you declaw everything with the slightest threat?" he asks.
"Chaz," Eighty says, pained.
Chaz rounds on him. "He took one of mine," he says. Eighty holds his gaze, and Chaz collapses inward. Eighty pulls at his hand and Chaz follows the line of it to stand right before Eighty. Keeping secrets again, hm?
"We've got a lot to talk about," Eighty says over Chaz's shoulder, addressed to the hunter.