𝑳𝑬𝑮𝑨𝑪𝒀 𝑶𝑭 𝑻𝑯𝑬 𝑳𝑶𝑺𝑻 • 𝐴𝐶𝑂𝑇𝐴𝑅

001. STRIKE ONE

  Its head is nuzzled against her backside.

Or what she assumes is its head, rather; she didn't see an actual face. Just some dark soaked fur, or feathers, or hair. She doesn't know which of those options is worse.

  Granted, it looks and appears dead despite all the twitching it's doing, but this position is still really quite mortifying. Most inappropriate. And she's had quite enough of these humbling occurrences for one day, so she puts even more effort into crawling out from underneath this body, going so far as to kick and shout at it.

  "Get off, you tree! You weigh more than a horse! Ever heard of eating in moderation?!"

  Screaming at, and insulting, the dead. Not her classiest move, she'll admit.

Once she's got both of her arms and one leg free, she thinks she's finally in the clear. But then it groans back into the living with a full body tremor, and she startles. She's seen more than her fair share of beings get hit by lightning, but she can't say she's ever seen any of them survive. And certainly never heard of one who has done it without proper medical attention.

Erza pulls her last leg out from underneath the body with a resolute yank. She absolutely does not want to be under the creature when, or if, it wakes up. Danger isn't something she minds much, she can handle herself just fine (she's been doing it for millennia), but that doesn't mean she likes to be caught unawares. Especially under less than ideal conditions where she's completely drenched and just tired.

Frowning at the bruises she can feel forming on her body, Erza crouches down slowly to lift that wing again. She's curious to see what kind of creature can withstand a bolt of lightning. The wing is just as heavy as she remembers it being settled on her back, but it's much easier to maneuver it around without her whole lower body stuck.

Holding the edge just above her eye-line with one hand, she uses her other to turn its head, cautiously avoiding its mouth as she does. The last thing she needs is to be bitten by some bat with who-knows-how-many illnesses.

But the very last thing she expects to see is a very male face on the other side. She expected a snout, or four eyes, or maybe some sort of beak like a bird. Honestly, horns and fangs were also on the table. A handsome face is a pleasant surprise.

Then again, she hasn't seen or felt it move since it stopped twitching, nor has she heard it make any other sounds. Dead for good this time, then.

"What a shame," she tuts, and drops the wing on the male's face with a shrug.

And then he groans again. She purses her lips, regretting her choice to not check a pulse while she'd been admiring his rugged features. She backs away, not taking any more chances now that she is sure he will wake up.

But she doesn't ditch him completely, deciding to stay near. She's still a bit boggled that he managed to live.

"I'm never drinking again," a low and husky voice emerges from underneath the cover of his wings. Wings which have now begun to spread and stretch off the male's body as he collects himself and stands to his full lengthy height. Toned and tall. Tree is still a very accurate descriptor, she notes.

Erza does nothing to give away her presence. Instead, she just takes in this strange moment. She wonders if he really had been drinking, or if he's just mistaking his confusion and pain for a long night off the wagon. It would be a good excuse for flying out in a storm like a lunatic, if he had been drinking.

"Where in the hells did they drop me?" he mutters to himself, looking up and around the clearing with his back still to Erza. He sighs. "If they dumped me on the blasted continent again..."