ORIGIN - CHILD OF CHAMPIONS!

set three days after this thread
using items eventually claimed from here

The Sentinel waited just this side of the Door of Life. Somewhere behind him, the light flipped to sinister, providing a grim backdrop--which was rather silly, if one looked at how he was actually standing right now.

He'd set the halberd to one side, leaned against the Door itself. Over one arm was draped a steel spike-studded leather jacket, tailored for Hunter and dyed to his specifications: purple hues (with the faint Kooru stripes creating a barely-noticeable whirling light-dark pattern) flecked throughout with glowing specks.

In the other hand was a corked glass bottle of Titanium Rainbow dye.

He was waiting for Hunter--waiting so that the other Deathmatch fighter could grant life (corruption-free) to his stone for the Forge. This had been the deal. A jacket, and a dye.

It had been a simple exchange, so the Sentinel did not understand why he felt worried that Hunter might not like them. He didn't think that he'd say no, exactly. And this had been puzzling him for hours, now, as he stood here (or sat, sometimes) waiting.

Why did it matter if he was overjoyed, or not-? And as it had a dozen times already, the only thought that occurred to him in answer was, ...but what if he does not like it?

The Sentinel fidgeted, uncertain, and... hoped that Hunter would.

@Hunter

Hunter had a feeling he was running late. All he was missing was the toast in his mouth-- actually. He was hungry, so as he ran he summoned a banana into his hands, biting off chunks with peel and all to munch through as he sprinted through Pegasus. He only slowed once he finally reached the tunnel entrance. Before stepping through to find the Sentinel, however, he stopped to lick at his palms and brush back his hair, trying frantically to get it in some sort of order.

You see, Hunter had overslept, and he had about five different cowlicks through his wild, unkempt mane, and without even looking at it he knew he looked like a mess. He wanted to be more presentable-- though he couldn't quite pin down why, except that the Sentinel had an impression of him that held him up to some strange standard that he didn't understand.

His nerves were getting the better of him, though, as he stood around the corner from the Door. His hands trembled, and his stomach flipped and twisted. He had never done this before... What if he messed up? Or, worse, what if the Sentinel had changed his mind...?

He still didn't know how to be a Mom, but he figured he could do an okay job. He had a good dad of his own, so as long as he put forth an effort, he knew it would be okay. The idea of telling Attikias he was a grandpa filled him with a buzz of delight, and he clutched his hands in front of his chest as if to hold on to that feeling. Deep breaths.

As if the moment couldn't get anymore anime, the fabulous banana magic made him sparkle and glisten in the cavelight as he raised his head high, straightened his shoulders, and came striding into the tunnel to meet the Sentinel.

"Sorry!" He raised a hand apologetically, giving a little wave. "I didn't mean to keep you waiting, I, uh... I overslept," he swallowed his shame, tail swishing as he approached, tilting his muzzle up to stare up at the towering Sentinel. He tried not to steal glances of the gifts that the Sentinel had in his arms, despite how excited he was to see how they turned out.

With a toothy grin, he asked: "How's it going?"

@The Sentinel

The Sentinel studied Hunter. The sparkling light left him a bit nonplussed, but the apology and brief half-stammer reassured him. So, too, did the grin.

Yet he had never really had issue with responding to a simple greeting, and how he found he did: the 'how's it going,' the admission that Hunter had overslept. Which to respond to first-? Why did that matter..? He overthought it for a moment before attempting a response which--to The Sentinel--made absolutely perfect sense.

"The Master does not sleep," he stated. Well--he confided. It was meant to be a... an admission, humorous. A 'hey, my master guy doesn't even sleep, which is weird as hell so YOU have nothing worry about with a little nap.' Except, he didn't think to explain the entire thought process he'd used to get to that point, and stared expectantly for a moment after saying it.

...Moving on.

"It has gathered the things that Hunter-my-dude required." Truth be told, there was humor in this, too--or there was intended to be. He'd mostly understood that the 'my dude' had been a form of address, but again, he didn't explain this. Instead he carefully offered out, first, the dye. "It will not remain, unless Hunter--you," he corrected, or perhaps clarified, in case Hunter thought there might be some other Hunter here, "finds one who bears the magic to make it immortal." His choice of words, again, left something to be questioned.

He then unfolded the jacket, carefully, holding it up and out, turning it for Hunter's inspection. He didn't need to say that it had been tailored--he knew Mimosa had gotten the measurements themselves. "Is this correct?" he asked, awkwardly all-too-formal.

@Hunter

The Master-- err, that was... The big purple guy, right? Hunter tilted his head quizzically at that, still puzzling out exactly how the Sentinel was intending the line to be recieved when the big lug moved on.

Hunter-my-dude was a punch to the funny-bone, though, and his grin broadened, nose twitching with the urge to laugh. It felt a bit unsporting, though, so he held it in as the Sentinel presented him with the dye. It was a mystical, silvery-rainbow, just like he had imagined, and his eyes gleamed as he raised his hands to take it delicately from the Sentinel, tucking the bottle into his armpit with an approving nod.

The jacket was next, and it looked even more spectacular than he had imagined it, sleek, shimmering purple with sparkles that glowed-- with impressive spikes lining the shoulders and arms. They were really more for decoration than anything, but damn if they didn't look cool-- at least, as the Sentinel held it before him.

The Sentinel didn't have to do both, but he really had gone above and beyond, getting this all done in only a few days? A bit of dust must have ended up in Hunter's eyes, because there was an odd wetness to them that he tried to blink back. He took a moment to set down the bottle of dye somewhere safe for a second, composing himself with the motion. The grin remained throughout the sudden onset of tears, even through a huff of breathlessness as he met Sentinel's cool blue stare.

"It's," he struggled with the words, taking a step forward to carefully take the jacket and slip it over his shoulders-- something that took a bit more effort than he thought, given that he never really wore clothes, unlike his dad. It was sturdy enough to put up with a bit of tugging without a fuss. "-- Perfect!" He announced, spinning in a circle to try and see how it looked, nose dipping this way and that to get a good look at how the purple gleamed against his dark fur.

He stopped, turning back to the Sentinel and outstretching his arms. "What do you think?" The Sentinel wasn't the best with words, so he didn't expect poetry from the guy, but he hoped that even someone with a completely different aesthetic could appreciate it.

A pause. "I haven't forgotten the deal!" he added as a promise, raising his hands. His voice came a bit quick, stumbling a bit over his words-- the hitch in his voice told his nerves a bit too well. "Are we, uh, doing it here? Now?"

@The Sentinel

The Sentinel watched, silent, as Hunter struggled for a moment with the jacket. Some common-sense part of him suggested that he help, somehow, but he had no real idea how clothing worked, either. He had armor, that was all, and wasn't certain how he could even aid.

He was, at least, ready to offer to hold the bottle but Hunter found a place for that--and then he was turning, showing off the finished work.

The Sentinel had no idea how clothing was supposed to fit, but it looked... suited to Hunter. It seemed to be thick, spined, the way armor would be, so he could judge it on those familiar merits, at least. And he was gratified to see that the color scheme he'd thought on had turned out ot be so suited.

He gave a nod. "It is suited to it," he rasped, dignified. It was as close to a "it looks good, buddy!" as The Sentinel would likely ever manage.

Ahh--the 'deal.' Truth be told, for a moment of spinning stars and spined purple, it had slipped his mind. He blinked, and looked down, then around, and it was clear his mind was jolting from one topic to this next. After a moment he lifted his right hand, clasping it to the Oilstone-streaked, oiled Onyx at his chest. "You must use caution," he warned (and ahh, a rare 'you'). "The Creator has touched this stone, and he does not know how... damaging, it might be to one not so touched. You do not share the Sentinel's magic," he explained, with a glance to Hunter.

There was a soft and sudden crack--and abruptly, The Sentinel fell hard to one knee. A distinct and hissing grunt of pain escaped him, head jolting down--and he held that position for a long moment: kneeling on one knee, head bowed, eyes squeezed shut, right hand on his stone and left grasping for a halberd not there. He settled that hand on the ground, struggling to take a sudden and gasping inhale.

His eyes opened, squinted in pain, and he withdrew his right hand: the shard he had cleaved away for this child was far larger than he'd intended. "It will be... strong..." he managed, and shuddered at the sensation. He felt... weaker, pained, throughout his entire body. "The Sentinel is..."

He hefted another breath, then turned, settling the stone carefully on the ground. He didn't finish his sentence--'weakened,' maybe, or 'in agony' might have been suited, but whatever it was he did not bother. He simply pushed back up, after a moment, looking down at the chip running lengthwise down his stone before pressing fingers over it, as if to stem a tide of blood--and then settling his gaze first on Hunter, and then the shard he'd set down.

@Hunter

"It is suited to it" was high praise-- Hunter believed-- from the Sentinel, and Hunter's chest puffed out a bit with pride at that, beaming from ear to ear with delight.

The warning of the stone gave Hunter some pause, though. Would the child be alright, bearing a stone of chaos with his magic? A brief fear that this would be a huge mistake just started to settle in the pit of his stomach when suddenly, and without warning, the Sentinel collapsed with a quiet crack through his chest.

"Oh fuck, are you okay?!" He stepped forward, hands hovering just a hair's breadth from the Sentinel's shoulders. The piece of stone that the Sentinel held out from his own stone was a sizeable chunk, and it was no wonder that it had hurt.

Holy shit.

Well, any doubt he had before (even though logically, all signs pointed toward "ABORT MISSION") was completely overruled by the jolt to his senses. He shook his head and took a step back as the Sentinel rose, meeting the larger hound's eyes. Their stare, together, drifted down to the stone, and Hunter did the only thing he really could.

He crouched down, and held out both hands to cup around the stone-- half expecting the rock to bite him in response, despite it being nothing but gem. It did not, obviously, hurt him in any way that he could immediately sense, and he exhaled a quiet breath that he was just now realizing he had been holding on to. Closing his eyes, he focused his magic-- the moonstone on his brow sparking with life-- and his magic surged from his palms into the stone with a quiet crackle.

Hunter opened his eyes, staring down at the oilstone as he carefully withdrew his hands. "... They'll be... They'll be a good kid," he said. It was more like making a wish than anything: that the child would not only be strong, as the Sentinel said, but Good. Healthy, and happy, and... Hunter blinked, glancing up at the Sentinel and offering a toothy grin.

"I'll visit, for sure," he added. It was the least he could do. "You take good care of them, yeah?"

@The Sentinel

He remained clearly pained, clasping at his stone, as he watched the shard of it given life--but Hunter's words drew his head with a swivel. For a long moment, he did not speak, and it almost seemed sentimental.

But his actual response was... not. "It will need to explain the meaning of... 'fuck.' And... 'dude.' And-... other words that it has used. But--the Sentinel must rest." Later, then. Later, they could have an encyclopedic walkthrough of slang.

"It may return... for the hatching, if it wishes." They could both play a role, he seemed to mean. But for now he stepped for his halberd, though a little hunched. "It will remain, and guard. And it is-... the Sentinel is... 'okay.'"

He glanced back, pained gratitude in his face, and nodded once before taking up a station by the wall--guarding the growing stone.

exit Sentinel
@Hunter

Oh, right. It made sense that the Sentinel didn't know what the word 'fuck' or 'dude' meant, given... Err, whatever his deal was. (Being very sheltered? Not quite there?) Hunter nodded, raising a hand to bashfully scratch at his neck fur.

"If you're sure," he said, in a-- 'that looked like it fucking hurt', sympathetic manner-- but he felt like it would be incredibly awkward if he hung around while the Sentinel was trying to do his half watching-post-resting thing. Probably better to leave the guy be, right?

"I'll be there," Hunter nodded enthusiastically. "I'll try not to be late next time, alright?" He flashed a grin toward the Sentinel one last time, before fetching his dye, and began to head back the way he came. He didn't look back once he started down the hall, but the image of the oilstone-fragment settled into the ground stuck in his brain like a stubborn after-image.

... what would they become?

@The Sentinel (for visibility) exit!