ORIGIN

It was a beautiful night for a big, fuck-off bonfire.

As the lights in Pegasus dimmed for the evening, Tsvetok slunk out of the alcove it had been napping in. Earlier, it'd managed to take down one of the deer here; the large, burly ones-- (well, it'd found an injured one, but it still counted in their opinion) --and dragged it back to crunch into it. Little remained of the affair, except for the remaining feeling of fullness in the Valkhound's belly.

But it was.... bored.

Someone had the bright idea to instill an urge to destroy within Tsvetok. Great for your vast army of slavering, chaotic freaks who run out and kill and eat whatever they can. Less great for the local wildlife in the nest you grew it in. A hill up in the meadows immediately caught its eye, and it ran quickly up.

There would be some who would take in the sights; the flowers rustling in a faint wind, the glowing orbs on the walls and ceiling dimming and un-dimming lazily as it prepared for a pseudo-twilight. There were also some, like Tsvetok, who wanted it all dead and gone and buried.

What a great place for a fire.

Glowing bile rose in its throat, decorating the dark feathers with deep, internal light. It reared its head back, choking and then regurgitating white-hot bile onto the ground in front of it. The grass was a little dry, but sparse. Though it quickly took root and began flaming up into the ceiling, it was quickly cornered and left to burn atop the little hill.

Perfect, it though (or at least, it would have if it had any internal monologue). And then Tsvetok started thumping down the hill again to watch its work from afar.

In theory, Tsvetok had never been happier.

Full belly. Horrible fire burning in the distance. It might have wished for Timir there, to enjoy its good mood with its friend, but Tsvetok wasn't exactly good at the whole cognizant thought thing. Or the friend thing, for that matter.

But then, the fire was suffocating. It was furious.

It scrambled to its feet at once, loping unevenly up the hill. It saw, dimly, a creature hunched over, puking on its beautiful bonfire. "HEY!!!" Tsvetok bellowed-- because it had to be louder than everything else to assert dominance, of course. "THAT'S MINE!!!"

It reared its head back and spat another globule of hot bile over the patch of soggy grass. The fluid hissed angrily as it made contact with Worm's water, hissing away. It was dry and lightly on fire, now, the little remnants that Worm didn't catch still smoldering.

Tsvetok's red-hot face swung back to Worm. "THAT WAS MINE!!!" It repeated into his face, screaming. "YOU RUINED IT!!"

Tsvetok hadn't been screamed back at before-- at least, not like this. Timir yelled back because it was the right and normal thing to do, but this screaming seemed very aggressive. Not that the Valkhound wasn't also being aggressive-- long had its crest feathers fallen over its face in a ridiculous display of 'dominance.'

"YOU'RE NASTY!!" It screamed back without missing a beat. It stomped a hind leg into the ground just to prove its point with even more noise. "YOU SMELL BAD! YOU'RE RUINING IT!"

Incidentally, Tsvetok stank. It hadn't bathed since... well, it hadn't even gotten wet since it'd been born. A few weeks of grime and guts-smell and Fates-knew-what-else had piled up. But it liked the stink. It stank like itself. Having a little piddle over its chicken legs, erasing the smell even a little bit, was a declaration of outright war.

It tapped into that little spot of chaos in its belly and pulled magic from it. Then, a half-dozen Tsvetoks appeared around Worm. It'd intended something violent, like fire or lightning or whatever, but it supposed (as much as a thing that doesn't think can) that this would do for the sake of intimidation.

The seven Tsvetoks bent their heads and roared at Worm, though its stinking breath was only scented in one direction.

Seven Tsvetoks reared their heads up in a truly universal gesture of cringing. It'd never quite been at a loss before, enough that when Worm stumbled into one mirror image, it and the other five faded to nothingness.

A small, smooth little pea of a brain began trying to process what it just witnessed. Worm was still shouting back, even post-vomit. It watched him plop over onto the grass. And... well, it took advantage.

Tsvetok wanted its fire back, after all.

Bile rose again, white and orange in the creature's chest-- but it never came out. Tsvetok was more than accustomed to hot temperatures, but even that was a lot for it to take. It gulped down the wretched lava-fluid and scraped a hind-claw over the dirt, uncomfortable.

It swung its head back to Worm. "GET UP," it demanded, partially because it was uncomfortable with the entire display. Maybe that was the point of vomiting and passing out? It sure didn't know enough about that sort of thing to know if it was voluntary or not.

Tsvetok was definitely... uncomfortable. Not that it knew what that word meant.

Its crest had flipped back away from its face for just a moment as it forgot to stay INTIMIDATING and DOMINANT. It watched Worm wobble up, its feathers flat against its neck. He was, uh, hmm. It was probably a good thing Tsvetok didn't have particularly visible eyes, because it was glancing between a puke-covered Worm and the spot of smoldering grass.

At least Tsvetok knew what it would rather be doing. A new globule of superheated bile was horked up and out of the Valkhound's jaws, and it spat it right back onto the dry grass, watching contentedly as the fire began to yawn into a full flame again.

Just as all things were meant to be.