Redtail Rise but my god, you are divine

She does not appreciate his insolent tone, he can tell. Drogon sniffs once and lifts his muzzle ever so slightly as she peels back her lips to reveal her teeth to him once more. Drogon is unfazed. It was her fault for being so dramatic about the whole thing. “I could have been anyone,” He agrees. “and if I wanted to hurt you don’t you think I would have just attacked instead of calling out to you?” He asks with a low, annoyed huff. “You don’t need to be so dramatic.” Deepening voice of whiskey steeped in smoke rasps at her from betwixt his lips.

He is reluctant to let her go; mostly because she let his question fall to the wayside and that unnerves him more than he cares to admit. Cascada is his companion and it only makes sense that he grows to care for her in the gruff manner that Drogon can care for anyone these days. “Not until you answer my question.” The soturi demands ghosting towards her. “I’ve answered yours and now you will answer mine.” The tundrian is unrelenting and presses, repeating his question. It does not escape his notice that if he seeks to aid Cascada in recruiting that he will have to be …kinder to strangers; but all of the soturi’s edges are wicked and sharp and designed to cut with little to no resistance lacking all of the regality and elegance of his parents. Drogon is no longer that creature, no longer exposed to those social interactions. He is nearly a feral child ready to fight the whole world, if need be. It shows, the young sotapäällikkö realizes. It shows and it is ugly and he relaxes the tension in his shoulders, though the hardened glint of his glacial gaze does not entirely vanish.

“Perhaps we should start over.” Drogon amends, salmon pink tongue drawing across his jowls as he inhales and lets it out in a heavy sigh. “I'm Drogon.” He offers her despite how unsure he is if this conversation could yet be salvaged or not.