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Fight Me Like A Dragon ~ PPAU Quest

justspillingcoldtea

Published: Apr 28, 2021

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Character Plover (OC)Character Puddle (OC)Location Pyrrhia/Pantala

Description

Unfortunately, the trend of Plover ignoring their emotional needs continues. We can't force this child into therapy fast enough. Luckily, this time, you at least get to enjoy Plover beating someone up instead of getting beaten up themself.

(If you're curious, Plover somehow managed to beat up Puddle, a trained soldier, but then immediately lost to Pascal the next round.)

Quest: PPAU TOURNAMENT ARC!?!?!?
Featuring: Plover & Puddle (with cameos from Azalea & Olive)
Word Count: 3650

•••

The marble university halls were built wide to comfortably accommodate old alliance members passing one another while navigating the Crystal Castle. Their size was more than enough to keep students rushing from class to class from spending an hour in jampacked hallways. Though, not by much.

But it helped to be walking with Olive.

She held her wings high and practically prowled forward, dragons moving clear out of her way instead of trying to squeeze past her. All Plover had to do was trail quietly in her tail wake, and it was clear sailing.

Plus, the conversation was pretty pleasant as well.

“—And then she called me the rude one! Me?! The nerve of some dragons,” Olive ranted, rolling her eyes with a snort. “ We all know I’m an absolute delight to be around, right, Plover?”

Plover blinked, suddenly having to pretend that they were listening and not thinking about the cute bird they saw out their window and had named sunflower that morning. Luckily for them, all they had to do was nod happily.

“Thank you,” she huffed. “See, if Mezzo could just have more reasonable people like you, then everything would be ten times easier.”

Plover beamed. Then their ear flicked at a stifled laugh. A cherry-red dragonet was smiling at them, not unkindly.

“Sorry, it’s just good to see you making more friends, Olive!” the dragonet giggled.

Olive stopped dead in her tracks. Plover almost walked straight into her, jumping back with a flinch.

“Be careful there, Azalea. Pretty sure that leads to a future where I get executed a month from now for murdering you,” the Nightwing snarled. “Now scram.”

Azalea blinked, ears pinned back with a startled huff. “Alright, jeez. This is my stop anyway, your’s too?” She flicked her wing out, gesturing to the door just ahead of them, where the bright white walls covered in sketches and canvases were already visible.

Which was most certainly not the class that Plover had next.

Welp, they’d just trailed after someone like a lost dolphin pup and was probably halfway across the castle from their next class. You know, like a moron would do.

The other two slipped into the classroom, though Olive paused in the door frame as Plover awkwardly floundered outside.

“You good?”

Plov pointed down the hallway to a different door, one that still wasn’t their next class but better than explaining just wandering after a polite conversation.

Olive nodded, thankfully accepting the excuse. “Ah, gotcha. Well, I’ll see you back at the dorms. We still need to work on our next syndicate meeting,” she snorted at the inside joke before turning around and walking into the classroom.

The Seawing calmly waved their friend off just until she was out of sight.

Plover then turned tail and booked it down the hall, their talons pounding against the stone floors as their scarf and bookbag flew up into their face, contrasting their wings pulled painfully tight to their spine.

Luckily, the halls were significantly emptier, with most dragons already in their classes or dorms for a break. Not many people stood in the frantic dragonet’s path as they mentally swore their own ears off.

This stupid school with its dumb layout leaving Plover permanently lost and confused.

They were gonna be so late.

Screeching to a stop at a branching hallway, they expertly flicking open their planner, tracing their talons along the maze to find the best way to Combat Training.

A grimace twisted Plover’s face that they didn’t even try to hide. Honestly, they didn’t even know why they bothered; it wasn’t like Plov would learn anything, just dissociate through the entire thing. That’s what they got for letting Manatee sign them up for every triggering class possible. Plover was dropping at least half of their schedule the second they could.

Finally finding the way forward on the mess of the map, Plover snapped the planner closed and took off running once more.

Door after door whizzed past them as Plov found themself running halfway across the Crystal Castle.

Taking a sharp right, Plover’s mental berating of themself eased. ‘Just a little more to go; maybe they wouldn’t be so late after all!

Right as that thought crossed their mind, perhaps some form of cosmic punishment for their arrogance, Plover skidded around the corner, only to crash headlong into a dragonet hidden behind it.

The papers that the other dragon had held spilled from his hands with the impact, fluttering around the two of them as Plover sat dazed on the floor, staring up at the similarly surprised scarred grey-blue Seawing they’d run into.

“Woah there! ‘You cool?”

“Fine, I’m fine,” they sparked in aquatic, stumbling back to their feet with a reassuring smile. Though that smile faltered as they shook out their wings with a wince. “You have scales made of stone, though. ‘Might want to get that checked out.”

The Seawing rolled his toxic-green eyes with a snort. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

Quietly laughing to themselves, the two picked the papers from the ground. Having quickly gathered the half scattered around them, Plover paused with an intrigued hum.

“What are these for anyway?”

“Oh, I’m helping out my mentor, Hearteater!” he grinned, puffing up in pride. “He’s organizing a couple tournaments to get the island’s claws sharpened, ‘you know? And I’m pinning up the sign-up sheets for him!”

Plover blinked. “...The Alliance is setting up a fight club?”

“What, no!” he sputtered, scales flickering incomplete words with a start. “It’s all above board; you’re not even allowed to injure anyone! I- Oohhh. You were joking, weren’t you?”

With an awkward smile, Plover shrugged.

Sure they didn’t actually believe it, but it was good to check.

Mezzo was weird.

“Potentially.” They handed back the papers they’d gathered with a hum.

“Thanks, sorry about that,” he grinned with a brightness to rival Plover’s own. The Seawing started to back down the hall before suddenly pausing, not even making it around the corner. He cocked his head to the side with a considerate hum. “Hey, you want in on this? I promise there’s no murder.”

Did Plover want to?

No, they were literally just complaining about Combat Training; of course, they didn’t want to. Being forced to fight against their will was what half of their problems stemmed from.

...

But, this wasn’t against their will.

This was some happy Seawing passing them in the hall and kindly offering. No lives or limbs on the table, just good-natured sparing. No injuries allowed.

Plover’s problems weren’t going to go away if they just locked themself in their room. Dropping classes and weaselling their way out of assignments.

They had to turn around and fight. Hell, this was practically exposure therapy!

The silence hung heavy in the air, the other Seawing shifting his weight back and forth in apprehension before Plover’s scales softly flashed the words.

“When does it start?”

•••

So Plover was an idiot. No, that was too general.

Plover had made an absolutely moronic decision. Yeah, still too broad.

Just— this was just a dumb idea.

A gladiator event in a colosseum and loud booming voices calling down orders? Oh wow, ‘wonder how that would turn out for them. It was like the entire world had conspired to make the most triggering event for Plover possible.

The storm surge was rising, and it was coming at them fast. Sooner or later, Plover was going to drown.

They’d tried to be present for Olive, but as she stepped out onto the sand, a blink later and she was collapsed on the ground. Like a baby dragonet passed out from a sugar rush.

Well, at least some of them were having fun.

In too much and no time at all, someone tapped them on the shoulder, there to lead them down from the stands from where they were blankly staring at their friend Treefrog preparing to fight— wings above was that Lady Kairi?!

Without notice, the fog drained from their limbs as they gawked at the scene. Okay, one of their best friends was technically committing crimes against the crown. ‘Probably going to be executed.

So much for no injuries and so much for that friendship.

But before Plover could pray for quick execution, the dragon whisked them away for the next match. Plover’s match. And for a second, they almost wanted the fog back. Because this was going to be hell.

Plover decided to forego the accessories, leaving behind their coral scarf, earrings, and the necklace wrapped around their wrist. Though they kept the glasses, not like those were suitable for grabbing anyways. They shivered at the loss, wanting to turtle back into their scarf and hide away as Plover stepped out onto the hot shimmering sand of the colosseum.

Blinking against the light, Plover glanced around, suppressing a shudder. It was alright; at least this time, they weren’t stuck in a drained lake bed far beneath the ground. The blue sky was endless above them, barely a shadow in sight. And the dragon on the far side of the stadium wasn’t in chains either.

The Mudwing across the way held her head high, scanning across the dragons above them like she was daring them to come down and try her. Huffing in disappointment, she settled her pink wings on her back, turning towards Plover with a sharp gleam in her blue eyes.

Humming, Plover looked the Mudwing over. Of course, she had to be a student, but Plover felt they’d run into her before. Mudwing, pink scales, proud posture— wasn’t her name Puddle? Yeah, Puddle, the dragon with all the fantastic schemes she had no faith in! Plover had only really talked to her once, but she was a reasonably sweet dragon.

Plover‘s expression sharply slipped into their usual grin, waving at Puddle happily.

Puddle paused, her brow furrowed as she stared at the Seawing’s aggressive friendliness.

Luckily, before Plover could make any more a fool of themself, the snapping of wings filled the air. Though Plover practicality jumped out of their own scales as the giant dragon practically blotted out the sun, their star-spotted wings making it seem like the day had gone by in an instant.

“What a fantastic fight we just witnessed,” the Nightwing boomed. “Please, give it up for Treefrog and Lady Kairi!”

The applause echoed around the stone walls. Plover suppressed their flinch.

“Next up, we have two more competitors for you,” they continued after the noise died down, gesturing down with their black claws. “Plover, Seawing representative of the Amethyst Talon. ‘Sharp eyes and an even sharper mind on that one.”

Plover shied away from the compliment, desperately wishing for their scarf back. Meanwhile, Puddle’s eyes suddenly lit up in recognition at the name, the earlier awkwardness fading away as she returned the wave.

The Nightwing Sheldite continued.

“And Puddle, Mudwing representative of the Diamond Talon and Blood-Squad Member. So you know we’re in for a spectacle here. You two ready?”

Puddle nodded sharply, grinning.

After a slight pause, Plover jerked their head in a yes as well.

“Wonderful! Remember, no blood shall be drawn. This is all in good fun. Claws up, fire safely not used, and fight!”

Unlike how action scrolls were supposed to go, the two dragonets did not immediately leap at one another for glory and gore with heart-stopping roars. Instead, silence settled into the sand as the two circled one another, waiting for someone to make the first move.

After a while of nothing, Puddle huffed in amusement. “‘Guess there’s not gonna be any playful banter here, eh?”

Plover shrugged silently. Like someone with mutism would do.

“Welp,” she said with a snort. “I’ll just have to make enough to cover the both of us, then.”

Still, neither dragon surged forward.

Someone coughed from the stands.

Another bought of silence ticked by before Puddle broke it once more. “So… do you wanna go first or should I?”

With a wince, Plover shook themself back to reality. They’d— Sea spirits, this was a dumb and horrible idea. No way in hell were they attacking first; they hissed through their teeth, glancing over at Puddle.

“‘Alright, I can go,” Puddle smiled at the Seawing. “Don’t worry, best of luck to ‘ya, Plover.”

Finally, a good minute after the fight was supposed to start, Puddle charged forward.

Puddle’s talons slammed against the sand, kicking it up as she approached Plover at high speed. Her shimmering scales seemed tough enough that hitting them would probably feel like a seagull slamming into a cliff-face.

Though, like that was going to happen.

The air whistled past their ear as Puddle charged straight past them. The Mudwing whirled around, looking over at Plover, who stood smugly to the side. Plover grinned, quietly giggling.

“‘Faster than I gave you credit for,” Puddle hissed under her breath, charging forward again.

An attack that Plover simply side-stepped out of once more.

Same with the next one.

And the next.

And the one after that.

While Puddle kept getting close, Plover could dart out of the way faster than Puddle could leap. Honestly, they didn’t understand why nobody ever expected a Seawing to be as quick as they were. But while dodging was easy, it was as tiring as swimming upstream.

The kicked-up sand softly settled around them as the two dragon’s chests heaved for breath. Even though Plover’s tactics were taxing, constantly charging wouldn’t work for Puddle either. One of them would have to budge.

“You are one slippery little fish,” Puddle huffed, the two dragonets circling one another again. She paused before snorting. “Though, Seawing, so I should’ve expected that.”

Plover snorted, rolling their eyes. That they indeed were.

Their tail brushed against the stone walls of the stadium.

With a double-take, Plover’s gaze darted between the walls behind them and the dragon in front of them, pinning them against it. She was smirking with a silent gotcha as Plover gulped, mind swearing enough to put their father’s vocabulary to shame.

Manatee would be so proud of them if he was a mind reader.

“Any last words, or would you rather just give up while you’re behind?”

The Seawing’s thick tail lashed, sail similarly raised like a cat’s hackles as they stared Puddle down.

Puddle’s eyes gleamed. “Well then, adios Plover. You were a fun fight.”

She leaped.

She came down hard.

She came down fast.

Plover was only halfway out from under her with a roll. Her wing caught them square in the snout with a thwack. The wing-spur curled in Plover’s whiskers. Catching and pulling as they spun head over tail into the ground. Their beak dug a small canal into the sand as Plover skidded to a stop.

But to a stop far out of Puddle’s range.

Ignoring their stinging eyes and the sand stuck between their scales, Plover jumped back to their feet. Shaking themself, dust fell from them in plumes. As the last of the sand fell, Plover held their head high with a self-righteous grin to the crowd’s applause above.

Before they promptly spat out enough sand to fill a terrarium with a hack.

Then went back to smirking.

“Oh, you slime-weasel,” Puddle snarled, her talons curling in the sand. “That’s it!—”

Her wings snapped against the air, taking her into the sky.

“Come on up here,” she boomed, thumping a claw into her chest. “And fight me like a dragon!”

Ah.

Well, this was a pickle.

Plover yelped as Puddle dove at them from above and ducked into another sand-spraying roll.

“Let’s give these people a real show!” She laughed as Plover jumped out of the way of another attack. Though they stayed firmly on the ground. “What, you got stone wings or something?”

Plover hissed as they shook out their scales again, glaring at the Mudwing from where she was circling them from above. Gritting their teeth, they resisted the urge to sneeze against the sand stuck in their snout. Stone wings. Yeah, people could put it like that.

Metal wings were more like it, though.

Metal wings that were chained unmovingly to the ground.

Plover darted out of the way with an undignified squawk, flashing their lights desperately.

Puddle pulled up for only a moment, shaking her head clear before she was right back on Plover’s tail.

Dragons were masters of the skies, their wings giving them an advantage against all stuck on the ground.

An advantage that Plover didn’t have.

If the scavengers hadn’t bound those dragons’ wings, they would have been buried into the lake bed. The Seawing’s wings were fried things that hadn’t carried them since they were small enough to fit into a scavenger’s grasp. Just absolutely useless.

But Plover wouldn’t dare let anyone know that.

A flightless dragon was a useless dragon, someone who would end up with a hole between their eyes.

The only reason that Plover had ever seen the sun again was that Spartan had believed Plover’s wings were functional. Had thought that Plover’s wings would herald the arrival of storms, of war. Because Plover had lied.

And there was no way that a flightless dragonet could go up against a trained soldier.

At least, not on her terms.

The fight had gone on too long. Plover was feeling it. While Plover panted and sneeze against sand, Puddle circled lazily above them. Though, her tense shoulders begged to differ.

“You’re still not giving up? Practically look buried already!” Puddle huffed, a sliver of concern creeping into her voice as she looked Plover over. The dragonet was more sand than scales at this rate.

Shakily raising their head, Plover glared defiantly up against the backlit Mudwing, slowly pacing back to make room between them again.

Only to stumble straight back into the stadium walls once more.

Their eyes went wide as their mind caught up with the situation, pinned once more.

But Puddle didn’t pounce in for the kill, hesitating in the sky. “...You know we don’t have to do this, right? You can just give up and go home.”

Plover’s expression stayed set, staring at Puddle, daring her to do it.

A sigh. “All right then.”

Puddle struck.

As the Mudwing dove toward them, Plover held their nerve. They had to time it just right. Leave it to the last possible second. They had to count it out— three, two, one—

Their nerve held out, but their poker face didn’t.

When Puddle was so close that Plover could see each distinct freckle of her mud pattern, it cracked into a grin bright enough to rival the sun itself.

Puddle blinked, the tiniest little emotion sparking in her eyes.

Uh oh.

With a brilliant flash of their lights, Puddle’s eyes slammed closed. But she couldn’t stop her momentum.

Plover rolled. Just enough room thanks to Puddle’s attempt to abort.

Puddle sailed past, over Plover’s tail— and slammed snout-first into the stadium wall.

Before Puddle’s head could stop spinning, Plover reared up from their roll. Twisting, they pinned Puddle against the wall.

Three, two, one.

“MATCH!”

As the crowd applauded above them, Plover huffed, catching their breath. They turned back to Puddle, holding out their talons to pull her up.

Puddle took the helping claws, rubbing at her snout as she stumbled to her feet. “Alright, you may have been a much better fighter than I gave you credit for.”

Plover grinned, shaking out their scales, another sand storm falling in their wake.

Glancing over the Seawing’s dirtied scales with a hum. “I- sorry about smacking you in the face.”

With an unconcerned shrug, Plover gestured to Puddle’s snout, ears pricked.

Snorting, she rubbed her snout one last time. “Nah, it’s okay. The worst I’ll get is a nosebleed. So, no hard feelings?”

They shook their head with a smile, democratically shaking Puddle’s claws in turn.

No hard feelings.

•••

The Amethyst Talon living room was quiet, the soft scraping of quills against scrolls and sips of tea filling the air.

Plover hummed in thought, tapping their claws against their page of scribbled notes.

Glancing over at Olive, their brow furrowed. The Nightwing was glaring daggers into the table, shifting her weight in her lounge.

“I can’t believe you threw pastries at my head,” she finally snapped, staring at Azalea with a snarl.

Plover’s eyes went wide. Wait, what had they missed?

Abandoning her homework, Azalea threw her claws up in the air, “I can’t believe I nearly won!”

Oh, tournament, right.

…

That still didn’t explain a thing.

“Yeah, believe me, nobody else could either,” Olive snarked with a roll of her eyes.

“I swear I nearly had an existential crisis there,” Azalea whispered, staring down at her own talons like they were someone else’s. “Plus, Plover nearly bashed someone’s head in. So there’s that.”

Plover flinched, claws tangling in their scarf. They swore that Puddle had been fine, but still, it had been reckless to endanger her like that.

“Hey, lay off my friend there, won’t ya?” Olive hissed before turning to the Seawing. “It was a fun spectacle anyway, nice use of tactics.”

Olive turned back towards her work with a huff, dipping her quill in the blood-moon red ink.

A sharp gasp filled the air.

Glancing upward, Plover’s eyes landed on the cherry dragon’s face.

Azalea was grinning ear to ear.

The Nightwing’s eyes went sharp. “Don’t you dare—”

“YOU SAID IT; YOU HAVE FRIENDS. IM SO PROUD OF YOU!”

Olive snarled, “huh, so I did have the right timeline after all.”

Azalea paused, “Wait, what do you mean—”

A couch cushion flew at her face, cutting off her with a startled squawk.

“Wait! Wait, I’m sure we can talk this out—!”

The barrage continued as Azalea ducked out of the way, yelling apologies as Olive chased after her. Plover cackled, grasping at their stomach, grinning brightly on a warm spring afternoon.

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