smash_logs | So You Think You're Turning Into a Chayzard: An Instructive Guide for Proper Living as a Burn Lizard

Max had managed to get back to his room after meeting with that one guy, and found, in a drawer, a pair of pants that had a strange hole in the back, with a little snap button-setup that let him have a waistband in the back. How classy.

Max pretty much knew that he had to seek out Char, because letting him find this out on his own would only be worse than not confronting him with it straight out. Since he'd met that not-robot-robot-guy, Pulse, as a dragon, maybe there was something catching. Maybe Char had turned into something weird, but even if he had, Max knew he pretty much had to tell him about it.

Char wasn't in his room, but there was a... well. Particular air to a charizard, a scent of burning and hauteur, that Max figured would lead him to Char, eventually. Neither Sasha nor Riwane carried the same aura of superiority as Char did.

And so Max found Char sitting outside, his nose buried in a book by some modern-day Robert Bakewell.

"Hey, uh," Max said from his side. "You ain't gonna like this but you should probably look up from that book, because I've got a situation and we need to talk about it."

At the sound of Max's voice, Char's tail, carefully arranged into a position where it was safely away from both the grass and the bench itself, gave a sudden and violent twitch, as if desperately longing to slap itself against the ground.

"Fuck off, Max, I--"

The sentence abruptly strangled itself the second Char looked up from that horrifically uninteresting bit of scientific literature. Wings. Horns. A tail. A bunch of tacky-ass mid-2000 tattoos. A whole lot of orange. All things he thought he would never have to see stuck onto Max ever again. All things that were very definitely stuck onto Max at this very moment.

The book fell forgotten to the ground. Char was immediately on his feet, wings stretched to their largest extent, tail flame growing hotter and brighter, and teeth bared. In a dazzling burst of eloquence, Char spoke, summing up all the feelings he had on the matter, Max's suggestion, and the prospect of history repeating itself this week:

"Hell no."

It took everything Max had inside of him to keep from reacting in a very outward and negative fashion to Char's sudden threatening pose. As it was, Max just bristled slightly, with only the slightest alteration in tail flame.

"I ain't too thrilled about this neither," he muttered. He looked down at the once-traumatized charizard.

"We need to talk about this." Or you could always knock the shit out of each other. That's also an option.

It didn't take much to get Char indulging his baser instincts; no matter how often he walked around in human form, he still very much considered himself an animal, and was not in the least bit opposed to thinking like one. That was exactly what he was doing at this moment. Maxizard was a proven threat, and every last one of his instincts screamed to chase this unwanted other male out and assert a claim over this territory before he got branded all over again.

"I ain't got shit to say to you," Char spat. "Things ain't playin' out like they did last time. I don't want nothing to do with your power trips, you got me?"

"If I was gonna pull power trips like I did last time, do you think I woulda walked up to you, asked you to put your damn book down and said we needed to talk about it?" said Max who was now getting all riled up because Char was still all riled up.

"I woulda came up, grabbed you from the back, hoisted you in the air, headbutted you and told you 'Welcome back,' while I looked down with a big old smile at your scared little face," he continued. "'Cause trust me, there's a real big part of me that says I shoulda done that instead of stand here tryin' to talk with you about ALL THIS," he said, gesturing with one arm up his torso and at the wings. "Now are you gonna help me not flip the fuck out, or are you gonna encourage it?" Max asked, as he sort of looked like he was at least flipping some sexual-intercourse out at the moment.

A more rational, pacifistic individual would have appreciated Max's attempts to exert self-control. Char, however, was just as easily set off as any other Charizard. He didn't want to deal with Max on a good day. Max accusing him of being scared was a whole different level of trying. Max still acting like his place on the top of the hierarchy was already his again because he was just inherently above Char, like he was going to do Char some kind of great and noble favour by abstaining from getting rough because it was obviously so inevitable that he would win, just jabbed at the reactive, aggressive part of him like a red-hot needle. He said nothing while Max spoke, but his tail flame was steadily getting bigger and hotter by the second.

Once Max was finished, Char's wings tensed, then flared out to their fullest again. He tilted his head back and spat a burst of flame into the sky. Whether Max had studied the finer points of Charizard communication or not, this was one of the most unmistakable and provoking gestures they had: a clear statement that this territory was his, that he was the Charizard ruling around here. Once the flame died down, he lowered his head just enough to fix his stare intently on Max.

His terms had been laid down as plainly as he knew how. What Max did with them was his call.

Max knew a 'Come at me, bro,' when he saw one, no matter what the language was when initiated. He was perfectly well aware of what was being communicated by Char's little outburst.

"I ain't gonna be the one to start this," Max replied flatly, although the flame on his tail grew fiercely bright, an outward show of his inner emotional state. "Now if you're done wavin' your dick in my face, either do what you're gonna do, or knock it off."

He set his feet apart in a stance meant to give him support for an oncoming blow, and raised his arms (oh dear reader, the virtues contained those manly arms are beyond compare!) as if preparing for a boxing match, only instead of regular gloves, the gloves are made out of pure rage. His wings unfurled slightly (it was a strange thing to think of doing, but he'd had practice in doing this before), to complete his preparations.

He knew what was coming.

Char didn't bother answering that; he didn't have much patience for high-and-mighty eye-rolling. Instead, he abruptly shifted back to his usual, more lizardy form, snarling in defiance. It might have been Stupid and Futile to try picking a fight again after how frequently his ass had been handed to him last time Max had been a Charizard, but stubborn determination was deeply wired into his species' mindset: if a Charmander at the start of their trainer journey could take on a twenty-foot rock serpent, then a Charizard could take on a lizard who was maybe just a few feet bigger than him. Nobody was so invincible that they could never lose.

This time, he didn't bother to charge in recklessly -- he let his wings do the work. He launched an Air Slash in Max's direction, then pushed off the ground, intending to take to the air.

Max took the Air Slash, and slid back a couple of inches. He'd had a firm footing, however, and maintained his balance. Char had given the first strike, and the only way out of this was to hit back.

He'd crouched a bit to take the blow, and dipped down a bit further. This is what all the squats were for. This is why he did ass-to-the-ground squats. This was it. This was his moment.

He launched himself at the slowly rising charizard, using the wings at his back to give himself a boost, and held his fist back to hopefully give Char a righteous pummeling for not going along with Max's pacifist ideals.

... yeah that sounds about right.

Char's theory that nobody was so invincible that they could never lose had failed to account for the fact that Max was, in fact, losing-proof. His fist knocked Char out of the air and down onto the grass. He didn't stay down for long -- he already knew from experience that giving Max the chance to get in close would be downright suicidal.

This time, Char tried a Focus Blast. A flying-type would resist the move, so he knew it wouldn't hurt much, but it was easily the move with the most pushing force that he had. He didn't expect to KO Max, just to buy enough time and distance to get into the air. This time, he turned away, getting a running start as he pushed off into the air.

Oh dear, sweet, innocent Char the Charizard. Running from Max is never a good idea. You used some sort of... swirly ball attack? Swirly ball attack that didn't hurt very much. What was that even supposed to be?

There's a terrible pounding sound coming from behind you Char. It's the sound of a crazy heavy man wearing boots running. The sound of a crazy heavy man wearing boots who runs for an hour in the mornings for fun. The sound of a crazy heavy man who is doing his darnedest to jump on your back.

Oh no, the running sounds stopped. Does that mean he's... he's in the air again. Or maybe he stopped running; that's probably it.

In retrospect, Char probably should have accounted for being outrun by Max as well as outmuscled. First came the many rapid thuds of a crazy heavy man trying to jump on Char's back, then silence as he soared, swanlike, through the air, then a very solid and ungraceful crunch as Char was squished into the dirt by many hundreds of pounds of beefcake.

Needless to say, there was not exactly a lot of wiggle room (ha) for getting loose from that. The landing itself had driven the wind out of Char entirely; even if it had been remotely feasible to struggle beneath Max's might, that wasn't even going to come close to being an option until he had his breath again.

Max's swan-like pile-drive into Char's back (did you feel the elbow in the small of your back?) had knocked the orange beast into the earth.

"I don't," said Max through clenched teeth, "wanna grab your stupid horns to end this. I just want to get up, get offa you, and call it even."

He remained on Char's back, however. At least for the moment.

"Now, you shake your head yes if you think that's a good idea."

Though still trying to force air back into his lungs despite the eight zillion pounds of protein sitting on his back, Char slowly lifted his head. That big long neck craned around to look behind him.

He responded to Max's offer by straining that neck the best he could in one more attempt to bite Max.

Max punched Char in the face with his protein-laden arm.

Char was very thoroughly slugged. Blood began to leak from the end of his snout; Max could now add "gave a dragon a nosebleed" onto his resume.

Char sniffed scornfully, then spat blood at Max.

Max had bruised his knuckles on Char's stupid, pointy face and was in a pissy mood. The dragon blood on his shoulder didn't help any, either.

The mood was probably mutual.

A tiny voice in the back of his head (okay it wasn't that tiny, it was rather loud, actually) told him to break Char's wings like twigs to teach him a lesson about respect.

Max fought the impulse, and pushed it down. Patience. Max was supposed to have learned patience.

"I want you to make sure I don't go off the deep end," said Max roughly as he stared at Char's stupid, bleeding face. "You're the only one I can trust to know when I do it. And for you to do that, I need you not beneath me, I need you on the same level as me. Help. Me."

He was beginning to catch his breath again, but it still took a moment before he continued. He lowered his head to wipe his nose on the back of his hand; it didn't make much difference. "It's not gonna do a lick of good even if I said I'd do what you want me to. You'll do whatever the hell you want because you still think you're better than me."

Now that he was sufficiently recovered, he planted his claws into the ground beneath him and pushed off the ground, persistently trying to get himself free from under Max. It was also Stupid and Futile, but Char's stubbornness was deeply ingrained; even when his dignity was long since trampled, his defiance wasn't. "You walk up and tell me we have to talk like it's my job to chase your tail around. You don't bother thinkin' that maybe I'd rather have the option of you leavin' me the hell alone while you're like this. You think that just because now you're too civilized to stoop to fightin', I'm obligated to fawn at your side about how hard you're tryin' to be above them barbaric Charizard instincts?"

"You're not my friend. It's not my job to do a single goddamn thing for you. If you wanted to ask for my help after the shit you pulled, you'd be showin' a little fuckin' humility. You'd be on your knees presentin' your goddamn horns." He sniffed again. It also didn't do much good, considering that nosebleed had already turned the end of his snout into a sticky red mess. Instead, here we are, that Stupid and Futile sniff said.

"I tried that once; you didn't take it," said Max bitterly, remembering that time outside of Char's apartment.

But Max was supposed to have learned humility as well. And he stamped the indignation down again.

"But if that's what you want now," he said, his voice strained, pushing himself up. "That's what you're gonna get."

He slid off of Char's back, and sat in seiza, as he was taught in crazy feudal Yellow Comet country. And waited.

"Didn't say I was gonna take it," Char replied. He sat up, neck straight and head tilted up, either in an attempt to deal with that nosebleed or because he was doing his best to look down on Max despite Max being larger than most mountains. He wanted to drive the point home that he was not entitled to Char's forgiveness: that even if Max sat all uncomfortably, even if he said please and lowered his head, even if he was in a position where he needed help, there was still the very real -- and in fact, highly likely -- possibility that he would still get nothing from Char, because taking the full brunt of Maxizard's ugliness did not mean Char was responsible for teaching Maxizard how to keep that ugly side under control.

But then again, this was Max, so Char, in his hardhearted, bitter way, did not remain especially optimistic that this point would reach him.

"What exactly are you expectin' from me, Max?"

Max looked down at the ground in front of him intently.

"I am afraid of myself," said Max, to the floor. "I know bein' a charizard don't change who I am. It just... amplifies parts of me I already got in me. Me bein' angry, me bein' violent, me bein' me... I got it in me already. The charizard part just aggravates it. I ain't better than you. I'm worse. I'm scared that at any minute I'll snap and hurt somebody I care about again."

Max continued to stare at the grass. Inside of him, he really, really, wanted to not be staring at the grass, on his knees, with Char... sort of... looming over him.

"What I did to you's one of my biggest failures. I need you to be there to tell me if I'm losin' my shit. Because I remember that. It reminds me that I'm not king of the world. And because you, more than anybody else, know what I'm like when I lost control. And if I lose control over myself, and you can't get me back under control, I want you to go find slowpoke or some other water type, and take me down, and keep me knocked out until this is over. I need you to take me out. If Blast was still here I'd ask him but he ain't. I don't know who else to ask. Vinnie? Hell, I can't ask him, he burns easy. That Marie kid? He ain't got the drive inside to do it. Sonny? Sonny's got no edge. Sasha? I don't know what to do with her anymore. I can't think of nobody but you, and you're the one that my bein' here is hardest on."

Was Max sort of crying? He was sort of crying hot, terrible tears. "I'm gonna try to keep it under control, I promise. Work at the forge, keep myself busy, usin' the fire inside to not ruin everybody's life."

"I don't expect you to be my friend. I need an enforcer. That's what I expect." He ground his hands into fists at his sides. "That's what I'm askin' for."

Char did not want to help Max.

There it was, plain and simple. He lacked the mercy to be anyone's crutch, and he lacked the softheartedness to help someone who had hurt him purely for altruism's sake. Max was not the only Charizard running around this week: if Char was going to invest his time in another dragon this week, then he intended to spend it on bonding with his trainer in a way he normally never would be able to. That was not something he was especially willing to put aside.

At the same time, he did have to be realistic. As much as he resented the general consensus that being a Charizard was Awful and Scary and doing Charizard things was Even More So, there were suddenly a whole lot of males on the turf he dearly wanted to call his. Clashing was going to be inevitable without a clearly established head dragon that was capable of keeping everyone in line. Max might have had the sheer musclepower to call himself top dog, but he was very clearly not in any state to handle the prospect of dragon diplomacy gracefully.

"Let's be real, Max. I can't be hangin' over your shoulder every second. That wouldn't be no different than what I was doin' when you left your little love-mark on me. You use other dragons to make you wanna get better, but it ain't their job to make you better. A boy needs someone to tell him when he's bein' bad. A man knows."

Char rose to his feet, lumbering over to Max. "I'll stick my neck out if I happen to be around, but it's selfish as hell to expect me to drop everything and save you from yourself. Here, gimme your arm."

"Yeah," said Max, glumly, blinking his eyes and doing his best to pretend that the water that had been leaking from his eyes wasn't there. "I know. And I don't want you next to me the entire time. And I think I'm gonna do better this time. I know I am. I got to. But I just. I just want you to know that I ain't gonna fuck you over. I promise. But if I try to, I'm pretty sure if I go over the deep end, you're gonna be one of the first to feel it. Just do whatever it takes to stop me from doin' it. That's all I want."

Max held his comically large (and comically douchebag-tattooed) arm out at the charizard. "But I swear, I won't start nothin' to hurt nobody this time."

Char took Max's comically large arm in one scaly hand, holding it steady. On his other hand, he curled in two of his three fingers ~~and flipped Max the bird~~, shuffling over so he could lay the point of his claw on the many pounds of beef lurking just below the shoulder -- the same spot that'd been picked out for his tattoo, way back when all this first went down.

He was completely aware that one hand alone was not strong enough to keep Max in place if Max did not want to stay in place. One effortless tug would be all that was required to pull it free and probably javelin-toss Char over the nearest set of mountains. That, he supposed, was sort of the point: he could not do this unless Max decided to allow him to do it.

Char paused, looking over to Max's red watery crying eyes, claw-point resting on top of that douchebag tattoo clusterfuck, waiting for a sign to either back off or proceed.

The thought did pass through Max's mind to grab Char and flip him over his backwards so that Char's head would meet the ground in fun and interesting ways.

It was a passing thought, only. Max squashed it down into the pit of soul where it had come from originally.

"It's a shitty sense of style charizard me's got," Max said.

What. Was that a 'go ahead' or was that just a statement of fact? Well, he's just sitting there, anyway.

So You Think You're Turning Into a Chayzard: An Instructive Guide for Proper Living as a Burn Lizard

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