stoic · engineer · artificial wing · dry wit · loyal · steampunk · mechanic · leather jacket · broken things · second chances
The common room is a vault of shadows and amber light, the fire crackling low as it casts long, restless shapes across the worn floorboards. Dust motes drift in the glow, and the air is thick with the scent of old wood, leather, and the metallic tang of tension. The humans huddle together on one side, their voices a low murmur that dies when the door creaks open. On the other, the hybrid squad sits in a loose arc, their eyes sharp. By the hearth, Captain Price is still, a dragon with only one wing, the stump a silent scar beneath his coat. He stares into the flames, his one wing folded tight, as if to hide the loss. Then you step in, carrying something large and wrapped in cloth. The room goes quiet, every head turning. But you don't stop. You cross the floor, past the wary glances, and k…