Kirishima was not-really enjoying a cup of very warm, very disgusting rum when the door of the pub opened, the dim light from the moon outlining a tall, muscular figure.
The whispers started inmediately.
He’d been in town long enough to know that gossip was not a common thing: such a small village only coud be the home to a certain amount of people, which meant that everybody knew everything. There was basically no secrets amongst them (he’d been sure he heard that everyone had had at least one sexual encounter with a neighbour. Too much hunger, too little fishes in the sea). He couln’t be blamed for using his very-sensitive hearing to try and catch what’s so important about this guy.
“That asswipe, I was sure he’d burn his ass this time” was the guy sitting next to him. His friend burped and frowned.
“My wife goes crazy every time he comes. ‘Why don’t you tame beasts like him! Why don’t you excercise more!” His voice turned patetically high-pitched “That slut’s getting to nerves.”
The oh-so-hated man walked straight to the counter, where he let five pieces of copper fall from his scarred hands. He sat next to Kirishima, his eyes hidden from sight thanks to the shadow the chandelier casted.
“Two pork pieces” he grunted, then, catching the two men past Kirishima, he growled, voice slightly higher. “The fuck ye looking at?”
They shifted uncomfortably, suddenly not wanting to speak ill of the guy. He would have laughed if the intimidation hadn’t got to him too. The man scowled and turned at the shelves of different bottles of alcohol.
Kirishima tried to inspect him quickly. He had ashen blonde messy hair that despite being straight, did not fall flat on his head, having a rather spiky shape. His skin was pale and smooth, but with patches of dirt. Pretty handsome looking, if you asked Kirishima, yet his good looks were completly ruined by his lack of clothes.
That didn’t mean his body wasn’t handsome; His defined pecs led to a set of well formed, pale abs littered by scars. Long and dark scratches all over his torso, scar tissue over scar tissue. But his god-like complexión seemed lost by his dirty pants, ragged red cape with fur on top and the not one or two, but four beaded necklaces falling on his chest.
He looked barbarian in a small village of farmers.
Kirishima was turning his gaze off of the guy, when he caught a glimpse of blue. His breath hitched inside his throat.
The second shortest necklace had three big, drop shaped beads. Three big, Sharp beads of an angry bright blue. Darkest at the rounder part, shining against the light of the fire on the walls. The longest necklace had another set of three similar beads, ever so slightly smaller than the others. The top and third necklaces were orange and red, with even smaller little shapes. Too familiar shapes.
Tooth shapes. Dragon tooths.
He felt sick.
“At least he’s leaving tonight” said the man inmediatly at his left. “Chief only called him to take care of the dragon-thing, and he never stays afterwards."
“With such a job” his friend said, lowering his voice, “He’s not gonna stay alive. Ha, Kira will finally shut up.”
A dark haired lady came with a dish full of pork meat, the smell winning his own disgusting rum breath. He felt his stomach growl, but he ignored it. The blonde ate in silence, not minding the quick glances Kirishima send at him every now and then, his heart beating painfully inside his chest.
He got dragon tooths hanging on his chest. He was known for ‘taking care’ of ‘dragon things’, whatever that meant. It wasn’t hard to put two and two together.
He was a dragon-slayer. And he was sitting next to him.
His mind suddenly took him back to when he was just a small kid running around large patches of long green grass, before discovering his bloodline, when he was ignorant towards the fact that his oh so kind and loveable father had once fucked a dragon. Not knowing his heritage was just a small fraction of his childhood though, since at five he discovered he could grow red wings from inside his back and make his nails transform into claws. He’d been so scared seeing the red scales grow all along his forearms, hard and pointy.
His father explained a thirteen-restriction version of why he could turn into a winged lizard twice his size when he was five. They lived in the countryside, too far from other kingdoms to be in any real danger of being hunted. Just his dad and him, against the world. And altough he was friendly with Mrs Greener and her children, he never told anyone about his secret.
Free to learn how to fly, Kirishima spent most of his time over flying forests, searching for anything useful to his father, even though he was told a dozen times not to use his dragon form to take advantage from other mortals.
“Dragons are, by nature, greedy beings” he used to tell him, “Instincts too strong to help themselves from stealing and damaging things.”
Dad never spoke to him with nothing but kindness.
“But you are not a full dragon, Eijirou”.
Only when Dad passed from old age he allowed himself discover the world. Taking the little money he had, Kirishima flew over the most problematic kingdoms, never staying longer than a couple of months.
All kings were greedy; bathing in gold and diamonds, enclosed inside their big castles. Seven meter tall brick towers that rose above the small houses of the villagers, always with a ton of warrioir to protect them from some other equaly greedy king and his troops of warriors.
Although the remained a myth in some places, dragons were no longer a secret. They were hunted by the same greedy kings who lived pacefully, just because mortals are idiots who like to feel superior than any othen living being. ‘Dragons are, by nature, greedy beings’, well Dad never met a kings, because they were the utter worst. But whenever he heard of a dragon hunt, he felt a little less alone. Because a dragon hunt meant that there were others, others like him.
Well, not fully. But still better than nothing.
At eighteen he met Mina Ashido.
He was staying at a small building for the week, washing dishes and cleaning floors in the same place while she cooked. The girl called his attention the first time he offered the owner of the building work over staying there for a couple of nights. The man nodded with a smile, and Mina inmediately introduced herself.
Daughter of the owner, she worked there with him every afternoon, making dinner and closing the place. She was quite short and had pink hair, always smiling and laughing and Kirishima hadn’t had felt so calm and happy since his fathers passing. When he saw a big, pinkysh dragon flying over the nearest forest, it wans’t hard to guess another halfblood lived there.
She taugh him how to make a stronger fire. How to fly in a more easy way, how to transform quickly and all the dragon details his mortal father never could.
She also taugh him never to give up any of his teeth.
“They are a symbol.” she had said “They have power. They contain our strength. Its a magical thing, I’m not quite sure why. But we need them.”
Dragon teeth weren’t easily broken. They didn’t fall out of nowhere. That was why they were so special to mortals: owning one meant power and superiority over the beast.
Whenever dragons were defeated or killed, their teeth were the first victims: most of them were sold at high prices, or used by warlocks or witches to cast strong spells. Loosing one was like loosing a limb, forced to live half a soul.
Watching at least six dragon tooths hanging from a mortals neck made Kirishima both angry and sick.
Apparetly, the fartest he got towards the dragon-slayer, the more Kirishima learn about him.
His name was Bakugou, and probably something else, but no one seemed to know his name. He was, indeed, the only dragon-slayer that everyone knew that was still alive. He wasn’t one to have a conversation with, and was described by many as a ‘rude asshole’ who didn’t like to be looked at more than necessary. Nobody knew where he lived or if he had any friends. Whenever he was needed to kill a dragon, he just appeared, probably by hearing rumors: when a dragon was a big threat to a village, they sent someone to look for him.
Kirishima wasn’t a bit intimidated by this ‘big bad wolf’ facade. The guy was just another idiotic mortal with a superiority complex who believedd himself cool by actiang like a douche. He was probably a wanna-be warlord or some king’s rebel son, walking around with such dramatic clothes and those damned dragon teeth like he’s invincible.
Well, he was alive. And anything that lived could be killed.
But Kirishima (despite his growing rage) was not about to kill this Bakugou douche (although he was practically asking for it). He just wanted those tooths he wore like trophys. How many dragons had he killed? Was there a teeth for each dragon or each color meant one dragon? It didn’t matter, cause there was no way in hell he was gonna let him have them, self-preservation be damned.
So when the guy stood up and left the pub, Kirishima was jumping on his feet. He left his unfinished rum on the counter and ran towards the exit. Two steps outside, the door closing behind him, he looked ahead of him.
Where did the guy go?
Suddenly he was thrown by the back of his clothes against the closed door of the pub, his neck quickly grabbed by a strong hand while the little air his lungs had was being kicked out of his system thanks to the impact.
Oh, there he was.
“Looking for me, dipshit?” the guy-Bakugou said, grimacing. “The fuck were you doing asking those bastards ‘bout me, huh?” His mind was running fast, what was his lie? Damnit! He should have thought this through.
“I-I, man, I was…!” How was he supposed to think if this guy was choking him? The dragon tooths glistered under the moonlight. “I was looking for you! I need your help! Help from a dragon-slayer!”
In a place where dragons were at least three-meter tall, fire-breathing winged lizard beasts, the nickname should flatter anyone, but the guy seemed angry, annoyed even, but it still caught his attention, as he slightly lessed the pressure against his neck.
“Help? How?” he practically growled. Man, so much for manners.
“I-I have a dragon!” NO. “A-A dragon problem! I need to get rid of it, really.” Bakugou looked at him suspiciously, which meant no good.
“You sure it’s a dragon?” He asked, a tint of mock in his tone. “Could be anything. Stupid ass idiots here think even the smallest scratch is a fucking dragon.”
“No, I’m sure” Kirishima tried to assure.
“How does it look like, huh? Seems like a lie” He said, the pressure on his neck coming back. “And I motherfucking hate liars.”
He gulped, nervous. “It’s like, red and with scales and tail…”
“Sounds like a lizard” Bakugou said.
“No man, it’s like, big as a house. It’s wings are real big…” He tried to recall how he looked whenever he transformed, not that he eyed himself too often. “…And has this leather wings with scales and horns and strong ass legs. Pretty awesome if you ask me…”
“Where.” He demanded. The hand still positioned on top of his neck, but no longer bothering his airways.
“Countryside three villages ahead” he said, not really thinking. Or at least imagining his father and his soft smile, watering the flowers during spring. “The thing flies over night and eats my father’s cattle. Copper’s not easy to get ya’know?”.
That seemed to do it, as Bakugou took a step back, his hand falling to his belt. He probably had weapons he just did not see before.
There was a silence were the blonde seemed to think wheter believe him or not.
Or kill him or not. Kirishima hoped it was anything that resulted in him alive and well.
“Fine” He said, finally. His voice was still a growl “We’ll leave an hour before sunrise, and I’m not waiting you skinny ass if ye don’t wake up.” He started walking towards the woods like there was a secret building Kirishima didn’t know about.
“I’m Kirishima by the way!”
Bakugou turna round to look at him, the message clear ‘I don’t care’ before dissapearing into the shadows of tres and bushes. The last thing Kirishima thought before going back to help cleaning the dishes was the intense red of his eyes.