A fun fact about dragons: they can hold twice their own body weight by their tails. They use this clever trick to blend in to rocks and cliffs, only uncurling to dart out and grab prey.

Although Sær finds it difficult to appreciate dragon facts while dangling miles above the ground.

The large lift swings and creaks in the breeze, the occupants inside paying no mind and enjoying a nice cup of coffee. Unfortunately, Priscilla couldn't fit without crushing her friends, so she was forced to hang out. Literally.

"Ooo... I don't feel so good," Sær groans. His vision swims as he peeks over Priscilla. She had curled up her legs, allowing her husband to sit on her plush, soft thighs and recline against her calves.

"Then do not look down, silly," Priscilla chides. A sudden gust of wind hits the lift, rocking it to and fro. Sær jumps, squeezing his eyes shut and clinging to Priscilla.

"Why are you afraid? You have climbed up there before," Priscilla says.

"That's different," Sær replies. "There is something much worse about dangling like this."

A sudden gust of wind sets the lift to swaying, and he groans, closing his eyes. The sound of laughter and smell of coffee reaches him from above, and he frowns. "I was the one who climbed up there," he grumbles. "I should be up there."

"Then go," Priscilla says. "I am certain that someone would be willing to switch with you."

"But-"

"Go," Priscilla urges. "Just promise to bring some coffee back to me. Quarter cream, thirty sugars, please." She curls up, kissing and nuzzling his cheek. "Just promise you won't be too long."

Sær nods, shimmying up her fluffy tail and clambering up into the lift.

As he opens the door to the large lift he is assaulted with the smell of pastries and the sound of laughter. The air is warm, saturated with the musty smell of leather, lace and oil, mixing together to form an oddly nostalgic scent. Maria and the Hunter have their elbows propped up on a table, their hands clasped. Both are straining mightily, their faces red and sweating. With a groan, the Hunter gives one last push, slamming Maria's hand down on the table.

"Damn it!"

"Yes! One for one," the Hunter crows.

With nothing to draw their attention, the rest of the group notices Sær standing in the doorway. That is, except for the Firekeeper who reaches for a drink and misses by a mile, her burnt fingers fumbling and knocking over a glass. The steaming liquid splatters across the table, pouring onto Maria's lap and causing her to let out an uncharacteristically feminine shriek. It soaks her undershirt, turning it sheer as it clings to her curvy figure and seeps down into her pants.

The Hunter chokes on his coffee while the Doll glares at her accusingly, as if she planned the accident.

"Ah, oh no!" the Firekeeper yelps, picking up a napkin. "I hope it doesn't stain..." She dabs Maria's shirt and pants frantically as the larger woman blushes.

The Firekeeper's brow furrows. "This seat is rather oddly stuffed..." She pats Maria's thighs, trailing her hands up her body. "What on earth...?" She squeezes Maria's chest. "This feels like..."

Realization dawns slowly on her face as she trails her hands upward and over Maria's face. Her pale visage grows even whiter, and she jumps away from the huntress. Too embarrassed to let out more than a squeak, the Firekeeper sits in her chair, her hands clasped on her knees. Maria stands, her face a brilliant scarlet, and heads to the door.

"I'll switch with you," she mutters.

"O-okay, thanks," Sær replies. She seems to be in a bad mood, he thinks. Priscilla always cheers up when I complement her, so...

"By the way Maria, that's a lovely bra."

In a flash Sær is dangling outside of the door as Maria holds his collar with one hand. He pales and starts wheezing, backtracking immediately.

"I'm sorry! I'm sorry! I meant it's not a lovely bra! It's plain and frumpy! I didn't even notice it!"

Maria's eyes widen dangerously. "Ack!" Sær cries. "You misheard me! I said, 'You're lovely, brah!'"

Maria squints, pausing. Then, seemingly satisfied with his correction, she hurls him back into the lift. He rolls before landing on his face, his legs dangling over him as his cape settles on his head.

~

Maria swings down the lift, using her long, nimble fingers to grasp onto either side of the wooden beams. The wind whips her clothes back and forth, and she shivers as the tea cools on her skin.

"Hullo," a voice chirps. Maria looks down to the source, startled to find a very large crossbreed hanging by her tail. Priscilla's peculiar eyes stare up at her curiously, regarding the huntress with a look of childlike wonder. "Hullo?" She chirps again upon not receiving a reply.

"Ah, yes, hi," Maria stammers. Priscilla is silent for a moment.

"You are very large," Priscilla says.

"Look who's talking," Maria says, nonplussed.

"For a human, I mean. Are you human? You seem much taller and prettier than most humans."

Maria shrugs as best she can while hanging. "I'm not sure myself. My people imbibed a vile, corrupted blood centuries ago. It... Changed us, it replaced our blood. It's an eerie substance, and those who are well trained can shape it into different forms."

Priscilla pales at the explicit description. "Your world seems scary."

"It is, I suppose. Isn't your world just as violent?"

"Oh, no no no," Priscilla replies. "We only hurt monsters, and many of them don't even have blood. When we defeat them, they go POOF! And turn into lots of souls."

"That's quite different," Maria says. "Normally my battles end with a hug and a broken heart."

"Aw," Priscilla replies. "Love certainly is a battlefield."

"I meant that literally," Maria corrects her.

Priscilla draws into herself as her stomach turns. "Miss Maria, might we talk about something else?"

Maria kicks herself mentally. Priscilla still had that effervescent air of innocence that so many children do, and she should have known such talk would upset her. Swinging down to Priscilla, the huntress slides down her tail and sits down on her thighs. She crosses one long, slender leg over the other, leaning against her knees. "So, this Sær fellow of yours..."

The crossbreed's eyes light up, and Maria knows she has struck gold.

"Oh, isn't he just perfect?" She gushes. "He even made my wedding band himself!" She points to the gold bracelet on her tail.

Perfect isn't the word I would use, Maria thinks. Awkward and buffoonish would be more apt.

"How did you two meet?" The huntress asks. "Did he ask you to help him get a book off a high shelf?"

"No."

"Pull his carriage?"

"What? No!"

"Change a lightbulb?"

"What's a lightbulb?"

The two stare at each other.

Maria clears her throat. "...You are very large."

Priscilla shifts nervously. "Yes, my mother has always said that I'm tall as a reed."

Maria grins impishly. "A Crosb-reed."

Priscilla glares at her. "Ugh. You're worse than my husband."