timekeeperlindar

[timekeeperlindar]

Random OC Headcanon Time: Featuring Liac!

That incredibly long, lovely braid he has? It only got that long for a reason. Liac is terrified of having his hair cut, and always has been. The most he'll do is trim his bangs when they get too long- but that's it. Nothing sharp is allowed near his braid.

[timekeeperlindar]

Put 'Confess!' plus an accusation about my muse in my ask, and my muse will confess whether it's true or not!

Here’s some examples to start you off-

Confess! Are you turned on by [insert kink here]?

Confess! Do you like [insert name here]?

Confess! Is it true that you once [insert odd/silly activity here]?

Confess! Are you scared of [insert fear here]?

Confess! Did you cry during [insert movie here]

Or think of your own! Be as cunning as you like…

[timekeeperlindar]

Liac patted the hatchling gently on the back in an attempt to get the little guy to remember to breathe every once in a while- with maybe limited results, considering the poor thing was sobbing his tiny heart out. Nonetheless, Liac tried. He tucked his hair back behind his ears, the colorful gem studs gleaming like the stars they represented in the dim light of the halls as he strained to listen. Just down the corner...and around another...There!

Liac was able to locate Mudada- even though it wouldn't have been too hard even without bunny ears, thanks to the crying chorus Mudada was currently trying to control. Liac automatically took a few of the hatchlings off the plush like dragon's hands, cradling them in his own arms and wings to try to soothe them somewhat so he could actually talk to the other dragon.

"Hey, 'Dahdah! Looks like we've crashed the pity party just in time," he tried to joke- a little hard with the toddlers currently screaming and crying all around. He had to almost yell to then get out his suggestion:

"I was thinkin'- you know that old supply closet no one uses anymore? Why not pack the kiddies in there until Mother Nature decides to take a chill pill?"

Thankfully, the closet Liac had indicated was a rather large one- in fact, it was almost an abandoned room in its own right. As soon as they stepped in, the sounds of the storm outside became almost silent. Liac sighed in relief and sat down on the floor.

"Man! Sooo much better! What do the lil' dudes think?- I mean, we still have to redecorate, but you think it'll do as a comfy fort for now?"

He held out two of his hands as if measuring the scene for a portrait, his tongue sticking out the side of his mouth.

"Let's see...we'd hang some lights there, get some chairs, drape some blankets here and here- stuffed animals, I could get the moon globe from my room- and that should do for the coolest pillow fort in all the realms." Liac grinned up at Mudada.

"Just like the ol' days, huh?"

Liac smiled at the hatchlings, brushing their little backs with his hands in an attempt to soothe them.

"Sound like a plan?"

Roaring And Pouring, Without The Snoring

timekeeperlindar:

Liac almost gave a small jolt of surprise at the hatchling suddenly catapulting himself into his lap. His galaxy-colored wings flared out slightly, and then settled. The poor thing! He was shaking so hard Liac feared that he would vibrate a raw lesion into his scales. Immediately he felt a stab of sympathy for the frightened hatchling, and scooped him up gently in his arms, wrapping his scarf around him. He tented his wings around as well, hoping to at least muffle some of the noise outside. “Shhh, shh,” Liac cooed gently, “it’s ok, bud. It’s ok.” Clearly, there would be no getting through to the little dudes and dudettes until the storm passed- that, or at least until some of the loud thunder and rain decided to chill out a bit; but Liac knew from experience: mother nature was a harsh mistress, and you couldn’t reason with her, only go along with her whims and try to ride it out. The thought made him remember something, and he stood up, still cradling Herbi close. There was a old storage closet near the center of the castle, Liac recalled, free of windows, with thick stone walls that muffled the worst of the storm’s rage. Suddenly, an idea came to him. “Hey, how about you and me try to find Mudada and the others, and then we can have a big slumber party?” He said.

Herbi latched onto the scarf instinctively and buried his face into it, trying to cover his eyes and seek further comfort from the warm, soft sensation of the material...well, from whatever parts weren’t quickly becoming drenched in tears, snot or slobber.

That last bolt had really set him off. He was almost struggling to breathe with how hard he was crying; gasping for air between sobs, not at all made easy by his simultaneous efforts to quiet down and listen to Liac’s suggestion.

No matter what, Herbi just couldn’t stop the incoherent murmuring and whimpers from slipping past his lips.

As long as everyone could fit inside the closet, Liac’s plan was flawless. Mudada would be grateful to see another one of the hatchlings back in safe hands, and having another grown dragon around to cuddle them in a calm environment would make it far easier for the other to retrieve some blankets, sleeping bags and everyone’s favourite stuffed toys...and the remaining MIA tots.

Right now, the lumbering dragon in question had his arms full and the fairies tagging along with him weren’t much better off. He took another headcount with what little freedom he had with his hands, then raised his head to focus on what little he could hear of distant voices.

[timekeeperlindar]

Random Headcanon:

Lindar, ironically, has time blindness- especially when working on his clocks. He completely gets absorbed by his task, so much so that almost an entire day might pass by before he realizes; this is the main cause of his workaholic tendencies, and also one of the many reasons he has to keep so many watches strapped to him at all times- because that way, he can't avoid seeing the time; it still doesn't guarantee he won't make it to appointments fashionably late.

[timekeeperlindar]

Lindar had been too drunk off his victory to see what Tomas meant- and then when it did hit, the resulting sobriety of realization was again drowned by a new sort of high that left him light-headed, face flushed as if he had actually consumed several bottles of wine.

Even then, he pulled himself together somewhat. A suave smirk played across his features as he wrapped his arms around the bard's waist.

"Oh? And what's the winning prize, Tommy boy?" He purred; of course, he was just putting on a cool act, as if his heart wasn't currently running like a chronograph started with a loose train- though perhaps even the most precise stopwatch couldn't time the race going on behind his ribcage.

Lindar pumped his fist in celebration for the small victory- and the thrill of a score sent the gears of his mind grinding faster than ever before- which triggered an epiphany that made them screech to a halt.

Wait…

Six letter word…

A…

Which most often followed by ’t’, or ’d’ or, occasionally, an ‘r’.

‘AR’...

Six letter word…

Lindar face-palmed so hard he left a mark on his forehead.

“I’m a dolt!” He cried suddenly. He ran a hand down his face and rolled his eyes at his own stupidity.

“The word: it’s 'Lindar’ isn’t it?”

[timekeeperlindar]

The clocksmith exclaimed, stumbling backwards- and then actually falling when his attempts to not step on the baby dragon ended up having him trip. He landed on the ground with a thud, gritting his teeth in discomfort- but it wasn't a harmful fall, and now he had a bunch of hatchlings crawling all over him. It tickled, and despite his anger and confusion at the twist of events, he was laughing.

"S-Sto- hahaha! What are you-? What are- hehehe!- Stop!" But his protests fell on deaf ears; the hatchlings seemed determined to finish whatever they had set out to do. The hatchlings might as well have yelled 'timber!' with the way the horologist was suddenly falling, as heavy as a great tree.

He hit the ground with a thud, groaning, even as the swarm continued their attack.

"Hahah! S-st-stop! Hey!"

Dethroning The King

timekeeperlindar:

Lindar only saw a flash of something white coming at his nose, and the purple font that let him know exactly who was behind this- but the realization ate up the split-second he could have had to dodge, and the flour bag walloped him directly in the face, sending plumes of flour everywhere. It blinded him, and he stumbled back, rubbing his eyes. "What in the Chronicler's beard-?!"

To say he was shocked was an understatement: completely bamboozled would barely cover it; disastrously discombobulated?- That would probably come close to accurately describing how he felt at the moment. He tried to get the flour out of his eyes, and the second he managed, he then bore witness to his whole shop filled to the brim with a whole army of little mischief-makers. He huffed, frowning. "Oh, ok. Ha, ha, ha, you got me," he said sardonically. With one talon he reached up, trying to dust some flour out of his hair. "You're all cleaning this up, just so you know. And Spyro better not think he's getting out of this." Lindar, confounded as he was, still couldn't guess what exactly was going on: this wasn't just a simple prank- no, this was a full-fledged coup. Today, the king would have to pass on his crown.

The threat of punishment fazed none of the hatchlings. They just kept staring at him motionlessly, some even managing to refrain from blinking altogether.

And then, without warning, they all launched at him.

From high above or down below, baby dragons sprang towards Lindar and latched onto whatever body part they landed on with the force of a thousand suns - his face, his limbs, hands and feet, anything exposed from the front.

This was essentially the first official step of their plan, trying to push him over and pin him to the ground without crushing themselves; getting smacked in the face with a bag of flour was nothing compared to the might of many, many determined little creatures.

Yin had a different role for now, running in circles around Lindar’s feet to try send him toppling backwards.

[timekeeperlindar]

At that word- a spell- Lindar felt every single nerve fiber and muscle cord in his body freeze still, as a wave of something other than his own will seized control. He grit his teeth against it, tried to clench his fists, tried to regain control over himself- but it was a losing battle, though Lindar fought it the entire way.

But fight as he may, he was still forced to his knees. Even then, before his head was forced down by the spell, Lindar had been able to catch the dark glimmer in Tomas' eyes- and that was enough to let him know something was wrong; Tomas usually would never do something like this, would never abuse his magic or someone else's will this way.

"What...pl-"

Lindar choked on his own words, throat constricting- his vocal chords were not in his control, and his lips refused to form the questions- and maybe curses- he sought to. Something else pulled his will, forcing him to respond.

"Please- please forgi-"

Lindar bit his tongue against what the magic was trying to force him to say. He wrested back some will, some iota of control over himself, just enough to speak of his own accord:

"Tomas- this- isn't...you. Who- who are you? Please..."

His will broke under the duress of the spell, but Lindar still managed to avoid entirely groveling to his knees. He grit his teeth again, trying to prevent himself from giving in to whatever entity was trying to control him- that was already in control of Tomas.

Lindar flinched a little, wincing at the accusatory tone the bard suddenly took. At first, the clockmaker agreed with him- I mean, a lute wasn't a clock, how could he fix this?- But then Tomas' entire demeanor seemed to...change. Lindar sensed it, and though he didn't know what exactly was going on, it felt...off. His scales along his shoulders bristled a little, before smoothing down, and his wings settled against his back.

He blinked at him. "...Beg? I mean, I get that lute meant so much to you, but it's not irreparable, and if it were, believe me, I would be on my hands and knees right now."

He chuckled, but more out of nervousness than anything else. The horologist then swallowed, and took a slight step forward.

"...Are you ok, Tom? Is there something else going on here, and me blundering along to smash your lute was the last straw or something?"

Once more, trying to alleviate the tension around them with a little humor- but the levity did little to help; in fact, it seemed to stretch that tension even thinner.

[timekeeperlindar]

The youngster had finally become aware of exactly what sort of situation he had put everyone in: a very fluffy, wooly trap in which every convenient exit had been thoroughly blocked, and it would take some serious skills of herding and organization to see anyone out of it. The rest of the leaders had been well aware of it, and now deliberated how exactly they could get out- there was the option of sending Nils to squeeze through one of the narrow windows to get Astor, but if the old dragon could manage to stay awake long enough to do anything- much less if he could even command them with such hold as the hatchling did- remained to be debated.

Lindar, for his part, sat where he was, attempting to cast a glare at each of his fellow captives in turn- but on account of the migraine, with his fingers rubbing his temple and his eyes squinting to keep out the light, he looked less annoyed and more like he was trying very hard to read their minds. How had he even gotten into this mess?

Lindar was about to ruminate on that, but the upcoming surge of nausea stopped his spiteful thoughts in their tracks with urgency. He looked around, and found one of the sheep passing by rather thoughtfully dropped a bucket beside him. Lindar snatched it up and dry heaved into it. The other leaders frowned at him- but mostly with exasperation borne of concern- and, mostly, fault (he had caused all of this to begin with, after all).

Then one of the most notorious gruff and rough rams began to make its way through a parting tide of sheep, heading straight for Lindar. The horologist froze right where he was- even he knew not to mess with "Hamster"; the other leaders, even those unacquainted with the rams of Stone Hill knew better, and gave the beast a wide berth. Lindar nervously smiled at it.

"Uh...Hey, there. I'm guessing you're going to be my warden, huh?"

Meanwhile, Gavin had managed to collect himself. But it was only after he arrived at the biggest livestock traffic jam in history did he realize what sort of trouble the leaders inside were in. The barista did his best- trying to gently call the sheep to him, patting his knees, trying to lure them with a treat, etc.- but to no avail. He was about to roll up his metaphorical sleeves and just take it upon himself to carry as many sheep away from the threshold of the castle as he could, but then the wooly mass began to lurch, and move. Gavin backed away.

"What in the realms-?"

Inside, Nils had just managed to hook his claws on the edge of a high window sill (with a little assistance from the others). He was kicking his feet, cheeks puffed and red with effort, trying to haul himself up with all the strength in his skinny limbs, to a chorus of encouragement from a few of the other leaders below.

"You got it!"

"Almost there!"

"Use your wings, for the Serpent's sake!" That last came from Alban.

Nestor was occupying himself with the ewe emperor. He was bent down to his level- occasionally shuffling and pulling his garments out of the mouths of a few hungry sheep that thought the green fabric would taste like grass.

"Ba'ah," he said gently, "you've clearly proven that your mastery over the sheep is second to none. So do you think you could get the sheep to back themselves out of the entrance?"

"Next he's going to ask him if they can parallel park," Lindar grumbled to Hamster.

Migraine

timekeeperlindar:

Gavin, a lone survivor after the flood that had swept through, was sitting in the trampled grass, twirling his moustache and overall looking like he was trying his best not to burst out into hysterical laughter. But then Argus opened the window, looking like a frazzled pufferfish, and well- that was the last straw for what little restraint Gavin had left. He cackled, falling back in the grass and rolling around, clutching his stomach. Even then, he managed some form of explanation between gasps for air: “Lindar- Ba-Ba'ah- HAHAHAHAHA!- Lindar’s in some deep sheep sh-” **** It seemed the little shepard had already made quite a reputation for himself, and became somewhat of an upstart: he already had a place (though only pro tem, and perhaps tyrannically claimed) amongst the Artisan leaders’ council. He was seated with the rest of them, in a circle of chairs amongst a tide of wool. With the natural adaptability that came only to the the best leaders, the adults had made themselves accustomed to the sheep all around, as if the meeting room had always looked this way. Nestor resumed his position at the head, his legs crossed and his talons folded neatly over his knee. “So, we are led to believe that the reason for this…invasion,” here, Nestor clandestinely rubbed his bruised snout, “is that Ba'ah had concerns over your well-being.” This was directed to Lindar, who sat in his own chair in the center of the circle as if on trial. He felt his temples throbbing even worse than before. His wings drooped at his back, his shoulders hunched, causing his head to bow, and the cold glass of water he had been provided did nothing to cool his flushing scales. Overall, he gave the impression of a scolded child. Still, he managed to answer, though due to the coil of nausea that began to twist his stomach it came out as more of a mumble.

“…Yeeeah…But I’m fine-” he had to swallow hard to fight against the sensation of his lunch trying to come back up his throat, but he swallowed it back. He rubbed his throbbing temple. Everyone in the room gave him a doubtful look. Nestor raised his brows at the clocksmith and turned towards their scribe. “Alban, if you will help us continue where we left off.” Alban tried to wrest a piece of parchment from a sheep that seemed to have mistook it for a snack. With a few tugs he succeeded. He shot the sheep a sour look before adjusting his monocle and reading off his notes: “There was a new amendment proposed to our policy regarding the import of Hot Rod Red pigment from the deserts of the Peacekeeper’s realms: that a 0.4% sales tax should be levied on all imports, to fund better packaging for said jars of pigment so they never again arrive cracked.” Lindar almost spit out his water. “That was it?! That was the ‘oh so urgent’ cause to be brought up today?! The whole reason I showed up instead of suffering alone at home?” “Well,” Alban supplied, “As Gildas is a resident of Stone Hill, and a painter who uses the pigment, he would surely want his leader to represent him on such matters.” “Everyone in favor?” Nestor asked. “Aye,” was the unanimous response. Lindar grit his teeth- and then refrained, when it made his temples flare with new starbursts of pain. One of the sheep started using the corner of his chair to scratch itself. “And while we’re at it,” Nestor said, “how about another vote: all in favor of our resident clocksmith being temporarily suspended from all further duties and confined to bedrest and asprin until his health is restored?” “Aye,” was again, the unanimous response- this time met with a few snickers. Lindar’s eyes widened- but that let in more light, stinging his eyes and making his head hurt even worse. He swallowed back more nausea. “But…I still have-” “Duties that can best be attended to later, when your head isn’t pounding as if I hit it with one of my hammers,” Nestor said. Lindar pouted. “…But, what about-” “Not until you’re better,” Nestor asserted again. He turned to Ba'ah and handed the meeting gavel to the hatchling. He turned to the rest of the leaders, smiling. “Gentlemen, any more pressing business?” “None,” was the response. Nestor nodded. “Meeting adjourned.” He gestured to their newest council member to end their meeting, and thus granted him power also to pronounce sentence on Lindar.

He really hoped the hatchlings didn’t hear that last word.

“Yes, I can see that!”, Argus yelled, nowhere as amused as Gavin. “And you thought the most reasonable course of action was to just stand there and allow an infant to herd hundreds of sheep through the castle during a summit instead of intercepting Lindar yourself?”

But while his fears would thankfully not come to pass, as he would realise in the near future, it didn’t change the fact that Argus needed to give the hysterical dragon below a wake up call.

“Damage to the interiors be damned, do you have any idea how easily Ba’ah could be trampled by that stampede if he falls?! I don’t care how well an affinity he-”

A loud bang from behind made him flinch and put an end to his tirade. Swinging around, a wide-eyed Argus discovered that Yin and Yang thought it would be hilarious to startle him by deliberately popping one of the balloons they were using for paper mache - and clearly it was; his reaction got all eight of the tots laughing.

Better that than frightening them with his screams, he thought.

Rolling his eyes and scoffing “Oh, for heaven’s sake, you two...”, Argus shut the window and opted to redirect his paternal instincts towards keeping the kids safe from the sheep onslaught (and choking hazards).

Over in the conference room/petting zoo, Ba’ah had been gracious enough to settle down as soon as the other Artisan leaders gave in to his demands without a fight, unlike someone. Even though a handful of the sheep hadn’t - some more than others - he managed to behave himself for the rest of the meeting.

Hell, maybe they weren’t just playing along to humour the little one - or antagonise Lindar - and actually had some level of respect for his authority over their livestock.

The gavel now in his claws, Ba’ah took a moment to inspect the tiny, strangely-shaped wooden hammer he’d been handed. An intrusive thought tempted him to throw it at the horologist’s head, though he thankfully decided to emulate Nestor’s actions rather than his metaphors and tapped it against the chair, formally bringing his “first” leaders’ meeting to an end before pointing at Lindar and declaring “It’s night-night time.”

Nothing to do now but carry out the sentencing. Ba’ah unceremoniously dropped the gavel onto the floor, stretched his legs, carefully reached out from his perch to retrieve his staff and prepared to drag his captive through the obstacle course he created.

...oh, right.

They were stuck in a room literally filled to the brim with sheep, connected to a hall jammed with sheep by a doorway wedged wide open because of - you guessed it, more sheep.

Ba’ah froze once the obvious finally occurred to him. “How do we get out?” He cycled between looking around and peering out into the hall, some manner of calculation going on in that tiny noggin, eventually coming to another halt and calling out “Hamster?”

A head belonging to the gruffest ram in all of Stone Hill rose in response. The baby dragon scanned the room again, locating his charge off to the side, then used his brethren as stepping stones to wander over and ask “Can you watch Lindar until the others go home?”

Lindar and Gavin had only gotten a glimpse with the stunt he pulled earlier.

Now, all of the Artisan leaders would bear witness to the true extent of Ba’ah’s talents.

[timekeeperlindar]

First thing Liac noticed was that Herbi was quiet- and Liac could also tell it was the sort of quiet that denoted heavy contemplation. Liac knew the sort; this little guy was a grade A Cloudcuckoolander- AKA someone whose linguistic skills fell short of the elusive metaphor. He would need to watch his language if he wanted to have a chance of communicating with the tot.

Liac whistled a tune as they headed down the corridor- two twisty, one counterclockwise, usual Dreamweaver architecture, but no matter how long he had been gone for, Liac still knew the way by heart. Eventually they came to a large kitchen area that looked like something from- well, a dream: some things too big, some too small, a warped sink where a counter should be and a pantry on the ceiling. Liac whistled again- long and slow.

"Uh, yeah, either Baruti's been in here, or the cupids have been redecorating. On the bright side, the fridge's where it's supposed to be- and a counter and some tables- so we're still in business- I mean, it'll work."

Liac helped Herbi onto a counter shaped like a cloud and opened up a light blue fridge with star-shaped magnets arranged in constellation patterns. He dug around inside for a moment, humming.

"Aw, sweeeeeet! Fridge is packed! They have grape juice, cheese, grapes, cake, all sorts of stuff! Anything in particular you're craving, little dude? They also have like- five different juices, too, so whatever you're thirsty for."

Back In Dreamland

timekeeperlindar:

Liac saw that his little joke had befuddled the kid more than amused him, and was quick to rectify: “My bad- maybe shouldn’t have spilled the coffee beans, there. Uh…You know what? If you’re already up and at ‘em, why don’t you and me head on down to the kitchens and get some grape juice. You like grape juice?- If not, I think we have other stuff, too- unless they changed things while I was gone- I know Baruti accidentally scrambles stuff around during his turns in the kitchens, and it drives Useni crazy,” he chuckled. In one smooth motion Liac slipped off the edge of the bed into some blue plushie narwhal slippers, stretched, and began to shuffle towards the bedroom door.

As a result of his fragile infant mind having been fried, Herbi immediately peered back down at Liac’s feet to try find the theoretical coffee beans.

He did not succeed.

The hatchling could, however, easily agree that he may as well grab something to eat or drink now that he was wide awake. If he had ears like Liac’s (or external ears at all, really), they would have risen at the suggestion, followed by several awkward repositionings as he attempted to follow along with the tangent about Baruti and Useni.

Alas, all Herbi could provide was another empty-headed stare. Were coffee beans still involved? Did this have anything to do with coffee being similar to tea?

Having made no vocal effort whatsoever to indicate that he’d accepted Liac’s offer, Herbi trotted after him as he made his way out.

[timekeeperlindar]

Lindar pumped his fist in celebration for the small victory- and the thrill of a score sent the gears of his mind grinding faster than ever before- which triggered an epiphany that made them screech to a halt.

Wait...

Six letter word...

A...

Which most often followed by 't', or 'd' or, occasionally, an 'r'.

'AR'...

Six letter word...

Lindar face-palmed so hard he left a mark on his forehead.

"I'm a dolt!" He cried suddenly. He ran a hand down his face and rolled his eyes at his own stupidity.

"The word: it's 'Lindar' isn't it?"

Lindar tapped his chin, leaning back a little further as he thought. This was a tough one: best go back to the basics. It was worth a try.

“Hmmm…Is there an A in your mystery word?”

Nothing wrong with throwing out the vowels, when going off the beaten track proved unsuccessful. .

[timekeeperlindar]

Lindar only saw a flash of something white coming at his nose, and the purple font that let him know exactly who was behind this- but the realization ate up the split-second he could have had to dodge, and the flour bag walloped him directly in the face, sending plumes of flour everywhere. It blinded him, and he stumbled back, rubbing his eyes.

"What in the Chronicler's beard-?!"

To say he was shocked was an understatement: completely bamboozled would barely cover it; disastrously discombobulated?- That would probably come close to accurately describing how he felt at the moment. He tried to get the flour out of his eyes, and the second he managed, he then bore witness to his whole shop filled to the brim with a whole army of little mischief-makers. He huffed, frowning.

"Oh, ok. Ha, ha, ha, you got me," he said sardonically. With one talon he reached up, trying to dust some flour out of his hair. "You're all cleaning this up, just so you know. And Spyro better not think he's getting out of this."

Lindar, confounded as he was, still couldn't guess what exactly was going on: this wasn't just a simple prank- no, this was a full-fledged coup.

Today, the king would have to pass on his crown.

Dethroning The King

timekeeperlindar:

Lindar played along in the wild goose (in this case, hatchling) chase, running around and around the fields after his stolen goggles. He didn’t know how long he had been at it- his best estimate would have been twenty minutes at least- but eventually, he did catch up to her. The Timekeeper scooped the little hatchling up in his arms, gently prying the goggles from her jaws and placing them back on his head.

“Alright, young lady, I think that’s enough for one day…though you got me good, I can give ya that, you didn’t get me good enough.” Here he chuckled, the light scolding turning into a lesson for the youngster (or so he thought). He placed her gently back on the ground and held up a finger. “You mastered the element of surprise, and you certainly got a reaction out of me- those are two of the greatest components when it comes to pranks. However, what separates the greatest pranksters from the amateurs is comedic timing. Here, let me show you.” He began to turn tail and walk back towards his clock shop, rubbing his hands together, thinking to himself that he had acquired a new apprentice- how wrong he was.

“I was actually cooking something up for Alban. Maybe you could help me. It’s one of the more simple tricks- the classic pie to the face…but with a-” And just then he opened the door to his shop.

Someone was definitely getting something to the face, all right.

A bag of flour swung down from the ceiling and clocked Lindar in the snout the moment he opened the door. Yin’s ruse had given Yang and the other intruder(s) more than enough time to get prepared; if the king of pranksters needed to demonstrate the importance of comedic timing, inadvertently giving his attackers a several-second warning with his deep voice certainly helped.

The ringleader may have been absent, but he made sure to leave a calling card with a message written in his signature purple hue on the bag, albeit partially obscured after the powdery impact - HAVE FUN.

Lindar’s assailants couldn’t even give him the courtesy of waiting to see if he’d recovered before making their presence known. Yang, of course, was the first to step forward - then one by one, another figure would emerge just far enough out of every shadowed nook and cranny, up until there were over three dozen pairs of eyes staring at the grown dragon.

Spyro had recruited every last Artisan hatchling - and then some - to ambush him.

Yin remained behind Lindar and sat down with a knowing smile, eagerly awaiting his reaction to his imminent doom.

[timekeeperlindar]

Lindar flinched a little, wincing at the accusatory tone the bard suddenly took. At first, the clockmaker agreed with him- I mean, a lute wasn't a clock, how could he fix this?- But then Tomas' entire demeanor seemed to...change. Lindar sensed it, and though he didn't know what exactly was going on, it felt...off. His scales along his shoulders bristled a little, before smoothing down, and his wings settled against his back.

He blinked at him. "...Beg? I mean, I get that lute meant so much to you, but it's not irreparable, and if it were, believe me, I would be on my hands and knees right now."

He chuckled, but more out of nervousness than anything else. The horologist then swallowed, and took a slight step forward.

"...Are you ok, Tom? Is there something else going on here, and me blundering along to smash your lute was the last straw or something?"

Once more, trying to alleviate the tension around them with a little humor- but the levity did little to help; in fact, it seemed to stretch that tension even thinner.

Lindar gasped, clapping his talons over his mouth in shock. This was last thing he had wanted to happen- but it had. Tomas' lute was broken, and it was all his stupid fault. Why couldn't he have just walked up to him and greeted him like a normal dragon?!

Lindar immediately knelt down next to the broken instrument, looking it over. The damage didn't seem too horrible- but instruments tended to be delicate, and any minor detail thrown off could ruin its quality. If he was going to fix this, he had to be careful.

"Tomas, no words can accurately describe how sorry I am," he said. "I shouldn't have- I should have known- I'm sorry."

He sighed, and seemed to try to get his wits together before he responded again.

"...Ok, but the damage doesn't seem too bad. I think I can fix this, if you'll let me. You think you could trust me to give it a shot?"

[timekeeperlindar]

Delbin lays his chin on Lindar's shoulder, wrapping his arms around Lindar's waistline from behind, letting out one loud purr against the nape of their neck. Someone's in a teasing mood, it seems.

[ " Lindar--- take a break for the evening-- it's the perfect weather for a walk and to use your new camera.. " ]

His tone sounds a bit needy, a bit dramatic even for the painter to do, but at the same time, he too had been too busy to interact with many dragons, it was only a matter of time before the painter visited Stone Hill, begging for his partner to get out of their home for the time being.

Lindar had been busy with a new stopwatch commission he had been working on, and had been spending a particular amount of time on the stop/reset mechanisms, forgetting all else in his focus. But then he felt familiar muscular arms wrap around his waist, and a vibration reverberating through the scales on his neck, radiating out to his shoulder and a little down his back. It engendered a response, more purring on his own part. He melted into the painter's embrace, placing one of his hands on top of his dear Delbin's. Matching his uncharacteristically histrionic tone, he sighed dramatically.

"Alas! What hope have I to resist such an appealing appeal?" He chuckled, and dropped the dramatics. He took Delbin's hand in his own and brought it to his lips, giving it a peck.

"Alright, you have a point, though. It's been quite a minute, and both of us should get some sun on our scales. So, as you so suggested, I'll go get my camera, and you bring your gorgeous self, and we'll hit the road."

[timekeeperlindar]

"I love you." (luteoflaughs)

Lindar froze, his heart racing before suddenly stopping, and then continuing again in a faster rhythm. His face flushed a dark blue, and a smile slowly- despite his attempts to quell it- forced its way across his face, bright and indomitable. He looked like he would say something- a few times he made an attempt- but all that came out was a few choked noises, and so he gave up, glancing away, his tail wagging behind him.

[timekeeperlindar]

Lindar didn't take much offense to Trondo's comments, recognizing that his nature was abrasive and vulgar, but overall well-meaning. He chuckled a little, glancing at the tower he had made- and though he was proud of his creation, it also served as a reminder of exactly how much time it had absorbed, and how Lindar had neglected his social and personal responsibilities in the meantime.

"Uuuh...Yeah, should have probably at least poked my nose out every once and a while, let everyone know I'm alive."

He perked up, however, at the mention of cookies; cookies were one sure-fire way to get to Lindar's heart, and he didn't play around when it came to his little discs of pastry goodness. He took the little bag (not properly sealed, slightly overcooked, and all), and grinned, tail wagging behind him.

"Well, it's appreciated all the same! And tell the lil' Anklebiter I said thanks, too!"

Lindar! Were have you been, m*ther@%#*? I've been searching you 'round all the place!

(Lol sorry xD typical Trondo style)

Lindar jumped a little at the sudden intrusion (and expletives), but then put on a sheepish expression. He sucked his teeth.

"Yeeeeah, sorry about that. I've been...distracted, and sort of lost track of time...and myself. Heh."

But hey, that clock tower had been an interesting challenge. Who could blame him if he got a little lost in between the gears?

[timekeeperlindar]

To say the least, Lindar didn't think ill of the painter at all. In fact, now that he finished up the clock (it had been two years too slow, turns out), he wiped the cog oil off his talons, closed the face of the clock, gave it a little pat, and made his way down the halls. He whistled as he walked, arms folded neatly under his wings, tail tapping along the stones behind him in an idle, upbeat rhythm.

Strolling along at an easy pace, head occasionally swinging this way and that, anyone would think the resident horologist was only admiring the view, or lost in a brown study- but neither was the case; in fact, though he didn't show it, he was on the hunt, and actively tracking down his quarry.

He located it in one of Stone Hill's tunnels, but before he could get away from him again, Lindar reached out, gently grabbing the painter by the front of his apron, sealing off his escape with the other hand leaning against the wall behind them, and planted a big smooch on Gildas' lips. He pulled away, smirking.

"You really didn't think I was going to let you lay one on me and get away with it unscathed, did you?" He chuckled.

Gildas gave Lindar a brief kiss on the cheek before ambling off. (Gildas - Main verse)

Lindar had been examining a great-grandfather of a clock sitting in the main hallway of Stone Hill castle, almost entirely absorbed in pondering the pendulums swinging behind the glass. He could have sworn that the timing was off by at least 0.003 seconds, but right when he was about to crack the door open and get to some serious work, he felt the kiss on his cheek, and his thoughts went as awry as springs bursting from a broken pocket watch. His face flushed a slightly darker shade of blue, and for a moment he could do nothing but stand there, mouth agape. He turned his head, watching Gildas' back before he turned the corner and the bright orange of his tail tuft disappeared around it. He closed his mouth, murmuring something under his breath about "getting him back later" before continuing where he left off with the clock.

[timekeeperlindar]

Lindar tapped his chin, leaning back a little further as he thought. This was a tough one: best go back to the basics. It was worth a try.

"Hmmm...Is there an A in your mystery word?"

Nothing wrong with throwing out the vowels, when going off the beaten track proved unsuccessful. .

Lindar huffed a little in disappointment, more at himself than anything else- but it was the good, competitive sort. He really would have to rack his brains pretty thoroughly if he wanted to win; he should have expected as much from a game with Tomas- it had been so since they were hatchlings.

“Should have known it would be harder than that- but I’m not ready to throw in the towel just yet.”

He cracked his knuckles in an over-exaggerated display of effort and chuckled, though inside his mind was spinning. He tilted his head to one side, then the other, murmuring quietly to himself. Finally he snapped his fingers, his wings flaring.

“Is there a ‘J’ in your mystery word?”

The Word

_ _ _ _ _ _

Hints:

None so far.

Letters Used:

E Z J

Tomas shook his head once more, smiling at his game making Lindar have some trouble. Tomas tended to be kind towards Spyro and the young ones when it came to his games. However, he pulled no punches when it came to Lindar or any of the other elders that he was close to. This word still wasn’t too hard, but maybe Lindy should use the more common letters? There were still many that he could choose from A E I O U. Still, part of him couldn’t give at least a small piece of help, so the part of the dragon he drew next was a single horn. Normally, that wasn’t a part one drew on its own but Tomas did.

“Keep going Lindy I have faith your next guess will yield something.”