“Blow out the candles!” The little girl cried in her excitement, treating the occasion as though it were a celebration for her and not this man. If man could actually be applied to him, anyway. His blood, genetics, and very existence screamed ‘dragon’ but to the casual eye at this moment he was merely a very large and intimidating man. His kind could only take the human shape so well, for beings of such large size could only condense themselves so much before the realities around them prevented further attempts. Thus, standing at a towering nine feet and some odd inches as a human male was miniscule in comparison to his natural body. As a dragon, he was easily larger than the house he found himself trapped in. The table was covered in a flowery tablecloth, which the second his electric blue eyes landed upon he knew this would not end well. Anything with flowery tablecloth involved never ended well. Who, after all, in his or her right mind would pick such a repulsive decoration for anything (he dared not even think of the lunatic who designed such things).

None of the chairs could support his weight, and as a result he had squatted down to be at more of an eye level with the others. There were all types of items placed about in honor of this day, such as noisemakers and party hats. The greatest abomination, in his opinion of course, was the cake. Not even a foot away from him, in all of its power blue icing glory with… some sort of design on the top. In the back of his mind he wondered if the artist had suffered some sort of seizure in the process of making the cake which resulted in all of those squiggly lines. Then, and only then, would he accept the ruination of the sugary thing placed before him. Several strands of blue cold as ice both to the eyes and touch tumbled around his face, yet the man did nothing to adjust his hair.

“Please, the suspense is going to KILL me!” The little girl pressed once more, rolling her eyes in exasperation. Only if I don’t first, he thought with a darkening of his eyes that only two other people caught - one of which chuckled in approval, while the second frowned in disapproval. The dragon-man quickly blew out an agitated breath, reminding himself that he was not there to entertain homicidal thoughts of little girls… no matter how tempting that was. The man’s lip twitched backwards, curling almost into a snarl as he tried to figure out how exactly he was supposed to respond to the girl when someone saved him the trouble,

“Olivia, hush!” Came the scowling from the little girl’s savior (there was nothing more traumatic than being no more than three feet tall and being yelled at by a man at least seven feet higher off the ground). Distantly, the man found himself amused to see that the scowl had come from Lyra, who was not even there of her own violation. Short, boyishly cut brown hair was haphazardly brushed to be considered appropriate for the ‘occasion’ was one of the only two obvious efforts she had bothered to make for her appearance. That aside, she was wearing a black skirt with a white shirt that he had a sneaking suspicion she swiped from a bar wench to make up for the fact she had nothing feminine of her own. The young woman’s (for she was human, and at nineteen she was  both) orchid eyes gazed intently at the small child, whose lower lip quivered from such an intense gaze.

“But… the candles…!” Olivia pressed, not letting go of this. Before Lyra could scold the girl any further the man decided to finally give her what she wanted - but not in the fashion she expected. He blew a thin stream of flames at the candles, and from the intense heat the wax melted into puddles all along the now burnt cake. The man accomplished two wonderful things with such an effort - the abomination was no longer there to injure his eyes, and the girl could no longer complain about him blowing out the stupid candles. Olivia gazed on in horror at the destroyed cake.

“…I told you to hush.” Lyra huffed, and crossed her arms. “Never rush a dragon to blow anything out. They’ll just blow it up, instead.” She stated with a tsk, and moved in closer to inspect the damage. “I would normally say we still have the ice cream, but that would be a horrible lie. We don’t.” She went on, apparently oblivious to the little girl who was now wailing in tears. “What!? What did I say?”

“The gift of a maternal nature seems to be lacking in your family.” A deep voice chuckled, not minding the rare chance to take a stab at Lyra without any threat of repercussion. In the room, he was by far either the second tallest or on equal grounds with the dragon-man. His hair and eyes were of the same general appearance, only his hair was pulled back into a tight braid with no visible bangs. “Father, did you have to destroy the cake…?” He asked, looking to the one who sat before the ruined desert.

“Not necessarily, no… Dmitri.” The man mumbled, suddenly feeling guilty about what he had just done. He sighed, and twirled one of the two phoenix feathers tied into some of the longer strands in his hair with one of his brown umber fingers. Now he had to think of a way to fix the mess he just knew he had gotten himself into, and the man was more than aware that he only had so long to find a way until his other son ceased trying to calm the crying girl down. Why did Dhaval invite a child? If his youngest son was so intent on making his father endure this… endearing but still painful torture known as a birthday party, he could have at least taken some more consideration into the overall layout. For the sake of all that was right in the world, FLOWERY TABLECLOTHS?! Little girls? Little human girls? He gave an exasperated sigh. Dmitri was his oldest, and at least knew better than to drag his father into anything like this and still expect to come out alive. Dmitri would not take his father anywhere that involved a house smaller than his actual body, with flowery tablecloths, and little girls that continuously tempted the man to commit acts of murder.

Yet, Dhaval was not Dmitri and could pull all of these stunts off and more without ever being concerned or even considering his father would retaliate. Three feet shorter than both his elder brother and father, with the same brown hair as his half-sister Lyra… not to mention her same orchid eyes, the twenty one-year had plenty to fear from his father of whom he shared so few resemblances of. Yet, the fact there were so few similarities was exactly why he never had any reason to fear. Dhaval was so physically similar to his mother, that his father was constantly reminded of both his part of the bargain that resulted in both his greatest failure… and triumph. Dhaval was not only just the lone half-breed in the room, but he was also the only one who was blissfully unaware of his father’s agitation. In his mind, this party was to celebrate the fact his father had been born while being celebrated by people who cared about him - why would he not be enjoying himself?

“I am sorry.” The man finally apologized, once his youngest managed to quell the cries of the little girl. In return, his smaller-statured son smiled in a good-natured fashion.

“You didn’t mean to, that’s okay!” Dhaval assured him, having already come to his own conclusion.

“The physical superiority of a dragon lord, and the mental capacity of that woman?” Dmitri whispered his snide remark by his father’s ear, whose lips curled back into a warning snarl. Taking the hint, his eldest immediately backed off from the threat. He knew better than to challenge his father. “Sorry…” He grumbled, though the apology was hardly worth hearing considering how little of it he meant.

“You know, Kyros…” Lyra mumbled, watching her older half-brother have his attention snatched away by Olivia. The man, Dhaval and Dmitri’s father, glanced his eyes over to her in a narrowed fashion. He tolerated her about as much as she tolerated him. The fact she was even speaking to him of her own will meant she either wanted to play tag with Death, or there was some deeper meaning in both her appearance and words. “As far as dragons go, you’re old aren’t you? So I’ve been wondering… why do you look so young as a human?”

He turned to stare at her, and the fact she did not flinch from his angered expression only served as a reminder that the blood of Dhaval’s mother did indeed run through this girl’s veins as well. Instead, she returned it with her own intensity along with a tinge of curiosity and challenge. Lyra was daring him to strike her, but at the same time also politely requesting an answer to her question. Tag with Death it is, then…

“The physical manifestation we take to appear as humans do can be changed and altered at will.” Kyros stated simply, and slowly stood from his squatting position in order to tower over her once more. However subtle it was, he needed to remind her who the superior being was in the room. Lyra took a step back, an error her mother would have never made. There was still fear instilled in this one, a fault that would continue to prevent her from entering the knighthood until she overcame it. How… disappointing. Why was it the mother could be such a fine specimen in all aspects, yet seemed incapable of producing offspring of the same quality?

“So why do you always pick a young appearance?” Lyra countered, and crossed her arms while crossing her arms. “No offense, but when Dmitri calls you father and the both of you look similar in age… it is a bit creepy.” She informed him, and he quickly caught onto what she was actually doing. When Kyros and Dmitri visited, it was preferred the two dragons blended in with the humans around them. Naturally, questions would arise why two men so ‘close in age’ had one referring to the other as a parent.

“Very well. Next time, I’ll add a few years.” The man said, though somewhat begrudgingly. Human women responded better to an attractive young man, not older. This simply meant he would be making more visits without Dmitri.
“Okay, time to open gifts!” Dhaval’s cheerful voice called from the other side of the room.

“…bastard, I really wanted a slice of cake…” Kyros heard Lyra grumbling at him as she maneuvered her way to where her half-brother was. Might as well get this over with… With the proper ducking and crouching involved, he had little trouble reaching the area. Quite unlike his eldest child, who had still yet to learn how to properly travel around a room with a ceiling not intended to accommodate his height. He resisted the urge to chuckle each time Dmitri complained as his head made contact with the ceiling. Over, and over, and over again.

“They’re all ready for you!” Dhaval smiled, and moved aside so that his father could reach the packages with more ease. Kyros allowed for his own smile, though much rarer. Reaching over, he fondly tousled his youngest child’s hair. Only one of the four gifts had an identified giver - this was the one from Olivia. The other three were left without any claim as to who bought, made, or wrapped it… the man-dragon knew the intended impression was for him to believe there was one from Dmitri, Lyra, and Dhaval. But he knew already, quite well, that Dhaval himself had provided all three. “Happy birthday!”

“…thank you.” Kyros said quietly, and moved his hand from Dhaval’s head to pick up the first gift. Perhaps the flowery tablecloth was not THAT disturbing… and maybe the little girl Olivia was not THAT annoying. As he unwrapped the first gift, Kyros quietly decided to himself though that when Dhaval’s birthday came around… perhaps, he could be there to join others in celebrating his child’s life. As just like the cake had been, there may have been a lot about it that he was not fond of… that did not make it any less sweet, and the effort to make it any less worth it.