"...Ashoka." The dangerous edge to Zhijian's voice was dulled slightly by a hint of skepticism, the slight chance that he wasn't actually seeing what he was pretty sure he was seeing.
"Yes~?" Preceded by her sing-song, innocent voice, the ever-naked pardess sidled into the room and batted her eyes at the dragon.
"What is that on my bed?" His wonderful, glorious bed of furs, not just exceptionally comfortable, but all treasured gifts from his Master, now mussed into a semblance of a nest.
"Eggssssssss," she drawled out, giggling and beaming and looking infuriatingly pleased with herself.
Yes. He was not imagining things, and there were, in fact, two eggs situated securely in the mess that had been made of his bed. Two big, black-shelled eggs that had not been here when he'd left for a second look at the fate-stones with his brother...or rather, hadn't been here the last time he'd bothered to be in here, before he'd practically rooted himself in the throne room.
"Move them, and fix it," he hissed angrily.
"But it's comfy," 'Shoka wheedled.
"Now." Zhijian struck at her, and blood welled from clawmarks on her cheek. He had always been lenient with the Prophet, reactions tempered by lingering feelings from his host, but she had gone too far. Taken up with that Thing when she should have been serving him, and now...spawning?! And with the audacity to try and use His gifts as a nest for little monsterling things.
Ashoka scuttled backwards, blinking in surprise at the King. She had not seen that coming, had perhaps gotten too used to his tolerance, forgotten than he was Dragon. She slunk forward again only to gather up her eggs. "Yes, my Lord."
Zhijian pushed open door of the Pantheon, hopping awkwardly on all fours - well, threes, technically. He held his right hind leg in the air, having already tried and failed to put weight on it. His hunt today had done all kinds of wrong - oh, he'd gotten his meal, but it had been a hard-won meal of demon that hadn't even been worth it. Food was not worth a broken ankle. He was relatively certain it was a simple break, one that would only require a cast, but where was he supposed to find someone to patch him up these days? His thoughts drifted to the healer-pard, Satu, but he shook away the notion. As if she'd help him! If she was even alive.
Clenching his teeth against the pain, he started to hop his way towards the throne room, but paused when he noticed a change to the corkboard. Changing course, he went to have a look, and could have shouted with glee - if he were the type, and if he weren't busy cursing the demon he was currently digesting. The weapons! Gianfar had found them, and there were details, the plane and the city where they lay! He had to find Li Shing - the sooner they left, the sooner they could find them.
Damn his ankle! He didn't have time to screw around with fixing it somehow. He would have to do his best to ignore it, and avoid making it worse if possible. But before Li Shing, he had to talk to Shanti, have her track down Hyksos, find someone who knew the way to the place of the Drayldin and could teach her, and a mount for his brother...
Snatching a marker, he wrote underneath the information of the whereabouts of the Glaive and Shears in nearly-illegible handwriting, 'Ying Long and Chien Tang will go.'