Abilities (Digimon/Non)

[Frisk E. Coyote]

Viz chewed on the erasertip of a pencil, making it move up and down as he multi-tasked writing terrible poetry and programming a special disabling algorithm on his miniature laptop, the former being a cover-up juuust in case someone asked what he was doing. The blue reptile was in his Flamedramon form for this task. He only had three fingers, but they were smaller, faster, and much more dexterous than his other form's.

"Blammo." The Flamedramon sighed as he shut the lid of his notebook and stretched out, his well toned, blue and alabaster muscles rippling. He was done for now, he'll have to show the others what he had managed later at the meeting. The humans could take away his power, but they couldn't take away his nature as a digital being. Things like programming and understanding software and even building a device from scratch was second nature to him.

Viz managed to bring enough clothes for his his bigger form, but not enough for his current one, so while his clothes were being washed, all the digimon wore were a pair of form-fitting bicycle shorts that hugged his lithe hips and the base of his thick tail, which, when lifted, would reveal his firm, tight ass. He wasn't much for raising his tail anyway, but he couldn't do anything to hide the bulge his flaccid member made on the front. Viz got up and made his way to the meeting place, not at all bothered by the cold, as a fire element, he had an internal furnace of sorts that gave him a rather high body temperature.

~ ~ ~

Terry had gone ahead to the gazebo earlier, if only because he heard it was warmer there. He was still getting used to his new furry body, and he was thankful for the fur at this point because it kept him relatively warm. Still, dressed in his loose, long-sleeved shirt and his mini shorts, it was chilly. He didn't even know why he was here. It was like prison! He didn't deserve to go to prison, did he? Sure, he liked to party, and sure, he liked to drink even though he was underage, but he never wronged anyone before. He didn't fit in here, and he was constantly bullied by the bigger, scarier people (people?)- inmates. He just wanted to go home to his parents.

The fox looked over at an intimidating Doberman Pinscher who's eyes were obscured by opaque goggles. The doberman had a nice body, he admitted, very masculine, he must have frequented the pitiful gym they had in the dome, and he didn't bother hiding it with his open shirt and jeans. The doberman was talking to a large wolf-like creature with a gigantic metal collar. It looked much more uncomfortable than the bracelet Terry had on.

"Heh-Low. My. Name. Is...?" The doberman enunciated, gesturing for the werewolf to continue.

"Hrr-hello...? Me... nem... ish... Z?" The werewolf tried to repeat in his deep, gravelly, growly voice, but had difficulty doing so with the shape of his clumsy muzzle and his large tongue. Despite being much bigger than the Doberman, the werewolf bowed his head apologetically. "Shorry Jag... ish hawd to talk."

"No, no, you're doing very well, Z." The doberman reached up and patted the werewolf's shoulder. "You said it perfectly in your head, I heard it. You just need to get used to controlling that big tongue of yours." The doberman laughed kindly. Jag had been teaching the Werewolf to read, write, count and speak English for the last few weeks. He's a fast learner, just not quite there yet. It gave him something to do, and frankly, it felt nice when Z was able to correctly name all the pictures in the flashcards Jag had brought with him, if not mispronounce their names a little. The Doberman wanted to get the wolf out of here. He felt an obligation to for some reason, like Z couldn't help himself. This meeting would hopefully give them the means to get out of here.