Dragon Harem Quest - Or: Saying You Were Gay Wasn't The Conversation-Ender You Hoped For

"... yes," you say eventually, your gaze dropping by a few degrees.

"With...?" she prompts you one more time.

"... with Jun-Ho," you add dutifully, crossing your arms so tight it's like you're trying to hug yourself in half.

"Finally we can agree on something. Put the lid back on, no need to water it down if it rains."

Your brow ridges meet in the middle as you wonder at your mother's priorities, but you snap the wooden disc back into place on top of the barrel all the same. Mother arches her neck, drumming her claws against the underside of her chin as she looks over your head at your spire contemplatively. Oh no. You hate it when she Thinks.

"While you're in such an agreeable mood we really should talk about your lair. Don't act like I didn't notice it's as much of a sty as it always is." You want to break into nervous, hysterical giggles but you don't because that would be a very bad look. "This is as good an excuse as any for you to finally rectify that. Your lovely Jun-ho is not just some mortal 'booty call' you tell you're leaving to buy tobacco then change guises and start a new identity, the clan and I expect you to be properly cohabiting by the time we all gather. It'll be no trouble at all - just knock a proper entryway through, re-surface everything you scratched up like some cat in heat, expand to a second cavern for Jun-ho, provide accommodation more suitable to his native climate-"

"Mother I'm a dragon not a contractor!" you exclaim in protest.

"And you take living under a rock rather more literally than the rest of us," she counters. "Do you think most dragons are content with your living conditions? How do you think they go about changing them? Money is for hiring people, darling. A nice Plutocracy team might run up the bill a little but they're good at what they do and good at shutting up while they do it. Workers can speak a damn word of Draconic too."

"Mother!" you exclaim again.

"What?" she sniffs. "Honestly if they can handle sneaking over the border in droves and crowding six families to an apartment what's learning a little of the primordial tongue of dragons on the side?"

You want to point out that the gift of tongues means expecting your labourers and cronies to only speak Draconic to you is utterly unnecessary, but Mother already has plenty of unnecessary things in her life (such as you) so you doubt it'll quite land the way you want it to.

"The point being that you mustn't fret at the thought of a little renovation," she goes on. "If you run into any trouble, just know that I'll be right around the corner."

Your stomach freezes solid and sinks down somewhere around your knees. "Beg pardon?"

"Oh yes. It's very important to me that you succeed," she explains sweetly in much the same way a flytrap is sweet. "And so, at great expense, I've arranged for my own lair to be watched and guarded by some trusted help and found my own accommodations riiiight over there in Söfnun." She indicates the direction with a claw, and even over the horizon she might as well be pointing right next to your spire. "If you ever need anything, I'll only be an hour's flight away."

"That's... great...!" you reply, as if someone just drove a warhammer between your legs and you're channelling every drop of willpower you have not to show it. Already your mind is filling with nightmarish visions of trying to relax and unwind or gods forbid try to court Jun-ho the only way you know how by showing him the sights and running smack-dab into whatever mortal guise Mother's chosen. Oh gods what if she's taken over a rival merchant house? What if she tries to economically destroy you to teach you a lesson about business and finances!?

"I'll be checking in regularly to take stock of your progress," she says, as if she didn't just pry open your chest and take a shit inside you. She glances at Jun-ho, who has been finding the featureless horizon to his left staggeringly interesting the entire conversation. She glances back at you, no doubt looking about ready to burst. "You boys enjoy yourselves~!"

She makes to kick off and into the sky, but pauses at the last moment. Slowly reaching out and picking up the barrel of wine you brought out for her.

"I'm keeping this."


(( art by @Camellia ))

And with that she takes flight, launching herself from the grassy clifftop with a great downbeat of her wings and shifting up into her true form as she goes, so massive and mighty it's no wonder she was so disinclined to try cramming herself inside your lair and discovering the full extent of the tattered ruins your life has become. She settles into a comfortable glide and slowly recedes into the distance, gone but for the vast shadow she still casts over everything you once called yours.

Leaving you alone with this foreign dragon you're supposed to court.

Who you just met.

With your mother making all the first impressions for you.

And you having no idea how to talk to other dragons, let alone one from another continent.

The wind kicks up, bending the grass flat against the clifftop beneath your feet as it moans softly in anguish at how badly this is already going. It plucks at Jun-ho's flowing golden hair and he awkwardly rakes it back behind his horns, out of his eyes. You imagine that this place must be fucking miserable to a non-lightning dragon.

"... so..." you say at last. "Do you... like... gold?"

Jun-ho shrugs. "Not really."

Shit it's worse than you could've imagined.

"Is it... warmer, where you're from?"

"Yeah."

You make a deeply pained expression. If he's as miserable about all this as you the least he could do is ask a few painfully stilted questions of his own.

"How did you... get here?"

"Boat."

Okay you'll admit that was a stupid one, none but the most stubborn would make a trip that long on wingpower alone. Granted you don't know how he flies with none, maybe he just sort of wibbles through the air. It's probably offensive to say that's a funny mental image. You're really bad at this.

"How did my mother-"

"Look can we not?" he snaps, finally turning his head to look at you after so many agonising minutes of nothing. "Yeah I don't like this any more than you do and yeah I don't really want to move in with you minute one so let's just... not? For like a day?"

"Hey, I get it. I do. Sorry."

You still wonder what must be going on on his end and where the hell Mother found him that she could set this up against his wishes but, like he said, puzzle to solve for another time and you have no confidence that you can pry without fucking up and offending him. Best thing to do now is ignore the elephant in the room and distract him with some meaningless bullshit. Thankfully that's your speciality.

Also the longer he spends away from your lair the better because aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa-

[ ] Show him Söfnun. It's dangerous sure, but if you get in early enough Mother won't have had enough time to institute martial law or whatever it is she intends to amuse herself with for six months. Beyond tormenting you.
--[ ] Take him to the market and buy him things on credit you're not sure you can afford any more. You think that's how courtship works for dragons and mortals alike.
--[ ] Try finding somewhere 'classy' to take him. Something that makes you look deep and cultured and sophisticated, like an art sort of thing.

[ ] Show him the neighbourhood. He probably wants to get a proper feel for the local landmarks so he's not just stuck in and around your spire-region, and there's plenty of stuff to see within flying distance. Maybe you can even check out one of the places from the map on the sly. That'd really impress him.
--[ ] The forest. You don't really know how scale colour corresponds to natural habitat for his type of dragon but if it's anything like red dragons from around here it'd at least be slightly more comfortable. And there's that old abandoned estate he could squat in.
--[ ] The mountains. Air should be a lot clearer there, and if he's anywhere near as fascinated by magical bits and baubles as you then there should be plenty to amuse yourselves with in that old wizard's tower. Given how long and thin and flexible he is, he might even be able to fit comfortably as a temporary lair.

[ ] Show him the vast treasure trove of wine your wish gave you and get extremely drunk in miserable solidarity with each other. What could possibly go wrong?