Hey now, don't go and be forgetting about Best Large Black Bird and His excellent sense of of humor! When people talk about Tricksters in N. America it's always about the doG. Coyote does this, Coyote did that. I'm sorry, not sorry, but Raven can out-prank Doggo any day of the week with one wing tied down.
Scaling Up
- Thread starter Kryslin
- Start date
5.2 Dragons I
Kryslin
[Has Delusions of Authorship]
- Location
- Mythic Iowa
Editing props go to Lycanthromancer! ~Yay!~
Thursday, 24 Feb 2011
Taylor found herself on 'Emergency Recall' in the Wards' Base at the PRT Headquarters during the afternoon. Miss Militia was in charge of the Protectorate in Brockton Bay while a majority of the city's Parahumans were out in Australia, fighting Ziz.
"We're not expecting too much trouble today and tomorrow," she said as she briefed both the Wards and remaining Protectorate members. "Most of the local Parahumans respect the Endbringer truces.
"We do have, however, some worrying intelligence: the person responsible for last December's incident at Cornell University is thought to be moving into the area. She's a Tinker specializing in explosives or explosive ordnance."
"A bomb Tinker?" muttered Triumph. "Just great. Have the police been told?"
"BBPD has been informed of the situation. Considering the effects those bombs produced at Cornell, suffice to say this individual is assuredly a bomb Tinker, yes. Hopefully, she won't start things off while the Endbringer truce is in place."
"Do we have a description of this person?" asked Vista.
"Female, Asian descent, early 20's, blue eyes," Miss Militia read off the piece of paper. "Not much to go on, I'm afraid. Naurelin, I need you for a couple of things."
"OK," answered Taylor.
"I'll be accompanying you to Somer's Rock, a bar which is considered neutral ground between the gangs, as well as the PRT and Protectorate," Miss Militia stated. "As a minor, you can't enter the place without an adult guardian. You have a pair of messages there. Afterward, Brockton General has asked that if you could stop by and lend some assistance with some of their cases; they'd appreciate it."
Taylor noted the rest of the Wards and the few members of the Protectorate present staring at her. "I'm assuming the first isn't something that happens often."
"Not really," Miss Militia answered. "I think a member of the Protectorate has gotten a message twice since I've been in Brockton Bay. It will be interesting to see what they want. After that, you'll be off to the hospital, then after dinner, we can do a patrol along the boardwalk, with you as a full dragon."
"Is that a good idea?" Taylor asked while the rest of the Wards were struggling (and failing) not to laugh.
"Not for anyone stupid enough to be doing anything nearby," Miss Militia commented, a grin on her face. "And before you say anything, this came from the Think Tank, a group of Protectorate Thinkers, who decided that it would be a very good idea."
"I would like to go on record that if anything bad happens," said Taylor, "I refuse to be held responsible."
"Is this a good idea?" Taylor asked as she got off the bike.
Miss Militia armed the bike's security system. "Somer's Rock has been a neutral spot for a long time. It's useful for things like passing messages and when we need to talk to the villainous Parahumans about something. Usually, it's the gangs who use it to talk to each other."
Naurelin looked thoughtful. "Is it safe to get anything here?"
The older Cape nodded. "Usually. The barkeep takes the neutrality of the place seriously, so he's not going to slip you something."
"Are they expecting immediate replies?" Miss Militia asked.
"No," the man said. "You can drop replies here, though I was told that one of the girl's messages contains contact information."
Naurelin finished her soda and left a tip in the glass on the bar for such, then waited outside for Miss Militia who came out a minute later.
"Here," Miss Militia said. "These are yours." With that, the messages were handed to her.
Taylor immediately set about reading them. "I'll need help translating this one," she said, indicating the one handwritten in Asian characters. "The other is an offer from Uber & Leet about involving me in one of their productions, and they even state they're willing to work with the PRT to avoid legal issues."
"That's most peculiar," Miss Militia said. "I'll have to take it up with legal and PR, and we'll have to talk with them at some point. I might be able to help with the translation of the Japanese message, though that will have to wait until after we get back to the PRT building"
Naurelin nodded. "Let's get over to Brockton General, then, and see what they've got for me to do while Panacea is out of town."
"Legal has already gotten back to me on this one," was Miss Militia's reply. "Once they got upset with what you couldn't do and actually assaulted you, anything you did afterward was self-defense. It is to your credit that you didn't physically retaliate, or even consciously use any powers on him. You just startled him so badly when you reflexively changed that he had a heart attack. It helps that his doctor confirmed that he had a pre-existing heart condition."
"Won't stop him from suing, or trying to," Taylor replied.
"Despite what you think of the bureaucrats, Naurelin," Miss Militia said with a grin, "they are very good at tying up attempts to sue Protectorate members in court for years. I've lost track of how many lawsuits have been attempted against me that have died horrible, ugly deaths in the court system, most of them dealing with my 'shooting up the place.'"
"I have a question," asked Taylor. "Your power can create any man-portable weapon, right?"
"Yes, though there are some limits," Miss Militia replied.
"Well, can you make a recoilless rifle?"
"Yes, and I've used one against one of Squealer's urban combat vehicles."
"So what's keeping you from making an M28?"
Miss Militia's eyebrow twitched. "You've been talking to Clockblocker, haven't you?"
"No, Kid Win, actually," Taylor replied.
"As a matter of fact, I can make one, complete with the M388 warhead," Miss Militia replied calmly. "I never want to have to use one. While it would probably kill my target, it would definitely kill me, and the collateral damage would have people shouting at me in whatever awaits me in the afterlife. Even if I lived – and I have read the field manual for it – the innumerable lawsuits would make me wish I was dead."
"Fair enough," Taylor answered. "Well, I'm ready to go terrorize idiots and meet my adoring fans on the Boardwalk, how about you?"
"That seems like it would be a better idea than discussing how many blocks of the city we could each destroy."
"Excuse me?" a quiet voice asked nearby. It was a little girl, maybe six years old. "Is it true that dragons eat princesses?"
Naurelin craned her neck down to look at the little girl. "Only bad dragons," she answered politely. "None of those around here. Between you and me, eating princesses is bad for a dragon's health. "
The little girl giggled at that. "Why isn't Miss Militia riding you?"
"Because the Protectorate doesn't have any saddles for dragons," Miss Militia answered, "and I doubt Naurelin would appreciate me pulling on her mane to stay on."
"Thank your for your time," the girl's mother said, having rushed over from the vendor's stall she'd been buying something at. "I hope she wasn't too much of a bother."
"No, not at all," replied Miss Militia. She reached into one of the pockets in her fatigue pants and handed the girl a couple of autographed pictures, one of hers and one of Naurelin's.
"Thanks! 'Bye!" The little girl waved as they moved on.
He sighed a bit. He'd stuck both of his feet in his mouth every time he'd said anything to her, and he could tell what her opinion of him was. The worst part was, he couldn't even gainsay her. He'd stayed quiet while she had been getting tormented by the Bitches Three and had even been assaulted by one of Emma's boyfriends du jour for being noticed while rubbernecking near one of the more infamous incidents.
He'd had his day, though. He'd given his statements to the police, the PRT, and to the school board, and things had happened. Wonderful things. Glorious things. Well, things that sucked a lot less than they had prior to Taylor's locker incident, anyway.
The whole school was closed while they decontaminated it, which would take a good, long time, if the news anchors could be believed. "A biological weapon of mass destruction used as the murderous finale of an extended campaign of focused terrorism," they said. It said a lot about the condition of Winslow that the temporary classrooms, which occupied a run-down but sturdy warehouse and were older than he was, were more modern and in better condition than the school was.
From his vantage point, he could see the new Ward, Naurelin, out on patrol with Miss Militia. She appeared to be talking to a group of guys – Greg thought they might be some of the Bay's more notorious role-playing geeks – in a rather stern fashion. He could hear bits and pieces of the conversation over traffic, where an even larger group of oglers were filming something even he could tell was a meme-in-the-making...
"It's a bottle of ketchup," one of the group answered.
"And what is it good on?" the dragon asked, her smile showing a few more teeth than strictly necessary. Several onlookers in the surrounding group of gawkers blanched.
"Hamburgers?" "Fries?" "Scrambled eggs?" came back various oblivious answers.
"You're missing the obvious one, gentlemen," the gold dragon pointed out, quite reasonably under the circumstances, she thought. Her smile widened noticeably. "Things that annoy dragons."
"Oh, shit," one of the smarter ones said, finally getting it. "Guys, 'Meddle not in the affairs of dragons, for you are crunchy and taste good with ketchup.'"
With muttered apologies and more than a little barely-restrained panic, the poster children for social obliviousness fled, and the patrol route was clear. She handed the prop ketchup bottle back to Miss Militia, who stowed it away on her motorbike with a chuckle. "Well done, Naurelin, well done indeed," she said, smiling under her bandanna.
Miss Militia noticed a distinct change in her partner's demeanor as they walked; she had brought her head down into the crowd, and it almost looked like she was trying to slink, or go unnoticed.
"Something up?" she asked over the comms.
Naurelin muttered some arcane words and flicked her claws in a very precise manner, and Miss Militia heard a whisper in her ear, just barely loud enough for her to make out. "One of my 'alleged' bullies is up ahead," the dragon's voice quietly grumbled. "You know, the ones who tortured and tried to murder me?"
"Which one?"
"Madison."
"Hold on, I'll have Console check with the BBPD." She could hear the exchange between Miss Militia and the PRT Console, but she did her best not to listen in on the other end of the line, as she'd been instructed to do. The discussion didn't take long. "Miss Clements has a part-time job at one of the shops along the boardwalk. She's allowed to be there as part of her house arrest."
"I can live with it," the dragon rumbled, "but I don't have to like it."
"Hopefully, you didn't just jinx it," Miss Militia chided the monstrous Ward. They came to a stop as another teenager approached. "Can we help you?" asked Miss Militia.
"Kinda curious about why Naurelin's not breaking the Boardwalk as she's walking on it," the dark-haired boy a bit above Taylor's age asked.
Naurelin shrugged. "Eh, I'm using part of my ability to fly to lessen the weight I put on the ground, so I don't smash my foot through the cement. Though the city did say it could take my full weight, I'd rather not force them to repair any damage if they're wrong."
"That makes a strange kind of sense," the guy replied. "Thanks! Say, can I get a picture?"
"A monster's work is never done," Naurelin muttered, then smiled for the picture.
There was a small "eep!" from the older teenager before the shutter noise on his phone played.
The first was an offer to work on one of Uber & Leet's productions, as she had read earlier. They must really want me to work with them if they're willing to work with the PRT as well.
The second looked like it was calligraphy on some expensive paper. The characters were Chinese or Japanese, and the brush strokes were neat, the writing in vertical columns. She waited for the Protectorate hero to finish her work before showing it to her.
"Well, the only thing I can tell you right now is that it's from Oni Lee," she explained. "I've seen that often enough to know that that," and she pointed to two characters on the lower left," are the characters for his Cape ID. The rest I'll have to have translated. If I may?"
Naurelin handed Miss Militia the letter, who ran it through a scanner. "Now that's...interesting," she said as the translation software spat out a rough translation, "and somewhat odd. It is from Oni Lee, as I thought. 'I follow the dragon' is what it says. That could mean anything. It almost sounds like he's pledging his loyalty to you."
"Great," Naurelin muttered. "I do not want a murderous minion."
"I'll have to run this through our Thinkers and Intelligence people, see what they recommend. Regardless, please report all contact with any of the ABB, whether it's violent or not."
Naurelin nodded her agreement.
A chime sounded from Miss Militia's phone, which she pulled out of her pocket. "Ah. The attack on Canberra is over. No losses or serious injuries from the Brockton Bay Capes. Most are staying behind to help with search and rescue. It's actually looking like one of the better ones."
"Still bad though, right?" Taylor asked. Even good Endbringer fights tended to have lots of dead Capes and usually resulted in a walled-off city.
"Armsmaster didn't say." Her phone chimed again. "Ah, a quick text from Dragon; initial casualty estimates are very low. There will be more later as reports get filed."
"Are we done for the night, then?" asked Taylor, yawning.
"I think so. We'll be doing the same tomorrow. This time, you've got the morning shift with Battery."
Taylor knew there would be drawbacks to school being shut down because of the attack. "What time should I be in? I haven't gotten any updates on my phone."
"Before 0800 should be good. Good night, Naurelin."
"G'Night."
Near the Dragon's Eyrie
Bahamut contemplated the goings-on of the various worlds as he soared in the sky over the ruins of his once proud home. Yes, he had fixed some of the damage, and even his sister had helped, but it was still a ruinous mess. His loyal retainers were still working to rebuild things. Magic had already restored much; certain things, however, had to be done by hand, and many of the things lost were irreplaceable. The reforging of the gates, for instance, would take another two decades.
Still, the important parts of his home had not been touched, and those were the library and his personal chambers. Kurya and Sonngrad both had chambers there, though they preferred to spend time on the material plane. He sighed as he caught a thermal, rising higher in the air. Perhaps I should walk this world they have taken a liking to, he pondered. I used to walk the material world constantly, helping where I could.
He circled the mountain for a while and came in for a landing when he realized there was another dragon in his lair. He was both curious and upset at the realization. There was only one dragon he knew of who was so impertinent as to enter his lair without permission...
He landed on the ledge. "Hlal? What are you doing here?" he called out.
"Couldn't fool you," came a voice from the shadows to one side of the entrance. Hlal usually took the form of a copper dragon, and today was no exception, though given her reputation as a trickster, she could take any form she wished. "It's been a while, Bro. How ya been?"
"I've been worse," Bahamut replied. "It's been an interesting month."
"So I've seen," Hlal answered with the Original Smug Grin, of which she was the mistress and divine patron of all others who followed. "I'm actually here on business, so I'd better get that done first. Tamara says 'Hello!'"
It wasn't often that she caught her older brother off guard like that.
"Tamara lives?" he asked, incredulous. "I thought she and Falazure annihilated each other..."
"By Io's beard, I'm not lying," Hlal said solemnly. "I talked with her maybe a half-hour ago. She's still pretty weak and largely confined in her garden until she recovers sufficient strength to wander again. Some sort of cursed wound that magic can't touch, so she has to heal naturally. Hasn't stopped her from intervening at a dragon's request, though."
"Ah," Bahamut said, realization dawning. "So it was she who took over my new protégé's request to raise someone. Any idea who it was who received such a boon?"
"Your new gold, whatshername, Naurelin? Her friend Panacea'd been killed, and she made the attempt. Tamara took over from there," Hlal casually explained. "It appears we've got a new silver getting ready to spread her wings."
"That would explain Sonngrad's confused mutterings a couple of days ago, then," the platinum dragon mused. "It takes quite a bit to put him in such a state. I'll have to ask him about it."
"I've got some other news as well," Hlal continued. "You gave me a job to do, and I've got something to report.
"The world your herald and champion are on, called Earth Bet by the locals, has a few dragons scattered across it. No native metallics -- yes, I know Naichi and Crystrani were hatched there -- but then again, your sister's followers believed in doing a thorough job of it. There are a few chromatics, all of whom would rather see Tiamat rot in some oubliette someplace forgotten than serve her. You might remember a few of them. Typhon and Fafnir still both said 'Fuck Off,' whereas ol' Amaru just chuckled a bit. She's starting to have trouble moving around, though that may be because she's starting to outgrow her lair, or rather, its entrance."
"Ah, I remember her," Bahamut mused. "More concerned about the forest she claimed as hers and seeing it prosper than rapine, plunder, and conquest. Was worshiped as a god by that one tribe, what were they called...?"
"Incans, I think," Hlal answered.
"Ah, that was it, thank you. She watched over that 'City of Gold' of theirs. Didn't she have a problem with some invaders?"
"Yeah, she did. She still doesn't like anyone who speaks Spanish," Hlal commented. "Naaji sends his regards, and Kanya says she still owes you one. Not quite sure what she means."
"I think you know exactly what she means, you scamp. It was one of your epic level pranks gone horribly right that led to it..."
"Don't know what you mean, Bro," Hlal replied, again with the smuggest of grins. "Anyway, I'm gonna wander around for a few days. I hear this place Kurya and Sonngrad live near is quite interesting..."
With that, Hlal's form twisted and shrunk, leaving behind a petite copper-haired woman dressed in well-worn, modern traveling clothes. "Look out Brockton Bay, here I come..."
Bahamut idly wondered if he should warn anyone.
Maybe later, he thought to himself.
Thursday, 24 Feb 2011
Taylor found herself on 'Emergency Recall' in the Wards' Base at the PRT Headquarters during the afternoon. Miss Militia was in charge of the Protectorate in Brockton Bay while a majority of the city's Parahumans were out in Australia, fighting Ziz.
"We're not expecting too much trouble today and tomorrow," she said as she briefed both the Wards and remaining Protectorate members. "Most of the local Parahumans respect the Endbringer truces.
"We do have, however, some worrying intelligence: the person responsible for last December's incident at Cornell University is thought to be moving into the area. She's a Tinker specializing in explosives or explosive ordnance."
"A bomb Tinker?" muttered Triumph. "Just great. Have the police been told?"
"BBPD has been informed of the situation. Considering the effects those bombs produced at Cornell, suffice to say this individual is assuredly a bomb Tinker, yes. Hopefully, she won't start things off while the Endbringer truce is in place."
"Do we have a description of this person?" asked Vista.
"Female, Asian descent, early 20's, blue eyes," Miss Militia read off the piece of paper. "Not much to go on, I'm afraid. Naurelin, I need you for a couple of things."
"OK," answered Taylor.
"I'll be accompanying you to Somer's Rock, a bar which is considered neutral ground between the gangs, as well as the PRT and Protectorate," Miss Militia stated. "As a minor, you can't enter the place without an adult guardian. You have a pair of messages there. Afterward, Brockton General has asked that if you could stop by and lend some assistance with some of their cases; they'd appreciate it."
Taylor noted the rest of the Wards and the few members of the Protectorate present staring at her. "I'm assuming the first isn't something that happens often."
"Not really," Miss Militia answered. "I think a member of the Protectorate has gotten a message twice since I've been in Brockton Bay. It will be interesting to see what they want. After that, you'll be off to the hospital, then after dinner, we can do a patrol along the boardwalk, with you as a full dragon."
"Is that a good idea?" Taylor asked while the rest of the Wards were struggling (and failing) not to laugh.
"Not for anyone stupid enough to be doing anything nearby," Miss Militia commented, a grin on her face. "And before you say anything, this came from the Think Tank, a group of Protectorate Thinkers, who decided that it would be a very good idea."
"I would like to go on record that if anything bad happens," said Taylor, "I refuse to be held responsible."
<<><><><>>
Their first destination was located in one of the worst parts of town. It was old, run-down, and looked like it was in the middle of a war zone. Gang members glared at them as they pulled up on Miss Militia's bike, but otherwise left them alone. The neutrality of this place was enforced, and none of the normal gang members wanted someone like Hookwolf or Oni Lee paying them a visit. The bar itself didn't look much better, either outside or (from what she could tell) inside. Honestly, the young Ward was surprised the building didn't already have a condemned notice on the door.
"Is this a good idea?" Taylor asked as she got off the bike.
Miss Militia armed the bike's security system. "Somer's Rock has been a neutral spot for a long time. It's useful for things like passing messages and when we need to talk to the villainous Parahumans about something. Usually, it's the gangs who use it to talk to each other."
Naurelin looked thoughtful. "Is it safe to get anything here?"
The older Cape nodded. "Usually. The barkeep takes the neutrality of the place seriously, so he's not going to slip you something."
- - - - - - - - - -
"We have two messages for her," the barkeep said, pointing to Taylor who was sipping at a ginger ale while Miss Militia conducted the business of getting the messages. He slid the two envelopes across the counter. One was written in Asian characters; the other was printed in English. "I've also got one for you as well." He slid that across the counter, too.
"Are they expecting immediate replies?" Miss Militia asked.
"No," the man said. "You can drop replies here, though I was told that one of the girl's messages contains contact information."
Naurelin finished her soda and left a tip in the glass on the bar for such, then waited outside for Miss Militia who came out a minute later.
"Here," Miss Militia said. "These are yours." With that, the messages were handed to her.
Taylor immediately set about reading them. "I'll need help translating this one," she said, indicating the one handwritten in Asian characters. "The other is an offer from Uber & Leet about involving me in one of their productions, and they even state they're willing to work with the PRT to avoid legal issues."
"That's most peculiar," Miss Militia said. "I'll have to take it up with legal and PR, and we'll have to talk with them at some point. I might be able to help with the translation of the Japanese message, though that will have to wait until after we get back to the PRT building"
Naurelin nodded. "Let's get over to Brockton General, then, and see what they've got for me to do while Panacea is out of town."
- - - - - - - - - -
"That was less than spectacular," Taylor grumped as she tried to enjoy a basket of chicken strips at a small fast-food restaurant near the hospital.
"Legal has already gotten back to me on this one," was Miss Militia's reply. "Once they got upset with what you couldn't do and actually assaulted you, anything you did afterward was self-defense. It is to your credit that you didn't physically retaliate, or even consciously use any powers on him. You just startled him so badly when you reflexively changed that he had a heart attack. It helps that his doctor confirmed that he had a pre-existing heart condition."
"Won't stop him from suing, or trying to," Taylor replied.
"Despite what you think of the bureaucrats, Naurelin," Miss Militia said with a grin, "they are very good at tying up attempts to sue Protectorate members in court for years. I've lost track of how many lawsuits have been attempted against me that have died horrible, ugly deaths in the court system, most of them dealing with my 'shooting up the place.'"
"I have a question," asked Taylor. "Your power can create any man-portable weapon, right?"
"Yes, though there are some limits," Miss Militia replied.
"Well, can you make a recoilless rifle?"
"Yes, and I've used one against one of Squealer's urban combat vehicles."
"So what's keeping you from making an M28?"
Miss Militia's eyebrow twitched. "You've been talking to Clockblocker, haven't you?"
"No, Kid Win, actually," Taylor replied.
"As a matter of fact, I can make one, complete with the M388 warhead," Miss Militia replied calmly. "I never want to have to use one. While it would probably kill my target, it would definitely kill me, and the collateral damage would have people shouting at me in whatever awaits me in the afterlife. Even if I lived – and I have read the field manual for it – the innumerable lawsuits would make me wish I was dead."
"Fair enough," Taylor answered. "Well, I'm ready to go terrorize idiots and meet my adoring fans on the Boardwalk, how about you?"
"That seems like it would be a better idea than discussing how many blocks of the city we could each destroy."
- - - - - - - - - -
The patrol along the Boardwalk started off calmly. They were walking along the Boardwalk – rather, Naurelin was walking along the Boardwalk, while Miss Militia was riding her motorcycle, easily keeping pace with the dragon's long strides. As was usual for Brockton Bay, people had their phones out, taking pictures or video. Others just kept driving along, not wanting to get in an accident. The tourists were staring, spellbound, but for most of the residents, it was just another day in Brockton Bay.
"Excuse me?" a quiet voice asked nearby. It was a little girl, maybe six years old. "Is it true that dragons eat princesses?"
Naurelin craned her neck down to look at the little girl. "Only bad dragons," she answered politely. "None of those around here. Between you and me, eating princesses is bad for a dragon's health. "
The little girl giggled at that. "Why isn't Miss Militia riding you?"
"Because the Protectorate doesn't have any saddles for dragons," Miss Militia answered, "and I doubt Naurelin would appreciate me pulling on her mane to stay on."
"Thank your for your time," the girl's mother said, having rushed over from the vendor's stall she'd been buying something at. "I hope she wasn't too much of a bother."
"No, not at all," replied Miss Militia. She reached into one of the pockets in her fatigue pants and handed the girl a couple of autographed pictures, one of hers and one of Naurelin's.
"Thanks! 'Bye!" The little girl waved as they moved on.
- - - - - - - - - -
Greg Veder was sitting on a bench on the boardwalk, idly playing with his phone. School sucks, he thought to himself, Especially Winslow. Though it's sucked a little less after the school board cleaned house. I wonder how Taylor is doing?
He sighed a bit. He'd stuck both of his feet in his mouth every time he'd said anything to her, and he could tell what her opinion of him was. The worst part was, he couldn't even gainsay her. He'd stayed quiet while she had been getting tormented by the Bitches Three and had even been assaulted by one of Emma's boyfriends du jour for being noticed while rubbernecking near one of the more infamous incidents.
He'd had his day, though. He'd given his statements to the police, the PRT, and to the school board, and things had happened. Wonderful things. Glorious things. Well, things that sucked a lot less than they had prior to Taylor's locker incident, anyway.
The whole school was closed while they decontaminated it, which would take a good, long time, if the news anchors could be believed. "A biological weapon of mass destruction used as the murderous finale of an extended campaign of focused terrorism," they said. It said a lot about the condition of Winslow that the temporary classrooms, which occupied a run-down but sturdy warehouse and were older than he was, were more modern and in better condition than the school was.
From his vantage point, he could see the new Ward, Naurelin, out on patrol with Miss Militia. She appeared to be talking to a group of guys – Greg thought they might be some of the Bay's more notorious role-playing geeks – in a rather stern fashion. He could hear bits and pieces of the conversation over traffic, where an even larger group of oglers were filming something even he could tell was a meme-in-the-making...
- - - - - - - - - -
"Gentlemen," Naurelin said to the group of clueless teenagers who had blocked their way for the past ten minutes, pelting her with questions, despite increasingly heavy-handed hints, "I understand you have questions about dragons. I have questions about dragons as well. However, I do have my patrol with Miss Militia to continue. If you're not going to stand aside, I might have to take...measures. If you would, Miss Militia?" The other Cape reached into one of the motorcycle's storage compartments and handed over a bottle of a rather familiar condiment. The large bottle looked rather small in Naurelin's forepaw. "Do you know what this is?"
"It's a bottle of ketchup," one of the group answered.
"And what is it good on?" the dragon asked, her smile showing a few more teeth than strictly necessary. Several onlookers in the surrounding group of gawkers blanched.
"Hamburgers?" "Fries?" "Scrambled eggs?" came back various oblivious answers.
"You're missing the obvious one, gentlemen," the gold dragon pointed out, quite reasonably under the circumstances, she thought. Her smile widened noticeably. "Things that annoy dragons."
"Oh, shit," one of the smarter ones said, finally getting it. "Guys, 'Meddle not in the affairs of dragons, for you are crunchy and taste good with ketchup.'"
With muttered apologies and more than a little barely-restrained panic, the poster children for social obliviousness fled, and the patrol route was clear. She handed the prop ketchup bottle back to Miss Militia, who stowed it away on her motorbike with a chuckle. "Well done, Naurelin, well done indeed," she said, smiling under her bandanna.
- - - - - - - - - -
Greg chuckled under his breath, pulled out his sketch pad, and began drawing the scene as he had watched it play out before him. He would probably frame the original and hang it up, but not before he had it scanned, so he could send a copy of it to Naurelin on ParaHumans Online, via one of his e-mail addresses that didn't begin with 'Void' or end in 'Cowboy.'
- - - - - - - - - -
Of the many drawbacks to having enhanced senses, one was that you could see things coming from a greater distance away than usual. When your head was perched atop a fifteen foot boom, that distance got even greater.
Miss Militia noticed a distinct change in her partner's demeanor as they walked; she had brought her head down into the crowd, and it almost looked like she was trying to slink, or go unnoticed.
"Something up?" she asked over the comms.
Naurelin muttered some arcane words and flicked her claws in a very precise manner, and Miss Militia heard a whisper in her ear, just barely loud enough for her to make out. "One of my 'alleged' bullies is up ahead," the dragon's voice quietly grumbled. "You know, the ones who tortured and tried to murder me?"
"Which one?"
"Madison."
"Hold on, I'll have Console check with the BBPD." She could hear the exchange between Miss Militia and the PRT Console, but she did her best not to listen in on the other end of the line, as she'd been instructed to do. The discussion didn't take long. "Miss Clements has a part-time job at one of the shops along the boardwalk. She's allowed to be there as part of her house arrest."
"I can live with it," the dragon rumbled, "but I don't have to like it."
- - - - - - - - - -
"Been a quiet night so far," said Naurelin as they reached the end of their patrol route and turned tail to head back. "A few annoyances, but I can live with those."
"Hopefully, you didn't just jinx it," Miss Militia chided the monstrous Ward. They came to a stop as another teenager approached. "Can we help you?" asked Miss Militia.
"Kinda curious about why Naurelin's not breaking the Boardwalk as she's walking on it," the dark-haired boy a bit above Taylor's age asked.
Naurelin shrugged. "Eh, I'm using part of my ability to fly to lessen the weight I put on the ground, so I don't smash my foot through the cement. Though the city did say it could take my full weight, I'd rather not force them to repair any damage if they're wrong."
"That makes a strange kind of sense," the guy replied. "Thanks! Say, can I get a picture?"
"A monster's work is never done," Naurelin muttered, then smiled for the picture.
There was a small "eep!" from the older teenager before the shutter noise on his phone played.
- - - - - - - - - -
The patrol had ended without any more incidents at the PRT building. They had retired to Miss Militia's office to work on their reports. Taylor was re-reading her messages, while Miss Militia finished up.
The first was an offer to work on one of Uber & Leet's productions, as she had read earlier. They must really want me to work with them if they're willing to work with the PRT as well.
The second looked like it was calligraphy on some expensive paper. The characters were Chinese or Japanese, and the brush strokes were neat, the writing in vertical columns. She waited for the Protectorate hero to finish her work before showing it to her.
"Well, the only thing I can tell you right now is that it's from Oni Lee," she explained. "I've seen that often enough to know that that," and she pointed to two characters on the lower left," are the characters for his Cape ID. The rest I'll have to have translated. If I may?"
Naurelin handed Miss Militia the letter, who ran it through a scanner. "Now that's...interesting," she said as the translation software spat out a rough translation, "and somewhat odd. It is from Oni Lee, as I thought. 'I follow the dragon' is what it says. That could mean anything. It almost sounds like he's pledging his loyalty to you."
"Great," Naurelin muttered. "I do not want a murderous minion."
"I'll have to run this through our Thinkers and Intelligence people, see what they recommend. Regardless, please report all contact with any of the ABB, whether it's violent or not."
Naurelin nodded her agreement.
A chime sounded from Miss Militia's phone, which she pulled out of her pocket. "Ah. The attack on Canberra is over. No losses or serious injuries from the Brockton Bay Capes. Most are staying behind to help with search and rescue. It's actually looking like one of the better ones."
"Still bad though, right?" Taylor asked. Even good Endbringer fights tended to have lots of dead Capes and usually resulted in a walled-off city.
"Armsmaster didn't say." Her phone chimed again. "Ah, a quick text from Dragon; initial casualty estimates are very low. There will be more later as reports get filed."
"Are we done for the night, then?" asked Taylor, yawning.
"I think so. We'll be doing the same tomorrow. This time, you've got the morning shift with Battery."
Taylor knew there would be drawbacks to school being shut down because of the attack. "What time should I be in? I haven't gotten any updates on my phone."
"Before 0800 should be good. Good night, Naurelin."
"G'Night."
<<><><><>>
Outlands
Near the Dragon's Eyrie
Bahamut contemplated the goings-on of the various worlds as he soared in the sky over the ruins of his once proud home. Yes, he had fixed some of the damage, and even his sister had helped, but it was still a ruinous mess. His loyal retainers were still working to rebuild things. Magic had already restored much; certain things, however, had to be done by hand, and many of the things lost were irreplaceable. The reforging of the gates, for instance, would take another two decades.
Still, the important parts of his home had not been touched, and those were the library and his personal chambers. Kurya and Sonngrad both had chambers there, though they preferred to spend time on the material plane. He sighed as he caught a thermal, rising higher in the air. Perhaps I should walk this world they have taken a liking to, he pondered. I used to walk the material world constantly, helping where I could.
He circled the mountain for a while and came in for a landing when he realized there was another dragon in his lair. He was both curious and upset at the realization. There was only one dragon he knew of who was so impertinent as to enter his lair without permission...
He landed on the ledge. "Hlal? What are you doing here?" he called out.
"Couldn't fool you," came a voice from the shadows to one side of the entrance. Hlal usually took the form of a copper dragon, and today was no exception, though given her reputation as a trickster, she could take any form she wished. "It's been a while, Bro. How ya been?"
"I've been worse," Bahamut replied. "It's been an interesting month."
"So I've seen," Hlal answered with the Original Smug Grin, of which she was the mistress and divine patron of all others who followed. "I'm actually here on business, so I'd better get that done first. Tamara says 'Hello!'"
It wasn't often that she caught her older brother off guard like that.
"Tamara lives?" he asked, incredulous. "I thought she and Falazure annihilated each other..."
"By Io's beard, I'm not lying," Hlal said solemnly. "I talked with her maybe a half-hour ago. She's still pretty weak and largely confined in her garden until she recovers sufficient strength to wander again. Some sort of cursed wound that magic can't touch, so she has to heal naturally. Hasn't stopped her from intervening at a dragon's request, though."
"Ah," Bahamut said, realization dawning. "So it was she who took over my new protégé's request to raise someone. Any idea who it was who received such a boon?"
"Your new gold, whatshername, Naurelin? Her friend Panacea'd been killed, and she made the attempt. Tamara took over from there," Hlal casually explained. "It appears we've got a new silver getting ready to spread her wings."
"That would explain Sonngrad's confused mutterings a couple of days ago, then," the platinum dragon mused. "It takes quite a bit to put him in such a state. I'll have to ask him about it."
"I've got some other news as well," Hlal continued. "You gave me a job to do, and I've got something to report.
"The world your herald and champion are on, called Earth Bet by the locals, has a few dragons scattered across it. No native metallics -- yes, I know Naichi and Crystrani were hatched there -- but then again, your sister's followers believed in doing a thorough job of it. There are a few chromatics, all of whom would rather see Tiamat rot in some oubliette someplace forgotten than serve her. You might remember a few of them. Typhon and Fafnir still both said 'Fuck Off,' whereas ol' Amaru just chuckled a bit. She's starting to have trouble moving around, though that may be because she's starting to outgrow her lair, or rather, its entrance."
"Ah, I remember her," Bahamut mused. "More concerned about the forest she claimed as hers and seeing it prosper than rapine, plunder, and conquest. Was worshiped as a god by that one tribe, what were they called...?"
"Incans, I think," Hlal answered.
"Ah, that was it, thank you. She watched over that 'City of Gold' of theirs. Didn't she have a problem with some invaders?"
"Yeah, she did. She still doesn't like anyone who speaks Spanish," Hlal commented. "Naaji sends his regards, and Kanya says she still owes you one. Not quite sure what she means."
"I think you know exactly what she means, you scamp. It was one of your epic level pranks gone horribly right that led to it..."
"Don't know what you mean, Bro," Hlal replied, again with the smuggest of grins. "Anyway, I'm gonna wander around for a few days. I hear this place Kurya and Sonngrad live near is quite interesting..."
With that, Hlal's form twisted and shrunk, leaving behind a petite copper-haired woman dressed in well-worn, modern traveling clothes. "Look out Brockton Bay, here I come..."
Bahamut idly wondered if he should warn anyone.
Maybe later, he thought to himself.
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- Location
- Here
An interesting side bit from Greg, and an update on the one who's sins against Taylor brought about her Draconic Transformation, that has shown signs of wanting to repent. Plus a translation of Oni Lee's note. The last being something I was wondering about.
Nice.
I wonder how long it will take for the Ketchup Meme to take off, and what the PR department will think of the reactions. For that matter, what will the reactions be like? I expect many will take it in good humor, while others will be horrified that a Dragon is willing to threaten annoyances with being eaten. However, I wonder what the overall reaction would be; net positive, or net negative.....
Nice.
I wonder how long it will take for the Ketchup Meme to take off, and what the PR department will think of the reactions. For that matter, what will the reactions be like? I expect many will take it in good humor, while others will be horrified that a Dragon is willing to threaten annoyances with being eaten. However, I wonder what the overall reaction would be; net positive, or net negative.....
Add.
Remove.
Yeah...as a full dragon, that's a lot of teeth.
I'm guessing this is the character who can match MP in the HAM AND CHEESE department?
Leechblade
Orientation Nitpicking
- Pronouns
- He/Him/His
Oh dear...
I wonder what PHO is gonna start talking about because of that....
A petition to fix it mayhaps?
Kryslin
[Has Delusions of Authorship]
- Location
- Mythic Iowa
Hlal is the draconic goddess of humor and stories. She also does messenger duty.
I'll go typo stomping.
- Location
- Here
That would be my guess; she IS the Draconic Trickster Goddess of Humor, after all.....
Annnnd Imp'd by the author. Typical....
FaerieKnight79
Verified Pixie
- Location
- The Internet
Well, Miss Militia was authorized to carry a bottle of ketchup. Thus the meme probably already exists. It is quite old after all. And PR approved of playing into it.
- Location
- Here
...... There's a minor villain called Condiment King over in DC's books that runs around with high volume condiment guns. I wonder if Taylor can start carrying around Dragon Sized versions of his Ketchup Gun while on patrol......
- Location
- Deep in the Badlands of Equestria
Please! She's more likely to load it up with a high-quality barbeque sauce.
And then explain on PHO that ketchup burns too easily.
It was also quoted in-story.
Probably at first. Followed by a derail into an argument over exactly how to properly design a dragonriding saddle, argument and speculation over which hero would make the best dragon rider, a further derail into arguing about the merits of various fictional dragon riders, and several temp bans over posters trying to sexualize the whole thing.
FaerieKnight79
Verified Pixie
- Location
- The Internet
Leechblade
Orientation Nitpicking
- Pronouns
- He/Him/His
*nods*
Then Bahamut will ask Taylor if she wants a saddle and, if so, dig one out of his Treasury or show her how to make one.
- Location
- Here
..... And yet another random thought from this concept; Would a Tabasco Sprayer count as a Duel Purpose Weapon, combining the blinding effects of pepper spray with the flavoring ability of a Condiment Gun? And if so, would Naurelin want one, or would they have to ship it over to The Family?
Bonus points if he has to rummage a while to find the right sort, discarding a bunch that are made for a nonhuman anatomy.
"Hmmm, let's see. Small biped, large biped, medium sided quadruped, hexapod, mermaid fishbowl saddle, naga...or possibly bondage gear with all those straps, I'm not sure..."
"What's that thing like a bowl with lots of holes in it?"
"That's for shoggoths."
Jonn Wolfe
(Verified Sarcastic) (Not a Wolf)
- Location
- Beyond Sanity Since 1971
Does Taylor have a mane? That was a strange thing to read.
I'm still picturing a Great Red body with Gold scales, here.
I'm still picturing a Great Red body with Gold scales, here.
Leechblade
Orientation Nitpicking
- Pronouns
- He/Him/His
I'm pretty sure there's an information threadmark describing her Dragonic body.
Yes, she does. From the first page:
Lycanthromancer
The Arcane Fuzz
- Location
- USA
I...could've sworn I got rid of all of those.
[Goo] "Somethin's wrong, here!" [/fy]
- Location
- Wonderland
Brush strokes? Those are clearly printed characters. They don't have the right ends to strokes.The second looked like it was calligraphy on some expensive paper. The characters were Chinese or Japanese, and the brush strokes were neat, the writing in vertical columns. She waited for the Protectorate hero to finish her work before showing it to her.
「火の歌
私は竜に従う
魔李」
Well, that's not a haiku nor senryuu.
"Song of fire:
I follow the dragon.
Oni Lee." With a character for 'Japanese Plum' for that 'Lee' there.
*scrolls down* Oh. Translation already included. (Not a native speaker, though.)
redundant 'of' there
Kryslin
[Has Delusions of Authorship]
- Location
- Mythic Iowa
And I didn't do any editing once you said "Done!". Don't worry, I fixed 'em. I'll have to go in and look at the master document, though...
I'll chop it. I didn't have time to get the image updated. I've got a nicer Japanese JIS calligraphy font to use for that one. When I update the image file in my webspace, it should update automatically.
Re: Redundant 'ofs'. I'm not seeing it.
The first of and second of are for two different things.
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Lycanthromancer
The Arcane Fuzz
- Location
- USA
Might've been a problem on my end. I'll just have to be more careful about it, I guess.
- Location
- Wonderland
Still awkward, even if it's not exactly redundant.
More like Idiot Plum, combining two languages when creating his name, amirite?