Rotgoriel dug into his second slice of cake, eyes half-closed with pleasure. Sugar was rare in the parts of Generica that the resistance had been occupying. His brother doubtless thought it a minor thing, a luxury taken for granted. But to Rotgoriel it was bliss.

It wouldn't have tasted right to his draconic body anyway. There wasn't any meat in it. Some things were best enjoyed with human glands and organs, and he didn't think his brother would mind him using his stomach this way.

“I heard you didn't make the cut,” a voice interrupted his sugary reverie, and Rotgoriel looked up from the sweet joy of buttercream icing to the sour face of an older teen. Siobhan's brother, Rotgoriel recalled. They had been introduced briefly when he arrived at her door alongside Greg. Now the youth was sitting uninvited across from him.

“I believe I did make the cut just now,” Rotgoriel nodded to the cake. “Would you like a slice as well?” he reached for the knife.

“No, dumbass,” the man who was legally an adult but whose voice held the petulance of youth sneered, pimples on either side of his face creasing and bulging as he peered down his nose at Rotgoriel. He was tall, this seemed to be a thing in Siobhan's family. “I mean you lost out on getting on the football team.”

“Greg, did I make the cut?” Rotgoriel called across the room to where Greg was lying on a couch, his head in Siobhan's lap, watching a projection of some movie or show while she stroked his hair.

“Huh? What? Oh, that. No, I don't think so, man.”

“Then it seems you heard correctly. No I did not,” Rotgoriel took another bite of cake.

“Can't say I'm surprised. Maybe lay off of this so much, huh?” the manchild reached for his plate.

Then his eyes went wide as Rotgoriel whipped his arm around and slammed his fork down.

“Damn,” Rotgoriel said, staring at where the tines had sunk an inch deep into the table, then over a few millimeters to where the youth's hand sat, fingers frozen in mid-reach. “I missed.”

Rotgoriel reached for another fork, and the youth turned and ran for his life, barreling through the dining room, knocking over a shelf in the living room, and taking the stairs up three at a time.

“Hey! Chris! Fucking watch it!” Siobhan bellowed, and looked over at Rotgoriel. “What was that about?”

“I think he was trying to be intimidating,” Rotgoriel said, taking his new fork and scooping up another bite of cake. “This is very good, by the way. Thank you.”

“You're welcome. You uh, want some to go? There's some flapperware in the cupboard.”

Rotgoriel considered. He had no clue what flapperware might be, or what it had to do with cake. “I do not think I will have some to go.”

“Oh ah, okay. Well thanks for coming over,” Siobhan said.

“You are welcome.” Rotgoriel sat where he was, finishing his second slice, savoring the taste.

“She's telling you to go home, man,” Greg said, after a minute's worth of silence.

“Very well then.” Rotgoriel rose, and put his plate and silverware in the sink like a civilized human. After a moment he paused, and tugged the buried fork free of the table, mauling the wood a bit to do so. It probably required washing now as well. Humans were funny about that sort of thing.

“I'm sorry, I don't want to be rude or anything, but you're the last one and ah... you know...” Siobhan said, her face red for some reason as she glanced from him to Greg.

“I quite understand,” Rotgoriel lied. Situations like this dictated that he refrain from asking questions and vacate the vicinity at earliest convenience. That was what his brother had advised, and Rich was usually right about this sort of stuff.

Whatever the case, he made his way out, and started the walk back to Richard's home.

This place was green, warm and wooded and crowded full of houses jammed in among the foliage. It had some name like Boomer or Clamor, and it was very close to an ocean. He was interested in seeing that someday, but saving his god came first. Seeing the legendary Bah Habbah or some other beach could wait.

It was late at night, and a few of the buzzing things that he now knew were drones flew past him as he walked. A few times he felt his Echo chatter, as the auto-response that Rich had set up in there responded to unseen questions, telling the officials of this settlement who he was and where he was going. Evidently all was in order, for he made it back to the door of his apartment building without trouble, and the doors swung open as he approached, after confirming he was supposed to be there.

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“And they do not admit it is magic,” he grumbled to himself as he rode a steel box up to the floor of his desire, cooled to a comfortable temperature by machinery that defied the very will of summer, with the inaudible signals coming from his head confirming his identity and destination with the computers that controlled the building.

It was strange to see what humans did when there were no other species around to call them on their shenanigans.

Rotgoriel found his door, and walked in to find Richard's mother waiting for him, arms folded.

He swallowed hard, feeling a stir of emotions that weren't entirely his own. “Hello. Goodnight,” he said, feeling his throat grow choked. He took a step to go around her, but she moved into his path.

“Richard, let's talk.”

“All... right...” he tried.

She studied him for a moment, then sighed, and folded her arms around him. Rotgoriel froze, and feelings built up in his chest that made his eyes get hot, and start watering. He hugged her back.

He had never known his own mother. She had been a good parent, by dragon standards, he thought. But he had grown up on his own, fast and hard and with more enemies than a child should ever have.

Rich had saved his own mother, cut deals and risked his life to get her out of the worst place in his world. Twice.

He could tell by the way his body and mind worked that Rich loved his mother. That he felt safe within her arms. That her scent was comforting. And so Rotgoriel closed his eyes and pretended that Richard's mother was his own mother, and that he was loved and wanted. And he felt the tears leaking from his eyes, but didn't make a sound. Didn't trust himself not to fall apart.

“What happened?” she said, finally.

“I... had some good cake,” he said finally. “Before that there were tryouts. I did not make the cut.”

“Oh. Oh sweetie, I'm sorry.”

“I am not,” Rotgoriel said, and spoiled the effect by letting out a small sob. It was hard to speak, with so many emotions churning around in him.

“What happened with the other boy? With Michael?”

“Who?” Rotgoriel pulled back a bit, looked at her face. There was concern there, worry and love and fear all rolled into one, and he buried his face in her shoulder again so he would not be undone.

“I got a message from the Peacekeepers. They said a boy named Michael Flanagan called and reported you for attempted assault. But they said he had some issues in his file, so I get the feeling he's done this before.”

“I do not know this name,” Rotgoriel admitted.

“It happened half an hour ago, according to Michael.”

“Half an hour ago I was eating cake... ah. Was he Siobhan's sibling?”

“Oh you're having an episode...”

“He attempted to take my cake. Then he ran away. I did not assault him.” The fork had missed him, after all.

“Oh god, he's a Swatter.”

“A what?”

“Honey, we've talked about this so many times,” she whispered, putting her hands on his shoulders and pushing him back until she could look him in the eye.

He'd had a moment to gather himself, now. It wasn't as painful as it was before, and he cleared his throat until he thought it safe to speak. “Tell me again? It has been a... hard night.”

That was no lie.

She sat down, and he followed suit, taking a place at the dining table next to her. She rubbed his back as she spoke, and he leaned into it, enjoying the simple contact. “There are people here who have spent their whole lives either afraid of us or hating us because we're from the Ministry. And that's okay, that's understandable. The Ministry's done some bad things. And people like this boy who said you assaulted him, they know they've got some power over us. We're watched more because of where we're from, and we are on thin ice compared to them. He was trying to provoke you, trying to get you into trouble. That way he could call the Peacekeepers on you, and make you have a bad day, or get all of us in trouble.”

“That arrogant fool,” Rotgoriel growled. It was one thing to come after him. To attempt to hurt his mother, as well? He would have to find a way to make the youth suffer.

He must have let more of his mood leak through than he thought, for Richard's mother gasped, and her hand tightened on his shoulder. “No. Honey, no. What he's doing isn't right, but it's stupid, it's just a kid's power play. You're a young man now, you're not a kid any longer. In a year you'll be graduated, and we'll be sorting out college. This is going to pass. You can't take it personally. You just need to keep your head down, and let it go. Understand? You don't want a file marked with social offenses. That will hurt you, don't let him hurt you like that!”

“He hasn't hurt me,” Rotgoriel whispered.

“Oh honey. Oh baby.” She drew him in again. “Then why are you so tense? You don't have to pretend. You don't have to be so strong all the time. It's okay to cry.”

Rotgoriel hugged her and stayed silent. It seemed safest.

Finally she let go of him. “Are we good? Are you going to be okay?”

“I will,” Rotgoriel promised. And he had managed to get himself as together as he could. Rich was a lucky human, to have such a good parent. The fact that he could share in this, even vicariously, made him feel a bit better about himself.

“All right.” She dabbed at her eyes. They looked about as puffy as his own did right now, probably. “Well. You've got some business online, I know. That big raid you mentioned... just don't stay up too late, okay?”

Rotgoriel swallowed. Rich had business, yes. But his turn wouldn't come until Rich was exhausted, and that would probably take a while. He would be up staring at the wall in Richard's bedroom, waiting for his turn, and feeling his human body surge with stress and anticipation. It would be hell.

He thought back to Siobhan and Greg, curled up with each other and watching the projection. It was a different sort of relationship, but the act itself seemed good. “Actually, could we stay up and watch something?”

Her smile told him that he'd had a good idea for once. And she didn't object when he put his head in her lap, as some movie he didn't know and barely understood flickered on the wall.

This is a good life, he thought to himself, as he nodded off to sleep. Why do so many humans take this for granted?