SAVE POINT 84
Loading A Deal & Some Depth...97%...100%
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EmeraldCity_88
Their dragon really wasn't that hard to find. These camouflage warriors aren't the first people to use the cover of a cave as a building place for a fortress. Creative, yes, but original? No. I'd definitely have to take off some points for that. There's about three million video games with the same premise for a fortress.
Solid?
I lean my weight against the cave wall, feeling the damp rock under my palm and the sturdiness. Yes, 100% yes; this place is solid. Regardless of hopes, there's no way we could blow it into a clusterfuck rock pile. I'll have to go for another strategy in this win-the-war, take-the-names situation.
"Nice place you have here," I call over my shoulder at the man shuffling behind me.
—NOT a 'man', bad wording. He's a 'prisoner'—MY prisoner. More descriptively, he's the last remnant of the guard group in the woods—the only one my Jagwindos haven't slaughtered. ...Not that he escaped the blood bath and gore; I didn't say that. The fur and leaves cape, that hangs over his frail body, is smeared scarlet. His lower lip trembles as wrinkles sink deep into his forehead. His eyes are scared shitless.
Good.
I need him to look convincing.
A whole host of guards seizes when they see me waltzing towards their sanctum. Hands fly to weapons. I hear the jagwindos behind me bristle and growl. But I'm not planning on fighting out here.
"We have one of your own," I gesture with a casual wave to the bound man stumbling behind me. I'd tied him to a jagwindow—I know, brilliant. He's not trying to go anywhere with that black beast snarling at him. "Open the doors," I call breezily, "I want to see your dragon."
I stare up at the intricately-carved, wood doors looming over me. They have to be the doors—the doors which open to exactly what I want: scales, fire, death. I'm sure of it. No one takes such care with unimportant doors. These are thick. Handmade.
I know I'm right.
I grab the prisoner's bicep even as he recoils from me.
"I have your peep!" I shout to the huge doors as though something behind it can hear. I thrust the prisoner forward like whatever it is can see the proof. "Open up, buttercup."
> What is waking me AGAIN?!
Rages a raspy, bell-like woman's voice in my mind. The fury in it nearly tingles in my brain, but it brings a satisfied smile to my lips.
Ho-ho, boy! Telepathy? I DID find a damn dragon! Go Cassandra, go Cassandra—
Enormous claws scrape at the other side of the door—
It swings open, just missing my face by a hair—swishing air there as it slams into the cave wall behind it.
Thud.
And I stare.
Into an engorged set of blinking, yellow eyes.
Oh my God. I want to faint right there from pure excitement. Skipper, if you could see this—you wouldn't believe...
The beast smells like when the gerbil cage at home gets a little funky. Combine the reek of that with the smoke of a firepit and you have—whala!—essence of dragon. And the thing is big, filling the dark room behind it. I, honestly, wasn't sure it'd be so large. I mean, who can really know what to expect when you're talking about a mythical beast...
"I have one of your guards," I start, self-importantly shaking my head to push the pompom ends of my green pigtails over my shoulders.
But, before I can blink, the dragon makes a move, swiping a colossal talon, slicing—
I gape for a second.
—A line straight through her own guard's throat.
As blood squirts. The man opens his mouth, trying to talk or shout.
But he falls.
To his knees.
Shuttering.
Bleeding.
Till he's still again.
> I don't care.
The beast states blandly in my head.
My eyes widen. Most people—most rational people—would be scared. But I'm not 'most' people, and I'm certainly not 'rational'; my respect of the creature hits the ceiling as I turn from the dead body back to face her bronze snout.
"Killing the guard so I lose all leverage," I state rapidly, inspecting the cuticles of my pinky finger, "Smart. I would have done the same."
> I don't know who you are, and, frankly, I don't care.
The ground shakes as the huge creature readjusts itself, turning away from me and coiling in a tight ball, its scales bristling in the limited light.
"You already said that," I say, stepping forward—dangerously close; I can feel the risk of it jumping in my heart, but I like it. "You already said you don't care—"
> And it's true!
The dragon bellows.
> Guards, this one is obnoxious. Take her away—
My nose wrinkles up; I do it on purpose. It's the face Skipper always said I make when I don't get my way, "Aw, and here I thought they said dragons were fun, not boring," I start—
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Her huge lizard head whips around, suddenly hissing. All the guards that had moved forward to grab me leap back and out of the way as her fiery eyes level with mine.
> No one's ever called me boring, girl who looks like a child.
"I'm 35 thank you very much," I spout back, placing two, rather-entitled hands on my hips, "And, if we're talking about looks, don't take this the wrong way or anything, but you look fucking depressed."
I'm not wrong and the thing knows it. Anyone can read body language. What would probably be the grandest beast of them all is sulking in a tiny ball, looking like my kitten, Pierogi, gets when it's about to thunderstorm. There's piles of bones littered around the room like someone hasn't taken out their trash in at least two weeks, and it smells ripe. The flies buzzing around the carouses aren't the only ones noticing. The dragon's eyes narrow, flashing to where my gaze has already raked over her metaphorical dirty laundry.
A rim of smoke hisses out through her slitted nostrils.
> How can I NOT take that the wrong way.
She snarls. It doesn't seem like much of a question.
And she's right. It's probably impossible with her attitude. She needs to work on it. Mantras. Positivity. Meditation. Do dragon's meditate? I shrug, "You're not a black dragon, but you would be considered emo where I come from. What knight in shining armor stole your princess?"
The dragon gnashes its teeth. I see fury flash across its eyes. Sherlock, I do believe we're getting somewhere.
> He wasn't a knight, he was a fraud.
The creature growls.
"Same shit, different suit," I mutter, "I mean, what's got your tail in a knot? Why the fuck are you so boring?" I snap my gum at her.
Boring, for me, is dangerous.
I'm about to turn on my heel and go in search of an entertaining dragon when a girl skitters across the doorway.
She's thin—awkward and willowy at the same time—and clearly much younger than me which makes her even the same age as—
I freeze.
Frozen.
Paused mid-chew as the girl scampers out of view.
'Cause she looks just like—
No, it can't be—
"Wait!" I shout, but I've gotten my bearings back too slowly; she's disappeared from view. My gaze snaps up to the dragon. "That girl—" I stutter, feeling both in a rush and like someone's cut my tongue out at the same time, "She works for you?"
The dragon lets out a weathered sigh, nodding.
> Girl who scrubs the floors, girl who looks like a child wants to meet you.
She calls, her ears wilting with disinterest.
"Yes, Commandress?" And the girl ducks back into view, the pads of her feet making hollow sounds on the rock floor. She's shy. I can tell. She hurriedly gathers her stringy, white-blonde hair over one shoulder, trying to avoid looking at me. But, it's crazy—the resemblance is uncanny even with her hair that long.
She looks like you, Skipper. She looks exactly like you before the radiation treatment.
My heart seizes. I forget how to breathe, just for that moment. 'Cause this place is more than fun and magical; I see that now. This place is a dream come true. Tears well up in my eyes, and, believe me, I am NOT the crying type.
I open my mouth to try to tell the girl why I'm staring at her like this, "Oh my gosh, you look just like my baby sister."
"My name's Ammat—"
"Don't talk," I hush her quickly. God, she'd almost spoiled it. She'd almost messed it all up. Skipper had gone to college in Australia and picked up the Aussie accent. I won't have this girl start jabbering and mess up the likeness. Somehow, God heard my prayer. I was in my dark apartment in the chat room at the exact right time and, now, I'm here. In this game that I was going to destroy from the sheer joy of it, but now...there's Skipper.
Skipper's here.
And she looks like before.
And I will not waste the chance to have her, here, next to me—not when I've been reduced to talking to her grave for five years.
I blink up at the dragon, trying my most charming smile on for size.
"We're friends now," I pipe quickly, "I want the girl. I'll do a flat trade. Name your price."
The dragon's lips curl back in warning.
> The girl's not for sale.
"Then, I'll just take her," I quip, pursing my lips, "Easy, no trade. Nothing in it for you. I once stole a whole TV from Best Buy, and no one even noticed—walked it straight out the door. I'm pretty great at it. Plus, I have an army of jagwindos waiting just outside and an army of fantasy nerds who would just love to come back something up if it has to do with swords—"
That gets her. Her ears perk.
> You have an army?
"Two, but I guess you're not being technical..." I rant, attempting to sound casual.
But the dragon's hooked now. Her large claws dig into the floor, pulling her forward.
> I need an army to get revenge.
She tells me, her voice a mess of clanging bells in my head.
> Most of mine deserted after our defeat at the last fight. They didn't like that we were burning towns—
"Cowards," I spit, rolling my eyes.
> My thoughts exactly.
The creature continues.
> I want revenge on the dragons who wouldn't join me. I hear they're trapped by their own people now in the Dragon's Sea Town—
"Sold," I blurt out.
The beat raises an eyebrow. ...Must I do all the explaining?
"I'll help you get your revenge," I say slowly, "but you give me the girl, fair and square." I cross my arms over my chest for affect.
And, much to my delight, the dragon nods.
"Looks like our goals are—how do they say?—aligned," I say, nearly trembling on the inside from my excitement, "Shake on it?" I extend a tiny, white hand.
> Better.
She rumbles.
And neon letters float between us.
***Covenant Sealed***
I smile, and I grab the sticky, blonde girl by the bicep. She's mine now. Skipper, you're all mine again.
"Do you have any scissors around here by chance?" I titter, picking up a strand of the girl's white-blonde hair.
The dragon grins savagely.
> Who needs scissors when you have claws?
"Oh, right," I let out a breath with a short laugh, "In that case, do you think you could chop it off around chin-length?" I gesture with two fingers where I want the girl's hair cut.
The dragon brings up a claw.
The girl shrieks.
And, just like that—efficient son of a bitch—three inches of blonde hair falls to the rock floor.
I look into the girl's terrified eyes, holding her by both shoulders at arm's length. "Congratulations, you've been promoted. You're my sister now. Your name is Skipper, and you love dragons—"
"I—"
"Shhh," I plaster a quick finger to her thin lips before she can get anything further out. "You don't talk. I do." I correct her swiftly. "Let's get ready to invade a town. We're going to have so much fun, Skipper." I giggle into her face.
The real Skipper would have giggled back. The girl isn't exactly same, but I get it. You can't have back what was taken from you.
You can only take back what belongs to you. And that's exactly what I'm doing.