Chapter 21 - Patron Wigglewings the Winsome, Dragon of Verve and Panache
I’d heard that there was some war going on between the Grand Kingdom and the Legions. Up on my mountain, I’d thought nothing of it. Neither side was particularly appealing. I hardly even knew what the fighting was about. After all, there were more interesting things in life. Like my wonderful grandchildren!
My son, Wigglebottom the Wordy, after four-hundred years, had finally settled down, taken a mate and hatched a brood of three. Luckily, we had plenty of time before they hatched to choose names. Dragon eggs take ten or more years to mature.
“Wiggletongue! Stop teasing your brothers.” She is the largest and a terror. Female dragons usually are, because they are more territorial in order to defend the nest.
I watch as she stomps away. Off to scare some caterpillar or pillbug? Probably...
“Wiggleclaw and Wigglehorn, you can come cuddle with me. You shouldn’t believe her when she says mean things. Your tails have a perfectly normal shape! You are neither deformed nor lumpy. Your scales are just as shiny as hers!”
The two boys snivel together under my wing. Someday, they’ll leave the nest and fly out into the world. Explorers and wanderers like myself, until I settled down in my old age. My son as well. Once his brood hatched, he was off again. He’d be back in a few years, but his poor mate didn’t know how to deal with hatchlings. She’d left them with me for the day.
“Gran-dragon. Will you tell us a story?”
“Oh, let’s see… a story?”
“Something about fighting! There’s a war down in the grasslands, right?”
“Mmm… I don’t know much about the war down there. The songbirds don’t care anything about it, so I only hear the crows laughing after their feasts.”
“What do they laugh about?”
“Mrrrrr… nasty things. Death and dying, ruin and rot. The crows find it quite amusing.”
“Are dragons dying?”
“No no! We’re much too wise to get involved in silly wars like that. There was a time once though. Back in the golden age of magic.”
“Oh! Tell us!”
“Mrrrr… well, back then there were many more dragons. Some of them were quite foolish. There was an argument regarding the nature of the universe - whether this is all the creation of some supernatural power or a simulation.”
“What’s a simulation?”
“That’s when you… make something to look exactly like the real thing. If it’s real enough, then you can’t tell the difference. So, if you’re inside of it, you don’t know that it’s not real.”
“Then, what is real?”
“Real? Mrrrrr… real is when something isn’t a simulation. Mrrrrr… it exists without anything outside of it that is doing the work to keep it running. Although, that’s not strictly true! For instance, if the universe was made by a supernatural power, then it’s real, even though the supernatural power might still be around to affect it or even maintain it.”
“Then, what’s the difference? Couldn’t a supernatural power make a simulation?”
“Whoa! You got it! And that’s why we had a war!”
“Dragons died?”
“Lots of dragons. We were a young and foolish race back then.”
“Which side won?”
“Nobody, of course! Nobody ever really wins in a war. Everybody loses.”
“Why did they fight then?”
“I’m not really sure. My personal suspicion? I think both sides were hoping that enough chaos would either break the simulation or it would bring down the wrath of a supernatural power. After all, everybody was sure that they were right!”
“So which is it?”
“Which… what is what? What is which? Mrrrrrr… what do you mean?”
“Are we in a simulation?”
“Of course we are! I mean, what other choice is there?”
“You mean we aren’t real? I don’t like that.”
“Oh, yeah? What are you going to do about it?” I growl at him.
“I’ll grow up and prove that I’m real!”
“Mrrrrr… good luck with that. Now where’d your sister go?”
At just that moment, I hear the terrified screech of a young dragon. There’s nothing that raises an adult’s hackles in quite the same way. I leap to my feet as my grandsons scatter away.
“It came from that stand of trees!” I dash forward, counting through the possible dangers on my mountains. It’s probably a false alarm. Not even a quasi-bear would be so stupid as to endanger a dragon child. But anything less, such as a mountain troll, wouldn’t have enough strength to do so.
Before I even arrive, the kidnapper appears. It is a golem. Strangely shaped. It has a glassy shell, probably adamant with a steel body. Yet, within the shell, I see two riders.
The first is a human male with the look of a merchant. He has a look of learning and wisdom, so I can’t see how he could get mixed up in this. After all, messing with a dragon’s hatchlings is a sure way to die.
The other occupant is a young girl wearing a … slime outfit with cat ears? It covers her from neck to toe, but it is translucent and… slimy. Even her cat ears droop and drip with limpid jellied slime. Is this really even a human?
If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.
Not that it matters! As they approach, I see that there is a third occupant. It’s Wiggletongue, bound and gagged on the middle seat. I could easily knock the golem over and tear through even the adamant, but I see that the girl has an orichalcum knife pressed to the hollow of my granddaughter’s throat.
“Fools!” I roar. “What do you want?”
The slime human speaks out to answer me. “Ye got nothin’ to worry about yer dragon-esty! We’re jus’ here ta have a fight ye!”
“Fight me? Why?”
“We jus’ gotta beat a dragon fer a special career upgrade.”
“Oh!” That sounds reasonable, if exceedingly cruel. “Wait! What sort of career? You aren’t going to be a dragon-slayer are you? Don’t even think about it!”
“Naw! We got nothin’ against ye dragon-folk!”
“All right then. Give back my granddaughter and we can negotiate acceptable terms of conflict for a duel.”
“Heh! We weren’t suckin’ bottles yesterday! We’re holdin’ her hostage until we win!”
“You bloodthirsty humans! You know I’ll trade my life for hers! But what assurance do I have that you’ll let her go?”
“Yer thinkin’ this all wrong! We don’t gotta KILL any of ye. Just beat ye in a fair fight.”
“Ehhh? Then how’s that a fair fight? Unless you tie me up first, I’ll win every time!”
“Nothin’ sayin’ we can’t lose a few times. So we just keep fightin’ ‘til yer tired out!”
“Oh… Mrrrrrr… That sounds fair.” I agree with a smirk. Dragons do not tire easily.
“Right! Me and the advisor are gettin’ outta Truck-chan. Then, you two are doin’ the fightin’.”
“What rules? Western dueling? Is flying allowed? Magic?”
“Ehh… it’s up to you, long as nobody’s gettin’ killed. So choose somethin’ nice.”
I watch as the two clamber out, still holding Wiggletongue. The knife is still pressed against her throat. I could probably kill them both before the knife cut her, but the risk seems greater than just putting up with this nonsensical battle.
“Something nice. Non-lethal. Mrrrrr… how about rock-scissors-paper?”
“Ye mean rock-paper-scissors?”
The scholar objects, “I thought it was paper-rock-scissors!”
I glare at them both. When did humans get so foolish that they would change the order of the holy and eternal words?
“Anyhows! Good thinkin’ yer dragon-ocity! Would that work?” The girl asks the man that she called an advisor.
He pulls out a book and starts flipping through it. “Ahh. There are cases setting that precedence. For example, Thuribold the Thorough once beat a djinn overseer in a game of strip poker.”
“Strip poker? Did it work? He got the career he wanted?”
“Not the first time. The djinni was only wearing pants, so it wasn’t a fair match. But, later they had a rematch with Thuribold starting with only his underwear.”
“Don’t djinni hate losin’?”
“Oh, it wasn’t so bad. They agreed beforehand that the loser wouldn’t need to remove the last piece of clothing. It was a very friendly game.”
“Still, it worked?”
“Indeed. By beating the djinni, he was able to take on the Genius Genus path.”
“Not even askin’ what that is! So it’ll work! Rock-paper-scissors! Dragons are awful clever!”
I felt the lip above my fangs curl up. Just like djinn, dragons don’t like losing. “Very well! I challenge Truck-chan to a game of rock-scissors-paper!”
“BEEEEP!”
With a snarl, I thrust out my claws. The right is folded into a fist above my left. I’m an expert at this game, so that’s why I chose it. I’m ready to win!
“Hold on a second yer dragon-ificence! Truck-chan’s got no fingers!”
“That will indeed make it difficult for her to win. I suppose the victory goes to me. Now hand back my granddaughter.”
“BEEP! BEEP!”
“We’re not doin’ that until Truck-chan wins!”
“She’ll never win!”
“We just gotta give her alternative signs!”
“Like… how? Can she even move her hands?”
“No, but how’s ‘bout callin’ her fingers as they are right now ‘paper.’ It’s kinda flat right?”
“Those are fingers?" I stare at the protuberances sprouting from the sides of her head. "But, she can only throw paper then!”
“Yer right. Oh, well…”
“Oh, well?”
“Whatever. Start playin’ already!”
“Starting with Rock!”
“BEEP BEEP!”
“Yer lizard-ness. That won’t work! She can only do paper!”
“I’m NOT a lizard! However, you are right. She cannot throw a rock. I suppose we’ll have to skip the formalities.”
With that, I lose my best weapon. Without the ceremonial first rock, my mind-reading abilities can’t come into play. Perhaps they know that old proverb? Before there was “don’t bring a knife to a gunfight”, the ancient saying went like this: “don’t bring a rock to a dragon fight!”
“Rock scissors paper!”
“Scissors, I win!”
“Rock scissors paper!”
“Scissors, I win!”
“Rock scissors paper!”
“Scissors, I win!”
Eventually, my grandsons come to watch. That just increases the challenge as I show off my power. When they start cheering after the hundredth win, my tail starts thumping up and down in time with the beat.
Soon afterwards, I cease calling the name of the game. Instead, Truck-chan beeps the rhythm.
“BEEP BEEP BEEP!”
“Scissors, I win!”
“BEEP BEEP BEEP!”
“Scissors, I win!”
“BEEP BEEP BEEP!”
“Scissors, I win!”
Later, the slime-girl lets loose the knife, instead cheering for Truck-chan. She waves her arms around. “Uppercut! Aim for the gut! Block! Block!”
With her distracted, I could end this farce right now, but I’m having too much fun!
“BEEP BEEP BEEP!”
“Scissors, I win! Scissors, I win! Scissors, I win!”
After one-thousand wins, my grandsons have fallen asleep. Only Wiggletongue is still watching, her gag now removed, “Granddad, I’m tired!”
“BEEP BEEP BEEP!”
“Scissors, I win! Scissors, I win! Scissors, I win!”
When night falls, the game goes on. I am unstoppable! The only ones still awake are me and Truck-chan. I would expect her to be asleep too. She’s never moved an inch! But, she keeps the beat and her bright eyes light up once when the sun goes down.
“BEEP BEEP BEEP!”
“Scissors, I win! Scissors, I win! Scissors, I win!”
Unfortunately, I realize that I’ve been beaten by my own logic! I cannot keep throwing scissors! My claw is becoming numb from the constant pounding. The pain is unbearable! Could these motions cause carpal tunnel syndrome? But, I still will not lose!
Truck-chan sits there, unmoved and unmoving. She doesn’t even have a bead of sweat. Doesn’t she ever get tired? Perhaps I've judged this challenge poorly.
“BEEP BEEP BEEP!”
“Scissors, I win! Scissors, I win! Scissors, I win!”
When the light of dawn winks into my eyes, I know I can’t last much longer. My fingers are too weary from the constant motions. They are numb to the point that I can’t even feel them. Pound, Pound, Pound! Unfold to Scissors. Refold to Rock. Pound, Pound, Pound!
“BEEP BEEP BEEP!”
“Scissors, I win! Scissors, I win! Scissors, I win!”
Then, suddenly, the beeping stops. Truck-chan is silent.
“W-w-what? Nooo!” I look down at my hand and wail out in frustration. Although I have said the word scissors, I can see that my trembling claw has refused to take the desired motion. My hand is a rock? Paper beats rock! I have lost!