[author’s note: dragons don’t use contractions (do not -> don’t) when speaking. if you catch any contractions used in the dialogue, please don’t hesitate to correct it. also, the frequent references to water don’t have anything to do with the title; it’s the other way around.

Your name is Drew, and you are dead.

You feel dead, at least. You have just finished your daily laps in the Tetherdown community pool, doing 7 more than usual. The large, grey tiled chamber is dry of other dragons. Your every sound echoes back as you haul yourself out of the blue-green water. The area closed almost half a chime ago, but the staff tend to make an exception for you when draining the area of poolgoers. This is partly because you’re a regular on good terms with the staff, but also, you think, because you are disabled. Or rather, “disabled”.

You have wings. Out of the vast sea of genes that you could’ve been given, your parents’ sex resulted in the one combination that would give you these two large, batlike appendages above your shoulders. Purely, you think your wings are pretty poly. As you stagger, rubber-legged, through the flap of the sunroom door, you can’t help but admire their purplish scales and barbed claws in the mirror. They’re a perfect analog to your hide and horns. They look almost natural, although society would disagree.

You slump to the warm tile floor with a heaving sigh. You somewhat regret doing so many laps. But then, more work is healthy and keeps you away from… home. You decide to stop that stream of thought. The ceiling lights and fan grates on the walls are not running. The staff on duty, a cemale named Sever, lay on the floor by the control panel, tapping away at a touchscreen device. Le has been waiting for you, perked up when you walked in.

“Things goin’ down, stinga?” Sever greets you.

“Hello,” you respond. “Can I ask this question again: how have you not been discharged from your job yet?”

“Sink down, stinga. I know when n’ when not to leak slurs.” Sever tilts ler head. “Although you have not hit puberty yet, is that right? So I can not go calling’ you a stinga yet.”

“My tail started developing a couple of cycles ago. So you are poly. Insult away, hen. And dry me off when you are done, please.”

Sever laughs. “You have got it, bat!” Le sits up and turns a couple dials on the control panel. The lights glow. Warm light and gentle breeze fills the room. Sever lays back down to mess with ler touchscreen device again.

As the relaxing, sunlike heat dries you, you return to your original internal dialogue. It was too negative. It can be hard to convince others to consider a weird birth defect as “poly”. Especially when the unnatural appendages brush them in school hallways, or smack them in the face when you’re involuntarily gesturing. The awkwardness of wings is a boon, in your opinion. It lets you know who and who not to be friends with, depending on whether a dragon shudders or shrinks back in a “subtle” movement when you touch them.

Having succeeded in turning a negative train of thought into a positive one, you decide to just relax on the floor and pass the time. You’d like to keep as much time away from home as possible. Going out to swim is one of your main strategies of escape.

Your thoughts devolve into blurry images of winged touchscreen devices writing song lyrics as you begin to drain off. Just as your eyes begin to sink closed, Sever speaks. “Woah there, birdie. You are not gonna be sinkin’ asleep in here.”

“Mmm… oh. I have remorse. I think that I am dry.”

“Then git. You are trespassin’ on closed property.”

You labor to your feet. “Well is well, mestro. I will drain out now.”

“Yeah, you betta. Next time I am gonna report your proboscis to the Sharps.”

You grin. “There is no need. My family has already been cloudlisted.”

“Uh… what?”

Your smile vanishes. Whoops. You stumble out the doorway.

----------------------------------------

You wobble over the bridges that cross the slideways, heading to the ring that leads to your den. Your mood gradually darkens in anticipation of rejoining your family. It’s fourth season, and the trees dotting the different town rings are just starting to bud.

Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

You scold yourself for letting your situation slip. Is Sever going to start pitying you now? Ler casual, romantic insults are always a fun reprieve from the unwanted pity of others. You’ve felt a connection with ler and Weston, but pity isn’t going to make it stronger.

You reach the fourth ring of the town and flop into the slideway. The news headlines of dragons being crushed by the machinery or flayed by the riding belts used to scare you, but over time you realized that the slideways are actually very safe as long as you’re not an idiot.

Hmm.. you guess that could count as a positive thought? You’re definitely not dumb enough to get injured on this thing. Maybe dumb is a bad word to use there. You’re no Coco Carson Smith, but you’re also not a cloudbrained Director. You’re uncaffeinated, you’re mostly mentally healthy, and you’re mostly awake. Splash. Another train of thought made more open-minded.

Of course, part of the reason you don’t get hurt is because you only take the slow lane. At least, you only do when you’re heading home. Anything to avoid seeing… nope. Negative thought.

You scan around for romantic faces sliding by to distract yourself. Your eyes detect only stares. Stares, and eyes that are pointedly not looking at you, which is just as annoying. You catch a seemingly genuine smile of greeting directed your way, from a greyish cemale on the medium lane. You don’t recognize ler, and le is about your age. You immediately start to form an attraction between ler and one of your friends… no. A random passerby; not going to happen. Le probably doesn’t even like you.

You pass by increasingly run-down wood buildings. Buildings that probably didn’t belong to the dragons who lived in them, because the residents had traded off all of the buildings’ shares in order to support themselves. The town Directors probably owned half of the buildings in this ring. The flick of a tail could render dozens of dragons homeless should the Sharps decide to claim the residences.

You slide past a procreation pavilion, a large, clean white circle of tile that Your house is approaching. Your parents would probably be meeting on that pavilion every round or so if they ever left the house. Their trio had ended rounds ago. They should have sought out more connections and entered a relationship web. Then they could be happy and supported, and you could live in a fawnhome like a normal fawn.

Your house scrolls into view among the leaning, shacklike homes split by narrow brown strips of grass. You flop off the slideway, more limply than when you got on. You skid slightly on the shock absorbers lining the edge. You stand up and trudge towards the faded, splintered facade of your building.

The door flap has no lock. Your parents traded away the lock’s voucher when they bought recording equipment a round ago. Or maybe two rounds ago. The seasons sort of blend together in your mind. The new owner of the lock, some absolute bird living off in Vividino, decided to claim the lock. A locksmith arrived the next day to remove it, and since then your door has swung freely from its hinges. Storms are a nightmare.

You duck under the door flap and into the room. A dusty kitchen greets you, the counter piled with takeout and the fridge slid open. The trough and a stack of investment boxes sit at the far wall, and to your right, your parents are working in the recording studio. “Studio”.

Your girlparent is currently spitting lyrics that the trio surely spent cycles crafting.

“We break your back

We’re bats

We’re on caff

We’re really floatin’ crazy

Crazy like a bat on caff

Oh snap, where back to that

We—“

“Wow, bats.” you gush. “Gerry G would kill for lyrics like that.”

“—ped in plast—“ Your girlparent, Villa, freezes, registering your existence. “You little bird!”

“Hello.” You splash a grin. “How is work going?”

“I hate you!”

“So I have heard.”

“I am hard at work giving you a future! You will not interrupt!”

“I am kind of making my own future. I am working hard in school, fishing for job opportunities in the future, and researching good places to move and escape our cloudlist. I guess that does not compare to writing hit songs, though, Villa Buyers Tess: the next Mestro Maddie?”

Villa growls and gives you a murderous look. “I will rip off your wings.”

You give a practiced yawn. “That one’s a drop overused.”

Villa hisses. “Get. Out.”

“Get out and go… where, exactly? The curfew is in… twenty moments, I believe?”

Your doeparent Ruth watches you in silence, calculation. You somehow know le has something planned.

“Ya know what she means,” Your boyparent, Dallas, snarls. “Git to your bedcushion.”

You saunter approximately 5 paces and settle down into your bedcushion in the corner. Your parents keep their cushions by their “studio”. They placed yours as far away from them as possible— in the far corner, right beside the trough. The trough leads to an underground pit, because this part of the town was never updated with running water. It tends to smell on humid days.

“So.” you begin. “Shut it.” hisses Dallas.

“Have you made any profits from your lates—“

“I said shut it!”

“You’re still recording.”

“Ya are not eatin’ this day!”

“Well is well. That is what school is for. That, and giving yourself a future.”

“Poly, then.” Ruth responds with a wicked grin. “You will no longer go to school.”

You freeze.

“After all, it is a bit taxing for us, income-wise. It might be a better financial decision.”

“You can not… No, it would not.”

“Why do you want to go to school anyway? Is it not a drop boring?”

“No, it is not. I want to go so I can get us out of this hole we are in.”

“You mean, you want to get yourself out.”

“No, us.”

“I see. In that case, you can stay in school.”

You hesitate. This sounds suspicious.

Ruth continues staring and calculating. “We have been meaning, for quite a while now, to ask about all the caffeine you have been shipping lately.”

You don’t know what le’s talking about. “I have not—Wha—?“

“You know, just distributing around the neighborhood is not going to get you a lot of income.”

“But I do not—You…”

“You know where most of the country’s caffeine is sold?”

“No. No.”

“That’s right. In schools. If you plan to help us get out of the hole, shipping a few packages around the school would be a good way to start.”

“I will not.”

“You will. And if not, I am afraid we will have to report you.”

…No.