#Infrasonic Sound

[plainclothesdisaster]

DPxDC Mechanical Engineer Danny

Danny caught the attention of Batman while studying at Gotham University for his alternative energy projects. He’s hired right out of college to work on the Watchtower.

He shows absolutely no tell of his abilities till there’s a dire situation- Flash’s electric discharge messes with one of his projects in progress and the whole base would have lost air pressure if he hadn’t done a quick fix using telekinesis and ice.

Of course Batman notices.

Batman assumes the worst- he suspects Danny’s a rogue of some kind, someone who has infiltrated the Justice League with an ulterior motive. But he can’t just fire Danny now- he’s the only one who knows how the new Watchtower energy source works. Plus, he’s not letting Danny go anywhere until he’s figured out his true motives.

Cue Batman subtly testing Danny- tossing things at him to trigger inhuman fast reflexes, having him lift too-heavy machinery, setting up convenient opportunities to steal or snoop or otherwise be up to no good. Danny does take advantage but only once, to use a computer terminal with unlocked clearance. He didn’t plant any bugs that Barman could find, and he otherwise kept up his powerless civilian act perfectly.

Still, Batman’s not satisfied. He brings an infrasonic sound emitter to Danny’s lab one day, and that, of all things, is what gets Danny to break.

“I know what you’re doing,” Danny admits with a sigh, finally. “If you’re really that suspicious of me, I can leave, but I kinda like my job so I’d prefer not to. The benefits are insane compared to what’s standard.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Sure. yeah. How about you turn off the freaking noise generator and we can talk?”

“Hm.” Batman obliges, and he takes the stool next to Danny at his gesture.

“Number one, I’m not a meta. Despite all the data and conclusions you’ve probably drawn otherwise. Number two, I’m on your side. I’m here to work on the base, that’s it. I follow your rules to the letter.”

“The-“

“The classified files I looked at? Yeah that was the one exception. You already know what I looked at, I’m sure, but maybe you haven’t figured out why. It goes back to point one- I may not be a meta, but I am something that organization, the GIW, cares about. I looked at your files on them to sus out your relations. Seeing as I don’t particularly love being the victim to twelve degrees of human rights violations if I can avoid it.”

“Hm.” The Ghost Intelligence Ward was one of many government agencies that the Justice League hadn’t worked closely with. But they also hadn’t been flagged for Justice League investigation. Danny’s comments made him doubt that call.

“Any other questions?”

“If you’re not a meta, what are you?”

“I’m an engineer. A pretty decent one. And I’d really, really like it to stay that way.”

Batman considers, and ultimately lets him stay. He likes Danny (everyone likes Danny), and it would be a massive pain in the ass to replace him. He really is a good engineer.

It’s only much later that his faith in Danny is repaid in spades.

Batman finds Danny on the Watchtower command bridge. Alarms are blaring, the station has been knocked out of orbit, out the window there’s shrapnel floating everywhere as a space battle rages around them.

On the station it’s chaos. Technicians run around, shouts from the med bay, sparks from the walls.

Batman and Danny stand at the main controls, watching the battle outside, stoic, unmoving.

Wonder Woman’s harried voice crackles through on coms: “We need backup.”

“There is no more backup.” Batman replies, while looking pointedly at Danny.

“What?”

Batman doesn’t move.

“What.”

“The impact from Darkseid’s initial attack should have sent this station on a terminal trajectory toward the planet.”

“Well. We aren’t currently plummeting to our deaths, so turns out it didn’t do that.”

“You did something.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You’re lying.”

“Maybe Superman nudged us back on course in all the chaos.”

“I’ve been watching the trackers. No one else with the capability has come near the station.”

“Can’t you just be grateful we got lucky?”

Sounds of peril screech over the coms. Danny’s face scrunches.

“Luck had nothing to do with it. As it is now, we are going to lose this fight.”

“Isn’t there anyone else you can call?”

“I’m asking you. You can help, can’t you?”

The glare-off lasts a long moment more before Danny breaks.

“Fuck. Fuckity fuck.” Danny runs his hands through his hair. “Shit. You don’t know what you’re asking.”

“I’m asking you to save this and countless other worlds from a genocide. I’m also asking you to save my friends.”

Danny looks at him, hard, weary, and with a kind of deep resolve that feels far too ancient to be on the face of a supposed twenty-something.

“Fine. Fine. Okay.” He steps back and transforms. If Batman is surprised when he shakes off his human appearance like an old coat, he doesn’t show it. But what’s undeniable is the being in Danny’s place has the unmistakable presence of power.

“No one else can know.” His voice echoes in a way that’s sonically impossible, both sounding closer and further away than he should be.

He pulls a gear-shaped medallion seemingly out of thin air and puts it over his head in one motion.

“If I get in trouble for this, I’m blaming you.”

He vanishes. Outside, the shape of the battle changes instantly. The stars seem to glow brighter as the arms of the galaxy flash with the colors of the aurora. Then it’s like the void of space itself comes alive. It moves the spaceships back like they’re toys, plucking them from one side of the field to the other. It finds Darkseid at the heart of the chaos and massive arms of nothingness and darkness wrap around him. He’s screaming as it swallows him whole.

His armies scatter. The battle turns. The JL deal with the stragglers, but the air of relief is palpable.

Danny reappears next to Batman, once again donning his grease-stained coveralls. Arms folded.

“Happy?”

It took all of five minutes. Less, probably. Batman tamps down a thousand questions.

“Thank you.”

“I’m gonna need two weeks off minimum.” Danny snaps. “One to deal with the bureaucratic nightmare you’ve just caused me, and another to recover from the headache.”

Batman blanks. “Granted.”

Danny sighs. “And I’m not fixing the station until I’m back. It won’t fall out of the sky as is. Make up whatever excuse you want.”

“Done.” He considers. “I would prefer to tell them the truth. That you saved us.”

Danny glares. “I’m not supposed to save you. I made a pact not to use my power to influence the mortal realm.”

“A pact with who?”

Danny rolls his eyes. “The embodiment of Time. The concept of Justice. Among others.” He smirks at Batman’s confusion.

“And what, exactly, does that make you?”

He stands, framed by the space window, haloed by the stars. “I’ll give you three guesses.”

Batman frowns.

“Look. I like you guys. I like working on your base. I like supporting the work you do. But you can not go factoring me in to any of your plans or contingencies. This was a one time thing.

“So to answer your question again: I’m an engineer.”

[jayrockin]

Are centaurs capable of laughing? And if so, how?

Humans and centaurs have amusement responses that are fairly similar, in that it's derived from an exaggerated playfighting "pant." Laughing humans vocalize loudly while they rapidly pant, and don't have any built in muscle response besides the diaphragm contracting; centaurs will release a short loud pant from their excurrent nostrils and reflexively flick their head upwards. If something is especially funny they might do it several times, usually spaced apart by 2-3 seconds. It's not audibly voiced to humans and would sound just like a whoosh of air. In infrasonic it's a quick bark. They also do this in response to tickling. As for the other sophonts... avians might bob their head and flick their ears forwards in amusement, but do not have a vocal reaction. They seem to have more culturally influenced amusement responses than something resembling centaur and human reflexive laughter. They have no positive tickle response, just discomfort and reflexive fear of being attacked (like a milder version of your response to something approaching your eye).

Bug ferrets emit a high pitched squeal and will drum with their hands when amused, or tickled. Bug ferrets playfighting will squeal and drum on each other. Instead of being derived from a pant, it appears their amusement response is derived from a distress scream and defensive swatting. Actual distress screams tend to sharply climb upwards in pitch, while amusement screams start high and then fall down into a grunt before starting again.

Scuds will express amusement via a facial expression and excited behavior but do not appear to have any specific vocal or reflexive responses comparable to laughter. Hopping is a common response to release the excited energy but cultural context is important to understand their responses.

[discommunicator]

Sound Witch Eris

She's master of vocal mimicry who can precisely synthesize any sound that exists in the world, or literally any sound whether it ever existed or not. Technically she doesn't have actual vocal cords but can speak by her own, not in human-like way though, she just let her mouth open and the words directly come from the unique apparatus inside her neck.

Her physical ability is not only limited to mimicking and creating sounds, she can make them either infrasonic or ultrasonic, or amp them up to supernatural volume enough to break things apart. In parallel with her hex the sonic wave can turn into super precision disintegration tool.

Eris herself has a calm and serious personality so her destructive side rarely stands out unless provoked. Since she has excellent hearing on a par with her vocal ability, she often helps peer witches who got musical hobbies.

There are hidden eyes on her chest but she barely rely on them as she primarily utilizes echolocation and the sense of smell to perceive the world. Her eyesight is not that bad, however, she has total color blindness.

[kaijutegu]

I was talking with my friend Mina last night about how alligators use infrasonic calls and extremely low rumbly bass to communicate long-distance, and one thing led to another and now I'm wondering:

I'm not kidding about the classical thing, although it was in crocodiles, not alligators. When a crocodile was exposed to Bach's Brandenburg Concerto #4 in an MRI, more brain areas were activated compared to the areas activated during natural sounds. The experiment suggests that the ability to process complex sounds isn't characteristic of birds and mammals, and that it likely developed early in vertebrate evolution.

But what the experiment didn't show was whether or not they ENJOYED it (although who doesn't enjoy the Brandenburg concertos, they're stellar), and that's what I want to know. If I was playing music for an alligator, what would they like to hear? If I gave an alligator the aux, what would they play?

[hog-facts]

Intriguingly, research into the unusual vocalizations of long-serving Members of the British Parliament has unearthed a peculiar biological parallel with the common domestic hog (Sus scrofa domesticus). A landmark 19th-century study, spearheaded by the surprisingly porcine-obsessed naturalist and Parliamentarian, Sir Alistair Finch, posited that veteran MPs developed an extraordinary modification within their laryngeal structures. Finch meticulously documented what he termed the "Grumble Gland," a dense collection of highly elastic vocal tissue situated just anterior to the thyroid cartilage. This unique biological development, he argued, was remarkably similar in histological structure and function to the specialized mucous glands found in the pharynx of mature boars, which are critical for producing their characteristic, resonant grunts and bellows.

Sir Alistair's initial observations, often conducted with an unusual zeal from the Strangers' Gallery, noted that the “Grumble Gland” seemed to activate during moments of intense parliamentary debate, particularly when an MP was expressing disapproval or a low-frequency, sustained lament. He theorized it allowed senior parliamentarians to generate a rich, sonorous "parliamentary rumble" – a deep, guttural sound that could effectively permeate the acoustics of the House of Commons, subtly conveying dissent or agreement without the need for overtly loud declarations. This vocal adaptation, he mused, mirrored the boar's ability to communicate complex social cues through nuanced grunts that ripple through a sounder.

Further anatomical investigations, albeit somewhat ethically questionable by modern standards, revealed that this "Grumble Gland" was most pronounced in MPs with over two decades of continuous service, suggesting a use-dependent physiological adaptation. Its primary function, according to Finch's controversial treatise "The Bestial Backbenches," was to enable a form of biological "acoustical cushioning," allowing veteran parliamentarians to absorb and then subtly amplify the collective mood of the chamber, much like a boar using its guttural sounds to rally or pacify its kin. This unique biological makeup, therefore, was not merely for projection, but for a more primal, almost infrasonic, form of political communication.

[neobiohazardus]

KaiJune2025 - Day1: Amtrilli

Kaijune 2025 - Day 1: Drill For being the day 1 kaiju, I wen through like 8 different concepts for this guy lol

[This is the prompt list I'm following]

=====

BIO: Thought to have come about because of the many underground battles of the previous year (especially ones like the Rookorigan), underground kaiju known as the Amtrilli have become more common, causing multiple pipe failures and sinkholes across Europe. Thought to eat smaller eusocial kaiju like Wevioret or Hilongam (which have recently been found in both Europe and Asia for unknown reasons), Amtrilli are some of the few kaiju who have actively eaten humans due to our similar size to their prey species. As such, Eco-K has set up stations around human settlements that will blast infrasonic sound into the ground if one is found to be approaching in order to keep them away whilst not killing them outright. The thought behind this is to eventually teach the kaiju to stay away from these locations, similar to what has happened to many migratory bird species with sound pollution.

It's currently unknown exactly how these kaiju have been able to spin their teeth/mouthparts to drill into soil, but they only do it to probe into hard around to feel around for food.

[marvelshifter111]

Could I request a sound manipulation power pack?

Dude i was literally thinking about doing this next ❤️

Superpower pack - sound manipulation

Sound manipulation - User can mimic, intensify, hush, and distort, as well warp, strengthen, echo, speed up, and slow down sound, using it as a powerful physical force and high-speed movement.

Sonic Scream - The ability to emit a deafening, sonic blast from one's voice.

Soundwaves Manipulation -The ability to generate and control soundwaves, manipulating their amplitude, frequency, and direction.

Ultrasonic Communication - The ability to communicate through supersonic and infrasonic frequencies.

Voice manipulation - The user is freely capable of manipulating their voice, allowing them to control their voices to imitate sounds of creatures such as animal noises and explosions or increase or decrease the tone of their voice.

Sound mimicry - The power to transform into or have a physical body made up of solid sound. (Dunno sounded dramatic, but imagine being like see through and like when you turn that painful screech is heard, idk sounds cool)

Siren song - The power to emit irresistible sound that lures anyone who hears it towards the user.

Vibro-telekinesis - The user can move, manipulate or otherwise interact with matter using vibrations.

Vocal mind control - The power to control people with the power of one's voice.

Enchanted hearing - Users of this power have their hearing abilities enhanced far beyond the human limit.

[raccoonfallsharder]

amoransia.⋆☁︎:･꧂ preview

[anticipated 4/16] ❤︎‬❤︎

18+ only | rocket x f!oc | 28/40+ | wip | wordcount: pending. masterlist, notes, & moodboard | navigation see warnings and art below. | NEW! rocket combs pearl's hair

nebula gives rocket advice. pearl picks up where she left off.

“Look at you,” he repeats. His voice is riddled with too many emotions for her to identify, especially when she’s feeling like this: all untethered, only jerked back into her body by the scorching kiss of his touches. “Like a little frickin’ toy I can do whatever I want with.”

Her lips part, and she has to force herself not to pant. He hasn’t let go of her nipple — rubbing his thumb back and forth across the pink button, still pinched tight between the knuckles of his first two fingers. His voice drops even lower than before, a smoky-deep register that sends infrasonic vibrations up through her core. “You’re all for me, aren’t you, kitten?” He tugs sharply on her nipple, and her intended agreement gets lost in a wordless wail.  “I don’t gotta share my little doll with anybody. There ain’t nobody you want the way you want me.” Another sharp tug, but she’s prepared this time. “N-nobody,” she stammers out, rising a little on her knees when he pulls. Her pussy clenches on nothing, agonizingly empty, and she can feel more wetness slip out of her and glaze her inner thighs.  “That’s right. My little fuckdoll-wife.” Oh. A desperate little sound trips up her xylophone-ribs and she’s suddenly drenched, dripping everywhere down her thighs and calves. A feverish flush melts in her abdomen and floods everywhere: up into her breasts and cheeks, down to her knees. Her muscles turn buttery and weak and her clit pulses needily. Her scattered, floating thoughts suddenly seize and cling to his words, trying to make sense of them. Has he ever called her that before — his wife? Is it a common colloquialism in the vastness of space, outside of Herbert’s influence? Does it mean anything more than a throw-away little pet-name? She’s been the High Evolutionary’s bride and betrothed for over half of her life, but nothing could have prepared her for how it feels to be called Rocket’s wife.

from chapter twenty-nine. amoransia. ❤︎‬❤︎ ‬ cicatrix masterlist.⋆☁︎:･꧂ navigation | fiction masterlist

a story about scars. two survivors learn about themselves, each other, hope, and the universe. a freakish little monster visits the high evolutionary’s bride on her wedding night. an adventure of intergalactic proportions ensues. aka raccoons make plans; the universe laughs.

ART: pearl’s character design | pearl & rocket’s bunk | heartspur scene | chapter one. nemotia. art by @/frostedwitch| rocket & pearl snuggle | adorable pearl x rocket selfie by @/starriidreams | sexy, evocative waterlily pearl x rocket painting by @/hibatasblog ♡ | NEW! rocket combs pearl's hair

WARNINGS for this chapter: d/s dynamics, safeword discussion, blindfold, subspace, fellatio, come-eating, edging, overstim. praise. mild degradation (use of slut/whore, affectionate). dirty talk. brief mention of pussy-spanking, face-fucking. aftercare.

fluff ✮ | spice ✩ | some smut ❤︎‬ | much smut ❤︎‬❤︎‬

banners & rose dividers by @/saradika-graphics | pearl dividers by @/thecutestgrotto | moodboard by me!

[theradioghost]

anyway dinotopia headcanons go

spinosaurian language is highly divergent from all other saurian languages, and is notoriously difficult to learn, consisting of many clicks, hisses, whoops, whistles, barks, and infrasonic thrums that can only be properly expressed when the speaker is partially submerged. some words have developed ‘dry’ equivalents which can be heard and understood by non-spinosaurs or just out of water but in most cases both speakers must know the other’s language because of incompatible anatomy. some spinosaurs find themselves needing to adopt ‘dry’ names, which are also often more feminine-sounding, as the deeper parts of the language are somewhat ancestrally derived from mating calls used by males. my spinosaurus OC Tak-Tak-Kaa-Tss-Haa is extremely embarrassed by her (by spino standards) almost comically girly-sounding name

in general dinosaurs with more display features carry that instinct over to their clothing and some clades are notoriously flamboyant. many tailors specialize in hadrosaurs and ceratopsians are known for their jewelry. a few decades ago a dolphinback introduced the protoceratopsids and psittacosaurs to nail polish and since then it has become a common joke that you can recognize translators by their elaborately painted and pierced quills. scalier species love their body paint; feather painting is uncommon except for special occasions (too annoying to get out) but dyes abound, although elder theropods often tsk-tsk over the damage that bleaching does to structural feathers on wings and tails. patterns shaved into protofeathers over the body are also popular but tattoos less so, especially since on many species they don’t take well anywhere but the thinner skin and smaller scales of the face.

receiving rooms are a common feature of homes, with large doors and modular furniture that can be adapted to many shapes and sizes of visitor, depending on climate even including retractable roofs. for those with smaller homes, public areas and common buildings as well as inns and such often have receiving rooms that can be booked (commonly featuring a stack of local takeout menus and a messenger or two hanging around the door). it isn’t uncommon to be friends with someone for decades and never see the rest of their house for the simple reason that you don’t fit in it. for some this makes the private spaces feel especially sacrosanct, to the point that it would be weird to come in even if you did fit.

there’s an entire and intricate culture around conversation pieces for receiving rooms. small gardens, flower arranging, artworks, whatever. bonsai proved VERY popular after their introduction, especially in a population that is on average much longer-lived and so appreciates the decades of time investment involved. there is also a unique artform called Water Music, centering around fountains and water features which produce harmonious chords by various means, including the ringing of carefully shaped bowls a la Céleste Boursier-Mougenot’s clinamen or water falling onto tuned metal.

skybax riders are seldom if ever over 5’9”, notorious for low alcohol tolerance (low body weight + an expectation to be ready to fly at most times), and fiercely protective of their partners. thanks to the difference in cultural norms, while drunk people being stupid is by no means unusual in Dinotopia, drunk people getting into fights is stereotypically (not totally without reason) attributed to the local population of socially isolated jockey-postman-pilots. therefore, the tropey joke image of a scary giant guy in a bar is reversed; the shortest drunk guy is the one everyone is worried about.

a surprising number of species have actually developed the much-fabled ability to pronate their hands, seemingly along with the development of sapience and tool use (more expressive facial musculature is also not uncommon, especially in species that aren't beaked, although it tends to be more limited to around the eyes thanks to the ancestral limitations of saurian lips). plenty of others haven't, though, and everything from tool and basket handles to hand rails, canes, and cooking utensils come in a wide variety of shapes to accomodate hands that can't turn downwards.

one of the hardest devices to adapt to differing saurian physiologies was the typewriter (which is still not widespread partly for this reason, but also because Dinotopia has resisted industrialization and outside of population centers it's harder to get a replacement part or an ink ribbon. they've still become massively useful where they do exist). the much smaller set of characters made some aspects easier but one surprising result was the invention of a typing device specifically for ankylosaurs, which is held in the mouth and operated with their unusually mobile (for dinosaurs) tongues.

in combination with the second point, the Dinotopian tendency to hang onto and combine the fashions of every human culture and era they've gotten examples from has been BLASTED by the influence of the '70s and '80s. sequins and rhinestones both very much predate the 20th century and they have been adopted with gusto by both humans and saurians. full-body bedazzling is not unheard of. you haven't lived until you've seen someone in a riding doublet and flare pants talking to a sequined stegosaurus

[1solone]

Most of physical reality is invisible to us, according to science.

95% of the cosmos may be forever beyond our ability to sense or detect it.

Our eyes detect light within a narrow range of 380-770 nanometers, while our ears register sound between 20 Hz and 20 kHz.

Beyond these limits, ultraviolet and infrared light remain invisible, and ultrasonic or infrasonic sounds go unheard. Yet, these unseen and unheard frequencies exist all around us, influencing nature and our bodies in ways we may not realize.

From radio waves to deep-sea whale calls, countless signals move through the air and environment, unnoticed by human senses. Modern technology, like infrared cameras and ultrasonic sensors, helps bridge this sensory gap, revealing an unseen world filled with vital information. Still, what else might we be missing?

For example, neutrinos are abundant subatomic particles that pass through almost everything — including our bodies — and only very rarely interact with matter.

And we haven't even started to talk about things like dark matter and dark energy.

Learn more:

1) https://science.nasa.gov/ems/09_visiblelight/

2) https://science.nasa.gov/universe/overview/building-blocks/#dark-matter

[bean-calls-out-congress]

Ren- Chapter 1

Ren Barcas’s world had never been quiet. Even though he was deaf to the sounds most people could hear- humans talking, bird songs, sirens—but his world thrummed with its own music: the rhythmic pulse of footsteps on forest paths, raindrops hitting the dirt like drumbeats, the infrasonic sound of thunder that only he can hear, and the alluring, constant tone of the syren song coiled inside him like a second heart. Every day that he has to keep it hidden is harder than the last. He swears the song has a mind of its own. Everyday it grows more like a caged animal-sad, desperate, and dangerous. He hopes it’s not like a muscle- which grows weak or completely stops working unless you use it. He’s not sure what he’ll do if that happens. Even though it’s not living or sentient, he feels it’s pain, and longs just to let loose. To sing and play music to his heart's content. But he can’t. That would bring unnecessary attention not just to himself, but to his twin sister Summi. To his parents, to his cousins, to his youngest sibling. And to Mateo. He won’t let anything happen to them. So he clenches his fists and vows to keep it concealed for as long as it takes, and hopes he’s strong enough to keep it up. As he walks down the street towards the bandshell for his bass rehearsal before the concert on Friday, he sees a flyer on the lamp post.

“E.C.E (Empowered Cooperation Enforcement) would like to remind YOU to be a stand up citizen and remind your empowered friends, family, and neighbors to enroll in the Empowered Persons Registry. Remember: If you see something, SAY something. Thank you for serving your country.”

It’s getting worse. Ren thinks with a scowl. Ever since Dylan Omp became president of the United States. Empty headed, over-compensating jerk. He starts to shove the fear mongering poster in his pocket when he feels the coin. It's been passed down in his family for many generations, from son to son. And now it's his. He traces his finger along the lightning bolt shaped engraving because that helps ground him when things get too much. And things are always too much. Especially when you're a 19 year old Black kid with something incredible and half the government hates you for it, and the other half is too scared to do anything about it due to fear of losing reelection. It reminds him of a quote he saw on some post once. "All that is necessary for the triumph of evil is that the good do nothing."

He finally arrives at the park where the rounded bandshell stands, and he heads over to help Ann set up, and his heart flutters when he sees Mateo is already here.

"Hi, Ren. Good to see you," Ann signs with a smile. "Why don't you help Mateo and

I set up these chairs?"

"Sounds good." Ren signs back, and he walks over to Mateo and taps him on the

shoulder. Mateo turns around and his face breaks out in a giant grin.

"Ren!" he exclaims, and gives him a giant hug. Mateo switches to ASL and signs,

"You're going to do great on Friday! You've been practicing all month."

"I sure hope so"

"You will! You know how amazing you are, and I can't wait!"

"Thanks. I'm just happy we get to play together."

"Same! It's going to be great! We're like an ultimate musical power couple."

Ren laughs and signs, "You're such a dork."

"But I'm YOUR dork. You love me for it."

Ren grins, and they get to work setting up the chairs for the other musicians. Once they all arrive, Ann stands up front and starts speaking.

"As you all know, this is one of the many times of great uncertainty for the world. There is a great deal of unknowns that we're all learning to face together, but if you've ever taken a history class, you know that this is not one of humanity's strong suits. And that is why music is so important. We must inspire hope and unity if we ever wish to leave these dark times. So this performance will be about just that: protest, fighting back, hope, and unity. With that in mind, I believe Ren deserves first chair." With that, she stares right at Ren and smiles. "Now let's begin."

When Mateo translates, Ren's jaw drops in shock.

"Congratulations! I knew you were awesome!" and Mateo gives him another hug.

I can't wait to tell everyone. I guess it’s true that even in dark times, there’s a silver lining.

[jayrockin]

Hi! What is the typical vocal range for centaurs? Do they associate higher pitched voices with youth/size/gender?

Kid centaurs are cartoon chipmunk pitch. Adults tend to be in the pitch range of an adult human who's only been through estrogen puberty, or higher. They might sound more like children to a human ear. Their trunk voices are generally not sexually dimorphic except for males being smaller on average and thus slightly higher pitched. This is more heavily associated with ethnicity than gender, since nomads are smaller and higher pitched than settlers.

Buuuut adult female centaurs actually do have a dimorphic infrasonic voice, the shape of the cartilage in their excurrent nostrils is effected by puberty. The sounds they can make with their excurrent nostrils are deeper on average than males and their threat "bark" is louder.

[gallifreyinstituteforlearning]

Can Gallifreyans or Time Lords understand what an Earth cat is saying? I would love to get a translator for my kitty

Can Gallifreyans or Time Lords understand what an Earth cat is saying?

🧠 Advanced Hearing Abilities

Gallifreyans, with their superhuman hearing range from around 12Hz to 30kHz-ish, can perceive sounds that are inaudible to humans. This includes both infrasonic sounds, like avalanches and earthquakes, and ultrasonic sounds, like the whirring of electronics. So, if your cat's meows include any high-frequency components, a Gallifreyan would definitely pick up on them.

🐱 Feline Communication

Now, let's talk cats. While cats primarily communicate through body language and scent, they also use a variety of vocalisations to convey different messages. Here's how a Gallifreyan might handle it:

Meows: Cats use meows to communicate with humans, each varying in pitch and duration to indicate different needs or emotions. Gallifreyans would pick up on the subtle nuances in these meows much better than humans, who need lots of scientists to work that out.

Purring: Cats purr for various reasons, including being content, self-soothing, or even when they're in distress. Gallifreyans could likely differentiate these contexts by the sound's frequency and intensity.

Hisses and Growls: These sounds indicate fear, aggression, or discomfort. A Gallifreyan's acute hearing would easily detect these warning signals.

Ultrasonic Communication: Cats, particularly kittens, can produce ultrasonic vocalisations that are beyond the range of human hearing but well within a Gallifreyan's capabilities. These sounds are often used to communicate with their mothers or to express distress.

😸 Doctor Wholittle

Because Gallifreyans can hear higher frequencies, they can also understand some forms of animal communication without artificial support. For example, they can comprehend dolphin calls by recognising how certain sounds relate to specific moods and messages.

A Gallifreyan's superior control over their larynx means they have excellent imitation abilities. So, if they spent enough time practising, they might be able to mimic the sounds of a cat, potentially allowing for a rudimentary form of 'conversation'.

🏫 So...

While Gallifreyans might not understand every nuance of a cat's speech (let's be honest, even cats don't always know what they want), their advanced hearing and vocal abilities would allow them to get a sense of a cat's conversation and respond.

Related:

💬|🫁🐱Can Gallifreyans purr?: If Gallifreyans can purr, and the social implications of purring.

💬|🐾🐱What could be some biological traits of Gin-Seng cats?: Looking at who the Gin-Seng cats are, their biology, and their place on Gallifrey and in society.

🤔|👁️🐱Do Gallifreyans share any biology with cats?

Hope that helped! 😃

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[captainswaglord500]

Pushantan/Rotlen

Kingdom: Animalia

Phylum: Chordata

Subphylum: Vertebrata

Infraphylum: Gnathostomata

Clade: Placodermi

Clade: Antiarchi

Clade: Euantiarcha

Clade: Xenodontimorpha

Class: Xenodontida

Order: Prenocaudata

Family: Phrynorhynchidae

Genus: Phrynorhynchus

Speices: P. apintajara (“toad beak of Apintajara" [/apiⁿtəd͡ʒarə/, a shapeshifting demon in the local folklore])

Ancestral species: possibly Bothriolepis ornata

Temporal range: late Miocene to recent (6.5 mya - present)

Information:

Though this creature may look cute and innocent on the exterior, do not let that fool you, as P. apintajara is actually a highly-aggressive predator. A monstrous, terrestrial antiarch-derived placoderm competing with the likes of theropods and pseudosuchians for the niche of apex predator, this creature is exceptionally territorial and does not readily tolerate other large predators, readily attacking on sight and regularly destroying the eggs and nests of other large predators if it comes across them. Lightweight in build, this creature is limber, flexible, and quick on its toes, able to run down prey which would tire out similarly-sized theropods with ease. The second-largest largest member of its clade, the xenodonts or xenodontians (class Xenodontida, “strange teeth” in reference to the sharpened bony plates in its mouth) and the only obligate carnivore within it, this creature’s bony mouth plates can shred through bone like a cleaver and pierce the armor of even some of the most well-defended herbivores. Primarily a sound-based predator, this creature’s eyesight is actually relatively poor, instead using its peculiarly-shaped gill-like pinna to help locate the point of origin for sounds in its environment and pinpoint prey in the dense thicket. In fact, this species’ hearing is superb, able to hear infrasonic frequencies across long distance. 

To aid in blending in with its surroundings, the pushantan has two distinct color morphs, one found in the far northern jungles and lush alpine forests it prefers and the other in the northern dry forest regions it sparsely inhabits. The former tends to have a green and gray body with black bands and stripes on its legs and a lime green throat pouch with black highlights while the latter tends to have orange backs with yellow flanks and a red throat pouch but still the same black bands and stripes. Though it prefers inland forest ecosystems, coastal populations are a notable phenomenon, in part due to the lack of competition from other large littoral zone terrestrial predators. Specializing in hunting land-dwelling prey, its long legs also make it adept as an intertidal predator, wading in the shallows for large fish and other creatures to swim by before striking. Typically occupying an area of a couple hundred square miles, it has been known to migrate long distances in search of food, sometimes up to 50 miles in a day. Diurnal in nature, it prefers to hunt during the day, when its eyesight is less heavily impaired and when some larger theropods are asleep. At night, it sleeps under large trees, typically standing up, something which allows arboreal primates to climb onto the creature’s back and pick off insects and other parasites which might otherwise bother it. In times of ecological stress, this species appears to be able to enter a torpor-like state, significantly slowing down its metabolism to reduce its energy expenditure.

While it is far from the largest land predator in its ecosystem, being only around 20 feet long, 10 feet at the shoulder, and weighing around 1.5-2 tons, this animal makes up for this setback through its highly indiscriminate feeding patterns, something which is rare amongst the region’s large carnivores, who typically experience a high degree of niche partitioning. Willing to consume just about anything it can outrun and overpower, its diet includes a wide variety of terrestrial vertebrates. In the mountains, it primarily hunts camelids, deer, notoungulates, horses, and giraffids, and even large mammalian carnivores like amphicyonids, bears, hyaenodonts, and big cats. The most daring may even go after young proboscideans. At lower elevations, non-avian dinosaurs and other megafaunal up to the size of hadrosaurs may be taken as prey. This habit of indiscriminate opportunistic feeding has led some to dub it a “land shark” of sorts.

Though more vocal than its theropod compatriots, its repertoire of sounds is more limited. A loud, booming sound variously compared to a “croak”, a “roar”, or a “bellow” is used as a broadcast call to notify other large carnivores of its presence as well as to establish its territory. Hissing appears to communicate aggression and a deep-pitched “warbling”/“bugling” bellow or roar has been described as being used as part of a threat display to intimidate  trespassers on its territory. A sound known as “wooning” has been observed as a form of communication with juvenile specimens.

Unusually for their clade, the pushantan is a sequential hermaphrodite, with most individuals being born female before switching their sex and becoming male as they begin to reach sexual maturity. The mechanisms behind this aren’t entirely known, though it’s believed that certain environmental pressures force this change. Mating occurs year-round and courtship rituals are relatively simple: flashing his bright throat pouch, the male bobs his head up and down while strutting alongside the female. If she accepts his courtship, she will begin to mirror his behavior whereas if she refuses, she will simply walk off. Coitus occurs under a tree, wherein the male, using an organ referred to as “claspers” (modified back fins from its aquatic ancestors), stands side-by-side, angling himself so he’s able to penetrate her and deposit his sperm. As pushantans mate for life, both parents will raise the offspring. In a few weeks time, the female will lay her amphibious eggs, formed in clutches of around 5-8, in a stagnant body of water near the shallows, making sure not to the leave the water’s edge while the male hunts for the both of them. In about 2 weeks, the eggs will hatch, giving birth to a larval tadpole-like form known as woggins, which have fins in place of arms and a prominent tail fin. Over the course of nearly 2 months, the woggins will grow to 16 times their birth size, begin to lose their fins, develop feet, and begin to lose functional gills, the gills instead becoming part of their ear. At this point, they can leave the water but most occasionally return to the water to keep their skin moist, as their skin has not yet developed the airtight scales of their adult forms and is thus susceptible to dehydration. By around 4 months, they will no longer need to return to the water, having begun to develop the spiny horns and scutes of its adult form, at which point, the mother will start to take them hunting. By around 9 months, they will be large enough to fend for themselves, and at around 2 years old, they will have reached adult size, followed by reaching sexual maturity in another 1-2 years. From there, the young pushantan can expect to live well into old age, a good 20-25 years in the wild and an even longer 30-38 years in captivity.

Regularly attacking livestock and humans alike, one of this creature’s names in Xenogaean, sykansykantuẋôtôtna (/sɪkansɪkantuʃɔtɔtnə/), literally translates to “(the) great scourge of (the) heavens”, as this species appears to be one of the few large terrestrial predators in Xenogaea which doesn’t naturally fear humans. This has led the creature to be killed on-sight by most farmers and hunted to near-extinction several times throughout its history, with the current population rebounding from a particularly deadly wave of exterminations in the last 19th century. However, with only around 14,000 mature individuals across its entire range, the species is still at imminent risk of extinction. Other names it goes by include the most commonly-used name, pushantan (/puʂaⁿtan/, a word of unknown etymology but likely a loanword from a pre-Xenogaean substrate language), rotlen (/ro̞t͡ɬɛn/, “thorn back”), or, in English, the thornback. Featured prominently in local artwork, particularly in murals and textiles, it is also considered an underdog in the minds of some locals, seen as a creature which prevails in an environment with much larger and more dangerous predators and in an environment in which humans has attempted to all but exterminate them. Peculiarly, it appears to be one of the few creatures in Xenogaea which shows adaptations specifically for hunting other carnivores, suggesting it may have originally evolved to hunt other predators before adapting into a generalized predator. Though this creature shows the ancestral trend towards 8-toed feet like its ancestors, this appears to be a derived trait rather than a true atavism. Within its class, it appears to be a rather derived branch with few close living relatives, with its closest living relative being the land pufferfish, with which it shares part of its range. Out of all the xenodont placoderms, this species’ evolution is the most well-understood, with fossil relatives known all the way back in the Eocene illustrating the slow upsizing of this species over several tens of millions of years in response to environmental pressures, having evolved from humble origins along the shorelines of an inland sea which would later become the Arava Desert before the drying-up of this region forced them to adapt to hunting larger, more land-based prey. The pushantan appears to be the apex of its clades’ current evolution, having emerged in the late Miocene as the largest of its family to ever live. Popular in online circles for its peculiar appearance, some Western internet users have dubbed it an “axolotl-chicken-porcupine”, its likeness being used in reaction images. In higher elevations near the base of the Isanunti Mountains, it has been known to stalk areas around volcanically active geyser vents and mud pools, ambushing animals which become trapped in the mud or injured by the scolding waters. Due to its peculiar appearance, it is in high demand amongst Western private collectors and is one of the most trafficked megafaunal animals in Xenogaea, further endangering its long-term survival as a species. It is one of the first placoderms to have had its entire genome sequenced.

[girldragongizzard]

Chapter 18: Third Megnitude

Sensation probably comes back to me faster than it feels like it does.

If it took longer than a moment or two, I imagine I’d be crushed.

The surface beneath me is hard, slick like varnished wood, curved, and tilted, and my ass is notably higher than my head.

The instant I have control over my muscles, I scramble to my feet, claws scuffing and sliding across what is actually varnished wood. And I blink my eyes and look around.

I appear to be on the starting ramp of a now barely functional roller derby rink, in a darkened arena lit only by the waning sunlight coming in through the high windows and skylights. And the ambient light coming in through the ragged hole in the wall I apparently just came through.

And through that hole, I see glimpses of Säure’s moving body as he lifts himself up from the ruins of his stadium.

And as he lowers his head to turn his eye toward my hole and look at me, I hear and see movement in the corners of the gym around me.

I dart my gaze here and there to take it all in.

Oh, shit. The derby team is here, in the arena with me!

Oh, fuck.

Oh, crap.

“Go,” I say, incapable of giving my voice any urgency, but making it as loud as I can. “Now.”

And then I cough up a little aerosolized flame to emphasize the urgency, and turn and run from the new entrance I made to the building myself.

I slam against the doors on the west side of the room, just before anybody else reaches them, banging them open and damaging the frame in the process.

I do my best to keep my rapidly moving tail away from any calves or thighs as I bolt through the door and scamper down the hallway past the lobby of the hockey rink on my right, and the concessions stalls to my left.

There’s a big set of three glass double doors at the other end, and I can hear skates and sneakers squeaking and rolling across the laminate flooring behind me.

The ground shakes with a muffled whump. And then again.

Then, just as I’m crashing through the front doors of the complex, the whole world shutters with a quick succession of four impacts.

And I stumble into the parking lot just in time to be struck with Säure’s cry of fury.

It’s like someone took the T-Rex roar from the first Jurassic Park movie and stretched out the waves into the infrasonic and ultrasonic ranges even for me, and then turned the volume up so high that people struck by the sound don’t so much hear it as they are pushed through a portion of spacetime forcefully by it.

My mind refuses to register the experience as anything intelligible as it’s happening, and it’s only afterward that I start to make sense of it.

I don’t have to turn my head far to look over the building at him and catch him snapping at something in the air to the left of his head. Something I can’t see.

“Go,” I say, my voice severely muffled to my own ears. “Go. Go. Go.”

It hardly need be uttered. The team is dispersing and scrambling for their cars. I hope the time it takes to get into them and get them started isn’t too long for their safety. Especially with me in their midst.

But Säure does look distracted.

He snaps at the air a few more times, blindly, unintelligibly.

So, I take the moment to turn and face him and stretch all my muscles.

The soot and ashes from Laserbreath’s attack over there have mostly been blown off my scales, but I’m still dusty and dirty looking. Smudged.

I am, incredibly, miraculously, unwounded. At least, nothing like the gash on my shoulder that’s mostly healed now. But I’ve been seriously banged up, and my whole body hurts in places and ways that worry me.

The more I work it, though, the more ready I feel to do something else.

Then I remember something I can do that I haven’t really played around with much, except on my own when I’m bored. I have no idea what good it will do here, but if Säure’s so harried and confused, maybe I can add to that.

I do a fair imitation of Joel’s yawp.

Then I bolt to my right, circling the building and headed in the direction of the nearby elementary school. There are probably kids in there, I know, but I’m not going to draw him there, this is just a quick feint.

Wait. Are there children in there? It’s Saturday.

Still. There might be.

Round the corner and mostly out of sight, I let loose with the loudest series of poinks I can manage.

Then, I turn and run along as close to the side of the building as I can, past the front doors again, and over to the North of it.

And there, I let out the most anguished dying man’s scream I can remember.

And I keep going.

We’re actually in Tannis’ territory, and she’s confused by the sudden close presence of three of her neighbors, so she shrieks like a singing banshee. Perfect.

And then I’m crashing through the wooded wetlands to the north of the Sportsplex, between it and the soccer and softball fields, and I’m whistling like Wentin as I go. That’s a really easy one to mimic, honestly. A spooky sin wave of a voice.

Briefly, I think I can hear Wentin croon in my ear, “Adorable.” 

But it’s not there. To get that close, it would have to enter the full vision of that eye, nevermind the peripheral. And there’s no such movement or presence when it happens.

This is a large wooded area that we didn’t draw Säure too, and I wonder briefly if the Poet is hiding in here. It’s her favorite kind of haunt, I’m told. But I don’t see her.

I hope that if Säure follows me to the northern fields, he doesn’t do too much damage on his way.

And then there are more poinks far behind me, faster and more poignant, strident, than I managed to make them, as Astraia joins in on the taunting.

And that triggers a series of call backs from the surrounding territories. A whole cacophony of dragons. And it sounds like they are closing in!

Holy shit, are they all fools like me?

Then, the weirdest thing happens.

I hear my own cry come from downtown, across the freeway and over building tops, from my own roof. Distant and taunting.

I did not coordinate with anybody to do that. I don’t particularly want that to happen. But I also don’t even know how it happens. Who is imitating me from my own roof?

I can only think of Chapman. I wouldn’t put it past hir to be able to craft a noise maker of any sort by scrawling a pattern all over the tar black roof in trans pride chalk.

Why, though? 

More confusion?

We don’t want to draw Säure into the populated areas of the city, I don’t think. Not that we aren’t already surrounded by inhabited buildings and homes right now. But not downtown!

It feels like when things started to derail, everyone lost cohesion, and they’re all now flailing about. Just like me. Communicating badly with dragon calls at best.

I really just wanted Säure confused enough to stall him from going after me and the Flounder Pounders. I am so hoping the derby team made it out of there.

I feel a few more thumps as Säure repositions himself on the ground and maybe starts pursuing what he thinks of as me.

A glance over my shoulder shows me his tail swinging high over the Sportsplex, as he’s turned around, and I stop to watch. I don’t exactly feel safe, but I’m clearly not being threatened at the moment.

I observe as he makes an attempt to jump and lift himself in the air, but his wings cannot find purchase and he slams back into the ground like a building falling to its hands and knees.

And then he rears up on his hind legs and roars again with that space folding auditory assault of his.

And I think clearly, for the first time today, this all might have been a huge mistake.

By provoking Säure, I’ve seriously endangered the city. And if we can’t subdue him before the National Guard is deployed, or something like that, it could be even more of a disaster than it already is.

I wonder why anybody went along with this plan of mine.

What am I doing?

Welp.

I’m going to do everything I can to bring him to me in an open field, then.

What we can do there, I have no idea.

I’d love to talk to him, but I only have a limited array of vocabulary for that. It’s grown over the past week, in preparation for this. But I also know my ability to talk under pressure is unreliable, too.

But, If I can get him over these wetlands to those fields, I at least know that we won’t be fighting too near any houses. And that feels critical to me.

On the other side of those fields is a light industrial area with businesses that should be closing up shop now, if they haven’t already done that three to four hours ago.

I can’t believe how long this fight has taken. But we’ve been flying all over the city before this, I guess.

Meh.

Time for me to see if I can figure out how to fight an offensively picturesque, spiky, mobile, infuriated hill.

I turn back and start bounding through the thin trees and brush toward the northern fields again.

As I near them, I catch glimpses of people standing near their cars, watching Säure’s antics behind me, over the treetops.

I start repeating my signature cry. Loud and insistant and over and over.

And the enormous monster must be reacting to me because, as I burst from the treeline, I see everyone in sight buckle at their knees and turn to run, looking over their shoulders up at the sky.

Yes, you fools, get the fuck out of here!

These look like the stragglers of a few games that must have been going on in these fields before this all started.

Boom!

Boom, boom, boom!

Säure is now actually following me.

Thump, bump, boom!

I can see his towering head looming higher and higher as he nears my location, while I’m galloping out to the middle of the fields.

When I get to my chosen spot, I hop and turn to face him, crouching on springy legs ready to lunge or bolt to either side, and call with my entire diaphragm, “Stop.”

It’s not a yell or a shout. There’s no emotion to it. But, like my morning song, it’s loud enough to be faintly heard two neighborhoods over.

I know he can’t not hear it.

And he does stop. He pulls back his head, tilting it down at me, and opening his mouth menacingly.

“Talk,” I call out.

He tilts his head to the side, mouth still cracked open. It looks way less quizzical that way. Though, still questioning. As if asking me if I’d like to step inside his maw.

“Fuck. Chapman,” I say at the same volume. “Fuck. Ptarmigan. Fuck. Artists. You. Me. Talk. Peace.”

That would probably go over badly with everyone who overheard, if key people didn’t know that this was actually part of my original plan.

Why not desperately stick to it, actually?

I’m losing.

He can actually get me if he chases me all day.

But, I’m seeing that he’s still hesitating to go full out. He doesn’t want to hurt his hoard, the city, more than he has to. The stadium must have been a calculated sacrifice, or a moment of pure passion. But he pulled himself up short of the Sportsplex, even if he was being distracted by something else.

And while he’s been walking after me, now, he was mincing, picking his foot placement carefully.

So, while I could dodge into the rest of the city to avoid him, and leave him the choice of following me and possibly killing people, or letting me get away – and I’ve shown I’m willing and capable of doing that, actually, as much as I don’t want to – the fact that I’m stopping and offering him a chance to negotiate might actually be enticing.

I wonder if he can talk in full dracoform.

I’m not sure why he wouldn’t be able to.

“Meghan,” he says, voice thundering across the county.

Yeah. This actually feels embarrassing and tense. I’m putting myself on the very public spot by doing this.

“Truce,” I reply. Another new word of mine, just for this use.

“No. You. Give. Up.”

“No. Truce,” I insist.

“You. No. Bargain,” he responds, loud enough for the Sheriff to hear, it seems like.

“No,” I tell him. “I. Threat. I. Go. You. Fight. Fairport.”

He jerks his chin up, mouth open and says, “Ridiculous!”

In response, keeping my eyes on his head, I feint to the side, toward downtown. Then I bark, “Okay.” 

I keep my body tense and leaning that direction, to make it clear what I intend to do if he pushes the matter.

“Stop,” he says.

“No,” I reply. “You. Truce.”

This is the point at which the cartoon villain would call my bluff and pounce on me, forcing me to dash into the city and risk him following me to the injury and deaths of hundreds to thousands of people.

All the other dragons have fallen silent to our conversation. At least that part of the plan is working now. But it’s kind of creepy. As if we’re the only two dragons in town, now.

I can watch him considering the situation I’ve pulled him into, weighing all the risks to himself. And he’s been presented with a few that neither he nor I fully understand.

I still haven’t felt Ptarmigan do anything, but Chapman and the Poet have been laying enchantments on Säure that were not fully explained to me, out of a need for expedient secrecy. Similar to why I’ve been lying in my blog. And something is also keeping him from flying, it seems.

I still don’t think he’s quite grasped that he’s the villain in this story, though. But, then, that is a bit subjective to who the audience is, I guess.

This is scary.

Everything is telling me he’s going to pounce, or attack in some way.

He’s so powerful, there’s no particular reason for him not to. Not in the short run, at least. And while the long run is the crux of it, the longer he pauses to consider, the more time my Artist friends have to craft another snare for him, or pull the snares tight that already surround him. And he’s got to be thinking about that.

But, you know? All the cartoon villains in the world were written by humans, with human sensibilities and motives.

This is a dragon.

And though I’m less than a rival, I’m vermin to him, I’m right in the middle of both his hoard and his food supply. And I’m apparently really annoying to him. I’ve got his attention.

I don't know. I have been projecting a lot of thoughts into his head that might not be there. Maybe he's just visualizing all the ways he can swallow me, or he knows things I don't.

I wait, poised to gallop and fly away at an instant twitch on his part. And as much as I really don’t want to see anybody die or lose their house today, I am damn well prepared to run into the city. Now that I’m against this wall, I want to survive.

“Okay,” he says. Then, after a meaningful pause, he says, “Talk.”

I. Do. Not. Relax.

I’m trying to think of a word I know that I can remember that has enough meaning for a negotiation. And I feel like my mind is slowly going blank as I try to search it.

This is the worst time for losing what little speech I have! But it’s happening.

“Talk,” I manage to repeat, feeling really lame about it.

He jerks his head. With his mouth open, I’m sure it looks like a silent mirthful laugh to a human, but to me it’s pure threat. And my muscles twitch.

“Talk,” I say again.

“Yes,” he replies. “Talk. You. Talk.”

Damn him. He’s gotta see I don’t have my purse. My tablet is gone. He’s mocking me. He’s putting me on the back foot by insisting I do something I can’t do very well at all.

Though, I was the one who insisted on talking instead of fighting.

I wonder if I can speak as much with body language as anything. If we could both take human disguise and get to the library somehow, we could use the computers there to actually talk to each other. 

I still don’t know exactly what I want to talk to him about, but having him concede to do that with me would be far better than dancing through Fairport trying to fight each other.

Especially if we can do it in human disguise, because then he’ll be stuck for a while, and then we can actually do something about it.

I’m thinking, maybe, since he was the one who just destroyed several wetlands and the city stadium, we let the police arrest him. As much as I hate to lean on that corrupt institution, it would be a wonderful irony.

He’ll probably just get a slap on the wrist, but it’ll be a start.

I jerk my head sideways toward downtown, and manage to say, “Go. Talk.”

Let’s see if he can figure that out.

He looks the direction I indicated.

Then he closes his mouth and tilts his head to look at me with his right eye, and says, “Top of Tower.”

Ah, his restaurant of choice. His turf.

If he can provide phones, or tablets, or something to talk with, I’ll take it.

“You’re paying,” he says.

That’s a whole phrase he taught himself.

I cannot afford that restaurant. But, this does give me the opportunity to stiff him in return for him stiffing me, if I play my cards right. So, I’m going to agree to it.

The trick now is trying to figure out how we’re going to get there from here.

Maybe I just have to agree and then wait to see what he does.

Can I remember the word I need? I can.

“Okay,” I say.

“I. Drive,” he says. And then he lifts his head and makes a weird warbling noise with his syrinx. It’s kind of like a klaxon but also some kind of bird song. There's a whistling to it, with a rhythm of ultrabass infrasonic rumbling. It might be just a little too complex for me to imitate, but I definitely can't match the volume.

It echos off the surrounding landscape like a fog horn.

And then, when he’s done he looks at me again, and says, “Wait.”

“Truce,” I repeat, hammering down on my key concern.

“Truce,” he says.

And then I remember one of the phrases I'd worked on the last few nights, and it’s perfect.

“Shake on it,” I say. And then, I awkwardly stand on my hind legs and hold out my right claw, expectantly.

There's no way he can shake my claw while he's that big. Even if he did some silly gesture like present me with a single tree sized talon, he'd too easily crush me with a twitch. And there’s no way I'll stay where I am to let him do that.

He studies me carefully.

I wish I could guess what he’s thinking.

I suppose I need to show him a gesture of trust. Not that that's at all a reasonable expectation in this situation. But I don’t think reason or fairness factor into anything Säure does.

OK.

I want to sell this to him. He's gotta be feeling uncertain and vulnerable with all the weird bullshit we've been trying to pull on him. And he has some kind of curse the Poet just put on him.

But if he called for a ride and we are going to the Top of the Tower, he’s going to commit to taking human form.

He blinks and changes the angle of his head, still studying me.

There must be a reason he’s not insisting we fly to his home in our dracoforms.

Maybe he guesses I'll never agree to it. So a semineutral human establishment is in order. A place I'd agree to go to.

He must really want to work with me.

Or, to turn the trap I've laid back on me, and to attack me when I've let my guard down.

I know how quickly I can change my shape.

It's not quite fast enough to dodge a UV laser, if I'm in human disguise. He could burn me then. But, my human skin doesn't feel like it's my insides or anything vulnerable like that. When I'm in that shape, I can still feel my scales covering me.

It's really an unknown risk. But at least I'll see him opening his jaws first.

But, if he pounces instead, I'm sure I can revert and dodge in time. When it comes to that kind of interaction, I have yet to find a dragon besides Anurak that can touch me. Not even Wentin can.

I decide to do it.

I sigh with a big breath, and fold myself up into my faerie princess outfit, then give him a closed lip smile and hold out my right hand again.

Säure rears back in a movement that looks like my doom, closing his eyes.

But then he opens them again and takes four tree crushing steps through the woods between us and dives down into his businessman disguise only a few yards ahead of me.

Straightening his tie and then stretching his arms as he looks down at them, he begins to walk forward toward me.

His face is so good at portraying smugness with hardly a muscle twitch. His straight backed walk makes him look like he's buoyed physically by his own confidence.

“Shake on it,” he says in a human volume, reaching out with his own right hand just as I hear a helicopter approaching in the distance.

I can't believe how much the sound of that kind of contraption puts me on edge.

It's a very silly idea to ride a helicopter from here to downtown, where there’s no-where to land it. Unless maybe this one is going to deliver a car. It could actually airlift a car here, if it's a big enough chopper.

Well, I think that’s what he did with his song, call that chopper.

Maybe it's the trap.

And I feel the back of my neck tensing as our hands near each other under the increasing sound of air being smacked by rotor blades.

Then movement catches my eye, as it does. 

It's right behind Säure’s head from my point of view, so he doesn't seem to see the shift in my gaze. Or, maybe neither of us can really react in time.

Because time itself seems to dilate.

As our hands go from six inches away from each other, to within an inch, between thumps of the distant helicopter blades, I watch as Wentin blooms from the darkness between trees in the twilight, and lopes as if in slow motion across the field to rear up above and behind Säure.

And just as Säure reacts to the look on my face, wide pupils almost in perfect circles, mouth opening, Wentins jaws snap shut over his top half.

Limbs jerking, failing to transform, Säure is lifted up into the air, and swallowed like a seagull with a freshly broken neck.

It takes Wentin only three jerks of its head to imbibe Säure.

And then the billionaire is gone.

—

I don't really know how long I've been staring at Wentin as the helicopter continues to close the distance. But the vehicle is probably very nearly here.

And in that time, the nightmare doesn't explode with a suddenly expanding kaiju bursting from its stomach.

I'm not just bewildered, I'm in shock.

Wentin winks.

And I'm still in my princess disguise.

“My dear Queen Meghan,” Wentin eventually says, just barely audible over the helicopter. “It has been my honor to serve you, but really, next time, you will have to finish your meal yourself.”

And then it turns and leaves.

[chroniclingworlds]

Magnipods

The largest animals to walk Strix, and the heaviest animals on the planet, the Magnipods are awe-inspiring. With highly developed fermenting stomachs, they extract the maximum amount of nutrients from the plants they eat, allowing them to grow large even in this desert world. This also gives them an advantage, as large animals can travel longer distances in search of food, and these creatures have some of the most extensive migrations of any land-based animal on Strix.

Keelchests

Pictured: the Black Mountain Keelchest, found across the steppes of the Black Mountain region.

The unique bony projection of the chest on these animals serves a dual purpose; it acts as an anchor for the powerful running muscles, and is used defensively. Although rare, several eyewitnesses have reported the Keelchest charging at potential predators and using the bone as a battering ram. It may also be a sexually selected trait, as males have larger keels on average. Living in small herds, these animals migrate between seasonal watering holes on the midland plains.

Trumpeters

Pictured: a female Golden Trumpet, native to the plains between the Black Mountains and the Eastern Rise.

Named for their loud infrasonic calls, Trumpeters are more often heard than seen. With a tall, hollow crest that acts as a resonating chamber, these animals can communicate with each other from miles away. This comes in handy, as the males are solitary and use sound and vibrations in the ground to locate herds of females. Because of this, females have larger resonating chambers for calling and males have larger crest membranes for listening. The females and young travel seasonally, migrating between new feeding grounds. The males, meanwhile, set up a territory and rarely stray from it, waiting for females to pass by on their travels.

Skyscrapers

Pictured: a male masked Skyscraper, found on the central plains and forests, a very alarming species to encounter in the woods at night.

In a reversal of their cousins the Trumpeters, male Skyscrapers have massive hollow crests while the females do not. The males use this structure to produce infrasonic bellows to intimidate rivals, as the deeper the call the bigger the male. These migratory animals live in harems of a dominant male, multiple females, and their offspring. There also seems to be a “third gender” of small, feminine males who infiltrate harems to mate with the females. These are the only Magnipods to actually inhabit the Southern Forest for part of the year, feeding on tender new leaf growth in the spring and summer before migrating back to the savannas in the winter.

Sentinels

Pictured: the orange-crested Sentinel, found at the southern tip of the Eastern Rise, one of the more commonly observed species.

Mysterious and rarely encountered, the Sentinels only live in the highlands of the Eastern Rise. They are most often spotted perched on cliff tops, overlooking the lowland plains below. These animals seem to be solitary and it is unknown when or where they mate and raise offspring. DNA analysis has indicated that they are not closely related to any other living Magnipod, instead representing an ancient offshoot of the lineage. There is ongoing research into their population numbers and possible conservation efforts.