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girldragongizzard · 2 months ago

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Chapter 1: A battle without honor or humanity

And as I step up to him, I then notice his eyes.

And our eyes meet as I plod by, heads turning to maintain contact.

I can’t exactly say that we’re not transfixed, but we’ve both got lucid control of the rest of our bodies, despite how rigidly locked our gazes are.

“Hello, Meghan,” he says in an odd, almost mechanical male British voice.

It’s a strange tableau.

I am now standing fully outside the door with my body half turned toward him, raised onto my hind legs so that both my eyes can be level with his. And he stands just inside, half turned towards me, holding the door open with his body. And we’re at the Fairport branch of the Washington State Department of Licensing, or what people locally still call the DMV.

Inside, there are people waiting in chairs for their numbers or names to come up in an atmosphere of banal boredom and anticipation, and Daniel Säure in his best human disguise.

Outside, there are cars in a parking lot, glinting in the sunlight allowed by the parting of clouds, and me, a blue dragon with a magical flame orange purse.

And we’re not moving.

“Stay,” Säure says in that clear AI voice he’s imitating. “Please. We. Talk. First. Business.” He manages to tilt his head toward the inside.

He’s just slightly more articulate than I am.

I want to attack him. Bite him. Claw him. Engulf him in my coils and wings and drag him to the ground. Tear chunks off of him, and swallow them whole.

“Okay,” I say, and move to go back inside.

He takes a number and then finds a seat near the aisle where there’s a spot for me to settle down, breaking eye contact first. I follow, feeling slightly more relaxed, but more suspicious.

“I. Renew. License,” he says to me, quiet.

The whole atmosphere in here has changed with the two of us in it. People notice, but studiously do not look our way. Like they can feel the tension and want to be no part of it, but are stuck by their circumstances and their need to jump through bureaucratic hoops to satisfy the State of Washington and continue driving where they need to go.

I try a word just to see if it changes how everything feels. I do mean a different word, but I haven’t learned it yet, so I say the near synonym, “Peace.”

“Yes,” he says.

A few of the people around us do seem to relax a little.

“Coffee,” I say.

“Yes. After. This,” he replies with a human smile, flashing teeth.

That’s not a friendly expression to a dragon. Especially with the number of pointy teeth he displays.

He’s playing human. It’s meant to look friendly to the humans around us, at least. I don’t let it escalate my own reactions. Though, that’s hard.

I’m imagining dragging his bloody corpse around the room and whipping my head to smash it into things. It’s what I actually want to do.

I calmly pull out my tablet, put it in my mouth, place it on the floor, turn it on, and pull up my app. We have the time.

“I have questions,” I say.

“Later,” he responds, speaking with his own syrinx again, showing off his vocabulary with every utterance. “This. First.” And he gestures at the counter. “I. Drive.”

I’d had the thought that conversing over coffee would be the civilized, non-combatant way for us to talk at length, and I’m thinking I might have to blow off therapy to do this. So I had said the word “coffee”. But now I’m wondering if I really want to drag this asshole into my coffee shop where I think I’ve left my own people, my friends, fairly traumatized about my own nature.

I did, yesterday, after all, tell them just exactly what I thought I was.

And, it’s pretty clear that this individual, this Daniel Säure as I’m sure he is, is the same kind of dragon that I am.

Two of us on my home turf is a bit much.

Perhaps a review of our situation is in order before it gets any more tense.

For starters, this is a billionaire I’m sitting next to.

He’s not on par with the hundred-billionaires, but he’s still got control of more money than the rest of the county can dream of.

With his land holding Morning Glory Corporation, if anyone can be said to own the county, it’s him.

But there’s more.

“You. Busy,” he says.

“Later,” I tell him by knuckling my tablet screen.

“Okay.”

—

A little over a month ago, dragons started roaming the Earth, and I’m one of them.

Before that, most of us, if not all of us, were still dragons. We just thought we were stuck looking like humans like the rest of humanity.

I was a 50 year old deeply closeted and deeply dysphoric disabled trans woman living in the Magnolia Apartments in Fairport, Washington.

The transformation into our true forms was involuntary and apparently irreversible. Even now, though I can choose to resemble a human, it’s not comfortable to stay that way and I don’t really look human. Same with Säure, whose truly emerald eyes with slits for pupils give him dead away. And we both are unusual in this ability. I haven’t heard of many dragons who can do this.

When I first dared to step out of my apartment as a full dragon, the people I knew somehow still recognized me. In fact, they recognized me even more readily than before, and congratulated me on obviously “feeling much better lately.” “You look good!” was a common phrase I heard.

Something metaphysical is at work there in the minds of the people. It seems like we dragons are supposed to be here.

I thought I was the only dragon until three days later when a fellow named Joel who looks like a cross between a bat, a hippo, and a velociraptor came crashing through my apartment wall in a direct challenge for my territory.

It turns out that maybe 1 in 2,000 people on Earth are actually dragons. That’s four million dragons out of 8 billion people.

And, because of the way population densities and demographics work, we dragons, like humans, are concentrated in cities.

This is stressful, and while it may go over well in little localized family and friends groups, it’s not great on a municipal, national, or global level. There’s been violence.

There’s a lot more to tell, but not a lot of time to divulge it.

Next important thing.

Through my intense first month of being out as a dragon, and conferring with my fellow dragon expert Chapman, here is what I learned and believe is happening.

Dragons have existed at least as long as humans. But maybe not physically. Maybe spiritually, if you believe in spiritual things. Or memetically, if you don’t. We’ve been an idea. We’ve been living and even thriving in human imaginations and in the deep, instinctual centers of the brains of maybe all vertebrates.

Humans helped us evolve into what we are today, and we have definitely shaped humans. It’s hard to say who parented whom, if you want to think in those terms.

And something happened on August 24 of 2024 that made us manifest physically from the human vessels we were inhabiting or using as disguises.

We don’t know what that is.

But what we do know is that dragons are not strictly governed by physics. Before we must obey the laws of physics, we must first obey the laws of narrative expectation. Or something like that. And if the laws of narrative expectation disagree with the laws of physics, the laws of physics lose.

I just learned this last Saturday, so I’m still ironing out exactly what it means.

I mean, I’ve sort of expected it since I was in college and reading about dragons in the university library every chance I got. But now I see it as a real thing, because I’m it.

It goes back to where we come from.

In the beginning, before there was even the word “dragon”, we were unique monsters or celestial spirits, each crafted to play a specific role in our own story. Originally, our stories were actually the stories of heroes. Human heroes. And we were usually there to teach the hero a lesson.

Skipping the details of that for expediency, what happened over time is that we dominated our stories.

Over time, the stories that were about human heroes began to be known as stories about dragons.

And, over the millennia, this apparently escalated to the point where we “hatched.” And now we walk the land, scream at each other every morning, and buy groceries.

Or renew our state IDs at the DMV.

But what this means is that, unlike with humans, you can tell a dragon’s story and purpose by looking at them.

This sounds like it is rooted in white supremacy, because white supremacy sure loves its phrenology, and it is probably heavily influenced by it. Especially in the case of Säure and I, unfortunately. We’re both “European dragons”, and fancy ones at that.

But the reality is that we’ve been heavily shaped by human imagination and expectations, and the roles we’ve played in their stories.

And the dragons that look more like what humans think of as nightmare monsters are nightmare monsters. The more unique a dragon is, the more creative their physiology, the closer to the subconscious needs of humanity they are.

I haven’t fully tested this theory, mind you. But it’s where my studies have taken me, and what little evidence I have has supported it. However, I’m willing to change my mind on this.

But, I’m thinking that, with dragons that look more standardized, that look like they may be part of a species, they are more connected to the social desires of humans. Such dragons are often tamed, mastered, ridden into battle, befriended, sought out for their wisdom, depicted in movies and role playing games, worshiped, married, and even successfully mated with. At least, in the stories.

But we are our stories. That’s where we actually come from.

And I look like one of these more modern dragons. And I think Säure probably does too.

But Säure and I share at least one other distinctive trait, and that’s that we can magically disguise ourselves as human.

There are obvious tells, of course, such as our eyes and tongues, and the fact that we speak with our syrinxes with limited vocabulary.

And while his human disguise comes with a very nice suit that would make any other billionaire’s eyes bleed with envy, mine comes with the gown and tiara of a fairy princess.

They’re conspicuous for disguises, and I think that’s a clue.

I don’t think that all of this means that we are special, on the global and historical scale of things.

But what I do think is that, here, now, locally, this means that Säure and I are destined to interact as if we’re royalty. Rivals, more than likely. I know we’re rivals now, and I like it that way.

But in some stories, we’d end up being married. Either politically or out of passion, depending on who’s writing it.

And that maybe has me on edge more than anything. I feel like that outcome would mean he wins.

Our hoards certainly don’t compare in any way, though.

He’s hoarded land and money, like a classic dragon.

I’ve hoarded garbage, books, and people.

My people hoard is growing, and I’m pretty proud of it, but it’s slow going.

I think his hoard grows without him putting in any effort now.

And I want to plunder it.

For my people.

This isn’t a great footing on which to start the new phase of a story. The twists are likely to turn the wrong way.

—

I’m focusing on my growing sense of doom because I kind of think it might be my slim chance at salvation, actually. But I don’t want to jinx it.

It might be better to be less meta about my life and just embrace my draconinity.

I watch as Gavin, the clerk operating the camera, solemnly and professionally takes Säure’s photo and issues him his temporary diver’s license.

At one point Gavin said something about how it was good that Säure was using his human form for the photo, since he would be using that shape when driving. It was the kind of a statement that had the subtext that Gavin wished it was otherwise for some reason. Maybe just being slightly negative in the face of someone like Säure.

Gavin, with whom I shared moments of silent knowing trans solidarity and giddiness while I was getting my photo taken, doubtlessly knows who Säure is, and isn’t a sympathizer with the rich.

He might not be privy to Säure’s involvement in my kidnapping and very temporary relocation to the Pasayten Wilderness a couple weeks ago. Though, Säure did make a public statement about it, denouncing the action of his company before dissolving Equisetum Wildlife and firing its employees for the act. It’s always possible Gavin doesn’t pay attention to the local news or gossip.

I myself am hoping to learn something about all of that today.

I occupy myself with more visions of defeating Säure in physical combat to the detriment of the DMV, because my instincts demand it, and then he’s here with me and gesturing toward the door.

“My. Car,” he says. “Come.”

As imperiously as I can muster, I follow.

It’s a fucking Well Known Electric Vehicle.

Look. I’m not going to describe the car. I don’t want to advertise it. Suffice it to say, it is an unusual set of colors and very shiny. Obviously a custom job.

It does have a vanity plate, I notice. It reads “88MPH” and I spend a couple seconds wondering why this car, which is not a Delorian, has a Back to the Future reference on it. And I wonder if it could mean something else. It’s a weird plate.

I’m reluctant, for so many reasons, to get into the vehicle, and he stands with his door open, hand on the top of it, watching me impassively.

In order to get into the car, I’m going to have to put on my human disguise, which means tipping my hand to him. And I’m thinking about that.

My plan had been to hide how I do this, so that he might underestimate me.

In my purse, I have a magic pendant created by the Artist Chapman, that will turn me into a human if I wear it. I can’t talk at all with it on, because it gives me a larynx that I don’t know how to use anymore. And I will be naked if I wear it. And I’ll look quite a bit like Chapman.

Daniel Säure almost certainly knows I have it, but maybe doesn’t know exactly how it works.

My plan had been to make a public appearance with Mayor Chisholm in my own natural disguise, which makes me look like a 50 year old trans woman playing fairy princess. Which I do like. I’m reasonably comfortable in that outfit. And I was hoping he’d think, not seeing me transform, that I needed the pendant to do that.

Then I could, in an emergency, use the pendant to look like someone else.

If I use either disguise right now, he will learn how these things work with me, and I will lose that edge.

I expect the entire day may be filled with tests like this. And I’m hoping I can turn some of them to my advantage. Or even set one or two of them up. Though, like always, I don’t know how.

He tilts his head subtly toward the car, with the homeopathic presence of a smirk, indicating that he’s eager to see me get into it.

I take a step toward the repulsive-to-me vehicle and tilt my head.

Either I get in the car and reveal to my rival one of my secrets, or I fly away and lose this round entirely.

I could demand we take the bus, or that we both fly.

I don’t think he’d accept that. He’d take that the same as a retreat, shrug his shoulders, get in his car, and drive away.

I relent.

I choose the trans princess because she has clothes.

He watches me fold myself up and step into my protective coloring like I’m pretty sure he did before getting into his car this morning. And he smiles and presses a button and the door opens.

I have no idea if that’s standard with Well Known Electric Vehicles, and I don’t want to know.

I let the vehicle engulf me as I side step into it and sit down, and I dissociate a little, staring out the windshield.

(Girls, ladies, enbies, boys, gentlemen, everybody – don’t do this – it is occurring to me as I do this that I’m being extremely uncautious by getting into a strange person’s car, even if I’m pretty sure he is a locally well known billionaire. The fact that he recognizes me and knows my name makes it creepier. But, in my case, what’s done is done.)

“Mine. Or. Yours,” he says, after sitting down and letting both doors close. I’m certain he means choice of coffee shop.

I change my mind about something, and pull out my tablet to type out my response, “Flounder Sound Brewpub.”

“Oh. Beer. Yes,” he says, and pushes another button and starts driving. If this car has self-driving capabilities, he’s not using them.

And with my tablet in hand, I do realize that I momentarily have an advantage over him.

If he uses his phone to talk more eloquently, he can’t do that while he’s driving. He’s stuck with his animal mimickry of speech, like I am without my tablet.

At the moment, I can talk circles around him with my thumbs, and I can take command of the conversation.

“What is your favorite place to talk?” I ask.

He glances my direction suspiciously, obviously perturbed by being asked a question that requires more complicated words. Then he looks back at the road and says, “Top. Of. Tower.”

Either he’s lying, and The Top of the Tower isn’t his favorite place, just the easiest to say. Or, he’s memorized the name of his favorite place. I gain nothing but the momentary implication of my current social edge. Which he acknowledged.

This is kind of fun.

Maybe I can make him pay me back a little bit for making me transform in front of him.

“I like Flounder Sound Brewpub,” I say, tapping away cheerfully and hitting talk after every phrase. “Good people. I worked there for half a year and almost enjoyed it. Their food is filling and half their beer is too hoppy. But the other half is divine.”

Giving him useless tidbits about myself while showing off. Very petty, but I enjoy it.

“I feel very at home there. But it is not my territory,” I say. I look over at him and type, “Do you know Joel?”

Joel is the other dragon that Equisetum Wildlife kidnapped. I want to see his expression at the question. I don’t know if he’ll recognize the name. Not many people know it. But I think I'm clearly asking about a dragon, and there’s one other dragon besides me who has unfinished business with Säure. At least that I’m familiar with.

He glances at me and tilts his head up in acknowledgement.

It doesn’t take long to get to the brewpub from where we were, even though it’s literally across town. We’re maybe a third of the way already. I want to use my time as wisely as possible.

I think for a block about what to say next, but he beats me to the punch.

“Meghan Estragon Draconis,” he says my full legal name with his whole chest. I can’t even say his nickname. It is not lost on me the implications that he knows that name and can say it. He looks back at the road and engages with it through the wheel of his car, “Lets. Talk. Business.”

#dragon #writeblr #original fiction #serial fiction #transformation #transgender

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