#muzzle velocity

[retrocgads]

USA 1997

[aegisprecisionkinetics]

When it comes to precision shooting, the weight of your bullet plays a crucial role in both accuracy and overall performance. Different bullet weights impact how ammunition behaves in flight, influencing factors such as trajectory, recoil, and even wind resistance. As an ammunition manufacturer in Las Vegas, Nevada, understanding these dynamics can be key to achieving the best results whether you’re target shooting or hunting.

[nerfgunattachments]

The Dart of WAR! Are the new Game Face Pro Darts Any Good?

[markwateneymemorialcrater]

So one of my favourite sci-fi weapons is simply just extremely overpowered kinetic weaponry.

Think rail guns and that sort of thing that simply accelerate a projectile to incredible velocities. Of course the velocities of non-existent fictional weaponry are up to the author writing them. But for the sake of analogy, let’s say you have a weapon that can accelerate a 1kg projectile to 2997925m/s. This is 1% the speed of light in a vacuum.

Now to help put this insane speed into perspective. Let’s imagine we have our cannon at earth at are firing it at the moon. It would take this projectile just over 2 minutes to get to the moon. That is 384,400km traveled in 2 mins and 8 seconds.

For added context, the largest artillery cannon ever made, The Paris gun, could fire a projectile over 130km with a muzzle velocity of 1640m/s. It still took the projectile over 3 minutes to reach its target.

Now back to our 1kg projectile traveling at 1% the speed of light. When it impacts the moon. It will deliver 0.45x10^13 Joules of kinetic energy.

The Hiroshima nuclear bomb delivered approximately 1.8x10^13 joules of energy

This means that our 1kg projectile hits with the punch of 1/4 of a city destroying nuclear bomb.

It’s truly incredible how much energy you can store in something just by making it go really fast. Which coincidently, is also really helpful when you are wanting to deliver that energy to a target in as short a period as possible.

[valkayrieactual]

if you got a weapons array installed, what would it feature?

this took me fucking ages to answer in a way I actually felt happy with, anywhos...

internal:

* electroshock knuckles for hand to hand, output amperage ranges from light tickle to heart stopping, can be used as a defibrillator or jump start combustion engines in a pinch

* popup forearm mount for ferromagnetic collapsible blade, hilt contains a self assembling blade core that aligns metal dust into a mono molecular edge, can be deployed in its forearm mount on either side of my arm or eject the hilt into my hand for more traditional swordplay

* ammo feed/reloader for magazine loaded projectile weapons, contains multiple spare mags for favored projectile pistol and rifle, able to reload magazines automatically in internal compartment

* direct connection and induction pads in palms capable of powering as well as siphoning power from energy weapons

* embedded magnetic mounts for firearms in each thigh and behind each shoulder

external:

* 9mm pistol with integrated muzzle brake

* helical railgun based rifle with data link for in eye HUD muzzle velocity control, targeting, status, diagnostics, and sensors

[salmontheking]

living artillery

the self-propelled railgun uses altered molars as conducting rails for driving projectiles. the use of regrowing organic components solves the problem of rapid rail wear faced by traditional railguns. the baleen-like ridges are cooling organs for rails as well as its internal electric system. it has an instinctual understanding of ballistics and will carefully adjust angle, azimuth and muzzle velocity on its own. ammunition is fed into the lower opening and passed to the gun head through a reversed digestive tract. it is stored submerged in phlegm which protects the conductive surface from degradation and prevents explosive warheads from cooking off.

[seat-safety-switch]

Imperator Butterpants, my charge for the weekend, had treed a squirrel in the park. Normally, I would help out the dog - that’s what is humans are for - but there’s a complication. A nearby toddler birthday party would be ruined by the sight of my aunt’s Pomeranian ripping a domestic rodent in half for fun. That’s the tragedy of the commons, right there. Exactly what Plato was talking about.

As a result, I squat gently and prepare myself to pick up the dog in a caring embrace. This feels natural, comforting. I am communing with my ancestors who tamed his ancestors, and in a moment I will have experienced the sensation of another living thing obeying my demands. Nothing doing. Butterpants turns around, snaps at my face, and dislodges my 3M Tekk P100 respiratory-particulate-protection bayonet fitting mask slightly. We are going home, I declare to a dog that does not understand English.

Luckily for me, I have prepared a vessel for transporting the dog. It is a sidecar consisting of an old bumper car, hastily welded with leftover Home Depot fence strapping (don't worry, I ground off most of the galvanization) to the side of a Razor Pocket Mod child's electric scooter. Well, I say "child's," but we both know that's some bullshit that I trot out to make the cop think it's impossible that I break the speed limit on this pink piece of plastic. In actuality, I know that there is no way that the officer is tuned-in enough to electronic engineering to realize that the several hundred pounds of lithium ion phosphate pouch batteries ziptied together under the seat is easily enough stored energy to launch this thing into low earth orbit should I decide to whack the throttle bare open. Plus, it means I can ride in the bike lane, which is good. Have you seen what kind of maniacs drive cars?

Despite what I just told you, I pin the throttle nonetheless, knowing that the aggregate resistance of the battery cables momentarily turning to a liquid will act as a sort of dynamic throttle control. We are off, both figuratively and literally. You might have encountered in the past a dog wearing "doggles," which is a portmanteau of the word "dog" and "goggles." Eye protection for dogs is absolutely critical at these kinds of velocities, and it is for that reason that I have placed a welding mask on the muzzle of my aunt's dog, protecting him from impacts with bugs, gravel, and other multi-use-pathway users.

We get home in quite a hurry, so much so that I have to use my neighbour's garden hose to extinguish the foam-rubber tires bonded to the rear hub motor. Imperator Butterpants is dazed initially, having reached a land speed formerly only attempted by dogs named Laika, but soon recovers. And, hey! We got that squirrel after all, although I'm pretty sure I'll have to peel it off of the welding mask and run it through a strainer before I can put it in with his Ol' Roy.

[tuitsutherland]

I need to know. If I shot a dragon with a modern gun would I kill them? Probably yes, seeing as modern assault rifles have muzzle velocities of up to 900 metres per second. While the Ballistas in book 7 have a muzzle velocity of only about 90 metres per second, which is 10 times less.

Also explosive or fragmentation rounds would absolutely fucking shred through a dragons wing, and then you realise that modern gun AA systems shoot like 100s of these HE/Frag rounds per second.

no, and why asking this???

[yousadclownofaman]

Whitehall Workshops Experimental Energy Weapons pt 3/???

Tesla Driver

More portable and lighter than more common EM-Rail platforms & far more accessible to the armchair gunsmith in you, the Tesla Driver was devised for defense against big game animals like Yao-Guai & Mirelurks. As with most arms from the Whitehall Workshops family, the Tesla Driver’s design has in mind availability of ammunition as well as weight & ammunition management when dealing with high-power civilian weaponry. It fires steel ball bearings from a small top-mounted magazine rigged with a tiny electric motor usually from toy cars or Giddyup Buttercup limbs—which are also a great source of the weapon’s ammunition along with the array of robots roaming the Commonwealth.

A corded pre-war hand drill makes up the receiver and electric generator to power the firing mechanism, with the power cord braced into an energy cell caddy located under the drill’s handle. Steel and copper hull pieces are scavenged from wherever possible, while the drill motor’s function is reworked to draw more power from the weapon’s fusion core & store it until the trigger is released. A battery of six accelerator coils with one stabilizer under the weapon’s muzzle send the Driver’s payload downrange at an enormous velocity—enough to punch through a charging Yao-Guai’s skull at short range. Some settlers report that the projectiles even carry some electrical charge with them as they leave the weapon, causing additional harm to targets.

[howlingday]

(Inspired by Absurdly Awesome)

Ruby: Man, that Dumb and Dumber sequel was weird.

Weiss: Which Dumb and Dumber sequel?

Ruby: Oh, I dunno... Lloyd looked completely different.

Weiss: Oh! It was the prequel-

Ruby: And Harry looked exactly the same.

Weiss: What?

Ruby: And Lloyd was trying to stop a bus from exploding... uh, Weiss? Why do you look like you're about to have an aneurysm-?

Weiss: THAT WASN'T DUMB AND DUMBER, YOU DOLT!!! IT WAS SPEED!!!

Ruby: But Harry was in it!

Weiss: No! It was just the same actor who played Harry...! Playing another character named Harry... in the same year Dumb and Dumber came out... (sigh) ... okay, I'll give you that one.

Ruby: Yay~! ^^

Jaune: To be fair-

Ruby: TO BE FAAAAAIR...

Weiss: TO BE FAAAAAIR...

Blake: TO BE FAAAAAIR...

Yang: TO BE FAAAAAIR...

Nora: TO BE FAAAAAIR...

Pyrrha: TO BE FAAAAAIR...

Ren: TO BE FAAAAAIR...

Oscar: TO BE FAAAAAIR...

Emerald: TO BE FAAAAAIR...

Jaune: TO BE FAAAAAIR... (Scene!)

Jaune: Die Hard: Vendetta, a video game sequel to Die Hard, wasn't meant to be Die Hard at all. The only Die Hard movie that started off as a Die Hard movie was, objectively, the worst Die Hard. Die Hard was going to be "Nothing Lasts Forever," which would be a sequel to the 1968 Frank Sinatra film, "The Detective," and both of those are film adaptations of the book, "The Detective" by Roderick Thorp. Sinatra was offered first dibs on the sequel, but he turned down the action movie because he had this condition called being 70 years old.

Jaune: The role was offered to other actors at the time, too, like Greg Castle- I mean, Arnold Schwarzenegger. Die Hard 2 was another novel adaptation, this time "58 Minutes" by Walter Wagner, which now has Die Hard 2 slapped onto it! The Die Hard: With A Vengeance was a spec-script for a movie called "Simon Says," and Die Hard 4 was a script taken from a script titled "WW3.com," which itself is based on 1997 Wired article.

Jaune: And last, Die Hard 5 was a rejected premise for Die Hard 4, but the idea died hard.

Yang: (Visibly shaking)

Weiss: Is this going anywhere?

Jaune: Die Hard: Vendetta was going to be "Muzzle Velocity," starring a SWAT member named "Jack," obviously, fighting off a crime wave in downtown LA. Then when Fox Interactive partnered with Bit Studios, they decided they wanted Muzzle Velocity to be something else.

Ruby: Die Hard?

Jaune: Nope. Speed 2. Which, funny enough, Speed 2 started off as an attempt to write Die Hard 3. Die Hard 3 became Speed 2, and the Speed 2 video game became Die Hard: Vendetta, a video game sequel to Die Hard 3.

Jaune: Life is full of little coincidences like that.

[retrocgads]

USA 1997

[historyofguns]

In the article from The Armory Life titled "9mm vs. 40 – Is the .40 Caliber a Better Handgun Cartridge?", Scott Wagner, a retired law enforcement officer, examines the longstanding debate between the 9x19mm Parabellum and .40 caliber cartridges. Highlighting significant events like the 1986 FBI Miami Shootout, which led to the FBI's subsequent switch to the 10mm Auto and the eventual development of the .40 caliber, Wagner discusses the pros and cons of each round in terms of stopping power and recoil. Through testing with Springfield Armory handguns and comparing the performance of both rounds using wet clay blocks, he concludes that while the .40 caliber offers more power due to its larger diameter and heavier bullet, advancements in 9mm ammunition have narrowed the gap in terminal performance, making the choice between the two a personal preference balancing power, recoil, and handling in defensive situations.

[aegisprecisionkinetics]

When shopping for ammo, the details on labels can often feel overwhelming. Understanding these specs is crucial for choosing the right hunting ammunition, whether you’re browsing an online ammo store or visiting a licensed ammo shop in Nevada. Let’s break down the key components to help you make informed decisions.

[allthedoorsareopennow]

ok SO. I have done more research. not much more this time though jjust a fun little thing about arthur's gun.

so we all know that arthur uses his x-caliber gun, right, an excaliber reference? listed as a clarent* 10-caliber railgun, a gun more powerful than what anyone else uses. what I didn't know was what a railgun actually was; I assumed it was some specific gun type I hadn't heard of, but generally a used and standard gun, just more advanced than the revolvers the other characters presumably use (I'm guessing based on the gun chamber design on the hnoc album cover. I don't know anything about guns ok I just looked up the railgun). ANYWAY. railguns are actually still in development! the concept is that a standard rifle struggles to hit a muzzle velocity 2 km/s, whereas a railgun uses electromagnets to accelerate the projectile to over 3 km/s. The idea is that the projectile does not need to contain explosives, relying instead on sheer speed, and also does not need explosive propellants, so the guns and ammunition are far less dangerous to transport. the higher speed also increases its range.

however of course to operate the electromagnets, a high power supply is required. another issue is that at present, the high temperatures caused by these speeds would quickly wear away any material the 'rails' were made of, needing to be replaced after just a few shots. but of course this can be explained away by They Built A Fucking Space Station With The Ability To Hook Your Mind Into The Controls Obviously They Can Handle Advanced Materials Science and suchlike. just an interesting aside.

having said that, there is another type of gun known colloquially as a rail gun called a Benchrest rifle, but that's much less exciting than a cool** new gun that uses electromagnets, but this seems less likely anyway because as the name implies, it's designed to be used with the gun resting on a table or bench, which is wildly impractical for dramatic shootouts.

*another interesting thing to note is that clarent is the name of a sword from Morte Arthure intended for peaceful use, like knighting ceremonies, stolen by Mordred and used to kill Arthur

**cool because. it's a cool piece of technology and a cool concept but I hope they take forever to figure it out becausue I endorse cool tech but I do not endorse war and violence and murder and killing. I can appreciate the coolness of the design while recognising that murder is bad

[hesitantvampirealien]

guys do you wanna see val velocity in a muzzle

[girldragongizzard]

Chapter 6: Acid reign

There is a brief moment when it occurs to me that I’m about to be swallowed whole.

Just before that moment, I take in the full splendor and majesty of Säure’s full draconic form.

We’ve all seen it, really. There are thousands of artists rendering and painting dragons like this every day. But seeing it in person shows just how short even the best illustrations have come in capturing the radiant sublime beauty of a dragon like Säure.

His head is a slightly blunted wedge, with an ever gaping cleft in it full of teeth, his mouth. And above that, two slits for nostrils that are big enough for a full grown man to stand tall in one of them. Lithoderms the size of small cars cover jaw, muzzle, brow, and skull in a pattern of armor that could take a shell from a battleship unscathed. Six slightly curved horns sweep back from his head like a heavenly crown. His scales gleam like internally illuminated pearls, and as his jaws open further to show that velvety periwinkle flesh of his gums and tongue, teeth the size of me reaching for my soul, I see an ultraviolet glow begin to intensify between his scales and the crevices of his gullet.

His torso is that strange prototypical dinosaurian shape combined with the almost human broad chest and bracheating shoulders that mean he has arms instead of forelimbs. And his hands and feet have five articulate digits each with claws that could tear bedrock.

And every time his perfect wings stretch to grab the wind, he blots out my entire view of the city I call my home.

He’s coming right at me, and in less than a moment I’ll be gone.

I wasn’t truly planning anything when I took this course of action, but there was no plan I could have made that would have been able to take into account this.

Of their own accord, my wings snap open, and I find myself arching my back, pulling up and shooting right over Säure just as he’s reaching to snap me out of the air like a sky raisin.

For an extremely brief moment, I gallop up the slope of his nose.

Where has he been hiding? How?

Then, when I’m clear of his head, I dive. And I follow the ridges of his spine toward the ground.

It’s so fast, with him rising and me falling, I barely manage to spiral in time to avoid being slapped into oblivion by his tail.

And then I’m pulling up in time to avoid slamming into pavement and rise again on pure velocity as I shoot up the street toward my own building and right past Ptarmigan who is standing on the corner of the roof.

She raises her pen high into the air in a salute as I bank past her.

Flapping furiously I gain what altitude I can and come around to get the best view of what I face that’s possible.

I don’t really even make note of the other dragons or what they’re doing, Säure dominates my vision and attention so thoroughly.

Like a column of steam billowing from the old torn down stacks of the now demolished paper plant, he’s slowly twisting as he rises into the sky, so that he can turn and face me where I’ve gone.

Then, once he is righted and situated, in three enormous beats of his wings, he’s rocketing at me so fast that all I can do is dive to live.

I go from a vision filled with divine draconic death to a bail bond building on one side and a parking lot on the other, rushing pavement, cars, cars, cars, and then the red bricks of the Fairport Museum, which I weave around dangerously close to the ground and between the trees, out over Mariner Park and circling and rising again to track Säure.

But all I see are tail, haunches, wings, and hanging claws as he continues gliding out over the city, casting entire blocks in shadow as he soars toward Mount Kwelshán.

I think maybe I’ve exaggerated his size in my head. He can’t have been that big.

But it seems he’s frustrated by my agility, or at least has better business to take care of elsewhere.

I suppose if he cares about what he owns, and he’s that big, he’s definitely not going to thrash about in the airspace above it. All too easily, he’d have nothing left to claim as his.

But how do we fight that?

—

Something Ptarmigan has always found amusing about humans, whether neurotypical or not, is that they all do seem to like to find and share inane tidbits of information as a way of helping. Each one will go about it differently, and present their findings in their own way, but it’s still basically the same thing. Like gathering sticks for a fire or building materials for a shelter.

When she had switched from casting divinations at Säure to working on a weaving to bind him, she’d taken a moment to check her phone’s messages, and there, incongruously amongst the rest of the chatter was a list of classifications of crimes that Säure’s company, Equisetum Wildlife, had committed against Meghan and Joel about a month ago, provided by Nathan, who hadn’t had much to do at the time.

It was an impressive list. Nathan had written, “2nd degree assault, 2nd degree kidnapping, & 4th degree assault; which are Class B felony, Class A felony, & a gross misdemeanor. And that’s 10 years and/or 20 grand + life and/or 50 grand + 1 year and/or 5 grand.”

That would only matter if they could find a way to make it stick in court, after he’d dissolved the company and disavowed responsibility for its actions. Most likely, it’s a former manager of the company that would face those charges, and they’d try to pass it downhill, blaming an underling.

But now they all knew. And it felt kind of nice to know, as useless as the information will ever be in facing a billionaire dragon the size of one of the largest buildings in town.

Similarly, now that nearly everyone is crammed into the coffee shop after hours, and Meghan has divulged her little observation that Säure had been sprinkling his language with neo-Nazi dogwhistles, another useless bit of trivia emerges.

“Did you know,” Kimberly says, “that Säure, in German, means ‘acid’? Kind of ironic for a man who styles himself an environmentalist.”

“He is a dragon, not a man, Berly,” Kim says, glancing up and back at her.

“Still.”

“Let’s focus,” Rhoda says. “How do we do this? How can we do this?”

“Hold on,” Ptarmigan says. “I think I sense Meghan has a point she’s formulating.”

Ptarmigan was there when Meghan learned her pivotal lesson. She already knows how this is going to play out. If Meghan can put the bits together right now.

But after having said that, Ptarmigan goes back to sketching the tableau, the gathering of friends and neighbors. The meeting.

It’s part of her weaving, but also it’ll make a decent work of art to remember the moment by.

Bri and Miriam, the owners, a married couple with kids, are there, their children being watched by a friend at home. They’re sitting on a table near the bathrooms, holding hands and mostly just listening. They haven’t been directly involved in any of this, but it matters to them and they’re solemn and gracious hosts.

The whole staff is there: Kim, Kimberly, Nathan, Cerce, and Jill.

Tom, Amy, Cody, and Gary are there too, along with Chapman and herself, Ptarmigan.

Then there’s Caleb, the tenth human, because Astraia is outside with Joel and Anurak. Astraia is coordinating with Caleb to keep the other two dragons informed while they stand watch.

Wentin towers in the corner of the dining room, while everyone else is arrayed in a loose circle of chairs and tables.

Meghan is seated in her vaguely human guise, using her thumbs to type on her tablet, directly opposite of Ptarmigan.

Ptarmigan has her back to the far wall, in the chair she’s now claimed as her own. And this gives her such a good view to frame the whole group as a composition. She’s drawing Cerce and Jill, who are sitting on either side of her, as silhouettes framing the scene, leaving herself out of the drawing.

Ptarmigan is hoping that her weaving will be critical in the long run, but has no idea if it will have any effect in the coming few days. The direct outcome of whatever they all do here is going to have to be on the shoulders of someone else.

Meghan types two letters and hits talk, “OK.”

—

“I thought,” I say, “I had advantage. Me David, him Golliath. That kind of thing. Wrong. Too big.”

I feel broken and I’m at a loss. I was riding a high of adrenaline, self revelations, and feeling genuinely immortal. I can look back on my thoughts over the course of the encounter, and I can see how I rationalized it, too. But I did not expect to be fighting something that could legitimately take on Mothra and probably win.

But I’m determined not to give in to defeat. I’m going to use my knowledge of dragons and the myths of dragons to figure this out. And I know that Chapman can help me, because sie has that knowledge, too.

I just know that so does Säure, unfortunately. He’s got thirty years of study on me, in fact. Though that doesn’t mean a whole lot when the vast majority of dragon related literature was written in the early 2000s. Myths existed long before then, but the digging up and the analysis of the myths didn’t really see a boom until that fad.

And Säure says he doesn’t do much thinking about the why of it all, or what it means. Just what he should do about a given thing. He stores the knowledge so he knows what to expect.

I find that weird.

And I know that Wentin wants me to do a lot less thinking and a lot more doing, and that’s kind of what I was trying against Säure today. And even though I can feel Wentin literally breathing down my back, I think that was a mistake.

A huge part of what I do is think.

I examine. I postulate. And I puzzle.

And another thing I also know is that almost always, whenever a dragon is defeated, it’s because the hero cleverly does something that others didn’t think of. They examine the situation and solve the problem.

So, tonight, during our debriefing and planning session, I start with the basics.

“Every dragon has a fatal weakness,” I say, putting every word into the sentence to be clear about it. “What is Säure’s? What is mine?”

“I think I can tell you yours,” Ptarmigan says. “If you really want to hear it.”

Ouch.

I really don’t want to hear it. I’m not emotionally ready for criticism, no matter how tactically important it is. But I stepped in it, and solicited the response because it is necessary to know.

I take a deep breath and close my eyes and type, “Oc. dhiit.”

I should have just said, “Okay” with my syrinx.

But Ptarmigan chuckles and figures out my intention, saying, “You’re smaller than his foot.”

“I don’t think that’s what Meghan means, Ptarmigan,” Chapman tells her.

Ptarmigan shrugs and says, “It’s still the fatal weakness in this case. If she gets stepped on, she’s done for this round. Same goes for all of us. I think that means whatever else she’s talking about might be irrelevant.”

“Hm.”

“What is Säure’s?” I repeat.

Of course, nobody has an answer.

We just don’t know.

Except for the one thing I’d observed. It’s not a fatal flaw, but it’s kept him from attacking as a dragon.

We’re his hoard. Or, at least, the humans are.

Or we’re living in and amongst his hoard, his buildings.

Something like that.

All his money in the world means squat if there aren’t any people and their systems of governance and economy to use it in. The money is meaningless if it doesn’t come from the exploited masses. And he owns numerous buildings throughout the city, and they are his, and I know as a dragon he wouldn’t want to see them destroyed or even mildly damaged.

I’m having enough trouble myself getting rid of my own garbage. And I mean blood stained, rain soak scraps of paper! Receipts! Out of date coupons!

In any case, it’s how we all survived the terror of the afternoon and made it to this meeting. I spread the word around and, even though we all still feel the imminent impact of Säure crashing down on us like a meteor hanging over our heads, we’re here.

But this isn’t something that can kill him.

I don’t think.

I don’t see how it could.

“I keep thinking,” Nathan says. “And this doesn’t answer your question, Meg, I’m sorry. But I keep thinking about how we all easily recognized you when we first saw you in your true form. And I don’t know how that works, but now the whole city saw Säure as a dragon. And those people who’ve met or seen him personally have got to know it’s him, right? Word’s going to get around. His cat’s out of the bag.”

“OK, but also,” Kim pipes up. “If I’m understanding Meg’s reports right, his whole thing seems to be that the other dragons are on what he considers his territory. And he wants them off of it. And dragons like Meg, who sleep on roofs, are extra vulnerable. He could pick them right off of their lairs in the middle of the night.”

“Like the Giant Claw,” Kimberly says, pointing at her. “1957, Columbia Pictures.”

“Oh, that was a delightfully terrible one, wasn’t it?” Nathan responds.

“You bet.”

“I’m just saying…” Kim tries to take the reigns of the conversation again. But Cerce finishes her thought.

“We need to figure out how to protect Meghan, in case he does that,” her coworker says.

“Yes,” Kim points at her. “That.”

“I might be particularly suited to helping with that,” Chapman says. “But it comes back to the whole fatal weakness thing. If we knew that – and I agree with Meghan that it’s usually a thing – then whatever I do could be more effective.”

“Do all dragons have a fatal weakness?” Rhoda asks, possibly prompted by Chapman’s use of the word “usually”, which stuck out to me, too.

Chapman sighs, but I admit out loud first, “No.”

She looks at me, and says, “So you misspoke.”

“Yes,” I say. Then I pull up my tablet to elaborate. “This take a bit,” I warn, then continue more eloquently. “Säure is a modern dragon, based on the myths and stories of European dragons. Those are the dragons that stereotypically have a fatal weakness. It’s legendary. It is a key component of nearly every dragon slaying story. Even when dragons are the heroes, we must know our flaw and protect it carefully. For example, Smaug had a chink in his armor that an arrow could pierce. Säure is a direct descendant of Smaug. And, from my appearances and abilities, so am I. Dragons from other cultures and stories are different.”

“But you’re different,” Nathan says. “You don’t hoard wealth.”

“True, but,” I respond. “I think I am from the heroic branch. A dragon of the people. Look at me. I’m small and pretty, but not perfect.”

“You know, when I look at you in your draconic form, you look more like a dragon from an illuminated manuscript than from Hollywood. You’re very shiny, but you have some delightfully weird proportions. Not like Säure, who’s picture perfect for new age tchotchkes. Are you sure you’ve got your lineage right?”

“Artistic license. It is about how I feel as much as anything. Also, my relationships. My place in the world,” I explain. “Who my people are.”

“You’re stunningly gorgeous, Meg. You rule all of downtown and everyone loves you for it,” Nathan says. “And you appear as a queen to us. Even the other dragons acknowledge it.”

“Drag queen,” I say. “Anyway, either your interpretation or mine supports my point. I represent you, and the people of downtown Fairport, not the accumulation of wealth and power.”

I have spent some time looking at my human shape’s reflection in the full length mirror. I’m not making fun of myself when I call myself a drag queen. I’m not wearing the typical makeup, or any at all. But with this gown and tiara, and the way I carry myself, it’s obvious. It makes sense. And, I think, it’s something to be proud of.

I mean, I am a trans woman, in so much as I’m anything that could be called a woman.

When I take my humanoid form, not someone else’s, I stand at five feet ten inches tall. I have wide shoulders and a barrel chest. And I have a pretty strong chin. None of these things mark me as a trans woman. Lots of cis women have these traits, too. No one trait or collections of traits are telltale for a trans woman. Not even an Adam's apple. But, I do not appear as a small woman. I’m not dainty.

My gown is perfectly tailored to fit my overweight frame, and it looks fantastic on me. If it had been made by a human rather than my subconscious mind or my metaphysical physiology or whatever, it would obviously have been tailored by the kind of professional only Hollywood celebrities can afford these days.

But it’s not the kind of thing that women my size and shape typically wear to blend in these days, by any stretch.

It looks absolutely regal, and magical, and it also just looks so stereotypically queer. And the braided hair and tiara just add to the effect.

I look like a queer trans woman celebrating her birthday every day in the way that she wishes she could, and I’ve never felt this comfortable presenting as a human before.

It’s still a strain, though. Both a physical and a mental one. And I can’t keep it up longer than a couple hours at a time.

But anyway, I think it represents me just as well as my true form does, and isn’t much of a disguise.

“You’ve got me there,” Nathan says. “I’ll take a drag queen over a real queen, any day.”

“Fuckin’ A,” Kimberly fist bumps him.

Rhoda grunts and sets her jaw forward, considering me through hooded eyes. Then she says, “I’ve been thinking about you Meghan, a lot. Maybe for longer than anyone should have. But I have an observation you might not want to hear.”

It’s only been a little over a month since I came to realize how much regard Rhoda has had for me, and how much she’s been helping me and making me a part of her life. It took me a bit to wake myself up and start to try to hold her in the same regard. Or at least to have proper respect for it. It took Chapman pointing it out to me for me to really notice, and I feel bad about that.

But, in the last couple of weeks, Rhoda and I have been spending a lot more time together, and really getting to know each other. And it has felt so good.

I wish my life could just be that, but I know it is destined not to be. At least for the situation we have at hand, with a dragon like Säure trying to exert his will and power over the entire county.

I dearly want to figure out how to turn my life around so that I can return all the kindnesses that Rhoda has shown me. To give her the safety, strength, and support to craft her life the way she’d like it to be. And it would be really nice if she still felt charitable toward me, enough that she’d accept that return, at least.

When I really examine my feelings, I can’t help but think of her as the center of my people. The humans that I call family. Those that give me a sense of purpose and place.

I have had hopes, and it has felt like those hopes might be answered. At least, it felt that way until I told her what I thought I really was. Not so much a living being as a living myth, a story, a potentially immortal symbol.

And after she’d expressed her distrust for and rejection of the immortal Artists, Ptarmigan and Chapman, I’ve been dreading her reaction to my confession. And she’s been particularly quiet to me since.So when I hear her phrase her words like that, my heart drops hard. This is actually going to hurt.