Azmirian's Story

Dusk was coming. The gleaming white dragon felt it in his bones. His wings itched to be used, and his back complained from being curled up in the garage all day. He raised his sleek head from the book he had been reading and stretched out his long neck, and his dull yellow horns grazed the ceiling. Whoops... He'd have to patch that up tomorrow. Dresden would understand, though. He always did. A small smile lit on his lips. Dresden. He could never express his gratitude to his "dad." He did the best he could given the circumstances. When a dragon's egg gets dropped on your doorstep, most mages wouldn't be as kind. He thanked the stars every day that Dresden was so kind, and hoped to repay the favor some day. His dull yellow eyes twinkled with adoration, and he awaited the moonrise so he could go to school.

Azmirian heard Harry Dresden before he actually opened the door. He waited patiently for him to drop his keys on the couch, put his duster up, and come to the door. He did this every day, being too tired to do anything different. Some nights he didn't come home, and some dawns he was already gone. He had a busy life, being Chicago's only supernatural private detective, and what with Seargent Murphy calling on him to consult for the police more often, he rarely got sleep. Murphy was a good woman, often she came to say hi after aikido in the morning. Yesterday she brought a jelly doughnut... Mmmh... Dresden confided everything to her now, and she had promised to help look after Azmirian. Between the two of them, Thomas (Dresden's half-brother, white court vampire, but a very good man), Bob the skull, and Mouse the Temple Dog, he had company and care enough. Even Mister, the bob-tailed tomcat, came to say hello now and then.

The rustling of a paper bag meant a gift! The dragon's heart leaped as he hoped desperately for new books. Money was tight, but there were always books to be had in this house. Harry had a friend who owned a second-hand bookstore, and he often bought in bulk. That store always had paper bags. Granted, so did the doughnut shop.

Quickly and carefully, Azmirian pivoted on his belly so his nose lay right in front of the door. He growled a bit in his chest to accumulate some smoke and waited for the door to open. Once it did, and Dresden peeked his unshaved face around the corner, the dragon let loose with a huge puff of smoke, sending the wizard back through the doorway. He stumbled and coughed, waving the hand devoid of paper bags to clear the smoke. "Ace, you're gonna send me down the stairs one day," he laughed. "Gift from Murph, new books. She says hi," he reentered the garage and plunked the bag down by Azmirian's tail.

"Tell her I say thanks!" exclaimed the dragon, delving into the bag with two talons carefully to withdraw the paper treasures inside. Nothing smelled better than old books, not even jelly doughnuts. He sighed as the whiff of aged ink and paper met his nostrils. "Oh, that's good." He smiled at the wizard and nudged him affectionately with his nose. At this point, his eyes and horns were now a dark grey, seeing as how the sun had set. "Mind opening the door? I gotta get going or I'll be late."

"Needy needy needy," teased the wizard. Azmirian knew he never wanted kids, and he was gruff as all wizards were, but they got along fine. Dresden moved for the garage door of the boarding house. He lived in the basement, but once Azmirian was big enough he increased his rent and reserved the garage for full time use. No one else ever used it anyways, everyone parked out on the lot. Most didn't even know the garage existed. Better that way. The wizard unlocked the padlock and threw open the door. He didn't use anything electric, seeing as how wizards and technology didn't tend to get along, magical auras and all that. Once the door was open, moonlight streamed in, and the horns and eyes of the dragon gleamed a bright silver upon the ray's touch. "Thanks, Dad, I'll be back tomorrow!" He smiled and looped his tailtip about the bag of books. Dresden poked his head out and looked both ways, shivering in the cold weather.

"All clear, see you then."

Azzie hastily squirmed out of the doors, passed the books to his front hand, and stretched his massive wings gratefully. He blended in well with the snow, but had to go before anyone saw. He flapped them slowly to warm up, then faster and faster until he lifted off the ground. Bursts of wind buffetted Dresden, and he clutched the doorway of the garage to stay on his feet. Snow flew into the streed and air, sparkling all around the dragon. With a final push, he was moving towards school.

(Sorry for long post, wanted to just get it all done XD)

Azmirian felt a faint shimmering on his belly and looked down in alarm. Someone had placed a veil over him. He knew he was forgetting something!! Dresden had been too tired to remember, and Azzie was all too ready to leave. He face-palmed and continued on.

A few minutes later he arrived at school. He landed with an apology to the girl he accidentally blew over with the gales of wind issued from his wings as he flapped to halt his forward momentum. He helped her up with a talon and smiled. "Sorry about that, it's sort of hard to stop." He walked towards the oversized door (renovated after he took up attendance) and checked the bag with the books. All safe and sound in the back. He relished the thought of reading them. He passed a humanoid in the hall, and the veil underneath him reacted on passing. He turned with a smile. "Hey, thanks for that, Dad and I completely forgot."

"Ace," as most of the kids knew the dragon as, slid down the hallway, new book in tail. He was already buried deep in the story, as always. When Azmirian read, he didn't just see the words. His mind was transported to the land in the book, the world of thought. He became a silent spectator in the story, knew the characters as real beings, and every sense made it real to him. He knew the school halls like the tip of his tail and approached his class automatically, feet mindlessly transporting him to where he needed to be. All his attention was focused on the plot, the struggle between wolf and nature. He mumbled the occasional apology through the handles of his bag to the pedestrian who didn't know him well enough to dodge when he was reading. Most just chuckled and moved out of the way. He was the only dragon for several states, so he was generally a sight to be seen moving down the halls, and always was the nonverbal answer as to why all the halls and classes were so large. He hated the stares, but figured there was no avoiding them. Also unavoidable was the gnawing lonliness and need for answers. He was the only dragon he knew besides the ones in his books, which were generally nothing like him. He'd never let it show, though. He put on the brave face and carried on.

Finally, he reached the room for his first class: Art. The studio was lavish, filled with different mediums and tools to be used. Trash cans full of clay lined the colorful mosaic walls and the front of the class had enormous windows that were enchanted to show the sky above them. The moon shone in, and immediately Azzie (another nickname)'s horns and eyes gleamed radiantly silver. He dazedly glid over to his spot in the back corner of the class and sank down graciously onto the massive patchwork quilt the class had made him since he didn't have a chair. He yanked himself from the story and smiled down at the quilt, remembering that wonderful day they had surprised him. Pictures of stars, books, birds, the sun, trees and the occasional doughnut plus other things the kids knew he liked ornamented the plush resting place, each square made by a student in the class. He sighed and rested his nose on it a moment before continuing with his book.

He was aware of the new arrival's presence. "Hello, Rosalie, how are you?" He didn't take his eyes from his book, but smiled up at her fondly. Rosalie was a character, but brilliant at art. She could draw so wonderfully, something he had never been as good at. Her drawings were among his favorites to look at whenever the class shared what they had done or had art exhibitions. He heard the scratching of her sketches on paper and his heart soared. Such a great sound. "What are you drawing now, if I may ask?" He loved to watch her draw, but his presence tended to make the students nervous, what with being... well... a dragon, a huge bulk of teeth tail and claws. A few had taken the time to know him better, and all knew he would never harm them, the subconscious nervousness was still there.

"Mind if I see? You just draw so well, all I can do is make statues." He chuckled. Carefully, he turned his silver eyes to the paper bag next to his quilt and placed the book tenderly inside, marking the place with a tiny dot in the corner of the page, courtesy of a talon. He then stretched out his neck, eyes squinched shut in pleasure, and let out a tiny huff of air before shoving up to his feet. He left the quilt and headed over to the blonde girl staring at the windows. He waited politely at a distance for an affirmative or negative before approaching her. He liked to be cautious, you never knew with teenagers sometimes.

Azmirian beamed, teeth as white as his scales glinting in the sideways moonlight. He sauntered over and watched the blonde artist's pencil swoop over the page, almost as if flying. The girl in the picture was beautiful, as far as humanoids were concerned. He watched each part of her anatomy become sketched into existance with ravenous glee. He hoped someday he could learn from Rosalie if he watched close enough, head, spine, eyes, nose, perfect mouth and ears, lavish hair, manicured hands, sculpted legs and feet... and then a tiny dragon. He was both enthralled and dismayed at this new addition... Lonliness gnawed at his secret heart, but he hid the grief behind a smile. "It's beautiful, Rose," he said softly, failing to keep his eyes from beginning to water. This was the first time he had seen her draw a dragon in an obedient role, but that wasn't the matter of his unhappiness. Lately, the intense longing for other draconic company had exponentially become more vivid. Without a word, he turned with grace and sped back to his quilt, face to the wall so she couldn't see his fight for dominance over his tears. 'Hatchling,' he jabbed at himself pitifully

Azmirian heard the excited chatter as he turned to the wall, and knew they had probably seen his emotions. Blast the earth, of course they had. He didn't care, they could talk all they wanted. He wouldn't let it show. Slowly, he breathed in and out, banishing the tears threatening to well over his eyes. They receded quickly enough, and he put on his satisfied grin. The bell rang at last. Class was beginning, which meant he had full access to the clay near him. His heart beat excitedly, for he loved sculpting. After a long day cooped up on his belly for hours and hours on end, unable to do much with his claws, Art was a nice class to have. He stood before the teacher even entered the class and went to the massive barrels of clay. With his tail, he looped around two of the silver cans and lifted them easily. The gleaming dragon then moved to the smooth tile floor that had been devoted to his work. He didn't have the dexterity for pencils or brushes, yet, but using just his tail worked well enough when he had to draw. However, today he had something... bigger in mind.

He lifted the lids of the cans, one in each claw, and placed them neatly to the side, one on top of the other. His eyes sparkled with anticipation, he had the idea all planned out. One can in each claw, he turned them upside down on the linoleum surface, and with a call of "Loud noise, upcoming!" whipped his body around and whacked them with his muscular tail. The things clanged deafeningly, and two soft thuds issued right after. He carefully lifted the cans and was pleased to find two cylinrical towers of clay the size of his forearms.

"Heh, haven't even started yet," he stated with a jovial laugh. He flexed his claws experimentally, planning his work before getting to it. The perfectly smooth clay called to him, coaxed his claws closer, whispered what it wanted to be. He was happy to oblige. With an excited huff of air, he delved his talons into the earthy, round top of one tower. They sank into the luxurious moist earth and he pulled off a huge chunk of the material. The girl next to him then mentioned meeting a real dragon. The smile on his face flickered and his claws froze for a moment. Seemed to be the running topic of the day... Azmirian kept the smile firmly in place and continued to shape the blob of earth in his claws. He rolled it about to get the air bubbles out, seeing as how he learned that one lesson the hard way when a nice piece exploded as he fired it. 'Twas a sad day, but he laughed it off and carried on.

"Yeah. I get that a lot..." he murmured, ethereal silver eyes locked on the clay.

With a satisfied snort, he placed the sculpted ball on the tile floor. It was now the head of a deer, hornless and earless. "It's not that hard to guess why I'm here. But don't worry, I know the value of secrecy. I mean, I live in the middle of Chicago, Dad and myself are the best kept secrets in the city," he winked at the girl and scooped off another chunk of clay, much bigger than the previous one, then another from the opposite tower. He pushed the two lumps together and began to smooth and shape them into a sort of lima-bean shape.

Azmirian was absorbed in his work, unaware of Mordacai's approach despite his overactute hunter's senses. He sculplted away at the giant lima bean, smoothing it, working it, and getting out the air bubbles. Somewhere during the process he leaned back and sat on his haunches, tail curled around his hind claws gracefully. Finally, the thing was smooth and perfectly curved. He tilted his head at it with pride and gently set it down. He moved on, grabbing a small-midsized blot of clay and rolling it back and forth in his claws, turning it into a tapered, thin cylinder. He took two talons and scooped more clay out of the reserves to add to the form in two circular knobs which he began to taper to the rod and make smooth.

By the time all this had happened, the lima bean, four knobby sticks, and head had been compiled into the basic form of a deer. It was larger than life size, around six feet tall. Everything was smoothed and the joints between sections had been seamlessly connected. It wasn't finished by Azzie's standards, though. He carved at a chunk of clay in one claw carefully, ears pinned to the back of his head in concentration. It was indistinguishable at this point, but turning out just the way he wanted.

By the time he had returned, two perfect antlers lay at Azmirian's feet. He delicately picked one up with two talons, scored the base of it and the deer's head, added some slip and attatched it firmly. He then repeated the process with the other antler. The stag was gorgeous, perfectly proportioned, eyes full of majesty and posture suggesting motion. Azzie smiled pridefully down at it and bared his talons. With a loving glint in his eye he began to drag his claws gently across the form in short little strokes. Fur appeared on the back of the stag, the sides, the legs, the head, the tail. The antlers' veins and texturing was added, and there stood a stag of clay, ready to run.

Now was the fun part. Azmirian turned to the two nearest him and smiled mischieviously. "Stand back."

Azmirian smiled pridefully down at his creation of clay, relishing the next step. With a look to the teacher who nodded approval, he began to suck in air and exhale roughly. Smoke drifted from his nostrils and agape mouth lazily, but increased in intensity as he breathed faster and faster. His silver eyes glinted with a huge inhalation, but on the exhale, he clacked his molars together and flexed the bottom of his throat. Two sources of sparks lit in his mouth as he opened up his maw and issued a burst of warm air. As it passed into his jaws, the gases ignited to turn into gales of superheated dragon fire. The smell of hydrogen and sulfur filled the room instantly and a wave of heat flooded the space. The stag was eaten by the fire. The crackling roar of the flames shut out any other noises in the room for around ten seconds. Azzie released the flame and inhaled deeply, relishing the fresh air.

There before the class stood a fired sculpture of a stag, ready for display, glaze, or paint.

'Interest me'? The phrase ran through their minds for a bit, how ever was he interested in them? Eventually Ammon let go of the thought but it still seemed to run around in his sister's head. She'd never had anyone show any sort of interest in them before, living such a sheltered life before coming here there was only them two and their parents. Her eyebrow furrowed a bit, catching the eyes of her dear brother, who looked upon her slightly worried. "What troubles you?" he questioned her, his hand gently placed upon her head.

"Well," Nefret paused briefly, "we are new here and I feel like we should.. be making friends but..." Her voice trailed off as she glanced around the classroom at everyone that was attending that class at the moment. All different sorts of people and all different sorts of creatures. It interesting her very much but somehow she couldn't very well get herself to open up so soon.

"But what?" he asked as his wings twitched just slightly.

"We really aren't doing a good of a job trying..." Nefret's head hung down as she stared at the ground, unsure of anything at this point and time.

Ammon merely chuckled at her, "do not worry to much about it sister, we will eventually make friends.. we just have to get use to being around here is all." He got up out of his chair a grabbed a few things of paint, consisting of the colors black, tan, brown, and a gold-ish one.

"I know what will cheer you up, let's do some painting, you love painting," he smiled, setting the paints on the table in front of them. His sister smiled just slightly, she did love to paint but before she could get do doing any paint there was a strange heat . They both looked forward to the front of the classroom where a dragon was setting fire to something, though the only think they noticed from it was the smell of hydrogen and sulfur. The scent carried into their sensitive noses causing them to let out a soft hiss in discomfort.

As soon it it was over the the smell left they relaxed, "that is better," the girl said as she took hold of a paint brush and began painting. Ammon follow suite and joined in doing so, painting the ancient language they grew up with.