I won't even GO into why this wasn't posted earlier. I just decided that I'll go WITHOUT a beta and just be extra careful with writing this. I'll try and write it how it was supposed to be to the best of my ability, but I'm afraid that school, a day chock full of Zelda games, massive disappointments in people, and finding out that I need knee surgery is taking a toll on my writing...Which is why the most recent installment of RTaR sucked so bad. Well, the omake was nice, but that's it.
I own…not much, surprisingly.
Prologue: The Choosing
Sometimes, I'm amazed at how contradictory my father can be. One minute, he's shoving me into the barn and demanding that I pick "The right dragon for me." The next minute, he's dragging me out of the barn and practically forcing a particular dragon down my throat. I had stopped listening to him singing the baby dragon's praises about ten minutes ago.
Vaguely, I hear something about "spending time with and bonding with your dragon." If I even had any time to spend, I'd rather be spending it sleeping. Sleeping was a good waste of time, plus it kept me alive and well. Speaking of sleeping, my father's words about the sleeping schedules of dragons penetrates my space-out barrier. Something about short, frequent naps, but that doesn't matter.
I come back to earth just in time for my father to finish what he was saying and to push the baby dragon into my arms expectantly. He's giving me "The Look." It's not the "Boy, Are You EVER In Trouble" Look, more like the "It Would Be In You Very BEST Interests To Do As I Say" Look. I knew that Look well, the one where dad would say I had other options, but I really didn't. Not unless I wanted to be crushed by guilt and dragon crap.
Frowning in concentration, I lifted the dragon to eye level, "Beaucephalis," I repeated, the dragon's name being the only thing I remembered, "Ok, how hard could it be?"
My question was answered as I felt a sudden, warm wet spot on my tee-shirt.
It had been a week, and I had HAD IT with this dragon. The little monster was wrecking the house, so I had given up on all that "loving and bonding" crap in favor of the one this that could possibly tame the beast.
However, dad caught me and taken it away. After cursing my miserable fortune for a few moments, I realized that there was one other thing that could help me. There was a new Dragsmart in the Squire's End Shopping District, and they were advertising obedience classes.
So that's how I got where I am now.
I slouched into the new Dragsmart, the pet carrier in my left hand jostling periodically as Beaucephalis rammed against the sides in an effort to escape. Why my father had insisted on me choosing the dragon with the attitude problem, I'll never know. Dad had told me that spending time with Beau and bonding with him would settle the fiery dragon down, but my mutilated shoes, chewed-up video game controllers, marinated carpet, and missing stash of candy bars begged to differ.
Although that last one could have been Lance's fault.
Still, the point was that Beau was a vicious little thing that would sooner bite my hand off than actually act tame around me. I continued to shuffle to the back of the pet store, towards the obedience training area. I spotted an employee, a tall girl with white hair, after admiring her ass for a few moments, I tapped her on the shoulder.
"S'cuse me, where do I apply for the obedience classes?"
The girl turned (flat as a board, what a shame) and gave me a sharp look...Like a complete and total You-Waste-All-The-Good-Air-Around-Here death glare. She pointed up and to the left towards a sign that read "Obedience Training Registration" in bold red letters. I grinned sheepishly and said, "Oh, heh, sorry. Thanks." before making my way over to the nearby table.
The dark-skinned guy at the table didn't even look up as I placed the thrashing carrier on the table. He turned a page in his magazine and shoved a piece of paper at me, "Your name, dragon's name, address, phone number, e-mail address, and method of payment. Here's a pen." I filled out the required information, sneaking casual glances at the white-haired chick restocking the nearby shelves. I guess the registration guy must have noticed, because he looked up at the girl and smirked, "Hey, Moordryd. Number twenty-three!"
Moordryd? That was a weird name for a girl...
Moordryd turned and glared at the guy, then at me. Registration Guy (whose nametag read "Cain") turned back to his magazine, "Told ya you shouldn't wear those tight pants, man. Now you own me forty dracals!"
I looked from Moordryd, to Cain, to Moordryd's pants, then to the carrier when Beau decided to let out a loud wail of despair. I was surprised to hear a very male voice snarl out, "Dammit Cain! Cut that out!"
So...Yeah. That's all for today. It's a little choppy from where I just cut and pasted from the Sneak Preview chapter from RTaR, but whatever. You all still love me, right?
Ah, I hate to sink to this level, but times are tough and I need the reviews...No new chapter until I get...Three reviews for this prologue.
I think it's fair!