Chapter 5: Unfortunate Circumstances

Rummy place, this. McKale, dressed in full male garb, strolled down the holographic corridors of Star City, his gloved hands clasped behind his back and a smarmy smile flit over his lips. It was not that he was happy, quite the contrary, he rather disliked the thought of the whole...fiasco. Rummaging around a crowded...thing, looking for some poor chap he didn't have the faintest idea about. More than that, though, he was in the middle of no where, and never had those words be spoken (or thought) more truly. Just thinking about the fathomless depths of space that stretched out all around him made McKale's stomach flip-flop uneasily within the confines of his skin. But he had to smile, really didn't have much choice in the matter, what. Had to seem friendly for these...odd fellows. The only way to get information, after all. "Excuse me miss, have you heard of Yaidom? No...No. Alright then." "Good afternoon, Sir. Would you be able to direct me toward the whereabouts of a fellow named Yaid- Oh? Very well, then. Thank-you, sir." "What-ho there...um, fellow, do you know- No? Oh. Well, thank-you anyway...s- m- chap." It didn't seem like McKale would be having much like with just a name and piece of paper. Good god! Did the man even exist? Honestly, how could one Wilbur Winquist send him off on a quest to find a bally load of people without so much as a photograph of each! He couldn't honestly expect him to be able to find all these people without any information about them. McKale could very well be looking for a polka-dotted worm for all the bally facts he had. "Excuse me, sir?" McKale jumped and swung around, clutching his fist to the ruffles at his throat. A horrible stench suddenly filled his nostrils and he hurriedly moved his hand to cover his nose,” I say!" A ragged looking man hobbled toward McKale, a sloppy grin on his sloppy face, skewed by the sloppy disarray of his dull hair as it flopped over his face. He stretched out a palm, covered in moth-eaten cloth, and sniffed a little,” Got any change you could spare?" "I say!" said McKale again. He raked his eyes up the man's form. Rather scruffy looking fellow, what with his excessive amount of facial hair and...Smell. Squinting at the spaces in his ragged hair, McKale could make out four scars, three running parallel from his left eye, and the other cutting across his lips. Poor bloke looked half starved, unbathed, and as if he were on the verge of knocking on death's door. McKale dug in his pockets with his spare hand and retrieved a few pence, dropping it tinkling into the man's hand,” I say!" "Thank-you, sir,” the wino nodded his head and the change disappeared up his sleeve. He tapped his fingers off his forehead and moved around McKale. McKale watched him leave, brow furrowed and something of an uncertain grimace curling his pale lips. Poor bugger looked like he'd been wandering the streets for years. The sort you'd never get the smell off o- "Oh! Wait up there!" McKale started and hurried after the hobo. The wino stopped, glancing over his shoulder and fiddling with a loose button that dangled from his coat, right about the waist,” Yes sir? You need something?" He grinned a bit wider. "Oh, yes, ah,"McKale unfolded the note and waved it about the wino's face,” You ever heard of a chap by the name of Yaidom?" The wino sucked his lip into his mouth and frowned,” Can’t say I have, sorry." "Oh, very well than. Thought as much-" "But!" the cheerful look returned to the hobo's face,” I know someone who might be able to point you in the right direction." "Do you? Oh, that's wonderful! Could you perhaps..." The wino bared his yellowed teeth,” I’ll show you the way. Come on." .:.:.::.:.:. "I say, there, what’s-your-name, where are we going?" The wino's grip tightened around the ruffled sleeve cuff of McKale's shirt. He tugged him insistently into a line and shoved him forward,” The Abstract Destiny. Fantastic place. Lots of color." "The Abstract what?" "Destiny. It's docked right now, I think. But we still gotta get past security. I'm Emmanuel, by the way. Named after a porn star, you know. Well, erotica really, but you don't say 'erotica star'. Security doesn't like me much. Keep thinking I'm trying to steal stuff. Nothing to do with that thingy I was trying to leave with, of course. Thought it was a souvenir. That's what they get for leaving things out like that. Anyone could have mistaken it for a-" "What-ho there, chap. What the bloody hell are you going on about? What does pinching things have to do with anything?" "Pinching things? I didn't say anything about pinching things, but if you're into that..."he wiggled his eyebrows and toyed with that loose button again,"Oh look, we're almost there!" He slipped out of the line, bumping McKale forward a bit more,” Right then, you just get onboard here, and ask for a fellow named Bress. Of course, I don't think anyone knows who Bress is. Best just to wander around a bit 'till you see him. Fine looking fellow, blond and skinny. Very smart. Says he works for this Yaidom fellow. He's been wandering around the hatching bays. Not sure if he wants to bond or not, but he's a respectable sort - sort of - so know one's really bothered to tell him to hurry it up. Off you go then!" McKale found himself spiraling toward a silver door, and the brawny looking fellow that stood in front of it. .:.:.::.:.:. Jeffrey found himself more than a little lost, wandering through the (considerably smaller) corridors of the Abstract Destiny. Entering the ship had not been difficult. He merely had to express his desire for bonding a dragon and they whisked him on in with cheerful smiles; perhaps the whispered comment that he was a little old to be bonding, but other than that it seemed the staff had been rather friendly toward him. Unfortunately, there was nothing to be said about his navigational skills when plopped into unfamiliar territory and no information as to where he was supposed to be going. Of course, he wasn't supposed to be looking for dragon eggs. He was supposed to be looking for Yaidom. Miss/Mister McKale would not be entirely pleased if she found out Jeffrey was not doing his job, despite the fact he took it upon himself as an entirely optional action. The halls were fairly empty, but for the scattered staff member (or so Jeffrey assumed) and the occasional visitor that slipped in and out of the doors to either side of the hall. The hatching bays, weren't they? He caught a glimpse of one in passing, noting brightly hued dragons and a fair amount of eggs nestled at their sides. But knowing where the dragon parents were would not help him. This was a more technical institute, not the sort you pop into and ask mummy and daddy if they'll let you stand at their youngling's hatching. The door to the bravo bay slid open and a pair of tall, lithe young men sauntered out, talking quietly between themselves. "They would make excellent bonds. Very suiting to us,” one of the pair, the taller, skinnier, blond. "Yes, yes, Bress, but what if something better comes along? I don't want my name plastered all over the DRM trying to bond every hatchling that comes along." DRM? A tiny smile flit momentarily over Jeffrey's mouth, sinking out of sight just as quickly as it had appeared. He shimmered purposefully toward the pair, clasping his hands in front of himself,” Excuse me, sirs?" The pair slowly shifted gazes from each other to Jeffrey. They were taller than him, Jeffrey noted, feeling dwarfed by their looming presence. He cleared his throat a little and licked his lips,” I came here with the intention of signing to stand for a clutch, but I'm not entirely sure of the process. Would you perhaps be able to help me?" "Certainly,” the blonde fellow stepped away from his companion, who shrank back with a scowl on his face. The blonde clasped a hand on Jeffrey's shoulder and pointed down the corridor,” You need a computer. Just sign-up at the DRM, that's Draconic Relations Ministry, and you're on your way. Of course, you can do this in person at the DRM in Star City as well." "Ah, thank-you, sir,” he nodded his head and stepped away. "Hey!" the blonde called back,” Which clutch are you trying to stand for?" Jeffrey turned, brow furrowed. Which indeed? He'd had a look at the Alpha Bay dragons, garishly bright and...Exuberant. Perhaps a bit too much for him, or for McKale to accept into the household,” Bravo Bay, I believe." The blonde turned to his companion, smirking,” I told you. Excellent choice those ones. Very suiting." "Simply because one person wishes to bond them, doesn't mean I should, Bress, but if you want to, by all means..." Jeffrey turned again, his soft, minute smile in place. "Jeffrey!" Jeffrey's head snapped up ad he wheeled around a second time, eyes widened. McKale shot down the other end of the corridor, arms, legs, and lace flailing,” Jeffrey! It's them! Or him, rather, but- Jeffrey, get them!" Jeffrey's brow rose to his hairline," 'Get them', Sir? Of whom are you speaking?" "Them!" McKale was nearly to them now, still shouting shrilly. His hand waved vaguely in the direction of Bress and his equally tall companion. "Oh, dear me, Yaidom, what have you done now?" There was a shimmer of light, and the forms of Bress and Yaidom were no longer anything near to humanoid. The sound of shifting, lurching muscles filled the air, and they shriveled to reptilian stature, long and eight-legged with slick olive-black skin and bright- Jeffrey's eyes widened before he quickly clamped them down. McKale's footsteps rang only a few feet away and he lurched himself toward him. They tumbled blindly to the floor. Jeffrey's hands groped his master's form until they reached his face. He shoved them haphazardly over McKale's eyes and braced himself against his squirming. "Jeffrey! What, by Jove, are you doing! He's getting away!" He pushed upward, but to no avail. Jeffrey held fast. The scattering of claws against the metallic floor echoed down the hall, dying away to a mere whisper of noise. Jeffrey exhaled, letting out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding, and slid of McKale. He stood, wiping dust from his pants, and offered his hand to his master. McKale slapped it away, lips pursed, and scrambled to his feet. "What in god's name do you think you're doing, Jeffrey! You let them get away!" he let out a cry and stumbled toward the wall, gripping it to steady himself,” We’ll never catch them now. I'll never be able to use my watch again! Oh, Jeffrey!" The last syllables were growled in anguish, and Jeffrey could see McKale's knees tremble with the word. He cleared his throat and stepped toward the young master. McKale's jaw clenched and he stiffened noticeably, turning his cheek toward the wall. "They were basilisks, Sir. I do not believe attempting to capture them would be a wise choice." "Oh? Oh! And why not, Jeffrey?!" "One look into the eyes of a basilisk, sir, and you would have been turned to stone. A commonly irreversible process, if I'm correct." "Turned to- Oh. Oh, Jeffrey,” his knees did give out then, and Jeffrey was quick to shimmer toward him, hoisting him and heaving him against his chest. "Oh, Jeffrey, I'm sorry." "Very well, Sir. I believe we should return to our apartment, if that is alright with sir?" "Yes, yes, Jeffrey. That's fine with me. Could you run me a bath when we get there?" "Certainly, Sir." "And perhaps pick up some chocolate, afterward? I'm a little shaken up, what-ho?" "Very well, Sir,” Jeffrey paused,” I have an errand to run as well, if you'll permit me, Sir." "Ah, well...certainly, Jeffrey. Don't be gone too long?" "Very well, Sir." After all, it shouldn't take terribly long to find the DRM. And what was signing a few forms? "I should not be absent for more than an hour, sir." "Make it a rather hot bath, then, Jeffrey." "Very good, sir."