On Dragons and thier yards

Have you seen the Hobbit?  Smaug sure left his front yard a mess.  Reminded me of this little story I wrote about Vern and his yard.  (This is before Grace came along, btw.)

You'd think after 60 years, the plants would have grown back.  Maybe Gandalf can recomment a good landscaping service?

Beautification Claws: From the Case Files of DragonEye, PI

By Karina L. Fabian

She stood on my doorstep wearing hot pink shorts and a blouse that looked like an art fair threw up. I almost breathed fire on her just to put her out of my misery. Nothing cures the aftermath of an ethanol binge like dragon-style pyrotechnics. But she might have a job for me, though with that artificially whitened smile, I doubted it.  "Yes?"

"Hi!" she lilted. What was I, a puppy? "We represent the Los Lagos Beautification Committee!"

We? "Great. Start on the yard."

"Oh, Mr. Dragon! They told me you were funny!"  She pealed with laughter. Yes, pealed, like hyperactive church bells. It made me regret the twenty dollars I blew at the Texaco last night.

She took a deep breath, just avoiding a snort. "No, no-no. I do see that you could use some help, however."

"You here to give me landscaping advice?"

Again the laugher, happy ice picks doing the Macarena on my eardrums.  She patted the air with her hands. Why hadn't someone eaten her yet? Why hadn't I?

"Oh, Mr. Dragon! I admire how you can keep a sense of humor, especially in...weeeelll." She cast her eyes about my place with what I'm sure she'd call a Significant Look.

I tilted my head in a Significant Way. Damsels and Knights, I wished I could raise one eyebrow.

"It's just that, a Beautiful Environment Makes a Beautiful Attitude!"

She even sounded like a toothpaste commercial. I treated her to my can-we-get-to-business-before-I-eat-you-just-kidding! look.  Who needs eyebrows?

"You see. There's a problem with the area, and we think you can help."

A job? I perked up.

"I understand you've... scratched some of the buildings in the area."

"Yesssss....?"

"Well, you're defacing the exterior!"

"Yesssss.....?"

"It simply won't do!"

"Anybody complaining?"

"The Committee--"

"Anybody around here complaining?"

"No."

"Those 'scratches' mark the area as under my protection. My Territory."

"I realize it might be an instinct thing--"

I threw back my head and snorted. She jumped but didn't back away. Score one for guts. "Do you know the crime rate around Territory?"

"Unacceptably high. That's why the Los Lagos Beautification Committee wants to foster a more pleasant environment--"

"--Do you know the crime rate within Territory?"

"I don't--"

"People don't mess with places I've marked. They've got a stronger motivation than beauty.  Me."

"Could put up some nice signs?"

"'Property Protected by Dragon'? Get serious."

She crossed her arms. "We cannot allow you to continue to vandalize property."

Joan of Arc used that look. Wondered if they were related. That shirt did look French Impressionistic.  "Get an injunction."

"If I must. Good day!" She spun on her expensive hot pink heels and stalked to her Lexus.

I slammed my door just before she slammed hers.

A few minutes later, I started feeling guilty, which really burned me up. Bad enough I was stuck living among humans until I'd earned back all my dragon power--did I have to develop the ability to feel guilty, too?

I glanced out at my window. Wrappers and garage sale flyers played hide-and-seek among the leaves. No one would dare use it as a dumping ground now, but there's no threatening the wind.

Fine. I'd go clean up the trash. Least I could do for Princess Beautification.

I'd swept up a sizable pile using my tail when I heard the screams.  Sounded like Ms. Beautiful Environment had gotten into an ugly situation.

I found her, one tough smashing her face against the wall while another was dumpster diving and shouting obscenities. Apparently Princess Moxie tossed her purse into the garbage. 

I let out a roar and a burst of fire over their heads. Ah, the sound of screams and fleeing feet! Cured my hangover, too.

I fished in the dumpster with my tail for her purse.

"Oh! Thank you!" She pulled wet wipes from it.

"You shouldn't be here alone. Fine lady like you with a set of wheels like that?" I bit back the rest of my reply. Hard to sarcastic to someone dabbing away blood and tears with a powder-scented towelette.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Dragon."

"Vern."

"Vern. Thank you." She gave me a clean if watery smile. "People around here depend on you?"

"I take care of what's mine."

She directed her Significant Look at her car.

I tilted my head in my best puppy-dog imitation. "You sure?"

"It'd make me happy."

Know what? Raking my claws across the back fender of her Lexus made me happy, too.

Of Slings and Feeling Vexed, a DragonEye Story

In honor of the Mayan calendar ending, I thought I'd share this story of Vern and Quetzalcoatl. BTW, you did hear that they found a bigger calendar?  Apparently only the wall calendar runs out.

Of Slings and Feeling Vexed (And Other Mayan Stuff)

By Karina Fabian

(Originally appeared in 10Flash)

“You want me to do what?”

“You will defeat the Mayan’s false god,” Cortez said.

“And bring these people to the True God,” Father Jose Dominguez added.

The conquistador ignored the little priest who stood next to him, and regarded me with a haughty glare. Although a small man himself, Cortez had presence.

That irked me. I was more the size of one of his dogs than the great dragon I once had been. St. George had spent forty days taking away just about everything that made me dragon, then forced me to serve the Church to get it back. At the time, I thought my world had ended, but it opened up the doors to a pretty interesting new one.

Of course, some days were more “interesting” than others.

“In case you hadn’t noticed,” I replied, with acid in my voice to replace the fire I no longer breathed, “I’m no heavyweight. Even when I was, I didn’t mess with demigods.  What makes you think this will end well?”

He didn’t deign to answer.

“You will be as David against Goliath!” Father Jose said.

I snorted. And me without a slingshot.

#

Quetzalcoatl laughed. “This is your champion? This is the might of the foreign—”

Goliath or not, I did not want to deal with his monologue. I bit his tail. 

Quetzalcoatl yelped and shot into the air, dragging me along. I barely had time to get my bearings before he smashed me against a pyramid.

Oh, it was on!

I caught his eye, stuck out my tongue to show the chunk I’d bitten off his tail, then swallowed it. While he sputtered in outrage, I lunged for his wings.

He twisted, quick as his temper. As I hurtled by, I snagged his tail and spun into a twisting loop. He had to follow.  Even demigods can’t ignore leverage.

Hack and slash. Bite and duck.  First for hours, then for a day. A second day began. The Spanish kept the Mayans from offering sacrifices to rebuild Quetzelcoatl’s strength, but no one fed me, either. Once or twice, I spotted Father Jose fingering his beads, but I knew he chanted, “Thy will be done.”

They will.  Great.  I knew for a fact that God took a longer term view of things than sentients and His will didn’t often match mine.  I ducked to avoid the demigod’s slashing claws and got a kick in the gut for my effort.

The sun had almost set for the third time. Quetzalcoatl and I perched on opposing treetops, hissing and spitting – posturing really – as we caught our breaths. 

I ached beyond all measure. Quetzalcoatl’s poison burned in me. I couldn’t keep this up much longer. You ever read Psalms, chapter twenty-two, verse seventeen? “I can count all my bones. People look and stare upon me.” I figured it would be faster to count the handful that didn’t hurt.

Then something else from King David came to me, something Father Jose had mentioned. I decided to count the hours and the minutes. I plucked and shoved an avocado into my mouth.

“Let’s end this,” Quetzalcoatl panted. “Join with me. Defeat the Spanish and rule at my side.”

“Seriously? And spend eternity like this?” I spoke around my chewing.

Thirty nine hours – and almost one more –

“You prefer to bow to lesser beings? You would have me subservient to the likes of them?”

He spat toward Cortez. 

Fifty-seven minutes. 

I rolled my eyes to show my opinion of his stupidity.  “Not them, to God. That’s your place as much as mine.”

Fifty-eight. 

Quetzalcoatl hissed at me, then reared back, eyes glowing fire, wings unfurled, godlike and larger than life.

Fifty-nine.

I spat the pit at him.  It struck his forehead.

And the demigod crashed to the ground. Forty hours. Another forty for God. He has a thing about that number.

* * *

Cortez and his men celebrated victory. I sat atop a lonely hill, licking my wounds. Poison ate at me, making me nauseous. Still, I couldn’t help but smile as Quetzalcoatl flopped onto the ground next to me.  Nice to see I gave almost as good as I got.

With a grudging glance, he hissed a spell. I felt the poison fade. Got to love kindness from an enemy. “Good fight,” I said. 

“I was outclassed.”

I knew he didn’t mean me. 

In the camp, the conquistadors laughed and toasted God and each other. In the city, the Mayan people mourned.

Quetzalcoatl closed his eyes to a pain that had nothing to do with his wounds. “Their world is ending.”

“I know.”

The Mayans had worshiped Quetzalcoatl for millennia. He’d done well by them. Their empire spread across Mesoamerica, and for centuries, they prospered. Yet in mere days, pasty-faced invaders with a puny dragon changed everything.

“Why aren’t you down there with them?”

“They should not see me this way.”

Sandaled footsteps caught our attention. Father Jose struggled up the hill, carrying an urn.

“Blessed water,” he explained in broken Mayan.

He dipped a rag and reached for Quetzalcoatl’s wing.

The demigod reared back. “What hypocrisy is this?”

“No hypocrisy. Change must come.”

“Must it?” Quetzalcoatl sneered.

“You took from God. Now He welcomes back. Baptism tomorrow. Many souls saved.”

“What about me?” the demigod almost wailed.

“Quetzalcoatl great demigod,” Father Jose said. “Cares for people. But no more human sacrifice. Jesus only sacrifice. No more killing. Now, Communion and life.”

Quetzalcoatl presented his wing. As the priest washed away the dirt and blood, I saw new feathers already budding. Tomorrow, Quetzalcoatl would be back to his full glory. He would oversee the baptism of his people with a benevolent eye, as the Spaniards joined in prayers and celebration with their Mayan brothers.

And thus, a new world begins.

My Novel's Journey: Sins of the Brother & Charity of Others

This past week, I finished "Sins of the Brother," which I submitted to Weird Noir.  It felt good to finish the novella.  It will feel even better if I get accepted.  Here's an excerpt.  This is a noir story, not comedy, and is from before Vern met Sr. Grace.  Here, he's checking with a source about a kidnapped mage:

The lighting was low, but not dim, and scented candles filled the room with lavender. A simple but comfortable chair faced a large gilt mirror. I pushed the chair aside and sat on my haunches.

“Mirror, doomed to affirmation, I’m looking for some information.”

The glass smoked, then a face appeared—noble, compassionate, understanding radiating from its eyes…

Then it saw who was talking to it and dropped the façade. “Vern! By all that is clear! What a relief. Get me out of here.”

Oh, no. I was not carrying this conversation in rhyme. “Bad day at work?”

His jowls drooped and circles darkened around his eyes. “You have no idea what it’s like—having to find nice, truthful things to say all day long. These people are so...needy!”

I shrugged. “It’s this or back to the vaults in the Vatican.”

“It’s not fair!”

“You’re the one who took a confident queen and turned her into a megalomaniac—“

“Hey! I warned her beauty was fleeting, and she was the fairest in the land until her stepdaughter just…blossomed. I mean, seriously! Did you ever see Snow White? What a dish. But you know, at least the Queen believed me. The losers I get in here are always doubting me! Me! The Magic Mirror who sees all and speaks truth. But no! It’s always, ‘I still think my nose is too big,’ or ‘You haven’t seen me without make-up’—“

“Babbling mirror of affirmation, I came here for information!”

Shiny huffed, but he could not resist a command in rhyme. “Fine! At least it’s a change of pace. What do you need, O Great Dragon of the Church?”

 I hated when he called me that. “Mage Willard Whitehaven—what have you got?”

“One moment, please.” The face disappeared, replaced by an hour glass that kept flipping. Cute.

After several long moments that I spent dozing off the food, alcohol, and pain, he returned. “Willard Whitehaven, Mage of Natural Magics, Seventh Level, theorist more than practical. Wonderful beard—quite vain about it, too. Has some very nice mirrors in his office as well as at home. Quite popular at university—particularly with his fifth-level interns. Likes them smart, but not too much—“

“Annoying mirror, full of gossip; cut the crap.”

The mirror raised his brows.

“That’s it.”

“Well, what are you looking for?”

“He was doing research on the transference of magical energy across the Gap—large scale, generalized transfer, is my guess, not contained in relics or artifacts. How close was he to a breakthrough?”

The mirror laughed. “Depends on who he was talking to-- Sorry, no gossip, just facts.” He released his mirth with a sigh and spoke slowly as he pulled truth out of the complexities of university politics and (apparently) romantic pursuits. “He has some interesting ideas and much confidence, but they still know too little about the Gap. No one’s even sure that magical energy does spill from Faerie into this world. I mean, it stands to reason there is, or I would not continue to function and you would not be able to do whatever magic it is you do when not harassing honest mirrors like me. However, some say we carry that much magic within ourselves and our time is running out.”

I also raised $234 for the victims of the Colorado Fires through my serial story fundraiser, "Coyote Fires."  You can read the story at http://coyotefires.karinafabian.com, although I'm no longer taking submissions.  I'm actually a little disappointed in how much we reaised, but I have to remind myself that if I'd sold the story, I'd have never gotten that much for it, anyway, plus it's something for the victims.  I still need to see what we made via book sales.

Even though I didn't do as well as I'd hoped, I will be having another fundraiser around Christmas.  the story will be a Neeta Lyffe one, "Shambling in a Winter Wonderland."  I enjoy doing these and it does raise more in donations than if I sold the story outright and donated the profits.