Glitter and Glam

“Oh. Em. Gee. You are too cute!” The high-pitched shriek of girlish delight clocked in at a decibel that should have rightly shattered eardrums. It was at once too loud, too large, and far too energetic for that time of morning. None of these facts punctured Psychotrance’s brain as they swept down to cup their hands around a miniscule spec of brilliance glittering at their feet.

The spec bounded up to the hydragon’s outstretched hands, balancing with his wings and tail as they lifted him up, up, and equal to their eye level.

::Hi. I’m Zayl,:: he said.

“Hi Zayl. I’m Psychotrance. Oh, you are just perfect!”

::Do you like to dance? I like to dance,:: Zayl said.

Once again, Psychotrance released a noise reserved for alarms warning of imminent demise.

"I LOVE to dance," they squealed.

Down on the ground, Sabrilla thought that consternation was an excellent word to associate with the hydragon anytime they showed up. Other words that fit were frustration, irritation, exhaustion, and acceptance. She didn't even know how Psychotrance had heard of her upcoming visit to the Warren or why they'd decided to tag along.

"You invited her along," came an accusatory not-question. Mystic had a way of condensing all of her displeasure into the fewest amount of words possible. It was at once impressive and deeply irritating. Sabrilla made a mental note to learn how to do that too.

"I-”

"I heard the Warren has great parties so I wanted to see them for myself. Also, I go by they/them now. Thanks,” Psychotrance interjected.

Mystic bowed her head in acknowledgement to the perky hydragon.

“My apologies.” Then she turned to face Sabrilla. “You invited them along.”

“I didn’t!” Sabrilla’s voice attained an octave she didn’t know she could reach in her agitation.

“Have you done nothing to accommodate Psychotrance’s needs since they returned to Sewyn Warren?”

“What needs? All they want to do is party.”

“And have you provided them with an outlet for their creativity?”

“My personal assistant is off at a clutch, my warren is half built, and my staff is mostly composed of exchange students from Barok. How am I supposed to fit partying into my schedule?”

Mystic’s eyes slid past Sabrilla’s shoulder. She didn’t need to turn around to know where the mage’s attention had gone. The attendants sent by Jaliath were her constant shadows these days, but they were still learning the ropes of how to be Tris’Hathian. She couldn’t pull them into something as complex as her chaotic schedule yet.

Also, she’d already vanished one of them off to a different world for yet another clutch and now the rest were too spooked to be separated from the rest of their team. Something about not being able to defend her if they were literal worlds away.

“My docket is a little too full for party planning,” Sabrilla seethed between clenched teeth.

“Precisely. Which is why you should let Psychotrance do it.”

“Where? In the crater where I am still building a warren?”

“They were raised by a Barokian, weren’t they?”

“You want me to send them to Barok?”

Mystic lifted her shoulders in a shrug that Sabrilla was quickly learning meant ‘this is what you get for taking up with Shy.’

“I am not going to inflict them on another country because they don’t know what the meaning of chill is.”

“That may not be your choice anymore.”

Sabrilla narrowed her eyes, at first taking the words as a threat. That was until she noted that the mage was no longer looking at her, but past her. Come to think of it, the day had brightened up considerably without a looming shadow laying atop them.

Behind Mystic, the rainbow-hued Hathian, Astriem, slunk up with his head turning this way and that.

::Has anyone seen Zayl?:: He asked.

Mystic’s eyes narrowed, and Sabrilla spun around, willing Psychotrance to be somehow, magically, right behind her. They were not. In fact, they were nowhere to be seen.

“Where did they go?” Sabrilla demanded of her entourage.

The four remaining protectors stared back at her with varying degrees of alarm flooding their features. A small part of her found some amusement in the fact that the people Jaliath sent to guard her were more afraid of her than any external threat. Most of her was irritated that, once again, she’d lost track of a building-sized hydragon who didn’t know the meaning of silence.

“Um…” Loreia, the Lunari sniper, ventured in a voice as soft as a spring breeze. She didn’t look like the type to put a hole in someone’s head from a hundred feet away, but Sabrilla had seen the woman at work and held a healthy respect for those sharp eyes of hers. Loreia raised a slender hand and pointed skyward. “They took the little one and left.”

“Left where? Left when?” Sabrilla demanded with increasing panic.

In response, Loreia raised her shoulders in a light shrug.

“They just went up.”

“Great. Now I get to add kidnapping to their hobbies,” Sabrilla muttered under her breath. “Should I accommodate that one too, Your Grace?”

Mystic narrowed her eyes, daring Sabrilla to take another such jab. Sabrilla wisely decided she’d toed far enough over the line already.

These actions would need to have consequences. What those were yet, Sabrilla didn’t know. All she knew was that she needed to locate her wayward subject before news got out that she was hosting a dragon-napper. That was not the sort of press her budding warren needed.

Yet before Sewyn Warren’s caretaker had a moment to even step toward her bond, a shadow blotted out the sunlight. Sabrilla looked up and felt a mixture of relief and panic course through her veins.

There was Psychotrance, giggling shrilly as they dipped and dove through the air. And following on their tail, bright as a raindrop in the sunlight, came a still small but noticeably larger version of Zayl.

“Zayl and I are engaged,” Psychotrance trilled through another loop-de-loop. “And we’re, like, going to celebrate! We’ll be back in a month or so. Maybe. Byeeeee!”

Psychotrance pivoted midair, opening their arms wide as Zayl shot straight into their embrace like a sparkling arrow straight to their heart. He vanished beneath the shelter of their arms, and a moment later, they both vanished from the sky.

Sabrilla had so many questions. Where were they going? Why were they going? Could dragons even get engaged? She pondered all of these while simultaneously processing all she had just witnessed.

She couldn’t even be angry in that moment because had to admire the irony. She herself had vanished from her family only to return moments later and years old in order to spite her stepmother. She had fully intended to use the Labs to help age up her new draconic denizens. She had not expected one of those very denizens to cotton onto her plan and use it for their own ends. Sabrilla surmised that she really had underestimated Psycotrance.

::Oh… well he looked happy enough,:: Astriem mused, a hint of disappointment dampening his mental threads. 

Mystic turned to look at Sabrilla, her golden eyes narrowed to molten slits.

“I blame you for this,” she said.

“Yeah, that’s fair,” Sabrilla replied. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to see if the builders could squeeze in an events hall to the floor plan. And also wine. I need so much wine.”

*

A few moments later, on a continent far from the Warren, Psycotrance reappeared in the sky and flared their wings wide. Beneath them spread a landscape of impossibly tall, impossibly thin buildings. Some white, some entirely made of glass, but most were varying shades of gray that made the entire city look like a fossilized forest. Zippy little hover crafts darted here and there between the buildings, each a brightly coloured jewel sparkling in the sunlight. Far below, along the thoroughfares that passed between the city blocks, hundreds of people with blue hair went about their day, oblivious to the disruption that had just appeared overhead.

Psychotrance snaked back each of their four heads on serpentine necks and released a bugle that heralded their arrival like the proclamation of a royal procession.

“We’re heeeeeeere!” They cried.

Far below, on the asphalt streets and glittering, white stone sidewalks, a chorus of shouts rose up to greet them. Some were alarmed, some were surprised, but more than a few were shrieks of delight.

Zayl wriggled up from his protective huddle within the shelter of their arms and peered at the strange landscape below.

::Is this Barok?:: He asked.

“It is! Some of my friends are on leave from school and invited me to come visit. I thought this was the perfect place for our honeymoon. You need to try Barokian sushi. It’s sooooooo good.”

Zayl practically vibrated with excitement, his little body quivering against her arms. He rarely vocalized his excitement, but it warmed her heart all the way to its gooey center to feel his energy through his body and mind. 

Psychotrance dipped out of the way of an oncoming hover craft and banked toward a nearby park. A scattering of people enjoying the day’s sunlight fled before their encroaching shadow. They smiled and called out a “hello.” People just needed to be treated with a little kindness to see that there was nothing to fear.

As they came to a landing on the soft, meticulously kept grass, an inarticulate squeal drew their attention back to the street. Three people in violently coloured outfits that clashed with their blue hair were running toward them. The front one waved her arms and shouted again.

“Psy! Psy-psy-psy!” The front runner shouted at the top of her lungs.

Psychotrance dropped to all fours as Zayl leapt from their arms. They flattened themselves to the ground, stretching out all four necks until their chins touched the grass. Then they wiggled like an overexcited cat.

“Ippy,” they squealed back. “Dippy! Dot! Oh em gee, I am so happy to see you guys! Guess what?”

“What?” Ippy, a young woman with a river of dark blue hair falling down her back, asked. She flung herself at Psychotrance’s nearest nose and wrapped her arms as far around the snout as she could reach.

“I’m getting marrieeeeeeeed!” Psychotrance trilled.

An echoing chorus of shrieks answered her. Dippy, a young man with his head half shaved, bounced and clapped his hands in delight.

“Everyone, I’d like you to meet Zayl, my fiance.”

In response to her words, Zayl peeked out from behind her elbow. His small, pearlescent head shimmered in the light as he dipped it in a polite nod.

::Hello,:: he said.

“Oh, well aren’t you just adorable! It’s a pleasure to meet you,” Ippy said.

“He’s people-sized,” Dippy squealed. 

“Hi, I’m Dot,” said the last of the trio. She was the tallest of the group, made taller by the beehive style of her hairdo. She motioned to each of her friends in turn. “This is Ippy, and this is Dippy. We met Psycotrance at Sewyn Warren. I don’t remember seeing you there before we left. Did you come from Lanutha’s Warren?”

::Yes and no,:: Zayl answered in a small voice.

“So, like, Zayl is from Nidus Ryslen, but he lived with me at the Labs for the last three years. He just hatched yesterday,” Psycotrance explained.

There was a beat of silence, and then squealing again.

“That’s so cool!”

“Time travel? Or a temporal stasis?”

“Oh wait! We were learning about this in physics before we went on break. Remember? There’s going to be a trip to the Labs later this year.”

“Oh yeah! Oh my gosh. That’s extra cool. We totally have to celebrate.”

“Yesssss!” Psychotrance squealed. They wriggled in delight before flopping onto their side with a dramatic sigh. “Man, I wish I could go clubbing with you guys. They need to build a bigger club.”

“Aw, it’s okay, Psy. Maybe we could bring the club to you,” Ippy said. She still lay half across one of Psycotrance’s snouts and gave the hydragon a sympathetic pat.

“Ooooh, that’s a great idea,” Dot purred. 

It was a sort of noise that always gave Psycotrance chills. Mostly because it meant Dot was planning something, and Psycotrance loved her plans.

“What are you thinking, Dot?” Dippy asked.

“I’m thinking it’s summer, the weather’s beautiful, and we have something big to celebrate.”

“Oh!” Ippy exclaimed, jumping up from Psycotrance’s snout as if bitten.

“Park rave?” Dippy asked.

“Park rave,” Ippy and Dot chorused while bouncing on their toes.

An idea came to Psychotrance then. It shot into their brain as if fired from orbit and exploded into such brilliant clarity, they wondered how they hadn’t thought of it before. With a gasp echoed across all four heads, they shot upright.

“The Warren had a rave once,” Psychotrance said. When that did not elicit the same sort of excitement that park rave had, they plowed onward. “It was a rave for dragons where the Barokians helped genetically alter some of the eggs. We could have a park rave with dragons!”

“Oh em gee, yes,” Ippy squealed.

“Baby dragons,” Dippy said in a pitch normally only heard by dogs.

“My daddy works at Bioethics Incorporated. I bet I can get him to help us with the eggs,” Dot offered.

“And my mom is the city event planner. She can help us set up and advertise the rave,” Dippy said.

“And my parents have buttloads of money. They can pay for things,” Ippy said. All three squealed with a surprising amount of harmony, and all three of their voices were drowned out by the shriek of sheer delight coming from Psychotrance.

They clapped their hands, then bent down to scoop up Zayl. The little Lian gamely jumped into their cupped palms and wriggled happily as Psycotrance lifted him up to their snouts.

“This is going to be the best engagement party ever!” They declared.

Zayl put his forepaws on their snout, then leaned forward until his forehead lay against the warmth of their scales.

::We’re going to make some beautiful babies,:: he said.

Psychotrance knew that he was right, and that they couldn’t wait to meet them.