Random Dragon 2

Chapter 2:

Random looked briefly at the new arrival, an old man dressed rather oddly in a neat white suit, top hat and coat tails with a silver cane. He seemed to be very interested in the tropical fish aquarium, and shocked the shopkeeper by tapping the glass rather noisily with the head of his cane. While the two bantered about the merits of various fish species. (Such as which ones could survive in a tank of warm human blood.) Random took stock of his surrounds. (He could use the stock later to make soup.)

He was currently held in an open-topped glass sided affair about two feet to a side. (Most affairs are longer than this, but considerably more expensive.)  It still smelled faintly of incontinent rabbit and at present had nothing interesting to furnish it, such as foodstuffs or interesting bedding. As far as Random could make out, what he had was some straw and a waterdish (Or extremely shallow toilet, Lord knew owners were surprisingly nonchalant about such things, he'd spent a onth once surviving on mosquito larvae that were breeding in, of all things an empty container of face cream.) It could've been worse, at least the bedding was fresh.

Well, what to do now? Being cagebound wasn't a new experience, but it had been some time since his former owners had been bothered enough to confine him. (Except of course for their unending attempts to keep him away from the pantry of TV.) There were a few cages next to (And in one case, below.) his and other species were mostly new to him. (He'd met a mouse once, but the conversation was very short, consisting mostly of a squeak and him eating it; meals were hard to come by.)

He tried a few snatches of conversation with the newts 'next door'; they looked at him as if he'd just caught fire, but this is the way newts stare at everything, and after a few seconds they went back to admiring their moist log as if it had just sprouted out of the ground. The gerbils were no better, preferring to duck under the bedding and make odd noises. The gecko beneath him, though difficult to chat to was far more responsive however. It took some time before Random could get used to pressing his nose next to the small hole in the cage bottom and a bit longer to get some sense out of the strange creature, but eventually a rapport was achieved.

"So what are you doing here?"
"Oh I got imported mate, smuggled in from New Zealand."
"Oh? Well I always said that Canada is a very nice place."
"Yeaaaahhh... Well mate, you've gone and put your foot in it haven't ya?"
"I have? I thought this cage was clean!"
"Nah mate, s' only a matter of time afore they have your tail in a teastube mate!"
"It is?"
"Oooh yeah, now they know you can talk, they'll have you sliced n' diced and under the microscope afore you can say Jack Spratt!"
"Jack Spratt?"
"Not the sharpest tool in the shed now are we? take my advice, they start to chattin' and you give em the ol' australian 100-yard stare, works every time, saved my skin more often n' I can remember."
"There's a stair in the shed?"
"Whooo mate! You're gonna have your nuts in a petri dish by sundown you are."
"I don't eat nuts, how do you know that?"
"Worked at a lab me. Or worked on, same thing eh?"

This continued for a few, mystifying minutes until Random's attention as drawn back to the strange old man who had entered earlier. The conversation about goldfish had wandered around things like filter types breeding behavior and nutrient levels but Random really sprang to attention when the shopkeeper was asked about taste.

It is commonly accepted fact the dragons spend 93% of their time thinking of three things, sleep, tails and food. (Everything else is that annoying haze between naps.) However, when said dragon is only a few feet long, their is a powerful instinct to be a consumer and not a consumee, as the tendency of larger dragons to snack not only on the smaller, but also on everything else, prejudices many species into having an unconscious desire to devour as many small, winged lizards as possible. And the conversation had taken a very worrying turn, shifting across the culinary possibilities of rabbit stew, then the ancient Peruvian tradition of cuy (Which, even more worryingly the shopkeeper had taken a recipe for, remarking about being over stocked.) and Random had the terrible feeling that sooner or later it would start to revolve around whether you could detach his tail for an entree.

Fortunately the conversation was short-circuited by the entry of two more customers. These were almost as strange as the first, one being clothed rather oddly in a fox suit, the other rather shabbily in an old fur coat. This seemed to interest the first man intensely and he was soon circling the newcomers like a hyperactive moth examining a lighthouse.

"South Argentinian Grey Fox if I'm not mistaken!"
"Yes! I knew someone would get my species!"
"It was easy my man, the conspicuous tail markings were a dead giveaway."
"What about my friend here?"
"Well, the coat seems to be utterly artificial, polyvinyl I believe, no standard markings."

Random relaxed. The inane chatter had, for now taken people's minds off of the possibility of tail casserole. Instead he watched one of the new arrivals examining the caged rats an an amusing manner, using a tape measure and scales. They were evidently furries of some description and Random made a very marked comment on what they probably wanted a rat for. It took only a few seconds before he realized that the furry had heard and was next to his cage

"You know, that was a rather nasty comment."
"It was? Well yes, I guess so."
"You know you shouldn't make fun of a group of people based on cliche, stereotypical notions like that; it's a common fact that many groups, even those that may at first seem to be radically different from mainstream society often posses remarkable diversity and internal differences."
"They do?"
"Oh yes, we're not all porn-loving suit-wearing freaks I'll have you know."
"Oh. Sorry. Why is your friend a furry?"
"Uh... for the porn."
"Oh. And you?"
"Oh I'm here to sell porn."

Random thought about this and was about to point out the flaw in the logic as he saw it, but his jaw had gone numb. It had been the most talking he'd done in his entire life and it had simply seized up. (Dragons as a rule have very weak jaw muscles, like alligators hey can shut their mouths with great force, but if you sit on their nose, they're stuffed. But, as the old dragon saying goes 'Anything you can't communicate with a good roar and flaming, probably isn't worth saying.' )

As the three customers shifted around the store (Incidentally tracing the dark sigil undrel in the language of the ancient priesthood of Mu when seen from above.) a young lady entered the store looking for ferret food. No sooner would she leave the store than she would witness an armed holdup of an armored van and the theft of $5 million, after which she would abscond with the thief to Hawaii before being painfully executed in a botched police operation involving a drug cartel from Columbia that would inadvertently result in a Maoist resurgence in Nepal and the overthrow of the government. However she has nothing at all to do with the events of this story and so acquired her ferret-snax and left the store without fuss.

By that time the elderly gentleman was making purchases, mostly tropical fish but also for some reason a bag of sunflower seeds, two cat toys, a chocolate covered dog biscuit and a pane of fishtank glass. And Random.

Random jumped so high he almost fell out of his cage.

"Uh... I'm not sure I can let you have that specimen sir."

Random fell back in relief.

"I don't see why not, surely it's for sale like everything else?"

Another gravity defying leap.

"Are you sure, it is a bit... mangy."

An annoyed kick followed by a thud and muffled cursing.

"It has character, I should like to take it home and stuf it."
"Um... you do that a lot?"
"Why yes, I just had two polecats given to me by a Mr Milligan, they look lovely stuffed."
"Really? Mounted as well?"
"No, just shaking hands."
"Well I really must put my foot down there, I can't sell you some poor innocent... well, probably innocent creature just to have it taken away and stuffed."
"I'll pay you $500 if you throw in the gecko as well."
"Done."

It was rather unfortunate for Random that all that chatting had quite tired out his mouth, he'd never managed to flame so much as a matchead and he didn't posses much (Ok, anything) in the impressive bulk department and so without a bite he was bundled into a kitty carrier bustled away. The second to last thing he heard before going unconscious was the gecko describing in exquisite detail what it was like to have your brain taken out of your nose. (Though 'exquisite' was not a word Random had associated with this topic before, or indeed, since. The added commentary suggesting that in his case the operation would be of short duration did nothing to improve his mood.) The last thing was gunshots, yelling and the sound of brakes as his head was propelled at great speed against the wall of his carrier.


* * *

Random sat back, fell over and tried to right himself. It was difficult because his stomach kept getting in the way. He eventually managed to totter to his feet by grabbing onto a half eaten plate of prawns.

"That guy is a nutcase, a total and complete nutcase."
"I dunno mate, he must have a least a few million lying about the place."
"Nuts?"
"Dollars."
"So?"
"So he's eccentric, only poor people are stark raving mad."
"How mad is stark raving?"
"Means you'd run down the street a nude as Morgan's mule."
"I'm nude."
"Yeah, but you're totally spare."

Random fell back and spent the next few minutes contemplating the complexities of slang and came to the conclusion that it was all utter bollocks. (Whether that was the young male cow kind or the slang for male genitalia kind is left up to you.) But there was no doubt that the man he'd been purchased by was severely mentally deranged. The house he was currently... housed in was opulent and expansive, but also stacked floor to ceiling with old newspaper, butterfly collections and penthouse magazines without pictures. (Proving that at least *someone* read it for the articles.)

Random had been fed more food than he though existed, and in the style of all true dragons had consumed as near to all of it as he could. (Dragons had heard of the ancient roman tradition of vomiting when full before starting over, but they couldn't bear to waste food and any real dragon would start giving serious thought to the possibilities of soup when this subject was raised.) It is a little known fact that in times of plenty a dragon ca consume almost twice their bodyweight in snacks alone, and as Random had come to see newspaper not so much as bedding and reading material as fiber, he'd tried desperately to break that record. (Sadly he didn't come close, the current record is held by the star dragon Arcturus which spent almost 4000 years circling a galactic black hole with a neutronium straw having what is recognized as the largest, longest and most exotic milkshake in all creation.)

"I wonder if I got all this 'cause I can talk?"
"I don't think he knows that."
"Are you sure?"
"He talks to plants, the wall and his little finger, I'm not sure he heard you over the din."
"My mouth is getting tired."
"Yeah? My tail's getting unfashionable, I think short is in his year. You don't think you could fit in another bite do ya?"
"I couldn't bite another dragon!"
"Really? Good. I'm a gecko."
"Geckos talk?"
"They do if they've been pumped full of thialozone by a mad kiwi."
"Oh. Alright then."

"Hey!"
"Yes?"
"Aren't you going to ask about that?"
"About what?"
"My torture at the hands of a mad bird."
"No, why, does it happen often?"
"Bloody hell, dense as a politician you. Just like the other one. Nah mate, I was horribly mutated at the hands of the kiwi Ziblink, princess of pain they call her, but I escaped, fled across the sea and after many-"
"Other one?"
"Other dragon. After many daring and-"
"There was a dragon?"
"Oh yes. Now as I was saying, after many daring and dangerous advent-"
"So where was this dragon?"
"New Zealand, where bloody else? damn. Lost my place, where was- hey! Where are you going?"

Perhaps it was some ancient draconian instinct that propelled him, or perhaps it was a bad prawn, but Random was driven to seek out this other dragon and rescue them from the princess, no matter what it took. He scrambled to his feet, scurried out the door, skittered down hallways, was sick in a pot plant and crawled out a window.

Freedom! He would go out into the world and seek his fortune (It would turn out to be 36 cents.) Nothing could stand in his way except for the fact that he didn't know what or where New Zealand was, how to get there, who he was looking for or what he'd do when he found them.

(Fortunately he lived in a world controlled by narrative imperative, the dictates of those writing stories that ensure that plotlines don't collapse, ensure main characters survive till the last chapter and provide cliche saccharine endings such as those that grace badly made (I.e all) American movies.

In other words, he was doomed.)