Before the male rudely interrupted, my servant had been showing me her hand-held device, which created instant portraits without the use of paint. She’d taken several images of the bowl made of the remnants of my shell. I’d have to destroy it later in case any magic wielders thought they could use it to control me. During her explanation of her camera, I’d learned her name, Iolana, and she appeared to have given me one as well. Tigger. I wondered what it meant. Probably something grand and majestic.
Iolana plucked me from the grass and placed me on her shoulder, which I didn’t mind. The height and position of prominence were agreeable to me.
She led the man inside and pointed to some furniture. The male seemed most interested in the one with the slick black surface and appeared to admire my servant’s work.
The old fellow, whom I would likely eat once I’d grown some more, lumbered over and gestured loudly. My servant rolled her eyes and left the man she called Tutu, some kind of familial relation I surmised, given they shared some similar features.
To my annoyance, the female chose to return to the shack and tucked me into the glass box. I immediately plastered myself against a wall. “Let me out of here at once!”
Alas, she did not understand the ancient tongue. She cocked her head and pursed her lips. “I know you don’t want to be in there. Would you like it if I left the television on? You seemed to enjoy that last night.”
I grasped most of what she said and nodded my head. That would be acceptable, as it would increase my education. The screen illuminated, and as I sat down to absorb, she left the room, only to return with some food items. More fruit, which she seemed obsessed with, some rice with bits of seafood, and from a bag, she dumped orange, puffy things into my prison then left. I might have been angrier, if not for the delicious snack.
I spent the waning hours of that afternoon learning. My grasp of the English language expanded, as did my understanding of the world I’d hatched into. A time with much technology. Things called machines that could do all kinds of magical things. Vehicles that could propel without the use of oxen or horses. Items called cellphones allowed people to communicate over great distances and take images. Computers were devices that could think. More disturbing, the examples of humanity’s weaponry. Guns that could fire projectiles that shredded flesh. Aerial crafts were capable of hunting the skies.
I’d hatched into a dangerous time, but I didn’t let that daunt me. I’d yet to see any sign of other dragons. Could it be I was the only one? That would make my conquest of the world easier.
Also of concern? I lacked even the beginnings of a hoard. Judging by Iolana’s living situation, she lacked wealth to donate. Why couldn’t I have hatched in the possession of a business tycoon? According to what I’d learned, those people were wealthy and wielded power. One of those as a servant would have given me a jumpstart on my plans for planetary domination.
I had to wonder if the male I’d encountered earlier fit that description. He’d arrived wearing a suit just like those on the television. Perhaps the next time we met, I’d grant him the honor of being my servant.
Speaking of which, Iolana had returned. I could hear her talking to the old man as she opened and shut cupboards, and a pot clanged. Making my dinner. About time. I was about to expire of starvation.
When she finally chose to check on me, she smiled.
“Hey, Tigger. How was your afternoon?”
Did she really think she could speak to me as if we were equals? I didn’t deign to reply, not just because of her temerity. I didn’t want to sound uneducated, given I still lacked a full grasp of the English language.
“You want to eat?”
That had me bobbing my head, which led to her plucking me from the glass box, minus that humiliating harness. She carried into the kitchen.
The old man scowled upon seeing me. “You can’t seriously expect me to eat with vermin.”
Vermin? Oh, his death would be slow and painful.
“Get used to Tigger. He’s part of our family now.”
“Why can’t you have a baby like a normal woman?”
“Why can’t you not complain for five minutes?” was her retort.
I had to say, the exchange was almost as enjoyable as the shows on the television.
“Disrespected in my home by my own flesh and blood,” grumbled the old man.
“Want me to move out? I hear Lottie’s renting out the converted apartment over her garage.”
“I swear you do things on purpose to vex me,” huffed the old man.
“Love you too,” Iolana chirped as she placed a plate in front of her grandfather. Another went in front of a tan empty chair, and a third, piled just as high, was set on the table for me.
Yummy. I sat and began digging in, shoveling the doughy bits covered in sauce into my mouth. Cheesy, creamy, a hint of garlic, salt, and were those pink hunks meat? Indeed, they were.
“Looks like it’s enjoying your creamy pancetta casserole,” the old man stated.
“No kidding. I swear Tigger’s got a bottomless pit of a stomach.” She held a fork to her lips.
