//------------------------------// // Bad Apple // Story: My Little Dragon // by Metal Pony Fan //------------------------------// Greyscale yanked his claw back from the door handle as it twisted. The hinges creaked as the massive door was pulled inwards with panicked urgency. He pulled back his claw, ready to use it if needed, but the dragoness rushing out barely even noticed him. She blubbered an apology as she ran past him, down the hallway, and out of sight, crying all the while. He glanced down at the stone tile lining the hallway. The sheer amount of discoloration from the dragin's tears was impressive to say the least. If her emotional outburst kept up for any significant amount of time, she may wind up severely dehydrated. Another dragon approached from the other side of the door, heaving a sigh. "At least close the door when you-" Tall, lean, and much younger than greyscale, the white dragon looked out into the hall as his claw gripped the edge of the door. His eyes narrowed, and the ridge of golden scales down his back flattened out in dismay. He sat down, leaning against the door and brought a claw to the single blue scale in the center of his forehead. "Uncle," he said in a careful, neutral tone, "this is a surprise. What brings you here?" Greyscale shrugged, throwing his claws out wide. "What? I need a reason to visit my favorite nephew?" Bluescale paused for a moment, claw lifting from his forehead. "Yes, actually." He started closing the door. "I am rather busy, and-" Greyscale pushed a fist against the door, stopping it. "I only need a moment." "That's what you said last time, and you talked at me for over an hour." Bluescale looked down at his uncle's claw, knuckles scratching at the door's paint. "But, at least you didn't use your claws this time." With a defeated sigh, the younger drake stalked away from the door, retreating into his room. "What do you want?" "Have you heard?" Greyscale headed in, closing the door behind him. "They say a Pheonix Lignum has appeared near Dragonspire." Bluescale headed over to a table loaded down with weapons and armors, each one bearing the mark of a compass rose with a blue stone embedded in the center. "I have. Now, what do you want?" Greyscale walked over to the window, and looked out as Bluescale set about polishing a large shield. He gazed out over the subteranean vista of Dragartha, and took a deep breath. The view was impressive, but even being the top level of the guard barracks, it was a much lower view than from the palace. "You aren't very trusting, nephew." "Right," Bluescale agreed absent-mindedly, focusing instead on his armor. "I wonder why? It might have something to do with my family." "You don't have to be so cynical all the time." Greyscale ran his claw over the ornately carved handle of a spear leaning against the wall near the window. The carvings represented wind, and Bluescale's signature compass rose emblem appeared in several places, each embedded with a small piece of bright blue material. "This one's new," Greyscale observed as he turned away from the window. "As is that entire rack of swords by your bed. Still obsessed with enchanting weapons and armor? You are still young enough to enjoy other pursuits alongside your hobby. Perhaps whatever that female earlier was offering?" The shield clanged to the table as Bluescale tossed it down, then picked up a helm that was clearly built just for him. "What she was offering, uncle, was assistance with my cleaning." He scrubbed at the helm with his rag, leaving a thin film of clear oil over the exposed metal. "She knew nothing of the weaponry beyond the absolute basics, and almost used dish soap on the leather strapping. Honestly! I am much more comfortable taking care of things on my own. Why would she even offer to help with a task she clearly doesn't understand?" "You're as dense as your father," Greyscale muttered, shaking his head. Bluescale looked up. "What was that?" "Nothing." Greyscale looked over at his nephew. "Oh, you might be pleased to know that the Dreamscythes have been recovered. It seems they were in the posession of a group of bandits, but General Iceheart defeated them with the help of an un-named dragin." "Good for him." Bluescale grabbed another helm, and started wiping it down. It was the same shape, but made of a darker material with platinum inlays. "I will make some time to examine them." "I wish it were that simple." Greyscale smiled. "It seems he has not returned them to the royal armory, nor did he keep them in his posession. They seem to have disappeared again. Perhaps he entrusted them to a subordinate? Perhaps that mysterious dragin? From her description, she does not seem to be a member of the military, yet she defeated a drake many times her size with brute force alone." "Giving the Dreamscythes to whosoever he pleases is well within Iceheart's rights," Bluescale pointed out, "Celestia forged those weapons for him in the first place." "Ah," Greyscale said softly, "that's the thing..." "No!" Bluescale slammed the helmet down, and pointed a menacing claw at his uncle. "Whatever conspiracy you're building, whatever plot you're dreaming up, I want no part of it! You know full well where my loyalties lie." "I know, I know. Unfortunately." Greyscale held up a claw. "Anyway, hear me out. I've found records of their forging. There is no denying that Celestia Forged them." "Then why are you still talking?" "And there is no denying that Celestia gifted them to Iceheart nearly eight hundred years ago." "Again, why are you still talking?" Greyscale leaned in close. "She gave them to someone else nearly twelve hundred years before that." Bluescale's eyes went wide with horror. "Oh, Typhon, no. Our princess regifted an item once? The scandal!" Greyscale was not amused. "You're mocking me, aren't you?" "Of course, uncle." Bluescale grabbed another helm, golden this time. "I tire of your games. The more you try to involve me, the less inclined I am to listen." "Yes, obviously," the older drake sneered. "Very well, I will leave you alone regarding this matter. I suppose you don't even care who the original recipient of the dreamscythes was?" Bluescale didn't say anything, and Greyscale headed for the door. "In case you are curious, and containing it for the sake of appearances, it seems Celestia intended to present the dreamscythes as a grand gift." He smiled evilly as he opened the door. "A gift, forged for the princess of Draconica." Greyscale was out the door, closing it behind him before the other drake could say anything. Bluescale could only stare at the door, and wonder what political machinations he was cooking up this time. Before returning to his armor, he shrugged in a big, exaggerated motion. "So, what? She made them for herself? Good for her."