Coming home to find a stranger in her apartment-- a black yautjadragon mutt, no less-- was not a good way to draw to a close a rather rotten day. She'd just walked in the door, and there he was, curled up on the couch and looking asleep, a bunch of bandages all over him and blood all over the floor.

::Natron!::

Because, of course, it had to be Natron's fault. No one else had access to this apartment, not even Habithi anymore, and besides, Habithi would never leave her a present of a yautjadragon on her couch. He would have gleefully corrupted it-- unless it was a new version, in which case he would just have killed it-- and either kept it as a pet or left it dead outside the Abstract Destiny just to taunt the ship's crew. He wouldn't have bandaged it up and left it for her to deal with.

So it definitely had to be Natron.

The fireling hurried out of the bathroom, where she had, probably, been washing blood off her own glowing, fleshless paws. ::Netahiln, hi, you're home early.::

Yup, definitely Natron. She actually sounded guilty. ::Explain that to me,:: Netahiln demanded without preamble, pointing one extended claw in the yautjadragon's direction.

Rolling her currently-wingless shoulders in a shrug, Natron answered, ::I ran into him on my way home. He needed help and refused to go to the hospital, so I brought him here to patch him up. I figured we'd figure out what to do with him later.::

::Natron, you realize that people like him hate people like me, right?::

Again she shrugged, tail flicking aside and leaving a trail of light that lingered a moment before flitting back to the burning tuft. ::Raesun doesn't, and Timande doesn't.::

::Oh, yeah, that's a laugh,:: Netahiln drawled. ::Raesun is learning from me, so he puts up with me, and Ugly does so hate me. Besides, you could have asked.::

::And alert your marks that there was someone watching them?:: Natron's sideways gaze was far too intelligent for her own good. ::I thought you didn't like it when I did that.::

Which was true. She did hate it when Natron interrupted her, because it did increase her chances of being caught. But that didn't change the fact that she'd brought home a yautjadragon who had bled all over the floor, who would bellow at her as soon as he woke, and which she didn't ask before taking on the burden of. This was not a problem she wanted to be dealing with, not right now and not ever. ::You could have just left him there.::

Natron had the nerve to look embarrassed and even a little hurt. ::I couldn't.::

::Sure you could've. It's not that hard. You ignore the wailing and gnashing of teeth and you walk the other direction.::

Natron's fires, though mostly shifted away at the moment to only allow for her tail-tuft and a ridge down her neck, still managed to flare and crack-- not in Netahiln's direction, thank the gods; the brat didn't threaten anymore, just got emotional-- and she looked away. It was her equivalent of a furious, embarrassed blush. ::I just couldn't, okay?:: she muttered. ::I didn't even think about it.::

Netahiln sighed heavily. ::How I managed to wind up with such a do-gooder for a room-mate, I'll never know.::

::Oh, I don't know,:: Natron said, sounding off-hand about it. ::But I notice you're not waking him up and kicking him out. Keeping our conversation private, and all that.::

Netahiln glared sourly at her, trying to find some way to refute or negate the point-- she hadn't woken him up, hadn't even used the easier "open" speech mode or made any noise that might have woken him up-- then gave up in frustration. How the hell had she gotten so damn soft? ::He's out of here as soon as you figure out where he belongs,:: she warned angrily.

::Of course, Netahiln,:: Natron answered placatingly, her eyes half-lidded in that way that meant she knew she'd won.

::And clean up that mess he left on my floor before the landlord sees it!:: she barked after the irritating little godling.

The yautjadragon-- Natron told her his name was Rusaleon-- woke up several hours later, just in time for Netahiln to be wanting to go to bed, herself. Netahiln recognized him vaguely from the clutch a good six months back at the Destiny as half yautjadragon and have supernal, a kind of angel-creature from one of the many alternate universes out there. Just the thing she needed: more super-good beasts to hang around, eat her food, judge her lack of morals, and, gods forbid, cramp her style. How could she be respected by low-lifes and other evil denizens of the underworld if she was surrounded by goodie-goodies?

At least the kid didn't bellow at her. He didn't seem to think anything about her, just blinked at her dazedly and asked to be introduced. Natron exchanged names all around, since Netahiln was busy being annoyed in the kitchen, shooting him dark looks every few minutes.

::How'd you wind up all beat up like this?:: Natron asked, changing bandages-- he was still bleeding sluggishly from several of the cuts, though apparently Natron had enough god-powers to keep them clean and, or so she said, to set the bones that'd been broken and start them to knitting. Flesh, she had admitted reluctantly, was much harder to put back together, what with all the pieces and layers to concentrate on. Always nice to have her be reminded that even she had limitations. Netahiln expected that healing would be the next thing she meditated on.

The yautjadragon's bright blue eyes darted between her and Netahiln, wary and bleak all in one. ::It doesn't matter,:: he said, his young voice flat. Oddly bitter, too adult for someone his age.

::I'd say it does,:: Natron huffed at him, still sounding remarkably adolescent despite being "all grown up". She still had some maturity to gain, on the inside, even after a good six or seven months of "adulthood". ::Someone does this sort of thing once, you can bet he's gonna do it again.::

Rusaleon's eyes blinked shut for a long moment as he answered, ::I know. But it is not your concern.::

::It's not going to be yours for a good, long time, either,:: Netahiln put in. ::Considering how well you stood up this time.::

He looked up at her with a yautja-frown and unhappily lowered brow. ::I know that, too. I would really rather not talk about it, if you don't mind.::

::Ooo, so polite,:: Netahiln mocked.

::Neta,:: Natron protested, scowling at her, and she went back to putting away cutlery. That didn't mean, however, that she stopped paying attention to the conversation.

::Do you have a bond?:: Natron asked, and Rusaleon, Netahiln noticed, actually flinched.

::No.::

::A family? Someone who will be missing you?::

::No one will miss me,:: Rusaleon answered fiercely.

Netahiln stared at him narrowly, frowning. ::Didn't all your kind bond at that hatching thing? All except, like, one or two?::

Rusaleon stared helplessly at the floor. ::I don't want to talk about it.::

It seemed, Netahiln thought dryly, that she wasn't the only one with bond trouble. Somehow, whether with his or her own claws or through some kind of betrayal, Rusaleon's bond was responsible for his current state. ::Looks like you wound up in the right place, kid,:: she chuckled without much humor. ::Almost enough to make me believe in fate.::

::I haven't done that yet?:: Natron asked, and she had that triumphant look on her face again.

::You seem more like a great cosmic joke than fate, to me, brat,:: Netahiln growled at her. She hesitated a heartbeat them made an impulsive decision, the one Natron had already seen coming, based on the certainty that she and that yautjadragon had more in common than he thought. ::The kid can make up his own mind about what he wants to do. Fill him in on what we're up to, and tell me what he decides.:: She slammed the silverware drawer shut. ::I'm going to bed.::

A flicker of Natron's fire danced over her wing as she passed the two-- a "thank you", she thought, though what Natron wanted to thank her for, she had no idea; things would wind up much more difficult with a third mouth to feed, much less that mouth to feed-- and she smirked once before closing the door behind her. It was up to the kid, whatever he wanted to do: revenge, abandonment of his own, training up, or striking out on his own-- training with the scum of the station, no matter how well-meaning, or finding someone more his own speed. It would be interesting to see what he thought would be his cup of tea.

Chapter Twenty

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