Rumi Beotoli stalked out of the Ministry of Security, Brullera pacing easily along beside her and Jingoa creeping along the ceiling above them. Brullera would never be bothered by such a little thing as had thrown her bond into such a dark mood, and Jingoa, in his somewhat vague way, simply found her anger amusing. That neither of them felt at all indignant at this change in their status was a little grating, but she couldn't really manage to be annoyed with them, so she just ignored them and let her mind dwell, for a few contentedly angry minutes, on her new "assignment".

Apparently normal policework wasn't enough, anymore. Not that it had been particularly exciting. The novelty of being one of the few officers on the force with xenodragons had worn off by the time both of them had grown up-- just a month ago and a half ago, for Brullera-- as had the brief spate of crime that had followed the hatching. There simply weren't enough dangerous missions for such dangerous policedragons as hers, and though that was technically a good thing, it was boring.

But it was still better than... than this.

::What's wrong with "this"?:: Brullera asked non-committally, though there was a spark of amusement in her doubled mind-voice. Both heads "spoke" at once, more often than not, giving anything she said a strange, chorus-like quality. Or a duet-like quality, at least. Rumi no longer found it odd, after a year and a month or two bonded to her.

"What's wrong with this?" she repeated, quietly but with feeling. "Let me count the reasons. One, it's cushy. It's not the kind of job you give real police officers."

::I can think of a couple officers who would be offended by that comment.::

Rumi ignored her and continued. "Two, it's boring. This is just some childhood paranoia we're being called out to assuage, that's all. Nothing's going to happen."

::Oh, I don't know. What if he's right and someone is after him? It could be the most interesting thing to happen on this station.::

"Hush, I'm trying to complain. --Besides, I don't even like children...."

::Or people, for that matter. And I think that's the real reason you're unhappy with this: you don't want to spend so much time in direct contact with people.::

Rumi shrugged. "There is that. Playing bodyguard means a lot of contact... and social skills. Gods." They reached the lift and Rumi checked the hand-held with the location she was supposed to be en route to. "Deck five, level six-- crossing twenty-six," she read to the lift computer once everyone was in and the door had shut, and they slid noiselessly away towards the appropriate junction. "Crossing twenty-six" was more commonly known as "Lion Street", presumably for the metallic lion sculptures someone had decided to put up where the residential side-street met the general thoroughfare through the deck. Other "crossings" had similar coloquial names, some more creative than others.

::You are going to be able to smile and be polite, aren't you?:: Brullera asked, one head dipping to nudge her shoulder. Rumi obligingly scratched along the back of her head and Jingoa, still clinging to the ceiling, wasn't about to let that go without getting some attention, himself. He just dropped his forequarters down, hanging by his toes, with a little creaking creel, and she sighed, tucking the hand-held into her pocket so she could pet him, too.

"Yes, I will be able to smile and be polite," she told Brullera. "I'm done being upset, now."

::Good, because we're here.::

The lift door slid open with a gentle hiss, and Rumi stepped out-- following Jingoa who, petting forgotten, swarmed out ahead of her with his mouth hanging open cheerfully and dripping its usual drool. Brullera was much more stately, and followed her bond with measured step, to keep from overtaking her. The apartment, according to the hand-held, was a good seven doors in, number 26-7A.

::Boring names, they have here,:: one of Brullera's heads commented-- the left one, sounding decisively... well, bored.

"Do you like 'the Delanau residence' better?" Rumi asked.

::A little.::

At the door, Rumi paused to straighten her uniform jacket and tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. Hopefully this guardian of the boy's isn't male, she thought with the last of her annoyance, and she pressed the buzzer. A moment later the door slid open and, to Rumi's great relief, a middle-aged woman stood on the other side. She was dark-skinned-- gray-skinned, in fact, for all she looked human enough-- with incongruously pale, brown hair tied neatly back into a bun and a very matronly air to her. She blinked at Rumi in surprise.

"Hello, may I help you, officer?"

Before Rumi could reply, Jingoa stuck his head around the door with a quizzical growl. The poor woman gasped and jumped back, while Rumi shoved the white xenodragon back with a sheepish smile. "Sorry.... You contacted the Ministry of Security about a bodyguard, ah, with a xenodragon bond?"

The woman's face cleared from shock to understanding. "Oh, yes, we did! Lant, come out, the officer you called for is here. Please, please, ma'am, come in. Er, will your dragon... fit inside?"

"Jingoa will."

::I don't mind waiting outside,:: Brullera's right head assured them all-- much to the poor woman's surprise; she looked around rapidly until the pair of poison-purple heads dropped down into view behind Rumi, explaining the voice. ::I'm a bodyguard, after all. I'll guard the door.::

"Ah, yes," the woman said with a blink. "You do that. Very good. Thank you."

Brullera rumbled a duet of chuckles, and Rumi thought it was about time to step inside, as invited, so she did. She got Jingoa inside without too much of a fuss, finally convincing him to lay down and watch without trying to touch anything. Introductions were made all around, including the absent but still paying attention Brullera. The child, Lant'ien Ruvuah, had yet to make an appearance, but according to his guardian, the lady Bausalu wen Delanau, he was a very eccentric sort. Rumi didn't mind if he didn't show himself much; it meant she would have to figure out what to do with him less. With Bausalu as his guardian-- and his apparent ability to entertain himself-- it seemed less likely than she'd feared that she'd end up playing baby-sitter.

"He really is a good boy," Bausalu assured her. "He reads a lot, usually keeps pretty quiet. This whole thing with wanting a bodyguard-- with xenodragons, no less!" She shook her head. "I don't know what it's about, but sometimes he has these notions, and usually he's right, so...."

"Hello."

The voice was an unfamiliar one, but it could only have been Lant'ien himself: the voice of a boy not quite through adolescence yet. Rumi actually jumped a little, turning to find a dark-skinned, white-haired boy, much smaller than what Rumi would have expected for someone his age, standing much closer than she would have thought he could have gotten without catching her attention. Even more, he hadn't caught Jingoa's attention, which was even harder to do.

He must have the most silent feet in the station, Rumi thought, meeting his gaze, then, and getting another shock. His eyes were not like any eyes she'd ever seen. They were black-- pitch black, with no irises or whites, and hardly any shine. It wasn't even like they were the reflective black of a rodent's eye, or the faceted black of an insect's eye; rather, the color seemed to not even be a color, but an eerie emptiness that spoke of nothingness. Rumi wasn't even certain he was looking at her, directly, with nothing to base the direction of his gaze on but the direction of his face.

"Ah, Officer Beotoli, this is Lant'ien," Bausalu hurried to say, smiling a bit nervously. "Lant, this is the officer the Ministry assigned to you."

Jingoa, at that point, made his own introductions with a wet, sticky nudge to the boy's hand. Lant'ien didn't so much as twitch, calmly holding out his fingers and fearlessly letting the xenodragon mouth them, then letting the xenodragon chew on one of his loose, messy curls. "It is a pleasure to meet you, Officer Beotoli," he said solemnly while Jingoa investigated him. "I hope your assignment will be very dull."

With those odd and oddly cognizant words, Lant'ien Ruvuah drifted back out of the room, back to whatever he'd been doing. Jingoa dropped himself back down on the carpet with a sigh, apparently losing all interest, and Rumi stared after him, a bit disconcerted.

"Well, I warned you," Bausalu said ruefully. "He's a bit odd."

::I'll say,:: Brullera's double-voice told Rumi alone. ::He's more than just odd. I don't think he's even all there.::

What do you mean by that? Rumi thought back at her dragon.

::I'm not sure. I'll let you know when I figure it out.::

And that was all she could get out of her.

Chapter Five

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