Wisumoth's Story: Chaos Controlled

Wisumoth wandered the dark halls of the Citadel of Shadows alone, claws pulled up so that only his soft pads hit the cool floor, and there was only a whisper of sound to betray his passing and mar the heavy silence around him. Arches of darkly luminous stone rose above and around him, the scant torchlight reflecting eerily off them in sparks and flickers. Strange carved statues loomed over him-- and up at him; he was very tall, compared to all the bipeds in this place and even a lot of the quadrupeds-- shaped out of the cool, black stone, out of smoky quartzes, out of simple granite. Wisumoth felt like a pale ghost moving through corridors of darkness, especially now, at night, when the corridors were all but empty, and those he did pass ignored him completely.

Almost despite himself, Wisumoth found himself comfortable here. The cool shadows, the dark surrounds, the way he was left alone once he convinced his nephew to stay with Ceremeth and Ziar. As much as he hated to admit it, darkness was a part of him, and it answered to the quiet darkness of the Citadel. He didn't think he would wind up staying-- Ziar was actually uncomfortable here, and Ceremeth didn't feel strongly enough about it to convince him otherwise-- but for now, he was content just to wander about within the impressive structures. He had even politely declined a guide, wanting to be alone with his contemplations.

It really was growing late now, however, and he thought it would probably be wise to return soon. It would take him a while to make his quiet way back through the Citadel to the set of rooms he, Ziar, Ceremeth, and Hukiloseth had been appointed. It could have been quite crowded if Ceremeth hadn't spent the entire trip thus far in a bipedal form; it was entirely possible no one even knew she was really a dragon. So, where they might have had to share or split up in order to fit them all into one suite, they'd been offered-- and accepted-- a bonded dragons' suite. Ceremeth took up the rider-sized bedroom, little Ziar lounged in the rider's "living room", and Wisumoth and his nephew used the rooms meant for dragons. All in all, it was comfortable enough.

But it was also several floors above him, and he possessed no handy teleportation abilities. So, he made his way to the nearest staircase and patiently began the long trek upwards.

He had only made it halfway up when he was forced to pause-- not that he minded. The broad stairwell was currently full of an inky black dragoness, smaller than he but somehow taking up the entire stair, anyway. Her cheeks were bespiked, her head behorned, and her tail remarkably long and fluidly coiling, tipped with what was unmistakably a stinger that probably bore some kind of poison. She oozed down from the upper level and Wisumoth glided soundlessly aside to let her pass. Her eyes, vivid red and hooded arrogantly, slid over him with a kind of hungry, possessive appraisal which he had seen before, though not before directed at him.

Before he could guess what the result of that look might be-- approval or disgust-- the dragoness swept haughtily past Wisumoth, leaving him to look over his shoulder at her. Proud though she might have been, she was still oddly attractive, and if that glance and the scents drifting after her were any indication, he would have the chance to see whether the feeling was at all reciprocated, and soon.

He knew how such things were handled here, the locally called "rages"; he'd done his homework before deciding to come here. If he were to add his name to the list of those attending her "rage"-- once he discovered her name-- he could probably hold his own. He was big, his thick fur offered some natural protection, and he'd trained himself over the years, waiting for his aunt to want to leave Star City, just in case. She was not a warrior, nor was Ziar-- nor, as it turned out, was his nephew. Someone had to protect them, and he'd decided that someone was him-- but now, that strength could, possibly, serve him in another fashion. It was, he reluctantly admitted to himself, a very tempting thought, and it was one he contemplated that all the way up to the correct floor and right through their doorway.

Apparently, in fact, he looked so lost in thought that Ceremeth, the only one still up, cast a thought at him: ::Good morning, ghost.::

She called him that, now and then, as a tease based on his white coat and quiet nature. Today it echoed his earlier musings about his silence, drifting through the Citadel. He sent her a wordless greeting in reply, but she was not to be dissuaded. ::It is morning now, you know. Been thinking that hard all this time?::

Wisumoth was glad for his thick fur; he could not blush at what he would-- had to-- tell her. She'd know if he wasn't telling her everything; he didn't know how, but she would. ::Only for the last few halls and floors, Aunt.::

::I can guess what you were thinking about,:: she replied wryly. ::I think I can smell the hormones from up here.::

::Mine or hers?:: he asked, unable to completely keep embarrassment from his mental voice this time. Ceremeth was more like a mother to him than the one who'd laid his egg, having raised him, and he'd never exactly talked to her about women and the chasing thereof. He had no idea how she'd react to the subject.

Ceremeth's very physical, breathy laughter, coming from a chair beside the small fireplace in the far wall, answered him. ::Relax, I'm not going to yell at you. Just because I haven't partaken doesn't mean I look down on people who do. Tell me about it?::

A little taken aback, but pleasantly so, Wisumoth curled himself around the chair and fireplace and did so. She listened patiently as he described not only the black lady he'd seen, but his musings about the Citadel, his thoughts on his chances in a "rage"-- she'd snorted at the name, though whether in amusement or derision, he didn't know-- and even his mild confusion at his attraction to such a haughty dragoness. Surely, he thought, she would make a terrible partner, forever trying to lord herself over him.

::Think of it as a trial run,:: Ceremeth suggested. ::To see what it's like. I highly doubt she'll be interested in a lifetime commitment.::

::Why do you say that?:: he asked curiously.

::Because that lady of yours is the self-titled queen of the Citadel,:: she answered wryly, ::and I highly doubt she'd be interested in keeping anyone around for long. At least you have high aspirations.::

Wisumoth stared at his aunt for a moment, then gave himself a shake. ::I shouldn't... not the lady of the Citadel's bond....:: At the odd gleam in Ceremeth's eye, he added, ::Should I?::

::Only if you let me play, too.:: When Wisumoth did no more than stare blankly at her, she sighed and elaborated in a very slightly exaggeratedly slow voice. ::When dragons fly to mate, their riders tend to do the same. I want to see what it's like.::

::But... Aunt, Mishuvel is female.::

::I know. That doesn't mean I can't see what it's like, can I?:: Wisumoth's thoughts must have been clear on his face, for she smiled at him. ::No, I'm not turning into Peta-mari, I promise. But I am curious. Besides, it's highly likely she won't be interested.::

::What if you aren't interested?:: he suggested delicately.

::What's why I said you need to let me play. Let me be your bond for the day. We can set up a link and everything; we've linked before.::

This was so absurd it was starting to get funny. ::And if she's not interested?::

::I'll find someone else.::

::And if I lose? I doubt I'm the most impressive male interested in her.::

::Then I'll assuage my curiosity some other way.::

Wisumoth heaved a great sigh-- and accidentally blew out the fire. With an apologetic wince, and to the sound of Ceremeth chuckling, he spat a lick of flame into the fireplace again, setting it cheerily ablaze. ::Are you sure, Aunt? I mean... we're related, you're sure it doesn't bother you?::

::I think I'm related to half the universe. And besides, I'm not planning on paying that much attention to you.::

Another sigh-- this time carefully aimed away from the fireplace-- and Wisumoth gave in. ::If you want, Aunt. Just don't spoil my fun, if I get to have any.::

::Of course not,:: she promised. ::Now get to bed, already. I'm tired of waiting up for you until the small hours of the morning. You can sign yourself up when the sun's up, and not a moment sooner.::

Wisumoth whuffed into her hair, let her scratch the end of his nose, then padded off obediently to bed.