Slayers isn't mine, and I use these characters without permission, but not maliciously.
In a quiet upscale neighborhood of a large seaport town, Zelgadis Greywords reached out with his stone-mottled hand and grasped the freshly polished handle of a door that separated the inside of a large pottery shop, "Maces and Vases," from the outside world. He paused for a moment and sighed, looking at the large friendly-faced dragon painted in bright gold on the door. Inside of the shop was one of the few places he could go and have tea with friends. Outside he constantly hid his blue stone face in the dark recesses of the cowl of his cloak, evading the hot sun and prying eyes of inquisitive villagers. Some of the more ignorant types shouted curses and threatened him with swords, pikes, or whatever sharp implements were nearby. None could penetrate the very surface that inspired their anger. It was his armor and his bane. Part demon, part golem, part human, he still searched for the artifact, spell, or potion that would cure him. After years of searching, he still came back to "Maces and Vases," stone skin still covering his body, but here he was always welcome.
Zelgadis opened the door with the smiling dragon and was surprised to see the large number of people, richly dressed and large bellied, ambling around the numerous shelves that were covered with all sizes of intricately painted vases. Further back in the shop, maces were carefully sequestered in their own corner. An overly zealous young man had taken a few swings with one of the heavy, spiked maces, and had demonstrated with a particularly delicate set of seven aquamarine and white vases why the maces should be partitioned off from the remaining intact vases.
A tall golden-haired woman smiled and waved at Zelgadis from behind the packing counter where she was helping a rather robust old man carefully pack up a white vase. Zelgadis gave a quick wave to her and turned back to a large blue vase painted with red and yellow flowers that sat on a shelf by the door. He didn't want to attract too much attention as one strong gust of wind might sneak in the door with the next customer, blowing his hood off his head, and then Filia, one of his few friends, would have a lot of explaining to do about why she let this chimera freak into her shop. After all, the people who patronized this store were obviously either warriors, or at the very least, very well off, and both were the kind of people he and Filia didn't want to get in a fight with, especially in this store. Zelgadis carefully dogged the customers that sauntered about the store, keeping his sword sheathed and his face covered.
After packing up the vase and wishing Mr. Soderstrom's nephew's new baby all the best, Filia quickly stopped at each remaining customer, helped them with their purchase, or told them it would be just a few more days for their vase to be finished before ushering them out the door.
"See you in three days, Mr. Bucksmith! It'll be done by Lucinda's birthday, with pink persimmons right around the rim."
Filia waved to the retreating man and hung a "closed for tea" sign on a bent nail on the outside of the door, just below the gold dragon's feet, and quickly darted back inside her shop.
"Zelgadis, it's wonderful to see you again! I've got a new blend of Rooibos tea from South Zundia that just arrived yesterday. We'll have to try it out."
Filia grabbed his arm and dragged him into the back of the shop. Surrounded by pottery wheels, paint buckets, a kiln, and several dozen half-finished vases, sat Jilas, who was polishing a thick spike on a brand new mace that was just as large as his furry fox self.
"Hello, Mr. Zelgadis," he yelped, turning away from the mace, "No cure yet, I see. Oh well, keep trying I guess."
Filia blushed and pulled Zelgadis, up the back stairs to the top floor of her shop where she lived. She ushered him to a chair in front of a small table and immediately started opening and closing various covered jars that sat on a tall set of shelves next to the table. She sniffed the contents of each jar before closing the lid.
"No that's chamomile, that's cinnamon, that's svortentrost ... You have to be a dragon to like svortentrost, it'd taste just like an old moldy fish to you."
Clink, sniff, clink, sniff.
"Here it is, right on the end, just where I always put the latest variety."
Filia smiled, set the jar down on the table, set a pot of water to boil in the fireplace, and retrieved an elaborate gold-leafed tea set from a top shelf.
"Business must be going as well as it looked, if you can afford to treat your tea this well," said Zelgadis as he picked up a small delicate cup and admired the intricate leaf patterns on the handle.
"Ever since Duke Barnaby had his most prominent flowers displayed at his wedding in my vases, I've had all the notables in town stopping by for this and that. It's the most wonderful thing that's happened. Even the mace business started to pick up. I had a brute in here that was just as tall as Gourry, and the way he swung that mace around, he might have been just as strong ..."
The two former traveling companions chatted for a while about old times and old friends and eventually the tea kettle started to whistle. Filia snatched it off the fire and poured the water over the tea leaves she had previously doled out in each cup.
"You're not pulling out your tea from midair, like you used to. What happened?" asked Zelgadis, as a warm fragrant smell rose from the teacup.
"That only makes one kind or tea, marlteprast, a hearty dragon tea good for traveling. Humans usually turn green and their eyes turn black for a about a month when they drink it, but after that they're fine, no permanent damage."
Filia grinned widely and stirred the leaves in her cup with a small spoon.
"Does anyone in town know ... well ... seen your tail yet?" Zelgadis asked as the appendage in question curled around a table leg.
"No one yet. I'll have to explain Val somehow when he hatches. It'll be at least 23 years before he can be in human form long enough to help out in the store. I don't really want to bring him in front of the customers. They'll want to pet him and baby dragons love to flame if you scratch their chin. It's just too big of a risk.
Filia sadly thumped her tail on the floor and gazed over to the basket that held the clear egg that contained the last black dragon.
"Maybe Princess Amelia could help you out." Zelgadis said as he looked at Filia's glum face. "She knows the nobles here. What if you did this: you send her a few vases with dragons painted on them, and let's just say she sends you an egg, a dragon egg, to reward you for your expert work. You couldn't refuse a gift from a princess, especially if it's an unusual gift. Even the nobles would have to accept that you had to have him, and they couldn't get in the way of your raising him. You could tell the whole town about him. If everybody knew Amelia would come by now and then to watch his progress, and of course visit the nobles while she was here, all the people would want him to grow up safe."
Filia mulled the idea over a little, took another sip of her tea, and then stood up from her chair and hugged Zelgadis. His cheeks which normally would've reddened up, purpled up due to his unfortunate complexion. When Filia was done purpling Zelgadis's cheeks, she went over to Val and caressed his egg a few times with her tea-warmed hands.
"I'll put a little pen for you right behind the wrapping counter, so Baron Sraven can't put his big grubby hands on you. And I'll have a nice big cover over your pen just in case a certain namagomi ever decides to drop by."
Zelgadis took another sip of his tea as Filia described how she was making a certain mace with extra hard bumps on it just in case the certain namagomi ever did come by and tried to get near Val.
Zelgadis set his teacup down on the saucer with a little extra clink, breaking Filia away from her thoughts.
"Oh, sorry about that, Zelgadis. It's a wonderful idea. I'll write her a letter tomorrow and send it off with Mr. And Mrs. Bittlebaum. They have a cousin in the guard at the castle, Harry, and are leaving to visit him tomorrow, and I'll be sure to write her that it's your idea." Filia gave Zelgadis a certain knowing look. "She couldn't refuse to help then."
Zelgadis chose to ignore the comment and the look, and gazed back up at the little containers each painted a different color, that held several dozen kinds of tea. Then Zelgadis looked down at his hands. Then Zelgadis got an idea, an idea so simple he wondered why he hadn't thought of it years ago.
"Filia, I think you might be able to help me out, actually."
"Oh really? I'd love to. Would you like more tea?"
About half an hour later Zelgadis sat with paper shoved up his nostrils, his hair bent back away from his face. He was bare chested and sat very still while Filia smoothed the last bit of clay around the stones that nearly encircled Zelgadis's left eye.
"You might look a little lumpy, but they'll have to get really close to tell."
"That won't be a problem," said Zelgadis glumly, thinking back to how few friends or even acquaintances he had in the world.
"Oh, cheer up, Zelgadis. You still have a chance of being cured. When you're an orphan like me with my entire race gone, that can never be cured."
She was right. Filia dipped a fresh paint brush into a small bucket of peach-colored paint and started with the right side of Zelgadis's face, gently covering the light blue surface down to the bottom of his neck until only the pebbles remained unpainted on his chin and cheeks. Then Filia washed the remaining peach color off the brush and got out a fresh bucket of black paint.
"You'll look like your cheeks and chin are twice as big as they should be if I try to cover the stones up, so you'll just have to have a goatee and a couple of black patches on the sides. Your hair really won't look much different from Lord Drommer's, and I've heard a few fashionable people say he's very fashionable. With just the right highlighting it'll look like real hair."
Filia dipped her clean brush into the black paint and quickly added touches to the appropriate places, curving the bristles around, occasionally mixing in a little bit of the peach paint to vary the color, giving the lifeless pebbles a natural hairy appearance.
Fortunately the bristles didn't tickle Zelgadis too badly, but he still sighed with relief when Filia cleaned out her brush for what he thought was the last time. He was surprised, however, when Filia shoved him back down on the bench when he tried to get up.
"We're not done yet. If you've got black hair on your face then you should have black hair on your head. The colors just aren't right this way. Any three-year-old human could tell you that and probably would. I'll just thin the paint out a little and bend things a little here and there..."
Zelgadis didn't like getting turned over and having his head dunked in a bucket full of pungent smelling black paint (the paper in his nose could only help so much), but under the circumstances it was quite appropriate.
"This is the last time. Four coats should be enough, " said Filia as she eased her grip on Zelgadis's neck as she brought his head out of the bucket. She quickly wiped away any straggling drops of paint that ran down his forehead with a dark towel that had been used for that purpose with many other items in the shop. Zelgadis truly hoped she wouldn't try to put her signature on him when she was through.
"It won't look very natural right up front but if you wear a hat, which some respectable people do, you shouldn't have a problem. It'll be better than being wrapped up in that cowl in the noonday heat."
Zelgadis lay prone with his head sticking over the edge of a bench, right above the bucket, as Filia fanned him with a large piece of parchment. A few minutes later, the last drops dried on his thoroughly darkened head.
"You can get up now!" said Filia as she went to get her mirror from upstairs.
Zelgadis righted himself on the bench and thought back to the various times he had been forced to dress in drag, but no, this had been more humiliating. Filia came back with the mirror and held it up to Zelgadis's face.
It was similar to the face he had before Rezo had changed him, but two obvious things were missing.
"I don't have any eyebrows."
Filia opened her mouth, and looked at Zelgadis a little closer even though she didn't need to.
"Oh, I never noticed."
Filia got out her paintbrush and added in a stunning pair of reasonably thick, but not barbarian bushy, eyebrows.
"There."
She held up the mirror again. Zelgadis took the paper out from his nostrils.
"It looks like me, finally."
Filia then went on and painted his hands, adding in a few highlights for his knuckles, and they talked a while before deciding what kind of lifeline she should paint on his palm. When the hands were finished Filia incanted a couple of holy adhesion spells, one for the paint, and one for the clay.
The next day Filia was still beaming with pride when Zelgadis left her shop with his cowl down and no gloves on his hands. It wasn't a cure, but it was probably the closest he could get to being normal without one. With a bit more pride and bit more self-respect, he left the shipping town with a nice packet of Rooibos tea, and headed west to perhaps find something that might finally cure him.
Author's notes- This is a one-shot fic. No sequels.