Holy shit, the title fits! :D

77. Make Like an Open-Air Market and Stall

"Tensions are growing on Atlas Dragonry's campus, as Dragonmaster Ironwood continues to block entry to the school. Councilwoman Caroline Cordovan herself has flown out to deescalate the situation..."

James tried not to let his reaction to that particular statement show on his face as he stood on the front steps of the Dragonry. One downside to all the cameras everywhere, he supposed... but they were necessary.

"You're going to have to talk to her, you know."

He started and turned around, and found Lisa Lavender standing a few feet behind him. She'd apparently finished speaking for the moment, and the small army of crew members behind her were busy getting footage of the school itself. "You're technically in your rights to ignore her until she comes back with a warrant," the journalist went on, "but you'd look guilty to the public. Having their eyes on you can only protect you as long as they're on your side."

James opened and closed his mouth for a few times, then sighed. "I am aware of that, thank you."

She looked very deliberately casual. "It wouldn't hurt, you know, to keep the conversation nice and open. Just in case things turn nasty."

"Yes," he sighed, "You can film it." No doubt she was here to deliver whatever threats and promises were necessary to open up the school, which she couldn't do with witnesses around.

All the same, he would have preferred to go without reporters swarming him, and found himself wishing for his Grimm-fighting days the moment he picked out Cordovan's small silhouette among the assembled Council riders. By the time she was close enough for him to see her expression—positively thunderous—he was thinking wistfully about how much he'd rather fight a fully grown Ursa by himself.

"Good evening," he said as pleasant as he could manage. It was a little after one in the morning—she had doubtless been flying for several hours, and hadn't slept in a long while.

"General." She turned up her nose at the address, and shot him a disdainful look. "This charade has gone on long enough. You will—" Finally, she noticed the cameras and cut herself off with a sneer. "I didn't think you were the sort to hide, James."

His polite smile was more of a grimace. "Would you care for a tour of the facilities?" he asked, and took some small satisfaction in the angry flush that crept up her neck.

"No, I would not. I am here to—"

"Make suggestions for how we might improve our campus," he finished. "It would make things easier to see how things are currently run, wouldn't it?"

A twitch started in her left eye. "Yes," she gritted out. "Of course."

He walked agonizingly slowly, pointing out architectural features on every building, and dredging up every last bit of trivia he'd memorized in his years at the school. Cordovan endured it all, though her face went from red to purple when he started introducing her to students more or less at random—all of whom went out of their way to share their own useless facts about Atlas Dragonry.

"And it's like, super high-tech," Neon Katt said proudly, pointing at the CCT tower that crowned the Academy—and Atlas itself. "You're from Mistral, right? I guess their tower is pretty cool, too."

Cordovan, who had been on the Council when the tower was built, seethed impotently before the news cameras. "I am an Atlesian Councilwoman," she gritted out.

"Oh!" Neon broke out in a wide grin. "That's okay, you don't need to be embarrassed! Lots of people who live in Atlas don't know much about the tower!"

Neon then went on to explain how the CCT worked—which James had also done, about an hour earlier. Every time Cordovan tried to point this out, Neon just bulled right over her. When her anecdote finally ended, he smiled and said, "Thank you, Neon. Would you like to help me show Councilwoman Cordovan the stables?" And, when he was out of sight of both Cordovan and the cameras, he winked. A large part of being a good general was knowing when to delegate, after all—and this girl had a gift the likes of which he hadn't seen since Qrow Branwen.

Neon jumped on the suggestion with vicious glee, and started rambling on about the mechanisms that were used to heat and cool the stalls, according to different dragons' needs. Her tail flicked back and forth behind her all the while, and the Councilwoman's face twisted and twisted until—

"I don't care how the stables work!" Cordovan shouted, spittle flying in every direction. Neon drew back. James thought he saw real alarm on her face and winced.

"Um, okay?" She glanced at James.

"My apologies, Miss Katt," he said neutrally—and made a mental note to give her a proper apology later. "Perhaps you should return to your teammates."

"Teammate," she corrected, with a lopsided grin that didn't hide the flash of anger in her eyes. Then she was off, and James was left alone with a fuming Cordovan... and a small army of cameras, which had caught the entire scene.

"You are a guest here," he said levelly. "I am happy to help in any way that I can, but I will not tolerate abuse of my students, or their dragons."

"I see," she said, through gritted teeth. "You're one of those, then."

"I'm sure I have no idea what you mean," James said—and started on another tangent, to waste as much of this woman's time as was humanly possible.

Sand under her paws. Cool wind rushing past her, the ground rolling up and down as she darted from dune to dune. And the smell of dragons getting steadily stronger.

She shouldn't have killed the big animal. Should have realized that it would tip them off. It had almost tripped over her, though, and she hadn't eaten anything bigger than a rabbit in days. Temptation had overwhelmed her. Then those other dragons had stolen her kill...

But they'd shared it with Gigas.

Her run stuttered, and she shook her head to clear it. The redheaded one would recover soon, and she would go to warn the rest of them. She'd been waiting for the right time to try to free the others, and there obviously wasn't going to be a better one than right now.

That meant she only had until she reached their camp to figure out what to do about the Lieutenant. If she freed him, he'd go back to the rest of the Fang and help them bring the evil place back. If she didn't, she had to convince Gigas to go. Somehow.

And what about Justice? Would Ilia stay with him, if she freed them, or would she run away again? No. He'd go with her if she ran. He'd be... safe.

Alone with a rider. Maybe alone like she was, if he got too inconvenient.

She hissed, cursing the red-haired one for forcing her to move now. She wasn't ready... but she wouldn't have been ready tomorrow, or the next day, or maybe ever. She'd just have to move fast, take advantage of their surprise, and—

Sounds pricked her ears. She slowed, dropping low as she wound her way through the dunes. A bellow went up, followed by dozens of exclamations of fear and surprise. Too distant to make out any words. She picked up the pace.

The whole group was awake when she approached—but whatever had disturbed them, it wasn't her. None of them were even looking outward. She got close without being seen, easily, and draped herself flat against one of the dunes, shaking herself to let the sand cover her. Only her eyes, narrowed to slits, would be visible.

All the activity surrounded what looked like a leather bag. The old earth dragon fretted over it, warbling uncertainly, while his blond rider scrambled in another bag.

"Shit, shit, shit!" A grey-haired man paced back and forth in front of the bag, his red eyes wild. "Do we even know what the hell it is?!"

A girl in white was kneeling in front of the bag. She moved, then, and revealed an egg lying in the sand. It gleamed a pearly blue-grey in the moonlight. Sharp claws flexed, sending more sand skittering down the side of the dune.

"Water, maybe?" the girl suggested. She shifted again, and her long ponytail obscured the egg from view.

More people swarmed around them. She caught frantic snatches—and two names, "Glynda," and "Pyrrha," always in low, half-fearful tones.

Everyone is looking at the egg. Now would be the time—but she stayed still, frozen, her eyes locked on the silvery-blue shell. Remembering the lifeless eyes that watched her. "Again."

The muttering peaked in a frantic shout, "Where's Pyrrha?!"

Her ears went back. That must be the red-haired one—oops.

A brittle snap. "No time!" the blond man said. "Go look for her, but we need—Glynda?"

Another woman approached, moving very slowly, her hands clenched into fists. A round man patted her shoulder and murmured something. "Of course I can," she snapped, and glared at him.

Snap. The girl in white leaned forward, and the egg came into view again. A long crack ran down its side. The dragonet's nose broke through into open air, squealing pitifully. Liquid dripped from the egg—it was thick, and shone like silver in the moonlight. The dragonet that tumbled from the shell looked as though it was made from the same stuff, if it were tinted blue.

The woman, Glynda, knelt down and spoke softly. Quiet murmurs that tugged one something inside, until she yearned to bite something. But she didn't move, didn't make a sound, even though no one was paying any attention to their surroundings.

Another little squeal. The hatchling lifted his head. His eyes welled up. More silver liquid beaded and ran down his snout, dripping onto the sand. The woman reached a hand out to stroke his head—and pulled back sharply with a muffled noise.

"Glynda?" The round man half-rose.

She rocked back on her heels, clutching her wrist. "Gloves," she gritted out.

"If you can't—I'm sure someone can—"

"No." She snapped her fingers at the blond man, but her eyes never left the dragonet. "This is... something's wrong."

Her ears went flat against her head. Something was wrong, so they fetched gloves. Her hiss was low and soft, and no one noticed.

"Wrong?" The round man reached out.

"Don't touch him," Glynda snapped. Then, more softly, "That liquid... it's poisonous."

"What?!" The girl in white stiffened. "Professor, you—"

"I'm perfectly fine. Tai."

The blond man, Tai, finished fumbling in another of the bags and tossed her a pair of gloves. Then he plunged back in.

As soon as she was wearing the gloves, Glynda drew the shivering dragonet closer, stroking his back and supporting him when his legs gave out. Tai put on his own pair and joined her, and soon there were several of them kneeling in a circle around him, murmuring quietly and petting him now that they were protected by the leather. He squealed again, took a little of the food they offered him, and retched it up.

A few minutes later he went very quiet and still, curled up in a pool of glittering silver sand.

Glynda lurched to her feet, then stumbled. The round man moved to steady her and murmured something. "I'm dizzy, that's all." She waved him away and left the group, still walking unsteadily.

Everyone else was frozen with shock—except for three humans and three dragons, who were still moving frantically around the camp, looking for Pyrrha.

Now.

A shudder went through her, displacing more sand.

Do it now.

Her insides had turned to ice-water, freezing and burning all at once.

Before they recover.

She might not have found it in herself to move—but Gigas chose that moment to let out an inquisitive chirp. Riders and dragons alike scrambled to get in between him and the dead hatchling, and even the Lieutenant looked shaken and subdued.

They were looking right at him, but it didn't matter. She'd fight all of them if she had to. She couldn't find it in herself to care if she lost.

She exploded out of her hiding place in a dead sprint. The ones still clustered around the egg were nearest—the round man lurched out of her way with a cry of surprise, and she jumped over the girl in white's head. Then her eyes met the Lieutenant's, and he lifted his unbandaged hand to point at her.

"You!"

A roar tore itself from her chest. An earth dragon near Gigas yelped and leaped back. The Lieutenant roared back, "That thing's a killer! Get it the hell out of here, kill it!"

Gigas' head whipped around, hurt showing clear in his eyes, and he nipped his rider hard on the ankle. That set him swearing, still trying to stand to face her. He'd just gotten most of the way to his feet when she knocked him down with her tail and whirled to face Gigas—but there was a water dragon in her way, now, flaring her wings and bellowing a challenge.

More all around her. She'd made a mistake, going for Gigas first—she slipped between two fire dragons, to indignant snarls, and bolted towards Justice. There was only one dragon guarding him, but it was the big ice dragon, all muscle and sinew and needle-sharp spines. He lashed out at her, but Justice had gotten to his feet and bulled into the enemy's side. Then they were together, running for where Ilia was watching the entire thing with her mouth hanging open.

"Lah!"

"What's going on?" Gigas warbled. "Why is everyone fighting?"

The earth dragon from before picked him up by his scruff and bolted. Justice snarled and chased after him, and he shot a frantic look over his shoulder, his eyes wide and white with terror.

"Hey!" Gigas protested, wiggling in his grip. "Wait! Put me down!"

She put on a burst of speed and leaped, her wings flapping once to let her reach his back. There she clung with her claws while he ran wildly in every direction, trying to buck her off.

"Zircon!"

And then pain. She rolled onto her back with water streaming down her sides, sending a horrible burning itch crawling all the way up her spine. The water evaporated as she flexed her powers and blew a dry gust directly into the face of a snarling water dragon. She ducked away, covering her eyes with her paw, and then the fire dragons had caught them and one of them fixed her with a murderous glare, and she bolted.

Claws reached for her. She ducked and weaved, and all around her riders were scrambling onto dragonback. The element of surprise was slipping away...

There. A human still on the ground, calling out to a wind dragon on the other side of the melee. He looked up as she approached—threw himself sideways, much too late, she gathered her legs underneath her to pounce—

"Wait!"

—and pulled up short as the red-haired human flung herself between them. She was flushed, panting hard from the run there, but she stood her ground in the face of a low, threatening hiss.

One of the fire dragons, black with lines of fire tracing along his scales, moved towards her. Pyrrha held up her hands and shouted, "Don't hurt her!" He stopped, more out of confusion than anything else, an aborted fireball oozing out the sides of his mouth.

She let her spines stand on end, her tail flexing and her wings flaring, daring the little human to try and fight her again. It was hopeless, she knew, there were more than twelve of them against only her and Justice, but she didn't care anymore.

"We're taking him away," Pyrrha said, gesturing towards the Lieutenant. "He's part of the group that made you, but they—their lab—"

She growled.

"You know, then." The human relaxed slightly. "We can't let him go, or he'll go back to them. But we know it isn't Gigas' fault, and we won't let anyone hurt him."

It was so destabilizing hearing her own worries echoed in the language of the riders that she took a little step back. When she glanced at Justice, he was still snarling at the nearest dragon, a wind dragon covered in gleaming silver armor.

They must have noticed her looking, because Ilia herself stepped forward next. "I'm staying here on purpose," she said. Her eyes were fixed on the ground. "I can't... I can't help them anymore."

"Stop it!" Justice roared at her. "Stop saying that!"

"I'm sorry." She hunched in on herself, avoiding looking at him, or the Lieutenant, or anyone else.

"Gigas," she barked. He looked up at her from where he hung in the jaws of the terrified earth dragon.

"Big one," he said, his stubby tail wagging. Then, slowly, it stopped. "Did you really bite Ur—the Lieutenant?"

She wasn't guilty. She wasn't.

"Didn't bite." She shot him a venomous glare. "Scratched."

Gigas wilted before her eyes. The earth dragon put him down and nuzzled at him, and she—

Sand flew under her paws. Pyrrha took a step forward, one hand extended as if to reach for her—but she didn't pursue. No one did.

The next morning they were gone. And, in the spot where they had been, there was a small patch of displaced earth. She sniffed at it, and dug down until she found the little body wrapped in cloth, a squashed and withered flower tucked behind his head.

She wasn't sure why they'd buried him, but she put him back there anyway. It was hot and dry, and he smelled a little like a water dragon. Maybe he'd have wanted to be out of the sun for a while.

"Glynda?"

She grimaced and pressed the heel of her palm against her temple. So much for the hope that Peter would have been distracted by the skirmish, earlier.

"I'm fine," she bit out.

He heaved a put-upon sigh and walked around Pepper, so that her bulk was no longer separating them. "I've heard you say that quite often over the years, and never once have you actually been fine."

She considered arguing the point, but before she could get any words out her stomach twisted into a painful knot, and the capacity for speech deserted her. He sat down a few feet away and offered her... a biscuit.

"I find it settles the stomach."

Glynda couldn't even look at it—she had no desire whatsoever to throw up in front of her students.

Peter peered at her again, looking if anything even more worried. "Setting aside emotional well-being for the moment... do we need to fly you to Vacuo?"

"No." Cupping her palms around her eyes helped, partly because it blocked out the light and partly because she wasn't in the mood to see his expression. "It isn't any better, but it's stopped getting worse."

One touch. No wonder the dragonet had died so quickly.

"Glynda—"

"I think I'll go to bed." She got up, then had to lean heavily on Pepper's side as the world bucked and spun. Her tent, which was pitched about twenty feet away, might as well have been on the moon.

Pepper lifted a wing in open invitation. Panic gripped her, and she managed a few shaky steps before the dragon coiled around—offering, this time, one of her horns for her to lean on as she walked. She had no choice but to take it, and to wave off the frightened looks of the students who saw her.

Once inside, and free of the others' concern, she let herself go limp. She felt wrung out, like a damp towel. Those frantic minutes after Quake's first warning, dreading the hatching and knowing the hatchling probably wouldn't survive. Knowing, too, that she wasn't ready, terrified of another perfect little creature tumbling out of the egg and needing something she didn't think she could give. Thinking not wanting it would make it easier.

Then, the instant she'd touched him... the fear and doubt and grief had only sharpened, but despite all of it she'd wanted him. Only to feel the horrible leaden numbness in her fingertips and know that he was going to die.

Glynda drew an arm across her face and took deep, slow breaths, fighting down another surge of nausea. For several long, horrible seconds, she teetered on the edge of coming apart. She kept breathing, and the moment passed. It wasn't time, yet—she could imagine all too well what would have happened if she'd snapped tonight, when she knelt before the egg. Like hell would she put Pyrrha Nikos through all that.

Still. She had her limits.

If Winter doesn't get back here before the next one hatches, I'm going to handcuff her and Qrow together and throw away the key.