Expectations of the Great
Disclaimer: drops it and puts hands in the air It wasn't me I SWEAR! It was… a present!
Author's note: What a small fandom! But what room we have for fics /runs around barefoot in it/
Moordryd got up, wiping his top lip and looking at the faint red smear it left on his hand.
'Fool of a boy.' Word Paynn snapped, not even moving a finger to help the lad. 'You will never reach a racing standard with such clumsiness…'
Moordryd said nothing, refitting his helmet on and climbing back up onto the brand new dragon his father had rather offhandedly given him, suppressing an urge to throw his helmet as hard as he could at the man who'd incidentally sired him.
Like every child from Sun City to Down City, Moordryd dreamed of being a dragon racer, and luckily for him his father also happened to have the money and unlimited supply of gears to back that dream up.
However, he thought blackly, as he settled himself into the slightly too large seat on his dragon's neck, Word Paynn was not a man to give ANYTHING away for free, not even to his own son
'Hyaaah!' He urged the dragonet, who sprang into a sprint circling the bowl shaped practice ring.
Moordryd flattened out over the neck, readying the short, thick lance.
'Now.' Word said dispassionately. The new little Dragonet mag blasted his rider several feet up to a target, which the boy took out with a swing of his lance, this time falling back on his dragon, rather then overbalancing and landing several feet away on the ground as he had done before.
As the dragon sped up, the G forces of his run started running them up the curved wall, and the targets also started moving further and further up, and closer to the centre to compensate for the new angle and height.
So it was with a feeling of fierce pride that Moordryd Paynn landed safely back on Decepshion with the pieces of the last target clattering to the polished floor.
His dragon slowed to a stop, sliding down the curved wall face and coming to a halt amidst the reckage of practice targets, lashing her tail to keep still. Moordryd looked hopefully up at his father, taking off his too big helmet, excited and flushed with pride.
'I did it! I only messed up once! I did it on my first try!' He cried.
'And once is too many.' Word said with a quelling look, his expression as fathomless as usual. Moordryd's grin faltered. 'Next time I expect no mistakes.'
'But…'
'You will practice this. I will come to observe you progress at the end of the day.' Word said, sweeping out of the room.
Moordryd threw his helmet at the space his father had occupied.