A/N: Just a bunch of short, pointless, dull drabble, but then I needed to get it out.
Disclaimer: Don't think you can make any money against me, because I'm saying it right now that don't own Dragon Booster. It's respectably owned by whoever owns it (AA or Nerdcorps, I don't know).
"So tell me, Moordryd, a bonemark…what is it?"
Young Moordryd blinked groggily, then shook his head furiously and sat up straight at his father's large desk, staring at his father, Word Paynn. "Er, what was the question again, Father?" he asked, a bit nervously.
Word sighed and placed his head in his hand. "Moordryd, will you start listening?" he said. "I'm trying to help you learn. This information will be needed later on in your life."
"But - " Moordryd started, but Word raised a clawed finger to silence his son.
"Am I just wasting my time on you, Moordryd?" Word questioned, a cold edge in his voice. "I hope not. I have much more important things to do than teach a child, so pay attention and stop drifting in your own little world, Moordryd."
Moordryd shifted his eyes away from his father, and his shoulders sagged. Couldn't Word see him as not a child, but his child? His son? "Yes, Father," Moordryd simply replied.
"Good," Word said, turning around. "Explain what a bonemark is."
"A bonemark," Moordryd repeated, then continued speaking. "A bonemark is the concentrated essence of a fighter dragon that once fought the original Dragon Booster from the original dragonhuman war, three thousand years ago."
Word sounded pleased as he spoke. "Excellent. And a few of the essences contained in these bonemarks?"
"The Furox, the fierce dragon of the Red Draconium Empire," Moordryd replied, more boldly than before. "The Samurox, the fighter dragon of Blue Draconium - "
"No, not just the fighter dragon!" Word interrupted, whirling around, and Moordryd winced. "The Samurox was not just a fighter dragon, but the king of all fighter dragons! Try and remember that next time."
Word took the book that was on the desk and opened it, turning to a page. "Now, let us review," he said. "For centuries now, there had been many dragonhuman empires. These empires were based of the many colors of draconium, and they helped fight in the original dragonhuman war. Of course, this did not mean that all dragons and humans were allies. They fought against each other, and..."
While Word continued talking, Moordryd's eyes drooped lazily and he slouched in his father's large chair. He didn't want another history lesson when he already knew what the draconium empires were and what the bonemarks did! He thought about his crew, the Dragon Eyes, and he wondered why he couldn't be with them, especially when he was going to become the leader of the Dragon Eyes soon, when he turned fourteen, which was just two years away. He thought about his new dragon, Decepshun, who understood him a lot more than Trykkstrr, his old dragon, who wasn't even black draconium or Psi-class based. He thought about being a great racer, like his father, and even his mother, who he didn't know too much about. He thought about fighting, being a leader, doing great things that would please his father…
"Moordryd!"
Moordryd gasped, realizing he had dozed off. Word looked over him icily, and Moordryd hastily got his head off his father's desk and sat up stiffly, looking up at his father. "I'm sorry, Father, I - I - " he stammered, but he realized it was useless to argue.
Word shook his head in pity. "When will you learn, boy?" he said exasperatedly, turning away from Moordryd and staring at the happenings of Dragon City from his monitors.
Moordryd slumped back down in the chair. Well, so much for pleasing Father… he thought with a defeated sigh.
End