For what it's worth, I only have one and two half prompts left to write. Both halves are long halves, and the whole one is going to be very tricky, but be danged, I think I'm doing this.
Bleak meter: Starts fluffy, degenerates rapidly by the end
Timeline: After "Wild and Sweet," probably after Season 10/MotO as well.
Context: The dragon of Wind featured in "Wild and Sweet" a little, she was always established as a timid one. This is the first time she has a name though, there's a joke to it.
It had been a little too quiet in Dead's End for a while. Faith was pretty certain that Jet Jack must be out of town.
Sure enough, she glanced out to the horizon at one point and saw a shining speck in the sky, which could only be the metal and flame of a jetpack. Right next to it was a wriggling white mote, soon easily identifiable as Jess, the Wind dragon. She and Jet Jack were having one of their usual races across the desert. Faith sighed, knowing this would mean a chaotic entrance.
It was only seconds later that Jess came streaking through the sky, shooting low over the village and plunging to a halt in a mound of straw near the granary. Straw exploded several stories into the air. Jet Jack had just enough sense to shut off her boosters at the last second, before she vanished into the straw next to Jess.
"For the love of sands, you two," groaned Faith, approaching the heaving welter of straw. It wasn't really needed for anything, but it would be annoying to have it scattered across half the village, getting into people's hair.
"Unfair!" Jet Jack surfaced, dramatically indignant. "I was fighting a headwind the entire time, you cheating lizard!"
Jess snorted, reared up, and bounced back down onto her forelegs, bucking and tossing her head in the dragon invitation to play.
"Ohhhh, don't think you can distract me. No! I'm wise to you!" Jet Jack laughed and stumbled back as Jess headbutted her boisterously. Faith sighed again, but had to shake her head in wonder. Jess was usually painfully timid, frightened even by other dragons play-fighting—let alone the Hunters who had nearly killed and eaten her. Usually she didn't even squabble with her siblings or come anywhere near Dead's End; any sudden movement was enough to make her snort and shy away, eyes wild with panic. Yet somehow she opened up for Jet Jack. Despite grating on most people's nerves, the winged Hunter always seemed to have a way of drawing out the shy ones.
Meanwhile Jess had succeeded in bowling Jet Jack over entirely, and Jet Jack was chucking handfuls of straw into her face in self-defense. Jess snorted amusedly and tossed her head, then hastened to pin Jet Jack back down with her muzzle before she could try to get up.
"Go on, you. Get off." Jet Jack lobbed a few more handfuls. There were some half-dried plants mixed in with some of the straw, which were just a touch heavier and tended to actually meet their target instead of exploding into lightweight puffs in midair. Jess shook her head as a handful of withered leaves pattered against her muzzle. For a second she looked like she was going to try knocking Jet Jack back again, but then she suddenly seemed to falter. Then she backed up, rattling her head frantically and pawing at her face.
"Jess?" Jet Jack sat up. "Did you breathe in a bee?"
Jess's only response was to draw back her head and suddenly sneeze prodigiously, her forelegs nearly sliding out from under her with the force of her recoil. A veritable hurricane of straw exploded around her, bursting into a whirling cloud and sending waves of straw flying between buildings in every direction. From the midst of the maelstrom you could hear Jess still sneezing, over and over.
Tsippa was about as well-versed in Hunter health and wellness as anyone could be, but she was finding herself being asked to advise more and more on dragons. Now she was examining Jess, who stood with her head wearily hung, eyes and nostrils still streaming.
"Is she sick?" asked Jet Jack. "Does she have the drips?" Her eyes widened behind the visor. "It's not water-cough, is it?!"
"I wouldn't think so," said Tsippa, pulling on Jess's eyelid and trying to see the inflamed mucosa on the underside. She gave Jet Jack a jaundiced look—they didn't get along—but allowed concern for the dragon to take the forefront at present. "She doesn't seem warmer than your average dragon. And she's definitely not coughing."
"It came out of nowhere," said Faith, tugging at her ponytail in a vain attempt to dislodge a well-embedded piece of straw prickling at her scalp. "It seemed to start when she was around the straw, or some of the plants mixed in with the straw."
"I think that can happen sometimes," said Tsippa, wiping dragon tears from her hands with a rag. "Certain plants just don't agree with you. I've seen a few Hunters who hurl every time they eat green gourds. Maybe it's something like that."
"Will she get better?" asked Jet Jack.
"As long as she stays away from the plants, probably," said Tsippa.
Jess snuffled miserably and tried to stifle another sneeze, but still jolted so violently that she banged her head under Tsippa's eaves and took off the edge of the roof.
"Maybe plants aren't the only thing we should keep her away from," said Faith.
Things went from bad to worse. It turned out that it wasn't just Jess, and it wasn't just straw—almost all dragons were apparently allergic to one of the Hunters' new food crops, Grain Plant Three, when it was in bloom. They couldn't get within half a mile of Dead's End without sneezing their brains out. Dragons sneezing would be bad enough on its own, but most dragons invoked elements involuntarily in the process. Fire nearly set the northern fields alight, and Pierce the ice dragon left the village's side gates frosted shut for almost two days. The one mercy was that they did instinctively understand to turn their heads away from people while sneezing, and it wasn't too hard to make them understand not to sneeze on fields or property either.
On the other hand, dragons had no sense of impropriety when it came to rhinorrhea. They saw no social peril in having snot visibly dripping from their noses and as such made no particular effort to sniffle. If anything they were more inclined to blow, trying to clear their nostrils with sputtering bubbles of clear mucus. They also had no qualms about wiping their noses on their forelegs or the ground or anything else that was handy. As far as they were concerned a nice fabric-coated Hunter was very handy, although the Hunters' reactions quickly encouraged them to abandon that particular practice.
Slab alone seemed to enjoy immunity, and he did enjoy it. As the only dragon who could approach the village without becoming rapidly miserable, he now received all the attention and tasty morsels that normally had to be parceled among him and his siblings. He could often be seen wallowing his way around Dead's End, scarfing down some spare Shaggon hooves or peeping into the workyards to see if anyone was preparing him a snack.
The other dragons started keeping to themselves, waiting for Grain Plant Three to finish flowering. Firstbourne disdained to let a runny nose keep her away from the action, but even she liked to keep a little distance from the grain fields if she could. It didn't help that her more powerful lungs and larger nostrils seemed to make her even more sensitive than the average dragon.
"I could see a pond working, I guess," Jet Jack said, holding up her hands like a picture frame from her vantage point thirty feet up. She and Faith were at the outskirts of the newer farmland, surveying for an irrigation system. "The water does seem to collect at the corner between two or three fields, we could just dig a little more of a hole to encourage it. Maybe lay down some rocks or something to make a kind of bowl?"
"That sounds like just as much work as digging trenches." Faith shook her head.
"No way, Chief," said Jet Jack, touching back down. "It's one big hole instead of hundreds of narrow long holes."
"I don't know about hundreds," said Faith. "And it would be easier to dig trenches ourselves using the Dieselnaught, we could just drag a plow behind it. That way the dragons won't have to help as much. Nothing against you," she added, looking up to Firstbourne. "But we don't want to ask you dragons to break your backs if there's an easier way."
Firstbourne gave a half-hearted rumble. She was here overseeing Faith and Jet Jack's planning so she would know what kind of digging job her spawn would be roped into, but the work was right at the edge of the fields. Although the nearest Grain Plant Three field was a good half-mile away, that was clearly still too close for comfort. She was visibly having a hard time paying attention through the itching of her eyes and nose. She shifted restlessly, and her nictitating membranes wiped back and forth almost non-stop.
Meanwhile Faith and Jet Jack continued to debate the best irrigation layout. Jet Jack was drawing a map in the dirt with a stick, pointing out how many trenches would be needed, while Faith was trying to point out how far they would have to carry buckets if they used a central pond versus a network of ditches. Then there were whole other arguments about flooding and how many years it would take for reduced bucket-carrying to make up for the extra time and labor needed to dig ditches. This was going to take a while.
Firstbourne snuffled irritably as she leaned high over the Hunters' work, trying to make sense of it. She poked out her reptilian tongue, licking at one nostril, but even as she attended to this one the other was still streaming. Faith opened her mouth to give a warning, but a giant drop of mucus had already slipped loose and plopped squarely over Jet Jack's head. Jet Jack gave a strangled yelp, then froze mid-jump to process, a shudder traveling through her. Faith made a face herself, imagining the sudden impact of cold slime.
"Come. On," Jet Jack finally managed to grit, bringing up her hands to scrape off her face. Strands of clear viscous fluid were already making their leisurely way down her back and shoulders. Gingerly she shook globs of snot from her hands, then reached up again to peel off her disarranged visor and push her soaked mohawk away from her forehead. She opened her eyes with a sidewise look half-suspicious, half-puzzled.
"Are you laughing at me, Faith?"
"Absolutely not," said Faith at once.
The corner of Jet Jack's mouth hitched up dubiously. Faith hastily gestured back to their map.
"When you're ready."
Jet Jack gave her a look that was a little too knowing, but continued putting herself to rights, while Faith studied the map more intensely than was needed. She couldn't afford to give Jet Jack any encouragement, they did not need this to escalate into any kind of stupidity. Meanwhile her winged second-in-command snuck a glare back at Firstbourne, who was pawing at her face with one foreclaw, making miserable stifled groaning noises and snorkeling her nostrils. Abruptly the dragon gasped, turned her head away, and sneezed. A bolt of blue lightning shot from her nose to the ground, accompanied by an instantaneous crack of thunder and a shockwave that might have knocked Faith and Jet Jack over, if they hadn't already been jumping out of their skins.
"For Pete's sake!" sputtered Faith, checking if she still had her eardrums, while Jet Jack regained cardiac function and collapsed into giggles. Firstbourne shook her head violently, gave a final snorf, then cast the two humans a jaundiced look and spread her wings to leave.
"Wait, we aren't done—" called Faith, but Firstbourne was already heaving off the ground and flapping off. Apparently the pollen was too much even for her. That or her dignity had finally been mortally wounded. Or both.
"Well, that puts a wrench in it," muttered Faith. "Ughhhhh. She'll be offended if we finish the plan without her. I suppose we'll have to try again later."
"Um," said Jet Jack, shaking another strand of snot from her wrist. "Can I—"
"Dismissed," said Faith. "Go get cleaned up."
"This won't come off with sand, will it?" said Jet Jack, without much hope.
"Probably not. More likely it would just stick to you. You'll have to use water," said Faith. "There's your forsaken pond right over there, you can chuck yourself in."
"Ahh geeeeeez . . . " said Jet Jack miserably. She still hated getting wet more than almost anything. Casting a despairing look down at her slimy clothes, she sighed, slipped off her jetpack and tossed aside her visor, and took a few steps back. Then she shot an irritated look over her shoulder.
"What?"
"Nothing," said Faith. "I'm heading back to Dead's End."
Which was sort of true, she was. Slowly.
Setting her teeth, Jet Jack took a running start and plowed into the water, going down with a splash after only a few steps. She came up spluttering and struggling for her footing; apparently the pond consisted of about two inches of water and underneath that eight inches of sludge. All things considered she came up in worse shape than she'd gone in.
"Damn it." She struggled to her feet, flailing for balance. "I have had it. I can't see my dragon friends because of their stupid sneezing, I'm coated in dragon snot, I'm wet, I'm cold, and all my exalted leader's got to offer is to laugh at me."
"I'm not laughing at you," said Faith.
"And then LIE about it!" Jet Jack went down again. Faith held her breath, pulled herself together, and then edged close enough that the murky pond water was lapping at the toes of her boots. With just a little stretching she was able to get a hand within reach of Jet Jack, and managed to haul her to her feet and drag her back onto dry land. She caught her balance, panting and dripping.
"There, see?" said Faith. "I just wanted to help."
She was used to watching the eyes to read for danger. With Jet Jack that was usually impossible, but with long experience Faith had started to develop workarounds. Maybe it was shifts in the rest of the face, or maybe it was just a particular stillness that preceded the pounce. Either way, with the visor off now she became entirely predictable.
"Don't get any ideas," Faith said, sensing that moment of ominous stillness.
"Ideas?" said Jet Jack. There it was again; some subtle tensing of the muscles, or a faint twitch at the corner of the mouth. Something. Faith instinctively backed away.
"I said no—"
Either her own body language wasn't committed enough to the threat display, or Jet Jack was heedless of threats. A quick lunge, the tiniest feint back, and really Faith should have been able to block an attack better than this but Jet Jack was slippery now and got past her. She gasped inadvertently at the cold, slimy impact as Jet Jack tackled her, wrapping her arms around her shoulders and nearly sending them both to the ground.
"Jet Jack—"
The first instinct, as always, was to kill. Just a single blinding white-hot scream through every fiber of her being, danger, restraint equals danger, fight for your life, kill. She reined it in, as she had grown used to doing; even defanged her reflex was none too gentle. Before the next time she blinked she had hurled Jet Jack off, and ensured completion of the motion with a kick to the ribs. By the time she was done blinking she had her dagger out, entirely without conscious input, and had the tip of the blade leveled in Jet Jack's general direction.
A stunned silence, punctuated only by both their breaths heaving and the ripple of water around Jet Jack, who had landed back in the shallows. With her eyes exposed her expression was almost too readable, almost wrong, as if her clothes had been stripped off instead of just her visor. As the fog of adrenaline cleared from Faith's brain she was pierced through by those wide red eyes, a mixture of terrified, angry, and so strangely betrayed. The tip of her dagger wavered.
"What was that?!" said Jet Jack at last, and her voice matched her eyes. A queasy shame boiled up through Faith's insides. Sure, this was a society where it paid to be guarded, but in what world was it standard to pull a blade on your own second-in-command, whom you'd known for years, in response to clearly non-lethal contact? She sheathed her dagger, oddly nauseous.
"Dear sands. I was only playing," said Jet Jack, beginning to slowly, cautiously pick herself up, watching if Faiths' dagger was going to come back out. Faith swallowed, her tongue suddenly leaden.
"I said no," she managed. Jet Jack dipped her head tersely, heaving to her feet.
"Understood."
Faith kept her head down as Jet Jack stumbled past her and retrieved her jet pack. She listened to the sound of shuffling and dripping and buckles clinking as Jet Jack pulled the device back on, the click as the system linked to her. There was a long silence after that. Faith couldn't look up. Everything inside her screamed to say something, fix this, reassure this wasn't as bad as it looked; but what was there to say? Her actions would always speak louder. And where was all of this coming from? She was well within her rights. She was in charge, she had every right to enforce what she said to others, to use any degree of violence she wanted if people got out of line.
So why couldn't she speak?
Jet Jack spoke instead, her atypically quiet voice startling after the long silence.
"I'm . . . usually good at drawing out the shy ones." Faith could tell that she was still turned away. She still couldn't look up.
"But you're not one of the shy ones, are you?"
Still couldn't look up. Couldn't move. Couldn't speak. What was it she wanted to say? "I'm sorry"? That wasn't allowed.
Another long silence from Jet Jack, then a sharp, bitterly amused sigh.
"Sorry, Chief."
The jet pack flared, and that was the end of it.
As the whine of boosters shot off into the distance, the lead seemed to drip from Faith's mouth down her throat and deep into the pit of her stomach. Letting out a slow breath, she sank to the ground and let the dull metallic ache gnaw through her and claim her. In a minute she would pull herself together and tell herself none of this mattered and go back to the village and get back to work, grimly efficient like nothing had happened. In a minute. Just a minute.
The afternoon was getting warm. Something trilled at the water's edge; paused for breath; trilled again. Water sloshed as something larger heaved from the shallows and ate it.
After that the rest of Faith's minute was very quiet.
Prompt was "Allergies."
