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Happy Bastille Day! To celebrate, here's everyone's favorite (and probably only) French dragon.
Admittedly, not much (or any) macro/micro themes in this one. More of a 'fluff' piece. I promise that the next story I manage to actually finish will involve my dragon character actually being a dragon at some point. Until then, this is by no means required reading. If you do wanna see a dragon (specifically, this one) smash up a small village, I highly recommend this piece by
idunnow. If you want to *start* Marcel's storyline, check out my first piece with him here.
Ba-Ding!
“-think the Persians were the biggest fuckbois of all the ancient civilizations. Who just joined the voice-chat?”
Ibrahim smiled to himself as he heard the familiar voices of his friends fill his headphones. “Hey guys, it’s just me.”
He was met with a chorus of “Hey Ibrahim!”s and “Yoooo”s and one “What’s up you French bastard?” He slipped his socks off and moved closer to the mic. “What’s everyone playing?”
“Liam is playing Roller Coaster Tycoon, jump in the stream,” said Kassandra.
“Isn’t that game like, fucking ancient?” Said Ibrahim, jokingly.
“Whoa,” said Liam. “Say ‘Fucking’ again.” Ibrahim obliged, putting a bit more emphasis of the ‘ck’, to which Liam immediately interjected with “Oh my god. It has so much more punch when you say it.”
“Fuhk-Keeng” Said Finlay, trying to reproduce the sound. The chat was soon full of people saying ‘Fucking’ with a (badly reproduced) accent, before quickly devolving into giggling fits.
“But yes,” added Liam, “The game is over 35 years old now. Apparently, my dad even used to play it as a kid.”
“So why are you playing it?
“Because it’s a classic?” He said, almost incredulous at the question. “There’s a reason all the old people are nostalgic for-” he began.
“Whatever, nerd,” interjected Kassandra in a playful voice, “Not to interrupt or anything…”
“Too late,”
She pressed onward. “But I gotta ask, Ibrahim, you’re in France, right?”
“Guilty as charged.”
“What’s the deal with the dragon guy who got arrested? What’s the story there?”
“Oh God, I forgot I haven’t told anyone in this server the story yet. So, believe it or not, I was just interrogated by the police the other day about this exact thing. I have to testify in court a few days from now.”
“Really? Why?” Asked Finlay.
“You’re not gonna believe this. I worked with him! You guys remember me talking about Marcel, the guy who I replaced most nights at the Metro?”
“The guy who called threw an egg at your boss?”
“Somebody threw an egg at your boss?” Asked Liam, confused.
“No, that was Michel. Marcel is the one who found the abandoned storage room that we turned into a secret break room.”
“Have they found that yet?” Asked Kassandra.
“Not yet. We just moved a futon in there a week ago and nobody has noticed.”
“Nice.”
“I told one of the cops about it, because I worried we’d get in more trouble if we didn’t mention it, but she promised not say anything to the boss, which I thought was nice.”
“SCAC,” said Liam, and then elaborated, “Some Cops Are Cool.”
“So, wait,” said, Finlay, coming back to the original topic, “You’re saying that that guy was the dragon? Like, the Son-of-Oliver-LePesant dragon?”
“Yeah, apparently.”
“And you didn’t even know until the Champs-de-Mars thing? I feel like it should’ve been obvious. Dragons tend to stand out, right?”
“Well, he was in human form all the time. Not to mention, he didn’t go by LePesant. I thought his name was Youcef. His sister is the one everyone knew. The silver hair was a giveaway.”
“She was the one he kidnapped, right?”
“He didn’t kidnap her,” said Ibrahim, defensive of his co-worker. “Apparently some of the counter-protestors were trying to kidnap her and use her as a hostage in some weird negotiation. Something to do with the Front Humanite I think. ”
“But wouldn’t she also be a dragon?” asked Kassandra. “I feel like there’s some holes in that plan. Like, what did they plan to do if she decided to go all Smaug on them?”
“Well, funny you should mention that. Apparently, she’s not like her father at all. She sure looks like him, but that’s it. She’s just a regular-old human like the rest of us,” before correcting himself and saying “Most of us. Sorry Finlay, didn’t mean to erase your identity.”
“Wow, how dare you. The androcentric agenda strikes again,” he said, in a complete monotone, snickering only after a short beat.
“I think ‘Androcentric’ means something different,” said Kassandra. “It’s like a patriarchy thing, or whatever.”
“Probably. Andros means man in Greek, I just couldn’t remember the word for ‘human’.”
“I think it’s Homo?” Said Ibrahim. The dual chorus of “That’s Latin, you dumbass,” and “You’re a homo,” that greeted him was almost nostalgic in it’s predictability.
“So, wait, what are you being called to testify for? Is it a character witness thing?”
“Sort of. I think it’s about how I didn’t really know anything about Marcel’s… condition, until the actual day of the protest.”
“Yeah, I was going to say,” said Finlay, “I thought you guys had a Civil law system, right? Aren’t Cross-Examinations supposed to be rare? Why wouldn’t they just take a statement?”
“You’re a couple years out of date, actually,” explained Ibrahim. “The courts have been trending towards a more adversarial system in cases relating to ‘non-human’ activities,” he said in such a way to make the scare-quotes audible. “Especially since the Briois government. A lot of that stuff isn’t really covered by the Code Penal, so the Tribunaux de Grande Instance have started to look a lot more like English and American courtrooms, especially with how much weight gets placed on precedent.”
“So, wait,” interjected Liam, “What are you even testifying about? Do you get to know ahead of time?”
“No clue,” Ibrahim replied. “That’s what so strange about the whole thing. Witnesses aren’t usually called to give testimony. Especially not in cases like these. Not to mention that I already gave a written statement to the police.”
“Sounds like they want to Cross-Examine you,” said Finlay.
“That’s just the thing though. French courts barely used to do cross-examinations of any kind. Now everything feels like that one American show,” he said, snapping his fingers as he tried to remember the title. “What was it called?”
“Law and Order?” Offered Kassandra.
“That’s the bitch.”
“I guess you’ll find out what it is when you have to testify, huh?” Said Liam. “Will it cut into your vacation time at all?”
“Nah. I chose to take April off this year instead, so everything works, with regard to vacation time.”
“Oh, wait, really?” Asked Kassandra, suddenly. “I’m going to be in Dover in April for work. You should hop across the Channel and visit, if you get the chance,” she said.
Finlay interjected as well. “I should be free then too, actually. I’m taking a sabbatical then to work on some research. Let me know when you’re all there. I’ll catch a flight in Dublin and come visit.”
“I live in Plymouth, which isn’t too far of a train ride from Dover. I’ll see if I can’t come as well,” added Liam.
Ibrahim smiled softly. They hadn’t all been together since university. It would be nice to visit some friends…
Judge Marie-Claude Vaillancourt had never considered herself a superstitious person. She had grown up at the beginning of the 21st century, back before the ‘other’ world that had laid underneath everything was common knowledge. It ways days like these that made her really wish that she could put all the genies back in their proverbial (and, in some cases, literal) bottles.
“M. Laroussi, how long did you work alongside M. Youcef?” She asked the young man.
“About 3 years, Madame l'Assesseur,” he said, a bit meekly.
“And at any point, did M. Youcef inform you that he was not, in fact, human?” She asked. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see the prévenu writhe a bit in his chair. Something about the way she said it had made the defendant uncomfortable, but as far as she could tell, it was an uncontroversial statement.
“No, Madame,” he said. “I had no idea until the day of the strike.”
“Why do you think he kept that information from you?” The pause that followed was long. In the crowded gallery, filled with press and curious on-lookers, there wasn’t even a sniffle, despite it being the dawn of the flu season. It was an unusual question, she knew; the man was hardly an expert witness, and normally, it would’ve been inappropriate to
“I think… I think that Marcel is a very private person, Madame,” explained the young Metro worker. “And, I don’t think he thinks of himself as much anything other than human.” Judging by the way he said it, she pieced together that young Ibrahim didn’t seem to disagree. “He’s was always just ‘one of the guys’. Still is, I guess,” he shrugged, and shot a lopsided smile in Marcel’s direction.
There it was; the reason that she had asked him to testify at all. In her mind, it was the final nail in the case’s coffin. “Thank you, Ibrahim. You’re free to go,” she said, and watched as the bailiff escorted the young man out of the courtroom. “M. Youcef?” She said, looking towards the defendant. He stood up a bit too quickly, nearly toppling the chair behind him. His suit wasn’t very well fitted, and he looked a bit goofy with his long hair combed back like it was. It was truly hard for her to believe that this man, this boy, was a dragon big enough to destroy a percentage’s worth of the Forest of Saint Germaine just by walking. It wasn’t just his physical appearance, gangly and effete though it was. It was the way he carried himself, the way he seemed to hunch over whenever people looked at him for too long, and the way he put his hands in his pockets whenever he stood still. He didn’t exactly project the aura of power she had first expected. Even just now, he looked on the verge of tears as he watched Ibrahim leave the courtroom.
“Do you think you could tell me, in your own words, why you didn’t mention your non-human status to your coworkers?” He winced again, more exaggerated this time, as if he was experiencing emotional whiplash.
“It just never came up,” he said, awkwardly. “I don’t think anybody would’ve believed me anyways.”
“Why not prove it?” She pressed. “You can use magic, can’t you?”
“Yes, but-” he started, a bit confused. “So can a lot of other people. It’s not really proof of… you know,” he said, as if the topic was somehow uncomfortable for him.
“Then why not just show your true form to them?”
The horrified look that crossed Marcel’s face had exactly the correct amount of sincerity she expected. “Right in the middle of Paris?” He asked, his eyes wide and incredulous.
“That is what you’re on trial for, isn’t it, M. Youcef?” She asked. He swallowed.
“Yes, Madame,” he said. She watched intently as he grabbed his upper arm with his other hand and swayed, almost imperceptibly, left and right.
The Judge paused for a moment, deep in thought, and then nodded subtly to herself. “All right. I think that’s all for today. The court will reconvene on Monday, along with the president of the Tribunal, and the other assessor,” she said. “The court will hear the closing arguments of the prévenu and the prosecutor. This court is dismissed,” she said with a bang of her gavel, and in a few moments, the courtroom was almost completely empty.
Kassandra stood in front of St. Pauls, tapping her foot impatiently. Liam had arrived in Dover by car the night before, and Finlay had taken the train from London three days ago. She, however, had already been in town for nearly a week. She was no stranger to transferring for jobs; she’d done it several times before, but this was the first time she’d ever been transferred to the boonies. She wasn’t sure if it was supposed to be an insult or not, but she had to admit, Dover wasn’t half as bad a city as she’d expected.
English weather, on the other, was exactly as bad as she was told it would be.
Ibrahim was supposed to be arriving soon, and he had texted her nearly 10 minutes ago that the ferry from Calais had landed. All that was left was for him to take the bus to Pencester Road. It wasn’t a long trip, and Dover wasn’t a very big city; She was starting to get a bit impatient, mostly because there weren’t many places to sit or stand on the narrow street.
Her eyes slowly drifted towards her friends, standing to her left. It had been more than a year since they’d all been together, and she was surprised to see just how much they’d all changed in such a short time. Liam was taller, and he looked as if he hadn’t shaved in months, which was a far cry to the clean-shaven young man she’d known in college. Finlay, on the other hand, had chosen to grow his hair out. He was the shortest in the group, and unless you knew him, you never would’ve guessed that he wasn’t, technically, human. Long, baggy pants and specially made shoes hid his goat-like legs, and a strategically placed caps covered the small horns that poked out from his head. Finlay had never been ashamed of being a satyr, per say, but most of non-human society tended to value their privacy dearly, and their sudden unveiling to the rest of the world almost a decade ago had done little to change that.
Kassandra turned her head as she heard the distinctive ‘squeak’ of the local National Express arriving at the bus stop, a smile slowly crossing her face. The doors on the bus parted, and the trio of friends made wild waving motions with their hands as they saw Ibrahim descend onto the street. A flash of recognition crossed his eyes, and he started to practically run towards the three of them, backpack slung on one shoulder. He was wrapped up by Liam in a great, big bear hug, joined quickly by Finlay and Kassandra herself. It was a familiar, familial warmth that she realized she hadn’t felt for far too long. The three parted after a few seconds, and Ibrahim dusted off his jacket. “It’s so good to see everyone again! We haven’t all been in the same place since, what, Colorado?” He asked. It had only really been a year, but it had felt like decades.
“It wouldn’t be a problem if someone didn’t live half a world away,” said Finlay, giving Kassandra a gentle punch on the shoulder. She shrugged.
“Flights to and from America are expensive,” she said, without any trace of apology. “But I’ll probably be in England for the next few years. Worst case scenario, they’ll move me to Paris,” she said, before sticking her tongue out at Ibrahim.
“Speaking of Paris,” said Ibrahim, looking back at the bus, “I ferried over here with a friend of mine. He’s here celebrating a recent ‘Not Guilty’ verdict,” he said, a bit coyly. “He’ll be heading to London in a few days, but I invited him to stay with us until he leaves.” Kassandra looked back at the bus and saw the doors close behind a young-ish looking man, about their age, and maybe a few inches shorter than Liam. As she watched him struggle to lift the handle from his rolling luggage, she couldn’t help but feel that there was something oddly familiar about him.
Finlay, on the other hand, looked as pale as a ghost. “You brought him?” he asked, his voice a raspy whisper.
“Do you know him?” Asked Liam, curious. She could tell that he was trying to place where he knew the stranger from, as well.
Liam inhaled, and looked back at the two of them. “You know how us non-humans have an internal ‘sensor’ for magic?” He asked, bug-eyed. Kassandra nodded. It was a pretty well-known fact that humans weren’t affected by magic quite like other creatures; being resistant to magic’s effects also meant that they had no ability to sense magic quite like the other sentient species could.
“Sure. Is this guy magical in some way?” He asked.
Liam swallowed. “Let me put it this way. If he were an earthquake, he’d be registering as a 12.0 on the Richter scale.”
“Doesn’t the Richter scale only go up to 10?” Asked Kassandra. Finlay’s panicked look told her everything she needed to know. That meant that there was only one person it could be strolling up to them, goofy look on his face, luggage ‘clik-clak’ing rhythmically behind him.
“Should we… bow, or something?” Asked Liam, shooting a worried glance at Finlay. The peculiarities of the ‘other’ world were a bit oblique to him and Kassandra, and she silently thanked him for asking. She had no etiquette on how to talk to a dragon. The dragon.
“Please don’t,” said Ibrahim, a strained smile on his face, though he was clearly enjoying this.
The young man strolled up to the four of them, stretching his arms and legs a bit. “Thank God, I’m glad to finally walk again,” he said, and looked at Ibrahim. “I forgot how much I hate being cooped up.” His English was lightly accented, but otherwise fluent. If she didn’t already know who he was, Kassandra would’ve assumed he was just another tourist. He was completely, utterly, and indescribably unassuming. He was shorter than she’d expected, and he didn’t seem to have any natural ‘presence’ about him. Despite that, she found that her words died in her mouth as she tried to speak.
Liam, mercifully, broke the silence. “It’s nice to meet you,” he said. She could tell that he had almost added a ‘sir’ to the end of his greeting but had stopped himself just in time. “My name’s Liam, this is Finlay, and that’s Kassandra,” he said. His word choice was careful, and he spoke much slower than he usually did. The stranger shook all of their hands in turn, and met their panicked, pallid faces with a warm, friendly smile.
“My name’s Marcel. I’m here to celebrate my ‘permanent’ vacation,” he said. “I was, how do you English say it, ‘made redundant’ quite recently, and I decided to travel a bit while I’m in between jobs.” He stepped back to look at them, and Kassandra couldn’t help but feel that they were being sized-up somehow, his friendly eyes looking at them with a mix of curiosity and anticipation. When none of them responded, his face became disappointed, and he shot Ibrahim an accusatory look.
“Ce n’est pas ma faute,” he said, responding to Marcel’s unasked question. “Finlay l’a compris”, he shrugged. “He says you’re a 12.0 on the Richter scale.”
“I thought the Richter scale only went up to 10.0,” responded Marcel. He sighed and gave a sad smile to the rest of the group. “I suppose you would’ve figured it out eventually. Please don’t tell anyone I’m here,” he said, his voice almost pleading. “I haven’t been able to get a moment’s rest since the trial.”
“Well,” started Kassandra, her confidence returning as the man’s excessively normal demeanor put her at ease. “If you’re being hounded by reporters, just make sure you don’t hop into any nearby Mercedes-Benz and you should be fine.”
The look of panic on her friend’s faces was quickly replaced with a look of amused horror. It wasn’t a very good joke which, in a way, made it almost hilarious. It was a wildly appropriate thing to say, especially now, in front of him.
“Jesus, Kass, too soon,” said Finlay, his eyes wide and the corners of his lips turned upward, stifling a laugh.
“Too s-” she started, folding her arms. “It’s been 40 years, and it’s not like Bonnie Prince Willy is here to got offended on dear-old-mum’s behalf,” she said.
“Bonny Prince Willy?” repeated Marcel, incredulous, as he put a hand to his mouth to hide his laughter. “And I thought I knew all the euphemisms.” This just created another feedback loop, until the five of them were nearly crying from this stupid, wonderful round of patter, and everyone had the chance to throw in their own little childish jokes.
The laughter finally died down after a few minutes. Liam, smile still wide on his face, looked at Ibrahim and Marcel. “Well, the rest of us were thinking of heading down to St. Margaret’s Bay to swim for a bit,” he said. “I don’t know if you brought a bathing suit, Marcel, but you’re welcome to come all the same.”
Kassandra watched as Marcel’s shoulder’s seemed to lower a bit, as if he’d been rigid this whole time, and was finally letting his body ‘release’ itself. “The weather’s not perfect for swimming, but this is England. There’s not much point in waiting for a sunny day,” she remarked.
Marcel’s expression was difficult to read, but it was friendly and gently, with a mix of what seemed like surprise and relief. “Thank you, I’d love to come,” he said. “I’m going to check into my hotel room first, and I’ll meet you there, deal?” He asked. A quick answer in the affirmative later, and he turned to leave.
As the group watched him turn a corner, Kassandra saw Finlay smack Ibrahim on the back of the head. Ibrahim, in response, burst out into laughter. “I wish I’d taken a picture of you guys,” he said, his hand over his mouth. “You looked like you were all about to faint or something.”
“You could’ve warned us about it,” said Liam, folding his arms in mock rage. “If I knew I was going to be meeting the Dragon of Paris I would’ve dressed a bit nicer.”
Ibrahim waved the comment away. “I promise, guys, it’s fine. Marcel’s a good man. He just wants to feel normal for a bit, and obviously, he can’t get that in France right now. It was a bit spur-of-the-moment, I’ll admit, but he was a friend and co-worker of mine for 4 years. I figured it was only fair that I try something the keep his mind off things.”
Finlay nodded, seemingly in agreement. “Fine. But if he eats one of us, I’m holding you liable,” he said, tossing a smirk in Ibrahim’s direction.
“Fair enough. If he does, it’ll probably be Kass,” Ibrahim responded. “You seem like you’re mostly lean meat.”
“Funny,” she said, without a trace of amusement in her voice. “Are we heading to the beach or what?” She asked. Without waiting for the others, she took a step south, and started walking.
“On second thought,” said Ibrahim, resting his chin in his hand. “She might be a bit too spicy for him. I think she’d cause indigestion.” And with that, the rest of the group followed behind.
Admittedly, not much (or any) macro/micro themes in this one. More of a 'fluff' piece. I promise that the next story I manage to actually finish will involve my dragon character actually being a dragon at some point. Until then, this is by no means required reading. If you do wanna see a dragon (specifically, this one) smash up a small village, I highly recommend this piece by
idunnow. If you want to *start* Marcel's storyline, check out my first piece with him here.
The Trial of Marcel Youcef, né Lepesant
(As it was held on February 25th, 2035, in Paris)
Ba-Ding!
“-think the Persians were the biggest fuckbois of all the ancient civilizations. Who just joined the voice-chat?”
Ibrahim smiled to himself as he heard the familiar voices of his friends fill his headphones. “Hey guys, it’s just me.”
He was met with a chorus of “Hey Ibrahim!”s and “Yoooo”s and one “What’s up you French bastard?” He slipped his socks off and moved closer to the mic. “What’s everyone playing?”
“Liam is playing Roller Coaster Tycoon, jump in the stream,” said Kassandra.
“Isn’t that game like, fucking ancient?” Said Ibrahim, jokingly.
“Whoa,” said Liam. “Say ‘Fucking’ again.” Ibrahim obliged, putting a bit more emphasis of the ‘ck’, to which Liam immediately interjected with “Oh my god. It has so much more punch when you say it.”
“Fuhk-Keeng” Said Finlay, trying to reproduce the sound. The chat was soon full of people saying ‘Fucking’ with a (badly reproduced) accent, before quickly devolving into giggling fits.
“But yes,” added Liam, “The game is over 35 years old now. Apparently, my dad even used to play it as a kid.”
“So why are you playing it?
“Because it’s a classic?” He said, almost incredulous at the question. “There’s a reason all the old people are nostalgic for-” he began.
“Whatever, nerd,” interjected Kassandra in a playful voice, “Not to interrupt or anything…”
“Too late,”
She pressed onward. “But I gotta ask, Ibrahim, you’re in France, right?”
“Guilty as charged.”
“What’s the deal with the dragon guy who got arrested? What’s the story there?”
“Oh God, I forgot I haven’t told anyone in this server the story yet. So, believe it or not, I was just interrogated by the police the other day about this exact thing. I have to testify in court a few days from now.”
“Really? Why?” Asked Finlay.
“You’re not gonna believe this. I worked with him! You guys remember me talking about Marcel, the guy who I replaced most nights at the Metro?”
“The guy who called threw an egg at your boss?”
“Somebody threw an egg at your boss?” Asked Liam, confused.
“No, that was Michel. Marcel is the one who found the abandoned storage room that we turned into a secret break room.”
“Have they found that yet?” Asked Kassandra.
“Not yet. We just moved a futon in there a week ago and nobody has noticed.”
“Nice.”
“I told one of the cops about it, because I worried we’d get in more trouble if we didn’t mention it, but she promised not say anything to the boss, which I thought was nice.”
“SCAC,” said Liam, and then elaborated, “Some Cops Are Cool.”
“So, wait,” said, Finlay, coming back to the original topic, “You’re saying that that guy was the dragon? Like, the Son-of-Oliver-LePesant dragon?”
“Yeah, apparently.”
“And you didn’t even know until the Champs-de-Mars thing? I feel like it should’ve been obvious. Dragons tend to stand out, right?”
“Well, he was in human form all the time. Not to mention, he didn’t go by LePesant. I thought his name was Youcef. His sister is the one everyone knew. The silver hair was a giveaway.”
“She was the one he kidnapped, right?”
“He didn’t kidnap her,” said Ibrahim, defensive of his co-worker. “Apparently some of the counter-protestors were trying to kidnap her and use her as a hostage in some weird negotiation. Something to do with the Front Humanite I think. ”
“But wouldn’t she also be a dragon?” asked Kassandra. “I feel like there’s some holes in that plan. Like, what did they plan to do if she decided to go all Smaug on them?”
“Well, funny you should mention that. Apparently, she’s not like her father at all. She sure looks like him, but that’s it. She’s just a regular-old human like the rest of us,” before correcting himself and saying “Most of us. Sorry Finlay, didn’t mean to erase your identity.”
“Wow, how dare you. The androcentric agenda strikes again,” he said, in a complete monotone, snickering only after a short beat.
“I think ‘Androcentric’ means something different,” said Kassandra. “It’s like a patriarchy thing, or whatever.”
“Probably. Andros means man in Greek, I just couldn’t remember the word for ‘human’.”
“I think it’s Homo?” Said Ibrahim. The dual chorus of “That’s Latin, you dumbass,” and “You’re a homo,” that greeted him was almost nostalgic in it’s predictability.
“So, wait, what are you being called to testify for? Is it a character witness thing?”
“Sort of. I think it’s about how I didn’t really know anything about Marcel’s… condition, until the actual day of the protest.”
“Yeah, I was going to say,” said Finlay, “I thought you guys had a Civil law system, right? Aren’t Cross-Examinations supposed to be rare? Why wouldn’t they just take a statement?”
“You’re a couple years out of date, actually,” explained Ibrahim. “The courts have been trending towards a more adversarial system in cases relating to ‘non-human’ activities,” he said in such a way to make the scare-quotes audible. “Especially since the Briois government. A lot of that stuff isn’t really covered by the Code Penal, so the Tribunaux de Grande Instance have started to look a lot more like English and American courtrooms, especially with how much weight gets placed on precedent.”
“So, wait,” interjected Liam, “What are you even testifying about? Do you get to know ahead of time?”
“No clue,” Ibrahim replied. “That’s what so strange about the whole thing. Witnesses aren’t usually called to give testimony. Especially not in cases like these. Not to mention that I already gave a written statement to the police.”
“Sounds like they want to Cross-Examine you,” said Finlay.
“That’s just the thing though. French courts barely used to do cross-examinations of any kind. Now everything feels like that one American show,” he said, snapping his fingers as he tried to remember the title. “What was it called?”
“Law and Order?” Offered Kassandra.
“That’s the bitch.”
“I guess you’ll find out what it is when you have to testify, huh?” Said Liam. “Will it cut into your vacation time at all?”
“Nah. I chose to take April off this year instead, so everything works, with regard to vacation time.”
“Oh, wait, really?” Asked Kassandra, suddenly. “I’m going to be in Dover in April for work. You should hop across the Channel and visit, if you get the chance,” she said.
Finlay interjected as well. “I should be free then too, actually. I’m taking a sabbatical then to work on some research. Let me know when you’re all there. I’ll catch a flight in Dublin and come visit.”
“I live in Plymouth, which isn’t too far of a train ride from Dover. I’ll see if I can’t come as well,” added Liam.
Ibrahim smiled softly. They hadn’t all been together since university. It would be nice to visit some friends…
Judge Marie-Claude Vaillancourt had never considered herself a superstitious person. She had grown up at the beginning of the 21st century, back before the ‘other’ world that had laid underneath everything was common knowledge. It ways days like these that made her really wish that she could put all the genies back in their proverbial (and, in some cases, literal) bottles.
“M. Laroussi, how long did you work alongside M. Youcef?” She asked the young man.
“About 3 years, Madame l'Assesseur,” he said, a bit meekly.
“And at any point, did M. Youcef inform you that he was not, in fact, human?” She asked. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see the prévenu writhe a bit in his chair. Something about the way she said it had made the defendant uncomfortable, but as far as she could tell, it was an uncontroversial statement.
“No, Madame,” he said. “I had no idea until the day of the strike.”
“Why do you think he kept that information from you?” The pause that followed was long. In the crowded gallery, filled with press and curious on-lookers, there wasn’t even a sniffle, despite it being the dawn of the flu season. It was an unusual question, she knew; the man was hardly an expert witness, and normally, it would’ve been inappropriate to
“I think… I think that Marcel is a very private person, Madame,” explained the young Metro worker. “And, I don’t think he thinks of himself as much anything other than human.” Judging by the way he said it, she pieced together that young Ibrahim didn’t seem to disagree. “He’s was always just ‘one of the guys’. Still is, I guess,” he shrugged, and shot a lopsided smile in Marcel’s direction.
There it was; the reason that she had asked him to testify at all. In her mind, it was the final nail in the case’s coffin. “Thank you, Ibrahim. You’re free to go,” she said, and watched as the bailiff escorted the young man out of the courtroom. “M. Youcef?” She said, looking towards the defendant. He stood up a bit too quickly, nearly toppling the chair behind him. His suit wasn’t very well fitted, and he looked a bit goofy with his long hair combed back like it was. It was truly hard for her to believe that this man, this boy, was a dragon big enough to destroy a percentage’s worth of the Forest of Saint Germaine just by walking. It wasn’t just his physical appearance, gangly and effete though it was. It was the way he carried himself, the way he seemed to hunch over whenever people looked at him for too long, and the way he put his hands in his pockets whenever he stood still. He didn’t exactly project the aura of power she had first expected. Even just now, he looked on the verge of tears as he watched Ibrahim leave the courtroom.
“Do you think you could tell me, in your own words, why you didn’t mention your non-human status to your coworkers?” He winced again, more exaggerated this time, as if he was experiencing emotional whiplash.
“It just never came up,” he said, awkwardly. “I don’t think anybody would’ve believed me anyways.”
“Why not prove it?” She pressed. “You can use magic, can’t you?”
“Yes, but-” he started, a bit confused. “So can a lot of other people. It’s not really proof of… you know,” he said, as if the topic was somehow uncomfortable for him.
“Then why not just show your true form to them?”
The horrified look that crossed Marcel’s face had exactly the correct amount of sincerity she expected. “Right in the middle of Paris?” He asked, his eyes wide and incredulous.
“That is what you’re on trial for, isn’t it, M. Youcef?” She asked. He swallowed.
“Yes, Madame,” he said. She watched intently as he grabbed his upper arm with his other hand and swayed, almost imperceptibly, left and right.
The Judge paused for a moment, deep in thought, and then nodded subtly to herself. “All right. I think that’s all for today. The court will reconvene on Monday, along with the president of the Tribunal, and the other assessor,” she said. “The court will hear the closing arguments of the prévenu and the prosecutor. This court is dismissed,” she said with a bang of her gavel, and in a few moments, the courtroom was almost completely empty.
Kassandra stood in front of St. Pauls, tapping her foot impatiently. Liam had arrived in Dover by car the night before, and Finlay had taken the train from London three days ago. She, however, had already been in town for nearly a week. She was no stranger to transferring for jobs; she’d done it several times before, but this was the first time she’d ever been transferred to the boonies. She wasn’t sure if it was supposed to be an insult or not, but she had to admit, Dover wasn’t half as bad a city as she’d expected.
English weather, on the other, was exactly as bad as she was told it would be.
Ibrahim was supposed to be arriving soon, and he had texted her nearly 10 minutes ago that the ferry from Calais had landed. All that was left was for him to take the bus to Pencester Road. It wasn’t a long trip, and Dover wasn’t a very big city; She was starting to get a bit impatient, mostly because there weren’t many places to sit or stand on the narrow street.
Her eyes slowly drifted towards her friends, standing to her left. It had been more than a year since they’d all been together, and she was surprised to see just how much they’d all changed in such a short time. Liam was taller, and he looked as if he hadn’t shaved in months, which was a far cry to the clean-shaven young man she’d known in college. Finlay, on the other hand, had chosen to grow his hair out. He was the shortest in the group, and unless you knew him, you never would’ve guessed that he wasn’t, technically, human. Long, baggy pants and specially made shoes hid his goat-like legs, and a strategically placed caps covered the small horns that poked out from his head. Finlay had never been ashamed of being a satyr, per say, but most of non-human society tended to value their privacy dearly, and their sudden unveiling to the rest of the world almost a decade ago had done little to change that.
Kassandra turned her head as she heard the distinctive ‘squeak’ of the local National Express arriving at the bus stop, a smile slowly crossing her face. The doors on the bus parted, and the trio of friends made wild waving motions with their hands as they saw Ibrahim descend onto the street. A flash of recognition crossed his eyes, and he started to practically run towards the three of them, backpack slung on one shoulder. He was wrapped up by Liam in a great, big bear hug, joined quickly by Finlay and Kassandra herself. It was a familiar, familial warmth that she realized she hadn’t felt for far too long. The three parted after a few seconds, and Ibrahim dusted off his jacket. “It’s so good to see everyone again! We haven’t all been in the same place since, what, Colorado?” He asked. It had only really been a year, but it had felt like decades.
“It wouldn’t be a problem if someone didn’t live half a world away,” said Finlay, giving Kassandra a gentle punch on the shoulder. She shrugged.
“Flights to and from America are expensive,” she said, without any trace of apology. “But I’ll probably be in England for the next few years. Worst case scenario, they’ll move me to Paris,” she said, before sticking her tongue out at Ibrahim.
“Speaking of Paris,” said Ibrahim, looking back at the bus, “I ferried over here with a friend of mine. He’s here celebrating a recent ‘Not Guilty’ verdict,” he said, a bit coyly. “He’ll be heading to London in a few days, but I invited him to stay with us until he leaves.” Kassandra looked back at the bus and saw the doors close behind a young-ish looking man, about their age, and maybe a few inches shorter than Liam. As she watched him struggle to lift the handle from his rolling luggage, she couldn’t help but feel that there was something oddly familiar about him.
Finlay, on the other hand, looked as pale as a ghost. “You brought him?” he asked, his voice a raspy whisper.
“Do you know him?” Asked Liam, curious. She could tell that he was trying to place where he knew the stranger from, as well.
Liam inhaled, and looked back at the two of them. “You know how us non-humans have an internal ‘sensor’ for magic?” He asked, bug-eyed. Kassandra nodded. It was a pretty well-known fact that humans weren’t affected by magic quite like other creatures; being resistant to magic’s effects also meant that they had no ability to sense magic quite like the other sentient species could.
“Sure. Is this guy magical in some way?” He asked.
Liam swallowed. “Let me put it this way. If he were an earthquake, he’d be registering as a 12.0 on the Richter scale.”
“Doesn’t the Richter scale only go up to 10?” Asked Kassandra. Finlay’s panicked look told her everything she needed to know. That meant that there was only one person it could be strolling up to them, goofy look on his face, luggage ‘clik-clak’ing rhythmically behind him.
“Should we… bow, or something?” Asked Liam, shooting a worried glance at Finlay. The peculiarities of the ‘other’ world were a bit oblique to him and Kassandra, and she silently thanked him for asking. She had no etiquette on how to talk to a dragon. The dragon.
“Please don’t,” said Ibrahim, a strained smile on his face, though he was clearly enjoying this.
The young man strolled up to the four of them, stretching his arms and legs a bit. “Thank God, I’m glad to finally walk again,” he said, and looked at Ibrahim. “I forgot how much I hate being cooped up.” His English was lightly accented, but otherwise fluent. If she didn’t already know who he was, Kassandra would’ve assumed he was just another tourist. He was completely, utterly, and indescribably unassuming. He was shorter than she’d expected, and he didn’t seem to have any natural ‘presence’ about him. Despite that, she found that her words died in her mouth as she tried to speak.
Liam, mercifully, broke the silence. “It’s nice to meet you,” he said. She could tell that he had almost added a ‘sir’ to the end of his greeting but had stopped himself just in time. “My name’s Liam, this is Finlay, and that’s Kassandra,” he said. His word choice was careful, and he spoke much slower than he usually did. The stranger shook all of their hands in turn, and met their panicked, pallid faces with a warm, friendly smile.
“My name’s Marcel. I’m here to celebrate my ‘permanent’ vacation,” he said. “I was, how do you English say it, ‘made redundant’ quite recently, and I decided to travel a bit while I’m in between jobs.” He stepped back to look at them, and Kassandra couldn’t help but feel that they were being sized-up somehow, his friendly eyes looking at them with a mix of curiosity and anticipation. When none of them responded, his face became disappointed, and he shot Ibrahim an accusatory look.
“Ce n’est pas ma faute,” he said, responding to Marcel’s unasked question. “Finlay l’a compris”, he shrugged. “He says you’re a 12.0 on the Richter scale.”
“I thought the Richter scale only went up to 10.0,” responded Marcel. He sighed and gave a sad smile to the rest of the group. “I suppose you would’ve figured it out eventually. Please don’t tell anyone I’m here,” he said, his voice almost pleading. “I haven’t been able to get a moment’s rest since the trial.”
“Well,” started Kassandra, her confidence returning as the man’s excessively normal demeanor put her at ease. “If you’re being hounded by reporters, just make sure you don’t hop into any nearby Mercedes-Benz and you should be fine.”
The look of panic on her friend’s faces was quickly replaced with a look of amused horror. It wasn’t a very good joke which, in a way, made it almost hilarious. It was a wildly appropriate thing to say, especially now, in front of him.
“Jesus, Kass, too soon,” said Finlay, his eyes wide and the corners of his lips turned upward, stifling a laugh.
“Too s-” she started, folding her arms. “It’s been 40 years, and it’s not like Bonnie Prince Willy is here to got offended on dear-old-mum’s behalf,” she said.
“Bonny Prince Willy?” repeated Marcel, incredulous, as he put a hand to his mouth to hide his laughter. “And I thought I knew all the euphemisms.” This just created another feedback loop, until the five of them were nearly crying from this stupid, wonderful round of patter, and everyone had the chance to throw in their own little childish jokes.
The laughter finally died down after a few minutes. Liam, smile still wide on his face, looked at Ibrahim and Marcel. “Well, the rest of us were thinking of heading down to St. Margaret’s Bay to swim for a bit,” he said. “I don’t know if you brought a bathing suit, Marcel, but you’re welcome to come all the same.”
Kassandra watched as Marcel’s shoulder’s seemed to lower a bit, as if he’d been rigid this whole time, and was finally letting his body ‘release’ itself. “The weather’s not perfect for swimming, but this is England. There’s not much point in waiting for a sunny day,” she remarked.
Marcel’s expression was difficult to read, but it was friendly and gently, with a mix of what seemed like surprise and relief. “Thank you, I’d love to come,” he said. “I’m going to check into my hotel room first, and I’ll meet you there, deal?” He asked. A quick answer in the affirmative later, and he turned to leave.
As the group watched him turn a corner, Kassandra saw Finlay smack Ibrahim on the back of the head. Ibrahim, in response, burst out into laughter. “I wish I’d taken a picture of you guys,” he said, his hand over his mouth. “You looked like you were all about to faint or something.”
“You could’ve warned us about it,” said Liam, folding his arms in mock rage. “If I knew I was going to be meeting the Dragon of Paris I would’ve dressed a bit nicer.”
Ibrahim waved the comment away. “I promise, guys, it’s fine. Marcel’s a good man. He just wants to feel normal for a bit, and obviously, he can’t get that in France right now. It was a bit spur-of-the-moment, I’ll admit, but he was a friend and co-worker of mine for 4 years. I figured it was only fair that I try something the keep his mind off things.”
Finlay nodded, seemingly in agreement. “Fine. But if he eats one of us, I’m holding you liable,” he said, tossing a smirk in Ibrahim’s direction.
“Fair enough. If he does, it’ll probably be Kass,” Ibrahim responded. “You seem like you’re mostly lean meat.”
“Funny,” she said, without a trace of amusement in her voice. “Are we heading to the beach or what?” She asked. Without waiting for the others, she took a step south, and started walking.
“On second thought,” said Ibrahim, resting his chin in his hand. “She might be a bit too spicy for him. I think she’d cause indigestion.” And with that, the rest of the group followed behind.
Category Story / Fantasy
Species Western Dragon
Size 120 x 120px
File Size 115.7 kB
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