Prompt: "Can you cook a dragon?"

Spoilers: None

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"Can you cook a dragon?"

Fuck. If there was one thing Luc didn't want to hear while Aura was driving the hover some fifty metres above ground, it was that. Sable had no idea what they'd just unleashed.

Aura pretended not to hear the question, a muscle ticking in her jaw. Please, for the love of fuck, Luc entreated in his mind, don't repeat the fucking question.

"Aura," Sable insisted, oblivious to the peril they were all about to be in, "did you hear me? Can you cook a dragon?"

"Shut up, kid." Luc wasn't expecting to be able to talk any sort of sense into them, but it was a lose/really-fucking-lose situation. "Focus on the mission."

Aura's hand twitched on the steering wheel and she glanced at Luc for just a fraction of a second — enough for him to realise her other hand was making sure her magnetic seatbelt was fastened extra tight, and for him to follow suit. He was getting too old to go on missions with her, and she just got crazier with age.

"I heard you can! I heard you used to be known as the Messiah! I heard your parties were the– AAAH!"

Luc didn't even flinch when she turned the hover upside down in the middle of traffic, knowing full well Sable hadn't been wearing their seatbelt. Well. If their reflexes hadn't been great they wouldn't have come on this mission, as evidenced by how quickly they held on to the open hover roof, Luc mused. He couldn't think much beyond that, as all the blood in his brain was making him dizzy and Aura hadn't even stopped driving.

"Are you crazy?" Sable's voice had risen in pitch, fast reflexes notwithstanding. "Get this thing back the right side up! I'm going to fall."

"Why? Doesn't it feel like a party now, Sable? Any more questions about dragons?"

"Get me up!"

"You should have listened to Luc here." She sped up, Sable dangling like a weird ornament. "Your life expectancy would have risen by a lot."

"Fucking hell, Aura, let the kid come inside." His voice sounded tired to his own ears, which was a testament to the level of fucked up shit they got involved in, if this didn't even register above that.

"We'll see." She dropped in altitude without notice, Sable's feet dangerously close to the roof of the hovers in the lane below.

"Aura, please! I'm sorry, okay? Let me in."

"Don't think so. You get to hear a tale about dragons now. Do you know why they call them dragons?"

One of Sable's hands slipped; they wouldn't be able to hold on much longer. "Aura, please, I just–"

"Do. You. Know?"

"Because they make you feel golden," Sable squeaked, spouting the party line. It would, perhaps, not have been as funny if they hadn't also just pissed themself on a family of four driving below.

"Golden," Aura spat, "is that what they taught you in kindergarten? No, kid. They call them dragons because a fucked up batch will make the skin peel from your body as if something were breathing fire on you. Yes, I used to cook them." Her hatred had turned inward, as it always did. "My final party was an exclusive event with a guest list of exactly 999 people. I wasn't worried about failing — I was the Messiah. I'd never met an illegal drug I couldn't cook to perfection." Her smile was getting too ugly for Luc's comfort, a self-satisfied darkness creeping into her tone. "You know what? If I drop you now, you'll make it an even thousand on my death list."

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Length: 625 words

Time: 15+5 minutes

Prompt: https://www.cameronmontaguetaylor.com/2021/01/17/morning-pages-dragon-snacks/