Fly to a doctor and see if this is reversible

From Create Your Own Story

---

Current revision as of 00:20, 6 January 2012

Your first instinct is to fly directly to that damned club and take it apart killing and rending every damn mammal in the place. Then repeat the process until someone tells you what the hell happened. You reconsider. Dead mammals are not the best conversationalists. Good snacks, but not much else.

You search through the rubble that was once your nightstand, praying that your phone was not a casualty of your moment of rage. You find the phone under a largish piece of dry wall. You dust it off and check to see if it still works. You murmur a silent thanks when the phone lights up. Searching through your contacts you find the number for Dr. Ivanovich's office.

Impatiently you wait while the automated answering system goes dumbly through its script. At the appropriate prompt you hit '6' to get Dr. Ivanovich's receptionist.

"Herpetology, This is Dr. Ivanovich's office, how can I help you?"

"Hi, this is Mila Lhadish. I'd like an appointment with the doctor as soon as possible please, preferably now."

"Hold on a second. Let me check with the doctor."

You tap your claws on the mattress as you wait.

In about a minute a loud deep voice rumbles through the phones little speaker, "Mila! How was the hunting? Is this an emergency? Crash into a mountain or something?" It was Dr. Ivanovich.

"Good, no, well um yes and no." you answer. Bert Ivanovich is the best Herp in town. He's been your doctor for years, he is also a personal friend.

Bert chuckles, "Let's see if I can parse that from dragoneese. The hunting was good, you have a problem that may or may not be an emergency and it doesn't have anything to do with hitting a mountain at a high velocity, did I get it?"

That's one of the things you really like about Bert, he understands dragons. We tend to be terse and literal. Despite the worry you chuckle, "Yeah Bert, got it in one."

"OK, let me see..." You hear the clicking of a keyboard, "I got a molt in the office right now, he's real cranky so let me get him out of here and I can take you in, in, Oh say thirty minutes?"

You are flooded with relief, "Thanks, Bert, see you in thirty."

You hang up the phone. It will take you about ten minutes to fly across town to Dr. Ivanovich's office. He doesn't have a balcony entrance so you are going to have to go in the front and up the elevator. You've bitched about that to him forever. You keep telling him that someday that some irritated herp (probability you) is going to eat an entire elevator full of innocent people. Bert just laughs, he says it's good for herps, dragons in particular, to try to stay socialized, whatever that means.

You check your reflection in the mirror again, looking to make sure your scales are bright and shiny for the doctor. You shudder as you see those, those THINGS, hanging from your chest.

You pick up your flight bag from the floor where you left it last night. You stuff your phone into one of the zippered pockets. You clip the two caribiners of the bag to the steel eye hooks that you had bolted to the ridge of scales just above your left hip. You roll back the door to the balcony and step outside. It's a beautiful day, warm, sunny a great day for flying. Too bad you are too worried to enjoy it.

You lock the door behind you, place the key in your bag and double check that the pockets are zippered. Not that you plan any aerobatics but from experience you know that it's a pain to try to collect the contents of a purse that has spilled out at three or four thousand feet.

Climbing the railing you don't hesitate, you leap off into space.

Wings folded back you stoop ten stories to gain some airspeed. Just as you pass the Mitchel's place, on the seventh floor, you spread your wings out and back. You hear that distinctive snap and feel the membrane of your wings stretch and fill with air. You flex the tips of your wing fingers on the right to feather the trailing end of your wing. The idea is to send you into a tight clockwise spiral. Your normal procedure is to catch the thermal from between 33rd and Maple. A quick spiral to get headed south along Smithton Ave, flare and roll at the intersection at 33rd. A little bit of wing work to grab the thermal and done. You can gain enough altitude to glide most of the way across town. Easy peesy, just watch out for slow pidgins.

Those breasts, those double damn breasts, jiggle and wobble just as you complete the snap turn. Between the jiggling motion and the extra weight your turn is far too wide. The knuckles of your right wing fingers painfully scrape across the rough concrete of your building. You screech in pain and instinctively draw your wing away from the wall. You realize your mistake a micro second too late. You end up in a roll. Frantically you try to complete the roll but those things on your chest throw you off balance again. The ground is coming up fast. You twist and spread your wings wide, flapping frantically to get enough air to keep from cratering into the street. You succeed in turning your fall into a short glide. Your claws rake the paint from the roofs of a couple of parked cars as you try to shed some speed. You end up landing, thankfully, on your feet.

Safe on the sidewalk you survey the damage. You lost a few scales from your knuckles and chipped a claw. Other than that, well, any landing you can walk away from, as they say.

The cars are another matter. Should you leave a note or something? Looking up and down the street you don't see any witnesses. Only mammals drive cars and right now all mammals piss you off. Fuck 'em.

You're on the street and that sucks. A dragon can't take off from flat and level ground. You need a cliff or balcony or something. You need some airspeed. A dragon has as much ability to take off from flat ground as a chicken. It's funny watching a chicken try to fly, with a dragon, it's just tragic.

You have two choices,

• Take a bus
• Go back upstairs to your apartment and try again

Furry Status (you)
Health	100	Equipment: Flight Bag
Gender	X
Species	Dragon