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Scene Concept: Dealmaking

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"Welcome to the Laguna Dragon Banquet."

The doors opened to reveal a large function hall, big enough to fit at least two hundred people. Exposed to the open air, it was not fully enclosed and had a full view of the gardens and a golf course at the back of the country club. Whoever organized the annual party had set up both round tables and cocktail tables in the main chamber as well as the garden. Several projection screens had been erected in various places throughout the venue, albeit the Kodak Carousels next to them only displayed a single slide containing the name of the event, its number since inception, and the current date.

Console tables topped with tableware, food trays, soda cans, and beer bottles, were positioned strategically, providing attendees with easy access. At least two servers stood attentively at each food station. Even then, multiple waiters fluttered across the function hall. They moved from table to table, bringing drinks and attending to whatever was demanded of them.

Charles could see why such a level of service was necessary. More than a hundred people were attending the Laguna Dragon Banquet, with the youngest being a few adolescents who looked very close to their 20s. Given the affluent nature of the country club, it wouldn't surprise him at all if these people were, like him, part of his social class in Henrico, if not wealthy visitors from the rest of Latin America.

A man in a formal suit noticed Charles and Chanteirwen's arrival. He broke away from the crowd and approached them. "Hello, Sir. Good afternoon, and once again, a warm welcome to the 14th Laguna Dragon Banquet. I am Joao, your maitre'd for this afternoon."

Joao tendered his hand. Charles clasped it, as per custom. "Charles Graham." He gestured towards Chanteirwen. "And this is my dragon."

Chanteirwen didn't seem to be listening, with her gaze trained on one of the buffet tables in the corner.

As for Joao, his eyes silently acknowledged the dragon's presence before focusing back on him. "So another VVIP graces us today! A pleasure to meet you, Sir Charles. Do you need any assistance?"

"Not really," Charles replied. "Was just planning on finding a seat before mingling with the people here, maybe grab some food and drink?"

"It is free seating," said Joao. "You may bring your Vatran with you, seeing as reception deemed you exempted from club policy."

"Thank you." Charles nodded at Joao and started to move, only for the maitre'd to stop him.

"Honestly, I am curious about something," Joao muttered. He brought his voice down, to maintain privacy. "The organizers have been sending Graham Logistics invitations to this event for years. Senator Graham has never attended a single one, and the man who took over during your time in the mountains, Sir Jeffrey, has recently been expelled from the club for… deviant behavior. What brings you here?" He glanced at Chanteirwen. "Are you interested in joining this year's 'Best Dragon' contest? We've never had an Ecuadorian Cabernet before."

Hearing the actual name of Chanteirwen's breed reminded Charles that she was a rarity in Latin America. With beautiful, monochromatic burgundy scales, and features that evoke the image of a majestic and luxurious bottle of red wine, she was bound to draw attention. Was… was bringing Tearry here a mistake…?

"Actually, I'm just here to expand my network, look for new business opportunities. Not expecting anything at all, honestly." Charles pointed at Chanteirwen. "Didn't realize my Vatran was rare, but I always believed she was my ticket to events like this."

"It is." Joao nodded. "Orale, your Vatran will certainly be welcome in our community." His eyes raked across her features. "Especially after you give it a better touch-up."

Charles cocked his eyebrows. What was that supposed to mean?

Before he could say anything, the maitre'd glanced elsewhere, then patted Charles' shoulder. "Anyway, Mr. Graham! I need to get back to work. There's been a little trouble in the kitchen. It has been a pleasure to meet you. ¡Mucha mierda!"

Joao briskly walked away, leaving the two behind. Charles could feel a few gazes tickling the back of his neck. The dragoness herself fixed her golden eyes on him, looking to him for the next course of action. Fortunately the cloth band around her jaws did not truly constrict her mouth. "What now?" she asked.

Charles thought it was best to take care of their immediate needs first. "Are you hungry? You keep looking at the buffet table."

She grunted in acknowledgment. "Coming here was long trip."

"Food it is, then. We can take care of business afterward." Charles beckoned the Vatran to follow him.

The nearest food station was beside the railing that overlooked the gardens, towards the rear section of the crowd. As they approached the table, Charles felt his own stomach growl. The delectable smell was causing him to salivate. Fumes from each dish mixed harmoniously in the air, unleashing a fragrant yet pleasant smell, one that made him hungrier the closer they were.

When they were but a few steps away, Charles could already pick out some of the more indulgent choices. Two drew his eyes—picanha steak, made from La Pampa beef, drizzled in chimichurri sauce; and grilled chilean sea bass with mango salsa. One of the desserts also attracted his attention—a simple yet elegant tres leches cake—for the sole reason that Chanteirwen had a taste for it.

Charles grinned at the dragon. "Hey Tearry, the choices here are exquisite! You're going to love what I'll put on your plate."

Chanteirwen croaked, her throat rumbling a low growl that he associated with approval. He swore it carried a smidge of happiness. The thought that he had lightened her mood made Charles feel more buoyant, even a little. It slightly appeased the quiet voice deep inside his heart—

Neither of them got the chance to line up. A few people from the crowd of attendees broke off and approached them. "I shit on the Host!" one cried. "It really is Charles Graham! A pleasure to meet you, Sir Charles."

Another raved as he shook Charles' hand. "Sir Charles, your work with dragons has put our country on the world map! It makes me proud to be Henrican!"

"¡No mames, the Vatran really is an Ecuadorian Cabernet!" A third person approached Chanteirwen, holding a bottle of Nuestro Padre, Henrico's most popular beer. It clearly wasn't his first drink, as the man had been staggering towards them, estar piripi.

Chanteirwen shuffled closer towards Charles and curled her body behind him, clearly uncomfortable with these people. "It's got mesmerizing eyes," the third newcomer remarked, his eyes transfixed on her. "So beautiful—oh! Hmm, the color of its scales are a bit lackluster, and all those scars are distracting. Sir Charles, you should pull those scales out and apply a thorough application of oil."

Charles noticed the man was about to touch one of the damaged scales. He got between him and the dragon before he could put his dirty hands on her. "Thank you," he said diplomatically. "I don't know much about proper scale care, so your advice is welcome."

The man continued talking about having the scales regrow and replace the scarring, and tried to refer him to a dragonologist somewhere in Fort Loreto. The crowd around them grew denser as the time passed, with several people welcoming Charles to the event, shaking his hand. Some also thanked him for pioneering the domestication of the Draco legerensis. Others expressed their sympathy, having read the news stories about his kidnapping by the Communists.

Before he realized it, he had been drawn away from the buffet tables. Chanteirwen clung to him the entire time, her tail constantly wrapped around one of his legs. Charles tried to withdraw from the constant meet-and-greet. "I'm terribly sorry, but I need to go take a food break and—

"Oooooh… Graham's dragon looks so fuckable."

Charles spun around. ¿¡Chingada madre, who was the goddamned capullo who said that!? It frustrated Charles that he couldn't find the guy. He didn't expect to encounter another one of those perverted "furries" here in Laguna! Feeling protective, he brought his arm around Chanteirwen's neck—

The dragoness suddenly snarled. She whipped her body around, the thick tail flying dangerously. Then she lowered her posture and emitted a menacing growl. "No touch me."

She was glaring at a woman whose skin appeared so pale from all the whitening lotions she must've been bathing in. The offender in question had been caught in the act, her hand still outstretched. Rather than addressing Chanteirwen, she glowered furiously at Charles. "¡Pero que coño! What is wrong with your dragon? I simply wanted to inspect its scales! You aren't training it enough!"

"You should've asked for permission first—

She gawked. "Permission!? From an animal!?"

Charles glared at her. "Clearly someone's fine with losing one hand," he sneered. Inwardly, he was starting to get worried for Chanteirwen. He could feel her breathing haggardly, a palpable tension in her steps. He remembered the time she almost mauled his cousin—how she almost threw Charles off of her and undo everything he'd done.

His eyes steeled. "Everyone, please give me and my dragon some space. She's starting to get testy. She's still a little wild, you know."

One person backed off. "T-that's a first-generation domesticate!?"

Charles saw an opening and took it. He patted Chanteirwen's withers, but kept his arm hooked around her neck. "Tearry, c'mon, let's give ourselves some space."

The crowd had thinned ostensibly a little. The woman who'd tried to grope the dragon was still standing in the direction of the food station, her face looking quite furious. Charles didn't know if she was truly in the same social class as him, but people with haughty attitudes like that typically didn't get far—while they wouldn't die poor and destitute, they would still be disregarded by their families as a sort of disgrace.

To lessen the risks of either of them mounting a chicken, Charles brought Chanteirwen towards the garden instead. They descended the stairs from the main hall and, seeing a denser crowd in one corner, veered in the opposite direction. During their walk, Charles heard the other attendees chattering, undoubtedly discussing his latest conduct.

"That's not the same man I met in HTIRS."

"¡A poco! He doesn't look like someone who had a mental breakdown a few weeks ago…"

"Graham's dragon is a first-generation domesticate, too!?"

"Your whore mother on a bicycle! It's nothing like Aeris."

"There is no color! Bruised scales, scars all over… that Cabernet can make an onion cry! Blegh!"

"¡Reverendo malparido! Tsk, tsk. Sir Charles must've been scammed…"

Charles found several sets of empty cocktail tables and claimed one of them. A nearby beverage table held several bottles of San Miguel Pale Pilsen. He took one and popped it open using the bottle opener on the table.

Chanteirwen growled apologetically while Charles took a few gulps. "Sorry. Forger paws, dirty, touch too much. Flowery stench, very strong, make me dizzy."

Charles sighed, feeling better after having a little alcohol to drink. "It's okay. You've done nothing wrong. But keep calm next time. We won't get anything done like this."

"I, I know."

Charles grabbed a fistful of peanuts from the untouched bowl sitting on the cocktail table. "Tearry, do you want some? It'll abate your hunger a little."

Chanteirwen's tail rolled upward and she gave him a slow blink. Assent. Charles popped a third of the peanuts into his mouth. The rest, he offered to the dragon by hand. She parted her jaws—the muzzle strap was more symbolic than it was practical—and dug in. The man felt no fear at the feeling of fangs ghosting his skin, not when those same teeth graced his neck almost daily.

The dragoness all but devoured the peanuts. Charles had already fed her two handfuls by the time someone else accosted them. Another woman. A Brazilian-American, judging by her looks, and one who had apparently learned from Chanteirwen's behavior earlier. Her gaze lingered not on Charles, but on his companion. “May I examine your scales?"

Chanteirwen hesitated.

Charles lightly tapped her snout. “Orale. At least this one's polite."

Buoyed by the encouragement, or perhaps forced by the need to pretend, the dragoness chirruped. “You may." She stepped closer to the polite lady and sat on her haunches, even turning a little to show her flank.

“Thank you." Chanteirwen awkwardly flinched at the moment the attendee's hand made direct contact with her body. Charles finished his first bottle of San Miguel, praying to God that the Vatran didn't screw this up.

“Definitely a first-generation domesticate if it can still talk," he heard the lady mutter.

“Really?" Charles asked. He truly had no idea.

She peered at Charles and nodded. “Really, Sir Graham. Current regulations require slashing of the vocal cords, even in Europe. I guess you and Sir Strauss can get away with it because of your positions in society." Ms. Polite resumed tending to the dragon, pushing… feeling along her burgundy scales. Chanteirwen's sides ebbed, squelched, and contorted, clearly demonstrating her discomfort, but it failed to discourage the lady's stroking. “Your pet will not come close to winning any of the Best Dragon contests, I'm afraid; the judges put great emphasis on the lustrousness and silkiness of their scales.

“And their odor too." Her face twisted. “Whew! The stench of dragon is very potent on this one up close—

Chanteirwen grunted indignantly. “I am dragon."

“—you'd have to wash it multiple times, and with a specialized soap too, just to get rid of the smell. Ay caray, it's like it hasn't been bathed in years." The polite lady continued speaking uninterrupted, not even acknowledging the dragoness.

Charles crossed his arms. “I only bathe Tearry with water and unscented soap."

“Tearry…" the lady repeated. “Hmmm… a nice name, but isn't it a bit masculine for a female dragon?"

“I don't care," said Charles. "I think it suits her perfectly." Besides, he thought, using anything else for his own convenience would be a gross disrespect to the dragon, who already had a name and identity of her own. "Anyway, I agree with you that chemicals will have a stronger, lasting effect on odor control, but I believe such things will be unhealthy for our scaly friends in the long term." He took a sip from his second bottle of beer. “Now if you ask me, if someone wants to have a dragon in their home, they might as well learn to appreciate it. It's part of the experience."

The lady chuckled. “You truly are a peculiar one. Although, I've never heard of any breeders offering chemical-free, fragrant-free options."

Charles' eyes gleamed. This should be a good chance to segue into his real agenda. “Ma'am, I'll be honest with you: I'm not that interested in this Best Dragon thing; I'm actually here to meet with breeders. I'll appreciate it if you can point me in the right direction."

“Luckily for you, they aren't fawning over Aaron's 'beautiful blue angel' anymore." The lady pointed at the stream of people moving away from the other crowd in the garden. “Most of the scalies here own pet dragons, but a healthy number of them also represent major breeders in South America. Sensible, considering Ardelle Celestials are an extremely rare breed. Your Ecuadorian Cabernet isn't as rare, but judging by its looks, it has excellent genes. If you wait a little, your Tearry will draw some people sooner or later."

"Thank you for the tip, Miss…"

"Mrs. Oliveira," the polite lady answered. "Iris Oliveira."

"A pleasure to make your acquaintance," Charles said.

"Likewise, Sir Graham. As for myself, I'm actually here with my husband, but he's either admiring Aaron's dragon or examining the other beasts in the animal pens outside." Sometime during the conversation, she had switched her attention from Chanteirwen and concentrated on Charles. She grabbed a bottle of San Miguel from the nearby table and popped it open, clinking with Charles' own before drinking a few mouthfuls. "We're both from San Diego."

"California?"

"Right, but I'm originally from Brazil. My husband has an obsession for these animals and I've got a few friends in high places back home."

That explained how she was here. "And now you're looking for a dragon to bring into America?" Charles asked, seeing how Iris was eyeing Chanteirwen.

"More like smuggling it," Iris shamelessly admitted. "Homeland Security is finicky about any legerenses crossing the border. If it's a breed that produces venom, exothermic compounds, or endothermic substances, they want the glands removed. My husband and I refuse to do such a thing. It's a traumatic procedure, like devenomizing a snake, or declawing a cat."

"Admirable, Mrs. Oliveira, but I think you should talk to someone else." He finished his second beer. Charles now had his eyes settled on the people Iris identified. One of them had to be an Henrican breeder. "I can't help you. I haven't been, actively involved, with Graham Logistics since I returned to Metro Magallanes. My cousin is."

Iris harrumphed. "Jeffrey Preston? Hmph! I've heard nothing but bad things about him. My husband and I aren't privy to the details, but it's obvious he's a pinche comemierda. We're never dealing with someone like him!"

It was about time to move on from this person. Iris wanted someone to help her. Charles had his own concerns to worry about. The lady, however, seemed to have a natural talent for reading people, for she suddenly drained her bottle of its contents and offered him a business card from her purse. "I need to look for my husband, Sir Graham, but we'd rather work out the logistics with someone like you."

"...I can't promise you anything." The statement did not deter the woman, and Charles ended up exchanging cards with Iris.

It was an unspoken rule in these sorts of events that you had to give your card when someone else offered theirs. Reciprocation was a friendly gesture and failure to exchange cards reflected badly on one's readiness—or their willingness—to work with that person.

When she left, Chanteirwen growled. "Finally, she gone."

Charles noticed her stance was unsteady. "Tearry, are you okay?"

"What she say, i-is true?" She was gaping at him. Her expression had fallen. Chanteirwen was holding back high-pitched grunts. She was trying not to sob. "Forgers want to take dragon voice? Take dragon breath?"

¡Conchatumadre! Charles never expected that news like this would unsettle Chanteirwen so much. He grabbed her shoulders and squeezed them. "Calm down, calm down! Lower it by two notches. If you draw the wrong kind of attention, we'll have to get out of here flying."

Chanteirwen swallowed audibly, as though burying her anxiety. Her eyes turned despondent, snout descending towards his neck, jaws slightly parting. Charles stopped her before she could latch on and start weeping openly. "Focus!" He forcibly shoved her to arm's length, even stepping away to add distance. The power in his voice startled the dragon out of her misery. "That woman had given us some leads. The person we're looking for might be one of them. We can leave this place when we're done."

"...you correct, Forger Charles. We… we go now."

"Great." Charles slapped her cheek and turned around. "Come on, let's get this over with. We'll start with someone who looks the most Henrican."

Chanteirwen suddenly barked. "Wait!" she cried, stopping his strides.

"What?"

Her tail thumped the grass, snout turning away from the banquet hall and facing the other side of the garden. "Other dragon coming."

Charles followed her gaze and saw a tall Westerner sauntering casually towards them, a champagne glass in hand.

A broad-shouldered bolillo with blond hair and blue eyes.

A man being closely followed by a blue dragoness easily comparable to Chanteirwen's bulk.

His companion did a double take. "White Forger!?"

Charles tuned out Chanteirwen's rambling as she began growling and chirping in her native language from the second her gaze fell on the other dragon. He assessed the other man instead, whose strides were free from the debilitating influence of liquor.

The foreigner was certainly taller than him, Charles thought, though his gait and posture lacked the toughness innate to every Henrican. As far as he could tell, this was someone who did not truly, intimately know hardship. In his periphery, the other dragoness briskly clopped over to Chanteirwen. The latter took a deep breath and started having a coughing fit. "Ugh!"

Charles would have addressed this immediately, but the foreigner deftly tidied his blond hair and put his right hand forward. "Hello there, and good afternoon. It is an honor to meet you. I am Aaron Strauss."

Charles took the foreigner's hand out of reflex. "Charles Graham."

Aaron's eyes practically sparkled when he heard the name, as though he'd just found a diamond among charcoal. "Ah, Charles the son! I've heard so much about you and your father over the last several years. As a lover of dragons, it is truly my honor—no, my privilege to meet a true pioneer of this business. Without you, none of this would be possible." The foreigner gestured to Chanteirwen and his own dragon as he paid lip service to Charles' past accolades. He spoke in nothing but English, a language used mainly in Henrico by lawyers, university professors, and the highly affluent. A language that Chanteirwen would have difficulty following, since the native jornaleros rarely spoke anything other than Spanish.

Charles courteously accepted Aaron's compliments, responding to the foreigner in English. He hoped he still carried an American accent; it had been so long since he'd spoken something that wasn't Spanglish. "Thank you, Mr. Strauss. A pleasure to make your acquaintance." He scanned the foreigner's clothes. His outfit was awfully formal for the occasion, and it was a torrid afternoon. "Aren't you hot in that? This isn't exactly a ballroom kind of event." The other attendees wore business casual at best. In fact, Charles' guise was among the least formal, being nothing more than a denim jacket with a popped collar, plain trousers, and a Disney shirt.

"It is a bit stuffy," admitted the foreigner, who took out a handkerchief from his blazer and wiped the sweat off his forehead. "Nevertheless, Aeris and I are here on business. I don't know how you people go about that in Latin America, but in Europe, looking presentable is most important!"

Charles dismissed what he thought to be a jab at his choice of clothes and focused on something else. "Aeris?"

Aaron nodded. "Yes, Aeris. She's my dragon—an Ardelle Celestial." He turned to the scaly members of their group. Both dragons appeared to be conversing animatedly in their burlish language. From what Charles could see, though, only the blue one was having a fun time while the red one looked exhausted. "Looks like she's getting along quite well with your Ecuadorian Cabernet."

Charles would have shrugged if he hadn't been mindful of all the eyes watching them. "I guess."

"She's gorgeous, isn't she?" Aaron stressed. "She's a first-generation domesticate as well, so she still has her vocal cords."

The man had trumped him on that, for sure. "She is."

Before Charles could talk further, Aaron interrupted the two dragons and called his companion's name, motioning her over. The blue dragon, who was clearly enjoying her time with the taciturn Wildborn, let out a tired sigh and plodded over to the two men.

Charles had only just registered the fact this dragon was, indeed, wearing a pretty, white vest, adorned with pearls and other luxurious accouterments when Aaron palmed the dragon's neck and pushed her towards him. "Schön, dass du dich uns anschließen konntest, Aeris. Ich möchte, dass du jemanden triffst." The foreigner seamlessly switched back to English. "This is Charles Graham, one of the pioneers of our industry! I'm sure you've heard his name before."

Aeris' wilted, unhappy features suddenly went stiff at the sound of Charles' name. Her tail snapped straight and, for a moment, so did her entire posture. Aaron stepped in, "Watch this, Mr. Graham."

Aaron's interjection appeared to have some effect on the other dragon. Almost immediately, she gave Charles a deep bow. "Es freut mich—Sorry! It n-nice meet you, Sir Graham."

His eyes widened.

That wasn't English. That was pure Spanish.

Still, it was clear she hadn't fully grasped his native language. This was obviously a show of courtesy at best rather than anything of substance. "Hello, Aeris," Charles replied. He swapped to English out of consideration for her. “The feeling is mutual." He kept his eyes on her tapered snout—Jesus, even her muzzle strap looked expensive—and tendered his hand as custom dictated.

To his astonishment, Aeris jolted at Charles' actions, her yellow eyes going wide. He had seen Chanteirwen freeze so many times over the last few weeks that he knew Aeris had practically lost her breath. "Y-you want to shake my paw?"

Charles momentarily peeked at Aaron, who seemed a little flustered. "Of course. It's common courtesy, isn't it? If Mr. Strauss has gone so far as to teach you a few Spanish phrases, then you should know something this basic by heart."

Aeris raised her paw, but it faltered halfway and she broke eye contact. "But it's, it's dirty," she stammered in straight English with a clear accent that was more British than German. "I've been walking all over the grounds and I haven't washed—

God Almighty, he didn't have the pussy for this lantern! Charles reached forward and clasped the Glass's paw, causing her to flinch. Compared to Chanteirwen's rough and calloused pads, Aeris' paw was soft and squishy to the touch. Probably used to a nice life in Germany, just like Aaron.

Charles quickly shifted to a two-handed handshake. "Like the others hadn't been picking their noses with their grubby hands anyway." Another shake. He tightened his grip and maintained eye contact for a few more seconds. “Once again, it is good to meet you."

The extra time felt awkward, but the gambit eventually paid off, for Aeris returned her gaze to meet his own and reciprocated the handshake. "Thank you," she said meekly.

"I'm surprised your English is very clear," Charles complimented the dragoness when their hands fell. The same also applied to her German, from the sounds of it. He nodded at Aaron, who looked like he was preening. "You were taught very well." He gestured towards Chanteirwen, who was pacing somewhat nervously around them. "I'm still trying to teach her proper Spanish."

Charles was about to make a brief dip into her feelings regarding domesticate regulations in Europe when Aaron interrupted them. “I had Aeris taught by one of the best tutors in Berlin." He was beaming. “My beautiful blue angel is such a fast learner!"

"Well, I had to be if I had to go to these parties," Aeris started. "Master Aaron put me through so much etiquette training and—agh!" The dragoness fell silent immediately. She lowered her head, apparently in shame. Her tail wrapped around her legs, and she worriedly snuck a peek at both humans.

Chanteirwen rumbled angrily, like she'd just witnessed something offensive. Charles found the Glass's sudden silence confusing. He was about to ask about it when Aaron quickly interjected. "Mr. Graham, it took years of work preparing my dragon for gatherings like today. People in Europe are hard to impress in dragon parties, and the Henrican experience has largely been the same."

"Okay…" Charles murmured to himself. He shelved the observation away and paid it no mind. He played along with the conversation, wondering when Aaron would drop the pleasantries and tell him exactly what he wanted.

"Aeris, do you mind if I look at your scales?"

The dragon's mood brightened at Charles' request. "No, not at all."

With her consent secured, he entered her personal space and physically inspected her in the same way Iris Oliveira studied Chanteirwen. However, Charles kept physical contact to a minimum, sliding his fingers across the bright, cerulean scales simply because he couldn't believe how Aeris was sparkling. "Impressive!" he eventually exclaimed. "I bet there's so much work put into your scales as well. They're… really beautiful to look at."

Aeris smiled. "Thank you! I hear that a lot!" She blurted excitedly. "My scales are washed, polished, and buffed regularly. The oil is a little awful, but it keeps me bright and shiny, just how you humans like it!"

For some reason, Aaron wore a nervous look on his face, his body tense as though prepared to step in at any time. Charles chose to ignore him. "It helps that your blue coloration naturally draws admiration. If Tearry had scales as lustrous as yours, maybe she'd impress some people too, though I doubt she'll even want to be all dolled up like you."

Aeris made a loud, jocular chirp. "Oh, it's just something you get used to," she crooned. "Master Aaron always tells me—

Speaking of the King of Rome. The man in question coughed very loudly. "Aeris, würde es Ihnen etwas ausmachen, Herr Graham etwas Platz zu geben? Du nervst ihn, aber ich glaube, er ist einfach zu höflich, dich wegzuschicken."

Charles couldn't understand Aaron's German, but his cadence was strong—maybe annoyed—and whatever he said turned the dragon into a submissive creature. Her wings were already tied down with simple cloth, but the way she shrunk in front of them made her seem even smaller than before. What's wrong? What did Aeris do? Didn't he want her to socialize with the other "scalies" in these parties?

Charles had only just begun to entertain these questions in his head when he saw Aeris ambulating back towards Chanteirwen. She warbled something at the other dragoness. The Vatran was unwilling to leave, sending Charles an uncertain look before the Glass said something else in their own bestial language then all but dragged her to the nearby ferns and flowering shrubs.

Only then did Charles realize he was left alone with Aaron.

…oh.

Aaron wasn't taking Aeris around these parties for her own sake, was he?

Charles deadpanned at the German. "Mr. Strauss, I was still talking to your dragon."

Aaron looked astonished. "Oh, you weren't just being polite? You glanced at me a few times."

"That's because you kept butting in."

"I, I'm sorry, Herr Graham. I, assumed that you found Aeris bothersome. Most people we speak with would yell at—ehem!—would rather enjoy the party or go straight into business." The bolillo was blustering. The fear that he'd offended one of the biggest names in this business was written plainly on his face. He knew that Charles could make it very difficult for Aaron to do business in Henrico and South America in general simply by throwing the Graham name around. "Well, since you were enjoying your talk, I'll call Aeris back right away and we can talk business later—

Charles raised his hand. "Forget it," he declined rather coldly. It came out even harsher in English. "I'm at the Laguna Dragon Banquet for a reason so it's best I don't spend all my time socializing. Now tell me what you want, Mr. Strauss."

The German adjusted his collar and took a moment to recompose himself. "The Ardelle Celestial is an extremely rare breed of dragon in Europe, and as you've seen for yourself, Aeris is particularly well-endowed compared to most other legerenses. The consensus is firm—she's such a beautiful creature. Back in Berlin, in fact, my little blue angel was voted Grand Wyrm three years in a row."

Charles crossed his arms. "And now you want your dragon to participate in Latin America?"

"Of course! If we win Best Dragon, Aeris' market value will skyrocket! It would unlock a whole array of business opportunities."

“Of the… genetic kind, I presume?"

“Naturally." Aaron smoothly transitioned to his pitch. “Any offspring from her pedigree will command the highest prices in the market. Who wouldn't want something related to a multi-award-winning dragon!?"

Even from a business viewpoint, there was still a problem with this arrangement. “Wouldn't it be better for you to win the contest first? Going by what you just said, everyone will want a piece of your dragon afterward. They'll even pay to see her. So why are you making deals this early?"

Aaron went quiet. There was clearly something happening behind the scenes. Charles couldn't help but sneer. “Were those contests in Europe a little too heavy on your balance sheet?"

“I'm seeking to secure win-win opportunities for my partners here in Latin America," the German responded. “I am fully aware that you and your father are not officially affiliated with any Henrican scalies, while your cousin has disgraced himself. Despite that, as pioneers of the dragon business, any opinions you might share about Aeris will still influence her chances of winning Best Dragon."

“What exactly are you proposing?" Charles asked, quickly pointing out the problems with approaching Graham Logistics. “In case you didn't know, my family business puts dragons to work to maximize the efficiency of our laborers, not coddling the beasts and dressing them up like fancy pieces of furniture."

“Hmm, isn't that what you're doing with your Cabernet?"

“¡Zapatero a tus zapatos!" Charles reacted instinctively in his native language, telling the gringo to mind his own business.

To his credit, Aaron managed to comprehend. “In Ordnung, In Ordnung, let's move on from this," he said, going so far as to submissively bow his head. “To address your point, all the dragons owned by Graham Logistics are most likely first-generation domesticates—dragons that are physically, genetically no different from Wildborn. Dragons that are as pure and natural as can be without any human interference. I would like an opportunity to visit your corporate headquarters and inspect your males for… any desirable traits and a… possible, err, compatibility with my beautiful blue angel. We can talk further about eggs or profit-sharing after the initial inspection."

There it was.

The business opportunity that Aaron was presenting.

Truthfully, Charles thought, it was not a bad deal. This was a standard exchange in the dragon trade, especially among breeders and so-called “scalies". People already did this numerous times when it came to cats or dogs of exceptional pedigree. Charles would be lying to himself if he didn't admit that the deal was tempting to enter into. A lot of money would surely be made from Aeris' hatchlings, and Graham Logistics had over twenty males in the dragon house.

Yet all Charles could think of was how this arrangement was nothing but another kind of deception. Another way of exploiting yet another sapient being. Worse, Aaron's use of personal pronouns indicated that he knew the truth about dragons yet still pursued money above all else.

How egregious.

When Charles first met Aaron, when he got to speak with Aeris—a dragon who seemed to be the exact opposite of Chanteirwen—he was initially delighted at the idea that he wasn't alone.

That he was not the only one who knew the truth about the dragons.

That there were other people in the world also grappling with institutionalized corruption and unethical exploitation. It would've been a blessing from God to have the opportunity to exchange pointers with such people.

Knowing now that he'd been mistaken about Aaron, Charles was not only disappointed, but also infuriated with himself for even hoping that the German was acting with Aeris's happiness in mind. Upon cogitating further, he came to the conclusion that many of the people here probably knew about the secret anyway—Iris' comment about first-generation domesticates came to mind—and didn't give a damn to the way the dragons were treated.

After everything Charles had been through in the last few years, he was finished with everything that was this disgustingly cutthroat.

And so he moved to withdraw and proceed with his own agenda. “I will give this particular opportunity some thought."

Aaron lurched. He hadn't been expecting this response. "I-if it's a matter of trust, we can rope in Itau Unibanco or Deutsche Bank—

Charles stepped away, looking at Chanteirwen and waving at her to get her attention. “It was nice meeting you and Aeris, but I still have work to do."

Informing Aeris about Aaron's ulterior motives was probably the most ethical thing to do. However, as much as his heart went out to the innocent Glass, Charles could not afford to be distracted with someone else's problems, and a foreigner's problems at that.

The German, however, wouldn't let him leave so easily. “Herr Graham, aside from the matter with Aeris, there is some related business we can still discuss. My enterprise back in Germany actually trades in antiquities and vintage artifacts; furthermore, I am related with the Porsche family—

“I'm sorry, Sir Strauss. While that all sounds exciting, we should talk about this another time—

“You wish to speak with the other breeders, correct? I can assist you for a while."

Damn! Aaron insisted on sticking near him, acting like a leech Charles couldn't simply flick off. “Fine," he acquiesced. “It would save me some time in finding the right person." He glanced again at Chanteirwen, who was clearly tolerating Aeris. “Please hold on a second. I need to tell my dragon something."

Before the white man could reply, Charles rushed over to the only two dragons inside the party. “Excuse me, Aeris," he muttered to the shiny, lustrous Glass while he swept his arm around Chanteirwen's withers and pulled the Vatran further away.

“Tearry," he muttered into her ears. “I need to leave you alone for a while. I can't get that damn gringo off of me!"

Chanteirwen froze, gawking at him, all but barking in shock. “N-no. Forger Charles, I, I no do this alone. Maybe, give white Forger card?"

“No hay tu tia," he rebutted. “He's very persistent for some reason." Charles pointed at Aeris. “Ask her to help you."

Chanteirwen was appalled by the suggestion. She bared her fangs at him. "She undragon pet!"

"Well she's better at handling humans—people—Forgers than you!" Charles rebutted just as indignantly. "Remember the plan: find breeders, talk to them, make them feel good about you, and get their business cards. Just be careful not to mount a chicken!"

The idiom reminded the both of them that they hadn't eaten yet. The Vatran's belly rumbled deeply and, feeling a similar pang in his own stomach, Charles' features softened. He chuckled. “I'm hungry, too, you know. Just stay strong and get the work done. We'll eat together later."

“Charles—

“You can do this, Chanteirwen." Charles patted her withers, then locked eyes with the other dragoness. “Aeris, please take care of my dragon while I'm with Sir Strauss. She is not comfortable talking to other humans."

Aeris was so surprised by the sudden address that she automatically replied in German. “D-Das werde ich, Herr Graham."

Fortunately it didn't sound like a refusal. "Thank you." The way that the Celestial genuinely smiled at his words led Charles to wonder, as he walked back, if she'd ever been treated like a person in these sort of parties.

When he returned to Aaron, he noticed the foreigner was watching him with what looked like an amused glint in his gaze. “Are you finished?"

Charles nodded. “Yeah. Let's go."

"You know, you didn't have to do any of that," Aaron stated candidly. "A good dragon does what they're told."

"And a good man does not waste himself upon mean and discreditable work," Charles countered.

Aaron blinked. "Huh. Aristotle. You are well-read."

Only because he had to study philosophy back in Atenas University. They ran a core curriculum, where every graduate had to take at least thirty units of both philosophy and theology. Not that Charles would admit it to the white man.

"Your choice of words is appropriate, I will admit," Aaron snickered. "Yet what is mean and discreditable to a few is not necessarily the same to the majority." The foreigner emptied his glass of champagne and smiled at Charles. It felt patronizing. "It appears your moral standards are very high. Praiseworthy, considering where you are.

“Now, follow me. I met at least ten Henrican breeders today, and some were rather excited when they heard of your sudden arrival." Aaron suddenly stopped and fished a card out of his pocket. "And before that, here's my card."

“Here's mine." After exchanging cards, Charles followed Aaron up the stairs and reentered the banquet hall with a grimace on his face.

It was going to be a long afternoon…