Draconic Funhouse: Dragons Love Surrealism (ch. 3)

Mandate chapter comes out tomorrow. Technically less than 24 hours away since I intend to post it earlier than usual.

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Arthur Watts prided himself on being a learned man. To the uneducated masses, the world was a tapestry of mysteries, a chaotic jumble of unknowns waiting to be unraveled. But not to him. To Arthur, the universe was a finely tuned machine, its gears turning in predictable patterns, its secrets laid bare to those with the intelligence and patience to decipher them. He had dedicated his life to understanding the intricacies of science, technology, and the human mind. There was no problem too complex, no enigma too profound. The world, in his eyes, was a solvable equation. There were no unworkable mysteries in the world, of that, Arthur Watts was sure… though he had no fucking idea what the hell the boy before him was.

The boy in question—Auburn, as he had introduced himself—was currently seated at the ornate dining table in Salem’s lair, shoveling food into his mouth with the enthusiasm of a man who hadn’t eaten in weeks. The sight was… disconcerting, to say the least. Auburn’s manners were nonexistent, his posture relaxed, and his demeanor inappropriately casual given the setting. Yet, there was something about him—something that made Arthur’s skin prickle with unease. He was an anomaly, a variable that had no place in Arthur’s meticulously calculated worldview.

“This is good,” Auburn said through a mouthful of food, his words slightly muffled but unmistakably enthusiastic. “Really good. But, like… the smell and the presentation made me think it’d taste even better, you know? Does that make sense? Because the food is amazing, but like, you know? It’s as if, hmm—”

“Stop,” Salem interrupted, her voice cutting through the air like a blade. She sat at the head of the table, her posture regal, her expression unreadable. “I can hear your brain frying from here.” Salem leaned back in her chair, her crimson eyes boring into Auburn. “My sense of taste was irrevocably damaged after I submerged myself in the Pools of Darkness, Grimm need not taste their prey after all.” She said, her tone matter-of-fact.

Arthur frowned, his gaze flicking between Salem and Auburn. Since when did Salem bother to explain anything to anyone? She was not one to indulge in idle conversation, especially not with someone as insufferably… chaotic as Auburn. Then again, it wasn’t every day that someone capable of fighting her on equal footing appeared. Perhaps that earned him some measure of her patience.

“However, my vision and olfaction were enhanced. It is a trade I do not mourn.” She finishes and gracefully returns her attention to the meal in front of her.

Arthur watched as Auburn’s face twisted into a frown. The boy’s expression was one of genuine dismay, as though Salem had just told him she’d lost a limb. “I can’t imagine a life without being able to taste delicious food,” Auburn said, his voice unusually somber. “That’s, like, one of the best parts of being alive.”

For a moment, there was silence. Then, Auburn snapped his fingers—a sharp, decisive sound that echoed through the room. Salem froze, her fork halfway to her mouth, as though she’d been struck by something unseen. Her eyes widened, and she let out a choked gasp, the piece of food in her mouth slipping from her lips and landing on the table with a soft plop.

“There,” Auburn said, leaning back in his chair with a grin. “Now you can taste.”

Arthur stared, his mind racing to comprehend what he had just witnessed. Salem’s reaction was equally telling. She reached for her glass of water, her movements uncharacteristically hurried, and took a long drink, her eyes never leaving Auburn. When she finally spoke, her voice was low, tinged with something Arthur couldn’t quite place. “What did you do?”

Auburn shrugged, his grin widening. “Fixed it. Kinda. You’re welcome.”

Arthur felt a headache coming on. He pinched the bridge of his nose, his thoughts a whirlwind of confusion and disbelief. What in the ever-living fuck was this boy?

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

“Out.”

The word leaves my lips like a command carved from stone, and I take petty satisfaction in how swiftly my kitchen staff obeys. No questions. No lingering glances. Just the clatter of utensils being abandoned mid-task and the shuffle of retreating footsteps. Within moments, the room is silent save for the hum of cooling appliances.

The memories that follow are… fractured, blurred at the edges like ink bleeding through parchment. I recall eating. Endlessly. Everything in the fridge, cabinets, it flew into me as if I was once again with—…as if I had another stomach in me. (Looking around, I likely had. Multiple times in fact.) Plates piled high with spiced meats, fruits glazed in honey, breads so soft they dissolved on the tongue. And drinking—goblets of wine, bitter spirits, something fizzy and golden that burned my throat. The details scatter like ash when I grasp for them.

A dull ache throbs behind my eyes now, a familiar yet despised companion. I could not die, but that was it. I was not more or less resistant to poison than I had been before. That would have been far too kind a boon from those damned brothers. My head pounds as footsteps echo down the hall—light, jaunty, infuriatingly recognizable.

Auburn whistles as he enters, the tune grating. “Damn, someone partied hard—”

I raise a hand, cutting him off. Human ingenuity has always outpaced the gods’ pettiness. Magic pools in my palm, a seething orb of raw power. Without hesitation, I press it to my temple and release.

The world fractures.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Her head explodes in a shower of black mist, gore and bone fragments. It reforms quickly, smooth and unblemished, her hair cascading back into place like liquid shadow. She blinks, those crimson eyes sharpening as if waking from a nap.

I tilt my head. “…Does that cure hangovers?”

Salem brushes nonexistent dust from her sleeve. “It would be quicker to enumerate what it does not cure.”

I laugh, genuinely amused, as Salem rises to her feet. “Fair enough,” I say, shaking my head at the absurdity that seems to be second nature to the woman in front of me. It’s almost endearing, in a twisted sort of way, how casual she is about things that would make most people lose their heads. (Eh? Eh? Got it? Damn I'm hilarious.)

Salem simply sighs as she straightens, a subtle shift in the air around her. It’s an energy I recognize, one that usually precedes her unleashing a torrent of destructive magic in my direction. But this time, it’s… different. Softer. The only visible effect is the way her clothes mend themselves, the fabric stitching back together and the stains vanishing as if they’d never been there. It’s a neat trick, but I don’t bother asking about it. Honestly, I’m not that interested. My attention is too focused on the way she’s looking at me.

Her eyes are sharp, calculating, yet there’s a flicker of something else—curiosity, maybe even frustration. She’s studying me like I’m some kind of puzzle she’s finally found the time to take a crack at, only to find that the pieces don’t quite fit the way she expected. It’s hard to tell if it’s the puzzle itself that’s disappointing her or her inability to solve it though.

The Fun is in figuring such stuff out after all.

I can’t help but grin, my mind racing with the sheer absurdity of the situation. Here I am, standing in front of the Salem—the big bad of one of my favorite shows, the immortal queen of Grimm, the woman who’s been pulling strings and wreaking havoc for millenia, something I cannot even begin to conceptualize—and she’s bound to me. Me. Little ol’ Auburn.

It’s absolutely mind-wrecking. The kind of thing that would make me laugh hysterically if I let myself think about it for too long. I have to fight the urge to collapse into a fit of uncontrollable giggles every time it crosses my mind. The sheer ridiculousness of it all is almost too much to handle.

So I simply… don’t. Don’t think about it. I punt the thought into the don’t touch box in my mind and surge forward, always forward. That strategy had landed me a Company interview, after all. Can’t argue with results.

Salem, on the other hand, seems determined to dissect the unthinkable. Her posture is rigid, her gaze sharp enough to slice steel. The half-dozen kilos of food she’d inhaled earlier might as well have been converted into pure cognitive fuel, the way her mind races behind those crimson eyes. I’m tempted to tease her about the intensity of her stare—“See something you like?”—but she speaks first, cutting off the thought like a guillotine.

“What exactly do you want… Auburn?” she asks, her voice low and measured. My name rolls off her tongue like she’s testing it out, savoring the sound of it. Which, yeah, is kind of a thrill, not gonna lie. Hearing Salem say my name like that should have me all kinds of giddy. But the question she’s attached to it kind of rains on that whole parade.

What do I want? The answer comes almost reflexively. “Fun, I suppose.” It’s true—I want to have Fun. The absence of it in my previous life, and the bleakness I could have foreseen in this one if Salem hadn’t shown up, is what drove me to pick Fun as my Dragon Element in the first place. It’s as simple as that. Or at least, it should be.

Salem nods, her expression unreadable. “Alright, how?”

…huh? The fuck does she mean how? You have fun by… having fun! It’s a tautology, a self-evident truth. How does one even answer a question like that? It’s preposterous, insane, and yet… my chest tightens as I realize I don’t have an answer. I should—after all, isn’t the answer supposed to be in the question itself? But for some reason, my mind finds that… unsatisfactory.

How am I going to have fun from now on? The thought echoes in my head, louder and more insistent than I’d like to admit. We leveled a chunk of Vacuo to rubble—there’s no way the other continents haven’t taken notice. Ozpin has to know about me by now. So what’s the plan? Tag along with Salem and hope she keeps indulging my whims? A woman who’s lived for thousands of years? Someone who probably has no problem sitting still for weeks, even months, without so much as blinking? The idea feels deficient. Unsustainable.

As if sensing my internal spiral, Salem sighs. She steps closer, her movements deliberate, and before I can process what’s happening, she places her hand on my face. Her palm is cool against my cheek, her thumb brushing over my lips in a caress that’s both soothing and electrifying. The sensation is… indescribable. Her touch is cold, yet no single action has ever made me burn hotter. My breath hitches, and for a moment, the world narrows to the space between her thumb and my lips, to the way her blood-red eyes bore into me, unreadable yet impossibly intense.

“I will give you something I’ve offered no one else until now,” Salem says, her voice low and deliberate, her thumb still idly brushing over my lips. “A choice.” Her hand shifts, no longer cradling my cheek but instead gripping my chin, pulling it down slightly so I’m forced to look directly into her eyes. There’s a weight to her gaze, something ancient and calculating, yet laced with an undercurrent of... what? Anticipation? Curiosity? It’s hard to tell.

“Follow me,” she continues, her voice smooth and commanding, “and I’ll make sure you’re entertained until my objective is complete.”

I purse my lips slightly, my mind already racing ahead. Her objective... the one she’s meticulously worked toward for millennia. The destruction of Ozma. The end of his eternal game. Before I can fully process the implications, she raises her other hand, and with a flick of her fingers, the massive gothic window behind us blows open, the breeze rushing in and tousling her hair.

“Or go,” she says, her tone cool yet dripping with challenge. “Choose what you wish to do, Auburn...” Her fingers tighten around my chin ever so slightly, a silent reminder of the weight of her words. “Or I will choose for you.”

Damn, that was hot. Still, the decision isn’t as simple as it seems. Following her would undoubtedly be entertaining—of that, I have no doubt, she would guarantee that now that she had made the promise. But it’s not just about me. Even if one day isn’t enough to develop anything resembling “love”, I feel… indebted to her. She’s shown me a side of myself I didn’t know existed. A path I had never even come as close as envisioning. So, the question in my mind isn’t whether following her would be right for me—it’s whether it would be right for her.

“Alright,” I say, and watch her pupils flare with something like triumph. Then I peel her hand off my face, grinning as her expression hardens. “I suppose I’ll do the smart thing, then.”

I stride toward the window, the wind whipping my hair into my eyes. Three steps. Four.

Her hand snaps around my wrist like a vice. I turn, feigning innocence, and find her staring at me with a mix of fury and… panic? Her lips part, trembling as if shaping words she can’t quite release. Finally, she huffs and spins away, cloak billowing dramatically.

Oh no you don’t.

I seize her wrist now, pulling her back. She stiffens, refusing to face me. I cough awkwardly, scratching my neck. “Uh. Sorry. I was kinda waiting for you to yell, ‘You think leaving me is the smart option?!’” I pitch my voice into a terrible Salem impression, all haughty and shrill. “Then I’d say”—I snap back to my normal tone, grinning—“Obviously not! But maybe I wanted to hear you plead.”

Her shoulders tense. A low, dangerous growl rumbles in her throat.

I barrel on, undeterred. “But hey, since you clearly want me to stay so badly—”

“I do not—”

“—I’ll take that into account! Anyway, the ‘smart thing’ wasn’t ditching you, obviously. I was just gonna go get a… second opinion, so to speak.”

She whips around, lip curled. “There is no one on this wretched planet whose counsel surpasses mine. They’d all urge you to flee, to destroy me. Bias drips from their every word.”

And can you blame them? I don’t ask, for evident reasons. Even I’m not that dumb.

I nod instead, dead serious. “Exactly. That’s why I’m not asking a someone.” I tap my temple, scales shimmering as they spread out over my body. “I’m asking a something. There should still be two questions left this century after all.”

“You—how much do you actually—” Salem begins, her voice sharp, but I don’t let her finish. Instead, I stride toward the open window, the wind tugging at my clothes and hair. I pause for a moment, glancing over my shoulder at her. Her crimson eyes are wide, a flicker of something—surprise, maybe even concern—crossing her face.

Then, I let myself fall backward, my gaze locked on hers until the last possible moment. The air rushes past me, the ground far below a blur of purple and brown. For a heartbeat, I’m weightless, free, the world spinning around me. Then, I shift.

My body twists and expands, larger scales rippling into existence as I transform into a full dragon. My wings snap open, catching the air with a powerful beat, and I surge upward, leaving the ground—and Salem—far behind. The wind roars in my ears and I answer it with one of of my own as I soar, the horizon stretching endlessly before me. My destination is clear—

Mistral.

Haven.

Jinn.