Meghanology – book 1 of girldragongizzard

I constantly have a growing number of questions for Chapman.

I finally remember one I want to ask, which I do so silently, by showing hir the screen of my tablet instead of hitting talk, “Why no human talk?”

We’re in the very back of a bar named Pooty’s. It’s on the same block as my building, right on the northeast corner, nearer to the Courthouse than the coffee shop is. The staff often go there after closing, but we’re here for dinner with those who are off. And the others aren’t sitting with us. Rhoda’s entertaining them at a table nearby, and we’re all watching the pool players.

Rhoda, Chapman, and Nathan, with the help of Seagull, have worked together to set something up for me that could seriously leverage any possible goodwill toward dragons that City Council might have.

County Council is going to have to come second.

Anyway, in preparation, Chapman has told the others that sie wants to confer with me alone for a bit and to make sure my tablet is in the best working order. Because I’m going to be relying on it.

Rhoda’s working with them to plan something else.

Chapman turns the tablet so it’s right side up for hir and considers my question.

When sie types something out and pushes it back, it says, “I cut corners for my prototype.”

We keep doing this for our whole conversation while drinking our own beers and eating a huge platter of fries that we’re sharing.

“Who for?” I ask. “Who people like me?”

“Trans people, like us,” Chapman replies.

“Prototype you? Or you prototype?” I hope that makes sense.

Chapman takes a little extra time, “I make prototype based on me. That way, spare clothes fit when someone tries it. Then we talk customizations.”

So, sie did make the prototype based on hir own body, but hir current body isn’t based on the prototype. That’s what I was curious about, briefly. Now I have another question.

“You make more?”

“Not yet.”

“Get easier with each?”

“A bit.”

I nod and ask, “Other dragons?”

“Can have. Not soon.” Chapman looks at me and says out loud, “We know we need to coordinate with them and prove that you can learn to be civil with each other. And we need to do it fast. And your discord server is a really good idea. So that’s what Rhoda’s talking about with the others. To figure out how to get their contact information so you can personally send invites. Our strategy, as you know, is two pronged. It has to be.”

I nod some more, like the human I resemble. This puts my bosom more into my lower peripheral vision and I see the second-hand Torrid dress I’m wearing. I am distracted by the novelty of this, but not necessarily in a good feeling way. I focus on the novelty and on Chapman’s words as best I can.

The TARDIS dress was destroyed in my demonstration to Seagull.

Chapman continues, “Your meeting with the Mayor, facilitated by the weekly, will help counter the alarmist propaganda the daily is publishing. The true locals are tuned to the weekly, even though it’s not on paper anymore. But the daily’s stories go right to the radio, as we’ve been hearing today. And that goes to the broader internet. And, on top of that, the local political establishment is currently behind the idea of running you all out of town.”

I nod once.

“The Mayor’s daughter is a dragon, though,” Chapman says. “Which is why we’ve got this interview. But we also absolutely need to rally the local dragons to cooperate. As quickly as possible. The Mayor’s daughter joining your discord might accelerate that. I feel it.” Sie considers me carefully for a moment, and then says, “Can I ask you a question this time? It’s really personal. I’ll keep it on the Tablet.”

I point at the tablet and nod.

“Can I scan your body when a dragon?” sie asks, then pushes the tablet toward me, initiating our ongoing silent exchange. The silence is for the wizardry stuff.

“Why?”

“Biology. Mating season. Important to know.”

That does make me feel a little weird in a mostly fun way. But, regardless, I answer, “Yes.” Because I want to learn what sie learns from that.

“See if you lay eggs,” Chapman says. “But also deeper.”

Ooh, “Yes.”

“I have theory.”

“What?”

“OK, so,” Chapman says out loud again. “There’s this idea, and I think it might be true, that dragons all work similarly to a set of salamanders when it comes to mating. Y - er, they might all be physiologically females. But these salamanders are really cool!” Sie pulls the tablet over to hirself and starts searching Wikipedia to bring up the relevant article. “They aren’t really a species. Scientists are calling them a bioform. Because what they do is they harvest DNA from a variety of other completely different salamanders. Each member of this bioform can collect spermatozoa from other salamanders and harvest just part of the DNA and store it for later. They can mix and match from all their off-species mates, and then have a clutch based on that.”

Sie looks at me to see if I’m understanding that. I hesitantly nod after a moment. More hesitant from the scrutiny than anything. What sie is saying makes a lot of sense and sounds really cool. I had no idea anything could do that, but why not, though?

“It’s not conscious, of course, and no one knows if there’s any logic to it, any rules or laws or if it’s random,” sie explains. “But, it happens and can be studied. And it results in a group of amphibians that are chimerical in a way that is only rivaled by one other set of bioforms on the planet now, that we know of. Dragons.”

“Beyond rad,” I reply with the tablet.

Chapman nods now, “Some people think that dragons can do this with a wider range of species, and that’s why y - they’re all so different. Of course, the sudden appearance of dragons seems to prove the presence of some kind of divine or magical power in the world, and a lot of people think dragons embody that power and use it to do otherwise biologically impossible things, too. And, I’m not exactly skeptical.”

“What do with Mayor and discord?” I ask.

Chapman glances at my question and tightens hir lips. “People who are aware of this theory, or who have the time to consider it – people who are not necessarily politicians – are concerned that this could make mating season, this Spring, particularly fraught. Of course, we may get our answers sooner, since mating season is just starting for the Southern hemisphere.”

“We fix before,” I say out loud, hitting talk.

“That’s what everyone hopes, yes. But if we can find out we can make better plans, and it behooves everyone to take the future into account while addressing the present. Fortunately, a lot of the people I know are very good at doing that.”

While I’m thinking about that and formulating a response or a question that could provoke more interesting revelations, we’re approached by a couple of men with pool cues in hand.

This is not a college pickup bar. Back in 2005 it was a bit of a music venue, but when stricter noise ordinances (which I do violate) got passed, Pooty’s stopped hosting shows. Now it’s what locals call an industry bar. A place where other food service workers collect to relax and commiserate with the staff. But we’re both vaguely feminine looking people who appear to be in our 30s, and I guess we’re cute? But cute to straight men? Really?

“Would either of you ladies like to join us in a game? We could play partners?” one of the men asks.

Oh, that’s easy. We could have fun playing, and we have a bunch of our friends here to watch out for us. So we could risk saying, “Yes.” But they’re not my type, and…

“Thank you, boys,” Chapman says in a lower register than I typically hear, dropping hir voice from a maple syrup tenor into a molasses and bourbon baritone. “She’s the only lady here. And while I’d normally take you up on it – I love pool – we’re here on business and have kind of a time crunch. You understand.”

I nod in Chapman’s direction when sie says, “business”.

“Ah, of course. Sorry to interrupt,” says the other guy, who then elbows his friend and gestures back at their table with his head.

Nice. No scene.

“You use magic?” I ask Chapman silently.

Sie takes the tablet and responds, “You didn’t feel it?”

“Not when human,” I reply. “I don’t think.” 

I’d been paying attention for the day, as we did things, and looking out for times I thought Chapman would be using magic. And I have yet to have felt a shift while wearing the pendant.

“Oh, really?” Chapman asks. “I will update notes. And we should test it for real. Didn’t use magic.”

“Nice guys.”

“Eh.”

We hear them laughing with each other, and both glance their direction to see them glancing back out of the corners of their eyes and elbowing each other.

Maybe not.

The Pacific Northwest (or Seattle) Freeze, a standard of regional conduct, can really cut down on a lot of surface impoliteness when people are talking face to face. But the moment you turn your backs to each other, the knives do get sharpened sometimes.

I grew up here and never really noticed it before until Rhoda pointed it out one day. She’d been really frustrated by it, being a transplant from New York, herself.

Now I feel like I’m seeing it in action in stark relief to what I’m used to. But I wonder if it’s some kind of bias introduced by my new position in life.

I have a growing group of people who care about and support me, and I’m also hyperaware of my differences with humans, and how humans act around me. Especially since being targeted by the police.

On the other hand, I haven’t had much time to practice pretending to be human today. I’ve been so busy, and it’s my first day with the pendant.

I bet my mannerisms look really weird. Maybe cute, but really weird to those guys. It’s probably what got their attention. Maybe they mistook us for sisters. And then, based on our reaction, now I bet they think we’re queer, which would be right. And my weirdness becomes the subject of laughter.

Great.

“Let’s rejoin the others,” Chapman says.

Good idea, but I have one more question for hir.

“What your full name?” I ask.

Chapman smiles and almost breaks out in giggles, and then types it into the tablet, “Chap Man.” Then sie says, “In a phone book, I’d be listed as Man Chap. Which I think is funny. Chap is my first name and Man is my last. Legally. But I wanted a single word name, and that’s the easiest way to do it so that it still works with most databases. It’s really just Chapman.”

“Why Chapman?” I ask.

Sie shrugs, “I just really like the sound of it. It kind of subtly counteracts how femme I like to dress sometimes.” The sie asks, “Why’d you pick Meghan?”

“Not brave warrior. Though am,” I reply. “Real reason. Rhymes with dragon.”

“God, you’re such a trans girl.”

“Also. Meg short for Megabyte. Or Megalodon. Or Megnificent.”

“More damning evidence! Come on.”

Alone again with Chapman, it’s 2 AM and we’re back on the roof of my building.

I’m wondering once more where that first helicopter came from. None of us have found the answers to that. It wasn’t mentioned in any of the brief press releases the police chief issued earlier in the day. And I think we’re all hoping it will be made known by Monday night, just for curiosity’s sake. But maybe for legal reasons, too.

That said, my own reason for worrying about it is that it had directly targeted me. And now I’m standing on the place where it had done that, and I’m taking off my disguise.

Chapman got us up here through the lobby, the elevator, and the roof access, all without consulting property management. Of course.

Only Rhoda knows we’re up here, but she went to bed a while ago.

Since Chapman has obviously seen my naked human form, as sie had designed it based on what sie saw in the mirror before top surgery and hir queer makeover, I just take off my clothes and carefully fold them near the access hatch. And then I slip off the pendant, dropping it onto the roof in the process.

And stretch.

“Meg,” I say, like a cute cartoon animal voiced by an Angelina Joli impersonator.

“Oh, that’s a good thing to know how to say!” Chapman exclaims. “Your own name is important. OK.” Sie takes a gunfighter stance, with finger guns at hips, “You ready to be scanned?”

Sie had already just scanned me while I was disguised, and I didn’t feel a thing. This time I definitely feel the shift.

My sense of it is so discerning, I can pinpoint it to just behind Chapman’s sternum, right next to hir heart.

I’ve heard that people don’t perceive their center of consciousness to be in their head. They perceive it to be in or near their heart, and I wonder if Chapman’s one of them. But it’s not like I can scan hir.

“Theory supported!” Chapman declares. “You lay eggs, Meg. And you share that reproductive trait of those salamanders I was telling you about. It just remains to be seen what other dragons are like. Dammit, I love it when we all guess right, though.”

I lay eggs.

Yes!

Chapman walks around to face me more directly from my front, which isn’t ever strictly necessary for me, since I can look anywhere, and then says, “Thank you for consenting to that. It was a really invasive procedure. That’s intimate personal knowledge, and I swear I’ll keep your personal information secret. When it comes to body and mind, as opposed to actions and situations, I like to keep my scans based on full informed consent, if I can.”

I cat smile and say, “Yes.”

“In an emergency, though, I will probably do what I need to do to keep everyone safe,” sie adds. “That’s also something you should be fully aware of.”

“Okay,” I say. 

That was a complex one to learn. My first two syllable word. But it seemed important and really useful. It does sound a little less human when I say it, though. What would be the velar plosive in a human, the “k” sound, has an extra kind of record scratch noise to it when I render it.

“Oh, you know just enough words now you could make a simple sentence. Have you tried that yet?” Chapman asks.

“No,” I say. Then I select a couple other words to try to say in succession, and manage, “Now. Yes.”

It doesn’t sound like a sentence to my ears, but I know it can be one.

My verbal vocabulary is at eleven words, and I’m thinking of more I wish I could say right now. But I’ve got my AAC, which is fine for longer conversations. And, once I have that keyboard and computer set up, I’m going to write so much. The words I chose to learn are the ones I thought would be most useful to say quickly in critical moments. Words that might bring another dragon up short, so that I can take the time to pull out my tablet.

I huff.

I’m starting to realize just how much of my time is spent communicating.

I mean, it’s mostly what humans do most of the time anyway. But when you’re used to doing that so easily that you take it for granted, it can be a shock to lose most of that ability all of a sudden. And, by the third day, just before Rhoda had pointed me toward that app, the novelty of playing charades as a dragon was wearing off and I was so ready for something more.

I mean, I was mostly used to sitting around my apartment or my old corner of the coffee shop without anyone talking to me, before. But I still talked way more easily than I do now.

And then, after Rhoda gave me that app, things just got so intense so quickly.

But the only way to get a handle on it all without getting more seriously hurt or captured was to talk. And, sometimes to talk as fast as possible while being so impaired.

I think I’ve been doing pretty well, but I’m tired.

And it’s been a long day of talking, too. And I spent so much of it disguised as human and uncomfortable about it.

I go back to my purse, which I took off with my clothes, and hold it up and look at Chapman. I probably should have tried leaving it around my neck, but I didn’t want to risk hurting it.

Chapman obliges and comes over to help me put it back on.

Then, I pull out my tablet and put it on the roof, then curl up with it in front of me and hit, “Thank you.”

“Past my bedtime too. You’re very welcome, of course,” Chapman says. Sie looks up at the stars for a while, then says, “Don’t change anything. Do your thing in the morning, when you normally would. Keep the routine. Let’s see how the city responds. And… dammit. We didn’t do anything about that gash! We just hid it under my magic.”

Through the dull ache and occasional sting of my wound, I am amused that Chapman finally referred to hir art as “magic”. Sie will never do that with humans around.

For some reason, though, I’m not really worried about it.

“It heal,” I say.

“Uh-uh,” Chapman says. “I’m going to work with Rhoda to come back with a vet for you. We should at least suture it. I’ll do it myself if I have to.”

“Okay,” I reply. Then lie my head down on my wing claws, loafing with my other four limbs, and say, “Go.”

“Have a good night,” Chapman says and heads for the hatch.

I smile.

Sie pauses before opening up the access, and turns and says, “I wanted to be funny and hit you with some song lyrics, but I can’t think of any.”

I lift my head.

I haven’t listened to music for the past seven days. I’ve heard music at the shop and Pooty’s, but I wasn’t listening. And I used to wear headphones all the time.

What changed?