> BEGINNING OF PART 2
>Aboard USS Sampson, US Navy Destroyer, anchored off Safe Harbor_
"Well gentlemen, this is all... extensive. Don't you think that we may be getting ahead of ourselves, here?" Captain Robert Drake said as he wafted through a small stack of papers given to him by the small and diverse crowd of subordinate officers that were standing at ease across from his cramped desk.
It was a somewhat ironic statement, coming from him. During the initial days after arriving in this strange place, he had been one of the biggest proponents for long-term planning as far as their stay here was concerned. However, that was almost a month ago. It would seem that most Earthen personnel had switched to a similar line of thinking by now.
And judging by what the collection of men had just presented to him, he might just be willing to wager they were even a little strangely excited by it. The long-term planning, that is.
The stack of papers largely consisted of a loose collection of drawings and written information and notes, some typed and printed, others stenciled, yet more handwritten. All of it regarding the local town they had set up base camp in.
It would be nomenclature to call them blueprints, exactly. What they were instead were a bunch of drawings, outlines, concepts and 'bright ideas' that were probably the result of an hours-long brainstorming session between at least a dozen personnel that had a background in structural engineering. The theoretical buildings and structures varied heavily in their specific purpose and design.
The only collective similarity between all of them was that they all had to do with infrastructure.
"Permission to speak, sir?" Lieutenant Junior Grade Albert Harvy piped up.
"Granted."
"With all due respect sir, that is at least partially the point."
Drake cocked an eyebrow.
"What I mean by that is: I'm certain you're aware of some concerns floating around about us running out of several... eh... vital commodities required to keep our machinery running in the eventual future.
"Now, as I'm certain you're also aware, there is very little risk of us running out of anything in the near future. Given that we have 32 Liberty ships full of raw materials, supplies, ammunition and a whole bunch of other stuff, totaling roughly 345,800 tons of cargo. Ignoring what we already carry on all the escort ships.
"Obviously, that all isn't evenly divided. Most of the ships, 18 to be exact, that came through are standard cargo configuration. 5 of them are fuel tankers, 2 of them are tank carriers, 2 troopships, and we have an aircraft transporter and a single collier ship.
"Given how few of us are here, relatively speaking, all that gives us not only more than what we need to last for a long time, but also gives us room to expand, sir."
"I see where you're going with this." Drake cut in. "You want to start setting up production facilities as soon as reasonably possible? Is that tenable?"
"Well, sir, that's what we're investigating with the design concepts you're looking at, sir." The lieutenant junior grade shuffled slightly in place, considering.
"At the moment, the vital commodity type that we are closest to running out of is foodstuffs, as we carry little of it beyond the provisions already stored within each ship. However, even that can last us a while, and our plans for increasing the local's sustenance crop yields by retrofitting a handful of jeeps and half-tracks for tractor work, utilizing chemical fertilizers and simply providing local farm hands with air defense cover are projected to work out in all our favors, sir."
Drake looked back down to the stack of smooth papers. The image he landed on after idly shuffling through them while Mr. Harvy spoke depicted what appeared to be a (relatively) modest machine tooling shop. Geared towards working with steel.
These are all very early designs. It could take us years to actually build all these things, assuming we even can.
"I should rephrase the question: Are any of these hypothetical projects actually feasible, given the current makeup of the local architecture; and, for lack of a better term- 'knowledge level' of the locals; and our current relationship with them? Do we even have the capability to accomplish any of this?" Drake asked them.
"To answer your second question, sir..." A lieutenant from another ship started with a rather thick midwest accent, Drake believed his name was O'Connor. "I, personally, would argue that we do in fact have the capability to at least get these project ideas started. At least as far as material is concerned. Many of the supply ships carry goods that were intended for maintaining, repairing, and even setting up new factory systems in Great Britain. Those factories were in turn designed to supply an operation an order of magnitude greater in scale to what we have here.
"We also already have a lot of the building blocks already with us. The machine shops we have on board many vessels with us are already capable of precision tooling steel and making relatively complex components. They obviously aren't suited for, well, production. But they are a starting point, sir."
It was a fair point. Drake was of course aware of the potential that his ship's machine shops could have. It was he that originally proposed using them in the making of the 'add-on tractor modifications' for the M3 half-tracks soon after their arrival.
Trying to use them for industrial construction, though... that was a much different story.
"As far as manpower is concerned," O'Connor continued "I would once again wager that we have most, or at least many, building blocks already on hand. A good chunk of the sailors and Army grunts that aren't farm boys came from construction or mechanic jobs in the cities. Blue-collar jobs, as the papers call them. They have the know-how, and the experience, sir."
Oh, he was aware.
One of the aspects of the military world that Robert found rather fascinating was the diversity of backgrounds a man could find in the people that it consisted of. Having himself attended the United States Naval Academy in Annapolis after graduating from high school, and joining up as an officer for the US Navy after that; he would admit that he was a bit of a career officer. But that wasn't the case for even many in the officer ranks, even more so among the enlisted.
Through his time in the war alone, much less his entire service, he'd met all kinds of people. Everything from farm hands, plumbers, bouncers, first responders, engineers, deacons, schoolteachers, you name it. Uncle Sam wasn't picky. Especially not in wartime.
"Heck, I know one of the senior chief petty officers on my boat used to work for Bethlehem Shipbuilding before joining up. Think his uncle's a foreman. Between just the people that came through that storm, we do potentially have the human capital to make these projects feasible, sir." O'Connor finished.
That still left a pretty big question open. They might have the skill sets, but they didn't have that many people with them.
"What about the locals?" Drake asked "Even if everyone on the convoy ships suddenly became experts in the field of architecture, mechanical engineering and what have you: We obviously can't all become construction workers. I know I don't need to remind you: We are sailors and soldiers for the US Navy and US Army. And the Royal Navy, I suppose." And the Kriegsmarine... "I know the translation efforts have finally gotten results, but is it possible to educate the locals to the point where we can delegate any substantial amounts of civilian industrial work to them?"
At this several of the officers actually seemed to perk up, and one gestured over to the only man in the room that was part of the enlisted ranks, one Petty Officer Darren Olson. The multilingual prodigy spearheading their end of the translation effort. Who, for his part, looked exhausted.
Drake leaned back in his chair and regarded the Signalman. A nonverbal cue for him to speak.
Olson rubbed his forehead with a small sigh. "As of right now, we've got around 50 locals that can speak English well enough to hold a conversation. We also have around 15 people on our end, not including myself, that can do the same for the local language. At least to my knowledge. You could probably put several of the locals in a grade school, and they'd be able to follow along.
"We still haven't made a lot of progress in the realm of the technical and more complicated parts of the English language, so if you try to explain how an electrical generator works to one of them, they aren't gonna know what you're talking about. Then again, that is at least partially because there are many concepts and terminology regarding our more modern technology that just don't exist in their language at all yet.
"English literacy is also really low. We devoted far more attention to the oral side of English rather than writing, so that some people could at least understand our speech and translate for others. It will take far more time and effort to teach people to read and write, which we'll obviously need to do if we want to make use of the stacks of field and instruction manuals we have, sir."
So we have translators now. Drake thought.
"That's still fantastic to hear. I congratulate you and the rest of the translation team for the long hours of tireless work you have put in, and the results you have wrought from them. You've done all of us a great service."
The Petty Officer nodded. "Thank you, sir."
Although, that only answered part of my question.
"I still have to ask, and you seem the best qualified to answer, Mr. Olson; are the locals, by your reckoning of them, willing and able to adapt to our... modern industrial technology?"
Olson's eyes rolled up slightly, and he wrung his hands, considering. The other officers with him all looked at him. He was the best qualified to answer that question. Certainly out of everyone in the room, and perhaps the entire convoy as well. He had worked so much with them over these last few weeks.
"Well... to be frank, sir: The locals can be a little flighty and strange in their customs, but are probably some of the hardest-working people I've ever met. When given a task, they stick to it like their survival depends upon it. Half-assing things is almost like a cultural faux-pas to them. They're dedicated, and are really fast learners.
"The locals that stuck with us- entirely on their own volition I should add- picked up English as fast as we could teach it to them. And English isn't that easy of a language to learn, either. Writing is proving more of a challenge, but I'm sure they'll come through.
"They're also really interested in our tech and how it all works. They'll definitely have a mind for it, once we do get around to teaching them about it. Hell, it's probably a good thing to start teaching them the maths and mechanics behind our stuff as soon as we can, otherwise they might start a kind of techno-cult around it or something." He finished with a smirk.
Drake shifted through a few more of the papers. Many of them not only depicted outlines of industrial buildings, but also rough maps and layouts of Safe Harbor evidently sketched out by engineers. The maps had notes about local architecture and places where new buildings could be erected or upgrades to existing ones could be implemented.
"What about the local's existing knowledge and skill?" Robert asked. "Obviously, they build and maintain the society and settlement they live in. How much can these people apply what they're familiar with to our 'new' stuff?"
"Well... To be honest, there's a lot about the local culture that we still need to learn. All our interactions so far have mostly had to do with language translation. That said, it isn't as though we're teaching them from scratch. For example: Their building philosophy has a lot to do with stonework, therefore they must have some pretty adept stonemasons. There's of course a lot of differences between masonry and concrete construction to say the least, but there is overlap as well, sir."
Drake nodded. On one hand, this was all completely nuts. In any other context, the sheer surreality of the idea of using military equipment and supplies to somehow kick off an industrial revolution in a medieval city would have left him in a fit of laughter at its ridiculousness, and possibly questioning the integrity of the imagination of whoever pitched the idea to him.
On the other hand, they did technically have many of the building blocks for setting up a small industry. At least one enough to keep most of them and their ships supplied and maintained, as well as revolutionizing the local economy. The trouble arose regarding the logistics of moving all those blocks into place, getting people to build with them, and sourcing what blocks they were still missing.
And from what Captain Drake could tell, the people who wanted to build things with those blocks were still in the very early brainstorming phase.
However, Petty Officer Olson bringing up their current knowledge about the local culture and architecture reminded him...
"On that topic: Mr. Olson, I want to set up a formal tour of the town with Mayor Talem, I think that's his name. It'll hopefully be good for relations, and can give us vital knowledge about the town, its population, situation, economy, etc. Make sure many fluent interpreters are present, and that they have time to prepare. We can also hopefully exchange some information about where we come from, and what we bring with them as well.
"I also want to know more about the wider geopolitical situation around the world. How big is this land? What kinds of resources does it have? How many people are here, and if possible, how many dragons? I also remember you told me the town's ruler is something approximating a lord, so I want to know what wider kingdom he pays tribute to. Wouldn't want to accidentally start a war by annexing a port town or something. Or perhaps Safe Harbor is a kind of city-state, but still."
"Yes, sir."
Drake looked down towards the stack of papers, flipping through them again. Not all the sketches were ideas for buildings, it seemed. Several drawn ideas appeared to be regarding retrofits to some of their own ships as well. One of the more reasonable of which appeared to be a concept for retrofitting one of their Liberty ships to be a destroyer tender.
He almost started when he came across one picture, depicting a rough map of the town and surrounding forest, but with a giant long rectangle drawn just outside the town and cutting into the forest itself. He looked back to the other officers with a bit of incredulity.
"Is this an airstrip?" He demanded.
"...One of the Liberty ships, SS Edwin Duff, is a boxed-aircraft transport, sir. It would be a shame if we didn't put all those planes to use, sir." Someone finally said.
Robert felt the desire to once again rhetorically ask if these people were getting ahead of themselves, but at this point it went without saying.
"And where exactly are we going to source at least an entire squadron of pilots and maintainers for those aircraft?" He said instead.
"We train them, sir."
Robert sighed. "Fair enough."
He pinched his nose bridge. "So, what is it exactly you want me to do with... all of this?" Waving the stack of papers for emphasis.
This time, Lieutenant Evans, one of Drake's more frequent confidants, responded. "At the moment, all that really can be done is further investigation and research into the local society and architecture, and exploring the possibilities and potential our own cargo supplies hold. Work will need to be done in order to determine exactly what we'll need that we don't already have, how we can acquire it, and how we can do it efficiently. Conservation will obviously be important.
"So, until we can make more... definite and detailed plans... All we can do is simply ask for your authorization to invest further resources into this field. Which at this point only entails time and effort from people who are already knowledgeable and people in the translation effort, sir."
Captain Drake withheld a sigh. This was exactly the kind of long-term decision making that he hated and felt poorly-suited for, and it wasn't even his field. This kind of discussion normally belonged in the world of civilian bureaucracy, not in the commanding officer's cabin on a destroyer. But reality rarely cares about one's personal feelings, and such he- and everyone else- will simply just have to do what needs to be done.
"All right." He said simply, passing the papers back to them. "Get whoever you need and set up a team, similar to the translation effort, to design some more... concrete plans than these outlines. Collaborate with the new interpreters to study local engineering practices. I'm sure you will also need to do a lot of surveying the surrounding landscape as well."
"Yes, sir."
"One more thing, sir. This one's a bit of good news." Lieutenant Evans said.
"Shoot."
"A handful of egg-heads studying the strange triple moons determined that our navigation instruments are not being interfered with by this world's gravity or magnetic field being different to Earth, but rather due to the additional lunar bodies influencing them."
Drake furrowed his brow. "I assume this means that they can also find a potential solution?" He hoped so, because he wasn't very knowledgeable in that field of study. Orbital mechanics gave him a headache.
Evans nodded. "Yes, sir. It'll probably take a while and a lot of finagling, but it can be done."
Good. Being able to actually navigate and calculate long-range firing solutions again will be helpful, to say the least. Things have been quiet as far as potential dragon contacts since the sea dragon was caught, but we have been catching a not insignificant number of unknown air contacts that stayed outside of visual range on RADAR. We need to be ready if another attack comes.
Drake nodded to all of them. "Thank you. You're all dismissed. Except you, Mr. Olson, there's still one more thing I want to ask you about."
The other officers cleared out, leaving the signalman behind.
"I wanted to personally ask you how, let's say, 'communication efforts' were going with the captured sea dragon. I understand you had some people working on that, though I've also heard that not much progress has been made."
The multilingual prodigy deflated somewhat at that, briefly diverting his gaze off to the side.
"To be honest, sir, your understanding is accurate. At first, we knew, or at least we were pretty sure, that the dragon is at least capable of responding to certain verbal phrases. Given how we recorded it reacting to what that Jerry supposedly said in its language. We tried a similar reciprocal language learning approach that we took with the locals. Namely finding an object that we both agree on and have a word for, and repeating that word to each other until each side learned of the other's equivalent phrase. That didn't work on the fish dragon. Frankly, we're not sure if the thing even knew that we're trying to talk with it. If it did, then it evidently didn't seem to care."
Robert frowned. That was a little concerning, to say the least. Unless their earlier assumptions that these creatures were capable of higher thinking were in fact false, and one of those black dragons that had the written scroll had it because of some unknown agent rather than because it was literate; that could... complicate things. Or perhaps it would simplify them. He wasn't fully sure. They were operating with too limited information at this point. Although it might perhaps explain why the local humans haven't tried, or at least haven't succeeded, in making any of their own means of communication with the creatures in however long they've been here. However long that was.
How long have the locals been here? Did they get here in a similar manner that we did? Are they the result of some ancient age-of-sail voyage or something? These people kind of look like Persians, but I don't remember any of the empires that inhabited that region being big on long-range maritime exploration, at least not really until the Ottomans. Not to mention their language also doesn't resemble Farci in the slightest. And they don't look like Muslims. At all.
Where even is 'here,' anyway?
There was a hell of a lot they still didn't understand about the locals, their situation, and the nature of the dragon creatures. The only things they really knew for sure was that they were here; the locals were here; the locals had been here for a while; the dragon creatures are aggressive and dangerous; and the locals really hate them.
"However," The signalman continued "We brought the Jerry back after about a week of us trying to see if he could make any progress with it. I wasn't physically present there to see it, but apparently it actually sort of worked out. The sea dragon actually responded, for one. The boys there claim that we managed to puzzle a few more words out, but it's shaky at best. We didn't go much further with additional attempts after that, though. I understand I've already overstepped my boundaries as it is. Enlisting assistance from them, sir."
The captain felt inclined to agree. However, Mr. Olson might also be right.
One would be inclined to think that if a creature was smart enough to be able to use language to communicate complex ideas, it would also have pattern recognition sophisticated enough to at least recognize when other creatures are also using language for communication, even if the first creature cannot necessarily understand what the other creatures are talking about.
At least, that was how he imagined other humans operated when encountering other people speaking a tongue completely alien to them. The multilingual prodigy across from him might know a bit more about that sort of thing, though.
If these dragons aren't actually sapient as we would define, or don't operate on their own agency like we do, which would make sense given how biologically different they are. Instead only responding to certain things in certain ways that were already instinctually engraved into them; that would prove a major obstacle towards convincing them to quit their apparent attacks on the humans here, which now includes us.
Not an insurmountable obstacle, to be certain. It was theoretically possible to 'condition' a species of animals in a region to either behave, or stop behaving, a certain way towards humans. However, that method in this particular context would undoubtedly require a large amount of time, and a lot of ordinance.
Robert was never a religious man, but he found himself almost praying that wouldn't be the route they have to take.
If Mr. Olson here thinks the only way to get through to the sea dragon is with the help of that skinny German kid, then so be it. I am going to regret this.
Drake sighed, "You have my personal authorization to take whatever means you deem necessary to establish a line of communication with the imprisoned Sea Dragon."
The multi-lingual Petty Officer met his deadpan with his own. "Yes, sir."
Funny how fate works sometimes...
Actually, it was annoying. At least to him.
***
>About a week earlier...
>Just outside a scavenger den._
Argonaut awoke, much to his displeasure.
The familiar sun beat down on his scales. The familiar sound of commotion met his ears. He inhaled the now-familiar smells of his location through his nose.
The sun was hot, as always. It was bright, it annoyed him. The sounds of birds singing, gulls squawking and scavengers muttering filled the air. Same as usual. Dozens of strange noises and smells pervaded his senses, now somewhat familiar to him, but he still couldn't place them.
He was bored.
Really bored.
He didn't know how long he'd been here. The days blended together into monotony. He hadn't done anything of note.
Although, if he was honest, he might actually say he was less bored than he usually was during his patrol routes. That was rather strange. In neither case, did anything interesting often happen. But at least he could move freely while he and his wing were flying in circles near the Sky Kingdom, waiting to be ambushed. Here, he was still chained immobile to the soil.
The real reason he felt less bored than usual was because he'd spent the majority of his time asleep. It's difficult to feel bored if you're napping.
Is this how it feels to be a RainWing? He idly wondered.
The discolored scavengers around him didn't do much, either. They brought him a fish and bucket-thing of clean water everyday, mostly kept to themselves unless he tried to free himself from the chains (Which he gave up trying awhile ago), and rotated themselves out with new scavengers a few times everyday so that there were some watching him at all times. Although there were less of them than when he'd first woken up here after being knocked out by that explosion-thing.
Although, the scavengers did sometimes do, or try to do, something to bother him ever once in a while. Sometimes a talonful of new scavengers would approach whenever he was awake, and wave their weird paws around and make a bunch of their strange barking sounds at him. Sometimes they pointed at things, sometimes they pointed at him, sometimes they pointed at each other while making their noises. He had no idea what they were on about. Could have been a kind of scavenger ritual, for all he knew.
He didn't really care for their antics much. Scavengers are scavengers, and scavengers are weird. That was like their entire point.
One time though, the scavengers tried to withhold his daily fish as they did their whole 'bark-at-dragon' ritual. He just hissed at them until they gave him the fish. They didn't try to keep the fish again.
In other news, scavengers can catch fish for some reason. How exactly, he had no idea. But that was kind of a pattern with scavengers.
For now though, all he could really do was simply wait an hour or so before he can fall back asleep.
That is, until he noticed a now-familiar group of scavengers coming towards him.
Great, this again.
The scavengers approached at a brisk pace, and Argonaut wondered (not for the first time) how exactly the lanky creatures could walk in the manner they preferred to without falling over all the time. It seemed very unstable.
The new scavengers passed the ones that stood guard around him, one of them exchanging a series of noises with one of the 'guards' as they normally did. This time, however, was a good bit longer-winded than usual.
Eventually, the new scavengers passed the ones that made sure he didn't move, and all stood still across from him. They didn't start up their whole barking thing with him this time, though. Instead, one of them, a slightly shorter and skinnier one, produced a small white thing from somewhere.
On this white thing, was an inky black, and pretty detailed, depiction of a sea creature Argonaut immediately recognized. He froze.
The skinny scavenger pointed one paw to the picture. "Cuttle-fish." It muttered out. It was difficult to recognize the word, but he could still clearly pick it out.
Oh, moons. I thought I hallucinated that...
This wasn't the first time he'd heard one of these creepy scavengers somehow pronounce the dragon word for the sea creature his son was named after. He'd come to assume- or rather hope- the first time he'd heard it, right after he woke up here. He had just come to after being knocked out by an explosion that somehow happened underwater, so it wasn't an entirely unreasonable explanation.
However, the scavenger that could through some unknown magic pronounce that one word was back. This time with a strangely small drawing of an actual cuttlefish to back itself up for some reason.
Wait a moment. Why does that scavenger have a drawing of a cuttlefish? Does it somehow know that's the word it's saying? That's impossible!
He could somewhat buy the idea that a scavenger could mimic some random dragon word after hearing it. He'd never once heard of scavengers trying to do that, but it seemed within the realm of possibility. Actually knowing what those words mean, on the other talon... that was far more nonsensical.
"Yeah, that's a cuttlefish. What of it?" Argonaut snapped at the scavenger anyway.
The talonful of new scavenger seemed to perk up at this for whatever reason. They started muttering animatedly to one another.
The dragon-mimicking scavenger produced another small white sheet thing from somewhere, this one having another inky black picture. This time the image depicted what seemed to be a...
"...Dragon?" He muttered. Etched onto the paper was what looked to be a dragon like himself. He couldn't really tell what kind; it wasn't super detailed. What could these scavengers possibly be trying to accomplish with this?
"Dra-gon." The scavenger uttered.
Argonaut snapped his head back up and narrowed his eyes at the creature.
Wait, what is this all about? Is this scavenger trying to mimic me? Then why does it have a drawing of a dragon, like it's somehow trying to ask how to say it...?
He shook his head. This was all too weird.
The scavenger pulled out a third sheet-thing. This one had a pretty rough drawing of a fish on it, that looked like it had been scribbled on rather quickly. The scavenger showed the drawing of a fish to him, and pointed to it.
"Squid?" The scavenger vocalized.
Argonaut cocked his head, now even more confused.
The scavenger looked back down to the paper, and tapped one of its weird little feet on the ground.
"...Fish?" The scavenger amended itself, before seeming to give up and quickly put the rough picture of the fish away to... wherever it brought it from.
Where in Pyrrhia did this scavenger hear the word 'squid' or 'fish?' Did it just take apart the dragon word for 'cuttlefish' or something? This was getting stranger and stranger by the minute.
It seemed the creepy mimicking scavenger wasn't done yet, because it pulled out another white sheet. Argonaut wondered how many of those things a scavenger could fit in its weird covering things.
The scavenger showed the sheet to him. This time, it seemed to have a drawing of... a scavenger on it.
Now, what? Does the scavenger want to know how to say 'scavenger?' By the tides, this couldn't get any weirder.
Argonaut debated whether or not he should humor the terrestrial ape. It was a little funny to watch their antics, and it wasn't as though he had anything better to entertain himself with.
"Scavenger. That's what you are, got it?"
"Sscav...er?"
"Scavenger. You."
"Sscaven-ger... you?"
"No, you." Argonaut pointed his snout at the mimicking scavenger.
Which, for its part, tilted it head to the side for a moment, confused. Before it then widened its eyes and looked up at some imaginary thing seemingly behind and above the restrained SeaWing. It opened its mouth and made an "oohh" sound.
The scavenger curled one paw up, leaving one digit sticking out. It pointed that digit at itself.
"Scavenger..." it said in its somewhat high-pitched voice.
It then turned its curled up paw around and pointed its single clawless digit at him.
"Drraag-on... you?"
Despite himself, Argonaut nodded along. The scavenger got it right!
Wait a minute... I didn't say the words 'dragon' and 'you' together...
If the scavenger was mimicking his words, kind of like some Rainforest birds being rumored to be able to do in a really old scroll he read once (there wasn't a whole lot of study on that topic, because apparently those birds also tasted really good), then it shouldn't be able to piece together other words like that, and still somewhat make sense.
Argonaut didn't really have long to contemplate this, because it seemed that the pale scavenger still wasn't done, because it pulled out yet another sheet thing. This one was smaller than the last few.
On that sheet... appeared to be an alarmingly accurate and detailed black, white, and gray depiction of his own face.
Argonaut's snout unconsciously morphed into a dumbfounded expression that matched the look the picture of him was giving. A talonful of the other scavengers present, who had been mostly just standing around quietly until now, made small snickering noises.
He kind of knew by now that these scavengers can somehow produce scribbled pictures. Hence the drawing of a cuttlefish, dragon, and scavenger already shown to him. That was wild enough on its own if he thought about it (which he didn't), but he could somewhat imagine their weird little paws wielding charcoal sticks to scratch out simple depictions of other animals they saw often.
This small picture, though... not only was it the most detailed picture he'd ever seen of a dragon, but it was more detailed than any dragon-made picture of anything ever (as far as he was aware, anyway). It looked like he was staring at his own reflection, if his reflection was really small and in only gray colors for whatever reason.
The pale scavenger once again pointed its paw at the sheet, which this time depicted his own face, and then pointed that paw at Argonaut himself.
"...Dragon... you?" The scavenger said.
Well, yeah. I'm a dragon. Who would've thought? What game is this scavenger trying to play?
It already showed him a drawing of a dragon and can seemingly already mimic that word. Therefore, it's unlikely that's the word it's trying to get out of him this time.
It is a picture of me, clearly. Maybe that's what it wants?
"Yeah, that's me. Argonaut." He said aloud.
The scavenger made a weird (well, weirder) face. "(uhh)... thh- thaa-"
"Argonaut. Me." He reiterated.
"Arrrgo-naut..." the scavenger paused for a few moments. "...You?" It pointed its paw at him.
I definitely didn't say that. But the scavenger is right...
The scavenger twiddled its paws and digits in a way that made him strangely uncomfortable. Those things can move weirdly fast... he thought.
"You... Dragon... Argonaut?" It said slowly, pointing a paw at him.
Argonaut nodded tentatively, increasingly creeped out.
It pointed that paw at itself. "...Me... Scavenger... Haanss."
Argonaut tilted his head. That last phrase wasn't a mimicked dragon word. It sounded more in tune with the other noises these discolored scavengers seemed to make.
The mimicking scavenger tried to repeat the process, aiming its paw at him again. "...Arrg'naut... you." Pointing the paw back at itself, "Haanss... me."
...What?
"(Hans.)" the scavenger vocalized again, pointing its paw at itself. It's own small blue-ringed eyes looking directly into his own.
Argonaut furrowed his brow. Does this scavenger want me to repeat its own noise back at it? Why?
Argonaut supposed he could. The creature's noise wasn't that far from the vocal range and type he was used to. Which was why it was so strange that such a noise would come from a scavenger.
For some reason, though. A part of him felt strangely opposed to the idea. Almost like it was... beneath him or something. He wasn't totally sure.
He tried to shake the feeling off. He'd already surrendered enough of his dignity when he woke up here, chained to the dirt. What was a little more?
Besides, this was the most entertaining thing to happen to him for days. Even if it also made his frill stand on end somewhat. He'd rather not lose that right out of the shell if possible.
"Haanss..." Argonaut vocalized. The combination upper-throat vocal/hiss sound felt strange when he said it. Though he supposed there were actually many dragon words that used similar sounds, if he thought about it.
For some reason, the mimicking scavenger looked to get really excited by this. Its mouth spread apart in what looked a little bit like a grin, its eyes lit up, and it bounced on its feet a little. The other scavengers that escorted this one had similar, but much more toned-down, animated reactions.
It weirded him out a little.
"(Ja! Das ist mein Name! Das ist mein Name)!" the scavenger barked rather loudly.
One of the other taller scavengers that was standing behind the excited one clapped one of its paws against the skinny scavenger's shoulder. It reminded him a little of the way some of the younger patrollers would smack each other with their wings to congratulate or just mess with one another.
The action just seemed to startle the mimicking scavenger, judging by how it jumped in place at the contact. It quickly calmed down after that.
The scavenger repeated the process once again, pointing to itself. "Me. Scavenger. Hans." It pointed to him. "You. Dragon. Argonaut."
Wait a moment, that scavenger is making that 'Hans' sound in the same place it makes my name when referring to me. This scavenger also seems to somehow recognize the distinction between 'dragon' and my own name...
Could 'Hans' somehow be this scavenger's name?
Tentatively, Argonaut pointed his snout at the scavenger. "You... Hans?" He said.
The lanky mammal immediately bobbed its head up and down in a rapid fashion. "Ja! You, Argonaut!" It exclaimed, pointing its paw at him again in a dramatic fashion.
A small part of Argonaut was beginning to wonder if this scavenger really was only just mimicking his own dragon noises...
***
>Author's Note:
I'm sorry this one is a few days late. I didn't like the way this one turned out, so I re-wrote it a couple times. It takes a little while to write and re-write a 6,200 chapter, especially when you're as lazy as myself.
This is now the second segment of Dragons, Steel, and Pom-Poms. The story is moving along.
So it begins._