“They’ve never seen a dragon before. I’ll handle it.” Setting his paper down, Sanzo eyed the gawkers and switched to English. “This is Hakuryuu. Look, but don’t touch. She bites.” And sometimes breathes fire. “She is not a pet. More like… search and rescue.” As in, search out the enemy, and rescue the four of them from stumbling into traps you couldn’t see from the ground. “If something happens to her, take her to Hakkai.” Sanzo jabbed a thumb at the healer. “He’s a pretty good dragon vet. Any other questions?”
“Looks more like a wyvern than a dragon,” one of the administrative types muttered.
“Wyverns are a sub-variety of dragons,” a uniform with the pasty face of someone usually stuck behind a computer monitor objected.
“Oh yeah? In what lame game system?”
“Obviously, the idiocy is contagious,” Sanzo muttered in Koryo, as the wyvern-versus-dragon argument devolved from there.
“Or endemic,” Hakkai chuckled. “So you told them-?”
“Don’t touch, she bites, take her to you if anything goes wrong.”
“Cheep!” Hakuryuu cocked her head at him, indignant.
“I know they’d deserve it if you bit them,” Sanzo said dryly. “They don’t.”
“Kyuu.” She snuggled against Hakkai’s neck, mollified.
Which was just as well, because apparently that had broken the ice, and they were swarmed.
“Were you really missing for two years?”
“What’s the planet like?”
“How come those two don’t speak English?”
Too many questions. Too many emotions.
God, I want my gun.
People might pester a priest with philosophical questions and their personal problems, but their respect for the robes at least gave him room to breathe. The gun won him more when he needed it; nothing like a warning shot to get the most stubborn crowd to back off.
“Gojyo,” Hakkai said in an undertone, “I think I’m a little overwhelmed-”
“Are you a Jaffa?”
…He did not just say that. He did not just say that.
Hakkai was fast, which was good for him and good for the idiot Marine and bad for Sanzo’s current plan for stress relief by way of moron-strangling. “Let go,” he snarled in Koryo through the white heat of rage. “All I want to do is break his arms. He’ll live.”