Chapter 3
“You lied to me?!” Pharazon asked, his ears drooping.
“You promised to help me!” Celice said. “You can’t back out
of this now! I need to research a faerie Draik and I don’t know when I’m going
to come across another one!” She frowned. “Now’s your chance to mingle with
real scholars, Pharazon. You’d hate to disappoint all of these terribly
intelligent Neopets, wouldn’t you?”
Pharazon looked up at them, and they seemed to murmur in
agreement. “Okay… fine,” he sighed. “What can I do to help?”
“Just stand there,” Celice said, “and don’t do anything
stupid. You’ll make me look bad.” She picked up one of his wings, splaying it
out. “Observe,” she said, “the unusual wing structure compared to baseline
Draik physiology. Also observe the stark contrast between this and the wings of
other Faerie-painted pets, especially similar species such as the Krawk and
Scorchio. This leads me to believe that Water Faeries may have had a hand here,
as the design is strikingly aquatic.”
“But what about the application forms?” Pharazon asked. “Am
I still going to get to go to school here—“
Celice dropped his wing. “And now my subject will perform a
demonstration of the unique flight qualities of Faerie Draiks,” she said. She
glared down at him. “Won’t he?”
“Oh—right,” Pharazon said. He flapped his wings, sending
aqua-colored sparkles flying as he began to rise off the floor. Snickers arose
from the crowd and he cringed. “I don’t make them do that!” he said, dropping
back to his feet. “It just happens!”
“Why, a Draik that sparkles is hardly a Draik at all!” an
elderly Draik in the front row chortled into his sleeve. “What a far cry from
his majestic brethren!” It was obvious from his tone that he was mostly
referring to himself.
Pharazon’s shoulders slumped, and he looked up to Celice,
trying to figure out how to get out of this. “I—I think I need to leave,” he
said.
“You can’t leave,” Celice said. “You filled out the Research
Subject Waiver back in the lobby, not the application for admission.”
The Draik’s stomach dropped. “So that’s why you didn’t want
me to read it too closely?!” he asked.
“Oh, please,” the sorceress said. “A simpleton from Neopia
Central could never get into Brightvale University, anyway. I just needed to
gain your trust, was all. As per the stipulations of the form, you can’t go
until I’m done gathering the data I need for my dissertation—and that includes
helping me with my presentation.”
Before he could protest, Celice looked back to her
superiors. “As you can plainly see, his Faerie coloring has infused him with
some degree of magic, which I have reason to believe may have affected his
internal fire-generating abilities as well,” she said. “I will now have him
attempt to blow fire.” She folded her arms and looked down at the Draik.
He stared at her. “I can’t,” he whispered.
“What do you mean, you can’t?” she asked, her ears perking
as she frowned at him.
“I mean—well, I’ve tried before, but—“ Pharazon grimaced.
“It’s not fire that comes out.”
“Well then, let’s see it already!” Celice said. “This is
scholarly work, Pharazon! You are holding up the advance of knowledge! If you
dare call yourself a friend of learning, you will show us what makes you tick!”
Pharazon gritted his teeth. Although he felt awful about all
of this, he just couldn’t let her or these other intellectuals down. And he had
signed the waiver, so now he had to follow through, right? He took a deep
breath and puffed out his chest, rearing his head back.
Trying to breathe fire wasn’t something he did on a regular
basis, and this was why. Feeling the familiar warmth in his belly, he dug his
claws into the floor, steadied himself, and opened his jaw. What came out was
not the usual stream of orange flame to be expected from most other Draiks, but
a glittery wisp of aquamarine that dissipated into the air.
It was most embarrassing. A Draik’s flame was supposed to be
fierce and powerful, but Pharazon’s magic-breath would never intimidate
anybody. And coming from a male Draik, it looked downright ridiculous.
The room echoed with the uproarious laughter of the
scholars. “I say!” the elderly Draik said with a guffaw. “This fellow’s as
dainty as a baby Miamouse! Has no one ever taught him to blow a proper flame?”
“I don’t believe he can,” Celice said with a stifled
chuckle. “It’s most fascinating, but it appears that being painted faerie renders
his fire-breathing abilities ineffective.”
Pharazon looked up and around at these Neopets and realised
they didn’t care about him at all. And he could either stay here and take their
ridicule, or put an end to it. That thought was terrifying, but then he
remembered his family and how much they loved him. He deserved better than
this.
“That does it!” he shouted. It wasn’t enough to silence the
laughter, but he didn’t care. “I’m not your research subject, Celice!” he said
to the Lupe. “I was hoping we could be friends! But now I see I’ll never be a
friend to you!”
Celice blinked. Slowly, the laughter in the room died down.
“I—I never wanted your friendship!” the sorceress stammered. “You were a fool
for going along with me, Pharazon! You only have yourself to blame!”
“That’s not true!” Pharazon said. “I trusted you and you
lied to me!” He glowered out at the other scholars and spewed out another puff
of magic in rage. “Now I see the true nature of this university, and I don’t
want any part of it! You’re just a bunch of self-absorbed, arrogant wretches!”
Celice’s fur bristled and a growl rose in her throat. “How
dare you insult us like this?” she snarled. “How dare you ruin my doctoral
presentation?!”
Pharazon stood up straight and lashed the floor with his
long tail. “Because coming here was a mistake,” he said, “and I’m going to fix
it right now!” Not waiting for a reply, he turned and flew out of the room,
faerie dust streaming behind him.
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