a black puff of smoke. crawled up to the sky like a black snake of darkness. tainting the brilliant blue heavens a muddy grey.
through the drowsy streets of an ancient high school academy grounds. The rain and mist glowed in the hazy orange heat lamps that kept the reptile people warm as the cold wind blew leaves into the air, carrying a breeze of changing seasons. and changing times.
She leaned up against the car window in her passenger seat. the rain slowly dripping down the window. The smell of burning incense flowed through the car as it was emitting warm, cozy air from its internal heater and siphoning heat from the engine. its cushioned palm seats. its old, asthetic 1950s look. The window wipers smeared the smoggy rain, leaving black stains, and the driver stopped the car, annoyed, getting a handkerchief to wipe off heaven's filthy tears.
The girl looked at the dark clouds, or was it dark smoke? She couldn't tell anymore. There was an opening in the cloud that let the light in. It was an orange-sickly yellow color, the kind like that of fading light.
hello god.. She spoke softly. Have you come here to rain on my special day? She spoke in a southern accent. mixed with some form of modern urban lingo.
She squinted her hardest to see the faint light in the clouds. just so she could glare daggers into it. in silent rage. Her kind had come a long way from working the fields stolen from their homeland. to owning the companies that processed it and made all the essential products society needed. The climb was hard. We lost a lot of friends and families; we even lost our name. We lost who we used to be. We had no history. except the scars to remind us. of where we came from.
Her brow horns tapped against the glass. as her head crest bumped against the seat headrest. She closed her eyes, letting out a cold breath of air that fogged up the tip of her nose horn.
Wagging her tail, she tried to remain composed. tranquil, but the storm outside was like the storm brewing inside her heart. She was about to walk the same halls as her mother before her. holding the coupon in her hand. It was stamped many times from the many admissions before her. It was encased in a glass id, and its colors faded from their age. It was because of this. We were able to lift ourselves up and finally be on the same level. of other dinos.
It felt unfair that we had to try so hard. It felt even worse that it took a lot of effort while it just came so naturally to other species. but if she had to put in twice the work to get on the same level as the best of the best, It would be worth it. All that mattered was that they saw her victories. The world would forget how much she struggled to get there. She felt some comfort in that.
She brushed a finger and through her hair. twirling its curly locks. It was a silky, smooth spiral of proto-feathers. It was the typical archosaur look. feathers, from basal to even pterodactyles, and extended to all other reptiles after it. at least mostly.
The driver opened her side door. The cool air made the feathers on her back stand up and through her backless dress. the Victorian lace style with black linen decorated in a design of black roses with thorny vines. accented by teardrop crystals found in the oil and sludge processed at the factories her mother owned.
The driver spoke over the loud sound of wind and rain. I'm sorry, Miss, but we are going to walk the rest of the way. The school entrance is blocked by some hooligan protestors.
Oh my, she had a look of worry. but under it, she was upset. Just great, another setback. She hated walking in the mud. And what was this nuisance protest doing here? She took a step outside. her dark boots tapping the soggy cobblestone ground. as old as all the ancient buildings around it. the smokey French-style cafes with ivy crawling over decades-old stone architecture reminiscent of the Victorian and Renaissance eras. It was a place of class and luxury. being spoiled by these rowdy youths.
She huffed, trying to warm herself up from the cold air outside. Her head was expanding and contracting as she shivered; its sides blushed red, and so did her cheeks. as blood rushed to them. pulsating under the surface of her soft, leathery skin.
She sneezed at the temperature difference. Oh great! I'm going to catch a cold on my first day. She said it in a soured mood.
Her driver reached the trunk of the car, pulling out her school bag and a spare coat. Here, madame, before this weather starts to affect your health.
I wish I could get a cup of hot chocolate from one of those cafes. before we enter school. It looks like everyone else will be delayed anyway.
taking time to be tardy, madame? The driver said
No, of course not, she said indignantly. I am merely an opportunistic businesswoman using the best of a flexible schedule.
He smiled warmly. having heard her practice her excuses over the years. She was getting better at deflecting blame. an important skill for any future politician.
It was important that the company had a foot in the door of Parliament; otherwise, rival companies might make disadvantageous policies that would negatively affect our standing.
and the Lord knows how hard it was to be a triceratops in this day and age. as if it were any easier in the past.
The young miss had already wandered off, looking curiously at the cafes. staring at the delectable and expensive trees and pastries.
wandering which was the best. stopping at a cafe-like shop that had various drink machines. an ancient cocoa grinder at the back of the shelf.
the soft atmospheric light of old, vintage oil lanterns. the artsy mood of the shop. the decor of handmade wooden tables and chairs. the kegs of various brewed beers and wine with a glass shelf of reconstituted varieties of cheese. next to the sleepy old Coca-Cola machine that looked like it was about to break down with its blinking lights.
her stained glass brow horns reflecting its hazy red glow as her opaque nose horn illuminated slightly from her face touching the glass as she got a closer look. She could see it. the rare local brand of Birchwood beer. This would go delightfully with some crushed cocoa.
but there was no one in the shop? Where are they on break?
Theobramo Cacoa was written there on the menu. It looked positively divine. the lush melted chocolate in the sour and bitter yet tangy sweet mixed birch beer. It was a sophisticated flavor for those with complicated tastes. It wasn't anything that could become popular. because there were simply not enough people of that caliber.
She smiled internally. being pleased she had such refined choices, even in snacks.
Hey! what the fuck is a trigger doing in here? A voice screamed from the back of the shop. You better not steal anything. God, why do they always pick my store to rob?