"Peaches or tangerines?"
"Tangerines please!" Amber brightened at the thought of cold, juicy, fruit soothing her parched throat. The still chorus of morning birds would have been all that was needed to crown this moment as paradise, but there weren't any birds, on account of Potluck snarling in the other room; his green, wrecking ball tail causing the walls and foundation to faintly shutter.
"Council! cor-bletchny! Skiv the pyrants! Intolerable bastions.."
Amber shot a glance at Peter, who mouthed “don’t mind him.” The clattering soon stopped. More unintelligible words (that seemed entirely made up) followed, and before long, a rumble of baritone crescendoed along to the clumf of Potluck's nearing footsteps.
"When you can buy all those wonderful thiiings, then you can buyyy Kilaaarneyyy!" A jovial Potluck bounced and chortled through the tiny expanse of walkway that led out of the kitchen; a glint of patriotic emerald glistened in one eye as the song of his heritage escaped his lips.
"I can't tell if you're stupid or just fatuous," muttered Peter, casting the dragon a sour look.
"Caah! Tame your vipers, boy! I'm smart enough to know not to cow about, 'n then go an be callin your elders fat!"
"Actually, they mean the same thing so we'll just go with plain old stupid."
Amber slurped at her tangerines innocently.
"Confounded human, don't be thinkin just because you've brought that lass into the house that I'm gonna be slighted of my daily pastimes. By Draco's seared tongue, we dragons will sing!" Peter pushed Potluck's flustering snout away, as he had near thrust it into Peter's chest.
"Dragons are so clueless... It's not the singing that's the problem, we've talked about this; your tail is a disaster. If you keep swinging it like that we won't have a house left to sing in!" Potluck snorted.
"Is that all it is then?" Peter slumped back in his chair and picked up a copy of the newspaper that was lying on the table.
"Yes, you impossible frog, that's all. Don't wreck our house."
Amber swallowed her last bite of fruit; finally feeling brave enough to interject.
"What was it that had you so upset in there, Potluck?" The dragon turned to her; all sense of combativeness melting away, like a kitten taking a moment to unzip its lion suit.
"Nothin to worry your sweet head about, m'dear. Just a new proposal from Council that scorched my scales." Peter read aloud:
"COUNCIL REPEALS CALL FOR FOREIGN AID IN NOTORIOUS WURMWIND SERIAL RAIDS?"
"Ehh, no, not quite that one." He scanned the left column for any updates he could have missed.
"ーON TUESDAY, SUB-COUNCIL SIGNED BILL TO APPROVE 2.7 PERCENT TAX INCREASE ON IMPORTED BEER." He cast Potluck a torrential glare. "I should've known.."
"An if you think that's bad, just wait till you hear about the price raises on Emberwickian beef!" Peter creased the paper in two perfect folds and tossed it back onto the table. Then he stood up and went to the door to put on his coat.
"Where are you going?" asked Amber.
"To the market, to pick up some lamb before the world ends."
I love the way Potluck is depicted; he's a very tangible character!
Got me really interested in the relationships of these characters! And in the plot of whatever is going on with the Council!
"like a kitten taking a moment to unzip its lion suit." Love this