2021-11-21 - Everybody Walk the Dinosaur [async]

Sometime just after Storm Cimaron a band of Gray Harbor residents solved the somewhat inconvenient problem of an angry dragon running rampant on the high school roof in an unusually pacifist way: They opened a door to some random spot in the Veil, and shamed the poor thing into slinking off like a puppy that had just peed on the carpet.

All's well that ends well.

Sometime just after the autumn equinox, angry gods sent the Dragon to wreck havoc upon the lands of the Honey Eaters. The high priests have convened; the diviners have traced its origin; and the sorcerers have gathered in front of the entire hive, to return this monster to the hell it came from in the first place, before the entire pollen harvest is destroyed!

All's well sometimes means a bad ending for someone else. Or to put it differently: Return to sender.

It begins with a late fall morning's cold wind breezing through Addison Park. Black Friday and Thanksgiving are drawing close, and somehow, it looks like 2021 might come to an end soon too, and Gray Harbor somehow hasn't managed to neither slide into the ocean, get eaten by grues, or taken out by orbital cannons -- all three of which start feeling like quite valid options when you've lived here a while (and in case of sliding into the ocean, there are a few families who used to live by the Chehalis River until the storm who will argue that technically -- ).

It begins, for some, with an odd feeling, like something buzzing.

Microvibrations, almost on the edge of the spectrum of human hearing. A few people walking along the park paths pause and look around. Somebody comments that somebody else must be using pretty huge power tools nearby -- and it seems plausible enough; repairs of the roof of Teddy S. Addington High are well underway.

It's probably nothing, and most mundane folks of Gray Harbor walk on, never any the wiser.

A few don't, though. Because no matter how much you want this month to just be over, and no matter how much all that's on your mind is turkey and family and somehow making it through Thanksgiving without giving in to the temptation to hold your racist uncle's head under in the cranberry sauce until he stops talking about immigrants taking our jobs, bees are unusual in November.

More so bees the size of horses.

That's what they are, though. Bees that appear seemingly from above. Eight of them, landing on the open grass area as if it was a perfectly normal thing to happen around here. Bees wearing little bags and belts and holding spears in front legs. Perfectly normal. Bees that spread out as if they know exactly what they came here to do, and form a rump-to-rump circle -- which they then proceed to widen by simply moving away from each other. Also perfectly normal. It's probably perfectly normal somewhere.

Inside that circle is darkness, and a thousand stars, and something very large and green that seems to be moving this way at a very high speed.

Most dog walkers and park goers and people just taking a shortcut through the park don't seem to notice anything amiss at all. What do they see? Kids practising some dressage exercise on their ponies? Nothing at all? Probably the latter, given that not a single one stops to even give a nod of acknowledgement.

Bees, the size of horses. Summoning something. In the middle of Addington Park, in broad daylight, just before Thanksgiving. If this was a Hallmark movie it'd be aliens coming to learn the true magic of family. It's Gray Harbor, though. It's probably not that good.

Repairing the High School had been a massive job. No single contractor or company was really in charge of all of it. Martin Construction had been hired for some of the work. Benjamin wasn't unfamiliar with the property. He'd grown up in Gray Harbor, he'd even attended this school when it wasn't a broken mess. He was parking his marked and signal equipped pickup, getting out of the cab with a couple rolls of plans tucked up under his arms, reaching back in to grab his coffee. He was just going to put the updated safety drawings in place and do some inspections on his employees work, shutting the door...

When he hears it... He turns toward the school, face sinking into confusion. There shouldn't be machinery running, had someone restored power too early? He starts to walk toward the school when the bees drop out of the sky, landing, looking like some sort of knight squad made up of anthropomorphic Beedrills. In shock, he backs up a step or two, looking all around. Then, with a sudden realization, he grabs one of his plans and pulls it wide open. The blueprint was correct, but all the words were gibberish. He was Dreaming.

"Fuck." He tosses the rolls of paper to the ground in a fit. He does sip his coffee though as he gets his bearings.

Fae had been in Gray Harbor for about a week or so, though she admittedly had been pretty sidetracked by a certain fireman during a good portion of that time. Today wasn't much different, the nearby fire station had just gotten a visit from a certain someone's new girlfriend popping in for brunch. Lucky for her when you bring enough breakfast burritos for a small army nobody complains that you're wandering in.

As you'd expect from any Midwestern house wife in training she's conjured up vastly too much food even for an entire fire department and the surplus has to go somewhere, so her eyes slip over to the nearby park, thinking she might hand a few out and introduce herself around in the process, nothing makes a good first impression quite like impromptu breakfasts!

I mean, sure leftovers are great and all, but there were a solid two dozen of these monsters left to deal with...speaking of monsters...what the hell is that? Oh, it's just giant bees off in the distance performing some sort of magical interstellar summoning ritual, that's fine, wait a sec?!?? That's not fine! That's not fine at all!

Maybe if she just ignores it it'll go away? Probably not, but what are the alternatives, try and offer them breakfast burritos to cease their dark spell castings? "Hey, um, hows it going over there?" the ginger girl nervously calls out waffling her hand at the distant creatures as she approaches, that was a stupid idea Fae, why are you walking over there like the planetary welcoming committee? Do you want to get eaten alive by humanoid bees, because that's how you get eaten alive by humanoid bees.

"You know, I hate to be a bother, but ya'll just looked like you were workin' so hard and maybe you needed a snack?" she expresses, that southern twang smothering her words just like she smothered the whole tub of bastardized mexican food with cheese about an hour ago. This is the worst idea ever, but maybe if you just treat bug people like people they'll be nice? Sure they're terrifying insectoid monsters and she's shaking like a leaf pacing up to them, but isn't the language of brunch universal?

Finch is still trying to grasp what the hell happened over the missing three months. She clearly decided to grow her hair out, her Menagerie of pets are all happy and healthy, her Gran is doing just fine, and it looks like she made some headway on repairs to Mallard House. She also apparently worked as per usual, much like she is today. The Out on a Limb employee is on the grounds of the high-school doing some pre-Winter tree trimming for Teddy S. Addington High. They've gotten ice storms in recent years, and this time, the school is taking no chances on branches coming down and destroying things, or knocking out power.

The dark-haired, diminutive alumnus of said school has a wool cap crammed on her head for warmth, and is wearing a coverall with "Out on a Limb" embroidered on the back, the arboriculture portion of August Roen's plant shop. She has goggles on top of the hat, ones she uses in lieu of boring safety glasses, and is currently packing up her equipment into the back of one of the company trucks when the weird sounds and sensations reach her. "What now?" she mutters under her breath. She's lived here all her life. Nothing that sets her teeth on edge like that can be good. She grabs her eight-foot tree pole-saw, looking for all the world like a modern version of a medieval fauchard polearm and heads towards the noise to discover...

"Ok, this may be taking 'Save the Bees' a little too far." She blinks at the sight of -- everything that seems to sum up Gray Harbor in a snapshot. She jogs over to Benjamin, another townie, and arches a brow at the contractor. "If Cthulhu comes out of that thing, I saw we just say Fuck It, and move to Florida. Deal?"

Maybe it's a universal law that offerings of food must be perceived as a gesture of non-hostility; all the way back to Biblical times with beduins and shepherds in the desert, confident that an offer of salt and bread meant three days' worth of truce. The bee that turns its massive head towards Fae probably didn't go to Bible studies but it seems to parse, at least, that she's not coming at it with a weapon (unless you're lactose intolerant, in which case that burrito is up for discussion).

It looks at her -- probably, it's a little hard to tell with a kabillion eye facets -- and then raises one clawed leg, holding a spear of surprisingly intricate make (bees have blacksmiths? Apparently bees have blacksmiths). It points the spear at the nearest group of people, standing a little further away -- the dark-haired girl who looks not in the least surprised, and the contractor who seems to share her sentiment, a few others who are looking and then hurrying away because that's another valid survival tactic in this town: See no evil, hear no evil, get the hell away before evil spots you.

Darkness gathers and becomes a solid circle. The friendly (non-hostile, at least?) bee nudges Fae a bit with a wing; suggesting, perhaps, that she get out of the way. Something very large and green is coming, after all.

Something that other people have guesstimated to weigh about sixteen tons. Something with teeth and claws and wings. Something which has hind legs that look strangely like they might fit just perfectly into some of those holes in the high school's destroyed roof. Not just structural damage from the storm, then.

There are bloody awful lot of very sharp white teeth in that maw as it opens; the vibrations die out as the portal collapses behind the giant reptile's tail, thumping the ground angrily (there's another job for a sharp contractor, then, repairing the park lawn). It claws at the ground (more repairs, ka-ching!). The sound of its roar is enough to send a couple of curious locals behind Finch and Benjamin on their way very fast -- so much for the community of shiny people standing up for one another. There's a lot of people in this town who have lived this long because they live by the firm principle of running away to run away another day.

The bees draw backwards, away from the enraged giant reptile. And angry it is -- in the fashion of something that has become a literal interdimensional dragonball and really doesn't like it. It bares its teeth and snarls, before roaring again, eyes crimson. It advances on the bees in front of it -- not the best prospect for a Fae there -- roaring, challenging them.

It becomes obvious, very quickly, that the bees are on a one-way trip -- unless they plan to simply take off and fly away like eight rather unusually coloured fighter planes, leaving Gray Harbor to its dragon.

You don't live in Gray Harbor all your life without running into one of these things. They were terrifying, frustrating, dangerous, and sometimes so damn weird and confusing it makes a man crazy. Freaking out or screaming didn't really seem like Benjamin's bag, even if it was one of the first time he noticed other people in here with him. No sir. The man finishes his coffee in one gulping swig, then tosses the cup over his shoulder into the bed of his pickup. Probably a poor environmental decision, if the wind caught hold of it, but leaving trash behind wasn't exactly a concern right now.

With a brief look toward Finch, a knowing one, he opens the door to his truck and gets in. The engine roars to life as Benjamin clicks his safety belt into place, then he's slamming it in reverse to get angled. He pushes it back into drive, fiddles with the brake and stomps on the gas. The tires begin to screech in a well-executed burn out, and he looks like he was intent on ramming the damn thing straight into the dragon's leg.

For a moment, Finch's face lights up with wonder and joy at the sight of an honest-to-Veil DRAGON! Then Benjamin is off to try and ram it with his truck. "NO! Wait!" She hollers after him, her eyes widening in surprise. They don't know who the bad guys are here yet! As someone with a Veil familiar who is a goddamned mirrored Utah Raptor, she tends to err on the side of scaly things. But as a plant person, she also knows bees are very important. Time to cool everyone's jets.

The tiny woman scrambles to a good vantage point and crouches down, slamming her hands against the ground. Tendrils of wispy glimmer only she can see leech from her fingertips into the soil. "All right, everyone, let's separate the parties involved," she murmurs.

All around the high school, plant life begins to animate, growing and twisting, rising up, interlocking, to form a wall around the mighty reptile, between it and the bee army that seems intent on battling it, a living cage made from the grass, shrubs, and trees of the grounds.

A step is taken backward as the bee creatures brandish their weapons and a stray insectoid wing bats her in the face causing the diminutive Missourian to sputter slightly. "Okay, alright, ya'll just take it easy...I'm gonna just leave these here for ya." this country girl slaved over a hot stove all morning and someone better eat those things!

Too busy cracking open the Tupperware ® to catch the battle formation coming together in front of her she fails entirely to realize she's in over her depth until it's too late and a gargantuan lizard creature is snapping it's jaws around like something out of Jurassic Park.

"You don't have to be so pu-" her words falter out into mutters while her eyes expand to the size of the dinner plates, not caring one bit that it's still breakfast time. The burrito container drops from her arms, engulfing the nearby ground with a dozen wasted meals, are those fried potato chunks in there? She grilled the outside of the tortillas too...wow, someone really went the extra mile, the five second rule still applies if anyone doesn't mind being this close to a...

"Dragon! Dragon!" she screeches out going from 0 to 100 pretty much instantly, pointing the thing out like everyone around her may have been as oblivious as she was a moment prior. That skittishness from spell-casting bees is now replaced by complete terror as she nopes right on out of there, bolting full speed towards her truck that's parked across the street.

Much like Claire Dearing the heels she's rocking don't seem to slow her down much, apparently when being threatened by dinosaurs, life, uh, finds a way. That front line of bee barbarians really saved her butt from becoming instant dragon brunch though and that deserves more than some dirty breakfast burritos. While any sane person would get to their truck and drive away as fast as they possibly could the shaken twenty something seems to have other plans.

The satisfying chick-chick noise echos out from behind the beaten up old pickup that's become impromptu cover, yes that's a shotgun, who doesn't keep a shotgun in their truck? It's normal, it's called a truck gun, look it up. "You made me drop my burritos!" hell hath no furry like a woman that spent all morning making food only to have it ruined by an extra-dimensional monster.

Hopefully she can manage to shoot while she's so busy shivering in fear and 12 gauge buck shot doesn't just piss the thing off...it's probably at least as effective as bee spears though so it's worth a try.

When things get chaotic in Gray Harbor, they get chaotic fast, and they don't stop at misplacing your pen or tying a tin can to the end of a dog's tail, either. Grass bursts from the ground in spite of the season; vines explode from wild strawberry and ivy alike (one of those is more concerning than the other, granted); a couple of young willow trees burst from the ground, ageing from seedling to several years' worth of age in a matter of seconds. A veritable wall of green rises from the ground. The air goes whoosh as so much plant life suddenly exists where nothing existed before. The bill for lawn repairs is going to be astronomical.

The dragon -- it's the only word that fits, never mind that dragons aren't real -- roars its rage and throws itself at the nearest bee. As the unfortunate insect drones are still forming a circle around it, the wall fails to cut them all off -- and frankly, the sight of an insect head the size of a grown man's torso getting torn off is disturbing; as is the way the body fans its wings and then collapses, six legs twitching; the spear falls from a clawed leg and clatters on the ground.

The bee next to it is literally crushed by the giant reptile's weight; no wonder the high school roof is collapsing, if that thing really took to jumping up and down on it. That's not a pretty sight either; the ichor that passes for insect blood is not a good look for the lawn. Fortunately the wall of green shields most of it from view.

Apparently, pony-sized bees cannot scream.

The brakes of a truck can, though. The lawn rises up like a wave to create that wall, and atop the wall -- surfing it like a maniac in an action movie, a truck sporting the logo of Benjamin Martin's company, brakes shrieking and somehow managing to not only stay up there but ride the wave. It slams into the giant scaly head like a four-wheeled club of fury before inertia carries it onwards, earthwards. The guy behind the wheel either has one hell of an arrangement with the Reaper or he really knows how to drive.

He's also got a first hand view of the bee carnage on the other side of that wall of grass, trees, and a somewhat confused looking picnic blanket -- and pretty it is not. Those bees may be good at summoning things from other realities -- but fighting? No. No, definitely not their forte. And yet the six that remain -- remain. As if they know this is their duty. Hold the position, die when the monster gets to them.

In all this mayhem it's no real wonder no one notices the ka-chick of a shotgun being readied and aimed. Here's to hoping the thing packs bullet piercing armour. (Or in Finch's case, hoping it doesn't).

Finch slips through her wall because she's Finch, to the side the dragon is on, and she looks up at it, wincing at the fate of the bee soldiers. Her mind reaches out to the lizard-like one of the dragon as she chats to it like it's a buddy. "Hey friend, are you all right? What are you doing here? This is definitely not your home. Do you need help getting home?" while exuding the mental command of CALM to the creature.

Too bad for normal vehicles that all that all those Hollywood movies showed that cars could keep going after big massive jumps. It wasn’t true at all, so landing back to the ground, there’s a metal-screeching and crunching, the truck Benjamin was driving snapping one of the front axles and sending it nose down into the ground. The airbag fires, and Benjamin is briefly obscured.

After some struggling, the white balloon of the safety system starts to deflate, Benjamin groans and pulls his belt free. He gets the door to pop, but has to kick it to get it open enough to wriggle out the side. He was rubbing his shoulder and glaring up at the giant lizard... That Finch was trying to talk down? Weird. He starts to look around for something else... Maybe he could pick up one of the spears of the fallen bees?

Country girl etiquette dictates a few steps before you fire a shotgun (Step 1) Take off your damn pumps, you only have to learn that lesson one time before this becomes a given and luckily Fae has that part down. (Step 2) Ask God to help "Oh my God! Please let me kill this thing before it kills me..." a little rough and kinda whiney, but that'll have to do. (Step 3) Calm yourself down, take a breath, do whatever you need to before you pull that trigger...wait, what is she doing now? Why are you putting on your headphones? You're supposed to be shooting a dragon's face off this isn't standard operating procedure.

Her eyes squeeze shut for a moment, collecting those nerves and getting her mind straight while she listens to...jams on a cassette player? "You are my fire, The one desire, Believe when I say, I want it that way." her vision bursts open, apparently Backstreet Boys jams, that are literally as old as she is, are her parallel to Popeye and spinach. It's just too bad for everyone within earshot that she sounds like a dying cat and that frogs in a blender vocal is arguably as damaging to eardrums as a 12 gauge poppin' a shell.

(Step 4) Aim, yes you do still have to aim a shotgun, they're not magic like all the stuff coming from people's minds in Gray Harbor. That brings us to the final of the steps (Step 5) FIRE! That mercy of a trigger pull finally happens, drowning out everyone's new favorite cringe contestant on The Voice: Grey Harbor Edition "But we are two worlds apart, Can't reach to your heart, When you say, That I want it that way." alright, please stop, please, you're going to kill everyone you're not shooting at if you keep this up.

"Oh! I hit it!" she bounces up and down as she giddily claps, though she's the only one clapping and in no way deserves a round of applause after that performance.

The crack of a shotgun goes unheard by most; next to the roar of the angered dragon and the shrieking brakes and subsequent crash of the truck, the sound is all but drowned out. Greenish blood sprays where the shotgun shell bounces off scaly armour, showering Finch and Benjamin in tiny droplets -- and if the dragon had not moved its head at the exact moment the shot was fired, brain matter might have been added to that (though probably not very much, given that this creature seems to live up to the notion that anything that large has a brain the size of a walnut).

It did, though. Because just at the time the bullet sped towards it, some little figure appeared at the beast's clawed feet, claiming its attention and causing it to snake its head downward. Spears fly. And go a mile wide because the dragon's head is not where it is supposed to be.

Turns out pony sized bees cannot swear, either.

And then there's this awkward silence that follows almost as if time is in freeze frame for a second;

-- Finch reaching up like a Disney Princess to attempt to calm the giant beast,

-- Fae, clapping and about to realise that her shot failed to take the thing out,

-- Benjamin yanking one of those spears off the ground and aiming it carefully at the very large animal that's towering over him but has yet to notice him,

-- and the beast itself, looking down in utter amazement at the tiny human thing at its feet. You can almost hear the walnut in its head failing to compute. Small, squishy things are supposed to run away. It's the kind of moment where somehow, one might even be able to ignore the wall of living grass and shrubberies, or the truck that is going to require some heavy duty garage work, if not a one-way ticket to the landfill or the chop shop.

The remaining six bees circle closer. One f them raises its rump, showing off the entirely too large stinger there, as if silently suggesting something to its companions, now bereft of spears.

A shudder passes through them. Unlike hornets, bees sting only once.

Finch is showered in green blood but she closes her eyes and sighs it off. People in Gray Harbor are so often, 'shoot first, ask questions later" types. "EVERYONE STOP! It's just upset at being removed from it's home!" She pets the animal's snout with one hand and continues radiating calm to it. The bees are her new targets though. Her Mental command moves to them, as she hopes their insectoid minds can understand it. STAND DOWN, is what she invokes to them. It probably looks absurd, this short gal in coveralls, speckled in green, petting a dragon and trying to soothe it. "I know people who might be able to get you home, friend," she murmurs to the creature. Someone like Itzhak, who can open doors for others to go through. She can open them, but only for herself. She can find the thin spots though, and try to help the creature find the one closest to it's home.

Benjamin pauses, having been shifting his feet and looking for an opening, but that intense look on his face slowly fades into intense confusion. Was she really taming that big ass dragon? Then it was frustration, and Benjamin was inverting that spear and stabbing it point first into the ground. He looks around toward the bees, looking partly peeved, partly wary, pretty much all weirded out. It’s now he notices where the shot had come from. His brows lift as he catches sight of Fae, clearly impressed for a moment, then surprise turns to acceptance and approval as his head tips to the side as if slotting the idea into place. He lifts his hand and gives her a thumbs up, then turns to watch the silent bee deliberations with occasional glances toward Finch to make sure she was still doing ok. Pretty sure, with as much work as he did around town, he wasn’t going to want to go down to Branch and Bole to explain what happened to her and that he’d done nothing.

Fae says, "Um..." Fae blinks in shock, well, seems like Finch has this under control, Disney magic is slightly more effective than buckshot. "...I'm just gonna go then...you guys have fun and try not to kill anyone else." Her work here was finished, also that was super scary and she probably needs to pee about as bad as she needs singing lessons. The heels are gathered up and tossed in the truck along with the shotgun she had folded in her arms.

Her hand anxiously waffles over at the Queen of dragons and the Demolition Derby Daredevil before she hops in the beat up old pickup and gets going someplace less weird. "I deserve ice cream after that." she sighs to herself, turning the engine over and just accepting that those breakfast burritos will never be avenged.

When a bee the size of a pony uses its stinger, the same thing happens as if the bee was the size of, well, a bee: The stinger cannot be retracted, it stays in the target, and it's still attached to the bee. When the bee flies away anyway -- the result is not pretty. Six legs twitch in the air as the bee that tried to sting the dragon's head falls to the ground twitching and dying.

Five bees remain. A one way ticket to this dimension, to bring the dragon here and then -- stay here. One way or other.

Mostly other.

The bees exchange glances. Then they all look at Finch. Somehow, in spite of their expressionless lack of features with which to emote, they manage to look surprised.

The dragon does too. One moment you're getting ready to murder anything that moves, then there's suddenly this tiny squishy two-legged thing telling you to be nice, and then you take an angry bee to the face. Sure, that stinger did not pierce thick hide -- but the shotgun shell hurt too, and really, if the dragon wasn't angry before --

Him mad.

Him (she, it, them, are you going to look under the dragon's tail to be sure?) turns. The one thing that hurt so far? The bullet that grazed his (her, their, are you etc) head. And that came from the little one with the red fur, the one that bolted towards one of those metal things.

The dragon roars. And throws itself at and through the wall of grass, bushes, and shrubberies, to pursue the fleeing Fae. Finch's attempts to subdue him (her, their, we get it now, thanks) worked only so well. It's entirely possible that this creature's walnut brain is too small to cling to such a complex concept as friend for more than a few seconds.

Trying the pacifist approach first will always earn the moral high ground. But sometimes, when you speak softly and carry a big stick, you may have to use that big stick.

Finch throws her hands up in the air. The best laid plans of Finches and Men and all that. She does work on shrinking the plant cage to contain just the bees, making sure some of the flowers from the area bloom in there for them in case they eat like bees do too. She can work on keeping these things from flying off and causing havoc, she hopes. Rest is the command this time, to the bees.

Taking some time to put that extra slug in her shotgun before buckling her seatbelt and getting ready for the drive to get some ice cream, go on home, and destress, Fae does the standard mirror check of any extra safe driver. "Alright, time to r-" is that a dragon coming right for her in her rear view mirror? Why yes, it is.

The pedal is slammed to the metal as the tires squeal out and some rubber is burnt, she's up and out, sorry to all the people stuck with this problem but ya girl isn't much of a fighter and certainly can't go toe to toe with something she can't even hurt, it's best to leave this to the professionals.

Was Benjamin wary? Of course he was. Didn't you read his last thoughts? No? Ok, well Benjamin is wary. Sure, he'd been looking back to check on Finch, but the sudden bolting of the dragon toward someone else called him back to action. Don't people know the only way is through? And 'through' can definitely mean using a large, albeit primitive, spear to impale something. Ben may not be trained in such martial weapons (Knew he should have take that fighter subclass), but he knew what stopped a wall from falling over before you attached the supporting joists.

He snatches up the spear again and like some sort of heroic idiot, runs to get in the dragon's way, because even if he'd seen Fae just fire a gorgeously accurate shot that ultimately pissed this thing off, he still had some chauvinistic notions. Plus she wasn't even trying to fight it, she was running. Who knew a man that dressed that well could run so fast? He skids to a stop directly in the path of the dragon, drives the butt of the spear into the ground behind him, and holds on for dear life as he tries to target it correctly to use the force of the charge against the dragon's thick hide.

Have to hand it to Finch's floral sculpting; if nothing else comes out of this whole disaster, at least Addington Park will have gained a very curious and quite remarkable living sculpture -- and full of flowers, too, in November. Pity that the Veil will no doubt make most Gray Harbor residents somehow manage to rationalise the flowers away as some exotic but short-lived phenomenon. Sometimes you wish magic was more durable.

It's pretty much guaranteed that no one who doesn't shine is going to properly see the five pony-sized bees in there. It's possible that some might see five ponies.

They're not happy about it either, Wings beating frantically, the five bees zip about, looking for holes in the foliage; they will make their way through eventually but for now, at least, there is containment. Is this a good thing? Depends whether one looks at them as allies or enemies, really. Those are big, sharp stingers.

At least the dragon's attempt to turn and bolt for Fae means it has to flail and tumble recklessly along -- and that it doesn't seem to notice what Benjamin is doing with that spear. Or maybe it does notice but its cerebral walnut dismisses the sharp pointy object as an obstacle of no real consequence; with a reptile of sixteen tons, who can really tell what's going on with the cognitive processes up there? The spear breaks; the spearhead stays embedded in the dragon's scaly front leg. That's got to sting, too.

Will the girl in the truck make it? Depends -- what moves faster, her or a dragon with a spear stuck in one foot?

As it turns out, it's the girl that moves faster. Because anything moves faster than something immobile.

If anyone ever decides to make a movie script out of this, pray they remember to include the cinematic slow-mo effect of a sixteen ton dragon stumbling over the spear stuck in one front leg and tumbling head over feet until it faceplants on the sad remains of the lawn. You can almost hear the canaries circling its head. That's gonna sting in the morning for sure.

It was a near thing that Benjamin didn’t get trampled himself as he set that spear to pierce the dragon’s leg. He had just managed to get out of the way of the stomping feet as they’d gone by. Now his crisp business casual was grass stained and dirty, and he was pushing himself to his feet, breathing hard from the sudden bursts of physicality and adrenaline from the situation. He watches the dragon go down in a heap, and looks around immediately.

You’d think a man that just downed a dragon would look pleased, but he was already looking for the next danger. Would the bees attack now the dragon was downed? Would a giant monkey appear now instead? These were all valid concerns to a Gray Harbor native. No rest, Because there was no victory, just worry about the next thing that would try to hurt, maim, or kill him or anyone else that lived here. He brushes at his shirt idly.

“Fucking insurance is gonna drop me... again.” He mutters as his eyes fall on his busted truck again during his check. He looks to Finch., lifting his voice, “What now?”

Finch works to communicate with the bees, as she really, REALLY doesn't want to have to use her spirit glimmer to break them in half. They may not understand English, but they likely understand images. She shows them images of them being helped through a portal to their home by herself and a tall, gangly, tattooed mechanic named Itzhak. Will the prospect of going home calm them?

Fae's on a mission, a mission to get out of this with her life, she doesn't even notice that the giant iguana has went down because she never bothered to look back. Run, run, run away and live to fight another day, or at least that's what they say. The traumatized little ginger girl didn't have this in mind for her morning, giant lizards, bee monsters, wasted burritos...it's all been a bit too much. On a side note, does anyone know where she can buy a rocket launcher? That's about to become her new EDC.

"I guess I see why Mom left this place and never looked back." she murmurs, well out of earshot of anyone or anything as the truck reaches speeds fast enough to travel through time if it were a delorean. She'll have to thank Benjamin for saving her butt later, after she finds out he's actually her hero and Gray Harbor's premier dragon slayer.

Is it dead? Sixteen tons of reptile out cold on the sad remains of the lawn. Hopefully it will stay that way -- at least until somebody decides what to do about it.

The bees have Opinions, no doubt. They are not very good at communicating them -- or maybe they are, but as it turns out, no one here seems qualified to read the intricate dance that makes up bee language. Do those butt twists and posture changes convey something? No doubt. What? Yes. That's a good question. Any other questions?

The feeling that emanates from them -- to at least Finch and Benjamin, still nearby -- is urgency.

And a little bit of relief too. Maybe the five that are still alive are in fact not entirely opposed to the idea of living to get buzzed another day.

(TXT to Itzhak) Finch : Hey Itzy! I have a kind of emergency at the high school requiring a big ass door to the other side. You available? (Attached photo of pony sized bee soldiers and an unconscious 16 ton dragon)

Benjamin... Just sort of stands there awkwardly, watching Finch maybe taking to the bees? The sense of her powers was definitely there, and she was using them, he thought he could tell. When she then pulls out her phone, he just looks confused...

Then he just pulls out his own, and starts dialing his insurance. It would probably take a few hours for an adjuster to come out anyways, might as well get the process going now. Yes, someone managed to get his keys while he was on site and took his truck on a joyride, that's the ticket.

Finch reaches out around her to find nearby coneflowers lying dormant for the season. Her power brings them out of their sleep, and the beautiful purple and yellow flowers bloom for the bees. They're a favorite of Earth bees, hopefully pony sized Veil ones also like them? Rest. Eat. She conveys to them. Help is coming.

Five pony-sized bees exhange looks of multi-facetted eyes and wiggles of butts; some kind of group debate is going on there. They look from one two-legged individual present to the other (while the third has long since made her escape). Do bees wonder about insurance premiums? Probably not. Although in a reality somewhere that spawns bees the size of ponies, carrying leather bags and spears, maybe apian insurance is a thing, too.

Maybe apian insurance is what caused eight bees to enter this reality in order to return the sixteen tons of reptilian wrath to sender. It doesn't really matter to anyone but them. What does matter in that sentence was the enter this reality part. Five bees cannot form an eight-pointed star portal to return to their home through. But they can seem to come to a verdict that a mistake was made here, somewhere. Several mistakes. And one of those mistakes was theirs.

A bee gently nudges the living cage; coneflowers blooming luxuriously and dramatically out of season glide aside to allow them passage. The touch of apian minds is not entirely unfamiliar; felt by Benjamin and Finch both as they are near, that soft and gentle brush of mind against foliage. They appreciate the offer of food and rest, even if now is not the time for either.

They slip out. They confer with one another, wiggling butt and waving antennae. They look towards the unconscious dragon, and then to the two humans who stayed. They do not quite follow the finer points here; what matters is that this one responded to their intrusion with offers of help, and that one is worried about -- apian mind feelers brush the surfaces of human minds -- property damage? The bees understand property damage. The dragon did a number on their hive and their fields. The pollen harvest will be miserable.

So's the park lawn. The bees will never know, but the repairs here might easily pay for any increased insurance premium Benjamin will be looking at; one man's misfortune is another's lucky break.

Five bees do not an eight-pointed star make. But a five-point star they can manage, and they fly to the downed dragon to do so. Reality tears.

Somewhere, in another reality, a portal appears; like a thousand stars shining and something approaching at very high speed; then realities briefly hug and kiss, and they are gone; the five bees as if they never existed; the dragon leaving a rather sizeable indent in the lawn where it went down. Did they go to a good place, to continue to their fight? Did they tumble into a reality in which the dragon perhaps could live out its life in a natural way? Or did they go off to kill each other somewhere else?

Odds are that the humans left behind will never know. Sometimes, all you can do is scratch your head. And maybe dispose of those three bee corpses in the local city dump or the ocean, before the Veil has to make up some vapid excuse for them. How the rest of the world, the non-shiny masses, will rationalise away the battlefield that used to be Addington Park's grand lawn is anyone's guess.

It will probably involve motorcycle gangs from Seattle, or something.

Finch watches the strange warriors and the beleaguered dragon make their exit. She texts Itzhak to cancel his arrival, She looks over to Benjamin and sighs. "Ben, are you all right? Your truck looks like it's not going to be ok." She glances at what's left of the vehicle after being used as a dragon battering ram. "Nice moves, but next time, maybe try parlay first? It's cheaper on your car insurance." She winks at him and heads to see how much of Out on a Limb's equipment was trashed, a hand wave sending the plantlife back to something more normal.

(TXT to Itzhak) Finch : Cancel that. Crisis averted.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” Benjamin answers, eyes briefly on Finch, then looking to the truck mentioned. There’s a flat look sent Finch’s way after at the casual advice and wink, like she May have been forgetting, “Uh huh. ‘Cuz that’s worked for me before.” Also parlay wasn’t really what he was good at. Also he’d just now figured out all the ridiculousness and scale of this catastrophe wasn’t a dream. It had happened here. And therefore, things weren’t just going to reset when he got through or woke up. You never really knew until it was over.

“But sure, maybe I’ll just ask the 16 ton dragon to play nice next time.” Because somehow, he knew how much it weighed, given how much the universe seemed to mention it. His hand briefly rubs his face as the phone is at his ear, ready to spend his afternoon concocting some likely bullshit the locals would believe.

The fuck do you do with three horse sized bee corpses? He pauses...

“The fuck do you do with three horse-sized bee corpses?”